#And it takes a very long time for him to take no from a person he is obsessed over

[nochepsicodelica]

NSFW

"What are you doing? It's two in the morning, doll," Toji's voice drawls out, sleep morphing his voice into something quiet and gravelly.

You pause the show you have playing on your phone and look up at Toji, who's leaning against the dining room entryway. He has two random clumps of his hair sticking out, his eyes are slightly puffy with sleep, and there's this pout on his face that just pieces it all together.

"I woke up and wanted something sweet. I had a bite of cake and an orange. Well, two oranges," you say, giving him a glimpse of the progress you've made on the second one. He hums and goes quiet, groggily watching you continue to eat the fruit. "Go back to sleep, baby," you coo. "I'll head back in a few minutes."

"Come back, now. I'm tired," Toji says, crossing his arms over his chest. He really looks like the grumpiest of bears.

You chuckle at the almost whiny sound in his voice. "Five minutes."

"No. Too long."

"Three minutes?" You counteroffer.

Toji shakes his head. "No, baby. Now."

"But..." you hold up your remaining two pieces of orange.

"Finish up. I'm waiting on you."

You sigh and stuff the two pieces of orange in your mouth, before standing up to wash your hands.

You follow behind Toji as he leads you through the dark hallway, back to the bedroom. He waits for you to walk in before shutting the door and joining you on his side of the bed. Immediately, he tries to steal all your warmth, because the sheets and the blanket feel cold on his naked torso and his legs. He buries his face in the crook of your neck and throws an arm over your chest, while his legs trap one of yours between them. He's all consuming.

"Why'd you get out of bed?" You murmur, stroking the back of his head. Toji lets out a quiet grunt, falling silent, again, after. You smile and stop talking so that he can go back to sleep. You bring your phone up and start scrolling through your socials, only to earn another quiet, but more disapproving grunt. "Sorry," your whisper, turning down the brightness of your screen.

"Turn it off, ma. It's too early for you to be awake," Toji chides.

"But I can't go back to sleep. I'm not tired," you explain.

"I can put you down. Just turn it off, alright?"

You sigh, defeatedly, and turn your screen off, before setting it on your nightstand.

"Turn onto your side," Toji tiredly mumbles, instructing you so that he can turn as well and spoon you. His arm goes over your waist and below your shirt to caress the bare skin of your tummy. His thumb slowly strokes your soft skin, moving back and forth in a soothing manner. "Relax," he says, coaxing a relieved sigh out of you. "There you go. You've got sugar in your system, now, ma. It might take a little longer to get you to sleep."

"Sorry," you mumble into your pillow. Your eyes don't feel heavy and you don't feel the least bit sluggish. It always feels nice to have Toji rub your tummy, and this method of getting you to sleep is ninety-nine point nine percent effective, the point one percent being this time.

"I don't think me rubbing your stomach is gonna save you this time," Toji says, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. He gets a quiet, disappointed sigh from you, followed by silence. He doesn't want you to feel bad. You're not the first person ever to wake up craving something so badly that it doesn't let you stay asleep, and tummy rubs aren't the only method he uses to help you get to sleep. "Want me to go down there and make it all better?" He murmurs.

"You need to sleep, too," you say, considering his own tiredness.

"I'll sleep just fine without you tossing and turning all night. Let me help you."

So, you do. You let him go under the blanket and pull your shorts and underwear down, both in one go. You feel his lips on your thighs, slowly making their way towards the part of you that very quickly grew needy, and once his tongue makes contact with you, your first instinct is to bend your knees and plant your feet on the mattress.

"Relax, baby," Toji says, under the blanket. His hands push on your thighs so that your legs go down, again. "Don't tense up too much. We're getting you to sleep, 'kay?"

"Sorry," you mumble, shutting your eyes to allow yourself to focus on the way Toji's mouth works on you. His hands stay on your thighs and rub your skin, soothingly, with the same gentleness he uses for the tummy rubs he gives you.

All that can be heard as Toji builds you up through the quietness of the night, are your soft breaths and the rustling of sheets, as you squirm and slightly arch off the bed. His tongue offers gentle licks to your clit, before he envelops the sensitive bud with his lips and starts suckling on it. Every time your legs go up, he hums against your cunt and pushes them back down, and it keeps going this way until he's had enough. You don't listen and he's corrected you multiple times, so he had to resort to locking your thighs in place with his arms.

"T-Toji," you whimper out, writhing under him and the relentlessness flicking of his tongue. "Please- Please?"

"Shh... I know, baby," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your cunt, before continuing.

Your legs are quivering and it's so hard to lie still when you've been edged and denied of your orgasm three times, now—all work done by solely his mouth. His soft, warm tongue has been lapping at you for long enough to have thin strings of your arousal and his saliva connecting you to him, even for a mere second, before those strings snap.

It doesn't take much more than Toji sucking on your over sensitive clit for a couple seconds, for you to finally get that powerful orgasm you've been grasping, but never fully reaching. Your toes curl, your hips roll against the mattress as your back arches off the bed, and you gasp sharply, a sound that leads the rest of your sounds of pleasure out, as Toji helps you ride out the sensation. While, normally, he would be a little mean and overstimulate you, even just the slightest bit, he opts out of it, this time, because the purpose of this from the start was to get you to sleep, and based off the sounds you made, Toji knows you're going to sleep so good.

Once you've calmed down, your breathing steadied and your body still on the bed—now entirely relaxed—Toji cleans you up with his tongue. Slow, gentle strokes, because despite this act of kindness being for you to achieve rest, he can't—doesn't want to—waste your sweet essence.

When he's done, he slides your underwear back on and uses your shorts to wipe his face, before tossing them somewhere behind him on the bed. Toji peeks out from under the blanket and takes in your peaceful expression. Your eyes are shut, not a crease in your brows, and your breaths come softly through your nose. This is it.

He tries to be as careful as possible when crawling back up to his side of the bed, not wanting to wake you up after just getting you to sleep. It seems like the coast is clear when his head hits his pillow and he carefully shifts so that he can watch you until he falls asleep. Then, he sees you stir and he starts thinking that maybe the orgasm didn't fully wear you out, but just left you dazed. He doesn't say anything when you briefly open your eyes to look at him, but when you lean in to leave a chaste kiss on his lips, he's furthermore silenced. Immediately after, you bury your face in his chest and doze off for sure, this time. Toji coils around you and instantly returns to his all consuming way of sleeping with you.

[syoddeye]

sliding scale

You're in need of a handyman. He has needs of his own. cw: discussion of kids/pregnancy, john price inserting himself into your life, heavily implied breeding kink, unsettling and smutless (my brand)

You win the jackpot. Okay. Not the jackpot, but you're hit by a respectable windfall. It's like a cheesy movie you'd watch around the holidays: A distant relative dies, you receive a very serious letter, and suddenly, your account isn't as sad as it once was.

So, you do the impossible. The unthinkable. You buy a house.

An old, well-loved house from an elderly couple.

The day you close, they tell you about raising their kids in the house and mention the names etched on the door frame. When you arrive home that evening, the empty house feels grand and hollow, but there they are, just where they said. Names climbing upward in uneven increments, faded with time, but legible. You trace your finger along the marks, imagining small hands and the measuring tape, the years slipping by. It makes you smile, despite yourself.

You've never wanted kids, not really, but the thought of this, people leaving bits of themselves behind—it makes you mushy. You figure, once the dust settles, you'll let rooms to friends, maybe friends of friends. Start a fun little commune of sorts, a collective of people coming and going.

The first night, you drink nonalcoholic wine straight from the bottle and lie on your mattress on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. There's no furniture yet, just your overnight bag and the smell of fresh paint from a patch you tested on the living room wall. You fall asleep smiling. The house needs a lot of work, but you're not worried. Some TLC and elbow grease can go a long way.

Over the next few weeks, you move in and start working. Anything is possible with the power of YouTube tutorials and the local tool library.

You start in the primary bedroom and bathroom, learning to tile, install flooring, and connect plumbing for the perfect vanity and sink you found at a thrift store. It feels good to learn how things fit together and see the fruits of your labor. At night, you sleep in one of the old kid's rooms. The wallpaper is covered in rockets and planets. A couple of glow-in-the-dark stars cling to the ceiling.

The bathroom comes together wonderfully, and you feel invincible.

But then you get to the kitchen.

After an outlet zaps you, you decide you may be in over your head. That there really is a limit to what one person can do on their own. You start looking up local contractors, but everything is out of your budget. You've been doing all the work yourself for a reason. Then, after digging for ages, you find a promising lead: John Price - Handyman - Sliding Scale.

On the phone, John seems normal. Charming. Funny. He tells you he's impressed you bought a house on your own. (You've heard that a lot lately, and while it feels patronizing, you let it go. You did jump up a band upon inheriting your chunk of Great Uncle Leroy's money.) He agrees to come by and see what he can do.

You have to admit he makes a good impression when he shows up. He's punctual, polite, and looks the part. Broad chest, thick arms, big hands resting on his hips as he surveys the kitchen. After only a few minutes, he says he'll take the job. No hesitation.

You explain your tight budget and that you'll work alongside him when you're not at your day job. You show him the money you've set aside, expecting him to back out, but he just shakes his head and nudges the folder back across the table.

"Said I'd do it. Don't you fret, darl."

You vet him afterward, just to be sure. His references check out. The reviews are solid. He appears to know a little about everything. You text him to confirm, formally offering the job, and he accepts.

On the first day, you let him in and immediately have to avert your eyes. You didn't realize a toolbelt could look like that on someone. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing his forearms, and the way he moves—confident, purposeful—makes you grateful you're heading out to work. You tell him when you'll be back and leave quickly, gripping the steering wheel tighter than usual thinking about the hunk of man in your house.

When you return, the kitchen looks different, unfinished, but vastly improved. John's already fixed things you didn't think could be fixed. Over lunch, he even scoped out other problems around the house: a crack in the basement wall, a loose board on the stairs, and spots where the flooring must be replaced. He gushes about the house, praising its character, the way it's held up over time.

John's face grows serious, and stares down his nose when he finally asks, "You're not gonna ask me to paint over the wood or rip out the built-in hutch, are ya?"

His relief over your answer is palpable: No. That's why you bought the house in the first place. You describe what you love about it: the glass doorknobs, the dining room archway, and transom windows above the doors. He nods. He knows exactly what you mean.

Before he leaves for the day, he stops at the doorframe and points to the tallest name etched into the wood. You explain it belonged to the previous owners, a family with seven kids.

"Seven," he repeats, eyebrows raised.

"Right? Can you believe that? Seven!" You laugh. Frankly, anything more than two sounds insane. 

But John doesn't laugh. He stares at the names for a moment, his jaw tight. "Yeah. Difficult to imagine."

After he leaves, you scold yourself. You don't really know John. You've known him for all of a day. What if he came from a big family? Or what if he doesn't speak to his family anymore, if things are complicated with his parents? You feel awful, and the guilt channels itself into stress-baking.

The next morning, when he shows up, there's a platter of breakfast pasties waiting on the counter. He hesitates, looks almost bashful, until you insist. He takes a bite, then another, and looks at you with genuine astonishment. He says if you leave food like this every morning, he'll knock his rate down even further.

It makes sense, financially speaking, so you agree. You start making breakfast for two, and in return, he keeps the repairs affordable. The ritual becomes routine: John shows up every weekday morning, you eat together, he gets to work, and you leave. You look forward to seeing him. Hearing his voice rumble out good mornings and goodnights.

For two weeks, you come home to find steady progress on the kitchen. You help him out for an hour or two in the evenings, and by the time it's nearly finished, you've started discussing other parts of the house.

You mention the two smallest children's rooms aren't really usable for tenants. You show him your plans to knock down the wall between them and create a library or office space.

But this time, John doesn't agree.

"First I'm hearing of this," He leans back in his chair at your table. His arms cross over his chest, legs spreading wide. Even sitting, you see what he's doing. Trying to take a posture that carries authority, to cow you. "Tenants? What about a family?"

You try to steer the conversation back to your plans, to the picture you've sketched. "I'm not planning on having one. So, like I was saying—"

"Why buy a house this big, then? Why spend all this time fixin' it up if you're not planning to honor its legacy?"

The tone of his voice shifts completely, with no trace of the easy, flirty banter that's been your norm for weeks. His words drip with disdain. His brow knits together. Nostrils flaring. He looks genuinely upset. Mystified that you're not going to fill the house with your…your brood.

It's as if your refusal to have children is an affront to him personally. 

It sends a chill down your spine. Instantly, your image of him—this dependable, good-humored man—cracks apart. You glance past him, searching for the right words, and focus on the kitchen instead. The cabinets, the fixtures, the paint. All of it bears his mark now, and it leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

The realization settles like a stone in your stomach. You can't keep working with him. Not if your plans for the house, your house, are going to be a problem.

You tell him as much, as gently as possible.

His anger bleeds out of him quickly, melting into embarrassment and shame. His shoulders drop, and he folds into himself in a way that seems almost impossible for someone his size. "Don't know what came over me, darl."

He packs up his tools while apologizing again, both for his outburst and for the unfinished work, and gives you the spare key you lent to him for emergencies. Before he leaves, he asks you not to write a review, not even a positive one, and you agree. Things had been good until now. You don't want to ruin him over this. People have bad days.

With the kitchen functional and nothing too big left on your plate, you cut your losses and decide to finish the work alone.

Progress is slow on your own, of course. One pair of hands, only so many hours after work to chip away at the list after work. Still, time moves faster than you expect. You push through exhaustion, head often swimming, and work late into the evenings. One night, you finish patching the floor and tackle the basement's cracked wall. Only when you get down there, it's already done. Smoothed over perfectly.

You tell yourself John must've fixed it before everything went south. But then you notice other things. Several odd jobs from your list are already complete.

Squeaky door hinges turn silent. The dings and nail holes in the walls, spackled over. The second toilet that kept running starts working correctly. It's partly a relief, like the house is taking care of itself, but also deeply unsettling. You don't remember doing it, you've never sleepwalked or slept-repair in your life, even in your overtired state, and you're still too sore over your falling out to text John and ask if he did it all.

Instead, you decide to take a break. A few days off work, a proper rest. Let the house settle, let yourself breathe. Nothing happens. No floating tools. No ghosts. It's like the house is waiting for you to look away.

Paranoia sets in. You order cameras—indoor and outdoor, enough to cover every angle.

The day they arrive, you barely make it through the door before tearing open the box. But something stops you. Your eyes catch on a strange wooden box sitting on the dining table. It's a shadowbox.

Inside the box is the slat from the front doorframe, the one with the heights and names of the seven kids who grew up here. It's been cut out, perfectly, and framed like an artifact.

Your stomach drops. You scramble to the doorframe and run your hands over it, frantic. The patchwork is seamless, so clean it's like the names never existed.

Then you notice the boots. Tucked in and lined up next to your own pairs. The extra jacket hanging on the hooks.

A shadow falls over you.

You freeze, heart in your throat, and slowly turn with eyes the size of dinner plates. Towering above you, sleeves rolled to his elbows, fists planted on his hips, is John. Grinning.

"Work alright today?" He bends down and pulls you to your feet by your wrist, wrapping you up in an embrace and welcoming you home. He sways slightly with you, like you're dancing, his chest rising and falling against yours. He looks at you with a clear fondness and affection, but there's something off, like a splintering foundation. Stable until you look too close.

You try to push yourself away, palms flat against his chest, but he doesn't let go. "What are—What are you doing here? What are—Why did you do that?" You glance again toward where the measurements used to be.

He chuckles, soft and unbothered, a wistfulness threaded in his words. "Well, we're gonna need the room for our little ones, yeah? Oh, we'll have seven or more, dependin' on what takes. Sliding scale and all that."

At your stunned, horrified silence, he slots a hand into the back pocket of your jeans. He gives your cheek a little squeeze and starts steering you toward the kitchen. The one he built for you.

"C'mon. Lemme tell you all about my plans for us."

[producedbysohyun]

Cuddling

Squid game x reader hcs

Summary: How the people in squid games would cuddle you (separate)

Includes: Thanos, In-ho, Se-mi, Dae-ho, Myung-gi, Jun-ho, Hyun-ju, Mi-na (non!squid game au)

Warnings: might be slightly suggestive at some points.

masterlist

a/n: I love writing these so much! I hope you guys enjoy them as much as I do!!

Thanos

Get ready to be crushed

Lays on-top of you

And does not let you get up for anything

“Let me get up for a second I-“

“No.”

While laying on-top of you he takes the opportunity to kiss your neck or chest

If you do end up getting up he whines until you lay back down

Type of Bf to use your butt or thighs as a pillow 😔✊

Randomly bites you

Has cute aggression 100%

Very deep sleeper

Moves so much in his sleep so if you guys fall asleep cuddling at least one of you is gonna be upside down when you wake up

Will give you pda anytime anywhere he does not care

I’m literally Dr. Seuss

In-ho

Not very big on cuddling

He tolerates it for you tho 😚

Even tho cuddling isn’t really his thing he LOVES when you sit on his lap

Especially when you’re facing him

Also likes when you lay on his chest

Literally just lets you cling to him and do whatever

Acts like he doesn’t care for it but we all know the truth

When he’s tired he just completely lets his guard down

That will probably be the only time he initiates cuddling

Other wise you’re kinda on your own 

Se-mi

Loves laying on your chest !!

Gives you neck kisses when she’s the big spoon 😏

Also a biter

Likes to have you on her lap

Touches your tummy while cuddling

you cannot stop her 😡

Clingiest Gf you can have !!

Takes every opportunity to hug you from behind and just stays like that for as long as possible

When you lay on her chest she likes to play with your hair

Another deep sleeper

Girl will not wake up for anything

If you are in bed with her you better be ready to never leave the bed again once she gets her hands on you

“Babe I need to get up”

“Five more minutessss”

Dae-ho

Most cuddly person ever

Big spoon !!

not so secretly likes being small spoon sometimes

Either rests his head on-top of yours or in your neck

If you guys fall asleep like that expect not to be getting up at all

Literally has a death grip on you

Lays his head on your thighs or chest pt.2

Will fall asleep immediately if you start playing with his hair 🙁

HATES sleeping without you

The lightest sleeper ever

If you softly shake him awake he will either have a dramatic mom reaction or he’ll just be confused asf

My babbyyyyyy

Myung-gi

Struggles to sleep if you aren’t next to him

Religiously the big spoon

He likes to put his hands up your shirt while cuddling and his excuse is

“My hands were cold 🙁”

“Damn right they are 😡”

Yaaaa we all know his real intentions ✊

Neck kisses pt.2 !!

Another one that uses your thighs as a pillow

Moves a lot in his sleep as well but stays holding you the whole time somehow

Loves you being on his lap pt.2

The type to rub your thighs while watching a movie or some sht😭😔🙁😭😡😔😔😡

I want him so bad

Gives you so much kisses !!

I need someone like him omg 😔

Jun-ho

Loves cuddling face to face if that makes sense 😭

Likes to hear about your day while just holding you

Listens intently and plays with your hair as you speak

He also enjoys when you lay on his chest

The weight of your body calms him down and he feels better knowing you’re safe in his arms

If he’s feeling extra vulnerable that day he’ll lay his head on your chest

Probably gets super exhausted after work sometimes so he just falls asleep the second he gets home

and when you join him in bed he immediately wraps his arms around you

Overall I don’t think he’d be to big on cuddling but he also wouldn’t mind

Hyun-ju

She’s just a big teddy bear

Especially when you’re alone with her

She isn’t too big on pda so in public she probably just sticks to holding your hand

But in private you’re getting cuddles, kisses, you name it

There will be a lot of giggling going around

Loves if you braid or play with her hair while cuddling

Lets you try out new hairstyles on her to see which one looks the prettiest 🤭

Loves when you lay on-top of her

When the both of you go to bed she HAS to be touching you

No matter if it’s holding hands or being straight up on top of eachother

Poor girl just needs you 😔

Mi-na

I feel like she wouldn’t really care for being touchy with anyone but if it’s her s/o

Sign her up !!

Definitely small spoon

She wants to be treated like a princess 😋

Puts her legs over your lap and just pouts at you till you rub them

If she’s feeling a little frisky she’ll get you to put your head on her chest and then just cling onto you

Loves giving you kisses !!

ugh I want her

Cannot fall asleep if you aren’t in bed with her

a/n: hii! I hope you guys enjoyed thissss! (If you’ve made requests it might take awhile for me to get to them I’ve been busy lately I hope you understand!) (reqs are currently closed)

[sturniqlo]

COMFORT- SHY!MATT x SHY!READER

summary- matt loves how comfortable darling is around him, it turns him on at certain times (matt being a whole different person in bed.. yum)

cw: SMUT; dom(ish)!matt, p in v, making out, nipple play, oral!f receiving, creampie, FLUFF

an: thank you to this anon (also, this is my first ever shy!matt x darling smut fic, p.s i know the pajama bottoms are actually shorts but pretend they're underwear)

masterlist | shy!matt x shy!reader | join my taglist

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it was that point in their relationship where darling was getting very comfortable around matt-and vice versa-, not that she wasn't ever comfortable around him, just comfortable in a different light. she started doing things around him that she would only do when she was alone. one of those things is walk around in her underwear or bra.

"i'm gonna shower really quick." she said with her clothes and towel in hand. "okay, i'll be here." matt smiles as he sits against her headboard her fluffy blanket over his lap. matt being matt, puckers his lips signaling he wants a kiss. darling doesn't think anything of it, in all honestly she loves when he does that, it's because normal for them.

she even catches herself doing it sometimes. "mwah!" she intentionally says as she plants a kiss onto his lips, she can still taste the faint sherbet ice cream they shared. "don't take long, i'll miss you." he teases, squeezing her hip gently. "i'll try not to." she pecks his lips this time before making her way to the bathroom out in the hall.

as matt waited for her, scrolling through her streaming services on her tv, he got up and went down to the kitchen to get a snack. darling's parents were currently out on a camping trip since it was their anniversary weekend. with their permission, matt was able to come and stay over. they trusted matt and darling as they were once young and in love.

he opened the fridge grabbing two cold water bottles as he noticed her water bottle was almost empty. placing both of them on the island counter, matt opened the pantry and scanned the shelves. he saw the half eaten tray of her dad's strawberry danish and held back from grabbing a piece. her dad was serious about his danishes.

opting for some chips and a bit of chocolate chip cookies, he made his way back upstairs into her bedroom. as matt passed the bathroom, he heard the running water and her slight humming to the song she played on low volume.

matt returned back to the room and dug into the snacks he had brought up. still continuing to scroll through the streaming services, he didn't choose anything because he wanted to wait for darling and see what she would want to watch.

he looked around her room noticing small details that she had added. a new sonny angel hipper was added to the back of her flatscreen tv, the calendar matt had gifted her with pictures of them was hung up on her closet door, and a new pair of shoes was added to her shoe rack. he noticed every little detail.

it was about fifteen minutes later when darling walked through the door, her hair up in her designated hair towel. when matt realized what she was wearing, his breath hitched. she wore a white teddy bear tank paired with matching teddy bear boxer like underwear.

she had just started doing this around matt, walking around in her underwear. he cleared his throat as he caught himself watching her as she went into her closet to put her dirty clothes into her hamper. "find something to watch?" she said in a soft tone as she sat in her vanity across the room, watching him through the mirror as she combed her hair. "huh- oh- uh, no. i was uh- i was waiting for you. see what you wanted to watch."

she didn't realize his now worked up state. "you can put modern family back on." darling did her skincare, and lathered herself in her sweet scented lotion that drove matt crazy. he went to hulu to put the show, but he kept glancing back at darling who stood up to lather her legs.

the ends of her underwear rode up slightly and exposed the bottom of her ass cheeks. "shit." he muttered under his breath, shifting in the bed putting the blanket back over his lap. darling came closer to the bed and smiled at matt. "i feel so clean." she giggled, sitting on top of the blanket. "baby, are you not hot?" her dad had cranked up the heater before he left and it was really warm in the house.

"no- no, not really." he nervously chuckled, her scent engulfed his sense of smell. he looked down to play with his fingers, but caught eye of her plump thighs. "well i am. it's like ninety degrees in here." she fanned her tank top. matt stared at her and noticed that she wasn't wearing a bra either.

they were a couple of episodes in and darling ended up laying on her belly towards the end of the bed, which was the worst decision in matt's eyes. the curve of her ass was taunting him. the way it jiggled when she laughed or made a slight movement to get comfy, and the way her underwear rode up more.

darling didn't do it intentionally, in all honesty the thought of matt being worked up didn't cross her mind. she soon sat up and scooted to matt. "i'm bored." she told him, kneeling next to him running a hand through his hair. "what do you wanna do?" he said, his eyes raking up to her eyes and down to her lips.

"are you sure you're okay? you look pretty flustered." she furrows her eyebrows. "baby-" she gasped. "are you.. hard?" he groaned. "darling.. you're- you just look so good." she blushed at his words. "why didn't you tell me? i could've helped you all this time." she moved the blanket off of him and straddled his lap. matt was never one to just ask for sex- he was too shy to do so, he would give her little touches here and there or just stare at her.

"you know why." his hands came to rest on the silver of her skin where her tank top rode up. her hips slowly rolled against his. "baby." his threw his head slightly back. darling took the opportunity to kiss against his neck. matt got hold of her chin and connected their lips in a hungry kiss. "such a tease, hm? wearing your tiny panties around me." his finger dipped into the waistband of her underwear and let it slap against her skin. "mmph!" she whined against his lips.

"can i?" he pulled away from her, their lips red and swollen, his hands slipped under her tank top, looking up at her with pleading eyes. "please- yes." she nodded- she was now as equally as needy as him. matt wasted no time in taking her shirt off. her full, round tits on display for him. "so pretty, darling. so fucking pretty." he growled, taking her right tit into his mouth. his wet, pink tongue swirled around her nipple as he stared up at her, her eyes closed in pleasure.

"matt, oh- shit." her back arched, furthering herself more into matt. "love your tits, babe." he popped off of her nipple, moving onto the left one as his hand came up to knead the one he had in his mouth before.

after some time, he began to trail kisses around her chest up to her collarbone, up her neck eventually making it back to her lips. "lay on the bed f'me. c'mon." he patted the side of her thigh. darling came off of his thigh and laid next to him. matt hovered over her, pressing a few kisses to her neck. his kisses trailed down her body until he reached the hem of her underwear. "matt- please." she looked down at him.

"patience, darling." matt continued to press teasing kisses along her underwear. a wet patch began to form on her panties. "wet already?" he smirked, his finger prodding at the patch. "mhm- so wet for you." she rolled her hips wanting more. after pressing a kiss to her wetness, he hooked his fingers into the fabric and pulled them down. "lift up f'me." she lifted her hips so he'd be able to pull them down her legs.

he tossed the underwater somewhere on the bed, putting her legs over his shoulders. "look at that. pussys so pretty." matt was face to face with her glistening folds that we're aching to be touched. darling shivered when his breath fanned against her wetness.

pressing kisses along her inner thighs, so very close to her core, matt licked and nipped until she was a squirming wanted to be licked where she needed it most. "please, stop- stop teasing." she whined, gripped his hair to try and guide him to her pussy. "am i being mean, hm?" his tongue made very small contact, but quickly pulled away.

matt thought he had teased enough and dipped his tongue into her hole, licking a stripe up to her clit. "oh- yes!" she smiled at the feeling of his warm tongue on her. "so good, darling. taste so good." he lapped up her arousal. sucking on her lips, her back arched at the sensation- the suction around her lips and the vibrations of his muffled moans.

"just like that- fuck!" her hands fisted at the bed sheets as she didn't want to hurt matt's scalp. darlings moans and pants filled the room, her constant whines when matt would pull away for a split second. matt's hands trailed up her body as she continued to eat her out. his fingertips found her tits and he rolled her nipples in between his thumb and forefinger.

he soon pulled away due to the ache in his pants becoming too much. "baby, please let me- let me fuck you." he mumbled as he kissed up her body. he sucked a few marks onto her neck. darlings hands creeped into his hair. "mhm, yes. i want you in me." she whispered into his ear, his hips rolled against her. "yeah?" he bit down on her neck. "so bad, please." she held the sides of his face and stared at him. matt broke into a smug smile, leaning down to press their lips together.

as their lips and tongue clashed together, matt pulled down both his pants and underwear throwing them somewhere. he stroked his hard cock a couple of times, pulling away from the kiss. darling looked down to where his cock was and saw the red leaking tip, her pussy clenched around nothing. "ready f'me?" he said, slapping his dick against her clit. "yes, i'm ready." she nodded, biting her bottom lip.

matt lined his tip up with her wet hole and slowly pushed into her. darling moaned feeling the familiar stretch of matt's cock. "so tight." matt's jaw slacked at her warm walls squeezing him. once he bottomed out, he waited a few moments until she was ready for him to move.

"you can- you can move." she nodded, grabbing onto his shoulders. matt pushed out before thrusting back in making them both moan at the same time. "yes, just like that. faster, baby." darling whined. he accepted her wishes and picked up the speed.

the wet noises, along with their moans, now filled the air in her room. the occasional bang of the headboard against the wall was covered by the lewd noises. "feel you squeezing my cock, darling." he kissed just below her ear. "it's so good, matt. don't stop." her moans continued.

minutes later, matt pulled out causing her to whimper at the loss of contact. "matt- what- what are you doing." her glossy eyes looked up at him. "shh, it's okay, pretty." he pressed a kiss to her lips. "want you to flip over f'me. hands and knees, yeah?" matt knew that her being on all fours made it feel better and deeper for her. she nodded, her damp hair from her shower and the slight sweat made the baby hairs stick along her hairline.

matt got on his knees to give her space to flip over. once she was situated, matt got behind her and caressed the soft and plump skin of her ass. his hand grabbed his dick and ran it up and down her puffy, wet folds. "oh- matt." she arched her back as he circled his tip against her hole. matt didn't ram himself in, but he certainly didn't hold back. her high pitched moans and whimpers began again. only this time they were louder due to the new position and angle.

"f-fuck, you're so deep." she mumbled against the bed sheets. her once hands and knees position turned into her being face down ass up. "yeah? feel me so deep inside of your tummy, babe." his hands came to the side of her ass, holding her as he went in and out of her. "so fucking deep." she repeated.

darling felt the familiar pressure building up in her lower belly, so she began backing her ass into him. matt groaned when he realized what she was doing. "you close, hm?" he groaned, his right hand on her ass and the other on the back of her neck. "yes- yes, so close. don't stop." she cried, wanting her release.

"cum for me. cum all over my dick." matt began to do long, deep strokes. "shit- just like that." the movement in his thrusts brought her more to the edge. her fingers curled into the pillow as she mewled. "i'm- fuck, i'm cumming!" her legs trembled as she released. "that's it, baby. all over my dick, mhm." he thrusted a couple of more times before he felt the familiar sensation.

"babe- i'm close." he gently brought her up to where her back was pressed up against his chest. "cum in me. want all of it, plea- please." she cried, her hand coming behind his head as he nipped at her neck. "oh- shit." his cock twitched inside of her as he came. matt kept messily thrusting against her as he rode his high.

once she started to whine, he stopped as he knew that she had become sensitive. "it's okay, i've got you." he pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder. slowly and carefully he laid her back down, still staying inside of her. "is it okay if i pull out? need to clean you up." she nodded. slowly, he pulled out watching as his cum leaked out of her. matt held back a groan at the sight.

"i'll be back, gonna get some tissue."

when matt finished cleaning her up, they showered together. "baby, c'mere. wanna braid your hair." matt patted his lap. "really? think you got it?" she teased. "i definitely improved since last time." darling sat in between his legs as he worked with her hair. "so it's right over left- no, no. right over left." he muttered to himself.

although he had to restart a couple of times, he finally finished it. matt took a picture and showed her. "alright, what do you think of my masterpiece?" he handed her his phone and wrapped his arms around her waist bringing her into his chest. "it's definitely something, i'll tell you that." she giggled. some parts were pretty loose and in some her hair was sticking out. "hey, i thought i did pretty good." he pouted, his chin resting on her shoulder.

"just gotta keep on practicing." she turned around and booped his nose.

[gifsbysimplysonia]

Hola. Long rambling feedback behind the cut as well as

When he meets you, he hasn’t even thought of picking up a pencil in years. Ever since you’ve been at the mansion though, Logan’s fingertips twitch with the urge to start sketching your features every time he’s with you. It gets hard to ignore after a few days.

I think this is so beautiful. Anyone who is a creative knows how difficult it can be to find a muse. So for this person to inspire a twitch in Logan after YEARS? That's just a very beautiful thing.

He waits until he’s known you a few weeks, there’s no way in hell he’d ask if he could draw you. He’d probably embarrass you by asking, and embarrass himself by admitting he’s into fucking art. That’s not him.  Except, well, sometimes it is, when he’s inspired. And you’re nothing if not inspiring. 

And this is for BOTH 1) thinking it's not ok to be into art??? OK BUT CAVEMEN CARVED INTO WALLS, SIR and 2) "you're nothing if not inspiring" *screamingggggggggggggggggggg*

The first few drawings are shit, he feels like they’re almost an insult to you. It’s not that he’s accidentally drawing you ugly, it just doesn’t look like you. So he practises.  Logan Howlett sits down at night to practise drawing. 

I love that this fits with the Logan I know, the demand on self for perfectionism and the refusal to accept anything but. But it's especially important cuz he wants to do right by YOU/HER. *swoon*

And he totally knows that you’d never go for someone as rugged as him, that’s for sure. You deserve much more. So much more. 

Sigh. Oh Logan. Always thinking he's not worthy while he holds everyone he cares about up on pedestals. I both adore him and wanna shake him for these habits.

He doesn’t know what you’re doing to him; you’ve got him using social media.

He gets Rogue to show him Instagram for reference photos. HOW CUTE!

Logan hates how drawing makes him overthink, but he loves how it feels to create something other than violence with his hands for once – something that may even be the opposite. 

This is soooooooooooooooo beautiful. It is just a loud beacon of what Logan's heart really is. It's also really precious that he finally produces a drawing of her that he's satisfied with which then produces ANGST in him. Cuz he can't leave it out cuz what if people see? But he doesn't want to hide it cuz what if it smudges? Watching him go back and forth about it and the STRESS shows how much it means to him not to mess it up but ALSO, I think, how much it means to him to be back drawing. As a creative who goes through the longest dry patches, when a period of productivity comes up? OH DO I WANT TO HANG ONTO IT. And probably try so hard that I make it slip through my fingers.

He finally lets himself think the thought that’s politely been waiting to be allowed into his brain from the moment he decided he might take up drawing again.  He could give it to you. 

DO IT LOGANNNNNNNN!

Logan knows his drawing isn’t objectively a masterpiece, but if he’s proud of it he has to acknowledge that that probably means it’s at least decent. And you’re definitely the type of person to appreciate something like this. It’s weird admitting to himself that he’s even proud of what he’s drawn; he’s done so much in this world, who cares about a little drawing? 

YOU care, sir! And people who love you will SEE that and care too!!! Don't we all wish he valued himself and his opinions more.

The only thing is that Logan isn’t sure if he’s ready for anyone to see this side of him.

It's so precious to me, how relatable this is. Anyone who is a creative can relate, I'm sure. How nervous creatives are before they publish or they post or they even just share with someone they are close to. I wanna hug him.

He knows it’s stupid to hide but he just can’t. He decides he’ll leave the drawing in your room in an envelope, maybe a pink one to show you it’s not a creepy threat but meant as a sign of adoration, from someone who couldn’t resist but try to recreate your beauty. He won’t write his name on it, he just wants you to have it.  Sappy motherfucker. 

Some day, someone needs to tell him he can give himself permission to BE sappy. Corny is part of life and it's a blessing.

He’d doubt himself even more if he pussied out – a grown man who can’t even slide an envelope under someone’s door.  So Logan mans up and, like an idiot, kisses the fucking drawing before he puts it into the envelope. He licks the edges of it to close it and writes your name in the most anonymous handwriting he can muster and adds a little heart.  It’s soo stupid. 

It's annoying to read Logan's antiquated views on masculinity here. Completely understand that it fits with his character and how he has aged and evolved but omggggggggggg, it's just frustrating lol

You’re a friend and nothing more, and that’s fine. You probably don’t like him like that and he can deal with that.

The way we can convince ourselves of the worst possible outcome, eh? *smh*

You have one of those clear phone cases, filled with a bunch of tiny pictures and stickers (and is that your credit card?). But wedged in front of all of those is Logan’s drawing.  You turn around, giggling, “No, I don’t draw. And anyway, I wouldn’t be drawing pictures of myself. I got it in an envelope under my door yesterday, photocopied it because I was scared it would bend in my phone case. I don’t know who drew it.” 

SHE IMMEDIATELY TREATED IT AS SOMETHING PRECIOUS!!! SHE WANTED TO PROTECT IT JUST LIKE LOGAN WANTED TO PROTECT IT!!! BUT SHE LOVES IT TO THE POINT SHE MADE HERSELF A COPY TO CARRY IT AROUND WITH HER AT ALL TIMES!!!!!

“I don’t know, just, so beautiful. I’m not saying I’m not pretty or anything, but this looks… I don’t look like that. I wish I did. I can’t believe someone actually sees me like that. It’s stupid but I….” You trail off and, conveniently, the toast is done at the same time and you move on to that.  But Logan won’t let you, “What’s stupid?”  You turn towards him with a shy smile, “I’m embarrassed.”

To see the similarities in how they DON'T see themselves fully is kind of sweet and makes me root for them.

“I cried when I first saw it yesterday. It’s one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten. And it’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever received, for someone to perceive me in such an artistic way.”  The problem is that it makes him want to draw more, his stupid heart melting at your reaction to something he made– no, created. 

He thinks he’s sappy for drawing it but he doesn’t think the same of you for enjoying the drawing. 

This is HILARIOUS and KILLING ME because I also make rules for MYSELF that are different from the rules I have for EVERYONE ELSE lmao

He’s usually more of a silent carer but maybe that’s why he likes this. He’s not making it a grand gesture, not making it a thing that he’s the one drawing for you. It’s just for you to enjoy. 

Logan being an Acts of Service person makes ALL the sense in the world to me.

But of course now that he knows it means something to you, he can’t get anything right. He draws your hair too curly, then not curly enough. He draws your nose too big, then too small. Your eyes end up crooked. He can’t erase too much because it’ll look sloppy, so even the drawing he gets almost perfect, he ruins with a few final additions at the end. 

The curse of the sequel! I think a lot of creatives can relate to this type of self induced pressure which means nothing you produce is good enough.

“Good?” you take the frame from his hands defensively, “It’s beautiful.” He chuckles, “Sorry, I don’t know much about this type of thing. It is beautiful though.” He’s looking at you instead of his drawing.

She already has a frame for the new drawing cuz the frames came in packs of 2 and she will NOT STAND for someone not absolutely FAWNING over it and I love that from her. It's doing Logan's heart SO good to see how much she adores what he's created.

If there’s someone who’s worth it, it’s you. Seeing your pleased smile at something he made for you, he decides he’s never going to stop drawing you.

It was the stupidest joke of all that made you really laugh, some dumb comparison between Xavier and Caillou. You probably wouldn’t even giggle at it anymore now, but in the moment it was so funny you almost spat out your drink from the deep belly laugh he drew from you, holding onto his bicep so you wouldn’t fall over as tears formed in your eyes from how hard you were laughing. He wanted to engrave the image on his soul. At least he got your smile on paper.

Our man is S-M-I-T-T-E-N and I love that for him. Cuz look what it's brought back into his life?

“I didn’t know you draw”, you say without taking your eyes off it. “No one else knows.” You pretend to zip your lips, smiling, “It’s our secret.” Logan can tell that you like that. He likes it too. It feels much better to share a secret with you than to be keeping one from you.

This is so intimate. And he's finally comfortable all the way with her. She knows it's him and he's fine with her knowing it's him.

You don’t know how to put your feelings into words, so you’re kissing him instead. He pulls you down so that you’re not hovering over but sitting on his lap, and the mood immediately shifts to something different. Logan doesn’t want to overwhelm you, but if you’re ready then he’ll take anything he can get.

I appreciate that Logan is just the tiniest bit "selfish" here because this has been such an emotionally taxing ordeal for him. And she really really admires his talent and is THRILLED that it's him and that he sees her the way that he does.

From here the story slips into the Rated R portion of the story which is both hot and very sweet. The buildup means that I feel a genuine connection and intimacy between the 2 that feels "earned," if that's the right word. Cuz it doesn't feel forced or rushed or like we skipped a whole bunch of stuff to get here.

I also love that there's open dialogue. Often, the only talk between lovers is dirty - which I am a big fan of and absolutely fine with - but that here we have sweet confessions, constant check ins, and reassurances; these all fit with the journey we've been on with these two and I just really enjoy that aspect.

There's also good dirty talk, balanced give and take and praaaaaaaaaaaaise which I enjoy thoroughly. Logan also tends to take the possessive "my girl" over and over which just melts my butter!

@selfcarecap thank you so much for creating and sharing this! Thank you for following YOUR muse through to the end of this tale and then being brave enough to slip it under all our doors *bad dum tss* I really loved this look at Logan, his vulnerabilities, his abilities and desires beyond his powers / "job" and what allowing himself to create ultimately gifted him with. Well done smut that I also very much enjoyed too.

And thank you to K for putting it on my dash!

MUSE [L.H.]

Logan Howlett x reader

summary: Logan would never admit it to anyone, but over the course of his long life he has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. He hasn’t done it in years, maybe even decades, but he’s struck by inspiration when he meets you. Of course, no one can know that Wolverine draws, so he does it in the dead of night, sliding anonymous envelopes with the finished drawings of you under your door. When he sees how much you love them, he wonders if you could also love the person behind them. 

warnings: smut 18+ but with an actual plot for once (brief m masturbation, oral f and m rec, unprotected piv sex, kind of accidental (but consensual obv) facial; pet names: bub, baby, good girl, princess), soft!Logan but he won’t admit it, also soft!reader, fluff (although the summary makes it sounds a bit more dramatic than it is tbh), implication that reader has curly hair, implied mutant/X-men!reader, (obviously the pic doesn’t represent the envelopes Logan uses lol he’s not doing all that)

word count: 7.3k

also i feel the need to say something about the fact that it’s Hugh Jackman’s birthday today lol so uh thanks for being huge jacked man and for giving us our Logan yay <3 | gorgeous divider by @plutism

It’s everything Logan is the opposite of – he would never tell a soul – but over the course of his long life, Logan has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. It’s not really him, but he did have a phase or two.

When he meets you, he hasn’t even thought of picking up a pencil in years. Ever since you’ve been at the mansion though, Logan’s fingertips twitch with the urge to start sketching your features every time he’s with you. It gets hard to ignore after a few days.

He waits until he’s known you a few weeks, there’s no way in hell he’d ask if he could draw you. He’d probably embarrass you by asking, and embarrass himself by admitting he’s into fucking art. That’s not him. 

Except, well, sometimes it is, when he’s inspired. And you’re nothing if not inspiring. 

He gives in to the urge to get out pencil and paper again, waiting until everyone else has gone to sleep. The first few drawings are shit, he feels like they’re almost an insult to you. It’s not that he’s accidentally drawing you ugly, it just doesn’t look like you. So he practises. 

Logan Howlett sits down at night to practise drawing. 

He picks out a few other things to draw then, to ease the pressure that comes with drawing the woman he… is friends with. Yeah, you’re a friend. And he totally knows that you’d never go for someone as rugged as him, that’s for sure. You deserve much more. So much more. 

But after a few nights he feels more confident in his drawing skills again, but still, as much as he can picture you in his mind – he can do that absolutely perfectly – he’s not too sure he could really draw you accurately.

So he gets Rogue to show him how goddamn fucking Instagram works so that he can look at some of your pictures and use them as a model. 

He doesn’t know what you’re doing to him; you’ve got him using social media.

He can’t believe it, but the first time he seriously attempts to draw you, it’s perfect. It’s a small drawing, not even as big as his palm, capturing your gorgeous face. He thinks of adding another few lines to your eyebrows, or to your hair or another small one to the outline of your lips, but he doesn’t want to mess with it. 

Logan hates how drawing makes him overthink, but he loves how it feels to create something other than violence with his hands for once – something that may even be the opposite. 

He hides the drawing in between the pages of a book, and hides the book under a pile of random clutter on his desk that not even he would normally spare a glance at. But when he lies down to go to sleep, he gets all the stuff out again and gets out the drawing. He wants to see it again. And he can’t leave it there anyway, what if the pressure from all the items on top of it smudges it? 

But he doesn’t know what else to do with it. He can’t really have a drawing of you sitting in his room. What if someone sees? Then what is he gonna do with it instead? 

He finally lets himself think the thought that’s politely been waiting to be allowed into his brain from the moment he decided he might take up drawing again. 

He could give it to you. 

Logan knows his drawing isn’t objectively a masterpiece, but if he’s proud of it he has to acknowledge that that probably means it’s at least decent. And you’re definitely the type of person to appreciate something like this. It’s weird admitting to himself that he’s even proud of what he’s drawn; he’s done so much in this world, who cares about a little drawing? 

The only thing is that Logan isn’t sure if he’s ready for anyone to see this side of him. To see the side that has him staying up until 3AM to finely trace the lines of someone’s eyelashes and cheekbones and lips, the side that makes him feel calm inside. 

He knows it’s stupid to hide but he just can’t. He decides he’ll leave the drawing in your room in an envelope, maybe a pink one to show you it’s not a creepy threat but meant as a sign of adoration, from someone who couldn’t resist but try to recreate your beauty. He won’t write his name on it, he just wants you to have it. 

Sappy motherfucker. 

He puts the small drawing back into the book and carefully pushes it between his mattress and the bedframe to protect it during the night. God, who even is he – protecting a tiny piece of paper? He groans at himself as he turns around to go to sleep. 

He dreams of making a thousand drawings of you, with you as his live model. His muse. 

You’re his girlfriend in his dream, he thinks. 

He’s sitting in a chair in your room, drawing you as you tell him about your day. You’re lying on your bed on your tummy, elbows propped up to support your head. You’re gently kicking your feet in the air behind you, wearing nothing but a t-shirt of Logan’s, some silly graphic socks, panties with little cherries on them, and a bright, bashful smile as Logan attempts to capture your glowing features in a sketch block he’s dedicated to drawings of you. 

He wakes up with morning wood. 

Logan is no stranger to jerking off with you on his mind, so he spits in his hand and slips it beneath his boxers, stroking himself as he thinks of you. He imagines you on top of him as he jerks his cock, imagines you under him, or with your legs around his head, or you between his knees on the floor. He cums quickly and hard, leaving his boxers wet and sticky.

He goes for a run after he’s dealt with it and picks up an envelope on his way. He’s doubting himself but he knows he has to just do it. He’d doubt himself even more if he pussied out – a grown man who can’t even slide an envelope under someone’s door. 

So Logan mans up and, like an idiot, kisses the fucking drawing before he puts it into the envelope. He licks the edges of it to close it and writes your name in the most anonymous handwriting he can muster and adds a little heart. 

It’s soo stupid. 

He makes sure no one is anywhere near your bedroom, walks up to your door, and slides the envelope underneath. Except he didn’t check if you were in your room. As soon as the envelope disappears beneath your door, he hears a short creak from your bed and your soft footsteps. 

He hears the small and adorable noise of curiosity you let out – a confused hm? – and then he quickly and quietly makes his way down the hallway. He hears your voice about ten seconds later, an intrigued hello? as you open the door, but you don’t investigate further, closing the door behind you. 

Logan’s heart is beating so fast. He’s never doing this shit again. 

He’s antsy all day, waiting for some type of reaction from you. Except you don’t know that the drawing is from him so he’s probably not even getting one, and he can’t conspicuously come to your room the same day you receive an anonymous drawing of yourself. 

It’s also when the insecurity settles in. Maybe he should have added a few more lines or started the entire drawing anew. Who does he think he is pretending to be an artist? 

He shakes those thoughts off as he starts training with the punching bag in the gym. It’s not something that he necessarily needs to train, but it gets rid of some of that pointless energy. This isn’t him, worried about some lines he drew on a piece of paper – a scrap of a paper, really. Who cares about something like that? Certainly not him. 

He sleeps dreamlessly and wakes up the next day disappointed that he didn’t get to dream about being your boyfriend again. God, what are you doing to him? Making him think about being boyfriend and girlfriend. He’s pathetic. You’re a friend and nothing more, and that’s fine. You probably don’t like him like that and he can deal with that.

-

He’s not even thinking of the drawing anymore, truly, when he walks into the kitchen the next morning. It only comes to mind when he sees you, alone in the kitchen, leaning over the counter to scroll on your phone, your weird green coffee (“it’s Matcha, Logan”) next to you as you stir it mindlessly with a metal straw. 

“Hi,” you look up with one of those sweet smiles of yours, but redirect your attention to your phone. 

At least you don’t immediately say something like hey, you know that drawing you slid under my door? It was so ugly I threw it away. Since when do you even draw? 

Not that he was worried you would or anything. He hasn’t been thinking about it. Obviously. Why would he? And he knows you would never expect that it’s him; that’s the only reason he did it. He never would have given you the drawing if he thought you could have even the slightest inkling that Logan would be someone who draws. But he still wants to know what you think of it. 

“You want some toast too?” You ask, putting your phone down and turning to get some bread. He sits down at the other side of the kitchen counter and as his eyes flicker to your green drink (he still doesn’t get it), he sees it. 

“Is that–” my drawing, he almost said, “What is that?” He pretends to be confused, drawing his eyebrows together, trying his best to look inquisitive, “No toast by the way, thanks.” 

You have one of those clear phone cases, filled with a bunch of tiny pictures and stickers (and is that your credit card?). But wedged in front of all of those is Logan’s drawing. 

“Did you draw it?” He asks. 

You turn around, giggling, “No, I don’t draw. And anyway, I wouldn’t be drawing pictures of myself. I got it in an envelope under my door yesterday, photocopied it because I was scared it would bend in my phone case. I don’t know who drew it.” 

“Secret admirer?” 

Smiling, you say, “I don’t know. I won’t get my hopes up. But the person must definitely be fond of me to draw me like that.” 

“Like what?” He asks, unsure if he’s about to be offended. 

“I don’t know, just, so beautiful. I’m not saying I’m not pretty or anything, but this looks… I don’t look like that. I wish I did. I can’t believe someone actually sees me like that. It’s stupid but I….” You trail off and, conveniently, the toast is done at the same time and you move on to that. 

But Logan won’t let you, “What’s stupid?” 

You turn towards him with a shy smile, “I’m embarrassed.”

Logan stays silent. He can’t seem too pushy and draw attention to himself, but his silence makes you confess.

“I cried when I first saw it yesterday. It’s one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten. And it’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever received, for someone to perceive me in such an artistic way.” 

Logan makes a noise of satisfaction and smiles, asking you to pass your phone so he can look at it more – pretending it’s his first time seeing it. If you think that way about it, maybe the three more lines he was going to add aren’t that important after all. 

The problem is that it makes him want to draw more, his stupid heart melting at your reaction to something he made– no, created. 

-

After a week, he figures he has to give in. Drawing another picture of you is on his mind twenty-four seven. 

It doesn’t help that he still catches you staring at the copy of it in your phone case lovingly more than once a day and you’ve put the original drawing in a special little frame on your nightstand. He thinks he’s sappy for drawing it but he doesn’t think the same of you for enjoying the drawing. 

This is for you. It’s not about him. He’s not an artist or anything like that, he’s just doing something kind for someone he cares about (which is honestly sappy enough but he tries to ignore that). He’s usually more of a silent carer but maybe that’s why he likes this. He’s not making it a grand gesture, not making it a thing that he’s the one drawing for you. It’s just for you to enjoy. 

He’ll just make this second drawing and silently put it in your room, and he’s the last person you’ll suspect. 

But of course now that he knows it means something to you, he can’t get anything right. He draws your hair too curly, then not curly enough. He draws your nose too big, then too small. Your eyes end up crooked. He can’t erase too much because it’ll look sloppy, so even the drawing he gets almost perfect, he ruins with a few final additions at the end. 

It takes him an entire month for the next drawing, and it feels more like him that it’s been making him so angry that he couldn’t get it right at first. Maybe he had the wrong picture of artists. They’re always talking about pain, aren’t they, and that’s what he experiences too (over a drawing. Who is he?). 

He takes another few days to keep track of your routine, to monitor when you’ll be in your room. He can’t have it be as close as last time. 

He ends up doing it in the evening. There’s a time after dinner when most of the team stays together to watch tv, just talk, or play some games. It’s normal for some of you to wander off, come back or stick around a bit longer. It won’t be suspicious if he leaves for a few minutes and comes back.

Logan wants nothing more than to follow you when you say that you’re going to your room for the night; he wants to see your reaction. But he can’t. All he can do is go up to his own bedroom fifteen minutes later, lingering in the hallway longer than he needs to.

Just as he’s about to give up and go to sleep, you walk down the hallway, coming back from the bathroom.

“Logan!” you call all excitedly when you see him, and his heart skips a beat. Do you know the drawing is from him? 

“Look,” you take his arm and pull him to your room, “I got another drawing!”

He breathes out in relief; you don’t know it’s from him. He smiles when you hold up the drawing, already framed.

“Were you expecting to get another drawing?” he teases.

“Noo, but the frames came in a pack of two. Isn’t it gorgeous?”

Logan looks at how your eyes sparkle, how proudly you’re showing him this drawing. All the work he put into it was definitely worth it. It’s another picture of your face, this time from a new angle, and with your hair styled differently, curls coiled another way from last time.

Logan clears his throat, remembering to keep up his act. “It looks good.”

“Good?” you take the frame from his hands defensively, “It’s beautiful.”

He chuckles, “Sorry, I don’t know much about this type of thing. It is beautiful though.” He’s looking at you instead of his drawing.

“It is. And you don’t have to know much about art or drawing to see how pretty this is. I still can’t believe someone would take the time to make these for me.”

Logan remains silent instead of saying what he wants to tell you. Of course he would take that time for you – and you don’t even know how much time it really took him. If there’s someone who’s worth it, it’s you.

Seeing your pleased smile at something he made for you, he decides he’s never going to stop drawing you.

-

He’s on a roll for some time. He’s better at drawing again now that he’s getting in practice, and he makes five drawings of you within the next weeks. Logan watches the collection of them on your nightstand grow fuller, along with your smile that somehow gets bigger every time you tell him about a new drawing.

It’s a wonder you haven’t caught on yet, but you don’t seem particularly interested in snooping around to find out who it is. You respect the person’s privacy, but you’ve confessed to him that you’d still love to know. 

“I won’t try to find out who it is. I won’t push it if they don’t want me to know… but, I mean, anyone would want to know, wouldn’t they?”

You’ve adopted the nickname of ‘secret admirer’ for this mysterious ‘they’, after Logan used the term about ten times. You were reluctant at first, because the person isn’t calling themself a secret admirer – you’d just be putting words in their mouth. But after seeing how much more beautiful the drawings get each time, you’ve accepted and admitted that, okay, yes, the person must be an admirer.

Your secret admirer Logan is particularly proud of his latest drawing, excited to bring it up to your room tonight. 

But this time he’s sloppy. He’s stayed for a few post-dinner card games with the team, and it’s risky, because you’ve been saying that it’s your last game for the last two rounds. But he also knows that you always say that, and never mean it.

Logan gets up to leave, and he hears Scott convincing you to play just one more round.

It’s stupid, really, risking it like that. Even if he’s gone from your room in time before you come upstairs, you could easily guess that it’s Logan. He’s the first one leaving the round tonight, so your first assumption could be that it was him.

Maybe subconsciously he wants to get caught. He’s seen how you light up at every drawing, and no matter how much you respect your admirer’s anonymity, of course you want to know who’s dedicating so much time and work to drawings of you. Of course it’s crossed your mind that the person isn’t just doing this because they’re a good friend. They’re drawing your face because they think it’s beyond beautiful.

Logan doesn’t really know why he hasn’t told you yet that he likes you. He’s good at flirting, and he’s attractive – he’s not blind. But with you it’s different, there’s a bigger risk, for the both of you. The older he gets, the harder it is to open up to yet another person. You’re friends, and you talk about personal things, but confessing that he’s in love with you is different.

Not to mention this stupid recurring dream he keeps having, in which you find out it’s Logan who’s been drawing you, and suddenly your opinion of the drawings changes. You don’t like him back like that, and suddenly the drawings feel creepy if you think about him staying up late drawing your face.

He rolls his eyes at himself and gets the thought out of his head, taking the small envelope out of the back pocket of his jeans, smoothing his hand over it. He looks around, making sure no one sees him.

Logan bends down to slide the envelope under your door as usual, but one of the corners of the paper catches against the wall, and he quickly opens it to check the drawing isn’t damaged. His heart is beating so fast, he feels stupid. 

He can hear footsteps, still far away, but he can hear them. Logan messily licks the edges of the envelope to close it back up, but it’s not sticking. He can’t decide between shoving it under the door like this or leaving now and bringing it back the next day. He can feel his heart hammering against his ribcage now.

Then he hears it. He miscalculated how far the footsteps were.

“Logan?”

He turns around slowly, and it feels like the world has frozen.

You come closer, looking at him and then at the letter that he must’ve dropped. It hasn’t made it under your door yet.

He says something before you can, “I’m delivering for someone else.”

“Who?” you ask, bending down to pick up the envelope. If he wasn’t petrified, he’d enjoy the view of you bent over in front of him.

He breathes. He can’t have anyone taking credit for his work, for his art (you called it that recently, he would never). But his heart is beating so fast he doesn’t know what the fuck to do or say. 

This is exactly why he never wanted to do any of this. He’s making a fool out of himself and that doesn’t usually happen, especially not over a piece of paper. Logan is confident, cocky even, he can admit that, and has no idea how to deal with things like being nervous; he never has to. This really isn’t him.

You don’t wait for an answer and look at the envelope. You open it so carefully, gently taking the drawing out with your fingertips. You’re treating it with so much care he immediately feels better. Again, this isn’t for him, it’s for you. (Well, it’s for him too but it’ll take him a while to admit that). 

He’s drawn your smile this time. You were happy in most of the drawings before, but he focussed more on the eyes, and your lips only ever tugged up in a slight smile. 

This one is a full-toothed grin, mid-laugh. 

You two were drinking last weekend. He barely felt it but your tipsy, giggly mood was contagious. He couldn’t imagine himself feeling any other way but blissful when you’re happy around him. 

It started when Logan made a casual comment about something silly Scott was wearing that night, and he had you giggling. He wanted to immediately hear that angelic sound again, of course, and so he gave you every joke about your shared friends he could think of – all light-hearted, but he was still glad you two were alone. 

It was the stupidest joke of all that made you really laugh, some dumb comparison between Xavier and Caillou. You probably wouldn’t even giggle at it anymore now, but in the moment it was so funny you almost spat out your drink from the deep belly laugh he drew from you, holding onto his bicep so you wouldn’t fall over as tears formed in your eyes from how hard you were laughing. He wanted to engrave the image on his soul. At least he got your smile on paper.

You look up at him now, eyes filled with tears. 

“You drew this?” you ask.

He nods softly. He can’t say it but he hopes the drawings convey how in love with you he is. 

Suddenly, Logan feels like his heart has stopped beating.

You’re kissing him. 

You’ve leaped up, wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, and now your lips are on his. 

He feels your mouth falter, probably because he’s being a fucking idiot and not kissing you back. Logan places his hands on your waist to pull you further towards him. Then his brain finally catches up and he can do what he’s wanted to for so long. 

He takes your chin with two fingers and angles you so you can kiss him easier. He closes his eyes and revels in the feeling of your soft, warm lips against him. You’re soft and warm all over. Your top has slipped up over his fingertips at your sides, and he slides his hands further around your back to support you against him even better. 

Logan’s tongue pushes at your lower lip, and you let out the sexiest, tiny moan of surprise as you part your lips for him, granting him access. 

His tongue touches the tip of yours and from then on your cravings intensify. You feel your way over his muscular shoulders, his big biceps and over the hard planes of his chest. When you’ve had a good feel there, your hands grip his shirt in desperation and Logan gets even hungrier for you. He gently bites at your lower lip, but then you shriek into his mouth and squirm out of his grasp. He opens his eyes wide. 

You grip Logan’s forearm for support when you bend down in a panic, picking up the drawing you just dropped. You let out a big breath of relief when you see it hasn’t been damaged. 

“You made me drop it!” You slap a hand to his chest; it doesn’t actually hurt and it’s not meant to, but it leaves a pleasant tingle behind instead. 

“I didn’t do anything”, Logan laughs, and you shake your head at him with a smile.

You take him into your room where you make him sit on the bed while you stare at the new drawing in awe. “I didn’t know you draw”, you say without taking your eyes off it.

“No one else knows.”

You pretend to zip your lips, smiling, “It’s our secret.” Logan can tell that you like that. He likes it too. It feels much better to share a secret with you than to be keeping one from you.

“I’ll only draw for you anyway, so there’s no point in telling anyone else.”

“You’re really good. I love the drawings.”

Logan gives a satisfied hum at your words, “You inspired me. Can’t have you walking around all pretty and not expect me to try and recreate it.”

You straddle Logan and hover over his lap to hug him, “They’re the best thing anyone's ever given to me. Do I really look like that?” You say the last question more quietly, and Logan wraps his arms around your sides, careful not to bump your hand that’s still holding the drawing.

“You’re more gorgeous than anything I could ever capture, but I think it comes close. I didn’t change anything about you to make you more beautiful. I couldn’t if I tried. I just tried to draw you as accurately as possible, that’s why it’s so beautiful.”

“I really love it,” you say again, happily staring at the details of the drawing. Hearing you say the word love so much tempts Logan, but he doesn’t want to move too fast. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you. He does, however, want to kiss you again.

Logan carefully takes the framed drawing and puts it on your nightstand. You push your mouth against his before he can initiate the kiss, and he grins against your lips.

You don’t know how to put your feelings into words, so you’re kissing him instead. He pulls you down so that you’re not hovering over but sitting on his lap, and the mood immediately shifts to something different. Logan doesn’t want to overwhelm you, but if you’re ready then he’ll take anything he can get.

Your chest is pressed against Logan’s, and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest when he breathes. You may or may not be pressing your boobs against his body on purpose.

“God, baby, I’ve waited so long for this,” he says, already breathless, as his hands trail down your back, leaving goosebumps behind.

“You’ve waited long?” you raise your eyebrows, grinning, “I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day I met you.”

You see the look in Logan’s eyes changing as he bites his lip, “Who says I didn’t want the same?”

You giggle, “Why did it take us so long?”

Logan chuckles, readjusting you so that you’re even closer to him, “I was too busy to actually talk to you, just been starin’ at you so I could draw you.” His cheeks have the faintest red tint, and you kiss them, hugging him.

You whisper into his ear, “Then it was worth the wait. And anyway, it’s not talking that I’m interested in right now.”

He pulls you back to look into your eyes, then at your lips. “Where do you want me?” he asks. You giggle slightly helplessly; you weren’t entirely prepared to have a man like Logan at your mercy like this tonight.

“You can do whatever you want,” you say softly, kissing him.

Logan’s lips are hungry against yours, strings of spit falling between you two, but he pauses the kiss to lie you on your back. “Wanna eat you out,” he husks, “Been dying to know what you taste like forever, bub. Can I?” He reaches for the hem of your top, and you nod so that he can pull it off you, admiring what’s underneath. 

“Sometimes I make myself cum imagining that I’m going down on you,” you confess somewhat shyly, but you figure he’s been so vulnerable for you that you can share a secret too.

Logan smirks, and pulls off his shirt, “Maybe we can make your dream come true then.”

You move to sit up, but he insists on eating you out first. You both take off all your clothes, staring at each other with huge smiles on your faces for a few moments. You’ve never seen Logan this happy.

“Look at you, baby. So pretty,” he leans down to kiss your lips, then down your neck, all the way to your legs. He spreads them, lying down between them as he all but drools at the sight of your wet pussy.

You get nervous all of a sudden. “It’s been a while,” you tell him. He looks up, taking your hand, enveloping it completely in his much bigger one.

“You sure about this? We can wait,” he gently kisses your knuckles, and a warmth spreads in your chest, slowing your heartbeat down a little.

“I’m sure,” you nod, and Logan comes up again to kiss you. The head of his hard cock catches against the space above your clit, and you both look down between your bodies. When Logan looks back up at you, his eyes are desperately begging you. You place your hand on his head, threading your fingers through his hair as he moves down your body.

“Such a pretty fucking pussy,” he mumbles into your thigh, kissing you there. You giggle, getting comfortable, your hand never leaving his hair.

Logan starts eating you out, his tongue gentle but determined against your clit.

“Taste so good, baby. Even better than I imagined.” You hum at Logan’s words, already feeling yourself come undone with his mouth on your wet pussy.

You sink further into the mattress when he starts sucking on your clit, licking into your pussy like a man starved every few moments, and your thighs squeeze around Logan’s head, and it’s even better than in his fantasies.

“Feels really good,” you tell him, pulling on his hair to stop yourself from moving too much, and Logan moans against your skin. Hearing your words motivates him even more, and he pushes two fingers into your wet pussy. He curls his fingers, rubbing up against that spot that makes you see stars.

Your back arches as you cum, Logan’s lips wrapped around your clit as your legs push harder against his head, and all he does is moan, revelling in the feeling.

Logan doesn’t stop licking your pussy until you’re tugging his head away by his hair, and he comes up for air with a grin on his face. You smile back, pulling him up to kiss him. You give yourself only a few seconds of recovery time before you make him sit down. You know you’d never have enough strength to actually make him get into a different position, but he lets you.

You push him onto his back, getting between his legs. You’re blinking up at him all prettily when you ask, “Can I suck your dick? Please?”

Logan huffs to himself because he can’t believe how hot you are, can’t believe that this is really finally happening. He tells you yes – he has no more words to describe how badly he wants this – and he watches you wrap your pretty lips around his cock.

It’s hard to grasp that it’s really you doing this right now – the woman he’s been into for so long. His cock is in your mouth and you look so gorgeous with spit running down from your lips, and all he can think of is all the dirty drawings he can now make of you, if you’ll let him.

He closes his eyes when you take him deeper, enveloping him with your warm, wet mouth. “Good girl,” he whispers absent-mindedly, too gone to say much more.

You’re not using your hands as you suck his cock, your spit trailing down on him, and you’re so eager. But it’s also late, and he sees you getting tired, eyes blinking slower as you pause to catch your breath every few moments. He also sees the determination in your eyes, and the absolute want, but he doesn’t want you to exhaust yourself. 

You look so sexy all fucked out, strings of spit connecting your mouth to his cock as you pull away another time, giggling up at him shyly when you realise that he’s noticing you getting tired.

“Just need a second,” you wipe your mouth, out of breath, and it’s not that you’re not incredibly hot like this, but he still wants to fuck you tonight and he’s not sure that will happen if you keep going.

“C’mere, baby,” he says, reaching out his hand.

“Huh?” you ask, taking his hand nevertheless.

“Get back here, baby. I’m gonna fuck you now, alright? Don’t want you tiring yourself out.”

You let him lift you and put you on your back, but you pout, “Wanna taste you.”

Logan grins, “I’ll cum in your mouth, princess. Promise.”

You smile at his answer, satisfied, so you lie back down, pulling your legs up to your chest. His cock looks huge as he jerks himself off between your legs, rubbing the tip against your clit, making you squirm.

“Don’t know if I can take you,” you bite your lip. You’re not entirely sure if you mean it or not. You definitely want to try.

“We’ll make it fit, baby, we’ll make it fit,” Logan assures you, leaning down to press a kiss to your mouth, a mix of your wetness and his precum between your mouths. You feel his cock at your pussy, “You ready?”

“I’m ready,” you nod desperately, letting him push his cock into your pussy. He pauses after a few inches, but you wrap your legs around his waist more tightly, and he goes deeper.

“Y’okay, baby? You can take it, right?”

You nod, unable to form words with your pussy stretched like this, a combination of pleasure and pain between your legs – but it’s infinitely more pleasure.

“That’s right. You’re my good girl, hm?” He kisses along your neck as he bottoms out, and you both moan when he’s got his cock fully stuffed inside you for the first time. He pulls out slightly when you whine at the stretch, but you scratch down his back to get his attention.

“I can take it,” you tell him, and you watch the look in his eyes darken.

He begins to fuck you, the pain subsiding more with every thrust into your wet pussy. You can barely take him, but it feels good. With your slight tiredness, you feel like you’re floating on cloud nine. 

You can’t believe that Logan – your super hot friend Logan who you’ve been fantasising about for so long – is fucking you. He not only feels the same way about you, but he’s been your secret admirer this entire time, taking hours and hours out of his day to make you smile. You’re the only one he wants.

And now he’s fucking you, fucking you well, and you feel so warm inside, not just from the sex but you feel warm in your heart, because of Logan’s care.

“You okay?” he asks, stroking a hand down your face when he notices you’re not entirely present. You nod happily, smiling up at him, and you can’t talk because you feel so good.

“Good, that’s good, bub, but let me know if it gets too much,” he says as he starts rubbing your clit, watches you nod while he’s fucking you so well, and he’s so big and so deep inside of you, “Squeezing me so tight, baby, feel so fucking good.”

You cum suddenly, letting the warm pleasure flow through your body as Logan keeps fucking you through it, rubbing your clit in just the right rhythm.

“That’s my girl, taking it so well,” he moans, breaths stuttering. You slump against the pillow after a few moments, with a soft smile on your face, and Logan pulls out.

“Gonna make me cum, baby,” he jerks his cock, and you sit up on your elbows immediately, looking him in the eyes with a smile as you stick out your tongue for him. He promised.

Logan moans when he cums, painting your face in his release, jerking himself off. He holds your head in place with his other hand, aiming for your mouth but you’re making no effort to catch his cum there.

“Such a pretty fucking face, princess, ’m cumming all over it,” he rasps, shooting more ropes of his cum all over your cheeks, jacking off onto your face.

You open your eyes when he’s done and breathing heavily, and you smile up at him. You open your mouth, taking the head of his cock between your lips to suck off the last drops of cum.

“Look at you, baby. Look so fucking pretty with my cum all over your gorgeous face.”

You hum, pulling your mouth off him and licking your lips, tasting his salty release. You brush a finger over your cheek, sucking it into your mouth to taste him more. Logan kisses you then, the flavour of himself mixing between your mouths.

He cleans you up gently, carefully wiping your face with a baby wipe and kissing every inch of your cheeks afterwards. You take his face to kiss him properly, and if you didn’t seem so tired Logan would be ready for round two immediately.

“Next time you could try to actually cum in my mouth,” you tease, making Logan grin.

“Sorry, baby. Got too excited. Couldn’t focus on asking you again if it was okay.” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “I liked it.”

Logan grins, “Oh I could tell you liked it, baby.” You lightly slap his chest as you giggle, pulling him in for another kiss.

You cuddle for a while, not saying much because you don’t have to. You’ve both waited for this for so long that you’re just enjoying the moment, enjoying that it finally happened.

You slip out of his arms to sit on top of him. You’re in nothing but panties, the blanket bunching around your hips. You lean your hands against his chest as you tell him more about how much the drawings delighted you. And Logan cares, of course he cares to hear that, but he’s also just a man seeing the woman he’s into naked for the first time still. 

You become quiet when you realise that he’s not listening, and you giggle, “Distracted?”

Logan grins, “Just a little fucking bit, baby.” His eyes don’t leave your body, and you laugh as you bend down to kiss him. He grabs your ass, kneading the flesh. When you slightly sit up again, your tits are near his face, and he can’t help himself. He cups your breasts, playing with your nipples, making you hum.

“I should draw these,” he looks up at you, “Should draw every perfect fucking inch of you.”

“You wanna?” You adjust how you’re seated in his lap, and you feel that he’s already half hard under you again.

“Maybe after I’ve fucked you again.”

You smile, feeling yourself growing wetter on top of him.

“Tomorrow,” he continues, and your smile drops.

“But you’ve got to get more familiar with the inspiration, right? If you’re going to draw me.”

“That’s true, baby. But I think you’re too tired.”

You smile bashfully, ignoring how your eyelids were drooping shut just a few seconds ago, “Okay, but then I’ll have more energy for tomorrow.”

“That’s my girl,” he smiles, pulling you off him to cuddle you again. He tucks you in and kisses your head. 

You turn to your side, taking one of the framed drawings and looking at it for a while. 

Logan watches you looking at it, and the sparkle in your eyes never fails to make him feel all warm inside. “Now that you actually know about it, I don’t have to draw you from memory anymore. I can study my muse in peace.”

“Aww, I’m your muse?” you beam.

“Of course you are, princess. You’re the only reason I’m drawing again.”

“I love your drawings so much.”

Logan clears his throat, and looks at you. “Well, I love you. So, I think that went into them.”

You look at him, pouting and then kissing him. “I love you too,” you say into his mouth. He grins against your lips, pulling you closer to kiss you some more. He can barely grasp that you just said that, but he’ll have enough time soon to comprehend how lucky he is. 

For now, he takes your hand, and asks, “The question might be redundant now, but do you wanna be mine? Be my girlfriend?”

“I’m already yours.”

Logan grins, takes you in his arms, and you’re still cuddling when you’re both drifting off to a peaceful sleep.

P.S. reblog with a comment and let me know your favourite moment/what you liked to get a drawing from Logan under your door tonight and a facial <33

gorgeous divider by @pommecita

[wtfaniii]

I can do it alone, but he can also save me

Fem reader x Hwang In-ho / Fem reader x Hwang Jun-ho

Part 1 // Part 2

•Summary: Jun-ho's girlfriend was a decorated policegirl, strong and brave, she, along with Gi-hun were taken to the games to stop them, however, there was a setback in between

•Note: Thanks for the support! Here I bring you the second part of this one shot that is personally one of my favorites.

•Warning: Maybe some drama, Some violence and attempted abuse, ¡Don't worry! this man arrives on time like a prince on a white horse

N/A: I haven't checked this yet, sorry if it has spelling mistakes

Gi-hun had told some participants that the next game would be dalgona, but it was not so and now they were upset with him, surrounding him and complaining about his mistake, calling him a "liar."

—You guys decided to play these games —the girl said standing in front of Gi-hun —Face the consequences and don't expect someone to come and save us.

—He's a fraud! —Player 100 shouted at him, pointing at accusingly and with contempt.

—ibelieve in him word —001 interrupted, standing next to her.

Due to the first impression that the two made on all the players, the complaints immediately stopped and retreated.

—It's nothing, I really believe you —Young-il said with a friendly expression

—And if you allow me... I would like to be on your team.

The next game would be in teams of five players, counting the girl, Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Dae-ho and now Young-il, they were full, however, when they were talking to get to know each other a little, a woman with the number 222 on his uniform approached them cautiously.

—¿Can I be on your team? Please —Jung-bae was going to interrupt her to tell that they were full but the young woman finished his sentence first —I'm pregnant.

The five pairs of eyes fell on the small bulge of her belly and noticed that it was true. Immediately, the woman spoke. —I'll look for another team.

—¿Are you sure you'll do it?— In-ho asked, looking at her carefully. A person who looked out for someone else's well-being in these games was rare to see, but considering the situation, it was quite understandable. He wouldn't give up his place if he wasn't so interested in his enemy.

She nodded confidently and left to find another team, it didn't take long, after all, most people took advantage of having someone like her on their team just by considering the word "police" in their introduction.

Once the teams were formed and they were told what had to do, they sat on the floor to wait the turn.

As time passed and gunshots mixed with screams sounded in the background, the young woman thought silently.

¿Will Jun-ho be okay? She really hoped so, she had known him for four years and knew that there were times when he could go to extremes to get what wanted.

It was something she loved about him but right now just worried about.

—¿What game are you going to play? —246 asked sitting next to her, momentarily taking her out of his thoughts.

—Gonggi —answered immediately, she was very good at that game, it had been his favorite since she was a child.

The others nodded and continued talking, she didn't go there with the intention of socializing too much.

For starters.

She was only there because Jun-ho had asked her to.

Jun-ho...

She just hoped him could find her and Gi-hun in time.

The policeman had no intention of stopping now, even without having the tracker active and with the fact that apparently someone was sabotaging them from inside, he was not going to stop searching.

The woman he loved was in those games, that wasn't going to be the plan, she was only supposed to be Gi-hun's bodyguard but things didn't go as planned.

—I think we should stop, it's almost time to eat and we're a bit far from the shore.

—We can't be so close now —he said, somewhat irritated and helpless. —Every minute they spend on that island is a danger.

He felt guilty for having dragged her into his own problems.

He remembered the last conversation he had with her before he lost sight of her.

[...]

—We are police officers —Jun-ho said, showing his badge to the guard who was guarding the entrance of the place

—Just like everyone else tonight —the man said with a mocking laugh, pointing at the long line waiting to get into the Halloween party.

Jun-ho didn't have enough patience to tolerate this, so with no other choice he went up to the man and took his gun out of his pocket.

—¿Do you want to see if this is a toy?

The guard stepped back in fear, giving them free passage.

The girl smiled proudly and waved her hand as if it were hot while sighed.

—That's my man —she boasted to the guard as they crossed the entrance. Jun-ho managed to hear her and inevitably a sly smile appeared on his lips.

—We have to find him before they do —he said, referring to Gi-hun searching the crowd but no masked pink guard was visible.

—It will be faster if we separate —she added, taking out her weapon and pointing it at the ground just to be ready in case used it —When we leave here it will be fondue night —she said without losing her charming touch.

It was something they both shared, despite being in tense situations like this, comments like that were never lacking, especially from the girl and that was something Jun-ho adored, her daring was part of what made the policeman fall in love with her.

—Maybe I should drag you into my problems more often —He replied with a smile and separated from her.

The girl was the first to find Gi-hun and surprisingly they let her get into the limo with him.

Jun-ho was unhappy about that but he couldn't change her mind and just when they thought they could intercept the front man of those suicide games they were forced to make a last-minute decision by shooting at the tires of the cars.

[...]

His stomach turned just remembering what people go through inside those games, he trusted that she could survive but the odds of not making him tremble and want to vomit.

—Okay... we'll call off the search —He relented after a few minutes.

He looked up at the sky and asked whoever would listen him to keep the woman he loves alive.

Meanwhile on the island, they had managed to get through the second game alive, she was sitting with Gi-hun's team silently watching around them when 001 sat next to her.

—Hi... —he greeted her with a soft smile, hoping that the mask being Young-il was convincing enough to fool her —I'm curious... if you're a police officer, ¿how did you end up here?

—¿Debts? —She replied with a false smile —My job was to take care of Mr. Seong but it didn't turn out the way I had in mind —she admitted, looking away again but feeling Young-il's intense gaze on her.

—So... ¿you're here as an undercover agent? —he asked, feigning surprise and curiosity.

He himself was the one who gave the order to allow her to also get into the limousine to accompany Gi-hun.

In-ho knew his brother would be worried about her, searching for her relentlessly, but it was inevitable, he needed to meet her in person and be sure how good of an influence she was on Jun-ho.

Or at least he thought it was a good excuse.

—Yeah... —She looked at him silently and attentively when she noticed a certain peculiarity in him appearance —¿Do I know you from somewhere? I feel like I've seen you before...

Him face seemed familiar but she couldn't figure out why. In-ho kept eye contact with her, waiting for her answer.

It was a pity, if she recognize it him had no other option to let her die in the next games but luckily for the girl she denied it.

—Forget it, I'm just stressed ¿And why are you here?

—My wife is sick and pregnant.

She looked at him with pity as he told her his story, it wasn't a lie, it was just that it happened years ago and he couldn't do anything to keep her alive.

—I'm sorry —The girl said after he finished his words.—I promise we'll get out of here and I'll help you as much as I can with the expenses.

The police had money, not to say that she was a millionaire but she lived in a good social status, she was willing to help him only because her heart was softened by him story.

–You barely know me, ¿why would you do that?

—My boyfriend has also had a somewhat hard life and I took this job for a reason, to help others.

She did not consider herself a saint, but if she had the opportunity to do something good for other people, she would do it regardless of the consequences.

—Also... I think I'm pregnant —She said with a small smile.

How chaotic and unfair could fate be that just one night before she was to go to the medical laboratory for her results, she was taken to those games against will.

On the other hand, she could also feel a slight connection with this stranger, which was why she revealed that to him so naturally, but she still didn't know exactly why.

—I have to go to the bathroom, I'll be right back.

He nodded and watched her leave but his eyes also noticed three other suspicious looking players who followed her into the bathroom.

Without thinking twice he also stood up.

Not even two minutes had passed since she entered the bathroom when a woman grabbed her by the collar of the jacket and threw her backwards, making her fall on back.

–¿You remember me? —the woman demanded, looking at her with disdain and annoyance

—No —She answered standing up.

—You threw my husband into prison and won't be out for another twenty years —The woman pulled out a small pocket knife and another woman stood behind the police girl to hold her —I thought about how to kill you for days.

—Very cute, I still don't know who you are.

Those words only made the woman even more furious as lunged at her and tried to stab her,

Her hard training served her well in this unarmed fight.

But she was counting on another man to come in to help the two players who were trying to kill the young policewoman.

—Three against one unarmed is not fair... —she gasped for air as saw that he had a small opening in his head, her had hit himself on the sink at one point during the fight.

—¡It was also not fair that my husband was sentenced to twenty years in prison for attempted abuse!

—Oh, believe me, I tried to make it forty.

A kick to the face from one of them managed to stun her long enough to give them time to pin her down on the cold, damp bathroom floor.

She couldn't hear clearly what they were saying but when she saw how the man placed himself on top of her, their intentions were quite clear.

She didn't have enough strength to continue defending himself, her felt bleeding from his leg from the knife and the cut on his head hurt, but like a hero coming to save the day, Young-il walked through the door and shouted "Hey!"

That small interruption was enough for her to hit the man in the genitals with her knee, making him move away and moan in pain.

She was too stunned to see what was happening, but before she knew it, he had her in him arms and walked out of the bathroom leaving the two women unconscious on the floor and the man with a bleeding nose.

—¡You should do a better job as guards! —he yelled at the two pink soldiers guarding the door, she didn't know it but that scolding was enough to fire those two.

He carefully led her to the men's room where, due to his front man advantages, he was able to have a guard deny another player access until he said so.

—Thanks... —Her murmured as he dropped her on the ground—But I had it under control.

She let out a giggle that made his ribs hurt, In-ho refrained from laughing, now he had to focus on fixing her wounds.

—Being a police officer you made many enemies —He said while using his jacket with some water to clean her.

—You have no idea.

In-ho continued to clean her wounds and after a few minutes everything was better for her, the girl stood up cautiously because of the wound on her leg and thanked Young-il with a small bow.

—Thanks for helping me, for the second time.

—I hope it doesn't become routine —he said with a soft smile, looking her up and down unconsciously.

When they came out of the bathroom there were suspicious glances but neither of them cared.

It was cute, she liked the way this man treated whenever her found himself in trouble, in a way he reminded her of Jun-ho,

She liked that even though she could defend herself, there was still a knight in shining armor who would arrive in the worst situations.

Young-il, the gentleman who arrived just in time and the only one who knew about her suspected pregnancy.

tag list:

@raya4643 @lvspedri @iloveoldermen0204 @ravenslocked

[am-i-interrupting]

Hello, could you make a viktor x reader fanfic (where reader is someone very affectionate, and is very close to heimerdinger) please and thank you very much (⁠^⁠^⁠)

Soft Seams

Viktor was new to Piltover. New to all these things. Walking down the cobblestone streets even felt like something he shouldn’t be doing, something he would be yelled at for. However, with the head of the council walking with him, chatting along with a speedy, chipper voice no one dared to say a word. No matter how obvious it was that Viktor was not from Piltover.

His makeshift cane hit the ground with a soft, hallowed clack. His bag, well worn and covered in patchwork, was soft beneath his thumb which kept running over it.

“I believe you will like the owner,” Heimerdinger said. “There’s not a person they’ve yet to win over! Ah, here we are.”

For the first time since meeting this odd man, Viktor was not the one to open the door. At least, not for Heimerdinger. The door was split into two sections, a section with a door knob that was at an average person’s height and a section carved in that was more suited for someone of the yordle decent.

“Hello,” Heimerdinger said as he walked through the door.

It swung closed behind him. Viktor waited a moment, as the door swung inward, before opening it.

“Heimerdinger,” a voice from further inside rang out, “is that you?”

Viktor looked around the shop. There were fabrics draped over the walls. Mannequins sporting different types of attire ranging from more casual to extraordinarily expensive. A couple racks were on the floor sporting similar clothing. Several table displays were flittered in as well.

“Yes, indeed, my dear!”

A head poked out from behind one of the displays. You had bright eyes and a warm smile.

“It’s been too long!” you said as you raced forward.

You knelt onto the ground to give the yordle a hug. You swayed him back and forth as he wrapped his arms around you.

“And who is this with you?” you asked.

“This is Viktor,” Heimerdinger introduced. “A young man with a brilliant mind who I’ve had the pleasure of meeting recently.”

“Hello,” Viktor said.

He took your hand as Heimerdinger gave him your name. You surprised him by covering his hand with both of yours. They were soft and warm in comparison to his own.

“I’m honored to meet you,” you said.

You have his hand a light squeeze. He was convinced you may actually mean it.

“The honor is mine. The Professor speaks highly of you,” he replied.

You smiled, looking down. A small flush came to your face. Your eyes went to the yordle who met your eyes head on with a smile of his own. He was rocking back on his heels as he did so.

“We’re here to inquire about procuring some new attire for Viktor,” Heimerdinger said. “With such a brilliant mind, I’ve request his assistance with some of my projects.”

You nodded. Something in your demeanor told Viktor that you were excited, ready.

“Alright, why don’t you come to the back with me and we’ll get started,” you told him with a gesture to follow.

Viktor’s eyes went to the Professor. However, the man was already following beside you. He wasted no time to being chatting away.

You laughed at something the man had said. “You would mind standing here so I may take your measurements?” you asked with laughter still on your tongue.

Viktor stood on the platform that was indicated. Looking at himself in the multiple mirrors, he couldn’t help but feel more like he did not belong.

His clothes were worn and stitched together with hopes, not talent. In direct comparison to Heimerdinger (who sat perched on a chair perfectly tailored to his height) and you (who wore a perfectly fitted, unstained white sleeveless shirt with black, high waisted pants), he was noticeably less well off.

Although, the point of this visit was so when he began to accompany Heimerdinger everyday, no one would notice.

You took a measuring tape and began to wrap it around various parts of his body. Every time, you took note of the measurements. When you were done, you dragged a chair to the platform.

You patted it twice. He took the indication to sit.

You brushed your fingers through his hair, pulling it back and away from his face.

Instinctively he found himself sitting up straighter. His eyes went a bit wider. He could feel his lip begin to pull down in confusion.

Your face went beside his own as you looked at him in the mirror. He could feel your breath against his left cheek.

You nodded to yourself as you grabbed several patches of differently colored squares. His hair fell back into place.

You placed the patches onto his shoulder. “Alright, that’s about what I thought,” you said. “You have a warm undertone in your skin but it’s a bit muted instead of very bright. So, the colors that will look best on you will follow that pattern. Instead of the bright red of the academy, I’d suggest a more maroon tone of red, something deeper and richer.

“I think you would look beautiful in greens especially,” you continued on. “With the golden hues in your eyes and the warmth in your skin, something like a sage or olive green would really make those features pop.”

You thumbed through the color patches. You found two greens. A bright, saturated green was on his right side. A more muted, grey toned green was on his left.

“See how the brighter green makes you look more washed out, verses the muted which really brings attention to all the golden in your eyes and skin?” you asked.

He didn’t expect you to actually look at him for an answer. When your eyes met his in the mirror, he found himself nodding.

“So, when we’re looking at any clothing, general rule of thumb would be to go with something more muted,” you told him. “Muted doesn’t necessarily mean dull. Soft blues, purples, pinks, and greens are all beautiful colors with varying degrees of intensity. But dusted colors will generally look better on you than something that’s pure pigment. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Now, fabrics. All I need for you to do on this next part is tell me which ones fell the most comfortable.”

The rest of the visit went smoothly and fairly fast. You all said your farewells and you told Viktor to come back sometime within the next three to five days.

He did. This time alone.

You greeted Viktor with the same kindness that you had before. You rushed him to the back so he could try on the clothing you’d picked out or made for him.

First was the uniform. A pair of black dress shoes. Grey pants that were looser at the thighs and tapered in at his calves. A fitted, maroon button up covered by a cream and dusty blue vest with a matching cream tie tucked in.

You pulled at the vest to make sure it fitted nicely. “And if there’s anything which needs to be changed, don’t hesitate to ask. The point of clothing is for you to be comfortable.”

“No, it’s perfect. Thank you,” Viktor said.

You smiled at him in the mirror. “Of course.”

There were several other variations of the same uniform. Outside of that were different colored vests, button ups, and trousers. Some for function and others for comfort. Viktor had never worn such soft and comfortable fabrics in his life.

There was one outfit in particular that you seemed to be excited about. When he put it on, he actually understood why.

It was extremely comfortable. Soft and warm. A cream colored turtleneck. It was tucked into a pair of sage green pants that felt almost like velvet but warmer and more gentle to the touch. The brown vest was made of a similar fabric. All of it came together with a sage green jacket, the same fabric as the turtleneck on the outside but the interior was lined with cream fur.

“You look very handsome,” you told him.

He looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were brought to attention and his skin seemed to almost glow. He was inclined to agree.

[1d1195]

The Lottery V

Read The Lottery here | ~8.7k words

From me: the idea of making this two shorter parts or one long part was a very difficult decision. Hopefully you'll enjoy 💕 I think you'll see Peach and Harry again soon 🥰 you get to find out why I named it The Lottery too

Warnings: you get to find out why Harry is so grumpy so it's angsty and sad af I think. There is def some fluffy and love parts for sure!

Summary: Harry loves peaches. And Peach. She is quite possibly the most important person Harry has ever met.

*I highly recommend listening to Home Run by The Man The Myth The Meatslab*

After work, Harry ran errands. He went to the grocery store for his own house and planned on ordering take out because after working and all the errands, making a whole meal sounded horrible. As he approached the door with arms full of grocery bags, he swore he heard music playing loudly from inside.

He had to be imagining it.

But he tried the handle and was surprised (but also unsurprised) that it was unlocked. The second the door was out of the way she was in front of him. “Hi!” She cheered excitedly, grabbing two bags from his arms and turning quickly to the kitchen to bring them to the table. He stared at her, nearly unblinking as she continued stirring something on the stove. “I found this recipe that I wanted to try,” she explained. Was he dreaming? Most of his dreams involving the pretty bookstore owner and town princess were similar to this moment. Nothing really out of the ordinary except she was in his house, maybe he called it their house in his sleep. But the groceries were heavy on his arm, and he didn’t usually feel pain in the dreams.

“So y’broke into m’house?”

“You break into my house all the time.”

“Because y’leave the door unlocked. You had t’use m’key.”

She huffed. “Look.”

But there was nothing to look at. She kept watching her food cooking. Harry ignored it and put his groceries away. “Do y’need help?” He asked.

She shook her head. “I thought you were going to be home sooner. It’s almost done. I hope you didn’t have plans.”

Any plans Harry would have had would be canceled the moment he saw her. “No plans,” he assured her. “M’jus’... gonna put this stuff away,” he mumbled referring to the bathroom and cleaning items. Harry returned to her putting a plate together and setting it on the table before putting her own plate together. Then they sat and ate at his small dinner table in the middle of his kitchen. It was quiet, they didn’t speak, and she scrolled on her phone as she nibbled on her food. “Peach?” He said quietly. “Something wrong?” He asked.

“What could possibly be wrong?” But whether she realized it or not, she was holding the little moon charm between her fingers, rubbing her thumb along it like it would fix everything.

“Peach. Shouldn’t y’be... I don’t know... out with Malcolm?”

She paused very briefly and put her phone aside before she cut into the delicious-looking fish she prepared. It was covered in a layer of crunchy breadcrumbs and spices. It was beside roasted broccoli with a sprinkle of the same breadcrumbs and spices. Along with cheesy yet somehow creamy scallop potatoes. It smelled incredible and Harry didn’t think he deserved such a nice welcome home. Especially when she was seeing someone else. “No,” she whispered quietly.

Harry wasn’t going to harp on it if she wasn’t. Especially when she looked so upset about it. “Alright,” he said simply and dug into his own delicious food. They ate silently, her scrolling on her phone, reading emails and work orders. She had her to do list notebook beside her as well and she scribbled some thoughts onto the paper. Harry grabbed his book when he got up to grab them drinks. He put more potatoes on his plate and returned to sit across from her reading silently while they ate.

Harry cleaned up while she found a TV show to watch. Something silly and easy to watch. She was snug in the corner of his sofa and Harry sat at the other end. Once he was seated, she stretched out putting her feet in his lap and throwing the blanket along the back of the couch across them. Harry dropped his hand onto her legs and mindlessly rubbed over her blanket covered body. They silently watched TV like they silently ate dinner.

She was used to long periods of silence with Harry. This time was no different. But it was. Because Harry was her very best friend and she was in love with him but couldn’t have him.

“Peach?” He asked. “You’re crying,” he murmured, concern laced in his voice.

“Fuck,” she whispered and turned her head the other way swiping at her cheeks. His grip tightened on her leg.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just... don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing is wrong with you,” he assured her quickly, squeezing his hold on her shin. “What happened?” He asked.

“It’s not like we were in love or anything,” she mumbled. “I just... I feel so underestimated all the time and so...” she swallowed. “No one in my life seems to believe in me... and not like the people in town. Everyone is so lovely for accepting me. I don’t even know why I need approval from people who I hardly see anymore or new people who hardly care about this place... but I do. I need it more than I realize, and I don’t know why. I don’t know why they don’t believe in me,” her voice was so quiet and soft.

“Then fuck them,” he squeezed her leg again. It was the only thing he could do.

She laughed, tears leaking from her eyes again, but it was an honest to God laugh. Harry hated seeing her vulnerable like that. She was amazing in every possible way. It was a tragedy that she could ever see anything but perfection. He smiled. Not quite those rare, genuine smiles that she saw in his eyes that only really appeared around Gemma or Louis. But it was gentle, warm, and made her feel like she would really be okay. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Yeah, Peach. Of course. Thank you for dinner. Y’didn’t need to do that.”

“Well, I figured if I only ever made food for you when you were sick, you would think we weren’t really friends,” she smiled.

He chuckled quietly, a huff of laughter that he covered with a shake of his head. He turned back to their show and kept his hand moving along the blanket.

“Peach?”

“Hmm?”

“Think you’re m’best friend.”

“Me too, Harry.”

*

If Harry wasn’t working, he would find himself at her bookshop, sitting between shelves on the floor, reading and watching her at work. Watching her during reading-hour was one of his favorite things. Watching her tutor was also a delight. But watching her read while waiting for customers behind the checkout counter was by far the best. The quiet of the moment, the beautiful, peaceful expression on her perfect face.

“You’re staring at me,” she nearly sang while flipping to the next page.

He looked back at his book.

“Now you’re blushing,” she giggled.

He put his book in front of his face to hide from her.

“Do you like it?” She asked.

“It’s cathartic,” he mumbled.

She grinned. She loved it when Harry read his books in front of her while she worked. There weren’t many ways he could reciprocate the way she sat at his counter and watched him cook breakfast and serve lunch. He was handsome and sweet. Her very best friend.

*

She came home to find Harry on her sofa laying across it with the clicker in hand. “Hi,” she blinked in surprise.

“I ordered pizza, s’in the kitchen,” he told her.

She nodded. “Sure,” she glanced at him curiously and walked to her bedroom to change into something cozier. The entire time she heard the TV going, which meant Harry was still there. She didn’t mind his presence. Not in the slightest. But she wasn’t used to seeing him laying on her couch like he lived there. He was usually fixing something or making dinner. This was peaceful and gentle. She went to the kitchen next, grabbed the pizza and headed to the living room again. She curled in the chair turned toward the sofa and TV for conversation and Harry merely continued watching TV as if this wasn’t a crazy moment.

“Everything alright?” She asked.

“Mmm,” he hummed.

“So, it’s okay when you break into my house?”

His lips twitched in his signature smirk, and he shrugged one shoulder. She nodded, biting into her pizza and turned her attention to her TV.

*

They traded off randomly appearing in each other’s homes. But it didn’t take a genius to recognize she wasn’t in his house when she was seeing another guy. Harry still visited her at work but when she talked about the guy she was seeing, he tried to keep his distance at her home to a minimum. It wasn’t fair to her to make that choice and if she was going to be in love she deserved to be in love with someone that wasn’t so grumpy and irritated with the town she loved so much.

But she still came to the diner and even introduced a few of the men in her life to Harry. She convinced Harry to help each Christmas and had him make hot dogs and hamburgers for cookouts in the summer. During the fall he provided hot apple cider per her request and helped her decorate the outside of the bookstore. In the winter he checked on her pipes and after her washing machine broke, he went with her to purchase a new one to make sure they didn’t try to swindle her of more money just because she was sweet and pretty. He even installed it himself.

But one day she came home to get ready for her date with Bodie. She liked him a lot. He was kind, funny, and intelligent. He worked hard and appreciated her love for the small town.

However, instead of heading to her bedroom to change and do her hair and makeup, she found Harry on her sofa. Which was weird as she had noticed the pattern of him staying away from her house when she was in a relationship. “Hey,” she frowned. “You okay, Harry?” She asked.

“Yeah,” his voice was quiet. He was turned toward the back of the couch. “Are y’busy tonight?”

She frowned. “Um... not till later. What’s wrong?”

“Jus’... wanted t’see you,” he mumbled. “Feel like I haven’t seen y’much.”

Did he sniffle? Her heart was going to break. She set her stuff in the middle of the floor and approached him like he was a wild animal. Not because she worried about her safety or that he would attack her. But because Harry was grumpy and angry. He was short and hardly smiled.

Harry was never vulnerable and that terrified her. If he cried, she was done for. Quietly, she sat on the coffee table facing him and watching for signs of trouble or something worse. “Yeah... sorry about that. I’ve been a bit busier than usual lately.” He didn’t respond, just stared at the back of the couch. She reached out. “Harry—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said quickly, his voice shook, and it felt like a knife to her heart. Quickly, she dropped her hand to her lap. After a moment, she nodded, and he turned to lie on his back. He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed heavily. “I shouldn’t have come over,” he said. “I don’t mean t’bother you,” he pulled his hand away and she noted how red his eyes looked. Like he had been crying and so that knife in her heart turned into an entire sword.

“Course you should have, Harry. That’s what friends are for,” she promised.

“Y’have plans,” he mumbled.

She shook her head. “My only plan right now is to be here for you, Harry,” she assured him. “Move your head.” He sat up. She quickly got herself situated at the end of the sofa and then pulled him gently by the shoulder to lay his head in her lap. Her hand immediately dove into his hair. This was the closest they had ever been, and she knew it wasn’t a good move for her heart or her head, but her best friend was sad. So, she couldn’t care about that.

Instead, she watched the show he put on, combed her fingers through his hair, and ignored when the tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.

*

At some point she must have lost track of time, her leg was numb, her fingers were still curled around his soft locks. The TV show had caught her attention more than she thought. Harry was asleep, peaceful and she wished she could have pressed more. It killed her to not help him more, but he was quiet as always. Never letting her in deeper than need be. Sure, she read between the lines, but it hurt a little that he didn’t feel he could open himself up to her. But she understood. Harry was closed off for a reason and that was very okay.

The only reason she ignored the way her leg was losing circulation, and she wasn’t lost in the way his hair felt between her fingers was because of the knock at her door.

Fuck. She mouthed to herself. Slowly she untangled herself from Harry. She carefully lifted his head and placed it gently on the sofa. He turned, settling into sleep and she limped to the door with her leg nearly asleep.

“Hey, love,” Bodie smiled leaning in to peck her cheek. “You ready to go?”

She smiled softly. “I’m so sorry, I should have canceled,” she whispered. “Something’s wrong with Harry and he’s—”

The smile on his face immediately disappeared. “Oh, for the love of God,” he rolled his eyes.

The frown on her face settled and she tilted her head. “What?”

“It’s just... you talk about Harry all the time. He’s your best friend, I get it. But don’t you understand how difficult it is to think about you with another man?”

She bit her lip and looked at her feet. “We’re just friends.”

“I understand, but are you going to put him first forever? Everything you do revolves around this place, the diner, your bookstore. Don’t you want to live?”

She frowned. “I think you should go,” she whispered without looking up.

“Yeah. I was thinking the same thing,” he sighed and headed back to his car. She watched him leave, her heart aching, but it wasn’t hard to notice that it didn’t ache nearly as much as Harry’s sadness made her feel.

When she closed the door, she found Harry sitting on the sofa. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Hey,” he murmured. “Sorry, I fell asleep.”

She shrugged, sat on the chair. But she missed the way his head felt on her leg and how his hair felt between her fingers. “It’s okay.”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “What are y’doing here, Peach?” He asked.

“I live here,” she laughed.

“Peach,” he sighed. “Here. In this town. Y’could be running a company, or... mayor of an actual town. Y’would probably be making more money in a city with a bigger house that didn’t have bad pipes even after y’replaced them.”

“Well... that’s not—”

“He was right,” Harry interrupted making her chest hurt again. The sword turned into a harpoon. “Don’t y’want t’live, Peach? There’s no living here. S’nearly the same thing all the time.”

She swallowed. “Harry,” she frowned.

“I’ve been here m’whole life and s’not...” he rubbed his hands over his face. “You’re too good for this place.” She felt tears prick her eyes. The heartache about Harry’s sadness, Bodie’s uncalled for breakup (even if she wasn’t upset about the breakup), and now... “Stop, I didn’t mean t’make y’cry,” he said hurriedly. “Fuck. Don’t listen t’me. M’jus’...” he shook his head. “M’fucking sad and m’taking it out on you. After y’were so nice t’me and I ruined your date and—”

She smiled, her heart aching a little less. “I’m glad you did,” she sniffled. “I guess—”

“Peach.”

“—I guess I just never liked the city, and I just wanted the feel of being known and not—”

“Peach.”

“—and not just some random person that no one would ever really know because it’s too big out there. There is so much and I’m not—”

“Peach,” Harry’s voice was soft, and he pulled her toward him and cupped the back of her head as he pulled her into his chest. His chin resting on top of her head and he sighed. “M’sorry,” he whispered. “I don’t want you t’go anywhere,” he promised.

She clung to him and nodded. There was nothing else to say.

*

For all the guys she brought around, Harry never brought a single girl around and she could never figure out why. But she never asked. She assumed if he didn’t want to tell her, then he didn’t want to talk about it. So instead, she asked him for pancakes that he didn’t want to make. Ordered pizza and only went over to his house when she wasn’t in a relationship.

He smacked her hand when she reached for sugar and cream. He rolled his eyes when she left her stuff on the counter for hours at a time. When she needed help stocking the shelves he was there. When she shoveled the driveways of everyone in town so did he. He hung up her Christmas lights and made sure she had hot chocolate on cold days.

She made him soup when he didn’t feel well. Made sure she stocked books that were cathartic. Helped serve at the diner when it was busy. And most importantly didn’t tell anyone he was dressed as Santa each year.

“Can I have a white chocolate chip pancake and a peach pancake?”

“No.”

“Please, please, please, please!”

“No.”

“Did you see the moon?”

“Yes, Peach, s’very pretty today.”

“Do you know how to change a lighting fixture?”

“I’ll come over later.”

Whenever he returned from the kitchen with pancakes, there was always a peach pancake hiding the one white chocolate chip below it.

“Muffin today?”

“Please.”

“Did you rotate your tires?”

“Every time I drive.”

“I need some new shirts, could y’go with me?”

“Is this so you can take my car to the shop?”

“Yes.”

“I would love to.”

And so, it went on.

*

Then there was Alex.

No one liked him. They tolerated him for her benefit. There was honestly nothing wrong with him. He was a lot like Bodie. Smart, funny, kind. He had his own business in the city. He supported her. Appreciated her kindness for the small town and like her business. He was also handsome if you were into that sort of thing (which Harry begrudgingly accepted). He didn’t feel threatened by Harry and thought that the idea of settling in a small town was going to be great for family life.

Which was probably why they had been dating for a year. There was sincerely nothing wrong with him.

Except he was not Harry, and everyone in town noticed that for sure.

Alice had no trouble telling Harry that.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Alice,” Ed sighed.

“Harry, we’ve been coming in here for ages and you have never looked at anyone the way you look at her.”

His lips twitched but he hid it because she was still his best friend, and he wanted her to be happy. Harry wasn’t a happy person. Perhaps he never would be. So, if she was in love with Alex, then she was in love with Alex.

And if she stopped coming to his house unannounced then he was fine with that.

Totally, completely fine with it (and he definitely didn’t need to buy a new refrigerator for opening the door so hard it broke at the hinge).

*

“Did you see the moon!?” There was so much delight in her eyes. Harry had heard her say it so many times, it instinctively brought a smile to his face (internally). He had never met anyone so excited about the moon even when it was out seven days a week.

Harry discreetly glanced out the picture window of the diner and caught a glimpse of it. Alex was looking at his phone while she nearly snapped her neck to get a better view of it.

“Honey, seriously! It’s so pretty today, and you can see Venus next to it and it’s just so lovely,” she sighed and got up grabbing his arm. But he nearly paid no mind to her.

“Alex, look—”

“Oh my god. I don’t want to look at the moon! It’s the same moon I’ve seen for years. I don’t care.”

She swallowed the words in her throat. She took a deep breath and returned to her seat. Not at the counter. Quietly, she poked at her food and sipped her tea. Harry thought her eyes looked shiny. The whole diner heard it. Harry felt the smile (internally) fall off his face.

How could he hurt her like that? He wanted to kill him. It was much too quiet and uncomfortable. Clearing her throat, she started with small talk. Things she was going to do that day, errands she needed to run.

The entire time, her fingers danced along the charm around her neck.

*

Hey

Hi...

Everything alright?

Yeah, why?

You don’t usually text me. Unless you want to tell me I’m not allowed to leave my stuff at the counter even though I’m coming back later.

He sent an eye roll emoji. It was hard to be nice to her when she was annoying. But not really.

Yeah... fine. Just...

I was taking the trash out behind the diner... and...

The moon looks really pretty tonight. Have you seen it?

Her heart softened reading the message. She knew what he was doing even if he was trying to be sly about it. But she loved the moon. She stretched in her hammock to look between branches of the trees she was sitting below. Yeah, she had seen the moon already. It was all she could look at tonight. But when Harry said it, she wasn’t going to be the one to tell him she already saw it. Not ever.

Oh! Yes, I hadn’t seen it yet. Look at that :)

Hope you’re relaxing. You deserve it. Night, Peach.

Night, Harry. Sleep well ❤️

There was something about looking at the same moon Harry was at that moment. Sharing something that they weren’t even in the same room for. But maybe, mostly because he had remembered how much it meant to her when no one else did.

Harry continued to message her about the moon every time he saw it over the next few months.

He took a screenshot of that sweet message she sent with the little heart emoji. He wanted to frame it and put it in the diner.

Maybe one day he would.

*

Harry entered his place, and it smelled like baked goods. But to his knowledge they hadn’t broken up. In fact, she hinted that wedding bells were in her future, (so Harry now needed a new stove because the oven door faced the same fate as his refrigerator).

He also wasn’t sick. So, she wasn’t making soup for him. There was no holiday or festival in sight, so she didn’t need help. It wasn’t winter so her pipes probably weren’t broken. So why was she there? Baking in his house? “Peach?” He called.

“Did you move the flour?”

“The cabinet on the right.”

“I’m making cookies for the kids—”

“Peach.”

“—they have their big exams coming up—”

“Peach.”

“I saw this recipe and thought I would give it a try.

“Peach.”

“I thought I had everything, but I always forget something.”

“Peach. Why aren’t y’with Alex?”

She stopped, gripping the side of the counter in front of the sink. She looked at the ceiling. “Because I need my best friend,” her voice cracked, and she sniffled before she wiped her arm across her nose. She shook her head and turned the sink on to wash her hands again.

Harry nodded to himself. Not knowing what was happening but couldn’t bring himself to care. He put his hand on her back briefly and she sniffled again as he grabbed the flour for her. He settled it on the counter and turned her toward him and cupped the back of her head the way he did when Bodie broke up with her. He rubbed his hand up and down her spine while she sobbed into his shirt. The ache he felt for her sadness made him want to cry himself.

He kissed the top of her head. “M’sorry, Peach,” he whispered.

She continued crying for a while. Her hands covering her face as she leaned into Harry’s embrace enjoying the feel of him cradling her like she was something precious. “Did y’see the moon, Peach?” He hummed quietly.

She shook her head. “It’s a new moon today,” she told him.

He snorted. “S’what I get for trying t’help.”

She laughed through her tears making him smile. Perhaps it was because they were in the privacy of his home, and he was heartbroken by her sadness.

But his smile was real and stretched across his face for anyone to see.

Even if it was just the sweet girl in his arms.

*

Harry didn’t ask any more questions about why she needed him. They baked cookies in silence and Harry made her dinner because it had been a long while since they had a dinner in his place. He made her favorite pasta dish and packaged it up so she could take it home when she ate no more than five bites of it.

Instead, they watched TV in silence. Seated on two different pieces of furniture and he glanced at her way too often assuring himself that she was okay when she didn’t seem to be at all. Eventually, he noted her eyes were shut, her neck awkwardly turned and slumped against the corner of the sofa.

Carefully, he took her shoes off. Brought her feet onto the couch turning her ever so gently because he didn’t want to wake her. He made sure the remote was within reach on the coffee table. Then he covered her with a blanket.

He would be up before her for the early morning breakfast, so he left her a note to come get her silly pancakes. Or her weird omelets if she wanted them. He would even throw in a muffin to go, and her coffee would be cold just the way she liked.

Then Harry went to bed with the sweet bookstore owner on his couch.

*

They didn’t talk about the night before. Harry didn’t smack her hand away from the cream and sugar but only because she didn’t reach. When she only ate two bites of her pancakes, he packaged them up for her to take home.  They didn’t speak and Harry didn’t read her little to-do list.

“Have a good day, Harry,” she murmured getting up from her seat.

“Peach?” He asked.

She looked up at him, her fingers touching the moon charm once more. His eyes flicked to the movement and then back to her eyes. Saddened, exhausted. God, was that what Harry looked like? No wonder she was constantly trying to make him better.

But she couldn’t look that way. No. She was perfect. Pretty and lovely. Intelligent and kind. She couldn’t get grumpy the way Harry had. “New moons symbolize new beginnings.”

She smiled, it hardly reached her eyes, but it was better than the flat expression across her face. Her cheeks glowed a little brighter, her eyes a little less sad. “Yeah,” she nodded. “They do.”

“So... every twenty-nine and a half days... y’can start over if y’have to. If y’need to.”

She nodded again and smirked. “Twenty-nine and a half? Did you do some research?” She laughed from the doorway.

“Something like that.”

*

What Harry hadn’t anticipated was her coming back for dinner. He assumed with all the leftovers she would be happy at home. Her dose of her grumpy friend no longer necessary. Perhaps she would call Bailey, who was arguably a much better person to assist her in relationship troubles. Or even Louis would have been a better call. At least that may have ended in some laughs at Harry’s expense.

But instead, she was back at the diner. Sitting at the counter as if it were the morning.

Harry headed back to the grill to get plates of food and returned to find Alex sitting beside her. She faced forward. No food in front of her, just her eyes focusing on the pots of coffee that were empty—waiting to be refilled for the morning.

“I didn't mean for it to happen. But when I look at her, my bones ache, love. I want you to have that. I want you to have a love like that. But you won't have it with me,” he told her.

She continued staring at the back wall behind the counter. Swallowing hard. Trying to ignore him. He pleaded with her. Only to make himself feel better for breaking her heart, Harry was sure. For stringing her along. How could she love so hard and not have someone love her back? She won’t ever forgive him. She can’t do it anymore. It’s not fair.

“Alex, just go,” She closed her eyes, and her voice felt weak. She was exhausted. It was plain on her face. She didn’t want to talk anymore. Especially not to Alex.

“Honey...”

“No.” Her voice was just a hair stronger than it was a moment before.

“Please just let me—"

“I really need you to leave,” her words were shaky. Cracking on every other syllable. She squeezed her eyes closed tighter. Like she could make the image of him breaking up with her in front of everybody go away. This was a dream. She was going to wake up any minute. But the pain was a lot. It felt like someone had ripped her tired, broken heart out of her chest.

“I don’t want you to think—"

Without warning, she slammed her fist on the counter gathering the attention of everyone in the diner. “I need you to leave,” her voice was so quiet. So different than the shake she just gave the counter, let alone the entire diner. Harry felt horrible. So completely horrible.

With a long look, Alex stared at her before leaving without so much as another word of apology.

Without truly realizing, Harry had followed him outside after the unending silence.

"Hey!” Harry had never confronted one of her boyfriends before. Not the one that told her she ate too many pancakes. Not the one that told her that her bookstore wouldn’t survive in a small place like this. Not the guy that told her she looked better when she styled her hair on special occasions. Or even Bodie who thought she was more than this town and even if that was true, he could have supported her anyway.

But this one... this one that just stopped loving her. Because of someone else. As if someone else could possibly compare to the most beautiful, kindest, most intelligent person he had ever met.

Alex turned around and sighed, rubbed a hand over his face. "Harry, I didn't mean to—"

"You jus’ lost the lottery,” he interrupted. His heart was pounding, and it felt separate from his brain. Like he is all too aware that his heart shouldn’t beat that fast nor be beating so hard for the girl that was heartbroken at the counter. But he couldn’t figure out why he chose today to confront Alex... and even his own feelings.

There was a deafening silence as he processed Harry’s words. "One in a billion. No. One in eight billion." Harry didn't move, just stared at him. "And you're throwing her away," he shook his head slowly. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and sighed, defeat falling over his posture.

"I'm sorry,” Alex said. “But I couldn’t... we all deserve happiness,” he promised. “Even idiots like me.”

Harry had nothing else to say to him, so he returned inside. People were staring at her silently as they pecked at their plates of food. Individually, Harry headed to each table and quietly requested that every one of them leave.

Food’s on the house.

I think she needs a minute alone.

Please, just go quietly.

Once everyone was outside, he left a crate in front of the door for empty dishes for people to finish and return once they left. Harry flipped the open sign to close. He headed to the kitchen and whipped up the fastest batch of pancakes he had ever made: one peach and one white chocolate chip.

“I wish someone loved me that much,” she whispered to no one.

Harry came from the back and set the two pancakes in front of her. He met her teary gaze with his.

“Eat your pancakes.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Peach,” his voice was gentle but still very firm. “Eat them, please,” he repeated.

She picked up her fork and drowned the plate in syrup. Harry wondered why she didn’t just drink it straight from the bottle. Mum was insistent that food would cure anything. A cold. a broken leg.

A broken heart.

She had tears rolling down her cheeks as she ate but Harry ignored it. “Never had a peach and white chocolate chip pancake before.”

She sniffled. “Yeah?”

He smirked. “Been making them for you for so many years. But no... Never.”

She smirked through her tears. “Figured you were eating them back there to keep your ratios on par,” she cut a piece of each one off and held her fork out to him. He took the bite enjoying the little piece of her that existed in her favorite breakfast. It was delicious. He could see why she would want one of each.

He chuckled around the bite. “Gave up on worrying ‘bout the ratios,” he shrugged.

“How come?”

“Y’eat them enough t’save the ratio in spades.” Harry felt like he won the lottery just by hearing her laugh; especially when she probably didn’t want to. “Do y’want t’watch a film?”

She nodded. Harry picked up her plate and let her lead down the hall. He flicked the lights off to the diner as they walked back to his little apartment home. She fit in the room so easily. Quickly, she made her spot on the sofa, Harry sat close beside her. Harry didn’t pay any mind to the movie he picked. In a matter of minutes, she was drowsy. The movie was nearly irrelevant because she was nearly asleep half a dozen times throughout the movie.

“Did y’fall asleep?” There was a smile in his voice when he asked the first time.

“No,” she mumbled.

“Peach... y’fall asleep?” She muttered a quiet no, again. She could still hear the movie. But the third time, she was simply too tired, physically and emotionally to respond. “Kitten, are y’awake?” She couldn’t speak to even register he called her something new. She was too tired. She simply continued listening to the movie playing and Harry asking her if she was asleep.

“My mum died out of nowhere,” he told her. It felt like someone punched her in the stomach. “It broke me. Broke me t’pieces,” his voice was nostalgic. “I was twenty almost twenty-one. She didn’t even see me graduate.” She should have told him she was awake. He didn’t want him to spill his secrets to her if she was awake. That much was clear in the way he asked the last two times. “Gemma had been stuck here t’see the aftermath of everything. I needed t’finish school even though I didn’t want to. She tried so hard t’keep this place afloat, but she didn’t like cooking, and she didn’t know how t’run a business. I didn’t want t’come home. It broke me all over again. Because I was already weary. Didn’t want t’relive the hometown heartbreak I suffered. This girl I dated from town. She wanted nothing t’do with this place, but I loved this town so much, Peach. I loved it like you do. So maybe s’on me. Because she said she wasn’t going t’stay and it broke m’heart. It broke m’entire plan t’stay here. I hated it here. I hated that it wasn’t enough for her. For us.”

This wasn’t right. Listening to him when he was sharing something personal that he clearly didn’t want to tell...but she was in too deep now. “M’plan turned t’helping Mum find people t’run the diner for her and then move away. Find m’own footing. That had been the plan since I started college. And then Mum...” he sighed and paused. She wondered if he could hear how fast her heart was beating. “I graduated. I cried. I drank.”

Her heart hurt. “I thought maybe I’ll jus’ burn the place down. If Mum’s not here, what’s the point?” His voice was so quiet. “Gemma was heartbroken. She was there when it happened, and she couldn’t stay. Didn’t want t’stay and how could I let her? She was holding everything together. She’s a superhero m’sister,” he whispered so quietly. “She didn’t know what t’do. But she knew she wasn’t any help. She told me it was okay t’sell it. T’move away. T’escape the heartache.”

She tried to think of this little town without the diner. Without Harry. It would be missing something. She was sure. But staying here, the ghost of a girl who was clearly just not good enough for his sweet heart and the ghost of his mother and the family that had to leave because it was too much, she understood. Of course he wanted to leave. How could anyone blame him? “I had a realtor. I had a buyer. A lawyer. I had it all. It was only days away from turning into something and I jus’ had this horrible breakdown before I opened,” he reminisced, his voice was far away. She heard him swallow audibly. His voice cracked. “I was sobbing on the floor over a dozen broken eggs.” The sound of the movie was gone. She couldn’t hear anything but Harry and his soft breathing. Her stomach hurt at the thought of his distress and wanted to make it go away retroactively. If only she had a time machine. If only she could have known him and done something. If only his mom was still there. “I begged Mum for a sign. I wanted her approval. Afraid I wasn’t doing the right thing. Afraid she would hate me for running.”

Of course she wouldn’t have. Harry was... Harry. No one could hate him. Especially not his mother. “I think everyone kinda knew it was coming. Even though I didn’t tell them. I was going t’tell them that day, actually. That I was selling and moving and... the diner would be no more. End of a chapter. End of a life. End of a story.”

She could hardly take how sad it all was. No wonder he was grumpy. She couldn’t figure out why he was telling her. She inhaled a little deeper, ready to tell him she was actually awake and that of course his mother wouldn’t hate him. Never. Not even from wherever her soul was out in—

“But then this insanely intelligent, beautiful girl sat at m’counter. Asked for one peach and one white chocolate chip pancake. Told me the ratios didn’t matter. That she would like t’open a tab.”

She swore her heart stopped. Time stopped. Everything stopped.

“Y’can’t have a tab if there was no diner,” he said simply, a shrug in his voice.

Like it was that simple. That in asking for a tab erased all that heartache. How different her life in this little place would have been without Harry through the years. She couldn’t imagine it. Her best friend just not there. Who would dress as Santa? Or help her rake leaves in the fall? How would she set off the fireworks?

“I didn’t think I would ever be happy again and y’jus’...” there was a quiet pause that seemed to last for hours. Harry’s voice sounded wistful. Like he was remembering every moment since she moved. “Y’were opening a bookshop and y’moved into a house with bad pipes. I didn’t want you t’be stuck in the dead of winter with no hot water,” he continued. “Y’jus’ wanted pancakes and cold coffee, and I didn’t want t’be the one t’stop y’from getting whatever you wanted. Peach, y’love this town like y’grew up here. Y’take care of everyone and everything. Y’are endlessly kind and wonderful and the most annoying person I’ve ever known. Y’love the moon when all anyone can talk about is how nice and warm the sun is. You are everything I wanted and all y’did was waltz into m’diner on one of the worst days of m’life.”

There was no way Harry couldn’t hear her heartrate flying. It felt like a hundred dragonflies were trapped in her ribcage begging to get out. “M’nearly certain I’ve loved you for as long as I’ve known you. The moment I met you and made you your ridiculous pancakes and all those omelets. M’never going t’stop loving you. No matter how many stupid men you date that don’t know that you’re the best thing that’s ever graced this town, this world, and especially my life.”

The sound of the movie seemed to come back as Harry stopped speaking for a bit of time. The movie filled the silence instead of his words and she felt like she might need to cry again. For several moments she kept quiet, trying to calm her heart. When she felt a sufficient amount of time had passed, she reached up to rub her eye with an exaggerated yawn. “Fell asleep again,” she sniffed turning to Harry. He was smiling at her with a little nod in the way he always did. A smile that didn’t spread across his face, but it was in his eyes.

“I know,” he whispered very softly.

“Sorry. Can we watch the movie another day?” He nodded again, still gazing at her. “Are you okay?” She asked.

“Should be asking you that.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “I think I’m okay.”

“Y’sure?” He asked. “I... I wanted t’kill him. T’be honest.”

She shook her head. “He’s not worth it.”

“No? Thought y’wanted to marry him.”

“He...” she sighed. “He doesn’t like the smalltown life after all,” she shrugged then looked at Harry with a smile. “He doesn’t care about the moon.”

He grinned ever so gently at her. Not quite those secret smiles that he hid from everyone, but it was more than his signature twitch of the lips. “Yeah?”

“I can’t be with someone that doesn’t care about the moon.”

He felt his cheeks warm and was glad the room was dark aside from the glow of the TV. “I never really thought ‘bout the moon until y’rolled into town.”

“No?”

“M’more of a sunrise guy with the diner.”

She smiled. “I like the sun too.”

“The moon is better. Y’can stare at it without hurting y’eyes.”

She giggled. “That’s true.”

“I think ‘bout y’every time I see the moon,” he murmured.

She was closer to him than she ever had been even when he held her the night before and kissed the top of her head. She could feel his breath on her face, and she loved his eyes so much. They were so pretty. “What about when the moon is gone?”

“I think ‘bout the moon in the middle of the day, as soon as I wake up, and as the sun sets.”

She doesn’t know why it was then. Why she didn’t know...how she didn’t know. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. The way he looked at her. The way he always looked at her. Harry was her best friend, and she never thought he loved her beyond that. She thought he only barely tolerated her as a friend. But the look on his face...

“Oh,” she managed. Breathless, her heart pounded. Harry didn’t date. Harry didn’t... love... right? Harry didn’t really love her, did he?

But he did. He told her (albeit, what he thought was her sleeping body). So, she wasn’t supposed to know that. Not really. Maybe he was just saying it because he felt bad for her and how upset she was. But he shook his head and smiled—really, really smiled.

“Peach, y’have m’whole heart,” he shrugged one shoulder as if this wasn’t the biggest deal in the entire world. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said simply. “M’not going anywhere.”

*

She woke up and it was still pitch-black out. With a glance at the clock on her bedside table she found it was only four thirty and she was so awake. Even Harry wouldn’t be awake yet. She didn’t feel sad about Alex. Why was she crying about him yesterday anyway? He wasn’t Harry. He wasn’t someone who anticipated things she needed done and offered to do them before she knew it. Harry thought about her like she was an extension of him, which is exactly how she thought about him. He showed up when she least expected it but he was there.

Her fingers skimmed the moon charm on her necklace. Something she couldn’t stop wearing if her life depended on it. The thought of losing it made her nauseous. It was so comforting to have a piece of Harry with her all the time. How could she think she could marry someone that wasn't him?

Was it too soon? Maybe. But it was a long time coming. Had been for so many years. Harry was hers. Maybe whether he wanted to be or not. Because she loved him from the moment that she met him, and she couldn’t have imagined a more perfect person than him.

Hard pass. You need a nice bubbly guy like you.

Harry wasn’t bubbly. But he was nice, and he was more than perfect.

Suddenly, she was out the door running. Running through the quiet, sleeping town. Did she close her door? Maybe Edith or David would do it for her. She barely stopped when she got to the front of the diner. Harry wasn’t down yet—of course he wasn’t, it wasn’t even five—so she knocked on the door rapidly; peering through the glass waiting for the most perfect man she knew to appear. She could have used the key, but this was important, and Harry needed to open the door.

After what seemed like eternity, Harry came from the back: hurried, no shoes, and still in his sweatpants.

“Peach, what are y’doing? I hate when y’come here this early when s’dark out. On foot. What if someone snuck up and kidnapped you?”

“Oh my God, Harry. Shut up about being kidnapped. Everyone in town knows me.”

He snorted. “S’not good t’run in the near dark—Fine, whatever. Peach, what’s wro—”

She pulled his face to hers and kissed him. For so many years she dreamed of his lips. How soft they would feel, how nice they would feel. It felt electric. He tasted like toothpaste and summer. His skin was warm, and he loved her.

Harry reached down and cupped the back of her thighs, pulling her legs around his hips. She looped her arms around his neck, clinging to him wishing she could get closer somehow. He closed the door to the diner and fiddled with the signs. Opening late. She imagined the sign was being placed in front of the closed sign. Harry kept one arm beneath her butt, supporting her against him as he walked across the diner and placed her on the same stool she sat on each morning.

He brought his hands to her face, sliding his fingers through her hair, his thumbs skimming across her cheeks as he kissed her again. Her mouth was so warm.

“I could hear you talking last night,” she whispered against his skin as his lips moved to her jaw. "During the movie." She had to tell him the truth about some things. Many things. Some things she hadn’t thought about in ages. Some were still fresh. If this was going to work, she needed Harry to know everything.

“I know y’could, Peach,” he hummed quietly and moved across her collarbone, pausing to kiss the moon charm around the chain. His lips started their ascent up the other side of her throat. Her skin felt hot, tingly from head to toe. "Wanted you t'hear."

Her heart ached a little less. “Is this too soon?” She asked.

He shook his head. “Feels like s’been too long,” his kisses worked up the side of her face, skimming every inch of her like he was going to draw her face with kisses on a canvas and he was measuring what that would look like with an outline.

“Harry,” she whispered, shivering slightly. He didn’t respond as his lips were at the top of her head, kissing her hair line. “I’ve... I’ve known your mom passed away... since I moved in. Alice told me the first week I was here.”

Harry paused his kisses. He drew back to look her in the eye. There was a pucker of confusion between his eyebrows, and he looked at her like he had never seen her before. “Y’never said anything,” it wasn’t accusatory. It wasn’t mad. It wasn’t sad. A statement. That’s all he said.

“You clearly didn’t want to talk about it.”

His heart swelled. “Y’never... treated me differently.”

“I never asked about your mom, Harry. You didn’t notice?”

Well, now it seemed so obvious. “No,” he mumbled.

She smiled weakly. “You weren’t ready to tell me.”

“Y’didn’t look at me with pity.”

She shrugged. “You did that in spades.”

He smirked and rubbed his thumb on her lip before he took it between his again. “S’much as I want t’make more memories on this seat, s’going t’get light soon,” he pecked her lips and scooped her back up. There would be someone walking their dog and they would peer in and see something they shouldn’t. “But ‘ve wanted t’kiss y’in this seat for ages,” he assured her. He gripped behind her thighs again rewrapping them around his hips and lifting her into his arms again. He kissed her the entire way down the hall to his little home behind the diner that made his heart hurt for so many years. Now it was filled with peaches. So many sweet memories to take away the hurt.

“Harry,” she whimpered as he nipped at her skin.

“Y’taste so sweet, Peach,” he mumbled into her mouth. She shivered, making Harry squeeze her tighter. Then she smiled against his lips. Her fingers tangled in the back of his hair. She ground her hips against him in a needy fashion that she never imagined she’d ever get to do to him. He groaned softly into her neck kissing a path across her collarbone again. “Easy Peach,” he hummed. “M’pretty... starved for attention.”

She huffed a breath of laughter. “You can have all my attention,” she promised. “I’m not going anywhere, Harry Styles,” she pulled his face back so she could read his eyes. “Ever. I’m going to die on that stool in your diner eating peach and white chocolate chip pancakes when I’m a hundred years old.”

He smiled. That genuine, gorgeous smile that she loved so much but he kept so hidden. “Perfect,” he whispered and captured her lips in his again.

“I’m glad it was a new moon,” she whispered.

“Me too, Peach,” he laid her gently on his bed, stripped his T-shirt over his head. “I needed a new beginning.”

“Hey Harry?” She whispered.

“Hmm?” He pulled his sweatpants off next. Leaning to get them off his legs which left him in the perfect position to kiss the length of her leg, starting with her ankle and working his way up to her hip.

“I love you too. In case it wasn’t obvious at this point.”

He stopped, looked up at her, peering into her eyes like he was going to gaze at her for eternity. “Peach,” he said simply. “I’ll never stop loving you.”

--

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[gifsbysimplysonia]

Hola otra vez! For anyone not familiar with my annoying rambly feedback, ahead there be

This is the end of the first paragraph of the story and it's just so fcking ... like it works SO well for me, it makes me wanna spike a football

it's hard to find places where he's thought of as a stranger. no familiar faces, no conversation, no fuss. just logan, a bottle of whisky and time.

logan had no reason to keep count. until he saw you.

Well, if there's any indication a man is smitten, I'd say it's when he decides to keep counting after 200 years on Earth cuz of YOU *ded*

the bar was busy, as it normally was. he didn't mind it this way, less attention on him, less chances of someone trying to pick a fight with a specific stranger. not that they'd win, but logan had grown too tired for petty fights these days.

It's super interesting to think about Logan in relation to time and age. We just went from him deciding he's got a reason to keep counting the years to him being so tired that he doesn't want to get into petty fights. And as someone who grew up with Logan on the XMen cartoon lol, I know Logan to BE petty. So whilst we can't always think of Logan in terms of age, cuz looking at his appearance can make us forget, to hear that he's so TIRED that he doesn't even wanna squabble up on occasion? Well, that's impactful. The author makes it hit home in this other way and I really like it.

And here's another example of the author getting across to us where Logan is at when we meet him in life:

you're easy on the eyes, especially to these tired old hues that have grown accustomed to staring at the same old walls.

Straight up now we have the word tired, but also old. And not in relation to himself, but what he's got eyes on. It's such a clever thing the author has done here, and I really am appreciative of it.

logan can't let himself look too much, he isn't allowed nice things, especially not pretty little things such as yourself. he's poison, tainting everything he touches, spoiling it. he's experienced enough heartbreak, enough losses for a lifetime and more.

Sad face. This is very in line with the Logan I think most of us know (and adore). Gotta take all the blame, gotta punish yourself, gotta try to protect others from you by denying yourself connections. Wanna hug him.

he wonders if you know most of the tips you receive by the end of the night are from him. you're diligent, you work hard, and you deserve more than the minimum wage you're probably getting.

Also very on brand for Logan. Sees a need, fills the need, but doesn't want credit for it. He's also seeing someone he believes is worthy (and perhaps not in a way he feels he could ever be?) of more so he tries to be the provider.

it's not even lust on his mind either, he just finds himself captivated by your presence. he wonders about your life, your interests, your dreams. . .

And again, we are seeing how smitten he is because the man who has been painted as weary and bored suddenly has questions and wonderings again. That is, in the context of Logan's long a$$ existence, quite magical. But that magic is immediately followed by

though he'd be lying if he said he'd never pictured bending you over against the bar and fucking you senseless. he is an animal, after all.

and it's like

relying on others was a weakness. besides, what would you be to him but just another person he'd lose someday? it wasn't worth it. you weren't worth it. fuck.

"Relying on others was a weakness" is just hella relatable to me, so I key in on that. And then that ire being followed by showing vulnerability by thinking of her as another person he'd lose; Logan's heart has always been huge and you just know he remembers the faces and details of each person he has had to lose and she has that status already. Logan trying to lie to himself with the "not worth it" talk only to have to curse himself cuz he KNOW he's lying is also peak Logan behavior, and once again on a personal level, hiiiiiiiiiiiiiighly relatable lol. I'm always lying to myself about my own feelings.

you were strangers, this was stupid, it was all fucking stupid. but the mind of a lonely old man is a desperate one, and what logan really craves isn't just eye candy.

"Lonely and desperate" self descriptions and Logan referring to himself as "stupid." I'm sure we all wanna shake this old man, right? LOL because when he let's himself think about the truth:

he craves a touch, that first touch that sparks electricity throughout your every nerve ending, causes goosebumps to ripple along the skins surface. he craves something, anything. he was so fucking hungry. always so fucking hungry. a rumbling hunger that starts at the pit of his stomach and gnaws through him like a rabid animal frantically trying to escape a suffocating metal cage. it's a hunger he can't satisfy, he knows he can't satisfy. but he'd been alone so long.

It's connection, and it's gnawing at him. Loneliness is a helluva thing, and I think a lot of us know this. But this author is shining in the way she is describing it for us, outside of the usual age/years gone by methods. Tired, lonely, and now ravenous. And while we are in the space of a more spiritual hunger, here, it so easily slides right back to physical as well because he's thinking about a woman and wonders

surely one bite couldn't hurt?

Me literally screaming into my pumpkin pillow cuz I'm like NO IT COULDN'T LOGAN, GO GET HERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR cuz I know what's gonna follow is gonna be liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.

switching bars wasn't particularly appealing to him, but it was better than having to look at you and feel that familiar ache.

The self loathing and denial is top tier Logan. He will inconvenience and punish himself just as long as it's in line with denying himself cuz he just "doesn't deserve it." Siiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.

Logan then proceeds to go drain the snake before he beings his newest self inflicted penance, but she comes in to clean the bathrooms thinking they were empty.

Gurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrl lol

your eyes lock on one another for just a split second before you quickly busy yourself with the mop again. but that split second was enough. it was enough to notice how you were looking at him.

HOW WAS SHE LOOKING AT YOU, LOGAN?!?! It's funny how if it was almost any other man, I'd snort and be like, sure buddy. But it's Logan so I have ZERO issue believing whatever he saw in her eyes let her know she DOES indeed know him and want ... well, something.

you lean back against the bathroom stall divider, eyes drifting across logan's figure. he was tall, big. this is the first time you're really able to look at him, to study the features of his face. this time he's not hiding behind a glass or a bottle.

How interesting to see the contrast of her view of Logan because while he's always looking at her and sworn that he never caught her looking his way, she's letting us know she has definitely looked his way enough to notice he was a man in hiding. And she actually acted respectfully to respect that and not ogle him, which bummed Logan out lol.

the hunger in his gaze is obvious, but it's dulled, like he's just barely holding back. you think he looks lonely, there's a distinct air about him that practically screams that he needs to be touched.

Oof, she's intuitive! So she SEES what he needs and seems to be quite willing to, ahem, deliver for him but WILL HE LET HER is the big question.

logan pushes himself from the sink and approaches you slowly. was he really doing this? after a month of pining and longing for you, a stranger in a bar, was he really going to give in to his desires? would you let him? the lust was clear in your eyes and he knew he was reflecting it right back tenfold.

you eye the stranger who's been watching you, tipping you. of course you've noticed, you'd have to be pretty stupid or oblivious not to. you've come to expect him at each shift, but his presence intrigued you more than the other regulars. not just because he was more handsome, considerably more handsome. no, it was those sad eyes that seemed to say a million words while his mouth remained firmly shut that had you curious. even now as he stands before you so silent you could hear a pin drop, when you look into his eyes you can feel a sea of words brewing.

I do so love the fact that she's intuitive, curious and sees beyond the big burly handsome cover. He never speaks but look at his eyes and boy, are there a thousand stories waiting to be told. And it's the SAME WAY in the present with her. Liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiike, it's about to go off.

oh how you wanted to open him up, to peer inside behind that rough exterior, to take a peek behind the facade. you're sure you're easier to read than he is.

Again, I love that this goes beyond physical with her and that she's genuinely intrigued by him and by what probably most others don't see in Logan.

"i've seen you, you know," you mumble bravely, "looking at me." logan doesn't seem surprised, he brings a hand up to hold your chin, turning your face from side to side to get a proper look at you now that he has you up close. "yeah?" "yeah," you reply shakily, "thought i was imagining it at first. but by the second night it was obvious." he smirks, so he's not as subtle as he thinks.

No because how is he the King of Self Denial but somehow automatically is giving Dom the first time he approaches a woman he means to get to know? Not even embarrassing at being caught at his blatant perusal of her. SIR.

logan grips your wrists, not the suit. he wasn't talking about that now, he had to shut you up.

When I tell you this BROKE me. King of Self Inflicted Penance. I stg. And it's quite the conundrum to be going through an emotional gut punch when it's immediately followed up with

he leans in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss as his strong hands keep a firm grip on your wrists. you submit, leaning back against the cubicle divider as you let him slip his tongue into your mouth.

and we know it is OFF TO THE RACES!!!

"taste so fuckin' sweet," he mumbles against your lips, kissing you between words, "you do this often? let men kiss you in the bathroom?" you mumble a 'no' under your breath, ". . . just the ones who tip good," you grin.

OH SH!T, WE HAVE HAN AND LEIA BANTER! They are my OTP so I'm always gonna call a combative in love couple that, but this dynamic is MY JAM and I love that what we seem to have here is a clearly dominant male with a bratty female. I am in Heaven lol

logan feels himself chuckling, biting your lower lip. oh, he liked you.

WE DO TOO, LOGAN!

his hand travels upwards, finding purchase around your neck. you gasp in response, moaning. he eagerly swallows your moan with his mouth, drowning out any sound that threatens to escape.

Always a trip when I am personally attacked by a fic lmaoooooooooo

he kisses you like a man starved, like he'd devour you if you let him. and you would, you think, if it felt this good.

"shhh, shhh," he whispers against your lips, "feel good? i know it feels good, but you gotta stay nice and quiet."

I want to diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiie at the giving of instructions and reminder that, HEY WE ARE IN PUBLIC but we are absolutely NOT stopping.

"you wanted this just as much as i did, huh?" he growls into your ear, "need it, need me to fuck you."

Excellent dirty taaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalk

he nods against the side of your cheek, his stubble scratching against your soft skin, "there we go, attagirl. . ."

And he praises? *dies again*

"yeah i am," logan smirks, he knows he's big, and he knows exactly how to use it. you just have time to gasp before you feel one of his hands connect harshly with your skin, the sound ringing out in the small bathroom of the bar.

"you've been thinkin' about this since you started your shift," logan says confidently, his words confirmed by how you drip around him, "thought about me fillin' you up, nice and full?"

I once again must mention top tier dirty talk!

and fuck does it make him harder to know that you've thought about this just as much as he has.

Once again, Logan's vulnerability is illustrated here because it's very human and natural to WANT TO BE WANTED so that it's exciting for him makes all the sense.

he knows if he lets you look at him, look up at him for too long, he'll lose it. he can't have your soft eyes on him while he fucks you, he doesn't deserve it.

*shakes him* He's still so Logan. Trying to convince himself again he is just not worthy. But I also do this to myself which is no doubt why I key on it, mention it, react to it. That just means the author is striking a chord with me and isn't that what we want? To feel resonance and know we are not alone in our experiences?

because he can't describe the shame that swirls in his stomach, that this is how he relieves himself, a quick fuck in a bar. this dirty older man who's seen so much sin, perpetuated sin with his own hands, who longed for the young pretty little thing in the bar. logan doesn't deserve nice things, this he knows.

It's a jarring feeling to be really into some hot smut and then have there be an intermission of this caliber. Cuz again, we are seeing into Logan's heart and his internal self who just screams and screams about not being worthy. And it's so painful and wretched for us as an audience cuz we KNOW it's not true and we just wish HE WOULD SEE IT.

you can't help but smirk, mouth stuck open as you moan softly, he likes it when you talk to him during, huh?

Even in her blissful state, she is noticing what he likes and trying to provide that for him and I love her for considering him and being thoughtful with him. HE doesn't think he deserves it, but we readers know that he absolutely does so it's sweetness in this midst of lust and shows us that she cares beyond whatever is happening now in this bathroom.

Y'all NEED to go read this cuz the smut is rough but because of the well established connection the author built between these two, it's very intimate despite the circumstances which don't necessarily lend themselves to anything other than a "quickie." Because of what's going on between these two and how well laid out that is for us, we know that the reason this is so rough and intimate is BECAUSE it's not meant for just here and now. But will Logan allow anything more?

standing on trembling legs, you lean up, giving him a surprisingly soft kiss. your hands take over his, helping him back into his jeans, zipping them up, clasping the buttons together and buckling his belt. all the while your lips are on his, slowly, passionately intertwining together.

And again, I love her for her thoughtfulness. She's being soft and tender with him. I'm not sure if it's a conscious effort to keep him from screwing things up (by trying to now brush her off) or if it's just naturally who she is and giving into her instinct to want to be gentle with him and keep him close. Either way, I love love love this moment.

". . . does that count as your tip for the night?" you joke with a smirk, hoping to see a flash of his smile again, hoping to alleviate some of that shame he's carrying.

Adore her for infusing humor into the situation and wanting to bring light back into his eyes. Whoever is going to be with Logan needs to have a sense of humor and give him as good as he gives.

the shame seems to settle, begins to dissipate. it feels less like satisfying an urge and more like. . . exploring something new. his eyes drift back to you.

Is Logan ACTUALLY going to give this thing a chance, and more importantly, HIMSELF a chance?!?!

I hate to quote too much in a story, especially an ending becuase I WANT PEOPLE TO GO READ FOR THEMSELVES but I need @silverskyeline to know that the last 3 paragraphs of this piece are SO FCKING GOOD.

The breakthrough and revelation he has, the tentative willingness to let himself release a burden and not self flagellate? OMGGGGGGGGGGG. Literally all the applause and bravo on this amazing piece. I really really fcking enjoyed it and am so grateful to you for creating and sharing.

It's really a wonderful character analysis or look at who Logan is, the person he think he has to be, with some hot smut that actually isn't a pause in the narrative but continues the throughline of exploring who he is and what he thinks he deserves and how he's giving himself permission to be a man again. I just ... I love this so so much. Thank you again.

'hunger' 18+

worst!wolverine x f!reader (3.9k words) summary: logan can't tear his mind away from the new barmaid at his usual haunt. he tries to resist you, he really does. but when you're both alone in the bathroom, he finds he's not the only one plagued with filthy thoughts. tags: for the 'longing' prompt for logan promptober, set in the bar from the movie, kind of angsty, filthy, pent up logan, alcohol consumption, doggy style, creampie, biting, light choking, pinning wrists, hair pulling, spanking, rough sex, implied age gap, sweet ending.

his usual haunts offer comfort, safe nests tucked away down isolated roads, usually requiring quite the drive to find - it's hard to find places where he's thought of as a stranger. no familiar faces, no conversation, no fuss. just logan, a bottle of whisky and time.

time spent staring into the grain of the old wood on the bar wondering how the fuck he ended up here. he'd stopped keeping count a long time ago, how long he'd been around, been alive. things get kind of hazy after two hundred years. logan had no reason to keep count.

until he saw you.

the bar was busy, as it normally was. he didn't mind it this way, less attention on him, less chances of someone trying to pick a fight with a specific stranger. not that they'd win, but logan had grown too tired for petty fights these days.

he's sat at the bar when the bartender clocks off, switching with someone new, someone he'd never seen before. you walk in and his eyes immediately scan your face, your build, your outfit. it's a habit of his, one he hoped he'd grow out of - but logan has learned that he'll never stop assessing for new threats. it's just in his dna.

but what he finds isn't a threat.

you're easy on the eyes, especially to these tired old hues that have grown accustomed to staring at the same old walls. he drags his eyes back down to his glass like he's forcing himself to look down the barrel of a gun rather than looking at you, before settling on you once more.

logan can't let himself look too much, he isn't allowed nice things, especially not pretty little things such as yourself. he's poison, tainting everything he touches, spoiling it. he's experienced enough heartbreak, enough losses for a lifetime and more.

. . . but what harm can looking do?

a few weeks pass, logan notices you're in every few nights from now on, must have been put on the regular rota. he wonders if you know most of the tips you receive by the end of the night are from him. you're diligent, you work hard, and you deserve more than the minimum wage you're probably getting.

you've never noticed him, or at least, he's never caught you looking in his direction. but he finds himself craving it, willing your eyes to meet his even for a second. the extent of your interactions have been sliding a glass or a bottle in his direction before continuing with your other duties.

it's not even lust on his mind either, he just finds himself captivated by your presence. he wonders about your life, your interests, your dreams. . . though he'd be lying if he said he'd never pictured bending you over against the bar and fucking you senseless.

he is an animal, after all.

he wonders if he should switch bars just to distance himself. he couldn't let himself become comfortable with the idea of you. relying on others was a weakness. besides, what would you be to him but just another person he'd lose someday? it wasn't worth it. you weren't worth it.

fuck.

logan curses himself under his breath for even having this internal debate. you were strangers, this was stupid, it was all fucking stupid. but the mind of a lonely old man is a desperate one, and what logan really craves isn't just eye candy. he craves a touch, that first touch that sparks electricity throughout your every nerve ending, causes goosebumps to ripple along the skins surface. he craves something, anything.

he was so fucking hungry. always so fucking hungry. a rumbling hunger that starts at the pit of his stomach and gnaws through him like a rabid animal frantically trying to escape a suffocating metal cage. it's a hunger he can't satisfy, he knows he can't satisfy. but he'd been alone so long.

surely one bite couldn't hurt?

no, he finds himself shaking his head as he stands from the bar. he'd take a leak, and leave early. it'd only been a month since he first saw you, he could get over this. switching bars wasn't particularly appealing to him, but it was better than having to look at you and feel that familiar ache.

the bathroom door swings open and he walks inside, situating himself at one of the urinals. a few moments later, the door swings open again, logan doesn't bother to look over.

"oh, thought these were empty, sorry."

his head turns quickly. it's you, mop in hand. there's an uncomfortable silence that follows.

speak, fucking speak. "it's fine."

you pause, then nod a little and begin mopping the floor.

his eyes are back on the urinal, swallowing hard. was this really going to be your first conversation? with his eyes glaring into old porcelain, dick in his hand? he tries not to picture you stealing glances at him, but he can't help it. is that what he wants?

maybe.

finishing up, he quickly makes his way over to the sinks, pushing his hands under the cool water and rubbing with soap. his eyes flit up to the mirror. and he catches you.

your eyes lock on one another for just a split second before you quickly busy yourself with the mop again.

but that split second was enough. it was enough to notice how you were looking at him.

"all done," you say with a sigh after a few moments, standing straight and gripping the mop but making no effort to leave just yet.

logan eyes you in the mirror, watches how your eyes dance across the room before inevitably landing on him again. he turns to face you, noting the distance between you both in the room.

you lean back against the bathroom stall divider, eyes drifting across logan's figure. he was tall, big. this is the first time you're really able to look at him, to study the features of his face. this time he's not hiding behind a glass or a bottle.

the hunger in his gaze is obvious, but it's dulled, like he's just barely holding back. you think he looks lonely, there's a distinct air about him that practically screams that he needs to be touched.

you rest your mop against the wall, "you're in here often." you state, it's not a question.

"guess i'm a regular," he replies curtly.

swallowing hard, you continue, "i noticed. i always have to restock the whisky when you come by."

logan pushes himself from the sink and approaches you slowly. was he really doing this? after a month of pining and longing for you, a stranger in a bar, was he really going to give in to his desires? would you let him? the lust was clear in your eyes and he knew he was reflecting it right back tenfold.

"i like a drink." he says with a subtle shrug, just a step away now, eyes never leaving yours.

a small smile tugs at your lips, "i know."

you're not sure what you're really doing. you're supposed to be on shift, designated five minutes to clean the bathrooms. five minutes you'd much rather spend doing someone something else.

you eye the stranger who's been watching you, tipping you. of course you've noticed, you'd have to be pretty stupid or oblivious not to. you've come to expect him at each shift, but his presence intrigued you more than the other regulars. not just because he was more handsome, considerably more handsome.

no, it was those sad eyes that seemed to say a million words while his mouth remained firmly shut that had you curious. even now as he stands before you so silent you could hear a pin drop, when you look into his eyes you can feel a sea of words brewing.

oh how you wanted to open him up, to peer inside behind that rough exterior, to take a peek behind the facade. you're sure you're easier to read than he is.

you're not sure when or how it happened, but he's right in front of you now, his body almost touching yours. you look up at him with a feigned innocent look.

"i've seen you, you know," you mumble bravely, "looking at me."

logan doesn't seem surprised, he brings a hand up to hold your chin, turning your face from side to side to get a proper look at you now that he has you up close. "yeah?"

"yeah," you reply shakily, "thought i was imagining it at first. but by the second night it was obvious."

he smirks, so he's not as subtle as he thinks.

your hands snake down, finding his belt buckle and brazingly begin to unbuckle it. he watches you, eyes fixated on the way your fingers move. he swears he's about to start drooling. but then you move, hands winding up to the buttons on his shirt. you splay your hands across the fabric, eyes widening when you feel what's underneath.

"are you. . . is that-"

logan grips your wrists, not the suit. he wasn't talking about that now, he had to shut you up. he leans in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss as his strong hands keep a firm grip on your wrists. you submit, leaning back against the cubicle divider as you let him slip his tongue into your mouth.

he moans, relishing the taste of you, the taste he's thought about for so fucking long. he brings your hands up, pinning them above your head, shifting his grip so one hand easily pins your wrists, leaving his other hand free.

his free hand plants firmly across your upper chest, the rough pads of his fingers brushing against your collarbone as he explores your mouth with his tongue. you're lost in the sensation, knees going weak as you allow the older man to have his way with you. he needs this, you know it.

"taste so fuckin' sweet," he mumbles against your lips, kissing you between words, "you do this often? let men kiss you in the bathroom?"

you mumble a 'no' under your breath, ". . . just the ones who tip good," you grin.

logan feels himself chuckling, biting your lower lip. oh, he liked you. his hand travels upwards, finding purchase around your neck. you gasp in response, moaning. he eagerly swallows your moan with his mouth, drowning out any sound that threatens to escape.

the kiss grows in intensity, you wonder how long it's been since he's kissed someone. he kisses you like a man starved, like he'd devour you if you let him. and you would, you think, if it felt this good.

his hand on your neck gives a gentle squeeze before running down your torso, palming at your jeans suddenly. you try to whimper in pleasure, but he's silencing you with his lips again.

"shhh, shhh," he whispers against your lips, "feel good? i know it feels good, but you gotta stay nice and quiet." logan can feel the material of your jeans begin to damp and he resists the urge to growl, feeling the way the fabric beneath gives way.

you nod, whispering small affirmatives as he touches you through the material. "just give me more," you whine.

and that spurs him on. in a flash he's pushing you into the stall, stealing a few more kisses where he can before he turns you, pushing your back against his chest. his lips find your neck, pressing hot open-mouthed kisses along the skin he finds there.

you're like putty in his hands, melting back against him as his hand returns to your crotch, rough hands massaging circles against your clothed core. you resist a moan, exhaling shakily instead as you let him use you.

"you wanted this just as much as i did, huh?" he growls into your ear, "need it, need me to fuck you."

you nod quickly as you feel his lips curve into a smirk against your skin.

"yeah, thought so," he nibbles on your earlobe, breathing deeply through his nose as he tries to steady himself, preserve the moment. but how can he when you feel this good beneath his fingers, taste this good on his tongue? "tell me you want it."

"want you to fuck me," you whimper almost immediately, suddenly feeling so very needy. there's a hot ache growing between your legs, one you're desperate for him to fill.

logan laughs, "you can do better than that, honey, know you can."

"please," your voice cracks and you swallow back moans as you squirm beneath his touch, "please fuck me-" it becomes apparent to you at that moment that you don't even know his name. your cheeks flush at the thought of letting this stranger, this older man fuck you in the bar bathroom, but actually, you kind of like it that way.

he nods against the side of your cheek, his stubble scratching against your soft skin, "there we go, attagirl. . ."

with that, he pushes you forward, forcing your hands onto the tank of the toilet to support yourself as he bends you over. his hands find your waist, his hips connecting with yours and slowly grinding his very apparent, large bulge against you.

you let out a whimper, arching your back a little at the sudden contact.

"feel that?" he mumbles, guiding your hips to grind back against him, "feel what you do to me?"

a gasp, "fuck, you're big." you can already tell, the way his bulge is pressing against you, demanding to be felt. you swear you can almost feel it throb through the material.

"yeah i am," logan smirks, he knows he's big, and he knows exactly how to use it.

pulling back slightly, he roughly pulls your jeans down, practically manhandling you, your underwear disappearing with it. he grabs handfuls of your ass before kneading the skin. "look at that, pretty little ass, all for me."

you just have time to gasp before you feel one of his hands connect harshly with your skin, the sound ringing out in the small bathroom of the bar. "f-fuck!" you whine, feeling the sharp sting, knowing there's a bright red imprint in the shape of his large palm on your ass.

there's some jingling, the sound of his belt being moved out of the way, a zipper. you prepare yourself, or at least you try to, but his cock is already slapping against your backside before you have time to steady your hazy mind.

"you gonna take all of me?" he asks, biting his lip as his aching length slaps against your skin, "think you can?"

you nod quickly, looking over your shoulder at him, "mhm!"

"if you say so. . ." he smirks and positions himself, one hand on your hip and one aiming his cock at your tight little hole.

then, all at once he's sinking in. you gasp, he gasps. and fuck, he is big. you feel that sweet stretch, his cock throbbing against your tight walls as it slowly glides inside. you're whining as it slowly fills you, eyes rolling back at the sensation. but he pulls out a little, only to push back in again.

he's working you up just right, mesmerised by the way you take his cock. his eyes are fixed on your tight hole begging him to enter, loving the slick sound as it pushes inside.

"you've been thinkin' about this since you started your shift," logan says confidently, his words confirmed by how you drip around him, "thought about me fillin' you up, nice and full?"

despite the way your cheeks flush bright red, you can't deny it. you've thought about it more than once, fantasised about it in bed, hoping that one day that stranger from the bar would fuck you so good you forget your own name.

you don't need to reply either, because he knows. he knows from the way your wet hole flutters around him, and fuck does it make him harder to know that you've thought about this just as much as he has. he begins to pump into you at a leisurely pace, firm hands on your hips.

"holy fuck, so fuckin' tight," logan grumbles, his deep slow strokes hitting you deep as he bottoms out inside of you.

you try to turn your head, to look up at him, but he grasps the back of your hair, pushing your head down. "nu-uh, keep that head down."

he knows if he lets you look at him, look up at him for too long, he'll lose it. he can't have your soft eyes on him while he fucks you, he doesn't deserve it. he'll take you, just like this, with your head down and your ass up and his cock buried deep inside you.

because he can't describe the shame that swirls in his stomach, that this is how he relieves himself, a quick fuck in a bar. this dirty older man who's seen so much sin, perpetuated sin with his own hands, who longed for the young pretty little thing in the bar. logan doesn't deserve nice things, this he knows.

you feel his thrusts grow rougher, your legs slipping apart as you attempt to hold yourself up, hands planted firmly on the tank of the toilet. you're squeaking softly with each pump, feeling him use you to release his pent-up frustrations. and it felt so fucking good.

with his firm grip on your hair tightening by the second and his other large hand digging into your hip, you begin to bounce back against his motions, sending him even deeper. you both moan in sync with the feeling and you pant softly, cheeks flushing further at the soft 'plap plap plap' of his hips connecting with you, the sound reverberating around the small cubicle.

"that feels so fucking good," you sing, closing your eyes. logan gives a particularly hard thrust, speed picking up. you can't help but smirk, mouth stuck open as you moan softly, he likes it when you talk to him during, huh? "keep fuckin' me, just like that, so good. . ."

he groans, wrapping your hair around his fist as he relentlessly pounds into you. harder and harder, deeper and deeper, you're sure you'll have bruises littered over your body before the day is through.

"harder!" you cry, feeling your legs tremble. you're not gonna last long like this, and by the way his cock is twitching inside of you, he isn't either. "i'm gonna cum, you're gonna make me fuckin' cum!"

another groan slips from his lips, gritting his teeth as he uses you, watching you take his throbbing cock beneath him. "look so pretty like this, bent over, takin' what i fuckin- shit. . . takin' what i give you."

your body grows hotter, sweat forming on your forehead, each impact pushing you forward roughly. you're really not gonna last long.

he begins to hunch over, his chest flush with your back as he huffs against your neck, fucking you like a rabid animal. you're squealing now, the pleasure swirling in your lower stomach, threatening to send you crashing into bliss. at this point, you don't fucking care if someone walks in and finds you like this, sees his feet planted behind yours underneath the stall. in fact, the thought of the risk sends a bolt straight to your gut.

"yes yes yes," you mutter, feeling your orgasm approaching steadily. you swear you can feel him in your guts. you begin to flutter around him, begging for release, knowing it's going to completely destroy you.

logan can't even form words, just grunts slipping from his lips against the side of your neck. and then he feels it, his cock twitches, his mind reeling with the imminent release. he needs this, oh he fucking needs this.

he bites down on your neck, teeth sinking in slightly as he feels himself release deep inside you, his cum spilling out in strong waves. you feel your knees buckle, but a strong hand planted on your tummy helps keep you upright as he fucks his release deeper into you.

the animalistic nature of his thrusts combined with the sensation of his hot cum painting your insides sends you flying over the edge, your orgasm milking him as you clamp around his aching cock. he slams his hand against the stall wall with a loud metallic bang, splaying his fingers across the metal as if to ground himself as his thrusts falter.

his tongue lazily licks the indents of his bite mark against your neck, groans easing their way from the back of his throat. you can hardly catch your breath, legs still shaking from such an intense release. it's hard to think straight with his dick still buried deep inside, feeling it twitch with every aftershock.

you both stay like that for a solid minute, panting, coming down together. he's planting soft kisses along your neck as your breath slowly comes back to you.

he pulls out, stepping back as he stuffs himself into his jeans. you collapse onto the toilet seat, shakily pulling your jeans and underwear back up as you look up at him. it's clear he's looking to leave, a distant look in his eye, maybe a little shame creeping into his features.

standing on trembling legs, you lean up, giving him a surprisingly soft kiss. your hands take over his, helping him back into his jeans, zipping them up, clasping the buttons together and buckling his belt. all the while your lips are on his, slowly, passionately intertwining together.

you pull back, buttoning your own jeans as you continue to look up at him. ". . . does that count as your tip for the night?" you joke with a smirk, hoping to see a flash of his smile again, hoping to alleviate some of that shame he's carrying.

and there it is, a small smirk on his lips as he glances away. "maybe."

the shame seems to settle, begins to dissipate. it feels less like satisfying an urge and more like. . . exploring something new. his eyes drift back to you.

"i'll see you tomorrow?" you ask, tilting your head.

he blinks, suddenly remembering time exists outside this small space seemingly crafted just for the two of you. "yeah," he says, quietly.

"good," you pat his chest before moving past him, leaving the stall. you stand, looking back at him. a beat, "or, you can meet me after my shift ends?"

his eyes widen, taken aback. fuck, had he forgotten how to do this? his eyes flit to the side, before making up his mind. he gives a firm nod.

you smile before leaving him in the bathroom, returning to the bar through the door.

logan stands there for a few moments, running his fingers through his hair. he smooths down his shirt, feeling the suit beneath, a stark reminder always of his past.

but maybe he could begin to take a few steps forward. maybe he deserves more than to suffer forever, forced to keep everyone at arm's length. maybe he could allow himself this small happiness, a date, or whatever this was.

maybe it was time to satisfy his hunger, his loneliness, for good.

[burningembers91]

The Shape of You - Park Gyeong-Seok x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Follow up piece to

Loving You From Afar

Synopsis: When babysitting Na-Yeon, you discover one of Park Gyeong-Seok’s secrets.

You were looking after Na-Yeon when you found the drawings. One of her Barbie’s shoes had fallen down the side of the sofa, and as you leaned down to retrieve it, you felt the wads of paper stuff between the sofa and wall. Pulling them onto your lap, you were shocked to see at least a dozen drawings and paintings of you. There were ones of your whole body, ones of just your face, ones where you were laughing, and one where you were staring off into the distance. You had no idea Gyeong-Seok had been drawing you, had no idea why he’d kept these hidden. You’d never thought of yourself as particularly beautiful and yet he’d managed to capture you in the most stunning light. He was out until late evening, taking on some extra work as an art teacher in a local night school, but you needed to find out why he drawn you so many times and then hidden them away.

You fed Na-Yeon and read her to sleep, before settling back on the sofa with the pictures. Gyeong-Seok had captured you so perfectly, had painted you in a light you’d never seen yourself in. you couldn’t stop looking at the images in front of you, wondering if this was how he saw you. You so looked so confident, so sure of yourself and so naturally beautiful. You tried comparing your reflection to the drawing but somehow, Gyeong-Seok had managed to capture you better than a mirror ever could.

The TV was down low when he arrived home. He’d has such a great evening, and there had even been talk of giving him a more permanent position. It would mean more money for him and Na-Yeon, more money to maybe finally take you out on a date. He stopped dead when he saw you, still clutching the drawings he thought he’d hidden so carefully.

“I…” He stood dumbstruck as you held them up to him.

“These are really good,” you smiled. “I had no idea.”

“I…” Again, Gyeong-Seok seemed unable to form words, the embarrassment creeping up his face like a red-hot poker. You weren’t meant to see those drawings; he never should have made them.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, “I look… you’ve made me look more beautiful than I’ve ever felt before.”

“I was just painting you how I see you,” he shrugged, shifting his bag from his shoulder to the rickety kitchen table.

“But I look so beautiful,” you whispered, still unable to believe that you were the person depicted on the pages.

“Well,” he said quietly, so quietly you barely heard him. “It’s because you are. You are beautiful.”

You both stood staring at each other, both wondering what came next. He wanted to kiss you so badly, to show you that you were so much more beautiful than you ever gave yourself credit for. You both slowly closed the gap between you, the air buzzing with the growing tension.

“Say it again,” you whispered, your eyes fixed on him.

“You are beautiful,” he replied. “And funny, and kind, and so good to me and Na-Yeon.”

You were mere inches apart now, your faces so close he could see the specks of colour dotted in your irises. “You are so beautiful,” he repeated, his hand coming to rest gingerly on your cheek.

His lips met yours, soft and sweet, both of you testing the water. This felt so good, so right, and neither of you could believe you’d denied yourselves this happiness for so long. His fingers caressed your neck, your arms entwining round his waist as you deepened the kiss, the tips of your tongues meeting as you explored one another. Gyeong-Seok wanted you, needed you. He needed to feel every inch of your skin, needed to hear you moan his name as he fucked you. He led you gently to his threadbare sofa, never once breaking your kiss. But it was you who gently pushed him down into the pillows. It was you who straddled him, removing his checkered shirt as your lips traced the sweet contours of his neck. You’d thought about fucking him right here on this very sofa more times that you could count. Gyeong-Seok had so much pent-up stress inside of him, and you were dying to release it. There would be time to explore each other properly; right now, you both just needed to quell the deep aches between your legs.

Pushing him down further into the cushions, you removed his faded grey t-shirt, giggling quietly as he helped remove your sweater. You looked so perfect in the dim light of the TV, your curves more perfect than he ever could have imagined. His torso was toned, his arms surprisingly strong as he manoeuvred your body on top of his. He heard the sound of his jeans unzipping, felt your hand dip into his underwear and gently grip his cock. He had to clamp his hand over his mouth to supress the moan that fell from his lips. It had been so long since anyone had touched him like this, and he’d forgotten how good it felt. You bit back another giggle, hopping off the sofa to fully remove his jeans. As you pulled down your skirt and underwear, Gyeong-Seok looked up at you from his reclined position on the sofa. Reaching his hand up, his slid his fingers ever so gently through your slick folds. Now it was your turn to supress a moan as he slipped two fingers inside you. You were so wet, so perfect and he smiled as you shivered against his touch. You couldn’t bare it any longer; you needed each other.

You climbed on top of him, lowering yourself down on his hard cock, your lips meeting in a crashing kiss as you desperately sought to subdue your moans. You moved against each other, Gyeong-Seok’s hips thrusting into you in the sweetest of rhythms. His hands traced your stomach, your breasts, his fingers tracing delicate circles over your flushed skin. he felt you shudder against him as you reached your peak, your teeth grazing his lower lip in quiet ecstasy. He wasn’t far behind you, his hands gripping your hips as he spilled himself inside of you.

you stayed with him that night, cuddled up on the sofa bed with the threadbare fabric and the broken springs. Gyeong-Seok held you as you slept, the scent of your perfume already staining his sheets. Tomorrow, he would ask you out for that cup of coffee. Tomorrow, he would finally ask out the girl he’d fallen in love with.

[baambastic]

“Drake,” Damian announced, “I require your presence at an outing this afternoon.”

“‘Hello, Tim, how are you?’ ‘I’m good, Damian, and how about you? Did you need something?’ It’s usually considered polite not to walk in and immediately make demands of people, Damian,” Tim replied from where he was hunched over his keyboard. He didn’t look over at his unexpected visitor, but he bet the brat was rolling his eyes.

“Whatever. Will you do it or not?”

Tim hummed. “Depends on what this ‘outing’ is. And why you didn’t ask Bruce or Dick to take you.”

“Father and Grayson are both imbeciles,” Damian huffed.

“They’re too busy today, you mean?”

“I meant what I said. Are you an imbecile like they are?”

“Again, you haven’t told me what it is you want to do.”

“Fine,” Damian grumbled. “Colin has asked me to do something called an ‘escape room’ with him. It sounded mildly diverting, so I looked into it. There’s a recently opened establishment for such an activity, but we need four people to participate.”

“And you want me to be one of those four,” Tim concluded. He pushed himself away from the computer. “I’ve got time, so sure, I’ll come with. Two things, though.” He paused for dramatic effect.

Damian crossed his arms impatiently. “Yes?”

Tim grinned. “First, who’s this Colin?”

“An acquaintance. He assisted me in apprehending Victor Zsasz not long ago.”

“Is he around your age?”

“Approximately.”

Was he some sort of meta, then? How else would a (presumably untrained) kid be able to handle Zsasz? Tim decided to file that away for later inspection. At least it sounded like Damian was making friends. He definitely needed some. “Alright then, second thing. You said you needed four people. Even with me, you only have three. Who’s your fourth?”

Damian looked away. “I… hadn’t gotten that far yet.” Was that embarrassment Tim heard in his voice? Damian was usually too proud for that.

“Okay, not a problem. I can wrangle us another person.” If the person he was thinking of could make it, both Damian and them could get a lot out of this. Hurrah for two birds with one escape-room-shaped stone.

“Very well. Colin and I will be waiting outside for you. I presume this fourth person will meet us at the establishment?”

“Probably, yeah. Did you really leave Colin on my doorstep?”

“He did not want to enter, I would say because he thought he might be unwelcome. A stupid notion; you are far too trusting.”

“Thanks,” Tim said drily. He waved towards the door. “Alright, lemme make this call.”

Damian nodded and walked away. Before fully exiting the room, though, he turned back to Tim. “What are you working on, anyway?” he asked.

Tim hummed. “Nothing much. Just preparing.” He didn’t offer any further explanation. After a few moments of waiting expectantly, Damian huffed and left.

[myownwholewildworld]

Love is heartbreak

↪ a the age of adaline inspired fic

pairing: marcus acacius x ageless!f!reader. summary: kissed by the goddess juno on your day of reckoning, you are brought back to life, condemned to wander the earth for a century. until you meet the other half of your soul who offers you the life you yearn for. but will you be strong enough to accept such promise? author's note: yes, i've cheated on my other wips, I'M SORRY. but when the angst and romance call, i can only answer - i am only human afterall. hope you like this little story that was supposed to be a drabble but ended up being this long, oops! comments and reblogs appreciated. enjoy! x warnings: 18+, mdni. soulmates trope. angst, romance, smut. mild breeding kink (soz). infidelity. mention of SA (not by Marcus) and death. dual pov. reader is female and a blank slate. reader is close to 150 years old (stopped ageing in her twenties) and Marcus is in his fifties. not beta'd and very lightly proofread, apologies if you spot any mistakes lol wordcount: ~8.4k. divider by @\saradika-graphics

“I’ll do anything to stay by your side, amica mea (my beloved). I don’t care about what the future holds if it’s not with you,” Marcus’ broad hands held yours, his thumb drawing invisible circles on the back of your hands.

You hated this — how your heart twisted inside you, torn apart by the choice you had to make. Was this never-ending life not enough punishment? No, you also had to go through heartbreak — your own and Marcus’. For love, you had to.

With eyes averted, you looked down at your worn sandals. Tears teetering on the edge of your waterlines as your vision became blurry with sadness, regrets and fears washed over you like the Tiber kissing the shore goodbye.

In your hundred years wandering the ground beneath your feet, you never had to go through this. Always so careful not to feel, not to grow close to anyone, not to really live the life you wanted, and now you were in a position where it almost felt too real.

Within reach — you only had to extend your hands and hug him in a tight, soothing embrace. Only needed to accept the life that Marcus was offering. Though as much as you wanted to—you wanted it, him, so badly—you could never.

And what was worst, you couldn’t explain why. First you would see the horror in his eyes, that frightened look glittering, then incomprehension, and finally disgust. Your heart couldn’t take it.

“But I do care, Marcus. Yours is bright, your military career is about to take off. I would only hinder you, your dreams. I am no one, and—” you tried to reason with him.

But love was blind. Love was deaf. Love didn’t care about impossibilities, because love was defiant.

At least his was.

“Do you think I care about being disowned? Do you truly believe that I would choose such dreadful life over you? Over a wonderful life with the person I love most?” Marcus squeezed your hands before one of his found your chin, tilting up your face to him. “Omnia vincit amor, et nos cedamus amori (love conquers all, let us too yield to love).”

You shook your head in denial, his words ringing in your ears like chants of war. Because Marcus waged war in all aspects of life, even in love — he’d conquered your heart so fully, you’d never asked him to return it. It would forever be his to cherish, to cry over, to destroy, to hate.

Because he would need to hate you to overcome the heartbreak you were about to cause.

“You don’t have a choice here. You are to marry the lady your family has arranged for; her family’s prestige will do you good. You’re just infatuated, Marcus, it isn’t true love,” you forced yourself to let a soft laugh out, wiping your tears as you took a step back. “At least, for me, it isn’t.”

Marcus’ expression folded and your heart with him. You hated yourself for saying such a vile lie, but a necessary one. The passage of time would not affect you, always stagnant in your early twenties after a fateful day when Juno decided to save your life from certain death. The Goddess of love and marriage was also one known for Her eternal youthfulness — one She would only share with those who had been wronged. And you had been so wronged in your mortal life.

And here you were, so close to committing the same mistake all over again. But you knew better this time — not because you didn’t trust Marcus, but because Fate was capricious. It didn’t matter if Juno was watching over you.

“You don’t mean that. I know you don’t. This is true love, lux mihi (my light), one that would live through eternity,” Marcus muttered breathlessly, reaching for you again, looking for that unbreakable connection you both strongly shared.

“Eternity? Don’t speak of things you don’t understand, Marcus,” you retorted, forcing your tone to sound mocking.

Another step back with an unmovable expression and you saw realisation dawning on him. Slowly like a river widening its meanders, steady like the constant flow of water. Relentless you were, steadfast in your resolution.

“Ave atque vale (hail and farewell), Acacius,” were your last words to him.

35 years later...

“Father, may I marry her?”

Marcus gazed down the dining table, eyeing his son with consideration. He knew what it felt like, how true love messed up your head to the point of madness. He had felt that way only once in his life, and it wasn’t for the woman sitting beside him.

As cruel as it sounded, Marcus never loved his wife, because his heart belonged to someone else — the now hazy memory of a woman who always lingered on the edges of his mind. A cruel reminder of how feeble and fleeting love was, how love turned into heartbreak with just a few words.

“At least, for me, it isn’t.”

That sentence alone had broken him, his ability to feel some sort of romantic connection died that very same day. At night it would haunt him, filling his dreams with nightmares. The same scene playing over and over in his mind, his heart cracking even more every time those words would hit him.

He’d waited for weeks, months. A year it took him to realise you truly were not coming back, that you meant it. He’d only been a plaything for you, a toy you discarded once things got too real. And at that point he surrendered to the pressure his family put on him. Marcus had followed through with the arranged marriage in the end, despite the agony and the empty hole in his chest.

And now his son was following in his footsteps. His heir looked so much like him, like a reflection of the past staring back at him. It pained him — he saw himself in Magnus, almost as if the roles had reversed and he was his own father thirty-five years ago. Pleading, asking to marry the love of his life even though his hand had already been promised in holy matrimony to another.

His wife, Prisca, waved one of her hands with disdain, the spoon clattering on the porcelain plate.

“Nonsense, Magnus,” she tutted at their son. “We’ve already been through this. You will marry Verina. You’d put us in a very compromised position with Gellius if you don’t.”

“But—”

“Quit your whining and man up, my son. Gellius is the Emperor’s best counsellor. It will bring our family great reputation,” Prisca reasoned, tone poisoned with greed. “And riches.”

“Father?” Magnus’ eyes shot to his, pleading him to intervene.

Marcus sensed Prisca stiffening besides him, gripping the arms of the chair like a vice. He didn’t look in her direction but knew how her orbs distilled venom. She would never understand what their son was talking about, but he did. Too damn right.

“I would like to meet her before giving you my blessing,” he spoke calmly, lacing his hands together on top of the wooden table.

Magnus’ eyes sparked up, a hopeful smile curling his mouth.

“Of course, of course! She’s waiting right outside,” and then his son hurried out of the room.

Prisca stood up, the screeching noise of the chair’s legs irritating Marcus.

“Like father, like son,” she muttered maliciously before disappearing too.

In this moment of silent respite, Marcus pinched the bridge of his hooked nose. The patience he had to muster was titanic. His life had been nothing but heartache and war, his son being the only reason he stood by his wife’s side in public. He’d tired of the pantomime, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

He would meet the woman who had stolen Magnus’ heart, just to make sure there was no deception from her part. Marcus wouldn’t wish for his son to go through the same heartbreak as him. If everything was at it should, then he wouldn’t oppose.

“Father,” Magnus called, and Marcus removed the hand from his exhausted, battle-scarred face.

His heart literally stopped.

A warm smile softened your expression when Magnus asked you to join his family in the dining hall. You had been sitting patiently in a small waiting room, wondering if this was right.

The first time you had laid eyes on Magnus a week ago, your heart jolted, and your mind went blank. He reminded you so much of your one and only true love, the one you ditched thirty-five years ago because you were too afraid to embrace the beautiful life he had offered you. The one you still felt in your heart, dormant yet very present in your everyday life.

Perhaps it was wrong of you to encourage this situation, whatever this was. When Magnus had asked you that morning to join his family for supper, he had caught you off guard, so you found yourself agreeing to it.

Deep down you knew why you hadn’t disappeared yet: you wanted to live this moment one more time. Wanted to remember how it felt to be loved so fiercely by Marcus, a yearning you’d been craving for over three decades. Only this man wasn’t Marcus, only someone who was his spitting image.

One dinner, a few hours more of playing pretend, and then you’d vanish again. Leave Rome behind after such brief visit before someone recognised you. You couldn’t afford to give any explanations, so you’d only visit this place once every decade.

You walked behind Magnus, head slightly bowed and hands laced in front of you. Magnus’ broad body blocked your vision, but soon enough he stepped aside to introduce you.

You curtsied, eyes averted, fixed on the marble slabs.

Before you straightened your back and introduced yourself, the man across the room spoke your name — your real birthname.

Inevitably, your heart sank to your belly with panic and your eyes quickly drifted up to meet the darkened ones you once had allowed yourself to swim in.

Marcus. Your Marcus.

Your heart raced in your chest and filled with pure joy. You couldn’t stop the smile that had started curling your lips nor the glassiness of your eyes.

Your one and true love was staring back at you with widened, tired eyes. He had gotten up off his chair and was striding towards you before he suddenly halted a couple of meters away from you with confusion painting his handsome features. Ones that had not remained impassible to the passage of time and war, but ones that you daydreamed about every single day without fail.

So within reach — you would only need to close the distance between you two and hug him, hug him till dawn and never let go. Oh, how much you missed him, how much you still loved him. With your whole heart, the one that ached and wept with regret in your chest right now.

Would he love you back? Did you break the love you shared past the point of mending?

“What? Her name is Aurora, father,” Magnus chuckled nervously, his eyes dancing between the two of you, puzzled. “This is the woman who has stolen my heart. I would like to marry the love of my life with your blessing.”

Your eyes flew from Marcus to Magnus at the revelation, bewildered. Marriage? Was this what it was all about, the purpose of his invitation to meet his family? Marcus’ son wanted to marry you?

You had not seen that coming, as it wasn’t your intention at all. You had only wanted to live this fleeting fantasy of yours for a few days, but there wasn’t love. Not like the one you felt for Marcus, that could never compare.

“Your name is Aurora?” Marcus’ question forced you to look in his direction, your heart twisting maddingly inside you. You nodded with hesitation, “I thought you were…” Marcus pronounced your real name again, the sinking pit of your stomach churning.

“That was my mother,” you quickly came up with a lie. You could never tell him the truth.

“Your mother,” he repeated slowly, shock and pain transforming his beautiful face. “I knew your mother.”

“What? Really?” Magnus intervened with a laugh, palming his father’s shoulder. “That’s such a coincidence!”

You looked at both of them, but your eyes inevitably lingered on Marcus’ darkened ones. Would he believe your lie? Again?

“The resemblance with her is… uncanny. You look so much like her, Aurora,” Marcus rasped, taking a step back and steeling his posture with determination.

He didn’t need to speak for you knew his hurt. Because the same memories that were flooding his mind, had been drowning you for decades.

The atmosphere felt heavy with unspoken truths, your face burning — you loathed yourself for the pain you had caused him. Pain that still contorted his expression every time his eyes flicked to yours.

Would he ever forgive you? Would he know that you lied so many years ago? That you truly and irremediably loved him? That you would always do?

You bowed down your head, mainly to conceal the unspent tears brimming on your waterlines.

“So I have been told, General,” you muttered softly as Magnus’ hand rested easily on the small of your back, his lips brushing your temple gently.

“I know this may seem sudden, father, but I know that Aurora is the one,” Magnus confessed shyly, pulling your body towards him in a warm half-embrace.

Never in your life had you wished yourself to disappear so badly. Marcus’ sight burnt through you and you couldn’t help but reciprocate him. The sadness—no, the heartbreak—in them was like a dagger through your heart, and you wondered if the decision you made so many years ago had been the right one.

By the looks of it, he had done well for himself, just as you had imagined he would. The villa was beautiful, sumptuous even. It spoke of his status in the Empire, how highly rewarded he had been for his enterprise. You assumed that Marcus had married eventually after you left, and you only hoped he’d married for love.

“I see,” Marcus murmured in reply to his son, walking back to his chair. “Let’s eat first. Prisca, my wife, won’t be joining us. She had to excuse herself because she wasn’t feeling well. Please forgive her absence.”

Prisca. So he hadn’t married for love, his family had won and forced him into an arranged marriage after all. Your heart cried for him, for the injustice you had showered upon him with your departure. Perhaps he ended up loving her so his life wouldn’t be as miserable.

That last thought stung, the dagger further twisting in your heart. You wanted his happiness, but selfishly you hoped Marcus still loved you. Undeserving of such love you were, that was clear to you, but you still hoped anyway.

“Of course, Dominus,” you hushed as Magnus guided you to an empty chair.

The food served was delicious, but the silence looming over the table tinged the atmosphere uncomfortable. Magnus did a remarkable effort to keep the conversation going, but Marcus’ succinct replies didn’t leave much room for chatter. And when Magnus pushed again about the marriage proposal—to you dismay—Marcus said that it could discussed tomorrow over breakfast.

Even though the man in front of you had aged, you still saw him as he was thirty-five years ago. He had a scar on his upper cheek and across the bridge of his aquiline nose, crows feet kissing the corners of his brown eyes, his thick curls were greying, and his demeanour was more stoic, but he was still your Marcus.

The only difference though was his lack of… life. His eyes didn’t sparkle anymore, they were tinted with darkness and sorrow. Had war changed him? Had you changed him?

Your throat collapsed on itself, tightening to the point of suffocation. Just in time, you reined in the tears as the last maid removed the plate in front of you.

“I should be going,” you announced, pushing back the chair to stand up.

Marcus sprung to his feet before his son did. And when he realised his promptness, he cleared his throat but didn’t speak.

“It’s late,” Magnus said, standing up to be by your side, throwing a confused glance to his father. “Could she stay the night, father, please?”

Marcus nodded.

“I will ask one of the servants to prepare one of the empty chambers,” Marcus conceded, walking around the table to meet his son.

“Oh,” Magnus sighed, and you knew he’d hoped to share a bed with you tonight.

Your face burnt once more with shame when Marcus’ eyes looked for yours. However, you didn’t meet his gaze, scared of what you would find in it.

“Thank you, General, you are most generous,” you husked in a low voice.

“I will show you around the villa in the meantime, amica mea,” Magnus said, his hand quick to rest on the back of your waist.

You subtly flinched at his endearment. That was what his father always called you. It felt wrong when he said it now, completely out of place — it didn’t at first, when you looked at him and imagined he was Marcus instead. But with the love of your life standing firm in front of you, it sounded so vile.

This fantasy of yours was a dangerous game, one you didn’t want to play. Not if it meant hurting Marcus again, because you could see the way he studied you. How his pupils dilated with anger every time his son would seek your touch. It was killing him, and you in the process. When everyone went to sleep, you would leave in the middle of the night, as the shadow you were condemned to be.

Magnus urged you to turn around and walk beside him, when you heard Marcus gasp.

“Your birthmark,” his words stopped you right in your tracks.

When Juno touched you to bring you back to life over a century ago, Her caress left a mark on the back of your left shoulder. The shape resembled that of a peacock, the loyal animal known to accompany the Goddess.

“What about it?” Magnus intervened, confused by the interruption.

Slowly you looked over your shoulder to glance at Marcus. His eyes were a window to his restless, half soul, desperate and blown — he knew. He searched your face for a crack, a way in, but your expression didn’t tumble.

You wished you could veer around and throw yourself in his arms, kiss him and apologise, ask him to take you back. But you just couldn’t. Love was heartbreak, and it would have to remain that way if you didn’t want to hurt Marcus even more than what you already had.

“Nothing,” he grumbled, jaw tight with a tic on the muscle.

Marcus stirred in bed, unable to get any sleep.

Your face haunted him brighter than ever — every time his eyes shut, your sorry expression would gnaw at the confines of his mind. Seeing you right in front of him after so many years, all curled up to his son’s side, drove him mad.

At first, he thought himself crazy. You looked exactly as you did thirty-five years ago — not even a wrinkle kissed your skin, not a greying hair anywhere to be seen in your plaited hair. So when you explained you were the daughter of the woman who broke his heart, he had believed you.

That was until he saw the birthmark on your shoulder. The unmistakable shape he had joked about in the past, telling you that you had been kissed by Juno Herself at birth. It was impossible that you had inherited such a peculiar mark.

But it was even more impossible that you had remained as youthful as you were, as if not a single day had passed. How was that even possible? Some people were gifted with slow ageing, he had seen some, but to remain exactly the same? No, there was something else lurking, an explanation he could not grasp because it was too surreal, too unfathomable for a mortal.

Marcus needed answers. His mind was a tangled mess, this new discovery shining a different light on the conversation that destroyed him over three decades ago. Did your words have a meaning he had not been able to see before?

“Eternity? Don’t speak of things you don’t understand, Marcus.”

What had you truly meant by that? Did you understand what eternity really was in a level he couldn’t even start to comprehend?

Heart pounding, he quietly removed the covers and sat on the bed. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that Prisca was sound asleep. Not that she would miss him anyway.

In darkness, Marcus palmed around until he found his toga and quickly changed to then walk out of his bedchamber with a clear destination in mind.

He trudged along the cold corridors of his villa until he found the door to the room you were sleeping in. For a second, he doubted, thinking he was crazy for the implausible reason taking form in his mind. But if it wasn’t that—that you were, somehow, ageless—he still needed to know why. Why hadn’t you aged? Why leave him? Why not tell him the truth?

As his shaky hand lifted and curled to knock on the wooden plank, the door swung open.

You appeared under the doorframe with a wild expression and widened eyes, obviously in a hurry to leave. Again.

“Marcus,” you gasped, one hand flying to your chest in surprise as your beautiful eyes met his.

He froze in place, all the words he had planned to say stuck to the back of his throat, forming a lump that would not let him speak. Your beauty was dazzling, but it was the buried love he harboured for you what stopped him from talking as it resurfaced.

His memory of you had not faded, able to remember every single feature of your face regardless the passage of time. Everything about you was engraved in his mind, but he had almost forgotten how sweet you smelt. Roses, with an earthy hint of grass.

As your scent numbed his mind, Marcus finally found his dry tongue.

“Don’t leave, please. Don’t leave again,” he begged in a hoarse whisper, his eyes diving in yours.

You looked up at him and he felt himself under a spell. The same one you had him under years ago, when the heart was shattered and the mind bleak. Because even when you waved him goodbye, he still loved you. Never stopped, was never able to hate you for what you did, what you said.

“Can we talk?” he pushed before realising your eyes were glassy with sadness. “I know your name is not Aurora. I know it’s you.”

Your bottom lip trembled as a single tear fell from the cliff of your lashes. Moved by his own ghost of the past, Marcus reached for your cheek with his palm, the thumb brushing away the tears that followed the first one.

You let go of a deep sigh, kissed the palm of his hand and nodded. His heart was beating so loud, so fast, he almost missed your words.

“I owe you an explanation, Marcus,” you finally spoke, a broken sob almost tearing his resolution.

As you stepped aside, Marcus came into the room you were so eager to leave behind. Your heartbeat had spiked the moment you saw him and hadn’t slowed down since then. Perhaps you didn’t die of heartbreak but could die of a heart attack.

For decades you had been running until you found him. Until Marcus made you believe you could have everything he promised. It had been the first time you had actually considered growing roots. But the thought of not being able to grow old, to see the love of your life wither away while you remained sane, was paralysing. You had panicked — too scared to accept the love of a man who would give up everything for you, too frightened to trust someone again.

But was Marcus not worthy of your trust? He demonstrated repeatedly how he would always protect you, always cherish you. Not only with words, but with actions too. He had been so considerate, so loving, for a moment in the past you thought it a ruse. How could someone be so damn perfect and still be real?

Your heart clenched in pain, seeing him latch the door behind him and turn around to face you. The look of confusion, of sorrow, ate at your conscience. Under the candlelight, his torn features stuck out, time unforgiving. He was still gorgeous, would always be in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing that slipped out before the quivering of your bottom lip let out a sob. “I’m so sorry, Marcus. I didn’t know Magnus was your son, otherwise I would have never—” you shook your head, taming your cries. “I should have known. He looks so much like you. When I first saw him, I thought it was you. That somehow you had been able to still time and be with me.”

You sobbed a pitiful laugh, unable to look him in the eye. It was shameful having to admit something like this — that you had chased after a boy because he reminded you of someone you loved. But despite your immortality, you were still capable of human mistakes.

“So you didn’t know he was my son?” Marcus asked quietly. You could see the inner workings of his mind ruminating as you shook your head no. “Do you love him? Were you really going to marry him?”

The questions caught you off guard. Although at some point you were expecting them, you didn’t think it would be this early in conversation. It might be for the better if it got out of the way as soon as possible, so you could explain yourself.

The first cut would be the deepest, although the rest would still hurt.

“I love the idea of him,” you emphasized, ashamed of yourself for giving in to such fantasy. “I thought I could love him the way I did you, that he could be a vessel of my love for you. That I could, for a few days, remember how it felt— how you felt. That I could have you one more time,” you paused and sighed, intertwining your hands together to twist them nervously. “I only met him a week ago, marriage did not cross my mind at all. I was going to leave once—”

“Once it got too serious,” he finished for you.

Marcus went quiet again, his eyes transfixed on you. You wished Juno blessed you with the ability to read minds, to know what he was thinking right this moment. Did he hate you for what you just revealed? Did he think you were sick for trying to live out a fleeting dream? Would he forgive you for such despicable behaviour?

“Do you still love me?” his gravelly voice was so low, for a moment you thought you had imagined it.

But the doubt, the fresh hurt in his wounded gaze, told you otherwise.

You gaped for air, your lungs strained with sorrow. You should fib, stand by your initial lie, tell him you didn’t. But what had that gotten you the first time around except for a life of misery and loneliness? What had that gotten him?

“I do. I do love you, Marcus,” you whispered, out of breath due to the pounding of your heart. “Couldn’t be any other way. You’re the other half of my soul that I’ve been missing for so long.”

Time stilled as you looked Marcus dead in the eyes. You were not expecting anything out of your raw confession, because the time for those had passed. It was what you should have said thirty-five years ago, not now. You were too late to mend the love that had slipped through the cracks of time.

“Then that’s all that matters,” he finally broke the silence, his voice laced with emotion.

The admission shook you. Could this be true, really happening? Did he still love you after all this time?

In a couple of strides, you found yourself in his arms, the way it should have been ages ago. His forearms wrapped around you like a warm blanket as his head bowed down to taste your lips.

You kissed him back, first sweetly, then fiercely. You kissed him with all the unexpressed love you held in your heart, with the passion your true love deserved. His tongue was as sweet as you remembered, as soothing as your memory recalled. A dance ensued, his tongue reading a love letter to yours.

Your hands, which had been resting on his chest, drifted up to cradle his face — his moustache and stubble pickling the skin of your palms. Marcus untied his mouth from yours to kiss your tears goodbye, then pressed a peck on your forehead. His heart was beating as loud as yours, in unison like true soulmates.

“I’ve missed you. I never stopped thinking about you, lux mihi,” he confessed under his breath. “Life was never the same after you left.”

His admission made your heart flutter even further, and you couldn’t help but let your hands roam his back. Your fingers played with the knot holding the toga in place, his seeping warmth beckoning.

“I need you, Marcus. Make love to me,” you pleaded, leaving a love trail of kisses on his neck.

Marcus’ chest rumbled at your plea, his lips hunting down yours in a heartbeat. His hands were quick with your clothing, worshipping the curves of your body as it was revealed to him. You did the same with his toga, until you were both bare, standing in front of each other.

You saw his eyes lingering on every nook and cranny of your skin before they found yours. A thunder of connection ran through you, of yearning. On your tiptoes, you kissed him again, pressing your breasts onto his chest while your fingertips traced the map of his back.

You didn’t expect all the bumps and grooves you found on his skin; battle scars dotted around everywhere. Some thick and protuberant, some thin and soft. Marcus keened at your touch, silently letting you know that some of them were too sensitive to be caressed.

How much hurt his body and heart had endured, a life dedicated to war and duty. Your heart cried for him, for not being able to be by his side when he needed you most. Had you taken up his offer, had he run away from responsibility with you, his skin would tell a different story.

But the past couldn’t be changed, only the present was malleable enough to shape a new future.

Slowly he pushed you towards the bed, his hands resting on either side of your waist while his thumb drew lazy circles on your bristled skin. Raking your fingers through his silver curls, you leaned back on the mattress, his warm body blanketing yours.

His hands found the apex of your breasts, soft fingers rubbing your taut nipples as your head tilted back. Marcus licked the salt of your exposed neck, finding your pulse point. He kissed the spot and lingered, your vein pulsing against his lips as one of his hands discovered the slick your thighs harboured for him.

The feathery caress of his ring finger outlining your seam turned you into a whimpering mess. His pad stroked your nub, a slight flick followed before it slid down your slit and found your weeping hole. He circled it a few times, taunting you effortlessly, before returning to your clit.

You heaved, lips pursed so your moans would stay contained. In the dead of the night, you worried this show of love would seep through the walls. But not even the thought of his marriage, the thought of Magnus lying in bed a few rooms over, could stop you from joining your bodies together the way the Gods intended.

Marcus’ mouth travelled down the column of your neck, kissing the center of your clavicle before he went further down. Your unattended nipple was soon enough smothered by the wetness between his lips, and you fisted his hair in response, gently tugging at it.

“Marcus,” you moaned, eyes shut. Rejoiced.

One nipple drowned in his spit, the other pinched between his fingers, and his ring finger pressing tight circles on your thudding clit had you fighting to remain silent. But the moment the hand between your hands moved down and his digit teased your walls apart as it sank in your slick warmth, you couldn’t stop the muffled yet loud moan.

“Sing for me, meum corculum (my little heart),” Marcus husked. The gentle pumping of his finger in your wet heat had you quietly howling a few seconds later. “That’s it.”

Your felt your walls contract, pulse around his finger, holding onto him for dear life. Feeling your need as his own, Marcus dunked his middle finger in your pussy too, stretching you while his thumb stroked your clit. The combination of it all made you clench around him, almost begging for release.

“Let go for me,” Marcus asked between licks, and you couldn’t resist his prayer.

The coil that had been tightening inside you finally snapped, releasing a wave that coursed through your quaking body like a tumultuous sea. Your back slightly arched as your thighs trembled around his forearm, chest rising with a dire need for oxygen.

Marcus chuckled softly, setting your nipple free as he searched for your mouth again. He devoured you as you came down from your high, his erect cock gently resting on your mound. The weight of it on your sensitive skin felt like it belonged. The anticipation of welcoming him inside you made you gush.

“Let me drink you, kiss you, savour you,” he pressed a kiss on your mouth after each pause.

Your skin flushed; the proposition was somewhat indecent. It was lewd, frowned upon, and you were tethered to the chains of social decency. But there was nothing decent about infidelity, after all.

“Please, mea vita (my life). I can make you reach for the moon and the stars in the ceiling above if you let me, make you touch them,” he promised.

You shyly nodded, and his boyish grin grew wider, his lips tensing. So contagious, you smiled back as he came off you and moved your body until your butt was on the edge of the mattress.

He scooted you over towards him until the back of your knees were resting on his shoulders — leaving you completely exposed to his hungry gaze. His eyes lingered on your leaking dampness, his dilated pupils tracing the outline of your seam. The intensity of it all, the deep connection, made your thighs press together against his neck, wanting to hide your core from him.

You had nothing to be shy of, as Marcus had already seen you bare before. Sex with him had always been ardent, fervent — the heat of passion always got the best of you both, a certain urgency to consummate your love. But now? Now was different. There was no rush in his movements, in how his thumbs pried your pussy lips open, in how his warm lips brushed the sensitive skin on your inner thigh. His calm confidence in taking you as he had promised was new to you, who never had all the time in the world. But right now, you did. For Marcus, you did. Always would.

Your lashes fluttered, kissing the apples of your cheeks the moment the languid strokes of his tongue met your swollen flaps. He kissed one gently, then the other, before the wet muscle lapped from your gushing hole up to your clit. So venerating were his licks, your limbs relaxed at the intimate kiss.

“You taste like ambrosia, lux mihi. The best relish I have ever been graced with,” his hot breath collided with the cold skin on your slit, your body trembling in response.

“Marcus, please,” you begged, although you were not sure why, or what you were asking of him.

He didn’t leave you waiting again. His fingers sank in the flesh of your thighs while his tongue dived inside your slick furrow. So dextrous were his charges, you couldn’t help but mewl like a starved kitten in a back alley asking for leftovers. First, he flicked your excited bundle of nerves, and then he suckled on it, his jaw working you through the climb to another orgasm. The buildup was intense, but it became feverish the moment his finger joined the action — it slid easily inside, curled to caress the precise spongy spot of your arousal.

Unaware of your own actions, one of your hands slithered down your belly until you fisted his curls — pushing him towards the centre of your heat, not away from it. He hadn’t lied — the stars appeared behind your eyes, bright like the future you wished you had with him. A sea of constellations, all imploding at once in an amazing rain of stars that blinded you as you came crashing down from the skies.

You heaved and wailed his name in ecstasy, your entire body quivering with the strength of a thousand suns. Your entrance clenched around his finger as you held your breasts, your thumbs ghosting the taut buttons. You leaked your pleasure on his mouth, and he drank unashamedly, grateful of your offering.

A sweet kiss on your mound before he towered over you, and you could only look at him in awe with raw, true love. When his battered body blanketed yours, you draped your arms around his waist, hands lightly resting on his lower back. The knowing smirk on his lips spoke of a muted “I told you so.”

“I love you,” he whispered instead.

Your heart swooned and healed and cried and exploded. All at once. He hadn’t said those exact words yet, but they were veiled in every sentence, every action he had said or done tonight. Deep inside you were eternally grateful that he hadn’t grown to hate you, that his love for you remained intact despite heartache, circumstances and time.

Unbeknownst to you, tears welled up, ones that Marcus drank too. As he did, your palms stroked his ribs, careful to avoid the scars you had come to learn were too delicate. Eager, one slid off his skin until your fingers wrapped around his throbbing manhood. Eyes down, you saw the pearly bead of pre-cum commending you to butter it on his flushed head. With your thumb you caressed the tip, and Marcus’ lips parted in need — an invitation you quickly accepted, dunking your tongue in his mouth.

A few pumps had him groaning and soon enough you were guiding him to the pocket of heat between your thighs. His cockhead kissed your gushing entrance the same way his lips did — knowing, denuded, possessing. And slowly he made his way in, parting your flesh like a new stream disturbing the earth beneath. The burning sting was most welcomed, blossoming into a fullness you had craved for decades.

“I’m home,” Marcus rasped when he was fully seated in your cunt.

Your throat clamped a little, emotion overtaking your senses the same way his erection did.

“Welcome home, dilectus (beloved),” you muttered with a loving smile and teary eyes.

You melted into a slow kiss as Marcus rocked his hips, rutting into you almost lethargically, wanting the moment to last. You let him set the pace, the drag of his cock in your pussy a delight that had you reaching for the stars again and your inner walls squeezing him tight. The sweet rhythm of his swaying tightened the slick, hot coil that pooled low in your belly, and the moment Marcus gained momentum, you followed.

Needily he started fucking into you with precision, chasing both of your highs. His dick pulsed inside you, your heartbeat instinctually adapting to his in a second. Both so close to the sky above, gasping for air now, you rocked underneath him to amplify such pleasure.

“Marcus,” you whimpered, your hands now cradling his face. You lost yourself in his eyes, blown and loving. “Please, inside,” was everything you murmured.

Even after your petition, the snap of his hips against yours didn’t falter. Instead, the pace increased as his wild orbs studied your blissed out expression.

“Do you mean it?” You nodded effusively. “Do you want your belly round with my child?”

You didn’t even know if it was possible — yes, you looked young but were closer to a hundred and fifty years on this earth than to the day you were born. The fertility of your womb was one you never dared to test in your immortal life, but the thought of having such a memory—someone—to remember him by when the days grew cold and the nights dark was overpowering reality.

“Yes, I do,” you reassured him, pecking his lips softly.

His head fell, his face resting on the crook of your neck, while he made love to you. His moves stuttered, announcing his climax, and your pussy hugged him tight in a natural response. The moment the first ropes hit your cervix, you came undone too. As Marcus filled you with his warm spent, you creamed around his beating girth, your hands holding onto his shoulders as your back arched and your nipples kissed his chest.

It took both of you a few minutes to come down, for the haze of lovemaking to slowly dissolve in the musky air. Marcus hungered for your lips and he hunted them down with eagerness. Your bodies finally untied, his cock leaving you empty yet satisfied.

You hoped—prayed—his seed would take root in your womb. Even if it was impossible, the sliver of a miraculous possibility gave you a resemblance of hope. So you pressed your thighs together, greedy of his gift.

Marcus rolled off you, falling onto his tummy besides you. Quickly you laid on your side, your fingertips tracing the lines of his skin again. A feathery touch to alleviate the harshness of life. He unburied his face from the pillow and turned to look at you.

His smile was instant, and so was yours.

For an hour no words were spoken at all, no sleep was achieved either. You both remained silent, staring at each other, soaking up the love that flooded the chamber.

Replacing your fingers with your lips, you kissed the scars on his back, his shoulders, his arms. And finally his nose and cheek, where you dawdled as if your caress could erase the pain they inflicted.

“What are we going to do, amica mea?” Marcus husked after what felt like an eternity.

Reality set in, leaving a gaping hole in your belly. What could you do? Would you be strong enough to stay by his side for however long the goddess Mors took to claim him? Strong enough to build a life you knew was ephemeral? And once he was gone from this mortal plane, what would be left of you?

The choice was an impossible one. One that you should have made decades ago, when the heart was whole and the mind still strong. Now you knew how arduous life was without him, how—for years—you had looked for him in the small details and every single man who resembled him, how the regret and the grief haunted you at every turn of a decade. Now you knew that life wasn’t worth living if you didn’t have Marcus to share it with.

You traced the profile of his nose with your lips before pressing a soft kiss on his.

“I am not sure, but I am willing to try… if you are,” you whispered, leaning back.

The implications of such life were huge for him. Married, with a son who though himself in love with you, an acclaimed General who served Rome even when Rome didn’t serve him. His responsibilities were greater than yours, Marcus had so much to lose. Had you accepted his proposal when you should have, neither of you would be in such dire situation.

Marcus sighed heavily, rolling onto his side to face you. His calloused hand cradled your cheek, his eyes filled with a determination you wished you had back then, when life was easier.

“There is nothing nor no one that could stop me from spending the rest of my life with you, lux mihi,” he mumbled, hand dropping to your hip. “I said it then, and I will say it again: I do not care for this life if you are not with me. I don’t care about reputation nor retaliation. For over fifty years I have done what was expected of me, and I am done living my life for Rome and her vice. You’re the stars that light up my path in the darkest of nights, the warm sun that guides me home. For however long you’ll have me, I’ll be with you. My heart was always yours, mea vita, since the moment I landed eyes on you. And I don’t want it back, ever, even if you have to leave again.”

The softness of his delivery, the truth his words emanated, brought tears to your eyes. You thought yourself unworthy of his love, his devotion, when you had only caused heartbreak. But this was your second chance, one you were not going to let go.

You moved closer to him as his arm wrapped around you. With your forehead resting on his naked chest, you traced invisible lines on his ribs.

“I won’t leave. That broke me once, can’t handle it a second time. I love you and want to spend the rest of our time together showing you how much I do, making up for lost time. For however long,” you repeated, kissing his chin.

There was a brief pause, and you knew what his next words would be.

“How old are you?” the question you had always avoided, dreaded.

“Close to three times your age,” you confessed, looking up at him through your lashes.

The answer slowly sank in, but instead of horror, incomprehension and disgust, you only found acceptance. As if it was just another fact about you, nothing of major importance.

“You look amazing for being close to one hundred and fifty years of age,” he joked with a grin to lighten the mood. You let out a soft laugh in response. “How? If you want to share.”

The story of how you came to be ageless wasn’t a pleasant one. But your life was full of secrets that had ruined every human link you had to this earth, and you wouldn’t let them spoil the only real connection you had left.

“I… I was promised to a man, one who I thought was worthy of my love. There were things I was blind to at that time, and only time showed them to me. I thought everything was going as expected, he was always so courteous and respectful in public. Until our wedding night, when he…” you paused, the memories too painful even after all this time, “he abused me, and let his friends use me. When they were done, they left me for dead in a ditch.”

Marcus’ arm draped around you tighter, his heart beating so loud you could hear it thumping against his chest. He hugged you close, his warmth calming and reassuring. Marcus was nothing like that man, if your abuser could even be considered a person. You knew he never would be so despicable — you were as sure as the first lights of the sun would wake you up tomorrow.

“It took me hours to finally drift away. And when I did, Juno greeted me. Said the man had wronged me, and that I should have a second chance to understand what marriage and true love actually were about. Then she touched me right here,” you caressed the peacock-shaped birthmark, “and breathed life into me.”

Marcus leaned back a little to inspect your torn features. The heartache he had to endure paled in comparison to yours. How could someone inflict such hurt on another? He couldn’t even fathom such disgusting scenario. That man was the reincarnation of evil, and he wished he suffered the most agonising death.

He had only seen your soul’s purity, your kindness, your benevolence. Anyone who didn’t was blind.

“You did not deserve that ending, amica mea — no one does. He didn’t deserve you,” his heart cried for you, for the weight you had carried for over a century. “You’ve got the purest heart I have ever known. A soul that I will protect until my dying breath.”

“A half soul,” you interrupted him, and Marcus looked at you confused. “Because your other half completes mine.”

His heart jolted, this time because of the sweetness of your confession. That muscle had grown bigger in the last two hours than in his entire lifetime. He sworn himself to stand by your side, come what may. You would never be wronged again, not if he could avoid it.

“We’re leaving tonight,” Marcus declared without skipping a beat.

“What? What about your wife, your son?” your eyes had widened, but his resolution was firm.

“My wife… she’s not been my wife for years. She’s poison. And my son…” he shrugged, conflicted. “He’ll eventually understand, or so I hope. I believe he might already have an inkling that something weird was at play from the moment I said your real name.”

“Marcus, are you sure? You’d be sacrificing so much for me, I wouldn’t want to—”

He didn’t let you finish, his mouth covering yours in a passionate kiss that slowly turned gentle and soothing. Your hands caressing his battle-scarred skin was like a balm; your touch the first and only one to cure all his ailments. Unhurriedly, he sat back up on the bed, dragging you with him.

“Let’s leave now. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you, lux mihi,” Marcus purred against your lips.

Fifteen minutes later, you were both clothed and atop of two horses, blending in with the shadows of the night that concealed your departures, in search of a new life. Together.

taglist: @orcasoul @lilac-boo @picketniffler @almostfoxglove @gothcsz @liciafonseca @namenotimportant1373

[forgetme-eternally-blissfully]

HOLY MOTHER OF ALBERU THIS IS AMAZING

Okay but super really? this is incredible. I feel like I'm going to be watching this on repeat for 15 hours until I've extracted all the happy hormones that it's emitting

The world's greatest actor || Og Cale animatic

After 155 frame later I present to you my tribute to the original occupant of cale henituse body

Do I gonna make something like this again in near future? Well who knows

[hueseok]

can’t stop thinking about boyfriend!yoongi who in a way, found his match with you.

for decades, his oldest friends always teased him for being the textbook definition of ‘nonchalant’, labeling him as a stoic man who loved to pretend that he didn’t care about anything—even though in reality, there were always a few tells that made it obvious that he did.

he was the type of guy who made it seem like he didn’t care if you forgot about his birthday, but would send a joke afterwards saying that he was disappointed that you didn’t remember.

or the type who acted like it didn’t matter to him if the meal he worked hard on cooking tasted delicious for your taste buds, only to grin really wide as soon as you complimented him and uttered a string of praises afterwards.

it was an endearing quality of yoongi’s, a rather fascinating trait that also became the butt of the joke at times whenever the topic was his love life and his bad luck when it came to relationships.

“you can come off as emotionally unavailable,” hoseok told him over beer once. “ladies don’t like that. they want men who can tell them how special they are.”

“isn’t it enough that i show it?” yoongi asked, having just been dumped by the girl he was dating. “i mean, i drive her to work every single day. i fetch her from work whenever i can too. i buy her stuff if it’s necessary, like shampoo or paper towels.”

hoseok stared at him. “paper towels?”

“yeah.”

“wow. i take it all back. you are the most romantic man on the planet.”

yoongi rolled his eyes at the sarcasm. “she mentioned she was running out of them so i bought more for her.”

“are you her dad or something?”

“i heard ladies like a provider.”

“yes, but not in that sense. it’s more like… you get the bill whenever you’re having lunch or dinner at a restaurant, or buying her a bag she’s been eyeing, or paying for her nails when she gets them done. doing all of that without not being asked is the key aspect of it, really.”

“how do you know this stuff?”

hoseok shrugged. “i have an older sister,” he says. “also, i’m engaged to my girlfriend of 6 years. being in a relationship that long ought to teach you a lot.”

thanks to that conversation, yoongi began understanding what it really meant to be a great and affectionate boyfriend without sacrificing his rather reserved personality. he knew what the right gestures to do, what the right things to say, what the right gifts to buy—and he did all of that with utmost sincerity, genuinely wanting to be a better partner for his current girlfriend, which also happened to be you.

the funny thing, though?

you couldn’t seem to recognize the nice boyfriend things yoongi was doing and how much he improved compared to his last relationship.

you were just… independent, he thought. a strong woman who didn’t like to be coddled and didn’t like asking help from anyone regardless of how much you may be already struggling. he had a realization that you were naturally like this because of the stories you used to tell him that made him understand that you just weren’t used to relying on others, a trait that he didn’t have an issue with and sometimes even admired.

however, he couldn’t lie and say that it wasn’t sometimes frustrating as well.

for example, just last week, the both of you had a semi-big fight because of how you constantly insisted on changing the broken lightbulb in your bedroom yourself even though yoongi was already telling you that he could do it instead. in the end, since you were stubborn as hell, you still tried changing it on your own but had a very minor injury due to falling off the stool you were standing on for extra height.

yoongi was furious when he found out, and you ultimately became furious because it seemed like he was being unfair to you, the negative energy impacting your mood and rationality that you didn’t get how he was more mad on the fact that you let your pride get to you than just asking for his damn help for the freaking lightbulb.

when the both of you calmed down and said your apologies, yoongi took your hands and looked directly in your eyes. “babe, you have to start depending on me,” he said.

the straightforwardness caught you off guard. “huh?”

“i mean…” you felt him squeeze your fingers softly, “i understand that you’re used to doing things all on your own… how you don’t like being treated like some baby… but that shouldn’t be the case with me, okay? i’m here to take care of you, to always help you with whatever you need.”

you opened your mouth, about to say something he knew was not going to align with his point, so he took the liberty to cut you off.

“i’m serious. you know what i’m talking about. let me take care of you, ____.”

“but—” you couldn’t continue with your sentence, a wave of emotions suddenly flooding you that made your throat tighten and voice quiver as you began speaking again— “how? i… i don’t—i just… you don’t need to. i don’t want to be a burden.”

yoongi gave you a look, a mixture of fondness and disbelief. “you? a burden?”

“yeah. you don’t need to take care of me.”

“i’m well aware that you’re a grown woman who doesn’t need taking care of.” he joked. “but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to do it. that’s why if i were you, i would just start depending on my poor boyfriend and learn how to be comfortable in being taken care of because it’s definitely how things are going to be now that he’s here.”

you snorted at the use of third person. “fine,” you sniffled, “okay, i’ll try to be better at asking for help next time.”

he sighed in relief, releasing your hands to instead engulf you in a tight embrace. “thank you, baby. i appreciate it a lot.”

****

the first time you willingly asked yoongi for a favor after that talk—regardless of how small and trivial it was—it still affected him big time.

“can you help me assemble the drawer i bought?” you asked him over dinner, ever so casual and nonchalant.

he almost dropped the chopsticks he was holding. “what?”

“i said, can you—”

“no, i heard that perfectly well. i’m just surprised at what i’m hearing.”

your lips twitched while your face visibly burned. “don’t start teasing me or else—”

“i’m not.” he laughed, a little too loudly than usual, before reaching for your hand and kissing your knuckles. “i’m not, i swear. i’m just happy.”

“you’re happy because i’m asking for help?”

“i’m happy because you’re letting me take care of you,” he corrected. “it’s a bit overdue in my opinion but who am i to complain?”

you playfully shoved his hand away, which made yoongi laugh harder and lean towards you to give you a chaste kiss on the cheek, letting you know that your simple effort of trying to let him in meant so much more than words could ever say.

note. this blurb is unedited and has been in my drafts since december because it's always yoongi missing hours!!!!! but for real though, i wish yoongi is doing great and is always surrounded by good people who can give him the support he needs + remind him how loved he is :(

[mimiii-3]

I LOVE SABOTEURR , that's such a cool conceptt, how would they realize they're also yandere for the reader ?

Hmmm great question🤔

…

Saboteur Pt.3

Yandere Platonic Batfam x GN Neglected Reader

Notes: typical yandere themes, stupid batboys

…

Bruce

Bruce was grateful to leave for patrol after the emotionally exhausting confrontation between you and your brothers. Bruce sits atop Gotham’s Cathedral, covered by the shadow of an imposing gargoyle.

His cowl masks the sour expression that’s stuck on his face. He can’t remember the last time you raised your voice in the manor. Let alone at him.

The hurt in your voice as you made your long-brewing confession rings in his ears. How long has his sweet child felt this way? When was the last time he asked you how you were doing? How long has he been such a deadbeat?

Rain starts to fall over Gotham like a hazy blanket. The wind grows crisp but fails to subside the simmering anger that festers in Gotham’s dark knight.

Dick

The drive to Bludhaven seems to be endless as Dick weaves in and out of traffic. His slender fingers drum nervously against the wheel. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong.

He just can’t seem to place it. Were you always this complicated? Since when were you so desperate for attention?

Dick shakes his head in disbelief. The timid soul he’s known all these years is a fraud…a shyster. He doesn’t know whether to feel pity or anger.

One on hand he’s mad that you’ve been lying to the family for who knows how long. On the other hand he can’t help but feel bad for his little sibling.

Dick’s conflicted emotions wear at his easy-going persona. He sucks his teeth and eases back into the seat. He needs time. Time to think this through. Time to decide what he’ll do to you when he finds out where you’ve gone.

Tim

Tim mindlessly scrolls through the videos and screenshots of you framing their darling. Your work is amateurish but somehow skated by them.

There’s one picture that stands out to him. He increases the image on the monitor. It shows Bruce patting the top of your head while you practically beam at him.

A simple pat on the head and you’re happy as a clam. Tim never realized how easy it was to win your affection. If he had known, maybe he’d have given you a hug every once and a while.

Tim’s imagination drifts off as he picks through the security tapes. Each one leaving a trail of jealousy in their wake.

Damian

Impressive. His older, idiotic sibling is more capable than he thought. You’ve been framing the family’s darling for months without a hint of remorse.

He feels almost proud of you. Such viscous behavior while simultaneously pretending to be darling’s friend. How cutthroat of his completely useless sibling.

Damian, curious to learn more about the deceiver living in his home, makes his way to your room. He opens your bedroom’s sticker-covered door and scrunches his nose. The smell of overlapping, burnt candles wafts out of the room.

The walls of your room drip with personality. Damian takes one long look and shuts the door behind him. What else have you been hiding from his all this time?

…

Extra Notes: the calm before the storm🫣

[witherby]

What would happen if any if the batfamilys enemies kidnapped baby y/n and ended up hurting them badly?

I'm happy to tell you, but not in any fantastic detail. When you say "baby" I think "infant, no teeth, still in diapers, etc."

Content warning for bruises on an infant

--

The contexts in which you would not be with a family member as an infant are very few and far between. I'm thinking a couple of your brothers have you on an outing, like a soiree or a networking lunch for Wayne Enterprises, where they have to put the masks away and act like civilians. There's lots of people around, their attention spans are divided, and they're also counting down the minutes until it's socially acceptable to leave.

When that time finally hits, Dick politely excuses himself and goes to collect you and Tim so they can head home. But he only finds Tim.

And Tim turns and only sees Dick.

"I thought you were watching them," Tim says, immediately turning sheet white. Dick's complexion is the same.

"I thought you were watching them."

Cue the immediate panic. Tim has his phone out and is trying to pinpoint your location via the tracker they put in all your pacifiers. Dick's eyes are sweeping the area for any signs of you having either crawled away or gotten scooped up by some confused and well-meaning socialite.

You are far away, and getting farther. Someone definitely took you on purpose. They don't hesitate before leaving the gathering and radioing backup. They'll handle all the screaming and scolding from everyone else as long as you get back home safe.

Whoever did take you, be it someone from the usual rogues gallery or a rando that likes kidnapping kids, it doesn't take long for them to catch up to him. It also doesn't take long to do any damage, either, so when they do find you, it's unfortunately with some significant bruising. Your chubby cheeks are red from tears and your arms and waist have handprint bruising from being dragged around, but nothing is broken or bleeding.

Your brothers can't say the same for the one that had the balls kidnap you. He should be thankful Jason was already on another mission.

(Jason comes back and pays him a visit anyway. Nobody gets to lay a fucking finger on you.)

In the aftermath, you're almost overwhelmed by the attention. You don't sleep in your nursery alone again for months; either someone is in there with you, or you're simply relocated to one of their bedrooms for the night. You're handled so, so delicately, like you're made of porcelain. It's all very soft play and quiet voices for a couple days. If you flinch at contact, either due to the trauma of the kidnapping or because someone brushed against a bruise that's still healing, there will be tears shed from that person.

Bruce notices you flinch when he burps you after a feeding and he has to sit on the floor with you in his lap because his hands are shaking so badly.

Damian will not touch you directly at all. If you need to be picked up, he's fashioning a hammock to slowly and gently roll you into and then carry you off.

Alfred maintains the calmest facade when he carries you around, but if you make any kind of whine or pained face, he has to take a moment alone to recollect himself.

Dick and Tim can barely stand to look at you. They're overwhelmed with guilt for assuming the other person was watching you and not simply double-checking themselves.

Jason asks Tim if he can do some tummy time with you, and he just straight up shakes his head.

Dick fucks up his sleep schedule keeping an eye on you in the night, because even though Dr. Thompkins cleared you, what if she missed something and you develop a complication and need help? He doesn't patrol Blüdhaven properly for weeks, instead coming over to Gotham to keep vigil at your window.

Needless to say, the general public does not see you again for months, and when they do, you are with the entire family. They will not let that happen again.