#like the man was serving all of the seems very open and caring which is very disarming so you fear him a bit

[onomonopetabread]

Giving Hades the temperament of a middle school guidance counselor is probably the greatest use of characterization I have ever seen in my life

[backinmyphase]

Not your husband

Summary: You are going to marry the Satoru Gojo. A dream come true right? Well when he doesn't even show up to the meetings to arrange your marriage, it becomes clear that it's more a nightmare.

Or: Satoru Gojo doesn't even know how attached he will grow to his wife yet.

Pairing: Gojo x reader, 3040 words

Next part Masterlist

Sane Geto AU (I am an Angst writer, but not like Gege. Please excuse any errors in my writing)

The world of Jujutsu was never a world for you.

Born into a clan, which only saw your value in your technique. Born into a family, which only saw your mistakes. Born from a mother, who had the same problems but still resented you.

Born into a world full of curses but still being told you were the biggest of all.

"Don't daydream, you will make a bad impression. And you really can't afford that."

The woman in front of you isn't pleased. She isn't since she knew she wouldn't give life to boy.

It's hard as woman in a Jujutsu clan.

It's not about how your technique can help you, it's about how your technique could help your son at exorcising curses.

"Yes, mother."

She frowns as she looks at you. Displeased she fixes her posture a bit, signaling you to do the same. You obey.

"You can't afford to make any mistakes today. Just do as I told you. I can only hope you have learned anything."

As you nod you realize what all this means. The dress kimono you are wearing. The expensive tea that is ready to serve. The hairpin you have gotten from your mother, who did your hair today.

All of it becomes so real.

Your husband has been decided.

"You won't say anything, until you are being asked." The woman hissed. "And please keep a smile on your boring face, then it at least looks not so simple."

You never discovered your technique and what you could do with it. It wasn't easy. Knowing that everything you did would result in you being married of.

And as you sat here in this big room with your mother, you could only wonder.

Who would your husband be? Could it be someone who understood you?

Someone you could love?

As the door opened you saw your father who looked onto the ground as he spoke.

"They are here."

Your mother only nodded, as your father closed the door. Just a few minutes later the door was opened again.

And a beautiful woman stepped inside.

She smiled at your mother as she took a seat in front of her. But the smile was the same as the smile of your mother. And maybe the same of your own.

As she sat down on the opposite side, you served the tea. The best tea your clan could afford.

For a man that didn't seem to have come.

The woman gave an apologetic smile. "My sincere apologies, but my son... Well he is in a bit of a rebellious phase, which lead of him disappearing before this meeting."

Your mother's smile faded a bit. "Does he know of what importance this meeting is for our clans?"

The woman laughed. "Oh, he knows." She slightly eyed you before she spoke again. "He just doesn't care."

Silence flodded the room. It was like a cold hand slidded down your back as you realized.

"I hope the Gojo Clan will show more interest in our connection. We will be very disappointed if not." The smile of your mother was just as cold as the hand that seemed to choke you.

This was Mrs. Gojo. The mother of the strongest.

Gojo Satoru.

The one who seemingly stood above anyone. The one who jumped at every opportunity to mess with the higher ups.

Who will be your husband.

And he didn't even show up to meet you.

"Of course. He will learn." The woman sighed as she spared you a glance again. Then she smiled that smile again.

And you mirrored it.

"Your future husband isn't the easiest person." The woman sighed as she looked at you. "Even as a baby he knew what he wanted and how to get it."

Not knowing how to react you just nodded.

The woman laughed at that. "But no worries! Even though he is... Difficult, you will love him. He has that effect on people."

Your mouth dried up at the mention of love. How could this woman talk about love at the table your arranged marriage would be discussed? How could she talk about love when you didn't even have a saying in this arrangement? How, when you will marry the strongest?

Satoru Gojo?

"I really hope that he will learn." Your mother smiled while taking a sip from her tea. "He should know that his actions are what keep the Gojo Clan still important. He shouldn't throw that away."

The tension grew a lot, as Mrs. Gojo mirrored the smile and took a sip of the tea. "Well at least I brought him to our Clan. In the end that's the biggest thing a woman could achieve right?"

It was sick. We lived in modern times, but the Jujutsu Society was still so far behind, floating under the radar, with the excuse of making the world a better place.

"It's true." Your mother sighed as she lowered her cup. "The strongest really is the biggest achievement you could have ever accomplished. Being the parent of such a child... But I wonder..."

Your mother now didn't even try to hide her distain. "Why does his mother not have him under control?"

Klirrr

"Because." Mrs. Gojo's hand shook as it held the broken cup. The sharp shards cutting into it. "As a boy, he can have this freedom."

The black tea in your cup grew cold as long with the atmosphere in the room. Your mother stood up and left the room without a word. Her steps filled the silence in the room. And as she closed the door the woman in front of you sighed.

"Difficult woman, isn't she?" Mrs. Gojo let go of the cup shards while hissing. Her mask no longer in tact as she didn't smile anymore.

"Well who isn't?"

She looked at you surprised and then chuckled. "I guess you are right."

On the same day the arrangement was consolidated. It was official.

You will marry Satoru Gojo.

~~

"Suguru, how could this happen? To me?" Satoru whined as he complained to his best friend. "It all has to be a bad joke, right?"

"No, it sounds like a normal thing in jujutsu clans. I'm just confused why you didn't have any saying. You know, as the strongest." Suguru didn't look up from his book as his best friend groaned.

"That's what I'm saying! I don't give a damn about this whole clan thing."

As they were sitting in the park near their mission, they of course already finished not even breaking a sweat, the sun slowly set.

"It is a really bad system. How the clans only strive after power and never consider the lives of their toles." Suguru muttered as he turned the page.

"And now I have to marry a random girl I don't even know!" Satoru groaned again and buried his face in his hands.

"And she has to marry you." Suguru sighed.

Satoru looked at him slightly annoyed. "What do you want to say? Just say it."

"Well, I am sure, she is just as horrified as you at the sound of marriage. I'm just saying you could at least try to get to know her."

"I'm not going there." Stubbornly Satoru shook his head. "Never. I'm not giving them that satisfaction."

Suguru looked up at his friend and now he shook his head. "I pity your soon to be wife."

Offended, Satoru turned to his friend. "Hey! I'm your friend in need here!"

Suguru placed his bookmark gently in his book and then closed it. "Just promise you will show up to the wedding."

Satoru grinned. "Why? You scared of the higher-ups for me?"

"Not for you." He stood up as he looked down at his friend.

"For your wife. If an arranged marriage isn't going well, you know who gets blamed. And what you're doing is just cruel to her."

Gojo didn't say anything as he put on his blindfold.

~

"Do I look pretty?"

You didn't dare be louder than a whisper. "Mother?"

Her sigh gave you confirmation that she wasn't pleased. As she looked you up and down, her frown never disappeared. "As long you don't make that face, it's passable."

She stood up. "For a wedding you look... I just hope your husband will like you at your best."

"Soon to be husband." you corrected her quietly as you looked in the mirror.

"What?"

"Nothing."

She raised a brow but nodded slowly. Then she paced through the room impatiently. "That woman still hasn't given us any signs."

"Mrs. Gojo is probably seating the guests." a little part of you wanted to defend this woman. Your future mother in law.

"Or the groom makes problems again." your mother shook her head, like always when she spoke about the young Gojo.

After he didn't show up to a single meeting, she was sure that Mrs. Gojo didn't raise him right and that she as his mother should be blamed.

It was so pathetic. How you already felt his displeasure, his hatred towards you.

"Mother?"

"What is it?" she was annoyed.

"What was your wedding like?"

...

"Just like this one. It's tradition in our clan." her face was stone cold.

And you felt sympathy for her. She also had an arranged marriage. A wedding in which she didn't have any saying. A husband who she never chose.

"It's the bride's moment." The voice of Mrs. Gojo halled through the room.

Your mother smiled at you. You smiled back.

"Just don't mess it up."

~~

There were too many guests. Mostly people you didn't know. And all of them looked at you, while you made your way to the altar.

Under their stares you felt small.

But there was also this man. This guy with white hair, that stood at the end of your path. This boy that refused to even meet you before the wedding.

He gave you a glance and then continued to stubbornly look straight ahead.

As you stood before him, he didn't seem to be here with his thoughts.

And at this moment you knew he didn't want to marry you. No, you knew that before. But you knew that he would never open up or try to make this work.

And you didn't want that.

"I do."

No, you really didn't. And as he spatted the same words you knew that he was lying too.

~~

"Oh, you lucky girl!" The old woman, you didn't even know, said.

The after ceremony was not nice. All the guests wanted to talk to Gojo and some, not many pestered you. What really stung you was that they made more effort to talk to you than your own husband did.

"To marry such a handsome man." she looked at you and smiled knowingly.

"Of course it's an honor to marry Gojo Satoru as he is an important figure for the jujutsu society." Everything you said sounded like a broken record that lost any meaning.

She chuckled. "You can be honest with me. An heir will be on the way shortly, right?"

You hated this talk about an heir. Hated, hated, hated this people that keep telling you to hurry up and sleep with this man that didn't even look at you.

"We will see."

She laughed at that. And somehow you managed to excuse yourself from the conversation.

The rest of the evening was torture, but you somehow survived. Gojo didn't talk to you. He just disappeared at some point, leaving you alone in the cave of the lions.

His mother was right. He was a difficult person.

You hated that you had to ask around to be driven to his estate. Hated, that he didn't open the door, it was the personal chef that was going to leave. Hated, that you stood alone in this cold house.

He seemed to like to leave you alone. To just go.

You didn't want to sleep at this house. You didn't want to, but where should you go? Where could a place be, where you could hide?

Gojo had places. Not you.

You slept on the couch that evening. Your wedding dress was still on, as you didn't know what in this big house was to wear for you.

~~

"You're an asshole, you know that?" Satoru didn't like to hear that from his best friend, as he stood at his doorstep.

"I just need a place to sleep."

"I said to go to the wedding." Suguru felt like babysitting a toddler.

"And I did."

"Then why are you here? And not with your wife at your house?" Suguru slowly began to lose his patience.

"Can you just let me in, you ass?"

After shaking his head, Suguru opened his door wide enough to let Gojo in.

"Why are you here?" he wasn't going to make it easy for Satoru to forget he left you there.

"Had enough."

"You're such a child." Suguru shook his head. That's what ticked Gojo off.

"Stop it!" He threw his shoes on the floor.

"You can't judge me! Not when you don't know how it feels to have your future stripped from you just because you have been born in this family!"

Suguru kept silent this time.

~~

Your things were shiped to this mansion you should now live in. It wasn't a lot but your necessary clothes. Finally.

Finally you could take the dress off.

The clothing that reminded you that this was real. That your reason in life was already fulfilled and now you should just cease to exist.

No, that wasn't true, was it? You still had to bring an heir.

Will you ever get used to this new prison? You doubt it.

It was so big and cold. So many things but it didn't have this personal touch. It felt empty, unloved. Did Gojo even live here?

Well it seems like he wouldn't if you were here.

It was stupid. You didn't know him, just saw him yesterday for the first time in person. And still it was so clear he wouldn't make it easy for you.

You felt unloved.

"A letter, Mrs. Gojo."

The sudden voice blew you away from your thoughts. Another thing you wouldn't get used to. There were servants for the Clan leader. Like this girl. They were only needed in the kitchen, but it still felt wrong.

And something felt so wrong with being called this name.

"From who?"

The girl before you had a pitiful look. "Your mother." She cleared her throat. "She said, it's about your arrangement."

As you looked down at this paper, it felt like cursed energy was coming from it.

"Oh. Alright, thank you." Hesitating you took the letter.

The girl just nodded and made her way to the kitchen. The silence in this house was haunting.

Again you looked at the letter in your hands, and wished it was only paper. What should you do from now on? How would you spend your life?

Well obviously not with your husband as he wasn't even here.

And you would make sure that he didn't see the letters from your clan.

~~

"You're here." Satoru Gojo didn't seem pleased to see his wife in his house at this evening. Rather displeased, the way he frowned like a little child.

'Well.' you thought. 'That's to damn bad. He should have come to the arrangement hours.'

"Yeah. I have to be."

He didn't even look at you. Humiliation after humiliation. What would your child self say? Seeing that your own husband didn't even look or smile at you? The hopeless romantic would be crushed.

And now they definitely are.

"I see." His voice was barely audible. Oh, what a humiliation this must be for him! The strongest! Not even in control of his own marriage.

You really should pity him. Be understanding. Like the good wife your mother wanted you to be.

But you didn't have the strength to do that. No, you didn't sympathize with this man, that stood in front of you. The one who had the privilege of doing what he wanted till now just because he was blessed. Because he was born a boy.

And you were not.

"My things were brought this morning and Hina showed me around. I already-"

"Who is Hina?" Gojo sounded confused.

"The servant girl. The one who helps to cook?" you couldn't believe him. She even told you that she was working here since 3 years!

"Oh, yeah she. Continue."

You didn't like his tone, you didn't like his attitude, you didn't like that you didn't knew anything about him BECAUSE HE DIDN'T SHOW UP TO ANY-

"I already have my own room. I won't bother you." While trying to keep the bitterness down you started to whisper.

"What?"

As you looked up at him, your mind went blank. For the first time Satoru looked at you. With his big blue beautiful eyes, he looked at you. So mesmerizing that you almost forgot about your bitterness towards him.

Almost.

"I already have my own room. I won't bother you in any mean. We can also eat separately. In fact I would prefer that."

He snorted. "That's childish. Not even eating together."

And that broke the straw. The straw your patience was hanging on sooooo desperately.

"You." you poked his chest with force. "Can't tell me what's childish or not."

Your voice grew a bit. "You can't, not after not attending any meetings, actively trying to get away from me on our wedding day, leaving me alone for our clan people, leaving me alone for the night way to a new house I have to call home now!"

He kept silent. Like all the times you saw him.

"SO EXCUSE ME." You made your way to your room, shouting to make sure he knew what you said.

"IF I THINK MY HUSBAND DOESN'T WANT TO SEE ME AT ALL! AND IF I DON'T WANT TO HAVE MYSELF SUFFER THROUGH IT!"

You slammed the door with force.

You don't think your husband will ever even like you. Or if Gojo would ever even be your husband.

[anakinstwinklebunny]

SUGARDADDY!ANAKIN HEADCANONS

TW: at some point it contains extremely filthy sexual content, so if you're sensitive to that or don't feel comfortable with it, please do not read it for your own safety and comfort. Daddy kink, breast play, praise kink, reader is younger than anakin but she's also off the age! (which means i won't give her specific age, but she's definitely NOT a minor). Lightly relationship with benefits (at first)

Author's note: and he happened to be the rich CEO 🤭

Sugardaddy!Anakin who is at the restaurant for a high-stakes business meeting with some important clients. He’s there to close a deal, his mind fully focused on the negotiations, but the moment he spots you, his attention falters. You’re the one serving his table, and despite the chaos of the busy restaurant, he can’t take his eyes off you. Your charm, your smile, the way you carry yourself—it’s all incredibly enticing to him. He’s captivated by the way you interact with customers, maintaining grace under pressure. After the meeting, Anakin leaves an exorbitant tip, much larger than necessary. Along with it, there’s a business card with just his name and number, a subtle but unmistakable invitation for you to contact him.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who, after you muster the courage to text him, he invites you out for coffee, a subtle test to see if you’re interested. He’s direct but not pushy when he suggests an arrangement—offering financial support in exchange for your company. At first it surprises you, since it's uncommon for you to gain interest from older men..but, he was polite, very polite (you couldn't help but compare him to guys your age). Seemed like a true gentleman with specific needs you were suggested to fullfil

Sugardaddy!Anakin who makes it clear that he’s not interested in just a transactional relationship. He wants to spoil you, yes, but he also craves your genuine presence, your wit, and your warmth.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who made you sign NDA before any further actions. And after that, the first few dates involved extravagant dinners at the most exclusive restaurants, shopping trips where he insists you pick out anything you like, and even trips to luxurious resorts. He loves seeing you adorned in the finest things that his wealth can buy.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who, despite his powerful position, Anakin values privacy and keeps your relationship under wraps. He’s protective of you, not wanting the media or his corporate world to interfere.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who often sends his private driver to pick you up, whether it’s for a date or just to bring you to his penthouse after a long day. He makes sure you’re always comfortable and safe.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who has a soft spot for you that his colleagues would be shocked to see. He’s attentive to your needs, whether it’s something simple like remembering your favorite coffee order or something more intimate, like understanding when you need space or affection.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who is fiercely protective

Sugardaddy!Anakin who takes a genuine interest in your ambitions and goals. Whether you’re in school, pursuing a career, or exploring new hobbies, he’s there to support you—financially and emotionally. He offers advice, mentorship, and even opportunities within his vast business empire.

What starts as a sugar daddy arrangement quickly grows into something deeper. Anakin finds himself genuinely falling for you. The way you challenge him, care for him, and bring a sense of normalcy to his chaotic life makes you more than just a 'sugar baby'

Sugardaddy!Anakin who, the stoic CEO, surprises himself with how open he becomes with you. He shares his fears, his past, and his hopes for the future. You’re the only one who gets to see the man behind the powerful exterior.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who doesn't mind age gap although, when you're sometimes showing him something he has no idea what it is (like social media and stuff). So he's kind of a boomer..just a tiny bit..

Sugardaddy!Anakin who takes you on spontaneous trips to the most exotic destinations. Private jets, luxury yachts, and five-star hotels are the norm. He loves the idea of you experiencing the best life has to offer, especially when you’re together

Sugardaddy!Anakin who often works late into the night, but he makes time to talk to you before bed (sometimes it'd be a call but sometimes it'd be a small talk face-to-face);

He sighed as the door clicked shut behind him, the exhaustion of the day slipping through him as he loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. Despite the fatigue, the thought of coming home to you brought a sense of peace. “How’s my favorite girl doing?” he asked softly, tilting your chin up after walking into the living room.

“I’m alright… just dying to get some sleep,” you murmured with soft voice.

A smile tugged at his lips as he took you in—curled up on the couch, wearing one of his oversized shirts that nearly swallowed you whole. The sight was enough to erase any lingering stress. “Poor girl,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Sorry I’m so late.”

“S’okay…” your eyes heavy with sleep.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he murmured, his arms slipping around your waist to lift you effortlessly. With your legs wrapped around his waist, your face snuggled to his shoulder z he couldn’t help but notice how precious and absolutely beautiful you looked, wrapped in his shirt, with no make-up on. It was a simple moment yet with you in his arms, nothing else mattered.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who is attentive and loves to make you feel special in every way. He’s dominant yet caring (so it makes him a soft dom), always ensuring your needs are met. So the intimacy between you two is intense;

you'd had sex almost daily over the last two months but you, nor him, would never initiated it in half-public before. It wasn't something you'd do, you were more of a private person however...the slight possibility that the driver could glance in the mirror and see you sent a strange thrill cursing down your stomach..

Well, you live once..

It wasn't your first time giving Anakin a blowjob, yet, you still couldn't fully get used to how big he was. How thick and long.

With your watery eyes, you whimpered, tasting the salty sweetness of him before swirling your tongue around his head. Slowly, softly at first, as if checking the territory, them you did it with more confidence, falling into the rhythm of just sucking, licking and bobbing till you were soaked

It shouldn't turn you on like it did. But yet, the feeling of his member filling your mouth, his large hand sank in your hair, his soft groans and whimpers made you twist yourself in pleasure.

Your eyes watery, your underwear wet, your nipples hard and this sensitive skin that burned with never ending fire for this man made you completely forgot how you got here, where you are or even where you're supposed to go

"That's right baby..take every inch like a good girl.." the words slipped through his lightly opened mouth in a moan

He grips your ass cheeks tightly, spreading them apart to get a better angle as he thrusts into you from behind. "Look at this ass, baby...so fucking perfect... gonna fucking own this ass..." He growls, his hands moving to slap your right cheek hard.

You were a mess; holding for dear life to the kitchen counter with nothing but moans leaving your mouth. Not even your eyes could stay open anymore, as they rolled or closed automatically in the feeling

He hisses through his teeth as he feels your squishy walls clench around him, gripping him tightly "That's it, baby...take it all...You're being such a good girl..." h his hands moved to grip your hips tightly as he continues to thrust with more intensity, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the kitchen.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who loves having you ride him;

His fingers dug into your hips, encouraging you to set a faster pace as his own hips lifted to meet yours, the two of you falling into a rhythm. "just like that, baby...you look so good on top of me"

"yeah?" You whimper out, feeling like going crazy with his member deep inside you

His hands slide up your waist to your breasts, cupping them gently as he praises you. "Definitely..riding me like a real cowgirl.."

your mouth opened to let a moan escape your lips and, to feel more, you sped up a little bit

He grins wickedly up at you, his hips bucking upwards to meet yours while he toys with your peaks "You like that, baby? Like daddy playing with your pretty little toys?"

"love it" your mouth lightly opened in pleasure

"Good girl...gosh..could stay buried inside of you forever." Anakin lets out a groan, his eyes rolling back as the feeling of you sinking down onto him once more and it suddenly gets too much to bear. "Fuck, baby...you feel so good...such an eager girl to please me..keep that pace, baby...want to watch you fall apart on top of me"

Sugardaddy!Anakin who loves when you visit him at the office, especially after hours when most of his employees went home

Sugardaddy!Anakin who even if makes love to you a bit roughly sometimes, he can for sure be very gentle;

He slowly enters you, his touch gentle as he cups your face tenderly. "gonna go nice and slow, alright?" He whispers softly, his hips moving in a gentle rhythm. "if you wanna stop just say the word.."

"okay" you whimper

He enters you inch by inch, his touch gentle as he kisses you passionately. "You're so tight, baby...feels so good..." his pace slow and gentle. He leans down and kisses you slowly as if you were a ceramic doll he was scared to break "my beautiful girl.. doing so good for me"

your warmth enveloped his senses and it only made him more crazy for you. You just seemed so perfect to him. Even your flaws were something he deeply cherished, found captivating, irresistible

"you okay, baby?" He whispers softly, his voice laced with autonomical concern. "wanna go slower?"

"yes, please" you whisper-moan

He slows down even more, his movements almost imperceptible as he carefully makes love to you. "there we go...so slow and gentle...just for you, baby..." He leans down to kiss your neck softly, his breath warm against your skin. "love you so much, you know? Gosh, could do anything for you.. you have me wrapped around your finger.."

Sugardaddy!Anakin who has a particular obsession with lingerie. He frequently buys you the most luxurious pieces—silk, lace, and satin—in colors he knows you look stunning in. Seeing you dressed up in something he chose just for you ignites a fire in him, and he loves taking his time to remove each piece, savoring the reveal of your body

Sugardaddy!Anakin who has a possessive streak, and it shows in how he wants to leave marks on you—not just hickeys, but subtle reminders that you belong to him. He’ll trace his fingers over the marks later, a satisfied smirk on his face as he sees the evidence of your passion..but stil..;

He was laying on his side with his arm wrapped securely around your waist, holding you close as if you might slip away in the night. You were slowly drifting off to sleep, in comparison to anakin, whose sleep eluded him. He lay there quietly, his eyes tracing the familiar curves of your body in the darkness, as if rediscovering them for the first time.

His gaze lingered on the spots where his touches had left their mark. Faint hickeys dotted your upper thighs and hips, and a few more adorned your neck and collarbone. He couldn’t help but admire the evidence of his desire for you, the way he’d claimed your body as his own. The possessive satisfaction he felt was undeniable, yet there was also a tender need to ensure that his passion hadn’t caused you any pain.

"Does it hurt?" he whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet room.

"No... I'm fine," you murmured half-asleep

"You sure?" His fingers brushed over one of the darker marks, tracing gentle circles on the sensitive skin of your hip.

"Mhm... it's nothing serious"

He hummed in acknowledgment, though the worry still lingered. He couldn't shake the need to make sure you were truly okay. His hand slowly moved up to gently push your hair aside, exposing the smooth skin of your neck and shoulder. Leaning in, he nuzzled his face into the curve of your neck, his lips brushing against the tender spot he had marked earlier. "Sorry," he whispered, his voice a mix of apology and affection

"It's okay, really" you whispered back, your hand finding its way into his messy curls. Your fingers gently stroking through them as if to soothe both him and yourself.

He pressed another soft kiss to your skin, letting his lips linger against it. The warmth of your body, the steady rise and fall of your chest, and the feel of your hand in his hair finally began to ease his mind. Holding you close, he let the lingering guilt fade, quickly replacing it by the comforting knowledge that you were safe and okay

Sugardaddy!Anakin who enjoys the thrill of teasing you in public settings, knowing you have to keep your composure. A subtle hand on your thigh under the dinner table, his fingers tracing dangerously close to your inner thigh, or whispering in your ear about what he plans to do to you later, all heighten the anticipation for when you’re finally alone.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who, over time, begins to consider a more permanent relationship with you. He starts dropping hints about you moving in, or even starting a family someday.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who's definitely into some roleplay (but mostly you surprise him with them)

Sugardaddy!Anakin who is open to exploring new things in the bedroom, and he enjoys introducing toys into your sex life. Whether it’s a silk blindfold, a vibrator, or even some light bondage, he knows exactly how to push your boundaries while making you feel safe and loved.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who, despite his dominant and sometimes intense nature, Anakin is always attentive to your needs afterward. He makes sure you’re comfortable, bringing you water, wrapping you in soft blankets, and holding you close. His fingers gently stroke your hair as he whispers sweet words, grounding you after an intense session.

Sugardaddy!Anakin who's more of a type of guy to send you flowers when he's out for business trip or etc

Sugardaddy!Anakin who has a habit of giving you jewelry that symbolizes his ownership. A necklace with his initials, a bracelet that matches his watch

Sugardaddy!Anakin who loves playing with your breasts;

"Dirty little thing, aren't you? You just love when daddy plays with your big tits, hmm?" his fingers pinching and rolling your nipples

"Mhm.." you lightly wriggled on his lap, feeling the well known hardness poking between your legs

"And you're mine, aren't you, love? This beautiful girl wouldn't leave me, now would you angel?"

Sugardaddy!Anakin who had an actual conversation with you about taking things more seriously, if you even wanted. And soon later he proposed to you

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @erosmutt @haydensprettyprincess @mistress-amidala @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @fuckmyskywalker @slutforfinnickodair

(if you want to be removed or added then don't be shy and let me know 💋)

[kiztae]

raindrops ― s.jaeyun

genre: fluff, very suggestive, boyfriend trope

wc: 1.2k

warnings: f.reader, making out ( alot), dry humping, slightly sub! or switch!jake, praise, neediness.

summary: it's cold, it's raining, you and your boyfriend like each other way too much and know just how to feel warmer admist this rainy weather.

a/n: this is pretty short, i had an impulse to write after seeing this jake concept pic and this was what came out. i could possibly write a pt. 2, if you'd like ◡̈ . i also wanted to post after ghosting this account for so long. i hope you enjoy! (ps. jake is dangerously pretty, get this man under control.)

"but it's so cold!" he whined playfully.

small droplets of water were pouring over your window as you laid down, each of your body's temperatures radiating against the other, serving as the best source of warmth in the middle of this chilly rain night.

"you're being such a baby. a cute one, but a baby." you chuckle in response, your hands tracing soft circles over your boyfriend's t-shirt covered back. "just for a little while! come on."

were you being unproductive? maybe. did it matter? no. your exams were finally over and you had spent the last days catching up on anything that was not related to your studies (thank god).

when you first tried to move your icy hands under jake's t-shirt and onto his wide back you were met with a quick yelp and a tug away from him as he whisper-shouted a "woah!" in amazement.

you both giggled it off but he made sure to grab your hands in his and kiss them gently while he cuddled you even more tightly (which seemed impossible before) as the sweet loving boyfriend he was. the same sweet loving boyfriend who while doing so prohibited you from repeating your past try for a warm up.

"i like you so much, but that is so not happening." he stared at you with a smile and then a playful squint of his eyes as he reached back for your waist to push you further against him, closing his eyes briefly while he hid his face in the crook of neck. "i can keep you warm enough like this." he muffled.

"oh please, that's just an excuse to get closer to my chest. don't think i don't know you well enough, sim." you rolled your eyes with a brief giggle and then moved one hand to his hair and started to play with it softly, admiring your boyfriend's pretty features in awe.

"hah, maybe." he replied with amusement. if you thought you liked your boyfriend too much, he was entirely drunk on you. he took in your scent, your skin against his, all of you with such intent, almost as if you were surreal and just an illusion. you were perfect. if he could, he'd chew you up.

"mm, maybe you should keep me warm like this." you sighed with satisfaction as you curled your finger on his hair with a bit more strength, earning the cutest reaction from your boyfriend, a shaky breath and his hazy eyes staring up at you.

"yeah?" he smiled, his excitement being obvious but you loved it just like that. you both always took care of each other, these moments were your favorite.

"yeah." you hooked a handful of his hair in your hand and carefully brought him up to your face with enough force to make him breathe out from the pull but not hurt him, at least not for now.

"you're so perfect." he managed to let out quietly before he smashed his lips on yours impatiently. as always, his lips felt so plush against yours, even with the almost insatiable way in which he was kissing you, he made it feel soft. his mouth quickly started to devour yours once you slightly parted it open for him, your breath getting caught in your chest with how hot you were starting to feel. you could feel his tongue brush against yours, the palm of his hand caress your cheeks, all while he grasped you so intently.

he could never get tired of kissing you. he was pretty sure it was one of his most favorite things to do, no matter the time or place. if he could have you, be with you, he would do so.

"mnf― jake―" you spoke breathlessly, your mind now lost on him and barely able to speak a few words. you don't know why you even tried to say something when you already know just how heated you both get once you start.

"babe? ha― you good?" he muttered out without really stopping to pepper you with kisses, his hands now starting to roam your body, grabbing whatever he could with pure need.

"mhm― yeah, so good." your arms wrapped themselves around his neck in a sweet embrace. the boy quickly nodded with a tiny chuckle of satisfaction, moving his hands further down to start groping your ass, filling his hands with it.

"you're so hot. god―" without even pronouncing the end of his sentence clearly, his mouth was on yours again. it was like he was eating you up, like a starved man. with his hands on your ass, he managed to start pressing you against his hardening crotch, pushing against you almost in a desperate way. "you're warm now, every inch of your skin..." he grasped your thigh with a certain force that made you whine into him, your arms closing in on him even more. his whispers between kisses and his straight up fondling of you made your actions get gradually sloppy with how good it felt to have him on top of you.

"jake― faster." you whined while one of your hands reached for his hair again, aware of much it riled him up. you weren't sure how but you already felt like you were on fire, the knot in your stomach threatening to snap any moment with the way your boyfriend's hips pushed against your center so well.

"whatever you need― fuck, i'm close. i'm sorr―" before he could even try to finish that sentence, you shut him up quickly with a colliding of your lips on his, not wanting to hear anything like an apology right now. he was just so sweet, he wanted to make you feel so good, could you really blame him?

you both could not help the constant airy gasps between kisses, your bed starting to shake in sync with jake, both of you too lost in the moment to care about anything other than giving each other pleasure.

he went to grab your waist with one hand, placing the other against the back of your head to keep you both close to each other, neither of your mouths wanting to separate. it wasn't anything new, you both knew just much you needed to feel each other's lips on yours, loving to taste each other. to eat each other up, to your last breaths.

with a few last grinds of your boyfriend's hips on yours, you both moaned into each other's mouths while your highs took you over the edge, your breaths echoing around the room with rhythm.

"i am... definitely not cold anymore." he chuckled while he pressed his forehead against yours and placed a few strands of your hair behind your ear carefully.

"yeah? so i can finally get my cold hands under your shirt?" you ask while being unable to help your cheeky grin as you still tried to catch your breath.

"oh. that was not what i was saying― y/n!―" before he could finish talking, you had already jumped the boy and swept your chilly hands on his back while you both laughed and he tried his best to wiggle himself out of your grasp.

-

© kiztae, 2024

[rhaenyratargcryen]

i want to hold you close, skin pressed against me tight | logan howlett/wolverine

masterlist ❈

summary: drifting from town to town and never lingering in one place for too long has served you well since you began to realize something might be...different, about you. you've never been able to put a finger on what exactly that difference is, until you end up at the same bar as a mysterious, albeit deeply captivating, stranger. author's note: this literally came from an idea of a reader that could share their own feelings through touch, which then snowballed into an arguably too long one shot (if i'm not careful, that's what i'm going to become known for hahaha) i recently rewatched x-men (2000) after seeing dp&w (twice) and haven't had time to rewatch the others. i know at the end of the first movie, logan leaves the school - so i feel like this would take place, hypothetically, either after he returns/before x2, or between x2 and x-men 3. idk it's not that deep seriously just imagine early 30-something year old hugh jackman's wolverine while you read this <3 kind of still a shithead, not yet entirely traumatized lol!!!

pairing: logan howlett/wolverine x f!reader word count: 10,353 (uhhhh hahaha next question) warnings/tags: pWp (with, y'all!), sloooow burn, user rhaenyratargcryen had to google everyone's powers multiple times just. be warned

18+/mdni i am sooooo serious and please don't repost with or without asking for permission. i'm not into that kind of thing, if you want to share pls reblog!!!!

title is from she wants revenge's "tear you apart"

It’s a Sunday, when Logan finds you. Or, you’d soon come to find, perhaps it was you who had been the one to find him.

You’ve grown accustomed to becoming a familiar face at every shitty bar in every small town your drifter lifestyle drags you to, and this hole-in-the-wall in the Hudson Valley that smells slightly of piss and even more of cigarettes is no different.

The motel down the street that you’d unpacked your menial possessions into is the perfect distance from the dive — you could walk home at the end of the night, and not worry you’d find yourself in trouble with a stranger. Well, the wrong kind of stranger.

Sitting at the end of the bar, you’re nursing your third drink in the fading light of the afternoon as it comes through the row of windows to your right when the light blinks out, abruptly, and you look up to find yourself face to face with a very ruggedly-handsome man with…mutton chops, you think? You snort. They haven’t been in style for centuries.

Your gaze drags across his face, down to his torso, then rests for a beat too long to be appropriate on the way his jeans sit low on his hips, a bit too tight on his thighs if he was to ask you. He stiffens under your wandering eye, watching you carefully as your attention returns to his — begrudgingly, considering he’s disturbing your peace — beautiful face.

He’s hot, you’ll give him that, but you try your best to glare and look unapproachable; it’s a Sunday and you’re drunk on bottom-shelf whiskey, trying desperately to communicate that you’re not quite in the mood for conversation with a stranger at the moment. 

This man will not take a fucking hint. 

He gestures to the seat directly to your right. “Mind if I sit here?”

You glance pointedly at the rest of the seats at the bar, which are all notably empty, but you say nothing and grunt your indifference. This guy doesn’t look the talkative type, but you really hope he isn’t looking for a chat. Luckily, he sits down silently and gestures to the bartender, who seems to recognize him and pours him a finger of whatever you’ve also been drinking.

From the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s picked up the glass and swirled the liquor around in it, but before he can take a swig, he opens his mouth with the glass practically pressed to it and mutters, “You know what you are?”

“That’s an odd fucking thing to say,” you remark, pulling your glass closer to you and closing both fists around it, turning to look directly at him. Your heart stutters as you watch the left side of his mouth curl slightly into a smirk. “Wanna explain to me what the fuck you mean by that, dude?”

The man grunts and throws back his whiskey, swallowing it in one go. Before you can get another word in, he lifts his left hand up, flexing his forearm, and you watch as three shiny, silver pieces of metal pierce through the skin between his knuckles with a sharp snikt sound.

“What the fuck,” you rasp, pressing a hand flat down on the bartop to push yourself up and away from him in the seat next to you, knocking your own drink over in the process. No one else in the bar seems fazed, like he comes in here and does this — whatever this is — often. He doesn’t move, doesn’t make an attempt to come closer to you than he is, and eventually your heartbeat calms down, and your flight response becomes a fight response. You bristle, a bit pissed off at what you read as an attempt to scare the shit out of you for fun.

“What’s your problem?”

“Ain’t got a problem, bub,” the man murmurs, leaning against the bar and grinning, the claws retracting. He wipes the backs on his knuckles off onto the thighs of his jeans, blood staining the denim red. “Was just trying to get you to do whatever it is you can do.”

You thank the bartender, who has dropped a rag in front of you to clean your spilled liquor and replaced your empty glass with a full one. 

“Sweetheart, I could smell you the second I stepped foot through that door. I haven’t seen you around here before, you new in town?”

Smell you? You’re about one more strange statement from him away from losing your goddamn mind. “I’m gonna need you to elaborate on what you mean by smell. Please.”

He leans closer to you, that smirk on his mouth a provocation, so close that you can practically taste the whiskey on his breath. “You ever heard of mutants, dollface?”

—————

Now, seeing as that wasn’t the kind of conversation you wanted to have in public, you had tried to push him — Logan, his name is, you learn — back by his chest, but the man was an immovable object. Probably a good thing you’d ultimately decided it wasn’t worth trying to hit him.

“Excuse me,” you’d uttered, slapping a twenty dollar bill down on the bar top and slipping out of your seat carefully, quickly realizing how drunk you really are. When you right yourself, you turn to him and angle your head to the door behind you.

“We can have this talk somewhere else, yeah?”

Logan had looked up at the bartender, muttered, “Add hers to my tab?” and palmed your money to give back to you, following you across the room. When you’d tried to object, Logan had held his hand up and told you your money wasn’t good here anymore.

Now, you lead him through the door to your room, stripping yourself of your jacket and kicking at the dirty laundry on the floor at the end of the bed at the same time.

“Want to tell me what the fuck that was all about? Do I know you or something?”

“No, sweetheart,” Logan says, unzipping his moto jacket and slipping his arms from the sleeves, revealing a crisp white t-shirt and biceps thicker than your neck. You subtly try to shake your head, snap your attention away from them, but he smirks, catching your eye. “You don’t know me. But I think you’re like me. We’re drawn to each other, you know. It’s like some sort of…beacon, a homing device. I was coming to the bar anyway. I knew what you were, second I saw you.”

“And you think I’m…also a, what, a mutant?”

“Not think. Know. You seriously can’t think of a single thing recently that might have felt a little, I don’t know, off? Can you see things you couldn’t before? Have you been hungrier? Felt more on edge?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying and failing to think of any big change, but you come up short. Shaking your head, you glance back up at him. “No. No, everything’s been the same. I’ve been on the road a bit, moving from place to place, but that isn’t unusual for me.”

“Any particular reason you chose Westchester County to land on?”

“I don’t know…I just,” you blanch, realizing he’s right, except it hasn’t been one big change – it’s been little by little. “I felt drawn east.”

Logan considers this for a moment; you can see the ditch between his eyebrows deepen with thought, before he seems to come to some sort of conclusion.

“I think you been in fight or flight for a long time, trying to survive on scraps and strangers’ generosity. Let me guess. No family left? Nowhere to call home? Somethin’ big and bad happen to you?”

You say nothing and he watches a scowl slip across your face, humming when he realizes he’s cut deep, to the bone.

“C’mere,” Logan murmurs, and you take steps backward as he comes toward you, the backs of your calves meeting the bed. He holds his hands up, palms facing you. “Hey, okay. I won’t hurt you, I promise. I’m not in the business of scaring little girls.”

“I’m not a little girl,” you scoff, staring at him out of the corner of your eye as he advances, albeit a little more slowly, on you.

Logan shakes his head. “You’re still much younger than me, sweetheart.”

“What? You don’t look older than 31, maybe 32.”

“Yeah, well. Looks aren’t everything, okay? I’m just — I’m not in the business of scaring girls. I wouldn’t’a let you bring me back here if I was going to hurt you; that’s not who I am.”

You suppose you don’t have much choice but to trust him. 

“I wanted you to come here,” Logan breathes, hands returning to his sides. He gives you a look, asking permission to move closer to you, to touch you, and you tip your head forward in a slight nod. “So I can do this.”

He grasps your forearm in his hand, places your palm on his bicep, and immediately winces. White flashes in front of your eyes, and a sharp pain nearly splits your head in half. You gasp his name, beg him to stop. When he pulls your hand from him, it almost looks like the print of it has been burned into his skin.

“I have a friend who’s an empath,” Logan murmurs, pupils blown, once his heartbeat has recovered to its resting rate. “She has to touch someone, to affect the way they feel. It’s good for, you know, calming people down in situations where they might be worked up. You, on the other hand…”

Logan trails off and you shake your head, bringing your arms up to fold across your torso, shivering gently. “What? I’m what?”

“I think, when you touched me, you made me feel what you were feeling. You were scared of me, huh? I could feel it, immediately. I could taste copper in my mouth, I started sweating.” Logan laughs softly, running his fingers across the skin of his right hand. “My palms are still sweaty.” 

He’s still staring down at his hands, at the stretch of skin on his arm that still stings with the feeling of you. Your eyes rove over his handsome profile, at his strong nose. His jaw ticks when he looks back over to you, one eyebrow curled.

”Sorry,” he adds. “I didn’t know it would hurt you.”

Already walking past you, Logan gestures toward the bed. “Sit,” he orders, and you blanch and do as he says. He digs a cellular phone out of the front pocket of his jeans and ducks his head, disappearing wordlessly into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Groaning, you fall back onto the bedspread. Fuck, this whole ordeal has sobered you up, and quick. Why is there a strange man in your bathroom? You could make people feel what you’re feeling? What was going to happen now?

You run through every possibility — you could leave before he comes back, abandon your stuff, take your car and run — but by the time you come to any sort of conclusion, Logan emerges from the bathroom. 

“C’mon,” he says, sliding his jacket back over his arms, zipping it up and gesturing toward the door with his head. “Got somebody who wants to meet you.”

You sit up straight and look around at your belongings. Logan seems to take this hint and starts gathering the articles of clothing strewn across the room, along with those still somehow neatly folded in the motel dresser, ignoring your protests and stuffing them in the suitcase open on the floor against the wall. After a few moments of watching Logan pull together your worldly belongings, you fumble with the drawer on the bedside table, open the bible, and pull out your passport and an indeterminate, but large, amount of cash. Logan eyes it but says nothing, and when you zip your suitcase closed, he picks it up for you without a word.

“You won’t need to come back here,” Logan mutters as you slam the tailgate on your truck closed. He points to the room you’d just left, then rounds to the driver’s side of your truck and starts walking across the parking lot, looking over his shoulder to shout, “You can leave your key in the room. There’s plenty of empty beds where we’re headed.”

“And if I don’t want to go?”

Logan stops and turns back to face you, his jaw set. “Pretty soon, people’ll figure out what you are, sweetheart. And they won’t take to you as nicely as I have.”

You snort. Nicely. But you know he’s right. It seems like things are a little different around here, for people like you. But you know that now you know what you are, that will change. As you’re trying to figure out what to say to him, Logan starts backing up.

You’re still unsure of how to talk to this man you’d only recently met, who’d already had a hand in changing your life fundamentally, but you hold a hand up, asking him to stop. He does. He watches you carefully, probably trying to decide whether or not you’re going to run away. You’re still not sure yourself.

“How did you know that you needed me to touch you?”

“Call it gut instinct.”

“It didn’t hurt, by the way,” you murmur, turning to look at him. A few paces away from you, one of Logan’s eyebrows arches, and you wring your hands together.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. It felt good.”

—————

The place you’re headed — plenty of empty beds, he’d said — is less than a ten minute drive from the motel you’d been staying at, it turns out. Logan had told you to wait by your truck while he went back to the bar to pick up his bike, then drove ahead of you all the way there, your headlights illuminating the back of his body. Wrought iron gates await you, and they ease open as you pull up the long gravel drive.

Logan drops his kickstand and leaves his motorcycle directly in front of a large set of wooden doors, and you slow nearly to a stop, trying to decide where’s best for your truck. Logan’s one step ahead of you and dismounts the bike, pointing you toward a line of cars on the other side of the little lot, following you on foot as you shift into park and turn the vehicle off.

“What is this place?”

Logan is popping your tailgate open when you open your door and he pulls your suitcase from the bed — the act takes him little effort, you notice. You thank him and try to take the case from him, but he shakes you off and leads you to the building.

“It’s a school,” Logan says, pushing through the front door. Immediately you’re greeted with the sound of children’s laughter, of feet running on wooden floors, of voices echoing off walls in the distance. You catch the door as it closes behind Logan, trying your best not to be distracted by the subtle opulence of just the foyer.

Logan drops your suitcase by the front window, then unzips his coat, removes it, and hangs it on the coatrack to his right. “We’ll figure out your room situation soon, but I wanna take you down to meet Charles first.”

“Charles?”

“He owns the place,” Logan mutters, crooking a finger to indicate for you to follow him. “He’ll want to see what you can do.”

Pursing your lips, you decide to press your luck with Logan. “What about what you can do? Is it just the claws?”

Logan smirks, coming to an abrupt stop in the dark hallway. He turns to face you, and you can see his teeth shine as he smiles. “What? You hoping for somethin’ else, a bigger show than I gave you earlier?”

You stand your ground with him, but your heart is racing, and he cocks an eyebrow like he can tell. He relents, shrugging.

“I heal pretty fast, too.”

Charles’ office is behind the last door on the left, at the end of the hall, and you’re shocked when Logan knocks, rather than entering the room like he belongs there.

“Come in,” you hear, then realize you hadn’t actually heard it. It’s more like you’d felt it knocking around the inside of your skull. Your heartbeat picks up again.

“It’s okay,” Logan says out of the corner of his mouth. “He does that sometimes.”

The door opens, and you’re met with an almost-empty office — only a bald man sat behind a large wooden desk.

“So,” the man says, folding his hands upon the tabletop. No hello. No, it’s lovely to meet you. “You’re an empath, are you?”

“I — I guess?”

“Hm,” he murmurs, glancing at Logan, who stands behind you and to the left, slightly.

“She is, Chuck,” Logan assures Charles. “I felt it myself. She can show others her emotions, make them feel what she feels. She was scared when she met me — had my heart racin’. I could see myself through her eyes.”

He hadn’t told you that part, and you worry he’d noticed that your heart hadn’t only been racing because you were afraid. Charles clicks his tongue, and surveys you, your dirty shoes, the wild look in your eye, and clears his throat.

“If you wouldn’t mind, young lady, I’d quite like to feel for myself, as well.”

A blush heats up your face and you step forward, throwing a tentative look at Logan over your shoulder. He nods, dispelling any fears, and you step forward until you’re standing at the edge of Charles’s desk. You reach across, shaking, and take the man’s hand in yours.

“Oh,” Charles murmurs, his pupils dilated. “That’s certainly new. You’ve no need to be afraid, dear, we only want to help you. As I’m sure Logan told you, it’s a dangerous world out there, for our kind.”

“And we’re safe here?”

“Yes.”

Logan brushes past you and rounds Charles’s desk, leaning down to murmur something in the man’s ear. You can hear their hushed, hurried voices, but can’t make out what they’re saying, and the longer you stand there as an onlooker, the more out of place you feel. You shift your weight from your left foot to your right foot and look out the window as they talk.

The sun is setting outside — the late summer glow illuminating the office, warming your face — and you decide to clear your throat, drawing the men’s attention back to you.

“If it’s alright, I’d like to be alone for the night. I think.”

“That’s alright, yes,” Charles smiles, raising a hand and curling his fingers inward. The door opens behind you, and you jump. “This is a lot for one day, I understand. Logan, if you would show our guest to a spare room? One in your wing, perhaps, in case she is in need of anything.”

You glance at Logan and watch him nod, then turn and wink at you. You roll your eyes at him. He doesn’t know you, and the familiarity with which he interacts with you is unnerving, but at the same time, you find him intriguing.

It’s almost like the man you met at the bar and the man guiding you out of this room are two entirely separate people. The man from the dive was overeager, compensating for being the one thing there that was out of place. This man is relaxed. This is his home.

You wonder as you watch him if this is who he really is. 

“Charles is telepathic,” Logan murmurs, almost as if he can also hear your thoughts racing. He glances over at you, holding your eye a beat too long. “He’s also telekinetic.”

“Hence the door opening on its own.” You pause. “And the creepy voice inside my head.”

Logan chuckles, shrugging and bending down to retrieve your suitcase from where it now sits at the bottom of the staircase. You watch the muscles in his biceps flex, your mouth suddenly going very dry. “You get used to it. People say he can read every mind within a two-hundred-and-fifty-mile radius of wherever he sits. Can’t imagine all that noise all the time.”

Humming your consensus, you follow him, gaze trapped between his broad shoulders. Even the back of his neck is enticing. “If he could read my mind, why wouldn’t that have been enough for him to know?”

“There’s something different about what you do,” he says, guiding you up the stairs to the second floor and down a long, carpeted hall. “It requires touch. Charles can read your mind, sure, but there’s more to your influence than just your thoughts. It’s baser, more animalistic.”

Finally, the two of you come to a dead end, and Logan opens the nondescript wooden door to your left. He walks inside without waiting to see if you’ll follow and places your suitcase down on the end of the twin-sized bed against the farthest wall.

“You need anything, I’m two doors down across the hall, okay? Seriously. Anything.”

You haven’t moved from where you stopped in the doorway to watch him, one fist pressed against the frame you’re leant up against. He brushes past you, so close you can smell his cheap aftershave, the whiskey on his breath still lingering, though he hasn’t once seemed drunk. The hint of something more pungent. You open your mouth — before he gets too far, you want to ask him the question you haven’t yet had the courage to voice.

“Logan?”

The man pauses, his face inches from yours. Your gaze flicks between his eyes, then down across mouth, to where his throat moves as he swallows. “Hm?”

“Why are you helping me?”

What you mean is, You don’t seem like a generous man. What you mean is, I’m not afraid of you, but I haven’t yet decided if I can trust you. What you mean is, Why me?

He pauses, considering your question, then places one hand on your bicep and squeezes. His eyes are wet, like someone who remembers too much and not enough. Before you can catch your breath, he’s moved on, that same hand now wrapped around the doorknob of his own room. A small smile graces the lower half of his face. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I got a habit a’ pickin’ up strays.”

—————

The days pass by quickly, and they’re exhausting. There’s a war brewing, they all say. A war none of you had ever asked to be a part of, but have no choice in joining. You wake daily before the sun rises, called downstairs to do endless exercises to strengthen your control over your ability, you’ve come to think of it as. The problem is that you’re not sure you’re capable of the things they need you to be capable of.

“Can we stop, for today?”

You’re bent at the waist, arms dangling, both hands clutching the opposite elbow. It helps you decompress. This isn’t physically tiring work, necessarily, but the mental strain is undeniable. You’re avoiding Charles’s gaze, which you know will have a disappointed glean to them.

“What, can’t handle it already?”

You perk up at the sound of Logan’s voice, and when you turn your head towards it, you see him walking towards you across the yard, light wash jeans slung low on his hips once again. The sleeves of his white tee are rolled up, straining against the corded muscle of his biceps, the collar cut into a V at the front.

Since you first met him, you’ve learned a few things about Logan: one, he’s Canadian. Two, he can drink you under the table, and he will absolutely let you drink yourself to sleep, but he always makes sure you end up in your own bed at the end of every night. And three, his powers are more than just the claws: he has a regenerative healing power, alongside superhuman strength, and superhuman stamina. The thought of that last one makes you blush.

You spend most evenings with him on the floor of your room, drinking cheap whiskey while he chain smokes and deals you in after every round of cards he kicks your ass at.

“Need to work on your poker face, darlin’,” he always says, smirking and shuffling the cards again with his lithe, thick fingers. 

And on the nights when you can’t find sleep, he sits up with you in your room, reading Hemingway and Steinbeck and Fitzgerald, even some Stephen King, while you curl up on your side and let the even sound of his breathing lull you unconscious.

You get used to each other’s presence. You don’t talk much while you sit together – is there really anything more to say? He’d clocked you that very first day. You were alone in the world, before, but not anymore.

He doesn’t do this with anyone else, you notice. Allow them into his small circle of trust, or whatever this is. You’re friends, you think. He hasn’t let himself have many of those.

You’ve also learned a few things about yourself, the most important being that with some practice you no longer get a splitting headache using your ability; that you can control when and how you use it; and that you’ve been meditating on some other, perhaps more enjoyable and creative ways, to make use of it.

Although you’d tried to deny it from the start, unfortunately — mostly for yourself — the attraction you feel toward Logan is unshakable. He’s rough, and sharp, and impermeable, but he seems to have a soft spot for you. You can’t tell if it’s the circumstances under which the two of you met that have him feeling that way, but you’ve developed a fun back and forth over the last few weeks.

“What, sweet cheeks,” Logan pokes at you, left hand on his cocked hip. “Is it that hard for you, still?”

Shaking your head, you grin at him, one hand cupped over your eyes to block the sun behind him. You turn to glance at the back of Charles’s chair, already heading away from the two of you. Your attention falls back on Logan.

“C’mere, then,” you murmur, standing up straight and mirroring his body language. One of his eyebrows arches and his canine teeth appear as his smile widens. “I’ll show you how easy I can get it goin’.”

As he crosses the remaining bit of yard between you, that smug look on his face, you channel fury. You push every ounce of attraction and good will you feel toward Logan out of your mind, and you think: anger. I’m angry. At my circumstances. At what the world does to people like me. At how much I’m underestimated — at how much I underestimate myself.

By the time Logan has made it to your side, hand already outstretched, you’ve made up your mind. And you place one hand on the side of his face.

Immediately, you feel heat, but the cracking headache from that first day you’d met never comes. Instead, you feel an ache deep in your gut, a wave of want, of assurance that you’re where you need to be, with exactly the right person. You hold your palm against him for another minute and his face falls forward, towards your chin, before he wraps his hand around your wrist and pulls it away, gasping with relief when you let him go. 

Logan’s cheeks are flushed, and when he looks back up at you, chest heaving, you realize he hadn’t felt your anger. You didn’t have much to be angry about — sad, sure; scared, yes — so anger must have been the wrong emotion to pull from. You’d wanted to get him worked up, but not like this.

Instead, you worry you’ve just ruined any ounce of trust the two of you had built between you. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans and leans away from you, his eyes running from the top of your head, down to where your own hands now sit at your sides.

“I’ll talk to you later, kid, okay?”

Logan doesn’t let you respond, instead turning to leave you standing, heart falling, lost in your head in the middle of the yard, while all around you birds chirp and children play.

—————

“Well, well.”

You jump, the back of your head snapping against the top of the inside of the fridge, and you groan, pressing the heel of your hand to the now-tender spot, pulling it away to see if you’ve made yourself bleed.

“Burning the midnight oil?” Logan laughs, padding across the kitchen and rubbing a hand against the top of your head where you knocked it. “Sorry, bub. You okay?”

“I don’t know. Ask me in a few minutes when my eyes uncross.”

You’re too focused on the feeling of his fingers against your scalp to think about anything else. You glance down at Logan’s flannel pajama pants and his bare feet. He grabs you by the shoulders and steers you against the kitchen island behind you.

“Lemme get you some ice.”

You watch, back pressed to the edge of the counter, as Logan pulls a tea towel from one of the kitchen drawers and a tray of ice from the freezer, popping them out onto the towel and folding it into itself, wrapping the tail to give you something to hold onto. You prop it against your skull — instant relief. You eye him warily, accusatory.

“What are you down here for anyway?”

“Same thing as you, I think.”

Logan refills the tray with water and places it back into the freezer, and this thoughtfulness surprises you, you’re embarrassed to admit. You wouldn’t have thought him to be so considerate. Then again, he had just handmade an ice pack for you. Your eyes glaze over and your mouth goes dry just watching his fingers work. 

You haven’t seen him for days, not since you’d accidentally let him feel…whatever it is you feel for him. Every day when you’d gotten out of bed, even when that was before the sun rose, he would always already be gone from his room, the door open and his duvet cover tucked neatly underneath his mattress. He hadn’t taken any of his meals in the dining room with the rest of your peers, hadn’t joined in on any sparring sessions like he usually loved to do. His bike had stayed parked outside — you’d kept an eye out for it every day. You’d begun to worry that something had happened to him.

The silence starts to dig into you. You can’t help it; you have to break it.

“Thought you died, I didn’t see you for so long.”

“Yeah, well. I had some shit to take care of.”

You scoff at that. “I saw your bike outside, Logan, you never left the school. What kind of shit did you have to take care of?”

Another beat of awkward silence, and you can’t stand whatever wall has come up between you. You want to knock it down.

“You remember what you said to me in that bar?”

“What’s that?” Logan looks up at you, a sharp look in his eye. A warning, almost, but unfortunately, you’re feeling a little bolder than usual. Perhaps you’re concussed.

“You said that we were drawn to each other because of our abilities. I think maybe that wasn’t the only reason we found each other.”

He leans back against the freezer and stands quiet for a moment, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath. His dark eyes regard you in the dim light of the kitchen.

You step forward into his space, one hand coming up to press against his chest, through his shirt. The other, the one holding his makeshift ice pack, lands at your side.

Logan’s breath catches in his throat at your touch and he swallows around it, his heart stuttering under your palm. He’s waiting for the feeling to rush into and overwhelm him. It never comes. 

Logan exhales, then reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Your cheeks flush a furious red and he chuckles at the feeling of it against his fingers. You’re tempted to shift your hand over to touch his skin, to fill him with this rush of unexpected desire you feel, but you can’t quell your thoughts that that would be a bad idea. Even though the position you’re in right now might be regarded as a bad idea, too.

Since you met, he’s made it abundantly clear he doesn’t see you as anything more than a friend — if that. But you’ve been replaying the other day in the training yard in your mind, and you can’t shake the feeling that maybe he’s got the same desire you do.

“You know, you’re right,” Logan murmurs, and you cock your head, looking to his face for an explanation. He takes the towel full of ice from your hand by your side and holds it against your head for you. “What you think about me, it’s all true. I’m not a nice man.”

“I don’t know. You say that, but you seem pretty nice to me. You took me in. You’re helping me understand what I am, what I can do. Logan, fuck’s sake, you tuck me into bed when I drink too much.”

Logan laughs softly, tilting his chin to take you in from a different angle. Your heart squeezes in your chest.

“I just can’t figure you out. You act all mean and tough and scary, but I see the way you look at me, and I’ve only known you, what, a handful of weeks? I see how you are with some of the students. I see how you are with Charles. You got some deep, dark past you don’t want anyone knowin’ about, sure, but you’re a nice man, Logan. You’re soft on me. I can tell.”

Considering you for a moment, Logan’s lips parts to respond, then he thinks better of it. His eyes fall from yours to the way your chest expands with every breath. You’ve wondered about you and him, and that one look gives you all the courage you need to say it.

“Since I got here I’ve had this feeling, that with you and me, there’s something bigger. Tell me you feel it too, that I’m not goin’ crazy. And if you don’t, Logan, tell me that, then. Anything to stop this awful, sick feeling I get whenever you walk into the room.”

You wait to see if he’ll tell you to fuck off, that he doesn’t see you that way. That he’s soft on you, sure, but this is as far as it can go. Instead of saying anything at all, he surges forward to claim your mouth with his.

The kiss is hesitant, at first, before Logan can figure out whether you’re going to push him away or not, but when you open your mouth to deepen it, it turns furious. It’s all teeth, tongue, Logan’s hips caging you in and driving you back against the counter behind you. He’s got one hand wrapped around your waist, the other gripping the countertop, and when you carelessly bring a hand up to rest a hand against his cheek, Logan gasps against your mouth. The towel full of ice finds its way into the sink.

Shocked, he peels himself from you, panting. You hadn’t thought about whether you’d project or not when you’d touched him — and if his blown-out pupils are any indication, he’d felt it. All of it. The ache deep in your gut and the clench of your thighs. The flare of your nostrils as his scent hits you, heavy and earthy and masculine. The undeniable way you fit against him, your chest pressed to his, the shock of his hips aligned with yours, like you were made for one another. You want him to have you, have all of you, and with your palm still pressed to his skin, he knows.

“Is that really what you want?”

It’s practically a growl, and you pull your hand from him, allowing him to recover, but only slightly. He’s got himself worked up all on his own. 

You can see in his face that he wants you, too. You nod, bring one hand down to clutch the waistband of his pants and tug him forward against you again. He groans, gathering some of your hair in one hand and gripping it tight. 

“Sweetheart, I’m not exactly a — a gentle guy.”

“Somehow I don’t believe you.”

Logan laughs, breathy, and tilts his head back to take you in. He throws a glance down at your hand tucked into his pants, the backs of your knuckles pressed against the swell of his stomach. “I didn’t have you pegged for the fuck-me-in-the-kitchen type.”

“I’ll let you take me back to your bedroom, if you want.”

Whistling lowly, Logan leans his face in close to yours, the tip of his nose nudging against your cheekbone. “And if I told you I wanted to take you right here?”

“I’d tell you that’s fine, too,” you swallow, angling your face up to try to press your lips to his, but his grip on your hair stops you. He grunts, tugging a little harder, so you have to look into his eyes. They’re soft, wary. For all the talk he talks, he’s a man of few words when it matters, and you can tell he can’t believe you’d want a guy like him. You’re not exactly a gentle girl, either, but he sees how much more the world has gotten to him than it has to you. You’ve still got the potential to be someone who wouldn’t want him.

“You really want me?” You hear the unspoken emphasis. You could have anyone else, and I can’t see why you’d pick me. 

“Since the day we met,” you mutter, his breath against your mouth driving you insane. “Logan, please kiss me.”

He brings his other hand, the one that’s been holding your hips in place this whole time, up to press against your cheek, and he closes the distance between you once again. The hand still gripping his pants tugs them forward, and you can feel his insistent cock where it’s now pressing against you. You moan into Logan’s mouth and this seems to drive him mad, holding your head in his hands like you’ll float away and driving his tongue against yours, languid and fluid but at the same time persistent. 

“C’mon, doll,” he says when you break away to gulp down a breath, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I got a queen bed in my room.”

As Logan drags you out of the kitchen and to the wing of the mansion where the two of you live, practically a world of your own, you trace your fingers down his back over the top of his shirt. His body shivers under your touch and he laughs, turning to look at you as he pushes through into his bedroom.

“Hey, yeah,” you murmur, watching him drag his shirt up and over his head, exposing his bare chest and the patches of short, wiry hair growing there, the vein on his lower stomach that leads your gaze down to wonder at the bulge in his pajama pants. You tear your eyes away and meet his smug stare. “How come I gotta sleep in a twin?”

He laughs at you, reaching out to curl his fingers around the bottom of your sweater and lead you closer to him. He hums, muttering, “Don’t worry about it.”

Then he’s kissing you again, your eyes closing at the sensation of his mouth against yours. His hands are underneath your shirt, skirting across your bare back and now you’re the one shivering under his touch. His fingernails scratch gently against your skin and you moan again, sighing into his open mouth. He smiles before pulling away, only slightly.

“Feels good?”

You nod, flexing your fingers at your sides. You can’t remember the last time someone touched you so sweetly. He catches sight of your hands and runs the tips of his own fingers down your arms.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he says, mouth close to the shell of your ear. He tucks his teeth around it, too, gently, but you cry out at the surprising sensation. “You can touch me.”

You nod and place an open palm against his sternum, his bare skin heating beneath your hand. You want him to feel the way your mouth has dried at the thought of being beneath him in his bed. You want him to know just how far you’ll let him go. When you open your eyes to look at him, a different beast entirely has crossed his face. His mouth curls into a self-satisfied smile.

“Hm,” Logan grunts, nostrils flaring, teeth baring further.  “I can smell how bad you want me, baby. Could down in the kitchen, too. I can feel how tense I make you. Do I still scare you? Huh?”

You shake your head, whisper, “No,” your voice hoarse. “You don’t scare me, Logan.”

“No, I didn’t think so. I don’t even think it scares you, how much you want this. I think it excites you. Think you been wonderin’ what it’d be like for a while, huh?”

Logan’s arm tightens around your waist and pulls you flush against him, your hand trapped between your chests. You gasp, the warmth of his body flooding yours, filling you with heat, with want, which then rushes into Logan, his eyes rolling back at the sensation. 

“I wasn’t sure about you when I first met you,” he bites out, tilting his head to meet your eye again. “But fuck if I wouldn’t move heaven and earth for you now.”

Your heart stutters at the admission, the reassurance that you’re not alone in the way you feel about him. You peel your palm from his skin and sigh in relief when his gaze softens. Logan pushes his face into your neck, lips pressing tenderly to your pulse point, forcing a soft groan from your mouth. You feel him smile against you and when his teeth graze that same spot, your knees buckle beneath you.

Tucking your hands back between your chests, you push Logan gently away from you and he goes willingly, a sharp contrast to the man who was rooted to his barstool the first time you’d tried to touch him. The look on his face would frighten you if he hadn’t spent so much time convincing you he wouldn’t hurt you. His expression is dark, contemplative.

Logan’s eyes watch, hooded with desire, as you back away from him, your knees buckling when the backs of them hit the edge of his bed. As soon as you sit, he begins stalking toward you, your heart racing against your sternum, and you meet his eye just as he reaches you. Taking your cheek in his hand, he angles your face up and watches as your eyelids flutter closed. His hand travels down, fingers running over the side of your neck and cupping the warm flesh where it meets your shoulder.

“I can feel your pulse,” he murmurs into the warm air between you. “It’s racing.”

You gasp when you feel his hand search out your heartbeat through your chest. Opening your eyes to meet his again, you see that the desire in his face has been replaced with something that looks frighteningly close to affection.

He grasps your wrist, thumb rubbing against the soft, sensitive skin above your pulse there, and guides your hand to press against his own heartbeat, a mirror to yours, thundering in his chest, too.

“You do this to me. Not because you want me to know what you’re feeling, sweetheart, because this is how I feel.” He swallows, voice thick in his throat. “I want you so bad.”

The confession comes out rasping, like the words had been ripped from his chest. Your hand trails down his bare stomach, the backs of your knuckles dancing along the planed ridges there. The skin beneath your fingers jumps when you skirt across it. Pushing your fingers into the waistband of the flannel pants, you groan at the sensation of the heat coming off of his skin. “This okay?”

“Fuck, baby, you’re askin’ me if this is okay?” Logan’s hand comes up to cup your cheek once again, and you glance up at the grin on his face. It lights up his eyes. It’s like Logan’s fighting two different parts of himself: the very human desire to be gentle, to be careful, and the beast inside of him that wants to tear you apart.

Laughing, you tug down on the elastic, cheeks heating when you don’t feel another waistband. He’s bare beneath, and as you’re eye-level with his hips, you come face-to-face with his flushed, heavy cock as you strip the fabric from him. The tip of it weeps as you palm him, stroking him gently so his foreskin pulls back and reveals the crimson tint of it. You can’t say you’re shocked by the size of him, considering how large a man he actually is.

“Fuck, Logan,” you breathe, mouth watering, and you know the way you’re looking at him would be a bit embarrassing if he wasn’t looking at you the exact same way, his lashes fluttering as you push the adrenaline coursing through your veins into him. He wraps one big hand around yours and squeezes, groaning at the sensation.

“Here, baby,” he says, pulling your hand from his cock and placing it into your lap. He laughs when you whine in protest, stepping out of his pajama pants entirely and leaving himself naked. You’re still fully clothed and it almost pains you. “Plenty a’ time for me to stuff myself down your throat later.”

The way he says it has a low, fuzzy warmth rushing into your gut, but you quit your protesting when Logan kneels on the floor at your feet. “Lean back.”

You do as he says and inch yourself further up the bed, knees still hanging over the side of the mattress, anchoring yourself to his bedspread with your elbows. Logan crooks his fingers into your own pants, kissing the skin he exposes as he pulls them down, down, leaving you in only your tee shirt and soaked-through panties. He eyes them as you unconsciously angle your knees outward, but ignores your desire completely, instead leaning up to bite the hem of your shirt and drag it up and over your stomach.

Gasping, you rush to pull the fabric from the grip of his teeth and pull it over your head, tossing it to the floor beside the bed and cupping the back of his head in one hand, fingers tangling themselves in the hair at the base of his neck. You ease him upward, his palms pressed into the bed next to your waist, and pull him into a searing kiss, hoping to communicate how you feel without saying a word. Logan pants into your mouth and squirms out of your grip, pupils once again blown wide. He leans down to press his lips to the base of your throat, your elbow falling back to the bed to hold yourself up. 

Your gaze follows his descent down your torso, watching as Logan drops a kiss to your breastbone, to the areola of your right breast, then to the one of your left. His lips engulf your nipple and you moan softly, biting your bottom lip when he flicks his tongue across it. He drags his lips down your stomach, settling against the knot of one soft peak of your hip bone. He bites gently and your stomach clenches at the feeling. When you place a hand against his cheek, his eyes flutter shut, his nostrils flaring at the feeling flooding his body. The pleased, humming warmth he’s making you feel. 

“Logan,” you whisper, watching him continue down, mouthing at the skin on the inside of your thighs, kneading the soft flesh there. “Please.”

“Please what, honey?” You can feel him smirk against you. “Gotta use your words.”

“Please put your mouth on me.”

“Am putting my mouth on you,” he says, smug, and you gasp, tossing your head back when he bites you again, this time enough to make your delicate skin bruise. “Whaddaya want?”

“Want you to fuck me.”

“With my mouth?” Logan tuts, bringing one hand up to pull your panties to the side and expose your warm, wet flesh to the cool air of his bedroom. Your hips twitch. “You sure?”

You angle yourself up, trying desperately to find his mouth and claim it yourself. He laughs at the desperate want plastered across your face. “Oh, fuck off, you god damn tease, just fuck me.��

Logan shakes his head, leaning in to lick along your wet cunt and a sharp, bright cry rips itself from your chest. Your thighs try to close around his head as he presses his thumb into your pubic bone and holds you open, laps at your clit, but he growls and grips one in his hand, wrenching it away from him. His eyes shine up at you from between your legs.

“Why’d’ya wanna do that, huh, baby? You want me to fuck you so bad, don’t make it hard on me,” he murmurs, wrapping his lips around your clit and suckling gently while you cry out. He carries on like that for quite a bit – just his mouth against the most sensitive part of you, fingers pressing into your thighs. Your legs shake and you cover your mouth with your hand; you worry about coming too quickly until he eases up, pushing one finger inside of you to fuck you with.

Your hand grips the hair at the top of his head, and Logan groans at the pressure. Hissing, he presses his palms flat against the insides of your thighs to wrench them further open, encouraging you wordlessly to hook your feet across his back. When he’s satisfied, he crooks a finger around your panties and pulls until they tear, the shreds of fabric no longer an obstacle in the way of seeking out your pleasure. 

“Want me to make you come?” The question is asked with his mouth pressed against your cunt, and you gasp, back arching, at the feeling of his words. “You wanna come on my tongue?”

You nod furiously, writhing as a second finger works itself inside of you, curling upward to meet head-on that spot inside of you that sends sparks behind your eyes. Your heels dig into the skin of his back and you reach down, blindly fumbling for Logan’s hand. He smiles wide and takes it, tangling his fingers with yours as your hips rut against his face. 

He talks you through it between strokes of his tongue against your clit, his fingers pumping in and out as he tells you how good you are for him, how good you feel for him, how he can’t wait to feel you around his cock. You throw an arm across your eyes and whimper, hips twitching as you come down, pulling his hair and crying out for him to let up. He places one last kiss above your cunt, smiling as you gasp, and leans back to admire you.

Logan places your feet on the floor and plants his hands beside you, using the mattress as leverage to hoist himself up above you. He grins down at you and for however fucked out he already looks, you know you must look a thousand times worse.

“Hi, gorgeous,” he murmurs, leaning in for a kiss, giving you a taste of yourself by easing his tongue into your mouth. You can feel his cock, weeping and solid and insistent against your hip. Fuck. 

You groan against him, your lips stretching into a smile as he kisses you languidly and reaches out to help you wrap your arms around his neck. “Here.”

Standing, Logan holds your body close to him. Your head notches into his neck and suckles there while he pulls you up the bed, settling you against the pillows underneath him. He props himself up on one hand as his knees push against the insides of your thighs, opening you up for him.

One hand on your flushed cheek, Logan fists his cock, smiling down at you. “Y’alright there, sweet cheeks?”

“Head’s fuzzy,” you murmur, reaching out to grip his hips with your hands. “Want you.”

Logan smirks, leaning back on his heels and running a hand through his hair, scalp sweaty. Your own fans out behind your head. He gawps down at you. “Look like a goddess like this, you know.”

Your blush deepens and you push a hand against his stomach. “Stop.”

“You do,” he smirks, leaning down to plant kisses across your face, down your jaw, to your neck. “Mm, so fucking pretty when I’ve just made you come. Smell so good.”

You gasp when he presses his mouth right behind your ear, gripping your hips. His cock drags across your stomach, a heavy reminder of his own neglected desire. You reach down to fist a hand around him and tug, pulling a groan from him.

“My girl want me to fuck her proper? Hm?”

Open-mouthed and with a heavy gaze, you watch as Logan sits back and fucks himself up into your fist, hips stuttering when you tighten your grip. His chest glistens with sweat, heaving as you push the burning feeling in your veins through to him. He gasps, stretching a hand down and holding your wrist still.

“Hey,” he growls, head thrown back. “Play fair.”

“Why should I?” He’s glaring down at you now, which only eggs you on. You shrug. “S’fun to watch you come apart like this, big strong man.”

Logan groans, pulling his hips back, and his cock falls from your grasp. “I’ll show you comin’ apart, baby.”

Sitting back on his heels, Logan wraps his hands around your hips and jerks them forward until your cunt is close enough to him that he would barely have to move his own hips to fuck his cock into you.

“You got a condom?”

“It’s okay,” you whimper, shaking your head. “Don’t need one. On the pill. I’m clean.”

Logan looks down at you, trying to gauge what headspace you’re in, if he should grab one anyway – and you shake your head. “Don’t need it, please.”

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” you repeat. He smiles, squeezes your hips tight. He nods, bringing one hand down to grip himself and ease toward you. Runs the head of his cock down your cunt, getting himself nice and slick, up and down and up again until you’re a panting mess, wiggling your hips. It’s torture. “Please, Logan.”

“Oh, now you’re askin’ nice?”

You groan, wild-eyed, and he wants to laugh at the look on your face but he chokes it back. You need him – bad – and he can’t say no to you.

“Alright, baby,” he says, hushed, gripping your thigh with the hand not currently around his cock. Guiding himself to your entrance, Logan pushes his hips forward, groaning as the head of his cock disappears inside of you. Despite how wet you are, the stretch burns, your body unattuned to his size. He presses forward, bit by bit, licking the tip of his thumb and pushing it against your clit to ease your discomfort, and you gasp at the feeling, eyes rolling back. “Shh, shh, it’s okay.”

Once he’s fully seated inside of you, he pulls your hips flush to his, leaning down to press himself to you completely. Hand still pressed to your clit between you, Logan circles his hips, watching your face, how you react. He watches your eyelids flutter, watches you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. He gives a shallow thrust to gauge your readiness, and you moan, low, in the back of your throat. 

“S’okay,” you grunt out, hands braced against the outsides of his thighs, eyes trained on his lips. “Fuck, please. I’m so wet, Logan, please, please fuck me.”

Logan groans, your words going straight to his cock, twitching inside of you. He grips your waist in his hands and gives another exploratory rut, this time short, puncturing. Your breath is pushed out of your lungs. He rocks his hips back once again, pressing forward slow before punctuating the thrust with a sharp jolt, shocking the air from you once again.

Your nails dig into his thighs and he nods, his forehead rubbing against yours. “Okay baby, okay. I’ll fuck you, yeah. This what you want?”

His hips ease back, pulling his cock from your warmth almost all the way, before thrusting back in, deep, to the point. Then again, and again, and again. Your head has fallen back, Logan having to hook an arm around the back of your neck as you’re forced up the bed.

“You’re so warm, pulling me back in, sweetheart, so fucking wet for me. I’m gonna fuck you so good, you’re so tight, god, like you were made for me.” 

“Fuck,” you whisper, mouth pressed to the side of his face. Your cunt tightens around him and you whine. “Already fuckin’ me so good.”

“You gonna come for me, baby? Yeah?”

“Yeah.” And you are. Again. You’re gonna come for him again. His cock is driving into you so fast you can’t escape the warm sensation in your gut – and you don’t want to. It feels so good, it’s like your whole body has turned to goo beneath him. You press a kiss to the underside of his chin, his beard scratching at your lips, but you don’t care. 

“Yeah, baby? Can feel your cunt tight around me, can feel you ‘bout to come.”

“Gonna come, Logan,” you gasp, reaching one hand up and gripping the headboard as tight as you can, but your elbow still folds, your arm putty with the pleasure. He brings his other hand up from your hips to hold you by the top of your head, to keep you from slipping further up the bed, and your hands instinctively come around to clutch his shoulders.

Immediately the pleasure coursing through you lights every nerve ending in his body fucking alive. You feel him tense beneath your fingers, pulse quickening.

His hips snap down onto yours, his cock dragging up against that rough spot inside your cunt, as your orgasm floods through you. You hardly register the deep rumbling coming from his chest as you cling to him. Logan’s breath comes gasping as the feeling of your orgasm floods through him, too, hands gripping the flesh of your ass to hold you in place while he fucks down into you.

His eyes are closed tight, stomach clenching, and when you drag one hand down to rub circles on your clit, he buries his cock deep inside of you and holds himself there. 

You scratch your nails gently down Logan’s back as he basically whimpers into the air between you, leaning up to catch his lips with yours as he rocks his hips, stuffing himself deeper, until you feel him come. He groans and spills himself into you, hips glued to yours, occasionally quavering with the aftershocks of his own orgasm.

“Fuck,” he huffs once he’s back in his body, one hand against your cheek, brushing your hair away from your mouth so he can press a kiss to them. His eyes search for yours, bright and enlivened. “You okay? Huh?”

You nod, your head loose on your neck, and he laughs. “Fuck,” he repeats. “That was fucking crazy. Is that how it feels every time?”

At that you sheepishly shake your head, eyes coming up to meet his. No, that’s not at all how it feels every time. You can tell by the look on his face he’s trying not to seem smug about that.

“That was good, though,” he murmurs, his face softening, “fuck, that was so good.”

He seems more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him. You cry out when he pulls his cock from you, still holding your face and whispering sorry, baby, sorry. He presses a kiss to your mouth between apologies.

He unfolds himself from you and stands, running a hand through his hair. Pulling his pajamas back up over his legs and his shirt over his bare torso, he tells you he’ll be right back, and you must fall asleep after that because the next thing you know you’re curled up on your side while Logan runs a warm, wet washcloth across the inside of your thighs. You hiss at the sensation and he nudges a hand against your hip until you roll over onto your back.

“You sure you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you or nothin’?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, reaching for him and he obliges, dropping the cloth to the floor and crawling up the bed to wrap himself around you, slinging your leg over top of his. “You just wiped me out, s’all. And who thought you’d be so fuckin’ talkative in bed.”

He laughs and presses his lips to the end of your nose, his nose grazing your forehead.

You pull at his shirt and kiss him square on the mouth, a thank you for making you feel so good. So safe with him. Your bare chest is pressed to his, and you know he can probably feel how fast your pulse is racing, arms wrapped around your back. You still in his grip when you feel something pressing against your bare stomach.

He’s hard again. A fire reignites somewhere low in your belly, your mouth watering, and when you catch his eye, he grins, like he can read your thoughts.

“You wanna put that mouth to use now, sweetheart?”

[uplatterme]

Hidden Urges

cw: pre-memories!wanderer, sub!wanderer, dom!reader, gender-neutral terms and pronouns but reader has a cock, jacking off, hurt/comfort (my bad), overstimulation, crying, REALLY SOFT

a/n: probably one of the best fics ive ever written ngl. might write a part two with post-memories!wanderer if y’all want it.

———

You thought you had been daydreaming at first.

You stood outside the porch of your house and were met with a man who stood in the rain looking unbothered by the whole thing. He was just there, staring into nothingness despite some parts of his clothes getting wet by the second.

You bit your cheek, walking up to him and taking his wrist with your hand.

“Come in? I have supper ready.”

It took him a while to register but he eventually agreed with your persistence.

He introduced himself as a wanderer, he said, “I’ll be out when the rain stops.”

To which you replied, “Take as long as you need.”

You gave him some spare clothes which fit on him loosely as you hung the kimono to dry inside the house. 

He was…a very pretty man. 

You served him a bowl of porridge that he refused multiple times, saying that you should just eat it instead, that you need it more than him. 

It sounded silly seeing as how thin the wanderer was.

“So, who are you really? Besides being a wanderer, I mean.”

Your question seemed to be something that he even himself couldn’t answer. He made that same face that he wore when he was in the rain, deep in thought, possibly contemplating everything that he had gone through.

After a few minutes, he opened his mouth to finally say something, only to be shut up with a spoonful of warm porridge inside his mouth.

You smiled, seeing him swallow the food even if you had to do it forcefully.

“How is it?” You asked.

“It’s good.” He answered, still stunned at how you had just spoonfed him.

“Yeah? Well, there’s more. Dig in.” 

He reluctantly took the bowl in his hands, eating the food that you had generously given to him. You were so persuasive. He wondered if you realized that you had that effect on people.

You ate with him, telling stories of your own as you worried that you had scared him off from asking too much about himself.

A thought lingered in your head as you led him to a spare room before going back to your bedroom alone.

Why was it that he never shivered under the rain?

The rain didn’t let up for days. A storm had manifested instead, meaning any kind of travel would have to be suspended.

Wanderer felt that he was intruding so much already, he could go anytime he wanted to but leaving you alone didn’t seem right.

“Are you alright?” Your hand was on his forehead, checking his temperature.

You had somehow managed to sneak up on him again, he marveled at that fact, questioning whether if you purposely did it when he was busy thinking about something.

He tensed up when you removed your hand from his skin, eager to have more of your touch.

He cursed himself in his head. That had been happening a lot lately, a growing urge inside of him that didn’t want to leave and let go of you once the rain ended.

But that’s exactly why he needed to leave, he couldn’t get too attached.

He stayed in the spare room you had given him and each time he was alone, all these questions kept attacking his head.

Was he supposed to feel this way? Should a puppet such as him have these kinds of emotions?

The longer he stayed here, the longer he felt that he wished the rain wouldn’t stop.

Everything smelt like you. The blankets, the clothes, and eventually, even him.

He stared at the problem at the center of his legs. This too, had been bothering him.

It often happened when he thought about you, or whenever you touched him for too long.

He bit his lip, careful to not let any sound slip. Although these days, he wanted you to hear. To find him like this, all sensitive and spread out just to see your reaction.

Would you have shamed him and kicked him out of the house for this? Or, would you have praised him, telling him how much of a good job he was making?

His hand gripped his cock, imagining that it was you doing this to him. He sang your name softly, fingers now traveling to his tip, using the white liquid that had oozed out as a lubricant.

He continued pumping himself underneath the blankets, smelling your scent and bringing him into a high. His legs trembled with each stroke, knowing that he’ll make a mess once again on the bed that you’d kindly given to him.

“S-Sorry… I can’t help it—” He chanted apologies and came into his hand, his cum splattering to his thighs. 

He needed to leave as soon as possible.

Unbeknownst to your guest, you too, were having a problem.

Your lip has been bruising with how many times you’ve been biting it.

You’re appreciative that you have a pretty temporary roommate like him, but he’d been driving you insane.

Like right now.

He’d been helping you out with dinners lately but with him being inexperienced, he tended to do things in a very questionable way. 

For example, having cream splatter directly on his cheek while he whipped a batch. Or, bending his body against the counter to reach the spatula that’s on the other side instead of just asking for it.

It had your mind going through things that it shouldn’t. Such as imagining the said guest on top of you, taking you in as he tries his best to please you, asking you whether he’s doing it right. And worse, that’s probably the tamest thing you could think of right now, the others you’ve daydreamed about are ten times worse.

Has his shorts ever been that short?

You didn’t want to take advantage of him, seeing as he would do whatever you asked no matter how weird they may be. 

You tried it once, asking him to fetch three blades of grass from the backyard and what do you know, he actually did it.

He seemed to think that he owed you, which isn’t really the case since you just wanted to help out.

What you wouldn’t give to see him gasping your name though.

“Hey, I never really asked this but would you like me to call you something?” You asked.

“Huh?” 

“Ah, well. I understand not telling me your real name but uh, I’d like to call you something like a nickname.”

“It’s up to you. I’d be fine with anything you give.”

You bit your lip again. He’s so sweet!

That being said, you didn’t know what you should call him. Wanderer, huh? Honey is a bit too much, Darling is too domestic, Sweetie seemed like you were pampering him…

Why were these nicknames all sounding like pet names for a lover?

“You said anything, right?” You reconfirmed.

He nodded.

“How about Doll, then?”

He stilled, a deep breath leaving his mouth. He seemed agitated. 

Did he not like it?

“I–Yes. That’s fine. Excuse me, I just have to get something in my room.”

He left before you could even apologize (for what?) or say a word.

That day, the rain stopped and you stopped seeing the wanderer ever since.

You tried to get it off your mind, spending time on your work or reading. 

It didn’t help. He’d disappeared and if it weren’t for your bruised lips, you’d think the whole thing was a long dream that you’d just woken out of.

You laid your back on the doorframe of his room. It wasn’t a guest room anymore, it was his now. Even if he’d never come back.

Wanderer walked and walked, trying to distract himself from you. 

The nickname hurt him and he didn’t know why. Was it because he was a puppet? He’d always been content with being one and if you had asked, he’d trusted you enough to the point that he’d tell you the truth.

Was there something he was forgetting? Something that he forgot which made him feel this hurt?

He stood outside of your house, his head leaning on the door, hand on the doorknob, when he heard a sultry voice talking.

Next, came the moaning and gasping. You were with someone else.

Get rid of them, they don’t deserve your touches. That should be for him, for his only.

His head ached.

He turned the knob slowly, walking towards your bedroom but stopped halfway through when he realized that you weren’t there.

You were in his room.

He sank to the floor, sitting there while he listened in.

“You seem aggressive.” The other voice said.

“Stop. Stop talking. Just lay there.” You replied.

“Really? How long is this going to last? All you’ve done is mark my neck and chest.”

Jealousy was all through his veins. Perhaps if he had never left, that could have been him in that bed instead of some random person.

He could hear you sigh disappointedly. 

“You won’t even kiss me on the lips. You haven’t stripped out of your clothes and it’s been an hour! I know I shouldn’t complain since I’m getting paid here but come on.”

“God, could you shut up?!” You yelled angrily.

Your voice brought shivers to the puppet. You had never gotten mad at him no matter what. Not when he broke the dishes while washing them, not when he accidentally messed up a recipe, not when he spaced out and stopped listening to your stories.

“I didn’t mean it. Doll, I—”

Silence filled the entire house. Not a word from you or the other person. Not a single breath out of the wanderer.

“Shit, I keep—” You stuttered with your words. 

“Can you just get out? Take the money with you.”

The person left without even noticing him to their left, in a hurry and understandably annoyed.

You didn’t think you’d get so desperate, hiring a person who could play his part. 

You thought you could get through it, maybe a fuck was something you needed to get it out of your system. You knew it wouldn’t work but you eventually gave in to your desires.

A shadowy figure loomed into your vision.

“I told you to get out.” 

“Are you alright?”

You brought your head up to see the wanderer looking at you with worry. Were you dreaming?

You stood up with shaking legs, running towards him to envelop him in a hug.

“You’re back.”

“I’m sorry.” He apologized.

You frowned at him, why was he apologizing?

“What? I should be the one saying sorry, I brought someone else home and called you something you didn’t like.”

“Yes, but I overreacted.” He replied.

“It did trigger you, didn’t it?”

He nodded, overwhelmed with your warmth due to being out for so long.

“Yes. But I… don’t know why.” He said with his eyes on the ground, troubled.

“I see. We’ll figure it out.” You reassured him.

“We?” He said, surprised.

“Yes.”

You crashed your lips onto his, something that you’d thought of more than you should. Your hands were on his back while you pressed his body against yours tightly.

The sudden act brought the puppet flustered to a whole new level. 

“Can I ask something?” He said, gasping for air as he separated from you.

“Hm?”

“Can you mark me like what you did with that person earlier?”

“Anything for you, love.”

The wanderer felt as if there were tons of butterflies fluttering away in his stomach. Love? 

Him? Really?

His face is pressed onto the pillows, his ass up for you, as your finger slips inside of his hole so smoothly that you’d think this isn’t the first time that he’s doing it with someone else.

He moaned loudly, fingers gripping the sheets and cum dripping onto them.

He still could feel the bruising on his chest all the way to his neck, there was more and deeper than what you did to your invited guest earlier, obviously wanting to prove to him that it’d never happen again, that it would only be him.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this. Each day with you drove me positively insane.” You told him.

He cried your name, feeling another finger penetrating his walls.

“M-Me too. I’ve thought about it a bunch of times.”

You hummed pleased, removing the fingers that let out a whine from his throat. 

You flipped him over, wanting to see his perfect face, and spread his thighs away from each other.

“Can you show me? Can you show me what you do while you think about it?”

He nodded, red coloring his cheeks.

He took his right hand and started from the base of his cock, stroking it but not all the way through, leaving his own tip unsatisfied. The whole scene already had him trembling, he wanted to look away from your eyes but at the same time, he was relishing from the attention.

“Hnn—Ah~” He breathed out your name, continuing to fuck himself with his hand.

“How many times have you done this?” You questioned.

It took him a while to answer, his head mostly focusing on only the pleasure and ignoring everything else.

“A-A lot. I clean the sheets before you wake up so you don’t notice.”

“Ah, such a good boy, aren’t you?”

He whimpered from the praise, a spray of his cum coming out hastily.

“That won’t do, though. I’m kicking you out of this room.” You said, giving his thigh a pinch, his cock twitching for release.

“You’re staying in my room now. If you want to jack off, you’ll be doing it in front of me just like this…Or, there’s always the other option.” 

“W-What?” 

“You could always ask me to help you out.”

He sobbed out a pathetic noise as he finally reached his orgasm. The bed sheets were already ruined and you haven’t even taken your clothes off yet.

His attention is brought back once he heard you unbuckle his belt.

“I’m gonna make you cum with my cock, the same number of times you orgasmed in here alone.”

“Okay.” He answered, awaiting what it would be like to finally have you inside of him.

Wanderer choked on his own breath when you first penetrated him, it was much different from your fingers. He felt so full of you, each time you thrust in and out of him had his toes curling from pleasure.

He continued whimpering, tears dripping down his cheeks while you held onto his slim waist, pumping him of your length.

His first orgasm from your cock is abrupt, too quick for even him to register it as you didn’t even stop, continuing to pound even deeper and rougher. His cock limped as it juiced out his cum.

It didn’t last long as with one specific hit to his prostate, Wanderer squeaked out an embarrassing noise, his cock hard once again.

“I’m going to ruin you, love.”

“Please do—Hah~”

His body felt lifeless, thighs too tired to even shake even if they wanted to. Your hands doing all the work, whether to switch his position, or make him face you as you fucked him just to see the faces that he would make, high on the pleasure.

Perhaps it was due to his anatomy that it wasn’t hurting, though he supposed that didn’t sound too bad either.

He blushed from his own thoughts, they had been bothering him since earlier. Where were these coming from?

“Do you need me to stop?” You asked him.

“No, keep going.”

His legs were in the air, carried by you, pushing even deeper into him despite that sounding impossible. 

Wanderer teared up again feeling his next orgasm coming, he didn’t even know if he’d be able to cum, already milked out dry.

“Hnghh!” He whined out, proven wrong when you used your other hand, palming his tip.

He came for the last time, exhausted and empty as you pulled out. 

“Should we take a bath together?”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to go there.” He panted, laughing at his situation.

He was covered with his own excretions and yet he looked just as lovely.

“Nonsense! I’ll carry you!”

“Alright then, love.” He returned the nickname, tugging at your heart and bringing you to a smile.

You two did spend more time in the bath than you expected though.

Oops.

[myafterlifeisbetterthenyours]

But what if it could?

(This is the 3rd part in the 'What about me' series)

Asmodeus took a long time to get to sleep.

He usually had very little trouble in that department, though he usually had more than enough 'exercise' before sleeping, which remained absent this time round, that no doubt playing a part.

But having Nikos form curled up on his chest, his chest stained with tears, played the biggest.

He watched him lay there, one giant hand laid over the man, cupping the little Imp against his chest, Niko looking so small curled up on his broad chest.

The little Imp seeming so calm, memories of the night before flashing in his mind as the Imp nuzzled his chest fluff.

It was the polar opposite of how he'd been the night before. The man a sobbing mess as he all but passed out in his grasp.

In the present, the Sin moved his hand back, gently cupping the side of the Imps little face.

How could he be such an idiot?

How didn't he see Nikos affection? His love for him?

He'd completely neglected him and his wants. The man never asked for much, and was always so eager to serve. And as he gave so much Asmodeus just took and took never stopping to ask what he wanted.

But as bad as that was, how could he have treated him like he did? Saying he'd abandon him so easily, then after saying hed just abandon him for Fizz, he then let Fizz take care of a situation he'd caused.

He couldn't blame the Imp for thinking he didn't care, thinking about it, he hardly believed he cared himself.

After everything theyve been through together, all the things theyve done together? Everything hed done for him. How could he treat him so poorly?

With a gently sigh a soft smile crossed his face as the Imp nuzzled his hand, the Imp slowly starting to stir.

Niko unconsciously nuzzled his palm, the man humming softly as his eyes fluttered open, the Imp staring up at him.

The two stared at each other for a moment, man surprised at the warm grin that cross the Imp’s face, the man staring up at him with a warm, half lidded gaze as they stared at each other.

Asmodeus felt a deep warmth bubbling in his chest, a feeling he'd only ever found when looking at Fizzy. A feeling he'd never expected to feel towards Niko.

The Sin would scratch behind one of his horns, something he often did with Fizzy. His froggie, despite his sensitivity towards his horns, loved it as did Niko apparently.

He wondered if it was an Imp thing?

He'd have to look into that.

And sure enough Niko happily pressed into his hand, the Imp practically purring as he lazily stared up at him, seemingly in a state of bliss.

Asmodeus felt a deep joy bubble in his chest.

Fucking Hell.

He was an idiot.

It'd be as Niko predded down, nuzzled his face into Ozzies generous chest fluff, lower face covered as he stared up at him, that the entire moment felt amazing.

It was perfect.

The whole moment felt like it'd never end.

Then Fizz awoke.

The now former Clown had surrendered his spot on his chest in place of Niko, given the circumstances the Imp understood the need for him to remain where he was, the Imp finding a comfy little nook pressed to the Sins muscular side.

But as the two laid there, locked in their moment, the Imp slid up and out of the blanket.

The Imp popping his head out, first beaming at Ozzie, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before turning and giving the Imp an awkward little smile.

Niko froze.

His eyes slowly widening, expression growing sombre as his face seemed to lose colour, and before Asmodeus could even speak, the Imp cried, pushing himself out of his grasp the man furiously jumping up.

The Imp was in hysterics as he yelled and snarled, the Imp jumping up and furiously walking across the man's chiselled form.

"Of fucking course!" The man screamed as he walked down the man's chest. "One fucking good dream I have all week and it's NOT A FUCKING DREAM AT ALL!"

He screamed, looking for the shoes Asmodeus had taken off the night before but as he stepped on the man's leg, he'd trip, stumbling and rolling off the man's bed, hitting the floor with a thud.

"NIKO!" Asmodeus cried, the Sin yanking his blanket off and moving to Nikos aid.

Niko, who'd already gotten up, grumbled as he rubbed his neck.

"Niko, are you alright?" The sin asked, binding his robe tight.

The Imp huffed as he stood up, unable to find his shoes he scowled, waving him off.

"Oh fuck off, Ozzie, you don't get to act all buddy buddy, not after everything."

Ozzie swallowed the lump in his throat as he raised his hands. "Please, just... just listen!"

Niko stared at him before scowling. "Oh fuck this." He growled, getting up and storming out of the room.

Or... he would have. If Asmodeus hadn't grabbed his tail, the man walking in place for several moments before he'd turn, glaring at the man.

"Really?"

Ozzie just gave the man an unimpressed frown, cocking a brow.

Yanking the man back, he placed the Imp on his lap, the man sitting up straight as he turned the Imp towards him.

"Can you just listen, please?" He spoke sofly. "Look, you have every right to be upset, and I don't blame you for wanting to leave, but could you just... listen. Just for a minute. Please Niko."

Niko glared at him for a minute before looking to the large clock he kept above the kitchen counter.

"One minute Ozzie. Then I'm gone."

Ozzie sighed, happy he'd at least gotten a chance.

"Niko... I know you probably hate me, and you have every right too. I-I fucked up. I failed you a-as a boss and even more as a friend. You gave me your everything and I... I didn't even care enough to realise you were in love with me."

Ozzie's expression turned dower, the man looking to him softly, reaching up to cup Nikos cheek, the man hesitantly accepting the embrace.

"But you... you mean so much to me Niko." He spoke, voice straining ever so slightly. "This past week, I... I've missed you more then I ever though possible."

The man was getting emotional, seemingly on the brink of tears.

"Every day I woke up expecting you to be here but... every time you weren't I... I... I felt like I'd lost a part of me." He stared down at the Imp, his massive hands cupping his form as the Imp stared up at him in shock. "I missed seeing you... you giving me that look you always do when I make a terrible joke."

"I realised... I need you... Niko... I need you." He spoke tenderly, pulling him close, Ozzie bringing him in close before he kissed the Imp.

Fizz who'd been chowing on popcorn to the side, jaw dropped, the man holding his cheeks as he gasped.

After a minute the Sin pulled back, licking his lips as he peered down at the Imp.

Niko, to the Sins shock, had tears streaming down his face. The man shaking as he lowered his head, the little Imp collapsing against his chest, the man sobbing as he grasped at the man's robe.

"Please... please..." He sobbed, the man shaking against him.

Ozzie, shocked and concern gently reached down, trying to consol the man.

"Please don't leave me..." The Imp begged, looking up at him, the man the most pathetic he'd ever seen him.

"I can't do it without you Ozzie. I-I-I-I Just Can't!" The man sobbed, hands shaking as he clung to the man's robe. "This past weeks been Hell. Worse than Hell! I-I can't live without you..."

"I need you..." Niko sobbed, peering up at him, tears streaming down his face.

Ozzie immediately pulled the man close, holding him to his chest as the man broke down.

"Sssh, sssh." He shushed, holding him close. "I... I'm not going nowhere Niko."

The man held him for several minutes until he settled, the man suddenly pulling on his robe, the man pressing himself into the man's broad chest.

"Im sorry... Please don't leave me." The man begged softly, pressing his face into his chest.

Ozzie snorted softly leaning back and bringing his face up to his, the man smiling down at him.

"Oh Niko..." Ozzie cooed, Niko staring up at him with teary eyes.

Looking to Fizz, the Imp smiled warmly, nodding his head. The two sharing a loving stare before the sin turned back to the Imp in his grasp.

"I love you Niko." He spoke warmly, massive hand cupping his cheek.

Nikos eyes bulged as hot tears streamed down his face, the man breaking down as the Sin pulled him close. "Thank you!" He sobbed, the Sin nuzzling the Imps face as they held each other.

Ozzie teared up, a goofy smile crossing his face as he held the Imp to his chest. The two wrapped in a loving embrace.

Fizzarolli, whom was barely containing himself, squealed softly, mechanical hands over his mouth.

"Oh fuck it, I can't take it anymore!" The Imp cried, jumping up and wrapping the two of them in a long arm and legged hug. "Group hug!"

The three of them wrapped up in a loving hug. Ozzie laughing as he reached out pulling him close, planting a kiss on the Imps head.

Even Niko found himself smiling, Fizzarolli pulling his limbs back, falling into the Sins lap, the both of them looking to Niko.

The Imp smiled, sniffling as he wiped his eyes.

"Fuck, I'm totally fucking up this moment." He chuckled. "No doubt I look like shit."

Ozzie just chuckled, bringing a massive finger up to wipe a tear away.

"Baby, you've never looked more beautiful."

Niko stared up at him, Ozzie staring back the two sharing a loving moment before Niko snorted, shaking his head as he punched his gut.

"Oh don't give me that sappy shit. I look like shit." He smiled, sniffling as he leaned against the man.

Ozzie chuckled, cupping the man in his big ass hand. "Yeah well, you look beautiful to me, and that's all that matters."

The two shared another moment before Fizzarolli suddenly leapt into frame, the man beaming.

"So does that mean this is a three-way now?!" He cheered, laying between them.

Niko, clearly not as entertained by the man's antics, looked to Ozzie, the Sin chuckling softly the Imps antics.

"Mmmm, more or less, though let's take this slow." He hummed, picking them both up, giving the both of them hot and heavy kisses. "I have a feeling there'll be one Hell of a learning curb."

He smiled, seeing how Niko looked on at their clear dynamic with envy, the man snapping out of it as he looked at the sin.

"This'll take time, but well get there." He smiled, kissing them both just before their horns.

"All that matters is we love each other. Orrrr well, we all tolerate each other."

That getting a laugh from the Imps.

"And now?" Fizz asked, looking between the two of them.

"Now." Niko cut in. "Now I look at the books I've no doubt Ozzie's butchered the books in my absence." He smiled, tail coming up to curl under his chin, the Imp smiling as he stepped off, the lil Imp pitter pattering to his office.

Fizz slumped back, the two watching as the Imp left, Fizz curling up on his lap, Ozzie reaching out to twirl his tail on his finger.

"I like him~" Fizz purred, releasing a soft humm.

Ozzie just chuckled, nodding his head.

"Yeah... So do I. I think he'll be just what we need."

He smiled, to which Fizzarolli broke into giggles. "And here I was thinking all we needed was some extra lube."

"Oh dont you worry FizzyPop." The Sin laughed, bringing the Imp up, laying him over his shoulders as he got up to prepare breakfast. "With Niko around I'm sure we'll be needing even more lube."

This getting a laugh from the Imp, the both of them breaking into laughter, Ozzie feeling for the first time all week like everything would go their way.

[lawchwan]

love alphabet (sanji)

summary: just another alphabet for our favorite perverted romantic chef

disclaimer: there are some spoilers of skypiea and Whole Cake Island in some alphabets so be warn with that. and obviously some alphabets have nsfw content. Also some alphabets have fem terms, which was not my intention, i’ll edit them once i have the free time.

crossposted on ao3

A = Affection (PDA, what sort of affection they give)

You are talking to the king of PDA. If you’re someone who cannot handle pda, then you need to start handling it with Sanji. He loves to be hands-on with you, literally, declaring to the entire world how much you mean to him. This man just outright loves you, and he’s not shy of showcasing it.

Bonus: he loves to be extra in front of Zoro, just to rub it in his face, only to get a groan and an eye roll of disgust from him (and the entire straw hats really, even Luffy couldn’t stand it)

B = Babies (Anything you want about babies)

“Oh, you want babies? Say less, ma’am, I’ll throw all the condoms and contraceptives away. When and where and I’ll give it to you” he says, with heart eyes and nosebleed as you mentioned in passing about babies.

In all seriousness, Sanji does have a soft spot for kids. He is a very gentle man and often really caring towards kids. If you remember at the end of enies lobby, the way he handled Chimney with such care after her exclaiming about how hungry she is how I imagined he’d be with his own kid, and maybe even extra doting and caring. Also chopper and Sanji’s interaction during skypiea… I don’t think I need to add more… (Although Chopper is 17 years old/was 15 during skypiea, it still applies)

C = Cuddles (How they cuddle or are cuddled)

Oh that man loves to cuddle. He may not be the most fleshy, he does however have the warmth that can counteract as a blanket and that’s enough of you. He, like law in my previous love alphabet, loves to be the small spoon, except he is more open about and doesn’t care about one says about it.

D = Darling  (Pet names) 

He’ll throw in any affectionate nicknames that he could think of at the top of his head and will say it with no shame. But I do think he’s the type to say “darling,” “my love,” “my sweet,” and “angel.”

He also has more pet names/nicknames in the bedroom and calls you goddess/god and mommy/daddy. He one time slipped up and called you mommy/daddy in front of Zoro, and Zoro mocked him for all eternity until you confronted him… : )

E = Enamored (how hard do they fall when in love)

It's Sanji we’re talking about… this man will lay his eyes on any woman and he’ll fall head over heels. But when it comes to you, there’s a slightly subtle change. While he still maintains his chivalry and flirtatious act, he does put in extra effort with you. If he makes Nami and Robin a parfait, then you’ll get extra toppings and flavors of your liking. Honestly, their food—still being better than how he would serve his male crew—would start looking underwhelming next to yours, but it's not that they’re complaining. Matter of fact, they, mainly Nami, thank you for having reciprocal feelings since Sanji hasn’t been going at either woman.   

F = Firsts (A first on anything you pick)

The first time Sanji cooked for you was special. You were sitting in the kitchen, alone with him, as you happened to catch a case of “midnight hunger,” and there he was, a handsome cook cleaning the dishes as he hums to himself. When you made your presence known, the blond man turned with his usual charismatic smile and turned the sink before doing so.

“hey, (y/n) darling, what are you doing here?”

He seemed genuinely to be ecstatic to see you in the kitchen, even though it was god-awful late at night, he didn’t seem bothered for some reason. You were about to mention how hungry you were, until the grumble of your stomach spoke for you, only for you to look away, flustered. Sanji simply chuckled as he stated sweetly, “I guess I know why…”

And there you were, as much as you didn’t want to wear him out, he was very insistent and ended up cooking up something upon your request. You just sat there, ogling at the cook as he worked his magic. You stare at his hands, veins popping up handsomely due to the force he is exerting, whether through cutting vegetables or holding onto the sizzling pan, as you place your head onto your hand. You didn’t say much to not distract him, but, man oh man, was he attractive just cooking for you.

“oh, how I wish those hands were on me…” you thought to yourself as you began analyzing his physique with your eyes wandering from his blond locks to his tiny yet built waist, down to his thick ass. Your head was heading to perverted places where you might need a quick shower afterward.

He seemed to have noticed that you were staring at him, so as he finished with his finishing touch, he began declaring, “Voila!”  as he handed you the dish. You were brought back to reality after he spoke up, and you looked down at your dish.

“Oh, wow does that look good,” you say, softly yet excitedly. He just shrugged and hummed with a confident smile before handing your utensils. As you had your first bite, you closed your eyes as you moaned in glee; you truly never doubted him when it came to food because that was perhaps the most delicious dish you ever had. He simply just looked at you admirably, as he mimicked your look towards him when you saw him cook, even down to the head-on-chin position.

Once you were done, you sighed and let out a phew due to your fullness. “How’d you like it?” Sanji spoke up with a smile as he took your plate.

“That was amazing, Sanji… Thank you so much,” You say with gratitude as you hold his face with one hand, and he leaned against it. He mirrored you, only this time he leaned in before he wiped the corner of your lips the remaining sauce while he maintained eye contact.

“Missed a spot,” he whispered to you before licking his finger, winking, and taking the plate to the sink. He then had his back to you with a smirk while you looked at him in awe.

God, does this man drive you crazy…

G = Good Morning (How do they wake you up)

You best believe that you’ll be getting your morning kisses daily from him. If he wakes up before you, he’ll just lift himself and stare at you with love sparkle all over his blue eyes, he’ll probably even run his fingernail against your skin before kissing you awake. He’ll paint that beautiful smile as he says with his gentle morning voice, “Good morning, sunshine.”

That’s on his lazy days though, other days, however, he might just wake you up with breakfast in bed. He’ll set aside the tray before he gently shakes you until you wake up and informs you that he made you breakfast.

He is such a romantic, it warms one’s cold heart.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs?)

His hugs are so warm… I don’t know what else to add. He just adds a layer of comfort to him, just like his cuddles.

I = In Labor (Labour and Delivery)

He’s an absolute mess and honestly, you might have considered kicking him out during delivery. It’s not that he’s a dick about it or whatever—matter of fact, poor dude’s just trying to help—, but he’s acting like he’s the one giving birth due to his nervousness and is making you feel worse about the situation. If he wasn’t your love and/or the father of your child, you’d have kicked him out and had Zoro or Robin fill the role for support (you’ve thought of Nami as well, but she’d probably be squeamish and leave the room).

And once that child’s out, he’ll probably cry at the sight of your beautiful creation and kiss you on the top of your head while he praises you and compliments the beautiful bundle of joy.

“You did it… You’re so amazing,”

J = Jealousy (Are they jealous? How do they handle it?)

And the winner of the most hypocritical individual award goes to; Blackleg Sanji. You might have to beat him for it, because how the fuck is he allowed to flirt with other women, yet he beats men whom you’ve given the same energy?

All jokes aside, this man will probably glare at the person who’s attempting to get closer to you. He’ll probably start causing chaos if anyone were to lay a hand on his partner and he doesn’t care, he’ll stop when the one who gets the beat down promises he won’t look at you again.

K = Kisses (How do they kiss? How often?)

You finally understood the addiction to nicotine when you first pressed your lips against his. No matter a peck or a full-on passionate, his lips were simply addicting and you just crave them every time you look at him. He places a cigarette on his lips, and you envy the tip of the cigarette for it is covered by his lips when it should be your skin that is covered by his lips.

He kisses you very often, maybe a little bit too often, disgustingly often. But he’ll tone it down if you ask, and he’ll give you kisses throughout the day, he can never leave a day with no kisses for you.

L = Loyal (How loyal are they?)

Contrary to popular belief—and the jokes I’ve been making earlier—, Sanji’s pretty loyal. Sure, he may flirt with multiple women, which is a bad habit, but he never thought of sleeping with them now that he’s with you. He mainly claims it as just acts of chivalry, but truly he never intends on coming off as overtly flirtatious nor does he have any intentions of cheating on you, and he will always find a way to prove it.

M = Memory (Their favourite memory about you?)

The first time you declared your love for him. Underneath that charismatic aura, Sanji’s a broken man who believes that love is not by his side. Sure, he is aware that he has platonic, or rather familial love from the straw hat crew, Zeff, and the workers at Baratie, but he never would have thought that he’d find genuine romantic love and he was on his journey of accepting that.

Until you came along and ruined it, and Sanji couldn’t have been more grateful that you did. When you two happened to be kissing each other after an intimate session, you held him and uttered those three words, only for him to be gasping and widen his eyes in astonishment.

“What?”

You looked at him with a loving smile and holding onto his delicate face, “I love you, Sanji…”

You made Sanji’s heart flutter as he looked at you with glossy eyes and he laid on your chest and you began stroking his locks. You didn’t want him to respond if he didn’t want to, you simply just wanted to let him know, only for you to hear a whisper,

“I love you too…”

N = Never! (Dealbreakers)

Never mention his biological father, and don’t you ever try to reunite them. Sanji considers Zeff as his real dad, he taught and treated him like a father would to his son, so if you’d reunite them, he’d be over the moon. Reunite him with Judge and Sanji will feel betrayed that you would put him in a room with his abuser.

No amount of “but you guys are family” will cut it.

O = On the Rocks (How do they make up?)

Sanji’s the type to apologize through meals. He’ll obviously talk to you, but no matter how mad he is/you are, he’ll not leave you hungry. You two will start apologizing to each other and admit your mistakes. The one thing you love about Sanji is that he respects you too much for you to be upset, even if you’re in the wrong.

So you’ll simply just talk it out and kiss afterward… which may lead to more action if you get my drift.

P = Playtime (Any headcanons on sex)

Sanji loves to call you goddess/god, no matter if he’s domming or subbing. He just loves the thought of worshipping you and gliding his tongue all over his skin.

He also enjoys giving you oral or fingering you, doesn’t matter where you guys are, he’ll always find a way to have a taste of you, claiming “It’s the best flavor I’ve ever tried.”

Q = Quiet Time (How do they wind down?)

The perfect wind-down for Sanji is simply cuddling in bed or cooking alone with you. Sure, it may seem very cliché, but Sanji’s a cliché man and he knows it, especially when you call him out on it, but he doesn’t care.

What better way to spend some quiet time than when you have your partner with you, am I right?

R = Rapture (What makes them happy?)

When you value him and remind him how loved and important he is. Given his childhood, it is easy for him to slip through the mindset of self-loathing and ending himself, which resulted in his sacrificial personality. While you were never a cure for it, you did help him ease through those tough times, and he grew to appreciate you for your effort and how you don’t perceive the way others do.

Your overall love and appreciation for him means so much to him, thus resulting in making him happy.

S = Soulmate (What do they think of soulmates?)

Oh, he hands down believes in soulmates. First off, he’s a Pisces, and every Pisces I’ve met believes in soulmates. Secondly, he is a romantic at heart, soul, and body so he believes that there’s someone out there that will complete his soul.

T = Together (What do you like to do together?)

Cooking, of course, and also shopping. This man will go broke for you and he’ll be happy to go into debt for you, as long as you are happy and content, please, by all means, make his pockets hurt (but you won't because you love him too much to ever go through that).

U = Unyielding (How do they handle interlopers on the relationship?)

Sanji will karate kick them on their way out. “How dare you to try to meddle in OUR perfect. Beautiful, loving relationship?! Who gave you the absolute right to try and take my sweet partner away?! I’ll beat you to a pulp!” Sanji would exclaim as he proceeded to ambush the person who tried to interlope.

V = Vulnerable (Are they vulnerable often? How do they handle it?)

Sanji would not be as vulnerable as you’d think when you first met. Sure, he’s very emotional in tune and can hold you days on end when you just want to cry out about whatever’s bothering you, past or present.

Just like Law, once he gains trust, that’s when the floodgates are open and he starts becoming vulnerable and talking about his trauma. Please hug him and promise you won’t throw him under the bus with all of that, he needs emotional support and love.

W = Wedding (Wedding headcanons)

He’ll make sure he’ll make your wedding a day you won’t ever forget. I imagine your guys’ wedding being extravagant yet still intimate, inviting only the straw hat crew—yes including Zoro—, Vivi, Zeff, and most of his workers of Baratie from his end. He made sure you had some cake testing before the wedding and was mostly in charge of the catering, despite it being his wedding day.

Despite you were the bride, Sanji was more of a bridezilla than you were, and you had your fair share of freak outs, but not to the extend of Sanji’s to which you had to calm him down. Eventually, however, everything was settled—thanks to you and the rest of the straw hat—and you had a beautiful wedding by the beach.

(idk he seems like someone who would want a beach wedding.)

X = (E)x (How do they handle exes? What do they do if they see them)

He’d act the same with interlopers when it comes to your ex, especially if that ex had done unimaginable heinous things to you.

Meanwhile, his exes might have to run away because otherwise, he’ll start acting “too friendly,” and may slip up a few details about their previous relationship, which results in you being insecure.

He eventually apologizes, genuinely avoids his ex, and never interacts with them.

Y = Yearning (What do they do when they miss you?)

Another pillow sniffer and clothes (panties) stealer. Yup, that’s it, nothing else to add there. Just read my law’s one and just switch law with Sanji and you’ll get the same effect.

While he’s always snatching your pillows and clothes when you’re away, whenever he’s in the kitchen, he’ll even cook your favorite food to remind him of you. Even though he cooked it himself, he can’t help but be reminded of you and your sparkling eyes of joy when you see him cook your favorite meal.

NSFW

 He loves your enthusiasm so damn much, and God does he crave to see it again, especially when you have that similar sparkle when he undresses in front of you and showcases his pink-tipped cock to you.

Where were those panties when he needed them?

Z = Zzz… (Sleeping headcanons)

He loves it when you guys are in spooning positions. While he prefers being the small spoon, he loves to wrap himself around you with your chest on his. The feeling of you being snug beside him makes him feel like he can protect you and there’s no better feeling than that.

characters are owned by oda. i will not tolerate nor accept translation, reposts on other websites, or plagiarism. divider made by mmadeinheavenn.

[bitter-me]

Pookie please!

At first I'm fine with the open ending of Welt x Reader ome. But then you go on ahead and make a sequel with a cliffhanger. Please my heart can't take it.

I won't force you t continue it if you don't want to. I just wanted to say it's amazingly written. And if you did ever wanted to go back continuing that, I'd be looking forward to it. (Be it more angst or bittersweet ending or even happy one. I'm content because I'm just that starving for Welt x male reader)

The very long awaited part three

Yes, Your Excellency

Part One | Part two | Part Three (You're here)

----------

Welt Yang | M. Reader

----------

"I will gladly play the part, so that you may shine, my sun."

----------

Once upon a time in a kingdom far away..

Lived a princess only 14 years of age.

There wasn't anything this princess couldn't have with a boy just like her serving as her right hand man..

"Yes, Your Excellency."

Those are the words he have said to her multiple times, from the very beginning. He was there as he watch his Lady build an empire from nothing. Her anxiousness... her fears.. her loneliness... her suffering..

He saw it all.

His dear Christine.

She was truly.. the light in his tunnel..

Even after everything, she still smiles and answers to her people. Truly a kind and thoughtful ruler.

And he's more than happy to be by her side. To guide her. And comfort her at her lowers.

She was everything to him.

----------

The Stellaron Crisis brought many disasters and ailments. The suffering the people felt, their loved ones who are clutching their last straws. It breaks his heart. Truly it did.

It breaks his heart that Her Excellency has to watch her people suffer.

Her face which was once filled with joy was replaced by a somber expression. Her tone was so soft and full of life has turned sorrowful.

It breaks his heart... Truly... it did..

How could they.. turned such a beautiful person who's full of life into.. this..

It's unforgettable!

And as her right hand man, he will solve this Crisis and finally... bring back that smile that once adored her face.

He endured many sleepless nights and devoted himself to his research. He doesn't care what it takes. He will save her. The Stellaron Crisis is out of control, what if Her Excellency gets infected by its disease? What if she was suffering from the ailment this entire time! He has to! He has to save her! Whatever it takes!

"You worked so hard on trying to solve the Stellaron Crisis. I can see why you're Her Excellency's right hand man."

The day the Nameless arrived at their humble planet, claiming wanting to help and lend their aid. He was skeptical. How could these... people.. be as what they claim to be? How could he know they won't harm anyone? How could he know they won't harm her?

He didn't say anything as he kept vigilant.

They complimented him. Calling him a responsible and caring man for devoting himself to his research on the Crisis that had plagued his home.

Of course.

How could he not?

When she is also affected by it?

She doesn't deserve this.

She doesn't deserve any of this.

Her beloved kingdom.. on the brink of collapsing..

Oh how heartbroken she must be..

Which is why...

He's taking things into his own hands.

He can't just sit idly and see her suffering like that everyday.

----------

"Whatever it takes?"

"How bold~"

"Then why don't you accept our offer?"

"We can help you!"

Their voices are loud. Oh so loud. They begged and persuaded him. Trying to get him on their side.

"We can give you power.. so you can protect her."

Their offers are very tempting. Very very tempting.

----------

The Nameless.. as righteous as they are.. never would he thought one of them could be so interested in him. That man talked to him so casually as if they're old friends, maybe more.

He was never good with names.

But his name seems to stick to him for some reason. The chatter and the gift that man had given. It somehow.. stuck to him in a way he never knew existed.

He felt like he had gone insane.

They're strangers and yet.. it felt like.. they knew each other for so long..

"Oh? What's this?"

"Have you found another?"

"How cruel of you.. to forsake your beloved.."

No... No.. No!! Nonononononononononono!!! He can't!! Her Excellency!! She's—!

"You can't deny it though."

Shut up.. just shut up!

Their voices grew loud as their demans became more tempting by the second.. The Nameless.. as righteous as they may be.. Could he truly trust them..? Trust them to.. solve this Crisis..? Trust them to.. save her..?

Of course not.

How could he? How could he trust them? They're just some random people!! They came uninvited claiming they wanted to help!! Who do they think he is?! He's Her Excellency's right hand! Christine's right hand!

"You know what..? Sure.. I accept."

.

.

.

.

.

"They're nothing but fools."

"No one can save her."

"No one but me."

[thegoldencontracts]

May I request Ace, Deuce, and Riddle taking care of a Ramshackle Prefect reader who’s come down with the flu or something? (I hope requesting multiple characters at once is okay…)

Of course, multiple characters is okay! Thank you so much for requesting!

Sick Days

You're sick. Lovely. But at least your fellow schoolmates are there to make this a bit less awful.

Notes: Sickfic, my beloved, small fics for each character, reader has no pronouns, reader's face isn't mentioned to turn red, no size/hair type giveaways, etc, please tell me if I've added a description that makes the reader difficult to relate to!

You woke up feeling like absolute garbage. You felt hot and cold at the same time, your head hurt, and you were so, so dizzy.

There was a paw on your face. Grim.

"Myah, human, took you long enough!" he said. "Class already started, but the Great Grim stayed behind just for you!"

It took a second for his words to register.

What? Class already started? You're late, this is gonna be terrible, you're late, and-

"You're burnin' up!" Grim said, which was probably true, now that you thought about it. You didn't really feel like addressing his concerns.

Instead, you gave your own very intelligent input.

"Ugh."

"You should probably stay home, human. Get better, so you can get back to serving the Great Grim faster."

Even when he was concerned, Grim just had to be- well, Grim, didn't he? Whatever. You just wanted to sleep. You'd call in absent later, or whatever.

You went to sleep. Tried to, at least. It was half tossing and turning, a quarter trying to get comfortable in your blankets, an immeasurable amount of time sneezing and sniffling - Grim managed to get you a tissue box with his paws at some point and maybe one percent actual resting.

After what, according to the clock was a few hours worth of suffering, you heard a knock on your bedroom.

"Who is it?"

Ace Trappola

"Vil Schoenheit, duh." You were not letting Ace diss you while you were sick. Not a chance.

"Don't come in."

"Jeez," Ace said, seeming pretty concerned. "You sound awful. I'm coming in."

So kind, Ace. So kind. Truly, that man deserved an award for his raw tact.

The door slammed open, and you could see Ace's smug grin fall for a moment before coming back up.

"You got sick?" He said, giving you a once-over.

Obviously you were sick! What kind of question was that?

"No, I'm actually better than I've ever been," you said. "That's why I didn't come to school. To celebrate my raw level of health."

"Whatever. Can't blame you for that, but you're still and idiot for those thick blankets. You're supposed to lower your body temperature when you're sick; even Deuce knows that."

You weren't going to stand for this slander of your mutual friend - no matter how much those two tried to deny their friendship.

"Take back what you said about-"

"And get some food in your system! I'm getting you some soup."

Before you could even say anything, Ace was gone.

Was he- concerned about you? Actually, yeah, that was probably it. Ace was just built like that.

After a while, he was back, with a bowl of soup and a wet towel in hand.

"Trey, uh, had some soup leftover," he said, pressing the towel to your forehead. Cold. So cold. You wanted it off. "And the towel'll help get your temperature down. Don't take it off."

For all you made fun of Ace, he was actually so street-smart it was scary sometimes, and that included being able to read your thoughts.

"I won't," you said, more like mumbled, because your throat was so sore you'd think someone shoved a bunch of needles down it.

"You sound awful," he said with a snicker. "You need water. I'll go get it for you."

You didn't even mind the fact that he was making fun of you right now, you were just thankful for that sweet, sweet water. Your throat was dryer than the Sahara - which, funnily enough, didn't actually mean anything, since the Sahara didn't exist in Twisted Wonderland and was therefore just gibberish.

Lo and behold, he came back, carrying a thermos filled with water.

"Drink some," he said, holding the bottle up to your lips.

That gave you pause. What was next, him feeding you the soup?

Still, you needed the water, so you drank it without thinking.

It felt so good. Finally, rain in the Sahara!

You didn't have much time to rejoice before Ace held up a spoon of soup to your mouth.

"Say ah," he said, evidently very amused.

"I'm not a little kid, I can feed myself."

Ace just looked at you, unimpressed.

"Your hands're shaking so hard I can see them through the blankets," he said. "You're an idiot if you think your hands can take that soup anywhere but all over your blankets."

He was mean, but he was right. Curse him.

You opened your mouth, and he fed you a spoonful. This was how it went until the bowl was gone.

"You can leave now," you said.

"Nah," Ace replied. "You clearly need help getting better."

He was staying, wasn't he? And there was nothing you could do to change that. Whatever, maybe being babied wouldn't be so bad.

Besides, this was his own way of showing he cared, and it was one you didn't entirely mind. It'd be rude to push him away.

"Fine, fine," you said.

"Good."

And so, with Ace's help, getting better wasn't so bad.

A week later, however, Ace himself got sick. He really should've seen that coming.

"Here, say 'ah'."

"D-Don't feed me, idiot! I'm not a baby, I can do it myself."

How the turns had tabled.

Deuce Spade

"It's me, Deuce."

That was a relief.

"Come in," you said. "It's not locked."

The door opened, and you could make out the blue hair and black mark of none other than Deuce, one of your two friends from Heartslabyul - No matter how much Ace tried to deny he cared.

"You look terrible, Prefect," he said, and you knew he didn't mean to insult you, but it still hurt.

"I know," you said. "What'd you come here for?"

"You didn't come to class, so I was worried," Deuce said. "Now I know why. Anything I can do to make you feel better?"

There was one thing you wanted, more than anything.

"Water," you croaked out. "Please."

Right now, you and water were star-crossed lovers. Maybe Deuce could change that.

"Right away."

Deuce scurried out of the room, and, after a few, agonizing seconds, came back with your beloved water.

"Do you need help drinking?" he asked.

For a second, you thought that question was offensive. You could get it yourself. Then. you tried to reach for the bottle, and realized that his question was a very good one.

"Yep," you said, because your trembling hand were not bringing that bottle up to your mouth. The task just seemed daunting.

He put the bottle up to your mouth, and you drank up. Finally, your throat was parched. Relief.

"Anything else you need?" Deuce asked.

Although you didn't feel particularly nauseous right now, you weren't going to risk it with a meal. Right now, you just wanted someone to accompany you through your misery.

"Just stay with me," you asked. "You don't have to, I mean, I know you probably have a bunch of things to do, but-"

"No," Deuce said. "I'll stay with you. You're my friend, a-and, I want to do anything I can to make you feel any better."

He looked away.

"S-Sorry, I know how stupid that sounds," he said. You were going to correct his inaccurate statement.

"Deuce."

"Y-Yeah?"

"I'm pretty sure that's the nicest thing anyone's said to me."

"Thanks." Deuce scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "Anyways, do you wanna know what stuff in class we learned so it's easier for you to catch up?"

You smiled.

"I would love that."

Deuce made that sick day so much better. Somehow, he didn't even get sick. You honestly envied that good immune system. It was good that he didn't suffer for trying to help you, though.

Riddle Rosehearts

"Prefect, I was informed that you were absent from class today. Do you have an explanation?"

"I'm sick," you said, miffed. Riddle was actually great to be around, but god, you didn't have the patience for getting lectured right now.

Silence. More silence. Sheepish scurrying.

After a while, you hear another knock.

"Prefect, it's me," Riddle said. "I would like to apologize for my discourteous behavior prior."

The door opened, and there was Riddle, carrying a bunch of stuff.

"Aagh," was your highly intelligent greeting.

Riddle walked up to you, getting out a towel. He cast a water spell on it.

"You look quite disheveled," he said, putting the now wet towel on your forehead. "I really do feel terrible about the way I addressed you earlier. Trey had some soup leftover, would you like some?"

You nodded. You wanted something warm right now, especially with the cold cloth on your head.

"I'll get it for you, then."

From his bag, he took out a canteen, a spoon, and a napkin. He was really well-prepared, wasn't he? That really wasn't a shock. This was Riddle, after all, top student and ultimate over-preparer - actually, maybe Azul or Jamil took the latter role. Nothing could beat seeing Azul's backup-backup plans for the serious affair of buying cheese from Sam's.

Riddle handed you the soup, waving his magic-pen.

Your hand weren't trembling anymore. Weird.

"That was me," Riddle said, noticing your confusion. "The spell will temporarily let you eat in comfort."

"Thanks," you said, taking a sip of the soup. It tasted so good to your empty stomach. The nausea'd worn off some time ago, and now you were left with the burning feeling of hunger. You scarfed down that soup in no time, leaving Riddle with a concerned look.

"Are you not worried about vomiting?" he said.

You shook your head.

"I don't feel nauseous," you said. "Not now, at least."

That seemed to be a good enough answer for Riddle, who nodded.

"Is there anything else you'd like?"

"Can you help me catch up on the stuff I missed?"

"Of course," Riddle said, summoning a massive notebook. You gulped.

This was going to be a long day, wasn't it? Oh, well, at least it wouldn't be as bad as it would've been without Riddle.

Only three days after helping you get better, Riddle also got sick. You felt so bad, he was a stickler for attendance and now he was missing school because of you! You had to help him.

"I'm so, so sorry, Riddle, I swear!"

"You- achoo! H-Have nothing to- to be sorry for, Prefect."

[starstruckbyacomet]

Bullying – BoBs' Reason behind It, and Their Last Straw (probably)

BoBs have used every reason and tool they can think of to trash Tommy and to bully Lou online. A lot of their excuses could be broken easily, makes them look stupid, manipulative, or (most often) both. But they don't care.

Why do BoBs keep bullying Lou?

Because they think this strategy has served them in the past, several times.

They have bullied the actresses who played Buck's or Eddie's love interests: Gabrielle Walsh (who played Ana Flores), Megan West (who played Taylor Kelly), and Edy Ganem (who played Marisol). After the bullying, all the actresses had their characters broke-up with either Buck or Eddie.

They also bullied Kristen Reidel, then showrunner from Season 2 to Season 6, because Kristen has mentioned that she only viewed Buddie's relationship as platonic (link). After the interview was published (and the subsequent bullying happened), it was announced that Tim Minear would come back to the show, and took back the showrunner's mantle from Kristen Reidel.

Has the bullying strategy actually served BoBs in the past? NO! Because of the following reasons:

According to Tim Minear, Buck has been queer-coded at least since Season 2 (link). It means Buck would date a man at some point on the show. Until Buck dating a man happened on screen, it was logical to assume that every relationship he had with women would not last. The break-ups had been planned by the writers all along. There was no need to bully anyone to make them happened.

Right after Shannon's death, it has been coded that Eddie had unresolved feelings toward his late wife. Several clues: Eddie's confession that he was upset about Shannon's request for a divorce, his reluctant to open a dating app which he had downloaded himself, his half-hearted efforts to meet women (golfing, hiking, forced blind date), and his panic attack over the prospect of marrying Ana Flores. When he started to date Marisol, Eddie had not yet addressed his unresolved feelings. From the beginning, it was very possible that there would be a break up with Marisol in the horizon. It's reasonable to assume that Eddie would not have a lasting relationship until he addresses his issue. Bullying the actresses had nothing to do with the break-ups.

Tim Minear's return as the showrunner is most likely part of the deal between ABC and Fox. 9-1-1 is Tim's own brainchild. It is reasonable that ABC has wanted Tim to come back, to ensure the quality of the show. Kristen Reidel being bullied was not the cause of Tim's return.

However, too many positive coincidences apparently have made BoBs cocky and overestimated their power. The power that they don't actually have, as implied by Tim Minear who had said that the online responses had not reflected at all the number of viewerships shared by the network (link).

So, what's next for BoBs?

With Buddie goggles on, canon Buddie seems really close right now:

Buck has been out as bisexual.

Eddie will address his unresolved feelings about Shannon, and his supposed Catholic guilt, on the next episode (8x06).

The next steps would be: free from his mental burden, Eddie will realize his attraction to Buck. They will confess their love to each other. Buck will dump Tommy. And finally, Buddie canon ever after.

Is the above scenario going to happen? ABSOLUTELY NOT, because:

1)) Tim and Ryan have a mission with Eddie's current storyline: to break the stereotype that men who open up about their feelings must be weak, or gay.

Imagine what will happen if some straight boys / young men who grew up with toxic masculinity watch Eddie talks about his feelings, then watch him comes out as gay several episodes later. They will think 'talking about feelings = being gay'. This only perpetuates the stereotype Tim & Ryan want to break.

2)) The show made Eddie read a swimsuit magazine in front of half-naked Buck in a hospital setting.

This painfully shoehorned scene is a not-so-subtle way to show the audience that Eddie is sexually attracted to women, not to Buck.

3)) Viewership numbers show that General Audience loves Tevan, while on the other hand, BoBs have bullied Tim Minear and his actors. Why the hell would Tim replace Tevan with Buddie?

4)) There are tons of other reasons which I couldn't possibly list one-by-one. But you get the gist.

As predicted, BoBs are fully determined to ignore the above reasons.

What will be BoBs' last straw, probably?

From Buddie shippers' POV, once Eddie is free from his unresolved feelings and his Catholic guilt, there is nothing substantial in the way of canon Buddie. Buck has openly admitted his attraction to men. Now it's Eddie's turn.

If Tim Minear wants romantic Buddie to happen, then it's the right time. There is no reason to not make Buddie canon.

Unless, there is only one reason left. It is...

Tim actually DOESN'T WANT Buddie to be canon.

How do we know this?

Because he will give Eddie another FEMALE LOVE INTEREST,

which is something he doesn't need to do, because like Buck, Eddie will finally be free....

It's been 7 years already, how many more years he wants to drag this story on....

The longest slow-burn queer love-story must have been breaking all kinds of records by now...

Oh, I can't wait to see BoBs' reactions when this happens 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣.

[lovecite]

Your Choice

Kyojuro Rengoku x y/n (fem reader)

It was the choice for any slayer if they wanted keep their blood line going. They dedicated their life to the cause of demon slaying and thus never had chances to settle and marry. Ever focusing on training and serving for the greater good.

But the more families sent their beloved son's to risk their lives the more they realized that their could be a possibility to the end of family lines. An out cry from the families of slain slayers almost made an end to new recruits. Why send our sons to death? You are not only killing them but you are killing our family!

So upon the idea of many of the higher ups it came down to this. Have the slayers and their family come up with a choice of an arranged marriage.

------This is an idea I thought about for demon slayer. Since it's set in a time of where most families required sons to continue their family bloodline by having children. And of course Zenitsu in the episode when he was trying to marry someone because he was going to "die" lol . So, written kinda choppy and fast so please excuse that! --This one was written by me--

theme song that helped my creative juices flow :

*****Princess Jellyfish - Opening - Just Between Us-******

Other songs that helped me get with it~~

Nonsense- Sabrina Carpenter

One & Only- Oliver Tree

Super Shy- NewJeans

Seven- Jung Kook

Your choice

*****🔥*****

You were sold by your family. They were promised if no slayer claimed you they would still be paid monthly. If a slayer claimed you ,she would be welcomed into the family of what ever slayer and your family again would be taken care of. It was a win win but you were the only loser here. And here your story starts of when you meet Kyojuro Rengoku

"I understand that my father has chosen a wife for me, ma'am. " A voice so loud declared . His very voice shook your core . How could someone be so loud? You were seated behind a white cream colored screen seated like a proper women would. Your head was bowed with a white veil draped over your head hiding your features.

You were dressed in the finest kimono's known to your family. A beautiful green emerald with a hint of yellow flowers. Your gaze focused on the grooves of the mat below you trying to focus your breathing because the drumming from your heart drowned out your hearing. This was it. You were going to finally be married and make your family finally proud.. But of course what that was your only choice.

"Y-yes your father and mother actually meet this way as well. One of the most beautiful of stories. It no wonder why your father fell so hard when she pass-" " Ah I see then most of beautiful women have been chosen for this." The boisterous voice interrupted the older women with a hint of an undertone of being bothered it seemed . Your heart felt uncomfortable in your own chest as you waited for this conversation to end. Every time you heard him it grew tighter and tighter.

You had been rejected once before by a Hashira. You could still remember his face being so pale and those blue eyes being so empty. He had wondered in wanting to be married. As soon as he had seen you he walked away with out another word a red blush faint on his cheeks as he walked ever so fast straight out.

Now it seemed all the other women called you a curse. Some making snarky comments to the head mistress of this compound. "She should be taken out back and sold." " I can't believe a pillar rejected her."

The word of a hashira rejecting her spread like wild fire to the other women. And so you heard the slayers had been told the rumors as well. Why? A man with white hair came to you as well. A scar from ear and over his nose. His eyes is what you remembered the most. So wide open as he searched your gaze. Stating he wanted to see why a stoic man would run off from such a beautiful women. He wanted some gossip to throw in the other man’s face but you had none to give. Which of course made the white haired man angry that he had traveled here and was leaving with no juicy gossip.

But it seemed not all had heeded the warning. Because here you sat on the other side of the white cream paper thin wall. Your to be husband on the other side. You dare not look up for fear of more bad luck.

"oh lord Rengoku just as your father!" the older women cackled at a joke the man had stated. Of course this was nothing new. This type of arrangement. It started when their were low numbers of demon slayers. Most wanting to be sure their blood line was not stopped due to being called for this noble deed. “I am honored my father has chosen me for this task. I must state that I do have a mission to go tomorrow. Will this take long?” He asked. A giggled escaped the women’s mouth. “Lord Rengoku , as you know upon signing the agreement you must stay 1 week with your wife. To be sure a heir is produced.” The older women countered. The man hummed . “My apologizes of course.” He responded. “And we have mapped out the girls cycle to be sure th-”

Your face felt hot within seconds at the women’s response. Of course they had to go into every detail but that did not mean you could not be embarrassed that your monthly’s details would be shared to your husband.

“Oh I understand of course what you are saying. It must be this week.” He stated his tone dialing down slightly in a whisper .

You carefully brought your head up slowly. You did not want to ring a single bell that was attached to the veil. Was it wrong for a women to know what her to be husband to look like? Through the veil you could see past the thin fabric and to the creamy white paper thin wall. A single candle on the other side lite and brought a shadow from the the two figures on the other side of this thin papered wall. The outline of the women who took care of us women looked like a big blob while a much thinner one sat in front of them.

You couldn't help but take in the shadows edges. His hair on top of his head seemed like the designs of a child's drawing of the sun. And he sat so proper up straight like a pin needle. Then the shadows moved. You quickly looked back down to the grooves of the mat below your legs. "I feel as if my heart will pounce out of my chest." blurted your so to be husband. The older women laughed before she pulled the sliding door to the side. Finally.

Would he too run off and leave you here?

You dare not bring your eyes upward until the older women ordered you too. So You sat there eyes focused on the floor. "oh yes. One of the most beautiful women we have here sir. A great pick from you father." the women claimed. You felt a tight grasp on your shoulder as you were pulled upwards from the floor. Your legs felt as If you had stepped on millions of needles due to the length of time you were seated. You let out a gasp as you were forced upward. Nearly falling back down a much more gentler grasp around your waist caught you.

"Do be careful how you step." He whispered . You hadn’t thought he was that close to you but when he spoke you could feel the warmth of his breathe on your cheek. You wanted to see him! Your eyes were covered by the damn veil and you struggled to take off the thin scrap of fabric. You could also feel him trying to swiftly take off the veil as well but the fabrics many layers made it hard.

“My faceless wife what a way to meet you.” He joked. "Oh here . Let me help!” the older women countered. The tug made your head go back awkwardly as she yanked it. You closed your eyes quickly as the fabric glided along your face.

“Father choose well. I approve !” Kyojuro remarked as if he were simply talking about a fabric item.

You stayed still in his grasp around your waist. He pulled you close to his chest your hands resting lightly over him. You could feel his every breathe below your palm. And his heart beating so fast. “I am happy once again we have made a great pairing within the Rengoku family!” The older women claimed as she clasped her hands together.

"I will write my father and give great thanks!” he stated as his firm hand around your waist tighten slightly. Your gaze hyper focused on his nice shaved chin. Your eyes shifted to his shoulders and could make out peaks of yellow blonde and red hair. "Please bring your gaze up to mine so that I may finally greet you." His tone soften when addressing you. He gripped your chin carefully with his thumb and pointer finger. He adjusted your head moving your head slightly back. Your gaze slowly taking in his face starting from his chin and then soon upwards.

You felt your breathing had stopped. His striking orange gaze piercing right through you. His bushy brows so pointed. His hair like the sun. His eyes closed as his head tilted slightly to the right and a smile appeared slowly across his face. "I am Kyojuro of the Rengoku family. My father has chosen well." He added to to his greeting. His eyes slowly opened very wide as they flickered like flames to take in your face. "Your kimono is very beautiful. If that is your favorite color I will buy more for you." He mumbled as his gaze fell down to your outfit. You still could not respond to him.

His expressions never wavering as he spoke. His eyes never breaking eye contact with you. " Do not fear me." He instructed as he allowed for you to catch your footing. His arm slipping back from around your waist and to his side. "This ceremony is very fast. Whatever you feel we should not do tell me." of course. If the slayer had accepted the girl it was as if the wedding had happened and they of course had to consummate the marriage. Thus falling into trying to have the child for the continued blood line this .

You however were told that you did not have a choice. So of course you took a step forward placing your hands over his chest. Never breaking out eye contact you slowly went on your tip toes and placed your lips over his. The flame Hashira seemed to pause. His eye brows almost hiding up into his hair line. His heart under your palms beating faster. You sat yourself back on your heels. "Your name?" he asked softly. "I am...."

Should I do another one 😍😍 or should I continue this story 🙃

[ringleader-inky]

Lily Orchard is stupid but what else is new?

So recently Lily has made a challenge that is as follows:

(Keep these rules in mind)

And AntGr and CrimsonEnder made a list of 50 of those charcters. Which Lily responded to and hoo boy is it bad.

Now I'm only going to be doing several characters from this list because 1. I don't know some of these characters and 2. I can only handle so much of Lily's stupidity. So with that out of the way let's get this show on the road.

Of course you'd put N here because you didn't understand his story to begin with. N definitely does fall under number 2 because he was raised by Ghetsis. You know... THE LEADER OF TEAM PLASMA! I've said this before, but I'll say it again N essentially grew up in a cult. That's not even mentioning that in black and white 2 they show that some of Team Plasma really did think they were freeing pokemon. You see part of Team Plasma split because some followed N's ideologies and others followed Ghetsis. They have a whole safehouse in Driftveil City where they protect pokemon separated from their trainers. But yeah N's ideology was totally swept under the rug guys.

First of all, Donkey Kong was actually a villain. It was in his very first game where he kidnapped Pauleen. You know.... this one. You were probably around when it came out Lily.:

So technically Donkey Kong is qualified for this list believe it or not.

As for Dedede and Meta Knight their case is quite simple.

In Dedede's case in the game Kirby's Nightmare In Dreamland. Dedede literally breaks the Star Rod that powers the Fountain of Dreams. Which allows the people of dreamland to have dreams, but since the Star Rod no longer powers it there's no dreams. However Dedede did this because he was trying to keep Nightmare from absorbing the Fountain Of Dream's power and taking over the world. Nightmare is cosmic deity that's evil will destroy Dreamland if he got out. So in that instance Dedede does have a point. After all if the Star Rod isn't in the fountain then Nightmare won't come out and kill everyone.

As for Meta Knight's case. Well... just look at fucking Meta Knightmare. The reason why Meta Knight wants to conquer Dreamland is because Dreamland is lazy. While that might not seem like a good point, consider that Dedede is stealing food from the people and how there's some sort of cosmic threat every year or so. You kinda start to see his point a little bit. But if that doesn't work then how about in Squeak Squad where he steals the chest from Kirby and Daroach. The chest had Dark Nebula inside of it and was sealed away. Therefore having someone try and open it would be a big fucking problem.

Last but not least... Edgeworth:

Before we get into why this point is bullshit I'd like to bring up this ask:

I bring this up because it proves that Lily doesn't know what the fuck she's talking about. You see Edgeworth isn't just a state prosecutor. HE'S A CHIEF PROSECUTOR! He's not just some joe shmo. Also really, prosecutor can't be evil? May I call Manfred Von Karma to the stand:

In case you don't know. This man is a prosecutor that had a perfect record. All of his defendants were served the guilty sentence. However the only reason why they were found guilty was because he forged evidence. Meaning Manfred is responsible for putting people innocent in prison. He even went so far as to murder Edgeworth's father. And guess who was his protege?

That's right none other than Miles Edgeworth himself!

Meaning that up till Phoenix had arrived Edgeworth was doing the exact same thing Von Karma did. Granted not forging evidence, but still putting innocent people in jail because of he wanted to keep his reputation and he didn't care for justice. Therefore in the first game Edgeworth was the villain. Whether you like it or not. And because Lily never specified that the villain had to be redeemed or not Edgeworth is viable enough to be on this list. So check fucking mate Lily.

[coochiequeens]

Another sex offender TIM released into the public.........and given a laptop

Daughter's fury as paedophile father who abused and shared images of her with other sick perverts online before changing gender in prison is quietly released (...and given a laptop by an offender's charity)

By ROSS SLATER

PUBLISHED: 10:47 EDT, 16 July 2023 | UPDATED: 10:49 EDT, 16 July 2023

A paedophile who changed gender while in prison for sexually abusing her own daughter as a child and sending explicit photos of her to perverts online has been quietly released back into the community - and given a laptop by a do-gooding charity.

Claire Fox, 61, who was previously known as Clive Bundy, a father of six, served just seven years of a 15-year jail sentence, before being settled into a tiny market town on the Welsh borders.

Fox, who wears a black wig and floral dresses told neighbours, who knew nothing of her sordid past, that she was an electrician from Bangor as they helped her get settled into her new surroundings and helped her furnish her flat.

Fox's release from prison has appalled her daughter Ceri-Lee Galvin, who bravely waived her right to anonymity, having been abused by her father for nine years from the age of eight.

Revealing her astonishment, Ceri-Lee, 24, told MailOnline: 'My father is not a woman and I refuse to recognise him as such. He changed his gender in prison to make his life there easier.

But now he is out and already up to his usual tricks – conning everyone he meets. 

'The fact he is now dressed as a woman makes him more dangerous as young girls are his thing and he has never shown any remorse.

'My father is a highly manipulative man who has attended no sexual offender rehabilitation programmes, shown no remorse for what he has done and openly admits finding children attractive.

'There have been no meetings I'm aware of to tell local schools about his presence, he has no tag and no curfew. He has just been put into this community and given all he could wish for – food, furniture, a home and a laptop.'

Ceri-Lee, now a student paramedic, added: 'I am in no way transphobic and I feel incredibly sorry for people who genuinely need to transition. They face stigma and worse because of cases like this.

'But it should just not be an option for those convicted of sexual offences against children to suddenly say that they want to be a woman.

'This only arose at the end of 2021 when he was due to be moved to an open prison but then had a fight with a fellow prisoner that was serious enough to stop the move.

'That is when he went for the gender change – when he was almost 60, having been a macho man all his life and having had eight children and having never mentioned gender dysphoria before.

'Now he is being indulged by everyone. The prison service gave him make-up and women's clothes and now a charity for the armed forces have provided him with so much stuff when all he did was a short stint in the Territorial Army in his 20s.

He has conned them. He was never a soldier. The whole thing is outrageous.'

Fox arrived in a sheltered accommodation block for older people in a tiny town at the start of June.

She was given new furniture, a television, printer, washing machine, crockery and a laptop by the armed forces charity SSAFA because she had once been in the Territorial Army.

Fox's neighbour Lyn Robinson, 74, said: 'My first impression was that this person was very cheerful and amenable, assuring all us older people that they'd be no trouble. They seemed very confident despite the outlandish appearance.

'I thought she might find it difficult fitting in so I really took care of her. I gave her clothes and even lent her £70, which is a lot for a pensioner.

'I took her to the food bank at the Baptist Church where she was given loads of stuff including vouchers for a butcher in town and for a coffee shop.

'And we went to a concert at St Edward's Church where I introduced her to the vicar. I had no idea of her history.

Fox's decision to change gender before being released from prison, provoked a storm of protest when it was revealed in April.

She chose the same name as gender-critical campaigner and media pundit Claire Fox, now sitting in the House of Lords as Baroness Fox of Buckley.

Campaign groups fear that by changing their gender, sex offenders can effectively whitewash their past and could avoid detection under the Home Office's Disclosure and Barring Service, set up to protect children from abusers.

DBS uses official paperwork such as a passport or driving licence to carry out their checks, both of which can prove difficult to check after choosing a new name and gender.

The potential loophole is provided by the Gender Recognition Act (2004), which created a 'sensitive applications route' for trans people.

Ceri-Lee added: 'The victim liaison officer told me the only reason I was being informed about the name and gender change was because he had given permission for this to happen.

'It's allowing him to say that Clive Bundy never existed, that my abuse never existed and it is clearly a danger to children which is why I decided to speak out.' 

Fox is not the first sex offender to change gender while in prison

A rapist who carried out sexual attacks as a man named Adam Graham in 2016 and 2019 sparked a heated debate earlier this year after changing gender and name to Isla Bryson while waiting to stand trial at the High Court in Glasgow.

And in 2018, convicted rapist 'Karen White' – branded a 'highly manipulative' predator by a judge – was moved to HMP New Hall in Wakefield, West Yorkshire, and sexually assaulted two women inmates.

Fox was arrested after police discovered images of Ceri-Lee online that the abuser had been trading with other pedophiles.

She was later charged with and admitted to several counts of sexual activity with Ceri-Lee, inciting a child to engage in sexual activity and distributing indecent images.

In 2016 she was sentenced to 15 years in prison. It was not until the end of 2021 that she told the authorities she wanted to change gender.

A SSAFA spokesperson, said: 'SSAFA, the Armed Forces charity provides practical, emotional and financial assistance to serving personnel, reservists, veterans and their families in their time of need. Due to data protection laws and our need to protect our beneficiaries' and employees' confidentiality, we cannot comment on individuals or their circumstances.'

A spokesperson for Dyfed-Powys Police said: 'In line with national guidelines we can neither confirm nor deny the information you have provided.

'However, we can confirm that Multi Agency Public Protection Arrangements are utilised throughout the entire force area to manage appropriate offenders living in the community and they will be closely supervised by local officers to minimise any risk.'

[wings-of-fire-confessions]

personally I don’t think the dod should have opened an academy at all. if they were going to open a school, I dunno man maybe with the fact that they’ve been lied, abused, hurt, nearly killed, emotionally scarred by grown adult dragons, they would have known better to not allow 7+ dragons as students or if anything allow them to be in the same winglet as younger dragons.

sure, dragons like Sora, Flame, Umber. They’re not very old, they need a proper education and are at least closely affiliated with the dod. But then you see Onyx and she’s like?? 19?? Okay, sure! She CAN be enrolled into the academy. After all, she’s lived in isolation and generally in a bad environment and she should have a good education… but maaaaybe the dod shouldn’t have thrown her into a winglet full of 3-5 year olds? Her kidnapping Ostrich (which I shouldn’t even have to explain why that’s a horrible crime) could have been avoidable if they like, gave her homeschooling or some gosh darn thing! I specifically emphasize her kidnapping Ostrich compared to her more heinous acts like trying to overthrow Thorn or working for Vulture because that is a direct attack to the school—to the students. Same for Sora who, yes, I’ve given her a pass, but by acknowledging her age, her committing a terrorist attack to the SCHOOL could be avoidable! And that was a targeted attack! Actually, there should have been more of a reason to seclude her because she served in the war and could very likely (and did) have PTSD from it, whereas a crowded environment of dragons species could make her distressed and have a hard time to learn. I won’t bring up anything about Icicle since the dod wouldn’t have known, but they still should’ve acknowledged her and the other former war soldiers like Carnelian attending the school

Just imagine the amount of dragon lawsuits the dod could be getting if they further continue. By publicly allowing and trusting adult dragons to enroll in the academy, or not putting a system for age groups, their whole academy could be taken down if. Say a princess attends the Jade Academy and she ends up being held hostage by a 7+ dragon student. Reasonably, the Queen and King would be enraged by both the persecutor AND the dragons who allowed the persecutor to attend the school! I know this may seem like an exaggeration, but it goes to show that the dod HAVE TO BE CAREFUL. And this goes to show that they are not, despite everything that has happened to them.

The dod do not set a safe learning experience—it is just as dangerous as outside of the academy. I rest my case.

.

[wardenparker]

The King's Queen - chapter 1

Javi Gutierrez x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Prince Javier of the Balearic Islands has always known that one day he would have to follow in his father's footsteps to be the caring and steadfast king that his people deserve. What he did not know is that he would be stepping into the next phase of his life alongside a woman he has never met before - and amidst a rocky sea of unusual circumstances of every kind.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 8.1k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: arranged marriage, age gap, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, mentions of American politics, deceased parents* Illness, cancer. Summary: Javi is given some unexpected and unwelcome news from his father - meanwhile you receive the phone call that you have been waiting for for your entire life. Notes: As always, we do our best to infuse some Spanish into the dialogue when our stories call for it, but neither Keri nor I are fluent by any means. If you see an error let us know, but kindness counts!

The day began, as so many do, with a knock on the door. The palace had stirred to life hours ago, bustling staff all going about their business and, breakfast served and cleared away again, appointments kept, and meetings held. Business, as they say, booms this morning at Castel del Ocaso. The only person not yet risen, it seems, is the crowned prince.

And so his day begins with a knock. A gentle one. There is no need to jar the man into reality cruelly. His valet has a tray with his breakfast so that the kitchen could move on with their duties for the day, and an urgent message from the prince's father. Which is, if one was to ask the valet, the only reason for waking the prince at what is already a late hour. When he stirs at the opening of the windows, the valet clears his throat and sets the tray down on the broad bedside table. “There is a message this morning, your Highness.” The valet tells the bleary-eyed prince quietly. “His Majesty would like to see you in his chambers after you are dressed.”

Groaning, Javi looks over at the clock, well aware that the staff knew that he was to sleep in. It’s a rare night that he is up until the early morning hours and today had been blocked out of his schedule as a recovery day. “What is going on?”

“I only know that your father has asked for you.” Sometimes the king’s staff would impart more details or relay why his Majesty needed a particular thing or requested a particular presence, but this was not one of those times. Indicating the tray laden with croissants, marmalade, yoghurt, and fresh fruit alongside a strong cortado, the prince’s valet offers an apologetic smile. “Would you prefer to take breakfast before dressing?”

“No—” Javi sits up and groans, closing his eyes again at the throbbing in his skull. “Yes.”

The man says nothing at first, but hides a private smile as he hands the prince his coffee before going to his closet to choose clothing for the day. “Was your evening enjoyable, sire?” He asks, always preferring to have the temperature - so to speak - of the royal family each day. There had been shouting from the king’s chambers this morning.

“Too much so.” Javi is desperately grateful for the coffee and he takes a sip with a sigh before reaching for his bottle of aspirin from the bedside table. He had anticipated celebrating too hard and wanted to be prepared. “I am getting too old for all night parties.”

“Then we will simply begin celebrations earlier in the day, I expect.” The prince’s birthday is always a series of extravagances, and this year had been no exception.

“Yes.” Hissing, Javi gingerly crawls out of the bed. “I will shower first.”

“Very good, your Highness.” With a nod, the valet lays out clothes for the day and is gone again, leaving the prince to ready himself to see his father.

******

It takes Javi an hour to shower, dress and make his way to his father’s quarters, frowning slightly as he knocks on the door at the raised voices inside.

“¿Quién es esto?” The king’s deep voice grumbles from inside, obviously irritable. When the doors open a moment later to admit the new arrival, the king is fairly growling and ousts the others from the room. The last to leave is the doctor, sparing a last glance at the king before excusing him to say good morning to the prince as he retreats.

“Javier.” Gruff as he can be, the bedraggling king sighs and waves his son inside. “Come in.”

“You wished to see me?” There is a tenuous relationship between the king and his only son but Javi loves the gruffer man, even if he does not always understand him.

“I wish to speak with you.” He glances at the footman standing near the door. “Alone.” As soon as his son steps inside the door is shut securely behind him and the king smothers a deeper sigh. Standing is quite painful this morning, but since lying down and sitting are, too, he does not move yet. “I sent for the doctor last week. About the pain in my stomach.” Which no one, save extremely close family members, knows about. “He came back to me with answers this morning.”

“Sí?” Javi strides closer to his father, a worried frown creasing his brow. It is not good news if his father is asking to speak to him privately. It is rare that at least his cousin Lucas is not in attendance. Fear and dread coils in his own stomach and the breakfast he had threatens to make a reappearance.

There is no other way to do this, for a man of King Miguel’s temperament, than to do as the Americans say and rip the Band-Aid off. “Javier,” he motions for his son to come closer, not wanting to have to raise his voice and be heard by someone passing in the hall of the drafty medieval palace. “It is cancer.” Which was his worst fear. His fear as a ruler and his fear as the father of a son he is not certain is ready to take his place. “It came on quickly, and spread just as fast.” He tries to hide a wince as best he can, pressing a hand over his aching side as though the disease can hear him speak of it. Laying down may not be any less painful than standing, but it does relieve a bit of pressure, so he lies down again gingerly. “They have given me a few months at most.”

“No.” Javi shakes his head and gives a nervous chuckle. His father is king. He is invincible, always seeming so large to Javi, even now. “No, they are wrong. They have to be wrong.” He blinks, fighting the tears that would be ‘unbecoming’ a future ruler.

“It is always possible for doctors to be wrong.” He would be a fool and a liar to claim otherwise, but Miguel shakes his head. “However, the pain I feel is not a lie. And we must act as though they are correct, in case they are.” He sighs again, clearing his throat to hide pain from his face. Despite the characterization of their relationship as adversarial by the European press at points in Javier’s life, Miguel truly does want the best for his son. It is why he has done what he has done. Made the arrangements that he has made. “Thirty-five is a good age for a king, Javier. Old enough to have some sense but young enough to make the people feel the invigoration of youth.”

The age-old argument of not wanting to be king doesn’t even slip out of his mouth like it normally would. He can’t. Not when his father is lying in a bed looking much older than he had just the day before. Javi realizes how much pain the older man has been hiding from the world. “Sí.” Javi nods. “You have been a good king papá, the people will miss your guidance.”

Surprised at the lack of protest from his only child, the king pats the mattress beside him, hoping for this conversation to go smoothly. He knows Javier would not choose this life if he had the option - but there is no option. Second in line to the throne is his odious nephew Lucas and if that remained his only option, he would sooner find a way to pass the throne directly to Lucas’s new wife. Gabriela may not have royal blood but at least she has a decent mind behind that lovely face. “Steps will have to be taken, mijo. I will have to abdicate. You will have your coronation. And you will also need a queen.”

Javi frowns sadly, aware that the one woman he had wanted his for queen was now married to his cousin. “You took away my queen when you allowed Lucas to marry her.” He reminds his father bitterly. The woman who he loved had just married two years prior and Lucas was always taunting him that she will be pregnant soon.

“When I told you that you could not marry Gabriela, it was not to be cruel or obtuse.” If he had ever hoped that his son could forgive him over that refusal, apparently the hope was in vain. “A bride was selected for you long ago, mijo. So that you would not have to bear the burden of choice yourself.” He looks to his son with interest, hoping this will not begin a shouting match. “It was your mamá’s dying wish that I secure your future. And it is mine that you honour the promises we have made.”

Javi swears he chokes on air. Gasping and stuttering for a moment, eyes widening in shock. “An arranged marriage?” He huffs, swearing if it were anyone but his father it would be a joke. “No. No.” He shakes his head. “My future has been set from the day I drew breath but now my choice of a wife is taken from me?”

“Choosing a queen is more complex than choosing a wife.” There is the objection Miguel anticipated, even if he must admit to being disappointed by it. “The monarchy’s survival means more than simply whose figure you like the most in an evening gown.”

“My queen.” Javi stresses. “So it should be my choice.” He shakes his head. “I have done what you asked but I want to love the person I take as my queen.”

“How do you know you will not love the girl who has been chosen?” The pain of an arrangement is not exactly unknown to the king. After all, his own match was arranged and so was his father’s. Every crowned prince in their family has had their wife chosen from eligible candidates on their behalf - it was perhaps only that Javier’s match was chosen when he was a bit younger than most.

“How do you know I will?” Javi imagines a woman steeped in tradition and molded by pomp and ceremony. Someone who is rigid, only caring about the legacy she leaves behind. “Just because you came to love mamá doesn’t mean the woman you have chosen to be queen is right for me. Or were you only thinking of the crown?” He asks bitterly.

“I was thinking of finding you a partner.” He admits, knowing that his son’s disgust with the idea will not do well if it lasts. “Someone to help you. To stand beside you and to be your support as you find your footing as king.” The tax of sitting up is too much on an injured body and the king lays his head back down again to continue speaking. “Good breeding is done differently in America, but her family is wealthy and prominent, and the photographs I have seen make her out to be quite beautiful.” When he earns a scoff in return, Miguel sighs. “There is a contract in place, Javier. It is legally binding. And— and she has already been sent for. So there is no use fighting with me about it.”

“You arranged a marriage with an American?” The surprise and wistfulness of the statement catches him off guard, even as he shuffles closer to his ailing father. Miguel Gutierrez has never claimed to understand Javi’s affection with America or American Cinema, although they have shared an affinity for Nick Cage. He reaches out and takes his father’s hand, knowing he won’t fight his papá in his last days. “I hope you have chosen well.” He murmurs softly, wondering what this woman is like. His future queen.

“Her mother was friends with your mother at university.” His son’s affection for American pop culture was something he had attributed to his late wife’s own affection that she gained at university. He never understood it for the life of him, but it made her happy to share it with their young son, so he let it pass. “She will be here tomorrow, provided that she is able to travel quickly. The flight from New York is not too tiresome.”

“Tomorrow? So soon?” Javi shakes his head, reeling from the changes that are happening so quickly. “When— when do I have to marry her?” He asks quietly.

“Before the year is out.” The terms of the agreement with the Senator over the marriage of their children was exacting, to say the least. “Seven months is ample time to know her before you walk down the aisle, Javier. But it is more time than I have. So if you wish me to be present when you wed, it must be sooner.”

Javi closes his eyes, wanting to scream and cry and refuse his father. He cannot. He cannot let down the king, the man who has intimidated him and been his idol for his entire life. “We will be married in two months.” He decides, his voice flat. Certainly not happy about the circumstances, but he wants his father at his wedding, he will already miss his mother. “We will get to know each other later.”

Again it’s surprise that crosses the king’s expression first, but a lifetime of schooling his emotions away means it is gone in the blink of an eye. “Your mother and I tried to do what we thought would be best for you,” he tells his son, seeing the frown that forms on Javier’s lips. “This is the daughter of her most precious friend.” Knowing his penchant for the creative, and trying to provide him with a happy distraction, Miguel reaches and pats his son’s arm. “Would you like to choose the suite she will stay in until the wedding?”

The pout that he hadn’t quite ever grown out of nearly comes to the surface. Instead he just nods, not really caring where the American woman who would be his queen would stay but he knows his father is trying. “I will make sure she is afforded every comfort the palace can offer her.” He tells his father, noticing how tired the old man is. “You should rest.” He urges, covering his father’s surprisingly cold hand with his warmer one.

“Not a word to the staff, mijo.” The king warns, though he does lay back again on his pillows. “Only my private secretary knows who she truly is to you. The rest of the staff are preparing for a close friend.”

“They will figure it out when we have a royal wedding in two months.” Javi snorts, reaching out to cover his father up. “Rest.” He urges softly, his heart breaking but he can’t let the king see that. “I will make sure you are not embarrassed.”

“Javier.” It will be the last thing he says in the subject for now, but he does wish to say one last thing before his son leaves the room. “Try to keep an open mind. An arranged marriage is not the worst fate in the world.”

Instead of answering him, Javi just nods, standing quickly and swallowing. “Get some rest, papá.” He murmurs softly, “I have a guest to prepare for.”

******

There is something to be said for a good night’s sleep. Unfortunately, those things cannot be said for you at the moment. Curled up in the apartment you share with your brother, watching a late-night movie with a bottle of wine and a seemingly bottomless bowl of popcorn, you know you ought to be sleeping before your father’s re-election fundraiser tomorrow but you just can’t seem to quiet your mind. Today - yesterday in Mallorca - was his birthday. Another year gone by and another year closer to the impending details of the contract that has dictated your entire life.

You wonder how he celebrated. What sort of party he had, if any. If birthday cake is the same in the Balearic Islands as it is here. The internet doesn’t really have answers to these questions and you never had the courage to ask your mother for details of her lost friend’s life. You should have. But you didn’t.

The things you know about Prince Javier are finite, and you have studied them for decades. Which should be proven by the fact that you’re up late tonight watching National Treasure for the umpteenth time. When your cell phone rings halfway through the film, you mute the television and pick it up immediately. No one calls in the middle of the night unless it’s an emergency.

Private. Mallorca reads the caller ID. “Oh shit…” You murmur to yourself before sitting up straight on the couch and sliding your thumb across the screen to accept the call.

“Hello?”

Your name is spoken in a clear, Spanish accent, “Please hold for the King of the Balearic Islands, His Majesty, King Miguel.” The private secretary of the king announces him before muting the phone so she can pass it to the king.

“Uh—” Dumbstruck, you nearly spill your wine trying to set it down on the coffee table as though it were a video call or the king himself were right in front of you. He has only called you twice before - when you turned eighteen and then when you graduated college - and the last was several years ago. It sort of feels like suffocating, honestly, waiting for him to pick up the line, but you manage to breathe evenly until you hear a voice on the other end again.

“Hello?” Miguel says your name and waits for you to acknowledge him.

“Good morning, your Majesty.” Glancing at the clock, you quickly calculate it to be half past seven in Mallorca. “To what do I owe the honor of this call?”

Miguel takes a moment, composing himself after another brief flare of pain. “I hope you are doing well.” He offers. “The time has come for you to join the royal family in Mallorca. How soon can you be here if we send the jet?”

The time has come. The words seem to drown you, swallowing you up in duty and anticipation. “I will need a day to pack my things,” you tell him as politely as you can, hoping that you don’t sound as scared as you feel. The anticipation of an abrupt call like this one is why nothing in your life truly belongs to you - your apartment, your car, and all of your bills are under your father’s name so he can sell everything after you are called away to fulfill your duty. You’ll have to quit your job with no notice, but that’s a separate issue. “But one day should be sufficient.” Just one day to pack up your whole life.

“I shall have the jet sent first thing in the morning. It will be a direct flight so it should not be too long.” Miguel keeps his voice as steady as he can manage it. “My son will be informed of your impending arrival as soon as we disconnect.”

“As your Majesty sees fit.” It’s an odd thing, to speak to the man who holds an iron fist on your future, but you’ve grown up your entire life knowing that one day this would happen. To be honest you’re surprised it has taken so long.

“We will speak again soon.” Miguel promises, disconnecting the phone and then shouting for the doctor to come back into the room. The pain is worse and he needs him to manage it. There is another; more difficult conversation ahead with his son.

You exhale deeply, staring at your phone as the disconnecting line beeps and goes blank, bringing back your home screen with the background photo of the last beach that you went to with friends from college. Everyone is spread out over the blankets with picnic baskets and umbrellas while they laugh in the summer sun. It had been an amazing time – and now as you look at it you wonder if you'll ever be able to have days like that again. If your freedom, such as it ever was, has just been plucked away with one phone call. Still, despite the time, you have a call of your own to make. Opening your contacts, you select the entry for your father and stepmother's landline and hope that the ringing doesn't wake up your little sister. The preteen is a nightmare if she doesn't get enough sleep, and you don't blame her one bit.

The call is picked up on the second ring. “Hello?” The austere voice of your father comes down the line. “What is going on?” He knows you don’t call at late hours unless it is an emergency. “What do you need?”

"I need to come by the house tomorrow and pick up my trunks." Although you can feel your voice waver, you hope your father is too disoriented from being woken up to hear it. He raised you to be strong and to take on responsibility headfirst. "And I can't come to the fundraiser tomorrow." Deep breath, you remind yourself. "I've finally been summoned."

Silence fills the air between you for a good thirty seconds before the senator answers. “That is very good. It is past time.” The bedsheets rustle and he pulls the phone away from his ear to murmur to his wife. “We will draft a press release as soon as you are in Mallorca.”

"I only have one day to pack." Which means, you know yourself well enough to realize, that you'll be starting immediately. There's no way you'll be able to sleep. "So I was thinking I could drive out to Scarsdale to have breakfast with you and come home with the trunks to make sure I have enough time. Is that okay?"

Sighing, your father mentally files through his schedule. “That will be fine, I have a meeting at 9:30 though.”

"Okay. I'll be punctual." It never would have crossed your mind to be anything else. Not with the way your family operates. Scheduling is everything when your father is a senator. "I'm sorry to wake you, but I thought it was important for you to know right away."

“I appreciate the call.” Your father sighs softly and there’s another small pause. “Go on and start working on your packing list, I know you want to get organized.”

"There's a lot to do." That may be an understatement, but you're nodding as though he were standing in front of you. "I'll see you in a few hours for breakfast."

“See you then sweetheart.” The phone disconnects and your father sighs again before he climbs out of the bed. He will need to draft a press release and start working on the PR for his campaign. This announcement couldn’t come at a better time for him, and he intends to use it to his advantage. Perhaps it might even put him in the running for President.

******

It took every second of the time that you had to get things ready to leave even with your brother’s help, but in the end you drove to the private airstrip at JFK airport with an SUV full of your things and left behind an apartment that barely had a single trace of you left in it. What little you have left behind would be kept by your brother, sold, or saved for your half-sister depending on what you father saw fit.

The crew of the jet was very kind in loading your things on board and seemed to expect you to have much more, but you had kept things contained for exactly this purpose. At any point in your life you would be expected to pick up and move your entire existence across an ocean, so you had kept things contained.

The eight-hour flight would put you in Palma, Mallorca in time for dinner and you know that between not sleeping for the last two days and the jet lag, you'll desperately need to sleep on the jet. Hopefully you won't be too anxious to sleep. That would just make things that much worse.

******

“I am meeting her at the airport.” Javi isn’t shouting, but his voice has pitched up to match the same inflection as his father. Met with resistance when he announced that he would take the boat over to the private air strip to meet the woman who is to become his bride without the fan fair or pomp and circumstance that normally surrounds these affairs. “You wanted to keep people from knowing, it will be suspicious if I am in my formal royal uniform.”

"Why can you not let someone from staff fetch her and meet her properly here?" Miguel is exasperated beyond measure, having had both of his suggestions met with rejection from his son. Javier refuses to be in uniform to meet his intended and he refuses to receive the girl in the throne room. He insists on dressing down in a veritable disguise and going to the airport quietly himself. "I understand that you wish to meet her quickly and I commend that, but your position matters, Javier."

“Of course my position matters.” Javi huffs. “That is all that matters. But I am meeting her casually. I want to know what she thinks of this, of me, without any pretense or need for propriety.” He’s worried that you might be dreading this, resenting him once he had learned of the details of this arrangement. He would like to know if he is to be sentenced to a life of passive aggressive comments and resentment.

The king purses his lips, seeing from the clock on his bedside that time is running short to make this decision. "Fine." He concedes shortly. "But take enough staff with you to have her things brought to the palace separately. If you wish to have a conversation with her then you can bring her back to the palace and show her her rooms properly dressed. If not in uniform, then at least not looking like you've just come out of the pool." Clearly indicating he means that he disapproves of what his son is currently wearing, Miguel nods and sits up a little more in his bed. "Something that would be appropriate to wear at the dinner table, since you will be escorting her directly after showing her to her new home."

Javi sighs and nods. “I will even wear a sports jacket, your majesty.” He huffs sarcastically, annoyed that even meeting you is turning into an argument. He doesn’t want to be so stiff and formal all the time. Royals need to relax as well.

"Good." Glancing at the clock again, the king waves him off. "Go and change, then. You should be on your way."

Rolling his eyes again, Javi turns around and stalks out of his father’s bedchamber. Annoyed with himself and the king. Why must their relationship be so strained? Why is he so different from the man who had sired him? He wonders what this woman will think of him, already deciding he’s going to dress causally chic for the meeting.

******

The chance to wash and change and touch up your makeup on the flight after waking up from a six-hour nap was something you hadn’t expected and are grateful for. The simple but well-tailored white sundress you had chosen to make your first impression on the prince could be put on just thirty minutes before landing instead of being thrown on in the airport bathroom so that it wouldn’t wrinkle after hours on the plane. Everyone on board was so kind and so formal that you have to wonder if any of them knew who you were or if that was simply how they were trained. Either way, when you exit the jet’s cabin to come down the stairs with your travel bag in hand, there is just one person waiting for you. In a powder blue sport coat and linen shirt with perfectly tousled hair, he looks like he ought to be a model and not - you assume - palace staff. Sunglasses shield his eyes but he stands straight and watches you expectantly, suddenly making you question if you even know how to walk down stairs at all.

You are…beautiful. He expected his parents to have chosen someone with all the right characteristics and the right schooling, but the sheer force of your beauty nearly takes his breath away. His father will approve of your outfit, the white dress both prim and proper enough to be considered appropriate and yet Javi likes that you are showing some skin. The length of your arms on display and the legs both making him smile at the idea that maybe you are not as stuffy as he might have feared. “Welcome to las Islas Baleares.” He offers as you stride close. The staff rush to get your luggage and he gestures towards the boat swaying gracefully at the dock. “We have a short boat ride to the palace.”

“Muchas gracias.” As hard as you’re trying not to smile, this man that has been sent to receive you is incredibly handsome. His hair and stature remind you of the very few pictures you’ve seen of the prince, and you wonder if perhaps this man is a cousin. Some lower-level royal sent to be a one-man welcoming committee. “Everyone has been so very kind. I’m grateful to have such a personal welcome.”

He cannot tell if you are being sarcastic or not, figuring that you have recognized him. “Sí.” He simply nods his head and gestures for you to precede him. He will need to help you into the boat and then cast off the lines, preferring to operate the speeder himself.

The man’s silence is surprising but you try not to read into it too much as he walks you to a nearby ramp that leads down to a small boat dock with an elegant speeder moored at the tip. The crystal-clear ocean spreads out around you like its own kind of welcoming and you smile. “The evenings are very beautiful here.” Weather. Weather is safe small talk. “Are the days just as gorgeous?”

“Better.” Javi promises, holding out his hand when you stop next to the boat so he can assist you inside. “Not too hot, not too cold, just right.” He smirks slightly, remembering the childhood story about porridge.

“I have to admit, I won’t miss winter.” Putting your hand in his to accept help into the boat gives you a nearly electric shock that you beg your body to ignore. There is no room to be attracted to anyone but Prince Javier. It’s impossible, you remind yourself harshly.

Javi ignores how warm and soft your hands are, quickly bending down to untie the boat before jumping in beside you. Occupying himself with starting the engines and pulling away from the dock, he knows the staff will ferry your luggage over on the other tender. For now, he wants the race the boat over the waters to calm down his own rattled nerves.

His continued silence signals that the weather isn’t worth talking about, and you fall into an uneasy quiet as the boat speeds out into open water. You have about three million questions but know that you can’t ask them of just anyone. It wouldn’t be proper or ladylike to ramble on, and from the moment you stepped onto that jet at JFK you have done your utmost to be perfectly ladylike. Without knowing who knows what or what is truly expected of you beyond marrying a total stranger to produce royal heirs, you feel like the water might be in your lungs instead of under the boat. Your palms are sweaty and you twist the decorative ring on your finger nervously. At least it’s beautiful here - it would have been cruel if you had to spend the rest of your life someplace frozen when you notoriously dislike snow.

He looks back at you a few times, gauging if you like the water. Finding you looking pensive so he doesn’t speak. Not wanting to make you even more nervous if you aren’t impressed with his boating skills. Or him. Instead he throttles down as the palace comes into view, aware that everyone, even him, likes to take in the majestic site of the Balearic Islands seat of power.

When you first take in the sight of the palace standing high on the cliffside, you gasp audibly before you can stop yourself or muffle the sound. It’s truly remarkable - this medieval edifice that has survived through hundreds of years and countless occupants, and you can’t help but stare. No photograph could ever do it justice, and you’ve seen every single photograph. That is where you live now. That’s home. Unless you fuck up spectacularly and he sends you away in disgrace. Oh god. Don’t fuck up like that. “It’s…amazing,” you murmur, realizing that your escort has turned to see your reaction.

“Castel de Ocaso. The royal palace of Mallorca.” Javi announces. “Home of King Miguel Gutierrez and the crowned Prince Javier. Soon to be king along with you, his queen.” He offers before he throttles up slightly to guide the boat into the Royal docks.

“Soon to be?” You startle at that news, feeling your eyes go wide behind your sunglasses. The king had certainly failed to mention that when he called. “I—I did not think…You know who I am?”

Javi laughs for a moment but then he stops, realizing that you don’t know who he is. “Sí.” He nods, turning back around to ease the boat alongside the stone dock. “I know who you are.”

“Forgive me, I just…” It’s like your mouth has run dry and your head is spinning, except you know it’s only nerves. “I was under the impression it was not common knowledge. That only the king and Prince Javier knew.”

He hums, cutting the engine and letting the boat float up next to the dock expertly. Moving to toss the lines to the staff waiting on the pier to tie off. “Come.” He offers, stepping up off the boat and holding his hand down to you. “The king is waiting.”

“May I ask you about him?” Those innumerable questions are all bubbling to the surface as he helps you out of the boat, and you now feel even more sure that his must be a trusted family member that was sent to fetch you. “The prince, I mean?”

“What do you wish to know?” He asks, raising a brow in interest. Curious to know what questions burn in your mind about him.

“Is he a kind man?” You’ve seen official photos and been told what he likes – practically every birthday gift that you’ve ever received from King Miguel was something that Javier liked – but the question of his temperament is completely unknown to you.

“I would say so.” He offers, wanting you to open up more. “Shall we go up to the palace?”

“Thank you.” You nod politely and try to ignore the tingling in your skin at the small touch of hands. Once you’re up the stone steps built in to the cliffside, you look up at the palace again and remind yourself to smile. “Is the prince…” The curiosity is overwhelming. “Is he…shy? Outgoing? Is he a very social man?”

“Ask the questions you really want to ask.” Javi urges you, knowing that there are only a few more moments before propriety will be deemed necessary.

“It’s just…” This man is offering you just enough of a lingering lifeline that your curiosity just can’t say no to it. “It’s just that I’ve never seen photographs of him with friends o-or girlfriends.” You swallow. Hard. “Or boyfriends. And I just…I wondered if…if he…prefers women?” That might be one of the things that terrifies you most. The idea that this marriage was arranged to force him to be with a woman when he’s actually gay.

Javi chuckles. “Women.” He promises. “There is much emphasis on not causing a scandal for the crown.”

“I understand that entirely.” There was plenty of emphasis on that for you growing up as well. “Forgive me if that’s too personal. I just would never want to make him uncomfortable.” An awkward laugh passes your lips and you shrug slightly. “Hopefully just the fact of me doesn’t make him uncomfortable.”

“You care about the Prince’s comfort?” That surprises him, and it’s rather sweet. It is rare that someone cares about someone they’ve never met before, not even someone who was going to marry. You are guaranteed a crown, why would you care about the man placing it on your head?

"Of course." The idea that you wouldn't is fairly shocking to you, if you're honest. "Everyone deserves to be happy, don't they? Especially with the people closest to them. I mean...this arrangement...it's not something either of us chose. What good would it do for us to hate each other?"

“And you?” Javi turns to face you. “You would choose another without a crown? A woman?” The idea that you might be repulsed by men is one that flashes in his mind and it would be a miserably cold marriage if that were the case.

"No." The idea of having a choice is almost incomprehensible if you're honest, but you can only shake your head now. It's not as though you weren't allowed to date, it was just that no one you ever went out with was ever going to last. And if you had been found out to have slept with any of them, your father probably would have disowned you. "I mean I'm interested in men and from all the photos I've seen of the prince he's very attractive, I just...this arrangement was made on our behalf. And I would hate to think that he is dreading my arrival when I'm actually excited to finally meet him." Excited and terrified, but the terror will be kept private. This man does not need to know about your anxiety or your fear.

“Excited?” He tilts his head curiously and smirks. “Why are you excited? You are not worried? I would be.”

"Excitement and worry are two sides of the same coin." That's honest, at least, and very true. You're definitely both. "It's hard to be excited to meet the person you're supposed to spend your life with without also being at least a little worried about disappointing them. That...I guess that's why I'm so curious about him."

“No other questions?” He asks playfully. “Nothing at all?”

"I wouldn't want to be inappropriate." For all you know, you've already overstepped and offended this man or even the prince by accident by asking anything at all.

Javi snorts and shakes his head. “Of course.” He murmurs, slightly disappointed by the way you seemingly cling to propriety.

"It's just...there are personal things that I would prefer to ask him in privacy." Probably your imagination, is what it is, but when he pouts slightly you have the almost unhinged urge to hug him. "I'm so sorry. I never even asked your name and here I am asking questions about someone else entirely."

Javi had turned away, prepared to climb the stairs carved into the cliff to enter the palace but you give him the opening that he wants. Turning around, he pulls off his sunglasses and gives you a small smile. “I am Javi.”

"Oh shit." The words fly out of your mouth before you can stop them and your eyes widen even more, with your entire body burning in embarrassment. Dropping down into possibly the least elegant curtsy of all time, you thankfully manage not to fall over but secretly wish you'd just topple right back over the edge of the cliff behind you. "I—I mean...I'm sorry, your Highness. I...apparently didn't recognize you." And went and made an idiot out of yourself in the process. Fucking hell...

“Obviously.” He smothers the grin and returns your curtsy with a formal bow and looks back up at you. “Now, what questions may I answer for you? Anything at all, since we are to be married.”

"How long have you known about me?" It slips out of you before you can think of anything more articulate or more interesting to ask not that you're standing face to face with him. At least you have the presence of mind to take off your own sunglasses and tuck them away in your bag.

“Two days.” Javi frowns, shaking his head slightly. “My father decided that I would learn of you the day he sent for you so I apologize that I do not know more than you are American and your name.”

"Two days?" It makes your heart sink in a way that you hadn't expected, and you can feel your shoulders roll in on themselves slightly before you push them back again. Ladies don't slouch says your father's voice in your head. "I've known about you almost my entire life."

“And you are…disappointed?” He asks softly. His entire life he had been compared to his father and been found wanting, why would the woman he was supposed to marry think any better of him?

"What? No!" When you look up again he's frowning so deeply that you have that overwhelming urge again to just wrap your arms around him and squeeze. Unfortunately - or perhaps fortunately for propriety - you're frozen on the spot. "I just can't believe that your father didn't tell you. Our parents made the arrangement when I was so little that I've just...always known this would happen one day."

“My father- it’s complicated.” He sighs softly, slightly relieved that you aren’t disappointed. “I am sorry, I meant to just meet you casually, not mislead you as to who I was. It was very nice to realize you didn’t recognize me.”

"I thought you might have been your own cousin or something," you admit sheepishly, instantly wishing you hadn't said anything at all. "You have...very nice hair. I thought it might be a family trait."

“You like my hair?” Javi’s eyes widen slightly and he almost reaches up. “I like that you are wearing a dress that is not stuffy.” He admits.

"It's one of my favourites." That's why you chose it, really. To really look and feel like yourself the first time you met him. "You like it? I—I have more like it."

He nods. “It’s very nice. Perfect for an evening in Mallorca.”

"Is there anything you want to know about me?" Since he hasn't known about you for long, that means that anything about you that might have been communicated between your fathers is probably unknown to him.

“Endless questions.” Javi admits with a grin. “But the king is waiting for your arrival.” He bites his lip and decides to be honest. “My father is sick. So he will only meet with you for a few minutes.”

"I'm so sorry to hear that." The unconscious step you take toward him is like the pull of a magnet. "That's why you said soon to be king when we met, isn't it?"

“We – my father is stepping down.” Javi confesses. “And we will be married in two months’ time. I want— he needs—” Javi swallows, unable to speak the words that his father needed it to be quick. “He has few months left.”

"I see." Vivid flashes of your own mother's funeral burst in your mind but you swallow and reach out to touch his arm gently. "If two months is too long for him, just name the day." This is a commitment that you've been preparing yourself for, for your whole life. If it happens fast, then it happens fast.

“We will discuss it with him.” Javi is grateful that you understand and he covers your hand with his for a brief moment.

This time when his touch makes your skin prick, you accept it wholeheartedly. It's a giddiness in the pit of your stomach that feels a bit shallow but at the same time you can't help but be grateful for. He's incredibly attractive in person, now that you see his whole face, and you fluster a little as the two of you turn to continue walking to the palace together. "So...do you prefer to be called Javi?" You ask after a moment, remembering that he hadn't used his full name when he revealed himself to you.

“I do, Javier is too formal.” He makes a face before he frowns. “My father feels as if I am too relaxed for the throne, that I need to be more rigid, but I do not think it must be so serious all the time.”

"It's good to have someone that you can let down your guard with." That frown makes him look a bit like a sweet, discontented puppy, but at the same time you can't help hoping that you don't see it too often. "I hope that...in time...you might feel that you can be yourself with me."

“You have known about me your entire life?” He asks curiously. “And you agreed to marry a stranger?” There’s no judgement, but he finds it odd that someone so beautiful would agree to this.

"I think we must be a few years apart in age." It seems odd to tell him that you know his exact birthday and secretly always have a little cupcake that day in his honor. "You were a preteen when our parents made the contract. I was in pre-school." The slight shrug you offer says that it doesn't bother you anymore. It is simply a fact. "So I grew up knowing that one day - any day - I might get a phone call to come here and marry you."

“You have never…wanted more?” He asks, wishing that you weren’t so close to the doors. “For yourself?”

"More?" More than being royalty? That would make you about the most demanding and highest reaching person in the world, you think. Certainly it would be a rather extreme expectation. "More than what? I mean, I liked my job and all, but I tend to think I could do a lot more good here than just being an organizer for a non-profit back in New York." Or did he mean more than him? That actually makes you frown instead. "If you mean...personally? All I want is someone who loves me. And if that can't be you...well, you'll be king soon. You can make whatever decision you want."

“There— there is no divorce for the royal family.” Javi reveals, relieved, that it’s not the crown that you wished for, but love. “Once we are married, that’s it.” He might not agree with arranged marriages but he respected the crown and tradition enough that he would not make a mockery of it.

This particular fact has never been related to you so cleanly, but always sort of hinted at. And now that you’re hearing it directly from him, it seems almost foreboding. Like he is trying to see if you can be warned off. “The only expectation I have had for my life is to come here to marry you,” you tell him, fingers twisting around each other nervously. “I am prepared to do it. But if you decide that you don’t like me for some reason…” The possibility is surprisingly devastating to you, now that you’ve met him and feel strings of actual attraction for the man. He seems genuinely sweet. And is incredibly handsome. “If you decide you do not like me, then it is up to you what happens afterward. But I hope that that is not something we will have to think about.”

Javi shakes his head, no longer as resistant to the idea now that he had seen you in person. “My father has assured me that the contract is binding and it would be dishonorable for me to back out of this.” He gives you a nervous smile. “I just— I hope that I do not disappoint you. Our monarchy isn’t like England’s. We are the government and our people are very much our interest. We are small on the world stage.”

“That sounds vastly preferable, if I’m honest.” You’ve lingered outside one of the many palace doors for a few minutes now, and though you’re still nervous it’s slightly different than when you first arrived. “I hope that we can at least be friends? I would hate to be a disappointment to you, either. And I know that you did not ask for this.”

“We will have more time to get to know one another very well.” Javi acknowledges, opening the door for you to enter the palace. “Welcome home, Princess.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit

My Masterlist!