#one touch from him would be enough to fix me

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Vincent Price as Nicholas Van Ryn //

Dragonwyck (1946) dir. Joseph L. Mankiewitcz

[rafecameronssl4t]

I enjoyed reading your rafe fics of love island and I was wondering if you could write one where reader and rafe are coupled up but he went to casa amor. Rafe started getting close to another girl and ended up kissing her. The reader saw a video of what happened in casa amor and she’s all sad and heartbroken. When it comes to the re coupling, the reader stays single while rafe brings back the girl to the villa. It’s sad but also a happy ending? I understand if you don’t want to write it!! I’ve been watching season 6 of love island USA and now I want to read sad fics lol

Oscar Winning Tears || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader love island au

A/n: sorry bb this isn't a happy ending but I might end up writing a part 2????

Warnings: angst!!!! justice for my girl, it hurt me writing this :(

Word count: 1,905

MASTERLIST (love island au masterlist)

Divider by @h-aewo

The firepit crackled softly, its warmth doing little to ease the icy weight in your chest. You stood among the other girls, the glow of the villa lights illuminating your tense expression. Casa Amor was over. This was the moment that would decide everything. The whispers around you were nervous, expectant. Some girls were murmuring about their hopes, clutching onto the chance that their boys had stayed loyal.

You barely heard them. Your mind was consumed by a single image: Rafe’s lips on another girl’s. That damn video. It had been quick—a montage of clips sent to the main villa to stir the pot. It worked. You’d seen him laughing with her, their bodies closer than they should’ve been, the playful touches that turned into something more. And then the kiss.

You’d felt your stomach drop as the girls gasped around you, some trying to reassure you while others exchanged worried glances. But you didn’t cry then, and you wouldn’t cry now. You refused to give anyone, especially him, that power. Your stomach churned just thinking about it, but you refused to let anyone see how much it hurt.

Sophie's voice broke through the tense silence. "Ladies, the boys are on their way back. Please stand by the firepit." You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stand tall, even as your legs felt like jelly. Your palms were sweaty, and you discreetly wiped them on your dress, hoping to mask the anxiety clawing at your composure.

The first footsteps echoed from the path. A single pair. One of the girls next to you exhaled a shaky sigh of relief as her partner walked in alone, grinning sheepishly. Another boy followed, also alone. The tension was unbearable. Then, you heard it. Two sets of footsteps. Your breath hitched. A bitter chuckle escaped your lips before you could stop it, soft but sharp, enough to make the girls around you glance your way.

You didn’t look at them. Your eyes were fixed on the pathway, your heart sinking deeper with each passing second. You’d been prepared for this, or at least you told yourself you were. But nothing could really prepare you for the sight of Rafe walking toward the firepit with another girl on his arm. And then you saw him.

He walked in, his hand lightly resting on the arm of another girl. He didn't meet your eyes. His head was low, his expression unreadable. If you didn’t know him so well, you might have missed the subtle signs of guilt: the tightness in his jaw, the way his hand fidgeted at his side, the occasional glance toward you that he quickly averted.

The murmurs from the other islanders grew louder as they registered the scene. You could feel their eyes darting between you and Rafe, their pity and shock palpable. When he reached his spot across from you, Sophie turned to you with a sympathetic smile. "Y/n," she began gently, her voice laced with concern, "how are you feeling, darling?"

You let out a dry laugh, the sound bitter even to your own ears. "How am I feeling?" you repeated, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. You took a moment to compose yourself, sucking in a deep breath before continuing. "I’m not surprised. I expected it." Everyone at the firepit watched silently.

"I saw the video," you added, your tone flat but sharp, like the edge of a knife. That did it. Rafe’s head snapped up, his blue eyes wide with shock. Guilt was written all over his face. He opened his mouth, but you weren’t done. "Y/n—" he started, but you raised a hand to cut him off. "Don’t," you interrupt, your voice breaking slightly. You looked up at the sky, blinking furiously to keep the tears at bay.

You refused to cry—not in front of everyone, not in front of him, and certainly not in front of her. The girl at his side, her hand still loosely resting on his arm, spoke up. "It’s Love Island, babe. You gotta do what you gotta do," she shrugs. Her voice was light, almost dismissive, as if her words weren’t twisting the knife already buried in your chest.

Your head snapped toward her, and for the first time that night, anger flared in your eyes. "You’ve literally been here five minutes," you snapped, your voice sharp and cutting. "Don’t tell me what Love Island is about." Her confidence faltered, and she blinked taken aback by your tone, but you didn’t give her the chance to respond. Your attention shifted back to Rafe.

The anger in your chest burned hotter now, but beneath it was a raw, aching hurt that threatened to consume you. You forced a bitter smile onto your face. "I hope you’re happy with your decision, Rafe. I really do. I hope you don’t regret it." The firepit was silent except for the crackling of the flames. The other islanders shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to say.

Some of the girls moved closer to you, murmuring quiet words of comfort that barely registered. Rafe looked like he wanted to say something, his lips parting slightly, but no words came out. He looked down again, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his guilt. Straightening your spine, you turned away from him, heading back to your spot with the girls.

Your heart felt like it was shattering, pieces of it breaking off with every step, but you kept your head high. The tears still threatened to fall, but you blinked them back, refusing to give him—or anyone—the satisfaction of seeing you cry. This was Love Island, and you’d play the game. But this time, you’d play it for yourself.

~

The recoupling ceremony ended in a blur. The moment Sophie dismissed everyone, you were the first to stand, your legs moving on autopilot as you stormed off. The heels of your shoes clicked sharply against the wooden planks, the sound punctuating each shaky breath you took. Behind you, the murmurs began—low and uncertain—as the other girls watched you retreat.

It wasn’t long before they followed, one by one, a show of solidarity that left the Casa Amor girls awkwardly planted in their seats. You held your head high as you walked away, desperate to maintain the last shred of composure you had left.

Rafe sat frozen at the firepit, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. He could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on him, the tension radiating like a storm about to break. His jaw clenched as he stared down at the ground, guilt eating away at him like poison. “Mate, what the fuck were you thinking?” one of the boys muttered, breaking the silence.

Another chimed in, leaning forward to fix him with a sharp glare. “She stayed loyal to you. You had the real deal, and you blew it for… what? A bit of fun?” Rafe swallowed hard, his throat dry as sandpaper. He couldn’t defend himself. He couldn’t even look up. Beside him, the girl from Casa Amor shifted uncomfortably, her confidence waning as the tension mounted.

“Seriously, Rafe,” one of the others said, his voice lower but no less disappointed. “She deserved better than this. You know that, right?” The words hit Rafe like a punch to the gut, but he stayed silent, his guilt too overwhelming to let him respond. He risked a glance toward the path you’d disappeared down, but the sight only made his stomach churn.

The tears you’d been holding back spilled over, unstoppable, hot streams burning down your cheeks. Your chest felt tight, suffocating, as if your heart was collapsing in on itself. You pressed a trembling hand to your chest, trying to steady your breathing, but it was no use. Sobs wracked your body, and you stumbled slightly, leaning against a railing for support.

Despite your efforts to escape, you were still within view of the firepit. You hated that they could see you like this—breaking apart, vulnerable, destroyed. The girls were by your side in an instant, Sofia’s arm wrapping securely around your shoulders. “It’s okay, we’ve got you. Let’s get you out of here, okay? Away from everyone,” she murmured softly, her voice low and comforting as the others circled around you protectively.

You nodded mutely, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. They guided you to one of the outdoor lounges, the soft cushions offering little comfort as you collapsed onto them. Sofia sat beside you, pulling you into her arms as the others hovered close, their faces etched with concern. You buried your face in Sofia’s shoulder, gripping her tightly as sobs tore through you.

It all spilled out—the heartbreak, the anger, the betrayal. “I can’t do this,” you gasped, the words spilling out between sobs. “I fucking can’t do this.” The raw pain in your words made the girls exchange worried glances, their sympathy etched in their faces. “I stayed loyal to him,” you choked out, your voice breaking. “I stayed loyal, and he…” You couldn’t even finish the sentence.

The memory of him walking in with her was enough to shatter you all over again. “He’s a fucking idiot,” one of the girls said fiercely, her voice cutting through the haze of your pain. “You gave him everything, and he didn’t deserve any of it.” Sofia wiped your tears. "You did everything right. This isn’t on you." Her words only made it worse.

You had stayed loyal. You’d turned away from every temptation in Casa Amor, reminding yourself over and over that Rafe was waiting for you, that he was worth it. You’d trusted him to do the same. But he hadn’t. “But why?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Why wasn’t I enough?” The question hung in the air, unanswered, as your sobs filled the silence.

Sofia tightened her hold on you, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears as she tried to comfort you. "I gave him everything," you choked out between sobs, your voice breaking. "And he just… he didn’t care. He didn’t even think about me." The girls murmured quiet reassurances, their hands resting on your back, your arms, wherever they could offer comfort.

But nothing they said could touch the aching void inside you, the gaping wound left by his betrayal. Your heart ached, a dull, throbbing pain that radiated through every inch of your body. The memory of Rafe walking in with her—his arm around her, his guilty eyes refusing to meet yours—was seared into your mind. For the first time, you truly doubted if you could keep going.

Back at the firepit, Rafe’s guilt was palpable. He finally glanced up, only to see the other boys still staring at him with varying degrees of disappointment and disbelief. “You fucked up, man,” one of them said bluntly. “Big time.” Rafe didn’t argue. He didn’t try to explain. What could he say? That he’d been tempted, that he’d let his guard down, that he’d convinced himself it was harmless until it wasn’t? None of it mattered now.

The damage was done. His gaze shifted to the path again, and for a fleeting moment, he thought about going after you. But when he saw the other girls walking back toward the villa, their arms around you like a protective wall, he knew he’d lost any right to comfort you. You were gone. And it was entirely his fault.

[luminiamore]

sweet.

(universe)

warnings: kento being oblivious, gojo flirting with reader (3sum in the near future), jealous reader, soft sex, mirror sex, heavy praise, bare with me noww, this isn’t directly related to part one but it is from the the same universe. im temporarily back lols, enjoy!

for the first time ever in your life, you find yourself filled with jealousy. over a man. the realization is like a poison you can’t shake off, sitting uncomfortably in your chest. you decide then and there that you don’t like this feeling at all. far from fond of the way your blood boils, the way you feel an almost primal urge to fight another woman—over him. your glossed lips crinkle into a nasty scowl as your ears hyper-fixate on the sound of her obnoxiously high-pitched laughter. he wasn’t even that funny.

you swear your eye twitches when she trails her manicured nails down his shoulder, her movements slow, deliberate, teasing. she’s not ugly—not even close. you can admit that. but you’re by no means insecure. in fact, you’re painfully aware of how stunning you look tonight. still, the thought burns: why isn’t he pushing her away?

they clearly know each other; this is a business work event, after all. a secretary, maybe? his assistant? your mind races trying to place her, but no name or face comes to mind. kento never mentioned her before. you would know—he tells you everything about his long, draining work days. he’s also so precise in recounting every detail, you’re there to listen to them as you massage his scalp.

you distinctly remember names like leiri, suguru, utahime. even that guy, gojo. he talks about him the most, despite how much he apparently irritates him to no end.

but this woman? her perfectly styled red hair, the way she clings onto his words like gospel- she’s a mystery. one he conveniently forgot to mention in his stories.

is this why he invited you? to watch him let another woman touch him, laugh with him, lean into him in ways that make your stomach twist?

his face bears his signature stoic expression as he speaks to her, but you can’t unsee the way he smiles occasionally. even the small, intimate gesture of fixing the strap of her dress has your jaw clenching.

kento is a gentlemen, you know this. but does he really have to display it like this? with each passing moment, your heart sinks further, the pit in your stomach growing heavier. it’s sickening.

you’re too pretty for this.

especially tonight, with your strapless light pink bubble dress that hugs your waist like a second skin, sculpting you into a vision of perfection. every step you take, every slight movement sends your high, sleek barbie ponytail swishing behind you in defiance, like a crown that refuses to let you forget who you are.

your makeup is immaculate: fluttery lashes that make your eyes impossibly doll-like, catching every flicker of light, and a soft blush dusting your cheeks, enhancing your angelic glow.

you weren’t brought here to be ignored.

yet here you are, simmering with jealousy, your perfectly manicured white nails digging into your palm as you stare them down from across the room. this won’t do. you weren’t dressed to perfection to be overlooked. not by him.

it seems your prayers were answered, faster than expected too. gojo sauntered toward you with the kind of confidence that bordered on arrogance. his snowy hair was nicely tousled, as though it was styled enough just enough to look effortlessly undone. a smug grin was already plastered across his no doubt beautiful face.

the air seemed to shift around him. his tailored black suit hugged his tall frame perfectly, the satin lapels catching the low, golden light. the collar of his crisp white shirt was left slightly undone, offering a subtle glimpse of pale skin beneath. polished black oxfords clicked softly against the floor.

you hadn’t even noticed him at first—too busy glaring daggers into the back of the redhead currently stealing your kento’s attention. but the moment gojo entered your periphery, the energy changed. this time in your favor.

he was impossible to miss as he approached you where you sat in the middle of the bar. he could sense your simmering frustration from across the room—no doubt about your date letting another woman throw herself on him. and of course, decided to intervene.

“is this seat taken, or should i just assume this drink is for me?” his voice was smooth, too easy.

he leaned against the high barstool you occupied, one arm resting on the polished surface of the bar while the other toyed with the edge of your untouched glass. his tone carried a playful lilt as if he’d already decided the answer didn’t matter—he’d stay regardless.

your brows knitted together in confusion as you turned to face the source of the bold interruption. your pretty glossed lips, which had been set in an irritated scowl mere moments ago, softened and shifted into an involuntary pout

your voice, smooth yet edged with a hint of incredulity, carried the weight of your surprise as you spoke, “um, excuse me?” the words hung in the air as you tilted your head ever so slightly.

the moment he spoke, you recognized him. the confident, almost cocky grin, paired with that signature tousled white hair—it was unmistakable. gojo satoru.

“didn’t mean to startle you, doll,” he said, his voice low. he motioned toward your drink, still untouched, the ice inside barely melted. “this drink is still full, and from where i’m standing, you look like you could use some company.”

he paused, his gaze locking with yours, his smirk growing ever so slightly. “but if you prefer the solitude… i can always grab my own drink.”

his words lingered in the air, but you couldn’t help but notice the challenge behind them, the underlying invitation. he was perfectly at ease, as if this were just another conversation.

you blinked at him, momentarily taken aback by his audacity. the corner of your mouth twitched into a small smile as you tilted your head again, batting your long lashes. “and you are…?”

you asked, drawing out the words with just the right amount of innocence, pretending you didn’t already know exactly who he was.

as of his smirk could stretch even wider, gojo’s gaze sharpens with amusement. kento had mentioned you before— you’re like a doll, a fragile, perfect little thing. and god, was he right. you were exactly what he painted, even more striking in person if he was honest.

your brown skin caught the light in the most mesmerizing way, a subtle shimmer that seemed to radiate with every movement you made. it was as though your entire being was illuminated. every curve and contour of your body glowing with a soft, ethereal radiance. to him, you weren’t just beautiful, but something more—almost otherworldly, like an angel walking among them.

his eyes flickered from your drink, still untouched, and then back to you, his gaze slow and deliberate. he took in every detail, memorizing your every move. the subtle pout on your glossy lips, that almost imperceptible shift in your posture, and the way your eyes glimmered, measuring him up.

he couldn’t help but wonder—how could kento leave you alone like this?

his voice smooth as honey, “gojo satoru. maybe kento’s told you about me? he’s mentioned you a bunch of times.” he pauses, letting the words hang in the air for a moment longer than necessary.

if you’re surprised, you don’t show it. you keep that perfect, aloof air about you, your gaze never once wavering from his.

“but don’t worry,” the white haired man continued, that stupid charming grin still there. “i’m not here to step on his toes. just thought i’d say hello to the beauty he left alone tonight.”

he’s flirting with you. there’s no mistaking it. the playful tone in his voice, the way his eyes linger on you, all of it signals the intention behind his words.

you can feel a warmth crawl up your neck, a subtle thrill coursing through you at the sudden attention. it’s a spark igniting within you, something you only felt with kento. you try to hold back, but your lips betray you, curving into a small, involuntary smile.

for a split second, your gaze shifts over to kento. your heart skips a beat when you find him already looking at you, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch. his gaze feels like a weight, heavy and unyielding, pressing against your chest. it’s hard to pinpoint exactly what it is—anger, concern, or something else entirely.

it’s the kind of look that makes you feel exposed. he’s dissecting every tiny movement, every flicker of emotion crossing your face. despite his distance from you.

you quickly tear your eyes away from kento, a twinge of guilt flooding your chest as you force your attention back to gojo. his playful gaze never wavers.

“something the matter, doll?” he asks, his voice light, but the tone betrays an undercurrent of amusement.

you finally respond, your voice a little breathier than you intended, and a warm flush creeps up your neck, coloring your cheeks. “he talks about me? i didn’t really think he was the type to gossip.”

you’re still processing the idea of kento mentioning you to someone like gojo. he talks as if he despises the man, always with a hint of irritation and sometimes even disgust. as if even mentioning his name leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

you always assumed the two were at odds, maybe even enemies of some kind with how often he complains about how insufferable he can be.

a deep chuckle fills your ears, it’s like the sound of a well-aged wine being uncorked. “oh, he’s not,” gojo starts. “but trust me, when it comes to someone like you, he can’t help himself.”

his eyes flicker to kento for just a moment, his gaze lingering briefly, before it’s back on you, “i can see why, though,” he adds, his lips curling into a knowing smile. “you’ve already got me hooked on you.”

his way of nonchalance is almost unsettling. doesn’t he know how territorial kento can get? or does he just not care?

you glance over at kento again, his expression unreadable, but the slight tension in his jaw betrays his quiet disapproval.

“you’re not worried about kento?” the question slips from your lips before you can stop it, your voice barely above a whisper, though you’re not sure whether you’re asking gojo or yourself. it feels strange to voice it aloud. you’ve always thought of kento as someone who would take any threat to his control seriously, and here gojo is, flirting with you in plain sight, with no hesitation.

“worried? about him?” he grumbles, “trust me, doll, kento’s a big boy. i’m not sure if i’m the one he need to worry about.”

what did he mean by that? you’re still processing his words, but as gojo holds your gaze, that familiar feeling of being seen—really seen—creeps up on you. it’s unnerving, but you don’t want him to look away somehow.

for a moment, the room around you fades as you focus solely on the man before you. it’s crazy how easily he’s made you forget about everything else. you want to respond, to call his bluff, but something about how intense he is stops you. instead, you simply blink.

before you can even begin to gather your thoughts and formulate an answer, a heavy hand lands on your shoulder. you feel a warmth run down your spine. that scent—woodsy, with a hint of something clean and crisp—fills the air around you.

your breath catches in your throat slightly and without needing to look, you know it’s him. the very essence of kento’s controlled demeanor has momentarily broken the charged bubble that gojo created between you two.

you glance over your shoulder, and there he is—kento, standing tall, stoic, his usual composed self. his sharp eyes lock onto gojo with an unreadable expression, though there’s a subtle tension in his jaw, the only giveaway of how he’s truly feeling. his presence towering over you in a way that feels protective—if not a little possessive.

gojo, however, doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest. in fact, he leans back into his seat, his grin widening into something more smug, as if this is exactly what he’s been waiting for.

you can feel the heat of both men’s attention on you now. what is happening?

kento’s voice breaks the silence, cool and measured, like he’s carefully weighing his words.

“gojo,” he starts, his eyes still locked onto the white-haired man. his hand on your shoulder shifts slightly, he’s trying to keep a lid on whatever’s simmering beneath. “if you’re done with your little game, i think it’s time for you to let her breath a little, hm?” he doesn’t look at you as he talks.

gojo is savoring this moment. “what game?” he replies smoothly, raising an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this more than he probably should. cerulean eyes flickering between the two of you, “i’m just saying hello to the beauty you ditched tonight.”

“you’ve said your hello, and now it’s time for us to leave,” kento says flatly, a hard edge to his tone. his grip on your shoulder tightens just a fraction, a silent cue that he’s ready to move things along—away from gojo, away from whatever this is.

before you can process it fully, you make a sound—a soft, almost instinctive protest. it escapes before you can stop it, you don’t want to leave yet.

you were just starting to enjoy yourself. the night had only just begun to shift into something fun—why does he get to bask in the attention of someone else but when it comes to anyone showing interest in you, it’s time to go? that’s not fair.

gojo, ever the perceptive one, picks up on the subtle shift in your energy almost immediately. the way your body tenses, the slight flicker of uncertainty in your eyes as you glance back and forth between him and kento.

“i don’t think the little doll here wants to leave,” gojo comments, his voice dripping with a teasing drawl.

kento barely flinches at gojo’s remark. without missing a beat, his expression hardens just slightly, and he steps fully into your space. “we’re leaving. now,” kento states, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument.

you open your mouth to protest, the words forming on your lips, but before you can voice them, kento’s gaze sharpens, and the intensity of it pins you in place. your protest dies in your throat.

gojo, watching this exchange, can’t help the intrigued look that tugs on his entire face. there’s something interesting about how easily kento exerts control over you, how effortlessly he can shut you down with just a look. it makes gojo wonder—would you react the same way to him? would you let him dominate the space between you, take charge and make you follow his lead like kento does?

a flash of something darker flickers in gojo’s gaze and another flicker of curiosity about what it would take for him to have that kind of influence over you.

you stand from your seat, your so kate heels clicking against the marble floor. you move reluctantly, and gojo watches every step, his eyes never leaving you.

when you glance up and send him an apologetic look, something in him shifts. you look almost delicate in that moment and then something twitch in his dress pants. the very idea of you stirs a response in him that he can’t quite ignore. he doesn’t want to.

“hey, don’t look so sorry, doll,” gojo murmurs, leaning forward just a little, his gaze fixed firmly on kento, his eyes sharp with that unrelenting amusement. “i’m sure i’ll see you again, sooner than you think.”

his presence lingers in the air, like an invisible thread pulling at you, even as you turn away. you know, without a doubt, that his eyes are still on you as you step out and kento opens the door for you, that ever-present smirk never leaving his face as he takes a sip from the drink you left.

the ride back to kento’s penthouse is suffocatingly quiet. the hum of the car is the only sound in the air as the night wraps around you both. your body is turned as far away from him as you can manage, trying to press yourself into the cool, unyielding door as if putting distance between you two will somehow ease the frustration you feel.

the silence grows heavier before kento finally speaks. his voice is low, careful, like he’s trying to gauge your reaction.

“you seem upset,” he starts, the words almost too casual, too calm. “care to tell me why?”

there’s a sharp edge to his tone, barely noticeable but enough to let you know he’s waiting for something—some kind of explanation, maybe.

you don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. you keep your gaze fixed on the window, the lights of the city blurring past as if you’re not even there.

kento’s grip on the steering wheel tightens, his knuckles turning white as his gaze flickers over to you. his patience thinning, but he tries to keep himself calm, measured as he speaks.

“are you upset with me?”

you remain silent, your gaze fixed out the window, refusing to acknowledge him. but this time, the silence isn’t enough for him. he sighs—deep and almost tired.

“is there a reason why you were letting gojo satoru flirt with you?” his voice is low.

you don’t give him any silence this time. without missing a beat, you turn slightly toward him. your voice uncharacteristically sharp, “is there a reason why you were letting some redhead throw herself on you?”

he knows exactly who you’re talking about—the redhead, his secretary, the one who had been working under him for a while now. honestly, he hadn’t thought much of her beyond the occasional brief interaction. to him, she was just another colleague, someone he’d see around the office now and then, exchanging pleasantries and handling basic tasks.

but hearing you mention her like this makes him pause. was she really throwing herself at him? kento, though sharp in many ways, was infamously dense when it came to detecting romantic interest.

he’d never picked up on the subtle hints or the flirty undertones that others would easily recognize. he’d always just chalked up her attentions as professional, after all he is her boss.

“were you jealous, sweetheart?” he can’t help but take the opportunity to tease you. and despite how frustrated you are, you still shy away from his words. your kento always had that effect on you. jealous? no way.

you quip, “no! not jealous. it’s just weird that you never told me about her, that’s all.”

he watches as you look away, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. there’s something about the way you try to brush it off that only makes him want to poke at you more. he’s used to you being a little oblivious, and honestly, he finds it kind of endearing.

“mm, is that so?” he muses, “it’s weird that i didn’t tell you about her?” his eyebrow raises, his brown eyes twinkling with amusement. “and here i thought you wouldn’t be interested in a measly secretary.”

to kento, when he’s describing his day to you, he only feels the need to mention the important things. why would he ever need to mention someone as insignificant as a secretary?

but he’s not done yet. his gaze softens, and there’s a small, almost tender shift in his expression as he watches you carefully. you almost forget that you two were still on the road. “you really don’t think i’d keep something like that from you on purpose, do you?”

you hesitate, your lips parted for a moment before you mutter, “don’t know.”

a slight chuckle escapes as if to reassure you that it was never anything worth mentioning. you know kento wouldn’t lie to you, and his tone conveys that sincerity. he’s just not the type to complicate things with unnecessary details.

he watches you, eyes soft but intrigued, as he can tell you’re battling what to do in that pretty little head of yours. it’s a look he’s grown used to, and, strangely, he finds it oddly charming. the way you’re focused on him, trying to process everything he says, more concerned with the things you don’t quite understand than with anything else.

it’s a kind of sweetness he doesn’t even realize he’s craving.

you finally make it to his home, a sleek, minimalist penthouse that mirrors kento’s composed demeanor. the dim lighting casts a soft glow across the space, highlighting the clean lines and neutral tones of the decor. the subtle scent of his cologne still lingers in the air as he leads you through the entryway.

his hand never leaves yours, his firm grip guiding you effortlessly up to his top-floor suite. you follow him without question, your heels clicking softly against the polished marble floors. the weight of the evening settles over you, and you don’t dare speak—not because you’re afraid, but because you don’t know what to say.

your thoughts drift, circling back to the restaurant, to gojo, to the way kento’s jaw had tensed ever so slightly when he saw you exchanging words with the white-haired man. the memory sends a flush of heat to your cheeks, but you push it aside, grateful that kento hasn’t brought it up again.

you almost let yourself relax, eternally thankful that he didn’t press further—didn’t question why you hadn’t pushed gojo away or why you seemed so unsure in the moment. maybe he understood that you were caught off guard, or maybe he simply chose to spare you the embarrassment of having to explain yourself.

he leads you into his bedroom, the expansive city skyline visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. the silence between you feels as if kento is giving you space to collect yourself.

you don’t dare look at him directly, instead letting your gaze wander over the room. you can feel his presence behind you, steady and unwavering, and you know he’s watching—assessing you in that quiet, observant way he always does.

still, he says nothing about gojo, and you’re not sure if that makes you feel relieved or unsettled.

however, kento isn’t the type to let something like that slide—not because he’s angry, but because he’s curious. intrigued. at the way you didn’t immediately recoil from gojo’s teasing, the subtle way your lashes fluttered and your lips quirked, had left a faint, simmering heat in his chest.

it wasn’t jealousy, not entirely, at least. it was way more complicated than that.

he watches you for a moment as he helps you undress. he starts with your heels, carefully pulling them off as his hand rests on your soft ankle. his look is sharp, like he’s carefully dissecting the situation.

you’re so sweetly oblivious to the weight of his business partner’s attention and how you seemed to react to it. kento isn’t sure if he should be annoyed or interested at the possibilities it stirs in him.

“you seemed to enjoy the attention earlier,” he says at last, his voice soft and deliberate.

“what? no,” you protest immediately, shaking your head and giving him that wide-eyed look he knows so well. “i didn’t—i mean, it was just—he was being weird.”

his lips twitch slightly into a shadow of a smile that doesn’t quite form. his brown eyes narrow ever so slightly as he stands up, pulling you with him and spinning you around to start unzipping your tight dress. there’s no urgency in the way he moves.

“hm,” he hums, the sound low and thoughtful, like he’s pondering something far more complicated than he’s letting on. the sound of you dress hitting the floor is deafening—and now you’re just left in your white thong standing in front of his tall mirror.

“but you didn’t stop him,” he continues. his words hang in the air, heavy with implication. “you didn’t seem to mind it.”

you blink up at him, flustered, your mind scrambling to catch up with the weight of his words. his gaze feels heavy, pulling at you, and it only makes the heat in your cheeks burn hotter. your lips part, but the words don’t come right away.

finally, you stammer out, “i… i didn’t know what to do.” your eyes flicker away from him, unable to hold his piercing stare for too long, as if it’s too much to handle.

you fidget slightly, your fingers twisting on the tiny band of your panties as the weight of his attention settles heavily on you. “is he usually so forward like that?”

you sneak another glance at him, hoping your words might deflect some of the intensity of his focus. it doesn’t and its making your heart pound a little faster.

he doesn’t answer right away, letting the silence stretch between you for a moment longer than comfortable. it’s on purpose, you can tell—like he’s savoring the way you’re squirming under his attention, trying to find your footing.

then his hand moves, covering your fidgeting fingers with his own, stilling them. “you’re going to ruin those if you keep twisting them like that,” he murmurs.

before you can respond, he leans in, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your collarbone. the softness of his lips against your skin sends a shiver through you, and you gasp, the sound escaping before you can stop it.

a warm and deep chuckle follows, leaving a throbbing ache between your thighs.

“usually,” he answers at last. “you liked that, didn’t you?”

your lips part as if to respond, but no words come. his hand slides lower, settling on your inner thigh, so close yet not nearly close enough to where you need him most. it’s eating at you.

you swallow hard, your breath hitching slightly, as your mind struggles to piece together what he’s really asking.

“i’m not upset,” he says after a moment, his voice softening just enough to make you meet his gaze again. his thumb starts tracing slow circles that make your skin burn. “i just want an answer, sweetheart.”

you nod slowly, unsure of what else to do, though you should know better by now.

a sharp pinch lands on the plush curve of your thigh. the sensation startles you, and a soft yelp escapes your lips before you can bite it back. his breath is warm against your ear as he leans in,

“words, doll,” he murmurs, the faint gruffness in his voice making it clear he’s not asking. he’s using gojos words against you and it makes the slick pooling in your panties increase tenfold.

“come on,” he urges softly, “use that pretty mouth of yours. i know you can.”

you messily breathe out, “yes ken, i really liked it.”

you’re so consumed by the weight of your confession that you fail to notice the subtle shift in kento’s expression. there’s a flicker in his eyes, a deepening intensity, as if something has just snapped into place.

he would really do anything for you. anything.

you might not fully understand the depths of it yet. and you don’t need to. in this moment, kento’s world seems to orbit around you, and it’s clear that he’s willing to give everything for your pleasure, your trust, your everything.

that’s all he needed to press two of his large fingers on your panty covered cunt, quietly groaning at the wet patch that seemed to have accumulated during his talking. who knew talking about gojo would get you this soaked?

it seems you’re thinking the same thing as you try to muffle your whine with your hand, covering your face because you’re just so embarrassed. “none of that, sweetheart. eyes on the mirror, understand?”

your legs are shaking, twitching really at the sensation of his subtle rubbing on your sensitive clit. your pretty nipples perking up due to the contact of the cold air. and kento notices, of course he does.

your eyes hit the mirror swift, your hands dropping instantly. your eyes are hazy, staring back at him with desperation, “yes, ken”

“such a good girl. the most perfect girl.”

kento moves to face you directly. with precision, he presses you flush against the wall, the cool surface biting against your back as the heat of his body contrasts sharply against your front. his hands settle on either side of you, caging you in.

his movements are unhurried, savoring every second of you like this. slowly, he lowers himself, his knees hitting the floor with a purposeful thud.

his focus is no longer on you, rather your twitching brown heat. he can even see your arousal dripping down your glistening thighs. your lower lips are plump and sticky, practically begging for him to place his mouth on you.

how could he ever deny you?

he uses his tongue swiftly, harshly, and unrelentingly to attack your dripping mound. starting from the base of your hole to where your clit was poking out of its hood, his senses overwhelmed with the sweet taste of you.

still, he can’t help but bring it up again, “you’d let him taste you just like this, wouldn’t you?”

“kennn,” a cute whine eludes you. but you can’t hide the way you leak even more at the idea. he laps at you more rapidly, sending the sounds you make echoing across the room.

he emits a deep, guttural groan, the sound vibrating through you and making your thighs clench around his head involuntarily. his large hands grip your hips firmly, keeping you firm against the wall as his tongue penetrates your wet hole. “hm, doll? you’d let satoru ruin you like i always do?”

“y-yes- oh! i would!”

kento quickly swaps his tongue with his index and ring fingers and curls them to your favorite spot. finding that the sound you make is something he would honestly kill for. he bets on you making those sounds for satoru too.

he opts to suck, hard on your beautiful pearl with his mouth.

you breath stutters, little gasps and chokes of a moan being stolen from you, “oh christ- ken! ken, baby- m’so close.”

the feeling starts low, deep in your core, like a slow, simmering warmth that makes your body feel electric. ever hypersensitive, you more heavily start to feel that intoxicating pressure in your lower abdomen.

your breath quickens, coming out in soft, airy gasps, and you can’t stop the way your body arches, your back curving as you chase every ounce of pleasure being given to you. your manicured nails dig into kento’s broad shoulder, still covered by his dress shirt.

“will you, sweatheart? make a mess for me, yeah?” you don’t know how but his fingers move faster, jabbing and poking precisely in that sensitive spot that makes your head spin.

“make a mess for satoru.”

then it happens, the release washing over you in a cascading rush that steals your breath and leaves you trembling. behind your closed eyes, you could’ve sworn you’ve see a white light. your legs shake and your glossy lips part with loud, breathy moans that you can’t control, too lost in the waves of pleasure crashing over you.

the intensity leaves you lightheaded, dizzy even. your body swaying as if it can’t bear the weight of such pleasure.

you feel kento’s strong hands on your waist, steadying you, his hold being the only thing keeping your legs from crumbling beneath you. every muscle turned to liquid.

“easy, sweetheart,” he watches you, utterly captivated by the way you’re still trembling in his arms, your chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath.

he knows he should give you a moment to recover, to let your body come down from the high that’s left you so drained. this orgasm clearly took so much out of you-it’s written all over the way you slump against him as he stands in front of you.

but kento... kento can rarely contain himself when it comes to you. he strokes a hand down your back, the warmth of his palm possessive, his lips gently grazing your temple.

“you’re so perfect,” he murmurs, voice thick with want. “so good to me, doll. you’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”

he tightens his grip on you just slightly, his fingers pressing into your soft skin like he’s staking his claim.

you nod weakly, the response instinctual because you know he’d never do anything to hurt you. kento sees it in your eyes, that sweet look, that unwavering willingness to let him have his way with you-and he can admit, it drives him insane.

“good. good girl,” he whispers.

that’s all you hear before you feel him lifting your body up and your legs wrap around his hips. it’s hard not to pay attention to the pressure of his thick tip pressing at your creamy entrance.

when had he even taken his pants off? you’re not sure. in fact, you’re not even prepared for the way he suddenly presses into you, your slippery folds stretching its best to accommodate to his massive size. fuck, it was all too much!

kento releases a shaky breath, his mind scrambling to figure out how can one person feel so heavenly, “always so tight aren’t you, sweetheart?”

you mewl at his words, mewl at the way you feel so full yet he’s not even halfway inside you yet.

“s’too- too much!”

as if to disprove your trembling protest, kento pushes in deeper, his hips meeting the backs of your thighs with a force. your breath catches in your throat, a sharp gasp leaving your lips as the new angle overwhelms you completely.

your legs dangle limply over his broad shoulders, your knees pressed tightly to your chest, leaving you utterly at his mercy. the position forces you to take all of him, every inch sinking deeper, stretching you in a way that borders on unbearable. but it’s so addictive.

he’s so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat, stealing the air from your lungs and leaving you dizzy.

“fuck,” he groans, his voice husky, vibrating through your entire body as he holds himself there, buried so fully it feels like there’s no part of you he hasn’t claimed. “look at you, doll. taking me so well.”

his large hands grip your hips, keeping you in place as your body twitches beneath him. the stretch is a sinful combination of pain and pleasure that leaves tears prickling in your eyes.

“can feel you squeezing me,” he mutters, his breath hot against your ear as he leans over you, pressing you deeper into the wall with his weight. “so fucking pretty like this, sweetheart... it’s almost like you were made for me.”

you can’t respond-you can barely think. all you know is you want more. and more. and more.

like he’s read your mind.. he starts to pull out, the slow drag of his length leaving you gasping, each inch pulling at every overstimulated nerve within you.

his hair brushes lightly against your cheeks as he bends down just slightly. his gaze drops to where your bodies are joined, watching with unrestrained hunger as your slick clings to him, coating his entire length.

“look at that,” he murmurs, his voice low, sending another pulse of heat straight to your core. he shudders at the sight, his fingers tightening their grip on your thighs as if to steady himself.

then, without warning, he thrusts back into you with a brutal force that knocks the air from your lungs. your back arches against the wall, a broken cry spilling from your lips as he buries himself to the hilt once more, the sudden fullness making your head spin.

“you feel that, sweetheart?” he groans, his breath hot against your ear as he sets a punishing rhythm, each thrust hitting deeper, harder, as if determined to remind you just how completely he owns every inch of you. “my perfect angel.”

you’re helpless against the wave of pleasure building within you, dragging you under with every deep stroke.

your warmth is making his brain scramble, causing him to start rambling now. “maybe i should let satoru take you like this.”

the way you tighten around him is his incentive to keep whispering against your panting lips. “bet he wants to own this sloppy pussy like i do, hm?”

you’re not sure what he’s saying. your mind is currently clouded by the way his tip repeatedly taps your cervix. nevertheless, you swiftly nod your head at his words. you’d agree to anything if it meant he would keep giving you pleasure like this.

you feel that familiar heat stirring deep in your lower abdomen, a subtle warmth that quickly intensifies, growing more forceful, more urgent with every passing second.

this time, though, it’s different. there’s something more uncontrollable about it. you recognize the signs — the way it tightens and twists inside you, a sure signal that you’re about to squirt. you’re about to make a mess.

“gonna cum, doll?” kento makes a grunt and directs his hips to directly punish your gummy spot. if he had neighbors, they would probably hear you cry out bloody murder.

you mumble out through your shaky moans, “y-yes! m’gonna cum, for you! for ‘toru!”

you’re so fucked out, you barely recognize the little slip of the nickname you cried out. you’re a precious thing, fuck. his hand slips down to find your little nub and rubs tight circles so quickly, it almost feels like whiplash when the pleasure hits you.

“go ahead, sweetheart. kenny’s got you. let it all out.”

at his command, you do. you gurgle, letting out clear streams of your juice that spray all over his dress shirt, lightly sprinkling over his open mouth, tasting you. your chest heaves, back arches closer to kento, legs tremble as you lose all sense of your surroundings. you can’t even recall your own name. the only thing you know at this moment is this feeling of pure euphoria.

kento pace starts getting uncoordinated, sloppy as he ruts into you. it’s not long before he follows after you quickly, a deep moan rumbling from the depth of chest as he spurts out thick ropes of his seed into your awaiting womb. and you take it all. because yore his good girl.

it’s so much you can feel like overflowing out of your heat, small streams dripping down your spasming other hole.

he gradually pulls out and quickly kneels down to observe how his cum drips out of your cunt like thick paste. it’s mesmerizing. he slides two fingers up your slit, collecting a nice glob of his aftermath before pushing it back inside of you.

you exhale in a mixture of a whine and a choke, even going as far as to whisper that you’re too sensitive. you don’t know that kento had planned this, you also don’t know that satoru is on his way to you both right now. with his eyes still focused on your pulsing mound, he tuts at you.

“don’t be like that, doll. you need to give me at least one more before ‘toru gets here.”

[kr-starz]

Timebomb but I don’t think of smut or making out while they’re alone in Jinx’s room. I think of soft touches while they’re down there. The small way that Ekko uses the back of his finger to remove any of her runny makeup. Tracing his fingers along her cheek and cupping her face. Jinx looks at him with half lidded eyes, her hand on his wrist and she just pushes into it a little. She can feel herself getting more tired as the seconds pass, yet she wants to feel this just for another minute, maybe eternity. Being held so gently like she’s something worth protecting.

I think that after Ekko’s fixed Jinx up, they take a long nap. Ekko doesn’t feel it but he’s tired too, Jinx is wrapped up just about to sleep while Ekko claims he has something to do and she just mumbles the quietest “don’t leave me.” And he swears he feels his heart drop. He sits down next to her, and for a moment he contemplates laying down next to her just to look over her resting face. But he doesn’t, instead he sits down next to her, close enough for her to see and touch him. She reaches out for him, “there’s enough room for two people” Ekko’s not even sure what facial expression she had when she said that since he just felt all the heat rush to his head when she said it. He’s tempted to mumble an excuse, but he doesn’t. Instead he repositions himself, they’re facing eachother and she’s in his arms. They’re tired and battered, losing everything except each other. And everything feels like a blur to Ekko, the girl in his arms doesn’t feel real, she seems like she’s going to slip away from him if he blinks, he feels like this moment is going to be lost to him if he closes his eyes. He holds her tight. Her heads pressed against his chest and this is the most closure she’s gotten in months. She doesn’t want him to ever let go.

I don’t think they kiss, I think Ekko tells Jinx about how they were in love in another universe, one where the world is kinder. He tells her how different she is, and Jinx feels like it’s impossible, yet there’s this strange yearning in his eyes when he speaks that makes it real for her. Ekko asks if she would’ve stayed in a universe where everything was better, everyone was alive and happy. (Mostly) and Jinx would shake her head, she wouldn’t trade the moments and people she’s loved here for the world, especially if Isha isn’t seemingly in it, which draws the conversation to Jinx and this little girl who was her world.

“You would’ve loved her y’know? She would’ve loved you.” She says softly, the ache in her tone when she speaks hurts. And Ekko can feel it.

“I bet I would’ve, I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.” He rests as hand on her back.

“It’s not your fault, you’re here now and that’s something right?” Jinx tries to reassure him, and Ekko smiles back.

“And I don’t plan to leave.” He says softly, not like last time.

[bunnys-kisses]

Love ur work btw !

Can I have a

Millionaire shortcake , lemon slice  with tiramisu , blueberry bars served by Fernando Alonso <3

bakery menu

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu! i love working on these kinds of things so i am always open to hear more! show me what you've got! there are tons of things to often off of, so please submit your prompts! <3 (i have fallen into a fernando alonso pit, i will be making this everyone's problem!) - this did get a little away from me <3

millionaire shortcake: "if they saw you now, you'd be the biggest shame to your family." + lemon slice: "i'm sorry, what was that? i can’t hear you over all that noise you’re making." + tiramisu: “my little slut to ruin.” + blueberry bars: “gonna make you a mamma and you're gonna make me a daddy.” served by fernando alonso (formula one)!!

tags: smut/pwp, stroll!reader, driver!reader, nicknames (princess), breeding kink/pregnancy, dirty talk/degrading language, age gap (26/43), baby trapping

lawrence stroll's lovely daughter. quite the looked when fernando caught a glimpse of you, you were cute in the greens of aston matrin. the team your father owned. you were the princess of the track, with pouty lips and eyes that drew poor fernando right in.

he didn't really touch you in an intimate way until your twenty-sixth birthday. you were in your apartment in montreal and at your party, you clung to fernando like a lifeline. after a few hastily made, strong drinks, you were even more clingy. backed up against him in your kitchen. you wobbled beside him and kissed him on the neck.

fernando tried to keep himself composed. but all resolve broke into tiny little pieces when you said the words,

"c'mon, fernny. i want you to fuck me."

now since that first night he took you. he had become a rather frequent visitor to your hotel rooms across the globe. when he invaded you space, he would whisper filth to you. my little slut to ruin. there were more than enough photos of you making needy eyes for your teammate.

aston martin's princess may have found her prince!

will fernando the knight guard his teammate's first championship?

you one time laughed when you saw a rumor blog debating over if you were pregnant or not because of a photo of you and fernando where he accidentally placed his hand on your middle as you were standing there on the curb about to cross the street.

fernando had to admit, he was a little obsessed with you. and while he loved to see the princess ride high with every win. he also loved it when you rode him in the quietness of private rooms. it had been over a year and now in your second season as teammates, you were at your second grand prix. fernando was feeling confident, it didn't hurt that you looked only the sweetest during media day.

it only added fuel to the fire in his belly when you told the press, "well, i consider the spanish grand prix like my second home race!" and gave that winner's smile. maybe if he finished inside of you enough times inside of you, you'll be at least 10% spanish by the time the weekend was over.

he spent the break between interviews fisting his cock in a single stall washroom. he panted as he kept his shirt up and away from his leaky, needy cock. he felt like a teen as his masturbated roughly to mental images of you. call it old age, call it a primal need. but he needed to breed you. he didn't have it when he was married or when he was engaged the second time. but as he saw you in a green sundress in the warm afternoon, speaking very highly over the spanish track, the race and even the country itself. your laugh echoed in his brain as he wondered how nice you'd look with a slight slope to your middle.

fernando's hand on your middle as he shuffled you out of cold montreal and to warmer madrid. he didn't expect you to raise his child in that apartment of yours. not with that leaky tap (that you refused to fix) and how the cold seemed to seep through the walls. - you had all this money and yet you loved vintage things, things with stories. (maybe that was why you loved fernando so much). his home in spain had more than enough room for you and his child. plus, the lack of snow and warmer winters, would be good for you and the baby.

he continued to pleasure himself to thoughts you meeting him at the finish line. not as his teammate, but as his wife. and he knew you weren't stopping at one chubby alonso baby. what sent him over the edge was the thought of you smiling in that sun dress with your hand with your swollen middle. beaming at him, your husband.

he felt driven as he looked at the cum on his hand. he wouldn't waste anymore. he was gonna make you a momma and you were gonna make him a daddy.

he washed his hands and left. his mind working over time to figure out how to get the lovely miss strong and turn her into the beautiful mrs. alonso.

-

turned out fucking you bareback wasn't a hard feat to accomplish. champagne made you horny and your win in spain made you run on a high that let fernando escort you back to your hotel.

he could see your breasts through your team t-shirt and the want went straight to his cock. you leaned up against him and he ushered you into his hotel room. "i'll keep you safe tonight, princess. don't need the paparazzi coming to your door." and you only kissed his scratchy jaw.

you looked at him and giggled, "fernny!!" and pulled him in for a kiss. you moaned with his lips against yours and only giggled more when he pulled you in by the waist.

"do you want me?"

you whined and pressed into him further. you babbled incoherent nonsense as you pawed at his own green shirt.

fernando chuckled, "i'm sorry what was that? i can't hear you over all the noises you're making."

you pouted at your teammate, "c'mon, fernny. you're being a tease! of course i want you. i know you're old, but you're not stupid!" then giggled when he got you onto the bed.

you kicked your sneaked off and wiggled out of your outfit with some trouble. your head and your movements were mixed up, leaving you caught up in your t-shirt. fernando thought you awkward movements were still beautiful. you licked your lips when he took off his hat and t-shirt. you soon saw the tattoo near his hip.

you hated that his tattoos made you soaked.

he stripped naked and his cock only made you stomach flip. he crowded your space once more now on the bed, you were backed against the headboard and fernando grabbed you by the legs till you were up against him. his cock was at full attention, your core clenched at the sight of him. there was a strength to him that excited you. you moaned and fernando eyed your naked body.

"such a pretty princess." he mused. you looked divine. he licked his lips before he pushed you further against the headboard. your legs around his waist. he sank into you and could see the future written in your eyes.

hard to bend over at that point in your pregnancy. but the toys weren't going to pick themselves up. you could hear the patter of feet and look over to see your boys at your legs. three kids in a little over six years was quite the feat. you and fernando wanted a baby girl, but you were on boy three. but you loved them, just like you loved your husband.

fernando felt hot as you took him beautifully. he could easily slot himself into you and he exhaled deeply as he grabbed you a little tighter by the thighs and hiked your hips up further to get the perfect angle. not that his swimmers were in short supply, but he wanted to make sure that nothing was wasted.

he was a man on a mission, he wanted to see you fat with his child. the end of racing and be his wife. it only spurred him on as he moved up against you.

fernando came home and saw you with his sons. the spanish driver loved the sight of you with them. hard to tell you were such a force on the track, a near menace to other drivers. you were so tender with your boys, your middle a little softer, hips a little wider. breasts still tender and larger in a way that made fernando turned on. he knew that he'd get a feel for his wife's soft curves once the boys were in bed.

the thoughts picked up which only made him move faster. his cock throbbed with a heated, healthy want. he got to take your cute pussy and keep it all to himself. not any of these young guns on the track. you wanted mature, older, a stallion. not a show pony. he knew exactly how to make you squirm. plant himself in you and watch you ache for him. he got you even closer to him. he loved it as he continued to fuck you heavily. this was heaven to him, only made more perfect by your beautiful noises.

"you're mine, princess. but you knew that alright. all mine." he groaned as he eyed your beautiful body. more curves that a race track and you fucked like a quick fever. how you moved against him. this was supposed to be a f1 driver, under him and allowing yourself to be used by your older teammate. such a naughty girl.

he shuddered, 'if they saw you now. you'd be the biggest shame to your family."he bullied his cock into your sweet cunt. he could feel that you wanted him. that you needed him. he held onto you tightly and worked your soaked cunt. he curled over you and continued to leave you breathless.

pleasure coursed in your blood as he fucked you. he grasped his shoulders as your body moved with each thrusts of his hips. his cock hit all the right spots. it was like you two were made for one another. he worked you with heavy thrusts. he watched you expressions shift as the pleasure took over. your sweet moans only encouraged him. he wanted to feel you, breed you.

hard to race when the uniform doesn't fit anymore. and the fia wouldn't let a pregnant driver on the track. and even if they did, fernando sure as hell wouldn't let you get into a car that fast. - or at the very least not drive it at speeds that could kill.

he needed you in ways that he never needed another. he made you feel the pleasure through your body. all this time on earth and he had never met anyone else like you. you felt like the world was at his finger tips. he continued his rapid movements and felt the excitement of sexual want with you. he needed you. his little teammate, his little wife. the racing princess. it's alright your kids with him will be racers. strong, just like their mama and papa.

"feels better with no protection, princess. let all of me feel all of you." he groaned. he licked his lips. his cock head nudged against you. he loved the feeling against you. your soaked cunt just kept pulling him in, "the princess, under me. all spread out, needy for me. i love how soft you look." his voice was a low growl as he continued to move. his words filled your mind as your heartbeat increased, "so beautiful." he groaned. you were only going to get more beautiful with his child. baby at your hip while you made dinner. the perfect wife. his pace staggered as the heat moved through you. you panted while he groaned.

your pulse pounded, you felt excitement through your body. you were so exposed to him. all for his taking, you were totally his. he could feel the pleasure in his mouth like familiar wine. better than anything he could ever devour. in between your legs was the finest feast.

"please fernando. please, fuck! you drive me crazy." you gasped, "you don't know how hard it is to focus when i can only think about you!" your words were beautiful and fernando loved it.

"beautiful." he purred.

the moments were erratic, the movements were fast and left you both heavily panting. his pace took the air out of your lungs as he carved himself into you. fernando knew he had you all to himself. now under him and soon at the alter on your wedding day. you held onto him tightly as you came around his cock. your soaked cunt clenched around him and unintentionally leg-locked him. which meant that he couldn't pull out. your body knew that you wanted his baby.

he only bullied his cock further into you. he wanted to gorse himself on you loving sex. he loved the feeling, you really were a princess. and you were all fernando's. a few more heavy thrusts, he finished inside of you. he said a quiet prayer and hoped his boys found a comfy home in your soft womb. no more racing for you miss stroll. he fucked you through his orgasm and it left you so painfully overstimulated. your brain felt blurry as you tried to come back to reality.

fernando finally pulled out and curled up around you. you laid beautifully next to him. his hand graed your middle. he kissed under your ear as the air of the room cooled down. fernando whispered quietly into your ear,

"my princess, i'll always protect you."

-

fernando practically sprinted to you after the victory less than a year later. he was on his knees as soon as he could and kissing your pregnant swell. he held you by the waist and beamed like summer's light. the cameras flashed and you laughed. mr and mrs. fernando alonso, during a new high in his career.

"you did it." you laughed as he got to his feet once more. he held you by the waist and admired your beauty. you leaned to kiss him on the cheek, "you fuckin' did it."

fernando placed a hand on your middle and was so close to you, "only possible because of you, princess."

your belly looked beautiful. the joke around the paddock was that fernando was trying to secure his seat at aston martion by becoming the boss' son-in-law. there also was an air of shock that fernando could ever have a chilf. but the evidence was in the slope of your middle and the slight ache in your back.

he gave you a quick kiss, wanting to make sure you weren't doused in champagne.

fernando's arm eventually was around you once more with a hand on your proud middle. he laughed for the cameras and you admire him with such love, "well, my family is more important than any trophy. they push me to be the best, so i hope that i can win another world championship for them." and then he kissed you on the cheek.

it was quite the shocker when the news came out. especially for your family, both your father and brother wanted to kill fernando for a good while. fernando was quick to propose and promise that he wasn't going anywhere. you were the mother to his child after all. he had to protect you and your baby. that seemed to settle things with your family.

now you were happily married.

as he save you one last kiss in front of the cameras, a promise of what was to come was made in private. you smiled at your husband and he smiled back at you. if you couldn't win this years wdc, then fernando would just have to do it for the both of you <3

[motherismotheringggg]

Hello! Hope you’re having a good day!

I wanted to request something with like Nicholas where maybe he’s sort of the dom but is tied up and telling reader to do things but like she’s also in control cause he can’t touch her and he’s maybe like begging!

No pressure ofc 🫣🫶🏼 I love your writings

command and surrender ⛓️‍💥

summary: this lovely anon request, thanks pookie <3

type: dom!(sub!) nicholas x sub!(dom!) female reader

tags: bondage (m!), oral (m! receiving), dry humping

author’s note: your honor, this user is OBSESSED with whiny nicholas 😭 also this the shortest one i wrote and it’s also a lil cliffhanger teehee

⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥⛓️‍💥

The bathroom mirror reflected the nerves on your face, the warm glow of the vanity lights amplifying every anxious detail. You smoothed your hands down the lacey fabric of your lingerie, the deep black lace hugging every curve perfectly. Normally, you loved how something like this made you feel: confident, sensual, and in control. But tonight was different.

You noticed your fingers trembled slightly as you adjusted the delicate straps on your shoulders. You weren’t usually the type to get nervous before sex—not with Nicholas. Your chemistry had always been electric, effortlessly connected. Even when you pushed the boundaries or steered the rhythm, you were comforted knowing he was always the one holding the reins.

But tonight, Nicholas had asked you to take things a step further.

“I trust you,” he’d said over dinner, his tone steady and deliberate, carrying the same weight as always. The low, romantic light of the restaurant played across his face, sharpening the edges of his jaw, while the deep red wine stained his lips just enough to draw her gaze. He leaned back in his chair, exuding ease, but his eyes never wavered from hers.

“I want you to make me depend on you,” he said, the words deliberate and certain, as if even this, his surrender, was something he commanded.

And now, he was waiting for her on the other side of the bathroom door, hands tied to the headboard.

Your breath hitched at the thought. You’d always been adventurous in the bedroom, more than willing to indulge his fantasies, but this was new territory. With Nicholas restrained, your usual dynamic felt entirely flipped. You could still hear the echo of his teasing words from earlier, his smirk sharp and self-assured.

“Don’t keep me waiting too long, sweetheart,” he called out from the bedroom.

Your excitement swirled with a touch of anxiety as you turned the handle, stepping into the dimly lit space.

Nicholas was exactly where you’d left him. His broad shoulders pressed against the pillows, his wrists bound securely above his head with silk ties. His tight black briefs clung, you could see his dick hardening the moment he laid eyes on you. The lowlights of your room highlighted the lines of his chest and the flex of his biceps as he tested the restraints. His dark eyes were fixed on her, smoldering desire and hunger.

“Finally,” he drawled, his voice thick with anticipation. “I was starting to think you were too nervous to come out.”

Your legs felt a little shaky, but you forced yourself to walk with confidence, your hips swaying just enough to keep his attention fixed on you. Nicholas’s gaze didn’t waver, roaming over every inch of your body, from the delicate straps of your lingerie to the curve of your thighs. His breaths came heavier, the evidence of his arousal unmistakable in the way his briefs strained against him.

You paused at the foot of the bed, striking poses that you knew would drive him crazy. Turning slowly, you let him take in every detail, the lace hugging your body and leaving just enough to the imagination.

A low, guttural sound escaped his throat, somewhere between a groan and a growl, sending a shiver down your spine.

“You like what you see?” you teased, your voice carrying more steadiness than you felt.

His eyes darkened, trailing back up to meet yours, and for a moment, you thought you’d pulled it off. But then he smirked—that damn smirk—and let out a deep chuckle that had your stomach twisting in both nerves and desire.

“You’re nervous,” he said, his voice smooth and dripping with amusement. It wasn’t a question.

Your lips parted to protest, but he shook his head, the silk ties holding his wrists barely restraining the authority in his presence.

“Come here,” he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Get on the bed. Crawl to me the way I like.”

Your breath hitched, heat pooling low in your stomach as you obeyed, the moment thick with anticipation. Placing one knee on the mattress, you moved slowly, deliberately, letting him watch every shift and sway of your body. His sharp breaths filled the room, each one fanning the embers of your confidence.

By the time you reached him, his jaw was tight, his fingers flexing against the restraints as though he could will them to snap just to touch you.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice rough around the edges. “You’re already so good at this.”

You climbed onto his lap, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. Slowly, deliberately, you lowered yourself until you were straddling him, the heat of his body radiating through the thin fabric of your lingerie. His cock, hard and straining against his briefs, pressed against you, and you rolled your hips just enough to feel the friction.

Nicholas’s head tipped back against the pillow, a whimper escaping his lips, low and unrestrained. It wasn’t like him to sound so desperate, and the noise sent a rush of power through you.

“God, you’re killing me,” he groaned, his biceps flexing as he pulled against the silk ties in vain. “I can’t touch you. It’s fucking torture.”

You smirked down at him, leaning forward to let your hands rest lightly on his chest, your fingertips grazing over the firm muscles. “Maybe I like you this way,” you teased, your voice husky and dripping with confidence you weren’t entirely sure you felt.

He laughed softly, though his breaths were coming shorter now. His dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with so much heat it was almost unbearable. “You’re so sexy baby,” he murmured, his voice quieter but no less intense. “And I completely trust you.”

His reassurance steadied you, grounding you in the moment. You ground your hips against him again, watching his lips part as a low groan slipped out.

“I love when you do that,” he said, his tone shifting slightly, taking on that commanding edge you knew so well—even while bound. “When you move like that, you know exactly how good you feel.”

You bit your lip, the praise igniting something in you as he continued.

“And when you put your hands on me,” he went on, his voice dropping an octave. “Like earlier, at dinner, when you touched my thigh under the table? I could’ve pulled you into my lap right there. And when you grab my neck when you’re riding me... Jesus, it drives me insane.”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through you, your movements against him becoming bolder, more intentional.

“Keep going,” you urged softly, your fingers sliding higher up his chest, your nails just barely grazing his skin. You started grinding on him slowly, your hips rocking with a slow methodical motion.

Nicholas struggled to keep his composure, his breaths growing heavier as you continued to grind against him, the slow, deliberate motion sending shivers down both your spines.

“I—I love when you moan into my mouth when we’re making out,” he managed, his voice faltering as your hips rolled against him. “And when you... oh, fuck... when you bite my nipples—”

His words broke off into a deep grunt, the tension in his body visible as he fought to stay coherent. But as your pace increased, his grunts turned into throaty moans, and then into something softer, needier—whimpers that made your stomach clench with satisfaction.

You couldn’t help but revel in the way he was falling apart beneath you. The friction between his hard cock and your throbbing nub was starting to unravel you as well, each roll of your hips sending sparks shooting through your body.

Your hands found their way to his broad shoulders, gripping them as you rode him, steady and commanding. His dark eyes flickered open, glassy with lust as they trailed up to meet yours.

“Choke me,” he rasped, his voice ragged but insistent.

Without hesitation, you obeyed, sliding your hands up to rest lightly around his neck, your thumbs brushing over the edge of his jawline. Slowly, you applied just enough pressure to feel his Adam’s apple bob beneath your palm.

Nicholas’s head tipped back, his lips parting with a guttural groan, but his eyes drifted shut as the sensations overwhelmed him.

“Keep your eyes on me,” you commanded suddenly, surprising yourself with the firm edge in your voice.

His eyelids fluttered open, his pupils blown wide as they locked onto yours. The intensity in his gaze made you feel electrified, completely in control.

“Watch me cum, baby,” you said, your voice sultry and dripping with confidence you hadn’t fully realized you had.

His jaw went slack, his breathing uneven, and his body strained against the silk ties, his need to touch you written all over him. His desperation only spurred you on, your movements growing faster, your body chasing the release building in your core.

You bit your lip, your head tilting back as waves of pleasure began to crash over you. Your eyes fluttered shut, rolling back as the tension in your body finally snapped. A moan escaped your lips, raw and uninhibited, and the sight of you unraveling above him pushed Nicholas closer to his breaking point.

He thrashed beneath you, his muscles taut and straining as if his very being ached to touch you. “Please,” he groaned, his voice rough and desperate. “I need to feel you—let me be inside you.”

Instead of granting his request, you leaned down, capturing his lips in a slow, deep kiss that left him gasping. Your fingers found their way to his face, cradling it as your tongue slid against his in a way that felt more possessive than tender. He moaned into your mouth, the sound sending another shiver through your already sensitive body.

You broke the kiss to trail your lips down the strong line of his jaw, over the stubble on his cheek, and down to his neck. Your teeth grazed the sensitive skin there, biting just hard enough to leave marks—a constellation of your claim on him.

“Be patient,” you murmured against his skin, your voice sultry and commanding.

Nicholas let out a low growl that turned into a whimper as you slid off his lap, the absence of your body leaving him visibly frustrated.

Your hands moved to the waistband of his briefs, your eyes meeting his as you began to peel the fabric down slowly, teasing him with every inch you revealed. His cock sprang free, hard, and flushed, and the way his breath hitched made you smirk.

“You’ve been so good for me, baby,” you whispered, your fingers brushing against him lightly, eliciting another strained groan. You got into an arched position on your knees, “You deserve this.”

His breath hitched as you licked up his shaft, your tongue tracing all circles on his pink tip, licking the precum off, “you taste so good, baby. I love the way you feel in my mouth.”

Nicholas’s mouth hung open in anticipation as you took his full length into your mouth, he let out a deep sigh followed by more whimpering. Usually, he’d rest a hand on the back of your head or wrap his hands around your jaw to face fuck you but now he was powerless.

You found your rhythm, using your hands for added pleasure to really draw out his climax. You took him to the back of your throat a few times and that drove him crazy.

“Fuck baby…you’re so nasty for me,”he grunted, his hips starting to rock to keep up with your motion.

His hips bucked slightly, his body seeking relief he couldn’t fully grasp as his wrists remained tied above him. You tightened your grip on his thighs, steadying him as you took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks and letting him feel every inch of your mouth.

Nicholas’s head pressed back into the headboard, his jaw slack, and his eyes squeezed shut as moans spilled from his lips. “God… you’re perfect,” he groaned, his voice cracking with desperation. “So fucking good at this—at everything.”

The praise spurred you on, and you let your tongue glide along his length, swirling at the tip before taking him back down again. His thighs tensed under your palms, and his breathing became erratic, each gasp and grunt signaling just how close he was.

“Baby, I—I’m gonna…” His voice faltered as he strained against the silk ties, his entire body trembling. “Please, I need to touch you—I need—”

You pulled back for just a moment, your lips swollen and glistening as you looked up at him through your lashes. “You don’t need to do anything but stay right there,” you purred, running your hand along his length in slow, deliberate strokes. “Let me take care of you.”

The sight of you, so confident and in control, sent him spiraling. “Fuck,” he rasped, his voice thick with need. “I love you so fucking much, baby.”

You leaned in, taking him back into your mouth, and this time you didn’t hold back. Your movements quickened, your hands and mouth working together to push him over the edge. His groans turned into a series of sharp, choked whimpers, his body trembling uncontrollably.

“Oh, shit—” he gasped, his hips jerking as his climax hit, the tension in his body snapping all at once. You didn’t stop, letting him ride out every last wave of pleasure, swallowing his release your touch both tender and relentless.

When he finally stilled, his chest heaving and his head lolling back against the pillows, you sat up, wiping your mouth with a satisfied smirk.

“See?” you teased, your voice soft but laced with triumph. “You didn’t need your hands after all.”

Nicholas let out a breathless laugh, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours. The fire in his gaze was far from extinguished. “Untie me,” he said hoarsely, a wicked grin tugging at his lips. “Your turn.”….

[temporarywelcome]

12 Fics of Christmas Day 1 - Peter Maximoff

"The Best Gift"

Words: 1.1k

Summary: Peter wants to get reader a present for Christmas that he earned himself.

WARNINGS: light swearing

Target in the 80s

____

Everyone knew Peter was a huge klepto. 

At first, people assumed it was just because he was an attention whore who craved the interactions that came with his constant thievery. But Y/N was beginning to believe it was just a desire he could not control. 

But then Christmas was rolling around and he made it his mission to get Y/N a present the honorable way. No stealing involved. He wanted to earn the present to give it to her.

The question was… how the hell do you get money? 

“A job?” Alex had deadpanned when Peter complained about his predicament. That had made the speedster gasp in complete horror. A job? Working?

That was downright awful. 

“You walk around a few neighborhoods with an empty can asking for spare change?” Alex had tried again, bored with the conversation. 

“That’s so pathetic,”

Alex had then put down his game controller, giving Peter a look, “Get a friggin job, dude,”

Work? Peter Maximoff? The concept sounded both foreign and terrible. He liked how things were now. He went to school (sometimes), he hung out with his hot girlfriend (all the time), he played video games (also all the time), and he was happy like that. 

The thought of taking up some of his precious time doing labor was awful. Absolutely terrible idea. Peter Maximoff would never be caught working some measly job for some measly paycheck.

Anyway… he got a job at Target. 

And he hated it. 

Scrubbing toilets, cleaning spill ups in different aisles, trying to count change as fast as possible while the customers complained and their babies cried, dealing with angry buyers. He was not meant to deal with the stress. 

Currently, he was re-organizing a shelf that he had just fixed up a few minutes ago, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He suppressed a grimace, turning his head to speak to the customer, “How can I help you-?” he paused, eyes lighting up when he noticed who had touched him. 

Y/N!

“Loving the customer service voice,” she mused, laughing when he threw his arms around her. 

“Save me from this cursed place,” Peter mumbled dramatically into her neck.

Y/N laughed, pulling away to fix his uniform, “Also loving the uniform.” His uniform consisted of a crisp ironed white button down and black tie accompanied by a red vest. Lastly were a pair of navy jeans and his converse, kind of throwing off the professional look. 

“Save meeee,” he repeated, trying to pull her back. 

“You’re the one who wanted a job so suddenly,” she pointed with a playful eye roll, “What was the reason for this again?”

“Um,” he bit his bottom lip, scratching the back of his neck, “I was bored…?”

“Uhuh…” she didn’t believe him at all, but let him be, “You look cute in your uniform,”

Peter blushed, looking down at himself. He thought he looked stupid. “Of course I do. I look cute in everything,” he decided to reply. 

“That you do,” she grinned, cupping his cheeks and giving him a quick kiss, “Take it easy, baby. I’ll see you after your shift ends?” 

“Mhm,” he hummed with a small smile, leaning in for another kiss.

Y/N, being the bully she was, backed away, “You’ll get another after your shift!” he pouted as she skipped off, not running after her. He obviously could catch up to her if he wanted to, but he knew he needed to lock in if he wanted to keep this job and get enough money for her Christmas present. 

So he went back to re-organizing the shelf, using that super speed of his to his advantage. He grinned in victory once he finished (in two seconds), that smile fading as his walkie roared to life.

“Clean up on aisle C37.” 

Stupid shit.

____

It was six a.m. on Christmas day when Y/N had woken up to the sound of knocking on the door to her dorm room. She groaned, pulling her blanket over her head and ignoring the knock.

Which continued. 

“I’m going to kill someone today,” she grumbled, stumbling out of bed and shuffling into her slippers, making her way to the door. She didn’t even bother checking the peephole, opening the door, “What the hell do-?”

“Merry Christmas!” Peter shouted excitedly, beaming at her with a terribly wrapped present in his hands. The wrapping paper was of sharks eating pizza, all crumbled up and almost unnoticeable. There was a bow right on top, and red color that certainly didn't match the wrapping paper choice.

It was adorable.

“For me?” Y/N rasped out, still tired and a bit delirious. She then realized she must look crazy, so she began smoothing down her hair.

Peter nodded, excitement evident in his body language, he was practically buzzing. “Yes! Open open open!” he shoved the gift into her hands.

“Well come inside first,” she laughed quietly, stepping out of the way so he could enter her dorm. He zoomed in, sitting on her bed as he waited for her to open the gift. Y/N took a seat next to him, unwrapping the gift. Inside was a velvet box, which she opened.

A silver necklace, adorned with little diamonds and a pendant. A locket! With a smile, Y/N opened it, eyes brightening seeing a small picture of them together inside. “This is so beautiful, baby, thank you!” 

“I didn't steal it!” He said proudly, “I bought it myself!”

“Really?” She was touched, arms going around him for a hug, “Is that why you were working at Target?”

“Yes,” he hugged her back tightly, “I wanted to work for your gift."

"That's so sweet," she pressed a few kisses to the side of his face, making him giggle. He coughed, trying to hide the sound that just left him.

"I decided to not quit, surprisingly,” he said, trying to change the subject slightly.

“Whoa, really?” Y/N asked in curiosity, “Why?”

Peter shrugged softly, “Thought I could use some responsibility in my life.”

“Who are you and what have you done to my Peter?” Y/N joked, pinching his cheek, “I'm proud of you, baby.” Holding out the box, she asked: “Put it on?”

He nodded enthusiastically, taking the necklace out. Y/N held up her hair as he put the necklace on her, doing the clasp before leaning in and kissing her neck, then shoulder, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Peter,” she smiled, standing up and grabbing a present from her desk, “here,” she held it out, “A gift for my favorite gift,”

He blushed at being referred to as her favorite gift. 

How the hell did he get so lucky?

___

tags: @envy-of-greed @bohnerrific69 let me know if you want to be removed or added

[papasbaseball]

The Wizard x Reader (Wonderful Wonderful Girl)

Pairing: Wizard x F!Reader

Rating: Teen (Rating to Increase)

Warnings: Power Imbalance, Boss/Employee Relationship

Summary: Being a maid in the Royal Palace of Oz is not half so bad. Despite the meager wages, everything else is provided for you for an honest day's work. It can be unnerving working for the most powerful man in Oz, but you are able to avoid him most of the time. This changes during Lurlinemas, your paths soon becoming inextricably intertwined.

Word Count: 2,185

AO3 Link

The chill fights to work its way through me as I dress quickly. Mint blouse, forest green skirt, and olive apron are donned and tightened before the chill can catch me. I curse Esmet, the head butler for not having gotten the heating fixed by now, the cold of the winter month creeping in and savaging the servants' quarters of the Royal Palace like a fatal disease. I'd be happy as soon as I got into the Wizard's quarters, busying about with the other green bees in keeping the apartments in tip shape. There were several old hearths that had remained there through renovations that could have roaring and crackling fires set to them if needed. Until recently, they had been used solely for decorations.

I strip off the socks that I wore to bed and replace them with a new clean pair that was thick and wooly, and of course dyed green. Emily is still sleeping under the thick duvet when I shake her awake.

"Up, up, sleepy head," I say.

Emily grumbles and pulls the duvet around her tighter now that I'm not under it. She had her own bed, but the staff had taken to sharing beds to provide enough comfort to fall asleep as the sun sank the temperature in the palace with it. I can't blame her for wanting to keep warm, but it was better to rip the bandage off and go start the fire than to wallow in the misery. I cross the shared bedroom to her small little cube of a nightstand and pull her uniform out, throwing it on her sleep-wrinkled face. She flinches, but I'm already lacing up my boots.

"You're going to miss breakfast like yesterday if you don't get up and do your chores," I say. That causes her to wake up. All staff were required to complete their basic morning chores if they wanted to be fed. Emily had overslept yesterday and hadn't seen food until lunch.

I leave Emily to it, not wanting to miss out on my own breakfast. Quickly, I take the old wooden stairs up the servants' way to the Wizard's apartments. They hadn't seen fit to replace those with green marble yet, so they remained creaking from their decades of use. Esmet had already set the first fire in the hearth nearby the door, and for that I hate him a little less. I grab mint sheets from a linen closet and head to the main bedroom.

The Wizard had already risen. This was a little-known fact, one that we in his service had been sworn to secrecy. Nobody was supposed to know that the Great Oracle has needs like any other ordinary man, but looking past the need for sheets and warm baths drawn, he is still as wonderful as the day he came to Oz. Esmet had explained it to me when I was finally trusted to be put into his personal service. It was a privilege to serve him in such close proximity, that those who were unworthy became sick from the good that seeped from him and infected everything that he touched. It was also for his protection that most did not know who he truly was.

I lower my eyes when I knock before entering his room. In the first few weeks in his service, I had been terrified that I would catch some hideous illness that would make me break out in a pox exposing my badness to the world, but it never came. Still, I did not chance it, trying to make sure that I never caught sight of him in case the effects took direct contact to show up.

His room smells sweet with incense and a hint of tobacco. I look up briefly before raising my eyes, making sure the coast is clear. Satisfied that he is not present, I set the clean sheets on the emerald velvet bench at the end of the bed and work at stripping yesterday's sheets off of it. They're much softer than ours, the cotton only the highest quality that can be imported from Munchkinland. I think about the rough sheets that I had left Emily sleeping in back in our cold room.

The door creaks open and I hear her voice. "I'm going downstairs for wood," she says. "We're all out up here. Esmet must have used it all."

I go back to stripping the pillowcases, throwing the old linens into a nearby hamper. At least she's up, I think. Once I have the entire bed bare, I turn back to grab the new sheets, only to be met with the sight of him.

Given my fear, I had never actually seen him in person, but I knew what he looked like. His portrait was hung up in various places around the apartment. One painting that I had quite fancied hung in the dining room. In it, he was sat rather crooked in a chair of gold with green upholstery, a man with gray hair coifed in sweeps and a mustache and goatee to match, his hand lazily resting on the head of a tiger that had been posed next to him. I had always admired his bravery, wondering if he was ever for a second scared when posing for the painting. Seeing him now, any bravery that I had immediately fled from me as I cast my eyes back to the floor, giving an apologetic curtsy.

"Your Wonderfulness," I say, moving off towards the laundry basket, out of his way.

"You haven't happened to see my cufflinks?" he asks. I watch as his green wingtips walk into the room right up to the nightstand next to me.

"No, Your Wonderfulness," I say, trying to still the frog that is hopping in my throat. Why is he talking to me!?

"Could you help me look then?" he says. "They're... well they're green with a little..." he searches for the word. "A little gold flower on them."

I immediately go to searching, looking on the dresser. If I were a pair of cufflinks, where would I be? There are so many fine things laid out on his dresser: a golden hairbrush and mirror set, a snuffbox decorated with emerald and gold beetles, a green satin ribbon. No cufflinks.

"I swear I had them this morning," he says. "Should've had him put them on... Any luck over there?"

I turn to face him, eyes still on the floor. "No, Your Wonderfulness," I say.

"Is there something wrong with my face?" he says. It felt like I had swallowed a peach pit of embarrassment, my cheeks pinkening even more than the cold had roughed them up. I can’t find the words to respond to him, biting my tongue in fear that it may also offend him

"Do me a favor and look me in the eye," he says. "It's weird talking to the top of someone's head, no matter how pretty her braids are."

The compliment makes me want to dive into the basket of dirty laundry, never to be seen again, but I raise my eyes to look at him. This is the first day I have ever spoken with him, and somehow in all of his wonderfulness, he finds it fitting to compliment me. He is just like his portraits, but maybe with a few extra wrinkles around the eyes, the pepper that had generously seasoned his hair reduced to a dash. It can't be helped as those paintings must have been several years old. He smiles and again I fight the urge to bury myself in the hamper.

"Such pretty eyes," he says, crossing the room towards me. My heart beats quickly against my breastbone. Somehow this feels wrong, like I'll get in trouble with Esmet if he walks into the room. I remember Emily, who had gone down to get firewood for the hearth in the bedroom and my lips quiver to form words.

"Do you think they might be in the dresser?" I ask. It's sinful, but I don't want her seeing me with the Wizard. She could be a cruel tease when she wanted to be. I had avoided it for the most part, but the poor Munchkin boy that she had bullied when we'd first come to the palace eventually had to be relocated to the kitchen staff with the way he wept at night in the shared bedroom. Who knows what kind of rumors she might spread if she thought I had looked too swooned by him.

"I suppose," he drawls, making a survey of the top of his gilded dresser, humming in thought. His fingers snatch the ribbon between the middle and index and snap it sharply before holding it up to the sunlight. Satisfied with the assessment, he takes it and wraps it around and ties it into a bow amongst the two braids that wrap the crown of my head. "It looks better on you. Got it as a gift from an ambassador and I hadn't a clue what to do with it."

I go to thank him, but he holds a finger up in the air as if remembering something. Pushing his hand into his pocket, he produces two cufflinks: green, just like he said, with little golden flowers on them.

"Would you mind helping me with them?" he asks. I hadn't put on someone's cufflinks since I was 10 – my father's before he had passed away – but I figure that it can't be much different. I remember Emily once more and quickly guide the metal through the starched cotton, trying not to think too much about how I had gone from never seeing the most powerful man in Oz to dressing him in a matter of minutes.

He gives the sleeves a shake, and satisfied with their solidity, squeezes my cheeks with a tsk of the tongue. "There's a good girl," he says.

As quick as he'd entered the room, he left, leaving me with more than a hundred butterflies in my stomach and sweating palms. I head back to the dirty laundry and wipe off my palms on the sheets. There is a rattling of wood on metal and I know that Emily is back with a bucket full of wood. I hurry to the sheets, realizing that they are still not on the bed, just as they had been when Emily had left.

She enters the room as I'm stretching the second corner of the fitted sheet."What a nightmare that was," she says. "Those idiots in receiving hadn't opened up the wood shipment from last night so I had to wait there for them to cut it open. Here's hoping I still get breakfast." She sets the pail down with a clank, quickly chucking rough-hewn blocks of wood and logs onto the metal grate. "What's taking you so long with that bed?"

I sweep over to the other side, my crinoline rustling under my skirt. "There was a hole in the sheet," I lie. She didn't need to know all about how the Wizard had asked me to help him look for his cufflinks and about me helping him to get dressed afterward. I close my eyes as I pull the last corner of the sheet over the mattress and I can still smell the warmth of his cologne from that moment. It reminds me of the rolls that we get for Lurlinemas, with their cloves poking out of the shiny egg-washed crusts.

"I didn't see you with that ribbon earlier this morning," Emily says, pulling a box of matches from the mantle. "It's pretty. Did you get it in town?"

My eyes go wide as I realize that I still have the ribbon fastened around my head. "Oh," I stutter. I wasn't used to making up so many lies this early in the morning. "It's just some old thing I picked up this summer at the markets."

Emily gets a good strike and soon the fire is crackling quickly into a roar. "Well it looks good," she says. "Maybe we could go into town later this week. I need to get some gifts for Lurlinemas."

I was a little surprised that she was considering gifts, considering the price of everything had been crazy lately. Our meals and housing were complimentary with working in the palace, but any kind of extra clothing or goods besides the uniform that was provided at the start of each year was strictly up to each servant. The last time I had been in the markets I'd gawked at the price of 79 pennies for new laces for my boots. I consider objecting to the potential spending spree but hold my tongue. She's been asking too many questions. "Maybe we could go on Saturday?" I say.

Emily agrees to that, and we pass the rest of our day finishing our chores at a leisurely pace to soak up as much warmth as possible, talking of things we want to go do and see in the markets, away from the cold of the palace.

[olgiisworld]

The interview // Choi Seungcheol

summary; you and Seungcheol have been a public couple on the media, both of you big artists, him being the leader of the group named Seventeen. Things have been a little rough lately due to lack of communication. You're invited to talk on a podcast about your recent achievements, but when your personal life is mentioned as a topic, you get bitter, and you don't manage to hide it. But how about the consequences?

Y/n x Seungcheol of Seventeen, genre: angst, frustration and unfairness with a hint of fluff in the end.

Word Count; 4,476 (oopsie)

Warnings; swearing

note; it took me months to finish this (mostly because of loss of inspiration, so you might notice inconsistency), but it's nothing special. Although you might like it :) I'd love to see comments! thank you for your support on my Beomgyu one-shot <3 smoochies ♡

it's been a while i've felt like shit. it's been a while i've felt more welcome to talk to the wall than talking to Seungcheol.

talking to Seungcheol seemed so hard for some reason. all we've been doing is fighting or ignoring each other. and that would be okay, if we didn't have each other's house keys.

it is hard to maintain a relationship that happened to go public, when none of you planned it. both me and Seungcheol being public figures really sat bad, especially with his constant need of privacy.

but it is hard. we can't just not leave the house.

that's mostly the reason we've been fighting.

everyday was a circle.

i return back to his apartment, where we had a silent agreement to meet everyday after work. my body and mind exhausted from all the work i've put in the studio. frustration seeping through my body, because of the disagreements i've had with the rest of my colleagues. concern, pain, fatigue, everything coming together, creating this unpleasant expression on my face. i know i seem cold.

but he just sits there. slumped on his couch. eyes fixed on the familiar black box. he cares enough to say "hey, how's work?", but not enough to ask about how I am. so i just shrug my shoulders and walk past him.

that's my life with my 'oh-so-wanted' boyfriend.

i'm a starved woman.

starved from love, from affection, from tenderness, from touch.

just touch.

his touch.

he hasn't touched me in god knows how long. all i get are dead kisses.

the repetition of each day made me feel angry, frustrated, pained, disappointed. made me feel like i was not worthy of him.

and the worst thing is that i cannot communicate my thoughts with the person i love.

he seems so stressed with his upcoming tour, that giving him one more reason to yell will only break him.

so i suffered in silence.

last week's fight was interesting.

a photo of us shopping together started making its way around social media. Seungcheol hated social media. and we both looked quite miserable in the photos, but i don't know if he noticed.

he yelled at me for not being careful enough.

apparently, i was the reason they saw us and they took those fucking pictures. like i enjoy being on strangers' camera rolls.

and i yelled back.

and we fought.

again.

damn it.

i cried so hard and he didn't even try to comfort me.

he didn't even touch me.

he didn't.

he didn't try to reach out.

he wouldn't even touch my hand by mistake.

i was so fed up.

so fed up of not feeling desired by the only person i loved..

the week passed, the same circle repeating itself.

i started going back to my house after work. Seungcheol didn't even try to ask why. he only said "i get that you might need space".

I am the one who needs the space?

i didn't even argue back. i knew where this was going and i felt like i was finally ready.

today, i had an interview.

nothing huge, just a small podcast. friendly podcast.

i wore comfortable clothes and hid my fatigue behind foundation and blush. i was okay with pretending like everything was fine.

it only broke my heart that people assumed "i am the happiest i've ever been". because people can only make assumptions. people only see the pictures. people only see the smiles, the kisses. or even the fatigue. but, "oh, everything is okay, she's got her man".

but what about Seuncheol?

people saw that he was stressed. people saw that he's probably not happy. people really had the audacity to say "i'm not good enough for him"!

like, fuck they know? they know nothing

and he never said anything. he never addressed those comments.

why?

because he believes that "what people say are bullshit"

but it sounded more like i'm not worth a small clarification.

i grabbed my keys and phone, closed my door and headed to the podcast set up.

everything was really friendly.

Alex, a familiar face of mine, would host the show.

i've happened to meet her before, at after-parties and gatherings, so we had talked before. everything was comfortable.

the podcast started shortly after and the talk was great. we also had a drink and a girls' talk that actually helped me take my mind off of my stress.

at one point, she turned to look at me when i sipped a little of my drink.

"so, um, i just.. i wanted to ask a few things, i know you don't really talk about your personal life, and that's why the questions are quite.. generic? you know.. of course, you can tell me to stop"

i felt some concern wash over me, as to what the consequences of this conversation could be. but i shrugged it off with a soft chuckle as i fixed my posture, leaning a little closer to the microphone.

"no, don't worry about it, shoot"

she smiled and read the notes of her phone, taking a quick sip of her drink as well.

''so, what is it like to be in a relationship?"

she looked at me with a small smile.

and all i could do was huff, trying to find an adequate answer.

i leaned back to the microphone.

"honestly? really hard"

Alex shot an eyebrow up in surprise.

"really? why, girl? is it hard for two great artists to live up to everyone's expectations?''

she chuckled and i just shook my head in thought.

i tried to put my thoughts in a row. it's hard to express everything i feel to someone after being so.. alone.

but i felt frustrated and fed up at the moment.

i fidgeted a little on my seat.

"i don't know.. it's not like there are no hardships in a relationship anyway.. it's just.. you can't find a way out of a hardship without communication, or respect. or understanding. there are many elements that have to balance out the hardships of a relationship, you know? at least that's how i view it"

i shrugged, my implication clear.

Alex caught my glimpse.

she nodded and looked at her phone shortly.

"that is really interesting, but everything can work out with love and patience"

i nodded, my smile a little bitter

"i guess.. i can't really tell you"

she tried to play it off with a small chuckle and i forced a smile

"i know you guys don't talk about your relationship, and privacy request is respected. but, not even posting moments on social media.. that's amazing. i actually admire that. it shows how strong your bond can be."

i chuckled, bitterness lingering on my laugh.

"not really. i wouldn't mind posting a picture or two. privacy is very much needed, but it's not like we have something to hide, or something to be so private about.. anyway, i really don't think it's that serious. but everyone has their own point of view."

she nodded, not wanting to pry on the matter, since she noticed my uneasiness.

she read of her notes again.

"does he inspire you to write?'

the question felt like a stab to the heart.

i couldn't say 'he used to'

and i couldn't say 'no' either

but i didn't want to lie.

i took a deep breath, trying to collect my words. i leaned on the microphone one more time.

"i don't really get inspired by real people.. mostly fictional characters, fictional situations.. nothing real. i used to find material from real life but.. i guess, my style changed"

i shrugged and forced a chuckle, trying to shake the feeling off.

Alex nodded and put a smile on her face.

"alright then, let's move on.."

i let out a breath i didn't even know i was holding. i took a sip of my drink, feeling quite relieved that we moved on from that topic.

the rest of the podcast went great, but i was tired and i couldn't wait for it to end.

as soon as we were done, i shook hands with Alex, she informed me about the slight editing she wanted to do, she thanked me and i thanked her back. she said that the episode would be out by the end of the week. i smiled and thanked her for having me. and i left.

i returned to my miserable apartment. the silence defeaning.

i hadn't seen Seungcheol in a week, but he didn't really seem to care.

i just left my shoes and coat next to the couch. i had lost my appetite completely.

i sat on the couch and took my phone in my hand.

i checked some of my messages and i saw Seungcheol's name among the notifications.

'Hey, is everything okay'

again.

not how I am. not if I am okay.

he really didn't give a damn about me.

i texted back a 'fine, no worries' and threw my phone at the end of the couch.

i started crying.

the only thing that comforted me was the sound of my own crying.

i hugged my arms around me and fell back on the couch. i was lost. i needed navigation. and he couldn't fucking give it to me.

[...]

Friday.

i headed back to my car after a long exhausting session at the studio. once i fastened my seatbelt, i grabbed my phone to check on some missed calls. a notification came in, saying that my podcast with Alex was out. i smiled excitedly, and turned it on to listen on my way back home. i texted her shortly and i threw my phone next to my driver's seat. i just concentrated on the road, the podcast being a pleasant background sound.

the drive back home was short, sadly. i just picked up my stuff, my phone still playing the podcast, as i walked back to my door.

i walked in, throwing my stuff on the couch, taking off my shoes and running to the kitchen, to grab some water.

when i walked in, i saw Seungcheol leaned against the counter, arms crossed on his chest, expression serious to mad.

my whole face went white when i saw him.

"fuck! you scared me.. what are you doing here?"

i was so shocked he was in my kitchen, probably more than i should, considering that he is my boyfriend.

he took a deep breath before i heard his voice.

"what the fuck? seriously. you're the one who's shocked here."

i looked around, confused by his words. i shrugged my shoulders.

"i guess.. i don't usually find you hiding in my house.. especially after not seeing you for a whole week.."

he scoffed. he didn't leave me any room for reaction.

"and you haven't even tried to reach out for a whole week.. but i guess, that's okay. relationships don't work without communication, like you said."

his words confused me even more.

i realized that what he quoted were my words on Alex's podcast. Now everything made sense.

i walked a little closer.

''are you seriously mad about this bullshit?''

his eyes widened

"bullshit? you say that calling me out is bullshit? telling EVEYONE how you feel, except from me, bullshit?''

my own eyes widened at his words

"what?"

his lips narrowed down, his madness more visible.

"what do you fucking mean with what? you literally let every fucking idiot know what's going on between us!"

he yelled

i looked at him in shock before processing to react with a scoff

"are you serious? what, how? by telling people that i'm having hardships in my relationship?"

he took a step closer

"you could have told me! me! not everyone! making everyone believe that we suffer!"

my head tilted in pure curiosity.

"which.. we don't?''

i asked, so simply.

he looked at me, his fingers running through his hair.

"that's not the point, the point is that you let everyone-"

i couldn't bear to listen so i yelled back

"i thought you didn't give a shit about what everyone thinks! you're such a hypocrite!"

he looked at me in shock

his eyes filled with disappointment.

"you literally implied that i don't love you."

my own eyes filled with anger and hurt.

"what do you fucking mean? you mean to tell me that i'm wrong? that everything is fine? that we don't fight every single time we try to talk? that we communicate just perfectly? that you don't ignore me? that you don't act like i am a stranger? no, i'm sorry, my mistake. you would touch a stranger, even if it was a fucking accident!"

he stayed there, in front of me, his face emotionless. he just heard what i said. or dogded my words, either way, he reacted the same.

"you implied that i don't fucking love you."

at this point, i felt helpless. fed up. rock-bottom. i just shook my head and let my tears slip from my eyes.

"Seungcheol, you don't love me. and i don't care. i have accepted it."

he cracked a hint of emotion, as he lightly flinched

"what are you even saying?"

i wiped my tears quickly.

"that you're a coward. that's what i'm saying."

he took a step closer, tilting his head confused.

"how am I a coward? you're the one who went and told everyone what we're going through! and you didn't even bother to tell ME something!"

i couldn't listen, i couldn't just stand there and listen.

I let out a cynical chuckle.

"and I thought you didn't even bother to watch my interviews.. guess i'm wrong"

I wiped my tears.

he seemed even more mad.

"of course I watch your stuff, but even if I didn't want to, everyone has been sending me this stupid podcast since it came out! everyone found a chance to make fun of me!"

i replied with the same anger.

"well, sorry, but you had to take a taste of your own medicine! do you even know what people say about us online?! do you? do you know what it's like to read that I'm not good enough for you, that I don't deserve you? do you even know how everyone fucking praises you, but all of them downgrade me? do you, Seungcheol? I've been living like this for the past 1 year and I never, ever complained to you about it. Because you always kept saying that YOU don't give a fuck about what people say! so fuck you, Cheol!"

my tears were running like a river at this point, but the mad expression on his face was driving me insane. his eyebrows relaxed a bit.

I made a move to leave, not wanting to have another fight. but, something I wouldn't expect, he grabbed my wrist and stopped me.

i pulled my hand away.

"no! don't you fucking dare touch me now! I've had enough! enough! you hear me? you're so cheap! you're embarrassed that everyone knows about your relationship not working, but you don't even care enough to fix this mess! fucking coward.."

he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, before he grabbed my wrist again.

he pulled me closer.

"I'm not a coward! I'm just.. stressed! really fucking stressed! and I know that you don't care-"

I stopped him.

"i don't care? I don't care?! are you stupid?!"

he tightened his grip on my wrist.

"how do you care?! you care and you don't even call me for a week? you care, but you don't tell me what's bothering you? instead, you go and talk about our problems in a podcast?"

i took a deep breath and looked at him, trying to remain calm.

"do you understand that it's easier to talk to the wall than it is talking to you?"

he swallowed down my words.

"what the fuck, y/n?"

i let out a deep breath.

i was on the verge of a mental breakdown, feeling like this conversation is the repetition of pointless yelling and arguments that were better understood by a wall.

i just shook my head, my expression full of disappointment.

"Seungcheol, i can't do this anymore."

his expression softened and he let go of my wrist, pulling his own hand back hesitantly.

his voice almost scared.

"what do you mean?"

i sighed softly, not able to hold back anymore. it was now or never. and i, unlike him, was not a coward. it was time to finally do it.

"it's not working... it can't.. it can't work... between us.."

my expectations were simple. him getting sad and disappointed or him not even caring enough to have a reaction. i surely not expected him to get mad at me, like he did.

"and you call me a coward?"

i looked at him confused. i didn't even find the chance to talk before he interrupted me.

"you're telling me that it's easier to talk to a wall, you go all out about me in a podcast, you don't text, you don't call, you don't care. and now you're breaking up with me? so, you actually don't love me."

i heard his words carefully before rolling my eyes in frustration, my reaction getting him more mad and he threw his hands in the air.

"love is not enough to hold a whole relationship up, okay-"

he yelled back, interrupting me.

"bullshit! and you know it! i love you, and i don't care if you can't see it, i care that i feel it though!"

my eyes widened slightly in shock but i managed to yell back.

"why don't you touch me?! why do you ignore me?! what have i done to you, how can you say that you love me?!"

he looked at me, his eyes mirroring the same frustration as mine did. but there was something else. the frustration was not towards me, it was towards himself.

"I don't know! i don't know! i don't know..."

his voice softened at the last 'i don't know', and i remained silent since he seemed to have a lot more to say. he let out a small sigh.

"I've been really really really stressed. really stressed. we're on the verge of canceling a world tour, our manager keeps telling us that he wants to quit, and we've lost a lot of money because of a merch company that happened to be frauds."

my mouth opened in shock at his confession.

Seungcheol never told me about any of these.

i was trying to find a reaction but i couldn't find it. so he talked instead.

"and you breaking up with me is the cherry on top. i know that i can't defend myself, and i won't sound pathetic enough to beg you to stay. if you want to leave me, it's fine. for you. i can't tie you down anyway."

his voice came out small, weak, pathetic, like he was scared to be perceived.

i managed to get my voice out.

"why didn't you say anything?"

he looked into my eyes, dead serious as he quoted me.

"do you understand that it's easier to talk to the wall than it is talking to you?"

i clenched my jaw, feeling anger instead of sympathy building up. i hit his chest, without thinking much, but he didn't even flinch. his eyes simply pierced through me.

"you're not capable of even admitting that you need me? really? i hate you!"

i felt fed up with my own self, pathetic with how miserable i was and felt. i was sad. my whole life was sad. i built a whole career that seemed to be drowning me. and my words didn't even shake his poker face.

tears streamed down my face and i couldn't control my sobs. even if i sounded pathetic, at least i was honest to my feelings.

i knew i was the reason we couldn't communicate now that we found a chance, but i was feeling too depressed to even try it.

there had been many chances in the past, and since nothing worked, this wouldn't work either. i simply cried.

he looked down for a moment, the straight line of his lips unwavering. he took a deep breath, sighing softly through his nose. i put a few strands of my hair behind my ear, while my tears were falling down like a waterfall.

i wiped as many as i could.

i knew that nothing could shake or top the tension my three simple words just created.

or at least that's what i thought, before he grabbed my chin and he kissed me.

my crying eyes opened in shock, his hand holding my lips close as his other arm creeped around me, pulling me into his embrace. the shock wouldn't let me kiss back, and i felt like he used my vulnerability to his advantage.

i felt frustrated, confused, and i pulled my head back since he held me close by my waist, trapping my hands on his chest, the feeling both new and familiar.

"i said i hate you!"

"oh shut up.."

he simply replied before pulling me back into a kiss, a hundred times more passionate than the first one. it was the first time in months that he kissed me with so much emotion. i could feel it. i could feel that he meant it. his other arm wrapped around me as well and he held me close, months after our last hug. and his embrace was so warm and nostalgic. my mind drifted to the memories of our first dates and my lips started moving against his, by instict.

my hands gently tugged on his shirt, the tears in my eyes stopping.

i felt warm.

and i hadn't felt warm like this since forever.

he kissed me with so much meaning and passion, like i would disappear if he'd let go..

after a moment, his lips moved to my jawline, placing gentle kisses along the line of it towards the spot below my ear. he placed soft kisses on my neck and his hands moved up and down my back, touching me gently. re-exploring me.

opening old wounds.

my breath became a little heavier as my mind traveled with his touch. the feeling was so new, yet so familiar to me.

i wasn't sure of what to say, how to talk.

he touched me after god knows how long.

i heard his voice, his breath tingling my neck.

"i'm so stupid.."

he simply said, but i didn't have an answer. not an an argument. he placed soft kisses on my neck, his hands traveling down my body.

"i need you so bad.. i need all of you.. in my life, forever, and right now.."

he whispered, sending chills down my spine. i haven't heard him talk like that, probably never.

"i need you right now, i love you.. i love you so much.."

he kissed my lips, his words felt like heavy prayers.

i looked into his eyes, feeling the vulnerability reaching the ceiling.

he kissed my face gently, placing a strand of hair behind my ear before cupping my cheek.

"you're the only tranquilizer i'll ever need.. i'm so sorry for never seeing it.."

he kissed my lips gently again.

i was so lost that words wouldn't even dare to come out my mouth.

but he didn't expect anything from me. he simply poured his heart out, like he hadn't done in months.

"i've been so stressed out and closed off that i didn't realize what i was doing to the only person that could help me."

his hands explored my body like he was searching for undiscovered spots.

my mouth formed a soft pout, my eyes glistening.

he pressed another soft kiss on my pout.

"baby, i'm sorry. i love you. and i'm a dick that doesn't deserve you. and i know it. i'll respect your choice to leave me."

he pressed a kiss on my cheek like a final goodbye and he softly unwrapped his arms from my body, but my hands grabbed them, almost like an instict, and i wrapped them around me again.

i kissed his lips a little more aggressively than expected by the both of us actually, and my hands cupped his cheeks. he kissed me back, without restraints.

my hands ran through his hair, softly tugging on his locks.

i broke the kiss for a breath and i talked.

"you're so stupid"

he nodded quickly, feeling breathless.

"yes, i am"

i kissed him again and i mumbled against his lips

"so stupid"

he moved his lips with more hunger as he repeated

"so so stupid"

i pulled back briefly, my chest carrying my heavy breaths, my fingers tracing the softness of his hair, his skin, leaving fire to their wake. my eyes locked in his.

i shook my head gently, processing the overwhelming emotion in my heart. i finally managed to express it.

"i love you, but you hurt me so bad"

i saw his face twisting with guilt. i knew he wasn't in a better position with all the stress he carried, but Seungcheol never meant harm. he was always a good guy. that doesn't justify his actions and i knew that, but i felt every crumb of love for him resurrecting, just because of his touch.

he spoke softly, his hands gripping on my skin.

"i'm so sorry.. i'm so so sorry.. i'll respect it if you want to leave me.."

i covered his mouth quickly, his eyes looking into mine with surpise. i sniffled softly before talking.

"i won't leave, you idiot"

he pulled my hand down, his expression more surprised and confused.

"but why?"

i sniffled again, a hint of smile that hasn't appeared on my face in months made its way on my lips.

"because i've made a mental promise to myself. i'm always by your side when you need me."

his expression turned into a melted one, his lips finding my cheek and leaving a couple of soft, loving kisses.

"i love you. i'm so sorry.''

he spoke softly, resting his forehead in mine.

i sighed softly through my nose, my emotions twirling inside of me like crazy.

"i love you too."

i added, and i closed my eyes.

he did the same.

at that time, everything felt a little more sure than usual. i clinged to that hint of hope he expressed through his words of affirmation.

my hand caressed his back softly.

why does every relationship have to go through a rough patch that leaves a part of you dead right after? you know it won't be the same. the only thing that gives you hope is the love inside you that can't die down. and i felt it, in his hug. i felt a little more sure.

[starrycassi]

Snippet of my jayvik works for silco au.

This is sevika mildly trying to give Viktor relationship advice. In her own way.

"He's… decent looking. Tan. Got some bulk. Tall. I could see it, I guess. Probably. If I squint.” Sevika tells him, which is crazy, because they sort of look alike. Viktor, however, isn't actually that eager for the embrace of death, and will not be telling her that.

Jayce, in the middle of the room, laughs at something someone said. The music is loud enough that Viktor does not have to worry about his lab partner overhearing their conversation, they're far enough for him to hear Sevika’s words without her having to raise her voice too much.

The corner table they're in is his favorite table in the place for that very reason. The sound reverberates off the top of the walls, sound waves bouncing back and forth. There's a speaker over their heads, facing the middle of the room. Its sound doesn't reach them with the same intensity, not if they both sit as close to the wall as possible. He can almost feel the thumping drums right over his head. Sevika appreciates being able to watched the rest of the room without having to worry about her back.

“You're insane.” He tells her, hand shaking slightly. Jayce picks up a shot from a passing waiter, skin glistening under the neon lights. He throws his head back with another cackle, shiny, almost canine teeth showing in a cocky smile. The stretch leaves his neck bare for everyone to witness, and witness they do. Viktor feels the lust that fills some of the faces in the crowd, feels the way some eyes linger far longer that they should.

The shot goes down smoothly, except for the one droplet that escapes his lips. It slides down from the corner of his mouth to his beard, where his partner finally wipes it away with the back of his hand in a quick motion. Jayce's hair is long enough to brush against his cheekbones, and Viktor feels like tugging on it for the rest of the night. Oh, what a glorious night it could be.

A pair of fingers snaps in front of his eyes. He frowns, angry at the interruption. “Staring makes you look pathetic. Makes me look pathetic, by association.”

“It’s not my fault you've no taste, woman.”

Sevika groans, rolling her eyes. Jayce is dancing with an unknown girl. She's got pink skin and cheeks that gets pinker every passing second. Jayce spins her around. She giggles the whole time, batting blue eyelashes at him.

“You're making your own life way more difficult than it needs to be, boy. Fucking women isn't this complicated.”

"You only say that because you pay for the women you fuck. The brothel will get you a special room, at this rate."

"I'm sure there's no woman that would touch you with a teen foot pole. Not for all the world in the world."

Jayce leans down. Pink Girl smiles, leaning in. Jayce, who is an idiot in anything that doesn't concern equations, fixes her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear. He goes back to dancing. She follows.

“I don't get you. He's just another loud dog. You've been successfully bringing men like him around for years, and you're getting cold feet now? Don't give me that look. The walls are not that thick and you always get the vocal ones. Do whatever it is you do usually, flash him a nipple or something, and get it over with. Can't be that hard.”

Pink Girl is very clearly trying to be brave. Jayce is very clearly trying to fix her bra. It keeps slipping down.

“He's a piltie.” She continues, spitting the word with all the vitriol a person can manage while slightly inebriated. She glances over at the duo, narrowing her eyes. “And fucking clueless. Glenda right there is practically throwing herself at him. With that combo? I bet he's never even give his first kiss.”

“How do you know her name?”

“Well, how do you think, eh?” Sevika lifts up an eyebrow, faint smirk growing in her lips. Viktor decides that he's heard enough.

“Whatever. And he has kissed someone.”

“And how do you know that?”

Turns out, Sevika doesn't quite like it when one imitates her answers.

She gets up with a disgusted look on her already unwelcoming features, goes to Jayce and physically shoves him away, elbowing him in the ribs. Glenda seems to forget about Jayce's existence, and let's Sevika take her by the waist. They grind against each other for less than five minute before disappearing into one of the rented rooms.

Jayce, apparently, decides that it is an amazing moment to come over and talk. Viktor makes sure to remember that they do have a job to do. Work. Science. Together. They're coworkers. Colleagues. Co-creators. Partners in the lab.

Jayce's half-open shirt doesn't really help his cause.

.

“This is ridiculous.”

Sevika seems to think that this is Viktor's and hers crush on Jayce. When they met, Viktor never took her for the noisy type. Then he turned sixteen and she decided that he was ‘adult enough’ to complain to.

“You are ridiculous.”

“Greatest genius of Zaun. Can't even think of *one* decent comeback when the mutt is near. And you're telling me you two spend the whole day alone, in a laboratory, building weapons for our people to use? Amazing.”

Offended, Viktor huffs, burying himself deeper onto the couch.

“Our inventions are absolutely flawless, I will have you know. You arm is one of them. Haven't had any complains, now, have you?”

“The color is ugly.”

He flips her off.

They're in Jinx's… room. Lair. Playground. Whatever this gigantic fan is for her. Jayce, Silco and the kid are having a Very Serious Tea Party. Viktor isn't quite sure *what* part of his contract covers for this as company time. He doesn't actually have a contract, but, still.

Jayce is wearing a bright-blue, hastily applied lipstick. He's got sloppily applied pink, glittery eyeshadow. His hair is up in the two most asymmetrical pigtails ever.

He's crouched down, ass barely fitting into the chairs. He chuckles lowly, covering his lips with his hand. The teacup is a miniscule thing on his hands. Calmly, he grabs a sugar cookie and bites in. Silco also got the kid real cookies and tea to play with.

“- so just fuck him, get it out of your system. Trying to tame your dick will just leave you with a desperate dick and a lot of frustration. As soon as you stop denying it and actually- are you even fucking listening to me?”

Jayce rarely actually laughs, these days. He's a great pretender, but Viktor is an even better skeptic. The dry chuckles and pretentious giggles don't say him, neither do the over-the-top roars of noise he lets out in public. This time, the corners of his eyes shrink, his shoulders shake, his face lights up, he laughs. A million sparks are born and die on Viktor's chest. There's something even worse than butterflies gnawing at his heart. It's not lust. He wishes it was lust. It's a horrible, sickening thing. One that makes Viktor want to hear him do that for the rest of their lives. Oh, what a wonderful life that would be.

Jinx must say something actually funny, for once, because Jayce's laugh reaches all the way to where Sevika and him are retreated, Viktor arguing for pain in his leg and Sevika offering oh so kindly to take care of him.

Sevika is glaring at him. He should look at her. Say something. Anything. Whatever.

Whatever expression he's making must be tremendously obvious, because Sevika freezes, a slow, horrified look creeps in her face. It would be funny, if that look didn't reflect Viktor's exact feelings on the matter.

“Oh. Oh. Ohhhh, fuck.” She says, very eloquently.

“Oh, fuck, indeed.” He answers back. "So, Glenda?"

"She's good at what she does. Don't change the topic. Oh, you're fucked. This is so funny. You're absolutely fucked. I know there's at least three boys out there being avenged with this whole situation."

He can't even disagree with her.

[lesabear]

Thoughts on Veilguard

TLDR: If empty calories were a video game it would be Dragon Age: The Veilguard. The game is a pleasant enough - if generic and unremarkable - action RPG that basically abandons the themes and feel of the previous games, resulting in a bland story that largely avoids dealing with anything that might remotely cause conflict in the party or force the player to consider anything other than surface level good-bad morality.

If this is the direction they're taking DA, then I think I'm done with the franchise. If I wanted a generic, thematically uninteresting, action RPG there are so many other games to play.

Spoilers in my detailed thoughts below

The good:

It looks very nice - I wish I could have spent even more time exploring the world areas.

Very few bugs or technical issues unlike Andromeda (or most new games in general). I had a few minor issues near the end but overall was very impressed.

Manfred and Assan are great secondary companions. If anyone knows where to find a skeleton and/or griffon friend please let me know.

I quite like Emmerich, Davrin and Bellara and romanced the latter two and (Generally) really liked both. Disclaimer: I tend to have different tastes than the majority of DA fandom when it comes to romances. I expected to have mixed feelings on Bellara because of my issues with Bioware and their cutesy awkward naive/inexperienced female characters but I thought they (mostly) got her right.

Some interesting lore stuff, though I quibble with how it was delivered at times. Still was fun to get a lot more info on the Evanuris, Solas, Mythal, the Titans, etc. And there's also some fun lore stuff in the codices, although again I question whether that's the best way to deliver them.

The final mission is a lot of fun and the clear standout quest other than Weisshaupt maybe. Both are a lot of fun and combine multiple story elements with good gameplay for a satisfying experience.

Combat is engaging although it does get repetitive once you "solve" it. I did a lot of grinding to complete content though so that might be my fault.

Solas is very Solas-y in the game and the highlight of the antagonists by far. I wish there had been more of him and I say that as someone who finds the Solas fandom somewhat exhausting at times. He was far more interesting and compelling than the "even-worse" gods and the fact he's a fuck up who keeps making things worse because he's an egotistical fuck-up who thinks he's the only one that can fix things was is both tragic and fun.

Neve-Lucanis and Taash-Harding are both very cute. I actually think they might be my favorite companion romances off the top of my head (Tali-Garrus does absolutely nothing for me, and I don't even romance either character with my Shepard).

The not good

Why is the Inquisitor wearing pajamas.

Bioware can fuck off for making me pop about a zillion blight pimples. It's really not that much fun after the first 1000

Extremely disappointed with how sanitized the narrative is. There's little attention paid to major facets of the DA universe that are directly relevant to the plot (religion, Tevinter slavery, racism toward elves etc.) and you also get stuff like the Crows now being far lighter of an organization than they were previously.

Just as an example - both Davrin and Bellara touch on what it means to have their gods be the villains but they're just topics for conversation and there's no meaningful impact (especially as the bad guys rely on Antaam and Venatori forces - oh and generic mercenaries). The Dalish are just there (or victims of the bad guys) for the most part. I've read comments from Bioware that confirm this but it seemed obvious Bioware wrote themselves into a corner with making Elven gods be the main antagonists, as you then run into the issue of having the elves not only already be a persecuted minority but also be worshipping evil gods - but instead of writing around it they just avoided dealing with it and acted like it's just the Dalish getting a big win by not joining them.

Speaking of enemies, lots of bland dialogue from the non-Solas big bads. And the Venatori/Antaam/mercenaries gave off major "Cerberus in ME3" vibes - nameless, faceless goons thrown at you in waves that got very boring very quickly.

The way a companion gets hardened because of a choice early in the game is mostly meaningless unless you wanted to romance them. People getting mad about that happening are being ridiculous - if anything the game is too afraid (as usual) to have it actual matter beyond them briefly being upset before moving on.

One of the big choices is to decide whether to protect Treviso or Minrathous when both are attacked by dragons, but it happens so early you might lock yourself out of quests without realizing it. Worse, the ensuing mission is incredibly short and boring (basically a couple of packs of generic enemies and then a very brief dragon fight)

Why is the Inqusitor wearing pajamas.

Why can't I be a mean/"bad" Rook? Even the jokey responses feel super tame compared to previous DAs (let alone the borderline assholish purple hawke). Basically you're only allowed to be slightly different variations of a heroic figure.

While the companions are all nice they all top out at "I like them", with none matching the story or emotional peaks of previous Bioware games. Emmerich comes closest (especially if you account for Manfred) but there's just enough meat to him.

Disappointing romances compared to previous Bioware games(especially but not limited to Lucanis.). Not a ton of depth dialogue wise and at times it feels like they put more time into the companion romance than the Rook version (this time I am definitely talking about Lucanis).

Speaking of which, Lucanis was the biggest disappointment of the companions. I didn't want a Zevran clone but you have a hardened assassin possessed by a demon who (if you choose not to save Treviso, which cuts off a lot of his content) just drinks coffee and likes Neve and uh....

Completely forgettable soundtrack which is a major bummer after previous installments. Also, while I didn't have many technical issues, the music not always playing was one of them (although maybe it doesn't really matter given the lack of quality!)

Bad to horrendous incorporation of previous DA story which was also incongruous with the general tone, especially with the handling of the Inquisitor and the treatment of southern Thedas (especially if you get the Emmerich and Harding picnic conversation at an awkward time like I did.)

Lots of disappointing cameos but especially from my Pirate Queen/Wife from DA2. Isabela's hat is indeed very nice but what is that outfit? And I get they didn't want to deal with too complex a world state but man was it a bummer to see her basically reset after everything her and Hawke went through in my main DA2 playthrough.

Why is the Inquisitor wearing pajamas.

What did they do with Harding? Why did she basically get Dagna's story, even if Titan lore is interesting? She's such a nothing character in this game which is such a weird choice given that she's clearly there because they know fans like her.

The "Actually Varric was dead all along" did nothing for me. He barely shows up in game anyway and the weird framing of every appearance and the fact no one other than Rook ever interacts with him gave it away (at least partially)

[wat-zu]

Absolutely love your art. I want to nom it.

Also, Hollow Heads Siblings my beloveds,,,

Theyre the doomed siblings ever its not even funny

[orchideae]

I have so very much to catch up on, my sincerest apologies, seriously— there's been mental madness going on behind the scenes, including this weekend. Please, let December be the month where normality starts and stays.

And on a more IC note, I often talk about solitude and isolation (and its origins in a very specific kind of loneliness) that is chosen and accepted, but I don't know if I ever talk about what that looks like exactly, and why, quite frankly, it's a little... for lack of a better word, concerning. Do me a favor, if you're in Genshin, turn your clock to nighttime, then go out into any of the cities, villages, camps, footholds and look up, no matter the nation you're in. How many characters are able to do that, and see a night sky that is nothing but void of any and all bounds and limitations? How many of them see that endless array of stars that illuminate it, and how many feel the cool fresh air that tickles their skin? For many, they can leave the four walls that house them, and experience that sight and sensation, because all of us to an extent, crave that. And honestly, so can Yelan— but she also, if not more often so, chooses to see something else. And the unusual concept of choosing that, is a driving force to my decisions for her and why I deem them so incredibly important: it's about the state of mind, it's about the mental that drives her.

On many days and nights especially, this is what she sees, and this is only if she doesn't descend further into the Chasm (which we know that she does), closer to the Abyss and to the Celestial nail itself that rests at its heart. And yes, it is beautiful in its own way, a pathway illuminated by the light of the moon and the nail, but it's also a cruel reminder of just how far the surface, and humans that live there (that she is by all accounts a part of, of course), are. But then, when she returns her gaze to the ground, her surroundings are void of light and dare I say, void of hope. The Chasm isn't just one of the places where you can get the closest to the Abyss, but it also consists of ruins of more than just one civilization. We see glimpses of Khaenri'ah (which we explore more closely through Dain's quest), but we know there is 'fauna' down there, even deeper, that is referenced as belonging to an even more ancient civilization that predated it. The Chasm is surrounded by reminders of death, ruin, and in that, it feels as if it's the direct foil of the world above it. The Chasm was almost the end of Liyue five-hundred years ago during the fall of Khaenri'ah, just as it had, apparently, once been to a civilization before it (please remember, the impact of the meteorite/fallen star that created the Chasm occurred roughly 6000 years ago), and its creatures wouldn't have stopped at its borders. The Chasm is the engulfing darkness in direct opposition to the light of life overhead, and the hope that humanity holds in the palms of its hands. It's dark, it's grim, and it's cold in more ways than one (See one, two, three, four).

And this place is a choice that Yelan makes to venture to and stay in, yes, yet calling it a choice is where it gets so interesting. Once upon a time, long before she got her vision, she was part of a team that surveyed the surroundings of the Chasm, and like many others before them that have descended into it, all members of this team, excluding her, died. The circumstances aren't clear, but following Yelan's line to Ning, I'm lead to believe that the Chasm's surroundings, which are all rather clearly threats to non-vision holders in specific (which Yelan also was at the time), were directly responsible for their demise. I'll note my hypothesis on what could have happened to them in a different post in the future, as I don't want to go far off-topic, but despite having likely witnessed what occurred to them, seeing the ruins of the Chasm, the threat of the Abyss and barely understanding what the Abyss even is, she continues to venture down there because the possibility of what could happen to the people of Liyue, is more important than her own existence and/or survival. And this bears even more weight following the events of Perilous Trail part 2, where she witnessed just how much the Chasm is capable of. Is this walking engima of a woman also drawn to equal or greater mystery than herself, much like a moth to a flame? I think that's part of it, but I definitely think it's infinitely more multi-layered.

Mostly, I think that this plays into the heart of what Fontaine has shown us that 'hydro' seems to represent: it's not merely a sense of responsibility (and/or justice) or selflessness, but a semblance of self-sacrifice either during the duration of one's life or at its end, either literally or figuratively. But keeping that in mind, what I really want to shine a spotlight on, is what kind of self-sacrifice seems to be the case with Yelan, and the way in which she seems to not just be at peace with it, but has truly accepted it almost as something akin to normality. And more importantly, note how this isn't normal behavior. An acceptance of solitude in such depressing surroundings is incredibly saddening, because it's not something that we ever crave by any means or should ever come to crave. Any regular individual, even most vision-holders surely, would find what she does insane to some extent. And yet, she walks the depths of the Chasm, of all places, with a similar routine as a Millelith guard patrols the outskirts of the harbor. Regardless of her clear reason for it— god, I have difficulty explaining what I'm trying to say; how does someone get to a point where they no longer do something so depressing out of necessity, but because it's... normal? That's her. The Chasm isn't... as eerie to her as it is to others, even if she knows better than most what these surroundings are; the Chasm it isn't as dangerous, even if she knows that it is and it's why she's there in the first place, to her as it is to others. Perhaps it's simply an acceptance that regardless of its dangers, that her fate lies in those depths as it did for her ancestors, that the Chasm's ruins will include her own legacy one day. But again, how does one come to terms with that? How do you come to make the decision that you will sacrifice yourself for others, especially when it means resigning yourself to a place like the Chasm, a place that is home to a pathway to the Abyss, which inherently holds the power to drive mortals to madness and death. Many wouldn't do this, or rather, many couldn't do this, not until they had no other choice and even then, think of Boyang, and even Bosacius, granted the latter had lost his mind by then. And that's where I think she's unique, because she technically has a choice, unlike individuals like Xiao whose... direct 'responsibility' and contract it is to do what he does. She could walk away tomorrow if she willed it, but she doesn't. Yes, responsibility plays into it, but the Chasm really hits differently when you tie it into that.

Now, I do need to note that I firmly stand against any believe that she a death wish or is thoroughly depressed. She isn't going down there over and over because she seeks an end to her life in some way or because she believes her life to be worthless. Quite the contrary, actually, and one could argue that the reasoning for that lies with her survivor's guilt. But all in all, before I get sidetracked again: Yelan embraces solitude to a rather extreme extent, and yet she doesn't seem to harbor a dissociation from the rest of humanity or dislike of it, but she does seem to place a firm line between non-allogenes and herself (and others who hold a vision). But what I mean with embracing solitude, is that while she is social, and she understands the laws and diplomacy of social behavior, she isn't one to always engage in it, simply because many don't seem to quite... share her headspace.

[sugutiva]

❝ TIL’ YOU DROP ! ❞

ᥫ᭡. featuring : gojo s. , geto s. , choso k. , toji f.

synopsis : classic overstimulation with jjk men.

tags : smut, p in v, fingering, squirting ( geto’s ), size kink, dacryphilla, hair pulling, dirty talk, cream pie, unprotected sex, cursing, all lowercase intended !

☆ GOJO SATORU

“ a sight i’ll never get sick of…” gojo snickers to himself. taking in the sight of his sticky cum that he plastered on the display and dips of your back. some ropes of cum trickle from your spine to the crack of your ass.

his cerulean eyes then travel back to your small body; shaking from the aftershock of your orgasm. “ tsk tsk, hope yer’ not too fucked out for me…” his big hand made home on your hip, while his other tapped your swollen mound with his tip.

all senses came crashing back to you when he slowly, but surely stuffs himself back in the expanse of your cunt. “ satoru…” your kiss-bruised lips grunt out. every nerve of your body felt like it was alive and blazing on fire.

sticky fat globs of cum trickles down to the base of your plump ass to your thighs and everytime satoru’s sharp thrust align with your body; a loud sticky ‘ pap’ sound resonates loudly throughout the room and his ears. impossibly turning him on even more.

“ haah, t-turning me on even more. think you can handle five more rounds after tis’?” one of satoru’s legs are propped up, so he’s able to maintain his rhythm and dive into your pussy even further. creating more of an absolute mess out of you.

“ mmph— oh fuuuck! i—it’s too much, s-stop!” your body moves on its own and one of your legs fly up to slap satoru in the ass. but gojo’s firm hand slides down to still your ankle against the bed, while the rocks of his hips doesn’t stop even for a moment. grounding you completely on the bed so you won’t think to run away.

the feeling of him stirring your insides up and leaving your brain a mushy mess is enough to fill your clouded eyes with salty tears. a particularly wet sob catches the man’s attention, and he lets your ankle go to tug at your hair.

“ you crying on me, princess?” his cocky voice booms above you, and through your unintelligible sounds your mouth makes, you beg him to shut up. the bed jostles and creaks with every mind shattering thrust he gives you.

you couldn’t contain yourself any longer, a particular thrust of his has your vision brightening and you cumming on all ten inches of him with a loud scream followed by you collapsing on the bed. despite your body tapping out on him, satoru’s pace didn’t rest for second, but his lips curled down into a faux frown.

“ we gotta fix that stamina of yours, princess.” he pouts at your body twitching from the overstimulation and rocking under him with every push of his hips. despite his expression, he fucking adores the sight of you helped underneath him, and at his will.

his nails dig deep into the fat of your ass, before he rocks you and the headboard forward with a loud moan. satoru comes a lot. if you weren’t on the pill, it would be no doubt that you’d be pregnant with a good handful of his children by now.

“ hey, yer’ not sleep yet? guess we can do another round.”

☆ GETO SUGURU

“ s-stop! suguru, stop. it’s— ’s too much!” you’re words are punctured from your throat with deep gasps and moans. a tight pressure builds in your lower stomach with every electrifying thrust suguru gives with his fingers.

your nerves feels as if they’re on fire and your body desperately screams for a break. but his arm shows no signs of stopping or slowing down; muscles flexing, hair messily sprawled around him, his bottom lip caught in between his teeth.

“ gonna squirt f’me yet?” suguru asks, the evident of your past orgasms trickling down his forearm. every movement of his fingers feels more alive than the last, and every touch against your g-spot has your vision brightening and the coil in your stomach tightening.

his fingers curling and thrusting are the only thing that your mushed brain can comprehend. “ h-haaah, it’s dirty… m’ gonna- gonna piss!” your hips tremble, but suguru’s hand is braced firmly on your waist. his pace doesn’t relent.

his fingers easily glides in and out of your wet, gummy warmth easily. your moans and the uncontrollable actions of your legs increases; still so sensitive of the last orgasms suguru gave you and the ones to come yet.

“ we’ll take a bath and clean the bedsheets. hmm?” he sprinkles the dips of your collarbone in lighthearted kisses. that damned unhinged grin still plastered on his face. you grab desperately onto his hair, eyes fluttering back into your head and mouth hung open.

“ fuh— fuck!” your hips still along with your legs when you feel your pussy spray like an open faucet.

“ there she goes. told you, you could do it.” he eyes the beauty of your fluids going everywhere, your thighs contracting and twitching from your post-orgasm.

your slick arousal is everywhere. his arm, your legs, the bedsheets, everywhere.

he gives your wet cunt a soft spank before licking the rest coating his hand. through your weakened state, you watch him.

“ proud that you can keep up with me, baby.” he removes his now spit coated fingers with a loud wet pop sound. “ think you can still squirt on my cock?”

☆ CHOSO KAMO

“ h-haah. c-choso— baby, don’t think i can do it. ‘s too much!” you hiss out. you both fucked multiple times before, but to say you’re fully used to it, would be a stretch.

“ that’s it, baby. fuuuck, k-keep rocking your hips like that.” choso said, completely ignoring your desperate pleas to stop. his calloused hands traveled down to plant firmly on your hips, holding you in a way in which you can’t escape.

“ jus’ for you, cho.” you mutter out, before the action of you bouncing up and down on his lap increases viciously. the sinful sounds of your skin clashing down against his, all eight inches of him stirring up your insides, and both of your sweet moans combined together, sounded like a erotic song that choso would never get tired of hearing.

“ yea… that’s right,” he occupied his finger with the task of drawing tight circles on your twitching clit. he smiles in realization when you choke out a wet sob. “ just for m-me. all f’me.”

“ cho—mmph, choso!” your mouths hang ajar dumbly, nails planted firmly in his pecs; using him as the only thing holding you upright despite your weak knees. the way how your body trembled and shook, choso could tell you were close to passing out.

“ hm, that won’t do…” choso darkly mutters out before his hands resume their place on your hips. his grip boarding on painfully but your mushed brain can’t dwell on the pain. his feet planted securely on the bed, and his hips thrust up to meet your bounces.

the new depth of his dick molding your insides; kissing your cervix sweetly sent you on the brink of tears. “ ohh fuck! ‘s too much— i can’t, i can’t!” you babble out, salty tears rolling down your cheeks proving your pleading.

despite your desperate cries; you still bounce and down on his cock with his extra help. the wetness from pervious orgasms and his hips jerking up made the process easier yet still so unbearable. “ you can. like you said, it’s just for me.”

your eyes meet in deathly lock and from the way his pace increases you suspect that he’s close. “ squeezing me so tight… shit, ‘m so close, baby.” his hips growing sloppier by the minute. desperate to bring you to the high you deserve.

and with one more mouth watering thrust of his tip that he delivers against your g-spot; you come on him with a choked moan. your body goes slack against his but choso is not too far behind.

“ don’t tap out on me now— oh god.” you feel his dick twitching viscously in your warm walls. you feel a great warmth flood your insides and leak out onto your inner thighs and on his pelvis. your stuffed so silly of him.

☆ TOJI FUSHIGURO

“ toji— m-move! jus’ came!” you gradually panted out before swatting his hand away from your lower body. you feel his dick twitch eagerly inside you.

toji fingers tighten against your throat as a warning, before he manhandles you into a mating press.

you gasp at new feeling of him entering you even deeper. “ f—fuck you! damn… tyrant!” toji leisurely grins above you. and from the new angle; the lighting traces and enchants his sharp features even more. “ you already are,” he begins to snap his lower hips against your thighs.

“ ‘nd from the way this dirty cunt is clenching on me so tightly…” he dips his head down to where his scarred lip brushes against the shell of your ear. “ you fuckin’ love it, sweetheart.” his words sends hot pangs of pleasure to your heat, mostly accompanied by the sharp thrust of his hips.

toji can feel his own dick twitch inside of you. you’re so fucking tight— milking him tight and holding him snug deep inside. the lewd sound of him slamming inside of you resonates in the room, but the fucked out dumb look on your face is obscene.

“ tuh— toooji!” is the only thing your brain can comprehend. with your mouth hung open and eyes rolled so far in the back of your head. “ yer’ close already? tsk, barely broke the bed on this good pussy.” he says, deciding to completely ignore the evidence of your past fluids mixed together on the wrinkled sheets below.

toji’s broad body envelopes your smaller one completely. the sight of your feet on either side of his shoulder is the only sign of life underneath him.

your legs twitch, your wall spasms around toji, sucking him in and in and in. his sharp eye notices the bulge of your belly and with his calloused hand pressing down on it, is enough to come over the edge with a shrill cry.

“ haah, you seriously came without me fucking your clit?” he barks out a cruel laugh that echoes in your ears. and you desperately want him to shut up.

through your heated gaze you notice his abs contracting and twitching— a signal that he’s coming close. as if the bruising grip on your hips didn’t serve as an reminder either. “ fuck girl… ya’ really drivin’ me crazy…”

his sweaty bangs press against your equally sweaty forehead while he forces himself deeper in your inviting heat. and before you know it, cum trickles deeply inside of your body, the bed creaking and his groans in your ears are loud and the only things you can focus on before he slots his body on yours with a sigh.

“ take a small break now. ‘m not lying when i say i’m gonna break the bed on this pussy.”

[hyper-fixates]

Time After Time

Logan Howlett/Wolverine x AFAB!reader (no pronouns/gendered language).

Explicit content (18+)

Word count: 15.2k never let me near him again

Tags/warnings: age-gap due to logan’s mutation (reader’s age not specified), mutant!reader, unprotected sex, teasing, friends to lovers, explicit language, dry humping, storm cameos, fluff, domesticity, the claws come out when he’s close (👁️👁️), detailed descriptions & scenes of nightmares/trauma/PTSD/panic attacks, one (1) ass smack, alcohol consumption, vomiting, biting/marking, angst, soft!logan, creampie, groping/touching, use of “baby” once, aftercare, yearning (kindly let me know if anything was missed!).

Summary: 4 times you end up in Logan’s bed, and the 1 time he does something about it.

Notes: this falls somewhere in between “which could mean nothing” and “we can fix each other” 🫡 (written with a mix of X1 & X2 logan!)

Your heart, despite always being alive and beating, sometimes wakes up before you.

You can feel it before your eyes even have a chance to open. It jolts your sleep-ridden body and collapses your lungs without giving your brain a chance to fight against it. Muscles and limbs feel lifeless and detached from your body, shaking from the sleep that your heart knows wasn’t completely dreamless.

You kick the blankets off of yourself and sit up in a panic, trying to regain some control of your sudden erratic breaths while bringing a lethargic hand to your heaving chest in hopes to ground yourself. It never works.

Maybe your ribs are shrinking and squeezing your lungs, making you delirious from the lack of oxygen, but you know that’s not the case. Your heart feels like it’s being squeezed and broken into a million tiny pieces.

No part of your body feels real, yet you keep your hand on your chest as firmly as you can, trying to focus on controlling the pounding of your heart that’s working so hard with each beat that it hurts. 

“Fuck. Fuck,” you choke out, feeling the tears finally breach and roll down your cheeks as your nervous system catches up to what’s happening.

 Panic. It’s all panic.

You can’t do anything but sit there and let the tears hit the freshly-washed fitted sheet on your bed. So you let it happen. Nothing can stop it.

Trauma is such a fickle thing. One moment you’re fine, and then the next, your heart is screaming at you and forcing your body to process something at 4 a.m. on a random Friday when all you wanted was some goddamn sleep.

There is no choice. Your mind doesn’t give you one.

The tremors subside slowly after a few minutes, giving you the feeling back to your arms and legs, albeit minimal.

You slide to sit at the edge of your bed, resting an elbow on your thigh and setting your chin into your palm with a defeated, yet shaky, huff. 

You look to your window and see that the sun hasn’t even started to rise yet. You’ll be up for the rest of the foreseeable morning, but there’s not much to do so early besides wander aimlessly and think…then think some more. 

You’re confident the professor isn’t even awake at this hour, which says enough about your state. You would typically go visit Storm for some comfort, but she’s been gone fuck-knows-where with Hank and Scott until Sunday at the latest. Thanks, Charles.

A questionable, and probably manic, decision comes to mind. One that’s only two doors down, one over from Storm.

Your impulsive feet make up your mind for you. The cold hardwood floor shocking you further into consciousness as if your heart didn’t do a good enough job.

You tiptoe a couple steps down the hall, forcing yourself to turn and face the large wooden door when you reach it. You just stand there staring at it, unknocking, analyzing the wood grains, suddenly very interested in what type of wood it is and what stain was used to—

“Uh. Are you okay?”

You refocus your eyes onto the man now standing in front of you in the doorway, adorning a barely-zipped school hoodie and black sweats.

“Huh?” You blink a few times, disoriented.

Logan quirks a brow, looking you up and down cautiously. “Are you okay?” He asks again, offering a look of concern—or maybe confusion—that you haven’t seen often. A look that’s never needed to be directed towards you.

You come back to yourself. “But—I…didn’t knock,” you respond, looking equally as confused as him as you point to the door. 

He leans against the edge of the door, face softening. “I could smell you before you passed Storm’s room,” he clarifies, a hint of reluctance in his tone. Oh. 

You feel like a child who has just gained awareness, all too conscious of your situation.

“You’re…awake?” Is all you manage despite probably needing to say much more than that to explain just why exactly you’re standing outside Logan’s room at 4 a.m.

“So are you,” he counters with a curious look. “So let me ask again. Are you okay?” He locks his eyes on yours, probably in hopes to understand why the fuck you’re outside his room at 4 a.m.

“I’m not sure how to answer that,” you say, and it’s the truth. 

You should probably be embarrassed. You show up at Logan’s door unannounced, dressed in a flimsy shirt and matching sweats—thanks, Charles—that can’t fully hide the remaining quivers throughout your body.

Logan pulls his lips together at your admission. You can almost see the wheels turning in his head trying to figure you out.

“Can’t sleep?” He questions, but he knows he’s right.

“Yeah.” You don’t know why you’re making it Logan’s problem, though. Sure, he happens to be awake, but maybe this is all too personal to push on the guy who’s seemingly all pride and no solicitude most of the time.

It’s not that he’s not a good, nice guy, but you don’t know how you would define your relationship, or lack of.

You know each other well enough from existing in the same space over the past couple months, being part of the same “team”, but it’s nothing to call a close friendship like you and Storm. He’s a bit of a rare species in the mansion, not really lingering around.

He cocks his head in a half shrug, the soft points in his hair broken by sleep shake gently with the movement.

“I don’t think I can help you,” he says wearily. “I’m no better. Clearly.” He gestures between you, drawing attention to the fact that you’re both awake. The helpless cannot help the helpless.

“Oh—no, I’m not looking for help. I think I’m beyond that at this point,” you laugh but stop yourself short when Logan doesn’t follow. Tough crowd.

“I, uh, don’t actually know what I’m looking for,” you offer.

You knit your brows together in thought, still wondering why the fuck you’re here. Comfort? Entertainment? Some other unknown third thing?

“I’m not really used to Storm being gone for so long,” you admit. “I just feel…all over the place, I guess.”

Logan considers your vulnerability for a beat, eyes flicking to yours. “I can hear you sometimes,” he says, a knowing—almost sympathetic—look on his face. “We have the same problem.”

You go cold, any expression you had on your face sliding away. You wish the floor could swallow you right now. You know things have been getting worse recently, but you didn’t think anyone could hear that fact. Maybe it shouldn’t come as a surprise from someone who could smell you from down the hallway.

He steps back, pulling his door open further. An invitation.

You don’t move right away. Could this be a false awakening? You’re not sure what you expected when you came to his door, but you also didn’t expect him to open it without you knocking, so you have to suspend disbelief for now. You figured he’d offer a few words of advice and dismiss you, or maybe even tell you to fuck off, but he opened his door wider for you. But you didn’t exactly think any of it through in the first place anyway.

You force your feet to carry you into Logan’s room. It’s not much different from yours; scarce belongings, minimal decor, a small work desk, brown curtains that are drawn back, and a bed. 

“Were you, uh…sleeping before I came?” You sit on the unmade bed, nothing noticeably different from it compared to yours.

He shuts the door quietly, moving to the small desk across the room and filing some scattered papers together neatly.

“Trying to,” he says, keeping his gaze on the desk.

Fucking duh. “Sorry if I disturbed you,” you wince to yourself. 

You see him briefly shake his head at your unnecessary apology. “I had to get up anyway.” His voice is still gravelly from sleep.

It feels like you’re invading his space. But he invited you in. How many others have had the opportunity to be in here? Probably too many. There’s nothing to make this special.

“I’m fucking exhausted,” you sigh, flopping back on his bed defeated. Simply overwhelmed with the uncontrollable repercussions of your mutation.

“Try to sleep. If you want,” he offers, moving to the edge of the bed. “It’s easier said than done, but I have to meet with Charles in an hour.” It’s gruff, but he’s sincere.  

Maybe the professor is awake after all.

You roll your head to the side to look at him. Was he really offering for you to stay in his bed?

“Oh, wow…uh, sure.” It comes off as more of a question, but he quirks his brows in acknowledgment, turning back to the desk and collecting a handful of other miscellaneous papers.

“I have to head downstairs and take care of some things. Stay as long as you need,” he says, zipping his sweater the rest of the way up. Thank God in heaven.

A shy “thanks” is all you manage as you situate yourself on the bed.

Is this fucking weird? You could name a handful of others in the mansion right this second that would kill without hesitation to be where you are. They’d probably kill you specifically to get it. It’s not much of a secret that Logan is the subject of almost all students’ desires. He knows it, too. 

“See you later,” he adds, his lips forming the slightest hint of a caring smile as he sees himself out. You throw one back before the door clicks shut.

Should you be offended that he didn’t stay? That he left so quickly? No, no, he can’t. He couldn’t. Charles is expecting him. The timing is just horrid. But now you’re just…alone…in Logan’s room, expected to sleep because of a random act of kindness in his heart.

Lying in his bed instead of yours is an odd sensation. The sheets and mattress are exactly the same, the pillows are just as fluffy, yet it feels unalike. 

You flop your head on his pillow, tugging the blankets up to your chin. Your fingers graze something by your hip as you settle in, making you push the blanket back down. Leaning over, you see three puncture marks in the mattress, fraying the bedsheet material into feather-soft strands around the deep holes.

Your eyes widen, remembering his words before he invited you in: “We have the same problem.”

Part of your heart fractures for the second time today. Your eyes cross over to the other side of you, seeing a matching set of holes just below the pillow. It’s suddenly easy to understand why no one besides him has been seen coming and going from this room in a while. One day, things just seemed to change. 

Maybe his act of kindness was an act of mercy. Trauma will always find you, and it will make sure you feel it until you either destroy it or it destroys you.

Even the Wolverine isn’t an exception. 

━━━━ ● ━━━━

The gold liquid is gone from the glass as quickly as it was poured.

Your throat clenches and protests the swallow as you try to suppress the urge to gag. You gently set the shot glass back on the counter, watching Storm chase with a piece of lime that does nothing to help the puckered face she makes from the tequila. 

“No more, no more. I can’t.” Your arms anchor you to the counter to stop yourself from swaying too much.

Storm nods, still fighting off the sourness with furrowed brows and a scrunched nose. You giggle at her when she quickly screws the cap back on the bottle, sliding it out of reach.

“You’re a bad influence,” she scolds as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

“No—I’m under the influence,” you counter, a playful smile on your lips. “There’s a difference. You still have your own free will.”

Storm rolls her eyes so hard you only see the whites of them. “We have training tomorrow,” she slurs. “Charles will not be happy if we show up half-conscious.” She rounds the counter to you, grabbing your shoulders for stability, and you do the same.

“He’ll be lucky if we show up at all,” you mumble. 

The dim kitchen lighting embraces the two of you, the rest of the mansion blanketed in darkness with everyone fast asleep—like you both should be.

You close your eyes with a roll of your neck, more giggles falling through your lips as you clumsily grab onto Storm and rock and sway together for a moment, the alcohol quickly catching up to your motor skills. It feels like you’re spinning through time and space, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel fucking euphoric. At this rate, neither of you will be able to make it back to your rooms.

“Am I interrupting something?”

You lose a bit of your balance as you try to find the resonant voice, eyes shooting open. Storm unintentionally startles and stumbles away from you, white hair also jumping from the excitement.

You grab onto the counter again, sucking in a deep breath. “Fuck, don’t do that,” you growl through your teeth, a hand on your chest as you try to calm yourself.

“Don’t do what? Come to the shared kitchen to grab a drink?” Logan huffs a laugh, an amused smile creeps to his lips as he takes in your drunk and shaken state from the entryway.

“Doesn’t anyone sleep in this place?” He mumbles to himself.

“And with that, I’m done for the night,” Storm chuckles, fixing her hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her eyes lock intensely on yours, index finger firmly poking the middle of your chest to make her point for you to show up to training very clear.

“See you, Logan,” she dismisses, stumbling as she passes him.

Logan shakes his head, still smiling. He steps to the fridge, opening the double doors and plucking a bottle of soda from the bottom shelf. No alcohol is readily available in the communal fridge because, after all, you’re all in a school full of kids, so Storm had to get creative; Scott will be missing a rather large bottle from the now not-so-secret stash in his room.

As the alcohol continues to settle in you, you feel more and more lightheaded as it brings you to a new level of euphoria again. You only know this because watching Logan pop the cap of his drink with mindless ease feels a little more exciting than it would be if you were sober. But you’re not sober, and that’s the problem.

“Not gonna follow Storm?” He asks, taking a generous sip from the bottle as he casually places his free hand on the counter to lean on across from you.

A tight smile forms, mostly to yourself. “I don’t think I can make it down the hall,” you laugh in embarrassment. Maybe that last shot was one too many, and it’s not even fully done working its magic yet.

Logan raises a brow. “Want some help?” There’s no judgement in his tone like you expect. Then again, you don’t know what the fuck to expect from him.

Your already half-closed eyes, blurry and unfocused, meet his hazel ones in interest. Another favour?

It’s been two weeks since he let you sleep off the nightmares in his bed. Two weeks since you learned he’s burdened with them, too. You traced the holes in the mattress over and over before you eventually fell asleep, wondering what—or who—could have hurt him so badly. He plays it off cool; you wouldn’t suspect anything from talking to him. The same could probably be said about you.

“I didn’t know wolverine’s were chivalrous,” you tease.

The yellow hue of the lights dance over the quaffed points in his hair, making them appear sharper than usual. You would never admit it, especially to him, but you adore them. They give him an absurd amount of character that you’d expect a guy like him to not care about. 

You’re not exactly complaining about the fitting grey tank-top he has on either.

“Not overly,” he plays along, taking another mouthful of the fizzy drink. “I like to think I’m special,” he says quieter.

“Maybe you are,” you say as you try and straighten yourself to see if you can stand unassisted.

The world tilts as you stand to your full height, eyes rolling into your head from the wave of dizziness. “Wow, okay,” you say to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut to stop the spinning. How many shots did you have again?

A warm hand presses between your shoulders. “Woah, nice and easy. Nice and easy.” Logan appears by your side to steady you, other hand grabbing your elbow to pull you straight. You wobble in his grip, letting him guide your useless, alcohol-ridden body.

His hand on your back rubs a few small, comforting circles as you work to regain your bearings. He watches your expressions intently, looking for the right moment to get you moving back to your room safe and sound.

Your arm crosses over your body out of instinct to grab the hand he has on your elbow for extra support.

“Are you okay?” He asks. He seems to ask you that a lot.

You lean into him, your shoulder to his chest, and you can feel the blackout creeping up on you like humidity from a thunderstorm—it’s usually too late to do anything once you notice it. 

“I drank a lot,” you laugh deeply, rolling your head onto his shoulder to look up at him.

He looks so much more delicate under the ambient lights—his usual defined features have shifted and melted him into someone that doesn’t look like they should be a feared animal out in the world.

Logan all but cradles you, that same look of concern crossing his features from the night you went to his door. The only difference is that you’ve had a generous amount of tequila—and are currently being kept alert by the hot touch of his hands. That’s new.

“Can you walk?” He holds your squinty eye contact, probably searching for any signs of a coherent thought behind the blissful expression on your face. “Or will I have to carry you?” He muses, a hint of a smile crosses his lips as his hand moves up to gently rub over your shoulders. 

Drunk you likes the sound of anything relating to Logan keeping his hands on you right now. You wonder what sober you would think.

“I’m not gonna tell you no, but it feels like I’m floating in a bubble that won’t stop spinning,” you hum as you let the sensation consume your senses. “I might fly away.” You dip your head back off of his shoulder in amusement as you laugh again. 

“Yeah, you’re fucked up,” he mumbles lovingly. Just like anyone else who’s concerned for your well-being would. 

“Hey, kitty cat—I’m perfectly buzzed,” you emphasize the teasing nickname, narrowing your eyes at him sternly as you bring your gaze back to his in defence.

“‘Kitty cat’? Really?” He snorts. “I think you’re past your bedtime by three drinks,” he remarks back with equal levity.

“Then take me to bed if you’re so concerned,” you sigh dramatically, going limp in his arms to make your point. 

Truthfully, you’re probably past your bedtime by five shots. But he doesn’t need to know that. You just know that you can’t control your limbs like you were able to ten minutes ago.

“Maybe I will.” You don’t see it, but he does his quick little eye roll that you’ve seen pointed towards Scott too many times. 

He slides the hand on your elbow down to the backs of your knees, pulling you up off the floor and into his chest as you fall into the arm that was rubbing your back. 

Oh, so it’s gonna be like that. 

An excited—or maybe shocked—noise escapes your mouth as he adjusts you in his arms. You extend your right arm up and over his shoulder to hug his neck and keep yourself stable.

The trip to your room isn’t one that should take long, but each sway from Logan’s steps goes straight to your stomach in waves of queasiness. It feels like forever before you feel him bend awkwardly to turn your doorknob.

You’re fighting to keep yourself conscious the entire time, not wanting to regret missing the feeling of being in his arms.

The room is only lit by the silver moonlight creeping through the window. It’s hard to distinguish anything through your bleary eyes besides Logan’s look of determination to get you in your bed.

He leans down, shuffling you out of his arms and onto the mattress as swiftly as possible. The care of it all pokes at your heart. 

He silently goes around each corner of the bed adjusting the blankets. It may be dark, but the moonlight highlights the peaks of his shoulders as he moves. Your eyes might be involuntarily half-shut, but that doesn’t stop you from staring.

You’re now probably no better than every other mutant in this school.

“Logan,” you start before you can fully process the foolish thing you’re about to say next.

He rounds the bed back to the side you’re huddled on, looking down on you. “Yeah?” The subtle jingle of his dog tag pierces the quiet that’s lingering in the room.

You part your lips to speak but the words die in your throat. They’re replaced by a flood of saliva that has you sitting up at a speed that shouldn’t be possible for someone as intoxicated as you. You cover your mouth with your hand, feeling your stomach churning and finally rejecting the tequila. 

You suddenly feel very awake.

“Hey, hey.” Logan squats down in front of you with his already permanently-furrowed brows pinched closer together than you’ve ever seen before, a hand coming to your shoulder in concern. “What—”

“Bathroom,” you mumble through your palm, eyes rolling shut at the nausea. 

He doesn’t say another word. He pulls you to your feet by your arms, walking behind you fiercely with his hands gripping your shoulders to guide you to the small bathroom across the room.  

You push the door open, falling to your knees in the darkness over the toilet as the mistakes from the night expel themselves from your body through rounds of coughing and gagging. He lingers in the doorway, keeping an eye on you but still giving you privacy.

“Fuck,” you cough, resting your warm forehead on your hand as you slump against the toilet. That definitely sobered you up fast.

Exhaustion hits you like a truck. “Logan…” you croak from your crumpled position on the tile floor. 

He steps in, bending down again to reach your height. You can barely make out the shadow of him in the fading moonlight.

“Just…help me back to bed,” you groan, reaching for his arm as you use the toilet seat to push yourself the rest of the way up. You stumble against him as you try to make it back through the doorway.

He guides you to the bed the same way he did to the bathroom—steering you from behind.

“I’m gonna get you some water,” he says as you settle back into bed, head hitting the pillow with a quiet thud. “Even though you did this to yourself.”

“Fuck off,” you groan.

You close your eyes, hearing his footsteps fade back toward the bathroom. You hear the tap run for a couple seconds before he’s next to you again, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Drink. All of it,” he says firmly, holding the cup out to you.

You sit back up slowly, no doubt lethargic, an unimpressed look on your face that earns you a raised brow that tells you there’s no room to object.

You finish the cup in four mouthfuls, handing it back to him. “Thanks.”

You fall back onto the pillow, no longer feeling like you’re travelling through space and time.

The clothes you’re in are close enough to pyjamas. There’s no sense in undressing in front of Logan, especially with what you were about to say to him before you were rudely interrupted by the consequences of your own actions.

He returns the cup to the bathroom and you pull the blanket over your waist as you hopefully settle in for the rest of the night. You owe him big time for this. The thought of just how exactly you’ll manage that fills you with anxiety.

You turn on your side, fingers sliding over the mattress with the movement. They graze familiar strands of feather-soft fabric by the pillow.

This is Logan’s room. Are you just that drunk that you couldn’t tell the difference when he brought you in? Or are your rooms just that similar to each other?

You dip a finger in one of the three holes, hearing the bathroom door click shut as Logan makes his way back. 

“Why am I in your bed?” You see him rustling through some drawers of clothing by the small desk, but he stops when you finish your question.

“You can’t take care of yourself tonight,” he says. “You’re too drunk.” He pulls the grey tank-top off, stuffing it in one of the drawers and shutting it.

You sit up at that, head still foggy and tipsy, watching him move to the foot of the bed across from you. You try to focus your eyes on anything but his bare chest and the dark hair that adorns it and trails down past the waistband of his sweats. His hair is somehow even more wild from mindlessly pulling the tank-top over his head.

“Ah. I was gonna ask you to stay anyway,” you reveal, almost whispering the bold confession.

You were planning to ask before the tequila decided to make another appearance, but maybe doing it this way isn’t so bad either. He did all the heavy-lifting.

A modest, tight-lipped smile graces his lips. “I think you still have some tequila to sleep off.”

Whether or not you still have some shots in your system, what you feel and want right now is real. It’s not influenced by anything besides some mild andronitis created by the fact that you share a common struggle.

“Is it…safe? To share a bed?” The most coherent thought you’ve had all night makes him stiffen from your sudden nervous tone. Your body could easily replace the mattress and become a new home for the deep punctures. 

Your eyelids have been fighting against being pulled shut by alcohol-induced drowsiness, yet your eyes are wider than they’ve been all night in this moment.

You’re sat right in the middle of the bed and Logan comes around to the right, sitting on the edge of the mattress to come down to your level.

“You’re just gonna have to trust me.” His eyes are imploring and apologetic all at once. He understands the prospect of even having you here in the first place.

You nod, sliding over to the left to give him more room. 

Logan wouldn’t put you in harms way, you reason with yourself. He wouldn’t risk potentially killing someone, especially a fellow mutant, if he wasn’t absolutely sure of his mental state. But you also don’t really know his demons.

You roll onto your right side, tugging the blanket up to your chin in comfort. “Why haven’t you been given a new mattress?” You ask as he turns to face you in the same position, his half of the blanket resting at his hip.

The bed dips significantly on his side, almost encouraging you to roll over against him.

“Forgot to ask,” he says quietly, running his right hand through his hair to push the shorter strands off his forehead.

From his tone you can decipher that he actually means “can’t be bothered.” It’s a devastating thing to imagine just how many he goes through, anyway. He probably doesn’t see the point in replacing something that will inevitably have the same fate as the others.

There has to be less than an arms length between you two. It’s a surreal situation to be in considering what you thought you knew about him. A recluse. Standoffish. Maybe it’s all a fluke and the alcohol is severely fucking with your perception of what’s actually happening.

“Thanks for everything,” you whisper as if someone else will overhear.

“Get some sleep,” he insists, rolling onto his back. You do the same.

You stare at the blank ceiling for a while, noticing the exact moment Logan falls asleep; his breathing grows slow and his body runs even hotter than before. 

You think about how he could wake at any moment, claws accidentally sliding right through your stomach from a nightmare or two. You imagine all the others that have been in your position—if they felt scared, if they even knew. 

He asked you to trust him, and that should be enough. 

There is a body full of secrets and hurt sleeping undisturbed next to you with the ability to withstand and regenerate from any physical injury, yet there’s something that hasn’t allowed the same to be done for his mind. 

━━━━

The bright amber sun hits your closed eyes through the window, making you roll your head away onto the other side of the cool pillow.

You want more sleep. Your head feels like a bag of bricks and your body feels like it got beat with them.

You stretch a leg out, gently grazing something solid with your foot. Your eyes shoot open, the night coming back to you as you drift into consciousness. Logan. 

You shoot up, bouncing a little from the momentum.

Logan startles next to you, clearly interrupted from a deep sleep. “What the fuck…” he groans, rubbing a hand over his face, not seeming interested in making a move to sit up with you.

“What time is it?” Your eyes bounce around the room looking for a clock.

He grunts, reaching for a watch on the nightstand. “Seven-forty.”

You needed to be in the Danger Room for 7 o’clock.

“Fuck!” You rip the blanket off, almost tripping as you run to the bathroom.

Logan also wants to roll back over and go back to sleep, but he knows he won’t be able to. He doesn’t work like that. So he just lays there, listening to you swear and make a mess of his bathroom as the clattering of fuck-knows-what fills the room. 

The surprise of how well he slept makes him feel uneasy. Although it definitely wasn’t eight hours, it was uninterrupted. He doesn’t want to credit that to you, though. He wants to believe that he’s getting better overall, and maybe he is, so he can’t offer you any flattery in his mind.

Another distant “fuck” escapes the bathroom, pulling him out of his thoughts. You exit a few minutes later, as refreshed and presentable as you could get yourself, and the sight of Logan still in bed makes something in you ache for another moment of feeling him care and tend to you. Maybe that’s your hangover talking.

“Thanks again. I’ll see you around,” you say hurriedly, offering an apologetic smile as you turn the doorknob to leave.

“Good luck with Charles.” It’s a genuine advisory. Fuck. You’ll be so incredibly lucky if he doesn’t give you more than a stern lecture in front of everyone.

You take a deep breath in and slip out of Logan’s room. There’s not a single cut, mark, or scratch on you, just like he promised.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

“I was told it’ll take a day to fix,” Storm explains with a shrug. “You’ll have to find somewhere or someone to room with until tomorrow. Jean already offered to have me stay with her.” A contrite look passes over her face.

You stand outside your rooms, staring in at the remnants of the mess caused by two terrakinetic kids fucking around in the courtyard when they weren’t supposed to be. They somehow managed to throw, or launch, sizeable tree branches right through each of your windows. Of course it wasn’t on purpose, but the Danger Room exists for a reason—to avoid mishaps like this. 

Shards of glass and fragments of wood splatter your floors. The branches are hanging half-way out both of your windows, caught on the window sills and bobbing in the evening summer wind. The kids are extremely fortunate that neither of you were in your rooms when it happened.

“It’s fine. It’s just one night,” you sigh, rubbing your eyes in frustration. You don’t love how quickly your mind picks out who to go to. It’s already nearing 11 p.m., so you have to work fast. 

Storm squeezes your shoulder in comfort. “The living room is always free,” she suggests with a remorseful smile.

But you don’t want the living room. Stiff couches mixed with students clamouring and passing by at the crack of dawn isn’t exactly a recipe for a good nights rest. As if you usually get one, anyway.

“Not a fucking chance,” you laugh. “I’ll be fine,” you say again, dismissing her worries. You wish her goodnight when she steps by you to head towards Jean’s room at the very end of the hall.

You glare at the mess in your room, not daring to step in. The amount of shattered glass everywhere makes the floor look like a body of water from the reflections of the pale moonlight bouncing and refracting off of the jagged shards.

“Fuck,” you spit through your teeth, solely to yourself.

Not even a full week after Logan saw you at your worst, you’re going to go back and ask for the left side of his bed. Shameless.

You don’t have much of a choice; you’re not comfortable having it be anyone else. It’s only because Logan saw you at your worst that you feel he’s the most logical choice. Already having shared a bed with him this week may also have some weight in your decision.  

You take the few self-assured steps to his room, once again standing in front of his door. This time you feel more confident in approaching the Wolverine in his den.

You knock three times, the piercing sound echoing through the hall.

“You start to miss me or what?” A bare chest enters your view. You note the dog tag hanging from his neck again before you find his unyielding gaze full of ambiguity, wondering why you’re here. Again.

You blink at him slowly in hilarity. “Ha, funny. Can I stay with you tonight?” You ask flatly, not thrilled with the situation, but not completely displeased with being here now. “My window—”

“I know what happened,” he interrupts. “Figured you’d go for the couch in the living room.” He looks at you more pointedly with teasing suspicion. 

“I think you know no one would ever willingly choose to sleep out there,” you reason, running a hand over your face in both shame and defeat.

He makes a face that tells you “touché” and you smirk in satisfaction. “If you don’t mind giving up half of your bed again, I would really appreciate it. I promise I’m not trying to make this a habit,” you sigh. Spending the night in Logan’s bed three times in the past month has to be a record for anyone recently. 

“I don’t think it would be a bad habit,” he argues. Oh. “C’mon.” He gives a jerk of his head to allow you in, his tufts of his hair bristling with the quick movement.

“Thanks,” you squeak. He wants you here? 

He shuts the door behind you, following you to the bed that’s clearly already had him in it. The blanket rests in waves on the mattress that remind you of just how human Logan is despite his reputation and image.

“Do you have an early morning?” You ask, slipping under the blanket.

“No. Charles was feeling nice for once,” he raises his tone sarcastically to rag on Charles’ judgement, which has clearly been a much needed one before now.

“Not an early bird?” You roll onto your right side like last time, facing him as he settles on his back with a deep breath. The bed sinks in again where he lays, your body wanting to give in to the laws of gravity and fall into him.

“Fuck no,” he laughs lightly, eyes crinkling around the corners. It’s self-deprecating, but it’s still a genuine laugh. The condescension from it lingers in the air, all directed at himself in a way that tells you he’s thinking about how inconceivably fucked up he is.

The last time he had a decent sleep was when you were drunk in his bed a few days ago.

“People like us don’t usually get the pleasure of a full eight hours,” he notes, sliding his gaze to yours for a fraction of a second.

He props an arm behind his head, the other resting on his chest and idly twisting the dog tag between his fingers. You watch the thin piece of steel slide and flip easily, the chain tinkling with every movement.

People like us.

“You mean mutants,” you state. You see his jaw tense in what little light there is from the half-moon tonight.

You see his brows pull together. “Yeah.” He has a point.

You think about the mutants you know, how they all have some horrific story about their gifts or family, or both. How they either were shamed by society or experimented on like rats. 

The scenarios are endless. If you can think of it, some mutant has probably lived it.

Your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach. You and Logan are not isolated or special cases, but you’ve already shared a moment of vulnerability with him when you came to his door all those weeks ago seeking solace for the same thing he fights with: the inescapable ability of remembering.

You pull the blanket tighter against you. “I don’t think you’ll hurt me.” 

He turns his head to you, confusion written on his face. “What?” He stops toying with the dog tag.

“Your claws. I trust you.” You didn’t feel like you were in immediate danger that first night, but you want to reassure him anyway. Or maybe you’re reassuring yourself. 

He hasn’t had to say a single word for you to know his nightmares trigger something instinctive and combative that’s been hardwired into his DNA. In this case, it’s his claws needing to find a home in his mattresses, where another body could potentially lay one night. Like yours is right now.

You noticed the lack of holes in this mattress when you first got to the bed. Maybe you mentioning them last time was enough for him to finally request a new one.

Logan knows he shouldn’t make promises he doesn’t know he’ll be able to keep, but he wants to keep you here tonight, so he improvises. He abandons the dog tag between his fingers completely, turning onto his side and reaching to find your hand under the blanket. You meet him halfway, sliding your fingers between his as your palms lay flat on the bed.

A smile tugs at your lips for a moment. He watches your interlinked fingers, observing the size difference, wondering if he really just did that—and why. 

You assume it’s his way of saying “thank you” for your trust when you probably shouldn’t be putting that much into him.

“Does it hurt?” You whisper, pulling your fingers out from his just enough to caress the divets between his knuckles that conceal the claws.

He knows what you’re asking. “Every time.” He softly pushes his fingers back into yours, squeezing a little. 

There’s a deadly stillness in the room despite his window being cracked. You both know you’re one in the same in a way, and that’s a connection that Logan hasn’t let himself experience. Not everyone likes looking in a mirror.

To be truly seen by someone, wholly, without judgement or fear, is what he deserves. 

“What are you?” He asks, rubbing his index finger back and forth along the top of your hand. “Telekinetic? Psychic?” His curious voice grows quiet, hazel eyes fascinated with you and your lack of a physical mutation, at least nothing that he can see.

It never occurred to you that he didn’t know your mutation, or that you’ve never told him. It was never needed, but it seems unfair that you know about his when he wasn’t the one who told you.

“Ha, close.” Your eyes twinkle as you notice how intently he’s listening. “Psychometric,” you correct, watching his forehead crease.

“Sounds like math,” he quips, readjusting his head on the pillow. He’s close enough that you can feel the heat he’s putting off.

You laugh quietly. “No, it’s extrasensory perception. It lets me see the history of any object or person I touch, but only if I accept the energy,” you explain.

You watch his eyes narrow and you know what he’s thinking, so you quickly interject as he begins to pull his hand out from yours. “I need to touch a pulse point to be able to see anything,” you reassure, feeling his fingers slide back against yours. “The heart remembers everything,” you clarify.

The catch? The person’s memories and past stay with you after you see them. It’s become hard to distinguish what memories are yours or someone else’s. They all become intertwined. Good or bad, violent or gentle. You see it all, and then it’s part of you. Forever.

“I haven’t looked. I promise.” 

“Good. You don’t need to see that shit,” he huffs, eyes wandering over your face. He isn’t sure what he’s looking for, but he’s a little startled for the first time in a while.

“I’m sure I’ve seen it all,” you state. It’s probably not far off from the truth. Your gift came when you were all too young, and plenty of time has passed since then for you to rack up this amount of damage from near-strangers and their lives.

“No, you haven’t.” A sure expression passes over him, shaking his head as best as he can against the pillow. 

“Then I’ll count myself lucky,” you say softly. You have no idea what Logan has experienced, but his demeanor makes you want to stay curious. Not everything needs to be known, and you’re definitely not entitled to it.

A faint smile appears on his lips, then it’s gone just as quick. “Get some sleep,” he rasps. He turns onto his back and his hand abandons yours. 

It’s a complete repeat of last time.

Something twinges in your heart, and you don’t like it. What exactly had you expected from Logan? He’s just doing you a courtesy by letting you stay here for the night. Nothing more. And that’s what you should expect: nothing.

The hum of crickets outside eventually lulls you into a dead sleep. It’s heavy and deep, not a single muscle twitching in your body. Logan breathes steadily next to you, a hand on his chest as the occasional snore fills the air.

From above you two might look like you’re transient, only here in this moment for a short time. And, realistically, you are. 

━━━━

Logan was no where to be seen by the time you woke up, and you made quick work to get out of his room. It always feel wrong to be in someone’s space when they aren’t there.

Just like Storm said, the windows in your rooms were fixed the next day. It looks as though nothing even happened.

“Thank fuck,” you mumble to yourself as you step back into your room.

If you ever have to spend another night in Logan’s bed, you might as well wear a shirt that says “yes, we’re fucking!”, even if it isn’t true. You could deny it all you want, but it won’t stop what students would say. Nothing gets past them, even if it’s behind a closed door.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

“Are you fucking Logan?”

You almost swallow your tongue. “Sorry?” Your brows shoot up in surprise, eyes round in disbelief.

“Are you guys sleeping together?” Storm casually asks as she flicks through the T.V. channels, glancing over to you from her spot on the couch.

You’re sat comfortably in an arm chair, suddenly no longer caring what channel she decides on. “Why would you think that?” Technically you were sleeping together, but not like that. It may never happen again, no matter how badly you want it to.

“Things travel fast around here,” she deflects with a cheeky smile. “And, you know, Logan is…Logan.” She shrugs.

You don’t even know what to say to that. Is there a right or wrong answer?

“It wasn’t like that,” you grumble. “He was doing me a favour. As a friend.” It hasn’t even been a full day since he let you stay with him while pieces of your window laid on your floor, and people are already convinced you’re fucking. 

You haven’t even managed a chaste kiss, despite how much as you want to, never mind his dick being balls deep in you.

“Right.” She emphasizes the word, not convinced. Or just pushing your buttons because she can. 

You roll your eyes. “If anything was happening, you’d be the first to know,” you point out. 

She looks back over to you. “I know,” she says with another, more sincere, smile. “You two would be cute, though.” 

You give her some side-eye, not quite sure if you disagree entirely with that statement. Whatever happens, happens. Logan is not something you can control or influence. He does what—and who—he wants, when he wants. 

━━━━

A bolt of lightening strikes you. You gasp, then release a choked cry, eyes flying open as you claw at your chest in terror.

Your throat tightens and you break out in a cold sweat as you sit up. The soft blanket around you feels constricting. Sporadic and short breaths make you heave as your body registers the horrors in your subconscious. 

There was never any lighting. That’s just what the pain feels like.

The muscles in your shoulders and neck tense from your panicked state as your heart struggles to keep a normal rhythm. You yank the blanket off, feeling weak from fear and the onset of tremors. Your whole body gives up on itself as you sob through broken exhales. Your legs have gone cold, lungs shrinking inch by inch with every passing minute. 

You crawl to the edge of your bed, wanting to just get out and leave—the blanket. The bed. The room. Most of all, you want to escape your own mind.

You sink onto the floor when a foot touches the ground, and you realize walking isn’t in the cards right now. You’re shaking too badly to be able to physically move. All your strength is gone, robbed by your memories.

Balmy tears paint your face in determination, making sure no part of you is left untouched by this spell.

You screw your eyes shut, tears still slipping out with ease anyway. Leaning your back against the bed-frame, you curl into yourself and wrap your arms around your knees on the chilled hardwood.

You try to focus on your breathing to at least slow your heart down to a pace that doesn’t hurt.

Wounded cries rip their way out of you, interrupting the breaths you try to steady. A hand touches your arm and you yelp like an injured dog, flailing at the contact as your arms swing out from around your knees in shock.

“Hey, hey, it’s me. It’s me.” Strong hands quickly wrap around each of your wrists to stop your arms from thrashing.

You try to focus your eyes, blurred and stinging from tears, on the person kneeling closely in front of you.

“L-Logan…” you whisper, balling your fists to try and expel the shakes.

He looks like someone who shouldn’t be able to be concerned about another person, yet the look on his face scares you. Brows pinched together in worry, eyes frantic, lips parted from heavy breaths. All because of you.

“It’s just me,” he hushes your cries. His thumbs stroke the undersides of your wrists tenderly, no doubt feeling your racing pulse. 

You feel disoriented. “Wh…how…” 

“I heard you,” he explains, watching you process everything. He drops your wrists when some recognition passes over your face.

“What do you need?” He follows your gaze as it wanders around the room, trying to keep you from spiralling further.

You look at him for a moment. He’s got his white tank-top on, the black sweats, and an intense need to help you written all over him. Fresh tears burn your cheeks as you come back into reality.

“I want it to fucking stop,” you weep, head falling into your hands in shame.

You don’t want him to see you like this, even though it’s a commonality between you two. It’s too intimate. You’d take him seeing you blackout drunk everyday of the year over this.

Then you do remember that it has stopped. Each time in Logan’s bed. There was silence. Peace. For the whole night. For both of you.

“Tell me what you need,” he says firmly, angling his head down to keep your eyes on him, desperately wanting an answer.

“You.” You suck in an agonizing breath to try and collect yourself.

He doesn’t flinch like you expect him to. If anything, his eyes become more pensive, clearly considering something. Then he shakes his head in wariness.

“C’mon. Let’s get you out of here,” he breathes, voice barely above a whisper. The only sound echoing in the room is your wobbly breathes, your body jerking with each one as you enter the aftermath and begin to go slack.

An arm slides behind your back, his hand grabbing ahold of your side while he pulls your legs over his other arm, picking you up off the floor.

He cradles you against him just like he did when you were drunk, carrying you out of your room.

He left your door open when he came in, and you hope no students heard or saw anything. He tilts to grab the doorknob, shutting it without a sound.

You wipe and rub at your eyes as Logan takes a few steps down the hall, quickly getting to where he needs to go when you feel him lean for his doorknob.

You’re sure a few rogue, leftover tears fall onto his shirt before he manages to sit on his bed lightly, you still curled tightly in his arms. 

His hand pushes on your back for you to sit upright on his lap. “Face me,” he encourages, holding onto your sides as you twist around, bending your legs to slide over his thighs and straddle him loosely. 

You look down at him, he looks up at you, feeling the quivers in your body dissipate as you melt further into his lap. A fondness crosses over both of your tired faces. He rests his arms over your thighs, warm hands linking behind your back as you do the same around his neck. 

It’s nothing provocative or seductive. All you can feel is the care and concern rolling off of him in suffocating waves. He wants you to feel safe, and if that means overrunning your senses with his presence, then that’s what he’ll do.

“Got anything to say?” He murmurs, the fallen strands of hair around the edges of his forehead bristle with each move of his head. The rest of his hair fails to fully resemble the cat-like ears he had earlier in the day. 

What does he want to hear? 

You let your head hang a little, your nose almost brushing his. “I have nothing to say,” you assert, fidgeting with the chain of his dog tag at the nape of his neck. 

You don’t necessarily feel embarrassed about him seeing you in such a helpless state, but you don’t want to simply unload your shit on him. So, in turn, you have nothing to say.

“Bullshit.” He almost rolls his eyes. There’s no real threat of him forcing you to say anything behind it. He won’t pry, but he doesn’t believe you.

An offended look overcomes your face, and you almost pull away. You don’t want to feel the humiliation of elaborating on just why exactly you said you needed him in this moment out of everything else. 

“I just…” You roll your lips together in thought, measuring the words you could say but won’t. “Want to sleep. Here,” you sigh. “I don’t wanna go back.” You deflate in his arms, voice wobbly. 

It’s already who-knows what time, and you need to pacify your wired nervous system; Logan simply holding you has already helped with that more than you want to admit.

His mouth quirks up briefly at that. “What happened to not wanting to make that a habit?” His eyes soften as his arms retract from around your sides, letting you slip easily onto his bed from his lap in a moment of calm, or relief.

Habit, if not resisted, soon becomes necessity.

“Special circumstances,” you reason, already pulling the blanket over you while he keeps his place at the edge of the bed, observing you with amusement.

“Seems like you get into those a lot,” he notes, pushing himself off the mattress.

He steps around to the other side—his designated spot—and slips the tank-top off, letting it drop to the floor. You’re not trying to be a freak, but you watch the whole thing.

The flex of his arms and shoulders are out of your mind as fast as they entered as you watch him hook his thumbs in the waistband of his sweats and pull them downright in front of you, not even turning around or to the side to try and conceal himself.

Your eyes widen, then you reel in your thoughts before they get lost at sea. No one who is sane fucking sleeps in sweatpants. Duh.

But didn’t he the last two times? It’s hard for you to remember, but you’d certainly recall if you were face-to-face with the outline of his di—

“It’s rude to stare, y’know.” Logan pulls his lips together, interrupting your thoughts. You try to not eyeball the bulge too hard, but it basically looked at you first. 

The snug briefs do little to hide anything. They hide nothing, actually.

You almost scoff, but the playfulness in his tone tells you he couldn’t give a shit. He probably likes it anyway. From what you know, he definitely does.

“Oh, yeah, like you’ve ever cared about modesty,” you throw back, averting your gaze to the ceiling anyway.

It’s not that he runs around the mansion naked, but he definitely isn’t shy about what he looks like or against showing some skin. You’ve seen and heard enough over the past few months.

You hear a stifled chuckle as he joins you under the blanket without a retort. He knows you’re right. He’s just glad you’re a little lively and alert.

“Will you be okay for the rest of the night?” He brings both hands behind his head on the pillow, propping himself up a little.

“I should be fine,” you say confidently. “The challenge will be getting back to sleep.” You laugh in exasperation. 

It’s always hard to calm down and get back to a place of tranquility after everything has settled with your mind. You’re pumped full of adrenaline and there’s not much that can curb something that persistent flowing through your body.

You haven’t found anything to help with it. Yet. 

“There’s not many people that’ll understand what you go through,” he starts, voice rough with fatigue. “But I do.”

You look to him, sliding an arm under your pillow as you turn on your side. “How do you…help it.” You’re not sure if you phrased that right. It feels crude to reduce something so complex to the likes of a common cold that has an array of over-the-counter solutions. 

“You don’t. It just has to run its course.” He looks to you, wanting to see your reaction. 

It wasn’t meant to be hurtful or insensitive, but he’s not going to lie to you and say that things can only get better and that the worst is over. Especially for mutants, that’s not always true.

Although you don’t know what Logan lives with every day and sleeps with every night, you do know that his capacity for empathy is still intact. Here you are in his bed after all, seeing and indulging in a side of him that many never will. 

You sigh lightly. “We’re quite the pair.” 

A comfortable half-smirk slips over his lips. “I think we’re just fucked up insomniacs,” he suggests with a breathy exhale that’s close enough to a laugh.

You wish you could slide a thumb over the pulse in his wrist and see what’s haunting him, just to understand what happened to the Wolverine, but you’ve learned that doing so usually isn’t worth the price you’ll pay after. If what’s in his head is horrific enough to cause him to go through a couple mattresses a month, then it won’t do you any good either.

“I sleep pretty good with you,” you offer, seeing how he raises a brow in doubt almost instantly.

He sleeps well with you, too. It kind of rattled him when he noticed a pattern of uninterrupted nights and you being by his side. Not a single mattress ruined on those nights.

“Try not to knee me in the stomach tonight,” he deflects with ease. He takes his hands out from behind his head, sliding his left arm under the pillow as he turns over onto his side and closes his eyes. Facing you.

You mentally smack yourself. Multiple times. You didn’t think you drifted that much when you slept. 

“No promises,” you mutter. You catch a small shake of his head before you let yourself join him in unconsciousness as you mirror each others lonely bodies.

━━━���

Your eyes ache—to open, to move, to touch. Enough crying will do that to you.Your eyelids are heavy, but there’s something else weighing down on you. 

A tired groan crawls from your throat as you try to place yourself for a moment. The morning sun is just beginning to shine too brightly for your liking, and you squish your face deeper into the pillow.

You’re still tipsy with sleep, lying flat on your stomach, but there’s something dense and hot resting over your back. 

You prop yourself up on your forearms, giving yourself a minute to wake up. You twist your hips around to sit yourself up, feeling the thing on your back slide down to your waist. 

The blanket pools around your hips, and you feel a hand reflexively squeeze over the meat of your hip in disapproval of your moving. Something in you clenches at the sensation of something invading the area with ease. A spot reserved for intimacy.

Your head quirks to your right, seeing Logan on his stomach with his right arm thrown over your midsection. 

You blink in surprise, staring at his sleeping body. His hair is sticking up every which way, his head half-off the pillow, his side of the blanket not even covering the curve of his ass anymore. It’s endearing to see the Wolverine in such a normal, human state.

But if someone were to walk in, it would look like you two spent the whole night fucking. A lot. That wakes you up a little more.

You peek over at the nightstand behind him and see the time blinking on his watch. It’s already 8 a.m. 

You rest a hand over his shoulder to gently guide his arm off of you, but you stop yourself. Instead, you lightly trace your fingers down his shoulders and upper back a couple times, occasionally scratching softly over the ridges of muscle.

A shiver quickly rolls through his upper body, but your touch doesn’t fully wake him. He knows it’s just you.

It’s the least you can do for him as a thanks for recovering your broken body from the floor of your room and bringing you here when he didn’t necessarily have to.

It almost feels like instinct to offer comforting gestures to him. There’s something inside you that just pulls to him. You want to be the one that can give him comfort and help him put himself back together. 

You want to be the only one.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

There’s a shadow that’s been following you around the mansion. 

As soon as you stepped out of Logan’s room that morning a few days ago, it started. 

This shadow likes to be nosy about what you’re doing. This shadow likes to be in your space. This shadow wants to be in your space. And he is.

No one has seen Logan out around the mansion this much, including you, and that’s how you noticed he’s basically been attached to your hip ever since he decided your back was a comfortable armrest. 

He’s always just there, like a stray cat begging for food or affection. There to entertain you, banter with you, indulge you, in any way he can, including now as you trail back inside the mansion well behind Storm from an evening walkabout in the garden.

“No smoking in the courtyard,” you sing as you pass him carelessly, not even offering a glance to him in interest. 

You like playing this game. Whatever it is. Constantly poking and prodding at each other to see what you can do to get the other to break in some way, no matter how slight. 

Your heart flutters and flips every time; maybe from the thrill of it all, maybe from the arousal you get from the tension. You hope he feels everything, too.

He turns his head to watch you cross into the entryway. “Blow me,” he throws back playfully through a thick puff of smoke, leaning against the brick wall with a cigar pinched between two fingers.

You suppress a chuckle, keeping your unwavering pace. “Yeah, you wish!” You yell over your shoulder. You know he hears you. He wouldn’t let himself miss it.

Logan smirks and shakes his head in amusement, always impressed with your quick rebuttals that occasionally tent his jeans. He takes one last drag out of spite before following your footsteps inside. 

You have become, by definition, friends…in a way. Even if you sorely cross the line into other territory more often than not. Sexual innuendos and friendly flirting can only go on for so long before the underlying intentions and meaning reflects real desires. 

It’s evolved into more than just borrowing his bed a couple times or helping each other out. It’s surpassed the fear of whatever habit you were afraid of forming from doing so. It’s become a dependency to get that adrenaline high from simply riling each other up.

You have an assumption that if you were to end up in Logan’s bed again, somehow, there will be a point of no return that you’ll be faced with. There aren’t many more excuses that can be used for explaining to yourselves why you’re together in bed before you have to recognize the truth.

That platonic line is being stretched too thin, and you’re not sure how much farther it can go.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

“How’ve you been sleeping?”

“Fine. You?”

“Could be better.” Logan hides his smirk, but you can hear it in his voice.

You narrow your eyes skeptically as he fishes around in the fruit bowl sitting in the middle of the kitchen island.

“How so?” You ask. Your legs swing leisurely as you sit upon the chilled countertop on his left, idly waiting for Storm to show up and go with you to training.

A smug, tight-lipped grin flashes across his face, a green apple rolling around in his palms before he puts it back. “You could be there,” he provokes, his eyes bright.

It’s your turn to raise a brow at him, but you can’t stop your smile. “Oh?”

He turns to you, tenderly grabbing the tops of your thighs and parting them slightly to stand between your legs.

This isn’t the first time he’s done this, and he knows it rouses you in all the right ways. But, neither of you will do anything about it. Not even a brief kiss.

“Come on,” he goads, planting his hands down next to your hips, bringing himself in closer as he bears his weight on his arms. “You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.” He sways his head side to side to emphasize his point.

Fuck. That’s good. 

That may be exactly what you did for him, but it’s now a figure of speech for something else entirely. It’s almost impossible to argue against either way, as if you want to. This is what you’ve been patiently waiting for. 

You put your hands over his as you lean back a little to put some distance between you. “How sweet,” you hum.

His eyes flick from yours to your lips one too many times before you continue. “You start to miss me?” You tease as you lean forward again, echoing what he said to you the night your window got smashed in.

“Smart-ass,” he mutters as you laugh quietly. The tips of your noses barely graze each other as he steps in closer again. You’re almost at the same height like this. 

“Save me the left side,” you advise, bringing your hands to his shoulders as you fondle his white t-shirt between your fingers. You’re so close, and he’s already so warm against you just like this.

“Always do.”

━━━━

You want to rip your heart out of your chest from how hard it’s pounding against your ribs. It’s almost throwing you forward with each heavy beat.

Three resounding knocks fill the hallway as you shuffle on your feet, waiting for Logan to open the door.

It feels like you’re doing something bad. Something parents would warn their kids against. Something greatly envied.

Everything inside you feels on fire. Your thoughts, desires, anxiety, all jumbling together into one distorted state of mind and body.

“Ah, welcome back.” His sarcastic tone makes your face go hot. A satisfied smirk crosses his lips as he runs a hand through his shaggy, unstyled hair. 

You shake your head, pursing your lips. “Knock it off.” You gently shove at his bare chest. Misbehaviour already. But are you really surprised?

Logan grabs your wrist, delicately guiding you into his room. “You enjoy it,” he says lowly, quickly shutting the door as soon as you’re in. 

“Maybe,” you hum in response, pulling away from his grasp and seeking out your side of the bed. Logan follows closely behind, giving your ass a light smack in encouragement before he cuts away to his side while you jolt in shock, a stunned look on your face as you whip your head around to him across the bed.

“Oh, really?” You scoff. He’s biting back a smile, not moving until he knows what you’ll do next. He’s never gone that far before.

“I’m sorry, that was rude—how can I make it up to you?” He almost chokes on a laugh, pulling his dog tag back and forth along the chain while he considers you.

This Logan is very different from the one you were met with the first night he let you in his space. This one is attentive and exuberant, yet he hasn’t given you much up until this point right now. You’ve gotten way too comfortable with him without even doing anything to you. 

In this moment, he isn’t the brooding, animalistic Wolverine many see him as. He’s just Logan—for you. 

You watch him carefully, easing yourself onto the bed. “Get in the fucking bed,” you slap his side of the mattress with a thump of your palm. “And do what you promised earlier,” you stare pointedly at him.

He owes you that “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” favour he decided to pull out to get you here. 

“Mm, alright, alright,” he surrenders, a look of amusement still on his face as he kneels onto the bed. “I thought of a pretty good idea for it,” he says softly, crawling to sit next to you on top of the blanket as the bed-frame creaks with the added weight.

Your shoulders almost brush against each other. You shift, turning your body fully toward him. “Oh? Wh—woah!”

You squeal when his strong hands latch onto your sides, lifting you just enough to pull you over his legs to plant you on his lap. He leans back against the headboard, pulling on your thighs so you straddle him tightly. 

He looks devilish when you catch his gaze again, and you know what’s coming. What’s been coming. Your hands find their places on his shoulders, warm and taut, as his hands hold your hips. 

The bond between you will culminate tonight. It will be wrapped in a blanket and trapped between two alike souls that lie heart-to-heart in the dead of night. It will be perpetual.

The heat of him between your legs makes you restless. It’s just you, him, and the darkness in the quiet room you’ve become too familiar with.

“Logan…” you trail off bashfully when you feel something firm through his sweats poke against your cunt. It clearly doesn’t take much to excite him.

“Hm?” He takes you in for a split second, hands running from your hips up to your chest leisurely with a sharp inhale, not yet completely bothered by the fact that you have a shirt on. 

You suck in a shaky breath when your hips accidentally shift over his bulge from his hands pushing and pulling over you.

“What’s the idea?” Your voice wavers.

You know what it is. He knows that. You just want to hear him say it and fill the silence.

“Something I’ve wanted for a while,” he murmurs, eyes hyper-focused on you. 

Your fingers dance their way to the sides of his neck, brushing along the supple skin while you feel muscles and tendons flex with every slight movement. You subtly press the pad of your index finger against the pulse point right under his jaw, just to ground yourself and truly feel that Logan is there in front of you. 

His pulse is steady but hard, much like yours, and the prickle of energy festering against the finger almost makes it go numb from not accepting it into your body. 

“Show me, then.” You smile sweetly, leaning in closer while you tilt his head up with the hand under his jaw, your finger slipping from his pulse and caressing over the dense, coarse hair along his cheek.

Your noses bump while your lips part in anticipation. His eyes flutter as he falls into you and frantically claims your mouth in an unbreakable kiss.

The first kiss. Nothing could tear him from you in this moment.

Your hands cradle his cheeks, keeping him from pulling off too far. His hands scratch and paw at your back, trying to find a way to somehow get you closer against him.

It’s all a little messy, your lips mostly just mashing together without any rhyme or reason, but neither of you care. You only care about how electrifying it feels to finally have Logan and feel how perfectly connected you are together after all these nights. You go together like a key and its lock.

“Logan,” you pant when his mouth releases yours for a fraction of a breath. The seconds between kisses dwindle the more you take from each other.

Your thighs tense as he pulls half an inch away just to reconnect more crazed as his lips lock over your bottom one aimlessly. Something deep inside you trembles and aches.

He grunts, accidentally sucking the tip of your tongue briefly before slotting his lips back over yours in an apology. “Hold on,” he mumbles in a rush against your parted lips. He knows what you’re asking—or trying to ask. He snakes an arm up along your spine and wraps the other around your waist.

Then the world is tilting.

He drops you on your back on the bed from his lap, hovering over you as he distracts you with harsh but pleasing kisses and wet bites along your neck, settling his hips heavily between your thighs. You squirm and feel how bolts of arousal are making your cunt pulse involuntarily. 

Logan groans. “Fuck—I can smell it. I smell you.” He slowly grinds his hips into yours almost reflexively. He squeezes his eyes shut, and you tip your chin up to press a chaste kiss to his slick lips. 

“Taste…if you want to,” you propose, lightly scratching up and down his shoulders and arms, only enough to leave faint red lines for a couple seconds.

Logan’s eyes almost roll into the back of his head before he gives it a small shake, a conflicted look overtaking his face. “Of course I fucking want to, but—fuck—next time. I promise.” He swallows whatever you were going to say with a deep kiss that has you nearly shaking when he sucks on your bottom lip. 

“Let’s just take things easy,” he says roughly, bearing his weight on his left arm while he tries to get your sleep shorts and underwear off.

A promise of a next time makes your brain go fuzzy like static.

“I’ll hold you to it, then,” you resolve, lifting your hips as much as you can for him to lean back and pull away to wrestle your clothes the rest of the way down your legs, discarding them just as quickly.

“I hope you will,” he breathes through a small laugh as he shuffles on his knees. He doesn’t want to completely overwhelm you and scare you off, he just wants to enjoy you in a simple way that won’t entirely ruin you for tomorrow.

He doesn’t know what you can or cannot handle, but he’s going to find out.

The fresh air in the room brushes cooly against your wet cunt. It’s a nice contrast to how fiery your whole body feels, but Logan feels even warmer than you somehow. Maybe wolverine’s just run hot.

His sweats have ridden down his hips from his desperate grinding against you, and the dangerous cut of his v-line grows more and more narrow as the waistband teases the reveal of what’s underneath.

You watch him—palming his dick once as your knees sway side-to-side in waiting. His thumbs hook under the stretchy fabric, working what remains of his clothes down his sturdy thighs.

“It’s rude to stare.” He pops a brow, a smug, arrogant grin quirking his lips.

You push yourself to sit up, considerably shorter than him in this position as he stands on his knees, and walk two fingers up his toned stomach to his chest, avoiding the hard cock between you. 

He looks at you with curiosity until your hand grabs his dog tag in a fist, pulling it towards you. “Then stop showing me your dick,” you say as he leans in to your pulling a little to not have the chain break away.

You knew the night Logan dropped his pants in front of you and let you eye-up his bulge would come back to haunt you. But it’s alluring. Big. Curves a little to the left, barely noticeable. A respectable amount of hair decorates the space between his bellybutton and the base of his cock.

He gives in to the tension on the chain, falling back to the mattress with you and trapping you between his arms as his cock rests heavy on your clit.

“How about I find somewhere to put it?” His smile pushes a whole new wave of arousal from you.

“It would be a damn shame if you didn’t,” you say against his mouth, giving your hips a roll just to tease him before hugging his waist tightly with your knees.

“Good.” He gives you a strong kiss with a small grunt, running his hands over your sides under your shirt. The movement pushes it up, up, up, until you have no choice but to stretch your arms out above you and let him slide it off between more thoughtless kisses, leaving you entirely bare.

He lets you breathe for a moment, dipping his head to bite and suck marks along your collarbones messily. You squeeze around his hips harder, trying to get him to give you something other than his scratchy cheeks rubbing against your skin and the chilled steel of the dog tag dragging over your chest.

The tip of his cock falls and catches over your clit when he moves lower, licking and sucking over your chest like a starved animal finding food for the first time in a week. You gasp from the mixed sensations.

“C’mon, kitty cat, you can do all this while inside m-me,” you say breathily, fingers digging into his shoulders to stop yourself from trembling too much. 

Logan bites over a nipple before pulling himself back up to look at you. “Is that a promise?” He says lowly, that stupid smirk gracing his face again.

“Try it and find out,” you demand, enjoying the sting of the deeper bites blooming on your torso.

He purses his lips, shifting his weight back onto his knees to grab ahold of his cock to angle and guide it in.

“Hm, guess no lube is needed,” he muses when he gets a look at your cunt, sparing you a glance through his lashes.

You roll your eyes shut when your whole body lights up red-hot. “Jesus fucking Christ, Logan,” you slap a hand over your eyes as you grimace. You don’t want to be that aware of your naked self right now.

He suppresses whatever expression was about to cross his face when his cock notches itself between your soaked folds, teasing your hole with the blunt tip. His brows pinch together and you forget the embarrassment from his crude remark.

But he leaves his cock like that, on the precipice of sliding the rest of the way in with a snap of his hips. Instead, he carefully uncurls his upper body to crawl his way back up to you while holding his hips deathly still.

“Alright, stay with me,” he whispers against your neck when you moan, pressing a tender kiss to your rabid pulse in reassurance. 

“O-okay,” you sigh, running a hand through his hair and tugging at the roots while the other squeezes around his arm as best as it can. You’re not even really sure what he’s saying.  

He kisses up your cheek and over to your lips again. You try to keep up with his quick mouth, licking and sucking whatever part you can get ahold of, but you’ve become lost in the feeling of him all over you. 

He’s in your mouth, on your chest, against your stomach, nudging your cunt. Everywhere.

He slips his tongue over yours, securing your lips together at the same time he pushes his cock in halfway. Now you understand what he was saying. 

The lightheadedness from being filled, even just a bit, almost makes you lose yourself. The stretch makes your stomach drop, your legs shake, and your mouth fall open with a whine. 

“A-ah—fuck. Fuck, Logan,” you whimper, fisting his hair with both hands to stop yourself from falling apart.

He groans, either at the grip you have on his hair or how good your cunt feels already, and runs a hand up your left thigh in comfort as you squeeze around his hips tighter to draw him in. 

“Just a bit more,” he soothes, trying to resist the urge to slide into you in one fell swoop. It would be so easy to just let his hips fall into yours and fill your cunt.

Another heated kiss, another few inches. He works his cock into you the rest of the way with ease. You guess the lube thing wasn’t really a joke. His hungry, needy kisses may have also helped with that.

You choke on your gasps, not wanting to get too loud, and Logan does the same. He tries to muffle both of your moans with his mouth, attempting to form complete kisses, but it just turns into you panting against each other as he finally bottoms out, hitting his end. 

Your legs relax around his waist as he deftly rocks his hips in small thrusts to get you familiar with his size, his small grunts filling the air each time you swallow him whole.

You let out a deep breath, dropping your hands back to his tense shoulders. He lines your jaw with soft kisses, fisting the blanket in his hands beside your head.

“Fuck. Already feels too good,” he moans, pressing into you harder and unintentionally rubbing himself over your tender clit.

You smile, squirming while he works down your neck again. “Best of luck,” you huff, amused at the fact that he might not last as long as he wants to.

He brings his face back to yours, a completely blissful expression controlling his features, but there’s still some mischief in his hazel eyes. “Oh? Yeah?”

You hold each other’s gaze, both equally dazed and overwhelmed, and he draws his hips back and pushes into your wet cunt with a complete, strong thrust. The sound of his pelvis hitting against the backs of your thighs makes him laugh in pleasure and satisfaction when you instantly roll your eyes and head back.

Your cunt quivers, gripping him tight, and then it’s Logan’s turn to lose composure. He drops his head to your chest, managing a few deep breaths as he slowly pulls out halfway just to push right back into you, over and over. 

It’s a pace that isn’t quite pure, mindless fucking, but it’s also not somewhere near earnest love-making. It’s something that feels specifically curated for you. Something that feels measured and sincere. 

The strength of his thighs hitting against yours pushes you up the mattress a few inches, and you don’t know whether to gasp or moan. He reaches somewhere deep inside you, and you know he can feel that, too.

A helpless groan slips through Logan’s lips. “Where have you fucking been, huh?” He muses through shaky breaths, the determined plunge of his cock hitting something that makes your muscles tense throughout your body. 

Your fingers tangle in the hair at the base of his neck, keeping him close. “Two doors down,” you giggle, understanding that’s not quite what he was asking.

“Fucking smart-ass,” he grumbles, silencing any further rebuttals with a wet kiss. You don’t think you could manage much more of a conversation even if you wanted to.

The silence is quickly filled with obscene sounds that only seem to leave you wetter and Logan throbbing. You can hear your bodies connecting through your gasping for air and his choked moans, and you can feel the mess you’re making all over him. It’s smeared along the inside of your thighs from how deep he’s been hitting. The squelching only seems to make him fuck into you harder.

Something inside you starts to grow tight and wind up in your core, making you repeatedly clench around him while his cock strokes all the right spots inside you as he makes sure he’s fucking himself in to the base. He doesn’t deprive you of anything. 

He drops his head to your neck, wedging his face in to latch onto the spot right where your neck starts to slope into your shoulder. The dense muscle there gives him something to basically chew on, sinking his teeth in as deep as he can without drawing blood.

“H-hah, Logan,” you whine, tilting your head into the side of his and squirming from the pleasant sting.

You feel his arm move beside you, then you hear the sound of tearing fabric as he gives a particularly brutal snap of his hips, followed by a deep groan against your skin.

You can barely form any thoughts, but you can guess what just happened. If he pulled his hand back, three long, slim holes would probably be where his knuckles are right now.

“Fu-uck, Logan, you just got t-this mattress,” you laugh a little, your words choppy from how hard he’s driving into you now.

He draws back from your neck, seeing your half-lidded eyes trying to focus on him. “Can’t always control it,” he reasons, giving you two short, fleeting kisses as you hear his claws retract from the innocent mattress. 

You see the double-edged sword. You can guess that that’s the same explanation he would probably use for the nightmares. It can go either way, and now you’ve seen both sides.

“It’s okay,” you say in a hushed tone. You cradle his face, and he rests his forehead against yours. “Keep going…keep going,” you coax, face scrunching from your nearing orgasm.

You can feel it in your toes, your stomach, your shoulders—you’re tightening up everywhere, and he can undoubtedly feel it in your cunt as you pulse around him. It grips him just right for a couple seconds before relaxing completely and leaving him to chase for more.

“Keep squeezing me like that and you’ll get whatever you want,” he offers, fighting to maintain his steady pace for both your sakes.

You almost whine, knowing whatever your body does is beyond your control at this point.

“Just—inside.” You can’t even string together a full sentence anymore, but the urgency and stress on the last word makes Logan’s ears perk up.

He presses a soft kiss to your clammy forehead in acknowledgment, the muscles in his arms straining and flexing as he grabs ahold of his own orgasm after a particularly inviting flutter of your walls.

You’re both walking the line, teetering on the edge of utter euphoria, and you know nothing will be the same after. You don’t want it to be. You hope it isn’t.

He reaches an arm back, sliding his hand up your thigh again and slotting it behind the bend in your knee. He pushes forward—only slightly—bringing your leg closer to your stomach to stretch you open for him.

His cock brushes over something new. Something that makes you bite your tongue. The angle lets him fit perfectly against you, not hindered by the flesh of your thigh stopping his hips.

You want to cry from how good it all feels. You want to be suspended in this feeling forever. You want Logan to—

“Focus, baby. Focus on me,” he coos, bringing you back to reality. He holds the side of your head with his other hand affectionately. “Come on…come on, I know you’re almost there,” he encourages with a quick kiss that goes straight to your stomach.

The burn in your thigh from the stretch can’t overpower the sparks of your orgasm, and Logan just fanned the flames with a few little words.

You come with a broken sob, convulsing around his cock while he fucks you through it, submitting to his own orgasm only seconds after with deep, shaky breaths as he empties himself inside your cunt.

He doesn’t pull out or pull away. He relaxes on top of you, sweaty and sticky with cum, and he places the barest whisper of a kiss on your chin, your parted lips, your nose, and then your forehead. 

Your ears ring from your orgasm, eyes still slightly out of focus. Your body trembles from your muscles finally releasing the tension they’ve been caught up in. 

You desperately suck in air, trying to calm your pounding heart, and you just lie there and let Logan walk your body through a cool-down. Soft kisses. Soft touches. Soft looks. Between sweat, cum, and whatever else.

He rocks a little on his knees, weak from his release, and carefully pulls out of you with a huff as he caresses your stomach and thighs appreciatively to wind you down. You get a good look at him. Not a scratch. His hair tells a story, though—one where he’s completely possessed by bliss. 

You probably look like you survived an animal attack.

“Are we even?” Logan says through a kiss against your stomach.

A mindless laugh crawls from your throat, caught up in the feeling of his hands rubbing circles over your hips. “I think I still owe you,” you argue, resting your hands over his as they travel smoothly up your side.

You’ll find a way to make everything up to him. Including the sex. The scale is now tipping to his side too much. All the nights spent in his bed, what he’s done for you, what you’ve done for each other, may just be immeasurable, but that won’t stop you from finding a way to get him back for it all. 

“We’ll figure it out,” he mumbles, snaking back up your body and pressing himself against you. Face-to-face. Chest-to-chest. 

You mindfully run your hands over the sides of his head, trying to tame his hair and style it back to how it was earlier in the night. It doesn’t work. He enjoys it anyway.

“Do I have the pleasure of staying here tonight?” You ask rhetorically, enjoying the warmth of him on top of you against the brisk air creeping in from the cracked window.

Logan blinks. “You can stay every night.” 

A loving smile springs over your face. This may be the beginning of the end to your troubles and worries.  

You—maybe foolishly—trust him. You trust that he won’t accidentally bury his claws in your side during the night, but you’ve had impressive luck with that up until this point. The only thing you can do now is continue to push that luck.

Healing isn’t linear, and you can’t expect someone to fix you, but everyone finds their thing at some point. 

You slither your hand down to his neck, index finger grazing over his pulse again. You feel the energy biting against you.

Your lips graze over his, tempting him to give you a slow, deep kiss. “Can I have the left side?” Rhetorical, again.

Logan chuckles against your mouth. “Always.”

[glow-in-the-dark-death]

To Be Wooed

I blacked out and wrote this. This is so silly to me.

Enjoy!

Look Danny didn't mean to kill the Joker it was an honest mistake, he was still recovering from escaping the GIW and whatever they had used on him had still been in effect when he honest to Ancients ran into the fake clown.

Of course it doesn't look like an accident with how he left the Joker

But it was!

Really it really was!

Whatever the GIW did was out of his system, but that still left a very dead and coreless Joker.

Yeah...apparently Joker had a core, but not anymore because he ate it like it was pop rock candy, if the weird cousin spicy version of it. He still feels like he has some of it stuck in his teeth.

Anyways! Not the point!

Joker! Very dead at his feet, what is he supposed to do-

THUMP

Oh Ancients he's going to die again that's the Red Hood!

"Uh...I can explain, well not really. But it was an accident! I promise and-"

"You killed him?"

"I'm really sorry? He bumped into me, it was an accident I swear!"

"Go on a date with me."

WHa-what?! Did he just hear correctly why would he ask him out out of nowhere it made no sense and..oh.

Red Hood's been touched by Death not like him but enough to count, and enough to have some ghostly instincts.

Okay ghostly courting he can do that, he totally can, no sweat!

Shit who is he kidding he may have the instincts but he was never actually taught how he's supposed to use them or anything.

Well he's always been good at making it up as he goes, and at least his instincts will help push him in the right direction.

So he should just do what feels natural to him.

"Yes I'll go out with you. If I were to make jewelry and knives out of his bones would you accept them?"

"...For me to wear and use. Yes."

~

Danny freaking out about just killing and kinda eating someone: I'm in so much trouble!

Jason behind him fixing his appearance: "Well hello there handsome come by here often?"

~

Joker bumping into Danny: "ahAHA you will make a good experiment!"

Danny is high as a kite and getting the munchies: "I didn't know I could order food with my mind!"

Joker: "Whut-"

~

Jason seeing Danny absolutely wrecking Jokers shit: *Ghost Instincts Activated*

~

Jason falling fast for Danny without even knowing his name: "Can I pretty please kiss you?"

Danny realizing what's going on but still being clueless: "Does that mean you will accept these gifts made from Jokers bones?"

Jason's Ghost Instincts rising to a fever pitch: "I'm going to woo the fuck out of ya and then we'll get married then we'll fu-"

~

Danny's Ghostly Instincts being connected to his 'Protection' & Jason's to his 'Revenge' showing these kind of specific gestures towards them is incredibly romantic.

~

Jason and Danny's relationship basically:

~

~

~

#They're like Morticia & Gomez absolutely smitten for each other

#Jason brings a crying & beaten up GIW who has been stalking Danny

#Danny almost swooned

#They start flirting with each other while standing on top of the GIW dude

#Jason's goons are happy that their boss found 'The One' apparently but can they please stop eyefucking each other while they're there and-

~

Just an Idea