#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.

[bitxhy-bookworm]

CinnaVanilla

Farmer!Sevika x Baker Fem! Reader

‘You have got to be kidding meeee’

The agitated thought slips into your mind as you hear the bell to your bakery door ring. Initially, you perked up at the sound, you love your customer base. It’s hard not to, a beautiful small southern town. Everyone’s got sweet, honey-like accents and enough warmth to get you through the longest winters. It’s much different from the city you grew up in, loud, rushing and harsh. It took a while to get used to the southern charm around but you consider yourself pretty well accustomed to it now.

However, even the sweetest orchard has its share of rotten apples (a phrase the pretty cowgirl from next door taught you) and these rotten apples seem to be drawn to your shop for some reason. You watch as a familiar middle-aged couple walks in, plastering on your usual welcoming smile, you turn to them “Welcome in y’all! You back for more samples?” This couple has been planning their “Vow Renewal” for some weeks now and have decided that they simply must have your cakes at the party. Which normally is great, lots of business and cakes are your second favorite pastry to bake (cookies being your favorite). But it’s not great, because for some reason this couple can’t seem to decide on a flavor so they’re in here every Saturday.. taste testing, poking, prodding and taking up valuable time that can be spent on actual paying customers. Even worse, Saturdays are one of your busiest days, half the town is off work and the other half takes their lunch break right around the time the Smiths (your new favorite couple) decide to come in for their tastings.

This leads to you bouncing around all over your cafe, from constantly checking on the smiths, to taking orders at the counter, to preparing and serving orders, to checking on others sitting around to.. well it’s safe to say that Saturdays are your busiest days. Days that end with you cuddling with Apollo (your adorable, emotional support pitbull) and watching a corny rom-com. But here’s a secret that stays just between you and Apollo…deep down you love Saturdays. Not because of the rush of business that you get although that certainly doesn't hurt. Not because you close early on Weekends. Not even because the kind old Bartender, Vander, next door invites you to dinner with his family each Saturday evening (but it’s very close). It’s because once the Smiths leave, and you wipe the counter off for the last time, and you begin to turn off all the ovens and lights, you hear your door ring one last time…and in walks a tall, broad-shouldered, sweaty, cowgirl with a grin on features.

Sevika…

Sevika who came to this town a few years before you. Sevika who all but refuses to talk about her hometown. Sevika who may seem stand-offish at first glance but after a batch of your homemade chocolate chunk cookies opened right up. Sevika who always brings Apollo treats when she stops by for your late-night gossip sessions and early-morning strolls. Sevika who, despite her aloof exterior, cares so much...almost too a fault. Sevika, who insists on walking you home on weekdays when you close later in the evening. Sevika who always nags you for not hiring more help for the shop. Sevika is the hypocrite who works herself to death on that farm by herself. Sevika who you’ve caught knocked out in the stables not once but twice. Sevika who you can’t help but smile at as you drag her tired ass back home and tuck her in. Sevika who you’ve been in love with for a year and will never tell because you’d never risk the bond you two have built. More than friends but not quite lovers.

(When you told Vander that part, he let out a hearty laugh and said “Sounds more like your own personal hell but to each their own, I guess.” Curse him and his old gay man wisdom)

“You about ready to go?” Sevika asks, settling into a chair closest to the counter as you continue cleaning. You and she walked over to Vander and Silco’s house every night to enjoy their family dinner and game nights. Sevika says she only does it so that she doesn’t have to bring a gift (she takes credit for the pastries you bring to dinner every time) but everyone but you knows it’s because she’s completely whipped for and can’t help but follow you around like a lost puppy.

“I’m almost finished, I just gotta pack the cookies for tonight and I’ll be ready,” you say eyes searching for a box, you pretend not to notice the way Sevika lights up. Your cookies have always been her favorite but she pretends to be indifferent to all your baking. “Yeah? What kind?” She says, trying to sound unbothered but you know how eager she is. You slide her one of your “Cinnamon Vanilla” cookies on a napkin and put the rest of them in a to-go box.

By the time you reach the door, Sevika has devoured the cookie and throws the crumpled napkin away into the trash. Neither you nor Sevika are particularly chatty people but that changes the minute you two get around each other, your walks are spent chatting and joking sometimes complaining. Today, however, they’re spent bickering. “I don't see why you won't just hire some help, you're running yourself ragged doing this all by yourself, doll” Sevika drags her hand through her short hair, you don't see why she’s stressing herself out over your problems..So what if you don't want some inexperienced rando running around the shop you worked so hard to create? “You just don’t get it, Sev. You don't let anyone work on your farm and I’ve caught you passed out and exhausted more times than I can count” The truth is it was only twice but no one needs to know that.

As you approach the door to Vander and Silco’s house, you can hear the chaos from the inside of the house, Vander’s godchildren, Powder and Violet. The two girls are always getting into some kind of trouble, either with each other or with the rest of town. You’ve lost count of how many times they’ve come running into your shop to hide from some bar owner or god forbid a cop they’ve pissed off. Before you can knock, Sevika grabs your hand softly and turns you toward her. You hadn’t realized how close your bodies were until then, your eyes slowly dragged over her figure. From her chiseled biceps to her strong, broad shoulders (slightly scarred from carrying stacks of wood on them all day) to her beautiful face, the face you see when you close your eyes at night. And oh god her eyes… it’s like there's a whole other world in them, they’re your favorite thing about her. She’s so expressive with them, she thinks she can mask her emotions well but anyone who knows her knows her eyes can never keep a secret. You feel your whole body freeze as you stare into them, a look of sincerity on her face. “Listen” her voice is low, her grip has moved from your hand to your upper arm “I don’t want to tell you what to do or how to run your business. But I hate seeing you so tired, and lately, that’s all you’ve been, sugar. I just figured if you got some help around the shop, then maybe I’d see that bubbly little baker girl that I miss so much.” The last part comes out more like a confession, and you feel your heartbeat pick up. No one’s ever cared that much, and suddenly you feel your body throw caution to the wind.

You press a soft kiss to Sevika’s lips before you have a chance to realize what you’re doing. Sevika makes a surprised sound against your lips before relaxing and wrapping another hand around your waist, pulling you into her more as the kiss becomes more passionate. “OH GOD YUCK!” You hear a squeaky voice shout, you and Sevika immediately pull apart to see a disgusted powder at the door…you must not have heard it open. “Oh, shit-“ you curse yourself “Sorry pow-pow, I brought cookies!” You say trying to lighten the mood and erase the embarrassment from tonight, reaching in your bag you pull out the box and give it to the young girl.

Powder glares at you both before taking the cookies and walking inside, as you’re about to follow her Sevika grabs your hand one last time and whispers in your ear

“You’re not off the hook yet, Pumpkin..let’s talk after dinner”

(this is my first time writing but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head)

[bunny-jpeg]

max verstappen, blueberry bars, belgian waffles, tim bits with margarita and root beer. like, reader is max's naive and innocent best friend and he does this without her knowledge, asleep or drugs. she ends up preg and max convinces her that it sometimes happens and promises to take care of her.

bakery menu

want to submit an order? the bakery is open! submit your orders and i'll try to get through them as fast as possible. been a bit of a slow period because of the holdays/end of the year, but i'm making a comeback with 'em since they are very popular with ya'll! i was immediately drawn to this one, i love a good dark fic and i knew i had to write it! so thank you, thank you! enjoy <3

blueberry bars: “gonna make you a mamma and you're gonna make me a daddy.” + belgian waffles: "i cum in that every night." + tim bits: "stupid little thing." + margarita: unprotected sex + root beer: filming/recording served by max verstappen!

tags: smut/pwp, dark fic/dark themes, filming/recording, unprotected sex, breeding& pregnancy, best friend!reader, non-con somophilia, innocent!reader, mad!max, drugging

the sight of you was beautiful, there was something about your sleeping form that drove him mad. max knew that he could have any woman he desired, but why would he desire them when he could have you. you pulled him in, but even after years of friendship. you never seemed to notice max's advances, and he was getting desperate.

earlier in the evening you complained about not being able to sleep. you were visiting your best friend who was happy to house you in his apartment in monaco, so when max handed you a dainty little pill and told you to have a good night, you happily took it. and when your soft snores could be heard from the doorway of the bedroom, max felt himself getting arousing.

you looked like an innocent princess, and max believed himself to be the prince who will protect you. even if that meant having his hands under your shirt while you were asleep. a prince deserved a reward didn't he?

you laid under the sheet, which max pulled off slowly. you were in a thin tank top and underwear. he felt his heartbeat leap at the sight of you. he took out his phone to take photos.

he chuckled to himself lowly, "i cum in that every night." a cheeky joke as he had spent the last week slipping you a little pill and having his wicked way with you once you were asleep. you were quite nice when you were asleep, so much softer. it only made max yearn for you more. he wanted you, you were just too beautiful. he groaned as he felt tension in his sweatpants, "stupid little thing."

there was hunger inside of him, he needed you. wanted you in carnal ways that he couldn't put into words. the sight of you, he took more photos as he got his cock out of his sweatpants and rubbed it against your now bare stomach. he shuddered, "beautiful little thing. so stupid. need someone to protect you. you need to be saved don't you? well that's what i'm here for." he then got your panties down around your ankle and exposed your entire form to him.

it was only right for him to admire every inch of you, you were going to be his wife. the mother of his child. he said softly, “gonna make you a mamma and you're gonna make me a daddy.” and you shifted a little, it excited him as he got between your legs. he felt the rush through him as he sank his cock into you.

he had been doing this every night for a week now. every evening like ritual, he made sure you were tucked in, only for him to peel back the sheets and fuck you with a feverish want while you sleep. max had enough of beating around the bush with your love, he was a man of action.

and all he needed was for two little cells to meet before that action became a plan. some would call it baby trapping, but he'd call it a promise of commitment. you weren't going to do it alone, you'd have max every step of the way. he'd even retired to make sure that you and his baby were taken care of.

he could feel the pleasure through his body as he moved against you. he held your legs wrapped around him as he leaned in to kiss you on the lips. he snatched his phone up from the bed and snapped photos and took a small video of his cock being rocked in and out of you. he let out a small groan as the pleasure seeped into his blood. you felt amazing, he eyed your sleeping form as he picked up the pace a little bit more. he filmed a little more and let himself just enjoy the feeling of your slick cunt.

it was like a warm vice that pulled him in further. he took it as a sign that your body wanted it. you wanted this too, to carry his child. of course you did, you were so innocent and sweet. bordering on naive that max knew that you'd want a baby. a chubby little verstappen baby at your hip, you'd make a good mother.

and max knew that, even if you didn't at that moment.

he groaned lightly as he held onto your hips. he felt the climbing warmth in his body as he fucked you. feeling your body against his. your sleeping form was like the future in his eyes. he could imagine your wedding, having your family. you being the perfect wife for him. it was only destiny for the two of you, you had been friends for ages.

he knew everything about you, no other man would be able to compare. to think they could would be stupid to think, you were meant to be with max. for him to dote, love and protect. you didn't need to do anything else besides be his wife and the mother of his children. he had already made enough money to sustain a full house for three lifetimes. you deserved a man who could provide, max knew you 'dated', but they never lasted long. they didn't deserve to be with a woman like you. an angel from the heavens brought to earth.

"i love you." he said, "even when you don't see it. i know you do, i know you love me. you want me badly, but you don't think you're good enough. hopefully when i get you pregnant you can realize that i love you. i need you." his breathing was heavy as he thrusted against you.

there was no protection between you two and honestly he didn't need it. 'protection' wouldn't get you pregnant, wouldn't keep you as his. plus, it felt so much better bare-back. to feel the closeness to you. fill you with his seed and let it take root inside of you. then maybe you'd come to your senses.

maybe he could've done it a different way, but why would we do that? you looked so peaceful, he knew you weren't getting sleep. and max, the dutiful husband, would always make sure that you were alright. he just happened to want your sweet cunt wrapped around his hard cock at the same time. who could blame him, your pussy was the kind to salivate over like a hungry dog.

to love you, in his own twisted way, was a sign of utter devotion. even in your sleep, he would protect you. he knew what was right, and had convinced himself that breeding you while asleep was the best course of action. it'll prove that max is the man you need in your life, the protector. you were so innocent at times, anyone could hurt you!

but not max, at least in his logic.

you cunt felt amazing around his cock. his heart hammered in his chest a she rocked against you. he panted heavily as he moved against you. he held onto your thighs firmly and the dirty talk spilled from his lips. it was hard to make it stop at the feeling of your cunt like a vice around his cock. he rutted up into your further, as deep as he could go, as he said, "you're a fucking good girl. always did everything right, you were so trusting. that's why i have to keep you with me. close to me, where you belong. you're my wife, i knew that from the moment i met you. but the older we get, the further you're getting. time to bring you home. you, me and baby." his voice was hushed, but his words were protective and loving. or his version of loving.

if anyone saw or heard what he was doing. they'd be in shock, but they didn't understand. they didn't get how much you meant to him. he spent so much time trying to find you in other women, but why bother with them when he had you. all of you.

and soon there would be a product of your love. your union together. that only made him work his hips faster against you. you remained limp under him as he drilled his cock into you. your let out a small moan in your deep sleep and it made max near drool as he finished inside of you.

he thrusted quickly against you and felt all semblance of control start to slip. he was left hungry, near feverish from the intensity of the pleasure. he loved it, just as he loved you. of course the love of his life would have a cunt that drove him to near insanity.

he soon finished inside of you after the pleasure took hold. he clutched onto you tightly and felt the intense heights of pleasure. he let out a loud moan before he slowed to a stop. he wiped his sweaty brow and eyed your still sleepy form. it made his cock twitch inside of you for a moment.

he leaned in to kiss you on the lips before he pulled away to get you re-clothed and tucked back in. before he left the room, he kissed you on the face once more and said,

"everything i do. i do for you."

-

you were in tears weeks later, you showed max the pregnancy test when fear in your eyes. and while you looked distraught, max looked excited. the test clattered on the floor as max took you in his strong arms and kissed your face.

"how..how did this happen?" you asked meekly.

max replied with a wide smile, "don't worry about it! it's our little miracle! you and the baby won't go without. we'll have to get a bigger place, and move your stuff back home. or i can buy you new things since you'll be going through so much change... and then of course, i have to marry you. it's only right!" he was already talking like you two had planned this pregnancy.

but it was hard to do much thinking when max held you so protectively. you held onto the front of his shirt and rubbed your face against his chest. you exhaled deeply, still feeling shaken to your core. you held on tightly like a lifeline, knowing that max's child was growing in your womb. a part of you wondered if the things you were feeling late into the night weren't dreams after all. <3

[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

[pineconepie]

I got many requests for this as soon as I released the Hugo writing, so consider this technically part 1 XD this shows your backstory with Hugo, and everything leading up to the first writing!

TW: Parental yandere, drugging without your knowledge, forced infantilization, mentioned murder, implied stalking

When you first started your job as a barista at the local cafe, you thought Hugo was nice. Funny, charming, charismatic... easygoing and someone who could be relied on to teach the ropes.

He had a lot of (endearingly) cheesy dad jokes prepared, got along with basically everyone, and was very open-minded in general. You felt like you could always go to him for things, judgment-free.

For a while, you felt lucky to have such a kind boss.

It started getting strange on your first month of working there.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" you gasp. Beneath your feet, were broken glass pieces of the once-whole coffee mug. Thankfully, there wasn't anyone in the shop but you and Hugo, for closing time. You drop to your knees to pick everything up, too frantic to recall safety protocols.

You slice yourself on one of the larger fragments.

"Ow..." you mumble.

"Hey, hey! Let me see." Before you realize it, Hugo is kneeling beside you and clasping your hand. The cut bleeds and drips from your fingertip. "Ah, yeah, that's pretty nasty. We better patch this up." He pulls you to your feet, guiding you to the break room. "We'll fix the glass in a second, 'kay? I don't want you freaking out over it. You know how many times I've broken plates or cups in this place?" He shows off a few small, but noticeable scars on his hands.

"Okay," you relent. "Sorry again, though..."

"I said not to worry about it!" Hugo sits you down. "Sit tight, I'll be right back." He heads towards the supply closet and digs through until he pulls out a first aid kit. "See? All will be well in no time."

While you aren't upset about breaking the glass, you are a bit embarrassed by him having to tend to your wound, despite the kindness behind the gesture. It's really jut a small cut, and even though there's a decent amount of blood and it's painful, it's not like you're in critical condition.

"This is nothing," you joke nervously.

"Any injury is still something," he counters. He patches it up, making an almost soothing shushing noise whenever you hiss or whine in pain. He finishes it off with a gray bandaid, with little cartoon characters from a show you remember from your childhood. He chuckles at your confused stare. "Out of normal bandaids. Hope that doesn't offend your 'big-kid' status."

He sounds like he's joking. Something you've noticed, is he usually is.

"So I won't need any amputations, doc?" you try to play along with him.

"No, but I prescribe lots and lots of rest, and no more being around glass cups for a few days," he says sagely. "Doctor's orders."

"Glad the prognosis is looking favorable."

"It sure is! Now go home, I'll take care of everything. See you tomorrow."

Sometimes he strikes you as a bit odd, but you don't really think much of the interaction.

...

Just a few weeks later, your friend, Weston, comes to visit. His dad is a friend of Hugo's, and they've known each other since grade school.

Something you've noticed, is whenever he comes to make conversation, or even just order something, Hugo is somewhat... passive-aggressive, towards him.

Kind, yes, but oddly curt, as well. The complete opposite to what he's like with most other people, especially you. It makes you wonder why the older man seems so snippy towards someone who hasn't caused problems at all.

You take your break, sitting across from Weston. "How's it going?"

Weston smiles. "Pretty well, I got a bonus off my paycheck, which was pretty awesome." He glances over at the counter, where Hugo is serving another customer, but keeps gazing your way. His eyes narrow whenever they fall onto Weston. "Isn't Hugo kind of... weird?"

"Weird?" you echo. "In what way?"

"I dunno..." His face scrunches up slightly. "He just doesn't like me. Before, he didn't really have an issue with me. Even gave me discounts on things. But then when I mentioned that you're fun to hang around, suddenly he's... just kind of an asshole. I swear he even overcharges me sometimes."

"I'm sure it's all a misunderstanding," you say, frowning. "Hugo likes everyone, I don't know why he wouldn't like you."

Weston snorts. "Yeah? What a saint, that guy." He rolls his eyes. "There's something off about him. That's just what my instincts are telling me. I don't know, maybe they're wrong."

"I'm sure they are. Are you sure it isn't because he's also super tall, covered in scars and tattoos, has big muscles and kind of a deep voice? Honestly, if he wasn't so sweet, he'd probably intimidate me," you laugh.

"I'm not old fashioned like that, it takes a lot more than that to intimidate me..." Weston crosses his arms over his chest. "Just keep an eye out for yourself, alright?"

"I'm sure there's nothing to keep an eye out on."

How ironic that turned out to be.

...

"(Y/n)," Hugo says one morning. You look up from where you're cleaning the tables. He smiles, but it looks a little forced, like he's trying to find his words carefully. "I think you should reconsider hanging out with that Weston kid. I know his father, and I know how much trouble he can be."

You try to hide your shock. "I've known him for a year, he's never been any trouble before."

"Yes, but this is different," he tries to reason. "I can't go into detail, but he's a much worse person than he lets on. You shouldn't hang out with him."

"Why not?" you counter defensively. "If I shouldn't hang out with my friend, I'd like to know why."

Hugo purses his lips, but decides against whatever he initially wanted to say. "Just trust me, okay? Please?"

You hesitate. You don't see why Weston is such a bad influence on you. You barely even see him outside work! Does he know something you don't? "Alright," you end up saying. "I'll try not to interact with him."

He breathes out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, bud." His hand reaches out and pats your head. "I know I may just be your boss, but you're still precious to me. I just want to protect you, okay?" It's supposed to reassure you. And for now, it does. You want to believe it.

"Thanks. I care about you too, Hugo."

As you say the words, however, you catch the split second where something flashes in his eyes. Something unreadable and indecipherable. But just as soon as it comes, it disappears without a trace. "After you're done wiping those tables, you can call it quits and head home for the day."

The moment passes, and you return to cleaning the table, forgetting the unease within moments.

...

It's been a full three months since you started working at the cafe, now.

Even though Hugo still acts a little protective (bordering on possessive) for a boss, you can tell how much he genuinely cares, and therefore overlook it.

You'd like to believe it's his way of showing he sees you like family. And in truth, the company is great. He cracks jokes constantly, can converse on just about any topic, and always has advice, somehow.

Today, however, you're struggling to keep up the charade. You ended up getting a cold, and feel so groggy you nearly overslept through the alarm.

Still, the last thing you'd want to do is burden others. So, you show up regardless of how crappy you feel physically.

"(Y/n)? Are you sick?" Hugo asks, stopping mid-pour to get a closer look at you.

You're wheezing and coughing so badly you can hardly breathe. Your skin feels hot, and sweat beads down your neck. "No," you argue half-heartedly. "I just feel under the weather." Your loses color when you try to suppress a much-needed cough, only to have it wrack your entire frame violently. "It's nothing contagious, don't worry."

He looks unamused, pausing his pouring to walk up to you, placing hand on your forehead. You hadn't realized how much your head throbs until now, but the pressure eases slightly with the contact.

Hugo sighs deeply, pulling his hand away. "Okay. You're going home."

"But—"

"Nah-uh-uh!" His finger boops your nose. "I'll call someone to take our shifts."

"Our?" you ask incredulously.

"Yes, ours, you muffinhead," he grins. "I gotta take care of my favorite employee, don't I?"

You blink. "I thought I was your only employee?"

"I have other employees, for your information!"

"I never see them..."

"Well, that's because—" He pauses. "Wait! No distracting me!" You giggle. He rolls his eyes in good nature, helping you pull on your coat. "Let's hurry before that fever of yours worsens."

And that's how you find yourself curled up on his couch, while he makes soup in the kitchen. His place is quaint, but nice. The walls are beige, with wooden floors, a fireplace crackling off to the side.

Everything here is tidy. Cozy. Reminds you a bit of his personality. A dog-eared book lays on his coffee table, along with a newspaper and some coasters.

Somehow, you feel at peace here.

The door opens, revealing the taller man carrying a tray with him. On it, there's a steaming bowl, and a cup of your favorite blend of tea.

"Ah, you're awake," he notes, sounding pleased. "I wanted to make you something nice and homemade, but I don't have ingredients for the few dishes I'm good at. So, this totally-not-canned-soup will have to do." He winks, placing it beside you, then places his hand against your cheek. "Wow... after this, maybe a lukewarm bath will do."

"What do I gotta do to convince you that I'm fine?" you wheeze out.

Hugo gives you a deadpan look. "I'm so sorry for assuming you're sick judging by the obvious fever, constant coughing, and the fact you look like a zombie straight out of The Walking Dead. My greatest apologies!"

You snort, playfully swatting at him. "Jerk."

"Hmmm..." His thumb strokes against your forehead. "Yes. I'm absolutely a jerk for wanting you to get better. Absolutely, I'm one hundred percent an awful, horrible jerk." He helps you sit upright. "Now, drink the broth of the soup, and I'll draw up the water." Without waiting, he heads towards the bathroom.

Your stomach rumbles, so you listen and begin to sip at the soup. For some canned soup, it tastes really delicious. Although, admittedly, you're so starved, anything would taste phenomenal.

Slowly, you chow down on the meal, which consists of vegetables and noodles, but you're still too nauseous to properly stomach it, so you opt for mostly sipping the broth.

Hugo returns to your already devoured-soup. "Good job, you finished it. I'm so proud."

At first you think he's teasing you again, but when you look at his face, he's actually genuine. Huh. Weird. "Thank you," you say slowly, still wrapping your head around it.

He helps you upstairs and leaves you to it once inside the bathroom.

When you finish, there's a pair of pastel green pajamas left for you, exactly your size.

It's a little weird that he'd have this on him, but you're too exhausted to question it now. Putting it on, you immediately enjoy how soft the material is.

"How are we feeling now, champ?" he asks when you enter the living room again. It seems like he's already cleaned your dishes up. Oh well. He sits on the sofa reading, but puts his book aside when he spots you.

"Much better," you admit. There's a beat of silence before you decide to add, "thank you, by the way."

Hugo's eyebrows raise slightly. "Aw... you're welcome. I'm glad to help. Your work uniform is in the washing machine, by the way. Since you wore it when sick, I thought it was a good idea to clean it." He pats the spot next to him.

"Why are you doing this? I know I said I'm not contagious earlier, but there's still a chance I could be." You awkwardly sit next to him.

"I have a pretty solid immune system, thankfully, so I highly doubt I'll get anything from you," Hugo reassures. His arm wraps around you snugly. "And besides, my heart just couldn't handle imagining you being alone at home. I'm just nice like that."

"Doubtful," you tease. "I'm pretty sure you just enjoy bossing me around outside of work."

"You're still on the clock technically, buttercup, so I think you shouldn't sass your employer like that," he muses, reaching over for the remote. "TV time now. How does Looney Tunes sound? I loved that stuff as a kid. Do kids still watch that?"

"How old do you think I am?"

Hugo pretends to think about it. "Six?"

You stare blankly at him. "Are we really gonna act like you don't know my exact age and birth date?"

"I'm kidding, obviously. Goofball." He squeezes you a bit, kissing the crown of your head. "Cartoons, yes or no? Because if no to cartoons, I'm just going to choose an animal documentary."

Well, it's not like you have to pay for any streaming subscriptions or anything here... might as well abuse it. "Cartoons are fine."

"Thought so."

By now, the medicine he gave you is kicking in. The effects of the fever and illness are making you sluggish and lethargic, but definitely less than before.

Somehow, Hugo picks up on it and adjusts himself so you're both cuddled up under blankets together. One episode goes by. Then two, then three.

And soon enough, you're asleep again.

...

Not long after, when you're feeling well again, work turns back to the way it was earlier. Hugo is somehow slightly more overbearing, but not necessarily in an obnoxious way. Still, it's definitely more noticeable compared to before.

Weston still stops by the cafe regularly, but you're slightly more curt to him. You're not sure if you even believe Hugo, but you like your job, and would like to keep it.

You still hang out with Weston outside of work, since Hugo wouldn't know, but somehow, the next morning when you show up at your job, Hugo is glaring daggers at you.

"What?"

The tall man leans against the counter, arms crossed. "Did you hang out with Weston again?"

You frown. "No... but even if I did, how would you know?" Maybe lying isn't your strong-suit, at least not with the look Hugo is giving you. You've never seen him look truly angry.

So angry that there's actual fear pooling in your gut.

Hugo runs a hand through his messy hair. "You just never know when to stop, do you? How many times have I asked you not to hang out with him?"

"Hugo, come on, you can't dictate who I hang out with. I can handle myself just fine. Now please, let me just do my job. People are staring."

"Keep up with this attitude, (Y/n), and we'll have problems."

"If you're going to fire me, might as well do so. I'm close to quitting myself." You don't actually mean those words, but the way Hugo stiffens up tells you that he believes them without a shred of doubt. Suddenly, all his anger evaporates, replaced by hurt. "I'm... sorry. I didn't mean that. Let's just... get back to work. I'll make the cake batter for tomorrow, okay?"

You've never been great at smoothing things over between others, nor resolving conflict, and you suppose this time is no different. While you feel somewhat bad, you also don't like him having complete control of who you associate with.

Hell, you're still wondering how he even knew about Weston; there's no possible way for him to know unless he's following you...

You shiver at the thought.

...

Slowly but surely, your life starts tumbling downhill, outside of Hugo being passive-aggressive on the occasion.

Your power keeps going out randomly, sometimes several times a day. You keep getting sick, sometimes what feels like a small cold, other times much more, to which Hugo is always insistent on taking care of you, just as he did a few weeks ago.

One day, however, when you arrive home, you walk inside to the sound of water overflowing onto your floor.

Then, come to find out, repairing it will cost a fortune, and that's on top of needing another place to crash. You tried asking Weston, but given how strict his parents are, who he is currently living with, that isn't an option.

Which means the only option is...

"(Y/n)? Hi, kiddo, what's going on?"

You suck in a breath. "Hi, Hugo, do you have a minute?" When he confirms, you continue. "This is embarrassing to say, but recently I've had some issues with my plumbing at home. If I give you money, can I temporarily crash with you? Just until it's fixed up?"

"Well, duh! You don't need to pay me anything. You know what? How about you pack your things? We can move it all in one trip using my truck. Then I'll set up everything else for you and order us dinner."

It's strange how willing he is to take care of you like this. But at this point, you have no options.

"That sounds fantastic, thank you."

"No problem. Anything for you." He hangs up.

You exhale after putting the phone down. Something about his tone of voice sounds almost smug, but you shake it off. Still, it doesn't explain why you can't shake off the sinking feeling growing inside you.

...

Hugo sets you up with your own guest room. "If you need anything, ask me," he says. "This can be a fun experience! Don't worry about your apartment. Once we get it all fixed, you'll be able to go back to living there! But, uh... no rush on moving out," he jokes.

Except it doesn't land as a joke. There's some serious intent behind that request. That pleads with you to stay forever. It chills you to the core. Hugo, oblivious to it, keeps speaking.

"—feel free to use my shower or anything. Any food I have, you can help yourself. Make yourself at home."

"Will do. Thanks, Hugo."

"Don't sweat it."

It's almost unnerving how happy he is to have you staying with him. It reminds you of how ecstatic he was about you staying over when you got sick. He seemed genuinely saddened by you leaving to return to your place.

If you were paranoid, you'd wonder if somehow, he orchestrated these things... but that'd be insane, right? There's no possible way that he would purposely sabotage your home in hopes you'd come live with him.

That's crazy. That would never happen. It couldn't possibly happen.

There's nothing to worry about. Or so you desperately hope.

...

You feel like you're going insane. At this point, it has been over a month since you've stayed with Hugo.

And yet, none of the plumbers Hugo suggests can seem to fix the issue. Each time, it results in some excuse about not having the proper materials, or being short-staffed, or simply ghosting you altogether. None of them can seem to pinpoint the root of the problem.

"Any luck?" Hugo asks when you put your phone away. He's in the kitchen cooking while you're relaxing on his couch, watching TV.

"No. Gosh, I'm sorry, it feels like I'm intruding forever," you apologize. "I'm tempted to just look for a new place, and cut my losses..." Admittedly, the longer you've stayed, the harder it's become to live here. It's gotten worse than it was at work. Constantly keeping tabs on you, controlling who you hang out with, when you go out...

It feels so claustrophobic, like you're trapped by him. At work you can clock out, but living with him... you're literally trapped at home.

"If you want..." Hugo sets down the spoon he was cooking with, walking over to you. "You could always stay here permanently."

You stare at him.

"It's... it's not a big deal," he assures. "Think about it. You pay rent for somewhere to stay, bills, etcetera, and it adds up fast. Here? I wouldn't charge you a single thing."

You pinch the bridge of your nose. "As tempting as it is... I think I'll pass. I can take care of myself, I think it'd be a little weird..."

Hugo deflates slightly, but bounces back to his normal cheerful self. "Okay! Well, whatever you want, kiddo."

But something tells you it won't be that easy to escape from him.

...

After that conversation, the sickness starts again. Except, this time, Hugo acts far stranger.

At first it's nothing concerning; taking your temperature and bringing you medicine.

It's all standard stuff. But as time progresses, and the fever refuses to leave, he insists on hand-feeding you, which makes you extremely uncomfortable, especially since he treats it all like you're some toddler incapable of doing things themselves.

Then comes the clothes.

They're all pastel colors, mainly baby blue and beige. All covered in sheep and teddy bear patterns. He's decorated your "room" without asking for your input, and once again, it's all in childish patterns and designs.

Like something a five year old would prefer. You tried telling him as much, only for him to laugh it off and keep adding more of the things.

You try not to think about it too hard, chalking it up to him having poor taste or a lack of awareness, but there's an odd suspicion lurking in the back of your mind that something is seriously wrong here.

That thought stays with you, until the next day, when you wake up early. You trudge into the kitchen, to see him hunched over, back facing you, pulling something out of the cabinet and into one of the sippy cups he insists on giving to you ("you're sick, I don't want you spilling anything!").

Something is very, very wrong.

"Hugo?"

His shoulders stiffen. Then he slowly turns around to face you. He flashes a smile. "Hey, buddy, what are you doing up so early?" He discreetly pushes the cup behind him.

You walk closer. "What are you doing?" He moves his arm to block access behind him.

"What do you mean? It's early, kiddo, you might still have a bit of a fever." He tries to rest a palm against your forehead, but you jerk away.

"Don't," you snap. "I'm not a child. Why are you acting so strange?"

A flash of irritation crosses his face, gone in seconds. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm making your breakfast! Aren't you hungry?" Again, he reaches out towards you, and when you pull away again, the irritation returns.

"What did you put in there?" you demand. "Are you poisoning me?" As soon as you speak the question, you immediately feel guilty for it.

This is Hugo. Your boss, but someone who has protected you and kept you safe and content since you started working with him years ago. There's no way he'd poison you, right? He loves you.

He loves you so much, he wouldn't hurt you, right?

"You're sick, sweetheart, still delusional from the fever, maybe." He rests the back of his palm on your forehead this time, humming contemplatively. "I can get you some ibuprofen and a cool washcloth."

"I don't want anything from you!"

He drops all the niceties, snapping at you with a scowl on his face. "You will shut up, go back upstairs, and get your ungrateful butt back into bed."

You do so, only because his clenched fists are quivering at his side.

For hours, you can't sleep. Your mind is racing too quickly, anxiety prickling along every corner of your body. The thought that Hugo is drugging you — somehow — sends nauseous waves through you.

When you can't take it any longer, you grab your backpack. It's almost sunrise when you creep down the stairs, careful to miss the ones that creak.

It's stupid, but you need to confirm your earlier suspicions. You take a hesitant detour to the kitchen cabinets, the same ones he was pulling things from earlier this morning.

Flicking on the flashlight on your phone, you wince from the bright light in comparison to the dim room.

When your eyes adjust to the glare, you shift aside boxes and containers. You find nothing concerning, except...

Your breath hitches, pulling out a small orange bottle.

Acepromazine? You pocket it, intent to search it up later, but for now you just need to get out of here.

You expect him to stop you at any second, but by some miracle, you find the front door key where he always keeps it, and slip out the door.

Never have you felt eager to pay for a hotel room.

...

The next day, your phone blows up with texts and calls from Hugo. You ignore every last one of them. But guilt begins to worm its way into your gut as you listen to the voicemail messages left from him.

"(Y/n)... where did you go? Buddy, I don't know what I did to drive you away from me, but I can promise it will never happen again. Just tell me why you ran off like that, did I scare you?"

"Hey. (Y/n), call me back, okay?"

"I know you're mad at me... I'm so sorry for scaring you earlier. Please, please come back, okay?"

"Was it because I raised my voice? I know how sensitive you are... I really shouldn't have scared you like that..."

You know you need to go back to work, tell him you're quitting, and leave it at that. You want to just ignore him altogether, but the fear he might be able to take legal action against you looms over your head.

You thought the contract was stupid, saying you had to give a two weeks notice before quitting, but you thought he just did that for practical purposes.

Did he have this entire thing planned out?

No. Maybe you're jumping to conclusions. Still, that nagging doubt doesn't fade.

You haven't even looked up what the medicine is yet. Part of you is hopeful that maybe you were just making things up in your head, and perhaps they belonged to him, and just happened to be in there... people sometimes kept their medicine in the kitchen, right?

Yet you can't deny what you saw.

He even knows where you live. He knows you first and last name, and a bunch of personal information that he could definitely use against you.

...

You give it a week of no communication. He calls and texts you too many times to count daily.

Despite your instinct to avoid Hugo, the intense fear he inspires in you makes you drag yourself back to the coffee shop. It once had cozy, warm vibes, but now it's the equivalent of hell for you.

The jingle from the bell above the door catches Hugo's attention from where he's wiping the countertop. When he notices you, he brightens.

"(Y/n)! Where have you been?" The words tumble from him. He wraps you up in a tight hug, one that used to be comforting. You can't find yourself to reciprocate, not anymore. "I've been worried sick!"

You swallow down a snide comment. It would do nothing but escalate the tension that already hangs thick in the air. "Look, I—"

"I know, you're probably still upset about that morning, huh? No worries, I got so caught up in the heat of the moment. I can be an old dummy, can't I?" He's smiling, but you can tell he's on the verge of hysteria, trying so desperately to hide it behind his grins and friendly act. "Thank God you're okay. You're okay, right? No one hurt you?" He anxiously looks you over. "Let me get you something to drink! How does—"

"No!" you cry out. Thank goodness there's no customers right now. You clear your throat at his obvious worry. "I mean... no, thank you. I came to give this to you." You hand him a sheet of paper.

Hugo laughs, not taking it. "Why don't we sit down? Most employers wouldn't allow their employees to take a whole week off. Please, just—"

"Most employers also wouldn't try to drug their employee!" you cry. Your heart is thumping rapidly within your chest.

"(Y/n), don't raise your voice at me. Can we just talk about this? This was a big misunderstanding."

"No! I know what I saw! What was even your goal?! Were you trying to kill me?!"

He freezes, hand halfway from reaching toward you again. "Kill you?" He laughs humorlessly. "Oh, baby, no. Is that what you've been thinking? No... no, no..." He shakes his head. "No wonder you were terrified! You should have communicated that to me instead of hiding away all week..."

The pet name causes your skin to crawl. "What else could you be drugging me for, then?" you whisper hoarsely. Tears are pricking the corners of your eyes.

"(Y/n), honey, please don't cry. I swear it was not my intention to hurt you," Hugo coaxes. "Just to help you."

"Is that so?" You pull out the bottle of pills. He tries to grab them from you, but you take a step back and pull out your phone, searching it in. Your worst fears are realized when the page loads and shows what it actually is. "This is for animals... you have no pets, so you can't even lie your way out of this!"

A flash of fury burns in his eyes. His shoulders square up, and he narrows his eyes. "Okay, yes. Yes. You got me there. But it's not what it looks like, I promise."

"You were dosing me! Why? Why would you do that to someone? You're sick. You need help!" you scream at him. Hot tears sting your cheeks now. This is worse than you ever imagined. "It's an animal tranquilizer! No amount of explaining could do this! Screw my two weeks notice, I don't care anymore!"

"Don't walk out this door!" Hugo shouts. "You just cannot accept the fact someone loves you, can you?! I am so sick of this back and forth, this tug-of-war you keep dragging us through. I only want what's best for you, I have given you so much, and you repay me by running away, shutting me out, screaming at me! And after all my efforts... I'd even resorted to drugging you just to spend more time with you!"

"Oh, wow, what a sweet thing of you to do!" you say sarcastically. You turn your back to him and open the door. His hand slams the door closed. "I will call the police on you if you don't move."

Hugo grits his teeth, frown deepening. He releases his grip on the door handle, and steps away.

For a moment, you hesitate. The way he's staring at you fills you with a deep sense of dread. Like maybe you're making a horrible mistake. He took you in, gave you a home to stay in when you had nowhere to go. Gave you money and necessities. Protected you from harm.

You shake away those thoughts and open the door. Before you even step one foot out, you feel something sharp plunge into your neck. Gasping, you stagger backwards, almost falling to the ground, if not for Hugo.

"I had a feeling you'd show back up," Hugo mutters. He wipes hair away from your sweaty forehead, shushing you gently as you start to panic. "No need to be scared, kiddo."

"Wh...What...?" You try to focus on his face, but your vision starts to swim in and out. Your eyelids feel heavy.

"There we go, nice and easy..." His hand cups your cheek. "You're going to feel a bit sleepy, okay?" He takes a moment to put the cap back on the needle, then pockets it, along with the syringe. He coos at your eyes fluttering shut. "I know. It's scary, but I'd never hurt you. You're just confused." He hoists you up with a grunt, carrying you outside.

"Why...?" Your throat feels dry and raw. Sleep has almost taken over.

"I love you. I love you so, so much, but sometimes you can't let people take care of you. Let people protect you." He helps you in the backseat, pausing to smile at you, pushing some bangs away from your sweaty forehead. "I know you act like you hate me, but surely deep down, you realize you need me. Why else would you willingly come back?"

"It wasn't like... that..."

"Shhhh... enough. Close your eyes now. I'll wake you up when you're safe and sound back home..."

...

When you wake up, you're still in the car, but pulled up to his house. Panic sets in, making you tug on the straps of the seatbelt, trying to undo the buckle.

"Whoa! Hold on, bud, what are you doing?" Hugo turns around in his seat, expression stricken with surprise. "You weren't supposed to wake up yet. Damnit." He tries to grab something out of his pocket, but you manage to unbuckle yourself from the seat, scrambling to the other side of the vehicle, away from him.

You reach out to the opposite door and unlock it.

Right before you can swing it open, however, it suddenly clicks and refuses to open. Child safety lock. "No... no..."

Hugo sighs and shakes his head. "You're really stressing your Papa out, you know that?" He doesn't wait for an answer as he gets out of the car and walks around to your side, opening it up. He reaches in towards you, but you flail backwards. "Easy, easy... you'll hurt yourself moving around like that. Please, listen to me."

"Why are you doing this?!" you cry. Your fingers clutch at the cushions desperately. "P...Please, Hugo, let me go... we can forget about all this and pretend like nothing happened. Please..." Sobs shake your body, and you curl into yourself pathetically. "I want to go home!"

"We are home, honey. And even then, I wanted to do this the normal way. But you didn't want that," he soothes.

"Drugging me is not the normal way!" you snap, your fear turning into fury.

He sighs, this time not bothering to reply. You scream in shock when he tries lunging for you, a new needle prepared, but you manage to slip out from the other side, ignoring the way you collapse upon landing. It doesn't matter. Getting away from Hugo does.

You scramble to your feet and begin booking it. Behind you, you can hear him calling after you.

He doesn't live close to any civilization, but you still hope that maybe someone, anyone, will come to your aid.

"Help!" you cry. Your vision swims. Everything hurts. You push through, knowing stopping means you'll be doomed forever. "Please help!"

A few more seconds of running makes you nearly faint, leaning against a tree. The bark cuts into your palms painfully. Your stomach is doing flips inside of you, twisting into painful knots.

"(Y/n)! Get back here this instant!" Hugo yells.

You force yourself to keep going. Everything seems like its closing in around you. Each inhale makes your lungs burn with effort. Where are you going?

Does it really matter? Nothing matters besides escaping this madman.

You run out onto a dirt road, not paying attention to your surroundings, not until the loud noise of an engine makes you look up.

The last thing you see is the glimpse of headlights before everything goes black.

[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 💋)

[syndrossi]

Because I was still sad after writing this little piece where Lynda Royce gifts the twins their first new toys since arriving at the Gates of the Moon, I wrote a little sequel where she writes a scathing letter to Daemon as the boys' fifth name day nears, demanding to know why he refuses to even meet his sons.

x~x~x

“You are Lynda Royce?”

The woman Daemon had addressed was standing at the entrance to the holdfast within the Gates of the Moon. She was tall, with light brown hair that was half-gathered into a braid while the rest flowed loose to mid-back. Daemon didn’t recognize her, and he did not know whether to be disappointed.

When he had received her letter on a rare visit to Dragonstone, he had thought the contents a joke at first. He knew almost all of his miserable wife’s kin, and there had been no Lynda among them, but the outrage bleeding through every word had felt genuine. How could Daemon be so heartless as to abandon his sons for the mere sin of bastardry when the fault was his alone? Did he not care that their fifth name day approached? Did he not wish to see them even once?

The obvious conclusion had been that, in his many amorous adventures within Runestone, he had come across this Lynda and she had given birth to the twin sons in question—but he did not know her.

He did, however, easily recognize the man who had appeared at her side, his face pale and wan as he stared at Daemon: Allard Stone, who had since been legitimized and installed as the keeper of the Gates of the Moon. And although the sight of Caraxes was enough to strike many a man with terror, it was hardly the first time his wife’s nephew had seen his dragon.

He is frightened by my presence.

Lynda Royce, the man’s wife, Daemon presumed, shared none of his fear. Instead, she seemed almost delighted by his presence, rapidly closing the distance between them. “My prince,” she said, dipping into a curtsy before fixing him with a warm smile, “you came!”

“Lynda,” Allard said, his voice tight, “is this your doing?”

“It was not right that the boys should have to celebrate yet another name day without having met their father,” the woman said, before turning back to Daemon. “Would you like to see them? They are done with their lessons for the day, so they should be in their room.”

She reached for his hand, and Daemon was too dumbstruck by her forwardness to do anything but follow, his head spinning. Do I have sons, or don’t I? If not hers, then whose?

Lynda Royce led him up several flights of stairs, her husband very notably not following, then partway down the hall, pausing outside one of the doors. She rapped her knuckles lightly against it. “Jon? Raymar? Are you within?”

A pattering of feet sounded, and the door was pulled open by a young boy whose dark, shoulder-length hair crowned a head that reached no higher than Daemon’s waist. His smile of greeting faltered as he spotted Daemon, his grey eyes fixing upon him with equal parts curiosity and wariness. Behind him was another child of identical height, with long, pale hair that was nearly a match to Daemon’s own, his purple eyes widening as he too caught sight of Daemon at Lynda’s side.

My sons. There was no mistaking them for anything else as his gaze shifted between them, poring over every last feature, from the curve of their brow to the shape of their eyes to the slight part of their lips as they stared back. In them, Daemon found himself, his father, his uncle, his brother, Rhaenyra—

They are mine. Daemon grasped for the children, hooking them both for a clumsy embrace, feeling their tension build until he had released them. They do not know who I am.

“I am Prince Daemon Targaryen,” he said, and their eyes went wider still. “I am your father.”

==========

Allard Royce had yet to show his face, which was likely for the best if his hope was to draw a handful more breaths before the day’s close. The chamber that had served as his sons’ room was small and meager, and their possessions limited to a few pieces of ill-fitting clothing—the tailor was not yet done with the boys’ new garments, Lynda had informed him apologetically—and a lone bear doll that sat on their bed. A book lay atop the lone rickety table, as well as several slips of parchment where the boys had been practicing their writing.

They have been raised in squalor. It was growing more difficult to mask his fury, though Daemon had been trying his best, as it seemed to frighten Raymar.

He had drawn the story from Lady Lynda, who did not have the full truth herself. The boys were called Jon and Raymar Redfort, not Stone. They had been raised as the children of Elys Royce and her husband Corwyn Redfort, until both had been claimed by Spring Fever. When Lynda Grafton had arrived at the Gates of the Moon to live with her new husband, she had been informed that Allard Royce’s young wards were in fact Daemon’s bastard children.

Bastard children who I had desired nothing to do with.

It was a lie so breathtakingly cruel that he could not strangle his growl. The birth of each of Rhaenyra’s two sons had been difficult, not merely because they should have been his, but also the sheer hopelessness of ever siring children in the marriage he was trapped in. Watching her hold and nurse and play with them had left him spent of even jealousy. Each time he returned to the Stepstones, it was with a growing despair, a sense that no matter what he did, nothing would change.

Now, there was only rage. He had sons: two perfect, beautiful sons who had been sequestered away as orphans dependent on the charity of a man as miserly with his love as with his coin. The only toys they had received in years had been from Lynda Grafton upon marrying Allard, and quite possibly the only tenderness.

And they were watching him as though his rage were about to fall upon them, clutching one another for comfort as their eyes followed his restless pacing.

“You have done nothing wrong,” Daemon said between clenched teeth, but they looked unconvinced.

He took a breath, forcing himself to swallow the anger for a moment even as it threatened to overtake him. My own sons are frightened of me. Daemon moved to their bed to sit upon it, wishing now that he had not sent Lynda Royce away so that he might have some privacy.

“Come,” he said, softening his voice.

They responded as though ordered, their joined hands squeezing briefly before separating to sit on either side of him. Daemon gathered them in so close he could feel the beating of their hearts, light and fast. He kissed their hair, but they did not lean into him as little Jace did when in his mother’s arms, and the pain of it squeezed at his chest.

“I love you,” Daemon said desperately. “I would have come for you when you were but a quickening in your mother’s belly, had I only known. I—”

The injustice of it had swelled to bursting, and his lungs expelled it as a half-choked sob that nearly bent him in twain. It was equal parts fury, howling for blood and vengeance—and grief for what might have been.

He felt one of his sons wriggle in his arms, and then something soft was pressed into his chest. Through the blur of tears, Daemon could see that it was the bear doll that had been set beside the boys’ pillows.

“Do not cry,” Raymar said softly. “Ser Berry will protect you from your sorrows.”

At his other side, Jon’s arm hooked behind him in a one-armed hug. “We did not know either,” his son assured him.

His sons comforting him rather than the reverse was unbearable. Daemon pulled them both onto his lap, bear squeezed between them, and held them tightly, kissing their hair over and over as promises spilled from his lips. They would live in the king’s own holdfast with him, they would be princes, they would have dragons and toys and whatever they pleased, and little cousins to play with. He would guard them from every ill, and he would hold them, just like this, whenever they liked.

“You will take us with you?” Jon asked, eyes shimmering, as though he did not believe him.

“You are never leaving my side,” Daemon swore.

“But we cannot be princes,” Jon said, somehow looking more upset. “We are Stones.”

“Allard Royce was a Stone once.” It was difficult to say the man’s name without snarling. “The king will proclaim you princes of House Targaryen.”

And that assumes they are not Rhea’s own sons. It was a thought that had occurred to Daemon since hearing the lies Lynda Royce had been told.

“Prince Rhaegar,” Raymar murmured, and for the first time since Daemon’s arrival, a quiet confidence seemed to settle within his son. He gazed up at him. “Can we meet your dragon?”

[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?”

[effietrinket1619]

Fully expected Io and Soranik to arrest Batman for punching Guy lol.

yknow, i didn't have them arrest batman in the first place because i didn't think it was even in their jurisdiction. but like, the more i thought about it, the funnier it became, so...

Soranik blinked at the man. His casual swagger, silent pride with which he held himself. He was unrepentant, totally at ease with what he just admitted to her and Io. He looked them as if he expected them to laugh, to joke alongside him about the very real and lasting consequences his actions have had.

She saw red.

Io reached out, a gentle touch to her forearm before Soranik could open her mouth in her blinding fury, her own voice quietly and expertly restrained from years of diplomacy. "You assaulted Lantern Gardner," she clarified. "You admit that?"

Wayne huffed slightly, a grumble like an affirmative thrumming through the air. Not enough because Soranik knew what Io was trying to do. "What gave you grounds to do that?" she asked, holding her anger tight in her chest. "Was he acting out? Being difficult? Did you believe you needed to, what, put him in his place?"

Kyle made a little despairing noise at the back of his throat. Gardner remained completely silent which set off every alarm bell in Soranik's head.

With an imperious air, Wayne looked down on the both of them. Soranik bit her lip so she wouldn't say anything right off the bat. "You work with him. You understand how he can be."

"Of course I do," she said with a sharp smile. "He's a good Lantern to cover your back. Just help me understand what your thought process was for knocking him out."

"To shut him up."

Soranik and Iolande exchanged a glance. Io's eyes danced in mirth which only had the corners of her own lips twitching upwards. Humans and their arrogance. Wayne resembled a particularly awful version of Jordan. And Jordan was hardly perfect himself but at least he didn't go out of his way to brag about exacerbating brain damage.

Io spoke while Soranik's ring flashed, construct chains and manacles clapping over Wayne's wrists, ankles and even his waist before anyone could speak. "Bruce Wayne, you have been hereby charged with assault of a member of the Green Lantern Honour Guard. You will be taken back to Oa for formal questioning and trial. Please," she continued when Wayne's mouth opened, shock and outrage plain on his face, "keep your mouth closed. It would serve you best to not dig yourself deeper into this hole."

His jaw clicked shut and he looked over at Kyle, eyes wild and furious. "Rayner." He said Kyle's name as if it was an order. Soranik did not care for that at all.

Kyle looked between Soranik and Wayne before he threw up his hands, a sheepish half-smile on his face. "They've got a point. You really shouldn't have bragged about that to actual Green Lanterns. We're very serious about protecting our own, right Guy?"

Guy had seemed to go blank, eyes wide and unblinking as he took in the sight before him. It took Kyle nudging him gently for him to snap back into his body. "Huh? Uh, yeah, sure. We, uh, we really arrestin' Brucie?"

"Of course," Soranik said tartly. "Kyle, if you would lead the way? I'm sure your human friends need to hear of this development."

"I have children," Wayne growled as Soranik began to pull him along, uncaring of his struggles and reluctance. "I can't go to trial."

"Find a babysitter," she said airily.

When they arrived at a wide room with a colourful assortment of various people from different species entirely, they stopped. Everyone stared. The humiliation might do this man good, honestly. There was no need for this, after all.

"Uh," started the man in blue and red. "Kyle? What--what is all this?"

Io stepped forward gracefully, commanding the room with a glance. "Greetings. I am Queen Iolande of Betrassus and this is my partner, Soranik Natu of Korugar. I expect you are all very confused by this turn of events and my partner and I were too. But we are here to arrest this man for assaulting a Green Lantern officer. We will be returning to Oa with him shortly."

A man in blue and black blinked, absolutely stunned. "B. Did you--did you punch a queen?"

Io tilted her head, smiling beatifically. "No. This was a previous assault on Lantern Gardner and we have warranted it serious enough for further investigation."

"You can't take him!" A child, really, all gangly limbs and greasy black hair, stepped up while tapping a long pole on the ground nervously. "Hey, c'mon, this has to be some kind of misunderstanding. You can't take Batman."

Soranik grinned, all teeth. "And who are you, exactly, to question my judgement?"

He spluttered for a second before stepping forward with a vaguely menacing energy. Kyle threw up a glimmering construct wall before he could get too closer. "No, Red Robin," he said sharply. "You attack the Queen of Betrassus and you start a war with those people. You get me? He probably won't be gone long. Promise."

"Indeed," Io said dryly, a twist of humour on her lips. "With any luck, I may be able to talk the Guardians down from an outright death sentence."

"What?"

"Okay!" Gardner finally exclaimed, smiling faintly. "No one's dyin'! He ain't even do that much to warrant a prison sentence, yeah? Jus' sit tight for now, 'cos I dunno how far Red wants to stretch this."

"And like," Kyle rambled, "can I be so real with you guys right now?" He pointed behind him, directly at Wayne who had gone a lovely shade of pink. "He definitely needs this. Something to knock him down a couple of pegs. It's been a long time coming and I'm glad it's happening now like this."

The man in blue and red looked visibly pained. "Guy. Fix this."

"I can't, Supes." Gardner crossed his arms, shooting a fond look over at Soranik. "My hands are tied. We'll see ya in a couple weeks."

"Weeks?"

----

"...and I was telling Isamot to just, like, cool it for five seconds because Arisia looked like she was this close to testing how far the lethality on her ring went, right?"

John nodded along, not really listening to whatever Hal was saying. Clearly, he needed an out and John was happy to be that person for him. Kyle stopped by about five minutes ago to ask them to check the holding cells quickly because Soranik and Iolande apparently brought in someone moderately high-profile and that was enough to warrant inspecting.

John just really hoped no one had caused a diplomatic incident. Kyle looked the most nervous he had ever been when he spoke to John. That definitely did not bode well.

"Hey, who d'you think Soranik brought in?" Hal asked as they neared the cells. "I hope it's Sinestro."

"I don't," John bit back tiredly. "Could you imagine how much of a nightmare he'd be?"

Hal grinned. "Nah. I'm his nightmare. If anything, I think it'd be--be..."

Whatever Hal was going to say petered off into nothing. John was right by with him as his own thoughts stuttered to a stop.

"Stewart. Jordan," Bruce said from within, chin tilted up to retain as much dignity as he could inside an Oan holding cell.

"What," John muttered, "the hell, Soranik?"

"I was hoping you two could assist me," Bruce went on, standing. John took a swift step back. "I need to get back to Earth."

John inhaled. Exhaled. And then, "No."

Bruce blinked. "No?"

"No," he repeated calmly. "Nope. You said something stupid, didn't you? To Soranik and Iolande? Yeah, I warned Kyle about taking a pitstop on Earth but he insisted. Said he needed Guy."

"It is about Gardner I wanted--"

"No!" John turned away completely. "No, I don't wanna know about whatever stupid gripe you have with Guy this time. I'm sick of it, Bruce. I don't care. You're Kyle's problem now. No, better yet, you're Soranik's problem. Don't ask about her dad. Let's go, Hal. Hal?"

John turned to Hal, who had not yet said anything, and found him staring open mouthed at Bruce, completely frozen. John snapped his fingers in front of Hal's face and sighed when there was no reaction. "You broke him," he said flatly. "You broke Hal. Good going, Bruce."

"I didn't--"

"Not my circus, not my monkeys!" John shouted at him, grabbing Hal by the arm and dragging him off towards the direction of Warriors. Hal went unresisting, head still angled towards Bruce, mouth hanging open.

"Stewart!" Bruce howled, sounding completely enraged by this point. "Come back here!"

John kept his trap shut, maneuvering Hal out of the way of stunned onlookers. He was gonna have Guy pour him the strongest goddamn drink he had. And then, he was gonna grab Kyle and shake him for letting this happen.

[lexsssu]

Tempt (Sylus)

TAGS: Sylus/Dragoness!Reader, smut, oneshot, drabble, mating, knotting, breeding Ao3 ver.

You are absolutely precious.

“I can’t imagine being locked up all alone here for all this time for just being born the way you are…” 

He tastes the copper tang of blood as he bites his lip, utterly captivated as you look straight into his eyes with neither fear nor revulsion at his draconic features, like all those that damned his kind into this hell.

His nostrils flare as he inhales your scent in the air, practically tasting the sweetness of your pheromones beckoning out to him. Like ripe, untouched fruit, he’s practically salivating at the knowledge of an adorably naive, fertile, and unmated little dragoness serving herself up to him on a golden platter after more than a millennium of captivity.

Despite his best efforts at keeping his expressions neutral, his traitorous tail was all too determined to seek yours out. Almost as if it had a mind of its own, it slithered about your own smooth ivory-colored appendage, which contrasted greatly to his own dark armored one.

It was not unlike watching snakes perform a mating dance as the male of the pair seemingly coaxed and flirted with yours in a way that comes naturally to all dragonkin.

“Oh shit— I mean, sorry! I’ve never had any problems with my tail before, and I promise that this is the first time it's acted like this!” 

You look positively ravishing as you try to wrap your arms around your tail to no avail, as it keeps slipping out to continue its version of footsies with his own. It takes all of his remaining restraint not to just mount you on the crumbling floors then and there.

“‘Tis no trouble. It’s been too long since I’ve encountered another such as I, and I assume it’s the same for you as well. So, it’s only natural to feel elated,” he lies smoothly, noting how you simply take his words at face value and cementing the fact that you know little to nothing about your kind.

That’s alright, because he has many, many years to teach you everything you need to know.

Placing a clawed hand on the small of your back, he leads you forward and takes care with every step not to let you notice that he is at the very end of his rope as you continuously tempt him to knot you with the sway of your hips and your scent taunting him.

Ancestors save him from this new hell in the form of a little, unwitting temptress.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your eyes widen into saucers as your new companion and only friend in this new world opens his maw to unfurl his serpentine tongue, the forked tip capturing your gaze in particular. However, you aren’t given the opportunity to ogle any longer as that same thing dips into your cunt as he holds your legs wide open and feasts upon you like a man starved. Even as you thrashed and writhed in pleasure as he reached into depths you’ve never touched or knew existed, his grip is firm and tongue unrelenting in its assault.

When you cum into his awaiting mouth, your body feels almost boneless as you slump against the silk blankets and goose-feather pillows he’d used to create a much more comfortable nest. You’d only just mentioned upon first arriving at his old cave that some sort of bedding would allow for a more comfortable rest.

The last thing you expected after he’d turned up with the said silks and pillows the next day that you’d be the one making the most of them.

Not that you were complaining—

“Delicious. The sweetest nectar I can ever hope to consume,” He sounds almost drunk as he unlatches from your pussy, opening his mouth to show the pearlescent liquid that stains it before swallowing.

“I could get drunk on you and you alone and I would be thankful for it…” The deep crimson of his eyes seemed to glow beneath the warm lights within the cave as he held your gaze for a few moments more.

“But I shall save that for another day. For now…” He releases your thighs after pressing one last kiss to each one before he crawls on top of you. 

From your vantage below him, Sylus looks otherworldly as the golden glow coats his body from head to toe and highlighting each bump and ridge. However, it is the long, thick, pulsating cock that seems to swell an almost angry red that captures your attention.

You stare at it, then to your cunt, and then back to it as it twitched beneath your gaze.

The corner of his lips curls up to an amused grin. “Don’t worry, it will fit.” 

Wrapping his arms around your thighs once more, Sylus practically folds your body in half as he drags the length of his cock on your weeping slit that coats it in copious amounts of slick.

“I’ll make sure it fits.”

As the weeping tip slips inside along with the rest of him until he’s balls-deep hilted within, you barely take notice how your body seems to go on autopilot as your tails intertwine and your legs lock around his trim waist. You only feel the heavy drag of his cock as it batters into your gummy walls, tip repeatedly hitting what could only be the entrance of your womb with how deep he was inside.

Your moans echo across the walls of the vast cave along with the unmistakable sounds of your frantic mating. The squelches you hear from each time he bullies his way back inside you make your ears burn in both embarrassment and an undeniable thrill.

“If you keep clenching like that…you’re going to make me think that you want me to put a clutch in you…Is that what you want?” His whispery voice is like a caress against your heated ear as he gives the shell of it a teasing lick.

Maybe it’s the animal brain of the creature you’d turned into, instincts that come naturally to it, tempting you to accept this because both of you were the last dragons left in the world. It is simply your duty to procreate with him to ensure the survival of your species. 

.

.

.

But that’s not the case at all.

You helped him without even knowing he was the last of his kind, which just so happened to be the same as yours. Even if you were both of different species…you’d have helped him regardless. 

You would have fallen in love with him regardless.

So caught up in the addictive feeling of your pussy, Sylus doesn’t notice your hands reaching out to him until your hands gently cup his face. His concentration breaks as he wordlessly gazes down at you in curiosity.

The last thing he expects is for you to pull him down into a kiss, your tongue shyly licking at the seam of his lips until he opens them slightly to meet it with his. Your liplock is as hot, messy, and wet as your cunt as it edges him closer and closer to the brink.

He has never met someone like you, nor does he believe he will ever meet anyone like you ever again. 

You are precious.

So, so precious.

And after this, utterly and irrevocably his.

His teeth clamp onto the junction between your shoulder and neck as his knot finally catches, flooding your pussy with his hot, virile cum as it shoots straight into your womb.

Sylus croons and coaxes you to sleep, your eyelids fluttering in exhaustion as he carefully moves both of you to your sides instead of crushing you with his weight, taking care not to hurt you with his knot still firmly stuck within you.

His chest rumbles in pleasure as you finally fall asleep with your head tucked against it. A kiss is pressed to your forehead before he also allows himself to rest as you both remained intertwined.

[cdnonymous]

Hi @muletia !! I’m a big fan of yours, mostly of your merformer drabbles… so I read and reread your Megaxolotl stuff…….. god I am in LOVE UGHHHH-

It’s rare that I write about others’ AUs… but yours just decided to clang to my brain like a nice accessory that I’m hyperfixating on

Sooo… I hope you’ll like my food ✨

(I tried to write the perspective of a more silent/antisocial reader but is fucking hyperfixated on merfolks… oh and it’s not GN it’s she/her… sorry for the GN readers out here…)

(I tried my best UvU✨)

- 💿 anon ^v^

~1700 words

•—•—•—•—•—•

Silence is Stronger than Words

The sun hit lightly on the beige curtains of my bedroom. The logs serving as walls for my cabin were softly lit and awakened me as well. This place was very isolated, like I liked it, my “neighbors” were kilometers away from me. I heard the birds outside, awakened far before I did, but so nice to hear as my groggy eyes finally decided to open up as fast as a rusty door hinge. It was already feeling like a wonderful day today, the next storm wasn’t announced before another week, or maybe 5 days? I don’t remember, all I care about is that morning coffee I’m about to brew.

I put on my morning pajamas and went downstairs as each step creaked in an almost nostalgic way under my feet, which only had toeless socks on. I looked at the time, 10:30 AM only? I’m far from being late, but still I’m sure he won’t mind if I come to see him early… he seems to like me anyway even if his low growls say otherwise. Besides he only growled at me once when I stepped in the water, which was his territory obviously, though I was oblivious to it at the time.

Now I have a fair list of things I have to try out with him, and another one that are big no-nos. I’m curious because he definitely seems to not know human language, but he’s smart, not a mindless “beast” like the books I’ve read told me. I’m sure that if he could talk he would… I think about it as I sit on my chair outside on my porch, my coffee in one hand over the cork coaster that I held with my other free hand.

I took notes, despite him not really engaging, I observed that he seemed to appreciate my presence over the weeks, dare I say days. He’s robust, cold as ice and maybe, just maybe, he has a little tiny bit of an attitude… but he never really hurt me.

At least not yet… After all, I don't think he’d have any reason to do so.

11 AM rings and I’m already with regular clothes on, casual country orange baggy T-shirt with linen ample shorts… I don’t like… No, I HATE Jeans. I take my notebook with me and a pencil, my bag with my “just in case” kit inside as well as a towel, now I’m ready to go see him. I put my sandals on and head outside on the trail to the lagoon… I called it the “Shy Lake”.

I named it this way because it was completely secluded from any other water current, no rivers, no smaller lakes, no canals, not even a little stream of water to let him get out. But hell, I don’t think he’s small enough to fit in a stream solely made of molten snow as it drives towards this pond of a lake. He might be at least twice my size, and I didn’t even get to fully see his body. He has claws that could tear skin apart like a mechanical saw cutting a frail log, the teeth meet the same criterias, and, according to his lower half, or what I could see of it, he seems to be half-axolotl and half-man, if I can even call it a “human” upper half.

I finally heard the familiar sounds of weak waves hitting the thin beach of the Shy Lake. And unlike the other times, he seemed to have noticed my presence without me calling for him awkwardly. I still didn’t have a name for him… well he’s big, silver and an axolotl… Megaxolotl? No this has way too many syllables for its own good…

What about just… Megatron?

I mean it sounds cold, deep and almost knight-like like him. He definitely lived stories according to the few scars around his frame, and if he was human he would not be emotionally available IN THE SLIGHTEST. Hmm… Megatron sounds cool too! When I got to shore, his buckethead was the only thing that got past the water surface, except a hint of his upper bust. His red coral eyes stared back at me as I gently waved at him with my usual calm smile, sitting on an erosion smoothed rock.

Something felt off in his eyes, instead of utter uninterest in what I was doing, he almost seemed to be demanding in his look, as if he expected me to do something, say something. This was new, usually he’d not really give a damn about me, or at least look uninterested, threatening and snarling at me to go away, which happened the first time we met. I looked away from my notebook, talking to him as if he could understand me.

— Do you… need something? I asked, my voice calm and patient as always, despite knowing he surely did not understand my words.

The only answer I got was a slight flicker in his eyes, and a low, quiet grumble, mirroring my low and patient tone, except in his own way and terms. I tilted my head a bit by reflex as I analyzed him, being the careful observant I usually was. He was completely unreadable, odd but it was normal for him.

— Did I make you mad? I asked, closing my notebook, not thinking there was anything worth writing for now.

When I asked this he looked conflicted, as if he was debating what to do in his head, as if I triggered something when saying this, which I highly doubt I did… right? I waited for him to do something… not wanting to overstep his territory after all. For an entire awkward minute or maybe more, he did not make eye contact with me, and I couldn’t see anything on my side either… All I could assume was that he seemed in some kind of odd dilemma with himself.

While in thought, I decided to put my notebook away from the rock since I currently had no use for it… I made a mistake by doing that… why?

Because I turned my back on him… and that’s when he thought it was the right moment to act on his plan. Yes, he acted like this, all conflicted and “lost” on purpose, to lower my guard so he could get me to turn around. Because he liked my quiet and composed nature, my voice which was as soft and gentle as the hums of a hummingbird’s wings, my emerald eyes as clean as the body of a dragonfly. And my soft… oh so soft skin without a single scar, wound or history… unscathed like a freshly polished nail, glittering under the sunlight.

My notebook barely touched the sand beside the rock I was sitting on when I felt his mushy, but oddly soft frame on me, making me lean backwards by natural reflex. I wanted to bolt away, but his claws threatened to slice my shoulders open if I even attempted that. He didn’t push me too hard, and it fortunately spared me some brain injury, and he knew it. Like I predicted, he’s calculating, vicious almost, he knows what he’s doing.

A low, calm growl escaped his maw, which was now showing something that looked like a satisfied grin, I was right where he wanted me to be. I was pinned to that damn rock, not liking being uncomfortable, worrying if my notebook was still dry since he bolted out of the water so quickly, maybe he splashed my notes by accident.

But fear… was never felt once, only surprise was the closest thing to feeling fear by itself. I wasn’t scared, and I knew exactly why; I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, if he truly wanted to hurt me he would’ve done so already, I wouldn’t be alive.. and he knows it. I’ll repeat myself again, he knows what he’s doing. Yes I was breathing heavily, of course I was, the adrenaline rush coming from utter surprise won’t go away in the flick of a finger. And he knew I wasn’t scared, despite his obvious strength advantage…

— Hu-h… what..? I managed to mutter, my body, despite not being scared, was still reacting this way; shutting itself down as a defense mechanism.

At those very few words, he bumped his bucket helm into my chest… was he.. SNUGGLING with me?! When he did so, I was officially not getting up until he decided to… his low rumbles now almost sounded like purring, as if he enjoyed it. And me in all this? Heck I just froze as if I was put in that one liquid that freezes stuff instantly. He was still holding my shoulders, although his grip was less tense, less controlling, he just.. wanted to touch me…

Hold me, show me that he didn’t like to see me go despite his attitude, that he loved to hear my voice, even if it was simple questions thrown here and there not expecting an answer. He liked to see me smile when I got juicy info out of him, which happened rarely, how I was so… fearless around him despite his build, his claws, teeth… he was a beast… How could I not be afraid and not run away like a child crying for their mommy? How could I be so unfazed in front of him?

How could I see him as someone and not something?

Because it’s the truth, because he’s not a mindless beast, he wants to be appreciated, to be loved, or to feel love again in his eternal loneliness… he feels empty when I leave but complete when I come back. And while we cuddle together, while we enjoy the silence, we both know that talking would just ruin the moment. Like I said, he’s not a mere creature.

No… he is Megatron

•—•—•—•—•—•

I wanna do a part two… maybe with more cuddles? I DON'T WANT SMUT RN IM FLUFF-STARVED-

[midnight1nk]

So, this week's episode...

[Spoilers below cut]

OOH, I'm VERY excited to see another Karen episode today! Back to our roots, huh Team. I see you 😌↕️ and still got "SMG4:" prefix in the title there...

also the pattern's shattered but meh *shrugs* who cares about that

Alright, chat, all bets in! Are we getting the arc this time? Let's see...

(the following is my live reaction:)

SMG4 being sponsored by a DC game oh shit, they've really come a long way..... ROGER CRAIG SMITH?! IN MY SMG4 EP?! welp i did not have that in my bingo card

really funny considering some pages of the Sonic x DC crossover are popping up on the same day (my favorite blue guys 💙)

anyway, about the SMG4 Batman signal....

oh... we're really starting off like this, huh

I can already tell this is going to be an emotional episode. god, this really hits heavy with inflation and stuff.

no... please don't tell me....

NO NO NO

"Eviction notice: Indeed, you have been evicted from the premises. Effective immediately, you are to get the actual hell away from this place. You don't have to go home but you can't stay here. Which was home. Geddit?"

ALREADY TRYING TO PISS ME OFF? BC OH BOY IS IT WORKING. YA VERAS LO TE VOY HACER HIJO DE SU—

alright alright, gotta calm down. there's gotta be another way, right?

oh the kids, nooooo

4 PLEASE HELP THEM

just the fact Karen's able to confide with SMG4, wow. Ever since the "We Must Kill Mario" episode, it seems like Karen's been able to trust him in a time of need, especially for her kids.

Sure, 4 and the Crew always get into wacky shenanigans with a side of trauma (like what happened in Puzzle Park) but she still does trust him, which is very sweet to think about. even if she didn't open up the text message, she already knows 4 would be willing to help her if he could

WHAT?

smh 😔 just another day in the SMG4 universe (also 4 absolutely recorded it for a video, he would)

oh wait he did. shoot. well, at least it was considerate of 4 to let her know anyway

ok side note: I find it hilarious that 4 would be sending memes to anyone he knows besides the Crew (he is a meme guardian after all) and Karen be the one to respond with "K". I love that for him.

huh. the Monopoly Man must've really hit rock bottom to be in a homeless shelter rn

DEPRESSO?! you're back, after all this time?

oh hey Mario! still looking for cheese? understandable (i also love cheese)

Mario: "Mmm, free goo." ...don't do that to me, don't say that *IGBP flashbacks*

NOW HOLD UP SHE'S RIGHT, HOW COME THEY CAN'T GET A SERVING TOO?

YEAH GET HIS ASS

oh, never expected the same shot from The Incredibles movie

OH, ARE WE FINALLY GETTING MORE OF HER BACKSTORY? she did say before that she took the job to make a living away from desperate times

AW that's our lovable goofball, willing to help his friends 💙

Oh. not that i expected much anyway. I thought that maybe a tent?

Really nice of Mario to keep his word and not tell the kids yet

Uh. What's all that about? NO NO go back, what was that?

*head in hands* Team, really? did you really have to dig the knife even deeper with the Koopa family moving in, c'mon

OGH BABY KAREN NOOO 😢

she was really this young? oh hun

*pauses and stares at the Team* alright, do tell. who the HELL is this secret organization?

not only has this organization taken advantage of Karen when she was young and vulnerable, but they also had the audacity of not letting her go after she EXPLICITLY told them she quit a long time ago bc of her kids. Seriously, I bet Karen was even picked solely because she was homeless. Their justification would probably be: "she's got nothing left to lose, that's why she chose us. besides, it's not like anyone's going to miss her if she died on the job"

Not that note, there better not be anyone blaming Karen for not seeing this coming bc if it wasn't obvious, she was a stray kitten desperately trying to survive on her own all her life. Ofc she would take the job, how can she not? There was stability, someplace to go. Even if it came with risks. But above all, she had the courage to leave the job for her kids. if that's not a good mother, I don't know what else to say

man, this organization's EVIL evil

THE KIDS (the Team's trying to destroy me /silly)

FAMILYYYY 🥹

oh right, chat, say it with me now (mickey clubhouse style): Oh, Mario!

AY that's pretty good 😄👍

WELCOME TO THE CRIB ✌️

Karen, you're going to tell the truth eventually. It's better now or never

THIS WHOLE SCENE MANNN, IT LEGITIMATELY MADE ME CRY

IT GOT ME. THIS. THIS IS HOW YOU MAKE AN EMOTIONAL YET SILLY EPISODE.

you did it Team. here you go, my stamp of approval ⭐️

SAME MARIO SAME

uh. what.

we did get 4 and Karen as a fighting duo, could we get one with Mario?

welp Monoploy Man owns Amazon now, someone edit the wiki. but that's only in the SMG4 universe. FUCK

y'know, you could've started with that, Mr. Monopoly

WE"RE GOING HOME LET'S GOOOO 🎉

idc what SOME people, LET US HAVE THIS. let them go home 🥹

*record scratch* wait what?

the walkie-talkie? wha....

WHAT? HUH?!

WAIT NONONONO DON'T CUT TO BLACK TEAM TEAM DON'T YOU DARE ROLL THE CREDITS

*flips desk* are you. fuckin. kidding me? they did that? to US? to ME? AAAAAAAA [We'll Be Right Back, after these messages :)]

Uh anyway, congrats to FalconaVasa for your fanart being featured in the end credits🎉 getting some luigi fanart in here, we love to see it :)

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

Nope. I'm still not over that ending. I gotta go and leave the room for a sec. I can't believe we went from emotional to "surprise! it's the start of an arc!!"

TEAM, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? AAAAAAAA. AAAAAAAAA.

Alright, I do have to wrap this review so I'll keep this quick. Without a doubt, we are entering into an arc starring Karen and Mario which can easily be connected to the "We Must Kill Mario" and "The Fight of All Time" episodes. As for the antagonist, we have a couple of choices:

The secret organization—they have been a big turning point in Karen's life and they keep bothering her with jobs she doesn't want to do

Marty—we do still have a hit on him and he still has a grudge against Mario

The father of Karen's kids—Karen mentioned it once in the last episode she starred in and may be associated with the organization itself

or an entirely new villain we don't know about

It can't be Mr Puzzles since (1) he's still in prison, (2) it's too early for that, (3) he doesn't have a personal grudge against Karen. And for those who say it's Shadow Man being part of the organization, I'm going to quote from Anaidon here:

Shadow Man is not canon in the SMG4 universe, and is merely an OC Anaidon puts it in the assigned scenes as an easter egg for fans to find. Ofc there is a chance that the Team could propose their OCs/AUs for future storylines (they are pretty cool). But at this time, after all the planning they've done, it just wouldn't be possible. Side note: if the Team's going to introduce a new villain, they plan several episodes for us to get to know the character before an arc actually happens.

What about Niles? We technically didn't meet him until the Revelations Arc. Or even Wren?

Niles wasn't entirely new, he stemmed from the Genesis arc so we as the audience can keep up with what we already knew. With Wren, we've seen him before WS, whenever Meggy retells it. And, knowing Meggy as a character, we knew Wren was a big influence on her. Now, the argument can be said with Mr Puzzles for him not appearing until the IGBP movie (episode-wise). But even then, he actually appeared until the end of WOTFI 2023 and was the mastermind working behind the scenes. His small appearances ARE his build-up to what his character was like.

When we're dealing with an arc, we have to have our main cast. Karen and Mario, obviously, and for the conflict to make sense, the antagonist has to be related to the two. But I never said there only had to be one antagonist. We could have more than one.

As for Mario, we might have to determine which side he's on. Mario accepted the mission given by whoever talked through the walkie-talkie. Accepted it, with a serious tone. It could be that he was threatened or offered a deal he can't refuse.

Well, here's my mini-theory (yes, cue the intro): when the sounds of the walkie-talkie were going off, it reminded me a lot of the static/standing-by noise Mr Puzzles done before, luring the Crew into the basement "No TV Make Mario Not Okie Dokie" and Mario in "Incredible Game Show Spectacular". Like it was hypnotic. If you really think about it, it's really symbolic at the end of the PV movie, Puzzles making the same noise at his defeat (representing the mind control over the Crew) and 4 smashing his head to stop said noise (representing their freedom). But AGAIN, not saying Puzzles is back for this arc. But I think the walkie-talkie noise was a tool to hypnotize whoever found it in the trash, which happened to be Mario of all people. That's why I'm leaning toward the organization or Marty being the ones behind it. Both of them keep a close eye on Karen and Mario that they have a chance to plant it there. And let's go back to the "We Must Kill Mario" episode, where the first thing we see Mario is when he charges toward the trash bin for a wizard outfit. This isn't the first time either when in "Trash Friends", Mario hides in the dump and is willing to eat trash-made spoiled spaghetti for his own purposes. If anyone would be able to catch on to this, it would be these two antagonists, to hypnotize Mario.

Sorry, got a little sidetracked there. More of my fever talk in there. Ben, you have anything to say?

"Something bad is about to happen." (uh yeah, no shit. still not over what you said last time.) another user: "Brings back such memories when you posted 🔔 and the whole (English) community went crazy thinking it had something to do with SMG4" "Calm down. Yeah, I'm going to do that when the time comes, haha" user: "leave us alone dude" (/silly) ":3"

...sigh. Really, Ben? You really are a menace, my god. Well, too bad I'm bilingual. Anyway, this has been an amazing episode with Karen and the kids. Everything from the voice acting to the animation to the script, oh boy. Team, you really did it. It really hit close to home, such a good story touching a bit of reality there. Like I said time to time again, love is a powerful force that helped the Crew overcome numerous obstacles. Even if it came to a cost, these characters always prevailed.

People have been saying that Karen ended up having no actual consequences by the end of the episode, but honestly, I want this ending. Some people are at risk of losing their homes or who already did. Some parents who suffered a terrible childhood do not want to pass it on to their kids. Some don't get the happy ending Karen and her kids did, but it's one wished for. For Karen, a character who we see working at multiple jobs and caring for her kids, let her have this. This show isn't meant to be realistic in the first place, but it does bring in real topics, and having these characters triumph over their hardships, sparks hope for the people also struggling with it.

If they can, you can too.

Well, that's all from me. Kinda left in charge of production last minute, so I gotta go! Thanks for stopping by, I'll see you all next time, and remember: numbers always go first.

....what's that?

I lost the bet so I owe you all cans of Rizz soda and ideas for my AU? uhhhhhhhh 🏃‍➡️🏃‍➡️🏃‍➡️

[alexthebordercollie]

Pines Annual Birthday Gala

I wrote this one for @jellyskink for her birthday. Here we have a lovely, good ending birthday story with Domesticated Ford and Hand of God Ford. I really love how this came out, the story and the art. Full story below the cut.

"To another year older, wiser, freer."

The gathered crowd all raised their glasses to a toast. Their birthday was the one day a year H allowed himself a single glass of champagne, insisting it didn't count. D was not so sure cheat days were something something recovering alcoholics were meant to have but H bullied Oleander into tolerating this one acceptation. It's not like this party wasn't full of people who would be sure to keep H from breaking the one glass rule. D himself would be sure of that. He may have been a forgetful man but he loved his friend dearly and his sobriety was something D took very seriously.

The gala was filled with family friends, extended relatives, Kingsman, people H believed his brother might enjoy the company of.

D sat alongside H at an elevated table at the head of the ballroom. Their respective Stanleys flanked them on either side. D's own brother raised his glass merrily. His brother was not a fan of H, and D was well aware, that said, he didn't mind the birthday gala. A lavish party thrown once a year in H's palace, where he drowned every Pines twin in expensive gifts and good drinks. H had new suits custom-made for all four of them every year. This year, D's suit was birthday cake themed, so that was fun. The Stans always enjoyed each others company at these parties and the guests H invited really did seem suit their brothers tastes. That was certainly good for H's brother. He'd been isolated for so many years, and unlike D, he thrived in social settings.

D raised his glass to H's speech like everyone else but didn't drink. He didn't care for these galas, the gifts were nice, and H invited all of his students to attend which was lovely, but… truth be told, he still struggled not to hate these parties. H was doing everything he could to make sure everyone was having a good time. He was a wonderful host, but D just couldn't shake it.

Bill stole thirty years of his life. Their birthday served as an annual reminder of that very fact.

H gave a speech every year while the four Pines men sat at their place of prominence. D looked out at the throng of familiar faces and did his best to smile. Oleander and Jean Paul were there obviously, H's daughter Scalene who D loved to the farthest moon and back, D's students took up a couple tables. D's own relatives attended, feelings were more mixed on that. Mable was always sweet to him, Dipper, Shermie and the twins parents were bribed into coming. D and Shermie still didn't really talk. He and Stanley were on decent terms though. Really their family was mostly here for him, not D. That was fine honestly. D had everyone he could need or want on the compound. His brothers friends and colleagues from across the multiverse were here. Friends of H's he felt safe company his own brother might enjoy were always polite, though D avoided conversation with strangers.

After the toast, some people ate more while others moved to the dance floor. Gifts had already been opened and candles blown out. Each twin got their own cake, and H always did something fun and silly with their candles. D willfully chose not to notice the number on their cakes. He didn't want to think about how old he was. It hurt to be an old man.

Once he had a polite opportunity to do so, D retreated to the balcony for some space from all the festivities. He leaned against the railings and stared up at the night sky of 08'. There were fewer stars here than in D's home dimension. Some nights however, he could swear what stars there were shone brighter now that Bill was dead and gone. The city that sprawled out miles below D's feet glittered like a sea of stars, yet somehow couldn't wash out the brilliance of the natural world H fought so hard to preserve.

He accomplished so much in thirty years.

It was hell, torture, but H had made something of it.

D felt like such a failure, sat alongside the emperor of 08 in a room full of people who revered him for all his incredible achievements.

What did D have to show for all his years of miserable existence? A few insulting "pet" videos still circulating the dark web? Poor executive function? Schizophrenia? Arthritis? The only worthwhile thing he ever did was kill Bill. Well worth it, he'd gladly do it over and over again until the end of time, but it was moment of righteous impulse he wasn't even capable of consciously understanding in the moment. It took months to fully understand the weight of what he'd been through. Years to relearn how to be a person.

He wasn't sure the pain of loss that accompanied the death of whoever he once was, a man he no longer recognized, and thirty years of a life that was robbed of him would ever fully dull.

"Needed some fresh air Kitten?"

H smiled at D from the open doorway. His suit was neapolitan this year. He even had a little ice-cream cone cane to go with it. It was wonderful. He looked so playful and full of life. D wanted to love it. He wanted to appreciate lengths H went to, to try and make these galas fun for him.

"Oh, I-it's ok. I'll be back in, in a minute. You have fun."

"It's alright," H assured as he approached the balcony's edge. He leaned against the ledge alongside D. "I know how you get about your birthday Kitten. I'll just have to try harder next year." He leaned into D and rested his head on his shoulder.

D fiddled with the striped scarf H had dressed him in. "I-it's ok. You don't have to keep inviting me to these things. I- ah… uhm. I don't mean to bring down the mood."

"Perish the thought," H scoffed. "I couldn't possibly host these galas without you." H leaned harder into D in an exaggerated wilting gesture, waving his cane about for emphasis.

"You really don't have to do that…" D muttered. His voice was so small, especially next to H.

"Oh, but I do." H wormed his way under D's arm to close any space that existed between them. He wrapped an arm around D's shoulders.

Unsure where else to put his hand, D let it rest on H's waist. H was still so thin now. A mark of the life he lost. As much as H had made something of himself despite the suffering, Bill had still stolen from him too. He was not without his scars.

H tapped the hilt of his cane to D's chest. "I need to celebrate you, because you are a man worth celebrating, and I'm going to keep doing it until you believe me. Even if it takes the rest of our lives."

D felt the heat rise to his face and glanced bashfully away from that adoring eye. He worried at his scarf and tried to resist the overwhelming urge to chew on it. "I'm not, uhm, I…" He was struggling to find the words.

"I-I'm just a useless old man…"

H's cane traded hands as he D's hand from his scarf and kissed his knuckles. "You are a fine wine mon amor." H always spoke of D in such adoring language. He pulled D's hand until it forced D to turn and face him.

D looked back at the face he supposed, in theory, was a mirror of his own, but he couldn't see it. All he could see was H, elegant, beautiful, accomplished.

There was so much love and warmth in the tired brown eye staring back at him.

"Every year I watch you grow stronger." H kissed D's hand again. He intertwined their fingers and leaned in closer.

"Every year you find new ways to amaze me." H pressed his head into the crook of D's neck with a wide smile.

"Oh, I, I, uhm, I don't know -a-bout-" D felt himself getting redder. H's warm body against his own felt so wonderful. That tenderness H reserved for so very few people, such a lucky few. D couldn't comprehend to this day what made him so lucky.

H pressed a kiss to D's cheek and whispered sweet words into his skin. "Every year I think I couldn't love you more and yet to make the impossible my reality."

D couldn't think of anything to say. He felt overwhelmed, flooded with a giddy, dizzying, joy. He squeezed H in his arm trying to think of words but nothing came to him.

D brought his friends hand to his lips to kiss his knuckles in turn.

H hummed joyously against D's chest.

"It's my birthday too, and I only have one wish," H whined playfully. "Please let me celebrate the greatest thing to ever happen to me."

D bit his lip and strained against the buzz reverberating through his veins. He gave a lock jawed nod with a smile so wide it hurt.

"I love you so much Kitten."

"I-I love you… too."

[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.

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hi,

Could I perhaps request GP!Donna x maid in a situation loosely similar to Donna and Mihaela from your fic but not quite. Basically reader is Donna’s maid(not bc of Miranda just a normal maid) and they both catch feelings and get kind of together in the sense that they are lovers but haven’t quite spoken about what they mean to each other. Reader has a kid by Donna and starts to feel insecure as the months go by…….who exactly are they in her life? Maid? Lover? Spouse? Co-parent? Dalliance?

Feel free to ignore and hope you have a great day!

(PS really love your fic and other oneshots)

YesYesYes!!! You're the first one to request me something about this fandom!!! Thank you very much!! Have you enjoyed my fic? Oh, that's great! Thank you again, your words lift my spirit! <3 Here it is!! I hope you like it, and I hope this is what you wanted!!! Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Thank you again!!! :)))))

What am I to you?

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem, Maid! Reader

Warnings: Angst, insecurities, slightly implied smut, G!P Donna, they have a baby,

Word count: 5,161 (sorry if it's too long)

Summary: You have to work, it's the only way to take care of yourself in that village. Then, you met her, a strange woman that has a thing for hidding her feelings as well as her face...

N/A: Again, sorry about the language mistakes!! Requests are open!! I love you all :))))

Some people say that fate is inevitable, that from the moment you are born, you have a purpose in life, a marked path that you must follow, that you will do it even if you don't want to, even if you don't even realize it.

Surely the people who said that nonsense didn’t live in that village.

Even though when you were little you dreamed of the day you would leave that place, that leaving there would be your fate, it didn't take you long to realize that you were wrong.

The years passed and you grew up, seeing how the world around you remained the same. There was no future. Sometimes you thought that time didn't even pass in that place.

For a 20-year-old girl like you, there was no way out. Your parents already had too much trouble raising chickens to feed you and your siblings. Praying to Mother Miranda was not enough to guarantee even something as basic as your survival.

If you didn't want to spend the rest of your life serving an unwanted husband, you had to do something.

What was the only thing a young woman like you could do in that place to feel fulfilled? So you don't have to get married? To serve.

Not to serve an ungrateful man whom you didn’t love, but to serve those people who were above you, the lords.

Like any girl who grew up in that place, you had heard horrible things about all of them. They were like scary stories to tell by the light of a campfire. You never really knew how much truth and fantasy there was in those stories.

“What do you want, young lady?” The lady of the castle, Alcina Dimitrescu, asked.

The legends always erred on the side of exaggeration. You had knocked politely on the doors of her castle, as you knew several of your friends had done. You were no worse, or clumsier than them. It wouldn't be difficult for you to become just another maid in that place.

“Mm...” She murmured when you finished exhibiting all your qualities, which were not few. “You certainly impress me…. What did you say your name was?”

“(Y/N),” you said, sure of yourself, but trembling with fear at being in that castle.

“(Y/N)...” The lady in white sighed, “I would like you to be my maid, but…”

“But?” You repeated immediately, scared by that reaction.

“You see, lately my maids are having room problems. I know it seems like a poor excuse, after all the castle is big but... Believe me, it's not.”

The disappointment was visible on your face. If your childhood friend, the one who even didn't know how to read, had managed to work in the castle, why you not?

“Surely you don't want to spend all day cleaning and taking care of my needs and then have to sleep with two roommates in a tiny bed, right?”

“No, my lady,” you responded with a sigh, bowing your head.

“It's a shame, you're gorgeous...” Alcina whispered, with a listless smile on her face. “But hey, maybe I have something for you. There may be someone who needs a maid...”

After that, she sent you to the house of another of the lords, Donna Beneviento.

No one you knew had worked for her. Well, you had heard that she had a gardener, a man you used to see often at church. One day, he disappeared, you never saw him again.

You hoped that the things they said about that woman were nonsense, and that that gardener was still out there somewhere. You were only fooling yourself, you knew better.

“Who are you? What do you want?” A shrill voice, which bounced in your ears making you cringe, asked you. A doll, Donna's doll, Angie, was the only one who spoke when the door to that house opened.

The lady holding her didn't say a word, she just stood... You assumed, looking at you through the black veil that covered her face.

“I’m... I’m, (Y/N), Lady Dimitrescu sent me. She told me that you needed a maid,” you said timidly.

“I don't need a maid,” the doll said, with a slightly different tone. “Go away.”

You, determined to flee out of the marriage of convenience that your parents had prepared, made a stupid move, putting your hand on the door to prevent it from closing.

“I... I... Please... I'm sure I can be really helpful. I don't need a lot of money and I can clean, cook, do the laundry... I'm sure you need some help it in such a big house.”

“Are you deaf, stupid? Donna told you she didn't need you help,” the doll sang. Yes, the lady was the one who rejected you.

“Please, please... Give me a chance, I can be very useful to you,” you said with pleading eyes, ignoring the doll and looking at the woman in black, who sighed tiredly.

The doll looked at its owner, who remained serene, standing, without moving beyond her breathing.

“Are you so desperate?” the doll asked with a sinister laughter.

“Maybe...” You admitted, lowering your head. “Please, if I don't get the job, they will force me to get married. I'm very good at what I do, I promise, you don't even have to pay at first... At least try me.”

Doll and lady looked at each other, and then their heads turned to you.

“Oh, it's fine. You will stay for a trial week,” the doll said while the lady moved away to let you enter the house.

After those words, you started working at the Beneviento estate.

Cleaning, cooking… Everything you hoped to do. You weren't worried, but you weren't calm either. That woman was strange, lonely. It's like she's trying to avoid contact with you. She always walked like a shadow around the house, as if you didn't even exist.

But you were there. The Angie doll served as a reminder that you were really working, that you were a maid, her maid.

The week passed and… Nothing. You continued with your work. You figured you were useful enough to Donna.

She paid you well, you had a room to yourself and you didn't lack anything. The only bad thing was that incipient feeling of living in absolute solitude, a feeling that grew as the days passed.

How many times you asked her didn't matter, or how many times you looked at that portrait on the stairs. Nothing could resolve your doubts about Donna. Nothing could get her to say a single word to you in her own voice.

“Where did you learn this recipe?” The lady asked one night, making you turn around immediately. You hadn't hallucinated, it was her voice. A soft, hoarse voice. She was really asking you.

“Oh…. Well… I have been cooking since I was very young. I have 4 brothers and my mother couldn't handle everything by herself,” you explained, feeling a strange relief when you let your voice come out of your throat. It wasn't unusual for you to go entire days without speaking in that house.

“Mm,” Donna murmured, nodding, making the fabric of her veil move slightly.

It may have seemed like a stupid conversation, but after that one, many more came, increasingly longer and more interesting conversations.

You may have been afraid at first, especially when you remembered that poor gardener, but little by little you began to relax. She didn't seem like an evil woman, just strange, complicated. You knew that she had problems, that she often had a hard time controlling her emotions. It was never a problem for you. Your hand on her shoulder and words of comfort were enough for Donna to relax.

That strange confidence settled in, like another routine in your tasks. A conversation about literature, lived experiences, anything... Anything other than what was behind that black veil.

When you accidentally discovered it, everything went back to the beginning, as if it had been a complete restart.

Donna was a beautiful woman, despite the scar that covered her right eye. You probably had more important things to think about, but ever since you saw her face, you couldn't help but remember it each hour of the day.

Being attracted to a beautiful woman was not strange for you, but your conscience told you over and over again to forget about those feelings.

“You don't have to cover yourself, my lady. You are a beautiful woman,” you said one night coming up from the kitchen, watching as Donna put on her veil so that you couldn't see her once again.

“Liar,” she whispered, barely with a thread of voice.

“I'm not lying,” you said in response, moving closer to the table.

“I'm not going to raise your salary because you flatter me. I don't need your false compassion,” your wife scolded you, holding the fork tightly.

 “It's not what I intend”

“Liar!” Donna screamed, for no reason beyond the embarrassment she felt about her face.

There were a couple of tense weeks, weeks when you were somewhat afraid. If Donna got angry, something bad would happen, or so the people in the village said.

Things calmed down as time went by. What didn't calm down was your attraction to the woman in black, who seemed to forget about that little incident and regain the trust you had worked so hard to earn.

This attraction worsened to the point that you were the one who needed to be close to her, have those absurd conversations and feel the fabric of her dress very close to yours.

A short time later, after a small discussion relating again to the beauty that she denied having, your lips collided impatiently, melting into a passionate and unexpected, but longed for, kiss.

You could say that everything changed after that kiss, but really... It didn’t.

Everything about Beneviento remained the same. Maybe a kiss, a caress... The vision of Donna without the black veil… They were small and insignificant changes, but not insignificant to you.

Recognizing that you were in love with Donna was an important step for you. You kept wondering if she felt the same way. She may have talked to you. She may have whispered words that you didn't understand, but... You didn't really know what she thought of you, if she felt the same way.

Nothing important, in your opinion. Her hand caressing yours while you read or ate together was more than enough for you.

Her kisses went from being innocent to being desperate, insecure... You could notice her desire in her already discovered gaze, the smile that formed on her lips when you hugged her, when she hugged you.

The heat of those new kisses became almost unbearable. It didn't matter the things she said, the things you thought... You just gasped when her arms surrounded your back, when you lay down on the bed next to her, when you let yourself be carried away by a delirious, almost desperate desire.

Donna might seem like an ordinary woman, but she wasn't one at all. Mother Miranda's infinite power not only caused that horrible scar, but it also made certain things different about her body. It was not a thing that really mattered to you. Until that moment you hadn't even stopped to think about how madly in love you were.

She was affectionate, tender and insecure in her movements. An insecure woman, who trembled at the sight of you naked, at having you at her mercy in a way that you doubt she even imagined.

“I... I've never been with anyone. You'll have to be patient with me...” Donna whispered as she got closer, caressing your cheek while she undressed herself, showing that her attraction to you was more than evident.

“Me neither...” You said, with a lump in your throat, with multiple insecurities that began to cloud that special night.

None of the problems you saw were an impediment to not feeling loved as you did that night. Her movements were erratic, inexperienced, just like yours. Despite this, feeling her inside you, making love to you slowly, without rushing, with her soft moans causing you chills, were enough reasons to stop being afraid, to feel free to love her and be loved.

While her gentle thrusts filled your mind with unimaginable waves of pleasure, your hands cupped her face, caressing it gently.

“I love you,” you said, at the limit of your sanity, when she lifted your legs to have better access to you.

You expected a response, a loving comment. You didn't have it. The only thing Donna did was smile, without stopping moving, closing her only eye to feel even more pleasure being inside your body. That was it: a smile and her warmth settling inside you after a heavy gasp.

Just like your first kiss, making love to Donna didn't change anything in your routine.

Yes, there were many nights in which passion was the protagonist, in which she took you and loved you in an unimaginable way. You even slept next to her many times, hugging her body.

Questions began to plague your mind while, as the months passed, your body began to weaken. Were you starting to have doubts? Of course you had doubts. Donna was gentle, affectionate, kind... She showered you with kisses, compliments, she caressed you, she talked to you about her concerns. She shared her life with you. But, you were nothing but a maid. You continued doing your job, despite your body's discomfort. You served her breakfast, lunch, dinner... You did the laundry, you cleaned the dust...

If she had feelings for you... Why  she didn’t tell you? She doesn’t feel the same?

“There's nothing wrong with her, Donna. She's fine,” the supreme witch of the place, Mother Miranda, said with a sigh, after checking your temperature.

Yes, your discomfort seriously worsened, causing dizziness and nausea to prevent you from doing your job normally.

Seeing the priestess as something similar to a doctor made you shiver, feeling even worse.

“You are very kind, Mother Miranda,” you said respectfully, sitting up on the sofa. The blonde simply smiled, standing up and clasping her hands together.

“Congratulations, Donna. (Y/N) is pregnant,” she said as she was talking about a simple cold.

“What?!” You shouted.

You should have guessed it. Those nights of unbridled passion you had not been careful. Well, more like, she hadn't been careful. The news fell on you like a bucket of cold water, but you couldn't help but feel a certain excitement.

You loved Donna, you really did. There was no other place you wanted to be than next to her. Nothing could change your mind. Despite her silence regarding her feelings, and not knowing what she was to you, or what you were to her, you couldn't deny you were madly in love and that a baby, a child with her, was the best news.

“A baby… It's wonderful, tesoro,” The lady in black whispered, placing a cushion on your back so that you would be more comfortable.

“Yes, it is,” you said with a smile, taking her hand and squeezing it tightly in yours. “I love you, Donna.”

It was a pathetic attempt, one of the many times you tried to get her to return the feeling, to get her to say those three words you so badly needed to hear. Like other times, there was no response, just a horrible silence, followed by a slow and tender kiss on the lips.

Time passed without respite, without letting you think about things coldly. Donna took care of you, you couldn't deny it, even Angie did everything she could to make sure your pregnancy wasn't a problem for you, more than usual, of course.

Maybe it was the hormones, the changes in your body, but you started crying at night, those nights when Donna was already asleep, when her arm passed over your body and her legs served as chains to keep you from leaving.

Joy, sadness, disappointment... You didn't know exactly why you were crying. Well, you had a slight idea. You had everything you wanted: a home, a wonderful woman by your side... Did you have it?

Every day, when the sun set behind the mountains, you looked at the horizon wondering if you were really as important to her as she was to you.

While you caressed your increasingly bulging belly, you thought about everything you experienced every day. Kisses, words of love, affection, smiles and caresses to your belly...

It might seem like enough, but it wasn't. The most important thing was still missing: an I love you from her lips, a marry me. What were you and Donna really like? What were you to Donna?

The torture that your pregnancy entailed ended months later, causing this new being to be born in the bed where it was conceived. Hours of pain, suffering, words of support and an irrational fear of bleeding to death, despite being well cared. But it was all worth it. Little Giulia Beneviento had been born and she was more beautiful than Heaven itself.

The baby meant a radical change in your life. Now you had someone to take care of, who you and Donna loved dearly. She helped you with everything she could. If she had been any other way, you would have been devastated.

But all that joy that Giulia caused had an expiration date. It didn't last long, like a glass of water on a hot day. Doubts and fear returned to your bed every night to not let you sleep.

Lack of sleep was present in your usual tasks. You didn't even know why you kept acting like a maid. You weren't, or so you wanted to think.

“(Y/N), I don't think I could live without your food,” Donna said, while you had dinner together, like every night.

You barely moved after those words, after those praises that had become a routine that was beginning to consume you.

Mimicking her usual responses to your declarations of love, you briefly lifted your corners to offer a fake, half-hearted smile.

“Now that the weather is starting to be nice, we could go for a walk in the forest, I'm sure Giulia will love it,” she said, ignoring your gesture of contempt.

Your patience had been exhausted for a long time, long before the girl was born. You were nervous and anxiety had caused you to become a very different person than you already were.

“She's two months old, Donna, I doubt she can even notice,” you responded, drinking your glass of water and setting it down on the table with a thud.

“Well... I...” The doll maker stammered, playing with the spoon in her soup, disturbed by your reaction.

“Besides, tomorrow I have to do the laundry. I don't think I have time for a stupid walk,” you said, wiping yourself with the napkin, causing Donna to look at you suddenly, with a cold and a scared expression.

“Oh, come on, (Y/N), that can wait,” Donna said, smiling the way she knew made you melt.

“Really?” You asked immediately, before her beauty prevented you from saying what you thought, again.

“Tesoro, are you okay?” The lady in black asked, studying your cold expression carefully.

“I'm fine, don't you see me?” You responded ironically.

“(Y/N)...”

“Of course I'm not okay!” You screamed, letting that repressed rage come out, slamming your fist on the table, making what was on top of it shake dangerously. “I'm fed up, Donna.”

“Fed up?” She asked, with a familiar gleam in her eye. Anything would make Donna lose control, but for some reason, she knew how to stay calm. For a moment, in your rabid alienation, you wished you had never taught her how to control her anxiety.

“Yes, fed up,” you repeated with a grimace of disgust. “I'm sick of you.”

“What have I done?” She asked curiously, with her hands trembling on the table.

“Stop pretending you're an idiot, Donna, I know you're not,” you said, standing up abruptly. “Tell me, what the hell am I to you?”

“You know I don't like when you talk like that,” she hissed angrily, hardening her gaze.

“I don't give a shit,” you replied, letting your subconscious enjoy disobeying her. “I've been here for two years, with you, and I don't even know what I am.”

“What are you?” She asked, shaking her head.

“What are we, Donna? We are lovers? Am I your wife, your girlfriend? What do I mean in your life? I've been trying to tell you all this time the things I feel about you and you do nothing but ignore me...” You said furiously, narrowing your eyes.

“I don't…”

“Shut up!” You interrupted, making her step back, resting her back on the chair. “You have no idea how stupid I feel… How distressing it is not to know how the hell you feel about me.”

“(Y/N)...”

“I said... Shut up,” you growled, resting your hands on the table, leaning in to look threatening. “Now it is my turn to speak, even if I am just your maid. Is that true? I am just your maid, the mother of your daughter, a servant...”

“What are you talking about? Tesoro, I...” Donna said, shaking her head, blinking in disbelief.

“We've been together a long time, Donna. We have laughed, we have cried. Damn, we made love, we have a damn daughter and I'm still serving you breakfast every morning. If only that's what I mean to you, have the courage to tell me.”

“You're wrong, (Y/N)”

“Did you even ask me if I wanted to have a baby? No, you didn't. You have always done what you wanted with me. Now I'm starting to realize it.”

You didn't want to bring up that topic. You didn't want to tell her that you weren't ready to be a mother. Giulia was the most important person in your life. You decided to keep those first thoughts to yourself.

“You never say that you love me...” You murmured, calming your nerves, letting a tear slide down your cheek. “You don't need to be a genius to know what that means. You never loved me. Damn, if you keep paying me to be your maid, do you know how that makes me feel?”

“You're just talking nonsense...” Donna whispered, gritting her teeth, letting you know with her eye  that you were making her more and more nervous.

“Nonsense? Is showing your feelings nonsense to you? Very good, very good, Donna,” you said nodding, moving away from the table. “I resign.”

“What?”

“You’ve heard me, pay me what you owe me and I'll get out of here. And Giulia is coming with me.”

“Don't you dare to leave!” She shouted, getting up furious.

“Oh? Are you threatening me? Now I’m clear about what do you think,” you said mockingly, defiantly.

“(Y/N), I, I don't...” Donna said, breathing deeply so as not to scream again.

“You're no better than your siblings, Donna,” you said.

“No, I'm not like them,” she defended herself, clenching her fists. “I… I…”

“You, what?” You insisted, making her shake her head and her breathing hitch again. “I deeply regret being so in love with you. Don’t worry. I don't have the courage to leave. I guess you've been lucky with me being your slave,” you sighed, feeling that statement was terribly true. “I hate loving you!”

Her eye was cold, angry. Her gaze didn’t leave yours but her lips didn’t move. They remained half open.

Your tears ran down your face and crashed onto the wooden floor.

“Hello hello!” A shrill voice interrupted that argument. Angie arrived from the elevator. “Little Giulia is crying, I think she is hungry,” she said in a sing-song voice.

You sighed, closing your eyes and nodding.

“Okay, I'm going to feed your daughter,” you said contemptuously, taking one last look at the table. “Don't worry, Lady Beneviento, then I will pick this up like the maid I’m.”

To emphasize your anger, you walked past her, bumping her shoulder on the way. She didn't move. She stayed rigid, in the same position. She didn't even turn her head to look at you. You didn't worry too much about it either. You had said the things you wanted for a long time.

“Let's see...” You murmured as you picked up your daughter from the crib. She was crying inconsolably. “Don’t cry, my love. Mom is with you,” you said with a broken voice, sitting on the bed to feed the baby, who calmed down as soon as she touched your skin.

You couldn't help but sob, even with the little girl in your arms, you felt deep sorrow. You thought that everything you had experienced was just an illusion in your head, that Donna's cowardice in saying what she thought was simply that, cowardice.

But you were sure that you were no more to her than any maid in the castle was to her lady.

“Your mother Donna is stupid, you know?” You said affectionately, stroking the baby's black hair. “But… I love her. I will love her even if she doesn't feel the same way about me.”

The baby sighed, causing the false sensation that she was listening to you.

“I just want to her to be able to tell me what she thinks, what she feels...” you murmured again, when Giulia squirmed in your arms, indicating that she was done. “But… You know what? It doesn’t matter. If I'm sure of one thing, it's that your mommy Donna loves you madly. You should feel lucky. At least she tells you, she will always tell you.”

“(Y/N)...” A hoarse, broken voice sounded behind the door. You rolled your eyes, as you lovingly moved the baby in your arms. “Please, let me in.”

“Do it if you want to, this is YOUR home,” you whispered reluctantly, getting rid of the baby's gases.

The woman in black entered. Her face betrayed tears and regret. But you were too tired.

“Your daughter eats too much,” you said. “She has drained every last drop of my energy. I don't have the strength to talk to you, Donna.”

The woman sat next to you, petting the baby, but without looking you in the eyes.

“When I was 14, I fell in love with a girl from the village,” she began to say, picking up the baby from your arms and rocking her daughter to sleep.

You didn't want to, nor did you feel like shutting her up again.

“I know it was impossible for her to feel the same. My scar wasn't as horrible as it is now, but people still avoided me. I thought that... Maybe if I told her what I felt, she would listen to me.”

“There was nothing wrong with your scar then and there is nothing wrong with it now,” you said seriously, also avoiding looking at her face.

“Well, I... I wrote her a letter, telling her what I felt about her. Do you know what her response was? No one could ever love you, you are a monster,” the lady in black said sighing, repressing a sob.

“I'm sorry,” you managed to say, feeling that your idea of ​​seeming angry was blurred by the mere fact of hearing her voice.

“One morning, my parents told me that they were going to take a trip, that it would only be a few days. I told them I loved them before they leave,” she continued telling, her voice becoming weaker, her hands trembling as she cradled her daughter.

“I don't understand what that has to do with...”

“They died that day. They jumped into the void, in front of me,” Donna explained. You knew that story, but you had never dared to ask her about it.

Donna stood up, carefully placing her daughter in her crib, tucking her in tenderly, before sitting back down next to you.

“Don't you understand, (Y/N)? All the people I have loved have hurt me, or abandoned me,” she said with a slightly stronger tone, her breathing heavy.

“So the best thing is to never love anyone again, right?” You said with a bit of irony.

“Do you think I don't love you?” She asked suddenly, turning her head towards you, now looking into your eyes.

“I don't know, Donna,” she sighed.

“Girlfriends, lovers, wives... All of them are just meaningless words, labels. They don't mean anything to me,” she said, shaking her head, extending her hand to take yours. You didn't take it away.

“But they do for me. You don't know what it's like to be thinking about what I mean to you. Not knowing if the kisses you give me are something more than mere kisses, if you make love to me because you really feel it, or if you do it just for fun. Sometimes people need to know that you love them, you understand?”

“I've never been good at dealing with people,” Donna said with an amused smile, caressing your hand with her thumb.

“Oh, fresh news,” you ironized, letting out a brief laugh that she shared with you.

“I, I have always felt alone... Always… Until, until you came.”

“The fool who fills the void of your loneliness... Is that what I am to you?”

“No, (Y/N), you... You are everything that makes me feel like life is wonderful. I like to see you wake up next to me. I like when you hug me, when you love me. I feel like I'm not afraid of dying because hell is insignificant compared to spending the rest of my life without you...”

“Wow...” You said, excited by that strange statement. “I guess that means you love me.”

Donna nodded profusely, turning your body to face her so she could kiss you softly on the lips.

“I love you, (Y/N). You and Giulia are the only things I care about.”

“I... I love you too,” you said with a smile, kissing her again, relaxing your spirit after hearing the words you longed for so much. “You don’t know how much I do.”

“Could you forgive me?” She asked in a tone of supplication, of true repentance. “I promise you that not a single day will pass without me telling you how much I love you, I promise you.”

“No, Donna... You have to forgive me. I've gone too far with you. I should have understood you better. But…”

“But?” The lady asked, startled.

“You have not answered my question. What are we, Donna? What am I to you?” You asked, running a hand over her cheek, suppressing the desire you had to kiss her deeply.

“You are...” Donna whispered, searching for an answer in the cracked walls of the bedroom. “You are my family.”