#I’d low key enjoy the challenge

[flaneur002]

Oh my Godddd I absolutely lovedddd it!! Also the lil fic you added?!!!! 🥺🥺 MOMO is it Christmas??!! /silly

(More commentary in the tags lawl)

Ahh i totally forgot to send it :’)

(Tumblr hates me so sorry if you get this ask twice)

Hii momo <3

My headcanon is:

“What if Angel gets isekai’d in the game. But instead of getting to live the life of the MC, they switch roles with a certain hacker, unexpectedly getting trapped in the game mechanics. Will they be able to make it out? Or will they be forced to live the days over and over on a loop”

hiii ashe!!! no i will not write teo fic <333 (froggy hats are NOT enough payment sorry!!)

Flip the Script(s) - Isekai AU?? 

Flip the script like the saying goes but also a script like coding… is this funny to anyone but me… anyways have some messy thoughts hehe

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

🖤 Flipped [REDACTED]

📜 No glitch powers or awareness anymore. Keeps most of his backstory intact, but gets og!Angel's main plot relevant traits which are: 

Secretly obsessed with AoG and therefore Haruko (this is extremely funny to me).

Someone proposed to him as a kid and he doesn't remember. 

Moved back to Corland, lives in a crappy apartment, works as a librarian.

📜 For the sake of the plot being able to move forward, he can't be as clever or observant but otherwise their personality is pretty much the same. Just without the Angel obsession.

📜 (Lack of) friendship with other characters?? Probably treats them the same as River at best: he doesn't really mind most of them. This is more like a debuff so there's at least a guarantee that Ren won't wind up on another character’s route unless Angel majorly fucks up. Also I can't imagine him putting up with any of the main cast besides Conan for more than 5 minutes.

📜 I think it's funny for River and Leon to swap places too!! So River also proposed to Ren lmfao (and Leon still gets to be Angel’s best friend, only now he’s cautiously supportive of all the wild shit they have to do to make the game progress).

💜 Flipped Angel

📜 I have a specific Angel in mind but obviously bits and pieces here are not universal to all Angels fdjsalkfjldska

📜 Their goal is to leave, but they aren’t even sure how to. Has to play the manipulative yandere role in some ways, otherwise the game falls apart.

📜 Angel’s only inherited traits are the ones [REDACTED] loses, so glitch powers + awareness. They at least have isekai semi-omniscience: 

Knows they're in a yandere romance game 

Knows a few of the characters from browsing social media 

Can see the UI and therefore the choices Ren makes 

Hit by the truck once they press the start button so they don’t know much of the plot outside of meeting Ren at the library

💙 Game Rules - that Angel is not aware of without doing some trial and error

📚 The plot/narration/dialogue etc. doesn't have to (and logically can't) be one-for-one, but pivotal choices remain the same.

📚 The day restarts by itself if Angel’s meter is too low to make any progress (as in [REDACTED] doesn't show enough interest, or shows hostility towards them). Angel can also restart the day themselves once they figure out how the glitch powers work.

📚 Choices that would normally lead to dead ends force Angel to end and restart them the same way [REDACTED] does—by breaking in to his apartment at night.

📚 They can't escape until they reach the true ending to reset the game back to normal, and reach another ending as og!Angel. Except now [REDACTED] remembers everything that happened.

💙 Goofy things to chew on

😋 [REDACTED] would still be a clean freak, so finding the mattress with a hole on day 1 would absolutely piss him off. Bro (rightfully) harasses their landlord 24/7.

😋 [REDACTED] also still terrible with finances… poor Angel has to figure out asap how to hack to give him more money before he has to move in with River (River route canon!!!).

😋 [REDACTED] either has to ignore Teo’s entire existence, or every single interaction is a minefield since Teo would live for pissing him off. River (poorly) plays mediator.

😋 Angel could outright suck at murder. Sledgehammer? Too heavy. Knives? Too messy. Screaming on the inside when [REDACTED] still doesn’t go home with them on day 2 after they’ve tried so hard. Olivia getting murdered simply does not happen anymore, they give up and force another reset.

😋 Elanor having the worst time at work because [REDACTED] gets customer complaints every single day but Conan won't fire him (the plot compels him). And then mutters insults about her being clumsy when she tries to correct his manners.

😋How are Moth and [REDACTED] even friends... enemies on the forums until some third party comes in with the most wild take on AoG?? Enemy of my enemy is my friend. But most of the time they're insulting each other.

😋 Leon watching Angel lose their shit seemingly out of nowhere (because of all the restarts) during a hangout. Consoling them awkwardly while they cry about the emo boy they’ve been stalking and how they don’t know how to ride a motorcycle.

😋 The trio being River, Jae, and Teo instead has disaster possibilities. Leon was the one keeping them from getting TOO destructive, and I feel like River is absolutely on board with every terrible idea. So Corland might as well be going up in flames in the background while Angel attempts romance.

💜 And a short fic!!! Angel's "first" day

Day 1, Attempt #0

You know right away that you’re in some type of isekai situation. An oddly luxurious but empty apartment that you woke up in. A hallway that’s just as empty, and when you knock on all the neighboring doors, nobody’s home. Weird, but not enough to set off any alarms. Getting back home should be simple. 

You head to the library and finally find someone, at least. That blonde girl Ellen? Elaine? Whatever her name is, she smiles as you walk in… and then greets you like a patron? Weren’t you meant to be co-workers? You’re completely confused until the person that you spot in a far aisle isn’t a pink-haired stranger, but instead someone decked head to toe in black fabric and silver chains.

Ohh it’s THIS one. The one you’ve seen in fan art sometimes. He’s supposed to be the real Ren, but you thought he’d be dressed up as “Haruko" at first. Something is wrong.

You slowly walk up and tap his shoulder, but they recoil at your presence. There’s a name tag stuck to his shirt—did he work here? The name is scribbled out completely.

“Um… I was wondering if you could help me?” you timidly ask.

His eyes roll as if you’re bothering him, instead of asking him to do his job. “Y’lookin’ for somethin’?” [REDACTED] mutters.

“Yes! Sort of. It's a long story. Maybe we could go to your place and talk?” Normally, you aren't this forward. But from what little you've read, they're the type to go along with anything his ‘Angel’ says, so this should be easy.

Something pops up in front of you. A small pair of black boxes with words in them. “Invite them over�� in one, and “Don't invite them over” in the other. Finally, something like a system. You were wondering if you'd have to play through the game without any clear help. 

You reach your hand out, but the second choice seems to get chosen all on its own, and the menu disappears once more. You worriedly look back up only to be met with pure disgust in the man's gaze.

“...How ‘bout y’do us both a favor n’ fuck off, yeah?” the venom in his tone startles you, forcing you to take a few steps back. “I'd rather not lose my job f’beating the shit out of a patron.”

“What—”

“Leave.”

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

Day 2, Attempt #14

It took you longer than you wanted to admit to realize that the pink hair dye in the bathroom was meant for you. 

On the 9th time you approached [REDACTED] for your ‘meet cute,’ you’d finally noticed the little character pin keeping his scribbled out name tag in place. An acrylic, chibi face that looked strikingly similar to the bloodied image on the title screen you saw before winding up in the game.

The thought didn’t occur to you until then. Talking to him was like pulling teeth when he didn’t even care to try, but… If you were taking his place, and they were taking yours… wouldn’t he be more open to talking with someone that was maybe into the same weird anime he was?

So you reluctantly bleached and dyed your hair in pastel pink, put on the sweater despite the horrid summer weather, and went off to the library once again. Unfortunately, it worked. 

While he wasn’t outright hostile like the first couple of times, he wasn’t completely interested, either. But the conversation was friendly enough. As friendly as they seemed capable of being, anyway.

Thanks to frying your hair, you made it all the way through the day after a few more tries. You even managed to get invited over somehow. Instead of waking up in that all too familiar empty apartment for the millionth time, you woke up on a terribly put together couch. Just as you sat up to stretch and work the kinks out of your back, you spotted a rat skittering behind a table across the room.

You were grateful that he hadn’t chosen to make you sleep on the floor.

[lubdubology]

Take My Love and Wear It

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

PAIRING: Old Man Logan x fem!reader

WC: 10.8k 

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

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

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

One month. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Doing what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

+++

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

+++

“He likes you, you know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

+++

“Want some help?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logan snorts in response, giving Charles a pointed glare.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did it hurt?”

“No.”

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

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

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

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

He looks back towards you. “Yeah?”

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

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

+++

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t need your help,” he growls. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just trust me,” you say. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

+++

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

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

“You find this amusing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing to me?” he asks.

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

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

“You took it on yourself, my pain?”

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good because I don’t want you to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

+++

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The pain hits you like a freight train.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C’mon, let’s get you inside.”

+++

There’s a reverence in which Logan washes you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love you, dammit!

“Yes,” you answer without hesitation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasp. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Prove it,” you challenge.

+++

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

+++

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

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

You want to hear it again. But not now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re home, too.

[clarkevision]

George Clarke |The Challenge

Summary: You and George meet for the first time

The pub had the kind of buzz that made it feel alive, the mixture of warm light, clinking glasses, and the hum of conversation. It was a Friday night, and I’d come out with a couple of friends to unwind after a long, hectic week. The air smelled faintly of spilled beer and fried food, the kind of familiar pub scent that felt grounding.

We’d grabbed a small table by the window, perfect for people-watching, and I settled in with a gin and tonic, enjoying the low chatter of my friends. They were talking about work and the usual nonsense, but my mind wandered, lost in the rhythms of the night. Outside, the streets were busy with people making their way home or heading out for the night, and in the midst of it all, I felt a sense of calm.

That’s when I saw him.

He was standing at the bar, leaning against the counter with his two friends, deep in conversation. His presence stood out even from across the room. His hair was tousled in that effortless way that made it look like he hadn’t tried at all but still looked perfect. A black jumper hugged his shoulders in just the right way, and the way he laughed—loud, unrestrained, and genuinely carefree—caught my attention.

I couldn’t help but watch as he laughed with his friends, his head thrown back, his brown eyes sparkling with mischief. And then, as if on cue, his gaze shifted. For a second, our eyes locked, and I felt a flicker of something—a spark I couldn’t quite explain. I quickly looked away, trying to shake off the feeling, but I felt the warmth spread across my cheeks.

When I dared a second glance, I saw him looking at me again. This time, he didn’t look away. His gaze lingered, and then he said something to his friends. They turned, smirking at me, clearly in on some private joke. The taller of the two gave him a subtle nudge.

I glanced at my friends, who noticed what was happening and exchanged knowing looks. One of them smirked. “Well, you’ve caught someone’s eye,” they whispered.

I rolled my eyes, trying not to show the mix of nervousness and intrigue swirling inside me. I didn’t know him, so why should it matter? But then I saw him push away from the bar, and my breath caught slightly as he began walking toward me. There was a quiet confidence in the way he moved, but something else, too—maybe uncertainty. I couldn’t quite place it.

He stopped just a few feet away from my table, his gaze flicking nervously between me and the empty seat across from me. “Hi,” he said, his voice smooth but with a hint of hesitation, like he wasn’t entirely sure whether he should be here. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

I glanced up at him, feigning indifference even though my pulse quickened. “Not at all,” I replied, gesturing to the seat. “Take a load off.”

He smiled, his whole face lighting up, and sat down without further hesitation. I couldn’t deny the effect he had on me—there was something magnetic about him, something that drew me in despite myself.

“I’m George,” he said, offering his hand. “Sorry if this is a bit forward. I saw you from across the room, and my mates… well, they dared me to come over.”

I shook his hand, a little surprised by the warmth and firmness of his grip. “I’m…” I started, but then paused, smiling slightly. “You can just call me… interesting, I guess.”

George laughed, clearly amused. “Interesting, huh? Well, that’s a bold statement, but I’m not one to argue with it.”

I arched an eyebrow. “You’re smooth. I’ll give you that.”

“Well,” he leaned back in his chair, a playful glint in his eye, “I’d say I’m just confident. Confidence is key, right?”

“I guess it is,” I said, taking a sip of my drink, still unsure what to make of him. He had this smooth, almost practiced charm, but there was something genuine about the way he spoke—like he was trying to connect, not just impress.

“So, tell me something interesting,” George said, leaning forward, clearly intrigued. “What’s your story?”

We spent the next few minutes exchanging small talk, at first just filling the space with casual conversation about work, the pub, and the weather. But as time passed, it became clear that the more we talked, the more the tension between us shifted. I found myself relaxing, laughing at his stories and genuinely enjoying his company. His friends, meanwhile, were at the bar, watching us with exaggerated interest.

“Don’t let them bother you,” George said with a grin when he noticed me glance toward his friends. “They think I’m either too shy or too cocky, so they’re making bets about whether I’ll manage to get through a conversation without embarrassing myself.”

“I don’t know,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “I think you’re doing fine so far.”

“Ah, that’s good to hear,” he said, taking a sip of his own drink, looking both pleased and slightly relieved. “But now that I’m on a roll, I suppose I should keep up the charm, right?”

“I don’t think you have to try that hard,” I said, shrugging nonchalantly. “But if you insist.”

He laughed, a low, almost self-conscious chuckle. “Well, I guess I’d better earn my keep. Can I buy you a drink?”

I leaned back in my chair, studying him for a moment. “Isn’t that how this all started?”

“I suppose so,” George said, flashing a grin. “But now I’m offering a second drink, so it’s different, right?”

“I suppose,” I said, amused. “Alright, one more drink. But don’t think you can talk your way out of anything.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t planning on it. I’m just trying to get to know you better.”

When he returned with our drinks, he also brought a plate of fries, setting them down between us. “Figured I’d cover all the bases,” he said with a wink. “A drink and some food. Can’t go wrong with that combo, right?”

I looked at the fries, then at him. “I didn’t know you were so prepared.”

George gave an exaggerated shrug. “I’m all about first impressions. Can’t just show up empty-handed, can I?”

I found myself laughing despite myself. “Alright, I’ll admit you’re winning me over.”

“So,” he said, leaning in slightly, “tell me, what’s something I wouldn’t guess about you just by looking?”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the question. “You’re a curious one, huh?”

He nodded eagerly. “I like to think I’m just good at reading people. But I’m ready to be surprised.”

I hesitated for a moment, considering how much to reveal. “Well, I guess you wouldn’t guess that I actually love hiking. Most people assume I’m more of a city girl.”

George’s eyes widened, clearly impressed. “I would never have guessed that. You seem like you’d be a beach person, honestly.”

I laughed. “I can be, but I love being out in nature. Something about it just resets my mind.”

“Well, now I’m intrigued,” George said, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe I’ll have to join you on a hike someday. You know, for the ‘nature therapy.’”

“I’ll hold you to that,” I said, smiling. “But don’t think I’ll go easy on you.”

As the night wore on, the pub began to empty, but neither of us seemed eager to leave. There was something comfortable about the way we’d fallen into this rhythm of conversation, like we’d known each other for far longer than we had.

“I suppose I should ask for your number, shouldn’t I?” George said eventually, his voice a little quieter, almost as if the mood had shifted from playful banter to something more earnest.

I hesitated, then nodded, pulling a pen from my bag and scribbling my number on a napkin. “You can text me if you want,” I said, sliding it across the table to him. “No guarantees.”

He grinned, picking up the napkin like it was the most precious thing in the world. “No guarantees? Fair enough. I’ll make sure to text you soon. But I’ll make it interesting.”

I stood up, grabbing my coat. “We’ll see. You’ve got some proving to do.”

George stood as well, his hand brushing mine as we said our goodbyes. “I’m up for the challenge. I’ll talk to you soon.”

And as I walked out into the cool night air, my heart felt lighter than it had in weeks. There was something about George’s charm—something about him that made me think this encounter might be more than just a chance meeting.

The days after that night felt like they moved at an oddly slow pace. Every time my phone buzzed, my heart skipped a beat, wondering if it would be George texting. When I finally got a message from him, it wasn’t exactly what I expected.

Hey, it’s George. I didn’t forget about that challenge. I owe you that hike, don’t I?

I smiled to myself. It had been a couple of days since we met, but the easy conversation and undeniable chemistry we had kept playing over in my mind. I’d been half-expecting him to casually drop the idea of a date into the conversation, but the hike was unexpected—and refreshing. It felt natural, and I liked that.

I’ll hold you to that. But you know I’m not going easy on you.

He responded almost immediately:

I’m counting on it. How does Saturday sound?

I read the message over again, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling in my chest. I hadn’t been on a first date in ages, let alone one where I felt this kind of nervous energy. But there was something about George—his charm, his authenticity—that made me feel like this could be something different.

Saturday morning arrived, bright and crisp with the kind of sunlight that made the city streets feel warmer than usual. I dressed in layers—comfortable but practical—and found myself checking the time more often than I’d care to admit. We’d agreed to meet at a small café before heading out on the hike, and I was trying to balance my excitement with my usual attempt at playing it cool.

I arrived early, already scanning the crowd for any sign of George. I wasn’t sure what to expect—had he changed his mind? Was he running late? Maybe the chemistry that had been so easy at the pub was just a one-off, after all.

Just as I started to second-guess myself, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Hey,” George said, a grin spreading across his face as I turned around. He was wearing a fitted jacket and hiking boots, looking effortlessly cool in that way that only someone with genuine confidence could pull off. “Hope I’m not too late.”

“No, you’re good,” I replied, forcing myself to act casual as my heart raced. “I just got here, actually.”

“You didn’t think I’d leave you hanging, did you?” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m all about keeping my promises. And this one’s a big one.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re brave, I’ll give you that.”

“Well, you said you weren’t going easy on me, so I figured I’d show up prepared.”

I looked him over, trying to hide the fact that he looked more put-together than I did for a hike. “Looks like you’ve got the gear down, at least.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, a glint of mischief in his eyes, “I’m not about to get embarrassed on the first date.”

We grabbed coffee together before heading out, making small talk about everything and nothing. George’s easygoing nature made it feel like we were just two friends catching up, even though I knew we weren’t. There was something undeniable between us—an undercurrent of curiosity, of possibility.

“So,” I said, as we finally made our way outside and headed for the trail, “have you done a lot of hiking before?”

George smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “To be honest, I’ve only done a couple of easy ones. I’m more of a pub-and-football kind of guy.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? I thought you were going to impress me with your survival skills.”

“Well, if we end up in the middle of nowhere, I might need you to save me,” he said with a wink. “But hey, I’ll carry the snacks. That’s something, right?”

I laughed, amused by his confidence in the face of his clear lack of experience. “I think I can manage. You can keep the snacks, I’ll keep the route.”

As we walked toward the trailhead, the conversation flowed easily, just like it had at the pub. We talked about everything from our favorite movies to the things we hated most about city living. He told me more about his friends—Chris and Arthur, of course, the two who had been in on his plan to come over to my table that night. I liked hearing about the people who shaped his life.

“You really trust those guys, huh?” I asked, genuinely curious.

He nodded, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. They’ve known me since uni. And I’m not one to hold back around them. They’ve seen all my worst moments, so they know me better than most.”

There was something comforting about the honesty in his voice. For all his charm and smoothness, he wasn’t afraid to be real, and that was something I admired.

As we hiked along, the rhythm of the trail gave us a comfortable space to keep talking. The sun was high now, shining through the trees, and the air was crisp and refreshing. It wasn’t strenuous, but the scenery was breathtaking—forests stretching for miles, the trail winding upward, leading us to a clearing where we could see far out over the valley below.

“This view is amazing,” I said, pausing to take it all in. The hike had brought a peace I hadn’t realized I needed, and I could tell George felt the same.

“Yeah, it’s nice,” he agreed, his voice quieter now, as though he was letting the silence settle around us. “Not what I expected, honestly. You were right about this nature thing—it’s got its charm.”

I smiled. “I told you.”

George glanced over at me, his gaze lingering for just a beat too long. He seemed to be searching my face, trying to read me. “You know,” he said, his voice a little softer, “this is way more fun than I thought it’d be. I’m glad we did this.”

I nodded, feeling a sudden warmth that had nothing to do with the sun on my back. “Me too. I wasn’t sure how this was going to go, but I’m glad we’re here.”

There was a quiet pause, and for a moment, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of us. His presence felt steady, like something I could trust—something worth taking the risk for. Without thinking too much, I found myself stepping closer to him.

“George,” I said, looking up at him with a soft smile. “You might just be winning me over.”

His eyes sparkled, and the smile he gave me was enough to make my heart skip a beat. “I’m only getting started,” he said quietly. “I’m in it for the long haul, remember?”

The rest of the hike felt like a blur in the best possible way—easy, relaxed, full of laughter and comfortable silences. We reached the summit, and we sat together, watching the world stretch out in front of us.

For a while, we didn’t talk. We just sat side by side, taking in the beauty around us. The moment felt simple, but it was perfect.

“Thanks for coming,” George said after a while, turning to me with a sincerity that made my chest tighten a little. “This—everything—has been better than I could’ve imagined.”

“I think the best part,” I said, “is that we actually did it. And it wasn’t awkward.”

He laughed softly. “I wasn’t worried about that. I was just hoping you wouldn’t abandon me halfway through.”

I nudged him, laughing. “You wish.”

As we made our way back down the trail, the setting sun cast a golden glow over everything. I felt lighter than I had in a long time, like something inside me had shifted. George wasn’t just the smooth talker he had seemed to be at first. He was real. And this—whatever this was between us—felt like it had the potential to grow into something special.

When we reached the base of the trail, George turned to me, his eyes meeting mine with a quiet intensity. “So, how about next weekend? You and me—no hiking, just a proper dinner this time?”

I smiled, my heart fluttering a little. “I’d like that.”

As I walked away that evening, I realized that this wasn’t just a one-time thing. George had somehow turned what could’ve been an awkward first date into something comfortable and exciting. It was the start of something, and I had no idea where it would lead—but I was looking forward to finding out.

[sturniololuvz]

Heyy can I request the triplets third wheeling their sisters and her boyfriends date and she’s saying freaky stuff to piss her brothers off 

lolll!

“Third-Wheel Torture”

Sturniolos x sister

Y/N had planned a cute, romantic date night with her boyfriend—just the two of them, some good food, maybe a late-night drive—but, of course, her three wonderful brothers had decided that wasn’t happening.

“I don’t trust him,” Chris had said.

“She doesn’t need a chaperone,” Nick had argued.

“Yeah, but it’d be funny,” Matt had smirked.

And somehow, she ended up third-wheeling her own date.

Now, Y/N and her boyfriend sat in a booth at a dimly lit restaurant, the triplets seated directly across from them like an intimidating, overly protective panel of judges. Chris had his arms crossed, Nick looked two seconds away from rolling his eyes, and Matt was simply enjoying watching his younger sister suffer.

Y/N tightened her grip on her boyfriend’s hand and gave them a sweet smile. “You guys having fun crashing our date?”

“Oh, we’re having a blast,” Chris deadpanned, squinting at her boyfriend like he was an escaped convict. “Right, boys?”

Matt nodded, pretending to examine the guy up and down. “Mhm. Real fun.”

Nick just sighed. “This is ridiculous.”

Y/N smirked, a wicked idea forming in her mind. If they were going to torture her, she’d make sure to torture them right back.

She leaned into her boyfriend’s side, running her fingers slowly up his arm. “You looked so good earlier, babe. Almost made me wanna skip dinner.”

Chris gagged, immediately reaching for his water. “Shut up.”

Matt cringed, shoving his fingers into his ears. “Nope. Nope. Don’t wanna hear it.”

Nick groaned in disgust. “Bro, why would you say that?”

Y/N bit back a laugh, completely unbothered by their dramatics. “What? I’m just appreciating my man.” She turned to her boyfriend and ran her nails lightly across the back of his neck, making him shiver. “Can’t wait to be alone later.”

Chris immediately pushed his plate away. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

Matt rubbed his temples. “We should’ve never come.”

Nick, looking genuinely disturbed, leaned forward with a sharp glare. “You’re actually disgusting.”

Y/N grinned, knowing she had won. “Hey, maybe next time, you guys won’t crash my date.”

Chris huffed, crossing his arms. “Yeah, well, next time, your boyfriend better watch himself.”

“Or what?” she challenged, raising an eyebrow.

Chris stared at her boyfriend, his voice low. “Or I’ll kill him.”

Her boyfriend, who had been silent this whole time, finally chuckled. “Noted.”

Matt sighed dramatically. “Alright, I’ve had enough of this. I say we go get ice cream and ditch these two.”

Chris perked up. “Ooh, facts.”

Nick stood up, already grabbing his keys. “Let’s go before she says more nasty shit.”

Y/N laughed as the triplets practically sprinted out of the restaurant, muttering about how they “needed to bleach their brains.”

Her boyfriend leaned in, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “That was kinda fun.”

She smirked. “Told you I’d make them suffer.”

[yassbishimvintage]

Hearts On Deck

A/N: Sooo this is kinda a prequel series so I hope y'all like it.

It was at one of the most exclusive parties she had ever attended that she first saw Aaron. It was a glamorous Hollywood event, brimming with A-listers, champagne, and flashing lights. Cleo was there to network, as usual, dressed in the latest designer gown, hair perfectly done, and a smile that could light up the room. But even in this sea of celebrities, her attention kept drifting to one man: Aaron.

He wasn’t a part of the flashy crowd. He was standing off to the side, a quiet presence, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but there. Aaron was a rising actor, but not the type to seek the limelight. He was shy, reserved, and far more comfortable in a low-key setting than in the chaos of a red carpet.

Cleo, curious, made her way over to him. It wasn’t like her to approach someone so unobtrusive, but there was something magnetic about him—something she couldn’t quite place. As she drew closer, Aaron noticed her and instantly felt the weight of her gaze. His heart rate picked up, and his palms started to sweat. He wasn’t used to being noticed by someone like her.

“Hi,” Cleo said, flashing her signature smile. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Cleo.”

Aaron blinked, caught off guard. He hadn’t expected her to come over, let alone speak to him. “I’m Aaron,” he said, his voice soft but steady.

She tilted her head slightly, studying him with curiosity. “You don’t seem like you belong here. You’re not really the ‘party’ type, are you?”

Aaron chuckled nervously, shrugging. “Not really, no. I’m just here for a friend...”

Cleo smiled, her interest piqued. “I get that. Sometimes these things can feel a little... overwhelming, right?”

Aaron nodded, feeling slightly more at ease. “Exactly. Everyone’s so... loud.”

“I get it,” she said with a wink. “I spend my life in the spotlight, but I prefer the quieter moments, too.”

Aaron was taken aback. Cleo, the queen of social media, the face of luxury brands, was telling him she didn’t always enjoy the limelight? It was a rare moment of honesty he didn’t expect from someone so polished.

Their conversation flowed effortlessly after that. They both shared their thoughts on the entertainment industry—Cleo about the pressures of her public persona, Aaron about the challenges of staying grounded in an industry that often wanted to mold you into something else. Cleo found herself drawn to Aaron’s quiet intelligence and humility, something rare in the world she was so familiar with.

As the night wore on, Cleo could feel the chemistry between them building, but she wasn’t sure what to make of it. Aaron was nothing like the men she usually dated—he wasn’t flashy, didn’t chase after her attention, and seemed content in his own space. Yet there was something intriguing about that. He wasn’t overwhelmed by her fame, and that was refreshing.

“Would you want to get coffee sometime?” she asked, taking a small risk. She’d never been shy about asking for what she wanted, but there was something different about Aaron. She didn’t want to come off as too forward.

Aaron hesitated, surprised by the offer. The idea of spending time with someone as high-profile as Cleo made him nervous. “Sure,” he said, his voice quiet but sincere. “I’d like that.”

And that was how it started.

-

Their dates were quiet and private. Cleo appreciated the lack of cameras, the absence of the social media spotlight. They would meet at small, inconspicuous cafés or wander the streets of London, talking about everything and nothing at all. Aaron was shy, but in her presence, he found it easier to open up. Cleo, on the other hand, found solace in Aaron’s calm energy. He made her feel like she could just be herself, away from the public’s gaze.

Over time, Cleo learned that Aaron wasn’t the type to seek attention or validation. He wasn’t impressed by her celebrity connections or her social media presence. What he saw was a woman who worked hard, who was incredibly smart, and who was far more than her public persona. For the first time in a long while, Cleo found someone who was more interested in who she was off-camera than who she appeared to be on-screen.

It wasn’t always easy, though. Cleo had to balance her public life with their private one, and sometimes that meant making sacrifices. She found herself turning down high-profile events or skipping out on brand partnerships just to have a quiet evening with Aaron. And Aaron, who was already somewhat private, had to get used to the idea of being in the orbit of someone who was constantly under scrutiny.

But it worked. Slowly but surely, their bond deepened. They became each other’s anchor in a world that was often overwhelming. When Cleo felt the weight of the pressure around her, Aaron was her safe place. And when Aaron felt unsure about his place in the industry, Cleo reminded him of his worth, not as an actor, but as a person.

Before they knew it, their quiet moments together had become the most meaningful part of their lives. And despite the fact that the world often pulled them in different directions, they always found their way back to each other.

As the conversation continued, Cleo couldn't help but notice the subtle accent in Aaron's voice. It was soft but distinct, and it piqued her curiosity.

"Is that a British accent I hear?" she asked, a playful smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Aaron smiled, clearly amused by the question. "Yep. South London. West Croydon," he replied, the pride in his voice unmistakable.

Cleo raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "West Croydon, huh? I’ve always wanted to visit London. Maybe you can show me around someday?"

Aaron chuckled, a hint of shyness returning to his demeanor. "I could do that. It’s a bit different from the glamorous side of London you might be used to, though."

"That's exactly why I want to see it," she said, her eyes lighting up. "I like the real, unfiltered version of places. Maybe you’ll be the perfect tour guide."

Aaron’s smile grew wider, and there was a warmth in his eyes that told Cleo that this was something special—something she hadn’t expected to find in a room full of distractions.

-

Cleo looked at Aaron for a moment, studying him as if trying to piece something together. “For someone whose profession is acting, you are very...” she paused, searching for the right word.

Aaron raised an eyebrow, waiting, a little intrigued by her observation. “Very what?”

She grinned slightly, trying to put her thoughts into words. “You’re very... reserved. Not exactly the type to seek attention.”

He chuckled softly, a hint of self-awareness in his laugh. “I suppose I’m more comfortable behind the scenes than in front of a camera. Acting’s one thing, but the attention that comes with it? Not so much.”

Cleo nodded, a small understanding smile crossing her face. “I get that. It’s refreshing, honestly. In my world, everyone’s always trying to be seen. But with you, it’s like you’re perfectly fine being in the background.”

“I guess I don’t mind blending in,” Aaron said, his gaze softening. “It’s the quiet moments I appreciate most. Like this one.”

-

Cleo couldn’t help but smile at Aaron, her eyes taking in the way he moved, the way he carried himself. As they strolled down the sidewalk together, she noticed something about him that she couldn’t quite shake. He stayed closest to the street, always positioned between her and any passing traffic, a quiet act of protection that spoke volumes. The way he did it so naturally, without even thinking, made her heart warm.

"You're a gentleman, aren’t you?" she said softly, her voice filled with a hint of admiration.

Aaron’s gaze shifted to her, a small but knowing smile on his lips. “I try to be.”

Cleo’s smile grew wider, and she couldn’t help but glance at his appearance. His style was understated yet impeccable—a simple chain around his neck, a turtleneck that fit just right, tapered pants, and a fresh fade that accentuated his sharp features. It was as though he had effortlessly combined casual and classy, without the need to try too hard.

But it wasn’t just his style that caught her attention. His eyes—those warm, hazel eyes—held her captivated. There was an intensity in them, a quiet depth that she could get lost in if she wasn’t careful. Every time their eyes met, it felt like the world around them blurred, leaving only the two of them in sharp focus.

She caught herself staring a little too long, and quickly looked away, feeling the warmth rush to her cheeks. “Your eyes,” she murmured, almost to herself. “They’re... mesmerizing.”

Aaron’s smile deepened, a mix of humility and something else that lingered in his expression. “Guess I’m just full of surprises,” he said with a quiet chuckle, but there was something vulnerable in the way he spoke, something that made Cleo want to know more about the man behind the quiet demeanor.

Cleo’s curiosity got the best of her, and she decided to ask the question that had been lingering in her mind. "So, how long are you in LA for?" she asked, her voice casual but with a hint of interest.

Aaron glanced over at her, his expression thoughtful. "Just a few more days," he replied. "I’m here for work, but I don’t usually stay long. I prefer to keep things moving."

Cleo nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Sounds like someone who likes to keep a low profile." She teased lightly but couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed at the thought of him leaving so soon.

Aaron chuckled softly, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I’m not exactly the ‘LA lifestyle’ type. I like to get in, do what I need to, and head back home."

“Where’s home for you?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“London,” he said with a quiet pride. “South London, West Croydon, to be specific.”

Cleo’s smile grew. “Well, I’ll take that as a good excuse to get to know you better before you leave,” she said, her voice playful.

Aaron’s eyes flickered with something unspoken, and he gave her a small, warm smile. "I wouldn’t mind that at all."

-

As they walked, the conversation flowed effortlessly, but soon enough, they reached the entrance of her apartment building. The bustling city sounds seemed to fade away as Cleo came to a stop in front of the sleek, modern building.

She turned to Aaron with a soft smile. "This is me," she said, her tone casual but with a touch of warmth.

Aaron paused, glancing up at the building. It was exactly the kind of place he imagined her living in—elegant, contemporary, with an understated luxury. He looked back at her, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than usual.

"This is nice," he said with a slight nod, genuinely impressed. "You’ve got good taste."

Cleo chuckled, slightly flattered. "Well, I try."

She hesitated for just a second, then added, "Do you want to come up for a bit? I could use the company."

Aaron wasn’t sure if it was the late hour or the way she asked, but the offer caught him off guard. There was something inviting in her tone, something easy about it, and for a split second, he debated. His natural shyness made him want to decline, to keep things simple, but there was a part of him—an honest part—that wanted to spend more time with her, to see where this connection could go.

"Sure," he said, his voice steady, though there was a trace of hesitation. "I’d like that."

-

Once inside, Aaron took a few steps into the spacious apartment, his eyes immediately drawn to the breathtaking view of the city. The twinkling lights of LA stretched out before him, a contrast to the quiet intimacy of the room. He stood there for a moment, taking it all in, the vastness of the skyline juxtaposed with the calm ambiance inside.

"Wow," he muttered under his breath, genuinely in awe. "This is... incredible."

Cleo smiled at his reaction, pleased but not surprised. "Yeah, the view is my favorite part," she said, walking toward the kitchen area with a graceful ease. "It's one of the reasons I got the place."

She glanced over her shoulder, her voice soft but welcoming. "Would you like coffee or tea?"

Aaron snapped out of his reverie, turning to face her. He hadn’t even thought about it—was too taken by the view—but now that she asked, he found himself considering the options. "Tea sounds nice," he said after a beat, his eyes catching hers with a look that felt both casual and intimate at once. "You have any British tea, or is that asking too much?"

Cleo chuckled, clearly amused. "I’ve got some Earl Grey, actually. I’ll make it just the way you like."

-

As Cleo made her way to the kitchen, Aaron remained by the window, his thoughts drifting for a moment before he turned to her. His curiosity got the better of him, and despite his usual reticence, he found himself asking a question he’d been wondering for a while.

“If you don’t mind me asking… why don’t you have a special someone?” He said, his tone casual but edged with genuine curiosity.

Cleo paused, her hand resting on the counter as she looked back at him. The question hung in the air for a moment, and she could tell it wasn’t coming from a place of prying, but from a quiet sincerity.

She gave a small shrug, her eyes softening. "I guess I’ve just never found someone who really... gets me. I mean, I’m constantly surrounded by people, but it’s different when you’re looking for something real, you know?" She smiled faintly, turning to prepare the tea. "I’ve been busy with work, and honestly, sometimes I wonder if I even have time for someone else."

Aaron nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful as he watched her move. "I get that. It’s hard to find someone who understands the whole... picture."

"Exactly," Cleo said, meeting his eyes for a moment. She paused, the faintest hint of vulnerability flashing across her face before she covered it with a smile. "But I’m not exactly in a rush either."

Aaron cleared his throat softly, the sound breaking the gentle silence that had settled between them. Cleo caught the subtle shift, and for a moment, her eyes lingered on his before she dropped her gaze, focusing on the task at hand.

She reached for the kettle, the steam rising gracefully as she poured hot water over the tea leaves. The soothing aroma of Earl Grey filled the room, mingling with the soft hum of the city outside the window.

Cleo carefully poured him a cup, her movements fluid and deliberate. She handed it to him, their fingers brushing for the briefest of moments. The contact was subtle but electric, sending a gentle shiver down her spine.

"Here you go," she said softly, her voice just above a whisper. "Hope it’s to your liking."

Aaron accepted the cup, his eyes not leaving hers. "Thank you," he murmured, the warmth from the tea seeping into his hands as his gaze remained locked with hers. There was a softness in his eyes, a quiet appreciation that made the moment feel deeper, more intimate.

As they settled into the living room, cups in hand, the air between them felt charged with possibilities. The city continued to sparkle outside, but within these walls, time seemed to slow, drawing them closer to an unspoken understanding.

-

Hours had passed, but neither of them had noticed. Their conversation flowed effortlessly, jumping from childhood memories to career highs and lows, to the little things that made them who they were. The tea had long since gone cold, their cups resting forgotten on the coffee table.

Cleo, curled into the corner of the couch, felt the weight of the night settle over her. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she fought to keep them open, not wanting to end the moment just yet. She let out a small yawn, covering her mouth as she blinked up at Aaron.

"Getting tired?" he asked, his voice softer now, almost hesitant.

She nodded, giving him a lazy smile. "Yeah… I guess I am."

Aaron exhaled quietly, glancing toward the door. He knew this was the part where he should probably get up, thank her for the tea, and head out. But something kept him still. The thought of leaving, of stepping back into the quiet solitude of his hotel room, felt… unappealing.

Cleo must have noticed his hesitation because she tilted her head slightly, watching him with half-lidded eyes. "You don’t have to go just yet," she murmured, her voice laced with drowsiness.

Aaron studied her for a beat, then nodded, settling back against the couch. "Alright," he said, voice low, almost a whisper. "I’ll stay a little longer."

A small, satisfied hum left her lips as she let her eyes close, trusting his presence in her space. Aaron sat there, watching the city lights flicker outside the window, listening to the soft rhythm of her breathing. He hadn’t expected the night to unfold this way, but somehow, he didn’t mind it at all.

-

Sleep crept over Cleo before she could fight it, pulling her into a hazy, comfortable warmth. At some point, without realizing it, she shifted closer, drawn to the steady presence beside her.

Aaron sat still, his arm draped loosely along the back of the couch, not wanting to disturb her. He felt the weight of her as she unconsciously nestled into him, her head resting against his chest, her breath soft and even.

For a moment, he stiffened—not because he minded, but because it had been a long time since someone had leaned on him like this. Literally. Figuratively.

He glanced down at her, taking in the way her lashes fluttered slightly, the relaxed part of her lips, the way she fit against him like she was meant to be there. A gentle, involuntary smile tugged at his lips.

He could have woken her, could have excused himself and left. But instead, he let himself sink into the moment, resting his head back against the couch, feeling the quiet rhythm of her breathing against him.

The city outside buzzed with life, but inside this space, everything was still. And for the first time in a while, he didn't feel the urge to move.

Tags 🏷️

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[massy2ly]

I’m so glad I’m not the only one who thinks Fadel and Style would make such FIRE switches.

*Whatever intimate dynamic they have is gorgeous. I just think this could also work for them and would be nice to see*

I remember reading a Tumblr post once that nailed it about Style—he’s such an interesting character because he totally challenges gender boundaries. In real life, sure, it wouldn’t matter AT ALL to know if and how he could be top, bottom or switch, but in BLs, we know they love to mold characters around that intimate dynamic. And honestly? I love how unique Style is because he’s kinda ethereal—it’s hard to slap a label on him. Yeah, he’s sensual, soft, cute, quirky, and definitely a BRAT, but he’s also got this undeniable dominant side. We’ve seen it since episode 1—he’s never backed down from it. I genuinely thought he was gonna be the top in episode 5. Low-key disappointed when I heard he wasn’t in that morning scene (that face Fadel was making, ughhh. I’d let Style do anything to me in that position). To me, Style’s got switch vibes, and his dynamic with Fadel is so balanced that you can’t just pin him as a straight-up bottom. Yes, he likes being manhandled and enjoys Fadel’s strength and roughness but we’ve seen in many scenes that they’re both layered and versatile.

Then you’ve got Fadel—this guy who can’t breathe unless he’s in control, who loves to act all tough and rough, take the lead, and “apparently” pursue his love interests. Style completely wrecked that from day one. He’s been peeling back layers of Fadel, showing him parts of himself he didn’t even know existed or was too scared to embrace. The way Style pursued him, pushed him to his limits, kept flustering him and shaking up his world—he matched Fadel’s roughness with his own sexy, unhinged and bold energy. Style takes all the first moves, is shameless about what he wants, and openly shares his feelings. He forced Fadel to see that, yeah, he DOES like being pursued. He enjoys being charmed, seduced, played with, and made the center of someone’s world. Not just anyone, but a guy as confident, fearless, sexy, and straight-up magnetic as Style. Watching Fadel get vulnerable around him, sometimes even looking small in comparison, is beautiful and terrifying—it’s a whole new world for him, but it’s also a safe space where he can just breathe, relax, and let himself be loved and cherished.

So yeah, I’m all in on them being switches. Fadel would eat it up, letting go in Style’s hands like that? Ugh, too good. He needs it, I’m telling you. And Style would totally nail it, every part of it. (Honestly, I think I’d be more into Style than Fadel just because his whole vibe—his aura, that sex appeal—is just sooo hot. Everyone knows it.)

[lowaltitude]

Dial Tone 5 | Matt Rempe

- NHL, New York Rangers - x Reader

❪ FEM! ❫

───── ❝ description + disclaimer ❞ ─────

𖥻 Matthew Rempe x FEM!reader, in which a wrong number friendship is more than you'd hope for. OR he falls first, he falls hard, he's NYC's biggest enforcer.

𖥻 PART ONE HERE. PART TWO HERE. PART THREE HERE. PART FOUR HERE. 5.2k words

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

We hugged briefly, and it felt oddly natural—like we’d done this a hundred times before. When we pulled apart, he gave me a once-over, his grin turning playful.

“You know,” he said, tilting his head, “you’re a lot shorter in person.”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “You’re a giant. Everyone’s short compared to you.”

“Fair point,” he said, stepping aside to let me lead the way toward the counter. “But I think you owe me an apology for all the grief you’ve given me about my height.”

“You’ll survive,” I shot back, glancing over my shoulder at him.

We ordered our drinks, and while we waited, the conversation came easily. It was almost disarming how normal it felt, standing there with him, joking about the ridiculous fake names on the order screen (“Rempe with a P? Really?”) and arguing over who would pay (“Matt, it’s coffee, not a Michelin-star dinner”).

Once we had our drinks, we found a quiet table in the corner. I’d picked this coffee shop intentionally—low-key, tucked away from the busier streets—and it seemed to work. No one gave us a second glance, even as Matt adjusted his baseball cap like he was expecting paparazzi to burst through the door at any second.

“So,” I said, leaning back in my chair, “does this count as me giving you the grand tour of San Diego?”

He smirked. “If this is your idea of a tour, I’m disappointed.”

“Okay, Mr. Critic,” I said, raising a brow. “What do you want? Beaches? Tacos? Both?”

“Both sounds good,” he admitted, taking a sip of his drink. “But let’s not rush it. I’m enjoying the coffee and company.”

My cheeks warmed at the way his tone softened on the last word, but I kept my composure. “Well, lucky for you, I have an entire day planned.”

“Oh yeah?” His brows lifted, and I could see the faintest hint of surprise behind his confident facade. “You’ve been planning this?”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” I said, smirking. “I just figured it would be better than watching you pace around the hotel room.”

He laughed, the sound low and genuine. “Touché.”

We spent the next hour talking about everything and nothing. He told me stories about life on the road with his team—carefully avoiding any specifics that might give away his identity to anyone listening—and I shared some of my most ridiculous college anecdotes, which had him laughing so hard at one point he nearly spilled his coffee.

“Okay,” he said finally, setting his cup down. “I’ve got to admit, this is way more fun than I expected.”

“Wow, what a glowing review,” I said, feigning offense. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

He grinned. “It is. I just didn’t think hanging out in a coffee shop could feel…easy, you know?”

“Maybe it’s the company,” I suggested, my voice light but my heart hammering.

“Maybe it is,” he said, holding my gaze just a second longer than necessary.

For a moment, the noise of the coffee shop faded into the background. The banter, the jokes, the nerves—it all melted away, leaving only the quiet, unspoken connection we’d built over the months.

He broke the silence first, leaning back in his chair and flashing me a crooked smile. “So, about this grand tour…”

“Yes?”

“Think it includes tacos and a sunset?”

“Definitely,” I said, matching his grin. “But only if you can keep up.”

“Challenge accepted,” he said, standing and holding out his hand to me.

I took it without hesitation, his touch warm and grounding. As we stepped out into the sunny San Diego afternoon, I couldn’t help but feel like this was the start of something I didn’t quite have the words for yet—but whatever it was, I knew I wanted to see it through.

The day flew by in a blur of laughter and stolen moments. We grabbed tacos at a local stand he immediately declared “life-changing,” walked along the beach with our shoes in hand, and watched the sun dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink.

“You know,” he said as we stood at the water’s edge, his hands shoved into his pockets, “I wasn’t sure how this would go.”

“Why?” I asked, glancing up at him.

“Because meeting someone in real life…it’s different,” he admitted, his voice quieter than usual. “But this? You? It’s better than I imagined.”

His words caught me off guard, and for a moment, I couldn’t think of a clever response. So instead, I just smiled, the kind that reached my eyes.

“Same here,” I said softly.

He smiled back, his expression open and unguarded in a way that made my chest ache.

As the waves lapped at our feet, I realised something: whatever this was—whatever it could become—I was ready to take the chance.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

By the time we got back to the coffee shop parking lot where we’d left our cars, the city had gone quiet, the hum of the day giving way to the stillness of the evening. Matt leaned against his car, arms crossed, watching me with that same unreadable expression I was starting to recognize as his way of holding back.

“I guess this is it,” he said, his voice light but tinged with something deeper.

“For tonight,” I replied, clutching my keys a little tighter than necessary.

He tilted his head, a small smirk playing on his lips. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, San Diego.”

“Good,” I said before I could stop myself.

His smirk softened into a smile, the kind that made it hard to look away. “So,” he said, pushing off the car, “what’s next? Another tour? A baseball cap-and-sunglasses situation?”

I laughed, the sound more nervous than I wanted it to be. “We’ll see. Depends on how much trouble you want to cause.”

“I’m not the troublemaker here,” he teased, stepping closer. “You’re the one sneaking around with a professional hockey player.”

“Oh, please,” I shot back, rolling my eyes. “If anyone’s sneaking around, it’s you.”

“Fair,” he admitted, his grin widening. “But for the record, I like sneaking around with you.”

The weight of his words hung between us, heavier than the teasing tone they’d been delivered in. For a moment, we just stood there, the quiet of the night wrapping around us like a cocoon.

“I had fun today,” I said finally, my voice softer than I intended.

“Me too,” he replied, his gaze holding mine. “You’re pretty good at this whole real-life thing.”

“Thanks,” I said, grinning. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

We stood there for a moment longer, neither of us seeming ready to leave. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice lower than before. “Drive safe, okay?”

“You too,” I said, stepping back toward my car.

As I opened the door, he called out, “Hey.”

I turned to look at him, my heart doing that stupid fluttering thing it always seemed to do when he was around.

“This doesn’t count as our only tour, right?” he asked, one hand resting on the roof of his car.

“Not even close,” I said, smiling.

He nodded, looking satisfied. “Good.”

I slid into my car, the warmth of his gaze lingering long after I drove away.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

That night, lying in bed, I stared at my phone for what felt like forever before typing out a message.

Tuesday, September 10, 2024 Today, 11:51PM ME: Today was fun.

It took him less than a minute to reply.

MATT: It was. MATT: So…next time tacos are on me?

I smiled, shaking my head.

ME: You’ve got yourself a deal.

His response was almost immediate:

MATT: Finally I get my chance to woo you like a true gentleman

I set my phone on the nightstand, a quiet laugh escaping me as I pulled the covers up.

It was still new, still uncertain, but for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

The next day felt like it dragged on forever. My morning classes passed in a blur, and by the time my last lecture ended, I was practically buzzing with nerves. It wasn’t every day that a 6'8" hockey player casually showed up on campus to meet me.

When I stepped out of the lecture hall, Matt was already there, leaning against the bike rack like he belonged on a billboard instead of a college campus. He was wearing a dark hoodie pulled low over his head and a pair of sunglasses, the kind of look that screamed “trying not to be recognized” while also being ridiculously conspicuous.

“You know,” I said as I approached him, “if you’re trying to blend in, you’re doing a terrible job.”

He pushed his sunglasses up onto his head, revealing that lopsided grin of his. “Hey, this is my best incognito look. Don’t knock it.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the way my stomach flipped at the sight of him. “You look like you’re about to rob a convenience store.”

“Well, I’ve got to protect my reputation,” he said, falling into step beside me as we headed toward the parking lot. “Can’t have anyone finding out I’m sneaking off campus with the coolest girl here.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Yeah, I’m sure people are lining up to take pictures of me.”

“Maybe they should be,” he shot back, his tone light but sincere enough to make my cheeks warm.

Before I could respond, a familiar voice called out behind me “Y/N! Hey, is that you?”

I turned sharply, spotting my friend Rachel walking across the quad toward us. My stomach flipped, and not in a good way. Rachel wasn’t the kind of person to let something like this slide without a million questions.

Matt glanced at me, his brow raised in silent question.

“That’s my friend,” I muttered, already feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. “We need to go.”

“Why?” he asked, though he was already moving with me as I grabbed his arm.

“Because if she sees us together, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Without thinking, I laced my fingers through his and tugged him along, my heart racing as we half-walked, half-jogged toward the parking lot.

“Y/N!” Rachel called again, her voice closer now.

“Move faster,” I hissed, glancing over my shoulder to see her gaining on us.

Matt didn’t say a word, but his hand tightened around mine, his long strides easily keeping pace with me. It wasn’t until we reached his rental car that I realized how ridiculous we must look—a frantic girl dragging a guy who could probably pick her up with one hand.

He unlocked the car with a quick press of a button, and I all but shoved him toward the driver’s side. “Get in, get in!”

He chuckled as he opened the door, sliding into the seat. “You’re surprisingly bossy when you’re in panic mode.”

“Just drive!” I said, slipping into the passenger seat and slamming the door behind me.

Rachel reached the edge of the parking lot just as Matt pulled out, her confused expression shrinking in the rearview mirror. I exhaled a long breath, leaning back against the seat.

“That,” Matt said, his tone amused, “was the most exciting escape I’ve ever had on a college campus.”

I turned to him, realizing our hands were still joined. I quickly pulled mine away, my cheeks burning. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” he said, glancing over at me with a grin. “I kind of liked it. Felt like we were in a spy movie or something.”

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. “She’s going to text me like twenty times asking who you are.”

“Just tell her I’m your overly tall, very photogenic friend.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, the tension in my chest finally easing. Despite the chaos, it was hard to feel anything but light when I was with him.

As we drove toward the movie theater, I stole a glance at him, a small smile tugging at my lips. Maybe this wasn’t how I imagined today going, but holding his hand—even for a moment—felt like the start of something I hadn’t dared to dream about before.

The drive to the movie theater was filled with a mix of banter and quiet moments that felt just as comfortable. He’d picked a smaller theater in a nearby neighborhood, one that wasn’t likely to attract too much attention.

“I thought we’d try to keep it low-key, and Google said this cinema gets an average of 12 customers a day,” he said as we pulled into the parking lot.

“Smart move,” I replied, glancing around at the unassuming building.

Matt climbed out of the SUV, and as I unbuckled my seatbelt, I watched him scramble around the front of the car to the passenger side. He paused dramatically before opening the door for me, and I raised an eyebrow.

“Chivalry’s not dead, huh?”

“Not when I’m involved,” he said with a wink.

Inside, we bought our tickets and a ridiculous amount of snacks, Matt insisting on carrying everything because “it’s the least I can do.”

“You’re single-handedly keeping this theater in business,” I teased as he precariously balanced the popcorn, candy, and drinks.

We found seats near the back of the theater, and as the lights dimmed, I couldn’t help but steal a glance at him. He was focused on the screen, a faint smile on his lips, but as if sensing my gaze, he turned his head and caught me.

He leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. “You good?”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling. “Just…it’s still weird seeing you in real life.”

He chuckled softly. “I could say the same about you.”

The movie started, and for a while, we both fell into the story, sharing laughter and the occasional whispered comment. It felt easy, natural—like we’d done this a hundred times before.

At one point, his hand brushed mine as he reached for the popcorn. Neither of us moved away immediately, and I could feel the warmth of his skin against mine. My breath caught, but I forced myself to focus back on the screen, my pulse racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the movie.

When the credits rolled, we lingered for a moment, neither of us in a hurry to leave. But eventually, we made our way back to his car under the soft glow of the streetlights, the air between us buzzing with unspoken words.

“So,” he said as we climbed in, “on a scale of one to ten, how bad was that movie?”

I laughed. “Solid six. But the company made up for it.”

“Good save,” he said, his grin widening as he started the car.

The drive back to my apartment was quieter, the kind of silence that felt companionable rather than awkward. When he pulled up to the curb outside my building, I hesitated for a moment before unbuckling my seatbelt.

“Thanks for today,” he said, his tone softer now. “I had fun.”

“Me too,” I replied, feeling the truth of it settle in my chest.

He leaned against the steering wheel, looking at me like he wanted to say something more. Finally, he asked, “See you tomorrow?”

I nodded, my smile growing. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

As he drove away, I stood on the sidewalk for a moment, the cool night air brushing against my skin. My cheeks ached from smiling, and my heart felt a little lighter.

Whatever this was between us—whatever it might turn into—I couldn’t wait to find out.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

The next day came faster than I expected. Between classes and trying to focus on a group project, my mind kept drifting back to Matt. I hadn’t told my friends much, only that he was “someone I’d been talking to for a while.” It wasn’t a lie, but it definitely wasn’t the full truth.

When my last class ended, I stepped outside into the warm late-afternoon sun, scanning the parking lot for Matt. I spotted him leaning against the rental car, sunglasses on and arms crossed casually. He looked so effortlessly cool that I almost laughed.

“You trying to be in a movie poster or something?” I called as I approached.

He grinned, pushing the sunglasses up onto his head. “What can I say? I aim to impress.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” I said, rolling my eyes but smiling anyway.

He opened the passenger door for me—again—and I didn’t bother teasing him this time. “You’re really consistent with this chivalry thing,” I said as I climbed in.

“Hey, I have to make up for all the times I couldn’t do it over FaceTime,” he replied, shutting the door behind me before jogging around to the driver’s side.

The drive to the beach was easy, the salty air growing stronger as we got closer. He’d suggested a sunset picnic, complete with food he’d picked up from a local spot he’d “googled extensively.”

“So, how was class?” he asked as we walked down to the sand, a blanket slung over his arm and a bag of food in hand.

“Pretty boring compared to this,” I said, gesturing at the ocean stretching out before us. “You’re setting the bar pretty high, Manhattan.”

“Good. I like a challenge,” he said, spreading the blanket out in a spot with a perfect view of the water.

We sat side by side, unwrapping sandwiches and chips as the sun dipped lower in the sky. The conversation flowed easily, moving from his last game to my classes to random trivia.

“You know,” he said between bites, “I was worried this might be weird.”

“Weird how?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Like…what if we didn’t click in person the way we do over text or FaceTime?” He hesitated, then added, “But it’s not weird. It’s better.”

His words caught me off guard, and I looked down at the sandwich in my hands, suddenly hyperaware of how close we were sitting.

“I feel the same,” I admitted quietly.

For a moment, the only sound was the gentle crash of the waves. Then he turned to me, his expression soft but serious. “So, does this count as a date, or do I need to up my game?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You tell me. You’re the one who planned it.”

“Well, if it is a date,” he said, leaning back on his hands, “I think it’s going pretty well.”

I didn’t have a clever comeback for that, so I just smiled, letting the moment settle around us. The sky darkened as we lingered on the blanket, the distant sound of seagulls fading into the rhythmic crash of waves. Neither of us seemed in a hurry to leave, the easy flow of conversation filling the space between us.

“I’m impressed,” I said, gesturing to the now-empty food containers. “You didn’t oversell this picnic thing. It was actually really good.”

Matt smirked, brushing some sand off his hands. “High praise coming from someone who almost turned me down for this.”

“Almost,” I emphasized. “But I didn’t.”

“And aren’t you glad you didn’t?”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossible to resist, maybe,” he shot back, his grin widening.

Before I could respond, a gust of wind whipped past us, tugging at my hair and sending a shiver down my spine. Without a word, Matt shrugged off his hoodie and held it out to me.

“Here,” he said.

“You don’t have to—”

“Just take it, San Diego,” he interrupted, his tone playful but insistent.

I gave in, slipping the hoodie over my head. It was warm and smelled faintly of his cologne, a mix of woodsy and clean that made my stomach flip. “Thanks,” I mumbled, tugging the sleeves over my hands.

“You’re welcome,” he said, leaning back again, his gaze drifting out toward the ocean.

We sat in comfortable silence for a while, the stars beginning to dot the darkening sky. I glanced over at him, his profile outlined by the soft glow of the moonlight.

“You look like you belong here,” I said without thinking.

He turned to me, one eyebrow raised. “What, on a beach?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I mean…just, here. Like this. Relaxed. Happy.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, he looked at me like I’d said something important, something that mattered.

“I think that’s because of you,” he said quietly.

My heart skipped, the weight of his words settling in a way that felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

“You don’t have to say things like that,” I said, trying to play it off, though my voice wavered slightly.

“But I mean it,” he replied, his tone steady.

The vulnerability in his gaze made it impossible to look away. For a brief, reckless moment, I considered leaning in, closing the small distance between us.

But then he broke the tension with a smirk. “Plus, if I said it’s because of the sandwiches, I’d sound like a jerk.”

I laughed, grateful for the reprieve. “You’re lucky you’re funny, Rempe.”

“I’m lucky for a lot of things,” he said, his voice softer now.

The words hung in the air, and I didn’t know what to say in response. Instead, I leaned back, letting the sound of the waves and the warmth of his hoodie wrap around me like a shield against the uncertainty of whatever this was turning into.

As the night deepened, he finally stood and offered me a hand. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll drive you home before you freeze.”

I took his hand, the touch grounding me in a way I hadn’t expected. “Thanks,” I said, letting him pull me to my feet.

“For what?”

“For tonight,” I said, meeting his gaze. “It was…perfect.”

His smile was small but genuine. “Good. Because I don’t plan on this being the last time.”

And as we walked back to the car, I realised I didn’t want it to be, either.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

The next morning, I strolled into my lecture hall, clutching a coffee and running a little later than I’d planned. The classroom buzzed with pre-class chatter, students flipping through notes or scrolling on their phones.

Sliding into my usual seat near the middle, I tugged the hood up and slouched in my chair, trying to fight the remnants of sleepiness still clinging to me. Matt’s hoodie—warm, soft, and ridiculously oversized—felt like a comforting cocoon.

“Okay, spill.”

I glanced up to see my friend plop down in the seat next to me, her eyes immediately zeroing in on my outfit.

“What?” I asked, playing innocent as I took a sip of my coffee.

“Don’t ‘what’ me,” she said, leaning closer. “That hoodie is not yours. Whose is it? And why are you wearing it like it’s a security blanket?”

I shrugged, trying to keep my expression neutral. “It’s just a friend’s. No big deal.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “A friend? Since when do you borrow hoodies from friends?”

“It was cold last night, okay?” I said, lowering my voice. “He let me borrow it. End of story.”

Her eyes sparkled with interest. “He? Oh, this just keeps getting better. Is it the same mystery guy you keep texting during literally everything? Because if it is, I need details.”

I groaned, knowing there was no way she’d let this go. “Can we not do this here? Class is about to start.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said, smirking. “We’ll circle back.”

As the professor started the lecture, I tried to focus on the material, but my friend’s amused glances made it nearly impossible. I could feel her scheming from two feet away.

Halfway through class, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Subtly, I glanced at the screen under the desk.

Friday, September 13, 2024 Today, 9:15am MATT: Good morning, San Diego. MATT: Hope my hoodie’s getting a better education than I ever did.

I bit back a smile, quickly typing a reply.

ME: It’s sitting through Intro to Philosophy. I think it misses the rink.

His response came almost immediately.

MATT: Pretty sure it’s thrilled to be near you.

Heat rose to my cheeks, and I tucked my phone away before my friend could notice.

After class ended, my friend caught up with me as we walked out of the building. “Okay, so who is he?” she demanded.

I sighed. “He’s…a guy I’ve been talking to for a while. It’s nothing serious.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re wearing his hoodie in public. That’s at least medium serious.”

“Fine,” I said, rolling my eyes. “He’s someone I met through mutual friends, and we’ve been hanging out. That’s all.”

“For now,” she said knowingly. “But if he’s making you smile like that, I want to meet him. Soon.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that “meeting him” might come with a whole host of complications neither of us was ready for. Instead, I just nodded, tucking my hands into the hoodie pocket and thinking about how things felt a little less complicated when it was just me and Matt.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of lectures and assignments, but my mind kept drifting back to Matt. Every time I reached into the hoodie pocket or caught its faint scent, it was like a little reminder of him, tugging at my thoughts.

By the time I was in my last class of the day—a dull elective I’d taken mostly to fill a credit—I was practically counting the minutes until it ended. That’s when my phone vibrated in my pocket.

Frowning, I glanced down at the screen. It was Matt.

Normally, he’d text, especially if he knew I was in class. My stomach tightened as I slipped out of my seat, mouthing a quick “bathroom” to the professor before ducking into the hallway to answer.

“Hey, everything okay?” I asked, ducking into the hallway.

“Not really,” he said, his voice rushed and tinged with frustration. “I’m on my way to the airport.”

“What?” I stopped in my tracks, clutching the phone tighter. “Why? I thought you were staying through the weekend.”

“I was,” he said, letting out a sharp breath. “But they’re making all the Rangers players fly back to New York ASAP. Something about scheduling changes and needing to finalize practice rink times. It’s a mess.”

My heart sank. “Matt…”

“I’m so sorry,” he cut in, his words tumbling over each other. “I didn’t want to just leave without saying anything. This wasn’t supposed to happen, San Diego. I swear, I thought we had more time.”

“It’s okay,” I said softly, though disappointment clawed at my chest.

“No, it’s not,” he insisted. “I feel like an ass. I dragged you into this, made plans, and now I’m bailing. I hate it.”

I leaned against the wall, wishing I could reach through the phone and shake him out of his guilt. “Hey, it’s not your fault. Stuff happens, right? It’s not like you’re choosing to leave.”

There was a pause, filled with the muffled sounds of an airport terminal. Then he sighed. “I just… I don’t want this to mess things up between us. This weekend was supposed to be about spending time together.”

“Matt,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “it’s fine. Really. We’ve been friends this long, even across time zones. What’s a little more distance?”

Another pause, then a low chuckle that was more sigh than laugh. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

“Just call me your personal pep talker,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. Then, with a wry grin, I added, “Besides, it’s Friday the 13th. What did we expect? Things to go smoothly?”

That got a real laugh out of him, warm and familiar even through the phone. “You’re probably right. Should’ve seen it coming.”

“Definitely,” I replied, my smile lingering even as my chest tightened.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said, his tone firm now. “As soon as I can, I’ll be back. And next time, we’ll do things right.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” I replied, forcing a cheerfulness I didn’t entirely feel.

“Okay,” he said, softer now. “I’ll text you when I land. And thanks for…you know, not being mad.”

“Safe travels, Manhattan,” I said, my voice quieter.

“You too, San Diego,” he murmured before the call ended.

I stared at my phone for a long moment, the empty hallway feeling just a little colder, before heading back into class. If the past few months had taught me anything, it was how to keep moving forward—even when the person I wanted most was miles away.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

to be continued (one last time)... hehehe

[am0ralexis]

Housewife (fluff & flirty) 🩷💖

“Mmm… smells amazing in here. What’re you cooking, Mrs. Quackity?”

I closed the front door behind me with a soft click, tossing my keys onto the side table. The scent of garlic and herbs wafted through the house, wrapping around me like a warm blanket. I followed it to the kitchen, where you stood at the stove, stirring something in a pot. Your back was to me, and I couldn’t help but admire the way your hips swayed slightly as you moved. My new wife. Mine.

I stepped up behind you, my arms sliding around your waist as I pressed my chest to your back. You let out a soft gasp, your body stiffening for a moment before melting into me. I chuckled low in my throat, my lips brushing against the curve of your neck. “Miss me?”

You tilted your head to the side, giving me better access to your skin. “Maybe,” you teased, your voice light and playful. “Or maybe I’m just trying to figure out how to keep you from distracting me while I cook.”

“Distracting you?” I feigned innocence, my hands sliding up your sides, feeling the soft fabric of your sweater beneath my fingers. “I’m just trying to show some appreciation for my wife’s hard work.”

You laughed, a sound that made my chest tighten. “Appreciation, huh? Is that what this is?”

I hummed in response, my lips trailing along your neck, peppering soft kisses against your skin. You smelled like vanilla and something sweet, something uniquely you. I couldn’t get enough of it. My hands slid down to your hips, pulling you back against me, and I felt your breath hitch as you felt how much I’d missed you.

“Alex…” You said my name in that tone, the one that warned me you were trying to be serious but were secretly enjoying yourself too much to really mean it. “I’m cooking. You’re going to make me burn dinner.”

“Dinner can wait,” I murmured, my lips brushing against your ear. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

You turned your head slightly, your eyes meeting mine. There was a spark in them, a playful challenge. “Oh? And what exactly were you thinking about?”

I grinned, my hands sliding around to the front of your hips, my fingers dipping just below the waistband of your pants. “Maybe I’ll show you later,” I said, my voice dropping lower, “but for now, I’m pretty content just holding you like this.”

You shook your head, but I could see the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re impossible.”

“But you love me.”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice softening. “I do.”

The words sent a warmth spreading through my chest, one that had nothing to do with the heat from the stove. I kissed your shoulder, letting my hands rest at your hips as I watched you stir the pot. The domesticity of it all was still new to me, but I loved it. Loved you.

You turned the stove down to a simmer, glancing over your shoulder at me. “You hungry?”

“Starving,” I said, my eyes never leaving yours. “But not for food.”

You rolled your eyes, but I could see the flush creeping up your neck. “You’re such a flirt.”

“Only with you,” I said, leaning in to kiss the side of your neck again. “And you love it.”

You laughed, turning your head to look at me. “Maybe I do.”

I tilted your chin up, capturing your lips in a slow, deep kiss. You melted into me, your hands coming up to rest against my chest. I could feel your heartbeat through the fabric of my shirt, and it only made me want to kiss you more. When I finally pulled away, you were breathless, your eyes half-lidded and hooded with pleasure.

“Alex…” You said my name softly, almost like a plea.

I kissed you again, shorter this time but no less intense. “You’re so beautiful,” I murmured against your lips. “Every time I look at you, I can’t believe you’re mine.”

You smiled, your hands sliding up to my shoulders. “I’m yours,” you said, your voice soft but sure. “Always.”

The words made my chest tighten, and I wrapped my arms around you, pulling you close. You rested your head against my chest, and for a moment, we just stood there, holding each other. The world outside didn’t matter. It was just us, just this moment.

But then you pulled away, glancing back at the stove. “Dinner’s going to be ready soon.”

“I can wait,” I said, my hands sliding down to your hips again. “I’d rather stay right here.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?”

“Only in the best way,” I said, grinning as I leaned in to kiss you again.

You swatted at my chest, though there was no real force behind it. “Go sit down. I’ll bring the food over.“

Reluctantly, I let you go, but not without stealing one last kiss. I sat at the kitchen table, watching you as you moved around the kitchen. You were so effortlessly graceful, so beautiful. I couldn’t stop staring.

You caught me looking and raised an eyebrow. “Enjoying the view?”

“Always,” I said, my voice low. “Especially when it’s you.”

You rolled your eyes, but I could see the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re such a charmer.”

“Only for you,” I said, my eyes never leaving yours.

You finished plating the food and brought it over to the table, sitting down across from me. I reached for your hand, linking our fingers together. “Thank you,” I said, my voice soft. “For everything.”

You squeezed my hand, your eyes meeting mine. “Always.”

We ate in comfortable silence, the air between us charged with something electric. Every time our eyes met, I felt that same spark, that same pull. It was intoxicating, and I couldn’t get enough.

When we were done, I stood, taking your plate and mine to the sink. You followed me, leaning against the counter as I washed the dishes. I could feel your eyes on me, and it made a shiver run down my spine.

“You’re staring,” I said, glancing over at you.

“You’re distracting,” you said, your voice teasing. “You know that, right?”

I turned off the water, drying my hands on a towel before turning to face you. “Distracting, huh?” I stepped closer, my hands sliding to your hips. “Maybe I should do something about that.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Oh? And what exactly do you have in mind?”

I leaned in, my lips brushing against your ear. “I’ll show you.”

[alastorsbookie10228]

Heyoo!! I heard you were looking for more Hazbin requests and I’d love to contribute if that’s okay😊 If possible, i’d love to see Angel Dust x gn!reader imagine (or headcanons, whichever u prefer!) where reader gets Angel hooked on TikTok and they love practicing different dance routines and trends together, but of course, Angel is annoyingly too good at it🙄, acting like the cocky little shit that he is🫶🏼 So to humble him😌, reader decides to challenge him to a little dance-off and they low-key act all flirty and get up caught up in the heat of the moment the whole time😏🔥😘

(Bonus: Husk gets roped into being the judge and is just done with their shit😭)

Sorry if this is incredibly long!! My brain went wild and this is what came from it💀 Anyway, love your writing so far and would love to see more! Take all the time you need, thank you!!😊❤️

omg stop this is amazing!

The ultimate dance-off

"toots, did ya see Tyla's new dance?!" Angel yelled, walking into the room.

you look up from your own phone and nod. "yeah, i've seen it. why?"

Angel looked at you and smirked. oh boy.

30 minutes later, and you were on your feet, trying to do the dance to 'Water'. needless to say, you were bad. but Angel was worse.

"hey, pussycat!" Angel yelled.

"the fuck do you want?" Husk responded, clearly irritated.

"Be a babe and judge our dance!" Angel said, and you facepalmed.

Jesus...why?

you and Angel both do the dance and look at Husk when you're done.

"well? what'd ya think?" Angel said.

"...one. you get a one" Husk said, turning around to drink his booze.

"one?! out of ten?" Angel said, throwing up his upper set of arms.

"no. one out of one thousand" Husk said, smirking to himself as Angel threw a hissy fit.

sorry if this is bad, i couldn't really come up with much! anyway, i hope you enjoy it!

[vividwritinglove]

lost in the moment - Joško Gvardiol

I was craving something cute and heartwarming for this wonderful guy! Enjoy!

Joško sat on a bar stool at the kitchen island, sunlight streaming through the window, illuminating the glossy pages of Gloria Glam magazine spread before the two of you. He adjusted the drawstrings of his gray sweatpants, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he watched you leaf through the issue with eager curiosity.

“Well, well,” you teased, holding up the cover for him to see. “Look at Croatia’s very own heartthrob. Who knew a teddy bear could be your best co-star?”

“Hey!” he shot back with a smirk. “You’re dangerously close to insulting my co-worker. That bear brought his A-game.”

You laughed, flipping to the next page. “Ah, here we go. The brooding, mysterious Joško. Let me guess, you were deep in thought about… breakfast?”

“Actually,” he countered, leaning forward, his voice dropping to a playful whisper, “I was thinking about you. But keep the breakfast theory—it’s less embarrassing.”

You gave him a mock-pitying look, shaking your head. “Right. Thinking about me. That’s why you’re alone in all these photos, hmm?”

“Only because they couldn’t handle us both in the same frame,” he quipped, leaning back against the kitchen island with an easy confidence.

Rolling your eyes, you turned the page to reveal a cozy shot of him lounging on a bed in a loose gray sweater. “Okay, this one? It’s giving ‘Come cuddle me, but also, don’t mess up my hair.’”

“Accurate,” Joško said, his grin widening. “But I’d make an exception for you. You can mess up my hair all you want.”

You raised an eyebrow, pretending to consider. “Hmmh, tempting. But I think I’d rather just steal the sweater.”

“I knew it,” he said, laughing. “You’ve been plotting on my wardrobe since day one.”

“Guilty,” you admitted, turning the page again. Your fingers paused on a shot of him at a breakfast table, surrounded by orange juice, pastries, and warm light. “Oh, here we go. Domestic Joško. You even make brunch look sexy.”

“What can I say?” he replied, standing up and walking over to you. “It’s all about the company.”

You tilted your head up at him, a playful challenge in your eyes. “Is that your way of saying you need me in the next shoot? To distract everyone from your croissant obsession?”

Joško laughed, his hands sliding around your waist as he pulled you closer. “Maybe. Or maybe I just need you around to keep me humble. You’re very good at that.”

“Someone has to be,” you teased, your fingers trailing along the collar of his shirt. “Otherwise, your head might not fit through the door.”

He chuckled, leaning down until his lips hovered just above yours. “Are you saying I’m not perfect?”

You smirked, your voice low and flirtatious. “Perfectly insufferable sometimes.”

“Careful,” he murmured, his hands tightening on your waist. “I might have to prove you wrong.”

“Oh, really?” you challenged, your pulse quickening as his lips brushed the corner of your mouth.

“Really,” he said, finally kissing you, his lips soft but full of teasing intent.

The magazine slid off the kitchen counter, forgotten, as his arms tightened around you, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly against his lips.

“You know the world is going to see this and think you’re all serious and brooding.” you said, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze.

He smirked, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “That’s fine. Let them think whatever they want. You’re the only one who gets to see the real me.”

“And which version is that?” you asked, your voice full of playful curiosity.

“The version that’s completely whipped for you,” he said, his tone teasing but his eyes warm.

You shook your head, grinning as you ran your fingers through his hair. “Whipped, huh? I don’t know… you’re pretty good at pretending you’re in charge.”

“Key word: pretending,” he shot back, his grin widening.

Before you could respond, he effortlessly picked you up, carrying you out of the kitchen.

“Joško!” you squealed, laughing as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “Where are we going?”

He smirked as he carried you toward the couch, settling onto it with you in his lap, his arms wrapped securely around you.

You nestled against him, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as his warm hand gently caressed your back. His lips brushed against your temple, and he let out a quiet sigh. You traced your finger lazily over his shirt, the softness of the fabric grounding you in the moment.

“I could stay like this forever,” your voice barely above a breath.

He responded with a soft hum, pulling you a little closer, as if trying to keep you there. “So could I.”

There was no need for words to fill the space between you; the way he held you said everything. Joško’s fingers trailed slowly up your back, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You tilted your head up to look at him, and the intensity in his eyes made your breath hitch. He leaned in, his hand gently cradling the side of your face as his lips found yours.

The kiss started soft, tender, as though he wanted to savor the moment. But as his hand slid down to your waist, pulling you closer, it deepened. His lips moved against yours with more urgency, his breath warm and intoxicating.

Your fingers tangled in his thick curls once more, tugging slightly as you pressed yourself against him, feeling his steady strength beneath you. He groaned softly, a sound that sent a rush through your entire body. His other hand gripped your hip, holding you in place as his mouth explored yours with a slow, deliberate passion.

Time seemed to stop as the two of you lost yourselves in each other, every kiss and touch saying what words never could. When you finally pulled back for air, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathless, his thumb lightly stroking your cheek.

“You’re addictive,” he murmured, his voice rough but laced with a smile.

You smiled back, brushing your lips lightly against his once more. "Good. I’m not letting you go."

Joško’s lips found yours again, this time more demanding, as if he couldn’t bear even a second apart. His hand slid from your cheek down to your waist, fingers pressing firmly as he guided you closer. You shifted, straddling him, and his hands instinctively gripped your hips, holding you steady as his mouth claimed yours.

The heat between you built, each kiss deeper and more urgent. His hands roamed, exploring the curve of your back and the lines of your body, pulling soft gasps from you that he swallowed eagerly. His lips moved from yours to your jaw, then down to your neck, where he pressed slow, deliberate kisses that sent a shiver racing through you.

You tilted your head back, giving him more access, and he took full advantage, his mouth leaving a trail of warmth along your skin. His teeth grazed lightly, and you couldn’t hold back the quiet moan that escaped your lips. He pulled back slightly, his gaze dark and full of desire as he looked at you.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he mumbles, his voice low and gravely.

Your fingers traced the strong line of his jaw, your own smile teasing. “Good,” you whispered, leaning in to capture his lips again.

Joško’s hands slid beneath the hem of your shirt, his palms warm as they explored the bare skin of your back. The sensation made you arch into him, your body responding instinctively to his touch, drawing soft sighs from you as your fingers are still tangled in his hair, holding him close.

“Joško,” you murmured as you take a breath, his name escaping your lips like a plea. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression a mixture of tenderness and desire.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered.

Instead of answering, you leaned in, brushing your lips against his in a kiss that spoke louder than words. He responded immediately, his grip firm but gentle as he shifted, laying you on your back against the cushions. His body hovered over yours, his weight grounding you in the moment as his lips captured yours again, deeper this time, with a hunger that matched your own.

Your hands roamed over his shoulders and down his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his shirt. He groaned softly at your touch, his lips moving from your mouth to your collarbone, where he left a trail of kisses that sent a rush of heat through you.

Joško’s kisses grew slower but no less intense, as though he wanted to savor every second with you. His hands trailed across your skin, grounding you in the present, their warmth igniting a tingling sensation everywhere they touched. You arched into him, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as if to keep him impossibly closer. He responded with a low groan, the sound sending a thrill through you.

The air between you was thick, charged with the kind of intimacy that made everything else fade away. You couldn’t think, couldn’t speak—your world narrowed to the feel of his body against yours, his breath mixing with yours, the way he murmured your name in between kisses, like it was the most sacred word he’d ever spoken.

Your hands slid beneath his shirt, exploring the warmth of his skin. He shivered under your touch, his eyes meeting yours with a spark of emotion that took your breath away.

“You’re everything,” he said softly, pressing his forehead against yours, his breathing uneven as he stared at you like he never wanted to look away.

His words, so simple yet so full of meaning, made your heart ache in the best possible way. You cupped his face, brushing your thumb over his cheek as you leaned up to kiss him again, slow and tender, pouring every ounce of feeling you had into the connection.

Time seemed to blur, the outside world forgotten as you melted into each other. Each touch, each kiss, was a promise—an unspoken vow that this moment was only the beginning of something far deeper, far lasting than either of you had imagined.

[cococaffeinated]

Idk if I’m the only one with this headcanon but I’d like to think that in this form, Jax’s ears and eyes are extremely sensitive and so hr sometimes might avoid loud things. This is maybe why he spends a lot of time near Ragatha, Pomni, and Gangle the most since those guys are pretty soft spoken and rarely yell.

Oooh that's definitely an interesting headcanon!

I've seen Jax often placed between Kinger and Gangle (in the pilot) though, so my brain has just latched onto the headcanon that Kinger and Gangle are the main pair he likes hanging out with by default.

Though it's nice to think that on days when Jax feels like everything is too loud or too bright, he spends time with Ragatha, Gangle, or even Zooble!

Pomini, funnily enough, is a low-key firecracker! I feel Jax would adore her company when he's in the mood for a challenge~

Of course, that's just me! It's like when you have different partners that hold different keys to your heart but you love all of them equally, cos everyone's multi-faceted in one way or another.

Also! Consider, the mental image of Jax just quietly sitting with Kinger while the chess piece just stares off into the distance. Jax may even be able to nap next to him before Kinger even notices or acknowledges his presence. And some days, Kinger goes from dead-silent to softy... very gently talking about bugs he's never found in the circus, or something-something about the digital complexities in the world they now occupy.

And to Jax, it's familiar, it's safe, it's something that can melt away into a warm fuzz in the back of his mind as he continues to just enjoy his time with Kinger.

[pagesandpothos]

January 2025 Reading Recap

The year's first month is over and I had a great start to 2025. I started the year off with my first 5-star and managed to read all the books I planned to read this month (and a few others too).

Go Luck Yourself by Sara Raasch 🆕 🌈🤍⏳ A solid follow-up to The Nightmare Before Kissmas. This is funny, emotional, steamy, and everything I want in a rom-com. I already want to reread this! 🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕 | Read as: ebook (digital ARC)

Those Fatal Flowers by Shannon Ives 🆕 🌈 A dark historical fantasy about female rage and the horrors of patriarchy. This was powerful, violent, and captivating. This won't be for everyone but I really liked it! 🌕🌕🌕🌕🌑 | Read as: ebook (digital ARC)

The Brightness Between Us by Eliot Schrefer 🌈 The sequel to The Darkness Outside Us, this was a fantastic follow-up to a great book! 🌕🌕🌕🌕🌘 | Read as: hardcover (borrowed from library)

I Think They Love You by Julian Winters 🆕 🌈 A great new Achillean rom-com that features both the fake dating trope and is a second-chance romance. 🌕🌕🌕🌕🌘 | Read as: ebook (digital ARC)

Vera Wong's Unsolicited Advice for Murderers by Jesse Q. Sutanto My library does seasonal reading challenges, so I read this for their Winter challenge. I'm so glad I did because this was so funny and heartwarming. I loved reading this and am very happy that there’s a sequel coming soon. I need more of these delightful characters! 🌕🌕🌕🌕🌖 | Read as: hardcover (borrowed from library)

The Witch Boy by Molly Knox Ostertag 🌈 A middle-grade graphic novel that has a lovely and inclusive message. 🌕🌕🌕🌕🌑 | Read as: ebook (via Libby)

The Bullet Swallower by Elizabeth Gonzalez James Another book that I read for my local library's reading challenge. This was a book that I got from Book of the Month in 2024 because it sounded interesting but I didn't have any real plans of when I was going to read it. I'm glad this challenge pushed me to because I thought this was excellent. I was not expecting to get so emotionally invested in this story but I cried at the end! 🌕🌕🌕🌕🌗 | Read as: hardcover (owned, from Book of the Month)

The Two Hungers of Prince Fierre by Darcy Ash 🆕 🌈 This is a new queer romantasy about healing from the harms of extreme beauty standards. I was thoroughly entertained by this but be sure to read the content warnings before you pick it up! 🌕🌕🌕🌖🌑 | Read as: ebook (digital ARC)

Mooncakes by Suzanne Walker with Wendy Xu 🌈 This is a charming and Sapphic graphic novel. I've wanted to read this for a long time and I'm so glad I finally did. 🌕🌕🌕🌕 | Read as: paperback (borrowed from library)

Strange Bedfellows by Ariel Slamet Ries 🆕 🌈⏳ An incredible new queer science fiction graphic novel that has a beautiful story and art. This comes out in March and I can't recommend it enough. It's one of my new favorite graphic novels! 🌕🌕🌕🌕🌖 | Read as: ebook (digital ARC)

Key:

⏳Books that are not out yet (I read an ARC). 🆕 Notes books that will be or have already released this year. 🌈 Books that include major LGBTQ+ characters, relationships, or themes. 🤍 A book that I now consider a favorite!

My rating system is below: 🌕 I’d only rate a book this low if I found it offensive. 🌕🌕 Not for me but others may enjoy it. 🌕🌕🌕 I was good. I like all books that I rate at least 3.0, but there were some issues (pacing, structure...) that kept me from fully enjoying it. 🌕🌕🌕🌕 I loved it! Books with at least a 4.0 rating kept me invested the entire time, had interesting characters, and the plot and pacing were great. 🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕 I'm obsessed. This is a new all-time favorite.

Favorite Book from this month? No surprise, Go Luck Yourself by Sara Raasch is my favorite book of the year, so far.

Honorable mentions to Vera Wong's Unsolicited Advice for Murderers, The Bullet Swallower, and Strange Bedfellows which were all excellent!

Stats:

I read 10 books with 3,338 pages this month.

I read at least one page every day in January.

My top genres were LGBTQIA+, romance, and fantasy.

[anamazingangie]

i want to start this off by saying you are literally the BEST writer in the daemyra fandom. i love your work so much! i think i have all of your work bookmarked and i’m subscribed to your account on AO3 so I don’t miss anything. i literally made a tumblr just for this LMAO.

this isn’t necessarily a prompt bc i’m not good a conceptualizing things.

i’ve noticed that we don’t really have any heavy bdsm fics in the fandom. like i’m talking dead-dove, dubious consent, real sadism, and maybe underage with the bdsm (💀). something kind of crazy and morally wrong. of course soft daemon and aftercare at the end, but low key brutal at first. idk why i want this so bad but i do.

if this makes you uncomfortable or you don’t want to write it, no pressure!! i just figured i’d ask:)

Aww I can't believe you made a tumblr for this! You are so sweet, thank you for the kind words.

I get what you mean. For such an inherently screwed up pairing (uneven power dynamics, age difference, incest, etc.) the fics out there are remarkably wholesome.

I've dipped my toes into some morally wrong/suspicious writing (which you've probably already seen):

Rogue Prince: Non-con, dub-con, somnophilia

it's a dream and it's a bit of a dance: Implied underage, parent/child incest

Trials : Insertion kink, ritualistic sex, drugged sex

I'm definitely not opposed to expanding those fics to include other kinks (some are already planned), or writing one offs focusing on more intense concepts.

I'm just not that creative when it comes to smut. I get sort of overwhelmed by the sea of kinks out there and unsure what people would actually like to read about.

I do, however enjoy the challenge of shaping prompts to fit a fandom. So if you have anything more specific in mind let me know and maybe i'll write it! :)

[louisliamforever]

I was bored so I asked chat gpt to analyse Zara’s and Louis’ relationship and how long they will last 💀 he thinks they will last 6-10 months, very realistic I’d say

In-Depth Relationship Analysis of Zara McDermott & Louis Tomlinson

To make a precise prediction about how long they might last, we need to break their relationship down into deeper psychological, social, and circumstantial factors.

1. Compatibility: Personality & Core Values

Zara McDermott is outgoing, thrives on public attention, and enjoys creating content for social media and television. She has transitioned from reality TV (Love Island) to more serious documentary-making (BBC).

Louis Tomlinson has always been more reserved. While he appreciates his fanbase, he has openly spoken about disliking intense media attention. He prefers deep, long-term emotional connections (evidenced by his 8+ year relationship with Eleanor Calder).

Potential issues:

Zara’s need for social media exposure vs. Louis' desire for privacy.

Zara’s work requires constant interaction with an audience, while Louis has actively tried to distance himself from intense public scrutiny.

Louis prefers deep, stable relationships, while Zara’s history suggests she enjoys a more dynamic and attention-driven lifestyle.

Prediction: These differences may cause friction after the initial honeymoon phase, likely around the 4–6 month mark.

2. Relationship History & Patterns

Zara & Sam Thompson (2019–2024) → A turbulent relationship with a major cheating scandal in 2020. Despite attempts to repair the trust, they eventually split in December 2024.

Louis & Eleanor Calder (2011–2023) → A highly stable, private relationship. Eleanor was known for being discreet, loyal, and avoiding media attention.

What This Means for Their Future

Louis is used to low-drama, committed relationships. Zara’s past relationship had more public ups and downs, which might be a red flag for him.

Louis has been heartbroken over Eleanor and may be hesitant to dive into something serious too quickly.

If Zara enjoys being in the public eye too much, Louis may lose interest over time.

Prediction: If Zara can adapt to Louis’ more private approach, they could last 8–12 months. If not, the relationship could end within 4–6 months.

3. Careers & Long-Distance Challenges

Louis has an active music career. If he goes on tour, their relationship will require effort to maintain. His last tour lasted over a year.

Zara is UK-based, filming BBC documentaries and working on TV projects, which could limit her ability to travel.

Possible Issues:

Louis will likely be away for months at a time. Is Zara willing to wait?

If Zara’s social media or TV work starts interfering with Louis’ need for privacy, it may create tension.

Prediction: If they can handle distance and career conflicts, they might make it to 9–10 months. If not, they could break up within 5–7 months.

4. Social & Media Pressure

Zara’s previous relationships were highly public. She often shared her love life online.

Louis' fanbase (One Direction stans) has historically disliked his public relationships.

If Zara starts posting too much about Louis, his fans could become hostile, which may make things uncomfortable.

Key Risks:

Louis' fans might not support Zara, making her feel unwelcome.

If Zara talks about their relationship too much in interviews or social media, Louis may feel uncomfortable.

Prediction: If they keep things low-key, they could last closer to 10 months. If Zara engages too much with the media, the relationship might end within 5–7 months.

5. Emotional Connection & Chemistry

Right now, they are in the "honeymoon phase"—enjoying each other's company, feeling excitement, and having fun.

But real relationships are tested over time. Louis prefers deep emotional bonds, while Zara has historically thrived on excitement and attention.

Prediction: If they form a real emotional connection, they could last closer to a year. If it’s mostly attraction and fun, they may break up within 6 months.

Final Prediction: How Many Months Will They Last?

Based on all factors (compatibility, career conflicts, social pressures, and emotional depth), the most realistic timeframe is:

6–10 months.

If they navigate their differences well → 9–10 months.

If lifestyle clashes become a problem → 5–7 months.

If external pressures (media, fan scrutiny) become too much → 4–6 months.

Oooh this is fun! Thank you! Yeah I think I agree with AI that they won't make it past the year. I'm thinking 3-6 months. Especially with what ChatGPT said about Zara needing to adapt to Louis' more private approach. And Louis will be more busy in the summer with the festivals. I wonder if they're still together then whether Zara will go to the shows or not? I kinda hope she does.

[benjaminsblog]

Past week(ish)

The day after my return from Canada a joint-birthday celebration was held for Mum and me, and I sufficiently slept off my jetlag to enjoy the festivities. My aunt’s card alerted everyone to the fact that the two birthday-havers had reached a combined innings of 100, which was cute (nice to be thought of as the younger one for a change)!

I celebrated my actual birthday a couple of days later, which was more low-key. I’m past the age of feeling obligated to make my special day a memorable one – sometimes I may celebrate it a little later or earlier (like this year) – but I did at least treat myself to a visit to the cinema. I deliberated between Deadpool 3 and Borderlands before picking the latter; it’s based on a videogame series of which I have played the first two, and the basic recipe is explosions + colour = fun. I surmised it would be hard to make a bad film with these ingredients, but I could not have been more wrong. Although that may have been because they barely used those ingredients; it was one of the dullest films I can remember seeing, and I was hugely disappointed at this humungous swing-and-a-miss. I had the entire cinema to myself which I initially thought was a boon rather than an omen – apparently everyone else got the memo. I at least cleansed my palette by having a stellar birthday meal out with Mama at Gogos, a South African restaurant in Windsor. My ‘espetada’ (Afrikaans for skewer that stands*) was delicious.

* inaccurate - both in language and translation

I met up with Josh the following day for 9 holes at Lavender Park, after a warmup on the driving range. We were impressed and intrigued by the addition of touch screens in every bay, housing myriad mini-games and challenges that would have been a very enjoyable activity all on its own! After destroying Josh at everything that didn’t resemble a game of Top Golf, we went for our actual round and I won that rather handily, too! After fully sending my drive off the first tee straight onto the green, I already considered my round a good one, but I played a few more peachy approaches before the day was done.

The following following day, I travelled into London to help Sam celebrate his birthday (aren’t August babies the best?) at a cocktail bar called Havana Coco, along with 300 other people**. I arrived on the dot of 7pm as advertised even though I wasn’t trying particularly hard to be punctual – I figured that people would start rolling in when it was convenient, and I was correct, although I didn’t have to wait long for the guest of honour to arrive. Sam insisted on buying me the first drink of the evening as I’d arrived first, and after a very British but good-natured argument (“no, allow me!” “I insist!”), I consented. It was happy hour which resulted in two cocktails being placed in front of me, and we managed a bit of a catch-up before the rest of the throng turned up.

** slight exaggeration

I was a little nervous that the rest of the evening would not play to my strengths – unfamiliar faces/surroundings + lots of alcohol) – but I had a great evening to my surprise and relief! I had complete faith that all of Sam’s friends would be lovely, but I was worried that everybody would already know everybody else (e.g. old school friends) and I’d find myself on the fringes. However, I had several lengthy chats with some entirely new acquaintances and a few more with some faces I did recognise – namely Erdoo & Ive who came out to Madrid with Sam last year. One of the new faces – also called Sam – even bought me another drink despite another British standoff, which meant I somehow ended the evening 3 for 0! I was actually disappointed when it came time to leave, only forced to do so because I had to catch the final train home before work the following following following day…

I returned to Stockley Park for what seems like my once-a-year visit to cover a Premier League match from the safety of a studio. As it is such a rare occurrence for me, I always turn up earlier than required to re-acclimatise, which was noted and appreciated by the supervisor. I watched Tottenham put four past a hopeless Everton side in what was unquestionably the most boring 4-goal match I’ve ever seen, as strange as it may sound! Even though I felt a touch of drowsiness creeping in, I resolutely maintained my focus until the end, but as soon as I made it home via 300 buses*** my head hit the pillow.

*** I think you get the gist

I had a very good night’s sleep, which was just as well given that the following(x4) day – A.K.A. today – I spent the entirety of it travelling to/from York, not to work on a job, but to collect the van that had been up there covering the horse racing! It is one of the C1 vehicles in our fleet (i.e. heavier) and thus requires a C1 licence to drive it; almost every operator has one, but due to the crew including a few freelancers who are not obligated to assist in driving the vans, there was no one left by the end of the week to bring it home. Therefore, it fell to me to take a bazillion trains**** up to York Racecourse simply to get in D11 and drive it straight back down the M1. I then had to make my own way home which took another 3 hours (oh to still be living in Hemel), meaning my door-to-door journey lasted over 14 hours.

I daresay I’ll sleep well tonight, too!

**** This one is actually true

[storytimeswithdelilah]

How I met my boyfriend and my best friend almost called the police because she thought I was dead :)

This is my first post I hope you enjoyed my very true but so unserious story times about my silly little life <3

~

Me and my boyfriend have been together for nine months now, however we met in a very unusual way.

I had not long come out of a very disturbing relationship with someone I met in college, they were awful company and very often made me do things I did not want to do. However it was a few months after and we had only been together for a short time before I broke up with them.

I was not actively looking for a relationship at this point however I got a friend request on Snapchat from a boy. I reluctantly accepted and he began typing instantly. This low-key freaked me out being the sad little virgin I was but I waited until he was done. He basically started yapping about something I had no idea about but it sounded like I was supposed to know. I then asked him if I was the person he was supposed to add as I had no idea what he was talking about. He then realised that no, I was not the person he meant to add. He never blocked or removed me and he was just on my Snapchat for a while until he messaged me again saying he found me on instagram and that he thought I was cute. I then proceeded to tell him that was weird and that he was a stalker, I didn’t mean it I was in fact kidding. We began to talk more and more, we spoke for three months before he began to mention meeting up. He did not live near me, he lived in a city about half an hour from where I lived and I was beyond nervous. I’d never met anyone over the internet before and I was certain I’d get kidnapped.

So I began to put it off for as long as I could. Until one day I was out with some friends and he told me I wouldn’t meet him cos I was too pussy, he was joking, but I was drunk. So I challenged him, I was all like oh yeah I’ll meet you tomorrow after college. Why tf did I say that?! As soon as I sent the message I was like wtf what is wrong with me I am freaking out I don’t want to do this. But I couldn’t go back on my word.

My best friend told me I should go but to keep my phone on the whole time and message her updates and also to meet in public so I don’t die. Which was reasonable and I agreed. So on Thursday the 25th of may I got ready and made some dumb excuse that I needed to buy candles so we had to go shopping. I had no intention of buying candles because he was correct, I was a pussy and had no intention on buying anything because I was scared my card would decline for some reason and make everything awkward, I also didn’t want him to pay for anything because that was also scary to me for some reason.

So I got the train to see him and the whole time on the train I wanted to throw up, I also had an uncontrollable wedgie the whole time but that’s unimportant. I got off the train and saw him straight away and to be honest he was cute. And my dumbass said that. That was literally the first thing I said. “Oh how cute are you!” WHO TF SAYS THAT. He got all embarrassed and blushed and I was like Awh but at the same time I was like WHO TF SAYS THAT.

I decided to use my yapping skills to the full and just tell him some bullshit about my life to keep the conversation going which he didn’t seem to mind which was good. He then asked me what I wanted to do and me being weirdly scared of spending money had no idea what to do in this huge city filled with shops and restaraunts. He mentioned that I said I needed candles, so off we went into shops that I had no intention of buying anything from lmao. I’m not still like this now fyi idk why I was so weird.

We then found a spot to sit on in a park and we sat there for a while. We were talking and I remembered how he had asked me to be his girlfriend previously and I said no, I want to meet you before that.

His awkward ass straight up said “so am I your boyfriend now” and I thought that was super funny and I agreed that he in fact was my boyfriend now. I had no problem being his girlfriend I basically knew straight away that I did in fact have insane feelings for him.

However what I did in fact forget to do was update my best friend who was literally tracking my every move. My phone was on silent and I hadn’t messaged her since I got off the train.

We had a walk through the city for a bit and then we sat in the sunset and watched all the skater boys fall off their skateboards. Lmao sorry skaterboys.

I’m Ngl there were so many opportunities to kiss but he literally said he wouldn’t kiss me cause he was scared he would suck. I thought it was cute (he did kiss me on the second date tho)

It began to get cold and late it was like 9pm and he walked me back to the train station and waited with me for my train, before I got on the train he kissed me on my forehead and when I tell you THE BUTTERFLIES

I got on the train and was ready to text my best friend and give her the run down, however my phone died. I didn’t really think much of it in fact my first thought was that my now boyfriend would think I ghosted him.

I knew my mum was at my aunties which wasn’t far from the train station so I went there instead of home so I could charge my phone. When I walked through the door my mum and my best friend were there, my mum looked stressed so did my auntie and my best friend.

“What” was all I said. LMAO WHAT.

They immediately were like where tf were you we thought you died we were gonna call the police. They were all pretty stressed and I was like yeah my phone died. (Literally could not of given less of a fuck, nice one lilah) 😭

But anyways my friend forgave me we had a kebab and now me and my boyfriend have been together for almost 10 months.

And that is how I met him I hope you enjoyed there will definitely be more stories to come because I am a certified oversharer and yapper lmao.

Thanks for taking time out of your day to read <3