#i'd still like for them to actually you know... TALK about their feelings when all is said and done

[ladyfocalors]

Hi. As far as I understand, your inquiries are open? If so, I have a few ideas, I'd love it if you post one/ both of them! 1- Leona enters into a relationship with the reader, then she reveals that she is Malleus' adopted sister (he decided so, haha. Fairies love children). At the same time Malleus finds out about her relationship with Leona and out reaction is something like, "seriously? That lizard 🙄?" "Seriously, him? There are better options for the role of your spouse 🤨"2. Crowley, after all the trouble with overblot decides that the reader is henceforth his child (he so decides, fairies love children 2). But the reader falls through some kind of portal and is transported to his world/another place, but still in Twisted Wonderland. And Crowley is simply, "NO, MY CHILD." *cries inconsolably* He does find the reader at the end though, happy ending 🌈 *Crowley lost a few nerve cells*

Dragons and Lions Don't Get Along

summary: (Requested by anon) Leona and you enter a relationship, and you reveal that you are the adopted sister to Malleus Draconia. At the same time, Malleus discovers about your romantic entanglements with Leona. Neither party seems to be pleased with the discovery.

pairing: leona kingscholar x fem!reader (romantic), malleus draconia x fem!reader (platonic)

warnings: none.

word count: 1.5k

i had exams so this took a very long time. requests were actually closed but i wasn't clear about it before so i don't mind. couldn't do both even if i wanted to because i was lacking ideas :( hopefully i did the characterisation of both malleus and leona justice, these two are not my strong suit.

Leona wasn't the sort to fall easily or admit fondness, but somehow you'd managed to work your way through all his pride and feigned indifference to finally call that lion beastman your boyfriend.

But that was only half the challenge.

You hadn't meant to spring this on him out of the blue, but no better opportunity had presented itself. If you kept stalling, he'd find out eventually, and then he'd assume you were hiding it from him. Which you weren't, this wasn't a secret.

"Tch," Leona grumbled, his eyes closed and head laying on your lap. "You're thinking too loud. Spit it out."

"So," you started hesitantly, but decided to just rip the band-aid off. "How would you feel if I told you that Malleus Draconia is my adoptive brother?"

Leona's eyes opened, not in the usual slow blink he gave when waking from a nap.

"Adoptive," you clarified quickly. "He… decided, really. He says I remind him of family, and since he doesn't have much, he told me I was his sister now. And I agreed..."

Leona sat up, gaze fixed on you. "So he just declared you family? That sounds exactly like something that overgrown lizard would do."

You sighed and ran your fingers through your hair. "I was going to tell you earlier, but I didn't know how. Are you upset with me?"

Leona's gaze narrowed slightly, eyes scrutinizing you. You knew that look, it wasn't anger. He laid back down again. "No," he said at last. "Not upset with you."

You waited for the but.

"I just don't like it."

There it was.

"Leona," you began carefully.

"No, I get it," Leona cut you off, a displeased look on his face. "He is your brother. I guess I'll have to talk to him, won't I?"

"Oh," you said. "Wait, what? Is that what you were pressed about? I thought you were upset with me for a second there."

He snorted, although it lacked humour. "You, herbivore? Didn't I tell you I wasn't upset with you? Why would I be mad at you for agreeing to be his sibling? It's him I don't trust."

That... was a more reasonable response than expected. Although, you did understand why he would be so displeased with the situation. Leona didn't like having anyone breathing down his neck, so Malleus would practically be his worst nightmare.

"I don't know," you muttered. "Maybe because I didn't tell you sooner?"

"You think I care about that?" He shifted, head finding your lap again. "You told me now. That's what matters."

Oh.

"So, you're not mad?"

"Didn't say that. I am not mad at you."

There was a pointed silence after that.

"You think he'd be fine with this?"

You hesitated but gave him the most honest answer you could. "I am not sure if he would be or not."

That didn't help.

But before either of you could say anything more, a surprising presence made itself known. Most people did not frequent the greenhouse during lunch, aside from very few. So, to have Malleus Draconia standing a few feet away was unexpected.

"You can save yourself the trouble of wondering," he said calmly.

Well, talk about the fae and he shall appear, you brain unhelpfully provided.

Leona stiffened immediately, already up on his feet, teeth gritted. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Not too long." Malleus stepped forward. "But make no mistake, I heard what I needed to."

"Hello, Hornton," you greeted, standing as well, swallowing thickly. "What are you doing here?"

Malleus looked at you, the expression on his face suggested no trace of anger, rather it looked like he was pouting. "I came to investigate. I hadn't seen you in the cafeteria, and you haven't joined me for lunch lately. Imagine my surprise, finding you here."

"I was going to tell you. I wanted to tell you myself," you said. And now you really did want to pout—what was with nothing ever going according to plan?

"I imagine you were." He said, then his gaze went back to Leona.

"You and I need to have a word," Leona said without preamble.

Malleus, as calm as ever, replied, "I suspected you might. What do I owe the pleasure of having this conversation with you, Kingscholar?"

"Didn't say it was a pleasure. Just so we're clear," Leona said, voice low and level. "They're my partner."

"So I have heard." Malleus inclined his head slowly.

"And I don't want this turning into some overprotective big brother nonsense where you glare at me every time we're in the same room."

"If I glare," Malleus said, his voice steady, "it will not be out of pettiness. I simply do not trust easily. Particularly not those with your history of detachment."

That struck a nerve, Leona's shoulders tensed. "Tch. You think I'd be careless with them?"

You inched away, opting to be a bystander. In all honestly, this was going better than what you had imagined. You imagined the weather to be stormy and Leona to be one step away from fighting, but so far nothing of that sort had happened.

"I think," Malleus replied calmly, although he looked a bit smug, "that even good intentions can falter when pride is wounded. And yours is famously… fragile."

...Never mind.

If they fight, I need to leave immediately, you thought, already eyeing the exit and calculating the amount of steps it would take you to leave. You were not going to be involved in their ego match whatsoever.

Then, to your amazement, or horror, Leona didn't lunge at him. He laughed instead, which made you even more tense.

"You're a piece of work," he sneered. "But fine. If you're family, then act like it. And that means trusting them to choose. Do you not trust your sibling to choose for themselves?"

Actually, this was way worse than you had anticipated. You weren't expecting barely disguised insults to be thrown.

Malleus didn't immediately respond. His gaze drifted toward you, his expression was almost thoughtful, but you couldn't properly get a read of him as the temperature felt like it had dropped significantly. Then, at last, Malleus turned back to Leona with a level voice.

"I trust them more than anyone," he said simply. "Which is why I worry when they make decisions that may cause them harm."

Your shoulders sagged. Of course, he would say something like that. Malleus wasn't territorial in the same way Leona was (or it seemed like it), but his protectiveness ran deep, if his current behaviour was anything to say by.

Leona's jaw flexed, but he didn't immediately rise to the bait. At least he wasn't being too hot-headed to fall for it. Although, it was your patience that was running thin. In simple words, you were disappointed and annoyed.

"If either of you are going to keep tossing around accusations or trying to prove who knows me better and my choices," you said evenly, "I'm going to lunch without you and frankly the company of friends sounds very appealing."

That got their attention.

"I trust and care about both of you," you crossed your arms. "But you're both acting like this is about each other, when it's really about me. I don't appreciate either of you fighting over me like I am a prize."

"…Tch," Leona muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. Message received."

Malleus finally inclined his head toward you, regret softening the hard line of his mouth. "It was not my intention to treat you as anything less than your own person. You are right, of course. I have… overstepped. I will respect your wishes."

"Good," you said. "Because I don't know about you two, but I'm starving. And if either of you pull this again, I will make sure–" your gaze went to Malleus, "–that Lilia gets informed immediately about how you're not eating enough and how you are terribly missing his home cooked meals. As for you–" you looked at Leona. "–I am sure Crewel would love to have a word with you, Trein too, especially regarding your attendance. Wouldn't want them both breathing down your neck for the rest of the year now, would we?"

It helped that you got along well with the staff (you could say some professors even looked after you) and some of the most influential figures at NRC. Your threats weren't bluffs and both of them knew it.

Without waiting for a reply (their expressions were response enough), you turned on your heel and walked out. You didn't look back.

You really just wanted lunch with your friends.

Though, you wondered what they'd say when they found out that Malleus Draconia was your adoptive brother and Leona Kingscholar your partner. The topic of family, found or chosen, and you pursuing romance rarely came up with them, but you suspected their reactions would be… interesting.

Unlike Malleus and Leona.

Leona and Malleus had never got along, and they likely never would. You just hoped you weren't the newest reason for their rivalry. Otherwise, you would follow through with your threats just for the sake of your peace.

Still, one could only hope for peace in a place like this.

© ladyfocalors do not repost, translate, modify, copy or feed my works to ai.

[woompfy]

What if some characters in the movies would be added in the animated show of dwk and what role would they play in?

Well guess what, I drew them if they were in the series and gave them a lil feel of how they'd play into the show. I mostly based their designs off their book designs btw. Also, I only remember parts of the movies and am not a big expert on the lore, nor am I a fan of the movies in general. ( I won't make myself go watch them again without taking a shot each time I cringe) The characters are simply my interpretation if they were in the show.

First and importantly of all Nerv...

I think he would add so much personality to the already existing dwk team with his young energetic spirit and creative imagination. He'd give the team the insperation needed and would cheer them on to achieve their full potential. When the team is doubtful he would be the last one to give up for he just has so much passion for his friend's success. Altough he's determined he would be the loud annoying kid that doesn't know the boundaries of imagination and reality(just like in the movies). He wants to be treated seriously but because of his young age and naivety he's treated like their team's little side kick. That might also rile up some conflics that could be explored if he was in a 3rd season of the show.

Next up is Klette, my absolute favorite...

Our nonbinary icon, indeed. I don't remember what their role is in the movies and how they join the bunch so I'd be open to be informed of their original role. But I do remember their fun banter with Nerv, which I absolutely loved and would keep in the show, with less underage romantic jokes of course. Klette would definitely add to the wild theme of the show, with their messy hair and sassy/playful attitude making them a perfect wilder kerl. I'd like to imagine that the bunch didn't accept her as a memeber at first, just like when they rejected Vanessa, but not because of Klette's gender but because they were too weird for the bunch, even comparing them as a rat. They don't take the rat part personal but they do question the bunch's view on excluding people not fit for their norms even though they themselves are crossing the norms of societly, literally being a soccer cult. That could be an interesting episode of it's own exploring the bunch's view on normality and treating minorities in their own group. (I might as well not know what I am talking about but I still hope you get my point) They are also more likely to get into trouble than anyone else in the group.

Now for Joschka...

Add another diverse character to the mix and it feels a lot more welcoming imo. Although it is said in the movies/books that Joschka is Juli's brother I personally don't see how that would make sense and wouldn't add to anything new. We already have a brother duo and it would be just copying another blueprint of a dynamic. So I made him and orphane, 'cuz these kids shall not be permitted to have parents. That would also make him a friend of Jojo's which he met at the orphanage. He'd join the bunch along with Nerv, that he's best friend's with, and would support Nerv with his passion for the soccer bunch. That would make him and Nerv the youngest memebers.

With him being a past basketball player I can imagine the bunch being a little rejecting if they found out, cuz we all know how much basketball and soccer players hate each other. A crossover of an rival team of the opposite sport would also be interesting to explore. An episode like that could also focus Joshkas character and his passion for both sports, torn between which one to sacrafice. I'd also like to add his couriosity of who his parents are and where his heritage is actually from. That could be an interesting episode that explores his struggle with cultrual identity and perhaps dealing with racism, which originally leads to him questioning who his parents are, who he truly is and if he can accept the truth.

I still got Juli and Maxi on my plate which I'll probably further discuss in a Part 2

[elkpoint]

Hello everyone. My name is Elk and this year I will turn 37 making this the year I will finally have been out of the closest for over half of my life. It hasn't been an easy road, but it is one that I am overwhelmingly happy that I decided to take. So this Pride month I wanted to take the time to talk about myself a bit and my experience coming out. 💜😸🧡

I grew up in a small rural town in the Midwest— so small that not only did it not have a single stop light, most of the intersections in town did not even have stop signs. It was a very sheltered, conservative town and growing up I did not know a single LGBT person. It wasn't spoken of, it wasn't heard of. But, the internet was just beginning to become a thing and along with it came the most used insult of the early two thousands: gay.

By the time I was in middle school, it was the word that replaced bad and stupid for everything. Getting homework? Gay. Get detention? That’s the gayest shit ever. Everyone used it. I used it. Gay people weren't a real thing where I grew up. They were the punchline in a movie or an extra on a TV show. They dressed nice, had funny accents, and played bit parts. They were so far removed from any sort of actual identity that a real person could have that when I hit my highschool years I felt lost because suddenly all of my friends were really into girls and I just… was not.

It is funny now, but at the time it made me feel broken. I remember a time in middle school when my friend led us out to his dad’s woodshop where a large collection of Playboy magazines were hidden. All the other boys were obsessed with them and I just did not get it at all, but I felt pressured to act like I did all the same.

Another time, my best friend convinced me to go on an unofficial double-date with a girl he wasn interested in and her friend. We eventually ended up at her place all alone and I spent the whole time finding excuses to not make out while my friend and the other girl snuck off to be alone. I have plenty of more stories like that, but they all share one thing in common: I didn't have the words to define how I felt.

That would all change when my family finally got the internet when I was 16. Suddenly, a whole new world was available to me, one much more diverse than then my small farming town. However, it was still the mid 2000s, a much different internet landscape then the one we have today. I found myself spending my time on a number of different video game forums, including the one for WoW, a game I had found myself obsessed with due to the way it let me make friends with people from all over the country. A combination of all of these factors led me to learn the term ‘furry’ a word that would completely reshape my life.

A few quick internet searches was all it took to know I was a furry, that I wanted to be a furry. I quickly made myself my first fursona, literally just a lion because I loved Lion King 2 at the time and also I loved cats, and made accounts on every furry site that I could, but on every single one of them, I'd run into the same snag: sexuality. You see, furry and sexuality are often closely intertwined and with such a large queer community, each website had a place where you could to list your sexuality prominently for all other users to see. Of course I set mine to Straight, but it wouldn't be long before I found myself questioning the validity of that label.

Yiffstar (now sofurry) was the main furry site I found myself spending time on, a website with a prominent focus on sharing written fiction, often erotic, of which there was no shortage of availability. As someone still very much in the closet, for months I tried to force myself to read the straight stories, I really did, but much like with the Playboy magazines years before, no matter how hard I tried to make myself ‘get it', I didn't. I felt nothing.

I still remember the fear I felt when I clicked on my first gay porn story. How invested I was in the plot of a high school boy struggling with having feelings for his friend, struggling with the fear of coming out. Technical issues with the writing didn't matter (and trust me there were plenty) because for the first time I felt like I was seeing myself in a story. For the first time I was understanding that being gay wasn't ‘bad’ like the slang or a trendy thing that people elsewhere do. In that writing I saw myself.

And then I remember the soul crushing shame I felt after I masturbated to the story. It was a feeling I'd feel again and again in secret, all the while my parents would tease me about finding a girlfriend, about getting married someday, and about having kids in the future. (For all of the anti-gay rhetoric in the world about queers indoctrinating kids, I sure did face straight indoctrination my whole life.)

For the rest of highschool I kept the secret of my sexuality to myself, buried so deep that I was sure then that I'd keep it to my grave. I would go on to make first team all-state as an offensive lineman on my football team and get voted MVP by my coaches and teams. My junior and senior year I'd do what was expected of me and take a girl to prom. (side note but my school like most didn't allow gay couples to go to prom, not that anyone was out at my school). But with each heteronormative box I checked, I felt like I was eroding another part of myself.

That feeling would hit a boiling point my first semester in college. I was given a scholarship to play football at a junior college and so I did, as was expected of me. But what should have been a dream come true, was not— could not be. College football, and the environment it put me in was so homophobic and made me feel so awful that by the end of the season I made up an excuse to tell my parents and switched colleges. Two months later I'd tell them the truth why.

Tired of living a lie and with the support of some wonderful, lifelong friends that I made through furry, I decided to tell my parents. I knew it wouldn't go over well, especially with my father, so I picked a week that I knew he'd be out of town hundreds of miles away. Unable to tell my mom to her face, I wrote my mom a rambling note pages long telling her the truth. In it I wrote everything I'd been feeling for years, the fears I had, the pressures they put on me. When she was out of the house, I put the note on her bed and waited.

She came and found me once she’d read it, tears in her eyes. For hours we talked, her telling me her fears and me telling her I was well aware of the dangers. She had a lot of misconceptions about gay people, ones that I had shared years prior. We talked about aids. We talked about gay lynchings like Matthew Shepard. I had to comfort my mother at a time when I needed comfort myself. We talked about dad and how bad he would handle me coming out. But even with all the heavy topics, I went to work that day feeling lighter, like a weight had been taken off my shoulders. I was hopeful that with my mom on my side, that I could handle my father when he returned later that week. Instead, I came home from work that day to find his car in the driveway. My mother, in a major breach of my trust, had called him while I was out and he had driven hundreds of miles back home, abandoning the conference to confront me. He was sitting on the couch when I walked in, seething with a quiet fury. I had seen him mad before, but nothing like that. I sat down on the couch across from him and tried to speak to him, but he said nothing. Finally, he spoke, still not making eye contact. The only thing he said to me, could say to me, was that if he looked at me he wasn't sure what he would do. I believed him.

Fearing for my safety, I packed my bag and left. I drove for an hour, aimlessly, before deciding to take a chance on my aunt who I was very close for. She came through for me in a major way and for weeks I lived at her place, speaking to my parents through her while I figured out a path forward with college. I owe her, and my uncle, for calming my parents down and a couple months later, after a lot of talking, I'd move back in for a few weeks before leaving for a bigger university. Things were still extremely tense, but no longer actively hostile.

University was great for me and for the first time, far from home, I felt like I could try and be the person I always wanted to be. I bought a guitar and joined the guitar club. I studied computer science and made great friends through my major. I got really good at coming out.

That summer after my first year at university was over I attended my first furry convention, Anthrocon, and it was another life changing experience. I carpooled with a number of furry friends. None of us had data or smartphones, so we took turns as the navigator, using printed out MapQuest directions to guide us. We got lost a few times, but no one minded. It was fun and with a car full of queers for the first time I got a glimpse of what a community could be.

A few years later I graduated and shortly after that I got into my first long term relationship. It was a mess, but we both learned a lot. I feel like for a lot of queer people who didn't get to date in highschool that their first adult relationships in their 20s are catching up on things you are supposed to learn in your teens and my first relationship was no different. We fought a lot and we're frustrated with each other. We sucked at communicating and never had any money. But even with that, I don't regret it. And many years later, we're on good terms again.

Finally, in 2021 I moved out east to be with my now long term boyfriend. I have 3 cats, great friends, and an amazing partner. When I was 16 I thought my life was over and at 36 it feels like it's just begun. I wish I could show the younger me this life and let him know that it will be okay. In lieu of that, I leave you this. No life lived being true to yourself is wasted.

Happy Pride.

Love, Elk

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Hi, I am not sure how Tumblr works or how Im supposed to tag, though I just read Painting Red Madonnas (I would die for the chance to get amnesia and read it for a first time again :D) and Ive wondered,

what would happen when I drop your Bella from PRM verse back into Forks? How do you think her relationships with the Cullen would work out? I am actually mega inspired to write a fic on ao3 about this (credits included of course) and while I am pretty set on the idea of what plot will happen, Im too curious what you would do about it.

(We are also assuming that Edward does not immediately eat her, Im more thinking about leaning on canon Ed in his first reaction to her)

I also want to state that this is such a bad idea to read PRM during lecture I straight up died.

Painting Red Madonnas by me

Glad you like the fic so much! And of course, you have my blessing if you want to do that, all I ask is that you give credit to the origin and if you do end up doing it I'd love a link (inspired by is great for this if you're using Ao3).

Sorry for your time in lecture.

Back to Your Question

Depends what you mean by Forks.

The premise of Painting Red Madonnas was that the Cullens never came to Forks. As a result, when Bella arrives in Forks, it's an ordinary small town (apart from the weird thing where Jake still turned into a werewolf due to other vampires in the area, but we're not here to talk about that).

Bella back in time in her own world would just be back to regular old high school, her drama of the day would be "Should I be friends with Jacob or not :/" and "Jake, now that we're friends, you're not going to suddenly ghost me with no warning, right?"

But we'll assume she's in Twilight Forks.

Well, first, I imagine she's very confused on how/why she's back in time. Clearly, the vampires are responsible for this somehow, though why they'd send her back to Forks and high school is beyond her. Is she... being punished?

Then she sees the Cullens in the cafeteria, and she's definitely being punished.

Now, for Bella, this is actually very difficult. See, she would love nothing more than to go back to Phoenix with a "NOPE" as soon as she sees them.

However, that would a) be leaving Charlie unprotected b) the whole reason she left Renee was because she was a third wheel and was nobly sacrificing herself by coming to Forks.

So, Bella can't leave.

But she also can't call up the Volturi because a) she's never met them in this world b) that would be kind of rude and selfish to make them come all the way to Forks to deal with Edward again.

BELLA HAS TO HANDLE THIS ON HER OWN.

I imagine she at first does her best to put as much distance between herself and Edward... this doesn't work because they sit next to each other in Biology and she smells really good. While Edward sees Bella's terrified of him, he thinks it's the instinctive terror all humans get rather than someone who, well, has met him in different circumstances.

Edward then disappears for several days and that would be good except... is he pretending to be a bear eating Charlie again?

Then, Edward returns, and he's... asking... questions. Despite herself, Bella is somehow giving fascinating answers, which she doesn't understand at all. In other words, pretty much exactly like canon, except that Bella's slightly warier and more biased though admits that Edward is really really really hot.

Honestly...

I think Twilight would more or less happen. Sure, Bella would like nothing to do with this guy, he did kill her father in another timeline and do a bunch of horrible things, but he keeps talking to her and she doesn't know how to do anything about this. And is this Edward really guilty of everything the other Edward did? He's kind of sweet. Edward ends up dumping her for her own good (she doesn't know how she feels about that), she rekindles her friendship with Jacob and "YOU WERE A WEREWOLF THE WHOLE TIME?!" I imagine she even goes to Volterra when Alice asks because "yay, see Marcus" and mixed feelings about Edward trying to kill himself because of her/all of it in general.

At which point she gets turned, and she can't believe that she could have called them the entire time.

[tomorrowandtomorow]

Afo: *targets katsuki because he's izuku's closest person.*

Katsuki: damn right i am. and my name is kacchan thank u very much.

[cagenewman]

That's actually why you married me, is because you knew that getting into bed with a carpenter and construction worker would mean that you'd get a nice house of the deal, huh? Ignoring the fact that we lived in that little suburban house for a while and I'm pretty sure you would have lived in cardboard boxes with me if I asked you to. That's besides the point. But for what it's worth, I think you've always been something, whether you were living in that tiny apartment and working two jobs, or now that you're starting a new career and happily married. You've always had something. Just had to wait for the right moment to tap into it. A corgi… I mean, I feel like I would be a major hypocrite if I tried to say no, I sort of came with ducks, chickens, a dog and a cat already attached, so as long as you feel like we're up for the responsibility, go for it. Just make sure they're good with kids and other animals, maybe they'd have one up at the shelter? I'm obviously very 'adopt don't shop' about the animals, I think dad instilled that in us with all the strays we ended up taking in. It'll be weird, though, when he does go to college. You know, getting used to having him around and adding another kid -- and then another kid -- to the house only to have him turn around and head off for college is going to rock the boat a little bit, but I think that makes it an even better thing that Rosalyn and Cienna get along as well as they do, it'll make it easier when her brother isn't here in the house. He will, I trust him. I'm just going to let him feel it out, tell me what he wants to do. I went right into the work force after high school, and I might regret it for personal, Cordelia-shaped reasons, but I don't regret it in terms of wishing I'd done something else, so he'll figure it out. The thing with Colton, and moms is just… it's complicated because of his mom. Not that he thinks of her as his mom, I don't even know if he thinks of her at all. When he thinks about a mother figure that makes him dinner and tells him goodnight and helps him with girlfriend advice, he thinks of you, period. But I've promised myself that when he turns eighteen, I'll give him that box in the closet. The one that has all the letters and cards and little gifts that she's sent through the years. Which, admittedly, there haven't been a lot of in the past few years, last I knew, she had another kid and things just … stopped coming in. Guess the third one's the charm when it comes to forgetting your first born. We'll talk to him. Figure out what he wants, he's old enough that he can trust us to trust him, you know? I do not have a foot fetish! It was an example since we were already talking about shoes, thank you -- I could have said that your bra is a fuck-me-bra, or your ponytail holder is a fuck-me-scruncii, but I didn't think fast enough. I love you from your head to your toes, but I can honestly, safely say that your feet will not be coming anywhere near me unless it's you trying to warm them up in the middle of the night, you have my word. I have to run to keep my calf muscles, have you seen those babies lately? Jesus. Still keeping my good ole thunder thighs, though, I think that's just genetics. Lumberjack genetics. But we can take it easy, and maybe throw in some yoga or pilates to go more your style, too, I'm give and take. … I -- what? Hold on, the girls I understand, but the boys wanted stuffed animal keychains? Do you mean that the boys wanted them for their girlfriends and they're being sweet, or are you telling me that I should go out and buy them footie pajamas tomorrow and ask if they want to watch Bluey with me and the girls? Also, you're insane. I love you, but you're insane.

No, I definitely didn't think that five years ago I'd be anywhere like this. If anything, back then, I was just hoping that in five years I'd be out of that apartment I was originally living in maybe a slightly nicer one. Instead I'm a mom of four, two teenagers and two little girls who keep us on our toes daily talking about college decisions. If someone had told me that was going to be my life, all of this, and that I was going to make something of myself more than working two part-time jobs I would have said you were crazy. Life works out when we least expect it sometimes. Speaking of the farm, know we're trying for a baby and everything but I can't lie, I would really love to get a puppy -- a Corgi to be exact. So, if one day I come home with a little burnt potato, you didn't see anything. There's no doubt that he's going to know he's loved no matter where he goes, plus there'll be a lot of text messages, phone calls, Facetimes, care packages, and visits. Him going to college won't really change anything aside from the face that he isn't physically here during the school term. Think whatever decision Colton makes, he'll make a smart one. He's a very smart kid, and he's going to do things that are the best for him too, even if I do think he should at least do a couple college courses, I don't want him to miss out on it and regret it years later. Good thing is there's even more time with Colton before any decisions have to be made, let's do this one kid at a time. Think it depends on the situation, in a serious situation they're not going to take the time to look into all the paperwork, and as much as I would love to see Rafael go head to head with someone attempting to deny me access -- and let's be honest, if someone attempted to deny me access to any of my children think I may be more scary than Rafael any day. Know I may not have birthed him, or even been there to raise him through those first years, but I've known and loved Colton from the moment he's become apart of my life and he's my son. No one is going to tell me different. I want whatever will make him happy, whatever legalities that is. Only you could make socks seem like they'd be a sexy thing, but I'm starting to think you've got a foot fetish and if you talk about your mouth coming anywhere near my toes you're permanently banned and put at a five foot distance at all times. With the kids either asleep or off in their rooms, I wouldn't mind sitting down on the back porch and just enjoying the peace and quiet, if you want to grab us something to drink -- dealers choice of what we're having. I do want to stay healthy when this happens, but running? I'll consider it even it's not really my thing mainly because I'm going to need to stay in shape in some way. Feel like this is the perfect time to also warn you about some packages coming in. Colton and Shawn were watching Tik Tok with the girls and apparently there's this huge thing right now, called Labubus and the girls saw them and have been asking for them for days. Which, did you know, you can't just go to any old store and buy them? No, you have to attempt to get them from very specific places online and people are absolutely ravages in the amount they're buying and I've been fighting for hours to get TWO of them only to find out that Shawn and Colton also want these little monster creature keychain stuffed animals. Which means I got desperate and panic bought two full boxes of six, so when we have fourteen mini monsters running around the house it absolutely wasn't my fault.

[seventh-district]

again and again i find myself lamenting that audio roleplay isn't taken more seriously by some people. like yeah, they often have a romantic element, and by nature they usually directly involve/address the listener- and i totally get that those things aren't to everyone's taste. no art or entertainment is universally appealing, and that's okay! but.. it still makes me a lil sad that the "cringe" reputation of asmr/audio rp precedes it. there's a whole lot of talent and creativity being poured into these audios by so many people that i feel goes unrecognized and/or disrespected simply due to the medium that the stories are being told through.

[goldstien]

sometimes he feels like he's on mars. there's always an issue with people — he's too much energy, he's too loud, he's too rough and tumble. something is always wrong with him, and there isn't much he can do to fix it without wanting to change his entire personality. someone's always upset with him for a variety of reasons, usually mouth and reasoning based – life is a constant question of what the hell did i do now?  camila doesn't seem to find the frayed edges, the surgent beneath the supposed tough - guy - ish - not - really exterior. if anything, she sees a bit past it. not just face value stuff. “see? now you're gettin' it – i'm, like, i dunno. who's inspirational? ghandi? the pope? except, i'm, like, way younger and ten times cuter and have buccal fat still.” not that he knows much of whatever that is, beyond the weird plastic surgery tiktok land he found himself in the other night. “if i made sense, i'd be dangerous. i'd proper be a lawyer or something. they don't want that.” he'd be a terrible one in his current state, but if they're talking alternative timeline? kiernan followed the family road, finding himself mouthing off to a jury and winning cases left and right. that sounds about right. “okay, then sell me on it. what makes the movie so great that i should be ashamed as fuck for not seeing it? you got three sentences and no actor name dropping. i don't know shit about them.” it's true – he only learned who was who from his friends, and even then, it feels like it wasn't enough. he can't tell deniro from .. well, anyone else. “yeah. don't be like me — you'll have a pre - divorce. shit ain't pretty and hurts like a bitch.” it hurts every time he goes into sunrise diner now, not that camila needs to know that. the way his features soften even as the blows of his past relationship with bella hits, he's still fond of her. of course he is – they spent years together, and he had to fuck it all up, just like everything else. what the hell did i do now? he's forgotten all about the bucket and candy now. “well can we bring the boat back? jeez, everybody's leavin' without me these days.” his graduating class is slim to none, even though it's not even been ten years. “and how do i know when my moment is? coach always said i thought too far ahead, but not with much stealth to it. never really know when the right time to dash and tackle is, really, though i suppose you would just be running. i can handle the tackling.” corners, in football, are a mix of football intelligence, skill, focus and intuition — the last part was what he lacked most. “exactly. there's a reason i like you, kid,” she's literally older than you? “that's the spirit. like, what's the saying? you don't know if you don't do? whatever my fifth grade teacher made on some construction paper and hung on the board.” he remembers it specifically: the quotes wrong, he knows, her handwriting was terrible and it was black on red paper. he pointedly avoids talking about the family name: it's like an omen of some sort. who's the girl, if you say her name in the mirror enough, she appears? kiernan is convinced if he said his last name enough times, his great - great grandfather would appear and bang a gavel or something scary. “what're you gonna do – call me stupid, now?” his eyes roll, playful and little bite to it. a nod of his head. “you see, it's only legendary if i actually, you know, do something cool with it — they would rename the churro fries to be named after me in some capacity. like the wednesday chocolate sauce they had.” he doesn't remember what they called them then, just that it was a weird collab. “oh, a sequel! well. only if it becomes a box office hit, you know? or else it'll go straight to dvd. a total flop, if you will.” a shrug. “you never told me what you're gonna be a legend for, though.”

camila caught the subtle shift in kiernan’s tone—the way he let his guard drop just a fraction, letting a little more of the real him peek through behind the jokes and bravado. she’d learned over time that beneath all that rough-and-tumble exterior, he wasn’t just a walking punchline. there was something steady about him, even if he’d never admit it outright, and she respected that. he knew his limits, respected her boundaries, like a dog learning where the invisible fence lay—sometimes testing it, but never crossing. she leaned forward a little, eyes softening as she caught his shrug and the tired way his hand tapped the table. “inspirational, huh?” she teased, lips quirking with a smirk. “yeah, you’d totally make a killing on those tacky hobby lobby signs. ‘put that on a fuckin’ board.’” she shook her head, amusement bubbling under her words. “if nonsense sold, you’d be rich already, no doubt.” her smile faltered briefly when he mentioned never having seen forrest gump. “well, sue you,” she said lightly, “but honestly, that movie’s way more than ‘run forrest run’ and a bench.” she tapped the table once, a quiet acknowledgment of all the stuff he carried, the messy parts he didn’t need to say out loud. somehow, despite all that, he was still standing. maybe not polished or perfect, but standing. the ringpop story made her laugh—genuine, not mocking. “marry it once? ringpop style.” she shook her head, grinning wide. “that’s honestly peak kiernan.” she raised an eyebrow at his stamina confession. “yeah, the boat definitely sailed. no one’s sprinting out here.” then the idea of a heist caught her attention again. “sneaky or bold? honestly, i’m good at both. maybe a little smoke and mirrors, a little dash out the back-door. you just gotta pick your moment.” she didn’t want to force him into anything, but the thought of a little chaotic fun clearly amused her. camila chuckled softly at his ‘fake it till you make it’ philosophy. “full throttle sounds about right,” she said. “better to crash and burn than never take off.” the goldstein name hung heavy in the air between them, unspoken but understood. confidence was the armor, even if the rest was shaky underneath. when he pretended not to hear the ‘dumb’ part, she raised a finger. “hey, you’re not off the hook that easy.” but the grin on his face made her soften. “fine. compliments accepted.” she gave a playful nod, like sealing a fragile treaty. “smoking weed behind a burger king like a civilized ninth grader,” she echoed with a laugh, imagining the scene. “and then demolishing a whopper and churro fries? that’s the dream. sounds like a legend in the making already.” she leaned back, arms crossed, the grin still lingering. “just don’t wear the legend out too fast, yeah? gotta save some for the sequel.”

[sskk-manifesto]

Ep 5!!!

[kathbunny]

Some tidbits inspired by the above! Library Maxim doing some things with MR-SN.

CW: Sexual content, weird size stuff, monster loving

"Hey, Maxim, would you mind taking a look at this necklace I found?" MR-SN asked, doing his best to keep his expression straight as he dangled out the necklace. It was a simple one, just black ribbon with a diamond hanging from it, the only unusual thing about it was its size, being big enough to fit Maxim comfortably if he tried it on. MR-SN would know, he bought it for what it could do. "It's a magic item, but I was hoping you could double check the effects for me."

"Were you hoping to sell it to somebody?" Maxim asked, taking it delicately and examining it.

"Well, I was hoping to use it honestly."

Maxim hummed, turning it over in its paws. "Well, it's... Certainly something." He said after a long moment of silence, having finally realized what it was. "It's binded to a person, and then whoever wears it can..." He trailed off. "You got this on purpose, didn't you? It's already binded to you, and I'm assuming you wanted me to wear it."

-

Maxim looked rather pretty in the necklace, MR-SN thought. It could've done with a bit more decoration, but at the moment how simple it was only served to emphasize all the other handsome things the monster had.

"Is it comfortable?" MR-SN asked, letting himself look exactly as pleased as he was.

"...it fits well enough." Maxim replied. "You certainly look proud."

"I couldn't tell you how much planning and research it took to find somebody able to make and enchant that." MR-SN admitted, walking over and reaching up to run his hand through Maxim's hair. "I'm looking forward to this."

-

Maxim looked down at MR-SN beneath him, undressed and laid out in his nest, exactly where he belonged. Maxim pressed a soft case to MR-SN's lips, feeling fingers brush through his fur and smooth it out. MR-SN was always so quick to pet him.

"How do you want this to go from here?" Maxim asked, keeping his voice soft. Even if MR-SN was the one who engaged this, he still felt some level of worry that he wouldn't be able to do anything with a human without hurting them.

"Let's just go slow, my love. You're not that good at hiding when you're worried, I'm happy going at a pace that works for you." MR-SN said, still just petting him. "I'd tell you if you hurt me, okay? I trust you."

Maxim nodded a little stiffly, and MR-SN gave him a kiss on the nose.

-

They failed in taking it slow. It's not like they actually needed to, given what the necklace could do, and MR-SN was taking great joy in it. Maxim's body pressed slightly against his back, pressing him further into the plush part of the nest he had been spread out on, his face pushed into some random pillow probably older than him, muffling his moans and curses.

Maxim filled him beyond what MR-SN's should've reasonably been able to take, it should've ripped him apart, but MR-SN felt nothing but pleasure. Intense, back arching pleasure that made his mind a blur of heat and more need. And it seemed to be the same for Maxim, given the grunts and growls he was letting out.

MR-SN wanted to say something. To tease his partner, to beg, to just say his name. All that came out was another sound out of his control, barely heard over the sounds of Maxim's cock slamming into him.

-

MR-SN could hardly think, but that hardly mattered. He was comfortable and warm, his partner's wing over him like a blanket, his partner's paw in his arms to hug and cuddle, cool toe beans against his cheek. He should cuddle Maxim more often...

Maxim was purring, seeming just as content as MR-SN was, already fast asleep. MR-SN wondered if they'd talk about that any in the morning, or if it'd just be all pleasant and all normal. He thinks he'd be happy either way.

Library Maxim and MR-SN chat over drinks

Maxim wasn't sure what to make of his partner's partner, especially when the man sat down next to him so brazenly, two drinks that smelled faintly alcoholic in hand. He was aware he allowed the man and his crew to drink within his library, but two drinks for one man certainly seemed extreme.

"Maxim," MR-SN held up one of the drinks, "are you able to drink alcohol? I know some monsters can't, so I wanted to check before just handing it to you."

"...you're offering me a drink?" Maxim questioned, raising an eyebrow. "You've already poured it as well, perhaps you should have asked before then."

It seems the man was already a little drunk with how his cheeks were flushed and how he laughed a little at that. "Yeah, I should've. I'm guessing you can't then?"

Maxim gently took the cup with his paws, the motion awkward. "I am able. The cup is the difficulty, rather than the drink itself."

"Want me to grab you a bowl or something?" MR-SN offered.

"This is fine. Merely say what you wanted to say." Maxim said, lapping awkwardly at the drink.

"Oh- well, there wasn't anything I really intended to say. Just wanted to offer something since you've been... Nice? Hospitable?" MR-SN said, eyes visibly and rudely on his tongue as he drank.

"Is that so?" Maxim raised an eyebrow.

"And that I'm thankful you've been so good to VR-LA, he really loves you." He added.

"...he's the same about you." Maxim replied, begrudgingly.

"You don't have to force yourself to drink with us, but if you'd like, I could sit with you for a bit? Share a few more drinks?" MR-SN offered.

"I will not stop you. Although future drinks might be better in a different container."

"Yeah, of course!" MR-SN smiled, eyes going up at the corners. It was quite the charming smile, Maxim understood a bit maybe.

[cathymee]

we're all wasting our time the earth should just explode soon <3

[kdranime]

.

[kitchensinksurrealism]

can you get burnout from doing nothing

[ame-to-ame]

love being nd and have the tism wolf Inside me be so drastically uncomfortable with uncertainty that i physically cannot think about school and having to deal w the unknown of that whole situation without losing 5lbs in 2 days

[helpimstuckinafandom]

The warm and fuzzy feeling of entering any establishment that serves coffee and seeing minimum one table of old greek men at their coffee group

[joelsgoldrush]

“crawl home to her” | 7.5k

old man!logan x f!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where the hell are you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wants to talk to you.

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

Okay, he’ll get back to that later. 

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

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

Logan: Got it.

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

Priorities.

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

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

How kind of him to still be this considerate.

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

One, two, three rings, and then—

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not even close. Still waiting for them.”

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

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

“Great! I’m already in bed.”

“My bed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A friend.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Logan.”

“Please, remember it’s only—”

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

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

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

“You said you’re sleepin’ on my bed.”

“Good memory you have.”

“You wearin’ my clothes as well?”

 Thick silence, the kind he relishes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What else?”

“There’s nothing else.”

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

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

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

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

“What’s not enough, sweetheart?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So phone sex is off the list now. Great.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Exhaustion clings to him again.

His luck has never been this good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Some things never change.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Welcome home, Logan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I should shower first.”

“No.”

“Baby, I smell like gas.”

“So?”

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

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

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

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

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

How the roles have reversed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But what is—”

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

“Wow.”

“Go back to sleep.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Logan—”

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

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

He’s home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The constant, steady drag of his cock doesn’t seem to get old for you. He’s leaving his mark within you, inside you, carving a space for himself. His tip keeps hitting all the right spots, prompting you to tilt your pelvis to meet him halfway, telling him there, yes, there. More, please.

His hand slides down, rubbing your clit with his fingers. Doesn’t need any extra help when doing so, your arousal providing all the slickness he needs. He feels like a runner on the final stretch, the finish line within reach, so close he can almost touch it, savoring the euphoria and bliss of crossing it.

The way you sing his name never loses its allure, despite all the times he’s heard it spill from your lips. Especially at this moment, with him buried deep inside you, every thrust a promise to make you feel good.

You shamelessly come while he keeps driving into you, vigorous and untamed—like a caged animal unleashed, tasting freedom for the very first time.

Ankles digging into his lower back, a trail of persistent kisses along his beard. You want him inside, that much he can tell.  It’s not like he ever finishes anywhere else, but the reminder doesn’t bother him. It only serves as a reassurance: that you still want this, want him. You haven’t changed your mind.

He sinks his teeth into your neck the instant he feels his orgasm tearing through him, hips stilling and sagging as a string of grunts abandons his being, dampening your skin even more.  He loves to fill you up, it consumes him entirely.

Such an intimate, visceral act, and then he gets to see his seed trickling down your thighs. He realizes that he doesn’t need much to be happy.

You keep kissing him, his neck, his face. It may seem absurd to say that every kiss feels like the first, yet it’s true.

Even after he’s traced all the contours of your mouth and committed every detail of your body to memory, he can’t help but feel that same thrill of excitement he experienced months ago when he dared to push beyond the boundaries he had set for himself.

Staring at each other, naked, all the love in the world seems to fill these four walls. The compassion and tenderness in your gaze remain unchanged. You’re a dream come true.

It can’t end like this. He can’t allow you to drift back into sleep without saying what needs to be said. Something has to happen, something only he can conjure.

“I think…” He hesitates. Starting with I think carries an air of uncertainty. “I don’t—”

“Logan,” you interrupt, your hand finding his. “I know.”

Yes, you do. You always seem to know everything, but that can’t be enough. He can’t lean on your unspoken understanding of his feelings.

“You still deserve to hear it.”

“It’s not necessary.”

“It is.”

More silence. The moon is the solitary spectator of his upcoming declaration. 

“You were right,” he begins, drawing your intertwined hands closer to his face, pressing a soft kiss on the back of yours. His voice drops to a murmur. It’s not just his body that feels completely exposed anymore; something deeper within him stands bare. “I’m in love with you.”

You scrutinize him as if he’s revealing the secret to eternal life. Again, you kiss his cheek, cupping it gently with your palm.

“It won’t get any better than this. There are no more layers to peel away, okay?” He offers explanations you never even asked for in the first place. “This is what I am.” Much to his dismay, you overlook his choice of words: what instead of who.

He glances away, his gaze landing on the dog tags resting against your skin. The same old guilt threatens to engulf him, as it does each time without fail, and that seems to be your cue to lower yourself to his eye level, eyebrows raised.

“I’m not with you because I’m waiting for you to change. I like you just as you are, Logan. And I want all of you, both the good and bad stuff.” A gentle smile breaks across your face as you stretch your arm to retrieve his glasses from the nightstand. Placing them on your nose, your eyes twinkle with contentment. “Do they look good on me?”

“You don’t need them yet.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t pull them off.”

“Come here,” he mutters, sighing when you nuzzle his chest, cradling your head between his hands. He ponders what to say, what to do next, but no clear idea sounds promising.

And so it gives you the chance to speak up: “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

I hope I don’t, he thinks to himself as he brushes your hair away from your face, fingers caressing your temples. I hope I never do.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3