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lubdubology · 8 months ago

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Take My Love and Wear It

SYNOPSIS: Taking care of Charles has its own special challenges, but you didn’t expect the hardest one to be the man who hired you. Distant, gruff and rough around the edges, Logan still manages to worm his way under your skin. But you’ve worked your way under his, too.

PAIRING: Old Man Logan x fem!reader

WC: 10.8k

WARNINGS: smut 18+; mdni; angst; swearing; non-explicit mentions of wounds, blood and use of stitches; extreme physical pain; Charles is a lovable, meddling little shit; fluff sprinkled in for good measure; Logan in a tub (if I had a nickel for every time I bathed him, I’d have two nickels—which isn’t a lot, but its weird it happened twice, right); touch-starved Logan; handjobs; shower sex; fingering; dirty talk; oral (f receiving); sex with feelings; unprotected p in v; creampie

A/N: There’s something special about Old Man Logan, isn’t there? Old and grumpy and desperately in need of some love and affection. I know the Charles caregiver story has been done before, but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head. And then Charles starting talking in my head and well...it blossomed into this. As always, thank you to @joelsgoldrush for allowing me to send her snippets of this as I went along and offering her love, support and suggestions. I hope you enjoy this and any likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

You stare down at the remnants of yesterday’s cold and congealed dinner and sigh. Scraping the food into the trash, you resist the urge to pack everything you have and leave.

One month.

One month of helping Charles—making his meals, washing his clothes, giving him his meds, making sure he doesn’t hurt himself (or others), assisting with daily tasks—and Logan still regards you as a nuisance, like a gnat needing to be swatted away.

At best, he ignores you, moving around the house as if you don’t exist.

And at worst, he treats you with barely concealed contempt, his scowl deepening the lines of his face whenever he’s around you. As if you’re invading his space uninvited even though he’s the one that sought out help.

You grip the edge of the sink, staring down into the porcelain basin as if it holds some hidden answers. Every day you’ve tried to break through walls Logan’s built around himself, held onto Charles’ promise that eventually he’ll soften, just give him time, but he only seems to have grown more hostile. And you’ve done nothing to incur his ire besides watching him come home every day battered and bruised, his very bones weary with exhaustion, and offering your assistance.

Part of you is angry—angry that you care so much when your main focus is supposed to be Charles. Angry that despite all his efforts to come across unapproachable and cold, Logan’s worked himself under your skin and takes a little piece of you with him whenever he leaves.

Angry that somehow he’s stolen a piece of your heart.

You hear shuffling behind you and turn to find Logan entering the kitchen, fingers fastening the last buttons on his dress shirt. “What?” he asks gruffly and for a moment you wonder if he can read your thoughts.

You straighten and meet his gaze head on, swallowing down your nervousness. “How much longer are we going to keep doing this, Logan?”

“Doing what?”

“This,” you say, gesturing between you. “You walking around here like I’m some stain upon your life, acting like I’m a problem when all I’ve ever done is try and help.” Your voice is steadier than you feel. “You asked for me to be here, Logan. It’s not like I barged in here without permission.”

Logan holds your gaze, his jaw tight, and for a moment you think he’s going to grab his keys and leave, head off into the night and drive until sunrise. His eyes soften for just a moment, something like regret crossing his features.

“I know why you’re here. And I do…appreciate it,” he says, his words coming out low and rough. As if the words taste foreign in his mouth.

“Wouldn’t kill you to show it,” you challenge.

You’re waiting for him to lash out and instead he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’m not good at this.”

“I’m not asking you to bow at my feet,” you say, hoping to ease some of the tension in the air. “Although, I wouldn’t be mad about it.” You think you see the briefest hint of a smile flicker across his face. “I just want us to be able to live in the same space. I’m here to help, Logan. Let me.”

“You have no idea how hard this life is.”

A rueful smile tugs at your lips. “I understand more than you think I do.”

Logan’s gaze sharpens, inquisitive as he searches your face, as if he’s trying to decipher the meaning behind your words. He rubs a hand across his face, scratching lightly as his beard. “I’ve gotta couple jobs tonight. Maybe more,” he finally says, changing the conversation. “Should be back before sunrise.”

You nod, his switch in topic not lost on you, but you don’t push him. “Alright,” you say softly. “Just—just take it easy, okay?”

He glances down at you, relief softening his gaze and you know a part of him is grateful you didn’t push further.

Grabbing his keys, Logan heads towards the door but pauses just before he’s about to leave. He turns to look back over his shoulder. “Thanks,” he murmurs, the word awkward on his lips.

You give him a small nod of encouragement as he slips out the door. He may not be ready to full open up, but you feel as if he extended a tiny olive branch tonight, cracked open the door just enough to let you peek in.

+++

Over the following weeks, Logan’s a little less avoidant. He doesn’t go out of his way to make conversation—you didn’t expect him to—but he at least as acknowledges your presence. Small nods and murmured goodbyes when he leaves and sleepy hellos when he returns. It’s not much, but you’ll take it.

You’re cleaning the last of the dishes from dinner, Charles safely settled in front of the TV watching an old movie when Logan comes home. He’s earlier than you anticipated, but exhaustion lines his face nonetheless. You expect him to slip away quietly, but he pauses instead, lingering in the doorway.

“Smells good,” he says softly, nodding towards the pan of half eaten lasagna still sitting on the counter.

Surprised, you turn around to face him. You brush the hair from your face and say, “Sit. I’ll make you up some.”

Logan hesitates and for a moment you think he’s about to decline, but then he nods, his shoulders dropping slightly as he sits down at the table. You fix him up a plate, setting it down in front of him with a bottle of beer as you slide into the chair across from him.

He tucks quietly into the food, his fork scraping against his plate as he eats, pausing only to wash it down with a few swigs of beer. You watch him, a strange satisfaction tugging at you at the sight of him actually sitting down, enjoying a meal with you, even if it is in silence.

“Long day?” you ask quietly, gesturing towards his bruised knuckles.

He flexes the fingers on his free hand before tucking them under the table. “Nothin’ I can’t handle,” he mutters, taking another bite of lasagna. “They’ll be gone in a day or two.”

You know not that long ago an injury like that wouldn’t have even marred his skin. Now, the simplest of wounds can take days to heal and it’s not the appearance of his skin that bothers you, but the newfound ache he experiences, the heaviness of constant pain.

You want to help him, ease his discomfort, like you know you could. But you know he’s not ready for that. Not yet.

“You’re good with Charles,” Logan says then, his gaze steady on his plate. “He seems calmer around you.”

Logan’s admission is so unexpected, you find yourself staring at him in disbelief. At your silence, his eyes flicker up to yours and you see more than simple acknowledgement in his expression. It’s subtle, but it’s there, a current of something more, something you’re not quite sure how to address.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice softer than you intended. “Charles—he means a lot to me.” You pause briefly, but something compels you to continue. “You both do.”

His gaze is focused on you and you don’t miss the flicker of surprise that breaks through his usual stoic expression. Clearing his throat, he looks down, pushing around the last bit of lasagna on his plate and then after a moment, he sets his fork down and leans back in his chair. “You mean a lot to him, too,” Logan finally says and you wonder if he’s talking about more than just Charles.

From the living room you hear Charles call for you, his voice soft but insistent. The moment between you still crackles as you stand from the table and as you begin to walk away, Logan reaches for your hand. His fingers are warm and rough against your skin and you’re barely able to suppress your shiver.

“Thank you,” Logan says, his voice surprisingly soft.

His grip against your skin is gentle, a stark contrast to all his roughness and you can feel the weight of his unspoken words curling around you. Charles calls again, his voice breaking through the moment, but Logan’s hand lingers just a beat longer before he lets go, fingers trailing along your skin.

+++

“He likes you, you know.”

You glance up from shaving Charles’ face and find him staring at you, a mischievous glint in his eye. You give a soft hum. “Did he tell you that or did you read his mind?”

Charles scoffs and waves his hand dismissively. “What’s the difference, dear?”

You chuckle, shaking your head as you rinse the razor. “With Logan I’m pretty sure there’s a big difference.”

“Bah, if Logan wanted to keep me out of his head, he would. Stubborn man.” He tsks softly to himself and shakes his head. “But, no my dear, he can be quite loud if you know how to listen.”

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a playful look. “Loud, huh? And what exactly is that brain of his telling you?”

Charles gives you a knowing smile. “Oh, just little things,” he says casually with a wave of his hand, but you can tell by the look on his face that he’s holding back. “He notices you—what you do for me, this place, for him. He may not realize it himself, but his thoughts linger on you more often than he’d like.”

A flicker of hope sparks in your chest and despite yourself, you feel a blush creeping into your cheeks. “Logan doesn’t strike me as the sentimental type.”

“Logan has spent so much of his life running,” Charles continues, his tone and expression growing more thoughtful. “The loss he’s experienced has led him to believe it’s better to be alone than form meaningful connections with people. But you’ve somehow become something of a home for him. And he doesn’t quite know what to make of that.”

Your heart skips a beat as you take in his words. The idea of being a home for Logan, a comfort, feels surreal, and yet...there’s a part of you that dares to hope what Charles is saying is true. That this isn’t some fictional truth his brain has concocted, a product of his disease riddled mind.

“Home.” You repeat the word softly to yourself, testing the word on your own tongue as if it might shatter into pieces.

Charles nods, his hand reaching for yours, his gaze warm and knowing. “Yes, home. He feels it, deep down, in a way that’s unfamiliar and frightening for him.”

You glance down at your hand in Charles’ grasp, his touch grounding you as his words settle over you.

“Logan’s spent so long hiding from himself,” Charles continues. “I think he’s convinced himself he doesn’t deserve that kind of peace.”

“And you think I can give him that peace?” you ask quietly, your eyes flicking back up to Charles’ face.

He smiles knowingly and gives your hand a squeeze. “You already have, dear.”

+++

“Want some help?”

You turn to find Logan standing in the entrance of the kitchen, hands tucked into his pockets.

It’s a rare night—one where Logan’s chosen to stay home, taking a night off from the almost endless driving he does. He’s dressed down, well worn jeans and a button-up flannel, and for once you actually think he looks comfortable.

You smile, surprised, but happy to see him there. “Sure, the company would be nice,” you reply as he comes to stand next to you. “Want to wash and dice the potatoes?”

Logan nods and rolls up his sleeves before reaching for the bowl of potatoes you had set aside earlier. You watch him for a moment as he settles into the task with a quiet focus.

“Smells good,” he comments, gesturing towards the oven. “What’re we having?”

“Charles has been asking for beef tenderloin for weeks now, so I’m finally indulging him.” You finish trimming the last of the green beans and toss them into the bowl beside you. “You know, if you have any favorite meals you’d like me to make, you can tell me.”

Logan pauses and glances at you as he shuts off the tap. He clears his throat and says, “You already are.”

You blink in surprise as Logan’s words sink in and then the realization dawns on you. A soft smile spreads across your face as you piece together the extent of Charles’ meddling. You can’t find it in you to be annoyed and only feel a mix of amusement and fondness towards the old man as you chuckle softly to yourself.

“What’s so funny?” Logan asks, raising his eyebrow as he catches your expression.

“Oh, nothing,” you say, waving him off with a smile.

Logan doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t pry as he picks up the knife and begins to deftly dice the potatoes. You watch him for a moment, captivated by the simple domesticity of the task. It’s in direct contrast to the man you’ve seen numerous times before, brooding and gruff, brimming with an almost untamed violence.

It suits him, you think, this quieter version of himself.

You both finish the prep with relative ease. He helps you set the table as the rest of the food cooks, plates clinking softly as he sets them down. You busy yourself with finishing the green beans in a garlic butter as you wait for for the tenderloin to rest enough to carve into.

“Ah, my dear, this smells wonderful,” Charles announces as he rolls into the kitchen, a warm smile on his face. “And you managed to pull Logan out of his room. What a treat.”

Logan snorts in response, giving Charles a pointed glare.

“I dare say it’s because the company has improved much as of late,” Charles says, his eyes twinkling in amusement as he glances between the both of you. “We all know he’s not out here for my benefit.”

You laugh as you bring the dishes to the table, noting the faintest of blushes creeping along Logan’s cheeks. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Charles.”

“As you should, dear. Your personality is quite sparkling.” He looks over towards Logan. “Isn’t it, Logan?”

Logan’s eyes land on you as he answers, “Yes. Yes, it is.”

Dinner begins quietly, the three of you settling into easy conversation as the first few bites are consumed. Both Charles and Logan hum in delight and a warmth blooms within you watching them both. This—this is the simplicity you’ve been craving with Logan.

As the meal continues, Charles launches into his usual repertoire of stories, those of the school and his students, his words brimming with nostalgia and pride as he talks. Logan sits back in his chair, arms crossed as he listens to him speak, shaking his head fondly at some of the memories.

“You know,” Charles begins, setting his fork down with an air of mischief, “I don’t think I ever told you how I met Logan, have I?”

Logan’s head snaps up. “Don’t, Chuck.”

But Charles is already smiling at you, ignoring Logan’s warning. “It’s a good story, dear. See, Logan had quite the career as an underground cage fighter.”

You lift your brows in surprise and you glance over at Logan, who’s thoroughly unamused by Charles’ choice of topic. “Cage fighting, huh?” you ask, unable to suppress your curiosity.

Logan shifts uncomfortably in his seat, stabbing at his potatoes with a little more force than necessary. “It wasn’t a career,” he mutters. “Just a distraction. Way to get by.”

“Mmm, yes, perhaps,” Charles chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “Regardless of the reason, it lead you to this exact moment. Didn’t it, Logan?”

Logan narrows his eyes at Charles, though the glare is only half-hearted. “You make it sound like all it all had some grand purpose.”

“Did it not?” Charles says gently, his tone shifting into something more serious. “Kept you alive, for one. But more than that, it brought you to us. To me.” He pauses for a moment, his eyes darting towards you. “To her.”

The words hang in the air and you glance over at Logan, whose expression softens just slightly. Without thinking, you reach across the table and give his forearm a gentle squeeze. His eyes meet yours, a flicker of a smile tugging at his lips.

Charles watches the exchange with quiet satisfaction before clearing his throat. “Well, I believe my work here is done,” he announces, wheeling himself back from he table. “Logan, fancy a game of chess? I haven’t made a player out of her yet.”

You laugh to yourself as Logan follows Charles into the living room. After clearing the kitchen from dinner and loading the last of the dishes into the dishwasher, you join them both in the living room. Tucking yourself into the couch, you read while the two of them play, the clinking of wooden chess pieces and the occasional dry quip from Charles filling the room.

From your spot on the couch, you glance up from your book every now and then to watch them. Logan’s brow furrows in concentration, while Charles’ face is more relaxed as they play. You smile to yourself, wondering how often they played like this in the past, when times were simpler.

You’re not sure when you fell asleep or how long you’ve been out, but you’re jostled awake as two large, warm arms wrap around you, holding you close as you’re lifted off the couch. Logan’s familiar scent—cigar smoke and pine—fill your nose and you blink up to find him walking you down the hall towards your room.

“Logan?” you mumble, voice thick with sleep. “D’you really cage fight?”

Logan chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. “I really did.”

“Did it hurt?”

“No.”

You blink slowly, your sleep-laden mind struggling to process his answer. “Not even a little?” Your voice is barely audible as you nestle closer into the warmth of his chest.

“Not in the way you think,” he answers, nudging open the door to your room with his foot.

You’re too drowsy to ask what he means and instead you hum softly, a noncommittal sound that Logan feels more than hears. Lowering you onto the bed, he moves with a gentleness you’ve never felt from him before. He brushes a strand of hair from your face and pulls the blanket over you before he turns to leave.

Your limbs are heavy, eyes barely open, but you call out softly—“Logan?”

He looks back towards you. “Yeah?”

“I’m glad Charles found you,” you murmur, closing your eyes.

Logan doesn’t answer, but you swear you feel the lightest of kisses against the top of your head before he leaves.

+++

It’s deep into the night when you hear the front door finally open. Your heart flutters against your ribs as you swing out of bed, unsure of what condition you’ll find him in. He was expected back two days ago, those extra hours away feeling like an unfathomable eternity.

You find him sitting at the kitchen table, dress shirt hanging off one shoulder, the rest of his clothes rumpled and bloodied. A large gash oozes from his shoulder and you can’t stop the gasp that falls from your lips.

Logan looks up at you, eyes narrowed and lined with exhaustion. “Don’t look at me like that,” he grunts, tugging off the rest of his shirt.

“How else am I supposed to look at you?” you ask, taking a tentative step forward. “No phone call or text letting me know you’re not coming home and then you waltz in after midnight soaked in blood and covered in wounds.” Unshed tears burn in your eyes but you will yourself not to cry.

“Didn’t ask you to care about me,” he bites back, but his tone is more weary than argumentative.

“Oh, fuck you, Logan,” you snip, but your tone lacks venom.

He ignores you, pushing up from the chair with a heavy groan and limps over towards the cabinets. He shuffles through one of them, pulling out the makeshift sewing kit before sitting back down. You watch as he attempts to thread the needle, growing increasingly frustrated when he keeps missing.

Shoving down your own frustration, you pull up a chair next to him and reach for the needle and thread. He pulls his hands away from you, turning in the chair to keep you away. You chase after his movements, finally grabbing his wrists and removing the supplies from his grasp.

“I don’t need your help,” he growls.

You sigh, tired of this same argument, this same endless loop every time he comes home injured. “Goddamit, Logan, just let me help you.”

He drags his gaze up to yours, eyes tracing the lines of your face. His chest still heaves with heavy breaths, but you can see the anger bleed from him. He nods once, turning just enough so that you have access to his wound. Threading the needle, you place a gentle hand on his shoulder, ignoring the flinch he gives at your touch.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” you whisper.

Logan huffs. “It’s a needle, darlin’. It’s not gonna feel nice.”

You try to ignore the flip your heart does at his use of the word darling. Despite his earlier gruffness and proclivity to push you away, Logan has softened to you over the last couple of months. Since that first dinner you shared, he’s joined you and Charles more often. Or if he comes home late, sought out the leftovers you’ve kept for him. He’s engaged in conversation, offering small pieces of himself, pieces that you’ve cradled close and nurtured.

But there’s a tension between you, thick and heavy in the air, and you wonder if he feels it too. Feels that same undeniable pull you’ve always felt in his presence. You’d like to think so, otherwise you were doomed to love him silently, your feelings for him bound in the quiet of your mind.

“Just trust me,” you say.

Slowly, you release your power, warmth spreading from your fingertips, easing his pain and discomfort as you begin to stitch him up. You try to ignore the heavy press of his gaze on your face and you can almost hear his unspoken thoughts, his words still stuck on his tongue.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, his shoulder relaxing as you continue to work.

You glance up at him then, finding his expression softer than you’ve seen it. “A mutant is a dangerous thing to be, Logan,” you answer, your voice soft. “Few people know what I can do. Those I trust.”

For a long moment, Logan just looks at you, his eyes unreadable. Then, a rough, tired sigh falls from his lips. “You coulda told me.”

You take a steadying breath, his words lingering in the space between you. “Maybe,” you say, your fingers brushing against his skin as you continue to stitch. “But you don’t make it easy to talk to you.”

Logan lets out a low huff. “No. I guess I don’t, do I?”

You finish the last stitch, securing the knot. Your fingers linger a touch long than necessary, the warmth of his skin a comfort you’re loathe to lose just yet. Slowly, you lift your gaze to his and you feel your heart beat solidly against your ribs as he looks back at you like he’s seeing something there he hadn’t allowed himself to before.

Logan’s voice is low when he finally speaks. “Why you keep stickin’ around? Watchin’ me come home time after time covered in blood?”

“Because you deserve it.” The words tumble from your mouth before you can stop them. “Even if you don’t see that.”

He doesn’t respond, not right away, as he continues to watch you, his eyes tracing the lines of your face. Then he reaches up for you, fingers curling around your wrist, his skin warm and rough against yours. He holds you there as if grounding himself in your presence, his thumb drawing random patterns against your skin. The gesture is simple, but vulnerable and open in a way he rarely shows.

“I’m no good for you,” he murmurs, glancing down at where he’s touching you. “For anybody.”

“How ‘bout you let me be the judge of that?” you answer, your voice steady. “You’re more than you think you are.”

Logan clenches his jaw, a flicker of disbelief crossing his features, and you know deep below the surface he’s waging a war against himself, one he’s been fighting for far too long. His thumb stills on your wrist, his grip loosening slightly, but not letting go.

Placing your hand over his, you give him a soft smile. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

+++

You’re surprised that he doesn’t argue, doesn’t try to brush you off or push you away as you gently nudge him towards the bathroom. He still gives you a dubious glance as he looks down at the tub, but you just ignore it, moving past him to run the tap.

You give him privacy to undress and get settled before you reenter the bathroom. The sight of him, as large as he his with his knees pulled up to his chest, makes you laugh, garnishing a terse look from him.

“You find this amusing?”

“Big man in a little tub? Yeah, I do,” you reply with a smile. “Just relax, Logan. This’ll be our secret.”

He huffs, but does seem to visibly relax, resting his arms over his knees. You kneel down in front of him, resting one hand gently against his forearm as your other reaches for the washcloth. You can feel the tension release from his muscles as your power floods through him and he breathes out a soft, “Oh,” as all the pain and discomfort is eased from his body.

You wonder how long it’s truly been since he’s felt like this, unburdened by the pain and suffering of his own body. Your heart aches for him as you slowly begin to wash him, rubbing soft circles over the scarred flesh of his back, rinsing away the blood dried to his skin.

Even battered and marred as he is, you still find him beautiful—you always have. When you first started working with him all those months ago, you felt that pang of attraction when you met him, you’d have been blind not to. Ruggedly handsome, so strong and sure of himself. But you know that wasn’t all that drew you to him. Deep down, below all the tough, seemingly impenetrable exterior, you saw the man he truly was. Someone born of scars and rough edges, yet gentle. Someone who would selflessly put himself before others, even at his own expense.

You let the cloth linger a moment longer against his skin before dipping it back into the water, watching as his blood rinses from the fabric. Squeezing the excess water out, you press it back against his collarbone, tracing the warm cloth along his neck and over his shoulders. Logan doesn’t move, his eyes half-closed, his expression relaxed in a way you’ve never seen before.

Something deep tugs at you as you realize how vulnerable he is right now, how trusting. He hides behind a gruff exterior, his true self guarded so carefully so that he doesn’t let people in, doesn’t open himself up to the hurt that trusting another person can bring. But maybe you’ve finally cracked through, broken down a little bit of that wall he surrounds himself with.

The warm water drips from his skin as you continue to wash him, letting your fingers trail gently along the newly cleaned lines of his arms. Logan shivers at your touch, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he seems to lean into it, his breathing deepening, muscles falling even more slack.

“Feel nice?” you ask in a murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, finally glancing up at you through his half-lidded gaze. “’S very nice,” he replies, his voice rough.

“Good. You deserve it,” you say, repeating your sentiment from earlier.

You feel a flicker of warmth as his eyes meet yours and he simply nods. It takes everything in you to not smile too widely, to keep the moment gentle, but you take his acceptance to heart.

Running the cloth down his ribs, you pause when you feel the misshapen knot of a bruise beneath your fingers and glancing down, you find a deep purple hue coloring his skin. Your eyes dart to his with worry, knowing that an injury like that will take him at least a week to heal, if not longer, in his weakened state. That with every breath he’ll feel the pain of his muscles pulling and the bruise spreading if you’re not touching him.

Dropping the washcloth in the water, you press your palm against his side and take in a deep breath to steady yourself. Then, a warmth spreads from your skin into his as you pull his injury from him, feeling his skin knit back together, feeling his abused muscles realign themselves under his skin. A dull, yet sharp ache, blooms along your ribs as you continue to pull his pain into yourself, erasing the injury from his body. With a final gasp, you draw back, your fingers now running along unmarred flesh knitted whole.

Logan tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze as the back of his knuckles brush against your cheek. His eyes flicker to yours, holding your gaze, and for a moment, the room falls into a deep quiet.

That pull between you, the magnetic force that you’ve felt since the beginning, feels amplified now. You’re acutely aware of every inch of space between you—how small it is, how easy it would be to close it. How badly you want to close it. You swallow, feeling the tension coil in your belly as he continues to hold your gaze, unblinking, but more open and raw than he’s ever been before.

“What are you doing to me?” he asks.

Your breath catches in your throat at his question, voice rough and laced with something between wonder and disbelief. As if he can’t quite fathom what you’ve done for him—what you’ve given him so freely.

Logan’s eyes search yours, his fingers drifting from your cheek to trace along your jaw, lingering with a tenderness that belies the man he presents to the outside world. His gaze is steady and intimate, as if he’s trying to understand you in a way that goes beyond words. But you say nothing, your heart pounding too loudly in your ears to form a reply.

“You took it on yourself, my pain?”

You simply nod, distracted by the way Logan’s fingers continue to brush along the edge of your ear, tracing the lines of your face as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

“Why?”

“Because I want to,” you whisper, unable to resist the pull of his hand against your skin, the warmth of his touch that you feel with every fiber of your being. “Because it’s the one thing I can do to help you.”

A beat of silence passes, the air thick and heavy with unspoken words. He exhales, shaky and deep, letting his hand slide to the back of your neck. The calloused pads of his fingers press gently against your skin, anchoring you in place and you can feel him pull you closer, his gaze dropping to your lips, his breath mingling with yours in the small, intimate space between you.

“I shouldn’t want this, want you,” he says, voice so low it’s almost a rumble. “But, fuck, I do.”

His confession is raw, leaving him unguarded for the first time in a long time and before he can pull back, before he can throw those walls back up around himself, you close the gap, resting your forehead against his. You bring your hand up to touch his face, thumb brushing over his cheek as you breath him in, feeling the heat radiate between you.

Logan’s hand slides further along your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he finally, gently, presses his lips to yours. His kiss isn’t demanding or rushed or filled with passion, but a lingering connection, the promise of something more. His lips are softer than you imagined, his touch more careful than you expected, as if he’s afraid he’ll break you. Slowly, his thumb traces circles against your cheek, steadying and soothing, pulling you closer.

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed. His breath is warm against your skin. “I don’t wanna push you away anymore,” he murmurs.

“Good because I don’t want you to.”

Logan lets out a breath, a hint of a smile finally softening his features.

Reluctantly, you pull away and pick the washcloth up again, intent on finishing what you started. The water turns to rust as you wash him of blood and grime, making sure you reach each cut, each bruise, each scar on his body that makes up the map of who he is.

You turn off the tap and hand him a towel, averting your eyes as he stands, wrapping the towel low across his hips. Logan reaches for you, tugging on the collar of your shirt to pull you closer. You stumble a bit as he pulls you in, surprised by the insistence in his grip. Logan’s eyes meet yours, an intensity behind his gaze that makes your breath catch.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, hand slipping along your jaw, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip.

You’re drawn forward as Logan’s lips find yours again, but this time there’s an urgency behind the kiss, a desperation and need he’s no longer trying to hide. He holds your face gently in his hands as he deepens the kiss, his nose pressing against yours, his beard scraping against your skin and you find yourself melting against him.

This is what you’ve been craving since you met him. Despite it all—the rage simmering just below his surface, the sharpness of his exterior, the sometimes shocking callousness of his words—you always knew there was a tenderness underneath, a softness that even his tortured past couldn’t erase.

Logan’s hands drift from your face, trailing down your neck and tracing along the curve of your spine as he presses you closer until there’s no space between you. The dampness of his skin bleeds into your shirt and you gasp into his mouth when he shifts his hips just enough and you feel heat of his erection against your thigh.

He pulls away from your mouth long enough to husk against your lips, “I’m old, not dead.” His teeth nip lightly at your bottom lip. “I’ve gotta beautiful woman lettin’ me kiss her, what did you expect?”

Your fingers trail along the edge of the towel slung low across this hips and a thrill runs through you as you feel his abdominal muscles flutter beneath your touch. You peer up at him, noting the flush of his skin, the black of his eyes as you tug the fabric just enough to loosen it. “How long has it been since someone has touched you, Logan?” you ask, your breath warm in the space between you.

Logan’s hands urge your hips closer, seeking friction as he starts to slowly rut against your thigh. You hear him swallow as your fingers dip below the fabric, brushing along the damp hair at the base of his cock.

“F—fuck,” he groans, guttural and low, his head dropping down to your shoulder. “Since before you.”

The weight of Logan’s confession presses into you and in that moment you want to give him everything. Wrap him in all the love you can muster, show him something other than pain and suffering.

You move your hand from the towel, allowing the fabric to fall from his waist and pool forgotten on the floor. Logan’s breath catches as your fingers wrap around him fully, the heat and weight of his cock pressing against your palm.

A ragged groan escapes his throat. “Christ,” he mutters, voice thick and vibrating against your skin. “You don’t gotta—”

“I want to,” you interrupt, slowly and deliberately dragging your hand along his length, tracing the vein along the underside of his cock with your fingertips.

Logan’s hips jerk involuntarily, seeking friction, chasing your hand, and you oblige, tightening your grip just enough to elicit another groan from him.

“What do you like?” The question lands in the sliver of space between you, your strokes still light, teasing.

“Firmer, more ah—” He breaks off as you tighten your grip on the upstroke. “Fuck, yes, like that, sweetheart.”

A shiver runs down your spine as his hands find your waist, fingers clutching at you almost hard enough to bruise. His breaths are growing uneven, each exhale warm against your neck as he fights to maintain some semblance of control.

“You keep that up,” he rasps, lips grazing your ear, “and I’m not gonna last long.”

His admission sends a rush of pride through you and you tilt your head back to look at him, your thumb brushing over the sensitive head of his cock, spreading the wetness there. Logan’s eyes meet yours, dark and heavy-lidded, his expression raw and unguarded. You like him like this, such a large, imposing man boiled down to pure wanton need.

“I don’t mind,” you reply, keeping your movements steady, your strokes firm yet gentle. You focus on the subtle shifts in his breathing, the way his fingers grip you tighter each time you find the right rhythm. “Just wanna make you feel good, Logan.”

He leans forward, capturing your lips into a kiss that’s both rough and messy, teeth nipping at your lip as his tongue licks into your mouth. He groans are muffled against your mouth as his hips begin to thrust in time with your strokes, his movements growing more erratic as he chases after his release.

“Can’t believe—ah, fuck—can’t believe how good you’re makin’ me feel,” he growls against your lips.

You smile into his mouth, your free hand brushing along his hipbone as your strokes quicken. His whole body tenses, the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexing, his abdominal muscles taut as he teeters on the edge.

“Let go, Logan,” you say. “I’ve got you.”

With a strangled groan, he comes, his release spilling over your hand, hot and thick. His body shudders against yours as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You hold him close as he continues to thrust lazily into your grip, your own movements slowing as you guide him through the aftershocks.

For a moment, neither of you speaks, then Logan lifts his head, his hazel eyes soft as they meet yours. “You walked into my life and I knew—I knew—you would ruin me.”

You smile to yourself, unable to stop the thought that floats into your head—he’s ruined you as well.

+++

The text comes in at a little over one AM—hurt.

You jump out of bed, adrenaline rushing through your veins as you slip into one of his discarded flannels and head out into the night. Pacing the driveway, your heart jumps into your throat at every passing headlight, your thumbnail almost bitten down to the quick as you wait for him.

The minutes bleed into eternity until you finally see the limo turn down the long drive and it takes all your willpower to not run and meet him halfway. You’re bouncing on your heels as he finally comes to a stop, the driver’s side door opening with a faint groan of steel.

Your heart stutters in your chest as he emerges from the car, blood soaking through his shirt, dark and spreading, as he steps towards you on shaky legs. Logan’s face is pale in the moonlight, his breathing uneven and shallow and white-hot dread shoots up your spine as you see his arm hanging limp, two of his claws unsheathed and dripping blood.

“Oh, fuck, fuck!” you gasp, rushing to his side.

Logan tries to wave you off, gritting his teeth as he grips the doorframe. “”M fine,” he grits, but the tremor in his voice betrays him.

You reach for him, hands already attempting to steady him as his knees buckle and he collapses to the ground beneath him. “Careful. Claws,” he rasps as his left hand seeks purchase against your shoulder.

“I don’t fucking care about your claws, Logan,” you snap, although you both know your anger isn’t at him. You glance up at him and for once you think you actually see fear in his eyes. “What happened?”

“Gas. Robbery.” Each word punches out of his chest, the effort to speak sending tremors down his limbs. “Got ‘em.” He nods down towards his limp arm, claws still unsheathed, but slowly, so slowly starting to retract.

He winces as you help him peel off his coat to get to the shirt underneath. Your fingers shake as they trace the holes the bullets made—one in his shoulder, dangerously close to his lungs and the other just below his ribs. Hooking your fingers through the fabric, you rip it from his chest—the wounds are deep and his skin is hot and slick with sweat.

Panic claws at you and unshed tears burn in your eyes. You’ve seen Logan hurt before, but this—this was different. His breathing is painfully shallow, his usual gruffness and resilience absent.

“Logan, you’re not healing,” you whisper, your voice shaking as your fingers stain with blood. Logan simply grunts, trying to wave you off, but lacking the strength. “I can’t…I can’t lose you. I can help.”

Logan’s eyes widen as he grabs for your wrist. “No. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I don’t care!” you shout. “I love you, dammit, and I’m not just going to sit here and watch you die!”

Before he can protest, you press your palms over his wounds, the familiar warmth of your power surging through you as it spreads from your palms into his torn flesh.

The pain hits you like a freight train.

It’s sharp and relentless, searing through your shoulder and into the softness of your belly like molten fire. You gasp, biting back a scream as your body jerks instinctively away from the intensity, every cell in your body demanding you withdraw from the torture.

But you don’t stop. You cling to him, tears streaming down your face as you channel your power into him, knitting his flesh back together. You can feel it, the way his muscles, bones and tissue rearrange themselves, months of healing taking place in mere moments. Every second feels like an eternity, but you refuse to let go.

You’re dimly aware of Logan yelling at you to stop, his own pain momentarily forgotten as he watches you endure his agony.

Black dots dance in your vision as the last of his wounds come together, the spent bullets clinking to the gravel and you finally collapse against him, trembling, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The fire in your body begins to dull, fading to a cold, hollow ache as Logan wraps his arms around you, pulling you tight against his chest.

“Hey,” you mumble against him, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re okay now.”

“Me?” Logan’s voice is low, disbelieving as his hand cradles the back of your head as if you might shatter. “You’re the one—why the fuck would you do that? You could’ve—dammit, you—”

His words break off, his forehead dropping to yours as his breath shudders against your cheek. You can feel the tension radiating through him, warring with himself between his gratitude and anger, between his guilt and the love he’s too afraid to speak out loud.

“I told you why,” you answer, lifting your head to look up at him.

Logan’s jaw clenches, his words caught in his throat, but his eyes say everything is voice won’t. You don’t need him to say it, not yet, but you can feel it, pressing just below the surface.

“C’mon, let’s get you inside.”

+++

There’s a reverence in which Logan washes you.

Steam swirls around you as he works the thickly lathered loofah over your shoulders, down across your collarbones and down along the soft planes of your stomach. The water rinses away the faint metallic tang of blood, leaving behind the fresh scent of soap. He continues with a silent determination, as if the act of washing you can erase all the pain you’ve taken from him.

You know better than to convince him you’re fine, that the pain is always temporary, that it only lasts for a few minutes, sometimes just a bit longer. That the pain is something you’d endure for him again and again if he’d let you.

His thumb brushes along the underside of your ribs, searching for a wound you know he won’t find. You reach for him, lacing your fingers together with his. He blinks up at you, hazel eyes holding far too much worry for such a stoic man.

“I’m not going to break, Logan,” you say softly.

A wordless noice escapes his throat as he removes himself from your grasp and continues to work, ditching the loofah in favor of his hands. His fingers are warm and calloused against your skin as they glide lower, down over the swell of your hips, over your thighs, down towards your knees.

His touch morphs from one of care and comfort to one more sensual, simmering with unspoken tension as his fingers rest in the hollow behind your knee. You glance down at him, water droplets catching in his hair, running off the slope of his nose.

Though you’ve seen him bare before, you can help but trace the lines of his body—the broadness of his shoulders, the well defined muscles of his chest, the sturdiness of his thighs, the scars that mar his skin. The sight of him stirs something deep within you and you feel your pulse thrum beneath your skin.

“Logan,” you murmur, your voice almost lost in the sound of the water.

He looks up at you then, eyes locking with yours. A storm swirls within them, a mix of guilt, affection and an intensity that takes your breath away. Leaning in, he presses the barest of kisses to the inside of your knee before he rises to his full height, pressing you close.

“D’you mean what you said before?” he asks, voice low.

I love you, dammit!

“Yes,” you answer without hesitation.

Logan exhales sharply, the tension he’s been holding coiled in his muscles loosening as he loops his arms around your waist. “I’m not very good with words,” he admits, his breath fanning across your damp skin. “Can I show you?”

There’s no mistaking the meaning behind his words and you can only nod, your voice catching in your throat.

His lips find yours, mouth moving over yours slow and deliberate as if he’s savoring the taste of you. The first touch is a spark, the second a fire, and by the third, it’s an inferno that engulfs you both and leaves you breathless. Logan kisses you like you’re his anchor, his salvation, his touch desperate and full of everything he can’t yet put into words.

Your fingers slide into his hair, gripping the strands at the nape of his neck as you pull him closer, deepening the kiss. He groans against your mouth, the sound swallowed in the space between you. His tongue brushes against yours, teasing and exploring and you respond in kind, your nails scraping along his scalp.

Logan’s control is fraying. You can feel it in the way his teeth nip at your bottom lip, the way his hands press along the curve of your spine, the way he can’t seem to find enough of your skin to touch, to caress. A low growl rumbles through his chest as you slip a hand between your slick bodies, finding his cock, thick and heavy against your belly.

You give one slow drag of your palm along his length before he’s gripping your thighs and forcing your legs around his waist. His mouth leaves yours, trailing down to the curve of your jaw as he presses you against the wall, the coolness of the tile a direct contrast to the heat of your skin and you can’t stop the gasp that escapes your lips.

Despite his age, the metal bones inside him slowly poisoning him and causing him human aches and pains, he’s still able to hold you up solidly with one arm as the other trails along your hip bone and dips down to where you’re warm and wet.

“This all for me?” he asks in a murmur, sliding a finger along the seam of your cunt, just barely brushing against your clit.

Your breath hitches and you grip his shoulders, nails pressing lightly into his skin as you nod. Logan’s eyes darken at your reaction, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Yes,” you finally manage to whisper. “Always for you.”

“Good,” he growls, leaning in to nip at the skin just below your ear. The deep rumble of his voice vibrates through you, his touch deliberate and almost torturously slow as he slides his fingers through your folds, spreading your slickness with a focused and unrelenting precision.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, your head tilting back against the wall as he finally presses his thumb to your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to have your thighs trembling around his waist.

“I got you,” he coos against your skin, his lips trailing from the pulse point in your neck to your collarbone. His teeth scrape along the curve of your shoulder, his free hand gripping your hip tighter to steady you as his fingers continue to tease and coax. “Lemme make you feel good.”

Every nerve ending is afire beneath him, every motion, every stroke of his fingers against your cunt leaving your mind reeling with pleasure. Your nails dig further into corded muscles of his shoulders, desperate for something to anchor yourself to. You pull back when you see the tiny, crescent shaped cuts marring his skin.

His eyes snap up to yours, sharp and molten. “No, do it,” he urges, fingers still moving. “Mark me with somethin’ pretty.”

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasp.

“Say my name again,” he demands, his voice rough and commanding. There’s a quiet desperation in his tone, as if hearing it grounds him. Grounds him to this moment. To you.

You can’t help but obey, whispering his name like a prayer, and he rewards you by slipping one long finger inside you, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure along your spine. Logan watches your face intently as if memorizing the way you react to his touch. When he adds a second finger and slowly begins to thrust his hand, you cling further to him, the heat inside you building to an almost unbearable intensity.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and reverent. “You’re so beautiful like this. So wet and warm and tight around me.”

His words barely register in your mind, too focused on the way his fingers curl and thrust inside you, finding that soft spot that makes your eyes roll back. He’s relentless now, his thumb pressing hard against your clit as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

“Logan, I’m so close,” you whine, your hips beginning to roll against his hand, seeking just a bit more friction, forcing his fingers deeper inside of you.

The tension coiling low in your belly finally snaps, your orgasm washing over you in waves that make your whole body shudder as you cry out his name. Logan holds you through it, his hand continuing to thrust against you as he draws out every ounce of pleasure from you, his own breathing ragged against your skin.

When you finally come down, Logan presses a kiss to your temple as he helps you unwrap your legs from his waist and carefully sets you down, keeping you close.

You tilt your head to meet his gaze, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I didn’t think you’d be into shower sex, old man,” you tease with a smile.

His laugh is low. “I can make exceptions. I need a bed to fuck you properly, though.”

“Prove it,” you challenge.

+++

The heat and intensity between you doesn’t diminish as Logan helps you out of the shower and guides you down the hallway towards his bedroom. A shiver of anticipation crawls up your spine as you get closer, knowing that once you cross this line, there’s no going back, that he will have claimed you fully.

You scoot back onto the bed, watching as he approaches you with a fire in his gaze that doesn’t waver. He climbs onto the mattress, knee pressing down between yours as he cages you in from above, gently pinning you beneath him.

Leaning down, his lips brush against yours, teasing. “Still wanna challenge me, sweetheart?” His voice is a low gravelly growl that sends a prickling rush of arousal down your limbs.

“Always,” you reply breathlessly, arching into his touch as his hands slide down your thighs, parting them with ease.

His grin is sharp as he leans back to take you in fully and you acutely feel the weight of his gaze against your skin. He traces his calloused fingers over your damp skin, along the dips of your collarbones, under the swell of each breast, mapping the curve of your hips as if committing you to memory. Dipping his head, he leans down between your legs, his beard grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs and you can’t help but shudder at the sensation.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he says, almost to himself, his voice dripping with desire. He drags his lips higher, brushing along your damp cunt, his breath hot and tantalizing. “And all mine.”

The possessiveness in his tone has you clenching around nothing, heat pooling low in your belly and your fingers tangle in his hair, urging him closer. But he ignores your silent plea, almost deliberately testing your patience as he kisses you everywhere except where you want him most.

“Logan, please,” you gasp, the ache between your thighs almost painful.

“Patience,” he chides with a smirk, though his own resolve seems to be thinning. His hands grip your hips, pulling you closer before he flattens his palms against your thighs, opening you fully to him. Then, his tongue is on you, lapping at you with flat, broad strokes in a rhythm that quickly has you teetering on the edge.

Logan’s focus is unrelenting, his low growls of approval vibrating through you as he works you over with an enthusiasm that proves to you this is about more than just pleasure—he’s claiming you, showing you just how much you mean to him. Making you his.

Your thighs tremble around him and his warm, rough hands hold you steady as he slips one, then two fingers deep inside of you. It’s embarrassing how quickly you come as he thrusts his fingers against that spot inside you, your second orgasm of the night crashing over you as his name falls from his lips in a breathless moan.

Before you can properly catch your breath, Logan is moving from between your thighs, making his way back up your body, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses against your skin. His lips finally find yours in a kiss that’s messy and desperate and you can taste yourself on his tongue, sharp and bright, and the intimacy of it sends a thrill through you.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he groans against your lips, his voice wrecked as he grinds his hips against yours, his cock hard and insistent against your hip. “Could spend the rest of my life between between those thighs.”

“Why stop there?” you tease, your lips tugging into a smirk. “I thought you said you’d fuck me properly.”

Logan’s eyes darken, your challenge seeming to light something dark and primal in him. His grin is all teeth as he sits back on his heels, hands curling around your hips and pulling you down the bed like you weigh nothing until your hips are flush with his. “You gotta mouth on you, sweetheart. Should we see if you can still talk stuffed full of my cock?”

The weight of his cock brushes against your slick folds and you gasp at the sensation, your nerve endings exquisitely sensitive. Logan grips himself at the base, giving himself one languid stroke before running the thick head along your cunt, teasing you with shallow thrusts. Each slow, deliberate stroke of him sliding against you leaves you desperate and aching and you lift your hips in search of more.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “So needy. Bet you’ll take me so well, huh?”

“Yes,” you breathe, nails digging into the muscles of his forearms. “Please.”

He presses into you then, the stretch of his cock making your jaw drop as he takes his time, sinking in inch by inch, filling you completely. Logan’s gaze is locked on yours, heavy and possessive as he watches every flicker of pleasure cross your face.

“Fuck” he groans when he’s fully seated against your hips, his body trembling with the effort to stay still. “You feel…so fuckin’ tight. So damn perfect.”

Your hands clutch at his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him as he starts to move, pulling out torturously slow before thrusting back in harder, setting a rhythm that’s relentless and consuming. Each stroke of his hips has you crying out, your body arching into his as you meet him thrust for thrust.

“Takin’ me so well, sweetheart,” he growls, his fingers gripping the flesh of your hips hard enough to bruise as he continues to pound into you. “Like you were made for me.”

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing in with your whimpered moans and Logans own ragged groans. He leans down, bracing himself on his forearms, the wiry hair on his chest teasing your nipples as his lips find your neck, biting and sucking marks into your skin that feel like promises.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in deeper, your heels digging into his back as the coil inside you begins to tighten once more. He feels it too, the way you body clenches around him, and his pace falters slightly, his breaths coming faster.

“C’mon,” he rasps against the pulse point on your neck. “Wanna feel you come. Wanna make you fall apart.”

It doesn’t take much more—just a few more well-angled thrusts that hit that spot inside you and the tension finally snaps, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you trembling. Logan’s finesse is slipping, thrusts growing erratic as chases his own release.

“Come Logan,” you manage in a whisper. “Come for me.”

His hips stutter as he groans your name, spilling into you as his body tenses, lazily thrusting against you as he wrings out the last of his pleasure. He stays deep inside you, still for several moments before he shifts just enough to collapse against your side.

For a long moment, neither of you moves, the only sounds in the room being your heavy breathes and the pounding of your heart. Logan rests his head against your chest, heavy and sweat slick between your breasts. You brush at the strands of hair against his forehead before running your finger along the old scar on his cheek.

He lifts his head to look up at you, his gaze soft yet still simmering with hunger. “I do, you know,” he murmurs. His fingers brush idly against your skin. “Love you.”

A smile spreads across your face, warming blooming in your chest.

“I know.”

+++

You wake before he does, rolling over to find him prone, face buried in the pillow he hugs close to his chest. Sunlight filters in through the half slatted blinds, catching on the silver in his hair and beard and you can’t help but admire how handsome he looks, how at peace he is beside you. He’s relaxed in sleep for the first time since you came here. You’ve heard his growls and yelps of terror that echo in the night, seen the claw marks that pierce his sheets.

Your mind filters back to last night and how he looked as he came apart inside you, how desperate and needy he was for your touch upon his skin. The memory of his gasps and groans send a rush of warmth over your skin, making you dimly aware of the ache between your legs. Logan, so guarded, so unyielding and seemingly unbreakable, trembled as he came, his voice rough and wrecked as he called out your name. You shiver thinking about it.

You want to hear it again. But not now.

Resisting the urge to reach out and brush the hair from his forehead, you leave him undisturbed and slide out of bed. Padding into the kitchen, you find Charles sitting in his chair at the kitchen table, the newspaper spread out in front of him. He looks up at you with a warm smile as you start a pot of coffee, the machine humming to life.

“Ah, I see,” he comments, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You glance over at Charles, his eyes back on the paper in front of him, but his smile still paints his face, sly and knowing. Heat creeps up your neck as you busy yourself with the coffee. “Are you reading my mind?” you ask, trying to force nonchalance into your tone.

Charles chuckles softly and taps at his temple. “I don’t have to. You’re projecting. And quite loudly, at that.”

You bite your lip as you fill your mug, leaning against the counter as the coffee warms your hands. You attempt to clear your mind, trying to think of anything mundane—the weather, baseball, laundry. Charles just shakes his head. “Relax, my dear. What the two of you do together as consenting adults is none of my business.”

“Oh, God,” you groan, your cheeks aflame. “That’s what I’m projecting?”

“Not that explicitly, no. You think more in feelings, rather than words. But they’re quite powerful emotions and rather hard to ignore when they’re radiating as strongly as yours are this morning.”

You bury your face in your hand, peeking at Charles through your fingers, which only seems to amuse him further. “You’re enjoying this far too much,” you mutter.

“Perhaps,” Charles says with a laugh. “But you’re helping him. Healing him. And that, my dear, is worth everything.”

Before you can respond, you hear the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the hall. Logan rounds the corner, hair tousled from sleep, his body still bare except for the pair of low slung sweatpants clinging to his hips. His eyes find yours first, softening in a way they rarely do for anyone else as he scratches at the back of his head and mumbles, “Mornin’.”

“Morning,” you reply with a smile, thankful for the distraction. You pour a second cup of coffee and offer it up to him. “Coffee?”

Logan grunts in affirmation, moving towards you, but instead of reaching for the mug, he loops an arm around your waist, pulling you against him. He buries his face in your neck, beard scraping against your skin as he sighs. “Didn’t like wakin’ up with you not there,” he breathes into your hair, his voice so low you almost don’t hear him.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“S’okay,” he says softly, pressing the lightest of kisses just under your ear. “Next time, wake me.”

Your heart stutters against your ribs at his open display of affection, the softness and warmth in which he holds you, and the promise behind his words. From over his shoulder you see Charles give you a slight nod, a bright smile on his face before he turns his attention back to the newspaper in front of him.

You think back to what Charles told you all those months ago, about how you were a home for Logan. Those words echo in your mind as you feel Logan’s steady weight against you. He’s so different now, soft and unguarded and in that moment you know.

You’re home, too.

#logan howlett #wolverine #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x you #deadpool and wolverine #logan howlett fic #logan howlett fanfiction #logan x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x fem!reader #wolverine smut #wolverine x men #wolverine fanfiction #old man logan #old man logan x reader #old man logan smut #logan x you

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katebeckets · 5 months ago

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because tumblr is the gif website, I feel like everyone here should understand the work that goes into creating a gifset. because I think not everyone does, and it’s a huge part of why people don’t respect gif makers the way that they should.

the simplest gifs you will ever see me post still take the better part of an hour to create. because in order to make a gif, you need the material—for me, that means taking screen captures of videos or finding a download for them, both of which take time. then you have to open photoshop and create your gif, which can take a really long time depending on how quick photoshop is, how long the gif you’re making is, the size, any number of variables. and then I always color my gifs from scratch. if there’s dialogue, I listen over and over to try to make sure it’s correct, sometimes I look up transcripts, and sometimes it takes time to decide how to break up the dialogue. so even if it’s a simple two-gif set of a short scene, it will take the better part of an hour at least. and again, this is for the simplest gifsets I create.

so when I gif a scene, I am spending at least an hour with that tiny little snippet of material. which means that whatever it is that is featured in the gifset, it’s something that I like or tolerate enough to spend at minimum an hour with it. and this is why it DOES NOT MATTER if you are not critiquing the gif itself, gif makers do not want to hear every negative thought you have ever had about an actor, character, scene, or anything else they may have made a gifset for. if you want to complain about something, make your own post.

do not take someone else’s creation as a chance to complain or make nasty comments about anything featured in it. if I am willing to gif something, it means that I am willing to spend my own free time looking at it and working with it and creating something with it. so even if it isn’t my favorite scene or character or actor or whatever, I like it enough to watch the same three second clip over and over again for the better part of an hour. and yes, you’re just one person, but imagine a gifset with 100 notes. say 50 of those are reblogs, and 20 have some sort of complaint in the tags. you only see the tags of people who reblog from you, but OP will see all the tags. which means it’s not just your complaint, it’s all 20 different complaints about the thing they liked enough to make a gifset for.

and look—I understand it’s your blog and you can say whatever you want. I understand that I am creating something to be seen by other people and I don’t get to control what people say or do in the tags. if you read this and think fuck that, I can do what I want, you’re right. the purpose of this post is to remind you that you can do whatever you want, but the consequence may be that the people who are creating content for your fandoms stop posting altogether because they get sick of reading everyone’s negative opinions.

all that said, for the love of god: if you like something, reblog it. send asks and tell people you like their creations. say it in the tags. send things to friends. DO NOT REPOST THINGS. if you want to reap the benefits of other people creating things, make them feel like their work is appreciated.

#this is not about one particular fandom #it has happened in all my fandoms #but I can tell you for the fandoms I create for #it is especially prominent when talking about David Duchovny/Mulder #or Jane Rizzoli/Angie Harmon/late seasons of Rizzoli & Isles #sentences border on senseless

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lucanderie · 1 month ago

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I think it's odd how many people can't divorce the concept of the player canonically infringing on Kris's agency with the question of if that makes us evil or them evil. If "Game Developer Toby Fox Says You Are a Bad Person For Playing Video Games". It's almost like, since Undertale went meta partially to enforce theme of responsibility for one's violent actions, some UTDR fans can't really engage with the idea of player/ player-character separation without assuming that the point of that distinction would inevitably be to "call the player out". Therefore, to them, "Kris doesn't like being controlled by me" = "The game is calling me evil, and wants me to feel bad about myself for playing it".

But while I understand that, on a purely emotional level, framing the act of controlling the player character as something harmful would inevitably make some players very uncomfortable, making you uncomfortable isn't the point (at least from what I interpret at this point in the game etc). That isn't what makes it "good". This level of meta is so compelling because it turns the fact that "no matter how deeply you're invested in Kris as a three-dimensional-human being, by nature of the medium, you will spend this experience treating them as 'yourself' to some extent and over-riding their agency"- and turns it right in front of your eyes from something you have to suspend your disbelief to sidestep, into something completely canon. It makes this mental dissonance a feature, not a bug. All sorts of functional details of Kris being a player character aren't things we have to look over, but part of the actual narrative. You are playing the game right if you make a decision Kris doesn't like and get blindsided when they try to defy you! That's an intentional plot point in the story!

Not to mention, the limitation of Kris's agency forces their characterization to be so unique and compelling, since the writing has to find creative ways to squeeze it through the layer of the player influence. Because we can't just be directly shown what Kris is like, we get subtle, deeply compelling snippets of who they are, with what does and doesn't shine through our involvement being a level of characterization over top of the characterization.

Deltarune is absolutely not the first game to do this, nor am I the first one to say this. It's just weird how many DR discussions seem to forget that meta aspects of games can have a purpose entirely distinct from moralizing a player's actions- that having your implicit assumptions of how fiction is supposed to work used against you is just good writing.

#deltarune #kris dreemurr #deltarune spoilers #deltarune analysis #deltarune meta #kris deltarune #utdr #utdr fandom #deltarune soul #lucanderie

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ittybittyfanblog · 2 months ago

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Error 404: Spin-off

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. Update: Sylus went ahead and got himself mortalized (That's it, that's the plot). Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, suggestive language, slight crack (literally. lmao, you’ll see), FLUFF! A/N: Finally starting the spin-off! Hello again 🙂‍↕️🫶🏼 I’ve got a rough outline for the flow and a few key chapters mapped out, but I’m keeping it flexible for the most part. This isn’t gonna be a full structured story, so think more like vignettes of their life, w/ some world-building here and there (laying some groundwork for future chapters hehe). Come thru if you wanna see what error!Sylus and our lil player are up to post-reality jump 🙂‍↕️🙏🏼 Also: no posting schedule! I’m treating this like a chill side project I can pick up whenever, so not every part’s gonna be lengthy/that polished hehe. Mostly short snippets, unless the chapter calls for a longer one. (P.S. Just send a DM if you want to be taken off the taglist lol. I just assumed you guys would still want to follow along, but no pressure at all if you don’t! 💕)

(main series) - Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3

You keep waiting to wake up.

For the sound of your phone alarm to blare somewhere beneath the covers, forcing you to fish it out at seven-thirty-something in the morning. For this absolutely wonderful, absolute mindfuck of a dream, to end—and for the real world to set in.

For another uneventful day to begin, the way it usually does after a short reprieve from the hustle and the bustle of life.

From behind the bathroom door, the sound of the shower cuts off.

You scramble to open the cupboard overhead, grabbing the pepper shaker from the first shelf. You do four rotations over the half-cooked omelette before flipping it over with a rubber spatula, trying not to lose your cool. Or what’s left of it.

Three days. It’s been three days since it dawned on you that Sylus has actually managed to cross the threshold – through a tiny, impossible fissure in the fabric of reality – just to get to this dimension. Your dimension.

Three days since you locked eyes with the other half of your soul from across a room, no screen separating the two of you for once. No physical barrier to stop him from catching you as you ran toward him past the counter, just as twilight kissed the sky goodnight, sobbing at the first touch of his skin—electric against yours. The taste of his lips, the bittersweet notes of extant longing and pure bliss blooming on your tongue as he captured your mouth in his; the two of you lost in each other, uncaring of anything beyond that precious, shared moment.

And three days for your mind to finally catch up to the sheer impossibility of it all.

As far as your Sundays go, you’d say this one takes the cake.

He’s been staying in a modest little rental just a couple of blocks away from you. Nothing extravagant – just a transient house he’s leased for the week. Not that you’ve technically been inside to know; he only pointed it out once, the single-storey residential from across the main street, as the two of you were heading back home—your home. To your little studio apartment.

Him. Sylus. In your condo. You can’t even begin to wrap your head around it.

You know that he’d just arrived in town two days before that fateful encounter at the bistro. That he’d already done his research to know exactly where you were going to be during that hour, and that he’s been here, on Earth, for quite some time now. Even before meeting you.

But past this knowledge, you haven’t actually covered much of anything, really. Just this little awkward dancing around you’ve been doing since you’ve been together.

And you know you should ask, probe, have him break down the hows of his existence to you, a clearer timeline of exactly when he popped into this world, what he’s been up to in all the time he’s been here… and why he’s even waited so long to come to you directly.

You’re painfully aware that it’s just you who’s keeping yourself from getting the answers you want. You’re the one making this harder than it needs to be. You can’t help it.

There’s no manual to tell you how to deal with your emotions when your virtual lover appears in front of you, in the flesh, miraculously defying all laws of physics in the process. No handbook telling you what to do next when something you’ve been wishing for every night before going to bed – for the past two years – actually manifests into being.

Someone you’ve always longed for, staked deep within the confines of your heart, but never truly imagined the consequences of until your wishful thinking bled into reality.

And now he’s here.

All things considered, you think you’ve done an okay job at acting like everything’s normal. Mostly. Probably.

(You haven’t.)

The day after he showed up at your proverbial doorstep, you almost couldn’t believe everything that had transpired a mere twenty hours ago was even real. That maybe your brain had just gotten creative enough to invent a Hallmark-worthy scene to win you a one-way trip to your therapist—and that, maybe, you’d conjured him up simply because you missed him and you’re so down bad, your mind decided to start playing tricks on you.

...which nearly had your soul catapulting out of your body at the sight of the—extremely corporeal, extremely attractive—raven-haired (!) man moving through your kitchen the first morning he stayed over, wearing a black V-neck and a pair of grey sweatpants, ambling barefoot like he already knew the place by heart.

You suppose he does, you allow cautiously, an odd sort of warmth blooming in your chest at the thought. Of course he would.

Still. It didn’t erase the surrealness of seeing Sylus, the Sylus—mortal, perfect, wonderfully alive—brewing you a cup of coffee at nine in the morning, your brain failing to fully comprehend the image of his towering figure working your faulty, secondhand De’Longhi like a pro.

"Are you," he started, eyes zooming in on the spot between your thumb and forefinger, mouth twitching like he's trying not to laugh, "pinching yourself?"

You had quickly withdrawn your hand, schooling your face into a poor attempt at nonchalance as you reached for the steaming blue mug he was holding out to you. "...No."

You can't help but hover around him, like some weird satellite desperate for orbit. You find yourself sneaking glances every five seconds—and more often than not, he meets your gaze with a wayward look of his own.

He never calls you out on it; he just gives you an infuriatingly impish smirk that sends your heart into overdrive, making you feel younger than you are.

You’re still stewing over the events of the past few days, absentmindedly worrying whether the eggs needed more salt, when you hear the bathroom door open.

You whip your head around, and all systems crash to a stop.

Oh god. Oh fuck.

He’s standing there—all six-foot-five of pure, lean muscle, like sin sculpted out of marble and left to walk your unvacuumed parquet wood floor without so much as a care for the cluttered little living space he’s in, looking completely at ease. Fresh from the shower, steam rising lazily from every inch of bare skin laid out in front of you, and it’s like The Neuron™ in your brain activates. The towel slung low across his hips leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, reducing your thoughts monosyllabic, like some half-evolved primate ready for mating season or whatever. Hot man. Hot man shirtless. Involuntarily, your eyes track a stray rivulet sliding down; right where the faintest suggestion of a happy trail (!!!) begins and ends… and you’re gone. Lost in some kind of trance.

Utterly hypnotised, you watch as it soaks into the edge of the borrowed sage green terry cotton, faintly wondering if what’s beneath it could soak you the same way, shit—

A strangled noise slips past your lips.

It’s terrible. You sound like a dying cow. Hot man’s fault. Bad.

A snort breaks you out of your shameless ogling.

Your head jerks up like you’ve been caught red-handed doing something you're not supposed to, guiltily meeting his eyes. You see Sylus already watching you wryly, the heavy drag of his half-lidded stare rooting you in place.

Your face starts to flush red with embarrassment, heat climbing all the way up to your ears.

He’s leaning a shoulder against the doorframe; arms crossed loosely over his chest, completely relaxed, and clearly getting a kick out of whatever expression you’ve got at the moment. His gaze doesn't waver, stuck on you like glue, drinking in every flustered reaction with quiet amusement.

You swallow nervously. His eyes flicker down, tracing the movement of your throat, and his lips tug up into a semblance of a smile.

Fuuuuck.

"You already started on breakfast without me, sweetie?" He tuts in mock-disapproval. "I told you it’d take me less than twenty minutes to shower."

You don’t manage much in response, just a dumb, garbled, "mhm, s’okay."

You're completely blanked out at this point—bluescreen dead if you will—except for one panicked thought flashing through your brain: Holy shit, he's practically naked. Sylus Qin from Love and Deepspace is practically naked in my house.

Then, not long after, a chorus of, “oh my god oh my god oh my god” starts looping in your head, overriding what little composure you had left like some raunchy PSA warning you about the dangerous rise of moisture down south.

Sylus cocks his head slightly, sending you a sly, knowing look—one that says he knows exactly what's going on in that overstimulated little brain of yours.

Slowly, he pushes himself off and saunters closer to where you are, taking his time crossing the distance with easy, measured steps. As if he’s in no rush at all to get to you. As if he’s merely curious whether you’ll combust just from him shortening the proximity between your bodies.

(You think you just might.)

And when he’s standing barely a few inches away – close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him – Sylus leans down, effectively trapping you between the counter and the solid wall of his chest. Between granite and sinew.

You lose all capacity to speak.

Without breaking eye contact, he reaches out a hand to shut off the burner stove behind you with an easy flick of his wrist, the brief brush of his arm sending a shiver down your spine. Then, with maddening tenderness, he pinches your cheek between two fingers—his thumb caressing the spot right after.

In a voice filled with faux sympathy, he coos, “What’s got you all distracted, poppet?”

He’s teasing. You know he’s teasing.

He’s done nothing but tease you with his devastatingly good looks, his overwhelming presence, and syrupy words spoken so sinfully in that low cadence of his voice, ever since he arrived. And, oh, you’re not sure whether to scream or kiss the smug look off his face silly.

You’re so bad at being subtle. You always have been, especially when it comes to him. And you know you can’t hide anything from Sylus – from the smallest flicker of microexpression on your face, down to the shortness of your breath. Both of you know this. Both of you painfully aware of the effect he has on you.

And just as much, you know he’s been holding himself back—that no matter how flirtatious he gets, he’s still keeping enough control to pull away whenever you start to get too overwhelmed.

Despite his provocations, Sylus never pushes. He waits, patiently. Giving you the space to volley back if you want to. And if you don’t, he backs off in a second, with the same effortless ease he uses to tease you. Leaving you room to breathe again.

Rinse, repeat.

It’s almost as if you two are playing a game with poorly drawn rules. You don’t know who’s winning.

The little spell breaks when you feel a disgruntled meow against your shin; it's immediately followed by a cat headbutting you, twice in succession, with a surprising amount of aggression.

"Not used to sharing your mother, are you?" Sylus sighs, pulling back from where he’d been caging you in—his movements slow, reluctant.

A warning hiss rises from below. He raises his hands in mock surrender, stepping back to a safer distance, just out of swiping range.

"Yes, yes. You win,” he grumbles in acquiescence at the testy feline, a comically put-upon look on his face. “For now.”

You pull your eyes away from his bicep—look, you're just a girl, okay—to blink down at the temperamental little creature who’s now self-appointed himself as your personal foot guard.

He’s making some vague, cryptic noises, something between a purr and a growl, while keeping his eyes locked firmly on Sylus’ leg.

"He–um, he might just be hungry," you manage to mutter. A quick glance at the food bowl says otherwise. "...or not."

Sylus huffs under his breath, a low sound, equal parts understanding and mildly affronted. He tilts his head – eyes narrowing at the untouched kibble, then to the small furry menace claiming your feet like a jilted lover.

Unfortunately, Maru’s reception to the new person has been... less than cordial.

From the moment Sylus walked in the apartment, Maru had hissed at him as if to say: There is no reason for a Man to be here, before darting beneath the coffee table – tail lashing with all the theatrics of a petulant child. The churlish product of a mother who's been single for far too long, that he’s decided he’s the only boy she’ll ever need.

It strikes you as a little odd. He never usually gets antsy around guests, and you'd even thought he and Sylus got along—or at least, back when the man in question was confined to mere pixels on screen.

Maybe you shouldn’t have counted on that.

Sylus, to his credit, hasn't once tried to close the distance or force a peace treaty. Amused, definitely; the way his eyes glint whenever Maru glares at him could almost qualify as charmed. But since stepping into your home, he’s been mindful about giving the creature a wide berth, moving with the quiet understanding that respect here is sacrosanct, something to be earned. That he’s the one imposing, and the truce between him and the (true) man of the house is a fragile, delicate thing.

You honestly haven’t decided if Maru’s behaviour is because he’s protective... or just pissed that someone else is hogging your attention.

"It’s alright, sweetie," Sylus—your son’s chosen rival—soothed you reassuringly; his hand rubbing a slow, comforting circle over the small of your back when he caught the slightly crestfallen look on your face. "He’s just feeling territorial about his space right now. Give it some time."

“I’ll get dressed,” Sylus murmurs. “Don’t start on the coffee without me.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, then another between your brows; the casual, freely-given affection leaves you warm and gooey inside. He turns toward your vanity, where his black duffel bag rests on the small plastic saddle chair.

You watch his retreating figure for a few seconds—long enough for him to glance back over his shoulder, one brow lifted in lazy inquiry. And the look is so familiar; so painfully reminiscent of the one he gives you in-game, right after you’d deliver a ‘slap’ to his ass, that it knocks you a little off-kilter.

… Which might explain why you don’t react fast enough when his eyes flash with mischief, and he casually undoes the knot of his towel.

The fabric drops.

You catch a glimpse—more than a glimpse, hello—of the perkiest butt you’ve ever seen in your life, and you spin around so fast you slam your elbow into something undoubtedly solid in the process.

A half-pained, half-mortified wheeze escapes your throat.

"Careful," he calls out to you—and though amusement colors his voice, there's a real thread of worry beneath it, enough to make you want to slam your head against the counter for some inexplicable reason. "Don’t feel the need to grant me modesty on my behalf, kitten."

"Kitten’s about to kill herself," you lament with a whine.

It earns you an unimpressed scoff.

“I just got here, my love,” he deadpans without missing a beat. “Daddy’s gonna have to ask you to hold on a little longer.”

You choke on nothing but air. Critical system failure.

Buffering… buffering… buffering…

You inhale sharply.

"Okay, pause," you beg, a slightly hysterical edge to your tone as you claw your way back from a full-blown breakdown. In an attempt to divert the topic, “D’you–uh, do you want anything on your eggs? I’ve got ketchup, hot sauce... barbecue sauce..."

"A proper chef now, are you?" And oh, the next thing you know, he’s right behind you again. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your shirt.

He smells faintly like your body wash, like Dove nourishing coconut and your calendula shampoo, a heady mix of something sweet and herbal.

The thought of him—of the both of you—smelling the same, actually makes you feel giddy.

What a stupidly trivial, novel thing to find joy in.

Snap the fuck out of it, it’s just soap, you chide to yourself.

You don’t even notice you’re trembling until Sylus curls a large hand around yours; steadying the shaky fingers reaching for the bottle of Cholula on the condiment tray, while his other hand gently cradles your hurt elbow.

Your breath hitches when he presses a kiss to your temple.

"Oh, sweetie," he murmurs, and it’s the way he says it—low and unbearably fond—that loosens some of the tension on your shoulders. "You’ve wound yourself up."

"I'm good," you mumble, though your voice betrays you, thinner than you mean it to sound.

"It's just me," he says, his tone as gentle as the breeze slipping through the open window, ruffling the choppy bangs that frame your face. "Nothing so different from how it’s always been, hmm?"

And you know he’s right. It's just him. Just Sylus. Your Sylus. No different from the one from two years ago.

"I know," you sigh, finally turning to face him, having to crane your neck slightly to meet his eyes.

His expression is softer now, the type of softness reserved solely for you, something that never fails to make you ache. The teasing is gone, tucked away for the time being.

"I just need a little time to wrap my head around this," you admit, voice quieter now. "Is that... is that okay?"

The greys of his eyes melt into something silvery, moonlit—impossibly tender.

In one smooth motion, he lifts you onto the kitchen counter and steps between your legs, closing what little space remains between you. You yelp in surprise, but before you can react, he’s already leaning in, stealing a kiss from your lips. Just a quick one, like he couldn’t help himself, like he needed a taste to hold him over. He chuckles when he sees your wide-eyed look.

"Of course, my love," he says, voice wrought with promise—in love with the way your lips part, bitten pink and unsure, as he lifts your hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of it. "We’ll go as slow as you want. Forever, if that’s what you need." Forever, as what you two have.

…

For over a year, you’ve learned how to enjoy the small things alone. And you did—enjoy it, you mean. Once, almost a lifetime ago, you took for granted the quiet joys of a slower life. But you learned to take it day by day. One hour at a time, minute after minute.

It made room for reflection, and it moulded you into something stronger, and softer, all at once.

But this—with him—brings you back to another time. A sweeter time; the dog-day summer of your life.

The morning hums with a kind of quiet normalcy you’ve grown accustomed to. You’re used to the sunlight spilling through the linen curtains, lining the floor with streaks of honey-gold, soft as a happy memory. Used to the noise of the outside world bleeding through the walls, a constant presence you’ve long since accepted as a permanent fixture in this tiny apartment, like a second heartbeat.

He’s right, in a way.

This isn’t so different from the mornings you once shared with the same man—back when he wore a different face and led an extraordinarily polarized life, completely at odds with yours. The ones spent laughing into a screen, your fingers ghosting across glass, desperate to grasp something you never could.

That life feels like it belonged to someone else now. Someone lonelier.

So, no. Maybe not quite the same – maybe not even close.

–

You finally allow yourself to give in; to sink into the warmth of him, folding yourself smaller in his embrace like a tired bird nestling into a safer sky, your heart fluttering wild and restless against your ribs. Too big for your body, too full to contain. Here – tangled together in this sliver of morning light – everything that has hurt you feels small in comparison. You were never alone to begin with. But with Sylus in your arms, the world feels brighter than you ever remembered it could be.

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy @touya-apologist @gladiolus-mamacitia @btszn @wrimaira @writingmyladsdelusions @borkunlimited @magnoliaswriteatsunset

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x non mc reader #sylus x you #lads x you #lads x reader #love and deepspace fic #self aware au #sylus qin

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sugxto · 18 days ago

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open circuit - eddie x volt drabble

⋆syn: there's something about you that's catching Eddie and Volt's interest. They... discuss exactly what they want to do about it.

⋆wc: 2.6k

⋆cw: explicit m/m, frottage, dirty talk - they're fantasizing about you and getting off on it, basically

⋆notes: takes place after you've worked with eddie to fix up the club, before the final night of their route. the person eddie and volt are discussing is completely gender neutral. they're referred to as "human," with they/them pronouns, and no descriptions of genitalia or features. e/v masterlist.

⋆snippet:

“I’m telling you that we should fuck them. Give the little live wire one hell of a night.” Volt’s eyes narrow, and Eddie feels his hand on his side dip lower, glide along the waist of his pants, and a finger hitches around a belt loop. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about them too.”

Eddie doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to, because Volt already knows he has.

open circuit

The toolbox swings shut with a metallic thud, and Eddie is relieved to not have to hold a pair of pliers, hopefully, for the rest of the night.

That should be enough, he thinks to himself, just enough to get them through tonight, maybe even tomorrow if Volt didn’t over do it. He repeats the reassurances over and over his in mind as he puts the tools away, wanting, needing to believe it.

The tools away, he makes his way down the hall to the bar office, pressing a thumb to the space between his eyebrows as he mentally goes over what smaller tasks could possibly be left on the to-do list. Wipe down the glasses, restock the whiskey, wipe down the -

He’s suddenly thrown against the wall of the office, just as he rounds the door, his breath leaving his lungs in a surprised gasp. He blinks, and nearly rolls his eyes at the glowing mess of white bolts that greet him. Of course.

“I’m working, Volt,” he grumbles, making his face stoic, but he’s curious about the playful glint in Volt’s eyes. He doesn’t show it, though. “What do you want?”

Volt cocks his head, a familiar smirk on his lips. Eddie knows that smirk too well, knows how it can get anyone at their bar to order another round, how it can convince Daisuke to lend them the crystal glasses, how it can crumble Eddie’s resolve if the situation is right.

“And what makes you think I want something, hm?” As Volt speaks, he rests a hand on the wall next to Eddie’s waist, blocking him if were to move to the door. “Can’t we just take a break together?”

Eddie sighs, rolls his eyes. “No. I don’t have time, because if you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to ensure we don’t blow a fuse every night.”

“Yes, I have noticed. An excellent job you’re doing too, my darling.” Volt’s eyes rake over Eddie’s face, pausing on his lips, before meeting his eyes again. “You and the human are very good together.”

Fuck.

Eddie feels his face get hot, and his nostrils flare, but he remains still, not willing to give Volt the satisfaction of a reaction.

But still, Volt smiles, leaning his face down, closer to Eddie’s, the tips of their noses almost touching. “You thought I wouldn’t hear you two making a racket the last few days? Did I overhear something about a ladder?”

Eddie opens his mouth to speak, but stops himself, a thought forming slowly in his exhausted brain, and he searches Volt’s white eyes for something amiss before saying, “You’re not mad they’re helping?”

“Helping you? Eddie, despite how you reassure me, well, more like lie to me, every morning that you did indeed sleep, I’m overjoyed they’re helping,” Volt says, his lightning brows arching on his forehead.

Huh.

That wasn’t the reaction Eddie was expecting.

He’d convinced himself that Volt might, well, explode if he knew someone else was touching their wires, helping to regulate the very power he released every night. But more than that, Volt was… prone to jealousy.

It wasn’t like either of them had virtuous pasts - they spent their first few years after Volt sparked into existence almost dancing around each other, trying to find distractions in whatever came through the door of the Breaker Box. But, once they’d found each other, acknowledged the spark, the current, that connected their very beings, there was no one else.

Volt was still a flirt, that couldn’t be helped, and it was good for business, they both knew. That didn’t bother Eddie - it was him that Volt came home to every night, but more than that, it was his very essence that gave Volt life. Nothing would ever be able to come between that. Not even when Bev would get hammered every so often, and grab onto Eddie's vest for “balance,” and Volt would appear seemingly out of thin air, a blue tint on his cheeks as he’d escort her out.

He’d made Volt out of necessity, and in turn, Volt lived to protect him. And Volt did not like anyone getting in his way.

So, it surprises Eddie, the voice Volt uses to reference the human - like he’s eager, waiting, for someone to open a present he’s gifting.

“Really?” Eddie asks, a bit incredulous.

“Really.” Volt’s hand moves to Eddie’s waist, stroking his thumb over the wires on his vest. His eyes are playful, and Eddie tries to ignore the way it makes his heart skip a bit. “They’re quite something, aren’t they?”

Eddie shrugs, makes a face that he hopes displays nonchalance. “I guess. They keep coming back, for some reason.”

“Oh, Eddie,” Volt chuckles, cupping Eddie’s face with his other hand, his thumb tilting his chin up. “You can’t be that oblivious.”

Eddie doesn’t like that tone, like he’s missing something, left out of a secret, and he furrows his brow, his gaze a challenge to his partner. “Oblivious to what, Volt?”

Volt’s grin is nearly sinister, and he turns his head, brings his lips to Eddie’s ear, and whispers, in the softest voice, “They want us.”

Eddie snaps his head, Volt’s eyes shining, that fucking grin still plastered on his face.

That - that couldn’t be right.

Sure, they were a bit of a flirt - he knew that, from how they flushed at Volt’s greetings, from an innuendo or two they’d thrown at him during a work break the other day. But it was Volt they were interested in, surely. Why they offered to help, show up before the club even opened, because it meant something to Volt. It was always Volt.

Except…

“Why is it so hard for you to believe I actually like spending time with you?”

Eddie swallows, steels his gaze against Volt’s white hot stare. “You don’t know that.”

“Oh, but I do,” Volt’s grip on Eddie’s waist tightens, and their hips meet as Volt backs him further against the wall. “They ask about you, you know, even as I flash them all my little tricks. And it’s not that they don’t reciprocate the energy - it’s actually refreshing, how well they keep up with me - but.” Volt licks his lips. “I think, one of us just wouldn’t be enough for them.”

That - no.

Eddie wouldn’t allow himself to believe that. That the shimmer he’d seen in their eyes could be for him, for them, and not just the prospect that Volt would have their way just once more.

He couldn’t.

So he lowers his voice, and grabs Volt’s collar, pulls him down to him. “So what - are you telling me you plan on fucking them?” His voice is like a dare, a tone that he knows can keep Volt in check if need be. But it’s less solid than usual.

“Mm, Eddie,” Volt purrs, and his hand travels down from Eddie’s cheek to rest on his neck, “looking a little green, darling.”

He tugs again. “Are you?”

Volt chuckles, shakes his head. “Not at all.” Sparks practically fly from his eyes. “I’m telling you that we should fuck them. Give the little live wire one hell of a night.” Volt’s eyes narrow, and Eddie feels his hand on his side dip lower, glide along the waist of his pants, and a finger hitches around a belt loop. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about them too.”

Eddie doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to, because Volt already knows he has.

(Eddie doesn’t know how it works, but sometimes, when they touch, there’s a spark, a current that flows between them, and it’s like they feel each other’s emotions as if they were their own. He tried to study it, years ago, tried to parse out some sort of rationale, some logic, but simply couldn’t. It was just how they were, he concluded, and it didn’t need to make sense to anyone but them.)

But still, he stays quiet, even as Volt’s nimble fingers find the button of his pants, tug the zipper down. He sucks in a breath through his teeth when Volt’s hand cups him, and he knows he’s caught, half-mast and growing by the second.

“Ah,” Volt breathes, and his lips brush Eddie’s, his breath hot, electric, on his skin. “I knew it.”

Eddie groans when Volt finds more pressure, and he pulls at Volt’s collar, forcing their lips together, and they move with practiced precision, their teeth tugging on each other’s lips, tongues swiping into the other’s mouth. He can never get enough of Volt’s mouth, how easy it is, how natural, when it meets his own. He wants to drink Volt down, feel his warmth like a whiskey sour, as long as he’s physically able.

He swipes a lick across Volt’s lips, then across his jaw, and nips at the skin, his cock paying rapt attention to Volt’s resulting gasps. He finds Volt’s ear, catches the lobe with his teeth, and says, “Tell me what you’ve thought about.”

Volt’s lips are on Eddie’s cheek, his breath tickling his ear. “What haven’t I thought about?” His voice is so rich, so deep. “Can’t you just picture it? You, watching me fuck them. Me, watching you fuck them.” His hand wraps around Eddie’s cock, and Eddie curses as he starts slow, languid strokes. “The two of us, inside them, together.”

Eddie can’t help when his breath hitches, when his knees wobble. He’s thought about it too, in the hidden, deep recesses of his mind, in the early hours of the morning between sleep and wake. Imagining the look on their face when either of their cocks would slide inside, taking it exactly how Volt and Eddie gave it to them.

But he’d never allowed himself to want.

And now, it surged under his skin, made his skin buzz, and fuck, yes, he wants.

Eddie shoves Volt back, but Volt doesn’t seem surprised, allowing Eddie to lead him, blindly, to the desk that sits in the center of the room. When his legs crash against it, Volt sits atop it, scattered papers flying off the surface with the force of impact. He opens his legs, and Eddie slots between them, grinding his cock against the bulge in Volt’s trousers as he grabs Volt’s face and kisses him again.

When his lips trail to Volt’s neck, and his teeth bite down, Volt’s fingers card through the coils of his hair, tugging him closer still. “You can picture it, can’t you, my darling? On their knees for us? Your beautiful wires on their skin?” he moans as Eddie’s teeth find his shoulder. “There’s so much we can do with them. I could fuck you while you had your fill of their cum. Fuck, Eddie, you could fuck me while they ride me. I’d feel so fucking full, Eddie, you know I would.”

Eddie growls, deep from his throat, and he practically rips the zip of Volt’s pants open, wastes no time in freeing Volt’s cock, long and beautiful and leaking onto Eddie’s fingers as he strokes it. His brain is close to frying, it’s racing, and he’s still not sure this is real. This isn’t a concept that he and Volt have discussed, even thought about, regarding any other occupant of the house. It was them, and they were enough.

And yet.

He raises his gaze, finding Volt’s white eyes drunk from Eddie’s touch, from the lust, love, that charges the very air in the room. When he speaks, his voice is gruff, laced with want. “Yes,” he admits, his eyes never leaving Volt’s. “Yes, I can fucking picture it.”

He lets go of Volt’s cock, just for the split second it takes for him to spit into his palm. He rocks his hips, his own cock knocking against Volt’s, whose jaw goes slack from the touch. Eddie’s hand encircles them both, a groan falling from his lips, as his strokes their lengths, once, twice, the heat of their pairing nearly scalding his palm.

Volt gasps, moans Eddie’s name, as their shafts grind together, their hips bucking up unconsciously. His hold on Eddie’s hair is so tight, pain bristles along his scalp, and Eddie relishes it.

Eddie huffs, his hand picking up speed, and keeping his eyes only on Volt’s. “I can fucking hear it, how you’d sound when their mouth is on you. The way they’d beg us. How they sound, fuuck, when they come.”

Volt presses his forehead to Eddie’s, and their breath combines, sharing the very air they inhale. “Yes, Eddie, yes,” he moans, his hips thrusting into Eddie’s hand, slick and hot and right. “You want it, tell me you want it.” As he says it, a hand leaves the coils of Eddie’s hair, finding, like a magnet, Eddie’s hand on their cocks, and joins him, holding, stroking them, together.

Eddie is hanging on by a frayed wire, and Volt’s voice is breaking it down, fast. “Fucks sake, yes, I want it, Volt.” And they are kissing, again, needing each other, wanting each other, as close as their bodies can stand.

He feels Volt shudder, and a familiar feeling tightens in his belly. He hears, far off in the distances of the logical part of his brain, the sound of lightbulbs popping in the hallway, and the light above them flickers, almost synchronized to their breath.

Their strokes are hurried now, both of them climbing, together, higher and higher and -

They groan their names into each other’s mouth as they cum, their spend mixing and sizzling the skin of their hands as it coats them while their hands slow. Only when Volt makes a small whimper do they stop, and they catch their breath, slowly, sporadic kisses on each other’s noses.

Eddie is the first to speak, barely above a whisper. “Are you sure about this?”

Volt huffs out a small laugh, lets his hand fall from Eddie’s hair to the back of his neck. “Eddie,” he purrs, his voice heavy with satisfaction, “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

They clean up with a rag from Eddie’s pocket, tuck themselves back together, readjust each others’ vests and shirt collars. They’re due to open soon, and they have to have some degree of professionalism, after all.

Eddie wonders if they’ll be here right at opening, and old, unfamiliar feeling arises in his chest - Anticipation. Excitement. Want.

When Volt kisses him, sweetly, once they’re back in one piece, he hums at how lucky he is to have Volt. His better half, his whole soul. Where would he be without him?

“Leave it to me to test the waters, alright?” Volt asks, and his lightning eyes are alight with mischief. “I’ll find you, and you’ll know how it goes.”

He nods, trusting Volt’s words more than his own in this new situation they’ve found themselves in. He runs a hand down Volt’s arm, locking one of his fingers around Volt’s, and he smirks. “Unless you’re wrong,” he teases, and Volt rolls his eyes.

“I’m never wrong, darling.”

“Uh huh. You better not be on this,” Eddie says, and turns to leave the office, off to find even more lightbulbs behind the bar. He tosses over his shoulder, “Or you’ll have to find some way to make it up to me.”

Volt’s laugh follows him, echoes down the hallway, and Eddie’s heart feels fuller than it has in weeks. He wonders, only to himself, if there’s even any more space inside it.

The door to the Breaker Box creaks open, and he recognizes the outline, his heart skipping a beat.

Maybe, Eddie thinks, it could grow to hold more.

#date everything #date everything smut #eddie and volt #eddie date everything #volt date everything #eddie x volt #eddie x volt smut #breaker box boys

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starmocha · 6 months ago

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ok so I know we're all taken in by colonel caleb and his complexity and i'm enjoying all the smut (🙏🏻💕) but i'm looking at him and thinking about how he'd react if mc got pregnant 'cause in ny head he'd react like I think sylus would as in he'd shower her in kisses while crying but imagine him being scared of holding the baby because of his arm, terrified of hurting that tiny being but the second he holds them the fear goes away and he's planting kisses on the top of the baby's head 🥹😭

CRYING. SOBBING. YEARNING. Anon, if you've been around my blog long enough, I have mentioned numerous times how my 3-part Caleb breeding kink (and pregnancy) series will happen. With the recent revelation about his arm, I was reflecting on how to tackle this series with regards to Caleb's character. I hope his future memories will also deal with this more, so we can get a better understanding of the changes and his own mental state regarding it.

omg ok we all probably know by now I am weak to the Caleb thoughts, so...so...just a little snippet. Just a tiny short snippet...

Sweet Little You

She was safe. They were safe.

Caleb watched with relief as you slept peacefully, exhausted after the grueling 34 hours of labor. He had dedicated his whole life to keeping you safe, protect you from dangers and prevent you from ever feeling pain, but in those long, slow hours, he had felt so utterly helpless as he watched you braved through the tribulations of motherhood.

He knew you were strong, knew that you were more than capable, but it did not deter his innate desire to shelter you.

It had only been a few hours since the baby was born, he realized, as his large hand rested on your head, gently smoothing your hair. He could still see your tears, heard you crying as you poured all of your strength into delivering his baby. You had gripped his hand so tightly, and though that right hand of his could no longer feel anything, his heart still did, torn apart at every scream, every sob that passed your lips. He did his best to encourage you, reassured you that everything was going well, that soon you both would meet your little one.

He wasn’t sure if what he had said helped or not, but you had still held his hand, holding tight to him just like long ago when you two were little. Maybe you still needed him, still wanting to lean on him like you used to.

He bent down and placed a soft kiss on your temple. “Thank you, my darling.”

Caleb’s ears perked up, hearing the sudden quiet fussing of his newborn. He looked to the hospital bassinet placed close to your bed. The baby was starting to stir, waking up from a peaceful slumber.

He quickly moved closer, his paternal instinct kicking in. He bent down lower, his voice softer than normal. “Hey, hey there, little one,” he said, about to reach down for the baby, but he paused, worried.

The baby’s face scrunched up, its cries still soft, but steadily growing just a bit louder. Panic briefly passed Caleb’s features, suddenly unsure of his own ability as a father. He could hear you stirring behind him, but he didn’t want you to wake yet, knowing you still needed more rest. He pushed down his own feeling of anxiety, and he bent down again, gently scooping the baby up.

The baby was so small, he couldn’t help but think, being able to hold the baby within his two hands. He readjusted his hold, cradling the baby within his arms, and his heart felt like it was slowing in time, his breathing almost stilling entirely as it finally seemed to clicked in his mind that he was holding his baby. This little baby, conceived from the love between you and him, was now here, in his arms, and he could barely stifle the sob that almost wanted to escape, his heart suddenly overwhelmed with so many different emotions ranging from disbelief to amazement and finally profound, unconditional love.

The baby’s cries ceased, replaced by soft cooing, and Caleb let out a breathless laughter, his earlier anxiety slowly receding. He still wondered about his capability, but more than that, he wondered how it was possible to love someone you had just met. When his eyes drifted up, settling over your sleeping form, he almost laughed again, realizing he had never found the answer to that question, having always been a willing victim of “love at first sight.”

He shifted his gaze back down to the tiny baby in his arms, his lips resting over the infant’s forehead, the sweet scent of the newborn filling his nostrils, and a warmth unlike anything he had ever felt before filled his chest.

“Welcome to the world, my little one,” he whispered, “We’ve been waiting for you.”

#x — 💌#anonymous #love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace x reader #caleb x reader #caleb fluff #lads scenarios #omg i get to add a new ficlet to my baby masterlist #you guys know i have a baby masterlist right lol #how many caleb seeds are you all planning on planting in my head #because #why am i so weak to them ;-;

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uzurakis · 1 year ago

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HOW THEY LIKE TO HOLD YOU CLOSE!

featuring: geto suguru. megumi fushiguro. itadori yuuji. gojo satoru. nanami kento.

n. a short drabble for each! had fun thinking about each of ‘em :]

GETO SUGURU has always been the type to grab your waist without notice, maybe even by belt if he’s teasing you. when he captures your waist with a daring grip out of the blue, you feel the world fades away, leaving just the heat of his touch to electrify your senses. his sudden hold sets your heart racing, awakening desires that linger in the air with an irresistible allure. in that fleeting instant, you feel a sense of belonging, as if you've found your home in the curve of his arm, knowing that with him, every moment is filled with passion.

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO doesn’t say it, but he enjoys the intimacy of interlaced fingers. in the quiet moments between conversations and stolen glances, he finds solace in the simple act of intertwining fingers. he isn’t the physical type and has a hard time to express his feelings, yet with every touch, he conveys the depth of his affection, a silent confession of his longing. his attentiveness is also shown every time he switches his hand to lace your hands together from the back just to make you walk first easily. in the delicate dance of intertwined hands, he discovers a language of love, where every gentle squeeze tells a story of connection and warmth, one that only you can teach him.

ITADORI YUUJI won’t let you get away when he pulls you in for a shoulder lock. when he grabs you, it's not just about the physical closeness; it shows his presence and protective nature. he communicates his desire to keep you close, to shield you from harm, and to stand by your side through every challenge. sometimes, he also mushes his cheeks onto yours together as he pulls you in, feeling the heat of your skin sliding with his. he ensures that you feel safe in his embrace, knowing that you are cherished and safeguarded in his arms.

GOJO SATORU takes your arm with a gentle wrist-grab. in a world where the ordinary intertwines with the extraordinary, his gentle wrist-grab is a tender reminder of the protection he offers. as he guides your arm, feeling the warmth within, a sense of security and comfort envelops you both. it’s like the weight of the world seems to fade away, replaced by the assurance that you have each other, ready to face whatever adventures life may bring.

KENTO NANAMI always offers for you to lace your arms together. in snippets of moments, he extends his hand, inviting you to join your arms with his, a subtle yet profound gesture of a gentleman. his offer, tender and sincere, also though seemingly simple, carried a weight of closeness amidst the chaos of the world around you. as both hands lock, a subtle fondness spreads through your heart, reminding you that even in the midst of uncertainty, you are not alone.

@uzurakis

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brights-place · 4 months ago

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[TWST] Floyd Leech X Jessica Rabbit! Reader

Warnings: Floyd Leech, JESSICA RABBIT! READER BEING A QUEEN

A/N: I actually made this awhile back but thought it was bad and I didn't wanna like show it but I knew that since Im going to be gone for awhile for like 2 week break but will have chapters and requests on schedule I should just include this so uhm TAKE IT YAY??

Summary: Jessica Rabbit! Reader a gorgeous woman selfless, and compassionate to those around her. A woman who knew what she was capable of doing and wanted to have. A girl who could persuade those around her using not only knowing how to get those is attention around her but also being a singer with a figure that could pull people into monstro lounge was a extra bonus. A useful person that Azul needed to have for monstro lounge. so when having to try send either him or Jade out to persuade her to join they were met with her denying them as she was far to 'busy' to deal with them. So when finding Floyd taking the girl to monstro lounge for fun he couldn't help but have his jaw drop. What was worse... Floyd knew you PERSONALLY

You were known as gorgeous woman selfless, and compassionate to those around her.

A woman who knew what she was capable of doing and wanted to have. A girl who could persuade those around her using not only knowing how to get those is attention around her but also being a singer with a figure that could pull people into monstro lounge was a extra bonus. A useful person that Azul needed to have for monstro lounge. so when having to try send either him or Jade out to persuade her to join they were met with her denying them as she was far to 'busy' to deal with them.

The air in the V.I.P room was dull the opulent room thrummed with a low, simmering tension. Three figures, sharply dressed in varying shades of purple and grey, occupied the space, their expressions a study in contrasting emotions.

Azul held his head in his hands behind his desk for someone who exuded power he was stressed hands looking through the photographic photos of your features and you talking to others throughout the file Jade collected of you and your habits from your name to your social media account which was run by cater.

His silver hair was neatly combed, framing a face that held the sharp intelligence of a shrewd businessman and the cold calculation of a master strategist. His glasses perched delicately on his nose, amplified the intensity of his gaze on the file trying to keep up a serene mask hiding emotions of simmering frustration.

Jade Leech stood behind Azul like a silent observer. His hair was straight-cut teal in color, with short bangs and one long streak of dark-gray hair framing his left side that formed a 'J'

His expression was one of calm patience. His eyes have complete heterochromia, with his left eye being yellow, and his right eye being olive-brown

Jade watched the scene unfold with an unnervingly still intensity; a silent assessment of the situation, reading the subtle shifts in the power dynamic of the room.

While his suit matched his brother's in color, his posture was perfectly erect, almost formal, adding to the unsettling stillness that emanated from him.

His hands, elegantly gloved, remained clasped in front of him, yet his slight subtle sharp tooth smile showed his amusement of the frustrated scene of Azul losing his mind trying to figure out anything.

Jade smiled at his careful positioning, the controlled gazes- all spoke volumes in his silent interplay giving quick snippets of opinions to Azul yet glancing towards Floyd who shared look of amusement and calculation, however, hinted at a perfectly coordinated plan unfolding, a silent game only the twins understand.

Floyd lazily sprawled languidly across a plush chaise lounge, a picture of decadent relaxation. His teal hair, a vibrant splash against the muted tones of the room, fell across his face as he regarded something unseen with a playful, almost predatory gleam in his eyes. A sly smile played on his lips, hinting at mischief and a barely contained excitement. Azul couldn't help but sigh chucking the files back down on the highly polished desk. His gloved hand covered his mouth as he spoke out loud "I don't get how someone like her will turn down this opportunity... I mean how could she not? proper work hours, good money, singing for the lounge, and her own free meals... what else could she need?"

Jade hummed picking up the file and handing it to Floyd who opened it the tweels looking down on the paper yet. Floyd couldn't help but tilt his head his right ear earring clinking together from the motion as he took notice of the h/c hair a smile reaching his lips taking note of the familiar girl "Ah! so we were just trying to get Koebi-chans friend to come here?"

Jade held his gloved hand under his chin nodding "seems so... Azul and I have been trying to talk to her to join Monstro Lounge since Yuu had shown us a video of her singing for a club back from where she came from it was quite nice" Jade smiled eyes closing.

Azul let out a huff "Not only that but we could use her to get more patrons for monstro lounge she is useful and she knows it" He sighed leaning back against his seat.

Floyd hummed eyes focused on the photo of you inside the folder. A soft smile reached his lips at your famillar apperance thumb rubbing over your feature with a lazy gaze. "Betta fish and her get along I mean they both seem to fit the title of Betta Fishes" Floyd grinned looked over to Azul who huffed "Indeed and if she has connections to Vil well she'd be able to have more yet we've tried everything to join monstro lounge" Jade nodded his head in agreement unaware of the thoughts stirring up Floyds mind.

You strolled through the halls of NRC, unbothered by the lingering stares of your peers. Some tried to be discreet, snapping their gazes away the moment you passed, yet you could feel their curiosity, their intrigue.

It wasn’t just your poised and effortless grace—it was the way your red lipstick stood out, perfectly framing your smirk, the way your makeup accentuated every glance, and how your hair, styled to perfection, added to your undeniable presence, and yet you paid them no mind. Stopping outside Yuu’s classroom, you leaned against the wall, waiting. The rhythmic tapping of footsteps echoed against the checkered floor, but your focus remained elsewhere, your gaze idly drifting to the window as you waited, patient and unhurried. Then a voice broke through the stillness “Neh~! Flowerhorn Cichlid!” Your brows lifted slightly, but you made no move to acknowledge it. Whoever he was calling, it certainly wasn’t you. Yet before you could ponder further, a hand casually landed on your shoulder.You turned, unbothered, only to meet the lidded, mischievous gaze of Floyd Leech. His grin stretched wide, lazy and teasing, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “Flowerhorn…?” you echoed, lashes fluttering as you turned to fully face him, your movements slow and deliberate. Your golden earrings caught the light as you did, drawing his eyes to the way they shimmered against your skin. He tilted his head, watching you in that way he did when something—or someone—caught his interest. “You’ve been causing Jade and Azul problems, ehe~” he mused, grin never faltering. “They said you’d be fun for the lounge.” With a slow, knowing smirk, his arm slinked over your shoulder, testing your reaction but you didn’t push him away. Instead, you let him linger because despite his unpredictability, despite the way others feared his whims and mood swings—you found him interesting and Floyd Leech had just made the mistake of catching your attention.

Floyd grinned down at you before gripping your gloved hand dragging you away without hesitation, causing you to blink confused yet you continued to walk beside him slow paced while he talked your ear off happily grinning, dragging you off somewhere before heading to the next place when he got bored.

It was peculiar he would get bored whenever and would call it boring after a bit before taking you to the next place without hesitation. With how wild Floyd was you were phased enjoying quietly at his actions entertained by him.

Within a couple days of hanging out with a hyperactive moody eel merman who would drag you away whenever he felt like it started to become something normal but here you were walking on the shore lines watching Floyd grin and laugh when heading inside the ocean water. The moonlight cast a silvery glow over the shoreline, the gentle lapping of waves blending with the distant hum of the ocean. Floyd swam around before he laid sprawled across the wet sand, half-submerged where the sea met the land, his long, bioluminescent tail trailing behind him in the water.

Droplets clung to his pale, speckled skin, shimmering like tiny stars against the smooth expanse of his chest and arms. You couldn't help but admire his appearance in his mer form.

Floyds teal sea-green hair clung damply to his forehead, strands curling around the delicate, fin-like protrusions at the sides of his head. One webbed hand lazily pushed his bangs back, revealing sharp golden eyes that gleamed with amusement. His mouth curled into a lopsided grin, razor-sharp teeth glinting beneath the moon’s glow. There was something unreadable in his expression—a mix of idle curiosity and barely contained mischief, like a predator toying with its prey.

He didn’t move right away, simply staring up at you pushing himself up. Rhe faint rise and fall of his chest the only indication of his slow, unbothered breathing. His tail flicked idly in the shallows, the bioluminescent patterns pulsing with a faint, hypnotic glow. The way he lingered between the land and sea made him seem otherworldly, as if he existed in a space neither fully bound to the ocean nor to the shore.

"How was the swim" you uttered bending down to Floyd who grinned staring up at you "Ehee! Man, every day's a party when I'm with you. I can't get enough Flowerhorn fishy!" A smiled reached your lips before you cupped his face, swiping the hair that clinged onto Floyds forehead to the side.

The lightning from the moon cascaded down your face staring at the eel merman who stared at you with fondness. Floyd couldn't help but stare up at you silence comforting you too. Floyd spoke up his voice laced with a menacing cherry tone "Nehhh Flowerhorn can you swim?" A melodic hum came from you "I can, why?" Floyd smiled.

Yet, in the way his lips curled just so, and the lazy amusement in his gaze, there was an undeniable sense of playfulness something unpredictable, something dangerous lurking just beneath his eyes. In an instant, Floyd’s grip tightened around you, and before you could react, you were yanked beneath the waves. The world blurred into a rush of cool water, bubbles escaping in a frantic swirl around you. Your eyes snapped open, the dim, shifting light of the ocean casting eerie patterns over your skin. Strands of your h/c hair floated weightlessly around you as your arms flailed, instinctively reaching for something anything to ground yourself.

Panic surged through your chest as you kicked upward, your body desperate for air. The shimmering surface above grew closer, rippling like liquid glass, and with one final push, you broke through. A gasp tore from your lungs as you inhaled sharply, the salty night air filling your chest. Around you, the rhythmic crash of waves filled your ears, droplets clinging to your skin as your soaked hair plastered itself to your face. Despite the chaos, your makeup remained miraculously intact, a stark contrast to the breathless, disoriented state you were in.

Just as your trembling hands reached toward the shore, something coiled around your waist. A startled yelp escaped your lips as you felt the unmistakable press of gills and smooth, damp skin wrapping around you. Your heart pounded as your gaze snapped over your shoulder only to lock onto a pair of mismatched golden and teal eyes, gleaming with amusement. Floyd Leech’s familiar, sharp-toothed grin was mere inches away, his expression a perfect blend of playful mischief and something far more unpredictable. Floyd’s grin faltered the moment his gaze met yours. There was something unreadable about you an effortless composure, a sultry, knowing look that never wavered, even as his arms instinctively tightened around you. His sharp eyes searched your face, trying to decipher the unreadable calm you exuded. Had he gone too far? Dragging you into the water had been fun, but had he miscalculated? That would be a shame… you were just starting to become entertaining. And then, laughter.

A rich, velvety sound spilled from your lips, smooth as silk and intoxicating as the ocean breeze. It rippled through the night, striking him like a wave as you cupped his face with a teasing touch, your nails lightly grazing his damp skin. Your body shook with amusement, your chest rising and falling in time with the playful melody of your laughter. It was an unexpected contrast—an elegant presence undone by sheer, unrestrained delight.

Floyd’s golden eyes widened, caught somewhere between surprise and fascination, before his lips stretched into a wide, toothy grin. That laughter—he hadn’t expected it. But he liked it. A lot.

You barely had time to react before he closed the space between you, his forehead pressing against yours, his grin mirroring your own. His sharp gaze drank in every detail your eyes alight with mischief, your lips curved in that effortlessly charming way, and just as he leaned in, savoring the moment, you struck—flicking a handful of water into his face.

A beat of silence.

Then, a cackle erupted from him, wild and unrestrained, before he lunged. The ocean swelled around you as he tackled you back into the water, his laughter mixing with yours beneath the waves. He hadn’t expected this side of you—this dazzling contradiction of elegance and chaos. And now that he had seen it, now that he had heard that laugh, he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to let it go.

Days blurred into weeks, and weeks melted into a couple of months.

You found it downright peculiar how Floyd remained so persistently glued to your side, despite the numerous occasions you'd gently declined his invitations to accompany him to Monster Lounge or even work there. Frankly, you assumed he'd tire of your company by now, yet here he was, his heels clicking rhythmically behind you as you strolled out of school hours, an almost tangible aura of mischief surrounding him.

Unable to resist, you flicked your gaze sideways to the young man tagging along, noting how Floyd's arms were casually crossed behind his head, a look of languid boredom etched on his face as he gazed off into the courtyard. Compared to his typical intense demeanor, he seemed positively relaxed, drifting alongside you with an almost dreamlike quality.

An exaggerated sigh escaped your glossy red lips as you tossed a glance Floyd's way. "Don't you have a job to get to at the lounge after classes, handsome?" you asked coyly, making sure to emphasize 'job' in that sultry, breathy tone you reserved for special occasions. Floyd shrugged, a languid, almost dismissive gesture. "Meh, I'd rather spend my time with you, Flowerhorn Cichlid. You're far more entertaining," he drawled, his voice dripping with a casual tone.

"Plus, Zul gets so worked up about not being able to rope you in, and it's just too funny for words. And let's be real, once I'm stuck at the lounge, it's all the same old same old. The 'little morsels' are there, sure, but all that squeezing gets sooo boring when you're not around, plus hanging with Jade gets boring too." A soft, lilting hum, reminiscent drifted from your lips as you considered his words. A warm chuckle came from you glancing towards the tweel "Aww, Floyd..." you uttered cupping his face with a gloved hand stopping in your tracks. "What am I going to do with you, hmm?"

Floyd's eyes widened in surprise at your sudden stop, his grin faltering for a split second before he regained his composure. He blinked, looking from your gloved hand cupping his face before back at you. "What If I started working at monstro lounge so you don't get all moody" A slow, wicked smile spread across his features as he seemed to absorb your words blinking for a moment his lips twitching up. "AWWWW FLOWERHORN~!" Floyd cheered with satisfaction as he leaned in closer hugging you wrapping himself around with a giggle, his breath ghosting over your ear as he whispered "you ain't going to regret it... Plus Azuls gonna get a supper funny look realizing that I got you to come join" He grinned leaning onto you arms wrapping around your waist while you let out a soft hum wrapping your arms around his shoulders. "Of course honey bunny" You muttered quietly to yourself letting floyd nuzzle into your shoulder letting out a relaxed sigh. Despite the flirtatious banter and the flirtatious undertones dripping from every word, there was a genuine fondness in Floyd's eyes. In that moment, it was clear that Floyd saw you as a woman who could keep him on his toes, challenge him, and make his world a whole lot more entertaining. And judging by the playful gleam in your own eyes, you were more than up for the task.

You paused for a moment when feeling something bite down onto your shoulder lightly causing you to sigh for a moment "Floyd" "Yessss Flowerhorn Cichlid" Floyd asked silence filling you to again as you spoke with a deadpan expression "Did you bite me" Silence once more before Floyd made a small 'Chomp' noise and nibbled onto another part of your shoulder causing you to sigh knowing you signed up for this. Right after Floyd pulled away and beamed grasping your gloved hand before dragging you away into the hall of mirrors exclaiming about how he'll enjoy the look of Azul and Jades face.

Floyd's hands grasped yours tightly, pulling you through the heavy doors of Monstro Lounge. The air inside was thick with the mingled scents of aged paper and crisp sea salt, a heady combination that tickled your nostrils. Floyd's eyes darted around eagerly, scanning the crowd for a particular silver-haired male, his sultry smile never leaving his face.

You found yourself matching his pace, your hips swaying in time with his long strides. The way he looked at you, with such unbridled enthusiasm and affection

As you walked past Ruggie, you noticed his jaw dropping open in surprise at the sight of you. Conversations halted, and forks clattered against plates as you and Floyd made your way through the bustling establishment. Eyes followed your every move, admiring your figure and the way your red dress hugged your body. Floyd seemed oblivious to the stares and whispers, focused solely on guiding you towards the closed door of Azul's office. With a quick glance at you to ensure you were still with him, he pushed open the door and ushered you inside, letting it click shut behind you. The atmosphere in the office was different, more intimate and charged with a certain tension the sound of scribbling and grumbling came from a hunched form behind a desk.

Your eyes darted around the room thought more focused on the peculiar blend that perfectly encapsulated the room's unique character. Walls of polished obsidian, inlaid with shimmering mother-of-pearl, housed towering bookshelves overflowing with leather-bound tomes. Their spines, faded with age, whispered tales of forgotten lore and untold adventures—each a portal to another world waiting to be explored.

At the heart of the room sat a massive mahogany desk, its surface gleaming under the soft light of a lamp shaped like a stylized nautilus shell. Behind it, a vault door, intricate and imposing, dominated the far wall. Its circular mechanism, a massive ship's wheel cast in bronze. Floyd smiled as he plopped onto one of the two plush, midnight-blue sofas that stood facing each other, inviting conversation and contemplation. Between them, a low glass coffee table held a softly glowing, ethereal blue orb—a calming luminescence in the otherwise dim setting. The room felt both ancient and modern, luxurious yet studious, a space where magic and knowledge intertwined in a hushed and powerful embrace. Subtle, underwater scenes, delicately painted within the wall panels, served as a quiet reminder of a submerged, hidden world.

Azul sighed from behind his desk, his pen scratching against the contract laid out before him. He set the pen down and lifted his head, fixing Floyd with a stern gaze. "Floyd, finally you've arrived, I need you and Jade to-" The silver-lavender haired male paused mid-sentence, his eyes widening as they fell upon the stunning woman sitting beside Floyd. He couldn't help but let out a startled "OH!" followed by a quick inhale, his grin becoming more relaxed and proper, akin to a con-man's smile.

"[Name], what a pleasure! It's wonderful to see you once again," Azul beamed, folding his hands together. "Azul Ashengrotto yes I know" You stated. Floyd fidgeted in his seat before grinning widely and wrapping a possessive arm around your shoulder. He pointed at your face, drawing Azul's attention back to you. "Flowerhorn wants to join Monstro Lounge!" Floyd declared, gripping you tighter.

Azul pursed his lips, a look of confusion on his face. "Flowerhorn…? Like a Flower Horn Cichlid…?" he asked, trying to make sense of Floyd's words and the nickname he had given to you.

Floyd nodded, holding onto you even more tightly, as if emphasizing his claim on you. An exasperated sigh left Azul's lips, and he seemed about to tell Floyd to unhand you, but he paused, noticing the way you sat there with such ease and familiarity around Floyd.

Azul couldn't help but pick up on the soft curve of your lips, the gentle smile playing across your face that spoke of a comfort and warmth he had never seen from you before. He would expect such an expression for you to give Yuu or Grim, but Floyd? Never in a million years did he think he would see you acting so affectionate and at ease with the likes of Floyd Leech.

You leaned slightly towards Floyd as he rambled on to Azul about your new arrangement, your body language screaming an intimate closeness and genuine warmth shared between the two of you. Azul watched in disbelief, humming thoughtfully as he pushed a contract towards you.

Azul watched in disbelief, humming thoughtfully as he pushed a contract towards you. Giving you a run down on your job, what to do along with the things you have to do.

"It's a deal!" Azul grinned, his eyes flickering to the quill held in your gloved hand. He glanced towards Floyd, who had rested his head casually on your shoulder causing you to remember that you were doing this out of your own choice and to also have the sense of familiarity from before being transported here.

Yet, even as you signed the contract with a flick of your wrist, a gnawing feeling clung to you, a sense that Floyd's enthusiasm and the way he rested so comfortably on your shoulder, grinning happily and rambling about your shared future at Monstro Lounge, had an ulterior motive. It was clear that his affections and excitement went beyond the professional, and you couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease at the thought of the web you might be entangling yourself in. Still, you kept a poised and relaxed smile on your face as you placed the quill down, sealing your fate with a flourish. The ink glistened like liquid gold, a reminder of the glittering promises and hidden dangers that lay ahead in this new chapter. Floyd's head lingered on your shoulder. Azul watched you both with a mix of surprise and newfound respect, wondering just what lengths of how you would go to for the certain tweel beside you.

When interacting or even knowing Floyd Leech was like stepping into a field full of landmines ready to explode with the slightest pressure or misstep.

Everybody feared him calling him lazy and stupid not only that but violent. Nobody knew what he was thinking other then Azul and Jade who easily knew how to dodge every single one hidden to not have his mood swing yet they all were still able to slightly set him off.

So how come you out of all people were interested in him? you someone who proved to brave, quick-witted, and intuitive; knowingly putting herself at risk for others with a calm composure someone who was able to get the interest of princes, future powerful mages, actors/models, and others who were waiting in line.

But You were interested in Floyd Leech

THE FLOYD LEECH? Someone who was collared many times, who got along easily with many people, although these interactions are at times one-sided (Cough cough riddle and floyd)

Floyd who was someone difficult to predict. What he's thinking or what he's going to do next.

Floyd leech a moody person, switching from good to bad mood in a minute (and vice versa) which can make him seem like an entirely different person.

The twin brother of Jade who gets bored of things easily resulting in him quitting things, sometimes even those activities he himself suggested to do. Because of his whims and mood-swings, some people find him troublesome to deal with.

However, if something catches Floyd's interest, he becomes rather enthusiastic and focused. On some occasions, He also shows off a more terrifying and sinister demeanor... So how come out of others that were much more of a sane option you chose to date FLOYD LEECH

Your friends didn't understand it at all they couldn't understand your dating choices either, yet they noticed how you'd stare at Floyd lovingly with the sweetest smile. Ace couldn't help but stare at you confused and with furrowed brows while Deuce was trying to help Yuu stop Grim from eating off Yuukens plate. The five of you sat in a booth near the corner of having a good view of the stage and close to the bar.

The smooth sound of jazz music blended with the clinking of dishes and the lively chatter of those around.

Ace noticed your gaze lingering on Floyd, who stood with Jade, both grinning at a student in a different booth. Floyd's signature threatening smile accompanied by a soft giggle. Ace furrowed his brows before speaking up. "Seriously, [Name], what do you even see in that guy?"Your attention shifted to Ace as you lifted your gloved hand, bringing a wine glass to your lips. The deep hue of your lipstick left a faint mark on the glass as you took a slow sip. Then, as if drawn by an unseen force, your eyes flickered back to Floyd just in time to see him waving at you while effortlessly dragging away his latest unfortunate victim with Jade not to far behind.

Your lips tugged up slightly, eyes half-lidded, as Monstro Lounge’s serene, iridescent lights cast a soft glow on your figure. Focusing on Floyd once more, you blew him a kiss when he waved again before shutting the door to Azul’s VIP office. You turned your head back to Ace and the others who were staring at you with wide eyes as you replied with a silky smooth voice.

"He makes me laugh"

DATING HEADCANNONS BECAUSE THIS NEEDS TO BE DONE AND I ENJOYED THIS TOO MUCH OKAY LET ME BE!!

˚₊ · »-♡→ Dating Floyd leech means you'd have to deal with his mood swings, and unhinged behavior good thing for you that you understood him like the back of your purple gloves

˚₊ · »-♡→ Dancing together will be common. Jazz or not he'd dance with you grinning stupidly yet when its slow romantic music he can't help but caress your body with a smile holding up one of your arms and other hand on your hip as you stare at him over your shoulder with how he kisses your shoulder blade and neck with a soft smile

˚₊ · »-♡→ Other times compared to your slow dancing he'd start breaking dancing out of nowhere and you couldn't help but smile slowly at how unpredictable he was

˚₊ · »-♡→ When you would preform jazz songs Floyd would growl at peoples comments quietly, Jade patting his shoulder because they eyed you as if you were a pound of meat

˚₊ · »-♡→ Floyd can't help but have a shit eating grin when your done preforming and head into your change room because he knows that he'd be the one pampering you with kisses and knows he'll be the one that gets called honey bunny

˚₊ · »-♡→ Everybody is confused why you would call Floyd Honey bunny he's a eel but Floyd would wave them off and enjoy how you'd coo at him and press kisses upon his face though you do always remember to call him 'eely' too just for fun

˚₊ · »-♡→ One time you knocked out of Floyd due to worry he'd get hurt by a aggressive customer when he woke up after a bit he was grinning and hugging you.

˚₊ · »-♡→ Azul though who had to calm down the aggressive customer himself was pissed though demanding you work an extra hour because he had to spend time dealing with an 'incompetent baffoon' Jade on the other hand enjoyed watching Azul having to calm down the customer before stepping in himself.

˚₊ · »-♡→ A small gasp came from you looking around "Oh, no! Where's Floyd?" Azul couldn't help but furrow his eyebrows "Floyd? He left me in the V.I.P room when I needed him to help with aggressive customer" Azul sighed crossing his arms "No, he didn't. I hit him over the head with a frying pan and stuck him in the closet. So he wouldn't get hurt." Azul froze jaw dropping while Jade hummed giving a closed eyed smile "Makes perfect sense." "IT DOESN'T?!"

˚₊ · »-♡→ Floyd has cooked you many meals before and would smile watching you eat, the two of you cooking for the other with loving smiles well more like Floyd giggling and poking you with prodding hands secretly while you playfully hit him back with flour

˚₊ · »-♡→ Floyd leech chooses to laugh like creepily, he loved how scary he seemed to others how they would hide away in fear like scared guppies yet when you stare at him with a fond look he can't help but have another reason to love his laugh

˚₊ · »-♡→ Jade teases him about it with how he still hasn't gotten bored of you and would ditch everything even if he gets scolded even more for you

˚₊ · »-♡→ Floyd would watch you on stage when he is behind the bar smiling softly while staring at you and yourred sequined strapless dress that reveals a lot of cleavage with a low back, sweetheart neckline, and high thigh slit, pink stilettos, elegant purple opera gloves, and gold stud earrings.

˚₊ · »-♡→ Floyd would giggle as he watches you look at him while singing every now and then when touching other students to help get money fro monstro lounge

˚₊ · »-♡→ The amount of times he swoons at the way you cup his face kissing his lips and cheeks complimenting him when needed as he looks at you with a doe eyed look

˚₊ · »-♡→ Azul THRIVES with the money you bring in and attention getting brands for monstro lounge though he does also worry about you and makes sure your safe too even though he knows Floyd is close to tackling anybody who would try to get near you

˚₊ · »-♡→ Floyd would grin when you try new lipstick on him as he grips onto your hips with a smile

˚₊ · »-♡→ When Floyd was in a horrendous mood due to a student claiming you were dating him out of pity he couldn't help but be sour all day grumbling to himself and hugging a pillow.

˚₊ · »-♡→ When you came into his room he couldn't help but lash out of you complaining trying to push you away yet the moment you cupped his face leaning into him he couldn't help but melt he loved your touch when you cupped his face with a grin.

˚₊ · »-♡→ "Floyd, darling. I want you to know I love you. I've loved you more than any woman's ever loved a eel.. whatever they say you and I both know that I love you dearly" he short circuited after that tackling you into his bed and laughing about how you always knew how to make his day

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