#i’m so so so thankful for someone as sweet as you on my dash!!! i hope your day was amazing love!! ilysm & then some!!

[yuukimiyas]

hi love:)))))))) hru??? hope your having and amazing day/night!!!

nini my heart!! (∩ˊᵕˋ∩)･* my day was p good!! i saw my bestie & ran some errands & then played some mario party!! ଘ(੭ˊ꒳​ˋ)੭✧ how are you, love? was your sunday v lazy or were you up to smth? i hope you have the most restful sleep in preparations for the new week!! i’m smoochin your cheeks sm!! (ღˇ◡ˇ)♡

[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!!! :)

[eyesxxyou]

sweet revenge

・・・l. howlett x fem!reader

rating. m

word count. 1.3k

synopsis. after catching your boyfriend cheating, you and his father, Logan, go on a road trip to confront him, though, you don't make it far

warnings. p-in-v, tummy bulging, cheating (but as payback), DILF Logan, car sex, van sex, sex with boyfriend's father, cunilingus, kinda rushed :((

If someone told you you’d be trapped in a car with your neglectful boyfriend’s father for an entire weekend as you drive to meet him in Mexico a week ago, you would have stared at them blankly then told them that didn't sound so out of the ordinary for a life like yours.

It wasn't your idea, it was Logan's, your boyfriend's father. He insisted that you two would have to drive across the US together to confront your disgusting, cheating, asshole boyfriend who flew to Mexico to spend time with his mistress. He was almost as disgusted as you were, apologizing to you with explanations of how “he hadn't raised his boy like this”. How funny life is.

Logan, you always thought, was a good man. He had always been kind to you since you’ve known him, sometimes to the point where you thought he was flirting with you. Not that you minded, he was quite handsome, even for being in his 50s. With his salt and pepper beard and slight wrinkles that made him look mature and wise. You never minded his slight touches on your arm or your lower back but you never pursued the idea beyond a lingering thought.

“I’m slightly surprised you’re not crying.” Logan said about an hour into your ride together. You had been entirely silent, letting the radio play while you gazed longingly out of the window, your feet up on the dashboard. You rolled your head to the side to look at him. “I’m more angry than sad.” Or were you? You searched within the cavity of your chest for emotion and found nothing. You were so apathetic to the whole thing. Maybe it simply hasn't hit you yet, that your boyfriend of 3 years has been cheating on you for 2 of them with some girl he decided to vacation with in Mexico.

Logan stroked his fingers through his beard. “He’s a fucking idiot. His mother was a cheater too, I say he got it from her.” Your boyfriend was raised primarily by his mother after they had gotten divorced he had told you. He wasn't actually all that close with Logan. You had sussed out that it was because he didn't give special treatment between him and his sister, Laura. They were treated the same in every way by Logan while his mother always seemed to favor him.

“Thank you, Mr. Howlett for offering to bring me down here…really. It’s too kind of you.” You couldn't have possibly scrounge up enough money to haphazardly buy a plane ticket down to Cancun last minute. You would have had to wait for him to come back from his “business trip” to confront him. Logan thought it a better idea to do it as soon as possible.

He shrugged, a single hand on the wheel as his eyes flicked lightly from the road to you. “It’s nothing. He doesn't deserve a pretty girl like you.” Logan shook his head lightly. “Back in my day, I would have been all over a girl like you. Hell, I’d be all over you now if I’d met you at the right time.”

There's something deadly serious in his voice that suggests he was far from joking. All your delusional thoughts that maybe, just maybe, he was flirting with you turned out to not be delusions at all. He’s been dropping hints and you’d been turning a blind eye to them so willingly.

You’ve never been with a man his age. Something about it seemed so taboo. He was old enough to be your father. Yet the distinct feel of forbiddenness, both because of his age and because he was your boyfriend's father, excited you.

“Who says you can't be all over me now?” You’re being more bold than you’d have liked. You crossed your ankles on the dash. It would be the perfect revenge. When he goes low, you go lower—you go to Hell.

You let your hand wander to his thigh, your eyes lingering on him as he keeps glancing between you and the road. Logan chuckled lowly at you, your forward attempts at coming onto him were rather cute. “Oh baby, you don't know what you’re tryna get yourself into.” He’s trying to warn you but you like the edge to his tone.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and sit up in your seat to lean over and whisper into his ear. “Let me find out.” Maybe older men do it better, maybe they value things a little more. You were in the mood to find out.

You could see his jaw tighten as he slowed the car off the side of the road, gravel crunching under the tires. His fingers curled around the wheel, taut, knuckles white. “Why don't you get in the back?”

If someone told you you’d be in the back of a van, on you way to confront your cheating, sleazebag boyfriend, fucking his dad. That…that you’d bat an eye at.

It was a fast-paced endeavor. Logan had you in a mating press, pushed up against the back seats. Your pants and underwear at your knees, his pants just below his ass. He’s pounding you out in the back of a van, with thrust so hard and deep that it makes your eyes go cross. You beg, “please, please, puh-please!” like that will save you from the brutalization of your poor cunt.

Logan grunts above you, his hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave bruises as he spreads them wide and keeps you still. “You wanted this, princess. Don’t back out now.” His strokes leave you winded, clawing at the cracked leather seat of his van, squealing like you have no damn sense in the world. “I can’t,” you gasp.

“Yes you can, doll. You can take it.” Fuck– he was using his father voice. Stern, authoritative, the kind of voice you can’t say no to. You could have come right then and there from his voice alone, cooing at your pretty pussy like a cat. He pressed his hips sharply into yours and watched your back arch away from the seats and your eyes prick with tears. “Logan!”

“You act like you’ve never been fucked before. Does my son not do a good job?”

You shook your head feverishly. “Never– ” you swallowed, “–like this.” Never made you cum for that matter. If you knew fucking your boyfriend's father would have been like this, you would have done this a whole lot sooner.

You could feel him in your stomach. You pressed your hand to your belly and felt the bulge of his cock under your skin. You whimpered at the feeling, tracing where his cock head poked through. You could feel him pressing against your tender womb.

You let Logan cum in you. It was easy to with a face like his. You let him sink himself deep inside, a guttural groan rattling out from his throat, satisfied as he emptied his balls inside you. You could help but giggle as he came in you. The thought of possibly having his baby didn't bother you as much as you thought it would. Logan was a good man, well, as good as one can be while fucking his son’s girlfriend.

Logan didn't want to leave you unsatisfied though you were more than used to it. He grabbed your hips and pulled you up, back arching as he dipped down and kissed your cum-soaked pussy. His tongue found your clit with ease, licking tenderly at the bud between your legs, eyes peering over your pelvis, looking down at you.

Your legs trembled over his shoulder, toes pointing with each rough lick against your puffy pussy. “‘s too much, too much.” His lips were latched to your lips, suckling.

Cumming on his tongue was an easy job. He made it so simple yet so powerful. You quivered under every lick, your body rolling with the waves of your orgasm. It was sweet, savory, like tender peaches on a warm, summer evening.

Who knew revenge could taste so sweet?

[luveline]

jadey, could I request some hurt/comfort with hangman (or Steve or Eddie if you’d prefer) where he asks reader out and they’re like “are you sure this isn’t a joke? or a prank? or a bad decision you’ll regret tomorrow?”? and he’s really sweet and kind about it? cause ngl with how shitty my dating life’s been so far, any man that approaches me with romantic intent is gonna have to do so with the same gentleness and tact as someone who rescues and rehabilitates neglected dogs.

“Look out,” Liv says, nodding toward the front of the arcade and then quickly turning away, “Harrington’s back.”

Why she says it like a chore you’ve no idea. You hurry to clip your mirror compact closed and shove it under the desk into a bucket of Chinese finger traps and pencil toppers. You look ridiculous in your polo with your Palace nametag taking up a solid two inches of your chest, but Steve Harrington used to wear a little sailor’s uniform with tiny teeny shorts, so perhaps he doesn’t hold it against you. You really hope he doesn’t. 

Steve looks less smiley than usual —he isn’t surrounded by his troupe of friends, the younger kids, Nancy Wheeler’s brother and the gaggle of dorks that keeps getting bigger. He pretends they piss him off and sometimes they really do, but when Max needs to go stand outside for a minute he always goes with her, and when Dustin flinches at a seriously loud noise, he clasps the boy by the shoulder and tells him it’s alright. He clearly doesn’t mind that he’s inherited a brood of younger siblings.

But today he’s frowning, nearly, something steeled about him as he stops at the desk. You smile carefully and he smiles back, but it quickly fades as he opens his mouth. For a second, nothing comes out. 

“Hi,” he says finally. 

“Hi, Steve.” 

“How are you?” 

“I’m good, yeah. Thank you.” You raise your eyebrows. “How are you?” 

“Nervous.” He scratches the back of his neck, peeking quickly down at his hand and then wiping it roughly into his thigh. “Shit. Listen, I think you’re so pretty, and I practised this part in my head but it’s not– I got another look at you as I was coming in and I forgot what I was gonna say.”

You don’t mean to ask, but, “You think I’m pretty?” 

“It’s dire,” he says seriously, hair flopping into his eyes and half-heartedly batted away. “You’re beautiful.” 

He says it so simply, it doesn’t compute. 

“Oh. Well, thank you,” you say softly. 

“Shit.” Steve shoots a look at the door. You follow his gaze, wondering what the hell he’s looking at. Did he bring somebody with him?

“Steve, are you okay?” 

“That’s why. This is why I’m– I’m fucking up monumentally. I didn’t think I’d be nervous. Like, sure, I felt like I was gonna throw up all morning but I’m usually better at the asking part.” Steve straightens up. A light beige polo is neatly buttoned at his neck, and his hair looks nicer than most days, super shiny under the overhead. When he turns to you, the red light coming off of Dig-Dug paints him with a pink hue, emphasising the dash of blush filling the tops of his ears. “You wouldn’t want to hang out some time, would you? Or– shit. I don’t want to hang out. I do, but– Do you want to go on a date?” 

“With you?” 

He winces. “With me, yeah.” 

You’re quiet for so long it makes you both uncomfortable. Slowly, Steve’s face starts to lose the squirmy nervousness he’d brought in with him, and a familiar softness fills his eyes, his brows pinching at their starts, lips pursed. 

“You look upset,” he says. 

In the tens of times you’ve seen Steve Harrington come in here, and the fewer times he’s come up to the desk to talk, you can’t confess to thinking he’d ever ask you that. You’d imagined it once, how he’d lean against the display of teddy bears and smile at you just so, like you already knew what he wanted. 

“No,” you say, watching his expression for some sign that this is a trick. It doesn’t seem like it is. You can’t say you think he’d be that cruel, but you can’t not ask, either. “I’m wondering if this is a joke.” 

“A joke? No.” Steve frowns. “Did someone do that before?” 

“Just doesn’t make any sense.”

Steve is a nice guy. He’s asked you so many questions about yourself you can’t remember what he knows and what he doesn’t, but you aren’t eager to tell him why you think what you’re thinking now. 

You shy away from him, letting your eyes fall to the pencil erasers. 

“Hey,” he says softly, reaching across the desk without touching you, “hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m not kidding around, I’ve wanted to ask you out for ages, but I– guess I thought this would go better if I waited. You don’t have to say yes.” 

“You really want to go on a date with me?”

“Yeah, I do.” 

“You swear?” 

“I swear. I mean, duh. Who wouldn’t want to go on a date with you? I sort of wake up thinking about you.”

Your eyes fly to his face. “What?” 

“Not in like, a loser way. In a cool way.” 

You still don’t really believe Steve wants to take you on a date until he’s knocking on your door, 7PM sharp, handing you a bouquet of twelve red roses and a hopeful smile. “Told you,” he says, grinning as you step down onto the path with him, something you recognise as nervousness in his smile, but elation, too, “Jesus, I knew you’d look pretty, but this is just something else. Who wouldn’t want to take you out?” 

You hit him very gently with the flowers. “Stop.” 

He grins. “No. Don’t think I will, babe.” 

[fairyhaos]

❖ marshmallow smile // joshua hong

joshua x gn!reader, 1.8k+ words

tags: non-idol au, fluff, food mention, yn is a Mess, shua blushes very easily, absolutely cheesy romcom-style trope in this fic, basically shua pretends someone bought yn a drink but surprise!! it was him!!

warnings: 1 swear word

notes: silly soft flustered joshua who rarely consciously flirts but makes an exception for you :((( my beloved. happy shua day <3

“Here, this is a hot chocolate for you from the guy across the cafe.”

It's been a particularly horrible day, that day. Not because of anything specific, but just because sometimes days are like that. Days where the weather is terrible, your mood is terrible, work is terrible, and overall everything is just kind of… shit. 

Seven o'clock in the evening finds you in a cafe: the same cafe you've been in for four hours, clocking in some unwanted overtime because some idiot on your team managed to permanently delete half the spreadsheet you've been updating for weeks and now you have to scramble to fix it in two days before the annual overview meeting is conducted to all of your bosses. 

You’re exhausted, on the verge of a meltdown, and almost about to burst into tears when the gentle, male voice had spoken, and you look up just as a hand slides a steaming mug onto your table.

This man—he’s absolutely gorgeous, actually, but you don’t get to register it fully because the moment you look up, he suddenly dashes away to the other end of the cafe, bumping into empty tables before sitting down nonchalantly in one of the booths all the way on the other side, crossing his legs and waving, like nothing had happened.

“Hi,” he says, all cool and suave, even as he’s still waving. “I’m the guy from across the cafe.”

You blink, and then the pieces of his charade fall into place and you laugh, flattered. 

“Well, thank you very much,” you say, and then close your laptop, looking down at the hot chocolate on your table. The whipped cream is piled high, and the mini marshmallows are the pink kind. It’s very cute. “That’s very kind of you.” You smile, taking a sip. “I’ll also be sure to thank the handsome server who brought me my drink.”

The man’s smile widens, pleased. “I hope you don’t think the server was more handsome than me, though.”

You hum, tilting your head. “I’m not sure. Maybe if you come over here, I’ll be able to see you properly and make a real judgement.”

The man’s eyes light up, and he makes his way over to you, and—it’s like the whole world stops spinning. You’d already known he was handsome, and he’s been sitting on the other side of the cafe while talking to you, but it’s a whole other thing to be seeing him up close.

You’re now face-to-face with the prettiest person you’ve ever seen, with pretty brown eyes and a pretty lips that are pulled into a devastatingly pretty smile, and you have to fight a blush as he claims the seat opposite you at the table.

“Hi,” he says again, and laughs softly when you can’t quite meet his gaze, shy. 

“Hello,” you say, looking up briefly and feeling your face instantly heat up. What earlier confidence you’d had when calling him over has mysteriously disappeared, flustered in the face of this man’s handsomeness.

He laughs again, obviously finding you endearing as you look away, avoiding his gaze. And then he ducks his head down until he finds your eyes again before slowly straightening up, smiling when your gaze stays on him. “There we go,” he says softly. “Your eyes are so pretty. Please don’t look away.”

You blink rapidly, still very pink in the face. “Thank you.”

The man smiles. “My name’s Joshua,” he says, inclining his head in greeting. “May I have your name?”

Somehow, the oddly formal nature of Joshua’s question helps you shake some of your shyness, and you smile back at him, taking a sip from your hot chocolate. It’s sweet.

“I suppose you may,” you say, lightly teasing. “It’s Y/N.”

And then you hold out your hand for him to shake, playing up the formal greeting, and Joshua laughs, taking it in his own, his touch warm and grounding. You kind of want to hold his hand forever.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” Joshua says. Disappointingly, his fingers fall away from your own almost instantly, and he gestures to the mug in front of you. “I hope you like the hot chocolate. I was actually, um, watching you from across the cafe, and you looked quite stressed, and so I wanted to give you the drink.”

“Oh.” His words have you melting a little, and he looks so adorable with his shining eyes and that shy smile on his face, as if nervous about this whole exchange. “Thank you. I was having a bit of a bad day, so this really helps.” You look down at the hot chocolate in mild wonder. “I thought this kind of thing only happened to main characters in rom coms.”

Joshua rubs the back of his neck, looking a little embarrassed even as he laughs slightly, eyes crinkling. 

“I don’t really do things like this, normally,” he admits. “I’m kind of out of my depth here with this whole… flirting thing. But I thought you were cute, and you were working so hard, and I wanted to just give you something sweet to cheer you on.”

He thought you were cute. Despite his admission that he’s “out of his depth” here, you think he’s actually doing very well in this flirting. Devastatingly so.

Things like this just don’t happen to you. You’re not the type to have handsome men giving you hot chocolate at seven in the evening because they think you’re cute, but here you are, and Joshua’s smiling shyly even as his eyes glow, and he’s so pretty and this entire thing feels like something out of a dream.

“Your presence is sweeter than any drink could be,” you blurt out, and then promptly turn the shade of a beetroot, burying your face onto the top of your laptop lid. 

You can practically hear Joshua’s stunned silence, and then he laughs.

“Oh, please look up,” he says, when you still keep your face firmly buried in the laptop. “That’s the most adorable compliment I’ve ever gotten, seriously. You’re really—you’re really lovely, Y/N.”

“I’m also really embarrassed,” you say, muffled. “That was—I’m so sorry. I’m really bad at flirting. That was so weird.”

Joshua laughs again, and then there’s a light tap on the top of your head, and you lift your head slightly. Joshua takes the opportunity to reach over and lift your chin up with the tips of his fingers, smiling when you finally make eye contact with him again.

He’s blushing, you realise faintly. His fingers are warm on your face, and his cheeks are dusted pink. You did that to him.

“It wasn’t weird,” he assures. “I told you, I’m really bad at this whole thing too. But I came over here because I liked you, so it would be strange for me to dislike the idea of you liking me too.”

Your eyes widen. “You like me?”

Joshua scrunches his nose slightly, looking embarrassed again. He retracts his hand, and again, you miss the warmth of his touch. “This isn’t my first time seeing you,” he confesses. “You come here every Wednesday after work, don’t you? I’m always here around that time as well, and you’re always so bright and bubbly with your friends, and I just—well, like I said, I found you really cute.”

“Oh.” Joshua really is so, so sweet. “I’m sorry I haven’t ever talked to you before, then. Wow.” And then you smile. “But if it’s any consolation, I really do think you’re cute, too.”

Joshua’s whole face seems to glow as his eyes crinkle into crescents and he smiles widely. He’s still blushing prettily, and that makes you smile too, mesmerised by how someone who looks like him actually exists.

“Okay, lovebirds, wrap it up,” a voice suddenly says, and you jump, tearing your gaze away from Joshua, flustered. At the front of the cafe, there’s a barista wiping down the coffee machines. He stops what he's doing, leaning against the counter, watching you both amusedly. His name tag, Yoon Jeonghan, glints in the lights. “We’re closing up soon. You guys have to go.”

“Oh, right. Sorry,” you call back, and quickly drink the last of the hot chocolate that Joshua gave you, before beginning to put your things back in your back. The spreadsheet isn’t fully finished, but oh well. You can get someone else to do it.

“Sorry, I probably distracted you,” Joshua says apologetically, as you put on your coat and shoulder your bag. He picks up your empty mug for you, ready to walk to the counter and give it back to the barista. “Did you manage to finish your work?”

You shake your head, and the two of you make your way out of the cafe. “No, but it’s okay,” you assure him. “I’ve been working on it for hours. I’ll get someone else to finish it off.”

Joshua nods and hands the mug back to the barista, who accepts it with a mischievous grin.

“Have a nice night, lovebugs,” the barista, Jeonghan, says, eyes twinkling. It makes Joshua roll his eyes, exasperated and benevolent at the same time, like he was used to such teasing. He bids Jeonghan goodnight and then leads you out of the cafe, opening the door for you and then following you out afterwards, until you’re both standing out on the empty street.

“A friend of mine, unfortunately,” Joshua says, as a way of explaining Jeonghan’s familiarity. “I may have, um, mentioned you to him, before. Once or twice.”

He’s being bashful again, awkward and shy in revealing his liking for you, and goodness, you’re finding him more and more endearing with each passing second you spend in his presence.

“Cute,” you say, the word slipping out before you can stop it. Joshua’s eyes widen, surprised, but like hell are you taking it back, because it’s true. “You’re really cute,” you laugh. “I… wow. Yeah. I think you’re really cute and just. Thank you, for spending time with me. This was really nice.”

Joshua’s eyes are still wide, and he swallows. 

“Okay,” he says, “I really, really don’t normally do this, but could I have your number? You’re just so nice and so pretty and I want to get to know you more, if that’s okay. You can say no, of course, and that’s totally fine, but if you’d like to, then—”

“Yes,” you cut off his rambling with a smile, and hold out a hand for his phone. “I’d like to. Of course I’ll give you my number.”

Your day did not start well at all. It’s been miserable, and exhausting, and frankly the worst day you’ve had in a while—but then a mug of hot chocolate had slid onto your table in a coffee shop, and you’d started to make conversation with the prettiest guy in the world, and now, now, now…

Now, Joshua beams at you, soft as marshmallow and sweet as chocolate, and well. You have to admit that your day has ended in the best possible way.

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit

[cozage]

Please, please, PLEASE MAKE A FOLLOW-UP ON LAW ON THE DARE CHALLENGE

😭😭😭😭😭

A/N: Did someone order Law x reader with an extra slow burn??? Oh my sweet sweet anon I love you and everyone else who requested this. This was such a pleasure to write. I truly hope I did it justice and made up for not having a section for him earlier. For those who are new here, this is part two for an earlier headcanon list I did. Check that out first for more context.

Characters: GN! reader x Law

Cw: NSFW. MINORS - DNI. I promise I’ll have so much other content for you to consume, please respect me and my work and keep scrolling. If I catch a minor on my NSFW posts, I will block you (and then you don't get to see any of my writing! So just skip this one.)

Total word count: 4.2k

tag list: @error404-tryagain @jadedrrose @patchofblue @nikos-a-clown @evilunicorns4minions @reader101 @gaynerdnotkid @augustanna @uchihabbynic

Push and Pull

“Y/N-ya, what the hell was that?” You could hear the frustration in his voice follow after you as you dashed out of the room and retreated down the hallway. The game was finally over. The moment Shachi released you from your place on Law’s lap you had made a beeline for your room. 

“N-Nothing!” You keep moving, feeling heat rise to your face at the thought of your earlier flirtation attempt. Shachi may have been the one to force you to do it, but it would have been a lot better if you hadn’t fumbled it so badly. 

Law quickly caught up to you and grabbed your wrist, pulling you back from your escape. He spins you around to face him, and he towers over you. His face was contorted with such anger that you instinctively shrank away from him.

“Did Shachi put you up to that?” His face had softened some and you could tell he was attempting to control his voice, but his anger was apparent. You hesitated, which was enough of an answer for him. You could feel his grip tighten on your wrist, and you resist the urge not to squirm away from him again. You want to be far away from him and his rage, which now appeared to be centered on your crew mates. You could hear their laughs echoing from the common room, and Law glared in their direction.  

“I’m sorry you had to do that,” he says, still facing the common area. You start to respond, wanting to let Law know that it wasn’t a big deal, but he’s already dropped your wrist and is striding back to the common room. A dark aura is rolling off him as he heads towards the crew, and you turn on your heels and bolt to your room, thankful for an escape.

--

You make yourself scarce over the next few days, and the captain seems to be doing the same. You stay locked in your room, and he stays locked in his office. The only time you interact with Law is over meals, and you catch yourself glancing over at him several times throughout those moments. A few times you glance over to catch his golden eyes staring back at you, and you both quickly look away, praying nobody else caught you all. 

You and your captain have been doing this strange dance of avoiding each other and catching stolen looks for three days before the crew decided to step in. 

--

At lunch on the third day, Ikkaku hunts you down to pull you into your room. “You should wear something super nice tonight!” She’s already sifting through the clothes in your drawer.

“What? Why?” You start picking up the clothes that Ikakku has tossed on the floor, but she’s oblivious to your efforts, which irritates you. “Do you mind not making such a mess?”

She ignores your request, still shifting through your belongings and mumbling to herself. “Not a lot to work with here but I’m sure we can find something.”

“Hey-stop that! Ikakku, what is this all about anyway?” You’re throwing your clothes back into the dresser as fast as she’s throwing them out, frustration growing with every shirt you have to refold.

Ikkaku doesn’t offer much explanation. “It’s for the captain.”

You stand there staring at her, dumbfounded, until a stray shirt is thrown at your face. “What’s for the captain?” You finally ask.

Ikakku moves onto the next drawer and keeps digging through your clothes, unfazed by your question. “You gotta dress to impress, sweetheart!”

“Why would I do that?” Your voice comes out choked, and you know your secret has been found out. You still can’t find the will to move, even though your friend is continuing to demolish your room.

Finally, your words catch up to Ikakku, and she turns to face you. She stares at you a long while, as if she’s trying to decide if you’re even worth explaining her motives to. After a few long seconds, Ikakku laughs. “Don’t try to deny it, dear. I know you’re head over heels for him.”

Your mouth falls open in shock. She says it with such confidence that you know there’s no point in denying it. Ikakku always had a sixth sense for these things. “How long have you known?”

“I’ve had my suspicions for a little while, but you made it pretty obvious during game night. At this point everyone must know.” There’s something extra in her voice that sends you over the edge. She said her words so condescendingly, as if she pitied you and your circumstances.

“Get out! Get out now!” You shoved Ikakku out the door and slammed it behind her, refusing to come out until the dinner call. You feel so humiliated, though you’re not sure why. Your cheeks still turn pink at the thought of that night, which was the last time you had talked to your captain in three days. It felt like Shachi and Ikakku had ruined your entire relationship with the captain because of that stupid dare, and now they were trying to meddle in your life even more.

--

You were late to dinner because of Penguin. He was trying to get you to put a nicer outfit on, which led to a big fight and left you in a sour mood. By the time the two of you got there, only two seats remained. One next to Shachi, which was obviously meant for Penguin, and one next to the captain, which was obviously meant for you.

Everyone’s eyes followed you as you took your place next to Law, but nobody said anything. You could see Ikakku and Shachi silently questioning Penguin over your outfit choice, but he simply rolled his eyes and waved it off. A few members exchanged glances, and you could feel that someone was waiting for something to happen.

“Sorry for being late to dinner, everyone.” You finally say, trying to sound genuine.

“Shall we eat, then?” Law spoke to the crew, ignoring you and your apology, and you felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

You didn’t have much of an appetite, and you weren’t in the mood to talk to the man who you had spent the past few days avoiding, so you occupied your time by pushing your food around on your plate. You tried to take a few bites every now and then, but you weren’t making much of a dent on your food.

“Y/N-ya.” The voice made you freeze. It was the first time your captain had spoken to you since game night. Your eyes shifted over to your captain, but when you made eye contact with him, they darted back to the peas on your plate.

“Are you feeling okay?” There was a calculated levelness in his voice. You go the sense he was asking as a doctor, not as a captain or a friend. 

“I’m fine.”

You could see his eye twitch in irritation, but his voice remained calm. “If you would like something else to eat-”

“I don’t.” You interrupt, not giving him the chance to finish his sentence. The other conversations at the table start to die down, and you’ve become painfully aware of everyone’s eyes on you now.

“Captainnnn,” Shachi called to the man next to you. “How about you give Y/N some of your food?”

You’re not sure why, but something snaps inside of you. He’s using that same condescending tone that Ikakku used with you earlier, and the anger that has built inside you over the past three days finally explodes.

“How about you go straight to hell, Shachi?” You say, slamming your fork down onto the table. You see everyone’s mouths fall open in shock, including your captain’s, but you don’t care anymore. You storm out of the room and back to your cabin, furious with the position you’ve allowed yourself to be put into because you have feelings for some guy. You lock your door to avoid unwanted visitors, but nobody tries to come talk to you anyway.

--

“It’s not my fault that they want to rip off each other’s clothes!” You freeze as you hear Shachi’s voice call out in frustration from the kitchen down the hall. You hadn’t seen them-or anyone- since dinner last night, and you were hoping to avoid everyone while you ventured to the kitchen for lunch today. You had even waited until far after the normal lunchtime to lower your chances of running into someone, but it seems you had waiting too long and now you had stumbled upon the people who were cooking dinner tonight.

“Hush!” A feminine voice scolds at the man in a low hiss. Ikkaku. “Someone is going to hear you.”

“I don’t care if they do hear me!” Shachi shoots back. “Everyone on this damn ship can see it except them! It’s been painfully obvious since game night! The way they avoid each other now, the glances over dinner, and now all this hostility!?! I knew the captain would be pissed at us, but  now…”

He trails off, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks when you realize it is you they are talking about. You stay frozen in the hallway, praying that nobody comes around the corner and catches you eavesdropping.

“Listen,” Shachi continues, now in a full-blown rant. “Captain told me that he liked Y/N! And Y/N told you the same thing, right? What were they expecting us to do? Of course we’re going to meddle in that! We’re the most meddlesome people on the ship! They wanted us to intervene! And we did and now they’re avoiding each other like they have some kind of plague and I’m so tired of it!” He pauses for a beat. “We should just tell them.”

Your hand flies up to your mouth to stifle a horrified gasp and Ikkaku speaks in a deadly serious tone. “We are not doing that, Shachi. Neither of them would ever forgive us.”

“I know, I know.” Shachi seems to have calmed down a bit. “It’s just frustrating to watch. And now they’re both upset with us. I just want them to be happy.”

“As do I. Come on, let’s make dinner,” Ikkaku suggests, trying to change the subject. “We’ll figure out a way to make them forgive us and each other. Until then, we’ll just count their awkward glances.”

“The record is eleven, you know. Eleven times they made eye contact and then quickly glanced away from each other. Just at one dinner!”

So they had noticed the looks you and Law had been sharing. In fact, the more they talk, it sounds like they had been actively watching the two of you. It seems like it was a sort of game to them. They were able to recall most of the ones that had happened over the previous nights, chatting quietly and laughing at the exceptionally embarrassing ones.

There was no way you could face them after learning this. There was no way you could face anyone on the ship. You wanted to go hide in your room forever. You retreat back down the hallway the way you came and quickly rounded the corner to return to your room.

You crashed into someone as you turned the corner, too in a hurry to notice them until it was too late. You’re about to let out a small squeal of surprise when a hand covers your mouth tightly. Panic sets in for a moment, thinking someone may have stowed away on the ship, but when you see equally wide golden eyes staring down at you, you feel a twinge of relief.

A different kind of panic sets in, and your heartbeat starts to pick up. Suddenly, you’re painfully aware of how close you are to your captain; how his tattooed fingers are still gripping around your face, holding your mouth shut.

He must realize it too, because his face begins to tint with pink, and he releases you from his grasp. He holds a finger up to his lips and looks around the corner to see if anyone is watching, but Shachi and Ikkaku are still chatting in the kitchen, and nobody else is in the hallway. He takes your wrist and silently leads you away from the kitchen in the direction of his office.

You can feel your heart rate accelerating in your chest with every step closer to the captain’s quarters. Based on his reaction, you weren’t the only one who had heard Shachi’s and Ikkaku’s conversation in the kitchen. A part of you wanted to run, to find a way to put as much distance between you and your captain as you could on this small ship. But you let him lead you down the halls, too afraid to say or do anything else but follow him.

He didn’t look back at you the entire time you walked through the halls. His pace was fast, and at times you struggled to keep up. He quickly opened the door to his office and yanked you inside, looking back in the hallway once more to make sure you weren’t followed before closing it and locking the deadbolt firmly.

“What are you-” You had begun to question him, but quickly lost your voice when he started towards you with such intensity.

“Shachi and Ikakku, were they telling the truth?” His voice is harsh and rough when he speaks to you. You could hear the disbelief in his words, and you knew for a fact that he had heard them in the kitchen. He was towering over you with an intense gaze, and you were doing your best not to cower away from him like before.

“What-”

“A yes or no will do.” He takes a step towards you, and you instinctively step backwards, pressing your back against a random bookcase behind you. He had you cornered now, and your stomach ties into a knot as you look up at him. You feel so small, trapped here in his office with him. There’s a hungry look in his eyes, like a predator when they’ve found their next meal. He’s a little terrifying, yet you can’t bring yourself to look away from him.

“Y/N.” He prompts again. He didn’t add the normal nickname to it, which was a solidified sign that he was pissed. You didn’t normally find your captain intimidating, but since game night he made your hair stand on edge. You’re too embarrassed to admit your feelings for him, not while staring straight in the eyes like this. You finally break away from his gaze and stare at the floor, too ashamed to answer.

But your captain wants your full attention, and Law’s index finger tucks under your chin and guides your face back up to meet him, beckoning you to look him in the eyes again. You resist at first, but eventually give in, locking back into his honey irises.

He leans down, only centimeters from your face. He’s so close that you can feel his breath on your lips as he exhales. His breath is hitched and shallow, warm as it brushes against your skin.

Your knees feel weak with him so close to you, and think they might give out any second. The electricity between the two of you is palpable, and you wonder if this is what it means to be alive. You are suspended in this moment only with him, completely isolated from the outside world and everyone in it.

“Was it the truth?” He whispers the question softly this time, and now you can sense a trace of hope laced into his words. You open your mouth to respond, but your words fail you. He looks down at your lips, waiting, and you do the only thing you can. You nod.

That’s all he needs. His lips crash into yours with such force that you have to take a step back to steady yourself, but you stumble against the bookcase. Law’s free hand wraps tightly around you to help you stay balanced, and he pushes you back against the bookcase for more support. Inked fingers trace your jawline and cup your cheek, pulling you closer to him while he leans further into you. There’s been far too much distance between the two of you recently, and he needs to make up for lost time.

You wrap your arms around his body, digging your fingernails into the back of his shirt as you pull him against you, showing him how much you want this-how much you need this. His tongue flicked across your lips and a soft moan escaped your mouth as your lips parted, granting him access to you. He dives in without hesitation, eager for his first taste of you.

His hands trailed down your back, sending shivers throughout your entire body. He reached your waist, and you could feel him hesitate for a moment, unsure how much further to proceed. You press against him harder, encouraging him further, and your hands move upwards, wrapping around his neck to pull him into you more. Your fingers twisted around his midnight locks, tugging at them gently.

His lips finally release from your mouth, and you gasp for air while you have a second to breathe. Both of his hands slip under your ass and he lifts you up, your back still against the shelf for assistance. Your legs wrap around his body, pulling him into you.

He kissed your jawline, and then slowly made his way down to your neck. The sensation of his tongue swirling and his lips sucking on your sensitive skin made you pull at his hair harder, shoving his mouth further into your nape. You had to bite your lips to stifle a moan, and he gave a dark chuckle against your skin.

“Come on now,” he teased, nipping at your neck a few times. “Moan for me, y/n-ya”

You didn’t immediately oblige, and he was quickly growing impatient. His lips continued to suck at your skin with such ferocity that you were sure his marks of passion would be displayed there later. He gripped your ass tighter and pushed his groin into the opening between your legs. You could feel his hardened cock through his jeans grinding against you, and you couldn’t hold your words in any longer.

“Fuck, Captain!” You had tried to keep quiet, but the moan rang out loudly against the silent room.  Either Law didn’t care about the level of your voice, or he liked it. Judging by the way he thrust into you again, you would guess the latter. Your fingers dug deeper into his locks, pure ecstasy running through your veins now. You wanted to ride this high all the way to the end with your captain, and you continued to call out his name every time his bulge rubbed against you in the perfect way.

Law abandoned your neck to return back to your lips again, muffling your moans with his mouth. He continued to grip your ass tightly and push into you, and you could hear books falling to the ground behind you as his pace began to pick up.

“Errr, Captain?” The voice came from the other side of the door, distorted and concerned. In shock, Law pulled away from you and your hand flew to your mouth in horror, both of you frozen in place.

The door jiggled, and your eyes widened at its movement. Thankfully it stayed shut, locked earlier by the captain.

Law’s eyes stayed connected with yours. He kept you against him, refusing to put you down. “What is it, Bepo?”

“Is everything okay, Captain? I was coming to tell you dinner is ready, and I heard some commotion as I-“

Law cut him off before he let Bepo’s rambling go on too long. “Everything is fine, Bepo. Thank you. We will be at dinner soon.”

Your eyes widen at him, and he realizes his mistake too late.

“We?”

Law curses under his breath and you smile at his uncharacteristic slip up. You can only thank the stars that it’s Bepo summoning him and not anyone else on the crew.

“I’ll see you at dinner, Bepo.” Law corrects, and you can hear Bepo’s feet padding away down the hall without further commentary.

You start to unwrap your legs from around his waist, but he grips you tighter, refusing to release you just yet.

You giggle at him and place a quick kiss on his nose, and in shock, his arms loosen from around you. He releases you, and you hop down happily. All the tension between you two has finally broken, and the air feels lighter now

You do a quick check in the mirror nearby, and attempt to fix the things you can control. You use your fingers to comb through your hair quickly and smooth your shirt, trying your best to make yourself look presentable. Unfortunately, there’s nothing you can do about the welts that are already forming on your neck other than pull up your shirt collar and hope for the best.

“Go ahead, I’m going to clean up and then I’ll be there.” Law bends down to pick up his hat and places it back on his head. It must’ve fallen off at some point, though you’re not sure when. He waves you on, bending back down to begin collecting the books you’ve scattered across the floor.

You start to think that you’ve done something wrong or he’s ashamed to be seen with you, and you feel that familiar pit forming in your stomach.

“Save me a seat,” he calls to you as you exit the room, and your fear instantly melts away.

You walk into the kitchen to find that most people have already congregated around the table. A few people look over to see you come in, and your eyes find Shachi. You smile at him politely, trying to start the process of making up for your outburst yesterday. His eyes glance down to your neck, and you watch as his eyes grow wide. He mutters something to Ikakku and Penguin, and you look away before you become more embarrassed.

You take a seat, and a few minutes later Law walks in and sits next to you. He’s sitting extremely close to you, his leg pressed against yours. You try to avoid the looks Shachi is sharing with the rest of the crew.

Dinner starts out casual, everyone attempting to ignore the elephant in the room. You were chatty with your crew mates, and everyone began to relax more. It finally felt like the crew dynamic was returning to normal again.

Halfway through dinner, you feel a hand rest on the top of your thigh, and you resist the urge to look over at your captain. You can feel his thumb lazily rubbing in circles, and electricity starts through your veins again.

After a few moments his fingers reach down, gripping your inner thigh and giving it a squeeze. You have to bite down on your lip to avoid showing any outward signs of his advancements. You snap your legs shut and attempt to continue your conversation with Clione, ignoring the hint of a smirk dancing across Law’s face.

He pushed further into your inner thigh, massaging it slowly. Continuing his taunt, he spreads his fingers closer to your core and flexes his fingers against you. You shift away from him, and he gripped your thigh harder to prevent you from completely leaving his grasp.

He leans close to you, whispering so only you can hear him. His voice is low and thick with desire. “Do you want to finish what we started?”

Your cheeks burn as he releases your thigh and gets up from the table, not waiting for your response. You wait a few moments before deciding to follow him.

“Thank you, Shachi.” You look at him and pause, and you can feel a sense of understanding pass between you two. “For the meal.” You add in, for sake of appearance.

You get up and walk out of the room, and Law is waiting for you outside. He grabs your hand and leads you back towards his office once again. You’re uncertain of what lies ahead, but it’s better than where you’ve been.

“Thank FUCK!” You hear Shachi scream from the kitchen, and the crew joins in with a chorus of laughter. You found yourself agreeing with them, grinning to yourself as the captain pulls you along, hand laced in yours.

[maxlarens]

⭐️ - Max - prompt: I will ease your mind (from bridge over troubled water) please thank you 🫶🏻 ily darling

You’re fine. It’s Friday. You’re fine.

You’ve got an afternoon and two whole days of being able to pretend your job doesn’t exist. To bury your work phone at the bottom of your handbag and only fish it out Monday morning. To get the tube home, go straight to bed and fall asleep without dinner—

fuck. Shit.

You’re meant to be getting dinner with Max.

That’s why you wore the cute (but still work appropriate) outfit today. The slightly nicer shoes. Your hair is even done. But you’re already on public transport going the opposite way to where dinner is supposed to be. You’re exhausted, you’re sinking into the seat like it’ll swallow you whole. Like if you try hard enough you could teleport straight to your bed.

You sigh, you fish your (non-work) phone out of your bag.

It only rings once before Max has already picked up.

“Schat,” he breathes, worried, like something might have happened to you, “What is it?”

You’re shaking your head, “Nothing. Nothing. Except I got on the tube home, instead of to dinner. It’s— hmm— it’s been a long day. To say the least.”

You hear a noise from him, a contemplative hum, the scrape of a chair, “Where are you? I’ll come get you.”

“I—”, you frown glancing at a map of the stops, trying to puzzle through your memory, “Like halfway to my apartment… I dunno though, Maxie. I’m wiped. I won’t be any fun at dinner.”

You hear footsteps echoing, “You don’t have to be fun for me”, then, “Get off the train, schat. I’ll take you home.”

You hum, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I’m already in my car.”

Max picks you up on the side of the road by the train station ten minutes later. You slide into the passenger seat of his car, lean over the dash and kiss him. He mumbles a sweet hello against your mouth, his hand hovering at your jaw, drifting into your hair. After the kiss is finished you press your forehead into his cheek and sigh. A prolonged tired thing.

“Work bad?”, he asks, hand gently cradling the back of your neck now.

“Awful,” you breathe, “So bad.”

“Mm,” he strokes the skin on your neck, “Let me take you home, liefje. We’ll order your favourite.”

“Please,” you murmur, “Can we watch Tangled too?”

Max snickers a little into your hair, “Whatever you want.”

You pull yourself from his grip, kissing his cheek before settling into the passenger seat. It’s not a long drive home, but as it goes on you feel the exhaustion sinking deep into your bones. The work day wearing on you even more now that it’s over. Max can see it on you, the way your thoughts are still fumbling through the issues of the day, the things you’ll have to deal with come Monday.

You’re distracted on the elevator ride to your floor, while you fish your keys from your bag, even as you flick the lights on by the door and set your bag on the kitchen counter. Max trails behind you, crowding you in the kitchen. He puts his arms around you, puts his nose into your shoulder. Kisses the junction of your neck.

“You should quit,” he says, quiet, low— you feel something skitter down into your gut as you lean back into him, “Move in with me and the cats. They love you.”

“Yeah,” you say, fishing for something else, “Do they?”

“Of course, schat,” his breath fans against your ear, “and so do I.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

ohhhhh to have someone tell u to quit your job so they can take care of u. anyway i hope this is kinda what u had in mind🥰 also tangled like is the ultimate comfort movie for me

send me a prompt/request + a driver and i’ll write a drabble. pls check my requests are open first💖

[occamstfs]

No Need to Pledge, Just Drink.

Thanks for the Warm Response! Here's a shorter piece - Occam

It’s definitely not normal that they invited me to this party. It was a direct invite too, obviously. I wouldn’t show up unless someone explicitly asked. From what I understand frat parties don’t usually have a guest list, but I am not one to just wander in. 

Judging by how unpleasant this is so far I’m starting to think I shouldn’t have accepted Derek’s invitation at all. I start to look around for the nearest exits which is when Derek finally shows his face, approaching me with two drinks in hand.

“Sup bruh! I’m so stoked you could make it! This party is gonna be absolutely killer soon so I hope you can stick around!”

“Ah, well I was-”

“I brought you a little drink broski! I know shit like this isn’t your cup of tea so I figured you’d take the assist, this stuff’ll loosen you right up.”

I take the cup from him and just avoid wretching from fumes of alcohol coming from the cup now in my hand. I assumed it was just a beer but it looks like some horrible mixed drink.

“It’s Everclear and Hawaiian Punch bro! As soon as you get past the first taste you barely notice the burn!”

He continues to stand there as I fail to brainstorm a way out of at least trying this. I see a potted plant across the room and know my next move. I’ll give the drink one chance to get Derek off my back and dump it as soon as he turns his.

It’s honestly not as bad as I thought it would be, it doesn’t even seem alcoholic actually? It’s just sweet? Almost to a sickly degree. I don’t really taste the punch either, it's just… 

I start to take another sip before noticing that impossibly, my cup is already empty. I only took a sip though? Something, something is not right. I start to freeze up before Derek starts shaking me, his hand holding a second cup of the punch high above his head shouting, “Brooo! You just demolished that! Fuck! I’ve gotta see that again!” He shoves the second cup into my hand and begins to push his way back towards the punch bowl “Everyone outta the way! This nerd has got to have more to drink!”

I watch him longer than I should have, dumbfounded holding this drink that I didn’t want. Don’t want? My vision gets blurry as I watch him maneuver his massive body through the crowd. Woah, I guess this is what alcohol does? I feel myself start to grin watching him struggle to fill a two-liter with whatever that punch is. Jungle juice? Oh Shit? Is he bringing that to me? 

The DJ switches playlists and I feel excitement quickly start to build in my chest. I fuckin’ love this song! I start to inch towards the crowd before I’m elbowed in the face and my glasses fall directly into my cup.

“Hey dude! I need those to fuc- I need those to see” I instinctively shout as I look to see my glasses just peeking out of my cup. Before picking them out though, I notice that my vision is actually better now? Which briefly starts to set my veins afire once more, why have I been going to a fucking optometrist for years I start to think, clenching my jaw before I look closer into my cup.

This alcohol must really be getting to me or Derek is pulling another prank on me or something. My hair looks so stupid up like that. I start to move my hand to fix it before seeing my arm reflected. 

Or is that even my arm? It shouldn’t be? It’s the size of my head. I shouldn't be able to life something that size if I wanted to. I need to get some fresh air, or just some quiet space. I need to get out. I need-

“Party king coming through! Sorry bro I couldn’t get the bottle to fuckin work so I hope two more cups will do” I see two cups clenched in massive hairy, may as well be, paws starting to pass back through the dance floor. My own hand flexes and I drop my drink, spilling it all over my shoes as I bolt to find a bathroom. Cheers of “Party Foul” ring out as I dash, completely ditching my glasses without a second thought.

I weasel my way through the crowd feeling less agile than usual. Finding it much easier to shove these pipsqueaks out of the way than to squeeze between them before I find peace in the second floor restroom, miraculously without a line outside. I don’t question why I suddenly know the layout of this house as I slam the door and take a deep breath. Music still comes through the door as I reach for the light and prepare to look in the mirror.

The haircut was the least of my concerns. I look like a beast as I start to hyperventilate. I feel the music outside the room quicken matching my heartbeat, my newly 20/20 eyes stare into themselves as they turn from blue to a deep brown and visibly lose acuity. I feel my biceps pressing against the sleeves of my t-shirt narrowly avoiding a deliberate flex to rip the shirt apart. 

I notice a stink other than jungle juice coming up from my feet as I feel them beginning to push against the tongue of my shoe. I collapse to the floor and quickly struggle to untie my laces before squeezing my feet out. Immediately apparent are drastically rattier socks than I remember putting on to get ready for this party. Full of holes and stains, I dread knowing whose socks these are and what is happening before recognizing them as my own. Or really they could be any of my bros socks but who cares.

As soon as this thought pushes its way into my head a pit drops into my stomach. I am an only child, I don’t have any bros, or well, I have a house full of bros now right? Getting up off the floor I again glance into the mirror. My jaw is wider, my stubble itches but just like it always does, right? I put my face in my hands creating enough strain in my small shirt to force a tear down the back. Why am I wearing such tiny tiny clothes anyway? Must be Derek hazing me again huh. I think holding in a guffaw, I wonder how he got me in these?

I tear the rest of my shirt away before doing the same to my pants which is when I learn that I have apparently been going commando this whole time. Now free of these nerdy-ass clothes I flex in the mirror. Pecs popping like always, my bros always say the hair hides my pump but who cares bro I want to look like a man. I briefly shake my cock at myself in the mirror smirking and see laid out behind me are a change of clothes that Derek must have laid out for me. 

There are a pair of slides, some athletic shorts and a massive stringer that says “Party Prince” Bro! He must have made us matching shirts! 

I quickly start to change to match with my Bro and see cologne on the counter. I’m sure bro won't mind if I use it. Each spritz I feel myself fill out my tank even more, veins beginning to peak out down my arms and my package becomes even harder to miss in my shorts. I do a few more poses in the mirror before hearing a knock at the bathroom door.

“Bro you in there? The party’s dying without you bro!”

Hearing my big bros’ cry for help I get my head in the game. I’ve got to bring it tonight. I kick the locked door open, completely shattering the door frame as I cry out- “Who’s ready to drink tonight,” tossing the awaiting cup of jungle juice into the air over the crowd.

[ricciardosheart]

Hey could you do fic for Toto Wolff with wife reader where she's a chef and he's being her taste tester for her new recipes. Maybe their son, Jack helped (a little bit). Add something you'd like. Tag me later! Thanks :)))

sorry for the delay lol i had not checked my messages, but thanks for the request , hope it did not disappoint, loads of love @pear-1206

Title: Taste Tester Duties Pairing: Toto Wolff X fem!wife and Jack Warning: None

pictures are from pinterest

The kitchen was a beautiful disaster, a blend of chaos and creativity that only came from a day spent experimenting with new recipes. Flour was scattered over the countertops like a dusting of fresh snow, and various kitchen utensils were piled in the sink, a testament to the culinary journey you and your son, Jack, had been on.

You glanced at the clock. It was almost time for Toto to come home. He’d taken on the role of your official taste tester ever since you decided to test out new recipes in the evenings. As a chef, you prided yourself on perfecting every dish, but there was something special about letting your husband, the always-composed Toto Wolff, be the first to try your new creations. And today, with Jack’s “help,” it was bound to be an adventure.

“Mommy, look!” Jack called out, holding up a wooden spoon triumphantly. He’d been in charge of stirring the sauce, but judging by the state of his shirt—and face—half of it seemed to have found its way onto him. Chocolate sauce, no less.

“Oh my,” you chuckled, wiping a smear of chocolate off his cheek with your thumb. “You’re going to be as messy as the kitchen.”

Jack beamed up at you, not bothered at all by the chocolate mayhem. “Papa’s going to love it, right?”

“He will,” you said with a smile, finishing the last of the plating. “Especially when he knows you helped.”

Just as you were setting the dishes out on the kitchen island, you heard the familiar sound of the front door opening. The deep baritone of Toto’s voice followed, speaking a quick goodbye to someone on the phone before he hung up. Jack's face lit up with excitement, and he dashed out of the kitchen to greet his father.

“Papa’s home!” he yelled, his little feet padding down the hallway.

Toto chuckled from the doorway, scooping Jack up into his arms the moment he came barreling into him. “There’s my boy,” Toto said warmly, planting a kiss on Jack’s chocolate-smeared forehead. “Have you been helping Mama again?”

Jack nodded vigorously. “I made the sauce!”

Toto raised an amused eyebrow, following Jack’s enthusiastic pointing toward the kitchen. “I can see that. Very creative.”

You couldn’t help but laugh when they both walked into the kitchen, Jack still perched in Toto’s arms. Toto’s eyes swept over the mess of the kitchen, landing on the immaculate plate of ravioli you had just finished arranging.

“Well, it’s always a good sign when the kitchen looks like a war zone,” he teased, setting Jack down. “Means something special is about to happen.”

“Let’s hope the food looks better than the kitchen,” you said, wiping your hands on your apron.

“I’m ready for my duties,” Toto said, rolling up his sleeves in an exaggerated gesture, a familiar twinkle in his eye. “What culinary adventure have you prepared for me this time?”

You placed the plate of ravioli in front of him with a flourish. “Ravioli with a chocolate reduction sauce. A little sweet, a little savory. And Jack was my sous-chef today.”

Toto glanced between you and Jack, clearly trying to keep a straight face. “A chocolate sauce, you say?”

“I stirred it!” Jack piped up again, climbing into the chair beside his father. “It’s good!”

Toto gave him a playful nod. “Well, if Jack says so, then I trust him. Here goes nothing.”

With that, Toto picked up his fork and carefully cut into the ravioli, making a show of sniffing it dramatically. He took a bite, chewing slowly while you and Jack watched with bated breath.

After a pause that felt much longer than it needed to, Toto’s face broke into a wide grin. “Incredible. Absolutely perfect,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Sweet, savory, just the right amount of balance. Jack, I think you’re a genius.”

Jack’s chest puffed up in pride. “Told you!”

You let out a relieved laugh, playfully rolling your eyes at the theatrics. “I thought I might have lost my touch there for a second.”

“Never,” Toto said, reaching out to squeeze your hand. “Though I have to say, I was a little worried when I saw the chocolate…”

“You doubt me?” you said with mock offense.

Toto grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Never. But Jack’s taste is a little more… adventurous than mine.”

As if to prove his point, Jack was already poking at the leftover chocolate sauce on his plate, dipping his fingers in and licking them happily. “It’s the best sauce, Papa. Better than what you have on race weekends.”

“Is that so?” Toto asked, pretending to be offended. “Well, maybe I should ask the Mercedes team chef to take some notes from you two.”

“I’d be happy to share my recipe,” you teased, sitting down beside him. “But it’ll cost you.”

“Oh?” Toto raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “And what’s the fee?”

You leaned in closer, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Another date night.”

Toto smirked, leaning in just as close. “Deal.”

Before you could steal a quick kiss, Jack interrupted with a loud, “Ew, Papa, no kissing!”

You and Toto both burst into laughter, and Toto ruffled Jack’s hair. “Alright, alright, I’ll spare you this time.”

Jack grinned, pleased with himself, and then clambered off his chair. “Can I have more sauce, Mommy?”

“Only if you promise not to wear it this time,” you said, eyeing the chocolate stains on his shirt.

As you got up to serve Jack another small portion, Toto stayed seated, watching the two of you with a contented smile. These moments—the little everyday joys of being together as a family—were what he looked forward to most after long days spent at the track or in meetings.

“You know,” Toto said, breaking the comfortable silence, “I think this one is good enough to serve at the next team dinner.”

You turned, eyebrow raised. “Really?”

He nodded, a playful smirk on his lips. “Absolutely. I can already picture Lewis and George fighting over the last plate.”

You laughed at the image. “I’m sure Jack’s chocolate sauce will be the next big thing in Formula 1.”

“World champion sauce,” Toto declared, raising his fork like a trophy. “Courtesy of my talented wife and her apprentice.”

Jack beamed, holding up his spoon in victory, mimicking his father’s gesture. “Yeah, world champion!”

You shook your head fondly at the two of them. “Well, before you go declaring any more world championships, how about we clean up this kitchen?”

Toto groaned dramatically. “Ah, the real challenge.”

“Papa, I can help!” Jack offered, hopping off his chair once again.

Toto exchanged a glance with you, his eyes softening. “Alright, buddy. Let’s tackle this together.”

The three of you spent the next while cleaning up, Jack eagerly running around with a small towel, trying his best to wipe up the counters (which mostly meant moving the mess around). But despite the chaos, there was an undeniable warmth that filled the room—one that came from shared moments, laughter, and love.

As the last of the dishes were put away and the kitchen began to resemble something more functional, Toto pulled you into a gentle embrace, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Thank you for this, liebe. It’s exactly what I needed today.”

You smiled, resting your head against his chest. “I’m just happy you like being my taste tester.”

“I love it,” he said softly, his arms tightening around you. “But not nearly as much as I love you.”

“Papa, come on!” Jack’s voice cut through the tender moment as he tugged at Toto’s sleeve. “Let’s go play!”

Toto chuckled, releasing you but not before planting one more quick kiss on your cheek. “Duty calls,” he said with a wink, before scooping Jack up in one fluid motion.

As you watched them disappear into the living room, their laughter filling the air, you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of contentment. Life was messy, but it was yours—perfectly imperfect.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[blueicequeen19]

The Rich & The Damned

Warnings: unprotected sex, implied sexy accountant, public car sex, choking

How did I get here? Men usually paid annual salaries just to get a few minutes of my time but now.. I’m in the front seat of a Rolls Royce for free. With a man who doesn’t respect what I do. Who wants me to quit my job and be his good little wife. He infuriates me. He belittles me. But fuck.. his touch turns my PHD brain into mush.

I’m good at what I do. I recognize my skill set and I know how to play powerful men. I’ve paid my bills with cash in advance for years and put myself through Ivy League schools that only care about last names. I don’t have a big name but I have loaded pockets and that speaks volumes. So why the fuck am I on this man’s lap, dying for a scrap of attention when he can no longer be bothered to come inside to see me?

“Fuck me.. please.. I need you.” I whine, tugging on his hair as he peppers kisses along my throat and collar bone, large hands palming my thong-clad ass and rock me against his erection.

“Come home with me.” He growls, taking a chunk of my flesh between his teeth and making me hiss as I shove his head away.

“I told you not to mark me.” I snap, glaring at him even as his blue eyes shine with amusement and mischief.

“And I told you if you wanted back in my bed, you had to stay off the pole.” His words sting, even with the red lipstick smeared across his mouth. If anything the smirk on his face combined with the red smear made him look even more sinister.

I pull my lips back in a snarl as his hand slides between my parted things to cup my pussy. I slap at his hand but his free hand finds my throat, pushing my back against the dash and squeezing hard.

“You’re not for them.” He growls, tucking my thong to the side before shoving two then three fingers inside me. My eyes roll back into my head, my pussy gushing in his hand as he strokes my sweet spot.

“I-I’m not yours.” I rasp, riding his hand like a desperate whore. God, I’d agree to anything right now if it meant I got to feel his fat cock inside me again. Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen to my brain as he squeezes even harder.

“Don’t lie to me. You’re not very good at it.” His words light me on fire again, making me dig my nails into his chest as I try to lift off his hand. The hand around my throat drops to my chest and he yanks my bra down so my breasts spill out.

“I guess we’re both liars.” I purr, just as his hot mouth closes around my nipple and sucks hard. I was so close to my orgasm I could feel it in my toes. I throw my head back as I shamelessly ride his hand but I desperately craved his cock instead.

“Maybe if you’d stop treating me like one of your customers.” I yelp when he’s teeth sink into my nipple so hard, I know there’s blood. Or the very least, a new piercing. His fingers leave me aching and needy in their retreat.

“Stop treating me like a whore and maybe I’d treat you like someone who actually means something to me.” I bite back, shoving his chest hard as I hear the sound of his belt buckle. When his cock springs free between us it takes everything in me to keep my composure. His large hand wraps around the thick shaft as he strokes himself almost lazily. The tip leaked clear drops of precum that I desperately wanted to chase with my tongue.

“Fuck me in my bed and maybe I’ll believe you’re somebody else.”

I was so fucking weak for him. I wanted to choke on it even if it meant I didn’t get off. If he fucked my throat until it was raw, I’d say thank you like the obedient slut I was. But only for him. Only ever him. So why didn’t he get that? I’d fuck him in front of every single client I had just to show him I was his. He could lead me around on a leash if that’s what it took.

I reached back to unhook my bra and let it fall to the floor before wrapping my hand around his on his cock. I savor the way his eyes become hooded and his breathing becomes labored just from my touch. I loved that he was as weak as I was.

“You—,” I brought my other hand up to his throat, squeezing the best I could until his eyes fully dilated while I lifted myself up on his thighs, “—don’t own—,” I notched his thick cock at my entrance and sank down one excruciating inch, “—me.” I sank down the rest of the way, my body welcoming the pain and stretch of him as his breathy moans met my ears.

It was always in moments like these where it became obvious that Rafe Cameron was fucking mine.

[munson-blurbs]

Everybody Talks (Best Friend!Eddie x Fem!Reader)

Summary: You've worked hard to keep your crush on your best friend a secret, since he doesn't feel the same way. But when the Hellfire Club members open their big mouths, it threatens everything you've tried to hold together.

Warnings: some angst, fluff, mentions of financial insecurity

WC: 1.5k

--

“Pizza’s here!” you call out, carrying a stack of pies into the Wheeler house. “I got one pepperoni, one mushroom, and one plain for all the boring people,” you tease, looking directly at Eddie as you say it.

“I prefer classic,” he retorts, taking the boxes from your hands and setting them on the table. The rest of the guys start to crowd around him, paper plates in hand, practically drooling at just the sight of food. “Hey, hey,” he chastises, pushing them out of the way, “ladies first.” He offers you a plate and you take a slice, quickly moving aside before you’re trampled by the herd of hungry teenage boys.

“So,” Gareth says to Eddie between bites, “your last Hellfire campaign is over and done with. How’s it feel?”

“You wish,” Eddie scoffs, plopping down next to you on the sofa. “Just because I’m graduating doesn’t mean I’m done kicking your asses in D&D.” He chugs his plastic cup filled with Mountain Dew and wipes his lips with the back of his hand. “Anyone else want a refill?” he asks, shaking his empty cup before looking over at you. “Oh, shit; you don’t have anything to drink. Diet Coke, right?” Before you can protest that you can get it yourself, he’s up and pouring you a glass.

“Thanks,” you smile, taking a sip. The bubbles fizz on your tongue as you lean back, careful not to get too close to Eddie. Not that you don’t want to; the mere thought of him draping his tattooed arm around your shoulders makes you giddy. 

Just a few more months, you think to yourself, and I’ll be off at college, meeting new people, and I won’t have to worry about my embarrassing crush on my best friend.

“You guys ready for prom tomorrow?” Mike asks, interrupting your pity party.

Jeff nods. “Just gotta pick up a corsage for Barb, and she’s getting me a, um, a…”

“Boutonniere?” you fill in helpfully, and he snaps his fingers and replies, “yeah, that thing.”

“What about you?” Lucas pipes up, turning to Eddie. “You ever decide who to ask?”

“Oh, he decided,” Jeff laughs, earning a scowl from his friend. “Too bad she decided to go with Jason Carver.”

Dustin throws his hands up in exasperation. “Dude, you’re still hung up on Chrissy Cunningham?” He rolls his eyes. “I told you; she’s sweet, but she’s not your type. You need someone who’s as nerdy as you are.” His eyes scan the room. “You know, like Y/N.”

You feel your cheeks burn with humiliation, not at Dustin calling you a nerd; you know he means that with utmost affection. It’s not even the idea of Eddie asking you out that has you nervous; it’s the prospect of him laughing at the thought. You’ve done a great job hiding your puppy love a secret from him, and you’d like to keep it that way.

“Ha!” Gareth barks out. “She wishes!”

No. No no no.

Tears spring to your eyes, and you can’t think of a decent excuse to leave before you’re dashing through the door, letting the screen slam behind you. There’s no lie in what Gareth said; you do wish Eddie had asked you to prom. Every time that the subject of the dance came up, you’d waited with baited breath to see if he’d say something to you. But he’d always ignore it, eager to move on to the next topic. And now you knew why: he wanted to take Chrissy, but she was in love with someone else. How ironic.

You’re almost at your car when you hear the squeak of the front door opening. “Sweetheart, wait!” Eddie shouts, probably a bit too loud for the short distance between you two. “I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you tell him softly as he jogs over to where you’re leaning against the passenger side door. “‘S not your fault.”

“Kinda is,” he shrugs, bringing you to the front steps and motioning for you to sit next to him. “I mean, I was the one who went to a freshman for romantic advice. That’s the last time I do that; I don’t care how nauseatingly cute he and his singing girlfriend are.” He gives a small chuckle, but neither of you meet the other’s gaze.

Hold on. Freshman? Singing girlfriend? “Eddie, what are you talking about?”

Eddie stops gnawing on his lower lip long enough to answer you. “I’m talking about you being embarrassed by Henderson’s painfully obvious last-ditch effort to get me to man up and finally ask you out.” His brows furrow when he sees your similarly confused expression. “That’s not…what are you upset about?”

“Um, Gareth blabbing to everyone that I wanted you to ask me to prom?” You finally allow yourself to look at him, noticing the dejected look on his face. 

“I couldn’t do that,” he mutters, resting his palm sideways over his mouth and shifting his body away from yours. His words come out all muffled, but you can still make out what they are.

“I wouldn’t have said no to you,” you reassure him, mustering up all of your courage to place your hand on his bouncing knee. He relaxes almost immediately, but he still seems sad. “Eds, what’s wrong?”

His eyes are misty when he turns back to you. “I couldn’t ask you to prom because…because I couldn’t afford it,” he confesses, twisting his skull ring around his finger anxiously. “The tickets, a tux, those fancy wrist things…best I could do is steal some flowers from Mrs. Wheeler’s garden.” He hums out a sad laugh. “‘M sorry, sweetheart. I wanted to take you, but I knew I’d just be letting you down.”

“But Jeff said you were going to ask Chrissy,” you point out.

Eddie shrugs. “Don’t get me wrong; Chrissy’s nice and everything, but I just said that so he’d get off my back. Because if I told him the truth, he wouldn’t shut up until I made a move.” He sighs. “His dad’s a lawyer, and his mom runs her own business. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to worry about having enough food in the house, let alone all the extra shit like prom.”

You’re quiet for a beat, letting everything sink in. You knew Eddie lived in Forest Hills Trailer Park, and you knew money was often tight. Wayne worked hard to keep a roof over their heads, but the plant didn’t pay nearly enough. There were many occasions where you’d spotted Eddie eyeing something in the grocery store and instinctively thrown it in your cart for him, but for some reason, it hadn’t even occurred to you that finances was the reason he’d avoided talking about the prom.

“I wish you’d told me,” you finally say. “I would’ve understood.”

“Yeah, I know.” Eddie rubs his nose against his hand, another nervous tic of his. “That was never the problem. You’re the most understanding fuckin’ person I know. You just…I dunno. You deserve the whole ‘prom’ experience, not whatever half-ass version I could offer you.”

At that, you can’t help but giggle. “Eddie,” you begin, “do you really think I wanted to go to prom so I could wear a fancy dress and uncomfortable shoes in a stuffy gym? I just wanted to dance with you, and then spend the night on your couch watching stupid movies and eating junk food and talking shit about everyone who was there.” You look deep into his chocolate brown eyes, nearly losing yourself in their beauty. “I just wanted to be with you.”

Eddie stares at you, gaze traveling down to your lips. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“If you don’t, I’ll kiss you.” 

Your mouths crash together clumsily, but you’re too happy to care. You soak in every part of it: Eddie’s stubble rubbing against your chin, the way he tastes like stale cigarettes and marinara sauce, his curls brushing your cheeks. He only breaks the kiss to take a breath, and then he’s back, more purposeful in his movements the second time around. He brings his hand to your jawline, caressing it gingerly with his thumb as he parts your lips with his.

“Can’t believe I just did that,” he muses, smiling at you shyly. “Been wanting to kiss you for too goddamn long.” He leans in, frowning when you place your hand on his chest to stop him. “What?”

“You gotta take me on a date before you kiss me again,” you inform him, lacing your fingers through his. “When are you free?”

“Uh, right now? We can grab ice cream at Scoops. Lemme just get my keys.” He stands up quickly to head back towards the house.

“Wait, Eddie,” you call out to him, “what about the guys? And pizza night?”

“Who cares? I have a date with the most beautiful girl in Hawkins.”

--

[butteredfrogs]

hello i feel like there has been a lot of negativity in the sims community recently so i wanna show some love to my fav simblrs <3 i’m sure someone has made a similar post already but i just wanna show some love to some of my fav blogs! (disclaimer i may sound like a broken record because there are so many talented and lovely people i know on this app but yeah)

@squea you already know but i appreciate you so much literally one of the sweetest and best people ever and ofc the creator of the legendary corn who i’m sure most people already know and love <3 but also you’re so talented and you make such amazing sims as well!!

@solargrove again literally just one of the nicest people ever, and also just your sims and just general aesthetic are so warm and cozy and i love it so much <3

@druidberries again the creator of the iconic elowen who i love so so much her and her spooky lil family!! also just once again such a lovely person and ofc butterberries (need i say more)

@alelelesimz once again so lovely and so talented! like your pokémon sims are stunning im obsessed and the fact you make the poses as well just makes them even better like the dedication and time just is amazing

@folkbreeze literally such aesthetic screenshots, and like such a warm and cozy vibe. also your psds and graphics and edits are incredible you’re so so talented like pls teach me how to edit like you. also like i have said so many times and will probably say so many more times just a really sweet person!!

@stinkrascal the most recognisable and iconic vlad, and also just the dedication and time and love you put into your stories is amazing and really inspiring! i also love reading your oc lore and it inspires me to write more lore for my ocs!! <3

@futurelabs honestly adore your gameplay so much and seeing it on my dash really makes me want to try do my own gameplay😭 also i admire sims builders so much and your builds are always so cozy and lovely!

@crazy-lazy-elder-sims honestly such a lovely and supportive person! also my first ever simblreen you were the first creator i got gifts from and honestly it made me so happy and you just made it such a wonderful first simblreen and it made me really enjoy the event so so much so thank you sm for that and i’m excited to see what gifts you have this year! <33

@wildmelon the BEST fantasy sims ever. also just the most stunning posts in general like your renders and even just cas photos are incredible and i just really love your aesthetic and general vibe it’s very whimsical and i love it <3

@kari-sims adorable sim style!! i love your sims so much they’re so cartoony and animated and bright and they just make me so happy whenever i see them on my dash!

@rattrait again literally such adorable sims and your renders are amazing!! <3

@stellarfalls DO I NEED TO SAY ANYTHING??????? their edits hello??? chefs kiss. incredible

i don’t wanna ramble on too much but some other blogs that i adore and have amazing sims and content that you should defo check out

@aliengirl / @alientown / @fizzytoo / @trashedfruit / @ezra-trait / @worriedrat / @velvet-disc / @zleepyhollow / @kamiiri and probably a ton more that i’m forgetting but just know i adore each and everyone of you that i follow and everyone is so talented and just yeah !!! anyway i wanted to spread some positivity that is all!!!

[matchalovertrait]

Me??????

Thank you to everyone who tagged me for the simblr appreciation 💗 That was @bouncytrait, @elderwisp, @catsinmugs, @bloomingkyras, @woohoojuicesimoleons2,

@spotlessssmiind, and @smulie :)

I am so happy you thought of me and I love your blogs too!!

I’d like to tag everyone, but I can’t do that. However, I can acknowledge all of you whose posts I come across every day! I make sure to hit the like button to let you know that there’s someone here waiting for your next post. If I haven’t been liking recent posts, it’s because I’m reading your story from the beginning. I’m an awfully slow reader, so my apologies. I like to take my time and not rush through the stories to ensure I understand everything and take in all the small details.

Also, I know it can be easy to become disillusioned on here but trust me, there are a lot of incredible people. I see them every day on my dash.

I’ll mention some of my friends here who inspire me. Um, it's kinda long:

@changingplumbob: I don’t know how she balances so many projects at once and does it all with love! Each one of her characters is unique and steals the spotlight. When it comes to her posts, I'm either philosophizing or laughing. It's also admirable how much research she puts into the stories she writes. You can definitely tell!

@deardiaryts4: I love people who do extra things for their sims just like me LOL. She doesn’t have to make a music video or album cover CC. Nor does she have to create actual code for us to solve a mystery, but she does it anyway because she's passionate! She gives it 110% every time with her intriguing story and gameplay.

@ruthplaysthesims goes DEEEEPP into the lore! Blink and you'll miss it. She also has an impressive cast of characters. There are many mysteries in her stories that I am itching to have the answers to. I need to see/know!!!

@abbysimsfun OMG I absolutely love her style of writing, which became a recent influence over my own. She's also a fellow fan and user of Chekhov's guns (I know the name of that literary device now because of her hehehe. No, no actual guns here!). I am captivated by the storytelling!

@dreamyyesenia is so incredibly sweet! She also takes her sims' personalities and interests very seriously and creates the perfect homes/wardrobes for them. She's a master at it and I'm taking notes.

@authorspirit: Her builds are absolutely fantastic. Joy is a smart cookie and she does everything with precision. I really like the chic and regal aesthetic in her posts too. Quite demure

@sharona-sims is my slice-of-life queen!!!! She seems apologetic for the "slow pace" of her gameplay, but I don't mind it one bit. I could keep up with Lily and Michael for the rest of my life, idc, I love them.

@teadreamsims is immensely creative and a great storyteller. I always forget they play on console. That just shows how important imagination is. The gameplay with Fern and the rotational gameplay with the townies happened ages ago but they live in my head rentfree.

@aurorangen: Details details details!!!!! I eat it all up and Rory always gives us extra insight and behind-the-scenes stuff. She's talented in both writing and telling her stories through pictures. And her builds are insane.

@cakepoppresent: Nahhhhh cuz the drama and the wholesomeness, omg. I like how we explore different groups of characters at a time and it never seems like too much. And her videos are everything.

@miralure is on hiatus sadly :( But she definitely left her mark, I never forget her. When I came back to Simblr, I had no idea a lot of people saw commenting as an "embarrassing" thing? She was very welcoming and her mindset is the one I've been following ever since. Because of her, I'm often all up in your guys's comments like nothing lmao. Anyway, her lookbooks were perfection as well as her male sims. Amazing.

@windslar also seems to be on hiatus :( I admire the way she composes her dialogue posts through photos and I've been trying to do it as well as she does. The facial expressions, the angles, etc! It's cinematic.

@cinamun: I don't even have to explain, but I will anyway. The drama, the real-life-issues, the gifs, the heartfelt moments, the plot twists, the in-depth characters, the lore, the background, the wardrobes. Phenomenal work!

[viennacherries]

QUOTH THE RAVEN - CHAPTER 4

Rolan/Tav | NSFW | 5,210 words

Read on AO3

Rolan's POV

thank you for 500 followers, sorry I kept y'all waiting <3

He rouses slowly to the sound of muffled laughter.

Tav’s scent and warmth all around him fills his senses. She smells like leather and sweat, but there's a sweetness that lays beneath it that is purely and wholly her. He finds he enjoys it immeasurably. Almost as much as he enjoys the feeling of having her wrapped up in his arms. Her body shakes lightly. He feels the warmth of her breath and the movement of her lips against his arm, where she tries to suffocate the sounds of her giggles.

Making his voice work so soon after waking is a challenge - Rolan’s never been a morning person - but he manages to choke out words.

“What are you chuckling about?”

She stills slightly in his arms. Perhaps it’s at the sudden realisation that he’s awake, or perhaps it’s how close his lips are to her skin.

“Nothing, really.”

It’s not a very well thought out lie, truthfully, though it doesn't really matter. He just tightens his grip and pulls her closer to him, letting his nose graze the cartilage of her ear.

“Very convincing,” he struggles to keep the rasp out of his words, and she shudders minutely against him, “however for some reason I don't seem to believe you.”

Her voice is gentle, and it has a sweet Baldurian lilt to it that he can’t help but appreciate. Perhaps if it were anyone else, he’d think they sound common, but it suits her so painfully well that he finds he likes it. “I was just thinking about how insane my life has become these last few months… And about how warm you are.”

The laugh that spills from him takes him slightly by surprise, but it's not unpleasant. He finds himself laughing with her often. It’s so incredibly foreign to him, feeling this comfortable with someone, but he can't help the feeling that spreads through his gut when he’s around her.

“I told you before, tieflings run hot.” He’d shrug if he wasn't worried about jostling her. “It’s a blessing and a curse, though admittedly more of a blessing when one finds themselves in a region shrouded by supernatural chill.”

Tav hums her assent.

The silence that follows is sobering. It dawns on him, all at once, that they definitely didn't fall asleep spooning. He wonders who made the move, in the clutches of slumber, to crawl towards the other. He’s quite certain it was probably him.

He feels bashful all of a sudden. Perhaps she’s waiting for him to move away, so that she can be free of his grasp. He has the urge to run, as he so often does when he feels vulnerable, but the idea of not having her in his arms is rather unbearable.

“Are you… Is this…” He’s not quite sure what he’s trying to say. Do you like this? Am I making you uncomfortable? Can I keep holding you? He swallows the questions down before they can spill from him. “... Okay?”

It's not the most elegant thing he could've said, and there's a moment of self-consciousness that runs through him as Tav snorts at him. But then she’s speaking, and suddenly everything is well again. She has that effect.

“Is it okay that I’m wrapped up warm in the arms of a dashing gentleman? I suppose I can deal with it.”

Does she have to be so enthralling? Does she have to be so incredibly lovely in every sense of the word that the very insinuation that she finds him easy on the eyes has his face flooding with heat and his heart hammering in his chest? It’s pathetic, to be honest, but instead of running away like his bones scream for him to, he buries his nose in her soft skin and breathes in a lungful of her. He finds he can't keep the soft smile off his lips.

“Gods, is this what I get for trying to be polite?”

She laughs, and hells if it isn't a beautiful sound. Like the clouds parting after a monsoon. She shifts slightly and locks her fingers with his, and his heart rate ratchets at the simple touch.

Her tone is light. Comforting. “I’m comfortable as long as you are.”

He can't tell her that he's more comfortable than he's ever been in his life, in more ways than one. That he’s never felt so at ease as he does when they tease one another or when her hand grips his. He can’t tell her that if someone came in now, telling him the sky was caving in and the end was nigh, he’d scorn them for interrupting and tell them to leave the pair in peace.

“I suppose I’m amenable to the situation.”

She sees right through him. Squeezes his hand. His heart squeezes with it.

It’s quiet for a moment, before her gentle voice breaks the silence.

“Thank you.”

He scrunches his face in confusion. What could she ever have to thank him for? After everything she’s done for him?

“For what?”

“For yesterday.” She’s so quiet. “For looking after me.”

“Oh, right.” He’d almost forgotten, in the haze of waking up wrapped around her, the situation that had led them here. The ghastly wound on her torso that she sustained when she saved his brother’s life, and by extension his own.

Truly, he’d been terrified when he saw it. When he told her his healing magic was rudimentary, he wasn't exaggerating. Just enough to heal cuts and scrapes sustained by Cal and Lia when they were young and eager to prove themselves. He’d felt bile rise in his throat, seeing up close the way her flesh had split. The wound itself was a clean cut, courtesy of the no doubt recently sharpened blade that left it, but it was deep. He couldn't honestly believe she’d still been standing, let alone that she willingly sustained such an injury in pursuit of his siblings safety. It made his throat feel tight. What could've happened to Cal, what could've happened to Tav.

He's not sure when he became so concerned with her safety.

He shrugs, trying to chase the thoughts from his mind. “It’s about time I did something for you, isn't it? Other than giving you a migraine, that is.”

The laugh that sputters out of her chases every ‘what if’ away.

“Well, either way, thank you. I feel amazing. You've healed things I didn't even know were hurting.”

He can't help the smirk that rises to his lips. “What can I say? I’m nothing if not thorough.” How can he help himself? He’s just a man. A very, very weak one.

“Can I turn over?”

And just like that, his bravado is gone. He’s loosening his grip to let her move, bracing himself to see her face for the first time since waking up curled around her.

The sight punches the breath from his chest.

Because really, truly, she's one of the most beautiful people he’s ever laid his eyes on. She's all soft skin and bright eyes and lightly flushed cheeks, and she’s absolutely gorgeous. Her bottom lip is plump and pink, her top lip curving with a graceful cupid's bow. Her hair, a vibrant red, falls in soft waves around her. It frames her face and her glistening green eyes, parts slightly around the gentle point of her ears.

But it's not even just the fact that she's absolutely breathtaking to look at that has his eyes darting over her, trying to memorise the minutia of her expression, it's knowing exactly what lies beneath. Kindness and selflessness and an absolute burning need to do what's right, no matter the personal cost.

When he had met her, he thought her prideful and conceited, uncaring of the safety of others if it aided her personal goals. He thought that's why she’d insisted they stay at the Grove, to pad out the numbers so that her body wasn't one that fell.

Instead she came back, bone weary and covered in viscera, with the fight already over and not a single life lost.

She's so inherently good, and he can't help but wonder how he ended up here. Next to her, as broken and imperfect as he is, sharing her air and holding her body. He feels like he’s balancing on the edge of a cliff, trying not to plummet, as though a slight hair moving out of place will send him spiralling through the air and put his whole world off kilter.

And yet he still breaks the silence that’s fallen over them.

“You're feeling better, then?”

She nods, “much, thank you. I appreciate it.”

He doesn't mean to roll his eyes, but he does. “I meant it, Tav, it was the least I could do. I've been rotten to you, and you saved us.”

There's a beat of a pause. “You don't owe me anything, you know.”

And Hells, how incredibly wrong she is. How absolutely astoundingly incorrect.

“On the contrary, I owe you absolutely everything.”

She doesn't comment, so he raises his hand to her cheek. It stands out so starkly against her pale skin. She is soft and elegant where he is rough and flawed. His red skin looks like a blemish on her beautiful face, but he can't bear to not hold her like this. Can't bear for her to feel for a moment that she isn't precious. He stares straight into her eyes, trying and failing to keep the emotion from his voice.

“You saved me, then my family. Gods, you-” he chokes back the words he almost says. You could've died. It doesn't bear thinking about. “I owe you more than I could ever possibly repay you in one lifetime.”

Tav’s eyes stay locked with his. “You don't have to repay me. I like helping the people I care about.”

He knows she doesn't mean it like that. It's completely innocent. A gentle comment on the unlikely friendship that has formed between them after everything that has happened. And yet it makes his heartbeat stutter and his hands clam up. He doesn't deserve her, he reminds himself, but the questions wrenches from him anyway.

“You care about me?”

It's not what she meant. It’s cruel to insinuate otherwise. Cruel to put her in a position where she can hear the hopeful tone in his voice before she cuts him down. But she just flushes crimson.

“Obviously.”

And fuck, what can he even say to that? What can he possibly give her in return for the feeling of hope that radiates through his veins and spreads to every one of his extremities.

When he speaks, it's around a smile he didn't realise he was wearing. “Well, now I owe you even more than before, because I’m quite sure I’m the happiest man this side of the realms.”

She sputters out a laugh and his smile spreads wider. “Well, if you’re dead set on showing me your gratitude, I’m sure we could come to an arrangement.” Her eyebrows waggle like two gleeful slugs and he sputters out a comment about how incredibly incorrigible she is, but it blurs into the background because he's kissing her.

He’s kissing her, and it feels like coming home. It feels like the first salve of the hearth as you rush to escape the cold, biting and soothing against frostbitten skin all at once. It feels like the first thaw as winter ceases, the sun peeking through the clouds and reflecting off the snow as it melts. His heart jackhammers in his chest, and then she's sucking on his bottom lip and wrenching noises from him he didn't even know he could make, and wow- the hearth is lit and the whole house is moments away from catching ablaze.

Rolan moves his hand to her hip, because frankly he’s absolutely desperate for her, and he has been since she first kissed him. She's rolling her hips and sighing into his kiss and he feels like he’s just hanging on for the ride. He’d be embarrassed by how loud he is, but it seems to spur Tav on, and isn't just the thought of that enough to have his cock straining against his breeches.

He’s pulled out of his reverie when he feels her fingers tracing along his chest, over the cartilaginous ridges that line his sternum.

Even pulling back to look at her in all of her beauty doesn't ease the ache that thrums through him.

Because this is where she realises just how different they are, how much better she deserves. How a monster like him isn't worthy of warming her bed, let alone her heart.

He can't hide the bitterness from his voice, “another joy of my infernal heritage.” He plasters on a smile that even he knows is half hearted, and probably looks as false as it feels.

Her hand stills.

Her eyes scan his, and he braces for the rejection.

“You're beautiful, Rolan.”

And he laughs, he actually laughs, because who does she think she's fooling? Certainly not him. People are attracted to tieflings in the same way they're attracted to skydiving. They like the danger, the thrill, the feeling of doing something they shouldn't be. Rolan’s body is nothing but a novelty that he knows is quick to wear off, so he selfishly leans in for another kiss before it does.

She stops him.

“I mean it. You're beautiful.”

His brow furrows as he scans her face, searching. He's not entirely sure what she gains by lying to him about this. He's already hard against her, desperate and aching for whatever she deems him worthy of. He can’t quite ascertain why she would say these things, unless she truly believes them, and that certainly can't be the case.

And then she's on top of him.

He doesn't have time to protest, barely has time to suck in a surprised breath before her thighs are straddling him and she's leaning forward. His hands fly out of their own accord to grip her hips.

Her lips land on his forehead, and his eyes drift closed. “You’re beautiful.” The words rattle around in his skull, devoid of anything other than her words echoing through it. “You were beautiful when I met you in the Grove-” her lips trail softly to his temple, and he barely holds back a pathetic sounding whine, “you were beautiful when I found you in those shadows-”. Her hair falls around the pair of them, and it traps the smell of her soap and skin in the cocoon of safety she's created.

It’s just them.

“-and you're especially beautiful now.”

Then her lips are ravaging his own, and he’s trying not to cry as he pulls her as close as he physically can, merging her body to his like they’re two halves of one whole, like a final return to normalcy after a lifetime of living through the extraordinary. Their tongues dance like the push and pull of the tide, and maybe someday he’ll stop writing poetry when she kisses him, but right now he can't fathom it.

When she pulls away he can hardly breathe, he's gasping and gulping for air as if he’s just come to the surface after drowning, which he has. There are tears pricking at his eyes that he prays she can't see.

“Gods, Tav, you-” you can't mean it, “you're so-” you're so fucking perfect, “how do you always-” how do you always know just what to say? How do you see right into my soul and read what's written there like it was placed there just for you?

“Hells.”

He buries his face in her neck, because looking at her right now is too much, she's too much.

“I haven't-” I haven't earned this, “I don't deserve it. I don't deserve to have you like this. I want you so desperately it hurts but-” but you deserve so much more than I can give you. “Gods, you're so-” resplendent. “You're perfect and I’m just-”

Her core grinds down on his and all thoughts leave his mind in a whirlwind of lust and longing. His head slams back against the pillows, almost catching his horns on the headboards, but he's so lost in her he barely even notices.

“Well I’m here. And I want you.” She angles her hips downwards and drags her cunt along his length, and even through two layers of clothes it has his brain rebooting and air punching out of his lungs. “So what are you going to do about it?”

He's never sobered quicker.

His eyes fly open (he didn't even realise he’d closed them) and he's greeted with the sight of her above him, radiant and warm and absolutely everything.

And really, he never stood a fucking chance.

She's under him in an instant, gasping in surprise at the sudden switch in positions and his mood. But fuck, she wants him do something about it? She wants him?

He leans in, slowly, slowly, until they're almost kissing. He hisses the words through his teeth.

“I'm going to make sure you never want anyone else again.”

He crushes her lips with his own, fitting them together and pushing closer until the only air he can breathe is hers. Because she’s ruined him already, absolutely thoroughly ruined him for anyone else ever, so fuck if he isn't going to try and do the same. Heavens forbid she ever lay with another man, he needs her to think of this night, of him. So he kisses and grinds and bites at her until her sighs turn into whines and she's grinding back up against him, and he’s swallowing every noise she makes and praying to every deity he can think of that he remembers exactly what she sounds like for the rest of his days.

He lets his claws graze at the skin just below her sleep-shirt, pulling back to look at her as he toys with it. The heaving of her chest as she struggles for breath fills him with satisfaction, but he needs to see it better. Without barriers between them.

“May I?”

She nods without hesitation and that alone has him pulsing in his breeches, but he strips her torso slowly. As desperate as he is for her, he wants to savour her like this.

He smirks when he sees shivers race through her body. He did that.

Her breasts meet the cool air of the room and he watches as her nipples pebble. He takes one in his hand, rolling it experimentally. She gasps.

“Look at you.” He can't help himself. “You're divine, Tav, you know that? All power and glory and incredible beauty, and yet you're here in bed with me.” He truly can't believe his luck. “I should think I’m dreaming.” If he is, he hopes he never wakes up.

“I won't be in bed with you much longer if you don't start touching me properly.” She’s going for annoyed, he thinks - frustrated perhaps. It just comes off needy, and he absolutely fucking loves it. It makes him laugh.

“Oh yes, I forgot to mention impatient, didn't I?” So eager. So-” he brushes his lips along hers, “greedy.”

He twists her nipple, slightly harder than he meant to actually, but it has her back arching off the bed into him and his mind goes blank. He kisses and teases and caresses her until she’s moaning more than she's breathing, and he can't get enough of her.

He kisses his way down her chest, taking a nipple into his mouth and lapping at it. Her reaction is immediate and intoxicating. He holds her down as she writhes and hisses, and before long she looks as desperate as he feels.

“Hells, Tav…” He can hardly catch a breath, his fingers replacing his mouth on her chest. She shudders. “Gods above, you're perfect. Writhing and shaking for me already. I’ll make you feel so good darling.”

She just moans in response. His cock jumps.

“Let me, please? Please?”

He can't hide the need in his voice. He wants to make her feel good. He needs it more than he's ever needed anything else in his life. He needs her to praise him and beg him and tell him how incredible she feels.

“You already are.” The words are barely there around her laugh.

He can't help leaning forward to taste her lips again as he preens silently, then he shakes his head determinedly. “I want to do more. I need to. I need to make you cum around my hands and against my mouth and-” He can't breathe. His lips dance over hers with every word. “Can I have you, Tav? Please?” He's so fucking desperate. “Can I have all of you?”

Tav reaches up and grabs his face, and for a moment he’s terrified. He's said too much, he’s being too much.

“You have me Rolan.” She whispers it into the space between them. “I’m yours.”

He can't fucking breathe.

“Say it again.”

Her eyes shine in the low light of the room, full of earnest. “I'm yours, Rolan.”

Between her confession and the way his name sounds on her lips, he’s gone.

He kisses her so hard he thinks his mouth might be bruised tomorrow, the points of his canines catching on the thin skin on the inside of his own mouth, but he doesn't care. He kisses her mouth, then her neck, then her chest, then her stomach, peeling her remaining clothes away as he descends, until he's tucked into the space between her legs and staring at her pussy.

She's fucking beautiful. Her folds are soft and pink like her lips, glistening with her arousal, and all he can think is that he did that. He made this beautiful woman wet, made her clit so hard it peeks through the soft skin that conceals it. He’s never been more turned on than he is at this moment, staring up at her body from her gorgeous cunt. He traces a single digit featherlight along her seam and her whole body shudders.

His voice is raspy even to his own ears when he finally finds words. “I’d like to taste you, if that's okay?”

She nods, but that isn't enough. He needs to hear her say it. Needs her to tell him she wants his mouth on her.

“Strange, I’m certain I remember you speaking the common tongue before.” He feels the smirk work its way back onto his face as she glares daggers at him from above. “I’m quite sure I can't touch you further without your explicit verbal assent-”

“Gods,” her voice is a high pitched whine, “please.”

So he does.

He's tentative at first, but the first brush of his lips against her core has her arching and sighing into him, and from there it isn't hard to lose himself in the way she grinds down onto his face. He catalogues every noise, every flinch and breath and clench of her thighs, desperately seeking what makes her feel the best. When he flattens his tongue against her, trying to taste as much of her as possible, her whole body jolts violently and she lets out a loud sob. He does it again to the same end, and before long he’s pinning her hips to the mattress and moving his tongue over her in earnest as she threads her fingers through his hair and pulls.

Her body is a temple, her cunt is the altar, and his tongue laving over her is the closest thing to worship he can think of. She tastes like salvation.

Her noises get higher and higher pitched, her hips rocking desperately, until her voice cracks and her legs spasm and suddenly she’s spilling into his mouth. He drinks from her deeply, swallowing her musk until her hips are stuttering.

When he finally wrenches himself away from her body, their eyes meet, and he can barely stand it. Her pupils are huge moons against the green of her irises. Every rise and fall of her chest has her tits jostling enticingly and he has the overwhelming urge to hide her from the world so that no one else’s dirty gaze ever sweeps across her again.

“Rolan.” Hells below, her voice is wrecked. “Fuck me.”

He’s pretty sure he blacks out.

When he’s once again aware of the world and the fact he exists within it, he’s tearing his shirt away from his skin. The appreciative gaze she sends over his torso has him preening.

His voice comes out ragged. “It would be my pleasure.”

And then he’s naked, all of their clothes forgotten, his body covering hers. The feeling of her soft, naked body pressing against his own makes him shiver. He gulps air greedily as he tries to remember how to breathe. She lifts one leg and hooks it over his hip, and that very much doesn't help.

As he gazes down at her, she looks right back at him, her expression raw and open, and he butterflies his touch across her cheek, just under her eyes. He feels like if he looked into them for too long, he’d drown, but he can't bear to look away.

And he could. He could drown in her. He could lose himself completely in everything she is and everything that she’s yet to be. He could lose himself in her body and her soul. He could be hers, if she wanted him to be.

The thought is terrifying.

Rolan has never wanted to belong to anyone. He wants to be strong and powerful, and she makes him feel anything but. She drags down every single wall he’s ever built around his heart, brick by wretched brick, and it absolutely fucking terrifies him.

He’s not used to feeling important. Or like his thoughts matter. But as she lays here, her nakedness bared to him, the softness in her eyes tells him that he is. That he matters. That he matters to her.

He gulps.

“Did you mean it?”

She looks slightly confused. “Mean what?”

Hells, he feels like he's going to cry. He’s not good at vulnerability. But he’s trying. For her, he’ll try.

“That I’m important to you. That you're mine. Did you mean that?”

Because he needs her to. He has to know she means it before he gives himself to her like this. Before he gives her this piece of his body and his soul that he's never wanted to give anyone else. Because if she takes this from him, she’ll be taking a piece of his heart with it, and he’s sure he'll never get it back. He’s sure he’ll never be able to give it to anyone else.

There's a soft, caring smile on her face, and it turns his insides to clay. She brushes her hand over his face, and he leans into it.

“I meant it.” She whispers. “Every word.”

That piece of his heart is forever hers.

He presses their foreheads together, looking into her eyes the best he can. He hopes she can see how much she means to him.

“Then I’m yours.” He can barely hear his own voice, but it's the gentlest it's ever been. “You're mine, and I’m yours.”

Then he's sinking into her.

He’s surrounded by wet heat as he slowly inches further inside her, and neither of them are quiet as their bodies join together. He's never felt anything like it. The impatient grip of his own fist can’t compare in the slightest to the spongy softness of her inner walls, clenching around him like a vice. He makes a small, testing thrust, trying to figure out how to move, and it makes fireworks erupt behind his eyes. He curls his tail around her leg, pulls her as close as he can, and collapses her forehead into the crook of her neck as he desperately tries to suck in air. His mind is completely empty.

“Rolan?”

He doesn’t speak.

“Are you okay?”

It hurts to form a coherent thought that isn't to do with the way she feels around him. “Yes, it's just-” earth-shattering, mind-numbing, life-altering, “I’m just-” trying not to cry, or cum, or both, “You're so tight, I just need a second.”

“Does it feel good?”

He scoffs, because did she really just fucking ask that? As if he isn't currently trying to remind his body that it’s still alive and that there's a heart pumping in his chest? As if he doesn't want to become a permanent resident of her perfect body, making his home at the apex of her thighs?

He lifts his head to scowl at her. “You're joking, right? Yes, Tav, you feel fucking incredib-”

She bears down on him, her muscles squeezing his cock impossibly tight, and he makes a noise more animal than anything else. His hips slam up into her on impulse and holy shit he could cum like this, her walls tensed around him.

He looks back at her, and sees the look in her eyes that tells him it was very much on purpose, that she was trying to unravel him, and the challenge he sees there? That's familiar territory. Spite and a need to win? That's second nature.

“You.” He growls it, and he sees the slight widening of her eyes. He digs his claws into her hips and thrusts and her arms swing wildly for purchase, landing on his shoulder, then forearm, the other grabbing his hip. “You are a fucking minx.”

He starts fucking her, hard and fast, because he's got a taste for it now, a craving for the way she flutters around him with every deep stroke. Her mouth falls open in a silent cry as he sets a punishing pace.

“Fuck, you drive me absolutely insane, you know that?” Words start tumbling from his lips without his permission. “Ever since I- ever since- since you stuck your nose in at the Grove. Hells. You occupy all of my fucking thoughts, Tav.” He’d be embarrassed if he wasn't so completely fucking cunt-drunk. “You terrify me and you put me in my place and I love it- fuck you feel so good.”

She's crying out, her whole body convulsing and shaking as she clings to him and he's never seen any sight more beautiful. No dream or conjuration could ever compare to the sight of her sprawled out below him, her pussy eagerly swallowing his cock.

“Please don't stop, Rolan, holy hells please don't- fuck!”

As if he’d fucking dream of it.

He grabs her by her shoulders and pounds into her, hard and fast and relentless and he’s not sure how he knows what to do but he just does. He was made for this, for fucking her. He’s so desperate to please her, to make her feel good, to make her his. He's muttering into her skin, begging and pleading with her, for what he isn't sure. But it's half gibberish and half Infernal and one-hundred percent pure pleasure and he can't stop himself. He's crying out and groaning and he’s going to fucking cum and he needs her so badly. So fucking badly.

He doesn't know what happens now, he realises.

“Tav, I’m close, I don't-” Does he need to stop? What happens if he stops?

“It's okay,” her reassurances are breathy and full of need, “it's okay, I want it. Please don't stop.”

Shit. He bites into the space between her shoulder and neck, a primal noise from deep in his chest rumbling out as he pistons his hips. She wants his seed in him. She wants him to fill her.

He’s going to fucking die.

He's frantic for it. He reaches down and desperately presses the pad of his finger into her clit, because he needs to know she's satisfied, he needs to feel her cum to know he's done a good job. His pleasure, however blinding it is, comes second to hers.

She makes a noise that almost sounds pained, and then she's clenching around his cock again and there's a rush of warmth spreading over his cock, and fuck she's cumming on him. She's cumming with his cock buried deep in her and that's it, he's finished, he might never breathe again.

There's nothing in his brain except the primal urge to fill her, and his movements grow uncoordinated as he chases his end. She whimpers and simpers and clenches her sensitive hole and that's his undoing.

He bites down on her skin again, and he might be worried about hurting her if the pleasure wasn't so blinding. His orgasm shocks through his whole body in a way it never has before, and there's static in his skull and the soles of his feet and his chest as his toes curl and he spills himself inside her. His cum spills from him in thick, powerful bursts and he chokes and twitches as he fills her with it.

They lay there like that for an age. His body plastered over hers, his cock softening and his cum cooling inside of her while he gasps desperately for air. Eventually, the feeling grows uncomfortable, and with a reluctant groan he slides out of her and rolls to the side.

Everything is silent except for the pounding of his own heart in his ears. He drapes an arm over his eyes and tries to take deep, steadying breaths.

“Rolan, can you…”

Her voice rouses him back to the present. He glances at her past it and meets her eyes. She looks throughly fucked, but slightly uncomfortable, and he realises why after just a moment. He casts prestidigitation, focusing on cleaning his spend from her (though he almost abhors the thought). After another moment, he casts a simple healing spell, and he hears her relieved sigh and feels the bed dip as she relaxes.

It's so quiet all of a sudden.

“That was-”

“Rolan, I-”

They both turn to look at each other at the same time, and a grin breaks out on his face as they both descend into breathless giggles.

He turns his body, props himself up on an elbow to get a better look at her. She's magnificent.

“That was incredible.” The words sound disbelieving, even to his own ears. “You're incredible.”

He reaches out to touch her, a hand resting over her navel, and her own hand comes to cover it. It sends warmth through him.

“So are you.” And Gods, what a lovely feeling to believe her. “I can't believe you hide all of this beneath those robes.”

He’s laughing, real and true and so unburdened by everything that’s happened to him over the last months that it almost takes him by shock. But it shouldn't. It doesn't. Because it's her.

And when it makes her laugh, too? Breathless and weightless and utterly enthralling as her face lights up with joy?

Worth it.

She struggles to talk through her laughter, “and you- you did-” She laughs again, loud and free, “how did you do that? Any of that! Who taught you that?! I need to write them a letter, maybe send them a bouquet.”

It sends him into hysterics despite the rising heat in his face, and he throws himself back down onto the bed, covering his face with his hands to hide his embarrassment. “No one taught me anything, Tav. I was quite sure I’d be awful, if you must know.”

She goes suddenly silent. It stretches. He feels unease brewing in his gut.

Why did he say that?

After another second of agonising silence, he slowly parts his fingers to peek through them at her. He's worried he’ll see disdain there, perhaps disappointment, but instead she just sits staring at him, mouth agape.

“What?”

She blinks. Blinks again. “You're a virgin?”

He makes an incredibly unattractive noise at her bluntness, “was a virgin, I believe. Unless my performance was so poor it doesn't count.”

It's meant as a jest, but he can't help the undercurrent of uncertainty that slips through his words. What if she’s disgusted, knowing he’s never laid with anyone else? What if she feels taken advantage of, that he didn't tell her before?

But her jaw just stays slack, her eyes blinking. He chuckles, bringing a knuckles below her chin and lifting it to meet the rest of her skull.

“Careful, dear, you'll catch flies.”

The pet name slips through so easily it's almost enough to send him spiralling again, but the feeling of her soft skin against his hand keeps him grounded.

She shakes her head, disbelieving, and boy if that isn't a stroke to his ego. “You're lying. That wasn't your first time. I don't believe you. No one knows how to do that the first time.”

He feels his cheeks heating, and wrenches away from her gaze. Truthfully, he was mostly running on instinct and the books he reads before bed. He tries to think of something witty to say.

“... I’m an academic. I studied the matter.”

He fails, evident by the way her eyes light with mischief as she snorts. “You ‘studied the matter’? That's an incredibly polite way of saying you read porn.”

Brilliant. Perfect, even. No, that's fine, he’ll just walk into the shadows outside and let himself turn into dust. That would be preferable, he thinks. He forces a shrug, but it's completely ineffective coupled with his blazing cheeks.

She just laughs, and lays down on his chest, her head over his heart. It feels appropriate.

Not appropriate. That's the wrong word. It feels… right. It feels like that's exactly where she should be, like she's simultaneously always been there and that she's never left.

His heart hammers beneath her. Uncertainty rears its ugly head once more.

It's all gone so awfully, terribly, perfectly quickly, and once again in the silence he begins to wonder when the other shoe is going to drop.

“... You truly meant it? Everything you said?”

Fighting for his life, losing his siblings, staring into the hollow eyes of cultists and supernatural creatures. All of these things he’s faced as of late, and he’s still never been more scared than he is in this moment.

She sits up, looks at him, and he mourns the loss of her head on his chest while simultaneously celebrating the ability to see her face. She doesn't say anything, she just waits, and that almost makes it harder.

“I have to check, before-” he cuts himself off with a deep, shuddering breath.

Before I fall in love with you.

“I have to know, because I won't survive this if you don't. I have to know.”

Because I think I already love you.

She looks at him for a long time, and he's so achingly scared that he’s made it too obvious. That his feelings are written across his face and she's going to pull away. That between giving her his virginity and looking up at her now with nothing but raw vulnerability, he's shown his cards too soon and scared her into folding her hand.

Her eyes drift down to his chest. His heart sinks.

Then she's tracing patterns into it, her touch featherlight, and his breathing hitches.

“I meant it. Every word. I’m yours, if you want me. I can't promise for how long, everything we’re doing is so-” she takes a breath, and he tries to ignore where he thinks that sentence was going. “But I’m yours. If you want me to be.”

And for the umpteenth time in the last few hours, he finds himself completely breathless. When she looks back up at him, their eyes meeting once more, she sees the same vulnerability reflected in her eyes that he feels deep in his stomach, and he just knows. He knows he loves her.

“I want nothing more.”

[suugarbabe]

Hello if I’m remembering correctly you made a post about Blaise Zabini and I was wondering if you feel like it if not ignore about Blaise either falling in love with reader through the course of there stay at hogwarts or either because friends please and thank you

-Mimi🥀

P.S Blaise Zabini is one of my favorite characters and I love him to bits and pieces he’s so underrated🥲

Sorry this took so long, and sorry if there's errors, i did not proof read. but i hope you're still around and didn't abandon me and enjoy this! She's longer.

Funnily enough if someone had told Blaise that he would eventually fall for one half of the whimsical duo and that is you and Luna Lovegood, he would’ve told that person they were off their rocker. When Luna had sat down with his group of friends at breakfast the day after sorting, everyone had a curious tilt in their little eleven year old eyebrows. Draco had slumped his round cheek against his fist while explaining, “Mum told me I had to be nice to her since she’s family.” 

The group had nodded in general understanding that Draco had been referencing Luna, her platinum blonde hair essentially matching his own. Mattheo gave the girl a smirking grin, “I’m always nice to her, aren’t I Lunes? I’m your favorite cousin.” Luna smiled blissfully sweet back at him, “While I do enjoy your presence, Matty, I would prefer that at school you do not set fire to my things if that’s okay.” Mattheo gave a toothy grin as he held out his smallest finger, “Pinky promise.” (He broke that promise by third year but he swears it was accidental)

Theo was the first one to actually point you out, “They both you boys’ cousins?” Blaise had spent enough time at the Malfoy manor in his youth to know that you weren’t related but Draco looked in your direction and answered, “Dunno the other one, she just came when Lune did. Think they’re like a pair or something.” He shrugged his shoulders, going back to fill his plate. Luna took to introducing you to the group, her voice soft and airy even at this young age. You waved a small hand in their direction, a bright aura glowing around you, or at least that’s what it appeared like in Blaise’s young mind. 

Luna informed the group that you had been sorted to her house and had sat next to her in the great hall afterwards during last night's meal, “She complimented my earrings, so I had to wear them again today.” Luna brushed her hair behind her ears showing off the radish shaped jewelry. You nodded at her explanation, “They’re rather dashing, don’t you guys think?” Your voice had a similar airy tone to Luna’s but a little hint of something else that Blaise couldn’t quite put his finger on. Nonetheless the boys all politely nodded, a young Enzo responding, “You mean they’re rather radishing?” He slapped the table as he started laughing hysterically.

When no one else started laughing he rolled his eyes, “Cmon, seriously no one?” You gave him an encouraging smile, “The delivery was quite good but the joke was not, I’m afraid.” Now this, this caused everyone to laugh, which only caused Enzo to pout. Even Blaise seemed to laugh despite the serious demeanor he was trying to keep. That was the first real effect you had on Blaise, and you weren’t even trying. You never really tried.  

Over the next several years Blaise had seen you in passing. As you both got older you started to form your own friend groups. Well, Blaise continued with the rest of the boys while you and Luna formed your own group. In passing you were always polite to him, even though he never really acknowledged you. It wasn’t to be rude, it was just the facade that Blaise had adopted in his clique. Broody, silent type. That’s how everyone knew Blaise. Quiet, in the background, only speaking when spoken to or to absolutely silence someone being an idiot (frequently Theo). 

When Professor Bins had partnered you together for a project, the rest of the boys told him how sorry they were for him. “Whaddya mean?” Blaise wasn’t quite concerned with being partnered with you. You and him were, friendly he supposed. And he knew you were incredibly smart so he wasn’t worried about his grade falling with you as a partner. Seeing his confused look Enzo spoke up, “We mean because you got stuck with with Loopy.” Blaise’s face must have shown his confusion because Theo jumped in, “You know, Looney and Loopy.” 

“Hey, watch it,” Malfoy quipped. Theo raised his hands, “Hey, you know we don’t call her that, besides her friend seems a little worse for wear than she does.” Blaise scoffed, “If we’re talking about worse for wear none of you have place to talk.” Blaise readjusted his bag over his shoulder, “You guys are a bunch of gits, I’ll see you later.” He stalked off, leaving his friends behind as he ventured towards the library to meet you. When he made it through the thick double doors the overwhelming smell of musk and old books flooded his senses. 

Blaise actually loved the library. He loves the old books, the dark academia atmosphere, and the quietness from the absence of his friends who rarely, if ever, stepped foot in the space. In truth Blaise was pretty sure the only way any of them would even know where the library was is if they followed him to the location. 

Taking a deep breath in, Blaise scanned across the viewable tables. Not seeing your form he figured he beat you to the library, so he ventured off to his favorite spot farther in the back. He liked this particular space because it was (1) harder to find and (2) no one usually bothered him there. Rounding one of the bookcases he halted abruptly when he saw none other than you sitting at his table. “W-What are you doing here?” his voice sounded almost squeaky, causing him to clear his throat. 

You looked up from your textbook with a smile, and there was that glow again. A low shining hum that seemed to radiate around you since Blaise first saw you all those years ago. And then it hit him, a visceral punch to his gut, a raging swarm of butterflies overtaking him. All those times he felt his cheeks heat when you said hello to him. That weird feelings of happiness when you two ended up having a class together. The raging anger he had when the boys were seemingly making fun of you earlier. He fucking liked you. Oh gods, he was fucked. You glowed to him. 

He sat down at the table, missing your answer to his earlier question and blowing right past it to get his materials out. He was so hyper fixated on not freaking out, he seemed to be ignoring you on accident. Only when he heard your soft laugh did he look up. “M’sorry did you say something?” You smiled sweetly, eyes soft and kind as you looked at him. Blaise could feel his body temperature rising under your gaze, pulling his tie loose so he could feel like he could breathe again.

You smiled even bigger, biting slightly on your bottom lip. Fucking Salazar she’s trying to kill me, Blaise shook his head slightly, focusing back on you as you started to speak again. “I asked if you wanted to go to Hogsmead with me this weekend.” Blaise’s jaw slacked slightly, “Wha-, erm, sorry, you’re asking me out?” You laughed again, “I figured it was time, I’ve been crushing on you forever and Lunes told me to just be bold with it, no matter how loopy it seemed.” 

Blaise seemed to choke on nothing, having a slight coughing fit before recovering, “You, erm, know about that?” You grinned, and Blaise told himself he’d never grow tired of seeing it on your face, “Do I know that people call me and luna Looney and Loopy? I’m not daft, B. We decided to just embrace it after second year.” Blaise nodded, cheeks heating slightly. “So, do you have an answer, or will I be going by myself?” Blaise did his best to control his stammering, “I, erm, y-yes.” 

You raised an eyebrow, “Yes I’ll be going by myself?” Blaise let out a long sigh as he rubbed his hands over his face, “Bloody hell, Zabini get yourself together. No, I mean, gods, I meant yes I’ll go with you this weekend. I would actually love to go with you.” You bit your bottom lip again to contain the growing smile, “Perfect.” And Blaise was sure of it, that if he wasn’t already, he was going to fall in love.

[singlethread]

Hello! 💕💕💕💕

I am baaaaaack with part 2!

@daffi-990 you hold a special place in my heart. You are always so sweet and build me up. I appreciate you so much and I love you and your works. You are so amazing and your persona is infectious. Mwah 😘

@rosieposiepuddingnpie Interacting with you is always a delight! You are awesome!

@try-set-me-on-fire Omg I love you art and your fics sooooo much! They are so amazing!! You are so talented in so many ways. I love you and your blog mwah 😘

@inell : Inell inell Inell you are so amazing! I always love interacting with you. Thank you for all the support on my works and posts. I really hope you are able to get some writing beans soon. Sending them your way mwah mwah 😘

@bidisasterevankinard : Diana I think you’re always a delight to interact with and I am so happy we’re Mutuals 😘

@wikiangela : Vicki you are always amazing. I love your writing so much especially the Buck driving fic. So happy to call you a mutual as well. 😘

@bekkachaos : bekka oh Bekka I love you and your blog so much. Your writing is so amazing especially your addict Buck fic and it is always so enjoyable to see you on the dash and in my notes! 😘

@saintmoss : vaughnnnn! You are amazing. I always love sending you asks and seeing you on the dash. I am sending you the best my friend. You deserve it. Mwah 😘

@cal-daisies-and-briars cal! I absolutely adore you and your writing is sooooo good! I admire how much you are able to write! It is so impressive. Thank you for always tagging me in my favorite works of yours so I don’t miss any updates! You are amazing mwah 😘

@queerprincesseddiediaz Minnie you are amazing. I love interacting with you and seeing you on the dash. You are amazing. Mwah 😘

@thewolvesof1998 wolf!!!! Dear wolf you will always hold a special place in my heart. You truly helped introduce me to the 911 fandom and make me feel included. Thank you for being you mwah ❤️

@fredmundo chrissssssss!!! Chriss you always make me smile whenever we interact. You always know how to make a planet feel special 🥰😘 thank you for being you and always being so kind and friendly mwah 😘

@marmarthehatterverse : I always love interacting with you! I think you and your blog are amazing! And your buddie sentinel/guide fic is sooooo good. Thank you for all your support. 😘

@playinginthunderstorms Charlie I always think you are a delight. I love interacting with you and reading all your fics. You are so amazing mwah 😘

@untherapized-eddie Jess! You are so amazing and awesome and I always love interacting with you! I am so happy we are Mutuals 😘

@kitteneddiediaz baz!!!!!! I love being Mutuals with you. You are so awesome and amazing!! I love all your fics!! I love interacting with you and seeing you on the dash 😘

@shyaudacity - I absolutely love your writing!!!! Especially your outsiders fics!!! It is sooooo cool to find someone who enjoys the outsiders and 911!! Before I met you I had no idea there was a fandom for the outsiders/how to find it!!! So happy to have met and I think you are so cool and awesome!! 😘

@lemmeaskthedevil - hi Jordan I think you and your blog are awesome! You are so fun to follow and I love seeing you on the dash and interacting with you 😘😘

There are so many others I want to add on:

@exhuastedpigeon @eddiebabygirldiaz @lonelychicago @santakinard @imtheiliad @diazheartsbuckley @disasterbuck @buddiebeginz @moonsharky @chaoticlava101

@kyoteugly @daniwib @aroeddiediaz @enougheddie @mischiefbuckley @hotshotsxyz @jesuisici33 @texasbama @smilingbuckley @loveyourownsmiilee 😘😘😘😘

But seriously, I love all my tumblr Mutuals and followers and others in this fandom so much. You guys really make the fandom experience and I am so happy to have found this little corner of the internet. So to everyone I interact with regularly, I love you all even if I forgot your username, and I’m sorry for that

😘😘😘😘😘😘

And to you, thanks for hosting crush night and letting me gush about all my favorite pocket pals! 😘😘

-❤️🪐

This is so so so wholesome and I’m so glad you wanted to participate in crush night and help me spread some love Saturn!