#tropes that make me go a little bit feral

[chocolate-pies]

saw the "just the tip?" trope and am GOING FERAL OVER SIMON RILEY ASKING

MDNI

holy shit it'd just be a normal sunday morning too, the weekend after he came back from a mission and you figured you already made love to him, why would he get randomly hard again the next morning around LUNCH time??

well, he's standing at the doorway to the living room. you're sitting on the couch, attention focused on the television when you hear the shuffling of his feet.

"love?" his voice sounds a little strained.

"what is it?" you'd hum, and see movement in the corner of your eye.

simon would be standing near the end of the couch, bulge painfully obvious (and at eye level with you on the couch), his eyes focused on you sitting with your calves beneath you.

"you've no idea how beautiful you look sittin' like that." he sounds a bit gravelly now, breathy.

you let out an astonished breath of air--teetering on the edge of a laugh--as you sit up straight to look at him in the eyes. "are you really horny right now? we're about to have lunch. have you been holding it since morning, or?"

"been holdin' it since we woke up." he confesses, watching you move on the couch as your thighs reshape from the movement. simon practically salivates at the way your thighs and chest heave itself as you sit upright and with your legs off the couch.

"really, riley?" you ask, albeit a little annoyed and with an edge of arousal.

"just the tip? please? 'fore we gotta get lunch." there's a pleading edge to his voice, and it instantly makes you melt.

"fine." you give in, watching as he readily lays himself on the couch. you get up as a result, watching him shove his boxers and sweatpants down, his erection springing and slapping itself against his happy trail. precum is already leaking, glistening the couple pubic hairs it has touched.

the length and girth seemed.. bigger than last night. you quietly gulp as you move to straddle his hips, your left knee brushing against the couch a bit uncomfortably.

"le'me help you, sweetheart." his voice is husky, rough hands moving to grab your thighs and positioning himself with you so you didn't scrape your knee against the fabric of the couch.

the warmth from his dick catches your attention, your eyes downcast to see it rubbing against the cloth of your pajama shorts. a wet spot is already forming there.

"already so wet for me." simon rasps, digits harshly engraving dots into your thighs as he feels every slight movement from you against his cock.

"let- let me," you steady yourself as you hover over him, dick barely touching you. your one hand moves to lift your panties and shorts to the side, his dick twitching at the sight of your cunt sopping wet so fast.

"f-fuck." his hands rub circles on your thighs, feeling your pussy folds touch the tip of his hot dick. precum is immediately mixed with your juices, his eyes strained and focused where he disappears inside of you, "so fuckin' pretty for me."

you suppress a moan as you stay hovered, his fat head already feeling like a stretch as you feel the beginnings of his girthy shaft also enter. "y-you said just- just the tip." it comes out shaky, breathy, as you moan with your teeth on your lip.

"'m sorry, doll, you just look so fuckin' delicious. your cunt is so tight and addicting." his voice is strained again, groans erupting from his chest as he bites down on nothing. his jaw flexes from the motion as he stares at your juices staining your clothing and his dick.

you stare at him for a moment, his pupils blown wide as you begin to slowly take him fully. "so, so big." you mewl, thighs beginning to shake from having to keep yourself up as his length stretches your velvet walls.

"just f'you, my love. just f'you. all f'you." he begins rambling nonsense, his mind racing and at the same time, blank, as he feels himself bottom out. your cunt is just so perfect.

"'m not pullin' out, love." he rasps before his hips buck you into the air, the extra motion forcing his dick deeper into you as his balls press against your ass.

"gonna put a baby in you." he continues, hurriedly thrusting you into the air as you bounce on him to meet his hips with your own.

"would look so pretty f'me with a baby bump," he groans, practically growling, "and everyone will know you're mine." he seems to move faster with the last bit, his hips snapping into yours as the sounds of skin slapping get louder.

at the same time, the squelching from your wet pussy begins to pierce your ears as you shut your eyes, only mewling and moaning to the sensation of his dick brutally splitting you apart. your mind is numb, lackluster of any thoughts.

"cuh- cumming." was your only warning as he thrusts up one final time, your body slouching a bit as he fills you up. his hot cum already begins to dribble from out of you, and seeing this, simon continues to thrust more into you to keep it all in.

"look at you," he breathes, eyes focused on your blissed face, "all 'cause I creampied you?" his proud grin shows a bit of teeth as he focuses how your face contorts from the pleasure.

he stills, keeping his dick inside you to trap any and all the semen he could.

"love you, doll."

EDIT: found out about the read more divider!!!!!!

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 1973 - we meet again my dear...

chapter summary: After leaving Team X behind, Logan finds himself back in New York City working as a bodyguard for various people. Until he finds himself acting as a bodyguard for you, a mobster's daughter.

word count: 18.3k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: i'm a sucker for the bodyguard trope (and also just dofp logan in general, that man makes me go feral), so you know i had to do it when given the chance! i had so much fun writing this version of reader, especially because this is the closest to 'modern' times that we've gotten and i didn't have to do a ton of research about this year. the tags might give away a little bit of the plot, but i promise it's gonna be a fun ride ;)

warnings/tags: fluff, angst, 70s!logan, mafia/mob, implied age gap, flirting, smut, thigh riding, unprotected piv, creampie, arranged marriage

series masterlist - chapter 4 → chapter 6

He left Stryker, Victor, and Team X behind, settling in New York City as a bodyguard, hired by various people: politicians, the mafia, anyone.

Logan was now getting his fifth job, protecting a mobster’s young daughter.

He was used to jobs like this by now, but something about this one felt... different. As he walked through the large estate, the details blurred around him. His focus was on the job—until the moment he saw you.

You were standing by the window, the sunlight filtering through the curtains, casting a soft glow over your face. There was something familiar about the way you held yourself, the way your hair fell over your shoulders. For a second, it felt like the air was sucked out of the room.

Logan’s chest tightened.

It was you.

Same face. Same presence. Same pull that had haunted him for over a century.

But you were different, too. This time, you weren’t a schoolteacher, a nurse, or a coal miner’s wife. You were his new job.

You turned, eyes meeting his, and for a brief moment, it felt like you recognized him too. That sense of familiarity flickered across your face before you smiled—polite, but distant.

“Y/N, this is Logan,” the mobster—your father—introduced. “He’ll be your new bodyguard.”

Your father’s voice faded into the background as Logan’s gaze remained locked on you. You gave a small nod, extending your hand. “Nice to meet you, Logan.”

Logan stared at your hand for a beat too long before taking it. That brief contact sent a shock through him, an old memory he couldn’t quite shake.

“Likewise,” he muttered, his voice rougher than he intended.

Your father clapped Logan on the back. “I expect you’ll keep her safe. There’s been some... tension with a rival family.”

Logan only nodded, but his attention stayed on you. You were right in front of him, alive. But you didn’t know him. Like always.

After your father left the room, you leaned against the window frame, crossing your arms. “So, how long have you been doing this?” you asked, your tone casual.

Logan leaned against the wall, watching you closely. “Long enough.”

You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “That’s vague.”

He didn’t respond, and for a moment, silence settled between you two. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was something unsaid hanging in the air.

“What about you?” Logan asked, more to fill the space than out of curiosity. “How do you feel about having a bodyguard?”

You shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

That earned a faint, almost imperceptible smile from Logan, but he quickly covered it with a grunt. “Glad to hear it.”

A pause. Then you looked at him, your eyes narrowing slightly, like you were trying to figure him out. “You seem... familiar.”

Logan stiffened. “Don’t think we’ve met before.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “No, but... I don’t know. Something about you.”

Logan’s heart pounded in his chest, but he kept his expression neutral. He couldn’t tell you. Not about the past lives, not about how many times he had watched you die.

You shrugged it off, smiling again. “Maybe I’m just imagining things.”

“Maybe,” Logan muttered, not meeting your eyes this time.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of introductions, schedules, and instructions from your father. Logan followed at a distance, keeping an eye on you, but his mind was elsewhere.

That night, Logan sat on the balcony just outside your room, staring out at the city lights. His thoughts raced, the weight of the engagement ring in his pocket feeling heavier than usual.

You were alive. Again.

But for how long this time?

---

You plopped onto your bed, the wire from your rotary phone stretching with you, “he is good looking though.”

You could practically hear Jennifer’s grin through the phone, “oh, yeah? Man, all your bodyguards are good looking. It’s not fair!”

You laughed, twirling the phone cord between your fingers. "He’s… different though. I can’t quite put my finger on it. He’s quiet, but not in the usual 'I’m-paid-to-watch-you' way."

"Is he mysterious?" Jennifer teased, her voice light. "Maybe he’s got some dark, brooding backstory. Mob families always hire guys like that—‘strong and silent.’"

You snorted. "Maybe. But he’s not like the others." You hesitated, leaning back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. “There’s something familiar about him… like I’ve met him before.”

Jennifer paused on the other end of the line, then her voice softened. "You think he’s one of your dad’s guys from back in the day?"

You shook your head, even though she couldn’t see it. "No, it’s not that. It’s… weird, Jen. Like I know him, but I don’t. It’s been bugging me since I met him."

"Maybe it’s fate," she joked, but her tone had a hint of seriousness. "You’ve been going through bodyguards like they’re tissues. Maybe this one’s here to stick around."

You rolled your eyes but smiled. "Fate? You’ve been reading too many romance novels."

"Hey, a girl can dream!" Jennifer laughed. "But seriously, if you feel something, maybe it’s worth looking into. He’s hot, right?"

You smiled at that, though your thoughts wandered back to Logan. The way his eyes lingered on you, like he was seeing something no one else could. "Yeah," you admitted softly. "He’s definitely that. He’s probably as old as my dad or somethin’. But man, Jen, if you saw him you’d lose your mind.”

You twirled the phone cord around your finger, still smiling to yourself, but your thoughts kept circling back to Logan. Something about the way he looked at you—like he knew more than he was saying—stuck with you. It wasn’t creepy or overprotective. It was... familiar. Comforting, even.

Jennifer’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. “Hey, don’t overthink it, okay? Enjoy the view for once. Not everyone gets a hot bodyguard with a mysterious vibe. Maybe he’s the silver lining to your dad’s whole ‘paranoia’ problem.”

You laughed quietly. “Yeah, maybe.”

You hung up not long after, still feeling the weight of that odd, lingering sense of déjà vu.

---

The next morning, Logan was waiting for you downstairs. Dressed in his usual dark clothes, he stood near the front door with his hands in his pockets, posture relaxed but alert. His eyes flicked toward you the second you entered the room.

There it was again—that heavy gaze that made it feel like he could see right through you.

“Mornin’,” you said, offering a small smile.

“Mornin’,” Logan replied, his voice gravelly.

Your father wasn’t home—out dealing with ‘business’—which gave you a rare moment to yourself. Well, mostly. You slipped on your leather jacket and glanced at Logan, your lips quirking up in a teasing grin. “What’s the plan, bodyguard? Gonna follow me around all day?”

Logan grunted, something close to amusement flashing in his eyes. “That’s the job.”

“You always this chatty?”

“Only when I meet interesting people.” His tone was dry, but there was the faintest flicker of a smile beneath it.

You snorted, heading for the door. “C’mon, hope you like running errands.”

Logan followed without complaint, falling into step beside you as you made your way to the car. The streets were quieter than usual, but the tension between rival families was palpable—something was brewing, and everyone knew it.

Still, Logan’s presence made you feel... safer. Like nothing bad could happen as long as he was there. It was strange. You barely knew him, but being around him felt easy. Natural. Like you’d known him for a lot longer than a day.

---

When you said you were going to run ‘errands,’ Logan hadn’t expected you to walk straight into an animal shelter. He followed you through the entrance, nodding politely at the woman at the front desk as you greeted her like an old friend.

“Morning, Lorraine!” you said with a bright smile.

Lorraine, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, smiled back. “There’s my favorite troublemaker. The pups will be glad to see you.” She cast a curious glance at Logan. “And who’s this?”

“My latest babysitter,” you said with a smirk, glancing at Logan. “Logan, meet Lorraine. Lorraine, Logan.”

Logan gave a curt nod. “Ma’am.”

Lorraine chuckled. “A man of few words. I like him already.” She waved you both toward the back. “Go on, they’ve been waiting for you.”

As soon as you walked past the front desk and entered the back area, the sound of excited barking filled the air. Dogs of all sizes pressed their noses against the bars of their cages, tails wagging furiously at the sight of you.

You crouched down in front of one of the kennels, talking softly to a scruffy little mutt as it whined and pawed at the bars. “Hey, buddy. Miss me?”

Logan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching the way you scratched behind the dog's ears. There was something easy about the way you moved here, something soft. For a mobster’s kid, you had a surprisingly gentle touch.

"Didn't expect this to be part of the job," Logan muttered after a moment, his voice low but teasing.

You glanced up, grinning. "What, thought I’d be shopping for fur coats or shaking people down for cash?"

Logan raised a brow. "Somethin’ like that."

You laughed, standing up and dusting your hands off. “Sorry to disappoint. I’ve got a weakness for strays.” You reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out a small bag of treats, tossing some into the kennels. "These guys have it rough enough without me skipping out on them."

Logan watched as the dogs practically fought over the treats, barking happily at your attention. You moved from cage to cage, giving each dog a little affection. It was... unexpected.

Logan watched you toss the last treat into one of the kennels, the scruffy mutt practically vibrating with happiness. He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, an amused glint in his eyes as you turned and dusted your hands off with a grin.

"You’re full of surprises," Logan muttered.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking as you folded your arms. “Oh, yeah? Disappointed?”

"Not exactly." His lips twitched, like he was fighting a smile.

You took a step closer, tilting your head. "Well, what did you expect?"

Logan shrugged, keeping his expression neutral. "Spoiled. Entitled. Maybe a little dangerous."

You laughed, the sound light and easy, and Logan’s chest tightened in a way that felt too familiar. "Dangerous, huh? Guess I’ve got some layers." You gave him a playful once-over. "What about you? Big, scary bodyguard with a brooding vibe. Got any surprises I should know about?"

Logan snorted. "Not really."

You narrowed your eyes like you didn’t quite believe him, but instead of pressing, you motioned toward the door. "C’mon. I’ve got one more stop."

Logan fell into step beside you as you exited the shelter and made your way toward the car. You chatted casually, filling the silence with stories about your favorite dogs at the shelter. But Logan stayed mostly quiet, his mind racing. It wasn’t just your voice—it was you. The way you carried yourself, the way you teased him like it was second nature.

He stole a glance at you as you drove. God, it felt the same as always. Like gravity pulled him toward you whether he wanted it or not.

---

Logan should’ve expected the second time around that you weren’t taking him to a normal place for errands. He was even more surprised when you parked in a nursing home parking lot and got out with that same pep in your step.

The sliding doors opened as you walked up to the front counter, where a middle-aged woman with tired eyes peered over the top of a blocky computer monitor. Her name tag read Carol.

“Morning, Carol,” you chirped with an easy smile, tapping your fingers on the desk.

Carol looked up and brightened at the sight of you. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite visitor. Here to cheer up the old-timers again?”

“Always,” you said, flashing a grin. “And I brought backup today.” You gestured behind you to Logan, who gave a brief nod.

Carol gave him a once-over and arched an eyebrow. “Well now, you didn’t tell me you’d be bringing a tall drink of water.”

You smirked, glancing over your shoulder at Logan. “Yeah, figured I’d mix things up.”

Logan just grunted in response, but the corner of his mouth twitched slightly—half amusement, half something else. Carol winked at you before waving toward the hallway. “You know where to find them.”

You led Logan down the hall, your steps light and familiar as if you'd been coming here for years. He followed quietly, his sharp gaze flicking between doorways and hallways, always alert.

“You spend a lot of time here?” Logan asked as you slowed near a door marked Activity Room.

You shrugged. “Yeah. Most of these folks don’t get many visitors. It’s nice to stop by and remind them they’re not forgotten.”

Logan gave a small grunt of acknowledgment. It was such a simple thing—volunteering at a nursing home—but it hit him hard. It was just like you to find the overlooked parts of the world and give them your attention, like the dogs at the shelter, like the people here. You always had that streak of kindness, no matter which life you were living.

You nudged open the door, stepping into the room. A group of residents sat in mismatched chairs, some knitting, others half-watching a daytime soap on an old television. At the sight of you, faces lit up.

“There she is!” one of the older women called, setting her knitting aside with a delighted clap of her hands. “I thought you forgot about us!”

“As if I ever could,” you replied warmly, walking over to give her a light hug.

Logan lingered near the doorway, watching as you moved through the room like you belonged there, chatting with each resident, asking about their week, their families—if they remembered them. His heart twisted, both with admiration and an ache that wouldn’t quit.

You noticed him standing off to the side and shot him a teasing grin. “Don’t be shy, Logan. They won’t bite.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Not worried about them.”

You laughed, turning back to an older man with a deck of cards spread out in front of him. “Logan, meet Mr. Russo. He’s got a mean poker face.”

Mr. Russo gave Logan a once-over, then grinned, his false teeth gleaming. “You any good at cards, tough guy?”

Logan shrugged. “I can hold my own.”

You slid into the chair beside Mr. Russo, motioning for Logan to join you. “Care to test your luck?”

Logan hesitated for only a moment before pulling out a chair, the legs scraping against the linoleum. As he sat down, you dealt him a hand, your fingers brushing his in the process—a fleeting touch, but enough to send a jolt of familiarity through both of you.

You caught Logan’s gaze over the cards, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you. There it was again—that sense that you knew him somehow, though you couldn’t quite place it. It nagged at you, but you let it pass, offering him a playful smirk instead.

“Careful,” you warned. “I don’t go easy on anyone.”

Logan returned the smirk, something dangerous glinting in his eyes. “Neither do I.”

---

After the game, which you won���barely, you said your goodbyes to the residents, promising to visit again soon. Logan followed silently as you made your way back to the car, the soft clinking of your keys the only sound between you.

“Not what you expected for today, huh?” you asked as you slid into the driver’s seat.

Logan leaned against the car door, arms crossed. “Not exactly.”

You smiled, starting the engine. “Bet you thought being a mobster’s kid would be more... glamorous.”

“Something like that.” He gave you a sidelong glance. “You like keeping people guessing, don’t you?”

You grinned, shifting the car into drive. “It’s one of my many talents.”

The two of you drove in companionable silence, the hum of the city filling the space between you. Logan rested his elbow on the window frame, glancing at you every so often. You were like a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve—different from the others, yet still unmistakably you.

“Why do you do it?” he asked after a while. “The shelter, the nursing home. You don’t have to.”

You shrugged, your expression thoughtful. "Dunno. Just because I was born into this life doesn’t mean I like what my dad does. I guess sometimes I feel like I’m tryin’ to balance the scales."

Logan leaned back against the seat, his sharp gaze on you, but he didn’t respond right away. You could tell he was chewing on that—probably picking apart your words, trying to figure you out. He always seemed like the kind of man who noticed everything, even if he didn’t say much about it.

You flashed him a teasing grin, trying to lighten the mood. "What about you? Any skeletons in the closet? Or are you just a man of mystery with perfect timing?"

Logan snorted softly, his lips twitching in that almost-smile he had. "I’m no mystery. Just do my job."

"Oh, come on," you pressed, throwing him a playful look. "You gotta give me something. Favorite food? Ever been married? Deep, dark secret?"

He gave you a sidelong glance, amused but guarded. "Steak. No. And not a chance."

You huffed in mock disappointment, drumming your fingers on the steering wheel. "You’re no fun, Logan."

"Never said I was," he muttered, but there was warmth in his tone, like he didn’t mind your teasing at all.

The conversation paused for a moment, the soft hum of the engine filling the space between you. Logan’s eyes lingered on you a little longer than they probably should have—taking in the curve of your smile, the way your fingers tapped a rhythm on the wheel.

And damn, if you didn’t make it hard to stay detached. You were so... alive. Every glance, every smile, every little laugh. You carried yourself like someone who knew how fleeting things could be—and even though Logan knew you couldn’t remember, he remembered every time you’d slipped through his fingers. That thought settled heavy in his chest, like a weight he carried everywhere.

You shot him a grin. "You know, if you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna think you’re interested."

Logan’s lips twitched. "What makes you think I’m not?"

The boldness of his response caught you off guard for a second, but you recovered quickly, leaning a little closer, eyes glinting with mischief. "Careful, tough guy. You’re supposed to be protecting me, not flirting with me."

"Who says I can’t do both?" His voice was low, rough, and it sent a small shiver down your spine.

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it. "I think my dad might disagree."

Logan’s eyes darkened slightly, though his expression didn’t change. "Your dad’s not here."

There it was—that pull again, the quiet, unspoken gravity between the two of you. It was like standing on the edge of something dangerous and thrilling all at once. You felt it in the way his gaze lingered, in the weight of his words. He wasn’t just playing along.

You cleared your throat, breaking the tension with a teasing smile. "Well, if you’re planning on making a move, Logan, you better make it good. I’ve got high standards, y’know."

Logan let out a low chuckle—quiet, but genuine—and for a moment, you thought you saw something softer in his eyes. Something like... affection.

But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by that familiar guarded expression.

"Noted," he muttered, shifting his gaze back to the road ahead.

You grinned, satisfied that you’d managed to chip away at his walls, even if only a little.

---

The two of you finished your errands without any trouble, stopping by a grocery store for some essentials and grabbing a late lunch at a small diner tucked away from the main streets. It wasn’t much—just burgers and fries—but sitting across from Logan in the booth, you felt surprisingly content.

He was quiet most of the time, but not in a way that felt awkward. It was... comfortable. Like he didn’t need to fill the silence just for the sake of it. And every now and then, he’d throw out a dry, sarcastic comment that made you laugh harder than you expected.

You leaned back in the booth, sipping your soda and watching him over the rim of your glass. "Y’know, Logan... you’re not half as scary as you look."

Logan raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "Disappointed?"

"Not at all," you replied, your smile turning a little softer. "I like surprises."

He held your gaze for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind those sharp blue eyes. And for a second—just a second—you thought maybe, just maybe, there was something familiar about the way he looked at you. Like you were more than just a job to him.

But before you could dwell on it, Logan glanced at his watch and cleared his throat. "We should head back. Your old man’ll be expecting you."

You sighed dramatically, sliding out of the booth. "Guess my fun’s over."

Logan chuckled, tossing a few bills on the table for the check. "For now."

You gave him a playful nudge as you walked past him toward the door. "Don’t sound too excited."

---

By the time you got back to the house, the sun was starting to dip below the horizon, casting the streets in a soft orange glow. Logan followed you inside, his quiet presence grounding you in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

"Thanks for today," you said, tossing your jacket onto a chair.

Logan gave a small nod, leaning against the wall near the door. "No problem."

You hesitated for a moment, then shot him one last grin. "You know, you’re not as bad as I thought."

"Same to you," he replied, that almost-smile creeping back onto his face.

And just like that, the unspoken connection between you simmered beneath the surface, waiting.

Maybe Logan was right. Maybe your dad would be pissed if he knew how much you enjoyed your new bodyguard’s company.

But standing there, watching Logan’s gaze linger on you for just a beat too long, you found you didn’t care all that much.

"Goodnight, Logan," you said softly, turning toward the stairs.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he replied, his voice low and steady.

And as you climbed the stairs, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the first time you’d said goodnight to him like this.

Not by a long shot.

---

Your dad told you not to leave the house today, which was fine by you, you had laundry to do anyways.

It had become habit to do your own laundry, even if you did have maids around the house. Nancy, one of the older maids, was the one to teach you that, along with cooking and cleaning since your mother has been gone since you were little.

You had a radio set on the washer, the familiar croon of 70s tunes filling the small laundry room as you pulled warm clothes from the dryer into a basket. You’d been at it for the better part of the morning, the simple domestic task giving you a sense of normalcy. The soft hum of the machines, the crackling radio, and the scent of clean laundry— it was all routine.

Routine helped keep your mind off the storm brewing outside your little bubble.

You sighed, swaying your hips a bit to the music as you lifted the basket. The house felt quieter today, with your dad off dealing with ‘business’ as usual. And Logan? He was somewhere nearby, probably lurking in the shadows like the brooding protector he was.

As if on cue, Logan appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. He was dressed in his usual dark clothing, looking as stoic as ever. You wondered if he ever wore anything other than flannels and a leather jacket.

"You know, I didn’t take you for the laundry-doing type," he remarked, his gravelly voice cutting through the music.

You raised an eyebrow, throwing a playful glance over your shoulder. "What, you think I’m too spoiled to do my own chores?"

Logan's lips twitched, almost forming a smile. "Something like that."

You smirked, grabbing the laundry basket and turning to face him. "I like to surprise people."

"You’re good at it," he replied, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual. There was something behind those eyes, something deeper, but as always, he kept it hidden beneath that calm, impenetrable exterior.

You tilted your head, leaning your hip against the dryer. "You sticking around or just checking on me?"

Logan shrugged, though his eyes never left yours. "Just making sure you're not running off anywhere. Your dad was pretty clear about staying put."

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips softened the gesture. "I’ll be a good girl. Promise."

Logan grunted in response, pushing off the doorframe and walking closer. "You’re a lot of things, Y/N. Not sure ‘good girl’ is one of them."

You let out a laugh, swatting at him with a towel. "Hey, I can behave when I want to. It’s just more fun not to."

He caught your wrist with ease, holding it for a second too long before letting go. There was that familiar tension between you again, the unspoken something that crackled in the air whenever the two of you were close. He probably didn't mean to linger, but you could feel it—that pull.

"Maybe it’s the company," you teased, grabbing your laundry basket. "You bring out the best in me."

Logan didn’t respond immediately, but there was something in his eyes, something that made your breath hitch. He was quiet, but not in the usual way bodyguards were. With Logan, there was a weight to his silence, like he was always holding back, always watching.

You pushed past the lingering tension with a grin, heading toward the door with your laundry. "Come on, broody. Let’s get out of the laundry room before we both go stir-crazy."

As you passed by, you brushed against him—just lightly, but enough to send a small jolt through you. He didn’t move, but his eyes followed your every step, that silent intensity never wavering.

You stopped in the hallway and shot him a look over your shoulder. “You’re making this way too serious, you know. I’m doing laundry, not sneaking out of prison.”

“Old habits die hard,” he replied, crossing his arms with a slight smirk. “Besides, I think your dad’s idea of ‘safe’ is pretty different from yours.”

You rolled your eyes, hugging the laundry basket closer. “Right. Next, he’ll say I need an escort to the mailbox.”

Logan raised a brow, clearly amused. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

That earned him a laugh, and you shook your head, settling the basket on the table in the hall. “Guess you’re stuck with me then, bodyguard.”

“Doesn’t seem so bad,” he said, his voice softening as he glanced at you. His gaze was familiar in a way you couldn’t place, like he’d looked at you this way a hundred times before.

“Yeah?” You took a step closer, crossing your arms with a playful grin. “And here I thought I’d be driving you crazy.”

“You do,” he murmured, almost too quietly. His lips turned up slightly, but he looked away, that unspoken wall going back up.

“Good,” you teased, reaching out to poke him in the chest. “Keeps things interesting.”

Logan caught your hand before you could pull it back, holding it just long enough that you could feel the warmth of his touch, the quiet strength in it. There was something in his eyes that hinted at… more. Like he’d known you far longer than you could’ve ever guessed.

“Is that what you want?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart thumped, but you kept your tone light. “Depends on what you’re offering, doesn’t it?”

His gaze dropped to your hand, still caught in his. He let go, but there was something in his expression that lingered. It was like he was searching for the right words, something he couldn’t quite say. Or maybe didn’t want to.

Instead, he settled back with that guarded look. “Better get used to me being around,” he said, nodding toward the front of the house. “Your dad won’t have it any other way.”

You glanced down the hall and shrugged. “Guess I can live with that. For now.”

Logan’s lips twitched, just barely. “For now,” he echoed, and there was something heavier in those words, something he wasn’t sharing.

You lingered for a moment, the silence stretching between you, before you picked up the basket again. “Well, I’ve got more laundry to fold. But if you feel like helping out…”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nice try, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, shooting him a wink. “Fine. I’ll let you off easy this time.”

“Appreciate it,” he said with a smirk, but his eyes softened as he watched you turn to go, like he was holding back something he couldn’t quite name.

As you walked away, the light-heartedness of the moment stayed with you, but so did something else. It was that look Logan had, the one that made you feel seen, like he knew you better than anyone else ever had.

Maybe he did.

Or maybe, in some impossible way, he always had.

---

“No, no, no, cara. Give it to me.” Nancy took the mixing bowl away from you, stirring the batter while muttering something in Italian.

You leaned your hip against the counter, placing your head on Nancy’s shoulder with a pout. "I was doing what you’re doing.”

Nancy shook her head, stirring the batter with a practiced hand, her warm, familiar presence comforting. “No, cara mia, you were doing what you think I’m doing.” She shot you a look, one of those fond, chiding glances she’d perfected over the years. “And it was not the same.”

You laughed, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Fine, but you’re teaching me bad habits. This is how I stay spoiled, you know.”

She chuckled, patting your cheek affectionately. “You think you need me to be spoiled? You do just fine on your own.”

Before you could respond, Logan’s familiar silhouette appeared in the doorway. He leaned against the frame, watching you with a slight smirk that was becoming all too familiar—and endearing.

“Careful, Nancy,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “She’s already hard enough to handle.”

You turned, hands on your hips, feigning offense. “Excuse me, hard to handle?”

Logan shrugged, crossing his arms with a smirk. “You said it, not me.”

Nancy chuckled, eyes sparkling as she looked between you and Logan. “Ah, Y/N, he’s right. You do have a little spirit.”

You scoffed playfully, giving Logan an exaggerated glare before grinning back at Nancy. “What? I’m an angel, and you know it.”

Logan snorted, clearly enjoying himself. “Right. A real saint.” He gave you a knowing look, one that made your stomach flip despite yourself. That unspoken energy simmered between you two, even as you tried to keep it casual.

Nancy just shook her head, muttering something in Italian as she set the bowl down. “Angels don’t cause so much trouble,” she teased, pinching your cheek. “I taught you better.”

You rubbed your cheek with a grin, leaning back against the counter. “I’m blaming Logan. His bad influence must be rubbing off on me.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “That right? Thought you didn’t need any help there.”

“Oh, I don’t,” you said, crossing your arms with a challenging look. “I’m fully capable of trouble on my own.”

Nancy watched the two of you with a satisfied smile, turning back to her baking. “Ah, I see,” she murmured, her voice light. “It’s good to have someone who knows how to keep you in check.”

The glint in her eye wasn’t lost on you, and you rolled your eyes. “You’re making it sound like I’m some kind of wild child.”

“No, no,” she replied with a grin, waving her hand. “Just that I think he knows you better than you think, cara.”

Logan’s gaze softened a little at that, and though he didn’t say anything, his look lingered, as if he were silently agreeing with her.

You cleared your throat, feeling the familiar warmth creeping up your neck. “Well,” you started, trying to brush off the moment, “if Logan’s going to stick around, he might as well help.”

Nancy gave a sly smile, turning to Logan. “What do you say, Logan? A little kitchen work wouldn’t hurt.”

Logan shook his head, holding his hands up in surrender. “You two are doing just fine without me.”

You shot him a grin, taking a step closer. “Oh, come on. Big, tough Logan afraid of a little flour?”

His smirk softened as he looked down at you. “You keep pushing, and I might just teach you a lesson in troublemaking.”

Your stomach fluttered at the way his gaze stayed locked on yours, that familiar pull tugging you closer. “Is that a threat?”

“Call it… a warning,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand brushed against yours, just for a second, but it was enough to send a spark up your arm.

Nancy cleared her throat, clearly amused. “Okay, okay. I don’t need you two making a mess of my kitchen.”

You stepped back, giving Nancy a sheepish smile, and Logan chuckled, the sound low and easy. “She’s right,” he said, nodding toward the door. “Guess I’ll just keep an eye on you from a safe distance.”

Nancy gave him a knowing look, shaking her head with a chuckle. “If only it were that simple.”

---

“Ah, stay still, cara.” Nancy chided you, taking out a roller from your hair.

You gave Nancy a pout, eyes skimming your reflection in the mirror with clear discontent. "I don’t like it." Your voice held more weight than just the hair and makeup, though, and Nancy seemed to pick up on it.

She clicked her tongue, smoothing out a curl before looking at you through the mirror. “Ah, cara mia, tonight is important to your father. Besides,” she added, eyes glinting, “you look beautiful, yes?”

You gave her a half-hearted smile, brushing your hands over the bright yellow fabric of your dress. The dress was elegant and too formal for your taste, the kind of thing you’d never have chosen if it weren’t for your dad’s insistence on making you ‘presentable’ for his associates.

Nancy sighed, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, it’s one night. Then you’ll be back to your regular clothes, hmm?”

You grinned, rolling your eyes. “Can’t come soon enough.”

Just as you were about to add more, there was a quiet knock at the door. You looked up, already expecting Logan’s familiar silhouette. He leaned against the frame, hands in his pockets, his usual air of calm doing little to hide the intense look in his eyes as he took in the sight of you in the dress.

“Looks like they’ve got you all dolled up,” he remarked, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

You shot him a look, half annoyed, half amused. “Yeah, laugh it up, tough guy. Bet you’re glad it’s not you in this thing.”

Logan chuckled, stepping further into the room. “You could say that.” His eyes met yours, and for a brief second, there was something in his gaze, something you couldn’t quite put into words. But just as quickly, he looked away.

Nancy gave you a knowing smile, patting your shoulder before stepping back. “Logan,” she said, with a gentle warning in her voice, “take care of her tonight, yes?”

Logan’s expression softened, his gaze turning protective as he looked at you. “Always do.”

Nancy winked, then left the room, leaving you alone with him.

You let out a sigh, reaching for the hem of your dress as if you could somehow make it less constricting. “Do I really have to go down there?”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You think your dad’s throwing this party for fun? Whole point is for you to be seen.”

“Great,” you muttered, moving toward the door. But as you passed him, Logan placed a hand on your shoulder, stopping you.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, his voice lower, more reassuring. “They’re not expecting anything from you. Just show up, smile, let them know you exist.”

You looked up at him, searching his face. He was steady, calm, his expression soft in a way he rarely let others see. You didn’t know why, but having him there made you feel a little more at ease. “Guess I don’t have much choice, do I?”

“Nope,” he replied, his mouth twitching into that almost-smile.

With a resigned sigh, you squared your shoulders. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

---

The party was everything you’d dreaded: formal, suffocating, and filled with people whose only interest in you was as your father’s daughter. You’d stuck close to Logan most of the night, exchanging quiet remarks whenever the chance arose, his presence the only thing keeping you from losing your mind. But as the night wore on, a few glasses of champagne and the tension of the evening started to wear on you.

You tugged on Logan’s sleeve as you leaned in close. “Think anyone would notice if I snuck out?” you murmured, your breath warm against his ear.

Logan chuckled low, his gaze flickering over you. “Considering your dad’s been watching you like a hawk? Probably.”

You rolled your eyes, letting your hand brush his arm. “Figures. He can’t just let me have one night off.” You shifted closer, feeling his warmth through his jacket, and gave him a mischievous smile. “Bet you didn’t sign up for babysitting duty.”

“Didn’t realize you’d need it,” he replied with a smirk, his voice barely loud enough for you to hear.

You nudged him playfully, letting your hand linger on his arm. “I don’t,” you said, a little more insistently. “You just don’t know what to do with me.”

His eyes met yours, and there was something dark and unspoken in his gaze. “Careful,” he murmured, his voice dropping. “I might take you up on that.”

The hint of challenge in his tone sent a thrill through you, and you leaned closer, your hand settling on his chest as you whispered, “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

You could feel his heartbeat, steady beneath your hand, but his expression gave nothing away. He looked down at you, his jaw tight, but his eyes held that familiar intensity, the kind that had always made you wonder just how long he’d been watching you. It was intoxicating, that pull between you, and tonight, with the champagne loosening your guard, you felt bolder than usual.

When you finally pulled away, you could feel his gaze following you, but you didn’t let yourself look back. Instead, you mingled through the crowd, smiling politely, pretending to listen to conversations while stealing glances at Logan across the room.

After what felt like hours, your father’s attention finally shifted, and you took the chance to slip away to your bedroom.

As you walked up the stairs, Logan trailed behind you, like always. You were tired of this, of the flirting, how he did it back to you, but how nothing ever happened.

Well tonight you were done with that.

You opened your bedroom door and sat on the bed, quickly slipping off your heels and tossing them carelessly across the room. The muffled sounds of laughter and clinking glasses filtered up from downstairs, where the party raged on. Logan stood in the doorway, as he always did, watching you in that silent, intense way that had been driving you crazy for months.

You looked up at him, your fingers playing with the hem of your short yellow dress, the fabric brushing against your thighs as you shifted on the bed. “You comin’ in, or are you just gonna stand there all night?”

Logan didn’t respond right away, his jaw ticking as his eyes flicked over you, taking in the sight of you sitting there, legs crossed, your dress riding up just enough to tease. He sighed, stepping into the room but staying near the door. “Your old man’s got half the city downstairs, Y/N. This ain’t the time.”

You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Since when do you care about my dad? He’s not your boss.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, the leather of his jacket creaking. “He pays me to keep you safe, not… this.”

You stood up from the bed, taking a step toward him. “This?” you repeated, voice playful, but you could feel the tension in the air thickening. “And what is ‘this,’ Logan?”

He didn’t answer, just stood there, his eyes dark and unreadable, but you could see the way his body tensed when you got closer, the way his gaze flicked down to your legs before snapping back up to your face.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against the rough material of his flannel, and you could feel the heat of his body through the layers of fabric. He stiffened, his hand catching your wrist, but it wasn’t harsh. Just enough to stop you.

“Y/N, don’t,” he warned, his voice low, rough.

You tilted your head, stepping even closer until your body was almost pressed against his. “Why not?” you asked softly. “You’ve been following me around for months. Always there, always watching. What are you so afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid,” he muttered, but his grip on your wrist tightened just a little, like he was holding himself back. “You’re too young for this. I work for your dad.”

You pulled your wrist free, undeterred, your hand now resting against his chest. “I’m not a kid, Logan. And you don’t work for him—you work for me. You’ve been protecting me, haven’t you?”

His eyes narrowed. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

“Then what do you mean?” you shot back, moving even closer, your fingers trailing up to his shoulder, over the leather of his jacket. “You’ve been pulling away from me every time I get close, but you keep coming back.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, his hands hovering near your waist, as if he was afraid to touch you. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” you said firmly, your voice steady. “And you know that.” You pressed a little harder, your lips just inches from his jaw, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his skin. “You don’t have to keep pretending like you don’t want this.”

His hands shot up to your shoulders, gripping you tightly, but he didn’t push you away this time. His breathing was heavier now, the muscles in his arms tensing as if he was fighting against himself. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he growled, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe not,” you admitted, your lips brushing the stubble on his jaw as you spoke. “But I know what I want.”

Logan groaned low in his throat, his fingers tightening on your shoulders, but still, he didn’t push you away. His resistance was crumbling, you could feel it.

“You’re not a kid,” he repeated quietly, almost like he was trying to convince himself.

“No,” you whispered back, your lips ghosting along the side of his neck, your hands moving to his chest, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. “I’m not.”

In a swift movement, you pushed him back toward the chair in the corner of the room, his legs hitting the edge as you guided him down. He sat heavily, his hands falling from your shoulders to your hips, still trying to hold onto that last bit of control.

You straddled his thigh, your dress riding up as you settled against him, the heat of your body pressed against the denim of his jeans. His hands moved up to your waist, holding you in place, but the look in his eyes told you he was barely holding on.

“Y/N,” he rasped, but his voice was shaky, uncertain.

You didn’t give him time to think. You started moving, rocking your hips against his thigh, slow at first, testing. His grip on your waist tightened, his eyes darkening as he watched you, the tension in his body radiating through his hands.

He wasn’t stopping you.

You bit your lip, your breath hitching as you pressed harder against him, the friction sending a jolt of heat through you. Logan groaned, his hands sliding down to your hips, holding you steady as you moved. His control was slipping, and you could feel it.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his head falling back against the chair, his eyes squeezed shut.

You leaned forward, your lips brushing his ear. “Still think I’m too young?”

Logan’s jaw clenched, his hands gripping you harder as you rocked against him, the rough fabric of his jeans rubbing against the thin material of your underwear. Every movement sent sparks of pleasure through you, and you could tell from the way his breathing quickened that he was feeling it too.

His hands slid up your sides, fingers digging into your skin as he tried to pull you closer, but you were in control now. You pressed your lips to his neck, kissing the exposed skin, feeling the tension in his body as you kissed down toward his collarbone, your fingers tangling in his shirt.

Logan groaned, his hands gripping you tighter as you moved faster, grinding against his thigh with more urgency. The heat between your legs was almost unbearable now, the pressure building with every movement, every gasp that escaped your lips.

Logan's eyes were shut tight, head thrown back against the chair, his hands gripping your waist like he was the one trying to stay grounded. But you weren’t stopping, not after all the months of back-and-forth, all the moments you’d caught him watching you with that dark, unreadable look. The friction, the heat pooling between your legs, was everything you’d been waiting for, and it was clear from the roughness of his breathing that he wasn’t far behind.

You pressed harder, your hips rolling against his thigh as you gripped his shoulders to steady yourself. The thin fabric of your dress had ridden up, and you knew he could feel just how soaked you were through the denim of his jeans. His hands were at your waist, digging into your skin in a way that bordered on painful but only made you push down harder, rocking your hips with more insistence.

Logan’s voice was rough when he finally spoke, his hands tightening as if he was trying to keep himself from pulling you in closer. “Y/N… you’re playin’ with fire here,” he growled, the words thick, like he was barely holding back.

You ignored him, pressing a little harder, your lips hovering just over the edge of his jaw as you breathed, “Maybe I like the heat.”

His jaw clenched, but his hands slid up, settling just under your ribs, holding you steady as you moved. Each shift of your hips brought another groan out of him, the sound vibrating through his chest and sending a thrill straight through you. You could feel yourself getting closer, your breath coming in shallow gasps as the pressure built, the heat between your legs almost too much to bear.

“Logan,” you whispered, your hands slipping up to tangle in his hair, pulling his face closer. You could see the restraint etched across his face, the way his jaw was clenched tight, like he was struggling to keep himself from giving in. “I need you.”

His hands tensed on your waist, fingers digging in harder, his breathing growing rougher with every word that slipped from your lips. But he didn’t pull away; if anything, he held you tighter, letting you grind against him, the rough denim of his jeans rubbing against you in a way that left you breathless, desperate.

“You know what you’re doin’ to me?” he muttered, his voice barely more than a growl as his eyes met yours, dark and full of something you’d been longing to see for months.

“Maybe,” you replied, a small, breathless smile tugging at your lips as you kept moving, kept pressing closer, feeling the tension between you both thicken until it was almost unbearable. “Maybe I want to see how far you’ll let me go.”

Logan groaned, his grip tightening as his eyes fell shut again, his hands shifting to guide your hips, helping you keep up the steady rhythm that was driving you both closer to the edge. You leaned forward again, your lips brushing against his neck, pressing soft kisses along the exposed skin as you rocked against him, the heat building with every second.

“Y/N,” he rasped, his voice so low it sent a shiver through you. “You’re… you’re so damn—”

You cut him off, pressing your lips to the spot just under his ear, feeling the way his breath hitched as your hips ground down harder. You were close, every nerve ending on fire, and you could feel that he was, too. His hands were everywhere, sliding up your back, pressing you closer, holding you tight like he was afraid to let go.

And then, finally, the pressure broke. You gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders as your hips stilled, your body shuddering against him. Logan’s grip on your waist tightened, his own breath hitching as he held you steady, his hands warm and solid as you rode out the waves of pleasure.

He was quiet for a long moment, his breathing heavy, and you could feel the way his body had tensed beneath you, the strain in his hands as he held himself back. Slowly, you looked up, meeting his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes made your breath catch all over again.

Without a word, Logan shifted, his hands sliding down to hook under your thighs as he stood, lifting you with a strength that sent another thrill through you. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as he carried you to the bed, the heat in his gaze leaving no room for second thoughts, no hesitation. This was it, and you were ready.

He laid you down, his hands lingering on your thighs, his fingers brushing over your skin as he looked down at you, his expression a mix of hunger and restraint. You reached up, tugging him closer until he was hovering over you, his weight pressing down just enough to make you feel secure, safe.

This was what you’d been waiting for, what you’d both been skirting around for too long. Logan’s hands slid up your sides, his fingers trailing along the fabric of your dress, and you felt your breath hitch as his gaze darkened, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

His thumbs brushed the exposed skin just above the low neckline of your dress, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You watched him, eyes locked on his as he leaned in, his jaw tight, the hunger in his gaze barely restrained. The room felt smaller, warmer, like the air had thickened between you.

And then, finally, his mouth was on yours.

The kiss was desperate, wild, like he was making up for lost time. His lips claimed yours with a roughness that sent a shiver down your spine, his hands moving to cradle your face, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t stand the distance. You gasped against his mouth, your fingers finding their way into his hair, tugging him down harder.

It had been seventy-three years since he’d last kissed you—nearly three quarters of a century of holding back—and the intensity of it showed. It was all-consuming, like he was trying to make up for every second he’d denied himself this.

Logan groaned into your mouth, a deep, almost pained sound, and the desperation in it made your blood race. He kissed you like he was starving, like he needed this, needed you, and you felt your body melt into him. His hands slid down your body, rough and sure, stopping at your hips to pull you flush against him. The heat between your legs was almost unbearable, and the friction of his jeans against your thighs only made it worse.

You broke the kiss for air, your breaths coming fast, but Logan didn’t stop. His mouth found your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the curve of your throat, teeth scraping against your skin just enough to make you gasp. His hands were everywhere, tracing the curve of your waist, the swell of your hips, gripping you with a possessiveness that sent a thrill through you.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice breathless, needy. You tilted your head back, giving him better access as his lips continued their descent, leaving a path of fire along your skin. Your hands fisted in his flannel, pulling him closer, and he groaned again, the sound vibrating through your body.

“God, Y/N,” he rasped, his voice thick with desire, like he was barely holding on. His hands slipped under your dress, fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your thighs, and you shivered, your breath catching in your throat. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide with need. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, but the words were laced with something softer, something that made your heart skip.

You didn’t reply, just pulled him down for another kiss, this one just as desperate as the first. Your hands roamed over his chest, slipping beneath the open flannel to feel the heat of his skin, the hard muscles that tensed under your touch. Logan shivered, his breath catching as your fingers brushed against his bare chest, and you felt a rush of satisfaction at the way he reacted to you.

His jacket slipped from his shoulders, landing somewhere on the floor, but neither of you paid it any mind. Your hands were already pushing the flannel off him, revealing more of his skin, and Logan helped you, shrugging it off with a growl of impatience. The white beater he wore beneath clung to his chest, and you could see the way his muscles flexed beneath it, the way the fabric stretched taut over his shoulders.

He leaned back down, capturing your lips in another searing kiss, and you moaned into his mouth, your nails digging into his shoulders. Logan’s hands were back under your dress, sliding up, leaving trails of heat in their wake. His touch was rough, calloused, but so incredibly gentle in a way that made your heart ache. You arched into him, your body pressing closer, desperate for more, for everything he was willing to give.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your mouth, his hands sliding higher until his thumbs brushed the edge of your panties. He paused, breathing heavily, his eyes searching yours, looking for any sign of hesitation. But there was none. You were all in, had been from the moment you’d first seen him.

You reached down, grabbing his wrists and guiding his hands further up, silently urging him on. Logan’s breath hitched, and his eyes darkened even more, a low growl rumbling in his chest. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, and you could feel your heart pounding as he tugged, the thin fabric slipping down your legs.

"Fuck, Y/N," he growled, his voice thick with need as his calloused hands slid back up your thighs, pushing your dress higher. "You're so damn wet already."

You gasped as his fingers brushed against your center, your hips jerking up instinctively. "Logan, please," you whimpered, reaching for him.

He leaned down to kiss you hard, his tongue pushing into your mouth as his fingers began exploring you properly. The roughness of his hands contrasted with how gently he touched you, like he was afraid of breaking you. You moaned into his mouth as he slid one thick finger inside, your hands gripping his shoulders.

"That's it, darlin'," he murmured against your lips. "Let me hear you."

Your dress was bunched around your waist now as Logan worked another finger into you, stretching you carefully. Your earlier orgasm had left you sensitive, making every touch feel electric. His thumb found your clit and began rubbing slow circles that had you writhing beneath him.

"Logan," you gasped, your nails digging into his skin through his beater. "I need—ah!—I need more."

He growled low in his throat, curling his fingers inside you. "Tell me what you need, Y/N. Say it."

Your face flushed but you met his eyes. "I need you inside me. Please, Logan. I've wanted this for so long."

Something dark and possessive flashed in his eyes. He withdrew his fingers, making you whimper at the loss, and reached down to undo his belt. The metal clinked as he pulled it free, the sound sending a thrill through you.

You sat up enough to pull your dress over your head, leaving you in just your bra. Logan's eyes raked over you hungrily as he pushed his jeans down his hips. The obvious bulge in his boxers made your mouth go dry.

"Come here," he growled, pulling you into another searing kiss as his hands found the clasp of your bra. It took him only seconds to undo it, and then you were bare before him, your nipples hardening in the cool air.

Logan's mouth moved to your neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks as his hands cupped your breasts. You moaned as he rolled your nipples between his fingers, your back arching into his touch.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he muttered against your skin, his voice rough. He shifted to take one nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak as you gasped and squirmed beneath him.

Your hands found the hem of his beater, tugging insistently until he pulled back long enough to yank it off. The sight of his bare chest, all hard muscle and dark hair, made heat pool between your legs. There were old scars scattered across his skin - remnants of wounds time hadn't quite erased.

You reached for his boxers but he caught your wrists, pinning them above your head with one large hand. "Not yet," he growled, his free hand sliding down between your legs again. "Want to make sure you're ready for me."

His fingers found your clit again and you cried out, oversensitive and desperate. "Logan, please," you begged, trying to buck your hips up against his hand. "I'm ready, I swear. I need you now."

He studied your face for a long moment, his eyes dark with desire, before releasing your wrists. "Take them off," he ordered, nodding to his boxers.

Your hands shook slightly as you pushed the fabric down his hips, freeing his cock. He was huge, thick and hard, already leaking at the tip. You wrapped your hand around him, stroking slowly, and Logan's breath hitched.

"Careful, darlin'," he warned, his voice strained. "Been wanting this too long to end it early."

He pushed you back onto the bed, settling between your spread thighs. The head of his cock brushed against your entrance and you both groaned. Logan braced himself on his forearms above you, his eyes locked on yours.

"You sure about this?" he asked, his voice rough but gentle. "Once I start, I don't know if I'll be able to stop."

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "I'm sure. Please, Logan. I want you."

He kissed you hard as he began pushing inside, swallowing your gasps as he stretched you open. The burn was intense but perfect, your body gradually adjusting to his size. Logan moved slowly, giving you time to adapt, but you could feel the tension in his muscles as he held himself back.

"Fuck," he groaned when he was finally fully seated inside you. "So tight, darlin'. Feel so good around me."

You clutched at his shoulders, panting. "Move," you urged. "Please, I need—"

Logan pulled back and thrust forward again, setting a steady rhythm that had you seeing stars. Each stroke hit something deep inside you that made pleasure spark through your whole body. His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he fucked into you with increasing force.

"That's it," he growled, watching your face contort with pleasure. "Take it, Y/N. Take all of me."

Your nails raked down his back as the pressure built inside you again. Logan's thrusts grew harder, faster, driving you both toward the edge. The headboard banged against the wall with each movement but neither of you cared about the noise.

"Logan," you gasped, feeling yourself getting close. "I'm gonna—ah!"

"Come for me," he ordered, his voice rough. One hand slid between your bodies to rub your clit. "Want to feel you come on my cock."

The added stimulation pushed you over the edge. You came with a cry, your body clenching around him as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Logan growled, his rhythm faltering as your walls pulsed around him.

"Fuck, Y/N," he groaned, his thrusts growing erratic. "Where do you want—"

"Inside," you gasped, still riding the aftershocks. "Please, Logan. Wanna feel you."

He cursed, his hips snapping forward a few more times before he buried himself deep with a growl, spilling inside you. You could feel him pulsing, filling you up as he collapsed onto his forearms above you.

For several long moments, the only sound was your heavy breathing. Logan's forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed as he caught his breath. You ran your hands up and down his back, feeling the sweat-slick skin under your palms.

Finally, he pulled out carefully and rolled onto his side, pulling you with him. You winced slightly at the soreness between your legs, but it was a good kind of ache. Logan's arms wrapped around you, holding you close against his chest.

---

Logan let out a low groan as he woke, the bed beneath him feeling far too comfortable, unfamiliar in a way that immediately set him on edge. It took a second for his mind to catch up, piecing together where he was and, more importantly, who he was with.

He didn’t need to look over to feel the warmth beside him, or the way your hair fanned out across the pillow. It hit him all at once—the heat of your skin against his, the way you’d leaned into him last night, confident, unrestrained. He opened his eyes, gaze finding you lying beside him, face soft and peaceful in sleep, an arm draped over his chest as if you’d claimed him in the night.

Logan sighed, glancing at the ceiling, but couldn’t help looking down at you again, still asleep and blissfully unaware of the storm in his head. He’d known it was a bad idea from the start, coming upstairs with you last night, letting his guard down. But damn, when you’d gotten close, pushing him toward that chair with that look in your eyes—he’d been gone the second you’d touched him.

He was even further gone when he had finally kissed you—it was one of his biggest regrets the last time he had seen you back in 1943—he never held you the way he wanted to. Too afraid that maybe he was the problem, the reason you kept on dying over and over.

And because of that, he hadn’t been this close to you since 1900.

It was strange, being here like this—letting his guard down after all those lives, all those memories of watching you fade out of his reach. A part of him had always tried to keep a distance, to save himself from the heartbreak he knew was coming. But last night… last night, he’d been weak.

He brushed a thumb over your arm without thinking, lost in thought. It was impossible not to wonder, with you lying beside him like this, what it would be like if this time were different. If, just once, he could hold onto you, let himself believe you’d stay.

But he knew better.

His hand lingered on your skin a moment too long, and he felt you stir, your lashes fluttering as you slowly opened your eyes. A soft smile touched your lips when you saw him, and he felt his resolve crack just a little more.

“Mornin’,” he murmured, his voice rougher than he’d meant.

“Mmm,” you hummed, still sleepy, your fingers tracing a lazy pattern over his chest. “Didn’t think you’d still be here.” You said it lightly, but there was a hint of something else there—relief, maybe. “Guess I finally wore you out.”

Logan huffed, his lips tugging into a smirk. “Guess so.”

You shifted to look at him, your eyes bright with that familiar mischief. “So, what’s your excuse this time?”

He raised a brow. “Excuse?”

“Yeah. For pulling away,” you said, your tone casual but pointed. “You’ve always got one.”

Logan’s jaw clenched slightly, and he broke eye contact, looking away. “It’s complicated, Y/N.”

You reached up, cupping his face and guiding his gaze back to you. “That’s what you always say. Doesn’t mean it has to be.”

He was silent for a moment, searching your face. He could feel the weight of his past with you, all those memories stacking up like a dam holding back a flood. But he couldn’t let you in on that. Couldn’t make you carry the burden of knowing you’d lived—and died—so many times before. It was his cross to bear, not yours.

“Maybe I just don’t want you getting hurt,” he finally said, his voice quieter, a touch raw.

You let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Please, Logan. You think I don’t know what I’m doing?”

Logan just shook his head, but he couldn’t help the small, amused smile that crept onto his face. “You’re a handful, you know that?”

“I’ve heard that once or twice,” you teased, running your hand along his chest. “Lucky for you, I don’t scare easy.”

That hint of defiance in your voice tugged at something deep inside him, and he caught your hand, holding it in his as he looked into your eyes. “You say that now. But I’ve got a way of… complicating things.”

Your gaze softened, but there was still a spark there, unyielding. “Good thing I like complicated.”

Logan’s eyes darkened, and for a second, he felt that familiar pull, the urge to tell you everything—to let you in on the truth of why he was here, why he couldn’t stay away. But he stopped himself, the weight of all those lost lifetimes bearing down on him again. He couldn’t do that to you, not this time.

“Then I guess I’m stuck with you,” he said, trying to keep his tone light, even though his grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly.

“Guess so,” you replied with a grin, shifting closer. You tilted your head, eyes narrowing as you studied him. “Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you ever gonna stop acting like you’re some kind of curse?” Your voice was soft but firm, like you were daring him to argue.

Logan went silent, his gaze flickering away from yours. You’d hit closer to the truth than you knew.

“Don’t know if I can,” he admitted after a pause. “It’s… complicated.” He shrugged, hoping you’d leave it at that.

But, of course, you didn’t. “Then I guess I’ll just have to keep proving you wrong,” you murmured, pressing a light kiss to his jaw, a warm reassurance that only made him feel the pull of his past even stronger.

He didn’t answer, just closed his eyes, letting himself savor this one small, stolen moment with you. Just this once, he’d allow himself that. Because deep down, he knew he’d always lose you in the end.

And this time, he was determined to make it last as long as he could. Maybe, just maybe, even put that ring to use.

---

You were back at the dog shelter, this time staying a little bit longer since one of the workers, Amelia, was out sick.

Lorraine handed you a few leashes, “mind taking some of ‘em out for a walk?”

You happily grabbed the roped leashes, “of course.” Then you glanced over at Logan, who had been eyeing the dogs with a mix of amusement and reservation. “You up for walkin’ some too?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, then at the leashes in your hand, but there was a hint of a smirk playing at his lips. “Didn’t take you for a dog wrangler, Y/N.”

You laughed, clipping one of the leashes onto a small brown mutt who was practically bouncing with excitement. “Come on, Logan. What’re you afraid of? They don’t bite—well, not all of them, anyway.”

Logan chuckled, reluctantly stepping forward. “Right. Long as they don’t try to drag me down the street.”

You handed him a leash attached to a shaggy, medium-sized dog with big brown eyes, looking up at him expectantly. “Here. This one’s named Ringo. He’s a sweetheart.”

Logan eyed the dog suspiciously before giving the leash a little tug, testing the waters. “Ringo, huh?” He knelt down and patted the dog’s head, a faint smile crossing his face as the dog leaned into his touch. “Guess you’re alright.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight. “See? He likes you already.” As you finished leashing up a few more of the dogs, you handed the leashes to Logan. “Think you can handle these guys too?”

Logan took the leashes without complaint, looking down at the little group of dogs at his feet. “Guess I don’t have much choice.”

“Good answer,” you teased, giving him a wink before heading toward the door. You led the way outside, the two of you walking side-by-side with the dogs trotting happily along. It was a warm day, and the sun was shining down, casting a soft glow over everything.

Logan glanced over at you as you moved down the sidewalk together, the dogs tugging excitedly at their leashes. You had a carefree smile on your face, and he found himself watching you more than the path ahead, the memory of a few nights ago still vivid in his mind. The thought of it sent a thrill through him—yet at the same time, a pang of dread.

“You always this happy walking dogs, or is it just ‘cause I’m here?” he teased, a little smirk tugging at his lips.

You shot him a playful look. “Guess you’ll never know.” You nudged him lightly with your shoulder, eyes bright with mischief. “But if you keep coming with me, you might find out.”

He let out a small laugh, his gaze softening as he looked away. Even after all these years, you could still surprise him—like the way you’d drag him to places like this or the way you talked about the little things with such enthusiasm. It was one of those qualities he remembered about you from lifetimes ago, and it hadn’t changed. It made him feel like maybe, somehow, this was different.

As you walked a little further, one of the dogs—a scruffy little terrier—yipped and tugged at Logan’s leash, trying to chase after a pigeon. He grunted, holding the leash tightly and muttering, “Settle down, mutt. You’re not goin’ anywhere.”

You laughed, glancing over with an amused smile. “Ringo’s got more energy than you’d think, huh?”

Logan shook his head, but he couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, well, maybe I should be takin’ notes from him.” He looked at you then, and his expression softened. “You’ve really got a thing for these dogs, don’t ya?”

Your smile faded into something more thoughtful as you looked down at the furry pack in front of you. “I dunno. I guess they’re just… easy to be around. They don’t care about who my father is or what I do—they just want someone to be with them, you know?”

Logan nodded, watching the way you interacted with the dogs, your fingers lightly brushing over their heads, your voice soft as you spoke to them. You’d always had that kindness about you, that gentleness that made him want to believe in something better, something… safe.

“You’re good with ‘em,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

You looked up at him, a smile in your eyes. “You know, you’re not so bad with them either, Logan.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, I think I’ll leave the dog-wranglin’ to you.”

For a while, you walked in comfortable silence, the bustling city around you fading into the background as you wandered through the neighborhood with the dogs. Finally, you reached a small park, and you stopped to let the dogs sniff around.

As they explored, you took a seat on a nearby bench, patting the spot beside you. Logan hesitated for a second before joining you, stretching his legs out in front of him.

You looked over at him, your expression soft. “Thanks for coming today. I know this probably isn’t your ideal way to spend an afternoon.”

Logan shrugged, trying to act casual, but he couldn’t hide the warmth in his gaze. “Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t wanna be,” he said, his voice low.

The sincerity in his words made your heart skip a beat, and you looked away, feeling a little bashful. You fiddled with one of the leashes, clearing your throat. “You know… the more time we spend together, the more I wonder how long you’re planning to stick around.”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as he considered his answer. He wanted to tell you the truth—that he’d been watching you, waiting for you, for so many lifetimes. But he couldn’t. Instead, he reached out, his hand covering yours where it rested on the bench.

“As long as you’ll have me,” he said quietly.

The words hung between you, and for a moment, it was like the whole world had faded away. You looked up at him, your eyes searching his, trying to read the depths of his expression.

A soft smile touched your lips, and you squeezed his hand. “Then you’re gonna be around for a long time, Logan.”

He felt a strange, hopeful ache in his chest at your words, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, this time, things could be different.

The dogs barked, breaking the spell, and you both laughed, pulling away as you got up to wrangle them again. But even as you continued on your walk, he stayed close by your side, his hand occasionally brushing yours as you walked—almost as if he was reminding himself that you were real, that you were here with him.

---

Late one night, you lay beside Logan in the dim light filtering through the window, the city’s night sounds a steady hum in the distance. Your head rested on his chest, your fingers tracing lazy circles over the skin above his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath your touch.

Logan shifted slightly, his hand coming up to rest gently on your back. For a long time, he just lay there, watching you in silence, his thumb brushing along your spine. You could tell he was relaxed, but there was something else—a quiet intensity in the way his gaze lingered on you, a heaviness in the air that made your heart race.

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” you murmured, letting your fingers trail up to his collarbone. You glanced up at him, catching the faintest hint of a smile as he met your eyes.

“Just… wonderin’ how I got roped into all this,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting. But the glint in his eyes gave him away, and you saw something softer there.

“Yeah? Doesn’t seem like you mind too much.” You smirked, giving his chest a light pat. “I’d almost say you’re gettin’ attached.”

He snorted, pulling you a little closer, his arm tightening around you. “Could say the same for you,” he replied, his voice low, almost teasing. “You’re insatiable, y’know that?”

You laughed, and the sound was soft in the quiet room. “You’re the one who keeps showin’ up, Logan. If you wanted me to behave, you’d stay away.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Maybe I don’t want you to behave.”

Your fingers stilled on his chest, and you looked up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye. “So you like me like this, then? A little reckless… a little spoiled?” you teased.

He chuckled, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Think I do.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, and you settled back against his chest, letting your hand rest over his heart. For a while, neither of you said anything, the silence comfortable, his warmth grounding you. It was a rare kind of peace—one that you’d come to cherish whenever you were with him.

But then, curiosity got the better of you, and you lifted your head, giving him a thoughtful look. “Logan,” you began, your voice hesitant. “How long are you gonna stick around? I mean… I know my dad thinks you’re just here for protection, but… it feels like more than that.”

Logan’s gaze darkened, a flash of something unreadable passing over his face. He glanced away, his jaw tensing as he seemed to search for the right words. “As long as you want me here, I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

The weight of his words hung between you, and you felt your heart skip a beat. “Then don’t,” you whispered, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “I don’t want you to.”

He didn’t say anything in response, but his hand slipped up to cup the back of your head, pulling you down into a slow, lingering kiss. There was something different about it this time, a quiet desperation that made your pulse quicken, like he was trying to hold on to this moment, to keep it from slipping away.

When you finally pulled back, you searched his eyes, wondering what was going through his mind. “You’re not gonna let me go, are you?”

A small smile tugged at his lips, though his gaze was still shadowed. “Not a chance, darlin’.”

You felt a surge of affection for him then, this man who’d somehow become both your protector and your closest confidant. He was rough around the edges, guarded and distant with everyone else—but with you, he was different. You brought out a softness in him, a warmth that felt as though it had been buried for a long, long time.

Without thinking, you reached up and brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, your fingertips lingering against his skin. “You know, for a guy who’s supposed to be my bodyguard, you’re doing a terrible job at keeping things professional,” you teased, though there was no bite in your words.

Logan let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re the one makin’ things complicated, Y/N.”

“Maybe.” You smirked, your fingers still tracing over his chest. “But you don’t seem to mind.”

He looked at you then, something fierce in his eyes, and for a moment, you saw a glimpse of the man he’d been—a man who’d loved and lost, who’d carried scars from lifetimes past. You wondered if he would ever tell you his story, if he would ever let you in on the secrets he guarded so closely.

But for now, you were content with the silence, with the feel of his heartbeat beneath your hand, with the quiet reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere.

As the night wore on, you lay there together, wrapped up in each other, the world outside fading away. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

---

Your father had asked you to come to his office in the spacious house. At first it was nothing but muffled voices from outside the door, until Logan heard your father speak again, for a longer period of time, causing your own voice to rise.

While Logan couldn’t make out the words you were saying even with his enhanced hearing, he could tell you weren’t happy. Your voice carried that sharp edge you only got when something really struck a nerve, and judging by the way you didn’t hold back, it had to be serious.

Logan lingered just outside the heavy, mahogany door of your father’s office, his fists clenched as he heard your voice rising behind it. It was clear you were upset, and whatever was being discussed inside, you didn’t like it. He’d seen you frustrated, angry even, but never like this—there was a desperation in your tone that sent a chill through him.

Moments later, the door flew open, and you stormed out, cheeks flushed with anger, eyes flashing as you spotted him. You barely paused, brushing past him, but Logan caught your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low. “What happened?”

You turned to face him, anger and hurt swirling in your eyes. “He’s… he’s marrying me off, Logan. To that family. After everything he promised me—he said he’d never force me into something like this.”

Logan’s expression hardened. “What are you talkin’ about? He can’t just… marry you off like some kind of deal.”

Your hands were shaking as you brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, struggling to keep your composure. “Apparently, he can. There’s been this feud with the Romano family for years, and he says this is the only way to keep the peace. To protect me. Protect us.”

Logan’s jaw clenched. He felt a familiar anger rising in him, a deep, protective instinct he’d been fighting to keep under wraps. “So, he’s just gonna throw you into a marriage you don’t want? You don’t even know this guy, do you?”

You shook your head, looking away. “I met him once. He was… polite enough. But that’s not the point, Logan. I don’t want to marry him—or anyone like this. My father always said he’d let me choose, that he wouldn’t… sell me off.” The bitterness in your tone stung, your gaze distant as if replaying the conversation.

Logan searched your face, feeling an ache he couldn’t put into words. “And he knows how you feel about this?”

You swallowed, nodding. “I told him, but he says I don’t understand the bigger picture, that this is what’s best for everyone.” You gave a hollow laugh, looking down. “For everyone but me.”

He felt a pang of guilt, knowing he was just a bodyguard, technically part of the arrangement meant to keep you safe from any threats. But you were more than just a job to him, and the thought of you being forced into something like this made his blood boil. He let out a rough breath, stepping closer. “Y/N, you don’t have to go along with this. Not if you don’t want to.”

Your gaze softened as you looked up at him. “And what am I supposed to do, Logan? Run off in the middle of the night?” You gave a small, bitter smile. “I don’t even know where I’d go.”

He didn’t hesitate, his voice dropping low. “Then we go together. If you don’t wanna go through with this, we’ll figure somethin’ else out.”

Your breath hitched at his words, and for a moment, the anger and hurt seemed to fade, replaced by something warmer, more uncertain. “You’d really… leave everything?”

He shrugged, almost nonchalant, but there was a fierce determination in his eyes. “I got no reason to stay here if you’re not here, too.”

You hesitated, torn between the depth of his offer and the weight of the decision you knew would follow. Finally, you gave a small nod, as if grounding yourself in the moment. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen, Logan, but… I just need to know you’re here. That I’m not going through this alone.”

He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, Y/N. You got my word on that.”

There was a silence between you, thick and charged, each of you processing the weight of everything unsaid. His gaze stayed locked on yours, and for a moment, the anger and fear in your eyes softened, replaced by something closer to relief. And then, almost impulsively, you took his hand, squeezing it tight.

“Thank you, Logan. I… I needed to hear that,” you said softly, glancing away before meeting his gaze again, vulnerability written all over your face. “Just… don’t let go, okay?”

He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not a chance, darlin’.”

---

Nancy was doing your hair once again for the dinner with the Romano family. You had tried everything over the past few weeks, trying to convince your father that this didn’t have to happen. That he promised you he would never do this.

But no matter what you did, he was firm in his stance, "you're getting married to Clyde, and that's final."

You sat still, staring at your reflection in the mirror as Nancy pinned up the last of your curls. Your face looked composed, serene even, but beneath it, there was a storm brewing—a knot of anger and dread you couldn’t shake. Every time you thought about that dinner tonight, your stomach twisted. Clyde Romano. A stranger. And yet, your father had decided this was your future, and nothing you said seemed to change his mind.

Nancy, sensing the tension, placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "It’ll be alright, Y/N. You’ll be surrounded by family."

Family. Right. But none of them seemed to understand how trapped you felt. You forced a tight-lipped smile, nodding. "Thanks, Nancy."

As she stepped back, there was a light knock at the door. You turned to see Logan standing there, looking slightly uncomfortable in his formal attire but as steadfast as ever. His gaze softened as he took in your appearance, though he quickly masked it.

"Didn’t mean to interrupt," he said, glancing between you and Nancy. "Just wanted to make sure you’re ready."

Nancy finished adjusting your hair and excused herself, leaving you alone with Logan. You looked at him, searching his face, hoping for some kind of lifeline.

"Logan," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "I feel like I’m being dragged somewhere I can’t escape from."

He stepped closer, his expression darkening as he listened. “You’re not alone in this, Y/N. You know I’m with you, whatever you decide.” His hand reached out, brushing against your arm, his touch grounding you.

You drew in a shaky breath, steadying yourself. “What if I decide to just… disappear?” you asked, half-joking but mostly serious.

Logan’s eyes met yours, and you saw the unspoken resolve there. “Then I’ll be right behind you. Doesn’t matter where.”

For a moment, you let yourself believe it—that you could simply run, with Logan at your side. But reality crashed back in, and you dropped your gaze.

"I wish it were that simple," you whispered, clenching your fists. "But if I leave, it could tear everything apart."

Logan’s hand settled over yours, his grip firm and reassuring. "Then we make it through tonight. And tomorrow, we figure out the rest. You’re not facing this alone, darlin’. Not as long as I’m here."

You looked up at him, finding strength in his gaze. He’d been your rock through all of this, his presence steady and unwavering. And tonight, that was what you needed most.

“Alright,” you murmured, giving him a small, grateful smile. “Let’s go face this… together.”

He nodded, his grip on your hand a silent promise. Whatever came next, you knew he’d be there, just as he always had been. And with that thought, you found the courage to head downstairs to face your family—and the Romanos—one more time.

---

The dinner was at an Italian restaurant, one your father owned as cover for his business. Your dad sat at the head of the table while Clyde’s father sat at the other end. In front of you was your uncle Ermanno, who was also your dad’s consigliere, while Clyde sat next to you.

Logan, along with the other bodyguards, stood watch at the entrance of the private dining room, their silent gazes sweeping the place. He wore his usual hard expression, though his eyes softened just a touch when they found you across the room. He’d been watching you all night—catching every little shift, each moment you looked down or forced a smile, every subtle tightening of your hand on the tablecloth.

Clyde Romano leaned in a little closer, his arm casually brushing against yours as he tried to make small talk. "So, Y/N, I hear you’ve been helping out at a shelter?"

You nodded, barely meeting his eyes. “Yeah, I volunteer with the dogs mostly. It’s…nice to get away from all this sometimes.” You forced a smile, trying to keep things polite. You could feel your father’s gaze on you, watching for any misstep.

Clyde smiled back, but it felt too rehearsed. “Well, once we’re married, you won’t have to worry about shelters or anything like that. You’ll have enough responsibilities as a Romano.”

You felt your stomach twist at his words. Logan’s gaze sharpened from across the room as he picked up on the slight shift in your expression. You shot him a quick look, your eyes pleading for any kind of rescue. Logan’s jaw tightened, and for a brief moment, he almost looked like he’d step in. But he stayed put, his hands clenched behind his back.

Instead, he looked for the smallest opening. Just as Clyde’s attention was pulled away by his father, Logan slipped into view, leaning down beside you. “You alright?” he murmured, low enough that only you could hear.

“Not even close,” you whispered back, your eyes fixed on your glass. “He’s already talking about our future like… like it’s set in stone.”

Logan’s eyes flickered with something fierce. “We’ll get through this, Y/N. Tonight’s just another show. Nothing more.” His fingers brushed the back of your chair, the barely-there touch sending a wave of calm through you.

But Clyde’s voice cut back in before Logan could say anything more. “Y/N, we were thinking of heading to Italy for the honeymoon. It’ll be a good chance to meet the rest of the family there.”

Your heart sank further. Italy. An entire ocean away, away from everything you knew, from everyone who mattered to you. “Italy,” you echoed, your voice strained but steady.

“Yeah. The Romano estates are beautiful—beaches, vineyards… a real paradise.” He seemed oblivious to your hesitation, already dreaming up plans you’d had no say in. Your father looked pleased, nodding his approval from his end of the table.

Logan straightened, but the look he gave you was unmistakable: You don’t have to do this.

You swallowed, shifting in your seat as Clyde rambled on. When his focus shifted to his own father again, you leaned back just enough to whisper to Logan, “I’m not sure I can keep pretending.”

Logan’s expression softened, and for a second, he let a hint of his guard down. “You don’t have to, darlin’.” His voice was low, almost tender, meant for you alone. “Say the word, and we walk outta here. Right now.”

The thought made your heart skip, but your gaze drifted toward your father, seated across the table with a look of satisfaction. Leaving wasn’t just about you; it would mean defying him, challenging the life he’d molded for you. The thought felt like a mountain on your shoulders.

“I can’t just walk away,” you said quietly. “He’s… he’d never forgive me.”

Logan’s hand brushed yours under the table, a quiet show of support. “Maybe he’s the one who should be asking for forgiveness,” he murmured, his thumb tracing a light circle over your knuckles. The warmth of his touch settled something in you, steadying your breath.

You gave a tiny nod, squeezing his hand for just a second before pulling away. Logan straightened, stepping back to his post but still keeping his gaze on you. Clyde was oblivious, caught up in a conversation with his father about future business plans, each word feeling like a nail in the coffin.

Dinner dragged on, a blur of forced laughter and stiff conversation. Every time you felt yourself sinking, you looked toward Logan. He was there, solid and watchful, like a silent promise of something real in a room full of facades.

Eventually, the families began to wind down, talk shifting to more casual chatter. Clyde, emboldened by the night’s success, reached over and took your hand, his grip possessive. “Soon, you’ll be part of the family, Y/N. You’ll see. You’ll come to love it.”

Your mind screamed at the thought, every fiber of you wanting to pull away. But you held still, not daring to make a scene. Logan’s gaze narrowed, his jaw set as he took in the sight of Clyde’s hand around yours.

Finally, as the night came to an end and the families started to stand, Clyde leaned in with a smug smile. “Ready to go? I thought we’d take a walk, just the two of us.”

Before you could answer, Logan was there, stepping in with a casual yet firm presence. “Mr. Romano,” he said, addressing Clyde but looking right at you, “your father asked to speak with you in private before you head out.”

Clyde frowned but nodded, reluctantly releasing your hand. “I’ll be back soon, Y/N.” He disappeared toward the far end of the room, leaving you alone with Logan.

You let out a slow breath, the tension finally loosening from your shoulders. “Thank you,” you whispered, looking up at him, gratitude spilling from every word.

Logan gave a slight nod. “Couldn’t let him drag you out there without a say.” His voice was rough, but his eyes softened as he held your gaze. “You’re not alone in this, Y/N. Whatever happens… you got me.”

The weight of the night lifted just a little, and for a moment, you almost believed you had a choice in all of this.

---

“A week?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper as you stood in your father’s office. The weight of the word seemed to pull you under, even as you fought to keep your voice steady.

Your father’s expression was impassive, arms crossed as he looked at you. “Yes, Y/N. The Romano family wants to move quickly. They think it’s best, and I agree. It’s time you take on this responsibility for the family.”

Your jaw clenched. You remembered the promises he made, back when you were younger, that he’d never force you into something like this. “I just… I don’t understand. You always said—”

“People change, Y/N,” he interrupted, his tone firm. “This is what’s best for you and for us. For the family.”

You shook your head, feeling a rush of helplessness. “And what about what I want? I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks that I don’t want this, and you’re not listening.”

He exhaled sharply, the kind of sigh that signaled his patience was running thin. “This isn’t about what you want. I didn’t raise you to be selfish.”

“Selfish?” The word stung, and you couldn’t help the surge of anger that rose within you. “I’m asking for my life. How is that selfish?”

He frowned, unyielding. “Enough, Y/N. This is happening. We’re done discussing it.”

Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to stay composed. The walls of the office seemed to close in on you, the reality of it settling heavy and cold. You had a week—seven days—to either submit to this life he’d chosen for you or… what? You didn’t even know.

Without another word, you turned and left, fighting the urge to slam the door behind you. The hall felt stifling as you walked out, your thoughts churning.

When you reached your room, Logan was there, waiting. The moment he saw your face, he stiffened. “What happened?” His voice was a low rumble, the concern clear.

“A week,” you whispered, barely able to meet his gaze. “I have a week before he marries me off to Clyde.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and you could see the flash of anger in his eyes. He stepped closer, his hand moving to rest on your shoulder. “So that’s it, then? He’s just… throwing you to that bastard?”

You nodded, the words catching in your throat. “I don’t know what to do, Logan. I tried everything, but he won’t listen. He’s set on it.”

Logan’s hand slipped down, finding yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze, his rough fingers warm and grounding. You tightened your grip, the frustration and helplessness boiling inside you finally having somewhere to go.

“I’m supposed to just go along with it,” you muttered, bitterness seeping into your words. “Act like I’m thrilled to be Clyde’s obedient little wife. Like my life’s just… his to take.”

Logan’s gaze darkened. “It’s not. You know that. And anyone who tries to take it without your say? They got me to deal with.” His voice was low and dangerous, a promise just for you.

You looked up, searching his face, a flicker of hope stirring. “But what can we do, Logan? He’s not going to listen to me. And if I push back too hard… I don’t know what he’ll do.”

“Then let me get you out of here,” Logan said, leaning in closer. His voice softened, gentler now. “We can leave, right now if you want. Just say the word.”

Your heart twisted painfully, the temptation so fierce you almost said yes then and there. But reality clawed its way back, the weight of your father’s expectations and the tight grip he kept on every part of your life. Leaving would mean giving up everything—and, deep down, you weren’t sure you could risk it.

“What about my dad?” you whispered, feeling the weight of it pressing down again. “He’s… he’d see it as betrayal, Logan. And what if he goes after you?”

A flicker of something familiar crossed Logan’s face, a shadow from a life you couldn’t remember but that he clearly did. “Y/N, don’t worry about me,” he murmured. “Been through worse.” He squeezed your hand a little tighter, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gesture so tender it nearly undid you. “And if he’s got a problem, then he can take it up with me.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the anger and fear give way just a bit. “You say that now, but you haven’t seen how he gets when people cross him. He’d never forgive me, Logan. He’d never forgive us.”

Logan’s hand moved to cup your face, his touch steadying you as his eyes met yours. “Then we don’t need his forgiveness. We get you out, and I keep you safe. Whatever comes after, we face it together.”

The fierce certainty in his voice sent a warmth flooding through you, your resolve hardening under his gaze. “But Clyde, the Romano’s… they won’t just let it go.”

A smirk tugged at Logan’s mouth, the edge of defiance clear. “Then they’ll learn what happens when they mess with you. Ain’t nobody’s right to take away your freedom, Y/N. Not your old man, not Clyde, not anyone.”

A beat of silence stretched between you, his hand still warm against your cheek. Your fingers tightened around his, and for a second, all the anger and dread faded, leaving just you and him in the quiet of the room.

“What about… us?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and for a second, you held your breath, waiting for his reaction.

Logan’s eyes softened, his gaze never leaving yours. “What about us, darlin’?” He brushed a thumb along your cheek, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “You think I’d just leave you here to face this on your own?”

His words sent a rush of warmth through you, and before you knew it, you were leaning into him, his presence steady and unshakable. He let out a low sigh, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer, his other hand tracing gentle circles over your back.

“You’re all I’ve got in this,” you whispered, feeling the tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “I can’t lose you, too.”

“You won’t,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, his hold tightening just enough to reassure you. “Not now, not ever.”

You stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped up in his embrace, the weight of everything slipping away in his arms. But eventually, reality crept back in, and you pulled back, catching the flicker of resolve in his gaze.

“If we do this…” You paused, steadying yourself. “If we leave, we need a plan.”

Logan gave a small nod, his hand still resting on yours. “We’ll figure it out. Tonight, we’re just gettin’ you through this.”

It was a promise, simple and unbreakable, and for the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of hope stirring deep inside you.

---

The rehearsal dinner was held in a private room at the church a few days later; a grand, echoing place with gilded walls and tall stained-glass windows that cast colored light over everything. Clyde, his parents, and your family were all gathered, discussing wedding arrangements like it was a done deal, each word chipping away at any illusion of control you had left.

Logan and the other bodyguards stood at a respectful distance, keeping watch. He tried to keep his gaze neutral, but his eyes lingered on you longer than necessary, catching every forced smile and stiff nod you gave.

As the minister went through the motions, you and Clyde practiced exchanging vows. You held his hands, repeating words that felt like a foreign language—lifeless, meaningless. Your eyes drifted toward Logan, and he gave you the barest nod, grounding you with that single, unspoken promise.

After the vows, Clyde leaned in close, his voice low and smug. “I think you’ll come to love our life together, Y/N. Just give it time.”

You forced a polite smile, biting back the words you wanted to say. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Logan clench his fists, his face darkening.

Finally, as the rehearsal ended and people began drifting off, you made your way to a quiet corner, needing a moment alone. Logan slipped over to you, his movements subtle as he came to stand beside you.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice softer now that it was just the two of you.

You shook your head, feeling that familiar knot of dread twist tighter. “Logan, I don’t think I can go through with this. But I don’t know if I can run, either. I’m…  I’m stuck.”

He took a deep breath, his gaze intense as he looked down at you. “What if I told you that you didn’t have to decide tonight?” he asked quietly. “That we could just… take it one day at a time. You don’t have to have all the answers right now.”

The tension in your shoulders eased a bit, and you met his eyes, finding strength in the certainty there. He wasn’t pushing you, wasn’t forcing anything on you. He was just… here, with you, in whatever way you needed.

“Okay,” you whispered, nodding slowly. “One day at a time.”

Logan gave a small, reassuring smile. “That’s all we need, darlin’.” His hand brushed your shoulder, lingering just a second longer than necessary before he stepped back.

---

The day of the wedding had arrived, and you were dolled up, your makeup and hair were perfect, and your wedding dress was heavy, constricting, and large.

Once the makeup artists and hair stylists left, you had fled to the bathroom in the bridal suite and were currently hunched over the toilet. You hadn’t thrown up—yet—but you could feel the nausea and anxiousness rising.

You braced yourself against the counter, taking deep breaths as you tried to calm the twisting feeling in your stomach. The dress felt like a vice, heavy and restrictive, pressing on every nerve, suffocating in a way that went beyond fabric and lace. You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping the queasiness would pass.

A knock at the door pulled you from the spinning in your head.

“Y/N?” Nancy’s soft, steady voice filtered through, full of that motherly concern you’d come to rely on all your life.

You took a steadying breath, swallowing hard before calling out, “Come in, Nancy.”

The door creaked open, and Nancy stepped inside, closing it quietly behind her. Her gaze immediately softened as she took in the look on your face, her expression a mix of sympathy and something else—resolve, maybe.

“Oh, cara mia,” she murmured, reaching out to place a hand on your shoulder. “You don’t look well. This whole business—it’s too much, isn’t it?”

You managed a shaky nod. “I… I don’t know if I can do this, Nancy. Every time I think about it, I just…” You trailed off, not sure how to put into words the suffocating dread that had settled over you.

She gave you a small, encouraging squeeze. “You know,” she said quietly, “there are other paths besides the one your father chose for you. And you don’t have to walk it alone.”

Your heart skipped at her words. “You… you’d help me? Even if I…?”

Nancy nodded, a spark of fierce protectiveness in her eyes. “Logan’s already got your things in his car,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “If you’re ready to go, he’s waiting.”

You blinked back tears before grabbing one of her hands, “y- you want me to go?”

“SÌ. Your father is a bastardo, breaking that promise him and your mother made.” She squeezed your hand, “Logan’s a good man. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He won’t let you down.”

You swallowed hard, Nancy’s words settling like a quiet fire in your chest. She was right. Your father had broken his promise, and you didn’t owe him your life just because he controlled every other part of it.

With a shaky exhale, you gave her a nod. “Alright… I’ll go.”

Nancy’s face softened, relief mingling with pride. “Good girl. Now, take this.” She pressed a small envelope into your hand. “Cash. Just in case.”

You looked down at it, blinking back tears. “Thank you, Nancy. For everything.”

She pulled you into a hug, her hand stroking your back gently. “Go, cara mia. Go live your life.” She pulled back, eyes glinting with fierce determination. “And don’t look back.”

You nodded, holding onto that resolve as you slipped out of the bathroom and made your way down the hall, heart pounding. Every step felt heavier, weighed down by fear and the voice in the back of your mind that told you this was dangerous, reckless. But when you stepped outside and saw Logan waiting by his car, the weight lifted.

He looked up, his gaze intense but soft, like he’d been waiting for this moment just as long as you had. “You ready?”

You hesitated, just for a moment, before giving him a small nod. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

Logan opened the passenger door for you, helping you in, his hand lingering on yours for a second longer than necessary. He closed the door, then climbed into the driver’s seat, starting the engine with a low rumble that matched the pulse pounding in your ears.

As he pulled out of the church’s parking lot, the weight of the decision hit you again. You were leaving everything behind—the security, the expectations, the people who’d shaped your entire life. But with each passing second, the fear melted away, replaced by a strange, liberating sense of excitement.

Logan glanced over, noticing the small smile tugging at your lips. “You don’t look so panicked now.”

You shook your head, unable to hide your grin. “I’m not. Not with you here.”

He gave a soft chuckle, that familiar warmth in his gaze. “Good. Because we’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

You settled back, feeling more at ease than you’d felt in months. There was silence for a moment, comfortable and charged, before you turned to him, voice barely a whisper.

“Where are we going?”

Logan smirked. “Anywhere but here.”

You laughed softly, relaxing into your seat. The road stretched ahead, open and endless, and for the first time in a long while, the future felt like something you could shape.

logan is 141 years old and reader is around 23-25 years old

what!? is that a happy ending? who would've thought... next up, is origins!

[emchante]

Divorced dad Daniel seeing you gain the healthy weight you do once your relationship becomes serious and feeling himself go feral every time he sees your soft curves. He might even hand feed you something, imagining gripping that waist, that ass, those wide hips later. The fullness of them fitting so right into his palms 🤭

~🫠 (the og has returned)

WHEN WE NEEDED THEM MOST.. THE OG ANON RETURNED 🫵🫵 and oh.. did they return with something to just kill me off.

you know the drill, rambles below<3

but god. god do i LOVE this trope. healthy weight gain is something that’s tender to my heart, especially as a curvier girl. and it works so well with this au, and daniel who ends up gaining a little weight after realising how comfortable he is with you<3

daniel loves the sight of you, always. he thought he couldn’t love you anymore, but when he sees your curvier body, wider hips, softer front? oh, he somehow loves you even more. and it makes him feel a lot, not just happiness. no, we know this man is a dirty dog, so his mind is racing when you fill out a little more.

when he stands behind you in the kitchen with hands on your hips, his eyes are constantly on them. watching as his fingers dip in slightly to the softer skin that now resides there.

when you’re laying together in bed,daniel’s head at your stomach, and your t-shirt rides up a little— daniel makes sure to place kisses on the few stretch marks that have appeared over you. you aren’t a fan, it makes you insecure— but daniel changes your mind about that, showing you that they’re beautiful, and show a sign of how happy you are, being yourself.

and when you’re going out to an event, or for a date? the way your dress hugs your soft edges and curves sends daniel’s mind in a frenzy. he honestly wants to cancel wherever you’re going, rip that dress off you and show you how much he loves you. he tells you that, too. but of course it only gets a laugh and a light slap to the chest from you. but he’s dead serious with what he says.

and ohhh, the hand feeding? marvellous. it’s not uncommon for you and daniel to hand feed each other, when one of you has a sweet treat, you reach out to the other to let them have a try. daniel loves it, a low growl escapes him when you teasingly lick along his fingers to get every last bit.

but when you stand up, walking to the kitchen to get a drink, his mind is in the gutter. thinking about how beautiful you’d look when he’s fucking you doggy style, one hand on your back as the other gropes at your wide hips. or when you’re riding him, how his eyes are hypnotised with the way your chest bounces up and down, hands distracting themselves with your waist as your softer body fills up his palms. or when he’s fucking into you, watching all of your soft body beneath him, before moving his eyes to your softer face, flushed cheeks and eyes squeezed shut as you moan his name loudly.

“danny?” you ask, snapping him out of his thoughts. daniel sits up immediately, shaking his head as he smiles at you.

“everything alright, sweetheart?” he asks with a strained voice, swallowing thickly as he tries to focus on the present moment. your eyebrow raises as you sit down next to him again.

“i think i should be asking you that,” you mutter, hand trailing up his thigh and cupping at his clothed erection, and fuck— when did he get hard? surely it wasn’t—

“fuck,” he moans as you squeeze his cock, hips thrusting up into your hand as you move closer to him, soft body pressing into his own.

[wriothesleybear]

SUGAR DADDY Wriothesley 😍

Like let's say you came from a poor family but you wanted to go to a prestigious school in Fontaine but no matter how many jobs you took or how many hours you spent, you still could not afford the tuition. As the only daughter and the only child, you had to think of something fast. Let's say by chance you and him were both walking in the streets of Fontaine, Wriothesley hears your pleas. He proposes to be your "sponsor" or as you yourself call it a...sugar daddy. Of course, this alliance stays a secret between the both of you. The people of Fontaine are noisy after all. With him as your "sponsor", you're able to afford school AND lift your family out of poverty. In return, you just have to do some...favors for him.

[This is maybe ooc but idc]

-girlie anon

ooo girlie anon i love me some sugar daddies🤭❤️ he'd be a sweet sugar daddy. one that spoils you often but of course he does expect some love in exchange. he's a busy man so it's hard for him to find a s/o in the very little free time he has. so when he found you, it's like an angel fell into his lap *wink wink*

You usually do it at his place. It's a secluded place where people can't see you coming and going as you please.

Quickies in his office. You surprise him sometimes by dropping by his office unexpectedly, helping him take a little break ;)

Besides giving you money for school and your family, he sometimes likes to gift you things like jewelry, clothes, etc. He tries to not go overboard where people start to question where you're getting these things, but sometimes he can't help himself.

After a while into your arrangement, he surprised you with a pendant choker that has his initials on it. You thanked him for the present by riding him all night. Little do you know, it's his way to claim you. He loves seeing it as he pounds into you. Makes him feral.

I would say he's a bit possessive but not too much. Like he usually marks you with hickeys.

He helps you study not really you sit on his lap while doing your homework. While focused on reading, you can't help but notice the wandering hands exploring your body."I thought you were gonna help me study," you asked him. "Just helping you relax, you seem tense," he said as he spreads your legs apart. Studying slipped your mind for the rest of the night.

When he does actually help you study, he plays the game where if you get a question right, he 'rewards' you. You make extra sure to know the correct answers.

He makes sure you're both satisfied when you do your meet ups.

I see this as the classic 'develop no feelings but end up falling in love' trope.

He's the first one to fall.

When he sees you talking to other fellow male classmates on the streets of Fontaine, he gets a little bit jealous. He's usually a pretty chill guy and has never experienced jealousy over a person. This is when he realizes his feelings for you.

You realize your feelings for him one night when you celebrate getting an A+ on an important paper. He treats you to a candlelight dinner, a beautiful gift, and amazing sex. While he was busy rearranging your insides, he tells you that he's proud of you which catches you off guard. It makes you think back to all the sweet things he does for you and how he treats you so nicely. You realize that you have deeper feelings for him. You cup his face, causing him to still his movements. You look into each others' eyes. You smile and pull him down towards you and meet for a passionate kiss. This helps him understand your feelings. You break the kiss, barely moving away from each other. "I love you." He says as he searches your eyes. You smile wider. "I love you too." You share another kiss which turn into more kisses as he goes back to rearranging your insides. It felt different this time though. It felt more intimate. He leaves hickies on your neck while his hand goes down to rub circles on your clit. This pushes you over the edge. You tighten around him, edging him closer to his climax. "Fuck. I'm close." He prepares to pull out until you wrap your arms and legs tightly around him. "Inside. Cum inside me." Those words make him feral. He goes faster. He cums deep inside you, making you fall over the edge again as well. You both breathe heavily as you come down from your highs. He turns you both on your sides, staying snug inside you as he holds you close. You trace his scars as you share kisses. No further words are exchanged that night except for your moans and screams of pleasure.

~a/n: i'm sorry this took me so long to finish. I might have gone overboard near the end lol

[unforth]

i don't know if you are still into 2ha? but what would you say if someone asked you what makes 2ha stand out? It's full of tropes that have been done before and there is nothing new. it's full of cliches according to some people. So, what makes it stand out?

I am still into 2ha, I'd consider it one of my top fandoms right now.

I'll own I find this whole ask rather odd? It implies that novelty is a. possible and b. what I'm looking for in a book.

For a... Name me a book that isn't full or tropes, name me a book that isn't full of "nothing new," name me a book that isn't full of cliches. Enjoyable books aren't ~original~, and imo original is a myth. It's about how the ideas are strung together, not about them being fresh and different and new.

For b... look. I'm almost 42 years old. I've been reading a ton since I was 8. I've read a l.o.t. over the years. And I've come to learn the things I love in characters and books.

Give me a main character (or, in 2ha, BOTH main characters) who thinks they're worthless and will give everything they have to save an innocent stranger. Give me archetypes of self-sacrifice and martyrdom and low self-esteem and adoration and obsession cooked so deep into their bones that it extends over multiple life times. Give me that adoration reciprocated but the pining, oh, it is mutual for these idiots who should be and will be lovers. I'll eat that up every time. Give me someone who thinks they're unlovable but loves the world anyway, and give me someone who loves them so much they'll tolerate the claws.

Give me epic length I can sink my teeth into. Make the plot sprawling, the side characters lush, the world developed. It's okay if some parts drag a little, it's hard to keep momentum over an epic, and one person's "that dragged" is another's "that rocked." Anyway, the slow bits makes the more exciting parts that much more thrilling.

Give me whump, and hurt/comfort, and pain that burns the soul. Make the characters deep and compelling and then confront them with nothing but bad choices, force them to pick... and then see them pick each other, everytime, even in the midst of the darkest night imaginable. Give me unreliable narrators and angst and characters with nobility that shines like the sun even when they're covered in shit.

I adored this kind of story when I was 12 and I started the Wheel of Time and fell in love with Rand al'Thor, and I adore this kind of story now, in Tian Guan Ci Fu and The Husky and His White Cat Shizun and Modu. The patterns in the kinds of books I enjoy most, the ones that make me feral and obsessed, are very consistent, and being Old means I know what those patterns are and I can seek out books that have them, and recognize them when I find them again. It's happening with the book I'm reading now, in fact, and I can feel the feral obsession growling in delight in my brain, lmao.

Ya know how some people go into fanfiction because they love a character and want to see iterations of them over and over a little to the left? Well, that's why I started fanfic, and through fic I found a genre of original fiction that does that for me. I want similar character archetypes in endless iterations of stories, and danmei gives that to me, and that's why I'm up to my nose in danmei fandoms, and why the specific ones I like best are my favorites.

What stands out about 2ha, for me, is that it fits my taste in character archetypes and plot type. If someone out there shares that taste, they'll probably also love it. If they don't share that taste, they may not, but they may, because it's a complex enough book to cater to more than just one specific type of taste. Someone who likes OP control fantasies will also probably like it, for example. I wouldn't recommend it to everyone, and that's not a bad thing. Stories that appeal to everyone tend to be shallow and not attract deep obsession, having sacrificed the depth to draw a wider audience.

Anyway, anon...you phrased this like an anti. 80% of your ask is trashing the book on false premises about tropes and cliches. I genuinely can't tell if this is meant as a troll or if it's sincere, but I've answered as if it's sincere. But regardless, you'll be a lot happier as a reader if you forget originality. Books aren't original. Find an author, genre, series, whatever, that fits your taste, and frolic there. That's the route to happy reading.

I've found mine. I hope you find yours.

[letitbehurt]

Phrases someone could say to comfort a person in immense pain that they are causing. Eg. Taking a bullet out or field surgery. Thank you my Darling, I love your page!

Thank you Dearest! Field medicine with reluctant Whumpers: an underrated trope, methinks. Here are some relevant phrases that make a little bit feral:

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Bite down on this.”

“It’s almost over, I promise—“

“Trust me.”

“Deep breath.”

“Close your eyes. Don’t look.”

“Shh, shh. It’s over. It’s done.”

“This is going to hurt.”

“Try not to scream.”

“Let me see it.”

“Don’t move.”

Additionally, some lines I adore from Whumpee in this scenario:

“Fuck, that hurts—“

“I don’t need that.”

“Just do it.”

“Holy shit, that’s disgusting—“

“Don’t touch me.”

“Stop. Stop, please—“

“Hurry up, just hurry the fuck up—“

[anyamaris]

Told You So

Word Count-2356

Summary- A night of familiar teasing takes a turn when your friends decide to call your bluff.

Pairing-Mingi x Yunho x Jongho x f!reader

Trope-Friends to lovers AU

Warnings- Vulgarity, dirty talking, sexually explicit language, oral (f and m receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it up irl), dacryphilia, spanking, MINORS DNI 18+

Tags- @cultofdionysusnet @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @yoonguurt @shinestarhwaa @babesindestroyland @lemonhongjoong @stardragongalaxy @kpop-stories-21 @flowerboykun @millennial-fangirl @ericssmile @kthpurplesyou @changbinslovelylegs @yeosxxx @ssaboala @millennial-fangirl @starillusion13

A/N- This is a request from @flowerboykun because of her feral love of 2homin. I hope this is what you wanted, sweet pea 🤍💜🤍

You were actually whimpering.  Whining and whimpering.  You’d talked big, but well…when it came to these three, you’d overestimated yourself.  And there was no regret, even if you were humiliating yourself right now.  It was worth it, you think staring down into the eyes of Mingi as he smirked up at you.  He was sliding his big hands up the legs you’d closed, reaching your knees and easily prying them apart.  “Shy now, Y/n? Even after all that boasting?” he purrs up at you and Jongho chuckles in your ear.  

You were seated in the latter’s lap on the couch in their shared apartment.  You glance over at the third man, the true instigator of this entire event.  “Yunho…” you gasp out as you let your head fall back on Jongho’s shoulder.  “Yun’s not going to help you, little girl.” Jongho whispers and Yunho smirks at you, pinching your chin between his fingers.  “You were the one bragging to us about being able to handle yourself, sweetheart.” Yunho says, bringing his lips to yours.  His hand cups your naked breast as his tongue teases at your bottom lip.  

“I-I…” “You…what, angel? Use your words.” Jongho coos into your ear and Yunho tweaks your nipple as you feel Mingi’s hot breath on your inner thigh.  You pull away from Yunho’s mouth so you can glance down at the big man between your now parted legs.  “Look at all this…” he says, two fingers slipping through your folds, showing the other two.  “She’s loving this…who’s got you so drenched, baby girl?” he asks, that cocky grin making you want to yank his hair.  If only Jongho’s fingers weren’t entwined with yours, if only your other hand wasn’t wrapped in Yunho’s hair right now.  If only you could touch them all at the same time.  

“Mingi please!” you whine and he licks his lips at you, causing you to twitch a bit.  “Oh, is this for me then?” he asks as he spreads you open, looking at your exposed core and you nod frantically.  “Good girl…” he whispers as he dips his head, his eyes on yours as he flicks the tip of his tongue against your clit.  “Oh god!” you wail and then are moaning as he wraps his lips around the sensitive nub, sucking gently.  “Mmmm” he hums against you, causing you to clench and he responds by plunging two fingers into you.  

“Oh my god!” you are choking out and then Yunho grips your cheeks as he brings your face back to him.  “Is this what you wanted when you taunted us, little one?” he asks, then his tongue is plunging into your mouth.  You can only make small noises in his mouth as Mingi works at you, his fingers splaying out and working in and out of you.  You can feel the familiar coil winding up in your abdomen as his lips ply at your clit, occasionally using his tongue to lap up the juices.  Jongho is groaning under you at the sloppy wet sounds Mingi’s mouth and fingers are making.  

“Jongho….” you say as Yunho’s mouth leaves yours to press kisses down to your neck.  “So hard for me…” you moan out as Mingi’s finger’s speed up, causing your body to quake.  Jongho’s arms wrap around your waist, his rigid length grinding against your ass through his jeans.  “So fucking hard for you, baby girl…you gonna cum on Mingi’s fingers?” he asks, and you can only cry out, Mingi’s hot breath mixing with the motion of his fingers and the wet strength of his tongue has you peaking quickly.  Yunho is sucking hard on your neck, leaving red marks as you writhe from the orgasm, Mingi’s fingers not stopping as you gush around them.  His tongue is catching what he can as you watch him smile up at you, Yunho pinching your nipples causing you to continue shaking after Mingi’s lips leave your center.  He draws himself up, kneeling between your legs as he grabs your face, his lips glistening from your release.  You eagerly open your mouth to his tongue as he kisses you passionately, the taste of yourself mixed with his hot breath has you moving your hips, wanting more.  “In me…” you gasp into his mouth and he laughs softly, giving you one last kiss before he draws back.  “So impatient…” he says, his hand cupping you roughly as he presses his palm against your puffy clit.  

Mingi then gives Jongho a look and he’s grabbing you by your hips, pulling you off Jongho’s lap to flip you over.  “Such a pretty ass..” Mingi says, his big hands rubbing over the naked flesh, then landing a harsh slap on one of your cheeks.  You cry out and grip Jongho’s thighs.  You look up at him and you bite your lips at the cute gummy smile mixed with the pure look of devious lust in his eyes.  Your hands slide up to rub his hard dick through the rough fabric, then you’re unbuttoning him.

“Good girl…” he coos as you unzip and free him, yanking down on the jeans separating you.  He helps push them down for you, his length standing proudly in front of your face.  Immediately you're encircling him with both hands, admiring the girth of him.  “Yes…” he whispers as you take the tip into your mouth, rolling your tongue around.  You barely notice Mingi moving to the spot Yunho was in.  Then you feel hands on your ass again, but this time it’s Yunho.  You can hear the rustling of clothing, then the feeling of his naked cock rubbing up against your soaked core, against your ass.  As he slides himself against you, he coats himself with your juices, his hands gripping the flesh of your ass, then spanking you lightly.  

You can’t help but take more of Jongho as you press back against Yunho, taking his full head into your mouth as you look up at him.  Mingi is beside you, his huge cock in his hand as he slowly strokes himself.  You reach over to help him, and he takes your hand, guiding you to stroke him.  Taking more and more of Jongho, you hum happily as you taste his salty precum, eagerly bobbing your head and watching his reactions to make sure you’re pleasing him.  He coos at you, petting your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear as he encourages you.  

“Maybe it wasn’t all- oh fuck….boasting..” he chokes out as you take as much as you can, the head hitting the back of your throat.  Yunho takes the opportunity to rub the head of his own cock against your entrance, teasing you, making you whimper around Jongho’s dick.  “Aww..Yun…don’t tease our little angel…” Jongho manages, his head tipping back on the back of the couch as you add a hand in to stroke him while you suck and lick.  “Yeah, Yun, she’s being such a good girl…” Mingi adds, watching you.  

“Looks like I should be nice to you..hm?” he asks, pressing himself right at your entrance.  You let Jongho’s cock pop out of your mouth, stroking him as you whine out pleas to Yunho.  “What if I don’t want to be nice?” he asks, digging his fingers into your hips as he slams his entire length into you, causing you to cry out from the sudden stretching sensation as he moans.  “Fuck-I thought Mingi’d loosened you up a bit, but-oh god you’re so tight-” Yunho gasps out, drawing back just to thrust back into you.

 You lay your head on Jongho’s thigh, one hand on his cock and the other on Mingi’s as Yunho starts fucking you hard and fast.  “Yun!” You cry out, loud cries escaping your lips as he smacks your bare ass hard enough to leave a handprint.  “Louder!” he says, and you start screaming for him.  “Please, fuck me harder, please!” you yell and he obliges, using his hands to yank you back against him.  “Gonna-gonna-” you sputter but then he stops suddenly, causing more cries, this time of loss as he pulls out of you.  

“Look at your wet thighs, soaked from just that little bit…” Yunho says, planting a kiss on the red mark he’d left on your asscheek.  “Get on top of Jongho.” Yunho says, and you get up immediately to obey, straddling the younger man.  “Ride me nice and hard, little girl…think you can manage that?” he asks and you bite your lip as you guide him into you, his thickness stretching you even after Yunho’s ministrations.  As you sink down completely on him, you roll your hips to bask in the full feeling.  “Such a good girl,” Jongho coos at you, his hands sliding under your ass to lift you and help you start to bounce up and down on him.  

“Fuck yes, god your tight little pussy feels like heaven.” he whispers, and you lean back into Mingi as he takes Yunho’s place behind you, his hands coming up to cup both tits as you ride Jongho.  “Lean forward for me, yes…that’s a good little girl…you’re going to take both of us now…” he’s saying and you barely understand what he means because of all of the pleasure you’re getting from the hands and Jongho deep inside of you.  

Then as you feel Mingi’s cock pressing into your ass, you understand what he meant.  “Oh my god…MINGI!” you cry out, but he’s shushing you, and Yunho is beside you, his lips on your cheek, cooing into your ear.  “It’s fine baby girl…..do you want us to stop?” Yunho asks and you squeak, clinging onto Jongho, reaching for Yunho simultaneously as you shake your head.  “No just-OH GOD MINGI!” you moan as he presses further into you before pulling out to press back in.  

“Don’t worry, princess, I’m not as mean as Yunho…” Mingi says, taking his time with your ass, working you open and using your excessive wetness to help out.  “Say the word and I’ll stop, beautiful,” Mingi says but you’re overriding his words with your own.  “No please,I want you…i want you both in me ... .all three of you…” you say as you meet Yunho’s eyes.  They sparkle in delight as a tear slips out of yours.  Yunho wipes it away, cupping your cheek.  “You’re ok then?” you nod then gasp as Jongho rocks you against him, his thickness pressing along your walls as he continues to slowly move you on him as Mingi preps you for him.  

“Shhh…” Mingi’s lips are suddenly on your ear, his breath tickling your skin as his arm slips around your waist.  Then he’s pushing into you, drawing out a long, loud moan as he buries his long, thick length into your ass.  “Mingi- oh god-” you whine but then Yunho is standing up, his hand in your hair as he guides your mouth to his cock.  “All three, baby girl.  You can do it…” Yunho says and you nod as you open for him, letting him control things as you look up at him.  “Such pretty tears,” he moans as he slips the underside of his dick along your tongue.  “Oh fuck, baby….do you like having all three of us in you at once?” he asks as he pushes himself further into your mouth.  You can only let out small noises as you drool around him, his hand in your hair as he presses against the back of your throat.  Mingi is starting to thrust in and out of you as you adjust, and Jongho is holding you steady on him, allowing Mingi to set the pace.  You can feel your walls trembling around Jongho and he cries out as he digs his fingers into the flesh of your ass.  “Mingi-fuck…” Jongho chokes out, and Mingi growls deep in his throat, fucking you faster.  “MMNNG!” is all you can manage around Yunho’s cock, your hand reaching up to cup his balls, kneading them as he thrusts into your mouth.  “Oh fuck!” Yunho chokes out, then he’s yanking your head back, pulling his cock out of your mouth to burst thick ropes of cum all over your face, into your open mouth and onto your tongue as he pants heavily.  

Mingi cries out as he watches his friend cum all over you, slamming himself harder and harder into you, and then Jongho is lifting his hips off the couch along with you, his cries growing louder.  “I’m gonna fuckin cum!” Jongho yells and Mingi pushes you forward onto Jongho, his hips pounding him into your ass as Jongho’s cock twitches inside of you, his moans escalating as you feel his hot cum flood inside of you.  You scream as you clamp around him, your own orgasm causing you to tremble with all of the sensations you’re feeling, your walls pulsing around Jongho as he empties himself  “FUCK!” Mingi growls as he feels you both shaking under him and he grits his teeth as he starts cumming inside of you, pulling out to finish all over your bare ass, jerking himself to get every last drop as you both pant under him.  Yunho flops back onto the couch beside you as he watches Mingi finish on you, admiring your cum covered face and ass as he grins.  He tips his head to glance at Jongho, who lets out a sigh then a small chuckle.  Mingi is recovering as Jongho gently, lifts you from him, watching the cum dribble out of you, down your thigh as he settles you onto Yunho to be cuddled.  

“You’re a mess, angel.  You look thoroughly wrecked.” Yunho whispers, kissing your temple.  “Mmm…but I told you I could take all three…” you mumble, still recovering and they all laugh as Mingi drops down in front of you, laying his head on your naked thigh.  You run your fingers through his hair as Jongho plants kisses along your shoulder.  

“Yes, you took us all so very well, princess.  But let’s just see if you can walk after that.  Then we will talk about round two.”

[sickfictropes]

Hello yes can we talk about a Whumpee being their own caretaker. And I don't just mean "struggles through doing their own stitches / bandages because they don't want the others seeing them so vulnerable" or "rocking back and forth after a traumatic experience trying to self-soothe" (although those kinds of things are golden of course)

I mean more subtle things. getting dizzy and stumbling forward but managing to regain balance by throwing their arms out. noticing they have fever symptoms and pressing their hand to their forehead to gauge their temperature. even just getting a scrape and doing a little healing spell on themself (ex. the bit in Steven Universe: The Movie where he gets punched so hard his nose bleeds and then he wipes the blood and kisses his hand to heal himself. good stuff)

this stuff is delicious. and don't even get me stARTED on the "character checks their own pulse" trope

ooh lovely!! while i personally crave that platonic relationships comfort, i think there's a lot here!! it's also just a great thing to portray, a character (esp a strong leader!) putting on their own oxygen mask first.

whumpee saying that they need to sit down BEFORE they collapse and managing to avoid it

whumpee taking their own temperature (not for me personally but some people go feral over this one)

whumpee calling a friend to keep them company because they're bored/lonely/feeling like things are getting worse/want to make sure they're safe in their sleep because of past traumas

anyway excellent trope submission and i just know this one is gonna HIT for some people!!

[whumptober]

Question for the mods because I'm curious :)

What are all of your fave prompts to write about/draw/edit/whatever creative thing you do??

Thanks for the ask anon! It was really fun for us all to come up with our favourites! And for a little more fun, at the end we've added a poll for you guys to let us know which mod's interests best align with your own!

Kitty - My favourite whump tropes are definitely captivity and torture, followed by burning buildings with of course smoke inhalation and oxygen masks and all that, vehicular accidents, and hypothermia (especially when paired with nearly drowning or falling through ice)! I absolutely adore anything with family feels too, especially found family, and although I don't write it much I love a good bit of enemies to lovers too. Characters dealing with mental health issues can also be very therapeutic for me. And of course my whump needs to have a good amount of comfort at the end, so recovery is a very good trope too!

Also, alternate universes are my jam!

Yenn - I love body horror and I go feral for mouth sewn shut. I don't know why that one fascinates me, but I love the horror and helplessness of it. I also deeply love sleep deprivation, maybe because I'm generally sleep deprived (I have nightmares every night). Coming in at a close third is probably Doomed by the Narrative, but only when it's done well, because I can usually spot it from the opening sequence and the fun becomes figuring out how we'll get to the fall. I'm all hurt, little or no comfort.

Surro - Found family will forever be my favourite trope, especially if the dynamic contains that One Whumpee that ties them all together. Parental figures who just so happen to let the One Whumpee get under their skin are also my jam as it makes the comfort that much sweeter. I go ham for misunderstood/outcast characters who sacrifice themselves for the team (and the team get to them just in time). But I also love writing for emotional angst, characters with anxiety (as it’s therapeutic for me) setbacks in recovery, head injuries, angst surrounding scars, and of course BEDSIDE VIGILS! (Especially if those watching the whumpee are wracked with guilt for abandoning said whumpee)

Personally I lean more towards the platonic/comfort side of Whump, but I make sure my characters go through hell to finally get their respite.

Vanne - I’m really unfaithful to tropes most of the time and normally have about a million WIPs going at once. I normally end up going back to more emotionally charged tropes every time though. I write a lot of doomed romances with a lot of emotional angst. I know that’s super vague, but honestly give me tears, rejection, loneliness and a character’s internal struggles and I’m all set. I’m so up for any kind of emotional trainwreck. I also really cycle through tropes that are relevant in my life at a given time, so it’s hard to list specifics. I’m definitely either all in on the hurt, or all comfort depending on the day. I rarely find a balance between the two.

[mecachrome]

i swear there is something about landoscar that makes me insane like i got into this fandom and have liked a lot of ships like maxiel, carlando, lestappen etc but there is just something different about landoscar??? idk if it's the dynamic between the two?? or if it's oscar's personality that makes their interactions feel genuine but i would love your analysis or thoughts on this cause WHYYYYYYY have these boys taken over my brain like so??? i swear other ships are literally out here hugging like mad and saying sexual innuendos to each other etc etc and im unfazed but i see oscar and lando have the slightest touch or glance at each other and im feral foaming at the mouth lmfaooooo !!!

omggg anon i answered an ask here about why 814's personalities appeal to Me Personally but maybe i shouldn't get too into that... 😔

anyway idk whether this makes any sense but perso with some rpf ships i find that the myth somewhat outweighs the canon or vice versa — i.e. the "potential narrative" of a ship is really compelling but it doesn't quite exist as it's written in canon, or a ship doesn't have that many compelling extra narratives other than the existing relationship that's strongly visible in canon. and i think these are all great and fun to ship, but i guess as EYE see it it sort of feels like 814 balance those aspects fairly well? like they have a dece amount of sweet and interesting interactions with each other, but obviously they're not best friends and there's enough of this like, sense of repression + the fact of their personalities being not fully diametric but still different enough that it feels like you can take them in a lot of directions. i really like that landoscar aren't quite foils but also aren't "twins" either as some people say, and oscar despite being so lauded as mature is still inspired by lando in many ways and shares the same sarcastic humor as him and enjoys his presence a lot. they work because they aren't opposites but there are enough crucial aspects that separate them so you can make a lot of tropes and aus fit them. which isn't to say you can't do the same with the other ships you mentioned but... idk i'm also just biased because i'm an oscarybroTM so i don't really think about 90% of the grid so i'm fundamentally less invested HLKSDFHLH

also i've mentioned this b4 but my favorite hockey ship (2124) is literally the hockey version of oscar (dorky californian sportsnerd who brings his gaming setup on road trips to play fifa) x his dry finnish linemate whom he doesn't even interact with off the ice but ON the ice they have the most electric wordless chemistry and are constantly aware of where the other is and play beautifully together and get super awkward when reporters try to talk to them about it. so like to me unspoken collaboration IS a beautiful and worthy thing to rpf about.... *__* so clearly i enjoy teammate repression and awkwardness in my ships already but then 814 are kind of even more insane because they're less myth than 2124 so there's SO much to chew on. at least for moi 🥰 icl i'm a little bit anti-pda so constructing intricate rituals to look longingly at other men and laugh at their bad jokes is more compelling to me than straight up skinship/bgp... i was just telling @inchidentally whose analysis i feel like might be up your alley that i don't rly get why people act like oscar's "heart eyes" toward lando are "pr" (???) because from everyth we've been told and see about him it's so clear that he's always been just himself and the level of... unguarded emotion he displays around lando isn't something you can just make up imo. even if it's just little things and they go off and do completely different things off-track (which again i kind of enjoy. like romanze can be guy who goes off to party with models the day after a race x guy who's in bed gearing up his 10th joke about getting his wisdom teeth removed) it makes them rly fun to watch ;__;

[josephquinnswhore]

got another pedro x plus size reader (because they give me confidence and make me feel better about myself)

going to a premier of one if pedro movies and then going to like an after party with all his celeb friends. having drinks and fun etc. turns into reader and pedro dancing and reader grinding/twerking on pedro.

goes based off that video of tiffany hadish dancing on pedro at a party and oh how i envy that woman. *hey alexa play that should be me by justin bieber*

then they go home and yeah make that shit

❤️‍🔥🔥 spicy 🔥❤️‍🔥

(i love you and thank you for sharing your writing you deserve the world babe 🥹🩷 )

His Girl - pedro pascal x female reader

Summary: unknown feelings between you and Pedro is admitted after some sexual tension.

Word Count: 3.2k

Content Warnings: friends to lovers trope (hope you don’t mind), drinking alcohol, spicy dancing, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, missionary, creampie. :)

Note: I’ve not felt peace since I’ve seen this video. He’s so bashful and I would love nothing in the world more than to shake my ass on this man. (And hug him) 💜🤌🏼 song is 'just a little bit' by 50 cent. you know..... that one tiktok edit <3

You knew you messed up coming to an afterparty with you best friend, Pedro. You knew you would end up drinking too much and having too much fun, you knew you would pretend for a night that Pedro was yours and things would be everything you ever wanted in the morning, but it was never, it was always you and Pedro sharing the same bed, fully clothed from the night before, both with pounding heads and hungover. A vomit bucket had been placed on your side on the bed, who did it you were never sure, but it was almost routine for you two to hangout afterwards.

Which is why you were reluctant to join Pedro this evening, a bar, with drinks and dancing, it was inevitable and you could hardly bare it anymore. The pain was too much for you to handle, being Pedro's friend was too much for you when you had moments when you acted like a couple. The moments like this where you were by his side, it was insufferable, you found yourself wanting more than friendship, not daring to speak a word no matter how much it hurt.

“You look incredible, give me a spin gorgeous.” You oblige, cheeks flushed hot and red at Pedro’s praise. He takes your hand in his, holding it above his head as he spins you, looking you up and down to get the full picture of you.

Your curves on full display in the dress that clung to you, your hips accentuated had Pedro feeling feral, like something was going to overcome him and he was just going to pounce-he could hardly contain the way his cock twitched at the sight of you.

“Alright, alright. We better get a move on or we’ll be late.” Encouraging him out the door, you give him a gentle push as you lead him out of your apartment, the feeling of his broad shoulders under your fingertips had your hand lingering a moment longer than it should’ve. God he looked incredible, the suit fit him perfectly, his tummy slightly hung over his pants as the white dress shirt underneath was tightly tucked into his dress pants.

His hair was soft and unruly as the curls sit on his head, a masterpiece thanks to your fingers making quick work of his messy hair and some styling mousse.

He opens the door for you, like a complete gentleman, little do you know his eyes are stuck to the picture of your ass bending over to get into his car. Fuck he really has to get a grip of himself.

He follows the gps instruction, coming to a stop at a red light, you realise he’s starring at you, your ears tingle at how hot they feel under his watchful eyes.

“Do I have something on my face?” You question anxiously, pulling down the reflector to check in the mirror if there was something he could be starring at, wanting to save yourself from further embarrassment.

“No, you just look beautiful.” You feel the ache in your heart forming before he finishes the sentence, realising how much you love this man; it was difficult, it almost felt forbidden. Pedro didn’t do relationships, you knew you were absolutely fucked from the moment you met him.

“Hey, everything okay?” You hum in surprise as he pulls you out of your own head, not realising how much your thoughts had consumed you. His brown orbs are full of concern as your mood changes after his compliment, he thinks he’s done something wrong.

“Yeah, sorry. Just got some things on my mind.” His hand rests on your forearm, offering a gentle caress to keep you grounded, with him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He pulls up to the valie parking, the car still running as the man dressed in a tuxedo takes Pedro’s car keys.

“No, it’s fine. Let’s just enjoy our evening, sorry for being a bummer.”

Pedro can’t help the frown that pinches his eyebrows together, he wanted to help, to hold you, he couldn’t stand seeing you like this, so distant and far from the woman he knew you to be. He sees the way you push it all back internally, like putting a half read book back onto the shelf to be finished later, the fake smile that sits on your lips as you enter the venue.

The bar is full of people you know, the purple lights shining bright on your matte purple dress, the colour looks incredible on your skin as you approach the bar to ask for a drink. The drink is slid across the bar and you take a sip, scrunching your face up in disgust but swallow the cool liquid anyway, it warms your insides in a way that’s addicting, so you throw your head back and finish what’s in the glass. You ‘ah’ as you set the glass down and order another, confidence through the roof as your empty stomach consumes the calories from the drink.

The lack of food in your stomach had the alcohol settling in your blood stream too quickly, it went straight to your head, feeling a little woozy as you’d consumed the second drink. The tall glass full of nothing but alcohol, your tolerance was below average and you mindlessly leave Pedro at the bar, trying to forget about the love you have for him. Tonight you were going to have fun.

You wished you could’ve prepared yourself for the night ahead of you.

Things were going great for most of the night, casual talk with some family here and there, after your sixth drink in one hour you were beginning to regret not taking more time in between. The last of the liquid slips down your throat, and for the first time since you arrived together, you see Pedro watching you.

A familiar tune rings in your ears through the blaring speakers that would leave you with a headache tomorrow. But for now, that tune set something slight in you, you set the empty glass down on a nearby table, your body moving to the beat. This song did things to you, reminded you of him. You decide to put on a show for him, since he was watching and you were absolutely out of your mind giddy and drunk.

Damn baby all I need is a lil' bit

A lil' bit of this, a lil' bit of that

Get it crackin' in the club when you hear the shit

Drop it like it's hot, get to workin' that back

You keep eye contact as you roll your hips to the music, feeling completely yourself as you amerce yourself and give in to the music completely.

You don’t feel him at first, once you realise he’s behind you, you smirk mischievously with an idea that’s probably not a good idea, but fuck it. He was looking so fine and this song had you feeling some kinda way.

Girl, shake that thing, yeah, work that thing

Let me see it go up and down

Rotate that thing, I wanna touch that thing

When you make it go 'round and 'round

His hands find your hips, guiding you closer to him as you shake your ass skilfully, grinding on him teasingly, you look back to him and his hair is messy, eyes are dark and he’s got one hand rubbing the back of his neck bashfully, a shy grin on his lips as he enjoys himself and the sight of you on him.

The crowd that’s surrounded you was cheering, their voices and noise in the back of your mind as you stand straight and turn to face Pedro, wrapping your arms around his neck, his arms around your waist as you and he work in sync to move against each other.

I wanna unbutton your pants just a lil' bit

Take 'em off and pull 'em down just a lil' bit

Get to kissin' and touchin' a lil' bit

Get to lickin' it, a lil' bit

Pedro’s hand caress your hips, running them up and down your curves, dark eyes watching you intensely as you show off for him, your confidence attracting him to you tenfold. The way your body moved effortlessly, the way you held eye contact with him and ran a hand down his chest seductively had him weak in the knees.

Your hands make quick work to unbutton the top three buttons of his shirt, never minding the people around you that are videoing the interaction, you felt like you and Pedro were the only two people in the room. His hands caress your ass, grabbing a handful in a state of his own drunken haze and need for more of you. He pulls you closer, you’re flush against his sweating body and you feel his rock hard cock straining in the confines of his pants.

You feel yourself soaking your perfect lace panties as his hands guide your ass to grind against him, his eyes breaking contact with your own to lean his forehead down onto your shoulder, kissing the bare skin in butterfly kisses, licking a stripe up your neck never reminding the sweat.

“C’mon baby you’re killing me, need you do fucking bad.” You gasp at his full transparency, regardless of your flirty interaction on the dance floor the song fades out, he still holds you against him, not wanting to lose this moment with you.

“Let’s go home handsome. I’ll take care of you.” He gives you one last squeeze of your ass and rushed through the farewells of the crowd, you walk closely in front of him to hide his indiscretion. Once you’re outside, the cool air has your teeth chattering as you wait for an Uber Pedro had ordered, he would worry about the car later.

You feel a warmth embracing your shoulders, soft material clinging off your body. You turn to Pedro and see he’s given you his suit jacket, left in his white long sleeve dress shirt that’s still tucked into his suit pants. He suddenly seems shy as your eyes scan him up and down, pausing when you see his soft tummy slightly overhanging his dress pants, your hands caress him in a silent praise, but verbalise it anyway, knowing he’s insecure about it.

“Fucking love your tummy, you know that?” You’re swaying, he’s convinced that it’s just because you’re drunk, in a way because you were trying to distract yourself from whatever was upsetting you earlier.

“I know baby.” He holds your head to his chest, playing with your hair with his fingertips grazing your scalp you let out a groan, he always knew how to make you feel good in an intimate way.

You pass out as soon as you get in the Uber, Pedro watches over you to make sure you’re still breathing, the amount you had to drink tonight was more than he’d ever seen. He also didn’t want you to choke if you vomited, so he pulled your body into him, turning your head downward facing his lap, yes it would be unfortunate if you did happen to puke right into his lap, but hey-he would take the chance.

He pays for the Uber when you arrive back at your place, he manages to pick you up bridal style, all while digging through your purse to find your keys to unlock the front door. Not knowing how to manoeuvre around your house in the dark, he turns a light on which stirs you from your slumber, your eyes fluttering open just as he sets you down in your bed.

He returns with a wet washcloth to wipe your face, trying to cool you down, offering you a drink of water which you accept. “Thanks.” You mumble embarrassed of your shenanigans tonight. “Need any help getting into your pyjamas?” You nod pathetically, bottom lip jutting outward in a big pout as you give him your best puppy dog eyes. Your legs still felt like jelly and your arms were too heavy for you to lift, you were starting to sober up, but you just wanted to lay in the comfort of your mountain of blankets and too many pillows.

He unzips your dress from the side, peeling the straps from your shoulders, pulling it down to your ankles and hanging it up on the coat hanger and up on the wall, not wanting to crinkle or have the delicate material stepped on.

He didn’t realise you weren’t wearing a bra when he comes back with pyjamas, the only thing covering your body was the small piece of material of your black mesh panties. He feels guilty that his cock bounces at the sight of you, bare. You’re more perfect than he ever could’ve imagined. He feels like a pervert, you need his help and he tells himself he’s doing wrong by you.

Your hand grasps his, drawing his attention back to your face, your bottom lip sucked in between your teeth as you watch him, noticing his internal struggle as he sees you, all for him.

You grab him by the collar, pulling him down to you, smashing your lips into his in desperation, tears of pent up feelings and hidden emotions coming to play in the fight for dominance. He pulls back, gasping for air, your hands tangle in his hair and tug lightly which earns a soft moan from him.

“We don’t have to do this.” He offers, giving you an out before you possibly ruin your friendship.

“Want to, want you. Love you so much, please.” A single tear escapes the corner of your eye, he wipes it away with his thumb, sincerity on his face as you confess your love for him.

“Fuck baby I’ve always loved you, why didn’t you say anything.” You help him unbutton his shirt, discarding it to your bedside nightstand, it knocks something off in the process which makes you laugh.

“Was scared you wouldn’t want me cause of how I look.” Pedro grips your face gently with one hand, forcing you to look at him, a sympathetic look strewn on his face, “oh baby, you’re so fucking perfect. And god you know how to shake that ass.”

You giggle as he grabs a handful of your ass, pushing your panties to the side in a desperate attempt to feel you, he couldn’t wait much longer. The action sent you into a frenzy, hands grabbing at his belt as you unbuckled him, pulling his pants and underwear down to his knees, spreading your legs to make room for him between your legs. Your eyes are wide and you inhale a gasp as you see the size of him, it’s thick, about 7 inches and a few shades lighter than his skin tone, he was trimmed and fuck he was perfect.

“Is it okay?” He mutters nervously, anxiety driving his insecurity. You look at him through your lashes and bath your eyes at him as he’s hovering over you.

“It’s fucking perfect baby, you’re so big I dunno if I can take it.” Pedro grunts at your praise, his cock jumping upward.

His fingers slide into you easily, your hole is dripping onto your sheets, the alcohol being a bad influence on your holes need to be fucked. He slowly pumps two fingers inside of you, not bothering to take his time to start of with one, you took him easily with how wet you are, sucking his fingers back in as he curled them upward at the spongey flesh that had your back arched off the bed and eyes clenched shut.

“Fuck Pedro, feels so good.” He leans his head down, humming against your breasts, your hardened nipples are aching with need, wanting some attention paid to them too. He kisses them sloppily, nipping and grazing his teeth as he pulls away, the sensation has you squirming beneath him.

“Need more, please,” you beg impatiently, just wanting his cock to fill your cunt, needing to feel him, all of him.

“It’s okay baby, I’ll take care of you.” His thumb meets your aching clit, relieving some pressure as he swirls it around in delicious small tight circles, the pressure was building by the second, the pleasure was almost too much, the skilful action has you gripping your duvet, legs wrapping around his own as you try to pull him closer, “come on baby, cum on my fingers.” You fell apart at his words, creaming on his fingers that massaged your sweet spot, your legs are shaking and your ears are ringing as a string of moans leave your lips. He continues pumping into you slowly, stringing your climax along as much as he can.

When he takes his fingers out of you, the emptiness makes you whine, he sucks your orgasm off his fingers, the action makes you squirm.

“I don’t have a condom baby.” He says pitifully, the head of his cock sticky in clear precum, the head was angry and red at being hard all night with no friction to help relieve him.

“Don’t care, I’m on the pill n I’m clean, please. Need you so bad.” Your voice wavers, still feeling the effects of your orgasm. He guides his cock to your entrance, watching your eyes for any signs of regret. He slides the head in, it’s thick and his fingers are no prep for the size of him, it burns slightly as he pushes in, you whimper, “fuck, so big.” He lets you adjust before pushing further into you, bottoming out, he lets out a breathy groan at the feel of you.

“Not gonna last with how good you feel.” He admits shamefully, you caress his face and kiss his forearm that’s right by your head, “it’s okay baby, move, please.”

Your hole quickly gets used to the size of him, your chest is heavyifng at how he takes your breath away, you bring your legs up to wrap around his lower back, bringing him closer to you, into you.

“Jesus’s fucking Christ baby,” he mutters, finding a steady pace as he pumps into you, slamming into your puffy walls, your whimpers and moans are getting louder and louder as your second climax builds, “fuck ‘m gonna cum, harder please.” He obliges, fucking into you ruthlessly, wanting you to cum again as he begins to sweat, trying to stop himself from cumming in you before you can reach your high.

“Fuck fuck fuck me, fuck Pedro, that’s it. Cock feels so fucking perfect.” Your legs tremble as you fall apart on his cock, stomach spasms as you come undone again, this orgasm coming down on you harder than the last.

Pedro cums seconds later, “fuck, feel so good baby.” His voice is breathy, deep and husky as he cums, his moans loud as the white ropes of his cum paint your walls, his sperm shooting deep inside your womb.

You wrap your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him down to lie completely flush against your cool, sweaty skin. You both sit in silence as you feel him go soft inside of you. You massage the back of his head, twisting the curls around your pointer finger.

“Did you mean it?” He asks, voice raspy and vulnerable.

“Mean what?” Unsure of what he means, what did you say?

“That you love me.” You feel anxious, a thousand thoughts running through your head per minute.

“Yeah I do.” He relaxed into you more, breathing evens at your words and you feel yourself becoming more at ease.

“Good, cause I want you to be mine."

You kiss the corner of his lips, "would love nothing more than to be yours."

Thank god you went out drinking this evening.

[barkbre]

Okay, but what would be like, some niche stuff the until dawn characters are into sexually? Personally, I think Josh is REALLY into powerplay and Jessica (hear me out) roleplay or something.

Ooo okay niche kinks i assume? i can easily do that :) this will definitely be shorter since its a vauge request!

CW// intox/somno/cnc, semi-darker kinks/themes, readers discretion advised!

Girls:

Emily

- Shibari, i think that she would love to have herself or her partner in some pretty rope designs, especially designs that emphasize the chest area 😵‍💫

- temperature play, Emily has a thing for shock factor as we see in the totem scene with matt right? right.. i think if she's in a dom space she would love to shock and play with you with some ice or body wax :)

Jess

- roleplay, i 100% agree with you. she's definitely into roleplay thats heavy on the corny aspect i wont lie. Since she would probably be more dominant with a girl i think she would definitely think the nurse and doctor trope is cute or student and professor

- cuffs, i think she would love a fuzzy pair of pink or black good quality cuffs she could use on you, definitely the type to cuff your hands to the headboard to have her way with you

Sam

- Hear me out with this one, blindfolds and feather or leather sensory toys! i think shes definitely the softer type but she still likes to have *some* fun

- marks/marking, i think sam can be mildly possessive over you, maybe even seeing another girl or guy flirting with you and finding it in herself that she has the urge to mark your neck up to show your hers 🫠

Ashley

- subby ass girl, she's probably a freak ass ngl. i think she would have a thing for paddles/floggers 🙂‍↕️. not too rough but hard enough to leave a little sting and some mild marks

- dare i say she has a thing for women in leather/lingerie? she probs gets so flustered and wet at a dominant girl in some intimidating lingerie, i think she's really into the super skimpy "doesn't-leave-much-to-the-imagination" type of lingerie

Boys:

Josh

- Powerplay/size difference is definitely something i see in Josh. He has a habit of going animalistic and feral if given the opportunity to make you weak and incapable of fighting him off if you tried.

- ski masks/halloween masks. Listen. he definitely thinks the aspect of "mystery" behind a ski-mask while you guys fuck is a raging turn on for him, seeing the fake fear on your face even though you know its him makes me go bonkers

Chris

- hashtag: another raging freak, but in secret. I think he would be the type of guy to be mildly into intox/somno 😗 is that a bit strong? probably but i personally view him as much more of an interesting person on the down low. i think smoking some weed with him or getting tipsy and using it as incentive to fuck you silly is smth he likes

- dare i say collars/leashes? Yes i do dare. Chris would definitely be the type to indulge his partner in very mild petplay in a way, he seems the type to find you on your knees between his thighs with a collar and leash he picked the color of to be a mega turn on

Matt

- i think matt is probably into dom/sub dynamics but with a softer dominatrix. i think i view him as a switch so i could see him being a soft!dom and being a service sub type of ordeal, finding that obeying you or allowing you to relax at his hand is just mind melting

- hair pulling, Matt is the type to have a firm grip on your scalp while bending your back to get himself deeper while you fuck, also think he wouldn't mind having his own hair pulled

Mike

- Sadomasochism, he thinks watching you struggle and writhe in mild amounts of pain is the hottest thing ever, he will immediately get hard at small things like if you wince slightly at a mundane task resulting in like a papercut or something. for the masochist half i think nail marks and hickeys are his favorite forms of pain, maybe even some very mild impact play

- Breath play/choking. Mike likes tipping you into that lightheaded state that makes your moans higher pitched and makes you more pliable for him, i think when he subs he also is into it but maybe a little harsher on himself than he is on you 😵‍💫🫠

Hope you enjoyed! 🩷

[thecurioustale]

Notes on my Watch-Through of Jennyffer by F.I.P. Industries

This week I watched the animated webseries Jennyffer, by @fipindustries / Amanda Avila. It’s a short series about an assholeish trans girl in high school, just living life in our silly world. You can watch it on YouTube!

TL;DR: This series is funny, witty, edgy, delightfully absurdist, and full of visual richness, gags, and allusions despite the minimalist style of the drawing and animation. Jennyffer grew on me as I watched it and I definitely think it’s worth the hour or so runtime. There are nine episodes averaging about 4 minutes apiece, plus a few small bonuses.

Fip is a friend of mine so I wrote down my thoughts as I was watching, but I am posting them here (with her approval) in the hope that folks happen to get intrigued and decide to go check it out. I’ve adapted my notes a little bit to make them easier for you to read, but for the most part these are extemporaneous notes speaking directly to Fip.

Indented (“ ---> “) comments are written after I watched the entire series and went back to review my notes.

“TUMBLR PEEPS / TP” comments are additional comments I’ve written for you lovely people on this huggable hellsite. I’ll also give you my overall review and recommendations at the end.

* This post contains spoilers for Jennyffer.

Title Sequence

Very fun! :3

TUMBLR PEEPS: Not very useful for you, I know. Fip is both an illustrator and an animator, and I think this title sequence sets the tone for what she’s aiming for with the series. There’s always a moment of disorientation when stepping into the world of an artist whose style you’re unfamiliar with, but if you hang on it begins to make sense soon enough.

Ep. 1

I appreciate subtle touch of “Panoptic” High School, with the round building, etc. TP: This series is full of background references. It’s one of my favorite things about it.

Lol @ the identical 😮 faces on the pack of Mean Girls in the background.

Wasn’t expecting the confrontation to escalate that hard! 😮😂

----> You don’t really go this hard ever again in the series! Both the shooting and Jennyffer’s primal scream are unique to this episode in their tonal intensity. 

LOL @ the Mean Girls actually turning into a pack of feral monsters when their leader falls; unmasked at last!

---> This is a candidate for my favorite single joke in the series just because of how economically and absurdly it encapsulates so much about this trope.

I appreciate that Ashley admitted defeat; that’s cathartic because this (almost) never happens in real life.

TUMBLR PEEPS: When I watched this episode, it came across to me as uneven on the audiovisual production values. Things like Fip’s audio recording setup not being as good as the guest star’s, sound levels being a little imbalanced, etc. I would encourage you not to be scared off by that! Although it doesn’t completely go away over the series, it does improve a lot, and in any case it doesn’t interfere with the storytelling or worldbuilding basically at all. I wanted to lampshade this because I know some people nope out of a series if the production values aren’t AAA. Give this one a chance!

Ep. 2

I appreciate that Mom is trying her best.

---> To build on this point, I appreciate that it’s true to life for many trans kids whose parents are willing to accept them when they come out, but don’t really know “how.”

TUMBLR PEEPS: That’s my only note for the entire episode, lol. This episode is probably my least favorite in the series. Fip’s style of humor is very much old-school Simpsons in that it keeps dropping joke after joke; so you’re always smiling because even if one joke doesn’t land there’s another one coming up in a few seconds. This episode is different in that it’s basically one joke that gets hit over and over again. And since it’s a joke that doesn’t land for me, it’s kind of forgettable. (When I was preparing this post for Tumblr I was like "Why did I only write one sentence for Episode 2?" And then I went back and realized why as soon as I saw the thumbnail.) This is my most negative criticism of the entire series. In my opinion, things get significantly better from here!

Ep. 3

RIP his Gains 🤣🤣🤣

Lol, and they still win the big cup! 💪🎀

---> I appreciate the continuity on these jock girls later in the series.

You have a great sense for comedic layering of different jokes operating on different wavelengths happening close together or even at the same time. (That’s more of a sense from everything I’ve seen so far than just this specific episode, but it stood out to me when Jennyffer’s friend Peter gets his lights punched out just as a side gag.)

---> I originally wrote “when Jennyffer’s friend gets his lights punched out…” here because I couldn’t make out Peter’s name whenever you first introduced it. I am hard of hearing and the audio mixing, especially in the earlier episodes, is a little low at points. One frequent constructive criticism I have for people is to make sure that dialogue is sharp / non-mumbly on the soundtrack, otherwise people like me get lost, especially with names and proper nouns.

---> (I hope that isn’t an unwelcome criticism. A friend of mine just started a new podcast, and he had this same issue on his soundtrack. He got so upset when I gave him this feedback, because of course the reasons we do things are often not closely connected to the things we do, and I realized too late that he was doing this podcast for validation and self-empowerment, so it turned out that he wasn’t in the mood for constructive feedback at all. But that's about the only kind of substantive feedback I know how to offer. So I hope you understand my intent isn’t to shoot down your work; I’d just like to be able to hear it better. You got better with this as the series went on, but I think there’s still room for improvement.)

Ep. 4

That is some Grade A, all-natural, free-range School Counseling for sure. I have a hard time dealing with this shit in the media (including in this comic) because I’m already rubbed so raw at the dysfunction of systems (in this case the healthcare system) that are supposed to help (and which I very much want to support in principle) and I just don’t have much resiliency left to deal even with fictional accounts of it.

I think the Mean Girls are my favorite background part of this series so far. They come across as (tragically) true-to-life, and your depiction of them is just utterly unapologetic. Going so hard on that is what makes it work.

---> I’m also just weirdly fascinated by Mean Girls, so I love the attention you give them here. I guess they live in a tonal space that’s fairly close down the block to the tonalities of the types of female characters I tend to like to write. Don’t get me wrong, I still want to push Mean Girls off a cliff when they’re actually Being Mean, but in terms of the “vibe” there’s something I find compelling about it.

I think it makes your work a lot more real that you’re willing and able to illustrate the transphobic worldview as a fact of life among many people and the background cultural default in society, with all of the transphobic jokes and wrong pronouns etc. that this entails. I see a lot of queer artists choose not to do so, probably in some cases because they can’t (see my comment above about not having much resilience myself to put up with systemic dysfunction in fiction). The willingness and ability to be able to do this is the difference between art that is capable of also being subversively realistic (among its other qualities) versus art that is limited to being escapist or revisionist. It’s always empowering to be able to depict “the enemy,” in whatever guise they might take.

I’d never heard of Hannah Daigle, but since the Credits told me I need to go look up Satina, I looked it up, and wow! Going by her subscriber count, that’s a pretty big get!

3’44” This isn’t even half the true power of high school students and their superability to befoul school bathrooms. 😭😭😭

Ep. 5

For a minute there it seemed like things were going well. Too well. One thing about a series this ruthlessly cynical is that the expectation that “Nothing Good Will Happen and Nothing Good That Does Happen Can Be Kept” sets expectations for the other shoe to drop (indeed, many an other shoe).

3’15” Just the one cat ear up as she’s leaning in and talking secretively…great attention to detail! This is something I often notice with illustrators who get into animation (as opposed to artists who go directly into animation). So many details in virtually every frame! Both in support of the story and simply there for environmental embellishment. (Like the rose that hasn’t bloomed yet.) I can only imagine how many references I’m missing! TP: Seriously, I love the depth of subtle background references in this series!! I’m not calling out most of them in these notes, but they’re a constant presence in the background of the story.

She [the tutor] got there! Yep. As soon as it occurred to me to notice that the rose hadn’t bloomed yet, I knew how this one was ending. 😏

Ep. 6

* breaks computer *

MOM: "You know you don’t have to break your computer every time I come into your room, right?"

🤔🤔🤔

But seriously, that’s what I’m talking about when I say you have a great sense of comedic layering. It’s also a good example of something I haven’t articulated yet, which is that your comedic style is ultra sharp and punchy. It’s so economical, so efficient! It goes really hard with minimalist support, and, in my experience with other creators’ work, that only works for people who have a genuine gift for being funny. I think this is one of your strongest suits as a potential entertainment creator, and you could potentially develop it as a possible pathway to get noticed / get bigger.

---> This is a skill I could only dream of. I’d like to think I have a good sense of humor and can be funny not infrequently, but I need way more words to do it than you do, and my efforts are rarely as clean.

Lol, Jennyffer is the true master of the schoolyard. I appreciate the continuity from Episode 3. TP: When I was writing my notes during my watch-through, this is the comment where I realized “Oh no! I haven’t been checking to see if I’m writing ‘Jennyffer’ with two Fs!” I was like “Did Fip do that just to catch people who aren’t paying close attention?” And I figured, probably not! But I went back and made sure I got all my spellings right, and corrected a previous erroneous instance of it, and tried not to mess it up again going forward. I hate to get names wrong, especially when it’s the title of the goddamn series, lol.

That first stringer chord was great. Then I stopped noticing the next few. Then the ones after that actively grated on me. I get what you were going for (I think), but it didn’t work for me.

That confrontation with Dad went surprisingly well!! I was prepared for (and about halfway-expecting) this conversation with Peter’s dad to go in a much darker direction. <3

Interlude

0’39” That Whale is TOO CUTE omg :3333

---> Seriously, that Whale is the cutest friggin’ whale on the planet. Too wholesome for this world; too pure! <3333

Happy Birthday, Jennyffer! So sweet. I think it’s important for cynical works to have moments like these. I mean, that’s just my opinion, but it really humanizes the work, I think, which makes it easier to connect with and perceive as “real” in the sense of reflecting reality as opposed to being a purely stylized fiction.

TUMBLR PEEPS: I just want to emphasize that point. If you’re writing a work that’s heavily cynical, I would suggest that, unless you’re going for a very specific stylistic effect, a few moments of wholesomeness here and there, where you’re willing to let characters care about things and not get punished for it, is really important to adding depth to the story and humanizing the people in it.

Ep. 7

1’09” “No, that’s not how that works.” 😂 The deadpan here (and really through the whole series on this same joke) is so good. This kind of straight-man (figuratively speaking of course) reaction to an insane world is pure 😒😒😒, and 😒 is one of my favorite forms of absurdism. TP: This is in reference to a joke about how cis people sometimes misgender trans people because they just flat-out do not understand gender or queerness.

Also, can I just say, I’ve been noticing it for a few episodes, and I have no clue what it’s called, if it’s called anything, but I absolutely love Jennyffer’s ridiculously high and short ponytail. I wish we saw this hairstyle more in real life, because I always love it when I see it, but in American culture anyway it’s usually played as a joke / a sign of somebody who isn’t being serious. Then again, maybe that’s exactly the point with Jennyffer wearing it; I could see that being a decision she’d make. So maybe its mockédness and unpopularity are exactly why I get to see it here?! 🤔

2’40” lol, I am delight. TP: You’re a rotter, Mister Grinch…

That ending! 🤣 Yep. Jennyffer is chaotic neutral for sure, and a USDA Prime goofball.

---> I think this was the tipping point where I basically started liking Jennyffer as a character and identifying with her / rooting for her to succeed. It often takes time for characters to build on me, especially cynical assholes. (I have a hard time with cynicism despite having devolved into a cynic myself from my many years of woe.) And coming around on Jennyffer basically meant this was the point where I came around on the whole series. I certainly hadn’t disliked it at any point, but I originally came to watch it because you had recommended it to me and as a friend I wanted to check out your work, and not because I was actively seeking it out for its own sake. But now I think I can say I like it on its own merits.

A personal anecdote: In this episode, there is a moment where Jennyffer gets the wind taken out of her sails over the crotch bulge in her bathing suit and how it is making other people uncomfortable, and, instead of fighting or being an asshole about it, she is defeated and retreats. A very rare moment for her in the entire series, and thus a potent illustration of how humiliating it can be to be the target of bigotry. I love the creative decision that was made to play it this way. I can sort of relate to this issue in my own way. When I was a kid I never swam in public without a t-shirt on, because, for me, my attraction to fat is a sexual orientation which has been with me my whole life, even before I adolesced and understood it as a “sexual” thing. So as a kid I was always super sensitive to being perceived as fat. And I had a big ol’ round belly my whole life, not even because I was actually overweight as a kid (I mostly wasn't) but because I’m just shaped that way. I am convex at all weights. And I was very embarrassed about it! So, in my childhood memory, public pools were always a minefield of me trying to have fun versus trying not to be humiliated. Also, I couldn’t swim until I was like 12 or something, so that was embarrassing too, and I tried to fake it by splashing around in the 4’ zone.

Ep. 8

1’43” Glam!! Even cynical dystopic trans girls aren’t immune from the siren song of the shutter and flashbulb! That jacket is sweet, too! I love that look.

This is the second time you had a chance to completely change the tonality of the series into something way darker because of a scary father figure, and this time I genuinely didn’t know what would happen. But I’m glad it turned out this way, not only because it’s totally one of the many different reactions that are true-to-life among real-world parents but which don’t get highlighted as often as the more awful scenarios, but also because I just really struggle with grimdark stuff and I kinda just want everyone in this series to turn out okay. <3

Also: John Jingleheimer, eh? (Jennyffer Jingleheimer, lolol!) So, if Peter’s dad is named Jacob Schmitz, then I totally see what you’ve done. I’m pretty sure their family name is Schmitz (right??), but I don’t remember what episode(s) I got that from. I went back and watched Ep. 6 but his name is not mentioned. I personally appreciate all the J names in Jennyffer’s family. 😏

Stingers at the end of episodes really suit this series’ style! I found myself explicitly missing them in the beginning of the series. I’m glad they found their way to you.

7’06” The happiest we’ve ever seen her, 😂! 💖 (Give or take the birthday episode.) I just wrote that same moment in Galaxy Federal a few nights ago. (Cherry’s parents get her a spazer after she sneaks out one time and is gone all night.)

I appreciate the clearer-to-read credits at the end as the series has gone on. I had decided in the early episodes that I wasn’t going to criticize the original cursive because I kind of hate it that we live in a world where we can’t have nice / bespoke / Weird things because people always want something easier / more convenient / more accessible (I’m still upset they killed the big clock a block away from my apartment, whose chimes had been a charming part of living here; I’m sure it was because of “noise” complaints). So, since they weren't a content accessibility issue the way, say, the sound levels were at the start of the series, I was actually rooting for your cursive credits to never give up! Let the people struggle to read them! Long live the glory of the impenetrable! It would be very much in Jennyffer’s spirit for her credits to be totally unreadable if she were to make an animated series herself. Oh well! With legible credits I win and lose at the same time.

Ep. 9

Love the comment at 6’57” (from somebody who had written that your series is doing work to advance trans acceptance in society). I think there’s some truth to that, too. A lot of people can only come around on issues of acceptance by being introduced to it through the humor of this sort. More medicinal / academic / intellectual approaches don’t work on them at all.

April Fool’s

Caramelldansen!! A Desert Bus classic. I watch this every year! They’re both doing it right. Lol, Jennyffer is the best; it’s like Fate has put her in this skit so she has to do the dance, and she hates it, but she also secretly loves it.

I love seeing them in color.

Also, “Episode 10, Part 1,” lolol. Beware scope creep! 😂

Final Thoughts

Like I said in the TL;DR, this series is funny, witty, edgy, delightfully absurdist, and visually rich. It packs a lot into a small space.

Fip is freakishly smart, has a lot of insight and perspective to offer as an artist, executes on her concepts well, and has a distinctive style all her own. This, together with her artistic talents, makes her art very approachable, very easy to enjoy once you settle into it. On a more personal note, Fip has been the most supportive person I know here on Tumblr. I am inexpressibly grateful for the work she has done to try and boost my own art, and it is an honor to have the chance to offer something like that to her in return. She works hard to get her work noticed without being spammy about it, and deserves more attention than she gets, so I hope at least one (and preferably more than one!) person reads my notes here and checks out her work. It’s very important for small artists to support each other, and moreover it’s an honor to support a friend.

Go check out Jennyffer! I went into it with an open mind and no expectations, and I enjoyed the ride, and came away liking the series. You can also see more of Fip’s art on her alt account, @unbeknownsttomen.

[imagine-shenanigans]

hey guys i haven't even had a chance to see atsv yet i just know spoilers and i want this man biblically, i'm talking carnally, i want him in a way that hurts feminism, i want to bring the whole damn movement down so i can be his stupid little housewife and raise his damn kids so i can watch him be happy and then also get railed into losing every brain cell i have

anyway here's some abo headcanons, they include spoilers for the movie/his backstory probably because idk what is and isnt a spoiler because i havent seen it yet.

also this one works a bit differently than my normal layout, it goes SFW and then dips NSFW and ends with more SFW but they're all clearly labeled!

Reader is written gender neutral with they/them and the nsfw section has afab and amab sections, but since I'm Nonbinary and AFAB that's probably how it's gonna come off for most of the reading, just to warn you!

Miguel O'Hara x Reader N/SFW ABO Headcanons

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5k words

Content Warnings (tell me if I miss any): Dubcon, ABO, Obsessive Behavior, Toxic behavior, Omega reader, Alpha Miguel

For these headcanons we're gonna exist in a weird liminal space where Gabi is like, five to six or so and he brought her home with him or some shit idk man I just think he's a hot single father anwyay, also this is assuming omega reader because i think it's hot

if anyone wants a version where Miguel follows more canon and he still lost his kid and came back you're free to request that too i love that shit, just for this specific one i wanna raise his damn kids so-

SFW

Alpha, big alpha energies.

Miguel is the type of guy who's pretty obsessive with what he claims as his, I would honestly say borderline yandere vibes without fully delving into it - his mental state in this au/situation is also a lot better since he still has his daughter, so he's genuinely a lot less "feral" than he tends to get without her, even though in this we'll say he did almost lose her.

So when he claims someone, he's going to be damn sure he means it.

This ones a bit of a general headcanon but he doesn't really have a type when it comes to the people he likes, other than he needs someone who's interesting to him. Whether it's because you're hotheaded, or even keeled, whether you're snarky or sweet, he just needs something for his brain to latch onto.

Not a love at first sight guy but he is an "obsession I can't place" kind of guy.

Miguel has really enhanced senses when it comes to scenting, so it takes some damn strong suppressants and scent blockers to completely block him out... which if we're pretending reader here is falling with the abo trope of "hiding being an omega" (which we are because I love tropes) is just what gets him obsessed. Clothing and perfume that masks your scent, suppressants and scent blockers, and a confident attitude are all enough to throw most people off the (forgive my pun) scent.

But not Miguel.

His spider DNA has the animalistic side to it that fucks with his hormones regardless, makes it easier for him to pick up on the pheromones that even most attentive alphas can't, he's damn near a personal lie detector with how smart he is and how attuned he is to what his nose and instincts tell him, even when he's using serums to keep the more feral urges at bay.

He can only get a whiff of you, fainter than most betas, and it drives him fucking insane knowing he can smell something but he can't figure it out. He can't place it, and it nags at his brain. He can smell a whiff of flowers, or sugar, or something undeniably citrus (depending on what you headcanon your own smell to be) but he can't place it and he hates that shit.

Ends up pulling some traditional alpha shit and he can't even help it, starts trying to crowd you until you kick him in the shin or Peter B or Jess shoos him away. He has to figure out what it is, he has to know.

It only gets worse when he brings Gabi in (a babysitter fell through) and you end up butting your way in to play with Gabi and Mayday, delighting in watching them for the day instead of whatever you were supposed to be doing. They're both so cute and sweet.

Gabi smells primarily like cinnamon and a bit like dewey grass - she's not old enough to have presented yet, but her basic scent, unaffected by the secondary gender hormones, is simple and sweet, reminds you of a summer morning.

She takes after her father in that regard - Miguel smells *warm* and a bit musky, like trees and cinnamon and, a bit like a camp fire. A small tinge of oil, when you pick it apart, and you can't tell if its from the lingering scent on his skin after fixing a broken machine nobody else could, or if that's part of his natural scent.

(Mayday smells like marshmallows, and carmel, funnily enough)

When you take care of Gabi and Mayday, your scent lingers on their skin, mixes and twists in a way that Peter B can't notice but Miguel can. It's all he can do not to be a damn freak and pick his baby girl up and sniff her hair to try and figure out why she smells like that (not in a creepy way, to clarify because there are some freaks on here, but in the same way a dog gets baffled by smelling you use a new perfume, or in the way of when you pick your kid up and go "WHY DO I SMELL CANDLES ON YOU WHAT WERE YOU DOING")

He almost can't stand how his head swims when he watches you pick Gabi up and gently throw her up in the air a bit, watching you let her climb onto you while you're distracted just like Mayday does. Soothe her tears when she accidentally breaks a toy because she's still learning to control her super strength.

He doesn't know that he wants you either, not until long after he's already manifested feelings. Doesn't realize how protective he is, doesn't realize how differently he treats you. He doesn't realize he's lingering in your area just long enough to make sure he can fill his nose with the faint scent you give off.

He assumes you're a beta - not that it mattered to him, really. Miguel would just as soon marry another alpha as he would a beta or an omega, as long as it's you.

He doesn't realize what he's doing until he's got a piece of your clothing in his hands, holding it in the dead of night up to his nose. A scarf or a glove or a jacket you'd leant to Gabi during the day and she'd spilled her juice on it and he'd taken it home to wash it.

He can smell his daughter's scent, louder than life, so familiar he could have a handful of pepper thrown at him and he'd still be able to wrap his arms around her and move her out of harm's way in the direst of straits.

And then there's yours, linger, mingling with his daughter's scent, and it's the parent of his child.

It's not, it's not the woman who birthed Gabi, it's not the woman who contributed to making her. It's you, the only other person he ever wants near his child in that capacity. And it's intoxicating. It's infuriating. It's overwhelming because the full breadth of his own emotions is so strong as he realizes what he's been doing. And he can't even tell you because he holds himself to a specific standard, a specific code of ethics, and even though he wants to risk it all just so his hindbrain (both alpha and spider and his own human instincts all mingling in one) can have his little loves all wrapped up in his arms, safe where he can protect them.

He only just has the strength to wash the piece of cloth and return it. It takes everything he has not to cling to it, to make a pretty little nest to protect his family in, webs and pillows and fabric, a basis of protection so you can properly make it your own and -

He controls himself, and returns the scarf the next day, leaving it on your desk because he can't bear to look you in the eyes.

The days struggle by, a stark contrast to his normal snark, to lingering in your space and snorting and rolling his eyes. To being by your side more than he normally is. It's disheartening, it makes you feel rejected, and he knows it.

But he doesn't stop, this tension that can cut through the air lingering. Even Gabi and May notice it, the older girl frowning and the younger fussing when the two of you are in the room together.

And then your heat happens.

(brief bullet point break because there's a limit to how much you can have in one bulleted section on tumblr and I don't remember what it is but I'd rather just break here)

You've been on suppressants and scent blockers for years now. Being in your line of work (whether you headcanon this as a spiderperson version of you, or a different kind of superhero, or a civillian all working in the society) it's necessary. Omegas aren't rare but they're not the majority of the population like betas are. In Nueva York, it's a coin toss if you'll be fought over in the streets like some prize to be won, or if you'll be coddled like a child who can't figure out what's best for them.

It's half safety half preference at this point, from your original universe's standard (before it had burnt to cinders before you), and this one's. Your suit, your meds, and your behavior, they're all meant to mask and confuse.

But you can only make it so long on the prescription you've got, the long-lasting shots that were more reliable than a pill. The scent blockers go first - not by design, but by chance. You'd been giving yourself lower doses since you'd wound up in Nueva York, supplementing it with deodorants and lotions swiped from stores and hospitals that could afford to spare the supplies when you can't buy it covertly. But you'd still been low in comparison to your suppressants.

You shower more frequently, lather yourself with soaps and deodorants and lotions of different scents and ones that have blocking effects, and for the most part it works. You can't quite fool Gabi - too smart, too tuned in to your emotions like her father could be. She's got a sharp nose, and she wrinkles it when she can smell how confusing your scent is. She asks questions, and you can't lie your way out of it, but you are able to bribe her so she's distracted long enough that she forgets the question. Miguel notices, when he picks up Gabi, but he can't quite figure out exactly what's wrong, and you leave so fast (he assumes with the tension that lingers between the two of you) that he can't figure it out.

You're so certain you're in the clear.

But then your shots run out, and even you can't get more without a prescription. And while your health information would never go through Miguel, you know that the medispiders have to go through him or Lyla for any heavy duty things like suppressants, because they have to be resourced more carefully.

And your last doctor, although wildly shady, and incompetent, and operating out of an apartment, was right about one thing - suppressants will rot you from the inside out if you're not careful. If you don't let a natural heat occur, it will only be worse in the long run. (Although you suppose he probably had a greasier, grosser reason for telling you that.)

And rot you from the inside they have - all your natural reactions to a heat, all your normal bodily functions don't work properly, when confronted with something they haven't seen in years. You know within seconds of your suppressants flushing out of your system what's going on. You're still in the pre-heat phase of things, and you feel like you're dying. You aren't, and you know you aren't, but you feel nauseous and feverish and incoherent within an hour tops. Only long enough to let you panic and send a text to Miguel that you can't watch Gabi like you'd planned. That you're going out ad you won't be back awhile. You leave your phone in your room, when you pack your bag and head for the nearest somewhat reputable hotel that you can afford. You brace the door with the dresser, explicit instructions left for the front desk to, under no circumstances, contact you for the next week.

You get an order of pre-made meals to slap into the fridge, water and juice and all sorts of drinks and things shoved haphazardly inside once the bot brings it in through the window. You're barely coherent enough to retain control to crush the landline, rendering it inoperable, before you barricade the rest of the room.

You're definitely not in control when you nest, blankets and pillows and clothing all thrown haphazardly around as you go fully out of your gourd.

You're damn well out of your mind by the time you would have normally realized the card you were using was in Miguel's name.

(another very brief line break in this portion for drama but also so I don't hit any limits)

Miguel is pissed when you leave so suddenly.

Sure, he's been avoiding you, and sure, you aren't actually together, but you're his damn it. You don't know it, and sure, he's not going to acknowledge it out loud until something happens, but you can't just leave him and your child and his child who loves you high and dry like that!

It's laughably easy to find you, to find the hotel you've checked into. He doesn't even wait to figure out the reason you left, he's so quick on his honestly kinda toxic bs.

Gabi is left with Peter B and Jess for a bit, and Miguel is honestly so smug that he finds you so fast. You were so sloppy about it. So quick to leave that even though you left your phone behind, in a moment of clarity, you barely bothered to take back streets. You used his own damn card he'd given you to pay for the hotel for two weeks, and to order food.

If he weren't half out of his mind with concern and anger about how quickly you left, he'd be angry you used the card without asking like you normally did.

(His hind brain purrs with it though, knowing he's provided for you)

He doesn't know what did it. Miguel genuinely doesn't know what he did to earn your ire in such a way, but he can guess. He doesn't think it's how cold he was, in the beginning, but he isn't sure that it's not how he'd warmed up to you. How, when he'd let his guard down without realizing it, that he'd flirted with you. Had that made you uncomfortable? Had every 'innocent' brush against you turned you against him? Certainly, it could be his absence, his sudden coolness and stonewalling. It could be how he refused to look at you, when you were in the room. Tried to hold his breath after he'd realized what he was doing.

He doesn't really listen to Lyla when she tries telling him things. He heard where you where, found out the room, and swiped a key before Lyla could finish talking about vital signs and behaviors. She knows to set his alerts to emergency only for the foreseeable future, because she's figured it out much quicker than he has, and she figures she'll at least spare herself the trouble. Gets Gabi set up with Jess for the night, and is on her way so she doesn't have to deal with what's about to go down.

He's surprised by the dresser in front of the door, when he tries to get in the first time. It's easy for him to move - he just lowers his center of gravity and pushes his way into the room, slamming the door shut before he can inhale.

The hotel room is nice, with a kitchenette and a small entry area with a couch and a television. The bedroom is just tucked out of sight. Exactly what he expected when he'd heard the hotel's name - he'd never been, but he recognized it.

And it's when he inhales, that he realizes why.

Your scent hits him hard and fast, chokingly sweet in the back of his throat in a way that makes his hindbrain roar. His pupils blow wide, and if he didn't have such a strong self control, he'd have torn the damn door off its hinges looking for you.

He remembers, in that moment, why he recognized the hotel. It was one that was best known for its handling of customers in heat and rut.

NSFW INTERLUDE

(We're gonna start with general headcanons and go back into the specifics of the scenario in a sec but it's all relevant fjasdkl;)

Miguel is a Dom-leaning switch, he prefers to be in control as often as possible, regardless of whether he's topping or bottoming. Nine times out of ten, he wants to fuck his partner until they're an incoherent, babbling mess, because he enjoys the power and control it gives him, enjoys the dynamic of it.

As he gets more comfortable with a partner, he's more willing to accept the idea of subbing, enjoying it more when he has someone he trusts behind the wheel, so to speak.

(Because yes, Alphas can be subs too - that's a whole thing I could get into and might if someone asks)

And Miguel, even normally, is already a possessive guy. He's needy, and stakes his claim, and when we're talking about abo Miguel?

Sheeeeeesh

The moment he scents you in the air, the moment it clicks in his brain that you're going through a rut or a heat, it goes straight to his dick.

He damn near loses it, fighting not to tear the door off its hinges as he stalks to your room. Your scent is so strong in the air that even though he knows he should turn around, he still at the very least wants to make sure you're okay. So the sight of you, face down, ass up, fingers pressing into yourself, he almost loses his damn mind.

His pretty little wife/husband/spouse coworker, his crush, is an omega. It's almost too good to be true, and he can feel his fucking fangs extend, his mouth watering as he stares at you. You're too blissed out to even realize he's there, slick dripping down your thighs like a fucking faucet... and his name is on your lips.

He could cum untouched, could die a happy, happy man after seeing this.

He has dignity, and self control though, even as the force of your hit heats him. He's genuinely concerned, a moment later, his instinct to breed to claim tampered down by his need to care.

You cling to him, hazy, feverish, and incoherent. You beg him to claim you, to mark you, to fuck you. Miguel wants to, he does... but he instead kicks his shoes off but otherwise stays fully clothed, his cock so hard it hurts as he grabs the closest bottle of water, and an ice pack, and climbs into your haphazard nest with you. He probably should have left by now, but instead he seats you against him, your back pressed to his chest, and he presses the ice pack to your forehead, ordering you to keep it there as he makes you drink water, sip by sip.

You whine, and beg, and squirm, but you obey.

He fucks you on his fingers, once he's gotten some water into you. Hard and fast, leaving you breathless, tense, until you cum all over his fingers, oversensitive as he fingerfucks you into another one, and another, arms like steel wrapped around your waist as one hand pounds into you, the other wrapped around your dick or circling hard on your clit. It's not enough to genuinely sate your heat, but it's enough to help. And he doesn't trust himself to put his own mouth to use - barely trusts himself to speak, even though most of what he growls into your ear is, strictly speaking, complete and utter nonsense as he's caught in the moment. Every time you cum, he praises you, telling you how good you are for it. How sweet you look, with tears streaming down your face, cumming so well for him.

When there's enough coherency for you to have a conversation (but not coherent enough to be mortified), Miguel is able to get the rough gist of the situation. He really can only piece together that the heat is going to be a strong one, that it came fast, and that you had panicked. There's a confession, to be had there. He agrees to help you through your heat, but only under the condition that you're his.

It's toxic, and of dubious consent at best, but he'll pull as many orgasms out of you as needed to keep you coherent enough to talk to him. He's helped an omega through a heat or two, and he knows what he's doing. He's not exactly clearheaded himself, in making the decision - but he does make sure that this is truly what you want before he proceeds.

When he's sure that it's not just the heat speaking, that you truly do care for him, that you want him to stay even after your heat has subsided, he allows himself to indulge.

Sympathy ruts are common, and it builds slowly inside of him as he indulges in his instincts. Holding you, kissing you, pressing his fingers inside of you over and over and over again until you pass out. He keeps you wrapped up in the nest, adding his shirt to the mix while you sleep, but not trusting himself to completely strip quite yet.

Miguel is an attentive alpha.

(While you sleep, he excuses himself from the nest to call his daughter, to assure her everything will be okay, and he just explains simply that you'd gotten sick, that you needed him for a bit, and that he'd be back once you were feeling better. He promises to call every night, and he works out a schedule with Peter B and Jess in the meantime.)

(When you overhear him, voice so soft, so protective, so gentle, it half makes you want to swoon, and half want to climb on his lap and fuck yourself stupid on his cock until he fills you up so you can give his daughter a sibling.)

This man is going to spend a good majority of his time pre-sympathy rut fucking you open on his fingers and his mouth. He wants to make sure you're ready, wants to make sure he can enjoy this for as long as possible.

By the end of it, he makes sure to fuck you, nice and steady, a hand on your throat and his lips on yours. He makes sure you're nice and coherent for it. He wants to make sure you remember it, when he claims you. When his (fucking horse cock, the dude's packing like ten to twelve inches which is great for my chubby bitches like me) dick fills you up so full that you're almost certain you'll break, hiccupping and sobbing as you keen and wail, the nest below you soaked as he fills you up. His fangs sink into your neck and you cum, right then, his hands grabbing your thighs so hard he's sure it will bruise. He fucks you through your orgasm, knot catching until it slips inside. He rubs your clit/tugs on your dick as he finally knots you, making sure you cum just one more time for me, cariño.

normal Miguel definitely has a claiming and breeding kink, so it's fucking intensified by ten when he's omegaverse Miguel... let alone when the man's subject to his rut. You'll be covered in scratches and bites and hickies by the time you're both coherent enough to function properly again.

Which... for Miguel, is a solid few hours of coherency at a time.

For you? You're only ever coherent in short bursts, and it's like the peak of your heat constantly for almost the full week.

This next bit just mostly borders on nsfw/has some nsfw parts so i'll put it at the end here before going back to sfw

Like I mentioned before, Miguel is a very attentive alpha.

He's going to fuck you seven different ways in an hour with his superhuman stamina, but he's also going to make sure to actually take care of you.

He makes sure you drink electrolytes and water in equal measure, makes sure you eat, and sleep, and he bathes you himself, carrying you into the shower and keeping you pressed against him as he massages your muscles and washes your hair and body with a soft cloth, using completely unscented soaps and shampoos so it doesn't overwhelm you. Presses bandages to your scrapes and bites so you'll heal faster. Cool cloths and ice packs and fever reducing medicine.

He finds he has to bribe you, during this time, even for the most basic tasks like eating and drinking, and he would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy having to plug you up with his cock just to get you to eat wasn't hot as hell. The fact that you need him so badly you'd rather forgo basic necessities... it's addicting. Granted, he doesn't actually let you - he's got enough control that he can make sure you're taken care of in all regards.

Back to SFW time!

After your heat itself passes, you're subject to the suppressant sickness that comes with it. Your fever has broken, but you're still nauseous and dizzy and fatigued as your body flushes everything out of your system.

Miguel is beyond pissed when he finds out why you're still sick.

It's reckless to not even have a natural heat once every six months, let alone taking your suppressants so solidly that you hadn't had one in years. If he'd known, he'd have said consequences be damned and would have bitten you the moment he walked through the door, and taken you to the hospital.

He doesn't care how embarrassed you are, when he packs all of your things back up into the sealable bags, and dresses you in his own clothing. He's almost out of his mind when he takes both of you back to HQ - only just remembering to take back corridors to the medic so they can check you over properly.

You've then got two spider people who are pissed, as the medic rants about how dangerous that was, how stupid it was that you did that, instead of just swallowing your pride and letting them help you control things. They order you on house arrest for a full month, to make sure your body can recover properly. No suppressants, no scent blockers (at least the medical kind) for a couple years, and only medicine that's medically necessary, and even then it has to be monitored more carefully.

Miguel lets the Medispider tear you a new one for a moment while he steps into the hallway, giving you privacy and space to figure things out with the doctor while he catches up with Gabi.

When you're done with the Medispider, it's not a question on if you're staying with Miguel or not - you really don't have a choice in the matter, he tells you. When you're recovered, you can decide if you want to move in or not, but until then he was going to personally keep an eye on you.

Gabi, who lacks the complete understanding of the why and the how behind it all, is just glad that the person they've been trying to scheme their father into confessing to is actually going to live with them. (Even if only for about a month.) She grins smugly when she realizes you smell like her dad.

Miguel lets you have pick of the house, when he carries you back to his beautiful, cozy suburban home. He leaves the proper tour up to Gabi, as he carries you both, letting Gabi tell you about everything excitedly. You stay in his bed (you two had claimed each other, and although Miguel does give you the option of your own room... you'd rather die than lose the comfort that comes with being around your mate.)

Miguel cooks properly for you while you stay with him and Gabi.

No more prepackaged meals, he sneers, instead making you chicken noodle soup from scratch, with bone broth and lots of vegetables. Breakfast every morning before he takes Gabi to school, tucks you in to sleep while he pops into the HQ to check on things. He's out of commission from missions while he cares for you, but he still makes sure things go smoothly. He's home by lunch, sometimes bringing you fast food instead of cooking so you can have your fill of a greasy burger or fries or something to sate the part of you that needs something unhealthy and indulgent. Holds you in his lap while you both eat, watching TV on the couch.

He finishes his work and goes on emergency-only mode when it's time to pick up Gabi from school. He tucks you into the passenger seat if you feel up to it, buckling you up himself and pressing a kiss to your lips, even though he doesn't need to. He knows you can buckle yourself up, and lets you do so when you insist, but it makes him happy to know he's taking measures to keep you safe.

He does force you to take a blanket with you, just in case though.

When all three of you get home, he makes dinner, sometimes with Gabi helping him, sometimes you, sometimes just himself. He has a pretty wide range of foods he ends up making, but it's primarily because they're foods he likes, or Gabi likes, and he learned to make them. He's a good cook, overall.

It's the best work-life balance he's had in a long time.

When you're better, he all but begs you to stay.

And god, how could you say no to him?

(Also for those who it matters for, if you do end up pregnant from the Heat Adventures he obviously loves kids and would love one with you, but if you don't feel ready/don't want to have kids other than Gabi, he absolutely respects it, and will talk about options with you. Granted, he'll be disappointed, but at the end of the day it's not something he CAN'T move past. Discusses birth control options with you almost immediately when the two of you get intimate again.)

[eirenical]

From the reverse trope prompts: Divorce of Convenience, with Li Lianhua and Di Feisheng, please? 😊

Oh that was a fun trope to write. XD Technically they don't actually get divorced, but the plans are in the works by the end. ;D

If anyone else would like to send me prompts, feel free!

*

"…you want what?"

Li Lianhua smiled brightly up at him from the blankets they'd just finished rumpling and repeated "A divorce."

[under a cut because people are naked and technically there is sex happening?]

Di Feisheng attempted to pull back, to gain a little space—and hopefully, a little understanding along with it—but Li Lianhua's legs were still firmly wrapped around his waist and he was even now reaching up to pull him down into a kiss.  Di Feisheng went readily enough, but when their lips parted, he said quickly, "I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to repeat that yet again."

When the third repetition proved to be exactly the same as the first two and shed no more light on his husband's devious mind as they had, he sighed heavily and finally asked a different question: "Why?"

The story that spilled forth after that was as convoluted  and confusing as it was enlightening, but the gist of it seemed to be… "You want to get a divorce, so that we can enter a contest.  What on earth for?"

This time, when Di Feisheng pulled away, Li Lianhua let him go, watching from his place sprawled naked in the sheets of their bed as Di Feisheng found and dressed in his innermost layers.  When Di Feisheng turned back towards him, Li Lianhua was still smiling that small wicked smile that would have immediately had Fang Duobing calling him an 'old fox.'  Di Feisheng sighed.  "All right.  And why should we want to enter this contest?"

Li Lianhua pushed himself up to rest on his hands, his smile widening.  "The contest will be to prove which couple knows each other best—one that we should easily win—and the prize is a wedding banquet prepared by Jia Hezhong, one of the foremost chefs in the county."

Di Feisheng let that information settle for a moment before responding.  "I have no sense of taste, and neither do you.  What good will a wedding banquet do us?"

Li Lianhua's eyes all but sparkled as he shifted up onto his knees, pulling Di Feisheng close enough to rest their foreheads together.  "It is rumored that this chef's abode is home to a cursed treasure…"

Di Feisheng pushed a laughing Li Lianhua back into the sheets with every intent of rumpling them further and exhausting him too much to come up with any other schemes.  But even so, he knew he would give in, because seeing Li Lianhua flush with excitement for life and mischief was a gift worth far more than the risk of any misadventures this could lead to.  There was only one thing he had to make clear first.  Leaning in close, he bit down on the juncture of Li Lianhua's neck and shoulder, sucking at the skin until he'd left a significant mark—one that would be with him for days.  Then he turned to whisper into Li Lianhua's ear.  "We can pretend to be unwed as often as you like… but only if we get to reenact the ensuing wedding night, as well."

Li Lianhua let out a soft gasp and rolled them both so that he was straddling Di Feisheng's hips.  The feral grin that spread across his face was an exact match for the one Di Feisheng knew was on his own.  Just before he leaned down to seal the deal with a kiss, he said, "With pleasure."

[squidsquadlove]

question for you, but also just krakenblr in general: favorite aspects/headcanons of the goalie nesting trope? I've been Researching (reading a very wide variety of fic to see what the general interpretation is) and the conclusion I'm coming to is that it really varies 😂

HI I AM SORRY FOR THE DELAY it has not been a good few weeks for health and ability to think clearly BUT ABOUT GOALIE NESTING:

Honestly, I think most people thinking about and writing about goalie nesting are making it up as we go! The idea that goalies can go feral and require a Safe Place and maybe it's their net or maybe it's a bed is a really fun one for anyone who loves goalies, because there are a few things that are universal among goalies:

Pucks do not belong in the net.

The crease is MINE, GTFO NOW.

If I'm left out to dry I reserve the right to go after the defensemen with a knife.

Whatever went wrong, everyone is going to blame me.

After a good game, I deserve praise, headbonks, and hugs.

BUT ALSO there is such a huge amount of protectiveness toward goalies that, between that and the headbonks, it seems like they need extra special caretaking! (You'll hear a lot of Canadian hockey players saying that they've been told ever since they can remember that you never, ever, EVER let someone run your goalie, and I don't like much about the TBL, but that one time when someone ran at Vasilevskiy and all five skaters on the ice immediately dropped their gloves and tackled the other team did win my respect.)

There are a few headcanons for goalie nesting that seem to be fairly universal, such as goalies growling or chirping when they're feral, often needing their teams' jerseys, and skaters being a little bit terrified of them. That's about it as far as I can tell, and there's so much less goalie nesting fic than I'd like!

For the Kraken, I've enjoyed the notion that it was harder for them to start nesting because of being an expansion team, so it was hard for everyone to get used to each other. I also love the idea that since Joey Daccord comes from a family tradition of goaltending, he might have started nesting at 12, gathering up his stuffed animals and guarding them with a mini goalie stick in his room. (Aww!) And given what Grubauer does when someone takes too many liberties in his crease, I imagine he's a really territorial goalie. 😂 But I would love to hear more ideas about goalie nesting!