#so you will be happy to hear it will probably be a while before i actually write it lol i’m just brainstorming | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

amethystarachnid · 2 days ago

Note

Hello, I’d love to request something for you

It’s for Tony and female reader, they are friends with benefits and she ends up getting pregnant, she’s afraid to tell Tony and afraid of his reaction because their arrangement doesn’t involve feelings (but they are so deeply in love with each other already) so she starts getting a little cold with him and Tony gets sad, until one day they decide to talk and reader tells him that she’s pregnant and that she understands if he doesn’t want the baby but Tony is so happy to be a father and to be a father of a baby with the woman he loves 🤍 after the news they will turn into a real couple and be so happy together. Thank you! 🤍

ACCIDENTS HAPPEN - part I

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: spicy, some mixed angst and fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: normal request

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 9k

ᯓ★ Summary: Accidents happen, right? That's what you keep telling yourself the days after the condom broke while you and Tony were...together. Your period doesn't come but you lie to Tony and tell him it as, because he surely doesn't want a kid, right?

ᯓ★ TW(s): a small spicy scene, condom breaks

ᯓ★ Part II

ᯓ★ I love family man Tony so much, matter of fact, I love every character seen as a family man I don't know why lol.

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The fluorescent lights of the Stark Tower kitchen are glaring, but not as much as Tony Stark’s smirk. He’s leaning against the counter, casually sipping coffee like he doesn’t have a single care in the world. But you know better. You see the faint twitch of his lips, the amused glint in his eyes that’s practically begging you to break the silence.

“You’re being weird,” you say, crossing your arms as you lean against the fridge.

“Weird?” he repeats, mock-offended. “I’m drinking coffee in my own kitchen. What’s weird about that?”

You raise an eyebrow. “The way you’re looking at me. Like... like you’re picturing something.”

Tony doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh, I’m definitely picturing something.” He tilts his head, eyes roaming over you in a way that’s anything but subtle. “Something that happened roughly seven hours ago, give or take.”

Heat rushes to your face, and you quickly avert your gaze. Seven hours ago, you’d been in Tony’s bed—or rather, sprawled across it while his hands did things you’re not entirely sure you’ll ever recover from. It’s supposed to be casual, the thing you have with him. No feelings, no strings. Just… stress relief, as Tony had so eloquently put it when this arrangement started.

But Tony Stark has a way of making casual feel like a loaded gun, just waiting to go off.

“Keep it down,” you hiss, glancing toward the door. “Do you want the others to hear?”

Tony raises his eyebrows in mock innocence. “What others? I’m pretty sure we’re alone.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. Instead, you grab an apple from the counter, pretending to be far more interested in it than the infuriating man in front of you. Tony doesn’t move. He just keeps looking at you with that stupid smirk that makes your stomach flip in a way that’s both exhilarating and dangerous.

“You know,” he says after a beat, “if you keep trying to play the ‘nothing to see here’ card, it’s going to make things more obvious.”

“Obvious?” You scoff. “There’s nothing to make obvious.”

Tony sets his mug down and closes the distance between you in two easy steps. You barely have time to react before he’s towering over you, his arms boxing you in against the fridge. His cologne—some kind of absurdly expensive blend that probably costs more than your rent—wraps around you like a second skin.

“Sweetheart,” he says, voice low enough to send shivers down your spine. “I’m a genius. You think I don’t notice the way you look at me when you think no one’s watching?”

“I don’t—”

“Oh, you do.” His lips curve into a smug grin, and damn it, why does he have to look so good doing it? “And let’s not forget how you can’t seem to keep your hands to yourself when we’re alone.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off, his voice dropping another octave. “Don’t worry. I like it. But you might want to work on your poker face, darling, because if I can tell, you can bet your ass the others will.”

The implication makes your stomach twist. “They don’t know.”

“Not yet,” Tony agrees. “But I wouldn’t underestimate Romanoff. Or Rogers, for that matter. The guy might be old-fashioned, but he’s not blind.”

You groan, pushing against his chest to create some distance. “This is exactly why we need to keep things… professional in public.”

Tony chuckles, stepping back just enough to let you breathe. “Sure. Professional. That’s exactly the vibe we give off.”

You glare at him. “I’m serious, Tony. If this gets out—”

He interrupts you with a finger pressed to your lips. “Relax. I’m not exactly running my mouth about it. What we do—” He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “—or don’t do—is nobody’s business.”

A shiver runs down your spine, and you hate how easily he gets to you. You know you should say something, maybe call him out for being so infuriatingly cocky, but the words catch in your throat when his hand brushes against your hip, his touch just light enough to make you ache for more.

“You’re impossible,” you mutter.

“And yet, here you are,” he quips, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

Before you can respond—or do something stupid, like kiss him—the sound of footsteps echoes down the hallway. Your heart leaps into your throat, and you shove Tony away, nearly knocking the apple off the counter in your haste to look casual.

The door swings open, and Steve Rogers walks in, his expression as neutral as ever.

“Morning,” he says, nodding at the two of you.

“Morning,” you reply, your voice a little too high-pitched for comfort.

Tony, of course, is the picture of nonchalance. “Cap,” he says, raising his mug in a mock salute. “How’s it going?”

Steve gives him a once-over, his gaze lingering just long enough to make you sweat. But if he notices anything unusual, he doesn’t comment. Instead, he grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and heads for the door.

“Training in ten,” he says over his shoulder. “Don’t be late.”

As soon as he’s gone, you exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “See? This is why we need to be more careful.”

Tony shrugs, unbothered. “Relax. If anyone could smell trouble, it’d be Rogers. And he didn’t say a word.”

“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t suspect something.”

Tony smirks, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Maybe. But then again, maybe he just thinks you can’t resist my charm.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet…” He steps closer, his voice dropping to that dangerously seductive tone that makes your knees weak. “You keep coming back.”

Before you can respond, he’s gone, sauntering out of the kitchen like he doesn’t have a care in the world. You, on the other hand, are left standing there, your heart racing and your head spinning.

This is going to be harder than you thought.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Tony’s fingers tangle in your hair, his lips trailing hot, demanding kisses down your neck as your back hits the soft sheets of his bed. The city lights outside cast long, flickering shadows across the room, but you barely notice. You’re far too focused on the way Tony’s hands roam your body like he’s memorizing every inch of you, the rough pads of his fingers igniting fire wherever they touch.

"You're incredible," he mutters, his voice thick with reverence and hunger as he leans back to look at you. His gaze rakes over you like you're the most exquisite thing he's ever laid eyes on, and for a moment, you're lost in the intensity of his expression. It's almost too much. Almost.

"You're not so bad yourself," you tease, though your voice comes out breathier than you'd like. It doesn’t matter. Tony doesn’t need words to know what he does to you.

He smirks at your reply, his trademark arrogance mingling with a rawness he rarely lets anyone see. He dives back in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that leaves you dizzy and aching. Everything about him is overwhelming in the best possible way—the taste of his mouth, the scrape of his stubble against your skin, the way his hands grip your hips like he can’t bear the thought of letting you go.

The night is a blur of heated whispers, tangled sheets, and the sound of your name falling from his lips like a prayer. By the time you both collapse back onto the bed, spent and panting, the world feels a little hazier, a little quieter. His arm is draped lazily over your waist, his body warm against yours as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“You’re something else,” he murmurs, his voice soft but edged with that familiar playful lilt.

“So I’ve been told,” you reply, your heart still racing as you close your eyes, letting the moment wash over you.

But then, his hand stills on your hip. There’s a beat of silence, followed by a quiet curse under his breath.

“What?” you ask, your voice sharp with alarm as you sit up slightly to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

Tony doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulls back just enough to inspect the condom in his hand—what’s left of it, anyway. The air between you shifts instantly, the charged intimacy replaced by something colder. His jaw tightens, his gaze flickering to yours, and you don’t need him to say anything to understand.

It broke.

Your stomach twists, panic creeping in around the edges of your mind. You know what this means. You know the risks, the possibilities. And judging by the way Tony is staring at you, his usual confidence momentarily stripped away, he knows too.

“Okay,” you say quickly, sitting up fully and reaching for his hand. “It’s fine. We’ll handle this.”

“Handle it?” he echoes, his tone sharp. His fingers curl into a fist around the useless piece of latex, his frustration evident. “Do you have any idea—”

“Yes,” you interrupt firmly, your heart pounding in your chest. “I know. But freaking out isn’t going to help.”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his messy hair. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

You place your hand over his, squeezing gently. “I know. But it did, and we’ll deal with it.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his dark eyes searching your face like he’s trying to find something—reassurance, maybe, or some kind of solution to a problem neither of you can undo. Finally, he nods, though his jaw is still tight.

“I’ll take care of it,” you say, trying to keep your voice calm and steady. “I’ll get the pill tomorrow morning. It’s not a big deal.”

His eyebrows shoot up, his expression a mixture of skepticism and concern. “Not a big deal? Y/N—”

“Tony,” you cut him off, your tone firmer now. “I’m serious. It’s fine. These things happen. That’s why emergency contraception exists.”

He doesn’t look convinced. If anything, he looks more agitated, his mind no doubt racing through every worst-case scenario. You can practically see the calculations happening behind his eyes, his genius brain working overtime to solve a problem that can’t be solved with tech or money or wit.

“Hey,” you say softly, reaching up to cup his face. His stubble is rough against your palm, but his skin is warm, grounding. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, he does, his eyes locking with yours. There’s a vulnerability there, buried beneath the layers of charm and bravado he wears like armor. It’s a side of him he rarely lets anyone see, and it makes your chest ache.

“It’s going to be okay,” you say, your voice steady. “I promise.”

He exhales slowly, some of the tension in his shoulders easing at your words. He places his hand over yours, holding it against his cheek like he’s drawing strength from your touch.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with this,” he murmurs, his tone softer now. “This is my fault.”

“It’s not anyone’s fault,” you say firmly. “It just happened. And it’s not the end of the world.”

He studies you for a moment, his gaze searching yours like he’s trying to gauge whether you really believe what you’re saying. You hold his gaze, willing him to see that you’re not afraid—that you’re in control, even if the situation feels precarious.

Finally, he nods again, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Alright,” he says quietly. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” you reply, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “Now, stop overthinking it and come back to bed.”

A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re bossy, you know that?”

“Someone has to be,” you tease, lying back down and pulling him with you. He goes willingly, his arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid to let go.

As you rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, you feel the tension slowly drain from his body. He still holds you a little tighter than usual, and you know the worry is still there, lurking beneath the surface. But for now, you’re both safe in the quiet cocoon of his bed, and that’s enough.

The morning sunlight spills into the bedroom, cutting through the blinds in thin golden slats. You wake up before Tony, which isn’t unusual. His arm is slung lazily over your waist, and his face is relaxed in a way that makes him look younger, softer—like he’s let go of the weight of the world, if only for a few precious hours.

You slip out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake him. Your feet hit the cold hardwood floor, and you grab one of his shirts from the edge of the bed, slipping it over your bare skin before padding out of the room. The small box you picked up from the pharmacy the night before sits on the kitchen counter, unopened. Your stomach twists as you pick it up, the weight of it heavier than it should be.

It’s not the first time you’ve taken the pill, and logically, you know what to expect. It’s supposed to be a fail-safe, a last resort. But something about the circumstances makes your chest tighten as you swallow the pill with a sip of water. The air feels thicker this morning, heavy with an unspoken tension that you can’t quite shake.

By the time Tony joins you, freshly showered and looking far too put-together for someone who stayed up so late, you’ve shoved the box deep into the trash and plastered on your best neutral expression. He doesn’t mention the pill. He doesn’t ask if you took it, though you know he’s probably been thinking about it. Instead, he leans casually against the counter and makes a joke about the kitchen being out of coffee, his easy demeanor doing little to mask the faint tension in his voice.

You don’t call him out on it. The last thing you want is to drag the conversation back into that same spiral of worry. Instead, you focus on normalcy—breakfast, half-hearted banter, the comforting rhythm of your strange, secret dynamic.

Days pass. A week. Maybe more. At first, you’re fine, brushing off the gnawing anxiety at the back of your mind. But when the calendar flips over to a new month and your period is nowhere to be found, the panic starts to creep in.

You check your phone obsessively, googling every possible explanation that isn’t what you’re afraid of. Stress, you tell yourself. Hormonal shifts. The pill can do this, right? Throw off your cycle? It’s not like your body works on a perfect schedule anyway.

And yet, as the days continue to pass, your chest tightens a little more every morning. The thought of telling Tony lingers at the edge of your mind, a shadow that grows darker every time you push it away. You think back to the night it happened, to the way he looked at you when the condom broke. The frustration, the fear—it’s all burned into your memory, and you’re not sure you can bear to see that look again.

So you don’t tell him.

When he asks casually a week later if “everything’s sorted,” you force yourself to smile and nod. “Yeah,” you say, your voice far steadier than you feel. “It was just a big scare. Everything’s fine now.”

The relief that washes over his face makes your heart sink. He leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair as his lips curve into an easy grin. “Good. That’s good.”

He doesn’t realize the way your stomach twists when he says it. He doesn’t notice the faint tremor in your hands as you reach for your coffee cup, your fingers brushing against the ceramic edge like it’s the only thing grounding you.

Tony doesn’t dwell on it after that. He’s good at compartmentalizing—too good, sometimes. Once he’s reassured, the topic is filed away in whatever mental vault he keeps for things he doesn’t want to think about.

But for you, it lingers.

You try to push it down, to bury it beneath layers of distraction. Missions, training, pretending that the world hasn’t shifted beneath your feet. But every time you’re alone, the weight of the lie presses against your chest, making it harder to breathe.

You catch yourself staring at him sometimes, wondering what he would say if you told him the truth. Would he panic? Shut down? Or would he surprise you, the way he sometimes does, with a level of vulnerability that makes your heart ache? You don’t know, and the uncertainty is almost worse than the fear itself.

One night, as the two of you sit curled up on the couch watching some old black-and-white movie he insisted you’d love, you feel the words bubbling up in your throat. The urge to tell him is almost overwhelming, the silence between you stretching thin and taut like a thread about to snap.

“Tony—” you start, but he cuts you off with a lazy smirk, his hand brushing against your thigh.

“You’re not actually paying attention, are you?” he teases, nodding toward the screen.

The moment slips through your fingers like water, and you force a laugh, shaking your head. “Not really,” you admit, though the words feel hollow in your mouth.

He grins, leaning in to kiss your temple. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

The warmth of his touch should be comforting, but all you feel is the gnawing guilt in the pit of your stomach.

Days turn into weeks. You’ve never been particularly religious, but you find yourself silently praying every night, begging for some kind of resolution that doesn’t involve your entire world unraveling. You know you can’t keep this up forever. Sooner or later, the truth will come out, whether you want it to or not.

But for now, you cling to the fragile illusion of normalcy, pretending that everything is fine, that the ache in your chest isn’t growing louder with every passing day.

It’s late one evening when the weight of it all finally becomes too much. You’re standing in the bathroom, staring at your reflection in the mirror. Your skin looks paler than usual, your eyes shadowed with exhaustion. You press a hand to your stomach, your fingers trembling as you let out a shaky breath.

You can’t do this. You can’t keep pretending.

But when you step out of the bathroom and find Tony sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through something on his tablet with an easy smile on his face, the words die in your throat. He looks so… unburdened, so relieved.

You sit down beside him, your movements stiff and robotic. He glances at you, his expression softening as he sets the tablet aside. “Hey,” he says, his voice low and warm. “You okay?”

You nod, forcing a small smile. “Yeah,” you lie. “I’m fine.”

It’s not fine. None of this is fine. But as Tony wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close, you let yourself fall into the comfort of his embrace, even if it feels like it’s built on a crumbling foundation.

Because right now, it’s easier to let him believe the lie than to face the truth.

And for better or worse, you’re not ready to let go of the fragile peace that lie has created. Not yet.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

The bathroom feels colder than usual, the air thick with a kind of tension you can almost taste. You’re sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, staring at the small white stick on the sink like it’s a bomb waiting to go off. Your heart pounds so loudly in your chest that it drowns out everything else—the hum of the air conditioning, the distant city sounds drifting through the window, even your own breath.

You’ve been here for what feels like an eternity, though it’s probably only been a few minutes. The instructions on the box said three minutes, but you’re too scared to look. Too scared to confirm what your body has already been hinting at for days.

Your period is ten days late. Ten.

You’ve always been irregular—stress, missions, even the pill you took that morning can throw your cycle off—but ten days? That’s more than a delay. That’s a sign.

You’re holding your breath, your hands clenched tightly around the fabric of your pajama pants. You want to stand up, to take that final step and see the result, but your legs won’t move. You’re frozen, caught between the urge to know and the overwhelming fear of what you might find.

When you finally gather the courage to stand, your knees feel shaky, like they might buckle under you. You lean over the sink, your trembling hand reaching for the pregnancy test. It takes everything in you to flip it over, to look at the little window that holds the answer to the question you’ve been too terrified to ask.

Two lines.

Positive.

You blink, your breath catching in your throat as the reality of it sinks in. For a moment, you feel like the ground beneath you has shifted, like the whole world has tilted on its axis. This can’t be real. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

And yet, as you stare at those two little lines, a strange, unexpected feeling blooms in your chest. It’s faint, fragile, but it’s there—happiness.

Your hand flies to your mouth as tears spill down your cheeks. You don’t even know why you’re crying. Is it shock? Fear? Joy? Maybe it’s all of it, a tangled knot of emotions you can’t begin to unravel.

You sink to the floor, your back against the cold bathroom tile, clutching the test in your hands like it’s a lifeline. Tears blur your vision, but you don’t wipe them away. You just sit there, letting the wave of emotions crash over you.

You love him. That’s the thought that breaks through the chaos in your mind, clear and undeniable. You love Tony Stark. Of course, you do. You’ve loved him for longer than you care to admit, longer than this arrangement of yours has been going on. And now, you’re carrying a piece of him inside you—a tiny, fragile piece that terrifies you and fills you with a strange, aching kind of hope all at once.

But then the fear creeps back in, sharp and insistent.

You think about the way he reacted that morning after the condom broke, the tension in his shoulders, the way he’d paced like he was trying to solve an unsolvable equation. You think about the relief that washed over his face when you lied and told him your period had come.

He doesn’t want this.

The thought makes your chest ache, the tears coming faster now. You know Tony. You know the walls he’s built around himself, the way he keeps people at arm’s length, even when he’s letting them into his bed. You know how hard he fights to keep control over his life, his world, his emotions.

A baby? That’s not part of his plan. Hell, you’re not even part of his plan. You’re supposed to be casual, no strings, no complications. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

And yet, here you are, clutching a pregnancy test and crying alone in the bathroom, trying to figure out how you’re supposed to navigate this new reality.

You can’t tell him. The thought hits you like a punch to the gut, but you know it’s true. You can’t tell Tony. Not now. Not when you can still see the relief in his eyes from the last time you reassured him that everything was fine.

He’ll leave. The thought makes your stomach twist painfully, but you can’t shake it. If you tell him, he’ll panic. He’ll shut down, pull away, and you’ll lose him completely. And as much as the idea of raising a child on your own terrifies you, the thought of losing Tony is worse.

So you don’t tell him.

You wipe your tears, setting the test on the counter with shaking hands. Your reflection in the mirror looks haunted, your eyes red and puffy, your cheeks streaked with tears. You take a deep breath, splashing cold water on your face in a futile attempt to calm yourself. You need to pull it together. You need to figure out what comes next.

But for now, all you can do is stand there, staring at your reflection, trying to reconcile the life you thought you had with the one that’s suddenly, irrevocably changed.

The door to the bedroom creaks open, and your heart leaps into your throat. You scramble to compose yourself, swiping at your eyes and plastering on a shaky smile just as Tony’s voice drifts into the bathroom.

“Hey, you alright in there?” he asks, his tone casual but laced with concern.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to sound normal. “Yeah,” you call back, your voice only wavering slightly. “Just… needed a minute.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he hums softly, like he’s satisfied with your answer. “Well, don’t take too long. I ordered breakfast, and you know how I feel about eating alone.”

You let out a weak laugh, your chest tightening at the sound of his voice. “Be right there.”

When you step out of the bathroom a few minutes later, your face freshly washed and your expression carefully neutral, Tony’s already sprawled on the bed with a plate of food balanced precariously on his lap. He grins when he sees you, patting the spot beside him like nothing’s changed.

And for now, you let yourself fall into the illusion of normalcy, even as the weight of your secret presses heavily against your chest.

The air between you and Tony shifts subtly at first—so small, so gradual, that neither of you comments on it. Nights that once burned hot now fizzle out before they even begin. The once-electric tension, the playful banter that led to tangled sheets and breathless laughter, is replaced by something colder. It’s you who pulls away first. At first, it’s subtle—an excuse here, a brush-off there. “I’m not in the mood tonight,” you say, avoiding his eyes as you sit on the edge of the bed, a little too far from him.

Tony lets it go. He always does.

He’s not the type to push, and you know he’s trying to respect your space. But as the days stretch into weeks, your distance becomes harder to ignore. Every time he reaches for you, his touch hesitant but hopeful, you step just a little further out of his reach. It’s not that you don’t want him—god, you want him more than ever. But every time he’s close, every time his lips brush against your skin or his voice drops into that low, teasing tone that always used to make you weak, you feel the weight of your secret pressing down on you like a stone.

You don’t know how to face him, how to look him in the eye without feeling like a liar. So you pull away.

Tony notices. Of course he notices.

At first, he thinks it’s stress. You’ve been juggling missions, the chaos of your lives, the constant push and pull of being in the public eye while trying to keep your relationship—whatever it is—a secret. Stress makes sense. It’s logical, explainable. But as time goes on, and your coldness toward him hardens into something sharper, something unrelenting, the doubts creep in.

It’s late one night, and Tony’s lying in bed alone, staring up at the ceiling as the soft glow of the arc reactor casts faint, shifting patterns on the walls. You’re not there. You’d excused yourself earlier, claiming you were tired, but instead of lying down beside him like you used to, you’d retreated to the living room.

He wants to follow you, to ask what’s wrong, to tell you he misses you even though he knows it’s not the kind of thing you say to someone who’s supposed to be a casual fling. But he doesn’t. He stays in bed, his chest tight, his mind spinning with every possible explanation for your sudden distance.

Maybe you’re over him. The thought sends a sharp pang through his chest, but he doesn’t let himself dwell on it. People lose interest all the time. It’s normal. Expected.

But then there’s another thought, one that he tries to push down but can’t quite ignore: Maybe there’s someone else.

He hates the idea of it. Hates the way his stomach twists every time it crosses his mind. But the way you’ve been avoiding him, the way you’ve stopped laughing at his jokes, stopped touching him, stopped letting him touch you—it all feels like proof that he’s losing you.

The thing is, Tony Stark isn’t good at feelings. He’s spent his whole life hiding behind sarcasm, distractions, and whatever shiny piece of tech he can throw together to keep people from seeing the cracks beneath the surface. But you? You’ve always been different. You’re the one person who makes him feel like he doesn’t have to pretend, like he doesn’t have to be “Iron Man” all the time.

And that scares him. Because if he loses you, he doesn’t know how to go back to the person he was before.

He tries to bridge the gap one night. It’s been weeks since you let him touch you the way he used to, weeks since the warmth of your body pressed against his in the dark. So he decides to take a chance.

“Y/N,” he says softly, his voice tentative as he steps into the living room where you’re curled up on the couch, your knees drawn to your chest.

You glance up at him, your expression guarded, and his chest tightens.

“Hey,” he continues, trying to keep his tone light, casual, like he’s not unraveling inside. “I was thinking we could—” He hesitates, the words catching in his throat. “You know. Watch a movie or something.”

You smile faintly, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’m not really in the mood, Tony.”

It’s the same excuse you’ve been giving him for weeks now, and it stings just as much as it did the first time. He nods, stepping back like he’s been burned.

“Right,” he says, his voice clipped. “Of course. You’re… busy.”

You feel the weight of his disappointment, and it makes your stomach twist with guilt. You want to reach out, to tell him the truth, but the words won’t come. You’re too scared—scared of what he’ll say, scared of what he won’t say.

Tony doesn’t press the issue. He never does. Instead, he retreats back to the bedroom, closing the door softly behind him. But you know him well enough to know he’s hurting. You’ve seen the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes anymore, the way he avoids looking at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

You hate it. You hate yourself for causing it.

But every time you think about telling him the truth, about letting him into the tangled mess of emotions you’re drowning in, the memory of his relief when he thought everything was fine stops you. You can’t bear the thought of seeing that same relief again, of watching him pull away from you because this—whatever this is—was never supposed to be more than just sex.

The problem is, it’s so much more for you. It always has been. And the thought of him not feeling the same way, of him walking away when he finds out about the baby, is enough to keep you silent.

So you stay distant, building walls around yourself even as your heart breaks every time you see him. And Tony, for all his brilliance, doesn’t know how to break through them.

It’s late when Tony finally breaks. The night air is cool, flowing in through the windows of the lab as he works, tinkering with something that doesn’t need fixing but still allows him to focus on something other than the gnawing feeling that’s been growing in his gut for the past few weeks.

He can’t ignore it any longer.

You’ve been so distant, so closed off. Every time he reaches for you, you pull away, your smile strained, your touch hesitant. He knows something’s wrong. You’ve been avoiding him—more than usual—and it’s like the light that once sparked in your eyes when you were around him has dimmed. You’re still there, physically, but emotionally? Mentally? He’s losing you, and he doesn’t know why.

At first, he thought it was just stress. You’ve both been running at full speed with everything going on in your lives—missions, the Avengers, the constant media circus that surrounds everything you do. But as the weeks have stretched on, and you’ve pulled further into yourself, Tony’s mind starts to wonder. He tries to brush it off, tries to tell himself that maybe you’re just going through something, or maybe you’ve just gotten tired of the arrangement you two have been navigating.

But that would mean he’s losing you, and the thought of that makes his chest ache.

He’s pacing now, a strange sense of urgency growing inside him. He can’t keep pretending everything’s fine. He can’t pretend he hasn’t noticed the way you flinch when he touches you, how you go out of your way to make excuses not to be close, to keep that emotional distance between you. It hurts. It cuts deeper than any physical wound he’s had, and if he doesn’t get to the bottom of it, he feels like he might lose himself entirely.

Without thinking, Tony heads toward the living room, his footsteps heavy as he approaches the place you’ve been hiding out in for the past hour. He’s not sure what he expects when he opens the door, but he knows he needs answers.

When you look up at him from the couch, curled up with a book in your hands, he sees it again—the sadness behind your eyes, the coldness in the way you hold yourself. It’s been so long since you’ve looked at him like that, and it hurts more than he’s willing to admit.

“Y/N,” he starts, his voice more strained than he meant it to be, “We need to talk.”

You blink at him, like you were expecting him to say something else, something easier to hear. But instead, you set the book down, letting out a long breath. “What about?”

Tony steps closer, his brow furrowed in frustration, eyes searching yours for any sign of the woman he once knew. “You’re not fine. I know you’re not. And I can’t keep pretending that everything’s okay between us when it’s not.”

You open your mouth as if you’re about to say something, but the words die on your tongue. You’re not ready to tell him, not yet, but Tony’s insistent stare makes you feel like you don’t have a choice.

“Please, just tell me what’s going on. I—” He cuts himself off, not sure if he’s about to confess something he isn’t ready for. “I hate this distance between us. I hate how you’ve been avoiding me, and I’m not going to let you shut me out. Not when I know something’s wrong. So please, just tell me.”

You stand slowly, turning away from him, eyes cast down to the floor as you try to steady your breathing. You know you can’t keep this secret any longer. He deserves to know, but you’re terrified of his reaction. Terrified that he’ll leave, or worse, that he’ll shut you out just like you’ve been doing to him.

“I—” you start, your voice cracking slightly as you turn back to face him, your words hanging in the air like a fragile glass balloon ready to pop. “Tony, I’m… I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, the room feels impossibly still. The sound of your heart pounding in your chest is louder than anything else. Tony’s face doesn’t change immediately, and for a second, you wonder if he’s even heard you. Maybe he didn’t catch it, didn’t really understand what you just said.

But then his eyes meet yours, and you can see the shock flicker across his face, his mouth opening as if he’s about to speak but nothing comes out.

The silence between you both stretches, and you hate it. You hate the tension that fills the space where once there was laughter, banter, comfort. You take a deep breath, the weight of your confession settling on your shoulders like an anchor, and you brace yourself for his response.

“I know you don’t want this,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I saw the way you reacted when I told you my period had come. You were relieved, and I know that means you don’t want a kid. And I—”

But Tony doesn’t let you finish. He’s already moved toward you, his expression softening, and before you even realize it, his hand is gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear you didn’t know had fallen.

“Y/N,” he interrupts, his voice quieter now, but his words are firm, like he’s trying to make you understand something important. “I wasn’t relieved because I didn’t want the baby. I was relieved because I remember you saying you didn’t want kids right now.” He lets out a shaky laugh, almost embarrassed by the way his own words feel in his mouth. “I guess I got scared for a second, thinking this was all happening too fast, but it wasn’t about not wanting a kid. It was about… us. About where we are in life. I wasn’t sure if you were ready for this, for everything that comes with it.”

You stare at him, blinking as the shock of his words sinks in. For a moment, all you can do is stand there, trying to process what he’s saying. He’s not angry. He’s not freaking out. He’s—he’s relieved? And then the smile that spreads across his face is one you’ve never seen before. It’s so full of hope, of joy, that it almost knocks the wind out of you.

“You’re happy?” you whisper, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to sound steady.

Tony’s grin widens, and his eyes are shining with something so genuine, so raw, that it’s impossible for you to look away. “You have no idea,” he says, a soft laugh escaping his lips. “I’ve wanted this. I’ve wanted to be a dad for a while now. I’m happy, Y/N. I’m so happy.”

The air between you both changes instantly. The heavy weight that’s been pressing down on your chest—your fear, your anxiety—lifts just a little. You feel like you can breathe again, the walls you’d built around yourself crumbling with every word he speaks.

You look up at him, your own smile breaking through the uncertainty, and before you can stop it, the words spill out. “I think I’m happy too, Tony.”

Tony’s expression softens, his eyes softening as he reaches for you, pulling you into an embrace so tight it almost feels like he’s never letting you go. You bury your face in his chest, your heart racing with a mix of emotions—relief, happiness, fear, but most of all, love.

“You’re not alone in this,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “We’re doing this together. Okay?”

You nod against him, your arms wrapping around his waist as if you never want to let go. “Okay,” you whisper, a quiet laugh escaping you as the weight of the moment finally settles in. “Together.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself believe it. You let yourself believe that no matter what comes next, you won’t be facing it alone.

Later that night, after the quiet joy of shared smiles and whispered promises had filled the room, the weight of the moment seemed to settle in more than ever. The excitement, the relief, the joy of the baby—all of that felt real now. But there was still one thing neither of you had addressed. The question that hung in the air just as heavily as it always had: What are we?

You weren’t sure when it started. When the blurred lines between “friends with benefits” and something more had begun to form, but you knew it was there now. It had always been there, from the moment his lips had first brushed against yours, from the first time you’d shared something deeper than just casual touch. The emotional attachment had crept in slowly, quietly, and for a long time, you had tried to ignore it.

But now, with a baby on the way and the delicate balance of your secret relationship on the verge of shifting, there was no denying it any longer.

Tony had been unusually quiet after the rush of emotions had faded, after you both had settled into your shared space on the couch, your legs tangled beneath a blanket. You’d both exchanged small touches, playful nudges, and soft words of reassurance, but as the night wore on, the air between you thickened again, and you both knew what was coming.

Tony wasn’t the type to shy away from hard conversations, especially not when it came to the things that mattered most to him. And now, with the future of your relationship hanging in the balance, he had to know: where do you two stand?

“Y/N,” he starts, breaking the comfortable silence that had wrapped itself around the two of you, his voice low, hesitant. “We need to talk about… us.”

You glance up at him, your heart picking up speed at the seriousness in his tone. He’s not looking at you now, not like before, when his eyes had been filled with a bright, carefree joy. No, now his gaze is intense, studying you in a way that makes you feel exposed. Vulnerable.

“I know,” you reply softly, the words almost a whisper, your fingers absently tracing the edge of the blanket. You’re nervous now, your chest tight, unsure of how to navigate this conversation. After everything that’s happened, after the whirlwind of emotions surrounding the pregnancy, now comes the quiet storm that you’ve been avoiding. The talk about what your relationship is—what it could be.

Tony shifts, his body language tense. “We’ve been doing this for a while now—casual, no strings, no commitment. But now… this changes everything.” He lets out a breath, rubbing his hands over his face as if trying to wipe away the uncertainty. “I can’t help but wonder if we’ve been fooling ourselves, pretending we’re just two people with a little arrangement. I need to know if you feel the same way I do.”

Your stomach flips at the sincerity in his voice. The seriousness of it all hits you in a way you weren’t expecting. You’ve always been good at keeping things light, at pretending that this thing between you both was just about fun, just about the thrill of being together without the complications of a real relationship. But now, with the baby coming, everything has changed.

Tony continues, his eyes searching yours. “I don’t know about you, but… I’m not just some guy you hook up with and then move on from. That’s not what I want anymore. I never thought I’d say this, but I—I want more than that with you. I think I’ve wanted more for a long time, even before we got here, and now… with the baby, I don’t know how to act like we’re just two friends. I can’t.”

You swallow, the knot in your throat tightening, making it harder to speak. You want to say the right thing, but you don’t even know what that is anymore. For so long, you’ve kept the walls up, kept yourself detached from him, from the idea of ever needing more than just him in your bed, in your life.

But now, after everything that’s happened—the broken condom, the shock of the pregnancy test, the tenderness of his touch, the way he looks at you now—you can’t pretend anymore. You know what you feel. You’ve known for a while.

“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice trembling. You can’t stop the truth from slipping out, and for the first time in a long while, you let yourself be honest with him. “I’ve been so scared, Tony. I was scared to let myself feel more than just… this. I didn’t want to be vulnerable. I didn’t want to fall for you, but I did. And now, with this… I don’t know what that means for us.”

He leans in, his hand coming to rest gently on your knee, grounding you with the warmth of his touch. “It means we figure it out. Together.”

You meet his gaze then, really look at him, and for the first time since all of this started, you feel the fear melt away, replaced by something that feels like hope, like relief. Maybe it’s too soon to figure everything out—maybe the fear will still be there tomorrow, when you wake up and face the reality of being parents together. But right now, in this moment, you realize that whatever comes next, you’re not alone.

“I’ve never wanted anything more than this,” Tony murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “I want us, Y/N. I want this—whatever it is—if it’s with you.”

Tears well in your eyes, the weight of his words sinking in. “Are you sure? Because, Tony, this is… a lot. We’re talking about everything changing. Our whole lives—”

“I know,” he interrupts, cutting you off softly. “But that’s the thing, Y/N. It’s supposed to change. It’s supposed to be big. And it’s gonna be scary. But I’d rather be scared with you than pretend we’re okay with something less.”

You smile, the tears now flowing freely down your cheeks, but they’re not tears of fear anymore. They’re tears of relief, of joy. “I feel the same,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want anything else either. I want us.”

The air shifts around you both. The weight of everything that’s been left unsaid, the uncertainty, the fear, all of it starts to dissipate in the wake of your words. In the silence that follows, there’s a quiet understanding that passes between you, something unspoken but deep. You’re not just two friends anymore. You’re something more. Something real. Something that might still be terrifying, but you’re willing to take that step together.

Tony leans in, brushing a kiss against your forehead. “We’re gonna figure this out, Y/N. We’ll do it together, okay? All of it. No more running from it. No more pretending.”

You nod, closing your eyes for a brief moment, savoring the peace of knowing that he feels the same way. For the first time, you don’t feel the need to guard yourself, to hold back. Whatever happens next, you know you’ll face it with him by your side.

And for the first time in months, you allow yourself to feel the hope that the future might not be so terrifying after all.

“Together,” you whisper back, your voice full of resolve.

“Together,” Tony agrees, his smile softening as he leans back into the couch beside you. You both sit there for a long moment, the world outside forgotten, the future uncertain but no longer so intimidating. With each other, you feel ready for whatever comes next.

The decision to tell the Avengers comes surprisingly easy, though Tony initially overcomplicates it—as is his style. He drafts no fewer than six different ways to break the news, each one more elaborate than the last, from a staged press conference to a spontaneous "Oops, did we drop a clue?" moment during dinner. Ultimately, it’s you who insists on something simple: just sitting everyone down and saying it outright.

The team gathers in the common area after a particularly grueling mission briefing. Steve sits on one side, arms crossed in casual curiosity, while Natasha and Clint exchange knowing looks, as if they’ve already pieced together whatever you’re about to say. Thor leans back with an air of amused disinterest, and Bruce glances between you and Tony with a subtle frown, clearly trying to deduce what’s happening.

Tony clears his throat, standing with his hands shoved into his pockets—a nervous habit you’ve grown to recognize. You sit beside him, trying not to laugh at the way he fidgets like a kid preparing to confess he’s broken something.

“So,” Tony begins, his voice smooth but a little too loud, “we’ve got some news. Something big, something life-altering. Not world-ending, don’t worry—though it is arguably more exciting than an alien invasion or a helicarrier falling out of the sky.”

“Get to the point,” Natasha cuts in, raising an eyebrow, though her smirk betrays her amusement.

Tony glances at you, and you take his hand, offering him a reassuring squeeze. You look at the group, your heart racing but a soft smile playing on your lips. “We’re together,” you say simply, “and… we’re having a baby.”

The room falls silent for a beat, and then chaos ensues.

Clint immediately lets out a loud, theatrical “Called it!” while Thor booms a congratulatory cheer, clapping Tony on the back so hard he almost topples forward. Natasha simply smirks, her sharp eyes flickering with something close to approval. Steve blinks once, then twice, before nodding with a small smile. “Well,” he says, “it’s about time.”

Bruce, for his part, is the most measured. “Congratulations,” he says warmly, his expression soft as he looks between the two of you. “That’s… big news. You’ll both be great parents.”

Tony, who thrives on reactions, looks around at the mix of responses, a crooked grin spreading across his face. “Wait, that’s it? No one’s shocked? No dramatic gasps? No ‘Tony Stark, settling down, what has the world come to?’”

Natasha tilts her head. “We’re not blind, Tony.”

“And you’re not exactly subtle,” Clint adds with a laugh. “The sneaking around was cute at first, but come on. The looks? The way you guys act around each other? It was only a matter of time.”

You laugh, leaning into Tony’s side as he rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny it. He doesn’t care if they saw it coming—he only cares that you’re here, by his side, sharing this moment with him.

As the weeks pass and your belly starts to grow, Tony’s excitement becomes something of a full-time personality trait. He’s protective in a way that sometimes makes you laugh and sometimes makes you roll your eyes—like when he insists on scanning the ingredients of every snack you eat or hovering too closely while you climb the stairs.

“Tony, I’m pregnant, not fragile,” you remind him one evening when he’s fussing over your attempt to carry a laundry basket up from the bedroom.

“Yeah, well, you’re carrying my kid,” he retorts, taking the basket from your hands with a flourish. “And I’m not taking any chances.”

But it’s not just the protectiveness. There’s something else, something deeper. Every day, he seems more in love—not just with you, but with the idea of the life you’re building together. He tells you often how beautiful you are, how the so-called “pregnancy glow” makes you shine brighter than any reactor core he’s ever built. And when he’s not busy marveling at you, he’s completely, utterly enchanted by the baby growing inside you.

Tony spends hours talking to your belly, as if the baby can already hear and understand him. He lays his head against your stomach whenever he can, his voice soft and full of wonder as he murmurs stories about the world, about your life together, about the adventures waiting for the little one.

“You know,” he says one evening, his hand resting gently on your belly as he leans in close, “you’ve got it pretty good in there, kid. Mom’s amazing. She’s brilliant, and funny, and stubborn as hell—you’ll learn that soon enough. And me? Well, I’m not so bad either. We’re gonna be a great team, the three of us.”

You watch him, your heart swelling at the sight of the man who, not so long ago, had been the epitome of carefree, refusing to be tied down. Now, he’s the man who can’t wait to be a dad, who looks at you like you’re his entire world.

“I think they’ll be lucky to have you,” you say softly, running your fingers through his hair as he continues to talk to your belly.

Tony looks up at you, his expression tender. “Nah,” he replies, his voice teasing but warm. “They’ll be lucky to have you. I’m just along for the ride.”

You laugh, leaning down to kiss him, and he smiles against your lips, his hand never leaving your belly. Moments like this are becoming your new normal—quiet, intimate, filled with the kind of love that feels like it’s been there all along, waiting for the right time to bloom.

As the baby kicks for the first time a few weeks later, Tony’s excitement is nothing short of infectious. He whoops loudly, startling you for a moment before his hand immediately presses against your stomach again, his grin wide and boyish.

“Did you feel that?” he exclaims, his eyes lighting up as he looks at you.

You nod, tears springing to your eyes as you smile. “Yeah,” you whisper, your hand covering his. “I felt it.”

“That’s my kid,” he says proudly, leaning down to kiss your belly. “Already making an entrance.”

You can’t help but laugh, your heart full to bursting. In moments like this, it’s hard to remember why you ever doubted this—why you ever doubted him. Tony Stark, for all his flaws, is everything you never knew you needed. And now, as you prepare to welcome the biggest adventure of your lives together, you know one thing for sure: you’re in this together, every step of the way.

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lovelygirlwithablog · 2 days ago

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୨ ⎯ headcanons . nicolas alexander chavez x f!reader

━ slow and teasing

He's the KING of teasing you with kisses. He'd start off slow, his lips barely brushing yours, just to make you lose it. You'd lean in for more, but he'd pull back slightly with that cocky little smirk, whispering, "Patience, baby. I'll give you what you want... eventually."

━ messing with u

When he's in the mood to mess with you, he'd kiss you once, softly, then trail his lips down your jawline and stop just short of where you really want him to go. And when you let out that frustrated sigh, he'd chuckle and be like, "Oh, I love how needy you get for me." 😵‍💫

━ spicy and possessive pet names

"Mine" - Oh, girl. This one would come out when he's feeling possessive. Like, if someone else flirts with you, he'd pull you close and whisper in your ear, "Don't forget, baby-you're mine." Chills.

"Darling" - He'd say this in that slow, deep tone when he's in full heartthrob mode. Like, "What do you need, darling? Tell me, and it's yours." Literal heart palpitations.

━ flirty pet names

"Baby" - Classic but effective. He'd say it in that low, teasing tone, especially when he's being playful or spicy. Like, "C'mon, baby, you know you want me to kiss you." Instant chills.

"Love" - When he's feeling all intense and romantic, this is his go-to. He'd probably whisper it against your lips mid-kiss, like, "You drive me crazy, love." Ugh, please.

"Beautiful" - He'd drop this one out of nowhere just to watch you blush. Like, you'd be getting ready or just sitting there, and he'd be like, "How did I get so lucky with someone so beautiful?" Byeee, my heart.

"Angel" - He'd use this one when he's feeling protective or extra soft. Like, if you're upset, he'd wrap you in his arms and whisper, "Don't worry, angel, I've got you." Melting!!

━ flirty energy on set

Nicholas would absolutely love teasing you if you visited him while he was working. He'd be all professional one minute, delivering his lines perfectly, and the next, he'd be flashing you that sly smile in between takes, knowing it's driving you crazy.

━ you're his safe haven

After a long day of filming, the first thing he'd do is find you. He'd wrap his arms around you in the coziest hug, burying his face in your neck while mumbling, "You're the best part of my day." He'd totally sneak little forehead kisses when he thought no one was looking, just to recharge and feel close to you.

━ validation

After a big scene, he’d run over and ask, “How did I do?" And when you tell him how amazing he was, he’d get all blushy and say, “That’s all I needed to hear.”

━ spicyyy

If the two of you were alone in his trailer? Whew. Nicholas would lean against the door with that cocky smirk, pulling you closer by your waist like, "We've got a few minutes before they need me... want to make it worth it?"

━ he'd hate seeing you upset

The second he realizes you're mad, he'd get all serious and be like, "Wait, are you actually mad at me? Baby, talk to me." And you'd be trying to ignore him, but he'd literally NOT stop following you around until you told him what's wrong. He'd have this sad puppy-dog face the whole time, which makes it SO hard to stay mad. Like, Nicholas, let me be angry for a second!!!

━ he'd blame himself

Nicholas would probably start feeling like he's the one ruining things. He'd get all quiet for a second and then look at you with teary eyes, saying, "Is this my fault? Am I not enough for you?" Hearing him say that would absolutely wreck you because you'd know he's always trying SO hard to make you happy.

━ cuddles

If you were busy or taking too long to cuddle him, he’d literally flop down on the couch like a toddler and be like, “Why don’t you love me anymore?” in the most over-the-top voice ever.

━ attention

If you even looked at your phone or got distracted, he’d nudge you with his nose and say, “Hello? What’s more important than me right now?” He’d fake being all hurt and be like, “Guess I’m just not your favorite person anymore.” But the second you kissed him or ran your fingers through his hair, he’d get all soft and mumble, “That’s better. You’re my favorite person, too.”

━ back hugs

Imagine you're busy doing something, like washing dishes or typing on your laptop, and out of nowhere, Nicholas wraps his arms around you from behind. He'd rest his chin on your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss on your neck.

a/n: guys thank you so so so much for the notes on my last post! here are some new headcanons 'cuz this man is killing me 😫 let me know in the inbox if you want headcanons for other actors/characters!!

#nicholas chavez #nicholas alexander chavez #nicolas alexander chavez #nicolas chavez #headcanon #x reader #fluff #feeling spicy #use me pls #lovers #fanfic #netflix monsters #actor #i love him #like pls

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spiderb00 · 1 day ago

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Fam out 2 - Sophia Laforteza

Sophia Laforteza X Reader

Synopsis - Sophia still loves when you're caring, she REALLY loves it!

Genre – Fluff, still a little suggestive at the end ;)

a/n - Thank you anon who asked for this, I wasn't going to do second part but I loved it, so here it is <3 request

Part 1 Part 2

MAMA 2024 happened, the girls on stage, the bright lights, the well-executed choreography, the excitement, it all happened very fast. One moment the girls were on stage and the next Sophia was in your arms. The Filipino girl seemed happy and relieved that it was over, the comfort of your arms helped Sophia's breathing to calm down and everything seemed perfect.

Until you hear unregulated breathing. But not like that one when you're just tired, no, that one looked different. Moving away from Sophia slightly, you can see a Yoonchae seemingly hyperventilating. And then it was like everything got a little murky.

"Yoonchae, are you okay?" You said, your hand linked to Sophia's as you dragged the black-haired girl closer to the youngest.

Panic set in when the younger girl didn't respond verbally, just looking at you with tears in her eyes. It seemed that Yoonchae's legs would give way at any moment, and that's exactly what happened. Your sixth sense helped hold the girl before her knees hit the ground.

"CAN SOMEONE BRING A CHAIR, PLEASE!" You screamed.

"There's a sofa in the dressing room, can you take it?" A staff member says as he points the way.

You gently took Yoonchae in your arms, carrying it in bridal style. As you followed the staff, you could hear Sophia trying to calm the girls, who were coming quickly after you.

"Yoonchae, dear, keep your eyes open, breathe with me, I'm here, okay. It's going to be okay." You repeated it like a mantra.

"It's going to be okay," was what you kept repeating in your head, knowing that staying calm was best in this situation, because that way you had a better chance of calming Yoonchae down faster, and wouldn't leave the Kats in total panic.

Laying Yoonchae on the couch, you asked someone to get some water, Megan quickly stepping up. Daniela tried to stay calm along with Lara, the two wondering if they could do something to calm the situation.

"Yoonchae, here, I'm here. Breathe along with me, okay?" The younger girl shaking her head.

Yoonchae tried to imitate the speed of your breathing, holding your hand, the younger girl looked into your eyes. Megan had handed the bottle of water to Sophia, who was now looking at the scene with a heavy heart.

As Yoonchae's breathing calmed, everyone's nerves were lowered. Still holding your hand, Yoonchae drank water, receiving scratches on her head, from Sophia. Your girlfriend now looking at you, when your eyes met, you felt relieved, the comfort of knowing that you managed to handle the situation.

As the leader of Katseye, sometimes Sophia was called to meetings and things like that, you didn't know much, but you knew that whenever Sophia came home, all she wanted was to sleep clinging to you.

So today, you decided to go to the Kats' house to wait for your girlfriend to arrive, greeting the girls when you arrived and going to the room that Sophia shared with Yoonchae. You knocked before entering, even though Yoonchae was probably asleep. But the biggest surprise was when the younger girl opened the door.

"Hey Yoonchae, I thought you were sleeping. I brought you some things." You said lifting the bag so the girl could see.

"What did you bring?" She asked, dragging you inside.

"Nothing much, just a few snacks." you said.

Minutes later you and Yoonchae were lying in the younger one's bed, a movie Yoonchae chose playing on TV while you and the younger one devoured the snacks you had bought.

When the door to the room was opened, none of you noticed. Sophia, who had finally arrived from a meeting, quickly got a warm heart watching the scene. The movie was still playing on television, but you and Yoonchae had been asleep for a long time. The younger girl's head resting on your shoulder, by this time Yoonchae had a blanket wrapped around herself, while you froze to death. The bag of snacks was almost empty, only one package of candy was closed, Sophia recognized that, they were her favorites.

The Filipino girl wasted no time, taking a picture of you and Yoonchae and making a mental note to post later on her Instagram. Lightly kissing your cheek, Sophia went straight to the shower, she couldn't wait to join you two.

Olivia Rodrigo's concert seemed like a dream for Sophia and Yoonchae. They were both extremely excited and even if you couldn't keep up with their excitement, it was great to see your favorite girls so happy.

Now, you've always been a calm person, few people had really seen a more aggressive side of you. Today, you didn't expect to be stressed, despite the huge queues and the large concentration of people in the same place, you were happy because Sophia and Yoonchae were happy. But now, you were no longer sure about it.

Forgetting your wallet in the car seemed like a normal thing, at least boring, I mean, people forget things all the time. Leaving Sophia and Yoonchae in line, you quickly went to your car and grabbed your wallet, oh, how you wished you hadn't done that.

As you walked closer to the girls, you can clearly see a guy hitting on Sophia. Normally this wouldn't make you so angry, but the fact that the guy was trying to hold Sophia against the wall made his blood boil. Getting closer you can hear Yoonchae say something, but all your decency was thrown into the air when you heard him reply "Shut up brat," while still holding Sophia to the wall with his arms.

Coming up behind the guy, you can see the look of relief on your girlfriend's face, which soon turned to concern when you grabbed the guy by the back of the sweatshirt he was wearing.

"Stay away from her, you fucking idiot." You said, holding on tight as the guy struggled.

Looking at the boy's face for the first time, you can see how pathetic he looked. He was a little shorter than you and slightly taller than Sophia, he looked like he was about nineteen and had horrible bangs.

"Sorry, please, I thought she was single." The boy said, it felt like he was about to start crying.

"I said she had her girlfriend you idiot." Yoonchae said glancing at the boy.

"And I told you to shut up!" The boy answered without thinking.

"HEY!" By shifting the grip from the back to the front of the boy's sweatshirt, you pulled him up to your eye level. "You'll never talk to her like that again, do you understand?"

The boy quickly shook his head.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't know she was with you, please let me go."

Not wanting to get in trouble with the security guards and also not wanting to ruin the girls' night even more, you let go of the boy with brutality, which made him trip and fall on his butt on the floor.

"Get the hell out of here before I change my mind, you asshole."

The boy ran away making you snort with such mediocrity.

"Wow, I had never seen that Yn side of you, it was always the calm Yn." Yoonchae said, while laughing.

Sophia just looked at you with a smile.

"Sometimes idiots make me mad."

Finally you could enter the stadium to find your seats. With Yoonchae a little in front, without leaving your view, you felt Sophia grab your bicep as she leaned close to your ear.

"That guy was an idiot, but I kind of enjoyed seeing you all mad..." The Filipino girl said as she bit her lower lip.

"You liked it, did you?" you asked, seeing Sophia shake her head positively, knowing exactly where this was going.

"I'll show you how much I enjoyed it when we get home."

____________________________

damn, I have to stop making the endings always seem suggestive (I won't stop)

#gxg #katseye #kpop gg #katseye imagines #katseye x reader #kpop fluff #sophia laforteza x reader #sophia laforteza #sophia laforteza x you #yoonchae x reader #daniela avanzini x reader

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ceaselesswatchersspecialboy · 2 days ago

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spent a good hour reading up on your Not What He Seems AU, it’s such a perfect mix of angst and whimsy! Ford waking up to find 30 years have passed in the blink of an eye is is the kind of body horror terrifying i eat up, as an avid enjoyer of time travel and its inherent tragedy.

i got a few questions, if you’ll indulge me:

- what kinds of tattoos you think Bill has gotten over the years? i think i saw some arm bands in one of your pieces, but i’d love to hear if you have any specific ideas for placements or images. if he’s doing it for the safe pain experience, i’d think there are some pretty big/detailed pieces involved? and do you think the pain helps ground him somewhat, to find and fit better in the boundaries of the body?

- in the show, Stan feels a lot of guilt for stealing his brother’s identity and he kinda thinks of himself as a fraud, an actor. do you think Bill ever feels guilty for the same? or would he just miss Ford a lot, without the Stan-specific aspect of pretending to be “the better one”?

also any fun tidbits you’ve been rotating in your head lately! it’s impressive how specifically it seems like you’ve thought out how Bill’s presence would affect the canon show events, while trying to keep them as unchanged as possible. also StanFraud is the funniest, most perfect thing I’ve ever heard!

Thank you!! I’ve always enjoyed writing horror based on human response, so Ford’s perspective is probably one of the most fascinating to me in this AU, although, all of it is fascinating and enjoyable to explore, really!

— I haven’t worked them all out yet, but I know for a fact he has a tattoo of the Cipher Wheel on his back, the arm bands as you mentioned, a hyper-realistic tattoo of his ribs where his ribs would be (if that makes sense), and eyes on the back of his hands. Honestly, I’d be open to suggestions for him! I imagine him having some more grotesque, detailed tattoos that reflect the nightmare realm as well. And yes, the pain definitely helps ground him. It also gives him a sense of control as well, in a situation where he has none.

— If he does feel guilty, it’s a complicated kind of guilt. I don’t even think he’d fully process that he’s feeling guilty. It’s this sort of gnawing feeling he can’t get rid of, and it starts the longer he gets to know Dipper and Mabel — he never really felt it before that. He absolutely misses Ford though. He can’t define that feeling either. I’ve said before that he looks at Dipper strangely, and that’s because Dipper reminds him of Ford in certain moments, eager for discovery!

He and Stan never really talk about it, but the have both acknowledged missing Ford before.

Bill’s response was vague though, not an ‘I miss him too’, but an ‘I think I do too.’ He isn’t sure what to make of that.

Bill Cipher doesn’t feel remorse, or miss people, he does everything with intention and he’s never made mistakes. Or, that’s what he’s meant to be. Maybe he has gone soft.

And Tidbits! I have a few! Not as many as usual, only because Arcane’s been taking up a bit of my brain space lately, but I hope these shall suffice anyhow:

(And quickly, thank you again, I think way too hard on all the small details and how Bill’s presence would have a knock on effect. It makes me happy to see it get noticed!)

— In the early days of Bill being trapped, Stan obviously doesn’t open the Mystery Shack, and ends up having to take a few odd jobs around town instead. He’s earned a bit of a reputation for being a decent handyman because of that, and even now, old timers of the town will still come to Stan if they need something fixing, especially cars. He complains about getting too old for it, but he never says no. Money is money! It’s also interesting to think about how the little things would impact his relationship with the townsfolk and how they view him. He’s always been Stanley to them. He’s never had to pretend otherwise.

— I’ve toyed around with making the Blind Eye a bigger threat than they are in canon, being as the kids would have no reason to look into Old Man McGucket. I’ve also toyed around with McGucket ending up slightly different to canon, his mind still broken, but his motivation different, with him being aware early on that the man he sees isn’t Ford, and is in fact the beast he fears and tried to erase from his mind. A more antagonistic Fiddleford who’s been trying to get rid of Bill for years now would actually be really fun? If I can make it work, and make the Blind Eye work in this way, I’ll lean into it! For now though, it’s just an idea I’m throwing around.

— Vague ‘episode’ idea that exists within my brain is Bill accidentally starting a mini cult again after telling some sort of lie that catches on, and it ends up being a Mabel-Bill bonding plot-line as she tries to convince him to just be honest before this whole cult thing gets taken too far. I also love the idea of Bill making a comment about this being like 1952 all over again. He makes comments like that all the time. Surely he’s just joking!

— Another vague ‘episode’ idea I have is Bill taking Dipper and Mabel to the supernatural underground market of Gravity Falls under Stan’s nose, trying to prove he’s the cooler Uncle, and that he can handle the two kids by himself. This goes about as well as you’d expect. Stan isn’t too happy to find out Bill got Dipper and Mabel in trouble, as he tried to get them to do more and more risky things.

— Bill will sometimes start speaking in Euclydian without realising, especially when it comes to cursing, and no one knows how he’s making those sounds with his mouth. Stan’s actually started picking up some of the meanings in context and can roughly gauge what Bill might be saying.

#gravity falls #gravity falls au #not who he seems au #bill cipher #stanley pines #dipper pines #mabel pines #fiddleford mcgucket

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laswells-ashtray · 1 day ago

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It's me yet again. I need me some slightly tipsy Kate and John in a lighthearted sparring match while her wife and Nik stand off to the side and gossip about their respective partners. (Again, take your time. Don't burn yourself out )

Now, because I can't describe movement for shit. I'm an internal dialogue like the Green Goblin voice or a banter typa muppet this interaction will mostly be between Nik and Laswell's wife. and I'm using my interpretation of her whom I have called Sarah if only because typing out Laswell's wife so many times makes the words stop looking real

"I cannot see this going well in the long run." Sarah Laswell, very proud wife of a certain Kate Laswell. It's not often she sees Kate get tipsy in front of anyone who isn't her, she'll indulge in a drink or two but never to the extent of this. However, it'd be dumb to assume that combining Kate, John and alcohol that Nikolai, bless that man, was paying for would lead them anywhere else.

"And yet you make no move to stop it." Nikolai doesn't bother pretending that he isn't amused, it's deeply humorous to watch two of the most fierce people he knows spar each other.

"Neither do you, don't think I can't see you staring at his ass."

"You haven't stopped looking at your wife's chest since she took off her jacket."

Okay, they're both deviants.

John is in what are probably his nicest jeans, not very suitable to a lot of movement given that they must've been painted onto his arse.

Kate is wearing a dark blue tank top that Sarah bought her absentmindedly last week and for the briefest moment, she considers just dragging Kate to the nearest closet and hoping it's soundproof.

The two move in such fluid ways that it's clear they've sparred together before. Even with a few drinks in both of them, it's the most gracious violence she's ever seen.

When John narrowly avoids Kate's elbow to the face Nikolai does little more than chuckle, he clearly isn't worried about his partner and he enjoys the smug grin on the other man's face.

"Tempted to video this." Sarah mutters, watching them both in awe. Even if her main reason for watching was to shamelessly admire her wife in all her glory, she can't deny how impressive Kate is. She throws a hit with enough force that Sarah almost pities John and she takes an equal hit with such little care. God, if there was to be a walking advertisement for lesbianism it would be Kate Laswell.

"That would involve taking your eyes off of them."

"Nevermind."

Nikolai understands, he truly does. His three favourite Johns are fucked senseless John, John when he's asleep and purring against Nik's chest like a cat and John when he's fighting just for the fun of it. Watching his biceps flex, testing the tight stitching around the sleeve of his t-shirt is a damn near biblical fucking experience.

Maybe the greatest bit of their little sparring match is how happy the two look to be there, throwing hits at each other while simultaneously muttering their banter in a way that neither Nikolai nor Sarah can hear. Carefree for once in their lives, it's no secret that their jobs weigh down on the both of them and to see them in a position so laid back, it's endearing.

"Those the socks Kate bought him for his birthday last year?"

"Да."

"Thought so, I picked them out."

"I assumed so."

"What gave it away?"

"The word cock printed on the soles." Sue her, she thought it was funny and given the expression on Nikolai's face so did he.

She watches John swipe out Kate's legs from under her and feels pride settle in her chest when the other woman immediately pulls the Englishman down with her.

She spares Nikolai a knowing glance, it would appear the both of them are going to be enjoying their nights when they head home.

Kate moves so quickly that Sarah can't help but think of one of their cats back home as she pins John to the mat, their sparring might be lighthearted but she wouldn't make the mistake of thinking Kate would let herself move.

Her muscles are taut as she holds the struggling Englishman in place, her back arched and a downright gleeful smirk on her face. Strands of hair fall into her line of vision, fallen loose from her typical bun and they frame her face in a way that can only be described as angelic. If angels were the single most fuckable woman that Sarah has ever interacted with in her entire fucking life, Jesus Christ.

As much as John is losing, he does so proudly. Who better to lose to than Kate of all people. And Nikolai isn't complaining, John's t-shirt is riding up and he's offered the perfect view of the happy trail he has every intention of running his face over later.

Their little sparring match comes to an end, with both participants walking over to their respective partners before heading to grab their shoes and the jackets that had been dumped carelessly on the floor.

It's only when Nikolai catches the two sharing a look that he realises they've been played. Kate and John are both too smart to start a friendly spar for no reason. And it isn't a coincidence that both Sarah and he are desperate to drag their partners away for the night.

They were putting on a show. Sly bastards.

#captain john price #john price #cod nikolai #nikprice #kate laswell #laswells wife #laswell cod #sorry i accidentally got so gay but this blog is called laswells ashtray for a reason #i think of kate sparring and my gay brain siren goes off like wee woo wee woo

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before-it-felt-like-a-sin · 2 days ago

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Lottienat x reader headcanons

No one requested this but I've decided they're my wives and I have a lot of thoughts about them.

--------------------------------------------------------

Lottie and Nat were definitely together first, but they both individually had a crush on you prior to getting together. And they didn't realize until one of them (probably Lottie) brought it up in passing

Then the two of them have a little chat and decide that they both want you in their relationship

You're loosely friends with both of them, like you all never hang out but you do eat lunch together and talk during class

When Lottie and Natalie first got together you were so jealous because somehow the two girls you had crushes on started dating each other

You pretend to be literally so chill about it, like saying you're happy for them a total of one time and never bringing it up again, but everyone except Nat and Lottie can tell you're pissed

One day Nat just starts high-key flirting with you, and you're very confused because you can tell it's flirting, but she's literally with Lottie. Like you saw them holding hands that morning

You brush off the whole interaction until the next day Lottie starts flirting with you. She's a lot more subtle about it, but she's still clearly flirting.

This goes on for like a week until you're like "intervention time" and pull them aside after school one day like "hey why tf do you keep flirting with me"

They're both like silent for a sec before Lottie tells you that they both have a crush on you

And you're all "okay and? Y'all are together?" Not exactly understanding what's happening.

So Lottie has to be like "Yeah, and we'd like you to be together with us."

you tell them you need a minute and just leave. it takes you a few days to warm up to the idea, and then another few days to work up the courage to tell them that you like them back.

almost immediately, they're both all over you, which you aren't opposed to but it def throws you off

Lot is a lot touchier than Natalie. Like any physical touch is generally initiated by Lottie. BUT when Nat has a particularly bad day she's all over both of you.

They both love giving gifts but it's very different for both of them. Like Nat will find small things that reminds her of you and Lottie while Lottie is the type to hear you say you like something one time and it's yours forever

I'm back on my "Nat can cook" grind. She cooks for y'all like nightly bc Lottie can't cook at all and you can make like... mac n cheese

But it's a fair trade bc Natalie hates doing dishes. Like it physically pains her. So Lottie does dishes and you clean the kitchen. It works out really well

As a dyed hair girlie I definitely think Lottie would help both you and Nat dye your hair. Once she suggested the two of you go to a salon and she'd pay for it, and you and Natalie were very offended

Nat was like "it's not as punk/grunge to get it done professionally" while you pulled the "oh so you hate us and don't want to spend time with us" card

Lottie never brought it up again and HAPPILY helped you dye your hair from then on

Everyone fucking says this but sleepovers at Lottie's house. No one's ever home to tell you to leave and Lottie likes the company. Not to mention that Nat will take any excuse to not have to sleep in her trailer.

Nat makes mixtapes for both of you and will leave them in your backpack/random spots in your house. She never actually hands them to either of you.

Canonically they both smoke, so you'll pass around a cigarette or a blunt depending on the day.

You're used to one or both of them showing up to your house unannounced because they're feeling lonely

Natalie gets annoyed when Lottie's parents are home and the two of you have to leave because the Matthews' have some fancy gala

It's become a routine for you and Nat to bother the hell out of Lottie for those stupid parties. It got so bad that she ended up convincing her parents to let her take the two of you

You were never invited to another one of those parties

They make you go to every single home game, no matter how early/late they are. They're convinced that you're a good luck charm, and they both look so happy when they see you in the stands that you can't say no to them

Whenever they win you all go for ice cream or some other sort of treat

Lottie plans and pays for almost every dinner date that you go on. These don't happen often, though, because they're always to fancy restaurants that need a months notice for a reservation

You and Nat end up planning the normal dates, things like movies or concerts

Whenever you're out shopping Lottie goes full sugar mommy. If you even look at something for too long she's buying it for you. Nat's acquired quite the record collection because of Lottie's shopping

If you aren't sleeping at Lottie's (aka you're sleeping at your house) you guys all fight over who gets the bed and which one of you sleeps on the floor. Eventually you just started rotating it, which helped a little.

Modern AU where Lottie has one of those influencer bathrooms with all the travel size cosmetics that she keeps there specially for you and Nat to take. And they're like the expensive ones too, like minis from Sephora

Modern AU where Nat got famous on TikTok and Lottie got famous on Instagram (Nat for being alt and hot, Lottie for being rich and hot) completely independent of each other. When it was revealed all three of you were together you had to deal with an influx of followers on both sites

Photographer Lottie who's constantly taking pictures of both you and Nat for her personal Instagram. There's like two pictures of her total on the whole feed, it's mostly you and Nat

Nat has one photo up on insta and it's one of you and Lottie at the beach that she absolutely loves

Unrelated but Nat is the type to only post memes on her Instagram story

#raecore i suppose #yellowjackets #yellowjackets showtime #natalie scatorccio #lottie matthews #lottienat #lottienat x reader #lottie x reader #lottienat headcanons #lottienat x reader headcanons #natalie x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #Lottie Matthews headcanons #natalie Scatorccio headcanons #natalie Scatorccio x reader headcanons #lottie matthews x reader #lottie matthewa x reader headcanons #lottienat hcs #lottienat x reader hcs

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esotheria-sims · 2 days ago

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More Simstober extras, again taken for the "Death's Door" prompt. I tend to take a lot of extra pics every time I'm in the game and then feel bad about deleting them, which results in a very cluttered Fraps folder. Posting them is how I deal with my hoarding issues. 🤣

And since this is a behind-the-scenes sorta post, you'll get to hear alllll about my picture-taking process (probably more than you care to know!)

Here are some random fun facts, in no particular order:

The Royal Crypt is a community lot, which means I had to send my sims to visit it in order to take pics. Took quite a few tries before I was able to load the Moonfeather household (crashes, crashes everywhere! -_-)

With photoshoots in general, I usually keep a "test" sim on hand who isn't needed for the photohoot itself, but rather to "work" in the background and perform all the little extra tasks required for the photoshoot (e.g. opening/closing doors, turning the lights on and off, or just being there while all my other sims are frozen with the freezer clock). In this case, my test sim was Marcus, who volunteered for the role all by himself (he flew in on his broom right after the lot loaded). Thank you for your services, Marcus!

I lucked out with Feanor's pose, which is actually just the autonomous "wring hands" idle animation. He looked so miserable doing it that I positively had to use it for the final pics! 🤣

I wanted to have a sim to plop into the coffin, even though I knew they wouldn't be prominent in the final photoshoot. Any random adult sim would've worked, but naaaah, I had to go the extra mile and opt for an actual Moonfeather blood relative. And since the only other Moonfeather I currently have in my game besides Aruena & Feanor is Arwan, who is a toddler... I aged him up so I could use him for my pics. Poor guy. 🫢💀

Just to clarify, Arwan is still a happy little toddler in my game and his untimely demise is NOT canon. I didn't specify who it was that the Moonfeathers were mourning in the OG photoset, so it's totally up to personal interpretation!

#sims 2 #ts2 #sims #simstober #simstober 2024 #notsosimstober #notsosimstober 2024 #bacc #wyverns bay #wyverns bay extras #aruena moonfeather #feanor moonfeather #arwan moonfeather #marcus blackbird #royal crypt #behind the scenes #mine #tw death

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thenexusofsouls · 29 minutes ago

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"Me? No," Wade said, shaking his head. "The opposite, actually. I'm bored to death." He realized how that probably sounded to her a moment later. "Not- I didn't mean bored sitting here talkin' to you. I meant with life in general lately. Haven't found any good jobs yet in this city, got nothin' but time on my hands, that sorta thing," he sought to clarify.

He understood what she was getting at with the waffles, and she was right, really. But if his enjoyment was the only reason for something, then lately he just wasn't interested. He really didn't deserve to indulge at present, and he wasn't sure when he was going to finally say he did deserve it.

Everything that had happened to his friends and potential future family wasn't exactly something somebody got over in a shot amount of time. Until he did, he was going to keep right on thinking he didn't deserve to be happy. I got everybody killed. If I'm not gonna join 'em like I should've, the least I can do is live a completely miserable life. Not the greatest logic, but emotionally it made sense to him. "Yeah, I guess," he said unconvincingly, choosing to leave it at that rather that harp on things. This poor woman was probably tired of hearing his bellyaching bullshit.

He thought her reaction to his supposed medical condition not being given proper thought had been a bit... extreme? Had he touched a nerve somewhere? Surely her anger wasn't just out of concern for him, they'd only just met a little while ago. Still, the anger seemed... personal, somehow. Maybe she's been in jail before. If she had, that wasn't any of his business. If she wasn't on his list, then he didn't care what she did or how many years she'd spent in the cage.

He was still thinking about what he'd seen outside with the unfortunate, umbrella-challenged fellow. Again, he was curious and wanted to know what she'd done, what that blue stuff was, how she'd fixed the umbrella so well... but it seemed wrong to ask. She seemed like a very private person and Wade wasn't one to pry into other people's affairs unless he was being paid to do it.

Cutting the stack of napkins that arrived in half and dividing them between her and himself, Wade wasted no time in drying his rather shiny chromedomus before any more rainwater could drip down his nose or from his chin. "I gotta install gutters on this thing. Seriously, everything just rolls right off," he complained, gesturing towards his head.

When she said he'd done the same thing, meaning fixing the umbrella, Wade chuckled. "Nah, I didn't do shit, that was all you," he insisted. "All I did was get myself wet and hold the door on the way back. Hardly medal-worthy conduct."

The soldier bunched herself up under the desk, palms pressed to her ears with enough pressure that she could hear the squeak of her joints. She was trying to block out the noise. The angry shouts as she disobeyed direct orders. When had she entered the office? One minute she'd been searching the aisles...

well,

Shallow breaths

A tap on her shoulder, sending her jolting alongside her racing heart, wide eyes searching for the source- an elderly woman with a light laugh, and an apology for startling her. She was only reaching for the milk

Bright, fluorescent lights

Constant chatter and clanging and beeping that was not, in fact, a heart rate monitor, and was instead the tills as the cashiers scanned various items

Too many options

kind of.

At some point she'd passed the bakery, and a small child in a cart had wheeled by, holding a...

And then she'd found herself in the office. The door was locked from the inside. The desk had the indent of fingers on the edge of it's surface, as though imprinted in wet cement. One of it's legs wiggled like a snake. Both still gleaned with the sweat of her hands.

The manager kept slamming on the door, shouting and raving about calling the police, and company files and trespassing. And yet she was frozen in place. - For Wade, sadiebrin

@sadiebrin

"Donuts or muffins?" Wade muttered to himself as he looked around the bakery section. His head tilted to one side, then the other. "Eh, they each have their good points..."

It was supposed to rain today. Not just rain, thunderstorm. So far, though, the sky had gone dark for a couple hours and it had gotten rather windy, but so far... no rain or thunder. Perfect weather for Wade to do a little shopping during normal human hours without fear of getting too impaired by the sun. He'd felt a mild tingling on his skin when he stepped outside, but... not too bad. And really, he just had to go from his apartment building to his SUV, and then from there into the store. He could do that standing on his head, so... time to shop.

Being a vampire sucked, pun intended. Needing blood all the time was not only unappealing to Wade, but it was massively inconvenient with his schedule and lifestyle. And he refused to give up the foods he loved, even if they did nothing for him nowadays. At least he could eat whatever he wanted without fear of getting fat or developing heart disease, since whatever made him a vampire seemed to regulate his body to keep it in tip-top shape without him having to do much of anything.

His deliberations on exactly what kind of indulgent human food to buy were interrupted by a very distressed woman staggering from near where he was toward the back of the store. Confections could wait. Wade followed her, sensing that something was very wrong. When she went inside an office and slammed the door, Wade stopped and watched as the manager began pounding on the door like a child throwing a tantrum. "Really?" Wade mumbled to himself.

Making his way to the door, Wade laid his hand on the manager's shoulder. "Take a breath, okay? I think she's havin' some kinda problem." The manager was taking too many breaths, as it were, and spouting more boisterous nonsense about how she wasn't allowed in there, and if she didn't come out right this instant he was going to called the cops!

With an irritated smirk, Wade reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. "Dude, relax, I am the cops," he said, flashing his badge just fast enough for the manager to see something that looked official but not long enough for him to actually read that it only said government licensed bounty hunter on it. It worked, and the manager took a step back from the door. Only one. Wade looked at him like, you gotta be kiddin' me with this bullshit. "Yeah, you wanna gimme some time here, man? I'll handle it, don't worry." With that, the manager huffed and left to deal with an irate woman who couldn't find the type of cheese she wanted and was making it everyone else's problem.

"Hey... miss?" he called through the door. "You okay in there? Need some help?" He was trying to get through to the woman but also sound as non-threatening as he could manage.

#sadiebrin #muse: wade

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nerosdayinanime · 1 year ago

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feral giyuu beloved

hes gonna fucking kill Shinazugawa

so Sanemi pulls his stab-the-baby bullshit which terrifies Tanjiro, thinking he'd try to open the box next to burn her in the sun. as soon as Giyuu registers his distress all the tension he'd be holding in snaps violently- he lurches forward out of the lineup and lunges at Sanemi with the ferocity of an actual demon. Sabito and everyone else are stunned in place as Giyuu punches him hard enough to send him to the gravel, snatches Nezuko's box from him and leaps back pulling Tanjiro behind him. He stands there posed protectively in front of them, every muscle tensed ready to move as he stares Sanemi down snarling as loud as thunder. Obanai Mitsuri and Tengen are cringing back- Obanai because hes closest aside from Sanemi and can smell the intense sea-salt & pine through his mask, Mitsuri because shes an Omega Prime and the warning growl/threat scent affects her more, and Tengen because the sharp ring of loathing in the growl hurts his head. Sabito's still in the lineup baring his fangs, struggling to keep calm and not make the situation any worse for his partner despite the anxiety of the situation.

"Don't fucking touch them." "I didn't even touch your stupid brat!" "YOU STABBED HER!"

Everyone startles at the implication of that- Sanemi growls and starts berating him for imprinting on a demon, stomping closer, calling him a traitor for attacking him. Giyuu leans forward ready to rip out his throat at a moments notice, not lunging solely because Tanjiro's holding onto the back of his haori pleading for them not to fight. Sabito finally snarls and stands up- Kyojuro Mitsuri & Tengen follow, fully expecting to have to intervene when the three of them start tearing each other to shreds, "SIT!. ALL OF YOU!." He snaps, harshly grabbing Sanemi by the shoulder and shoving him down. Sanemi starts to protest but Sabito leans over him threateningly and grabs his throat, "You stay fucking put. You're already 5 feet down and i suggest you stop digging any further." Sanemi stares back at him, gripping the arm holding his neck, but doesn't do or say anything else, the others hesitantly settle back down. He lets go and straightens up, looking back at the other hashira, "We're going to sit here and wait for Oyakata-sama like civilized people," a pointed look at Sanemi, "Are we agreed upon?." When everyone murmurs in agreement he nods to Giyuu and kneels next to Sanemi, barricading him and the other hashira from Giyuu Tanjiro and Nezuko.

Giyuu finally stops growling and posturing, hesitating for a moment before turning and fretting over the two of them for a bit- they finally sit down when he calms. When Kagaya arrives hes immediately hit with the tension and thick fear-anger-stress scent filling the courtyard and asks what happened. Sanemi opens his mouth- Sabito slaps a hand under his chin and closes it again. Shinobu and Kyojuro pipe up, explaining that they were questioning the boy when Shinazugawa went ahead and stabbed the demon in the box, how Urokodaki stepped up and ...convinced everyone to sit back down. He finally brings out Sakonji's letter and asks everyone else to allow it like he did. Sanemi of course objects and asks to prove the demon's real nature. Giyuu immediately snaps at him to shut the fuck up- he's already done enough stabbing his fucking cub. Kagaya recognizes the gravity of the situation and offers Giyuu to come inside so he can check on her (and maybe possibly also show everyone else shes not so bad-). Giyuu quickly takes up the offer and pulls Tanjiro over with him in the far corner- Sabito follows them to the edge of the engawa and stands guard there between them and the other hashira.

Giyuu sits down in front of her box and gently opens it, little Nezuko crawling out and looking around for a moment. She sees the blood on Tanjiro's face and tries to wipe it off with her sleeve, Giyuu makes pointed eye contact with Sanemi and carefully cleans Tanjiro's face off. Nezuko patiently sits in his lap until he pats her head and inspects the damage to her clothes. The other hashira are talking, arguing maybe- he doesn't care enough to tell. "Shinazugawa, you owe me 5 yen." "The fuck do i owe you for jackass!?" "Thread, for the fucking HOLE you put through her-" "Ah!- Giyuu-san its fine!-"

Eventually its decided they'll let her live for now, "I also offer to take them in to the Butterfly Mansion, if that's okay with Tomioka-san." Giyuu notices the peace-offering look she gives him when she says that. "...I'll allow it.." Tanjiro herds Nezuko back into her box and Giyuu growls at the kakushi who try to pick up Nezuko's box. He puts the box on himself, Tanjiro tries to assure them he can walk on his own and immediately buckles when he puts pressure on his injured leg. Giyuu picks him up and carries the both of them out and to the butterfly mansion while Sabito stays for the rest of the meeting

#loserboy giyuu posting #neros art tag #abo sabigiyu surprise adoption au #giyuu dipped as soon as he could he did NOT want to stay around that mess any longer than he had to lmao #hes never been so junked up on adrenaline before- he dropped the two of them off in Aoi's care and went to run off the rest of it with a #few laps between the estate and the nearby village. grabbed some more thread while he was there #oh yeah i didnt talk about the mt natagumo scene w rui & shinobu #he was super panicky about possibly losing them to a lower moon so soon- he got there in time though and had that whole convo w tanjiro #abt not hesitating to slay demons- he was swayed by tanjiro and grabbed rui's clothes after he ran from shinobu. had em stuffed in his #sleeve the whole time- probably asked the btfy trio to wash it for him and gave it to tanjiro #tanjiro told him about the little family lower 5 was trying to make with the other demons- how he must've been trying to replace the family #he lost and going about it the wrong way given how happy the spider mother was to die. he smelled so profoundly *sad* when he was dying #giyuu gets why hes so sympathetic to demons like that. he doesnt really feel the same but he understands. hes just happy tanjiro found a #balance between his kind nature and his job as a slayer- he doesnt have to sacrifice his kindness and he doesnt have to sacrifice his *life #sabito eventually arrives w shinobu & fills giyuu in on the meeting stuff- they also talk about that little bit about 'his cub'#'what about it? they're ours now.' 'giyuu you cant just adopt-' 'i dont wanna hear that from you *urokodaki*' 'touche. they're ours now'#giyuu #tomioka giyuu #giyuu tomioka #sabito #kny sabito #sabito lives au #sabigiyuu #kamado tanjiro #kamado nezuko #originally it was supposed to just be a redraw but my obsession w sharp teeth won out #giyuu beloved #next im gonna try to draw somethin w giyuu original design #that fuckboy w the slutty gloves

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ladycatofwinterfell · 1 year ago

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went insane, scribbled down five notebook pages worth of notes and ideas for the next harrenhal au fic and then sat in silence and stared at it

#i genuinely don’t think anyone cares about this au as much as I do #like you people must be so bored of it at this point because it’s all i talk about #so you will be happy to hear it will probably be a while before i actually write it lol i’m just brainstorming

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neo-nomatrix · 6 months ago

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EAT IT UP !

HOW THE JJK MEN EAT P*$$Y

Multiple x reader

-> GOJO, NANAMI, TOJI, GETO, SUKUNA, CHOSO

warnings ⚠️ smut… duh. pussy eating… duh. 69 in getos. talks of bondage. talks of choking (on dick) overalll smut idk

GOJO SATORU AKA “kid in a candy store”

On his tummy, feet in the air, humming. His legs are swaying back and forth but you’re way too busy to notice. He’s looking up at you with those unmistakable eyes watching you fall apart on his skilled tongue. His hand use your thighs as handles and makes out with your sloppy, cute cunt. He’s trying to tease you but the words come out as gurgled mumbles since his mouth is basically superglued to you.

You’re throbbing on his lips and he slurps it up like honey. Sometimes he dips his fingers in but usually sticks with his mouth. Fucks his tongue inside of you and he’ll probably start gagging because of how far he gets. He has to hug your thighs when you cum because of how squirmy you get. Nips at your clit when it’s all sensitive and giggles.

“You’re so fucking cute squirming”

“Oh wow… feels that good huh?”

“Is this how it feels when you gag on my cock?”

NANAMI KENTO AKA “use me like a chair”

Wants all your weight on his face or else he’s not happy. And no- it’s not an option. Maybe you’ll suffocate him, but who’s to say that’s not the goal? He cups his hands around your thighs and pulls you down on him, immediately getting to work. He’s so sensual and romantic about it. Slowly licking from your entrance to your clit. Definitely kisses your clit before starting anything.

Gathers a whole bunch of spit before and globs it onto you. There should literally be bubbles when you get off of him. Tries his best not to snake his hand down his pants so he can focus on you. As much as he loves you grinding down on his face he always stops you. This is for him to do all he work, he should be making you feel so good you don’t need to think about grinding down.

“Let me do all the work, just sit there.”

“I know i’m hard, sweetheart. I’ll get to that later.”

“Stop hovering, do i need to tie you up?”

TOJI FUSHIGURO AKA “this is for him”

Even though it’s an activity meant to pleasure you, it’s for him. For him to melt away his worries into your sweet cunt. He uses it as a stress reliever, massaging your ass like a stress ball. will literally ask you why you were squirming so much, it disturbed his peace.

Never stops after you come. More flavor for him. Has you on your tummy, he’s spreading you apart and eating it. His hands are never still. Always running up and down your back or playing with the skin of your ass. Moves up to grope your tits and play with your sweet nipples.

“Put your face into the pillow and bite if it’s to much”

“You take my cock every day but my mouth is too much?” oh wait, that’s also too much

“Maybe i should leave some marks on this ass too.”

GETO SUGURU AKA “34 + 35”

SixtyNine KING. Can’t decide between being on bottom or top. On bottom he can get the pleasure of you sitting on his face. The only downside is your squirming with so much pleasure that you forget to suck his cock. He doesn’t care that much, eating you out is plenty of pleasure, but it would be nice. But he does hate it when your strokes get sloppy and they become borderline teasing.

On top he gets the added bonus of fucking your face. Thrusting in and out of your moaning mouth as much as he pleases. He loves hearing you choke while slurping you up. He just doesn’t like the blood going to his head while eating you out. He’s pretty simple when it comes to pussy eating. Loves to suck on your clit and use his fingers. Definitely makes you lick your own cum from his fingers. Finger fucks you until his hands are pruned.

“C’mon baby, at least stroke me baby. Look how hard he is for you.”

“I know it’s so much, huh?

“That’s fine, i’ll just throat fuck you with my cum soaked fingers,”

RYOMEN SUKUNA AKA “stop running”

Eats you out until you’re rolling around on the floor. And still keeps going. He hates it when you squirm, but also doesn’t do anything to stop it. Locks his arms around your thighs and presses a hand against your tummy. Sloppily eats your cunt with no technique. Spits soo much on it. The noises that come from your cunt and his mouth are insane. Dips his tongue real deep into your mess to get every drop.

Has you on the verge of passing out when you cum. And you guessed it, still won’t stop. He definitely pushes your thighs to your chest and wraps his arms around your whole body to keep you still. Loves it when you push on his head in desperation. It makes him so much harder.

“You keep fucking running and I’ll go for longer.”

“You’re only making it worse for yourself by squirming.”

“Fucking take it or I’ll make you.” yeah he definitely makes you

CHOSO KAMO AKA “kitten licks”

He eats you out like he’s scared. He’s so fascinated by your slippery pussy that he unintentionally goes super slow. Giving soft kisses to your clit and licking at your entrance like a popsicle. You have to tell him to go a little harder so it feels better. and once he does, no going back.

Starts to eat it like a starved man. He gets so mad he’s never done this before because he’s in heaven. Ruts his cock into the sheets because it feels so amazing. Moaning like a slut into your pussy. So much spit and his tongue is going wild on your pussy. He’s definitely making this apart of your routine.

“Oh my god it’s so wet baby.”

“Faster? but when i go faster with my cock you cry…”

“It feels good right, baby? Am I doing good?”

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kurooh · 26 days ago

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I’MA MAKE U SCREAM ★ S. GOJO & S. GETO

⊹₊˚. a series of unrelenting, mysterious phone calls late at night leads to you being sandwiched between two hot ghostface slashers who’ve got you fucking for your life.

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, ghostface! gojo & geto, threesome, knife play, landline phones, mentions of death, oral (f receiving), double penetration, anal/fingering, tongue piercings, pussy slapping, biting. 5.2K words whew (pls read anyway 🧎‍♀️)

xoxo, juno. happy halloween!! thank you to my dearest wolfy anon for beta reading <33 comment & rb if you enjoyed!!! 🎃

“hello?”

“why don’t you wanna talk with me?”

“who is this?” you roll your eyes, unimpressed by the cheery voice coming through the phone. “it’s like eleven at night, what do you want?”

“ya tell me your name, and i’ll tell ya mine,” that voice lilts into a teasing tone, words dripping with persuasive sweetness.

“nah, i’m heading to bed. nice talk.”

“aw, bedtime already? you’re not even gonna watch a movie before you sleep?” the question has your brows furrowing in aggravation, but you sigh, choosing to answer anyway.

“i didn’t have anything in mind,” the caller lets out a laugh, straight into your ear. “what, you’ve got a suggestion?”

“do you like scary movies?” and you can hear the smile in the caller’s voice; he’s amused, probably laughing with his friends over the prank call in the moments of muffled silence.

“i suppose so.”

“don’t you have a favorite? why not watch it?”

“well, i won’t be able to sleep,” you reply simply, twirling the phone cord between your fingers. “but the longer we talk, the more sleep i lose out on. so, have a good night!”

“wait!” the caller snaps, demanding as ever. the sudden outburst sends chills straight down your spine. “don’t hang up on me.”

“and why shouldn’t i?” the blatant defiance has the caller letting out a laugh that sounds rather menacing . . he clears his throat, seemingly returning to his more even tempered tone.

“we’re not done talking,” he says simply, sounding a little crackly through the phone. “so don’t hang up, you’ll—”

a rational person with an interest in talking would certainly call during the day, and only once or twice before quitting altogether to wait for a call back. an irrational person would have your house phones ringing off the hooks while you were in the shower, calling nonstop and then getting far too arrogant once you finally picked up. just as you slam the phone back down, it starts to ring again.

you decide to leave the room, figuring that the caller will tire himself out quickly, but he doesn’t. in the time that you left the phone to go to another room, there wasn’t a single beat of silence. furious, you race toward the phone, fingers sliding on the kitchen counter as you snatch it up.

“fuck you! listen to me, you’d better stop—”

“no, you listen to me,” the caller snarls, and the harshness of his voice has your heart kicking hard against your rib cage. something in your gut tells you that this isn’t just a talkative caller. “don’t fucking hang up on me again, got that?”

you recover some of your composure, goosebumps rising on your skin. the cool breeze blowing through a nearby window adds to the chilling feeling that’s washed over you in only a matter of seconds. “w-well, what do you want, then?”

“i wanna see your insides, dummy,” is the crazed response, and you can’t stop the way your face immediately twists in horror. a clicking sound is heard as the second phone in your house—the one upstairs—is picked up, and another person hops onto the call.

“now, now,” this new voice is smooth, immediately drawing your attention as you listen attentively through the phone. “that’s no way to talk, you’ll scare her silly.”

“what the fuck?” you ask aloud, although you hadn’t meant to. all you can think about is the fact that two weirdos have you almost . . cornered on the phone.

the crazy voice scoffs, ignoring your mumbling. “well, you heard her! trying to hang up and shit,” he clicks his tongue in disapproval before sighing. “anyway, where were we?”

you don’t even say anything, and the other voice exhales into the phone. “see, look at what you’ve gone and done now. our girl’s too scared to talk to us, isn’t she?”

“look, i-i’m just gonna go to bed. goodnight.”

“you’re not going anywhere, honey,” the calmer one of the two says, but this time his voice is much clearer, almost as if he’s standing beside you. you take a step backward, trying to shake off the weird feelings and relentless goosebumps spreading across your skin.

you might as well be wearing nothing.

the satin slip dress you were planning to sleep in is as thin as plastic wrap; you’ve backed up into someone’s strong chest and thanks to the thinness of your pajamas, you can feel each sharp ridge of muscle. the pecs are strong, firm to the touch, and the abs are hard enough to cut diamonds. fear races through your body, so overwhelming that your lips part to let out a scream—but the noise is muffled by a large palm that pulls you back, flush against the muscles. separated only by a few layers of clothing, you can feel the warmth of their body and the casual rise of their chest as they breathe. if you weren’t being silenced, this would be comforting, in a way.

“promise you won’t scream, baby?” that calm voice has a dangerous edge; you nod immediately, frantically, desperately — as you feel a few tears gather in your eyes. this . . does not look, feel, or sound good in any way imaginable. who even are these people? and why you? a seemingly normal thursday evening had gone entirely downhill, and you didn’t even know why.

“good girl,” the person hums, dropping their hand from the lower half of your face and instead replacing it with the sharp edge of a knife. “let’s head upstairs, shall we?” as you ascend the steps, the blade drops lower, until it hovers over the tender skin of your throat. you can’t even turn around and see who the person is, for fear of getting cut over the simple action.

“could i at least turn around?”

“what for?” he asks, nudging the bedroom door open. you’re met with the frightening sight of a person in robes lounging on your bed, against your pillows. they have a spooky, ghostly mask, but you know who it is the second their mouth opens.

“you took the knives out that quickly?” the figure clicks his tongue, raising a hand to his face to pull off the ghostface mask. so this is what this is—some kind of ridiculous scream roleplay . . but the feel of the knife and the way it gleams is too real. “what happened to playing around, suguru?”

“it’s—it’s you! from the phone.” you say, straining against the man behind you, who pulls the knife a few inches away from your throat.

“careful now, doll. you’ll hurt yourself.”

“if you let me go, maybe i’d—” the man on the bed sits up then, pulling off his mask. you can’t see who he is just yet, the shadow from his hood obscuring his face. in a moment, he grabs hold of your face with a gloved hand, fingers squeezing cruelly at your cheeks.

it’s utterly nasty, the way feelings of attraction twist in your stomach. heat rises to your cheeks and you swallow, looking into diamond blue eyes that have your heart fluttering despicably. how is it possible to even be focused on your grim reaper’s looks, almost entirely forgetting their intentions as you lose yourself in those eyes?

“cat got your tongue? i said i wanna see your insides and you didn’t even look fazed.”

beneath the robe, you can see the tips of snowy hair, along with a face that’s far too handsome to belong to some kind of murderer. you shake your head in disbelief, sucking in a breath. “uh . . huh? sorry, i didn’t hear you.”

he drops your face with an annoyed scoff, stepping back to plop down on your bed before fully pulling off his hood. “y’know what—suguru, you deal with her.”

the man behind you pushes you forward, and you awkwardly take a seat beside the sighing killer. suguru tugs off his mask and inspects the knife closely, running a gloved finger over the edge before nodding. “might as well use the knives on you. maybe you’ll hear us then?”

“what’re you—why’re you doing all this?” you ask, the words sputtering out of your mouth nervously. “is there any way i can convince you not to cut me open?”

suguru looks at his literal partner in crime, pushing his black bangs away from his eyes as he speaks. “oh? trying to cheat death, sweet thing?”

you shrug, casually flopping onto your back. the satiny fabric of your dress flips up, and you unintentionally give both of them a great view of your panties. now that they’re deliberating how to move forward with you, the fear of the situation has dissipated greatly. “i just wanna go to bed and live to see another day tomorrow. name the price for my life and i’ll pay it.”

“those are fighting words,” suguru remarks, “don’t you agree, satoru?”

satoru nods, eyes glued to the thin fabric covering what’s between your legs. his mind runs wild as he imagines what he and suguru could impose on you. they’re practically in sync—suguru looks over just as satoru looks up, the two of them sharing a knowing look.

“hmph. sit up and listen.” satoru nudges your thigh, and you do as he says, looking bored. the whole night has done one too many 180s, giving you the most severe case of whiplash in your life. you’d initially been annoyed, terrified, then mildly attracted, and now . . almost indifferent.

“you’ve got my full attention.”

“we’ll let you live, on one condition,” satoru raises a finger before you can object, while suguru’s eyes covertly sweep over your body. “think you could handle us at the same time?”

a proposition for a threesome is something you certainly did not see coming! you bite the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to maintain composure. suguru spices it up with a smirk, dragging that sharp knife of his along the edge of your jaw.

“you’ll have to fuck like your life depends on it.”

it does. tension weighs the air down, filling the room with a thickness even suguru’s knife couldn’t cut through. sweat beads along the skin of your spine and you exhale in defeat. being between these two would be hard—in all ways possible; but one mistake and they’d probably end up slitting your throat.

truthfully, you’re willing to risk it. most girls don’t usually cross paths with two men that are each extremely attractive and willing to share you between one another. you squeeze your thighs together, an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by either of them.

“y-yeah, okay. i’ll do it.”

“atta girl,” satoru praises, the corners of his eyes crinkling. a wicked smile finds its way onto his rosy lips, but you don’t back down, instead spreading your legs. you look between them, a silent invitation extended in one glance.

“lie back for us.”

“you were the one who told me to sit up—” perhaps the unnecessary snark isn’t a good idea, not with the way suguru eyes you warily.

satoru leans in hastily, connecting his lips with yours to effectively shut you up. his body barrels into yours, pushing you into suguru, who catches you and cages you against his strong chest. the knife is abandoned as he strokes his fingertips along the tender skin of your neck, sighing into your ear while satoru occupies your lips.

“so pretty. heh, you’re pretty every night.”

suguru’s touch has you letting out a moan that satoru eagerly swallows, his gloved hands roaming your body. however, he seems to remember he’s got gloves on; without pulling away, he snatches them off.

“her tits, suguru—play with her tits.”

the mumbled words are audible only to suguru, who complies with a chuckle. unlike satoru, he makes no move to do away with his gloves. you moan, his hands squeezing at your tits while his fingertips stroke over your nipples until they grow hard.

“s-suguru,” you mewl, pulling away for a moment to suck a breath into your deprived lungs, “keep touching me there—just like that.”

satoru’s palm comes down hard against the side of your thigh, and he grips your face, forcing you to look at him. “focus on me, got that? wouldn’t want him to stop, would you?”

you shake your head, and in a split second, satoru’s got your upper lip between his teeth. he bites down playfully; the impact makes you gasp, and he seizes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. arousal pools in your panties, and you fidget in your spot between them, hoping that you’ll finally get the attention you’ve been craving sooner rather than later. suguru’s tongue drags against your neck while he takes in the scent of your body wash from earlier’s shower. there’s a cool sensation coming from the center of his tongue—you can feel a firm ball of some kind.

it’s a little shameful, getting this hot and heavy from a simple kiss. only, his tongue rolls against yours, and any semblance of embarrassment melts away. suguru’s fingers pinch both of your nipples at the same time, sending shockwaves right to your pussy.

“fuck,” you sob into satoru’s mouth, practically lightheaded from how overwhelming it already is, as well as the lack of air. “i-i need more.”

suguru hums, continuing to toy with your hardened nipples. “already slutting yourself out for us, sweetheart? that was fast, wasn’t it?”

satoru finally draws back, a glossy string of spit connecting your lips to his. he doesn’t move just yet, savoring the moment like a piece of special candy—you’ve practically got hearts in your eyes, all hot and bothered because of him. well, suguru is a factor, but he didn’t put in nearly as much work as satoru.

“lie back for us, babe.” this time you don’t fight them on it, scooting off suguru so you can comfortably prop yourself up on the mountain of pillows.

“tsk. this dress ought to go.” suguru brandishes his knife, and cuts through the satin material of the slip as easily as a stick of butter.

“hey!” you snap, the remains of your dress sliding off to the sides of the bed like rags. “what about you two!? you can’t just cut up my clothes like that when neither of you are naked!”

satoru rolls his eyes, tossing your legs apart. meanwhile, suguru clearly isn’t done with that knife; he trails it along the slopes of your naked body, the edge of the blade sharpened in a way that has you gasping. he applies a little bit of pressure, and your skin splits like it would after a paper cut.

“a-are you cutting my skin open?” you ask incredulously. you know the answer, but for whatever reason, you don’t pull away from him.

“maybe,” he replies breezily. “‘s nothing deep. you can handle it, can’t you, honey?”

“would you look at that?” satoru wolf whistles, and heat rises to your cheeks as he gathers your legs together, tugging them up. the knife pauses at your collarbone as suguru leans backwards to take a look, and his eyebrows raise immediately.

“she’s fucking soaked.”

“put the knife down ‘n come give it a taste.”

satoru’s request is breathless, but effective. the knife falls onto the blankets, and for a moment you use your head to consider what might happen in the future—someone could sit on that thing, lie down on it. satoru’s tongue rips the thought out of your head and replaces the words that were on the tip of your tongue with a sweet moan of bliss. your clit throbs at the prospect of more, and their balmy puffs of breath fanning over you only arouse you further.

their faces press together, side by side as they start to eat your pussy in a way that immediately has your back arching and hips bucking. satoru focuses all his attention on your clit, flicking the tip of his tongue over it while suguru slurps up all of your slick. there it is again, that cool sensation—he’s got a tongue piercing. the moonlight shines through the flowy curtains, illuminating the killers in an almost angelic glow . . maybe they’re actually pussy killers.

“‘s like fucking candy,” satoru moans, tongue dipping down to gather up your slick. it bumps into suguru’s, and he only lets out a laugh that sends vibrations through your entire core. “sweetest pussy i’ve ever tasted, shit.”

the room fills with the lewd, nasty sounds of their slurping and licking as they devour your pussy together. you slip a finger between your teeth and bite down once one too many noises threaten to escape you, and suguru pulls back to land a smarting slap on your pussy.

“ah ah. do not try to go quiet on us.”

“sorry, ‘m sorry,” you stutter dumbly, mind and body reeling from the delicious sting of the slap.

“we want you screaming,” he emphasizes, spitting onto your cunt and watching as it flutters, the glob slipping down more rapidly due to the movement. “and you will be, by the end of all this. understand, doll?”

you nod hastily, and his eyes flick upwards to your face, the hardness in them a simple warning. “yeah, i understand.”

satoru’s drawing hearts and letters on your clit, each one making you shudder more than the last. each drag of his tongue makes him moan as he takes in more of your taste. beside him, suguru’s dips his tongue between your folds, the sensation nothing more than a tease. they plan to split you open on their cocks, and getting you desperate for it is only the first step of their plan.

“ngh, t-that’s so fucking good,” you cry, thighs quaking on either side of their heads. “please, i’m gonna cum.”

“give it to us,” satoru is the first to speak, his voice clear as it cuts through the lewd sounds in the air. he’s got one hand on the side of your thigh, holding you open just for them. “on our tongues, like a good girl.”

satoru’s ministrations on your clit grow more insistent; he’s working to pull your orgasm from you, while suguru continues to slurp at your messy pussy, his eyes falling shut. a familiar and overwhelming sensation coils in your tummy; it’s one that has your hands flying to both suguru and satoru’s heads, fingers finding purchase in their hair.

“i—i think ‘m gonna cum,” you cry, back arching off the bed while your hips jolt forward into their faces. after hearing the first word of your delirious warning, satoru replaced his tongue with his finger and moved beside suguru, the two of them slurping all your cunt has to offer. to them, it’s like drinking ambrosia.

you’re pulling hard at their hair, only encouraging them to groan against you. suguru speaks, eyes rolling back from just a little hair pulling. but it makes sense, with hair like that. of course his scalp is very sensitive.

“cover us in your cum, baby.”

obedient and right on time, your pussy gushes, hole fluttering around nothing while your clit throbs beneath satoru’s finger. the intense orgasm has left you twitching from the aftershocks, gasping for breath, and overly sensitive. of course, satoru and suguru take advantage of the aforementioned sensitivity with smirks on their faces.

“no, wait, i-i just came,” is all you can sob, your hands smacked away once you try to tug them off your aching cunt. “satoruuu, suguruuu.”

suguru only laughs, mimicking your tone with a roll of his eyes. “aw, babyyy. that’s too bad, isn’t it?”

with how sensitive you are, it’s not hard for them to drag a second orgasm out of you. this time, a few tears cascade down your cheeks as you fall over the edge with a pitched cry. satoru spanks your still twitching cunt and laughs at the way you gasp and recoil, legs still trembling.

“suguru, whatcha think? you wanna take her mouth ‘n i’ll fuck her pussy?”

“that’s far too considerate, satoru.” he shakes his head, talking about you as if you’re not in front of them. “c’mon,” suguru purrs, gesturing for you to get up as he slips off his robe and boxers. “lie on top of me.”

you can’t help but ogle, a little starstruck by his body and the thrill of everything. he sticks out his tongue playfully when he notices you staring, the metal ball in his tongue gleaming. his abs flex and his cock bobs as he lays down on your bed, beckoning you over with a gloved finger. satoru gulps, panting softly at the sight. following his best friend’s lead, he slips off his matching clothing and mounts the bed, which sinks under his weight with a creak. part of you wonders if the bed frame will give out by the end of this.

“hand me the lube,” suguru grunts, catching the small bottle in his larger hand. the liquid is cool, even through the leather of his gloves. he rubs his fingers together to warm it up a little for you. his fingertips prod at the tight ring of your asshole, and you let out a squeak of surprise.

“c’mon. relax for me, doll.”

you take a breath, body sweltering with arousal. this is certainly new for you, but you don’t complain—and anyway, the slight coolness of the lube feels good against your hot skin. satoru bites down on his lower lip as he watches his best friend prep you to take both of their cocks at the same time. something wicked has the corners of his lips curling up into a smile as he pictures you screaming for them.

likely picturing the same thing, suguru tongues at your jaw, kissing the tender skin wetly before nipping hard. you can only cry out, his lips serving as a simple distraction while his fingers push inside and stretch you out.

you gasp, and he feels you squeeze down hard on his fingers, hips jerking away. “come now, don’t run from it,” suguru coos, twisting his body beneath you to angle you the right way again. he ignores your whining, and satoru silently strokes his cock to the sight. “i know, i know. just breathe for me, ‘kay?”

slowly, your body accommodates the new stretch without any more sting or discomfort. in fact, your hips begin to rock into his fingers, chasing them when he starts to pull out.

“i-i think she’s ready, suguru,” satoru finally speaks up, clearing his throat. his voice is a little choked, and you can clearly see the flush on his cheeks even in the dark. “for both of us.”

“you hear that, honey?” his warm breath fans over the shell of your ear, making you shudder against him. “let’s see who can make you scream the loudest—me or satoru.”

“as if,” the man in question huffs, pushing your thigh to the side and looking over your dripping pussy with an obvious hunger. “fuck, baby. i’m gonna ruin you.”

with that, satoru grasps his cock and guides it inside your needy cunt. suguru does the same, pushing his length into your ass. the three of you moan collectively, a harmony if ever there was one. you sob, tears burning at the corners of your eyes from the intensity of the stretch.

satoru grits his teeth and grips your hips for support, then pushes all the way inside you. he bottoms out easily, his cock sliding against suguru’s, separated only by a thin layer of tissue. so thin that they can feel the shape of one another’s cocks through you.

“fuckin’—shittt, oh my god,” satoru’s easily overwhelmed, heart pounding in his ears while sweat covers his entire body in a sticky sheen.

suguru bites your neck hard, but the pain registers as pleasure despite the fact that he tastes a few irony drops of blood on his tongue.

“do either of you plan to move?” you complain, lips parting in an ‘o’ shape around a whiny moan. “or are we just gonna sit here—”

“shut the fuck up,” suguru groans, clapping a dry and gloved hand over your tits before squeezing them. “we’ll move when we fucking feel like it.”

waves of almost euphoria wash over your entire body, leaving you breathless and panting. when you’d first met these two, you’d been sharp and aware of your surroundings, but now everything is hazy and your body burns as though you have a fever.

the bed creaks dangerously as satoru jumps into action, slowly rocking his hips into yours with a few choked, wanton moans. before long, he’s more confident, fucking into you with a tight grip on your skin and at an invigorated pace. you’re so hot and oh so tight—satoru fucking loves it—you feel perfect. he loves the way you squirm on top of his best friend, hips canting forward eagerly to meet his. the evidence of how good he’s making you feel is painted all over your face, apparent in the wobble of your lower lip and the tears in your eyes.

you hear a sigh from behind you. “can’t lose the bet,” suguru’s voice is laced with faux sympathy. it takes him a few seconds, but he finally starts moving, groaning in approval at the shake of your body and gasping, ragged breaths.

above you, sweat rolls down satoru’s face, the snowy tips of his hair sticking to his forehead while others fall in front of his eyes. “y-you like it like this, baby?” the question is rhetorical, but your whimpering tells him everything he needs to know. the corners of his lips curl into a smile that’s soon wiped away by overwhelming pleasure. “you’re taking us so fuckin’ well, sweetheart . . driving me insane, goddamn.”

“i second that,” the metal ball of suguru’s piercing clicks as he sweeps his tongue over his teeth, panting hard into your ear. “really, baby . . feel like the luckiest fuckin’ guy in the world right now, heh.”

as if you’re not the luckiest girl—being sandwiched between these two is a dream you didn’t even know you had. inside you, their cocks throb against one another, dragging in and out of your holes ruthlessly. the tempo only speeds up, becoming too much too quickly.

you nudge a weak, clammy hand against satoru’s waist, arching your back on top of suguru and nearly nailing him in the face with a reverse headbutt. before the latter can say anything, satoru snatches your hand and intertwines your fingers with his, then pins it down to the bed. he advances forward, his chest now against yours to keep you still.

“ah ah,” he tuts, his nipples hard as they press against yours, “move your damn hand, baby. this is what you wanted, remember?”

“i certainly do,” suguru titters, nipping at your earlobe. “don’t be like that. you can take it, can’t you?”

his words are convincing; he’s got you nodding in acceptance. he’s right, of course. this is what you wanted earlier—you’ve been taking both of their cocks so fucking well. just as you tell yourself you’ll make it through this, satoru’s fingers ghost along the soft skin of your stomach. despite the exhaustion that’s setting into his body, his hips don’t even stutter as he focuses on your swollen clit.

“oh . . oh my god,” the words are torn from your throat, which only grows more sore with all the noise you can’t seem to stop making. a familiar shakiness settles in your voice, and you’re fighting to keep the breath in your lungs, but it escapes you far too easily. “i’m-‘m gonna cum for you, ‘m—”

as you hurtle closer to all encompassing euphoria, the sounds of skin slapping against skin fade out and grow foggy. yet, you manage to hear their voices eagerly spurring you on, the two of them in the same boat as you.

“yeah, ‘s right. fuckin’ cum for us, baby.” satoru’s own orgasm creeps up on him, his head tipping back as your pussy starts to flutter around his cock. of course, suguru can feel the throbbing of his best friend’s cock and the quavering of your needy pussy. he releases your tits, seeing the bruising he’s left before squeezing his eyes shut in concentration.

“ya heard him, honey,” he utters after a long groan, his voice low and husky. “take all of our fucking cum.” you gasp out, nodding your head frantically as you teeter over the edge.

everything happens fast, and all at the same time. satoru cums inside you, his broad shoulders shaking as he rides it out while your pussy practically milks him for more. your cunt spasms, hips jerking upwards from the intensity of it. the movement pushes out suguru, his cum leaking out of your bruised ass and spilling in white puddles on his pelvis.

satoru looks down, biting down on his lower lip as he pulls his cock from you. this is quite the reward, seeing cum pour from both of your spent and twitching holes. your shuddering, sweltering body finally begins to cool after what feels like hours. suguru’s exhausted, but he kindly lifts you and lays you down on the bed beside him. satoru flops down beside you with a heaving sigh, only to lay on the knife from earlier.

“ow, fuck!” he jolts, sitting up and tugging the sharp blade from where it’s tangled in the sheets. he unceremoniously hurls it to the floor, laying back down with a vengeful huff.

you’re too tired to laugh, but a small smile plays on your lips. “do you still wanna kill me?”

“not right now,” suguru throws an arm over his face, gesturing in the direction of the floor. “the knife’s down there, anyway.”

you sit up, craning your neck to take a look. from what you can see, the floor is littered with their dark costumes and two masks, the knife completely out of sight. “i don’t see it.”

“hm, remember we talked about making you scream for us?” satoru speaks up, and in your dizzy haze, you don’t notice that glint in his eyes.

“uh, yeah, i think so? i thought you already did.”

“don’t you watch scary movies?” suguru scoffs, looking at you from beneath his forearm. “you should know what happens next.”

you laugh, rolling your eyes. “yeah, whatever. what happens next, you kill me? very funny. let me convince you again,” and you clear your throat. “no, please don’t kill me, mr. ghostface! i wanna be in the sequel!”

satoru simply shakes his head, and the knife plunges into your back. with a gasp, you sputter out a few garbled words, blood pouring down your bare back as you fall backwards onto the bed. you writhe on the mussed sheets, blood spilling from your lips and trickling down your chin in vermillion rivulets. beside you, the blood covered suguru and satoru let you struggle aimlessly until your body stills; then they slip their masks on again . .

“andddd cut!” the director jumps from his seat with proud claps, and the production assistants rush in from every direction to help clean up the mess.

“satoru, fuck! that knife was so sharp,” you sit up, sending a glare his way as you wipe the fake blood off your skin. despite being a fake knife, the shiny plastic point was rather jagged.

“excellent performances, the three of you! our halloween special is sure to be a hit!” the director is gushing as he praises the three of you.

“yeah, yeah,” suguru says, his cheeks flushed a rosy pink. “i’ve gotta take a shower. seriously, the corn syrup is so fucking sticky.”

#kurooh #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto smut #geto x reader #geto x you #jujutsu kaisen imagines #smut #ghostface #geto suguru x reader #jjk x you #jjk fanfic

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joelsgoldrush · 1 month ago

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“crawl home to her” | 7.5k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Will he be able to control himself once he's near you? In this moment, he feels more animal than human. Creeping, on the verge of crawling, back to you. OR Like a sinner seeking absolution, he finds his way back to you after every absence, as if you're the only salvation he's ever known.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. dirty talk. some fluff. comfort. feelings. self-deprecation. miscommunication. sort of established relationship. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). petnames. religious imagery. logan's POV. chauffeur!logan. dom!logan. reader wears logan's dog tags and clothes. pussy pronouns. phone sex. oral sex (f and m receiving). 69. fingering. masturbation (he jerks off in the limo). one (1) single spank. sort of rough sex. unprotected p in v. creampie.

A/N: i wrote this as a part 2 of this story, but still, it can be read as a standalone (i'd recommend that you also read the first part as well 👀 you'll understand their relationship better). hope you like this one! <3

Logan is tired. Bone-deep, soul-crushingly tired.

He takes a slow, deliberate drag from his cigar, letting the smoke curl inside his chest, teasing his lungs. Doesn’t even bother to crack the window open—why would he?—before exhaling, the haze lingering inside the limo like a fog.

One quick glance at his phone screen just to make sure his vision isn’t screwing him over—no older notifications. A pang of disillusionment settles in his being.

Not only is he fighting to keep his eyes open, exhausted from driving the same family around for the past few days while they enjoy their quality time, but he’s also bored out of his mind.

Where the hell are you?

He adjusts his glasses, pushing them higher up on the bridge of his nose, preventing them from sliding down to his lap. When his phone buzzes, he jolts, nearly hitting his head on the roof of the limo due to his excitement.

His poor heart gallops as he fumbles with the screen, unlocking it with the same urgency as a man starved for contact.

But it’s not you. It’s one of his passengers.

We’re getting out in half an hour, the message reads. By we, she means herself, her husband, and their two kids.

Logan can’t bring himself to type an actual reply, so he leaves her on read. She knows he’s not going anywhere, parked outside the arcade as if he’s rooted in place with no way out.

Family after family enters that hell on earth, kids of all ages bouncing on their heels, voices shrill with enthusiasm. He watches, half-heartedly, as parents get dragged by their little ones, who negotiate how much money they are allowed to spend tonight.

He almost feels bad for those parents. Almost. He hopes that at least they know how to say ‘No’.

All in all, he’s got another thirty minutes of solitude ahead. The radio has long since ceased to entertain him. He’s been parked here for two hours, and his mind is starting to drift. He could stretch his legs, walk around, or maybe grab a drink—but damn it.

He wants to talk to you.

You’d said he could call you after dropping the family off. That was three hours ago. The last message he received from you was still stuck in his head, replaying over and over like a lifeline. Logan knows you must be busy, probably taking care of Charles and—

Okay, he’ll get back to that later.

You: Just got out of the shower. Call me in five?

Right now, he could die a happy man. Were he a dog, his tail would be wagging furiously, anticipation already building for the simple joy of hearing you.

Logan: Got it.

The next five minutes feel like an eternity. He finishes his cigar, flicking the stub beneath the seat without giving it a second thought. For now, he doesn’t care about being a messy fucker. He’ll deal with the mess some other time.

Priorities.

A quick spritz of some cheap air freshener he picked up from a gas station fills the car, masking the distinctive scent of smoke. God forbid the kids start whining about how ‘weird’ it smells in the limo.

With a grimace, he sprays a little more—floral, of all scents? It feels insulting.

How kind of him to still be this considerate.

His thumb hovers over your contact, and he presses the call button with an agility he hasn’t had in years (thanks to you).

One, two, three rings, and then—

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice a little breathless, like you’ve been hurrying all over the place.

He stops grinding his jaw, the tension in his shoulders easing. He unclenches his fists, fingers uncurling one by one, as if letting go of some invisible burden.

Outside the vehicle, people stop dying, babies stop being born, and the world itself pauses just for him to listen to you.

You can’t see him, but he smiles either way. “Hey, baby.”

“Gosh, I’m so sorry. I lost track of time talking to Charles. We had dinner, and then I just—I felt so gross, you know? From cooking and all that. Took a shower, and it got pretty late.”

You end with a sigh, and he imagines you rubbing a hand over your face. “Please tell me you weren’t sleeping when I texted you.”

“Not even close. Still waiting for them.”

“They’re really taking their time, huh?”

“You wouldn’t believe it,” he murmurs, his fingers drumming a soft rhythm on the steering wheel. “How was your day?”

“Great! I’m already in bed.”

“My bed.”

You laugh, that sweet sound making his heart stutter. “Well, yeah. Where else do you want me to sleep if I’m at your place? On the floor?”

If someone had told Logan a year ago that he’d let someone live in his space, let alone take care of Charles, he’d have scoffed. "Pathetic," he’d have said, rolling his eyes with that familiar growl in his throat. Pretty sure he’d also puffed his chest while saying so.

Because Logan Howlett wasn’t one for accepting help. He’s been on his own since the earth was still cooling down.

But for you? He made exceptions. Plenty of them. And if it weren’t for your altruism, he wouldn’t have accepted this job—a job that pays well enough to cover Charles’ meds and put food on the table. He needs this rich family’s money.

“You’ve got a girlfriend now?” Charles had asked, when Logan explained he’d be staying with you while he went away for a few days.

“Big word you’re using there,” Logan had replied, placing two pills into Charles’ palm. The old man gave him a death stare. “Don’t play dumb. It’s not like you don’t know the drill.”

Mumbling something incoherent before swallowing the pills, Charles had taken slow sips of water between each one, sinking back into the mattress with a weary sigh. “If she’s not your girlfriend, then what is she?”

“A friend.”

“That’s nice. Is that what they’re calling it now?”

He shakes that memory away, forcing his mind back to the call. “Try not to be so kind to him. What if he falls in love with you?” he inquires, a mocking tone weaving through his words.

And that’s when you drop the bombshell. “You mean like you did?”

You laugh, but Logan… doesn’t. He can’t do it. He makes sure he’s breathing on command: in and out, in and out, in and out.

The mention of love unsettles him. He doesn’t feel safe anymore, doesn’t know what game you’re playing. Where’s the rulebook?

Is he—could he be—falling in love with you? Is that what you’re implying? And if so, do you feel the same?

In the long run, you mumble: “It was a joke.” Only then do his lungs fill with fresh air, untainted by the weight of his unease. But he can’t let it pass, the fact you sound disappointed. Defeated.

He promised himself he’d never hurt you. Though he doesn’t intend to, it feels as if he’s just stabbed you in the back, twisting the knife further into your frame—unwillingly.

“Remember the—” he pauses a moment, throwing his head back in frustration, silently cursing himself. “The pills. You’ve been giving them to him, right?”

“Yes, Logan.”

“Please, remember it’s only—”

“Logan,” you try again, cutting through the wave of his spiraling thoughts. He can picture you behind closed lids, looking at him through your lashes, your hand resting gently on his chest. “I have it under control, okay? He’s doing alright. I swear I’m taking good care of him.”

“I don’t doubt that, honey.” Casting a glance at the rearview mirror, he feels an unexpected sense of longing for your presence there, like a ghost haunting his every move, confined to the limits of his brain. “Can’t help but worry. That’s all.”

A soft hum reverberates through the line. He hears the rustle of sheets, the sound of you tossing around in his bed, and his pulse quickens at the thought.

“You said you’re sleepin’ on my bed.”

“Good memory you have.”

“You wearin’ my clothes as well?”

Thick silence, the kind he relishes.

“Yeah,” you finally reply, shifting the phone from side to side. You take a deep breath, and add: “I forgot to bring mine.”

He hates how you easily find a way to get him riled up despite being miles away. It must be the power of words.

“I don’t believe you.” He knows he shouldn’t, hates himself for doing it, but one of his hands palms the half-hard bulge in his black slacks, suppressing a low groan. “Think you did it on purpose.”

A rush of heat, sharp and urgent, washes over him. Is he really about to do this? Get himself off in the very car he uses for work? Twisted, incredibly sick of him, he thinks.

Still, he craves more. “Tell me what you’re wearing.”

You laugh at his demanding tone, fanning the flames of his desperation. “When did you turn into a horny teenager?”

“Always been, baby,” Logan purrs, undoing the button of his pants, followed by the fly. His eyes flick upwards for just a moment—no cars, no one in sight. He’s presumably alone. It’s all the confirmation he needs to say: “C’mon. Tell your old man what clothes you stole from him.”

He’s never done this before—phone sex. He’s heard about it, sure, but never imagined he’d fall so hard for the idea. The thrill of it sinks into him, electrifying.

What are you doing? Is your lip caught between your teeth? Do your eyes wander down your own body? Maybe your fingers are already skimming over your skin.

“It’s just a random shirt,” you murmur. “Plain, white.”

“What else?”

“There’s nothing else.”

Logan’s breath hitches as his hand moves to his cock, spotting the damp patch on his briefs where the tip has already started to leak. The moment he slides the elastic down past his balls, he fists his shaft in a slow stroke, going from the base to the head. “No panties? And you expect me t’believe this wasn’t planned?”

Your muffled whimper is like molten lava spilling into his ear, bringing him to full hardness. More shuffling follows on your end, driving him wild with the anticipation. “Why do you do this to me if you’re not here?”

“‘Cause I want you touchin’ yourself just like I’m doin’.” He thumbs the head, hips jerking involuntarily at the sensation. He aches to feel your mouth there instead. “Bet that pussy’s been cryin’ out for me, huh? Must’ve got used to me fillin’ her every other night.”

Your breathing grows more uneven, small gasps filtering through the speaker. “I need you here with me. This is—ugh—not enough.”

“What’s not enough, sweetheart?”

There’s a pause as the sound of your phone shifts again, and then he hears it clearly—the wet, needy sound of your fingers working between your legs, filling the silence with the loud squelching of your cunt. “My fingers,” you blurt out, more distant than before, like you’re merging with the bed, dissolving with every touch.

Logan spits roughly into his palm, the slickness of his saliva easing the drag of his calloused hand along his length, good enough to make the movement more satisfying.

He moans aloud, eyes shut tight, your name slipping from his lips, a whispered prayer, as if saying it could somehow summon you to his side. “I spoil you too much,” he rasps, wedging his phone between his ear and shoulder, using every resource available to him, anything to feel something real. “Seems like you’ve forgotten how to make yourself come.”

Your moans follow his, the breathy sounds a clear sign of how close you are, hanging on the edge, your release just a heartbeat away. But it’s not enough, and you need him. He wonders if you can feel his thoughts from miles away, because— “Want your cock so bad, Lo. I m-miss you.”

He has to stop jerking himself to hold off his orgasm, stomping his foot against the pedals. “Fuck, darlin’. You keep sayin’ those things and I swear I’ll be back with you by morning.”

His sole focus now is you—getting you to come. Driven by his growing frenzy, it’s the only coherent thought that claws through the haze in his mind. “Keep talking, please,” you plead, fingers still lost in the heat of your body. “Tell me what you’ll do to me when you see me.”

Logan picks up the rhythm again, his movements faltering as his chest heaves, ragged breaths spilling out while his hand works faster. “Gonna fuck you slow and deep, just how you like it. Face to face, so you can kiss me as much as you want, ‘cause I know my girl loves that, am I right?”

My girl. He’ll regret that one the second the high fades and clarity sets in.

Word after word falls from his lips without thought, uncontrollable, as though he’s surrendered to the storm of desire raging in his being—a storm in which your name is the eye of it all.

You are everywhere, and you take up all the empty spaces he thought were impossible to fill, sinking into the depths of his unconsciousness.

Not a single part of him is left untouched by you, by the power of your presence in his life, consuming him in ways he never imagined.

Your airy mewls ripple through the line, feeding his ravenousness, adding to the tightening knot of pleasure coiling low in his abdomen. His muscles strain, thighs tensing. Each stroke of his hand prolongs this sweet torture.

“Come for me, princess. You’d make me so h-happy if you came right now.”

And you do, because it’s not just his touch anymore—it’s his voice, and the way he commands you without force. How you’ve become accustomed to him, nodding along to each instruction he mutters.

Beneath your fingers, your swollen clit pulses, and though he can’t see it, he imagines it perfectly, having spent enough time worshiping it.

He knows, even from a distance, what your body must be doing. Your back arching off the bed, thighs quivering and clenching tight around your own hand. Those perfect legs of yours trembling as you reach your so-desired climax.

Loud and unrestrained, you moan, and for a moment, he wants to be with you so badly that he ponders if the theory of traveling across time and space sounds that far-fetched after all.

Logan doesn't need much after that for the thread to snap at long last, his groans dying on his lips as he stares in awe at the spurts of his seed landing wherever his eyes fall: a bit on the top of his pants, on his hand, his briefs. His cock twitches in his grip as he continues stroking himself through the aftershocks, gulping when it becomes too much to handle.

So phone sex is off the list now. Great.

“Miss you, too,” he mumbles once he’s caught his breath, tossing his glasses onto the passenger seat. His forehead feels damp to the touch, and he contemplates when was the last time he came this hard.

The elephant in the room hasn’t been addressed yet. He knows you expect him to say more, something deeper and rawer, but that’s all he can force himself to spit out.

Sometimes, he forgets that you can’t read him all the time. Although you know him better than anyone else, there are certain thoughts and memories locked tightly inside him, things you'd never discover on your own. Secrets he admits he should share with you, but he’s at a loss for how. Words aren’t doable when he needs them the most.

Maybe it's a matter of age—you’re a natural at voicing your feelings.

At some point, you ask: “When did you say you were returning?”

One thing’s clear: he can’t afford to lose you. He’d be an idiot if he let that happen.

“In five days, I think.” Were he with you, he'd hold you in his arms, kissing your lips. God, how he misses kissing you. All of you. “I’ll keep you updated.”

“It’s okay,” you respond, and in his mind, a blank canvas fills with the familiar image of you lying on your side, curling into a ball the way you always do. “I should go to sleep. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Sure.” Thank you for everything. “Get some rest.” Are you still in love with me? “Bye.” I’m coming back. You know how I feel about you, do you?

So much left unsaid, words he lacks the strength to speak. That, along with his come-stained clothes. And, of course, the limousine now perfumed like a flower shop.

Exhaustion clings to him again.

His luck has never been this good.

The next afternoon, one of the couple’s kids falls ill. Must be something he ate, the woman tells Logan, her voice light, though he can hear the shuffle of urgency behind her words.

Her husband packs their bags in the background, the muted thuds of luggage hitting the floor. You know how children are. Their hands are always filthy!

What she doesn’t realize is that Logan, in fact, doesn’t know how children are, because how could he?

He’s holed up in the hotel across the street, his only responsibility being to wait on their call, ready to drive whenever they needed him. Needless to say, his accommodations are nothing like theirs. Not that he minds it—he’s not one for luxury, has never needed it.

Truth be told, he’s no stranger to beds that groan if you shift slightly, clogged toilets that spit back water like they’re alive.

Joy rushes through him when he hears the news. He’s coming back earlier than expected, a thrill building in his chest. Twelve days he’s been away, his greed growing with each second in that desolate hotel room.

Now, the beating of his heart quickens, a faint thrumming as he stares out the window. He debates whether to let you know about his early return or keep it as a surprise. Would it be better if he just showed up?

How would you feel, knowing that, by the time the lights are out, he’ll be yours again?

He knows he should feel sorry for the poor kid, but all he can muster is a look of concern that barely reaches his eyes. Each time they pull into a gas station, he listens to the hurried slap of footsteps as the boy rushes for the bathroom to empty his insides.

He watches in the rearview as the kid’s father shakes his head, clicking his tongue with disapproval. “Do you have kids?” he asks, his voice forced into a casual tone, like he’s trying to break the silence that’s settled between them.

Logan’s only response is to turn up the radio, some pop song he’s never heard spilling from the speakers. The lyrics are a blur of nonsense to him, but it’s enough to drown out the man’s words and the boy’s misery.

Some things never change.

As the sun dips below the horizon, he’s finally free, no longer at anyone’s beck and call. He contemplates the possibility of getting a speeding ticket, weighing his options. It hardly matters. The pull to see you, to feel you, is stronger than anything else.

Even though he tries to think of another time in his life when he felt such a raw need, no memory comes close.

When he does pull up to his place, he does it quietly. Parking the limo, he doesn’t honk, doesn’t announce himself. Fumbling with the keys ever so lightly so as not to wake you up, fitting them into the lock.

His wrist twists, and the door gives way with a soft creak.

Anxiety ripples through him as he steps inside. The smell of freshly cooked food hits him, but it only tightens the knot in his stomach, reminding him of how long it’s been since he last ate.

Later, he tells himself. After. Once he’s sated his true hunger—the kind of hunger that can only be satisfied by sinking his fingers into something real, fleshy, malleable.

Hunger—yes, it’s animalistic, feral even. Will he be able to control himself once he’s near you? In moments like this, he feels more animal than human. Creeping, on the verge of crawling, back to you.

His feet take him to his bedroom, knowing the path to it very well. Fingers hovering over the knob, he takes a deep breath.

It’s already late, past midnight, yet energy courses through his veins as though he’s just woken from a long, ethereal dream.

He finds you asleep, your body wrapped snugly in the sheets, clutching a pillow close to your chest. Your cheek is pressed into it, breathing soft and steady, lulling him in. Kneeling on the edge of the bed, he kicks off his shoes, then slips in beside you, mirroring your position.

A lamp sits on his nightstand, one that isn’t his, and he figures you must have brought it from your apartment. There has to be a symbolism for that.

It’s incredible how his entire world can fit into such a narrow bed.

The smart thing would be to let you sleep, to simply watch you for a moment longer. But he can’t help himself.

His thumb lingers near your face before gently cupping your cheek, and the very first contact with your skin sends a shudder through him, the warmth of your skin grounding him. He trails his fingers down to your chin, holding it with just enough pressure to remind himself that he’s here.

Leaning in, he presses his lips softly against your forehead, your typical perfume wrapping around him like a welcome.

Welcome home, Logan.

For the first time, he feels that someone’s been counting down the minutes until his return. He’d always believed a person like him didn’t deserve this. That he just wasn’t built for it.

Countless years had he spent convincing himself he’d never be the kind of man who could inspire love. His life had already been written long ago—predetermined by some cruel hand in the sky.

Destiny, fate, call it what you want—once the cards are laid out, there’s no escaping them. Or so he used to think.

You had taken that pen into your own hands, rewriting his future. You, of all people, had changed his life. No matter what the future held for the two of you, he’d always be grateful. Grateful that you’d seen the dim spark in him that others had chosen to ignore.

Thoughtlessly, his fingers continue their gentle strokes along your cheek, your hair. You stir beside him, shifting in your sleep. Your eyes flutter open, close again, and then open once more, blinking in confusion.

“Logan?” you croak, voice still groggy and thick with sleep, coming to your senses. Before he can respond, you throw yourself on top of him, smothering his face with kisses. “Why—how—”

“Sweetheart,” he says, attempting to hide his grin, but failing when your kisses shift to his neck, your nose nuzzling against his skin. A laugh slips out, warmth flooding his chest.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming home early!”

Home. Had he heard right? Had you used that word knowingly?

Peering into your eyes, he catches his reflection in your pupils, tiredness etched into his features. “Wanted it to be a surprise.”

“You could’ve told me,” you reply, fingers threading through his greying locks, massaging his scalp. You place a tender kiss on the tip of his nose. “I would’ve waited up for you at least.”

“Well, I’m here now,” he whispers back, gaze drifting to your lips, and you close the space between you, his sigh mingling with yours as one hand cradles the small of your back, fisting the fabric of his shirt. His other hand tilts your head, inviting your tongues to greet each other in an unhurried dance.

You move languidly on top of him, and he notices, breaking the kiss and pulling back. “You’re gonna fall asleep on me, are you?”

The way your lashes flutter in response should be illegal. “I could use a human-size pillow.”

“I should shower first.”

“No.”

“Baby, I smell like gas.”

“So?”

A smirk tugs at his lips at your insistence, and he gently lays you back against the mattress. Drawn to your charm once again, he licks into your mouth, mentally scolding himself when he gets carried away, letting the kiss linger longer than intended.

“I’ll be quick,” he promises, pulling the sheets over your body. Resigned, you simply nod, settling on your side.

Ten minutes later, you’re dozing off, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when he slips into bed, wrapping himself around you from behind. One arm drapes over your waist, the other cushions your head, and there’s not a patch of skin between you left untouched.

Fatigue begins to delve deeper into his bones the longer he stays curled around you, but before the weight of sleep takes him, and the silence steals his chance, he huffs: “I missed you.” His beard grazes your skin in a soft, unintentional caress.

You pull his wrist to your lips, pressing a short-lived kiss to the inside of it. “Missed you, too.”

How the roles have reversed.

In the quietness of this starless night, you leave him no other choice but to believe you.

3:34 a.m. Still hostage to the lack of light outside. The world remains submerged in the gentle tides of sleep, undulating between dreams, except for him.

Logan wakes up at 3:34 a.m. because he’s rock hard, and being flushed against your back wasn’t helping him with his situation at all. If anything, it only heightened it.

He sits at the edge of the bed, his mind running in circles, debating whether he should jump to his feet and head to the bathroom for another shower—this time, a cold one. Returning to sleep, at least in this moment, is not a viable option.

His gaze drifts to the moonlight spilling through the window, casting its pale glow across the room. Is this your doing? The question lingers, unshakable, in his thoughts. It remains as just that: a question.

When you quietly rest your chin on his shoulder, he stifles a sigh, biting the inside of his cheek. Your voice breaks through the quiet.

“What’s wrong? Can’t sleep?” Wrapping your arms around him from behind, you circle his frame, in an effort to persuade him to sink back into the mattress.

“It’s nothing,” he says, pulse accelerating. Please, don’t look down. “I’ll be back in a second.”

“But what is—”

He doesn’t get to hear the rest of your sentence. You do look down, finding the outline of his hardened cock straining against his briefs, stealing your full attention.

“Wow.”

“Go back to sleep.”

“And leave you like this?” One hand creeps toward his waistband, your breath warm against his ear. “Wouldn’t miss this for anything in the world.”

Your nails trace a path through the coarse hair at his navel, and Logan tenses. His legs feel like jelly as you cup his balls, fondling them gently between your fingers.

Behind him, your low chuckle stirs something primal in him, making his blood thrum hot beneath his skin. He should be the one doing this to you, not the other way around.

“Darlin’, I don’t—” He’s cut off by his own guttural groan when you fist his length, pumping him in rhythm with his uneven breaths. “I don’t need this.”

“Seems like you do,” you whisper, momentarily halting your ministrations to place your palm in front of his face, hoping he takes the hint. You kiss his stubble, pausing just short of his mouth. “I want to take care of you. Always do.”

Your palm hovers before him, inviting. Grabbing your wrist, he licks it, coating it in his spit and guiding you back down to him. Together, your hands glide along his length, and his gaze locks onto yours, the intensity of it making his neck tense.

You beam with delight under his stare. That red organ caged within his ribs—a blood-pumping machine of passion—surges back to life as he sees you.

He had won the battle. He had triumphed over his past; had lived enough lives, endured enough years, to arrive at this moment.

This had to be the purpose of his existence: to share this part of his stay on earth with you.

“You’re so hard,” you say, twisting your wrist at the tip of his cock, reveling in every buck of his hips, each movement a reflection of his exaltation. “Guess you did miss me.”

With a quiet growl, he reaches behind, nudging your thighs apart until they find your mound, cupping you through your underwear. “I’m not the only one who’s been missin’ someone.” He pulls the fabric aside, sliding his fingers through your wet folds. His nostrils flare as he feels how ready you are. “Why am I not surprised?”

Your breath hitches, and you press yourself closer against him, your tits against his back, mouth teasing at his neck. “That’s what happens when you’re gone.” Another kiss on his nape. “You could take me with you next time.”

“Can’t do that,” he answers, teasing your entrance. “No work would get done.”

His movements cease to a stop. Yours do too. Turning his head just enough to glance over his shoulder, he scrutinizes your expression, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in your affected state.

“You’re not goin’ back to sleep, are you?”

There’s the shake of your head. A single word escapes your lips, imbued with pure fervor: “Please.”

He captures your mouth in an ardent kiss, tugging at your shirt (which is, in fact, his) to undress you, his wandering hands roaming beneath it.

As his mouth meets your neck, something cold brushes against his lips, drawing his gaze down to what’s hanging from your neck.

His dog tags. The ones he had given you before leaving for that job, as his way of telling you I’m coming back without having to say it aloud. And you, as always, understood; had even promised to keep them safe, though he hadn’t expected you to actually wear them.

Now, with your shirt discarded, they lay against your bare skin, his name resting in the valley between your breasts.

“You like ‘em?” His fingers grip the chain and give it a gentle tug, drawing you closer so he can breathe over your lips, his breath mingling with yours. “Like knowing you’re mine? You get off on it?”

You nod in agreement. Of course, you do. Though emotionally constipated and not the most expressive, Logan is a lover who knows how to awaken desire—a good lover, indeed. A decent one.

Which is why he agrees to any idea that crosses your mind, like the one you just whispered in his ear.

He may be older than you, but he’s always been more on the traditional side. You, on the other hand, are continually searching for new ways to innovate.

The round globes of your ass jiggle over his face as he spreads you apart, entrenched by how your skin moves above him, your glistening hole clenching around nothing, as if your body itself is calling to him.

With his head propped against the headboard, he watches you take him deeper, your saliva dripping down the wiry hairs of his cock. The slick heat of your tongue traces over his slit, back and forth, driving him to the edge.

When he hears you gag, it stirs something inside him—a deep need to return the favor, to match your devotion.

At the end of the day, he’s a man on a mission, and right now, that mission is you.

Right there, with his nose and mouth buried in you, he wonders why he hadn't thought of this sooner. If he could choose a natural end like any other man, he'd wish for it to be by suffocation—your body his last breath.

Logan inhales deeply, like a man starved, working two of his fingers inside your throbbing center, his tongue flicking relentlessly over your clit, punching moan after moan out of you. Each thrust of his fingers, each stroke of his tongue, sends waves of pleasure coursing through you.

His beard, streaked with gray, leaves a trail of fire wherever your hips meet his face, pushing back against him. Every so often, you pull off his cock just to ramble, panting, about how good he's making you feel.

From where he lies, you’re a sight to behold, nothing short of divine. “Just what I needed, doll. You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he blurts out, your frantic cries pouring into his ears as he sucks the swollen bud between his lips. “Can’t believe you let me do this to you. You love makin’ your old man happy, don’t you?”

He used to think he'd burn in hell for indulging in the desire to know you like this—raw, ungraceful.

His judgment must be fucked up, because now, all he sees in you is heaven incarnate. You must be the closest thing to it he’ll ever find.

“Shit, I…” you trail off, gasping as he replaces his fingers with his tongue, drinking from your arousal and tasting every bit of you. “I thought about you every day.”

“Bet you did, just like that night I called you. You know how I felt when you told me you were wearing my clothes?” His hand comes down with a firm slap on your right asscheek, drawing a whine from you as your movements falter. “Can smell you all over these sheets. Makes me wonder how many times you made yourself come while I was away.”

You slip the tip of his cock back in your mouth, your hands and lips working in sync. His nose brushes against the plush skin of your thighs before his teeth graze your flesh, biting down just enough to leave a sting. His fingers curl inside you, hitting that perfect spot again and again, and you moan around him, your throat vibrating against his length.

He makes you come like this, knuckles deep inside you while his thumb circles your clit. Overwhelmed by pleasure, you let go of his dick, and it hits Logan’s stomach with a wet pop. His strong arms tug you closer to his face, eyes falling closed as you ride the wave of your orgasm against his mouth, palms pressed flat on his chest.

For a brief moment, he can’t breathe, can’t feel anything but you, your scent, your taste filling his senses.

Later, he rolls you onto your back and climbs on top of you, uncertain of how much time he has spent lapping at your wetness. His hard length glides along your folds, and he lines himself up without pushing in, looking right into your eyes.

“Remember what I told you that night over the phone?” he asks, his breath coming in quick bursts, and you nod, head lolling back as he pinches your lower lip between his fingers. “Repeat it.”

“Logan—”

“You say it, and I’ll make it happen.”

Perplexity clouds your features. “You said you’d fuck me slow and deep, just h-how I like it. Face to face, because—”. The words escape you, a sob tearing through your throat as he eases the first few inches of himself inside you, your walls instinctively making space to wrap around him.

He’s home.

“Go on. What else did I say?” he teases, relishing in it. He’s guilty as sin. “Or were you too lost in thought touchin’ yourself?”

“F-face to face,” you slur, nails digging into his scarred back, and he keeps plunging his length into your interior to the hilt. Your lips part slightly, craving the kiss that only he can give you. “You said you’d do it face to face so I could kiss you whenever I wanted.”

He hums, low in his throat, as he gives the first thrust of the night, taking great pleasure in your expression: open-mouthed, eyes scrunched, and a slight crease forming between your brows.

Smoothing his thumb over your forehead, he tsks, pausing his movements. “None of that, princess. Look at me, c’mon.”

You obey, forcing your eyes open, and in that instant, he swears he can feel every tremor coursing through you. “Logan,” you coo, your voice aching as you stretch your neck toward his mouth.

The way you say his name—seductively, charged with a fascination that riles him up—manages to ignite a fire only you can kindle. It’s all the invitation he needs.

“I know. Too much, huh?” His tone drips with condescension, teasing in a way that feels almost cruel. He can’t help it, though: it’s in very his nature. “Need to hear you say it. Need you to tell me how much you want this.”

Like everything else in your world, your patience begins to wither, hips instinctively bucking beneath him, seeking even the slightest bit of friction. But he still withholds the kiss you long for, dangling it just out of reach.

“Please,” you beg, voice breaking as you plead. “Fuck me, baby. Missed you so much while you were away. Please, please, please—”

Logan enjoys hearing you beg. He won’t pretend otherwise. There's a satisfaction in knowing he holds this power over you, that he's the only one who can unravel you this way, your body splayed open beneath him.

The thought of others who may have once been in his place, making you fall apart just like this, sets his blood on edge.

Jealousy, sharp and corrosive, crawls up his spine, and it spurs him on, guiding the tempo of his thrusts.

He wonders if he’s ever fucked you this fiercely before, with a passion that pulses from every part of him. You’re given no space for thought, no moment to catch your breath—just his unforgiving pace and the sounds spilling from your lips.

He has a way of breaking you down, turning you into a trembling, whimpering mess beneath him, and you surrender willingly, craving each second of it.

So fuckin’ tight. Can y’hear her? How badly she needs me?

Sex had never felt like this before. He’d grown accustomed to quick, meaningless fucks in poorly lit bars, fleeting encounters that left him questioning if this was all there was. If this wasn’t the best he’d ever know.

For a while, he’d tried to solve that emptiness, searching in nameless lovers and hollow hearts for the very thing he feared most: love.

And yet, he wanted it, yearned it, guarding his desire like a secret he barely admitted to himself. Until one day, you stumbled into his life, and all the strength he thought he had wasn’t enough to push you away.

He presses deep into the back of your thighs, bringing your chests so close they're nearly brushing. Claiming your mouth in a maddening kiss, all teeth and tongue, leaving no space for softness. As he nibbles at your bottom lip, he feels you tighten around him, your cunt pulling him under, clouding his thoughts.

“Close?” he murmurs, hips snapping against you with an utterly obscene rhythm that drowns out the world, better than any song ever made. “Such a good girl. Gonna come, sweetheart? Let me see how gorgeous you look when you fall apart, making a mess just for me.”

The constant, steady drag of his cock doesn’t seem to get old for you. He’s leaving his mark within you, inside you, carving a space for himself. His tip keeps hitting all the right spots, prompting you to tilt your pelvis to meet him halfway, telling him there, yes, there. More, please.

His hand slides down, rubbing your clit with his fingers. Doesn’t need any extra help when doing so, your arousal providing all the slickness he needs. He feels like a runner on the final stretch, the finish line within reach, so close he can almost touch it, savoring the euphoria and bliss of crossing it.

The way you sing his name never loses its allure, despite all the times he’s heard it spill from your lips. Especially at this moment, with him buried deep inside you, every thrust a promise to make you feel good.

You shamelessly come while he keeps driving into you, vigorous and untamed—like a caged animal unleashed, tasting freedom for the very first time.

Ankles digging into his lower back, a trail of persistent kisses along his beard. You want him inside, that much he can tell. It’s not like he ever finishes anywhere else, but the reminder doesn’t bother him. It only serves as a reassurance: that you still want this, want him. You haven’t changed your mind.

He sinks his teeth into your neck the instant he feels his orgasm tearing through him, hips stilling and sagging as a string of grunts abandons his being, dampening your skin even more. He loves to fill you up, it consumes him entirely.

Such an intimate, visceral act, and then he gets to see his seed trickling down your thighs. He realizes that he doesn’t need much to be happy.

You keep kissing him, his neck, his face. It may seem absurd to say that every kiss feels like the first, yet it’s true.

Even after he’s traced all the contours of your mouth and committed every detail of your body to memory, he can’t help but feel that same thrill of excitement he experienced months ago when he dared to push beyond the boundaries he had set for himself.

Staring at each other, naked, all the love in the world seems to fill these four walls. The compassion and tenderness in your gaze remain unchanged. You’re a dream come true.

It can’t end like this. He can’t allow you to drift back into sleep without saying what needs to be said. Something has to happen, something only he can conjure.

“I think…” He hesitates. Starting with I think carries an air of uncertainty. “I don’t—”

“Logan,” you interrupt, your hand finding his. “I know.”

Yes, you do. You always seem to know everything, but that can’t be enough. He can’t lean on your unspoken understanding of his feelings.

“You still deserve to hear it.”

“It’s not necessary.”

“It is.”

More silence. The moon is the solitary spectator of his upcoming declaration.

“You were right,” he begins, drawing your intertwined hands closer to his face, pressing a soft kiss on the back of yours. His voice drops to a murmur. It’s not just his body that feels completely exposed anymore; something deeper within him stands bare. “I’m in love with you.”

You scrutinize him as if he’s revealing the secret to eternal life. Again, you kiss his cheek, cupping it gently with your palm.

“It won’t get any better than this. There are no more layers to peel away, okay?” He offers explanations you never even asked for in the first place. “This is what I am.” Much to his dismay, you overlook his choice of words: what instead of who.

He glances away, his gaze landing on the dog tags resting against your skin. The same old guilt threatens to engulf him, as it does each time without fail, and that seems to be your cue to lower yourself to his eye level, eyebrows raised.

“I’m not with you because I’m waiting for you to change. I like you just as you are, Logan. And I want all of you, both the good and bad stuff.” A gentle smile breaks across your face as you stretch your arm to retrieve his glasses from the nightstand. Placing them on your nose, your eyes twinkle with contentment. “Do they look good on me?”

“You don’t need them yet.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t pull them off.”

“Come here,” he mutters, sighing when you nuzzle his chest, cradling your head between his hands. He ponders what to say, what to do next, but no clear idea sounds promising.

And so it gives you the chance to speak up: “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

I hope I don’t, he thinks to himself as he brushes your hair away from your face, fingers caressing your temples. I hope I never do.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

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