#Triumph through planning

[tiny-space-platypus]

A King and a Prince

Danny screamed.

He screamed and screamed, using his ghostly wail until his voice shattered and his throat was raw with the echoes of his own agony. He wailed even after the battle was won. After the last of the GIW had fallen, even after Vlad’s final, gasping breath had faded into silence. He wailed as Amity Park crumbled around him, as the last flickering lights of his home were swallowed by ruin.

It didn’t matter.

No one was left to hear him.

No one left to be farmed by his despair.

He had outlasted them all—the Guys in White, Vlad, even Pariah Dark himself. He had survived, clawing his way through blood and betrayal, only to realize, too late, that survival was the cruelest fate of all.

He had lost everything.

His home—reduced to rubble. His friends—gone and buried beneath the wreckage of the school. Their last standing ground from the GIW's control or maybe blissfully scattered to the winds. His family—torn apart, mom and dad dead by his hands. Not purposely but they had picked their side. Jazz dead by theirs attempting to protect him. Their laughter, the happy family they were, now just a ghost in his hollow chest. His city, his obsession, his afterlife—all ashes, all dust. And what had he gained? A crown of thorns, a throne he never wanted. The title of King Phantom, ruler of the dead, sovereign of a graveyard empire.

He built a council. He forged a government. He crafted a system that could run without him—because he could not rule, not when every decree tasted of blood, not when every whisper of his subjects sounded like the voices of the lost. Not when he was so lost.

So he vanished.

Not in triumph, not in secrecy—but in surrender. He would sleep. Finally really sleep. He would sleep for centuries, for millennia even, until the worlds forgot his name. Until the stars themselves burned cold. Until even the memory of his suffering was nothing more than a sigh in the dark. And maybe, just maybe, if he slept long enough… he would forget, too.

Fate, it seemed, had other plans.

Danny awoke to crying.

Not the wailing of the long-dead, nor the hollow sobs of forgotten spirits—but the raw, shuddering pleas of someone new. A voice too young, too broken, gasping between tears:

"Please—"

"Dad, I’m sorry—"

"B, you promised—"

Danny blinked slowly, his limbs heavy from his long sleep. His mind swam in fog, his body sluggish, as if moving through deep water. But the sound, a sound too familiar to ignore, pulled him forward, guiding him through the mist of his own exhaustion until he found the source—a boy.

A small, bloodied thing in a torn costume of green and red and gold, hunched over his own grave.

Danny’s chest ached.

Oh.

A newly dead. A child. One so much like him, once. Danny watched him for awhile. Days maybe? It had been such a long time since he had needed to keep track of time... He stepped closer, his voice soft as settling dust. "Hey."

The boy jerked upright, his masked face streaked with inky tears. "You—you can see me?"

Danny huffed a quiet laugh. "Oh, so he does talk."

The boy stared, trembling, his breath hitching. Danny knelt—not too close, not too far—and tilted his head. "My name’s Danny. What about you?"

The boy opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "My name? My name is… My name is…?" His voice cracked, panic rising like a tide. "My name—my name—?" He didn't remember. Not many ghostlings did.

"Hey, hey," Danny murmured, reaching out—not to touch, but to offer. With a thought, he summoned a little blob ghost, its form wobbly and bright, and placed it gently in the boy’s lap. The creature nuzzled against him, purring like a gooy contented cat. The boy’s hands stilled. Then, hesitantly, he began to pet it.

Danny smiled. "A name doesn’t have to be a name," he said softly. "It can be anything you’d like."

The boy swallowed. "...Robin," he whispered. "I’m Robin."

"Robin," Danny repeated, like it was something precious. "It’s good to meet you, kid."

A beat of silence. Then, small and scared:

"Am I dead?"

Danny’s core clenched. He let himself float just a little, settling cross-legged in the air, making himself smaller, lesser. "You are," he admitted gently. "I’m sorry, Robin."

The boy—Robin—choked on a sob. "Is that why Dad wouldn’t—why he didn’t—?" Danny didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Robin crumpled.

Without thinking, Danny reached out and gathered him close, tucking the boy against his chest the way Jazz had once held him so very long ago—after bad nights, after bad fights, after the world had been too much. "I know," he murmured, rocking him slightly. "I know. It sucks. It’s not fair. But you’re not alone, okay? Never alone." Robin shuddered, his tiny fists clutching Danny’s cloak of stars. Danny felt the threats forming, a soul bond. He had had one will Elle, with clockwork, with few others. A bond of trust.

Danny didn’t hesitate. He let his ecto unwind, warm and golden green and royal, and carefully, so carefully, began to mend the fractures in Robin’s soul. The pain, the fear, the jagged edges of a death too soon and too violent. The death of someone trying to be a hero—he took them into himself, replacing the hurt with quiet, with safety. Slowly, Robin’s breathing evened. His weight grew heavy against Danny’s shoulder.

Asleep.

Not that ghosts needed sleep. But children did. Danny exhaled, looking around the graveyard—at the other small, lost shades watching from the shadows. His chest tightened.

…He could help them.

Just for today. Just for now. He could make Gotham a little lighter. And maybe, just maybe, it would help Robin, too—to have something familiar.

Robin followed Phantom like a shadow—or, more accurately, like a small, determined firefly, darting after the king’s trailing cloak as he moved through Gotham’s gloom. Honestly the child was a little beacon of light. Bright like a little firefly.

At first, he simply watched.

Phantom moved like a whisper between worlds—guiding lost shades toward peace, nudging lingering spirits toward unfinished business, even coaxing the living, stubborn bleeding-hearted vigilantes, into just the right places at just the right times. They never knew they were being helped, of course. But Robin saw.

And slowly, he began to copy.

A nudge here—a whisper there. A flicker of movement to draw a grieving widow’s eye to a hidden letter. A gentle tug on a cape to steer a batarang just wide enough to avoid a fatal blow. Gotham, ever so slightly, began to brighten.

And so did Robin. So much brighter than the dead boy Danny had met. He had even taught the boy to change his form from his one in death to a Robin in life. He was so much brighter not covered in blood and debris..

Phantom watched, warmth curling in his core, as the boy—his little prince—blossomed. Robin laughed as he flew, spinning through the air like a fallen leaf caught in the wind. He chattered to the other ghosts, coaxing even the shyest shades out of their hiding spots. He guided lost souls with a patience that belied his age, his voice soft but steady—"It’s okay, you’re safe now"—and when they finally faded into peace, he turned to Phantom with stars in his eyes.

"Did you see! I did it on my own!"

Phantom ruffled his hair. "Yeah, kid. I saw."

And oh, the way Robin glowed.

He was happy here. Happy to help, happy to fly, happy to tuck himself under Phantom’s arm after a long night and murmur about all the things he’d seen, all the people he’d saved. Gotham was still dark. But now, there were pinpricks of light—like stars or tiny, stubborn sparks—where before there had been none. And at the center of them all, brighter than any ghost light, was Robin.

[yanderemommabean]

Yandere Aliens x Reader

Content and Warnings: AFAB reader, multiple alien species, dubious consent/no consent, tentacles, some humiliation- 6k words. This was a commission, and I hope you enjoy as much as they did!

Meeting with new alien species was almost always a headache in your division. Earth was just stretching its legs into travel compared to how long these other beings have been around, and they always seemed to make that a point in any meeting you were forced to go to, and had to put up with their mocking and condescension. 

Others point out that it's more like an affection, like one would have for a cute pet, but you shut them down and roll your eyes. They see humans as useless and fickle, there’s nothing more to it. And even if it were something like affection for a pet, how does that make it any better? Why would you want to be seen as weak as a furry friend?  

Regardless, it’s your job to show that your species is more than capable of handling what they throw, and sometimes even spit, at you. Part of that job is showing up alone, digital clipboard in hand, and facing them head on with hopes you’ll gain more allies. 

Today, a meeting is being held with new generals, new crusaders, and hopefully new partners to Earth's own space expedition force. It’s not that you have zero allies…It’s just, more than a handful would be preferred with some tensions rising.   

As you walk into the giant room, you’re met with a handful of massive and tall creatures. Some with tentacles, some slimy, some beastly, and others…Just otherworldly in a sense that only H.P Lovecraft could really get behind. If you really want to give him any credit. According to the allies back home, they gave the man inspiration and he didn’t credit them at all. 

There’s an odd aura in the room when you finally sit. It’s as if all of those predatory eyes were following your every breath as you waited to begin and state your case for allegiance. It’s as if you were some specimen to behold and admire rather than a serious being who needed to get proper allies and ties to your organization. 

You make your way to begin speaking, but feel a chill go directly up your spine. While flickering through some of your digital paperwork, a rather invasive tentacle began to try and slither over your shoulder, and down your arm. 

There’s an odd warmth to them, and dare you say they feel sentient. They’re purple and thick, coated in a sheen of what you can only call slime as they curl and tighten across your arm and try to get to the base of your wrist. 

“I-I would uhm, appreciate it if you didn’t touch me” You manage to cough out, lifting the hefty weight of its slimy appendage off of our body while trying to remain composed. The muscled tendril seemed agitated as it was withdrawn back to its host, some low rumbling heard across the table as you cleared your throat. Whether or not it was a normal greeting didn’t matter, if you truly angered the species you can try to apologize later. 

“Hello, and greetings. It’s my honor to address this council today for our plans to-” There’s those tentacles again. Two of them wriggling up your legs and weighing you down as you stumble over your words and ultimately fall, allowing the wretched things to crawl over more of you, while the being they belonged to seemed to purr and trill in triumph. 

“No, Uhm, listen. We really can’t be this affectionate and touchy. I’m here on serious business to get you all to see why you should join earth's alliance. C-can one of you help? It’s becoming inappropriate…” 

While you struggle, a deep voice chuckles from across the other end of the table, amused and entertained. “Draaknals. The species that can’t keep their parts to themselves. How cute that they’ve found a little toy they want to explore. I have to say, I’m feeling a tad jealous. Humans are such adorable creatures, I’ve always wanted to have one in my lap myself.” 

You can’t even speak before you feel yourself being lifted up, anti-gravity dragging you towards the lap of the creature who was mocking how you were (more or less) being openly molested. 

You’re met with the large lap of the elder alien, chuckling as its hands roam over your body and begin to rip at your suit, making your blood run cold and your face drain of color. The way they pluck at the fabric is all too playful for what you feel is trying to be done. Something like a present being unwrapped or like a pet being pestered. 

“Ah. They’re softer than I had originally suspected. So warm and cute, so easy to hold and to carry around. The noises they make when they struggle are down right adorable.” 

Adorable?! You’re a warrior from earth who went through hell for training! What the fuck do they mean adorable?!

Cold air rushes over your body as more and more of your clothes are torn, exposing your supple skin to the room as the remaining participants coo and chirp about. “I can see we agree. I wish to explore more of this being's body as well. Listen to how their heart picks up, how they suck in with cute little breaths. It’s addicting! We should see what other noises these creatures can make for us.” 

The room hums with their noises of agreement, some chirping aloud and others gurgling their responses. As if this is what the meeting was truly about. 

You’re quickly handed to the towering being next to you, whose hands are more than ready to start poking and prodding, cooing aloud about how soft your stomach is as they gently drag their nails over your skin, daring to cut it if they so wished. 

They map over your body like you’re an artifact to be admired. Dipping into your hips, over your stomach, walking right up to your chest and just under your chin, tilting your head to get you to look up and meet their intimidating gaze. 

You can’t even think let alone catch your breath as the room seems to spin, your head dizzy and panicked. How can you stop this? Get things back on track or at the very least escape? There’s no way you can fend for yourself in this! Giving in to some of their desires would be fine on its own, but the other species here are known for more brutal tactics, how can you possibly negotiate with that?!

You strangle out a gasp when you feel those wet tendrils back on you, gently flicking over your now hardened nipples. Wet and warm, they tease and rub over them sensually, curious and playful at the same time. The little flicks send soft shocks to your core, your toes tensing and your neck straining as you try to get them away from your face. You can’t stop the mewls and whimpers you make as the alien coos and clicks to its constituents, seemingly pleased with how easy it is to humiliate you. 

“Xorvex…Do you feel that?” Another asks, tugging at the remaining patches of your suit with a grin. “I can sense how aroused this little human is. I’ve heard they can reach climax within minutes with just the right stimuli. Oh how envious that makes me. I wish my mates could orgasm with that much ease, over and over…It’s a delicacy.”

There’s a chill down your spine once again as you hear that. The creature's tooth filled grin only makes you want to hide and huddle away. Like a lamb cornered by starved and bored wolves. A sort of danger where you know it won't be over quickly, and that they’ll take their time despite your pleas for rest or freedom.

Maybe if you play along things won’t be so harsh? Perhaps you being this way can show them you mean no harm and they can join your forces? It’s asinine to think of in the moment but what else can you think to calm yourself? Panic would either entice them, make them pissed, or even bored. That or turn some on even more but if you’re already literally fucked, that’s not the worst outcome. 

You yelp, undignified and pathetic. Your bare body now for the taking as they huddle around you and begin to indulge however they please. What feels like a wet tongue glides over your abdomen, coating your skin in saliva, over and over as you’re held in these creatures' massive hands. They mutter and murmur about how “delectable” and “tasty” you are, and you fear you might truly be eaten- only to have that fear dismissed. 

For better or worse. 

That wicked and slick muscle decides to curl against your thighs, the tip gently flicking over your mound as you stutter out gasps of shock and unexpected arousal. The appendage parts your lower lips eagerly, flicking and slurping as you can only writhe and feel your muscles tighten. Your thighs tense and shake, but are held open by the council member who admitted they adore when their mates can climax over and over. They exclaim joy and amusement with how easy they’re taking you apart, and you feel utter shame as you pitifully fail to fight. 

“Right there…Yes. Good little human. I don’t understand why they try to make such adorable creatures like you fight in these wars. You’re clearly meant to just take our seed and be filled to the brim. Leaking as much as you are, I’m shocked you aren’t considered a case of neglect! Oh, but don’t you worry. We’re going to satiate every little devious human need you have.” 

There’s a cold pinch, and your eyes shoot open, mouth agape. The tendril easily slides inside of you, pumping in and out with practised ease as the Draaknal from earlier chirps and growls in approval. You can’t even protest, the Xorvex and the Akaex having their mouths share yours, tongue stealing a taste with every breath you try to take in, making your core all the more molten as pleasure overtakes rationality. 

The room is filled with wet sounds, all creatures invested in how to take you apart and make you their little plaything for as long as they deemed worthy. They coo in your ear about how unique you are, how they adore how you squirm and fight, and how good you look when being toyed with. Your thighs clench and tense as the tongue-like tendril continues to pump into you, like the alien in charge of it simply couldn’t get enough and wanted more, more, more.

One of the taller ones grunts and growls at the room, communicating something you couldn’t make out, only knowing that the tendril stopped and slipped out of you with a humiliating wet pop. They snarl back and forth to the two who first had you, before they sigh and back away, allowing you to be lifted upwards, placed on your back on the large pristine council table. 

You feel the cool metal on your bare back, eyes darting all over the room as your brain tries to make sense of anything. You’re facing the chair of the council member who took you, and you start to think maybe you’ve been rescued-maybe they put a stop to this! But all that hope is brutally crushed as soon as the head member begins to speak again. 

“Our friend here is right. We can indulge and get things done. A little sharing wouldn’t hurt. Just be sure to leave enough for the rest.” 

There’s little you can do. Trying to fend for yourself will get you killed. Trying to escape is useless. They’re just taking what they want, as they want, all while in awe like you’re some sort of…Pet. Or perhaps more? There’s such an odd fascination, it’s hard to pinpoint how all of them truly feel. But regardless, it seems they’ve decided  to make you their plaything. 

There’s a warm mouth over your dripping mound, and once again you feel the white hot pleasure shoot up your spine as they let their long, thick tongue explore. Up and down, starved and greedy. Hands come to cup just under your ass to lift you up, shoulders on the table and legs falling backwards so the things tongue can truly get in as deep as possible. 

You outright sob, hands trying to latch onto anything as the ecstasy burns and reaches its boiling point, wanting to rip away but at the same time, wanting to chase that high. There’s more growls, more chuffing and satisfied groaning, vibrating right into you and making your toes curl. 

You can’t stop it. The blinding sensation racks through your core, and you find yourself making loud, stuttered gasps as you climax. Your mind is blank, everything white and blurry, breaths uneven as the council coo and purr about how good you look, and how interesting it is to see a human go through such bliss. 

You don’t get much more time to think. You’re quickly passed onto the next alien, whose fingers are eager to explore, some in your mouth, others teasing your chest, and others curiously spreading you open as you’re sitting in their lap. “So pink…So soft. Just begging for us to taste. Maybe this is how they captivate a mate back home? So inviting!” 

“Maybe they make it this way on purpose? To be bred until there’s sure to be offspring?” “No no, some humans mate to show love and romance only! I hear it's this soft and sweet to keep their mates addicted.” “I won’t believe it until the human is passed to me. Waiting turns to do research is less than favorable…But It’s such a rare opportunity, I can’t turn it down.” 

It’s as if they don’t even care. Passive to your protests but adoring how they can make you squirm and writhe. Like they’re observing an endangered species and have to gather whatever intel they can. 

Your pussy clenches down against the invading fingers, and you pathetically cry out. Your hips are grinding down on their own, wanting more yet also screaming from being so sensitive, handled like a doll. That shouldn’t make you all the more wet, it shouldn’t make you clamp down harder, but here you are. All parts horny and desperate and still somehow trying to fight it. 

The long digits crook and curl, knowing exactly where to hit and how hard. You feel a yelp forced out of you, the pleasure way too intense too soon, but your body is acting on it’s own. Your eyes are rolling back, saliva is coating the digits in your mouth, and there’s fuck all you can do when you size up and feel yourself spraying all over the beings hand. 

There’s amused purrs and trills, some even laughing in awe, like they watched a marvelous spectacle, and you’re then handed off again. Truly like a toy. Why does that turn you on? Why is any of this making you act like some desperate animal in heat?

You feel a sense of shame as you listen to the previous one lick its fingers, audibly groaning and sucking like it’s never eaten something so delicious. 

There’s garbled noises and growls, something you wish you could decipher, but your gut tells you what you already know. This is far from over. Predators were surrounding a wounded lamb and ready to take whatever piece they could get their teeth on. 

“Why are we focusing only on the earthlings' pleasure? Honestly I never understood your kind. Your species always gives and gives and wonders why it’s dwindling in population. The human here should serve us. Be useful.” The large, red, muscular creature grunts this towards the entire council, and is quick to snatch you away and bring you to the next seat. Its uniform is dazzled with badges of war, some honorable, others just decoration for how brutally they fought their enemies. 

They’re an Undrut. Known for their brute strength, short fuse, and shoot first ask questions later attitude. 

“Please-” You choke out, feeling their massive hand around your throat. “-Wait a moment! Just let me-NGH!” You hiss, eyes slamming shut as the Undrut hovers over you and begins to slip its larger, thicker fingers into you. 

“So tiny and pathetic. Made to be protected, not to serve. You should be in a nest, letting someone stronger bring you food, bring you safety, bring you comfort. You’re much too squishy and feeble to be out here with us, the battlefield would only chew you up and devour you.” 

There’s a wet “schluck” sound, and you’re terrified to look down and see the massive length pressing right against you. 

“Easy, Agorox. Humans are fragile like you said. Being brutish will just kill this one.” 

The being chuffs, rubbing its glistening head over your sore and gaping cunt, snarling out to the smug voice beside them. It seemed annoyed, but taking the council members' words into consideration. You shiver as the hand tightens around your throat, just barely, its fingers clenching here and there as Agorox rubs the head of his long, thick cock against your soaked folds. 

Agorox hummed, bending closer to whisper in your ear as you felt more of his weight on you. “If you were on my planet, you’d be seen as the highest honor for a mate. We love to show off how well we provide.”  

He pulls back with a chuckle. “Such a cute little species” He mused, the head beginning to push inside. Your tight rim can barely accommodate, stretching around his length as your voice goes tight, air feeling stuck in your chest as that monstrous length tries to fit inside of you. 

The Undrut chuffs and snarls, but now in arousal, sliding his ribbed cock deeper and deeper inside of you as your walls pulse and throb, sucking him deeper. The size was enough to make anyone sore the next few days, but your body was acting as if you’d never felt this type of relief before. Every ridge pressed exactly where you needed, every inch stretched you just right. You felt like you were close to an actual heaven despite being locked in some sort of lewd, depraved hell. 

“That’s it. Such a good, obedient human.” 

You feel a wave of warmth wash over you at that. Something about the deep voice praising you made you want to melt into a puddle. A box to unpack for another day perhaps. You don’t really care for a psychoanalysis when an alien is eight inches deep and your mind is slowly breaking. 

“Every inch. I know you can take it, earthling” Agorox hisses, pressing his hips flush to yours, watching in unbridled arousal. The bump that pokes from your abdomen has the alien on what you humans would call “cloud nine.” 

The others watch in awe, watching as you take inch after inch like you’re made of elastic. Your body twitches and jolts with each deep thrust, slowly gaining momentum as you finally let yourself go. The pleasure from it all, knowing you couldn’t fight them off-What was the harm in giving them what they wanted? 

“Nhh” Your throat felt tight as even more of that length speared you open. You couldn’t help but watch as well, nearly obsessively as it’s cock just disappeared inside of you. You push yourself downwards, wanting to rock against the creature and get truly bred, the noises you made being practically punched out of you. 

Something primal was crawling out of the recess of your mind. You wanted this. Yo unwanted every thick, addicting inch, and every ounce of cum that this creature could provide. Part of your more sane mind had to assume it’s just something this species can cause with saliva or something. The other part doesn’t care and wants to be filled and to be climaxing right this second. 

Agorox growled low in the back of his throat, impressed that you dared to be so bold. He doubles over you, thrusting inside with more and more abandon, watching as you arch off of the table and claw at anything for some sort of grounding or purchase. 

“Amazing. Soft and brittle yet they can handle a warrior like me. Look at them. Taking me in over and over, waiting for my seed” he chuffs, grinning widely as he lets his massive hands come to hold your waist- so tiny in comparison that his fingers could touch. 

The way he began to fully plow into you, you started to see tiny stars behind your eyes. You couldn’t even wrap your thighs around this creature's abdomen, as much as you wanted to, wishing to pull him deeper and hold him there so you could feel every bit of what he’s giving. 

Maybe it’s how this creature mates, but something about the idea of him pulling out any time soon made you want to wail in distress. It made your stomach twist. You arch your hips to meet his aggressive downward thrusts, making you clench and throb all over again as he used to his liking. 

Agorox grunted and chuffed as he fucked you, deep and fast. Over and over, hurried and greedy as he watched his cock disappear into you, bulging right in your stomach. “Take it. Be a good little human and take my seed. Every. Last. Drop. Waste any of it and you’ll see why my kind is feared.” There’s a deep, rumbling sound from deep in the red alien's chest, and soon you feel your core being filled with warm, slick gushes of cum. Viscous, deep into your cervix, coating you inside and even out as no earthly creature such as yourself could truly hold that much. You start to feel a bit bad for any other smaller creature that takes an Undruts fancy. 

It’s so debauched and filthy, it sends you into shame while also tipping you over the edge, climaxing once again. Your core spasms, tensing and hot as your thighs lock, and your voice goes hoarse in a cry. Head lolling back as curses and pitiful whimpers echo against the walls. All for the amusement of the council. A spectacle of Earth. 

“Tsk tsk tsk. Humans can only handle so much, you know this!” a member scolds, but it’s half hearted at best. There’s tendrils sliding against you again, and you’re placed back to the being who started all of this in the first place, and feel a sense of dread knowing what they wanted from you next. 

But with how you’re clenching around nothing and covered in a dubious mess, can you really say you didn’t want to continue? 

“My my, what a display. The little human was easier to break than I had hoped, but I’m by no means complaining. Do you think they break like this with their own mates? I read that some humans have to have this happen multiple times before reaching their preferred mind space.” “Once again, there’s fictional stories humans write for fun, and there’s facts. I know which ones you tend to pick up, Urlen.” 

“Oh, pardon me for enjoying the finer things of human creation. I should be executed for such a crime.” 

The two banter back and forth for a bit, all while the tendrils caress over your body, slithering and exploring, just much much more eager and bold. The heft they have is an odd comfort to you, like some macabre weighted blanket, and you have to wonder if they’re onto something about being in a subspace or even fully mind broken. 

You’re hyper aware of everything that’s happening. Every touch and every caress has you jerking and feeling like you’ve been shocked. Yet you find yourself tilting your head back and allowing it all to happen, no longer caring how they treated you. If this is how they want to learn about the human race, who are you to stop such a pleasurable science? Not that they cared for it either way it seemed. 

Damned aliens always take and take without question. You knew that coming in and just assumed they were pompous, but no. You couldn’t be more wrong. They were starved for knowledge and attained their info by any means- and it seems this group adored hands on. 

The tentacles begin to slide across your lips, tickling your mouth open before taking full advantage. They didn’t taste awful either, and you find yourself becoming all the more relaxed as the tentacles fill you up from every hole, curling and pumping over and over as the alien host coos and purrs inside of your head. 

“Such a pretty species. Such eagerness for pleasure. How you can handle this size…I’m amazed. Perhaps having you as mates would be wonderful for my more hungry brothers and sisters.” You wince, feeling the tendrils prodding deeper into your aching pussy. The burn is more pleasant than before, but you can’t help but feel they’re pushing you to your limit, as if truly trying to test how much you can bend before you break. 

You gag and choke on the appendages forcing their way down your throat, but the way they go about it has you clenching and jerking, your core turning molten. It was perfectly lewd, your hands itching to reach down and play with your clit as they used you how they pleased. It was heady and hot. Everything is ten times more sensitive, every touch like an electric shock across your heated skin. Your tongue relaxes and allows the tentacles to use your mouth and throat, the weight somehow nice and easy to get lost with as you suckle and lick wherever you can. 

“Yeeessss. That's it. What a beautiful way to fall apart. You humans are so interesting…denying yourselves this bliss with your odd religions and your strange customs. Wouldn’t you love to just be like this? I could arrange a perfect marriage for that if you’d like-” “Now's not the time. They’re here for our research, not your political moves.” The tendrils leave you as the creature goes back to hissing and snarling at Urlen, the head of the council, who was looking all parts of the cat who got the cream. An odd smugness surrounds his aura as he watches how you’re handled and devoured. 

Like he’s the one who tossed the meat to the lions. The one who ran the circus. 

“It’s such a shame that the meeting is drawing near an end. I was having so much fun, I wanted to take you apart even more. But that’s alright, dear human. I can indulge just a bit more before we have to be off.” You blearily look up to him, your legs not at all wanting to work as he stands over you and lifts you up with ease. Your skin buzzed with heat and electricity, everything so intense and making you lose your breath. Slick dribbled from you, cum coating your inner thighs as it drips, down to the floor, all the more reason for your cheeks to bloom in molten shame. 

There’s another shiver, and you’re placed right on his lap, massive length now proudly standing and rubbing between your ass cheeks as Urlens hands massage the meat and flesh. Possessive and greedy, cupping and digging his larger fingers into the flesh like he was angered that he couldn’t do it before now. However, if he was angry, he covered it up with that superior-to-you tone.

“Goodness. If I hold you just like this, right against my cock, I can feel your heart rate. Beat after eager beat, waiting for me.” Urlen shows his teeth in a grin, rows upon rows of sharp teeth just waiting to sink into your flesh and claim you. Marr your skin for the very bragging rights that he got ahold of you. 

Oh how utterly greedy that would make him. And at such an established event! But…Isn’t that all the more savory? Erotic? He can’t fully help himself. There’s just something about breaking you down like this that has his entire being elated and wanting more. 

You wheeze, back bowing into a taut arch as the head of his thick, wet cock presses inside. Urlen’s deliberately going slow, inch by agonizing inch, making you savor the pleasure as you feel exactly how deep he’s reaching inside of you. You swear you can feel him right in your guts. Right against every overstimulated bundle of nerves. “Down here-” He purrs, and there’s another sweet gasp from your lips. “This feels good too, right? So swollen and stiff. Look at how you jolt and quiver…How many nerve endings are here? How many times can I play with this while you take me? Does it help reproduce? Or is it just for creatures like me to milk you of bliss until you hurt?” 

Christ, do they ever shut up?! You can’t even think of a response, you're completely on auto pilot and chasing that high once again. You need him to keep going, to play with your clit while you ride on his massive cock, completely abandoning decorum. As if you had any to begin with when this all first started. 

There’s only guttural grunts and moans after you whimper for him. Looking much too cute to just leave needy and desperate for release. Over and over, you feel your body pressing down to take his length as you claw into his dark blue skin. 

You were chasing that high, uncaring for how you looked or how you sounded, Your hands traveled up and down your own body, relishing in the debauchery of it all, bouncing and feeling your chest, your stomach, pressing right on the bulging skin as you felt all shame finally leave. Urlen and the others are a mix of pleased, intrigued, and in awe. If they didn’t have any interest in humans before, they do now. Though, perhaps not for the reasons you were sent here for. 

“Fuck! Ngh-Wait! “ You feel your voice rising in pitch, panicked as you’re shoved on your back, the cold table sending you into the opposite direction and nearly ruining your orgasm as Urlen stands over you, rutting into you slowly. 

He wants you to feel it. Feel how deep he is, how he’s spearing you open. An odd primal urge overcomes him as he watches you take all of him with ease. Like you craved him just as badly. 

“Can’t believe you can take away our composure like this. So soft, small, easy to use. You truly have no idea how good you look do you? How utterly insane your kind drives me. It’s pathetic you ruin me with such ease!” he bites out, angling his thrusts so he could watch himself plunge into your soaked and swollen pussy. The way you clamp down and suck him in, how warm and tight you are, it’s enough to make even his kind lose his mind. No wonder humans love this for a pastime, for a reason to lose themselves- This pleasure was addicting! 

His species could feast for eons with this information. 

You're a victim to a body quaking orgasm once again, sobs leaving your lips as breaths are punched out of you, pleasure so intense you’d think you were being punished by these creatures and not being experimented on. 

Well, maybe it was that sincere in the beginning. Now you’re sure that veil has fallen. You may not know a lot of alien customs, but you know when feral arousal overtakes a group. 

It’s like it’s never ending. Over and over his length plunges inside of you, causing you to squeal and shake, the pressure building inside like you’re about to burst. Eyes rolled in the back of your head, thighs aching in the most delicious way possible, white hot bliss making your brain turn to static as you truly let go, unable to care about whatever else could be happening. 

There’s an audience of coos and praise as you feel yourself squirt, chest heaving in uneven breaths, your soul feeling as if it was pulled out of you and pulled through a wringer. You just came. Again. Not only that, but you squirted. Lewd, debauched, and all parts erotic. 

You can’t feel an ounce of shame with this. What’s there to be ashamed about? They want to explore your body, let them. It’s much easier than trying to act as if this could ever go back to a place of decorum and sanctity. Let them play and feed. 

And oh, do they. You’re filled to the brim by Urlen, somehow able to handle more copious amounts of his seed than you thought, the mess running out of you like a river when he pulls away and his cock stands proud. Your essence clearly drips off of him, giving it a sheen as it bobs and twitches, still eager to slam back inside you given the slightest sign that he could. 

Everything turns to a blur after that. Handed to another member, tongues cleaning you out while they mutter this and that about your species, cooing about how cute you are, how delectable you are, how good you handle their sizes as you're forced into orgasm, after orgasm, after orgasm. 

It’s like some Roman punishment. The hero now the victim as you’re enjoyed and devoured, losing yourself to these creatures like you pissed off Aphrodite (or dare you say you earned her favor? This isn’t exactly the worst way to go.) 

You’re once again with the tentacles, sucking on whichever decide to take your mouth as another creature is slamming away, purring deeply as they take you. You don’t even care to know which species. It’s all the same. Pleasure, euphoria, mind numbing orgasms- Why would you care who’s giving it to you? 

The tentacles leave your mouth, letting you take in much needed breaths as the final alien takes you for a ride. Deep, fast,and rabbit-like. Taking and taking, chasing their own pleasure as you sit in your own little mental bubble. 

There’s a final thrust deep into your cunt. The alien pulls away and grins as its fingers go to spread you open, showing your clenching hole to the others, as if you truly couldn’t ever get enough. Their fingers tease your sore and red rimmed hole, chuckling when you jerk and whine from the touch, like a predator toying with its meal. 

You’re given a moment to breathe after that. The demons in these other worldly creatures finally satiated it seemed. You’re face down on the large table, eyes bleary and skin covered in sweat, saliva, and a mix of all of their essence. Hair mussed, teeth marks lining your body, and every drop of energy gone. 

How the hell did you survive?

“I’d say this meeting went well” Urlen muses, dragging his fingers down your spine in a similar way someone touches a marble statue. Mapping you out and wanting to admire you all the more. You wonder if it's a way to try to comfort you- Then again who are you kidding? They passed you around without preamble and gave you one of the hardest brain resets a human could ever experience. But still, it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility. 

“All things considered, I say we join your earthling alliance. I can see a wonderful future with us as allies. If you give us this hospitality with every meeting, how could we ever in our right minds say no?”  There’s a pitiful whimper as Urlen lifts you up, placing you on your ass as his fingertips tilt your head up to meet his gaze. “And, I’ll be more than happy to have you as my personal translator. My little ambassador…You can show me all of your customs and ways of pleasure. All for me to feast on.”

[you-know-honey]

Dance

Viktor x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Jayce has a plan: convince Viktor to attend the most important charity party in Piltover. But, as expected, Viktor refuses. What he didn't expect was that his assistant would show up at his workshop with a dazzling dress… and an invitation that Jayce secretly gave her. Could he really refuse now?

N/A: English is not my first language, feel free to correct me in the comments and I'll update it. Remember share if you liked it.

Viktor was focused, hunched over his desk as he fine-tuned one of the delicate pieces of hexcore. The dim lamplight illuminated his tired face, with dark circles under his eyes and strands of hair falling across his forehead. He didn’t notice Jayce’s entrance until the echo of the door closing resonated through the workshop.

“Viktor, old friend,” Jayce said, his tone bright and already foreshadowing trouble. “I have news.”

“If it has to do with that charity party, the answer is still no,” Viktor replied without looking at him, adjusting the tool in his hand.

Jayce sighed dramatically, dropping his weight into one of the nearby chairs.

“Mel has insisted that we go. We represent the future of Piltover, remember? Innovators, role models…” Jayce made a wide gesture with his hands, as if he were giving a speech.

“If Mel insists, you can represent us alone,” Viktor replied indifferently. He knew he wasn’t really required here, inviting him was just a formality. Then he looked up and looked at him seriously. “I don’t have time for parties, there’s a lot of work to finish here.”

Not to mention that dancing was something he had crossed off the list of things he could still do.

His friend really wanted Viktor to go, mostly because he had been very down lately, he barely left the lab and there were days where he would find him with his face on his notebooks after falling asleep at some point in the early morning, he was the first to arrive and the last to leave, if he ever did.

Jayce watched him in silence for a moment, before giving him a sly smile.

“Okay, I understand. You can’t just drop your projects. But what if I gave you a reason to go?”

Viktor frowned, distrusting his tone.

—What kind of reason?

Jayce didn't answer. Instead, his smile widened as he glanced towards the door of the workshop, as if he was waiting for something. He had recently discovered what he thought was a clue to the kind of feelings Viktor had for you, the long longing glances, the little smiles, the casual approaches of his hands, he answering any of your curiosities and letting you sing soft melodies while he worked were all very obvious clues to his eyes. Viktor followed the direction of his gaze just as the door opened.

And there you were.

Viktor felt the air leave his lungs. You weren’t wearing your usual practical attire. Instead, you were sporting an elegant iridescent white dress that flowed like water with your every move. The color perfectly complemented your skin tone, and the design highlighted your figure in a way Viktor couldn’t ignore. Your hair was delicately arranged, and a glint in your eyes suggested you was nervous, yet excited.

“Y/N?” Viktor asked, still processing what he was seeing.

You gave him a shy, yet warm smile.

“Jayce invited me as your date,” you said, your tone a mix of apology and expectation. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Viktor slowly turned to Jayce, who now wore an expression of unabashed triumph.

“What have you done?” Viktor asked, his voice low, but laced with disbelief.

“I gave you a reason to go,” Jayce replied, raising his hands in an innocent gesture. “I knew you wouldn’t accept if there wasn’t something… or someone to make the evening interesting for you.”

Viktor felt his face heat up as his thoughts struggled to organize themselves. Of course he felt a certain special affection for you. It had been a secret he had jealously kept, even from himself, and he had refrained from dwelling on it too much, after all they were coworkers. But now, seeing you there, so beautiful, waiting for his answer, completely disarmed him.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Viktor,” you said softly. “I just thought it would be… nice.”

Viktor’s heart skipped a beat. There was something in your tone that made him immediately doubt his usual refusal. For the first time in a long time, the idea of ​​getting away from his work, even for a few hours, didn’t seem so far-fetched. Mostly because he didn’t seem able to wipe that beautiful smile off your face by refusing. His mind searched for excuses for himself, to justify that he had now changed his mind, and that this change had nothing to do with you.

Finally, he stood up with the help of his staff, running a hand through his messy hair, although it didn't help much.

"If you insist…" he murmured, looking at you more than at Jayce. "I suppose I can make an exception."

Jayce smiled widely.

"Perfect. Now, change. You can't go dressed like that."

Viktor let out a resigned sigh as he took the suitcase that Jayce had left with his suit, in another attempt to convince him, but he couldn't stop a small smile from appearing on his lips as he headed to the bathroom to change.

When he left he felt a little silly, he tried to arrange his hair in front of the mirror but it was totally impossible. Jayce see proudly that his plan had paid off, but the most important look for Viktor and the one he looked for as soon as he opened the door was yours. He watched your pupils dilate rapidly as you saw him come out in that elegant suit. Your hands went to your mouth trying to hide a smile. Viktor forced himself to look away to avoid them seeing the small blush that ran across his pale cheeks.

“Oh! I almost forgot.” You quickly went to open one of the tool cabinets, rummaging through the back with the curious gaze of the boys behind you. After a moment, you pulled out a small box, and as if you were a little girl skipping, you approached Viktor with it. “I hope you like it.”

Viktor looked at you in surprise as he took the delicate box in his hands. He opened it delicately to discover a maroon tie between the strands of paper. His gaze traveled from the gift to you several times before giving you a warm smile as he took the tie between his slender fingers.

“Would you have the honor?” You nodded with a smile, as your hands took the tie you got closer to him, managing to smell the coffee aroma that you loved so much, you brought the tie behind his neck inside the collar of his shirt and tied it perfectly over his chest. “Thank you.”

The evening was everything Viktor had expected: lavish, loud, and filled with Piltover’s elites. Laughter and lively conversation echoed between walls adorned with gilded chandeliers and silk curtains. Viktor had always considered these events a waste of time.

When they arrived, Viktor could barely take his eyes off you. Jayce had already gone after the councilwoman, leaving them alone, as Viktor knew he would. His discomfort was evident in the way his hands played with the handle of his cane, which he tried to hide as soon as he began to walk through the crowd. You seemed to radiate confidence with every step, politely greeting the other attendees, as if these events were common for you.

Viktor, however, felt out of place. He held his cane tighter than usual, trying not to trip, but it was difficult given the state of his leg and the huge crowd.

“Relax,” you whispered with a reassuring smile as you tangled your arm through his. “Is it that bad?”

Viktor looked at you, his eyes softening instantly.

“Easy for you to say. You seem made for this.”

She let out a soft laugh.

“Not as much as you think. I’m just trying to look like it.”

A waiter passed by with a tray of wine glasses, taking a couple, offering another to Viktor. He reluctantly grew taller, though he hesitated before taking a sip.

From a safe distance, Jayce watched the scene with a satisfied smile. Mel approached him, arching an eyebrow in curiosity.

“What did you do this time?”

“A little push in the right direction,” Jayce replied, nodding towards where you stood with Viktor.

Mel let out a light laugh, shaking her head.

“I didn’t know you were a matchmaker.”

Jayce said alarmingly, shrugging.

“I’m not. But sometimes, a man needs help to see what’s right in front of him.”

Meanwhile, you and Viktor had climbed the stairs to the second floor, so you were more isolated from the hustle and bustle, it was a big job for him, but he really wanted to get away from the crowd. Plus the second floor was an even more beautiful place than the main hall, full of huge stained glass windows and a balcony at the end.

“I never imagined I’d end up here,” you said, looking at the lights that dyed the floor thanks to the stained glass. “When I was a child, I looked at the towers of Piltover from Zaun and dreamed of seeing them up close.”

“Zaun leaves its mark on all of us,” Viktor said softly, his fingers drumming against the handle of his cane. “But it’s not always a bad thing. Sometimes, it pushes us to… be better.”

You looked at him with a shy smile, your eyes meeting his.

"Do you think we've accomplished that?"

Viktor was silent for a moment sighing before answering, then slightly tilted his head at you.

"You certainly have."

Your eyes widened in surprise, a slight blush coloring your cheeks.

"That's quite a compliment coming from you."

The sound of music filled the air, and the guests began to make their way to the main hall for the dance. Jayce didn't hesitate to take Mel's hand and head out onto the dance floor.

"It's time to dance" you said, looking over the railing at the rest of the guests dancing with their partners with some longing.

"I don't dance" Viktor answered immediately. It was one of the things he had crossed off the list of things he could still do.

You looked at Viktor, shaking your head.

"I can't…"he didn't like saying that at all, but he didn't want her to be disappointed for failing even in the attempt to do it, all his life he had known that those things weren't for him, so he didn't give himself the time to even try. "I'm sorry to disappoint you." Viktor approached the railing, to look at all those couples dancing next to you.

"Disappoint me?" you answered incredulously, carefully bringing one of your hands closer to his "I don't think you can ever do that."

Your pinky gently caressed his hand, it was okay if he didn't want to dance, you had already witnessed what the pain in his leg could cause him and you didn't want that to happen today. You were pleased to just have his presence by your side, that was enough for you.

Viktor sighed, feeling guilty for 'ruining your night' he looked at you and knew he had to take the risk. He reached out a hand to you, more shaky than he would have liked.

“This time I might try.”

You took his hand carefully, leading him away from the railing, to his own little dance floor. As the music continued, Viktor tried to focus on following your steps, but he realized his attention was completely fixed on you, the way you held his hand, the way he felt your body close to his, your warmth against the cold of your skin. He couldn't help but blush as he finally worked up the courage to look at your face, your smile, the way you looked at him as if he were more than just an inventor addicted to his work.

For the first time in a long time, Viktor allowed himself to let go of the cane that made an almost imperceptible sound as it fell to the ground, he allowed himself to be enveloped by the moment, by the sensations, by you. He forced his leg to be useful to him for the first time, slowly under the silver lights of the moon, the outside world faded away, the pressure of his work, everything that tormented him left him to live the moment with you.

"Viktor, your cane…" you rushed quickly to grab it, thinking that you had dropped it by mistake but his hand in yours stopped you.

"I want to try it like this." He said as he extended his other hand for you to take. You weren't sure if that was the best thing for him, but the confidence on his face, the way he looked as if he were begging you to let him live that moment like that ended up convincing you.

Jayce, watching the scene from a safe distance at the bottom of the stairs, smiled to himself.

"It's about time." he said before Mel appeared and he happily let himself be dragged back to the dance floor.

The dance continued, and although Viktor's movements were a little stiff, your slow, gentle movements managed to relax him little by little. Despite his lack of experience, Viktor was surprised to find a natural rhythm next to you. The murmur of the rest of the guests, the echo of laughter and conversations, faded as your eyes remained fixed on his, with your hands resting on his shoulders, and his own hands caressing your waist.

"See? It wasn't so terrible after all," you murmured with a smile as you buried your face in his neck.

Viktor looked down, his lips curving into a slight smile. But he knew he couldn't last much longer standing without his cane, he was starting to feel that stabbing pain in his leg, he tried to control it as best he could, he didn't want that moment with you to end.

"It's… bearable." He tried to keep his body as relaxed as possible, to avoid you noticing and he feeling like a dying man again.

You laughed, a sound so warm and sincere that it caused Viktor to have a strange tingle in his chest.

"Always so enthusiastic?" you joked.

"Maybe the environment has an influence" he answered, keeping his tone sarcastic but with an unusual softness that you didn't miss.

A comfortable silence settled between the two of them as they continued to sway to the music. Viktor, normally so oblivious to social interactions, couldn't help but wonder how someone like you, so kind and brilliant, was more than comfortable being in his life. And more importantly, how he had been lucky enough to have you stay in it.

As the music began to become softer, both of their movements became slower, until they stopped completely. You stayed close, your hands still joined, until he spoke in a voice barely audible to you:

"Thank you for joining me tonight."

You nodded.

"Thank you… for making it bearable."

He smiled, his gaze lowering for a moment before meeting yours again, as you picked up his cane from the floor and surrendered.

"Thank you. We should do this more often, don't you think?"

The suggestion took you by surprise, you didn't think Viktor would want to repeat something like that, but instead of responding with a negative and referring to his leg, you simply said:

"Maybe." with a sweet smile, now that you both shared more than just work. Without the bustle and inquisitive glances of the attendees, it was as if they were in a world of their own.

The party had reached its moment of recess, with laughter and soft music filling the air. The guests began to disperse throughout the place and some began to climb the stairs. The moment you shared was abruptly broken when a visibly drunk councilman stumbled towards you with a smirk on his face. His ostentatious attire and wine glass in hand made him seem out of place in the serene atmosphere you had created.

“Ah, there are the strangers!” he exclaimed, his tone heavy with mockery. His eyes assessed you both, lingering a little longer on you, an expression that made you shudder in disgust. You had received such looks before, you knew them and knew they led to nothing good.

Viktor tensed instantly, straightening up with difficulty and leaning more heavily on his cane to take a step forward.

“Can we help you with something?” Viktor asked coldly, clearly uncomfortable with the man’s presence.

The councilman let out an exaggerated laugh.

“Oh, I don’t need any help from you.” Though I must say, Heimerdinger has strange priorities, letting a couple of second-class citizens mingle among us.

Your brow furrowed and you clenched your fists, more than ready to throw him down the stairs and pretend he slipped. But before you could say anything, the man turned to Viktor with a sly grin.

“You… Viktor… How admirable that you accomplish so much in such… poor health. It’s a miracle you can stay on your feet, don’t you think? Though, of course, when all you have to offer is your brain, I guess there’s not much else you can use to impress.”

The comment hit like a whiplash, but Viktor didn’t respond immediately, it wasn’t the first time he heard someone talk about him like that, he didn’t care at all. His grip on the cane tightened just because you were there, and his jaw clenched, of all people in the world, he didn’t want you to be the one to hear that. He remained silent, his gaze fixed on the man.

The councilor, seeing that he wasn’t getting a response, turned his attention to you again. His eyes scanned you shamelessly, his smile twisting even more.

“And you, my dear… I guess it makes sense that you’re here with him. The girls of Zaun always know how to… adapt to circumstances, don’t they? A perfect match: a disembodied brain and a… well, you know.”

Indignation took hold of you. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, but before you could respond or move to fit his nose with a punch, Viktor grabbed your hand, stopping the hurricane of thoughts in your mind.

“Stop it,” Viktor said, his voice low but firm.

The councilman raised his eyebrows, feigning surprise.

“Oh, did you hit a nerve? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“No,” Viktor interrupted, taking a step forward, despite the obvious annoyance the movement caused him. “Don’t be sorry. And I don’t want your fake apologies. Just… shut your mouth and get out.”

The man snorted, but before he could say anything else, you faced him, walking steadily in front of him, your voice clear and determined.

“It must be exhausting carrying so much shit around,” you said, with an icy smile. “But I guess I couldn’t expect anything else from someone whose only virtue is his last name.”

The councilman looked at you, surprised by your bravery, and then snorted before turning to leave, muttering something unintelligible and spilling half of his glass of wine on the floor.

When you were alone again, the air was still tense, your fists still clenched at your sides. Viktor finally let out a long sigh, closing his eyes for a moment.

“You shouldn’t have… faced him,” he said softly. “I’m used to his usual nonsense.”

You looked at him with a determined expression.

“And you shouldn’t bear that in silence. No one deserves to be treated like that, especially you. They should lick your shoes, thanks to you this city really became the city of progress. You shouldn’t have to get used to it, Viktor.” You intertwined your hand with his, like an instinct you couldn’t ignore.

He looked down at their intertwined hands. He could feel the warmth of your touch breaking through the cold barrier he had built up over the years.

“I don’t believe his words, they’re irrelevant to me,” he finally admitted, his voice laced with honesty.

You gently squeezed his hand, forcing him to look at you.

“Then stand up for yourself, because you know what I believe? I believe you’re more than just a brilliant brain, Viktor. You’re not just a man with a cane or someone who comes from Zaun. You’re so much more than that, a genius, a visionary. There’s so much about you that’s amazing besides your wit.”

Viktor let out a short, dry laugh, but there was a spark of something else in his expression. Maybe gratitude, maybe something deeper that he didn’t dare name yet.

“You’re… persistent,” he said, with a slight smile that quickly faded as he looked back into your eyes. “But I don’t understand why.”

You tilted your head, confused.

“Why, what?”

Viktor looked away, unsure of how to continue, but he knew the words were already on the edge of his lips, and he couldn’t turn back.

“Why do you care so much about me? Why are you still here, by my side, despite everything. Helping me with everything, always taking care of me, looking at me as if there was nothing more interesting than me when I talk to you…even now.”

You looked at him for a long moment with a huge blush caught in your cheeks, and then, with a warmth in your voice that almost disarmed him, you answered, “Because I see you, Viktor. I see who you really are, and… I care about you. Much more than I should.”

The world seemed to stop in that instant. Viktor swallowed, feeling the air grow heavier, but also clearer at the same time.

“Y/N…” His voice was a whisper, as if he was taste out your name in a different, more intimate context that even he didn’t know about.

Their eyes met again, and this time, Viktor didn't look away, just watching your eyes sparkle and your pupils widen, it warmed his heart to know it was because you were looking at him.

"I should tell you now, but well…it's something new."

You smile softly, giving him some relief.

"You don't need to be good at it. Just tell me what you feel."

Viktor took a deep breath, as if he was preparing for a leap he had feared for a long time.

"I admire you. Not just for your intelligence or your ability to put up with my…quirks. But because you make me feel different…alive. With you, I don't feel alone. With you, I feel like…I can be something more."

His words were clumsy, but the sincerity in them was undeniable.

“And I think… I feel something really deep for you, Y/N.”

The silence that followed was overwhelming, but not because you were hesitating. But because you were taking in each word, feeling them deeply. Slowly, a smile spread across your face, and with a determined step, you closed the distance between you.

“That’s good, Viktor,” you whispered, leaning in just enough for him to hear each word clearly. “Because I’m already in love with you.”

Viktor looked at you, a flash of something soft and warm crossing his eyes.

“Thank you,” he finally said, his voice almost a whispered gasp. Despite everything he believed made him unworthy, you always saw him as something more.

The air seemed to vibrate between you, charged with an energy neither of you could explain but both of you understood. As the lights of Piltover continued to shine in the distance, the two of them towered over high society, standing together in a pure, private moment.

Jayce, who had been watching the scene with a mix of satisfaction and pride, decided not to interrupt. Mel, at his side, looked at him with an arched eyebrow.

“Happy with your masterpiece?” she asked, taking a sip of her glass.

“More than I imagined,” Jayce replied, crossing his arms as a triumphant smile lit up his face. “Viktor deserved it, although he’ll probably hate me tomorrow.”

“Oh, I don’t think he’ll hate you,” Mel said, watching the couple. “Maybe he’ll even thank you… eventually.”

As the night progressed and the lights in the hall grew dimmer, you and Viktor remained close, away from the bustle of the rest of the guests. For the first time in a long time, Viktor wasn’t thinking about the Hexcore, or his work, or his body, or the expectations he had placed on himself.

At that moment, there were only the two of them, and that, for Viktor, was a discovery as fascinating as any scientific breakthrough.

[ihangelic]

KISS CULTURE ꒱ m.jaehyun

synopsis. after his xmas date doesn’t go to plan, you’re now taking care of a sick and clingy jaehyun that’s determined to get you under the mistletoe despite everything. (alternatively: jaehyun’s sick, horny, and very persuasive.)

pair. jaehyun x afab!reader

genre. smut but also lots of fluff, small attempts at humor

warnings. established relationship, jae’s endearingly annoying, no pronouns used for reader, petnames (baby, ‘princess’ used twice), switch vibes? (not sure but it’s hot), making out, reader wears knee-high socks & jae really likes them, kitchen sex, oral (reader receiving), hardly mentioned exhibitionism? (you fuck in front of a window but nobody can see), jae licks your thighs lol, creampie, aftercare

wc. 4.7k

note. #thighmanjaehyun (>u<) please consider reblogging if you like this! it helps spread an author’s work and gives us motivation to write more. <3

copyright of @/ihangelic

it’s 7:30 in the evening. by this time jaehyun thought he’d have your hand in his and your cup of hot coco in the other, walking while looking at the christmas lights and displays— probably stopping every so often when a cute little shop catches your eye. and then jaehyun would take the opportunity to ‘coolly’ pick up whatever you’re admiring right after you set it down, insisting on buying it for you.

well, he certainly isn’t looking very cool right now and neither does he feel it— because you have him lying down in your bed, wrapped in 3 layers of blankets despite him sincerely trying to tell you he’s not even cold.

“i knew there was a possibility we’d end up in bed together by the end of the night, but i didn’t think you’d be the one to make the first move.” jaehyun jokes, signature puppy smile and laugh suddenly disappearing when a cough distorts his features.

“oh my gosh, baby. just shut up and lay down.”

you nag like a worried mother as you try to make jaehyun lay against the angled pillows you’ve tentatively arranged— rather than sitting up on your headboard like he currently is.

“wow, so desperate. not even gonna do a little foreplay before you get in my pants?”

“jaehyun!”

he giggles, all maniacal and cute like usual, making it all the way through without coughing this time.

“see that!” your boyfriend points out the small triumph, sitting up again right after you finally got him to lay in the right position. you don’t withhold your sigh of disapproval.

“i don’t even feel that bad! it’s just a little migraine and drainage. i can still take you out, baby.”

“no. going outside will probably just make you worse. we’re staying in and i’m taking care of you.” you insist.

jaehyun pouts, looking up at you with boba eyes that beg for you to just let him take you on the date he came over to execute. his cute little face almost convinces you if it weren’t for his ‘shining’ eyes that eventually drip from how watery they are, realizing it’s from irritation.

“i’ll go get you some tissues.” you say with concern, standing up immediately as the first tear streaks down his cheek. jaehyun groans and his cheeks burn in embarrassment, cringing at his failed attempt to ‘woo’ you into having his way while rubbing at the moisture with his sleeve.

you return quickly with a box of tissues cradled against your body, a bottle of medicine and cup of water in either of your hands.

“nooooo!” jaehyun childishly whines, flopping his head against your pillows and splaying his arms for extra dramatics. you’re not sure if the reaction is because he’s anticipating the gross taste of the medicine or if he sees taking the liquid as admitting defeat; that yes, he is in fact sick— and that means taking you out for a date is totally out of the question.

“yunie, come on. be good and take your medicine.”

he responds with a sigh, but otherwise gives in without any fight, surprising even himself with a sudden wave of weakness. (and…okay, maybe he isn’t feeling at his best right now.) so he begrudgingly lets you play nurse, defiant wiggling against the sheets coming to a stop— but it isn’t without a grumpy pout on his face as he refuses to look at you.

(you can't help but find his avoidant eyes and immature act a little cute.)

“good boy.” you say without thinking, focusing on opening the childproof lid of the medicine bottle.

but your boyfriend definitely notices the little pet name, his heart jumping as his eyes flick to your face for just a second before he remembers he’s supposed to be pouting, looking back down to his hands resting over his blanket covered chest.

unbeknownst to your boyfriend's inner struggle, you pour the thick purple liquid inside the cap until it reaches the measuring line, sitting the bottle down and slowly bringing the medicine to jaehyun’s mouth. he responds exactly how you thought he would— which isn’t well.

jerking his head to the side to escape the cursed purple sludge that the bottle’s wrapper swears is flavored ‘bursting berry blast’ (whatever the fuck that means? jaehyun doesn’t want his berries to burst nor blast), he simultaneously grabs your wrist that holds the cap.

you’re not annoyed— honestly you’re still pretty endeared by your crybaby of a boyfriend. but you do actually want him to take the medicine. he needs it. so you try to put your foot down, sighing a little more roughly before speaking.

“baby, please don’t make this difficult. i think you’ll survive one swig.”

“i hate that stuff, y/n! it makes me gag!”

you poorly resist laughing at how ridiculous jaehyun looks as he desperately tries to puppy-dog eye his way out of the situation again, in the back of your mind wondering how often you’ve let him have his way for him to repeatedly try this trick on you.

“tough it out, princess.”

“God, you’re so mean to meeee!” he whines and squirms, abruptly stopping with a gasp as you can tell an idea has struck him.

“wait, i know!”

“what?” you ask suspiciously, having this funny feeling that his idea probably doesn’t involve him actually taking the medicine and has everything to do with distracting you.

jaehyun’s bright expression turns into a proud smirk as he lifts a brow while looking at you. “kiss me and then i’ll take the medicine.”

(…well, you were partially right— kinda.)

“take the medicine and then i’ll kiss you.”

and jaehyun (ever the beggar and evidently not the chooser of tonight) agrees. “fine. but pour it down my mouth quickly so i can take this nasty shit like a shot.”

you smile smugly at getting your difficult boyfriend to agree and jaehyun is forced to see your stupidly cocky (yet undeniably pretty) face as one of your hands grasps his tilted chin to make sure he stays in place. leaning closer until your chest to chest (which must excite jaehyun a little, because you swear you hear and feel his breathing pick up at the press of your breasts against his pecs, hand moving to rest on the small of your back), you raise the cap to his lips and he obediently opens them (thank God). doing as he asked, you pour the liquid quickly into his mouth. jaehyun swallows it with a grimace, gagging immediately after.

“quick, kiss me!” he cries as though your lips on his will take the bad taste away.

you pull yourself out of his hold before he can force one on you— jaehyun’s squeezed shut eyes opening wide while he watches with clear betrayal as you get up from the bed to put some extra distance between the two of you.

“you…lied to me?” the boy asks, and you’re shocked at how much guilt strikes your heart when he speaks in such a soft, surprisingly heartbroken sounding tone.

“i’ll still kiss you. i just didn’t say when i’d do it.”

despite trying to say it gently, jaehyun’s eyes still sadly sink to the floor, a pout yet again forming on his lips as he turns on his side and lays down against the pillows. you wait for him to whine and complain so you’ll know he’s back to normal and not legitimately sad— but he doesn’t.

walking forward to the side of the bed he’s occupying, you kneel down, his sad little squished face revealed to you. “baby..when you get better i promise to give you all the kisses you want. you wouldn’t want to get me sick too, would you? then i wouldn’t be able to take care of you.”

“i really don’t think i’m sick though. it just feels like bad allergies.” jaehyun softly rebuttals, shiny eyes looking at your soft gaze adorably. (and at that moment you really do wish you could kiss him.)

combing your nails through his hair as you speak, jaehyun’s eyes flutter shut at the soothing sensations before blinking them slowly open again.

“can’t risk it.” you whisper. “i’m sorry, baby.”

“it’s okay.” he reassures you, moved by your genuine apology. “i was just really looking forward to this evening. while we walked around looking at lights, i wanted to buy you hot coco and stuff from the shops. n’ after i wanted to take you to the pavilion at the square.”

you coo, heart fluttering at how romantic jaehyun can be. “aw, that’s a really good date idea, baby. i bet they have the pavilion decorated all pretty for the holidays.”

“yeah, they do. there’s even mistletoe hung on the ceiling. wanted to kiss you under it while surrounded by all the pretty lights…”

you pause, cheeks warming at his soft confession as giddiness fills your heart. goosebumps cover your arms despite feeling very warm.

you press a kiss against his forehead, unable to help it. jaehyun’s tiny frown turns into a soft smile instead.

“i love you. fuck, you’re the sweetest. don’t talk like we can’t do that anymore just because you’re sick right now. the moment you’re healthy again you better take me on that date.”

jaehyun giggles softly, even when a small cough interrupts it— there’s still a smile on his face.

“you got it, princess. i love you too.”

you wake up in the morning to the soft smell of eucalyptus, the scent left over from the vaporizer you turned on for the night in hopes it would help jaehyun’s drainage.

normally you’d feel the comforting weight of jaehyun’s arms around you, but you don’t. confused, you turn over to see the spot next to you empty. rising from the bed with the intention of finding your missing boyfriend, the moment your feet hit the cold hardwood floors you’re pausing the search to put some high socks on before immediately going back to your pursuit. (it doesn’t take long to find him, being that your apartment isn’t the biggest.) you somewhat groggily walk through the hallway and end up in the kitchen— where you see jaehyun standing over the stove, sizzling something in a pan.

“morning, beautiful!” he smiles, all chipper and completely awake. “do you want an egg over your rice?”

“…aren’t you still sick?” you ask, morning voice apparent— and jaehyun notices it, judging by the teasing little spark in his eyes, but he doesn’t act on it as he responds to you.

“nope, i feel great! all back to normal. i told you it was just allergies, baby.”

“well, i’m glad i was wrong.” you smile, walking closer to wrap your arms around his middle and rest your head on his back. “and yes, i’d like an egg with my rice please.”

“i gotchu, baby. while i finish our breakfast why don’t you go brush your teeth? i recall being promised ‘all the kisses i want’, but i can smell your morning breath from here.”

you gasp with offense and softly slap your hand on jaehyun’s back, the boy laughing as he looks down at your playfully annoyed expression.

“mean!” you whine, failing to conceal your smile.

“i’m just trying to get back at you for last night.” jaehyun defends, apologizes tacked on after to make sure you know he’s genuinely kidding— but regardless you do descend to the bathroom to wash your face, brush your teeth, and rangle with your bed head— not bothering to change out of your cozy pajamas.

you and jaehyun eat his yummy breakfast at your small dining table, the room lit up by the light reflecting off the snow-covered ground outside, shining through your frost framed windows.

after tag teaming the dishes, you’re finishing washing the last plate when you realize jaehyun has left your side.

“jae?” you murmur, setting down the white porcelain and turning your head, only to see your boyfriend absolutely cheesing it up with a sprig of mistletoe between his fingers, holding it above his own head like an adorable idiot.

“oh my God,” you giggle, fondly shaking your head as you abandon the sink and fully turn to face him. “where did you even get that?”

“i may or may not have snuck out early this morning to buy it…” he admits in an almost sheepish tone before quickly covering it up with a ‘flirty’ (endearingly goofy) raise of his brow. “now kiss me! it’s going against culture to not!”

“what culture?” you ask in an incredulous yet obviously amused tone. despite acting difficult, you slowly inch closer and closer to jaehyun.

“chr- christmas culture? saint nick’s? fuck if i know, just kiss me!”

“are you sure you’re not still sick? you sound pretty delirious to me.”

“i’m not!” jaehyun whines dramatically.

you’re unable to control your teasing, even as your feet are about toe to toe with him. “really? i swear your eyes still look a little watery.”

“because, y/n! i’m about to cry if you don’t fucking ki—“

granting him sudden mercy, you wrap your arms around his neck and plant your lips on his.

kissing jaehyun is always amazing, but in this moment it really hits different. the air is warm with the thermostat set high, but your skin remains slightly chilled, creating a heat between the meeting of your mouths. it sends a pleasurable tingle throughout your whole body— and so do jaehyun’s hands, which must have dropped the mistletoe, because they’re roaming all across your back and squeezing appreciatively at your waist and hips.

you’re not sure who’s fault it is for the way things take a turn, the sweet kiss becoming desperate and hungry. maybe it’s the slight chill driving you to want more warmth— the way your nipples remain hard against the rough fabric of your button up pajama shirt, even as jaehyun’s warm hands slip beneath the material to cup your breasts.

all you’re sure of is that you really want to keep kissing jaehyun— but with less clothes.

he must have the same desire because he’s backing you up without breaking the kiss until your back meets the counter, lifting you up and setting you down on it. you wordlessly spread your legs so jaehyun can stand between them, the man humming appreciatively before he eagerly leans into your lips again. his hands work blindly to unbutton your shirt— and judging by the sudden brush of air against your chest bone, he’s doing a good job at it.

when jaehyun parts from your lips to trail his kisses across your jaw and down your neck, a string of spit connects you before shortly breaking. you moan as jaehyun sucks a mark onto the soft part of your neck; the area he knows is your weak spot; that gets you wet and desperate for him every time— while he gently pushes your opened shirt off and lets it slowly fall down your shoulders.

“mmm, jaehyunie. more.” you shudder, your boyfriend responding by grazing his teeth over the sensitive skin of your throat, causing your thighs to tremble with want as you whimper and fist your hands into the material of his shirt.

“look who’s whining now.” jaehyun smirks, his voice taking that deep tone that’s so different from the higher pitched voice he usually speaks with. it sparks a fire in your belly, and suddenly all you want is for him to keep kindling it.

“pleease, yunie. touch me more.”

“okay, baby.” he whispers, leaning down to give one of your nipples a quick peck, leaving it glistening.

jaehyun takes one step back to pull his own shirt over his head, your eyes immediately dropping down to his toned stomach— and then even lower, to his hardened length that’s tenting in the confines of his pants. you’re about to express disappointment that he hasn’t removed them yet, but the words die on your tongue when his hands go to your own waistband.

he takes his sweet time, teasing you by slowly pulling them down. when the peek of your white socks are revealed, starting just below your knees— jaehyun’s trek pauses, eyes zeroing in on the sliver of fabric showing.

“jaehyun?” you ask faintly, the words floating in the air like a snowflake that’s about to dissolve. still, it breaks jaehyun somewhat out of his reverie, previously slow pace gone as he impatiently tugs your pants completely off and drops them carelessly to the floor.

“what are these?” he questions breathlessly, both hands holding your calves tenderly.

“my..socks?” you answer, but your tone sounds like it’s a question— confused as to why your boyfriend seems to like the clothing item so much. they’re just plain, no little bow or detail to them at all. “my friend bought them for me.”

“i like them.” jaehyun confirms, one finger slipping beneath the band of one sock to pull it back and snap it against your skin. an airy gasp escapes your lips at the sensation, feeling your clit pulse between you legs.

“you look so sexy in them, baby.”

“y— yeah?”

“yeah.” he says, a little throaty as he bites his lip, eyes roaming from your calves; thighs; to your pantie covered core. he pulls you by the crook of your knees until you're at the edge of the counter, his hot breath puffing between your legs. “but i think they’d look even better framing my head while i eat you out.”

your heart thrums in surprise as jaehyun pulls your panties to the side and immediately attaches his mouth to your wet pussy, groaning at your taste that coats his tongue as he swipes it through your folds.

nudging at your thighs, you understand his signal as you move your legs to rest on his shoulders. you do think it looks sexy; your legs working as a frame— not because of you, but because of your boyfriend’s face stuffed in your pussy while his usually puppy-like eyes now stare up at you wolfish and hungry. you’re glued to his gaze, unable to look away as your mouth drops open with a moan, jaehyun flicking over your clit with his tongue. the action resounds with a wet sound that has your cheeks burning and toes curling with pleasure as you lean back against your hands.

“please, jaehyunie. please, please.” you beg, mind dwindling into too much of a mess for you to even decipher what it is you’re asking for. but of course your boy seems to understand, slipping a single digit into your wanting cunt.

jaehyun easily pushes in knuckle deep, your eager pussy practically sucking him in— so he adds a second finger and looks back up just in time to see your eyes roll back.

“ah, that’s what princess needed, isn’t it? pussy needs filled up?”

your brain short circuits for a moment before you nod your head, opening your previously squeezed shut eyes to look at him. the second you do, he rewards you with his mouth back on you again, licking and sucking at your clit and folds, moving his head up and down with his enthusiasm. his fingers pump and curl inside your cunt expertly, finding yourself losing control of your reactions and coming closer to release.

jaehyun feels your legs trembling before you’re suddenly hooking your ankles and clenching your thighs around his head, the man moaning in ecstasy as the squishy flesh of your thighs press against his cheeks and create a dizzying pressure on his skull.

his fingers plunge deeper inside of you as his lips stay wrapped around your clit, determined to have you gushing in his mouth— and you do, falling apart with only a wanton whine to warn him as your back arches and eyes close in pleasure.

jaehyun practically growls when he watches your lewd expression as you cum in his mouth; how your hips start to grind against his tongue and fingers as you ride out your high. your skin is now burning hot beneath his fingertips; hair unstyled and a sexy sort of mess as it got disheveled amongst your pleasure; the white light shining through your windows like a halo above your head. (jaehyun’s sure he’s never seen something so beautiful.)

you’re panting when you finally come down, chest heaving and eyes half-lidded as jaehyun licks at his lips, savoring your taste as he stands to his feet.

“still got it in you, baby?” he asks as he looks at you with dark eyes, hand groping himself over his pants.

your pussy yet again clenches with need at the dirty display.

“yes, yunie. want your cock in me.”

at your words, jaehyun pulls his drooling dick out, yanking his pants and underwear down just enough so his balls are free. you slip your panties and socks off (causing jaehyun to curse under his breath at the arousing sight) before getting down from the counter, instead turning around to bend over it. it’s only then that you notice how your windows have the blinds raised up, leaving the two of you completely exposed.

“shit, jae! you just ate me out with the blinds open!”

“yup. and now i’m about to fuck you with the blinds open.”

you lightly flinch when jaehyun slaps his cock against your cunt, smothering it in your juices despite how he’s already lubed up enough by his own slick. despite your muttered words of embarrassment for him to shut the blinds, your back arches as you present yourself to him, causing jaehyun to smirk from behind you.

“nasty little thing, talking like you don’t want to be seen when i can literally see you clenching for it.”

(realistically, you’re on a high floor and the windows are foggy from the temperature difference outside. no one should be able to see you two. but still, the idea excites you and has your pussy pulsing tightly as jaehyun slowly pushes inside.)

“fff— fuck, oh,”

“that’s it.” jaehyun hisses between his own clenched teeth as he looks down, watching how your cunt sucks him in so eagerly— how it molds perfectly around his cock. his sexy voice does nothing to help your quivering and sensitive insides; how your skin almost tingles with arousal. you only lose more control as jaehyun makes his first deep thrust, falling forward onto the counter as your breasts press against the cold marble.

“shit— please!” you choke, but there’s no need to beg as jaehyun sets the pace.

his fingers find home in the softness of your flesh at the bend of your thigh, holding you in place as his balls slap against you with momentum.

you’ve lost all shame, crying out in pleasure as his hard cock invades your insides, cupping your own tits with your hands to play with your peaked nipples. you can hear jaehyun’s pants behind you— which are turning more moaned and broken by the second.

turning your head to see your gorgeous boyfriend, your eyes lock, and it’s evidently your turn to see his eyes roll to the back of his head.

“fucking shit— fuck! baby, you..you look so g—“ he’s unable to even finish his sentence when you clench tighter around him, cutting himself off with a groan as you’re already reacting to his praise before he’s fully said it. “i— i’m..g— gonna cum if you keep doing that. oh my God.”

“do it, jae.” you croon breathlessly, but jaehyun swears it’s like a siren’s call, sinking him further into delirium. “be a good boy n’ cum in me.”

you watch and listen as your boyfriend lets out another string of expletives, fingers tightening around your hips as he snaps into you even deeper— harder. your mouth hangs open in a silent whine as one of your hands keep working at your bud, moving the other down to swirl around your clit. jaehyun’s cock pulses inside you and you feel the electricity in the air; a band of energy pulling so taught it has to snap.

“give it to me, yunie! please!”

and the band breaks— you and jaehyun’s throaty sounds echo in your apartment as he floods your pussy with his cum, your own release dripping down your thighs. your legs tremble yet you still push back against his cock, getting slower and slower until he has to pull out from sensitivity.

you stay in your bent over position, too tired to move but also appreciating the cold of the counter as you lean down and press your cheek against it. you can barely see jaehyun from the angle before he drops to his knees, slightly trembling hands holding onto your thighs. you lift your head, thinking his knees have given out and about to start asking if he’s alright when you feel a stripe being licked up the inner part of your leg.

“jae?”

“just lemme clean you up, baby.” his hot breath puffs against your skin.

you lightly gasp as you feel his hair and nose brushing between your thighs, tongue so close to your heat as he licks up your juices until it’s all gone— and all that remains is a light trail of his glistening saliva from his tentative care.

after tucking himself back inside his pants and grimacing at how dirty he feels, he helps you off the counter and into his arms as you lean against his chest, still finding your strength.

“we need to clean up.” jaehyun whispers reverently, his hand brushing little shapes and swirls into your spine, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead.

“m’ too weak.” you hardly mutter, letting your eyes fall shut.

“baby…did you forget you’re butt-ass-naked in the kitchen right now?”

your eyes snap open. “oh shit.”

“yeah. but don’t worry about it.” jaehyun says, stopping you with a gentle hand when you try to reach down for your clothes that were previously dropped to the floor. “we’ll take a shower together, hm? i’ll help you.”

another tender kiss to your forehead, a little bit of coaxing— and then you give in, letting yourself be led in jaehyun’s arms to the bathroom.

after showering, more kisses, and getting dressed; your energy has returned— and so has jaehyun’s.

“can i take you on the date now!” he exclaims, practically bouncing off the walls in excitement.

“baby, it’s not evening yet. we won’t even be able to see the christmas lights when the sun’s out.” you reason, and luckily that doesn’t dampen jaehyun’s spirit.

“oh, right! well— then we should marathon some christmas movies while we wait!”

your smile is so big you have to bite your lip to try and contain it, as always finding jaehyun’s usual enthusiasm absolutely heart striking and infectious. you nod your head ‘yes’ and he’s already taking your hand to walk you out of the bedroom and into the living area, rambling on about snacking on popcorn; popping some cookies in the oven; and asking if you have eggnog.

but all his words come to a halt when you sneeze behind him, and it’s like you could hear a pin drop or a snowflake fall.

turning his head and looking at you with eyes so wide they look like they’re about to pop out of his skull, jaehyun’s voice shakes. “please, for saint nick’s fucking sake— please do not tell me you feel sick.”

you hold it in for as long as you can, trying to play the act well and appear as though you’re just as afraid and shocked as him— before you can’t do it anymore, bursting into a fit of laughter as you grab onto your boyfriend’s arm while doubling over.

“i’m just kidding, i’m kidding!”

“oooh, real funny, y/n.” jaehyun responds, rolling his eyes despite the fond smile on his lips. “keep going like this and you’re gonna be on my naughty list.”

“oh?” you smirk, giggles somewhat dying down as you raise a playful brow to your boyfriend. “and what happens if i get on the naughty list?”

“want me to show you?” he challenges, the spark in his eyes mirroring your own, promising mischief.

you never really know how a day’s going to go when you’re with jaehyun, he’s always full of surprises. but one thing you are rather sure of is that this boy is going to make all your christmas wishes come true.

taglist. @zynz0 <3

note. again, plz don’t just like but reblog! thanks for reading <3 i might write another ‘version’ of this fic about the date jaehyun describes wanting to take reader on! all fluff! but i might do a different member, not sure. if you have a preferred member lmk.

[junicult]

!! the bachelors after their first kiss with you

contains ; fluff! gn!(but written with fem in mind)farmer for most. implied male in alex’s. non canon setting (for most). unestablished relationships—pre dating. alcohol usage. smoking (cigarettess).

note ; i had a nice time in my imagination with this one

harvey.

he stares at you, stunned at how easily you were able to do the thing he’s been thinking about for weeks. how soft your lips felt, how comforting your hand on his chest was, and how genuinely intoxicated just one simple kiss from you was already making him feel.

he clears his throat, and almost like you just sucked every word out of him, all he could muster up was a mumbled, “thank you.” he thanked you. for kissing him.

you purse your lips, trying your darnedest not to laugh watching his face just drop, realizing the first thing he said to you after you kissed him for the first time was a thank you.

“oh no, it was my pleasure.” you tease, allowing a small giggle to slip. he sighs like his blood has run cold, too embarrassed to even respond. luckily for him, you’re just too perfect, and you cool his sting by leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. you pull back with a smile, hand cupped over the opposing one, “goodnight harvey. i’ll see you tomorrow. you can thank me for that one, then.”

sam.

he acted almost as quick as you did, the moment he saw your eyes fixate on his lips and lean in, he wasted no time to fill in the gap between you two.

“you kissed me.” he says, face washed in amusement and adrenaline. he remains a solid grip where his hands rest on your lower waist, clear he has no intent on letting you go anytime soon.

“i might’ve.” you murmur, flickering your gaze to and from his. if he didn’t know any better, he’d think—

“are you all shy now? did i make you nervous?” he angles his head to chase your nervously wandering eyes, mischievous grin and tease in his tone. his hand consciously cups the side of your neck, thumb pressing into your jaw to gently force your chin up and maintain eye contact.

you huff, shaking your head. “well, a little! we just kissed!” you try not to sound too whiny—though, the way his grin spreads almost makes you forget that plan.

“aha! i made you nervous! am i so handsome? am i such a good kisser?” he muses, snickering in triumph.

“sam,” you test, narrowing your eyes through your eyelashes.

“what? you dunno know the answer? wanna kiss again to find out?”

shane.

he didn’t actually think you’d lean in, much less keep it going for so long that he’d have to push against you a moment later to give him a second to breathe.

but you shake your head, misinterpreting it all so quickly. “i’m sorry—i’m so sorry, i shouldn’t have kissed you, i don’t know why i did that, i’m sorry—“

“whoa, i wasn’t pushin’ you away,” he immediately rouses, “i’m not mad that you kissed me.” and he snickers lowly, “more like pounced on me.”

“you’re not?” you hum breathlessly, straightening your pants and tucking pieces of your hair back. now your chest bubbles with a new kind of embarrassment. you nibble on your lower lip, attempting to ease your breaths. “i—i dunno why i did that. i don’t usually drink…much less makeout with people while i do.”

you slouch back down on the old, creaky dock next to him. he snorts, tilting his head, “‘m just too irresistible, huh?”

you shoot him a glower. “yeah,” you say like it’s sarcastic, but really, you’re well aware you aren’t drunk enough to start behaving irrationally. “i just didn’t mean to do that.”

“i don’t mind that you kissed me.” he shrugs.

you watch as he takes a swig from his beer can. his eyes focus on the overall still lake in front of you both. “you don’t?”

he almost wants to tease you for all your disbeliefs. he chooses to scoff out a laugh instead, shaking his head. “mm-mm.”

you turn to face the water, gently swinging your dangling legs over the edge. “hm,” you hum back, “maybe we should talk about that when we’re both sober.”

sebastian.

he’s borderline shocked at how easy it was for him to kiss you back—no hesitation after your fingers brushed the back of his hair to pull him in. he’s almost loopy, too, and he’s never been the type to swoon so hard from these kinds of affections. but he’s also learned a lot has changed since he first met you.

“you taste like cigarettes.” you murmur as you step back, licking your lower lip as if to repeat the taste. you turn towards the city lights, and for the first time he’s finding it nearly impossible to follow your gaze.

“i’m sorry,” he truthfully says, absentmindedly stepping down on the previously tossed cigarette butt at his shoe. “i’ve been trying to stop.”

“tastes like you, too. mixed in, i guess.” you note with a smile, “it’s not terrible though. but good, you should try and quit.”

he honestly doesn’t know how to take that—in his mind, he can’t imagine that tastes good, much less the combination any glorious. yet you turn to him again, stuffed hands unfolding from your pockets to reach across for his.

all you had to do was to give him a tiny tug, sliding your hands up his shoulders before he repositioned his own back to where they previously sat on your waist.

“let me bask it in while i can, though.”

alex.

you’ve almost never seen him with this soft, content look on his face. you’re half expecting him to burst into laughter, try to justify his actions with a teasing lilt and offer to pretend like it never happened.

but no. all he does is look at you, watching the way your eyes shift between each of his, evaluating. like he’s waiting for one of you to break.

you take the bait. “why’d you do that?” you murmur, quiet enough the wind almost picks it up.

he shrugs. “i dunno. it felt right.” he hums, and despite his uncertain words, he says it with sincerity. “was that the wrong choice?”

you think for a moment. for you, you surely thought about it for weeks. but the timing certainly didn’t feel appropriate. vulnerability changes a man like him most of all, and the last thing you’d want to do was take advantage of that. you absentmindedly swirl the grains of sand under your fingertips.

“no, i don’t think so.” you respond easily.

he nods. you’ve never seen him this quiet, but despite that, you’ve got an idea of what’s exactly going through his mind. when he turns away, you’re certain.

“you won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“of course not.”

elliott.

he had almost forgotten why he invited you over—just for inspiration on the last couple chapters of his novel, or did he honestly plan for it to go like this?

“so…what happens after they…kiss?” you coyly murmur, still held in his embrace so close you can smell the drop of pomegranate on his lips.

“well, i haven’t written that far just yet,” he pauses to take a breath, “i was hoping they’d finally confess their love.”

he’s so handsome this close, your head still reels and lips feel fuzzy as you struggle to bring back in your even breaths.

you nod, slow and computing. “yeah—no, that sounds good.”

your plump lips hold him in a trance, as do his, making it so hard to concentrate on his words all the while you feel you’re too fixated on them.

“so you believe they love each other? that they should finally tell the other?”

the kiss rendered you thoughtless—what can you expect from a romantic like him? however, the metaphor is not lost on you. and had he let you go at this point, it wouldn’t have been so easy for you to eagerly nod, “absolutely. two people in love should tell each other they’re in love.”

[aryaryxoxo]

Tsukishima Kei who can breeze through the toughest math equations, finish his homework in record time, and effortlessly juggle volleyball with his schoolwork. Yet, despite all of his talents, there's one thing he can't stand: you.

Tsukishima Kei who doesn’t get irritated easily, finds even Hinata and Kageyama’s shenanigans a joke compared to the irritation he feels when you flash that smirk after surpassing him by just one point. In that moment, an unspoken rivalry ignites between you two, an unspoken agreement to surpass each other in every way, shape, and form possible.

Academic Rival Tsukishima Kei who usually just skims through material before a quiz, now finds himself sitting deep in his chair, solving equation after equation. Every second counts if he wants to wipe that smirk off your face. And when his focus starts to slip, all it takes is one glance at your online status—still awake, still grinding—to push him to keep going. Though, really, why are you still awake at 2:30 in the morning?

Academic Rival Tsukishima Kei who strutted into the classroom, pride practically radiating off him, confident he could finally take you down. And he did. He cherished the disbelief look you threw at him when he scored a perfect 100 and you sat one point behind at 99. He tucked that memory away, cherishing the rare victory like a prize. 

But his triumph was short-lived. Because not even a day later, Ma'am Aki threw a surprise quiz—and you aced it without missing a beat, flashing him a smug little smile that sent irritation in his chest.

Academic Rival Tsukishima Kei who usually found P.E. class mind-numbingly boring compared to the brutal training Coach Ukai put them through, turned around to you, ready to throw a snide remark your way. But the words caught in his throat when he saw you blinking rapidly, struggling to keep your eyes open, sweat trailing down your face.

He could feel your unease from where he stood, and something uncomfortable twisted in his chest. He clicked his tongue, masking the sudden rush of concern with a scowl.

"Don't push yourself if you can't handle it, idiot," he muttered, sharper than he meant to sound.

But even as he turned away, he found himself glancing back—just to make sure you were still standing.

Academic Rival Tsukishima Kei who was unfortunately forced to partner up with you, now found himself hunched over his desk, studying and making plans on how to present the material. Of course, you wouldn’t make it easy.

Every discussion turned into a battlefield—clashing ideas, sharp glares, and way more energy spent finding new insults to throw at each other than actually planning the project. 

Academic Rival Tsukishima Kei who stood in your living room, hovering awkwardly. You prohibit him from seeing your bedroom, you could already imagine the mockery if he saw what it looked like. Tsukishima liked to imagine it to be bubblegum pink with ponies or something equally embarrassing.

You both needed to pull an all-nighter for the presentation, and with the library closing at 6 PM, you both decided (mostly you, really) to stay at your place.

He glanced around the room, his eyes landing on the photos that decorated the walls. Each one was a snapshot of a memory, some recent, some from when you were a child. What caught his attention the most was the way your smile hadn’t changed, not even a little. It was the same smile he saw now—genuine, carefree. Don’t ask him why he noticed it. He didn’t have an answer.

Academic Rival Tsukishima Kei who sat there, pretending to reread his notes for the presentation, but in reality, his eyes kept drifting toward you. You looked worried, biting your lip, your leg bouncing up and down in a restless rhythm. He tried to ignore it—tried to focus on anything else—but the longer he watched, the more it got under his skin.

Finally, with an irritated sigh, he muttered, "Are you worried or something?" You glanced at him, startled, before nodding.

"Yeah," you admitted softly, and for a moment, Tsukishima was caught off guard by how small your voice sounded. But he quickly recomposed himself, clearing his throat to mask the shift in his expression. 

Grabbing his bag, he pulled out a squished ball, handing it to you without a second thought.

"Here," he muttered, his voice a little sharper than usual, "It’ll help you with your nerves."

You blinked, surprised by the gesture. Tsukihima Kei is not the type to let others use his stuff, but he was already turning away, pretending like it wasn’t a big deal.

Academic Rival Tsukishima Kei who was starting to like your presence, found that it made his unsteady and noisy thoughts turn quiet. It unsettled him, but he would swear on his mother’s future grave that he didn’t have feelings for you. When Nishinoya and Tanaka started teasing him, joking about him getting soft toward his rival, he shot them a glare that immediately silenced them—he couldn’t let anyone find out that your presence was starting to mean more to him than he’d ever admit.

Academic Rival Tsukishima Kei who found himself irritated, but not by you—no, it was the prick stumbling right in front of you, confessing and nervously asking if you could meet him at the school’s rooftop. Tsukishima’s irritation flared up as he watched, his jaw tightening. He didn’t even realize how much it bothered him until now. The nerve of him, confessing to you in front of others. You didn’t want that, you’d told him once, on one of those days when you were forced into close proximity with each other.

He almost wanted to step in, but for some reason, he stayed silent, the frustration simmering beneath the surface.

Academic Rival Tsukishima Kei who ignored you for two weeks because of that. He knew it was a dick move to just shut you out, but he couldn’t bring himself to find out if you accepted the guy’s confession. Now, he realized he had feelings for you, but of course, it was too late. 

“Don’t forget to invite your friends, or family to your game tomorrow, okay?” Coach Ukai said, standing up from his chair with a grin. “As much as you need good sleep and proper nutrition, you also need moral support.” 

The boys stood up as well, and Nishinoya, with eyes practically filled with hearts, shot a teasing grin at Tsukishima.

 “Ooo, Tsukishima, are you going to invite Y/N?” he asked, his voice dripping with mischief. “No,” Tsukishima replied, his voice deadpan.  “Why not?!” Tanaka chimed in, clearly eager for an explanation. Tsukishima just looked at both of them, gave a small bow, and walked off without saying another word. “Rude!” both yelled in unison, watching him leave.

Academic Rival Tsukishima Kei who, instead of turning left toward his street, found himself turning right, walking toward your front door. He stood there, waiting patiently for you to open. When you finally did, his eyes met yours—really met yours, after avoiding you for weeks. He took a deep breath, his usual sarcasm missing, and simply uttered six words.

“Can you go to my game?”

Academic Rival Tsukishima Kei whose leg bounced up and down in a restless rhythm, a clear sign of his nervousness. But it wasn’t the game that had him on edge—it was the fact that he still hadn’t seen you. After asking you to come to his game, he just left. He didn’t even wait for your response. He’d ignored you for so long that it would be acceptable if you didn’t show up. Still, he hoped. And the nerves… they were unlike anything he’d felt before, especially not because of someone.

Then he looked up again, catching sight of you excusing yourself, you found an empty spot beside his brother. You were holding a sign, and as you turned to the court, you found his eyes. A smile spread across your face—the kind that made his heart skip. You raised the sign high, the words clearly visible:

“ONE POINT, ONE WIN, YOU’VE GOT THIS! TSUKISHIMA KEI”

His face remained impassive, but as he watched, that smile of yours lingered in his mind. The faintest twitch appeared at the corner of his lips, the start of a smile. 

Academic Rival Tsukishima Kei who stood in line with his teammates, each of them waiting to receive their awards. They had won. Tsukishima’s block gave them the one point they needed to secure their spot in nationals. As he took his medal, he glanced at you. In that moment, you met his gaze and gave him that smile—the one that made everything else fade away. He realized, as he stood there with his medal, that he had won twice that day: nationals, and you.

He silently thanked the heavens for that 99/100 score.

...

a/n — i freaking love tsukishima kei,,,,hes my first hubby!! this been sitting in my drafts for so long, I'm so happy I can finally post it haha

Warnings — grammatical errors

[eidolonplaytest]

art by @boocanan

After years of thorough playtesting, you too can now play the complete and beautifully illustrated game of EIDOLON: Become Your Best Self!

EIDOLON: Become Your Best Self is a tabletop RPG for 2-6 players. Look deep inside yourself to find the power lying dormant within, nourish that power through the bonds you build with others, and use the reality-bending abilities it grants you to fight for your ideals, fighting against the pull of the Undertow, the psychic tides that dictate the collective unconscious!

art by @skarchomp

Challenge Fate

EIDOLON uses our own Drawn From the Undertow game system, which replaces dice with a deck of tarot cards. Each action requires a draw, and each card dictates a new direction for the story to go. Play The Magician, and "you achieve an impossible success," but play The Tower, and "something terrible happens." Each character also chooses their own Resonant and Dissonant cards, which act as their own personal critical successes and failures!

art by L.L. Simkowiak

Drama-Driven Battle System

The combat system from 1E has been significantly reworked, while remaining the same core of the Crash system, in which battle is governed by dramatic arcs instead of hard numbers and stats. Short-term victories make enemies more powerful, more deadly, and more desperate, pushing them to further and further extremes until the players reach a moment of climactic triumph!... or, they suffer enough failures, incur enough physical, psychic and metaphysical damage, that they are forced to Face Death, and must cut a deal with the forces of The Undertow to go on fighting.

art by Julie Low

Actually, I Meant for You to Kick My Ass!

With the Reveal Your Master Plan Move, you can dramatically change the flow of a session by revealing a secret strategy that your character's been employing the entire time! Take a bullet? Reveal Your Master Plan to open your shirt and show off the body armor you've been wearing all along! Find yourself alone at the mercy of a powerful villain? Reveal Your Master Plan to declare that you called for back-up before the fight even started! Of course, nothing's ever a guarantee, and you'll often find that your "master plan" has a few hitches you'll need to resolve before it comes to fruition!

EIDOLON was developed in conjunction with the award-winning Eidolon Playtest podcast. Check it out if you want an example of the game in action!

[hivemuthur]

Dream Within a Dream

My humble tiny contribution to jayvik nation!

mature! kissing/making out, unresolved tension, teeny tiny bit of angst because I'm happiness repellent

word count: 3,5K

summary: based on @mithrava's hc where Jayce and Viktor are so happy about their Hextech breakthrough, they celebrate with a little bit too much alcohol and well... you know. Therefore, tw: alcohol.

Cross-posted on AO3

—

“…Will you please stop hovering?” Heimerdinger let out an annoyed huff at two of his pupils, in that moment floating around the room, amidst the blue hextech light scattered around them.

“I’m not sure how to do that, sir,” Viktor replied, trying to keep his composure—but he couldn’t hold back the laughter. He just couldn’t. It was unbelievable. It was unreal. They had actually done it.

Through endless nights of discussions, equations, notes, borderline illegal amounts of coffee, and sleeping in uncomfortable positions, they had managed to get here. To harness the power of magic and encapsulate it within a tiny crystal—endless possibilities contained inside.

So how could he be serious in that moment? There was absolutely no way to withhold the grin on his face. And even though so much was happening at once, Jayce took note of that grin—he hadn’t seen Viktor this happy before. In fact, he had only ever seen him vaguely content or, on rare occasions, excited. Happy? Never.

Heimerdinger’s voice broke them both out of the blissful moment. “This is not what Piltover’s future looks like, my dear boys.” The frown on his furry face gave away a concern that neither of them understood.

“That’s for the Council to decide.” Mel Medarda’s voice reached them before she appeared in her full glory. “Perhaps it is time,” she said, her tone gentle and measured as she scanned the room, “for the era of magic.”

“Uh, Hextech. For the era of Hextech,” Jayce corrected her, feeling the crushing weight of this moment. Where they could go from here seemed endless. And the best part of it was that he would be on this journey with Viktor.

***

They had managed to get the hovering under control, though not without casualties—Jayce had bashed his forehead on the desk while turning the machinery off, and Viktor had fallen straight onto his ass, a loud groan echoing through the workshop.

“Shit, Viktor, are you alright?”

The immediate concern in Jayce’s voice melted something deep inside Viktor. Something tender, almost unfamiliar. He looked up, and there Jayce was—already nursing his own bruised forehead, his face creased with a worried frown. Jayce. The man who, with all his relentless optimism, had somehow made Viktor’s world feel brighter.

Viktor’s lips twitched into a crooked smile, though he couldn’t quite meet Jayce’s eyes. “I’ll be fine. It’s mostly my pride that suffered,” he said, brushing himself off with as much dignity as he could muster. His voice sounded steadier than he felt. “I just need to… sit here for a moment.”

Jayce exhaled, a wide grin overtaking his face—so wide it threatened to split it in half. There was something almost boyish about it, as though he couldn’t hold in the sheer radiance of his joy.

“Wait for me here. I’ll be back before you can say ‘Hextech’!” he exclaimed, already pushing to his feet, a hand pressing against the purpling bruise on his temple. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except this—the breakthrough, the impossible victory that had been years, perhaps a lifetime, in the making. For Jayce, this wasn’t just a moment of triumph; it was a culmination of dreams whispered into the dark, plans scribbled into tattered notebooks. And Viktor—Viktor had made this possible.

As Jayce bounded out of the workshop, his voice trailing triumphant “Wooo!” sounds down the hallway, Viktor was left alone. Mid-inhale, he blinked at the empty doorway. “It’s not like I would go—” he muttered, his voice quiet in the now cavernous silence, “—anywhere.”

The air stilled. Viktor slumped back against the edge of the workbench, his limbs aching but his heart so full it felt as though it might burst. He tilted his head back, letting his gaze settle on the swirling hextech light still dancing across the ceiling, refracting like a kaleidoscope of stars.

What had they done? What had he done?

This wasn’t supposed to happen—not to him, not like this. For years, Viktor had lived in the shadow of his own life. A quiet assistant to minds greater, stronger, brighter than his. A figure scribbling equations in the margins, unseen and unheard. He had been grateful for scraps—a word of praise, an acknowledgment, the briefest recognition that he existed.

But this? This moment was his as much as it was Jayce’s. He closed his eyes.

For the first time, Viktor allowed himself to hold the word in his mind: partner. It was a simple word, but it swelled against his ribs until he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t know when it had started—when Jayce’s infuriatingly good-hearted presence had carved its way into his chest—but it was there, undeniable. A bloom of something delicate and dangerous, a feeling he could barely name.

Partner. But perhaps… perhaps something more.

The thought made him scoff softly to himself, shaking his head. Foolish. His pulse still hammered beneath his skin, hot with joy, with relief, with an ache he didn’t quite understand. His hand reached for his cane—a familiar comfort, even in its broken state—but he stopped short, fingertips hovering over the fractured wood.

Had he ever been this happy? Had he ever let himself be?

His chest rose and fell as he breathed, shaky and uneven, overwhelmed by it all. It hurt to feel this much, but gods, it was a beautiful kind of hurt.

“Jayce…” he whispered into the silence, testing the name on his tongue as though it might anchor him. Viktor let his hand fall away, sinking deeper into the weight of the moment. The hextech crystal continued to pulse in its cradle, and its glow reflected faintly in Viktor’s golden eyes—a mirror to the light he could feel, for the first time, inside himself. He had never had a reason to be this happy before. And he didn’t know what to do with it.

“Look what I found!” Jayce announced, as though he’d stumbled across a treasure hoard. “One cold compress—for your aching pride and your even more aching ass.” He tossed it toward Viktor, who caught it with a bemused huff. “And this,” he added, holding up the bottles with a victorious grin, “to seal the moment. A proper celebration.”

Viktor pressed the cool compress against his lower back, a small groan of relief escaping him. “You are… remarkably considerate,” he said, voice dry but fond. Then, eyeing the bottles dubiously, he added, “But I must warn you—I do not hold my liquor well.”

Jayce froze mid-flourish, his mouth dropping open in exaggerated offense. “Viktor, please. If you’re ever going to drink—ever—surely this is the moment to do it. You and I, two geniuses on the verge of changing the world! Are you really going to deny me the pleasure of seeing you loosen up?”

Viktor rolled his eyes, but there was no hiding the faint upward twitch of his lips. “One glass,” he relented, holding up a single finger for emphasis. “One.”

Jayce grinned like he’d won a victory greater than Hextech itself. “Deal!”

The cork popped with a satisfying crack, and before Viktor could protest further, Jayce had pressed a glass into his hand, the bubbly liquid fizzing and glittering like gold. Viktor stared at it, his brows furrowed as though unsure whether to admire it or fear it.

“To us,” Jayce said, raising his glass.

Viktor hesitated just a moment longer before mirroring him. “To… us,” he echoed softly. Then he smiled and added, “Na zdraví” in his thick accent.

The champagne was sharp and cold on his tongue, sweet but with a bite that lingered. It spread warmth through him far too quickly, a heat that gathered in his chest and curled behind his eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or simply the culmination of the day—the culmination of everything.

Jayce plopped down beside him on the floor, his legs stretched out lazily, their shoulders just barely brushing. “You know,” Jayce started, leaning his head back against the bench, “I can’t stop thinking about what this could mean. What we could do with it. Energy, innovation, security—Piltover could be… unstoppable.”

Viktor let his head loll to the side, a small smile quirking his lips as he studied Jayce’s face—open, bright, unwavering. “You are always looking ahead,” he said, his voice softer now, the champagne buzzing pleasantly at the edges of his thoughts. “It is admirable.”

Jayce turned to grin at him. “It’s easy when I’ve got you by my side.”

Viktor looked away, clearing his throat as heat threatened to creep up his neck. He forced his voice into a teasing lilt. “I could not help but notice how impressed Mel Medarda seemed with you earlier,” he said.

“Mel?” Jayce blinked, and Viktor swore he caught a flicker of hesitation. “She’s… she’s something, isn’t she?”

Viktor’s smile faltered slightly, a small twist forming in his chest. Something sharp and unpleasant. He frowned faintly to himself—jealousy? Ridiculous. Still, the feeling made him cringe. He’d never been prone to such sentiments before; why now?

Jayce, as though sensing something, rubbed the back of his neck and glanced away. “But, uh… I’ve had my eyes elsewhere for a while.”

Viktor turned to him, his brows knitting in confusion. “Elsewhere?”

The question hung between them, and for the briefest moment, Jayce’s confidence faltered. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, looking almost… nervous. Finally, he laughed, too quickly, waving a hand in the air. “I mean on our research, of course! Hextech. What else?”

Viktor tilted his head, his gaze lingering on Jayce’s face. “Right,” he said slowly, though he didn’t quite believe it.

Jayce turned his head away, suddenly focused on the far wall of the workshop. His hands fiddled with the stem of his glass, his thumb running absently along its edge. He felt off-kilter, as though the champagne had stripped him of some unseen armor. His pulse was too fast. And Viktor—Viktor, who sat beside him with his sharp golden eyes and his half-tilted smile—was studying him with far too much patience.

Jayce forced himself to look. Just look. He let his eyes trace Viktor’s features, committing them to memory—the sharp angles softened by the dim light, the faint flush to his pale cheeks, the way his lips parted slightly as though always on the edge of forming a thought. Damn.

He couldn’t stop talking, theorizing. He talked and talked, desperate for Viktor’s attention, for his hums of approval, for his thoughtful expressions. Their faces were getting closer and closer, as Jayce’s voice faltered and began to quiet.

“I mean, if we go about this well, think of all the people we could help. We could revolutionize mining, transport, we could—” His breath caught in his throat, and he didn’t know why. For the love of him, he couldn’t understand what invisible force guided his hands in that moment to cradle Viktor’s cheeks and press his lips against Viktor’s. Maybe it was the Hextech itself, but, oh gods, he didn’t know it was possible—it felt even better than hovering around the room mere hours ago.

It was so quick; he didn’t even register when he got back to his previous position.

Silence fell between them, heavy and aching. Jayce couldn’t bring himself to look up when he felt slender hands tugging at his neck and pulling him back to where he had just been. It was a slow movement—tentative, yet deliberate. Viktor’s arms guided him back to where he was supposed to be, and Jayce had to balance himself on his friend’s hip. The kiss was slow, sloppy, lazy even. Extended in time, as if they wanted time itself to stop and freeze them in this fleeting moment.

Jayce moaned involuntarily as he felt a sharp pull of heat drag through his core, ready to pull Viktor closer, when Viktor hesitantly broke them apart.

A small “Wait,” barely audible, escaped Viktor’s mouth. “I am sorry, I don’t know what—” he tried, but his words failed him. What he needed right now was a calculation: of the risk, of the potential benefits and losses, a detailed outline of what had led to this conclusion. But his mind was so hazy from all the champagne, Viktor scolded himself for having more than one glass.

It was an impossible command for Jayce. He was able to do anything, but ‘wait’ right then. Mindful of his fresh injury, Jayce pulled Viktor up to straddle his lap, their torsos touching through the horrible layers of clothing. He hated clothes so much in that moment.

Jayce kissed him again, deeply, hungrily, a quiet urgency that neither of them had anticipated. Their lips moved together in a rhythm that felt both natural and uncharted, as though they had crossed an invisible line they hadn’t even known existed. Jayce’s hands cupped Viktor’s ass, pressing him down on himself, the bulge in his pants painfully swollen. Viktor’s hips bucked, he couldn’t help it—it embarrassed him completely, but another thing he couldn’t help was a breathy moan escaping his mouth. What had just happened?

“Fuck, Jayce,” Viktor mumbled straight into Jayce’s mouth. “What is… this?” he stated more than asked, breaking the kiss but keeping their faces close together, their foreheads and noses touching, their mouths panting.

“I don’t know,” Jayce breathed, his voice soft but steady, his hands still holding Viktor close, fingers splayed against his back. “But it feels... good.”

His chest tightened as he felt Viktor’s breath hitch, the conflict so clear in his partner’s eyes, despite the way their bodies pressed together in a dizzying, heated closeness. The tension between them was palpable—an uncomfortable, unspoken ache that neither of them could address right now. The weight of their clothes, the awkwardness of their embrace, felt suffocating as if there was too much space to fill but not enough to move. Viktor’s sharp inhale vibrated through Jayce’s chest, and he noticed how stiff Viktor’s shoulders were, like he was trying to hold himself back.

Jayce could feel the conflict in the tightness of Viktor’s arms, the way his body was taut against him as if he were bracing for something. It made Jayce’s heart race, his mind swirling with uncertainty, but his arms were already instinctively pulling Viktor in tighter. His face pressed into Viktor’s neck, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of him—a mix of iron, wood, and something uniquely Viktor. He didn’t want to let go. Not yet.

“I’ve had too much to drink,” Viktor said, his voice strained, as though he were forcing the words out through a clenched jaw. He pulled back just enough to look Jayce in the eyes, and there was a flicker of hesitation before he spoke again. “It’s best if we get some rest. We can’t... I can’t...” Viktor’s voice caught in his throat, the words stumbling out as if they were too heavy to say.

Jayce’s heart sank, a dull ache in his chest at the thought of pulling away. He understood. He knew Viktor wasn’t ready, wasn’t sure of what had just happened, wasn’t sure of what he wanted. It was too much. Too fast. Jayce nodded, slow and resigned, but the words didn’t come immediately. His body was still pressed against Viktor’s, still drunk on the warmth of him, the touch, the kiss that had stolen all their breath.

“It’s okay,” Jayce said softly, voice barely above a whisper. “I understand.”

But as Viktor began to shift back, preparing to pull away, Jayce’s hand tightened around his waist, stopping him. He didn’t want to let go. Not yet.

“Just... give me a minute more of this,” Jayce said, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges, as though the words were torn from him. His head dipped back into Viktor’s neck, inhaling deeply, the scent of him filling his lungs. He breathed him in like he was trying to hold onto the moment, as if if he let go now, it would all slip away.

Viktor stiffened slightly, but Jayce didn’t let go. He just held him tighter, his arms now wrapped fully around Viktor’s back, pulling him closer. And Viktor, though he hesitated for a brief moment, let himself be held.

In that moment, Jayce didn’t want to think about the future, about what this meant, or the next steps. He just wanted the quiet comfort of Viktor’s presence, the feeling of his body against his own, the intimacy of this fragile, fleeting moment that felt like something he never wanted to end.

Later, in their separate rooms, sleep eluded them. The night stretched long, each of them turning over in their own bed, replaying the evening over and over in their foggy minds. Viktor’s head throbbed from the champagne, but it was the kiss that lingered, the warmth of Jayce’s hands, the desperate pull of something he couldn’t name.

Across the hall, Jayce lay wide-eyed, staring at the ceiling, the taste of Viktor still sharp on his lips. His heart raced with the memory of their closeness, the breathless tension that had filled the room. He knew he should sleep, but the moment kept replaying in his mind, teasing him with the questions he didn’t know how to answer. Neither of them could shake the memory, the yearning that now hung between them like an unsaid truth, and neither of them could bring themselves to confront it, not yet.

***

They were both late the next day. Jayce, the ever-thoughtful Jayce, brought the coffees and breakfast to the workshop, only to find Viktor slumped against the desk, napping.

Jayce’s heart swelled momentarily with the memory of last night still lingering, but he managed to speak. “Do I dare check for your pulse?” he joked, approaching Viktor with the coffee first—one could never be too cautious.

“It should be in your best interest that I still have a pulse, otherwise the blood would be on your hands, Jayce,” Viktor groaned, his voice muffled against the workbench. “This is agonizing. The one thing in my body that worked without fault is now failing me.” Another dramatic whine made Jayce laugh. “You’ve broken me, Jayce. No more Hextech, no more genius mind,” Viktor kept whining, his hand blindly roaming the space in front of him, searching for the coffee.

“It can’t be that bad. I’ve brought food. Will that grant me your forgiveness?” Jayce asked, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he set the breakfast down in front of Viktor.

“Ugh, no, I can barely keep my insides... well, inside,” Viktor groaned, his voice thick with discomfort. He slowly lifted his head from the workbench, blinking against the harsh light. But beneath his words, his mind was racing.

He knew exactly how much he'd had to drink, and he knew the effects were still there. But the last thing he wanted was for Jayce to think he was still reeling from the night. So, he lied—an easy lie, one that masked the overwhelming truth. How did we get so drunk? I can’t remember a thing, he told himself, but his mind replayed every second of it. The kiss. Jayce's arms around him. The feeling of something more lingering in the air, unspoken and unresolved. It haunted him, but Viktor buried it beneath the weight of a half-hearted chuckle. "How did we get so drunk? I can’t remember a thing," he repeated aloud, his hand slowly making its way toward the food as if it could somehow pull him away from his thoughts.

Jayce’s heart literally sank at Viktor’s words, the lightness in his chest suddenly replaced by a heavy knot. He forced a chuckle, brushing the unease aside. Of course, Viktor couldn’t remember… Of course. But he played along, trying to keep things light. “Well, we talked about Hextech, and the future. Grand plans, all that. Nothing too exciting," he added with a grin, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Viktor, still half-dazed, blinked at him slowly, as if he was trying to pull the threads of last night together. He took a sip of the coffee Jayce had brought him, his eyes narrowing with a hint of disbelief. “I can’t believe our dream is actually about to come true,” Viktor murmured, shaking his head as if the reality of it was just starting to sink in.

Jayce’s expression faltered, a subtle sadness flashing across his face before he could mask it. “Yeah, it will,” he said quietly, his voice betraying a wistful edge. “Our dream will come true now.” He paused, his gaze distant for a moment, as if the weight of the moment was pressing in on him. But there was another, smaller dream, too. One that had lingered in the back of it all. Jayce had gotten a glimpse of it coming true last night as well. He scolded himself for letting it slip through his fingers.

[p1astr81]

you could always quit -ln4

synopsis: Lando doesn’t want you to leave for work

The rustling of clothes and a whispered curse is what woke Lando up on his day off.

He twisted to follow the noise, cracking open his eyes just enough to watch you sort through your dresser drawers, trying to find your favorite pair of socks. The curtains were opened the slightest bit—just enough for you to see, but not enough to wake him. So considerate. Rays of light filtered through the window, the rising sun casting an orange glow on the side of your face.

When you let out a little sound of triumph after finding your socks, a content smile worked its way onto his lips.

You slipped them over your feet before turning around. A devious plan conspired, and Lando snapped his eyes shut, faking sleep. He heard your footsteps draw near, and a small whisper of “love you.” When you bent down to kiss his forehead, he opened his eyes, acting quick to capture you in his arms and pull you back into bed.

“Lando! Stop, I’m already running late!” You scolded, trying to wiggle free but he was stronger than you.

“Hm just don’t go.” He mumbled, pulling you close and resting his head in your chest.

You tried to push him away, but he didn’t budge. “I can’t! I have to go make money.”

Lando simply shook his head against you.

“What do you mean, ‘no?’ How else do you expect me to live?” You still hadn’t given up on pushing him away. He remained unfazed.

“I make 20 mil a year. I can provide for 10 of you.” He mumbled, squeezing you tighter. “You can travel with me to every race and never have to work a day in your life again.”

“But I like having my own money.” You argued.

“Then I’ll give you an allowance.”

“That’s money I didn’t earn.”

Lando sighs, loosening his grip. “You’re impossible.”

You slip from his arms, drawing a frown onto his lips. “And I also need to leave. So I love you, and I’ll be back later.”

In dramatic fashion, Lando let out a loud groan, which followed you all the way out of his flat.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Leaving VIII

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: You win Olympic gold

Alexia will be the first to admit that she doesn't understand tennis.

She gets it from an objective stand point like how she gets football. Two teams (two opponents) meet on the pitch (the court) and kick the ball around (hit the ball over the net) to score a goal (get a point).

The scoring for tennis confuses her as does the terminology.

She doesn't get the words they use like ace and deuce and double fault.

She kind of thinks a double fault is like a foul but she still can't understand how because you're not tackling anyone.

Either way, Alexia doesn't understand tennis but this is a final and even though she's got her own quarter final today, she's still travelled to Paris to watch you.

You're against Zheng.

She knocked out Iga but now she's against you.

You've played her once before in at the United Cup and she'd knocked you out as well.

This was revenge though.

You serve hard and fast or, at least Alexia presumes you do.

You're wearing your Barcelona cap and your gold Nike shoes and you look like an absolutely beast on the pitch (the court). You hit the ball viciously, catching Zheng off guard completely with the force of your shots.

"Has she got somewhere to be today?" Eli says, a little laugh escaping her as you breeze through the first set.

Alexia frowns. "No? I don't think so. I think her only plans are to go back to bed."

Alba laughs. "It was a joke, Ale. Mama thinks Y/n has somewhere else to be which is why she's getting through the set so fast."

"Wait, is she going too quickly?"

Alba sighs. "You've been to countless tennis matches, Alexia. How do you not understand it yet?"

"They're complicated!"

"She literally hits the ball over the net!"

You seem anxious to get the match started up again, wiping off what little sweat you've produced and drinking half of your water. You don't even reach for your energy gel or anything of the like.

You're up on the court as soon as you can be, bouncing around on your feet, kicking up some of the clay dust underfoot.

Zheng serves next but that's all she really ends up doing because, yet again, you dominate.

Alexia can feel the atmosphere swell from the audience and gets the funny feeling that she's missing something again.

Her head ping pongs around trying to keep the ball in sight.

There's an uproar in the crowd as Zheng swings.

And misses.

Alba's on her feet, fist pumped up in the air and a cry of triumph out of her mouth.

Eli's got her hands covering her mouth in shock.

Just lower down, Alexia can see your training partner and coaching team celebrating.

You're grinning. You kiss your racket before turning to face your family.

You bow, the exact same pose and the exact same way Alexia did at Camp Nou and at the Champion's League final.

You come up, grinning before bursting into tears.

You move to your coaching team first, being drawn into a hug by everyone including Iga.

"Should I start getting worried about my space as number one?" She teases but all you can do is let out a wet little laugh.

You make your way up to your family next.

Alexia gets to you first.

She may not understand tennis but she knows a winner when she sees one.

She gets to you before anyone else, tugging you into a hug.

You've always been smaller than Alexia. That was to be expected but you'd shot up around puberty, growing like a weed.

She's glad that you're still smaller than her though, still small enough the she can easily hold your face in her hands and kiss your forehead.

You smile at her, sniffling.

"I won."

"Yes."

Your smile widens. "You didn't even realise."

"What?! Yes I did!"

"Don't lie. I saw you. You thought we were meant to go for another set."

"What's a set?"

Laughter overtakes your tears, bubbling out of your throat at the clueless look on your sister's face.

"No, seriously, what's a set? Is it like the two different halves?"

"Don't worry about it, Ale."

"No, wait, I want to know! Did you already have halftime? The match went kind of quick. Surely you should have had halftime before it finished?"

You're properly laughing now and behind Alexia, you think Alba and Eli are laughing too.

"Does it really matter?" You tease," I just won Olympic gold."

"No, I guess not."

There's silence between the two of you for a moment before you shriek.

Alexia lifts you like you weigh nothing, like you're just that little kid again with a scraped knee and pigtails.

Like you're not the Olympic tennis champion.

[eupheme]

— you’re the one that I want

worst!wolverine/logan howlett x f!reader

tags: soulmate au, roommate!wade & neighbor!f!reader, valentine’s day fic, blind dates, use of alcohol, flirting, light misunderstanding, semi-public makeout

rated m - 2.6k

a/n: my submission for the loveuary challenge hosted by the wonderful @lubdubology and @yxtkiwiyxt! thank you so much, this was so fun 💘

“You really think there’s anyone worth my time at that shithole?”

Wade gasps in offense.

“Sister Margaret's is a New York institution. If America’s Sweetheart was a bar, she’d be it.” His eyes narrow, voice lilting as he adds, “Besides, you really want to miss out on the chance to meet your soulmate?”

“No fucking way.”

Wade’s groan stretches long, as his head lolls against the back of the sofa.

“Logan. Peanut. My sweet cheese, my good-time boyeh, please-” His voice strings out the syllables, “I need you to do this for me. I already set it all up, all you gotta to do is go.”

Logan’s scowl deepens, with a sharp jerk of his chin, “I’m not fucking going.”

A sigh then - Wade’s legs stretching wide, as he springs to his feet. Circling around to where Logan leans against the counter, looking every bit rooted to the apartment as the thing growing in the corner of their shared shower.

“I need this. I am finally back on track with Vanessa, and this is a real chance for me to knock it out of the park.” A finger raises, before poking him in the chest, “But I can’t have Mr. Grumpy Gus cramping our style. You feel me?”

An eyebrow arches up, but Wade barely pauses for a breath, “Besides, would you really stand a girl up on Valentine’s Day? Don’t you know what that could do to her psyche? What if that was her thirteenth reason? You really need that on your conscious?”

The filthy scowl Logan shoots him is like a three claw punch to the gut. Wade at least has the decency to look ashamed - fingers splaying wide in placation.

“Just give it a shot. If it all goes south you can just come right home. I won’t even be mad, even if it’s mid-coitus. Pinkie swear.”

The visual makes Logan’s lip curl. Arms crossing over his chest, as his head tilts, “You really think there’s anyone worth my time at that shithole?”

Wade gasps in offense.

“Sister Margaret's is a New York institution. If America’s Sweetheart was a bar, she’d be it.” His eyes narrow, voice lilting as he adds, “Besides, you really want to miss out on the chance to meet your soulmate?”

Wade misses the sharp look Logan shoots his way. His tone still teasing, missing just how deep his comment thrums through him.

How it meant something different in his world, rather than the shallow note of connection it seemed to mean here.

It didn’t matter, anyways. There’s only one person in the city he might not mind seeing, and surely you would have other plans.

Logan’s seen your recent date, stopping by the door down the hall in the evenings. Doesn’t much care for his goody-two-shoes vibe, the State University tone.

The memory sends his skin itching. An urge to move - and it’s enough that his arms are loosening.

Deep down, he really doesn’t want to stick around. Had been planning on hitting up a bar, anyways.

Can’t take much of this lovey-dovey shit, never been one of his favorite holidays.

And if his drinks are on Wade’s tab, then…

He’s sure he can let whoever the poor girl is down quick.

“Yes. Yes! Thank you, bestie.” The resignation must flick across his face, because Wade’s fist pumps with triumph, “This is gonna be great, I promise. Even better than the Tony Awards.”

Logan ignores another asinine reference - a final warning leveled his roommate’s way, as his hand curls around the doorframe.

“You got thirty minutes.”

“Don’t worry, buddy,” Wade grins.

“That’s twenty-nine too many.”

The heel of your boot bounces underneath the booth. Fingernails drumming on the surface of the sticky table, trying to keep your eyes from flicking to the door each and every time it opens.

This was stupid.

You don’t know how you let Wade talk you into this.

Sister Margaret’s was not your idea of a place to meet someone - romantically, at least. And therefore, the chances of this evening going well were historically low.

But it’d beat your second year of ordering in - the prices hiked up with the holiday. Of another movie marathon alone, picking apart the sordid end of your last relationship.

Anything was better than that, surely.

You’re double-checking your phone for the third time, confirming the text noting which booth to be in - the back left corner one next to the totally-not-a-bloodstain on the floor - when a shadow passes over the edge of your table.

Eyes catching on the flannel that creeps into your vision. Worn, in shades of brown and muted red - a slow drag upward across a broad chest, then higher. Your breath catching, as your mind whirrs - racing catching up.

You should tell your upstairs neighbor “hi”.

Something that resembles polite, normal conversation.

But you can’t seem to find the words.

Because as he slips into the booth, you’re quickly realizing he might just be here for you.

What you do find is -

“Is this a joke?”

Logan’s frown deepens.

A snarled out “what?” that sends a jolt though you, but you’re too confused to examine it. Left babbling, trying to make sense of this.

“Is this because I told Wade he’s a winter?” Your voice pitches higher, “Because his photo was really blurry, and I don’t even do that kind of color analysis-”

Logan scoffs, a hand braced on the table as if to push himself up. Hesitating for the briefest of moments, before he’s asking, “Why would this be a joke?”

Your lips part.

“Because-”

Because you’re here in the hopes of finding someone else. A distraction.

Unsure what to make of this magnetic feeling deep inside your chest when you see him. Having to hold yourself back from taking one step, and then another, when he lingers near the mail room.

You had hoped tonight would help you erase the man that surely does not even know you exist.

“…because I’m sure you have better things to do then uh, do this.”

“This?” He hedges, a brow arching.

“A blind date.”

Something in his eyes flicker, when you finally meet them. The little mark between his brows deepening with the rough rasp of his voice. ”You really didn’t know who you were meeting?”

“No,” Your head shakes, “No. Did you?”

His eyes drop for a beat, before they flick back up.

“No.”

Your tongue dips out to dampen your lip, and you miss the way his eyes track the movement. The question slipping from you without thought.

“Would you have come, if you did?”

The silence stretches out, tipping towards uncomfortable.

And yet, he does not leave. A leather jacket still slung across the back of the booth, as his fingers tap the table.

“I’m gonna grab a beer,” He deflects. “You want another?”

Logan’s head dips towards your drink, only the glittery dregs of red remaining, a cherry nestled against the ice.

Your shoulder lifts, about to answer that you probably shouldn’t. That you’ve already made enough of a fool of yourself.

His lips curl at the edges, before you can voice your answer. ”Wade’s buying. Thought we could make a dent in his wallet.”

“Oh.” The word draws out, as your smile stretches.

So, not a rejection.

It might just be an invitation, actually.

“Definitely.”

It’s not how he thought his night would go.

Should have peeled himself away twenty minutes ago, somewhere between your second and third drink and the wind of conversation.

Slunk back home, or to another bar.

Had thought about it, in that moment when you confessed that you hadn’t known he was meeting you.

The thought of it being a disappointment turning his stomach, until you had voiced your question. The hope that wound its way between your words.

Unable to answer, even if he knows what it would have been.

The alcohol flickers inside him, a brief respite to the burn of sore muscles and a bone-deep ache that he’s carried since his world.

Should stop drinking this shit, but he’s been taking it a day at a time. Swapping rubbing alcohol for anything with a kick. That for vodka. Vodka for beer.

It’s not progress, but it’s something.

The feeling never sticks around, but something about you almost mirrors it. A wash of calm as his chin cups in his palm. Senses narrowing down, blocking out all the noise around him.

Eyes snagged on the curl of your lips around the white straw, the pink tinge of gloss left behind.

Helpless, to the tug at his arm as you loosened. The point of your finger to the empty dart board, how he had followed two steps behind.

You’ve missed a handful of your throws. Two darts stuck between the numbers running around the rim. His lips twitching at the frown that pulls down the corner of your lips, the hand that braces at your hip.

“So, did Wade guilt you into coming?”

Your fingers brush his, as you hand over the darts.

“You could say that.” He grunts, eyes slipping towards the board. Still catching the scrunch of your nose, as he amends, “But, like I said. Didn’t know.”

It’s not an answer to your question before, but it’s something that tip-toes close to one. It’s enough that your expression softens - an excited touch against his shoulder when his throw flies true.

“Same.” Your fingers curl against his shirt, transfixed. Hazy - those walls around you from before unstacking one brick at a time, “Almost didn’t go. But you know Wade, and his puppy-dog eyes.”

Logan didn’t.

“-and I uh, thought it would be nice. To not be alone, this year.”

He missed his next throw. A side-eye shot your way.

“Alone?” The word comes out close to a scoff.

Can’t pretend it hasn’t been eating at him. Wondering what the hell Wade had been playing at, inviting you.

“Figured you’d be out with your boyfriend.”

The last dart sinks into the green rim around the red center.

“Very funny.” You hum, stepping up to take his place. A glance over your shoulder, to find him still watching you.

That frown back, as your head tilts.

“I really don’t know who you’re talking about.”

He wished he hadn’t asked. Should have just stayed silent, taken this night for what it was.

“Thought I’ve seen a guy around the last couple weeks.“ Logan hands shove into his back pockets, “Just figured…”

Your expression persists. His fingers tap his temple, “Grey streaks, suit.”

As if he doesn’t have some of his own.

“Oh!” Recognition flickers, as you spin back, “Definitely not boyfriend. He’s like, super married.”

Your shot flies wide, bouncing off the wooden walls behind the board - a little huff as you turn back, “They’re due to have their first in a couple months. Been helping them pick things out for the nursery.”

A finger pointed back towards yourself, in explanation, “Figured I could help. Interior designer, and all.”

Something like relief flickers in his chest. Another feeling - deeper, hungrier - almost drowns it out.

The words smooth, as they slip from his lips.

“No guy, then?”

The shake of your head is slow, and that sweet smell that clings to you curls around his senses. Thickens, even - betraying you.

It gives him the confidence to step into your space. Emboldened by the look you give him from beneath the thick fan of your lashes. Hope, burning once again in blown-dark pupils.

“Here.”

A hand touches at your hip, as he eases closer. Plucking the dart from limp fingers.

“You’re holding it too far back. Lemme show you.”

He never gave a damn about this game, but he’ll take any excuse to get closer. To feel the way you stiffen beneath his fingertips, the hitch of your breath.

The shot is lined up.

His wrist extends as he aims, chest brushing against your back, and suddenly - your palm curls around his forearm. Fingers splaying wide as a jolt arcs through his nervous system, shooting from his hand to his core.

Your words muted - it’s only his enhanced senses that have him catching the tail end.

“-like me.”

He makes a rough sound, and again you turn to face him. The prick of goosebumps as your finger trace the dots at his wrist.

“I said you have freckles like me.”

The knitted cuff of your sweater tugged back to show him how yours mirrors his, down to the very last mark.

Time stands still.

Logan’s dreamt about this moment for decades.

Using that little crisscross of dots like a compass.

Guiding him through life - thinking there had to be something about the mansion, its symbol, that tied it to him. Taking on the mantle that mirrored the shape, ink-like against his skin.

Thinking it would lead him somewhere.

Even if he’d been certain he had missed it, somewhere in those two-hundred years. Ships passing in the night, across a lifespan that has stretched far too long.

Always trying to push away those “what ifs”. Had stopped looking a long time ago. Never once, since he’d crossed over. Told himself he was luckier not to have a match.

Not to know love like that - because one day he’d have become acquainted with the loss of it, as well.

He’s had enough of that, in his lifetime.

And this - it’s not what he ever expected.

Finding you in a world that’s not his own. His match with a girl, living on the floor just below his.

It leaves him mute, as your eyes linger.

Not sure what to make of him, he’s certain. Of the part of his lips, his own heart hammering beneath his ribs.

Unsteady, for the first time in decades.

His name pulls him out of his thoughts. Cherry-sweet on your tongue, lilting into a question.

The dart is thrown by muscle memory.

Your fingers still pressed against his mark, as it hits dead center.

He takes his prize, back in the shadowed corner of the booth.

Your eyes already slipping shut, when his fingers tuck under your chin. Lips parting, and he finds himself grateful again for those animal-senses.

Permission in the galloping of your pulse beneath your skin. The held breath as you wait, balanced on the knife’s edge of anticipation.

The soft inhale of breath, when his mouth slants against yours. Fingers curling in his shirt once more, as you part for him.

Swallowing your moan, with the sweep of his tongue. Sweet - grenadine syrup blending with you, and it’s like he cannot get enough. The kiss drawing out, insistent and hungry - a shuddering breath when it finally breaks, as if you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

Pliable, in the way he tugs your thigh over his, seating you in his lap. How you follow, so easily.

Fitting against him as if you were meant to.

And maybe you were - the thought sending his fingers tightening, where they grip at your hips.

As if he won’t let you go, now that he’s found you.

You’re right there with him. Just as affected - your palms smoothing over his chest. Tracing the chain biting into his neck, sinking into his hair when they loop around his shoulders.

Letting your hips rock - a tentative movements, paired with the softest sighs.

Growing bolder when you feel him beneath you - how he encourages it, with the press of his palms. The tips of his fingers slipping under the hem of your sweater, a pulse of pleasure at the way you shiver with his touch.

The second gift of his name, and it’s the one he’ll remember most. Drawn-out. Needy, and it only makes him want to hear it more.

Another breath huffed out, a heady throb against the too-tight confines of his jeans.

There’s the crack of a pool cue, a cheer rising at the table across the room.

The bubble bursts.

Bringing him back - even in this dim corner, it’s still far too public for everything he needs to do to you tonight.

A shared thought, your lips kiss-swollen as they press against his neck.

“Can we go home?” You husk, into the shell of his ear.

Something deep inside him purrs at the word. Possessive, wrenching a growl from deep in his chest as he carefully eases you off him.

Pushing himself up from the booth - a hand coming to wrap around your wrist.

Thumb pressed against your pulse, feeling it thrum beneath your skin once more.

Right against your mark.

He’ll tell you tomorrow.

He’ll have time - he’s always had that.

Never been grateful for it.

Not until now.

thank you again, lub and kiwi! I am so excited to check out the fics for your event, and happy I was able to contribute one! I’ve wanted to write a soulmate fic for some time, this has me 👀💖 about writing more!

[yanderenightmare]

TW: yandere, obsessive behaviour/thoughts, implied stalking, manipulation

gn reader

Thinking about those yanderes who play the good guy – those yanderes who play it slow and safe – who take their sweet time gaining their your trust…

That calculative yandere who views you as not something to own but to earn – like a sweet-deserved prize he can taste on his tongue right before barreling over the finish line – all eager thrill and heart-blown triumph and such sweet bliss once he's crossed it, out of breath and forgetting everything else in the world.

Oh, and he's been so good – so fucking perfect these last months – the best – all according to plan – and now he’s finally going to get a taste, that victorious taste – allowed to bask in it, to roll it around his tongue, run it through his teeth – finally feel it between his hands, rake and dig his fingers into it and never let it go. 

He’s been sweet and soft and kind – so well-behaved – so boyfriendly – acting like the two of you were slowly getting to know each other even when he already knows you better than you know yourself. You’re so cute – every single squishy detail about you is just so cute.

He can barely hold it together, nearly shaking in vigor as you position yourself on his lap when the credits to the movie you’d been watching started rolling – soft music playing sweetly in the background – black screen throwing the room into an intimate dark, one that calls for certain things you do in the night, and hopefully dark enough to hide what positively red rouge tinted his cheeks as he felt you press down on where something was sleeping beneath the layers of his clothes.

He was beyond ready, beyond starving – hands so very frigid yet still with a practiced touch remained steady and deceptively calm as he placed them on your hips, grabbing onto the ample soft skin found at your waist – suppressing the urge to squeeze and settling for slowly messaging in careful meandering strokes instead. 

Even though he felt like attacking – like pouncing and trapping, like ripping clothes off – he knew that wasn't the way to win. No, he couldn’t let the mask slip – needs to keep playing the role.

His hand stirred again, ascending, perhaps too wantonly – but you didn't seem to mind as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear – feeling his labored finger-pads trace your jaw, swiping over your lips, cupping your chin, pressing into the plump squishy flesh of your cheeks, making you pout. 

He couldn't hold back the impulse that sent his tongue to swipe over his lips but quickly found a way to save himself. Asking, “Are you ready?” as though actually giving you a choice – voice as calm as he could muster, trying to withhold the strained timber of hormones that fought so badly to be satiated.

“I’m ready.” You say weakly – head bowed to look at him with eyes big and glorious.

He tilted his head to the side, pulling you in with a gracious touch when leaning forward to kill the space between your lips – smoothly brushing his stiff lips against your pillowy-soft ones – slightly parting to receive another greeting, and again and again with more and more pressure for every meeting, quite like the increasing drumming of your pulse. 

He pulled away to search your eyes, suddenly realizing his hand had slipped to wrap around your neck – but all that stared back at him were eyes full of trust – a look he couldn't help but want to devour. You’re so cute, so cute, so cute, cute, cute…

He pushed his lips back onto yours, kissing you more earnestly and desperately than before. 

The arm kept around your waist moved, also in favor of rising to head level, gently cupping your cheek as he deepened the kiss. Letting out a rugged groan when prying your mouth open.

You leaned away from the sudden boyish hunger, but his tongue slipped inside your mouth and tangled with yours anyway – making you go still as a statue until you let slip a tiny meager whimper. 

He gently rubbed your cheek at the sound – still holding you close with his words hotly purred on your lips, “Shh, Pumpkin – I won’t bite.” 

There was a look in his eyes you didn’t recognize – pooling with a predatory heat that caused a surprisingly pleasant shiver to slide up your spine, though not withholding the squeal of panic as he spun the two of you around and dropping you carefully on your back.

Now looming above you, with tenfold more control of what he had earlier.

His index finger stroked your chin before raising it for you to look up at him... or maybe for him to look down at you – enjoying the sight of you in all your flushed and bashful glory. 

It’s a different feeling than seeing you smile and laugh, different from looking at you in the hope you’d look back at him – no longer chasing but having his prey caught, ready to sink his teeth in. 

His other hand stroked a wisp of hair behind your ear as the locks had gone wild in the tumble, yet again groping your face as he leaned in closer. 

He pressed his lips against yours again – and though surprised and with a heart beating like a hummingbird, you slid your own hand around his waist, the other tangled in the short hairs at the back of his neck, legs climbing up his back, hooking over his hips and pulling him closer.

You felt his lips curl up into a smirk – before he drew his mouth from yours in favor of kissing a trail of pecks down your jaw, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, drooling with such suppressed lust, he groaned into the dip between your shoulder and neck – unsure if he could hold back once he started feeling the blood rush and pump, causing something to fatten in his slacks – unsure if you were ready to take all that he wanted to give you – unsure if you were willing to give all he wanted to take.

BNHA – Bakugou, Shoto, Shinso, Dabi, Hawks

JJK – Geto, Gojo, Choso, Yuji, Megumi, Yuuta

HQ – Tsukishima, Kuro, Oikawa, Sakusa, Miya twins

[pucksandpower]

No Nut November

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Lando made a bet with his friends to give No Nut November a try but, as his girlfriend, you have other plans

Warnings: 18+ content and Lando shaving his head

You can’t believe Lando is actually going through with this. When he first told you about his silly bet with the other Quadrant guys to see who can go the longest without “nutting” in November, you thought he was joking.

But no, he insists he has to see it through now.

You roll your eyes in exasperation, “Babe, this is ridiculous. You know I have needs too.”

Lando just laughs and pulls you into a hug. “It’s just a month, love. We’ll be fine.”

“A whole month though? I’ll explode!” You whine dramatically.

He kisses your forehead. “You can manage, I believe in you.”

The first week actually goes smoothly enough. You figure you can handle this if you really try. Maybe it will even be good for your relationship, taking a break from the physical stuff for a bit.

But soon the desire starts creeping up on you more and more. Laying in bed one night, you roll over and start kissing Lando’s neck. He makes a small noise of protest and scoots away. “Come on, Y/N, you know we can’t.”

You huff in frustration. “But Lando, I need you.” Your hands start to wander under the sheets.

He catches your wrist gently. “Nuh uh, that’s against the rules.”

“Screw the rules!” You cry in exasperation.

Lando just shakes his head, clearly trying not to smile. “Stay strong, love. Only three more weeks to go.”

As the days pass, you get more and more worked up. Everything Lando does seems to turn you on now — the way he bites his lip in concentration, the flex of muscles when he lifts weights, even just the sound of his laugh.

One day after his workout, you’re waiting when he gets out of the shower, wearing his favorite lingerie set.

His eyes widen at the sight, but he steels himself. “That’s not going to work but I appreciate the effort,” he says with a cheeky grin.

You let out a dramatic wail. “Lando, please, I’m losing my mind here!”

He just keeps teasingly shaking his head as you continue your onslaught of pleading and temptation. You try every trick and tactic you can think of but he refuses to give in.

As November drags on, you’re utterly frustrated. At this point, it’s become a game and you’re determined not to lose. There’s no way Lando can hold out for the whole month when you look this damn good!

One evening, you decide to pull out all the stops. As Lando’s cooking dinner, you come up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. Standing on your tiptoes, you begin kissing his neck the way you know drives him crazy.

He tenses up immediately. “Y/N ...” he says warningly.

“Shhh ...” You whisper. “Just focus on cooking. I’ll stop if you really want me to.” Even as you say it, your hands drift lower, teasing along the waistband of his shorts.

Lando’s breath hitches but he keeps stirring the pasta valiantly. You continue with your ministrations, feathering kisses across his shoulders. When you nip his earlobe, he lets out a low groan.

“That’s it baby, you know you want this,” you purr. Your fingers dip below the elastic of his briefs to tease along his hip bones.

Lando curses under his breath, his resolve clearly weakening. You seize the opportunity to deepen the kisses, sucking at the sensitive spot on his neck. Your other hand trails up his chest, fingertips circling over his shirt.

“Y/N, please—” he gasps out. The pasta is now dangerously close to boiling over but neither of you care anymore.

Grinning in triumph, you spin Lando around and crash your lips to his in a searing kiss. He kisses you back feverishly, his hands coming up to cup your face as he walks you backward toward the bedroom.

***

Lando kicks the bedroom door shut behind you as his lips meet yours again hungrily. All thoughts of No Nut November are clearly out the window now.

Your hands fumble urgently with the hem of his shirt, breaking the kiss just long enough to tug it over his head. He returns the favor, peeling off your top and bra in one smooth motion.

Skin pressing against skin, you both groan at the contact you’ve been craving. Lando’s hands grip your hips, steering you toward the bed until the back of your legs hit the mattress. You let yourself fall backward, pulling him down on top of you.

Your lips find each other again as your hands explore eagerly. Lando kisses down your jaw to your neck, nipping and sucking in a way that makes you squirm against him.

“God I’ve missed this,” you breathe out as his fingers trail over your breast.

He hums in agreement, his touch lighting sparks across your skin. Your back arches off the bed as his mouth closes over your nipple.

Tangling your hands in his hair, you guide him lower, gasping when his lips reach the waistband of your leggings. He looks up at you questioningly and you nod eagerly.

In one smooth motion he tugs them off, followed swiftly by your underwear. You’re completely bare before him now and trembling in anticipation.

Lando’s eyes drink you in hungrily. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he growls before diving in.

You cry out as his tongue finds your clit, gripping the sheets tightly. He works you expertly, ramping up the pressure until you are writhing and moaning. Your orgasm builds fast and hard, his name tumbling from your lips.

“Yes, yes Lando! Don’t stop!” You pant out. Your climax crashes over you powerfully, stars bursting behind your eyelids.

Lando works you through it gently before moving back up to kiss you deeply. You can taste yourself on his lips and it makes you impossibly more turned on.

Reaching for his belt, you make quick work of the rest of his clothes. Taking him in your hand, you stroke him firmly as he groans into your mouth.

“Need you ... now,” you gasp out urgently.

Lando lines himself up at your entrance, his eyes questioning. You nod eagerly and he pushes inside you slowly. You both moan long and low at the feeling of him filling you up.

He sets a steady rhythm, rocking into you deeply. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly deeper. The coil in your core starts building again right away.

“Faster, Lando, please,” you beg. He obliges, snapping his hips quicker. You drag your nails down his back making him shudder.

The sound of skin slapping on skin and your mingled moans fill the room. You can tell Lando is getting close by the way he tenses and swells inside you.

Reaching down between you, he circles your clit rapidly. “Come on baby, come with me,” you urge him on. Your words send him over the edge with a choked groan.

His release triggers your second powerful orgasm, your walls contracting around him.

You cling to each other, riding out the aftershocks together. Lando collapses on top of you, nuzzling into your neck. You stroke his hair gently, holding him close.

“Guess you lost the bet,” you tease after a moment.

He chuckles against your skin. “So worth it.”

You tilt his chin up to kiss him softly, filled with love and contentment. Who cares about some silly internet challenge anyway? You and Lando have all you need right here.

***

The next morning, you wake up tangled in Lando’s arms, smiling at the memories of last night. Stretching contentedly, you roll over to face him.

“Good morning,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss him.

He kisses you back softly. “Morning, love.”

You run your fingers through his curls. “I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated your hair more than I did last night,” you say with a grin.

Lando laughs but then his expression turns serious. “About that ... there’s something I should tell you about the bet.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Part of the deal was that the first one to fail No Nut November has to shave their head,” he admits.

“What? No!” You gasp, clutching protectively at his hair. “You are not shaving these beautiful curls, I forbid it!”

He sighs. “I don’t want to but I made a deal. The lads will never let me hear the end of it if I don’t follow through.”

You pout dramatically. “Can’t you just lie and say you succeeded? They never need to know!”

Lando shakes his head. “They’d see right through me. I’m rubbish at lying.”

“But your hair ...” you whine sadly.

“It will grow back,” he assures you, though he doesn’t look happy about it either.

You bite your lip, thinking hard. “What if you just don’t tell them we had sex? Then as far as they know, you’re still in the running and you don’t have to shave your head! Don’t think of it as lying … think of it as omitting the truth.”

He considers this. “I guess that could work as long as they don’t find out somehow.”

“Exactly! Our secret is safe with me,” you swear solemnly. Crisis averted!

Later that day when Lando hops on stream with the Quadrant guys, you make yourself scarce to avoid any accidental slip-ups.

Lando greets his friends cheerfully. “Alright mates, how’s everyone holding up?”

“Still going strong,” Max Fewtrell reports. “You?”

“Yep, all good here,” Lando lies smoothly.

You listen from the other room, praying they don’t notice anything amiss. But a few minutes later, you hear Max exclaim “Lando, what’s that on your neck?”

Lando sounds flustered. “What? Nothing!”

“That’s definitely a hickey! He’s got hickies all over!” Max crows. “You broke, didn’t you Norris?”

You gasp, realizing in horror that you must have left marks last night.

Lando tries to deny it but eventually crumbles under their interrogation. “Alright fine, I gave in. But don’t tell Y/N that I told you!”

Raucous laughter ensues, followed by teasing demands that he shave his head immediately.

You rush in frantically. “No, stop! It was my fault, I seduced him!” You blurt out.

More laughter. “Wow mate, she’s really got you wrapped around her finger!”

Lando rubs his neck ruefully. “Yeah, couldn’t resist her even with the bet.” He winks at you.

You bite your lip guiltily. “I’m sorry I got you in trouble.”

He just smiles and pulls you into his lap. “I’d lose every bet in the world for you.”

Ignoring his cheering friends, he kisses you tenderly. You sigh happily, running your fingers through his curls one last time.

If this bet means sacrificing his lovely locks, you’re definitely making up for it tonight.

***

Despite your pleas and protests, Lando is determined to go through with the bet.

“I gave my word, love. Gotta shave it off,” he says, giving you an apologetic look.

You pout sadly. “I can’t believe I’m losing your beautiful curls because of my lack of self-control.”

He tilts your chin up to look at him. “Hey, no blaming yourself. I’m the idiot who made the bet in the first place.”

Lando retrieves his electric razor while you perch on the bathroom counter’s edge, watching mournfully. Taking a deep breath, he turns it on and brings it to his head.

You gasp as the first patch of hair falls away. “No, wait!” You cry, grabbing his wrist to stop him.

He raises his eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

Your lower lip quivers. “I can’t watch this. It’s too traumatic!”

Lando laughs and wraps you in a hug. “Oh darling, it’s just hair. It’ll grow back.”

You cling to him dramatically. “But I love your hair so much!” Running your hands through his soft curls one last time, you sigh. “At least let me help, so I can savor every last strand.”

He smiles and hands you the razor. With a heavy heart, you get to work shaving off his glorious locks. You go slowly, offering up little eulogies along the way.

“Goodbye right sideburn, you always looked so sharp.”

“Farewell beautiful crown curls, so bouncy and free!”

Lando tries not to laugh at your antics. “It’s not dying, love, it’s just hair.”

“Shush, let me mourn in peace,” you sniffle.

As the last section of hair falls away, you set down the razor with a forlorn sigh. Lando runs his hand over his newly bare head and checks himself in the mirror.

“Well, what do you think?” He asks.

You bite your lip, holding back a groan. He looks so ... bald.

Lando frowns at your expression. “That bad, huh?”

“No, no!” You assure him. “Just different. I’ll get used to it.” You manage a weak smile.

He grins and pulls you close. “Don’t worry, I’m still the same Lando underneath.” To demonstrate, he begins trailing kisses down your neck.

You shudder involuntarily. “But ... what will I hold onto now when you’re going down on me?” You ask with distress.

Lando barks out a laugh. “I’m sure we’ll figure something out,” he promises, nipping at your earlobe.

Despite your mood, you can’t help but melt under his touch. You supposed you could get used to your bald Lando, though you already miss tugging on those luscious curls.

Later that night, Lando makes good on his promise to prove he can still drive you wild, hair or no hair. And as you lay tangled up afterward, blissfully sated, you have to admit — he still has some serious skills.

Running your hand over his stubbly head, you grin mischievously. “Well done, Mr. Worldwide.”

He gives you a confused look. “What?”

“You know, like Pitbull!” You laugh. “The bald head reminds me of him. I’ll have to come up with more bald nicknames now.”

Lando groans playfully. “What have I gotten myself into?” But he’s smiling as he pulls you in for another deep kiss.

***

It’s the morning of the Las Vegas Grand Prix and you’re with Lando in the paddock for his pre-race interviews. He’s got a cap pulled down over his head but it’s not enough to stop the questions.

“Lando, you’re looking a bit different today,” the reporter remarks with a wry smile. “What’s with the new hairstyle?”

Lando tugs the cap lower, laughing awkwardly. “Oh you know, just felt like a change.”

“A pretty drastic change though, no? Don’t think we’ve ever seen you with a shaved head before.” The reporter presses further.

“Ah, well ...” Lando trails off, glancing at you sheepishly. You give him an encouraging nod, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Let’s just say I lost a bet and leave it at that,” Lando finally mutters.

The reporter looks like he wants to inquire further but Lando steers the conversation to the race ahead. You let out a relieved breath, glad the subject seems to have been dropped.

But after the interview, a boisterous voice rings out behind you. “Oi, Lando! Heard you lost No Nut November!”

You and Lando whirl around to see Daniel Ricciardo sauntering over, his eyes glinting with mirth.

Lando groans. “Who told you that?”

“A little birdie named Max Verstappen who heard from Alex who heard from George,” Daniel chuckles. “So come on, give us the details! Was it the work of this lovely lady here?” He winks at you exaggeratedly.

You know your face must be scarlet now. Lando just stammers helplessly, which makes Daniel laugh harder.

“No need to be shy! Happens to all of us.” He leans in conspiratorially. “Though gotta say mate, I’m impressed you even made it close to halfway. If I had a girl like that waiting at home? Wouldn’t last a week!”

“Daniel!” Lando blurts out but he’s fighting back laughter now too. You bury your face in Lando’s shoulder, torn between embarrassment and amusement.

“In fact ...” Daniel taps his chin thoughtfully. “Reckon you deserve a prize for making it through 14 days. Most blokes wouldn’t make it past five! Here ...”

He reaches up and plops his AlphaTauri cap onto Lando’s head. “A trophy for your noble efforts!”

Lando swats him away, snickering. “Piss off, mate.”

“Just spreading the love!” Daniel calls over his shoulder as he saunters off. “And remember — November is for nutting, not for nothing!”

Lando shakes his head, still chuckling. “Unbelievable. Remind me why I’m friends with him again?”

You finally lift your flushed face from his shoulder. “Because he’s ridiculous in the best way and makes everything fun?” You offer with a giggle.

“Too right, love.” Lando smiles and pulls you into a quick kiss. “Now wish me luck today, yeah? I’m off to claim my real trophy!”

You smoothe down his new AlphaTauri cap and kiss him again for extra luck. Even through your lingering embarrassment, Daniel’s antics have lifted the mood. And Lando does look pretty darn cute in that cap. Time to go get that podium!

***

By some miracle, Lando takes the chequered flag in Vegas, earning his first ever Formula 1 race win.

The team is ecstatic, mobbing him in the pits and spraying champagne everywhere. You’re jumping up and down, screaming yourself hoarse.

As he pulls into parc fermé, Lando yanks off his helmet and balaclava, his shiny bald head gleaming with sweat. Fisting the air triumphantly, he looks like the happiest man alive.

The podium ceremony and interviews pass in a blur of joyful chaos. Lando can’t stop beaming, gazing at the trophy in his hands like he can’t believe it’s real.

Finally you get him alone in his driver’s room, immediately jumping into his arms and kissing him fiercely. “You did it!” You shout gleefully.

Lando laughs, spinning you around. “I actually did it! This is the best day ever!”

You cup his face in your hands. “I’m so proud of you.” Kissing him again, you murmur, “Now it’s time for us to celebrate properly.”

A grin spreads across Lando’s face. “Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?”

In response, you lead him toward the couch, peeling off his race suit and fireproofs along the way. You push him down on the leather, straddling his waist and capturing his lips hungrily.

Lando responds eagerly, his hands roaming your body. As you move together, his touches feel extra electrifying in the wake of his triumph.

Afterward, you lay wrapped in each other’s arms, basking in the afterglow. Lando presses soft kisses to your hair. “You were right, this is the perfect way to celebrate.”

You laugh, snuggling closer. “Mmhmm, I’m full of good ideas.”

He runs a hand over his head contemplatively. “You know, I think this new aerodynamic look might actually be my good luck charm. Maybe I should keep it?”

You bolt upright, glaring down at him in horror. “Don’t you dare! This is a temporary tragedy we must endure but the curls will return.”

Lando chuckles at your reaction. “Relax, love. I’m only joking.” He tugs you back down, nuzzling your neck. “Trust me, I miss my hair as much as you do. The second November ends, the curls are coming back.”

“Good,” you huff. “Bald is a very sexy look on some people but on you it’s just ... wrong.” You place a hand on his cheek. “I miss running my fingers through those soft locks. Your hair has always been one of my favorite things about you.”

Lando smiles up at you tenderly. “Don’t worry, I promise you’ll have your handsy little mitts full of my curls again before you know it.”

“I better,” you threaten playfully. “And you’ll look as dashing as ever.”

You kiss him again, conveying all the pride and affection overflowing from your heart. No matter what hairstyle he’s rocking, Lando is your champion. Though you can’t wait to see those luscious honey-brown curls again.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Johnny sings. Simon mourns.

cw: mcd, grief, suicidal ideation.

Price had put the bullet in Shepherd and Ghost had put the bullet in Makarov as they had agreed. That meant the business of the 141 had concluded. Without Johnny, Simon intended to disappear. Properly this time. There would be no crawling out of the grave he’d dig himself. There had been no tears shed, no outpouring of grief. Simon was completely and utterly numb. Like someone had encased him in ice the moment the light had faded out of Johnny’s eyes; any hope for Simon had died with him, leaving only the shell of Ghost to be puppeted by Price’s orders.

When Simon had pulled that trigger and Makarov’s body had hit the floor, he’d felt nothing. No triumph, no closure. Just an emptiness. A great, yawning void where emotions should be. Where Johnny should be. He’d learned long ago that revenge healed fuck all, so he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. But it had felt like just another kill. Just another fruitless step towards the inevitable darkness that awaited. Price had watched him in the back of Nikolai’s Black Hawk with a crease in the centre of his brow, but Simon had been lost in his own head.

Simon had little doubt Price had seen the writing on the wall and when he had summoned Simon to his office two nights before Simon was due to depart Hereford, Simon reckoned it would be a last ditch effort to get him to reconsider the plan he knew had been percolating on the inside of Simon’s skull since they had spread Johnny’s ashes over Moray Firth.

Simon knocked twice and waited for Price’s bark from the inside before he turned the handle. “You wan’ed to talk, sir,” Simon murmured through the mesh of his mask when Price continued to scribble on the paperwork in front of him.

”Yeah, Simon. Take a seat.”

Simon watched Price’s hand. Something weren’t right. There was a subtle shake to it, and Simon realised that it had been the thickness of Price’s voice that had drawn his attention there. Looking for reassurance in the strongest, most trusted pair of hands he knew. But, it was almost like he’d been—

Impossible.

The chair groaned under Simon’s weight and he scooted forward to the very edge of it, back straight, curled fingers on top of spread thighs.

“What ‘m abou’ t’ show ya, I need ya to know I had to make a decision to keep it to meself ‘til now,” Price said. “I needed ya focused. If ya never wanna see me again, I’d understand.” When Price looked up, Simon wanted to gag. Not from disgust, but because his body didn’t know how to process the quiver of horror that went through him at the remains of Price’s tears. His eyes were red, still glistening. His breath caught in his lungs and he had to force himself to let it out in a stuttering grunt.

“Whot is it?” Simon managed, finally.

“Ya need t’… we got ‘em, now ya need t’ start healin’. For him. Ya can’t jus’ throw away what he was denied, Simon. You…” Price pinched the bridge of his nose and trailed off, clearing his throat. Whatever this was, it was eating him alive. Price reached for his phone as he stood up to circle his desk, his thumb sweeping across the screen until he found what he was looking for. “Watch this. I’ll send it t’ya after. But I need ya to watch it here, olrigh’? I jus’—just in case, I can—fuck, jus’ watch it, Simon.”

There was that shake again and Simon took the phone quickly. The face he saw on the screen, frozen behind a large black play button, made a knot tighten in his throat. “Johnny…” His thumb hovered, his fingers creaking around the plastic case of the phone. Price reached down, his own thumb brushing over the top of Simon’s nail to help him those final few centimeters.

Johnny came to life before Simon’s eyes. ”D’ye really think he’ll wanna hear me croonin’ like a wee cat?” He asked the man behind the camera. Hearing his voice again lit a tiny pilot light deep in Simon’s chest and it was like feeling warmth again after being buried beneath ten feet of ice. A pressure began to build behind Simon’s eyes, but he swallowed it down so he could focus on the irreverent bastard that had given his life meaning over the last few years.

”Don’t you Caffliks sing ev’ry Sunday, la?” Price. That was Price. He only went a bit Scouse when he’d had a drink, and judging by the flush in Johnny’s cheeks, they both had. Simon glanced up and saw the pain on Price’s written in deep lines around his eyes.

”When…?”

”While you were away,” Price croaked. “Jus’ shut it. Watch.”

Simon looked back to the phone. Johnny was looking over his shoulder, the scruffy back of his mohawk facing the camera. Someone spoke—Garrick. “Weren’t you an altar boy? Bet those old priests helped you hit the high notes.”

”Get tae fuck ye filfy cunt.”

”Oi, oi, lads, now now, c’mon… fer Simon. E’ll love it.”

“Right, an’ ye sure ah can’t jus’ tell him over a tiext, maybe a… ye knoow, a water emoji…”

”Naw, naw, he’s a proper romantic, like. C’mon, look… I’ve got…” Price played a few chords and the camera shook. The picture turned upside down and then righted itself, and suddenly Simon was looking at the both of them as Price set his phone against something on a nearby table. Bloody wankered, the both of ‘em. Despite the pain balling in his chest, Simon’s lips twitched into a faint smile.

”Awrigh’, but if he rips th’ shite outta me, ‘m gonna pish in ye boots next op, sir,” Johnny said, squinting at Price. He lifted his phone from his lap and tapped at the screen. In the next moment, a grainy violin played a few notes and then… and then… and then…

…Johnny started to fuckin’ sing.

“Oh, my love seid tae me ‘will ye meet me by the sea? Ye c’n kiss me underneath the misty mo-o-on’. He is stunnin’, he is pretty, he's as warm as amber whiskey, and as bonny as the heather on the hill.” Price played along beneath Johnny’s voice, smoother than honey, warmer than an August evening. The smile that split over Johnny’s face as Price echoed ‘oh my love’ in his gravelly voice, still perfectly in tune, made something crack at Simon’s core.

Johnny drummed his fist against his thigh. ”When I was a young boy, my mother seid tae me, "find yerself a pretty lad, don't take his love fer free", from fields of Aberfeldy t’ the shores of Loch Maree, I knoow that he's the only one fer me.” His palm opened as he sang through the chorus again, his heel bouncing against the floor, his shoulders relaxing, his voice lifting as he stylised through another ‘oh, my love’ before breaking into the next verse. Larger than life, brighter than the sun. Simon’s next breath burned out of his lungs like it was made out of dragonfire. He—Johnny was singing to him—Johnny was—Johnny—

“He was dancin’ by th’ fire as a pi-per played a tu-u-une, he wrapped his arms around me an’ he asked, ’are ye my groom?’ A dram of amber whiskey an’ a twinkle in his eye, we danced beneath the Caledonia sky—oh my love seid tae me, will ye meet me by the sea, you c’n kiss me underneath th’ misty mo-o-on. He is stunnin’, he is pretty—”

The crack widened. Simon felt his chest quiver, his heart thundered, something weight-bearing gave way, a molten chill coursing through his veins, like glacial ice had melted away and now threatened to drag him under in the current as it searched for an exit. Johnny continued to croon through the chorus, his voice lifting and falling, his blue eyes crinkled at the corners. Simon’s entire world narrowed in on him, his cheeky smile, the handsome cut of his jaw, the stupid fuckin’ ferret fuckin’ haircut the fuckin’—the fuck—the fu—

The song ended and Johnny stopped the backing track on his phone. Price’s hand stilled on the strings, his whiskers twitching. “Well, bloody ‘ell, that weren’t ‘alf bad.”

“Man of many fucking talents! The bastard’s toast, mate.” Garrick called from somewhere off screen.

”Aye,” Johnny said, and then looked directly at the fucking screen with those bright blue eyes full of promise, and life, and love… looked directly at the—he was looking at the—“Be seein’ ye, L.T.”

Simon didn’t remember leaving the chair.

He didn’t remember staggering for the door.

He didn’t remember yanking his mask from his head as the balaclava suddenly felt suffocating rather than protective, stifling him like Ghost was trying to keep a stranglehold.

He didn’t remember when his hands began to shake, his fist threatening to shatter the phone, breaking the white plastic of his mask, or when his knees gave way. Only that Price was there to catch him when he began to fall apart, strong arms wrapping around his chest. Simon’s fingers scrambled into Price’s back, clawing at the firm bulwark of it as the first broken noises wheezed from his chest. “Johnny… Joh—Johnny…”

”I know, son. I know—i’s ok, i’s ok, I gotcha, let it go… s’olrigh’…”

Price held him so fuckin’ tightly, buried his face in Simon’s neck as they ended up on their knees, Simon’s manic scrambling too much even for Price to handle. Every raw emotion, every broken part of himself that he had pushed down to get the job done, poured out in the animalistic, shattered sobs that wracked through his entire body. Ugly, gasping, broken noises, with tears, and snot, each breath rasping from his burning lungs as he fought against the tsunami of agony that pulled him under.

Simon clutched the phone to his chest, like he could absorb the image of Johnny into his heart and use it to glue the shattered pieces together, his face buried in Price’s shoulder, blunt nails biting into the cotton of his shirt, howling like a wounded animal as everything he had lost, everything that he could have had, finally swallowed him whole.

[leoascendente]

PAC/ Intuitive messages IV 🔮

Hi my loves and welcome to this new PAC! This time we have the fourth edition of intuitive messages. As always, take a moment to check what pile calls you the most, you could have messages in more than one too. Take only what resonates and leave the rest 🩷

* Don't make life decitions based on a general reading online, use your discernment. Minors dni 🔞

For private readings click here

My blog in spanish here

All pics are from pinterest, credits to their owners

Pile 1/pile 2/pile 3

Pile 1:

🫧 You need to focus on your career and long term goals, things are changing and you need to be ready

🫧 There's a blonde woman around your age you must be careful of, she could be in your same work enviroment or friend group

🫧 An unexpected amount of money is going to land in your lap as a work of magic, buy yourself something you enjoy as a sing of gratitude

🫧 You have a lot of sexual energy, keep it healthy and for singles, use it wisely to manifest your true love

🫧 There's a secret admirer that is planning to approach you with a nice surprise, be open to receive

🫧 Don't worry about those who don't wish you well, you are protected and they are being watched by karma

🫧 A commitment is about to happen, it could be in love or in career, so take it as resonates but I feel it's more related to love and romance

🫧 You'll be more in tune with your spiritual nature, you'll understand better the signs from your guides in your daily life

🫧 Some complications could appear, keep grounded and trust that you are being guided, you'll overcome every obstacle with grace and divine protection

🫧 Your guides will communicate through numbers 1222 or 1212 to tell you that everything is going in your favor, foxes and the scent of flowers will be signs too. Angelic beings are very present in your life, you'll see references to them very often, especially cherubims

Pile 2

🎀 Mercury retrograde will be an amazing time for you, it will bring you unexpected good luck. Check your Mercury's natal placement to know what areas will be impacted positively

🎀 I see a trip or vacations of some kind, maybe it's just having more free time to relax and invest in yourself. It could also mean that something special will happen during the holidays

🎀 Money will be entering your life, if you were scared of not being able to pay debts just know that you'll receive the money you need

🎀 You'll get invited to a night out with friends or a celebration, accept that offer because you'll have an amazing time

🎀 A massive change is about to happen in your life, I think you can sense it too. Rest as much as you can and do things that keep you grounded

🎀 Good things will be happening as a Dharma for something good you did in the past, it's a reward from Universe

🎀 You could loose an important object but it will be a sign that you have overcome a major challenge and the worst is left behind

🎀 You'll receive a major piece of advice from an older woman, for some I see a passed loved one communicating through dreams

🎀 Change your daily routines, there's something about it that no longer works for you and needs to be reorganized. Also, rest more often, your health needs it

🎀 Your guides are showing me grapes, it could be a sign to eat them more often or a sign of material abundance. Dolphins will be signs of upcoming luck and sharks a sign of divine protection. For some I'm hearing to develop your connection with the sea or the water element

Pile 3:

💖 Love is in the air for you my dear! Get ready because you are about to enter into the relationship of your dreams

💖 All your problems are going to get solved, don't stress that much. Your guides announce a triumph over troubles so there's no need to worry

💖 You are on the right path, stop doubting yourself honey, you really need to work on self sabotage or negative thinking

💖 You are about to get invited to a very romantic date, someone is really in love with you and wants to show it 🤭

💖 You'll be getting extra money, your guides are telling you to don't hold too tight to it and simply use it with gratitude. You could have some messages in pile 1 too

💖 There's an spiritual lesson you'll be learning that will feel like a hug to your soul, something you've experienced is going to make sense after receiving this info

💖 Someone with prominent Sagittarius placement will be a benevolent force in your life. I'm also hearing something about the house sagitarius is in your natal chart too, it could be an area of luck

💖 Don't resist change, simply embrace it and remember that it is happening for you to achieve your greatest outcome

💖 Do things your own way, don't force yourself to fit into a label you don't resonate with. Also, doing things different doesnt mean being making them wrong, you are on your own path

💖 Your guides really want you to focus on your confidence and inner power because you have more than you what to acknowledge. Lions and elephants are your animals, 777 your sign that your manifestations are becoming real and you'll see rainbows as a sign of joy and love

[hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall]

Celebration - Professor!Logan x F!Reader (NSFW)

Summary: You celebrate your gratuation with your friends at a small pub, when Professor Logan Howlett comes in. Your plans are forgotten, when your friends make you go talk to him.

Warning: SMUT, like almost Porn with no plot (40% plot/60% porn), sub!Logan (if you squint), but defo dub!Logan, Age gap (not described but there is). So please do not interract if you're under 18.

AN: So I aske dyou all a question a while ago what you'd prefer Professor!Logan or Professor!Peña, and democracy won, choosing Logan :) No beta read all the mistakes are my own... And I am not a history know it all, so apologies if I messed something up. I listened to an amazing Steven Rodriguez writing this, so I recommend this: Like you mean it

Words: 12 875 (let's just establish I can't write anything short, ok?)

The pub hummed with life as you stepped inside, your friends at your side. It was a cozy space, nestled between two old bookshops, with wooden beams that creaked under the weight of a hundred conversations and warm, amber lights casting shadows over shelves lined with bottles of spirits. The smell of hops and laughter filled the air, carrying with it the sweet release of months of hard work and sleepless nights. You, Kate, and Ethan found a booth near the window where the noise was lively but not overwhelming, and you could savour the first celebratory drinks as newly minted graduates.

Kate slid into the seat across from you, her auburn hair falling in waves that shimmered under the pub lights. She raised her glass, eyes glinting with mischief. "To history—and making it ourselves!"

Ethan, ever the practical joker with his sharp grin and mop of dark curls, added, "And to you surviving Professor Logan Howlett’s class with an A, of all things. Who does that? Seriously, cheers to the legend sitting right here."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound bubbling up with a mix of relief and triumph. The past year had been a marathon of research, late nights in the university library, and the constant weight of expectations. But tonight, it felt like the world had paused in recognition of your efforts.

The conversation flitted between shared memories, plans for the future, and teasing hints of freedom that came with finishing your master’s. Then Kate’s eyes flicked over your shoulder, and she leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Don't look now, but the Professor is here."

Your heart stumbled, then thudded in your chest. Professor Logan Howlett. You didn’t have to turn around to conjure the image: intense hazel eyes that seemed to strip the world down to its truths, sharp cheekbones, and that perpetual five o’clock shadow that gave him a rugged, almost cinematic presence. He was a paradox, embodying the kind of strength that could either crush or uphold.

Ethan smirked, nudging you with his elbow. "Go on. Say hi. He can’t be that scary now that you’ve graduated, right?"

A pulse of panic and excitement washed through you, your fingers tightening around the condensation on your glass. Talking to Professor Howlett outside of the academic halls was like stepping into a new, unscripted world. You'd spent two years working under him, first as a student, then as a teaching assistant—your admiration morphing into something deeper, something unspoken.

“Do it,” Kate urged, her eyes wide and teasing. “Or we’ll drag you over there ourselves.” As you sat there and glared at them, the memories of your first class with him came floating around in your head. 

The lecture hall was cavernous, its high, vaulted ceilings making the room feel more like a courtroom than a place of learning. Afternoon light slanted through the tall, arched windows, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the heavy silence. Students settled into their seats, shuffling notebooks and pens, whispering speculations about the infamous Professor Logan Howlett.

You were seated in the second row, close enough to see the fine lines etched at the corners of his eyes when he entered, but not so close as to draw unwanted attention. He walked in without hesitation, his stride confident and direct, the leather-bound notebook in his hand looking worn and familiar. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms marked with faint scars, as if he had spent years grappling with more than just books. A single glance from him silenced the low murmur of conversation.

“History,” he began, the timbre of his voice deep and almost harsh, “is not a collection of anecdotes to pad out your evenings or score points at a dinner party. It is humanity’s attempt to interpret its own mistakes and, if we’re lucky, avoid repeating them.”

The air seemed to thicken with each word. He scanned the rows, eyes sharp and assessing, daring anyone to interrupt him. Some students shifted uncomfortably; a few glanced at each other, already regretting their choice of elective. You, however, felt your pulse quicken, a spark of defiance lighting somewhere inside you.

“Let’s start with a question,” he said, placing the notebook on the lectern and crossing his arms. “The Treaty of Westphalia. Why is it heralded as the cornerstone of modern statehood, and why is that view so fundamentally flawed?”

A heavy silence followed. It stretched on, pregnant with challenge, and you saw a flicker of annoyance cross his face. Without giving it much thought, your hand rose.

His eyes landed on you, their intensity making you feel momentarily pinned. “Yes?” The single word carried the weight of expectation.

You swallowed, your voice steadying as you spoke. “The Treaty of Westphalia is praised for ending the Thirty Years’ War and introducing the concept of state sovereignty, but it didn’t resolve the deeper conflicts. It merely froze them, ensuring that the problems would fester beneath the surface for years.”

A few heads turned, eyes widening at the audacity of challenging the professor in the opening moments of his lecture. Logan Howlett’s brows lifted, but it wasn’t disapproval that shone in his eyes—it was interest.

“Go on,” he said, the room holding its breath.

You sat up straighter, emboldened by his response. “The Treaty was a political bandage, not a cure. It shifted power among nations but ignored the religious and economic fractures that had fueled the conflict. It set the precedent for power politics without addressing the human costs.”

A silence, sharper now, fell over the room. He stepped away from the lectern, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back as if appraising a painting. A smile ghosted across his lips, subtle and fleeting.

“Interesting perspective,” he said, a challenge threading through his words. “But you’re missing the other side of the argument. Yes, it wasn’t perfect. Yes, it allowed the wounds to fester. But it also introduced diplomacy as an alternative to the perpetual war that defined earlier centuries. Would you rather the conflict had raged indefinitely, bleeding nations dry?”

The corner of your mouth twitched, a thrill running through you as you realised he was inviting the exchange. “Diplomacy born out of exhaustion isn’t sustainable. The treaty was signed not out of genuine reconciliation but mutual weakness. It was a temporary truce, not a triumph of peace.”

He nodded slowly, the light catching in his hazel eyes as if amused by your boldness. “Well argued. But if history were only about pointing out what didn’t work, we’d all be critics instead of scholars. The point is to study why such measures are taken and how they shape the world that follows.”

The room seemed to exhale collectively, but you held his gaze, a silent acknowledgment passing between you. In that moment, you knew two things: this class would not be easy, and you were more than ready for it.

Your heart thudded in your chest as Kate's nudge sent a jolt through you. The warmth of the pub, with its golden glow and the chorus of laughter and clinking glasses, faded into the background as you glanced over at him—Professor Logan Howlett. Logan. The name still felt too intimate to think, let alone say, but tonight, that barrier seems thinner.

He stood at the bar, broad shoulders relaxed in a rare display of ease as he listened to a colleague recount some story, whiskey glass cradled in his hand. The way the light caught in his hazel eyes, illuminating flecks of green and gold, tugged at something deep inside you. He was an enigma: a man whose severity was legendary in lecture halls but who, behind closed doors, revealed glimpses of something more. Something human and achingly real.

You respected him, profoundly so. He wasn’t just another academic; he was the academic, the kind of professor whose passion for history electrified a room. His lectures weren’t just lessons but challenges, daring students to question and confront the world’s recorded past with new eyes. He had inspired you to follow in his footsteps, to envision a life dissecting history’s layers, guiding minds through its labyrinthine tales. You’d spent long nights thinking about that future—lecturing, debating, shaping students’ perspectives the way he had shaped yours.

Yet somewhere along the way, between debating treaties and arguing over the nuances of your thesis, your admiration had blurred into something messier. It was during the late hours of grading papers together, the silence punctuated only by his dry humour and the scratch of pens, that your heart began to betray you. He was different in those moments. Still grumpy, yes, but there was a warmth that surfaced—a sardonic smile when a student’s essay was especially absurd, a teasing jab at your meticulous note-taking. And once or twice, when the moon hung low and the world outside seemed distant, you could have sworn he flirted with you.

But that was impossible. Why would a man like him—sharp, captivating, deeply passionate about his work—pay attention to you in that way? It was foolish to even entertain the thought.

Kate’s voice brought you back. “Go on, before he leaves.”

You glanced at Ethan, who shot you an encouraging grin. You took your glass with you, fingers trembling just enough to make you clench your fist to steady them. The walk to the bar felt long, every step magnifying the flutter of nerves in your chest. You’d faced him in debates, you’d defended your research under his unsparing gaze, but this felt different. This wasn’t a controlled environment; this was the unpredictable space of real life.

He turned as you approached, his expression shifting from neutral to surprised, and then softening in a way that made your breath hitch. His eyebrows lifted just slightly, a fleeting look of recognition followed by something you couldn’t quite name.

“Congratulations,” he said, the rough edge of his voice sending a thrill down your spine. His eyes caught the light, making them appear warmer than usual, and for a moment, you felt like the only two people in the room.

“Thank you,” you managed, feeling a rush of relief that you hadn’t tripped over the words. “It’s… good to see you, Professor.”

“Logan,” he corrected, the corner of his mouth lifting into a half-smile, but enough to suggest amusement. He glanced at the empty space beside him and shifted, subtly making room. “Join me?”

You didn’t need more than that. You slid into the space, feeling the heat of his presence like a tangible thing. The din of the pub receded just a little, replaced by the thrum of your pulse and the stolen glances that spoke of memories shared late at night over half-empty coffee cups and stacks of research papers.

Logan signalled to the bartender, his hand briefly brushing against yours on the counter as he gestured toward your half-empty glass. “A gift,” he said, his voice smooth, low, and rich with that unmistakable rasp, “for making it through the gauntlet and surviving me. Some people never do.”

His eyes lingered on yours, his gaze sharp but softened by the teasing glint that rarely broke through his usual stern demeanour. You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips, even as the warmth spreading through your chest made it harder to breathe evenly.

The bartender placed a fresh drink in front of you, and you stared down at it for a moment, letting the hum of the pub—the chatter, the golden glow of the lights, the low thrum of music—blur into the background. But it wasn’t the atmosphere that anchored you; it was Logan, his quiet confidence and magnetic pull, the way his focus never wavered.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt.

He raised his glass, taking a measured sip of whiskey, the motion deliberate as if he were savouring it. His eyes never left yours, the intensity behind them making your skin tingle. “So,” he began, his voice carrying that heavy, deliberate weight, “what’s next? I can’t imagine someone like you doesn’t have the next step planned out.”

You couldn’t suppress the grin spreading across your face. “What makes you think I have a plan at all?” you teased, arching a brow as you lifted your glass to your lips.

The laugh that followed was deep and unrestrained, the sound warm enough to melt the tension in the air while simultaneously sending a shiver down your spine. He set his glass down and leaned forward, his broad frame angling toward you, his focus entirely on you.

“Because I know you,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost conspiratorial. His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, amusement playing in the depths of his gaze. “And knowing you means I’d bet you’ve got the next thirty years colour-coded and cross-referenced.”

The heat in your cheeks was immediate, and you looked away, biting the inside of your cheek to hide the bashful smile tugging at your lips. It was ridiculous how well he knew you—how effortlessly he could strip away your defences with a single comment, leaving you feeling both exposed and undeniably seen.

“You shouldn’t look so smug about that,” you muttered, though your voice lacked any real bite.

Logan chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, resonating somewhere deep in your chest. “You’re right,” he said, leaning closer, his voice dropping an octave that sent a delicious shiver down your spine. “But it’s hard not to be. It’s one of the things I like most about you.”

The words hung in the air, sinking into your skin, making your pulse quicken. His eyes, dark and steady, locked with yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to blur into irrelevance.

“It’s why I asked you to be my TA,” he added, his tone softened but no less intense.

The memory of that moment surged forward, vivid and sharp like it had happened just yesterday.

***

His office had been its usual state of organised chaos—books stacked high, papers scattered across the desk, and the faint scent of leather and cologne clinging to the air. The room had always felt like an extension of him: commanding, unrelenting, but with a quiet depth you couldn’t help but admire.

You had entered cautiously, the soft creak of the door announcing your arrival. Logan hadn’t looked up immediately, too engrossed in whatever notes he was reviewing, his brow furrowed in thought.

When he finally lifted his gaze, his sharp, assessing eyes pinned you in place. “Close the door,” he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. You obeyed, your pulse quickening with a strange mix of excitement and apprehension.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started, leaning back in his chair with a creak of worn leather. His fingers tapped against the desk, his eyes studying you with a piercing intensity. “I need a teaching assistant next term. But not just any TA. Someone who won’t nod along to everything I say and write my lectures in their sleep.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness of his words. “Me?” you stammered, half incredulous, half hopeful.

“Yes, you.” A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, softening the edge of his expression. It was a rare sight, one that made your stomach flutter. “I don’t usually need help,” he admitted, leaning forward, elbows resting on the desk. “But you challenge me—and that’s not something I’m willing to waste.”

The weight of his words hit you, their meaning sinking in. This wasn’t just an offer. It was an acknowledgment, an admission that he saw something in you worth nurturing.

“It would be an honour,” you said, your voice coming out softer than you intended, tinged with a reverence you couldn’t mask.

“Good.” He stood, crossing the room until he stopped just shy of your personal space. His presence filled the room, his gaze holding yours with a quiet intensity that made your breath catch. “Don’t make me regret this,” he said, but the teasing edge in his tone softened the warning.

“I won’t,” you had promised, the conviction in your voice leaving no room for doubt.

The way he looked at you then—like he believed you entirely, like he knew you would surpass every expectation—was something you’d carried with you ever since.

***

The memory slipped away like smoke, fading into the background as Logan’s voice cut through the quiet hum of the pub. “You know,” he said, his tone carrying that familiar teasing lilt, “most people would kill for a compliment like that from me. And yet, here you are, blushing as if it’s the first time anyone’s told you you’re remarkable.”

The flush in your cheeks deepened, and you ducked your head, trying to hide the effect his words had on you. “It was more than an honour,” you murmured, voice shy but unwavering. “Working with you made me realise how much I wanted to teach. Your classes… They made me sure of what I wanted for my future.”

Something flickered across his face then, a shadow of pride mixed with something you couldn’t quite name. He got closer, the space between you shrinking until you could feel the subtle warmth radiating from him. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice dropping into a tone both playful and low. “I’m glad to hear it. If I inspired even half of what you’re capable of, then I’d say I did something right.”

His words sent a warmth curling through your chest, but it was the way he looked at you—steady, unflinching—that made your pulse flutter. He wasn’t just paying you a compliment; he was studying your reaction, watching you with a heat that felt almost tangible.

The smoky scent of his cologne teased your senses as he leaned in, close enough that the noise of the pub faded into a faint hum in the background. “Careful,” he murmured, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Blushing like that could make a person think you’re flustered.”

“I’m not,” you shot back, though the warmth blooming across your cheeks betrayed you.

He laughed softly, a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. “Good,” he said, his eyes lingering on you a moment longer than necessary. “Because I like seeing you off your game.”

You swallowed hard, torn between embarrassment and exhilaration. “You’re impossible,” you whispered, trying to muster some semblance of control over the situation.

“And yet,” he said, his voice a low drawl as he raised his glass and tapped it lightly against yours, “here you are.”

The moment stretched between you, heavy with unspoken possibilities. It was a tension you’d never dared to acknowledge until now, and yet, sitting here beside him, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

***

The night unfolded slowly, the warm glow of the pub sinking deeper into the evening. Despite the bustling crowd, you remained anchored in the space beside Logan at the bar. Each shared glance, each quiet laugh between the two of you, felt like the room itself was narrowing its focus, pulling you closer together.

When you reminded him, more than once, that you could buy your own drinks, he waved your protests away with an easy smile. “Consider it back pay for the TA work,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “And believe me, you earned it. I’m still convinced you deserve a medal for grading that batch of essays on European revolutions. I don’t think I’ve ever seen ‘Napoleon’ spelled with so many variations.”

You laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained. “To be fair, some of those students were probably just guessing who led the French army.”

“God help them,” Logan muttered, taking a slow sip of his whiskey before his eyes found yours again, softened by amusement. “How’s the thesis holding up under post-graduate scrutiny? Still proud of it?”

“Mostly,” you admitted, swirling the liquid in your glass thoughtfully. “There are a few parts I’d tweak if I could go back. But it did the job, right? Even impressed you.”

“‘Impressed’ might be underselling it,” he replied, his voice quieter now, rougher. “It was ambitious. You could’ve played it safe like most do, but you didn’t. You took a risk. That takes guts.”

The warmth in your chest grew at his words, a kind of pride that felt almost too big to contain. “I learned from the best,” you said softly.

Logan’s lips curved into a faint smile, his eyes crinkling at the edges. For a moment, the din of the pub seemed to fade entirely, leaving only the sound of his voice and the unspoken connection hanging in the air.

The conversation drifted easily between you, shifting from the late-night research sessions you once shared to the quirks of students you’d both encountered. You told him about the time a student had submitted a paper on the American Revolution that inexplicably included a section on The Beatles. Logan nearly choked on his drink, his deep laugh drawing a few glances from nearby patrons.

“Still proud of the next generation?” you teased, grinning.

“Barely,” he muttered, shaking his head before his smirk returned. “So, what now? What’s next for you outside of history?”

“Outside of history?” you quipped, leaning closer, the bubble of energy between you tightening. “Is there anything outside of history? I don’t know, Logan. I’ve spent so much time buried in books, I might as well be a mediaeval monk.”

His eyes sparkled with amusement, but the way he leaned toward you, just slightly, was enough to shift the atmosphere again. “A monk, huh?” he said, his voice low. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

The weight of his words sent a spark racing down your spine, your breath hitching slightly under the intensity of his gaze. Whatever barriers had once existed between you felt thinner now, more fragile. And for the first time, you found yourself wondering what it might mean to finally cross them.

Logan smirked, his sharp eyes tracing the contours of your face, lingering just long enough to make your heart race. “Here’s a real question,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “Any current boyfriends? Partners? You know, so I can adjust my expectations for the night.”

The question landed like a spark, setting your pulse racing. You hadn’t expected him to go there, but the weight of his attention and the soft buzz of the evening’s warmth had lowered your defences.

“Ha,” you laughed, sharper than intended, but his grin didn’t waver. “Uni didn’t leave much room for that. Most of the guys in my classes weren’t exactly my type—more interested in keg parties than real conversations.” You hesitated, the alcohol nudging your tongue loose. “And, well… let’s just say it was usually me and my hand at the end of the day. Boys are boys, after all.”

Logan’s eyebrows shot up, his lips twitching in amusement before he burst into laughter. The sound was deep, rich, and genuine, drawing curious glances from nearby patrons, but you didn’t care. Watching him like this—relaxed and utterly unrestrained—made your chest tighten with something unfamiliar.

“God, I wasn’t expecting that,” he said, shaking his head and wiping at the corner of his eye. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

“Is that so?” you countered, emboldened by the way his attention seemed to orbit you entirely.

“Oh, it is,” he replied, his voice dipping into something quieter, more intimate. He leaned closer, and the space between you buzzed with an almost electric anticipation.

His hand rested on the bar, the slight movement of his fingers brushing against your arm in a touch so casual it felt deliberate. Your skin prickled at the contact, the warmth of it lingering far longer than it should. Logan was watching you now, his gaze steady and careful, testing your reaction, waiting.

The moment stretched, the tension building with every heartbeat. His fingers moved again, this time trailing lightly over the back of your arm, and the sensation sent a spark straight to your core. You inhaled sharply, your eyes meeting his, and the unspoken words between you hung heavy in the air.

“You know,” Logan said, his voice dipping lower, rougher, “I’ve always liked that you never missed a chance to challenge me. Kept me on my toes.”

“I didn’t think you liked being challenged,” you said, your voice softer now, unable to mask the tremor of excitement beneath it.

“Only when it’s you,” he replied, his tone stripped of humour. There was no teasing in his expression now, only the kind of intensity you’d once seen when he was deep in thought, dissecting an argument. But this was different. This wasn’t about academics or debates—this was about you. His hand moved deliberately, resting fully on your arm, his touch grounding and possessive all at once.

Your heart thundered in your chest as the realisation hit you. Logan Howlett—your professor, the man you’d admired from a distance for so long—was looking at you like you were the only thing in the room. Like he’d been waiting for this moment as much as you had, even if you’d never dared to hope.

“Why now?” you whispered, the words slipping free before you could stop them. “Why tonight?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Because tonight, you’re not my student.” His voice was a low rumble, rough and magnetic. “And I’m done pretending I haven’t noticed the way you look at me.”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words settling over you. His touch, his gaze—they made you feel exposed in the best way, like you were finally being seen for exactly who you were.

“And how is that?” you managed, your voice trembling under the intensity of his stare.

Logan leaned in closer, his face just inches from yours, so close you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes. The scent of whiskey mixed with something distinctly him—earthy, warm, untamed. “Like I’m not the only one who’s been waiting for this,” he murmured.

The tension snapped, and before you could respond, he closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours. The kiss was warm at first, almost hesitant, as if testing the boundaries of something unspoken. But as you leaned into him, your hands finding their way to the back of his neck, his restraint faltered.

Logan groaned softly, the sound vibrating through you, and the kiss deepened. His hand moved from the bar to your waist, gripping firmly as he pulled you closer. The heat between you was undeniable, every brush of his lips against yours igniting something that had been simmering for far too long.

“I want you,” he whispered, his voice raw and full of intent.

His hand slid down your side, his fingers splaying against your hip, and his lips pressed into the curve of your neck. The scrape of his stubble sent shivers down your spine, each touch deliberate, each kiss a promise.

Logan pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze darkened with hunger. “Want to get out of here?” he asked, his voice low, tinged with urgency.

“Yes,” you breathed, the answer spilling out without hesitation.

A satisfied smile curved his lips, and he stepped back to let you grab your phone, quickly messaging your friends. Logan signalled the bartender, his impatience visible in the set of his shoulders as he paid the tab.

Outside, the cool night air was a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your skin. Logan hailed a taxi with ease, opening the door and guiding you in with a hand on your hip, the touch lingering.

The ride to his apartment was both too long and too short. The tension simmered between you, heightened by his hand resting on your thigh, his fingers pressing with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. You let your fingers trail up his arm, teasing, testing, and the muscle in his jaw flexed as he exhaled sharply.

“You’re going to drive me insane before we even get there,” he muttered, his voice gravelly and laced with heat.

“Good,” you whispered back, leaning in to brush your lips against the edge of his jaw.

His groan was low and full of promise. “Just wait until we’re alone.”

When the taxi finally stopped, Logan paid quickly, his hand never leaving you as he guided you up the steps to his apartment. Inside, the air seemed to shift, the quiet intimacy of the space wrapping around you as Logan closed the door behind you.

Instead of pulling you close again, he surprised you, walking to the kitchen. He returned moments later with a glass of water, handing it to you with a touch that lingered, his eyes scanning your face

“Drink,” Logan said, his voice softer now, the usual teasing edge replaced with something deeper, more serious.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the shift in his tone. “Logan, I’m fine. I’m not—”

“I know,” he interrupted, the corners of his mouth twitching into a faint smile, though his eyes stayed steady, sincere. “But I need you to be completely sure. About this. About us. I don’t want any second thoughts in the morning.”

The weight of his words hung between you, settling like a tangible thing in the air. His expression, open and earnest, made your chest tighten. There was no bravado now, no teasing grin or cocky smirk—just Logan, stripped bare of any pretence, laying everything out in front of you.

You reached for the glass he offered, taking a small sip. The cool water was calming, but more than that, it gave you a moment to breathe, to steady yourself under the intensity of his gaze. He watched you closely, his posture relaxed yet commanding, a quiet possessiveness in the way he moved a step closer as you placed the empty glass down.

“I’m sure,” you said, your voice quiet but firm, the truth ringing clear in your words. “I’m not going to regret this.”

Logan exhaled slowly, his shoulders easing as relief softened the edges of his expression. His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his thumb grazing your cheek. The warmth of his touch sent shivers down your spine. “Good,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Because I want you to remember this. All of it. How I’m going to make you mine.”

Your breath caught at the promise in his words, your pulse quickening as his head dipped closer. This kiss wasn’t like the ones before. This one was unrestrained, searing, filled with the hunger that had been simmering between you both for far too long. His hands found your waist, his grip firm as he pulled you flush against him, your body moulding perfectly to his.

Your fingers slid into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, tugging slightly, and he groaned into your mouth, the sound reverberating through you. The kiss deepened, and he guided you back, his movements steady but urgent, until the edge of the couch met the back of your knees. You sank down, pulling him with you, and he followed without hesitation.

His lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, lingering there before moving lower, finding the sensitive spot just below your ear. When his teeth grazed your skin, you gasped, the sharp sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

Logan paused, pulling back just enough to take in the flushed look on your face, the way your chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths. His dark eyes roamed over you, full of intent and unmistakable hunger, and he shook his head slightly, as if marvelling at the sight before him.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, his voice raw and gravelly.

His hand slid down your side, his fingers splaying out at your hip, the weight of his touch grounding you. He pressed a lingering kiss to the curve of your neck, his stubble scraping deliciously against your skin, followed by the faintest pressure of his teeth. The shiver that coursed through you drew a satisfied growl from him, low and primal.

Every movement, every touch, every whispered word was deliberate—each one a promise. One you felt to your core.

The room buzzed with a charged energy, electric and palpable. Logan’s eyes met yours again, and in that moment, the world seemed to slow. The way he looked at you—like you were something he’d been waiting for his entire life—made your breath hitch and your heart race.

His hands tightened at your waist, his fingers pressing into your sides as he leaned down once more. The kiss that followed was a heady mix of tenderness and intensity, his lips moving against yours with an urgency that left no room for doubt. Logan kissed like he fought—fiercely, unyieldingly, and with everything he had.

Your hands explored his shoulders, tracing the firm muscle beneath his skin, feeling them shift and flex as he braced himself above you. His weight was a steady presence, comforting yet thrilling, a reminder of his strength.

When his lips left yours, they travelled lower, down the curve of your neck, across your collarbone, and lower still. His mouth and hands mapped out your body with an unhurried reverence, like he wanted to memorise every inch of you.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” he murmured, his voice hushed but commanding, his lips brushing against your skin. His eyes met yours again, dark and unwavering, filled with a determination that made your pulse quicken all over again. He was waiting, giving you the choice, the control, his intensity balanced by the care in his gaze.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, surprisingly soft despite its wildness. You bit your lip as his mouth moved along your neck, his lips warm and insistent, nibbling with a mix of playfulness and purpose. You instinctively arched toward him, seeking more of his touch, and he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze.

There was a soft smile tugging at his lips, a tenderness that contrasted beautifully with the raw hunger in his eyes. Then, without a word, he buried his face back into the crook of your neck, the scrape of his beard sending shivers down your spine.

His lips lingered on every inch of your skin, his kisses deepening the sensations until you were lost in him. A sharp nip at the sensitive curve of your neck made you jump, a small cry escaping your lips. His low, rumbling chuckle reverberated against your skin as he soothed the spot with a gentle lick.

“That’s gonna leave a mark,” you whispered, your voice light but breathless.

He pulled back just enough to smirk, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “And it won’t be the only one,” he replied, his tone low and gravelly, full of promise.

Logan’s hands slipped beneath your shirt, his roughened palms gliding over the soft warmth of your skin. When his fingers reached the clasp of your bra, he let out a quiet growl, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. With one smooth motion, he lifted you effortlessly, holding you against him as though you weighed nothing. The sheer strength in the gesture left you breathless, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

“I need you in my bed,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his voice thick with longing. “Comfortably sprawled out... while I take my time with you tonight.”

His words sent a flush rising to your cheeks, and you pressed your face into his neck, both embarrassed and exhilarated. Logan laughed softly, the sound a low, rich rumble that sent heat pooling in your core.

“Oh, this is going to be fun, darlin’,” he teased, clearly revelling in your reaction.

“You’re being mean,” you mumbled in protest, your words muffled against his skin.

“Mean?” he repeated, his smirk widening as he felt the soft kisses you pressed to his neck in retaliation. His grip tightened on you just slightly before he laid you down on the bed, his movements controlled yet brimming with urgency. His leg slid naturally between your thighs as he leaned over you, pressing his weight into you just enough to draw a delighted squeal from your lips.

His gaze roamed over you, slow and deliberate, his eyes darkened with desire. There was something primal in the way he looked at you, as if nothing else in the world existed but this moment. His hand moved to your waist, trailing up your side with maddening slowness, leaving a path of warmth and tingling anticipation in its wake.

You shivered beneath his touch, your own hands finding their way to his broad shoulders. The firm lines of his muscles tightened under your fingertips as you explored the expanse of him, marvelling at his strength and the way it contrasted with the tenderness in his movements.

Logan leaned down, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tentative kiss. The tenderness was fleeting, quickly giving way to something deeper as the kiss intensified. His hand slid up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as he tilted your head to deepen the connection. Each movement was deliberate, like he was savouring every second, and when he finally pulled back, his lips hovered a breath away from yours, his voice rough and low.

“Do you know what you do to me?” he murmured, his tone heavy with need. “Every look, every touch... it drives me wild.”

His hand slipped under the hem of your shirt again, the calluses on his fingertips grazing your skin in a way that sent sparks dancing across your body. He pushed the fabric higher, his lips following the path his hands had traced, leaving feather-light kisses along your abdomen. Each touch, each kiss, built the tension inside you, the anticipation becoming almost too much to bear.

You arched into his touch, a soft sigh escaping your lips as his hands and mouth explored you with reverence. Slowly, he worked his way back up, his lips brushing along your collarbone, up the curve of your neck, and finally capturing your lips again. His kiss was firm and consuming, leaving you dizzy with want as his hands continued their journey, touching you in ways that made you feel cherished, adored.

“I want you to relax,” he murmured, his rough hand gently cupping your cheek as his eyes locked with yours. The intensity in his gaze was grounding, reassuring. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

A shiver ran through you at the quiet promise in his words, and you gave yourself over to him completely. He continued his slow, deliberate exploration, his lips and hands igniting a fire that burned through every nerve in your body.

With a slight shift of his weight, he pulled your shirt over your head, his movements unhurried but filled with purpose. His eyes roamed over your newly exposed skin, darkened with desire but soft with tenderness. You’d never felt so completely seen before, so utterly appreciated.

Logan’s hands returned to your sides, his touch brushing over your ribs as he leaned down again, capturing your lips in a kiss that made your heart race. His movements were deliberate, savouring the moment like he had all the time in the world to worship you.

When his lips left yours, they continued their journey, trailing kisses down your neck, along your shoulder, and lower. Each press of his mouth sent a spark of warmth radiating through your body, the sensation heightening with every touch. His hands followed, his touch both firm and gentle, exploring your curves with a possessiveness that made you feel treasured.

“Tell me what you need,” he whispered against your skin, his voice hushed but heavy with intensity. His gaze locked on yours, searching, waiting for your answer, his expression promising he would give you anything.

The vulnerability of the moment made your heart stutter, the quiet intimacy of it wrapping around you like a warm blanket. “I just need you,” you murmured, your voice trembling as the words spilled out, barely audible.

Logan’s lips curved into a faint smile against your skin, his rough beard scratching deliciously as he pressed a gentle kiss just above your heart. “Then I’m all yours,” he replied, his voice a low, gravelly promise that sent shivers cascading down your spine.

He moved you carefully, effortlessly guiding you to the centre of the bed. His arm stayed firmly around your waist, holding you close as though you might slip away if he let go. Every movement was slow, deliberate, his sharp eyes reading you like a book—every gasp, every shiver, every flutter of your lashes catalogued and responded to with tender attentiveness.

His fingers trailed down your skin, warm and rough against your softness, until they found the waistband of your jeans. With practised ease, he unfastened them, and you instinctively lifted your hips, helping him slide them off. He tossed them to the floor, where your shirt had already landed, and then sat back on his heels, taking you in.

His gaze was intense, primal—darkened by a hunger that seemed endless, almost dangerous. His eyes roamed over your form, lingering on every curve, every exposed inch of skin. That look alone made you feel like you were aflame, a heat pooling low in your belly under the weight of his stare. You swallowed hard, feeling shy and bold all at once in your barely-there panties, ones you’d chosen that morning for a little extra confidence, never expecting they’d be seen like this.

“You’re being mean again,” you teased, your voice soft but playful. “You’re still fully clothed.”

Logan raised a single eyebrow, his lips twitching into that damn smirk that made your knees weak. “Mean, huh?” he repeated again, his voice a teasing rasp. Shaking his head, he reached for the hem of his flannel shirt, starting to pull it over his head.

But before he could, your hand shot out, landing on his arm to stop him. “Can I do it?” you asked, your tone soft, tentative, but unmistakably eager.

His smirk deepened, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back to your eyes. “You wanna take the lead, princess?” he murmured, the nickname rolling off his tongue like a challenge.

With a quick, fluid movement, he grabbed your waist and flipped the two of you, his strength effortless, leaving you straddling his lap. His large hands rested firmly on your hips, holding you in place. You let out a surprised laugh, swatting his shoulder playfully, but the sound faded when you felt the hard length of him pressing against you.

“Then I’m all yours,” he growled, his smirk widening as you shifted your hips experimentally. The deep rumble that escaped his throat made your breath hitch, a quiet growl that sent a thrill racing through you.

Your hands travelled over the hard planes of his abdomen, tracing the lines of muscle that flexed beneath your touch. Slowly, teasingly, you reached the first button of his flannel and began unfastening it, one by one, revealing inch after inch of warm, firm skin. Dark hair covered his chest, trailing downward in a line that disappeared into his jeans, and you couldn’t stop yourself from running your fingers over it, savouring the roughness against your fingertips.

Leaning forward, you pressed a soft kiss to his lips, then began a slow, deliberate path downward, your lips brushing along his jaw, his neck, and the curve of his shoulder. Your kisses turned to nips and bites, your teeth grazing his skin in a way that had his hips jerking beneath you. When your lips closed around his nipple, biting just hard enough to make him hiss, a low chuckle rumbled through him.

“You’re trouble,” he growled playfully, though his hands gripped your hips tighter, guiding you into a slow rhythm against him.

You brushed his hands aside, smirking down at him. “I’m in control, Professor,” you said, the title falling from your lips like honey.

His reaction was immediate—his eyes widened slightly, darkening further as he twitched beneath you, his arousal impossible to ignore. “Interesting,” you mused, your grin turning wicked as you kissed your way down his chest, tracing the lines of his ribs with your nails, drawing a satisfied groan from him as the faint sting lingered.

Reaching the waistband of his jeans, you unfastened them with the same slow care he’d shown you earlier. Hooking your fingers around the band of his boxers, you gave his hip a light tap, silently urging him to lift, which he did without hesitation. You slid his jeans and boxers down, tossing them to join the growing pile of clothes.

“Looks like we’re uneven now,” he joked, his tone husky, though his focus was entirely on you as your fingers ghosted over his thighs.

“I left your shirt on, didn’t I?” you teased back, flashing him a mischievous smile.

He started to reply, but it dissolved into a groan as your hands moved upward, tracing along the lines of his stomach, stopping just shy of where he was waiting for you, hard and aching. You leaned down, pressing soft kisses to his abdomen, following the trail of hair downward, your lips deliberately avoiding the most sensitive part of him. Each breath that grazed him made him twitch, his hands fisting the sheets as he tried to stay patient.

But Logan Howlett wasn’t a patient man.

His voice was a low, guttural growl. “Princess, if you keep teasing me, I’m not gonna stay still much longer.”

You smirked, brushing your lips lightly along his inner thigh, your eyes flicking up to meet his. “Then don’t,” you whispered, the challenge clear in your tone.

And the way his eyes burned at your words made you feel unstoppable.

"May I remind you, sweetheart, that I’m not a patient man?" His voice was a low, guttural growl, each word strained as his restraint frayed under your teasing. Your lips ghosted up his chest, leaving a warm trail of kisses along the curve of his neck. His skin was taut under your wandering hands, which moved deliberately, sliding over the firm muscle of his chest, down the sculpted planes of his abdomen, until they stopped just shy of their target.

A bead of pre-cum glistened at his tip, a testament to how close you were to driving him over the edge. The sight alone sent a thrill through you—he was teetering on the brink of control, and you loved it. Still, even as his desperation stirred a wicked delight in you, the ache building within your own body was undeniable. You wanted him just as badly. No, more.

Leaning up, you captured his lips in a soft, deliberate kiss, then broke away to whisper in his ear, your breath hot and laced with seduction. "May I suck you off, Professor?"

The sound that tore from him was a low, primal groan—half frustration, half desire—and when you pulled back with a feigned innocence, his restraint snapped. He surged forward, claiming your mouth in a bruising kiss, his hands gripping you with a fervour that made your stomach twist deliciously. He poured his want into that kiss, and you revelled in the way he crumbled beneath your touch.

Your hand slipped lower, wrapping firmly around him, and his sharp intake of breath sent a wave of heat surging through your body. Seeing him bare before you was one thing, but feeling him—his heat, his size, his sheer need—had your own breath catching. The thought of taking him, of having him inside you, sent a shiver of anticipation skimming down your spine.

Pulling back, you locked eyes with him, the dark hunger in his gaze urging you on. Slowly, you brought your hand to your mouth, licking your palm in a deliberately seductive motion. His lips parted as his chest rose and fell heavily, watching every move you made. Your slickened hand returned to him, circling his length with a teasing swirl. His head fell back, a deep groan escaping his throat, as his body surrendered to the sensation.

Experimentally, you brushed your thumb over his tip, collecting the bead of wetness there. Without breaking eye contact, you brought it to your lips, tasting him for the first time. He was salty, heady, but somehow addictive—a taste you could already tell you’d crave. His groan turned guttural as your hand began its slow, deliberate rhythm, stroking him with increasing confidence.

"Logan Howlett," you thought, a flicker of triumph lighting within you. This untamed, commanding man was utterly under your spell, and you hadn’t even begun to show him what you could do.

Leaning in, you pressed your tongue to the base of his throat, dragging it upward in one languid motion. His cock was hot and impossibly hard in your hand, smooth yet throbbing with vitality. You smirked as you murmured against his skin, your voice a sultry hum. "You feel incredible in my hand, Professor. I wonder…" You nipped lightly at his collarbone before trailing down his chest and stomach, closer and closer to where your hand worked him in steady strokes. “…how you'd feel in my mouth."

“Fuck,” he rasped, the word trembling on a breathless moan as you quickened your pace, his hips twitching in response. "You can try it, sweet girl. I bet a good girl like you would love it."

His challenge lit a spark in your eyes. Without hesitation, you trailed your hand to his base, preparing for the length you couldn’t take fully. Then, holding his gaze, you ran your tongue up his shaft in a slow, deliberate stripe, savouring every inch. His breath hitched, and he let out another ragged "Fuck," his head tipping back in unrestrained pleasure.

You smirked around him, your lips brushing against his skin. “I’ve been thinking about this for so long," you murmured, your hand working him with practised strokes as you watched his chest rise and fall, his breathing ragged. His eyes were heavy-lidded with lust, entirely focused on you.

Without breaking your rhythm, you leaned forward and took him into your mouth, your tongue swirling expertly as you enjoyed the weight and heat of him. His reaction was immediate—a guttural groan that made your pulse race. Every sound he made, every twitch of his body, was yours to command, and you planned to make the most of it.

You leaned down, your gaze locking with his as you parted your lips to take him in. The intensity in his dark, lust-filled eyes sent a pulse of heat through you, heightening your desire. Slowly, you enveloped him, letting your tongue swirl around his tip with deliberate, teasing strokes. Every second felt electric, the weight of him on your tongue igniting something primal within you.

Encouraged by the raw, guttural groan that escaped his lips, you took him deeper. The sound spurred you on, your body responding instinctively as you pushed yourself further, the stretch of him filling your mouth almost too much to bear. A choked gasp escaped you as you fought to adjust, and when you pulled back slowly, the suction made him shudder. Your tongue flicked out, lapping up the bead of pre-cum that lingered at his tip, savouring the salty, heady taste with a soft moan.

You let your tongue explore him fully, tracing the sensitive underside of his length with delicate precision. Each movement of your hand at the base added to the sensation, your fingers tightening just enough to draw a deep, unrestrained moan from him. The sound sent a thrill through you, and a smug smirk tugged at your lips. Seeing a man like Logan—always so composed and commanding—reduced to this state of pure need made you feel intoxicatingly powerful.

Unable to resist the temptation, you reached for his clenched fist, guiding it gently into your hair. His hand opened reflexively, his fingers threading through your locks with surprising tenderness. At first, his grip was tentative, his raised brow and the flicker of surprise in his gaze betraying his hesitation. But those eyes—dark, hungry, and more captivating than ever—held a new vulnerability, a raw honesty that made your pulse quicken.

“I want you to show me how you like it, Logan,” you murmured, your voice low and sultry, the deliberate use of his name landing like a spark in the charged space between you.

Something shifted in him. His pupils dilated, and his lips curved into a wicked smirk that made your stomach flip. “Are you sure, sweet girl?” he asked, his tone deep and laden with warning. “I can be... aggressive.” His low chuckle was both a tease and a promise, but the way his hand flexed in your hair revealed just how much your words had affected him.

You felt the heat rising between you, a silent challenge hanging in the air. “I want to make you feel good,” you whispered, your voice trembling with sincerity.

For a moment, his expression softened, the ferocity in his gaze giving way to something warmer. He patted your cheek gently, almost tenderly, before exhaling a shaky breath. “You’ll be the death of me,” he muttered under his breath, before adding in a growl, “Good girl.”

The praise sent a rush of arousal through you, emboldening you as you took him back into your mouth. You started slowly, relishing the stretch as you worked to accommodate him. Your lips strained as you descended further, inch by inch, until the tip of his cock brushed the back of your throat. You paused there, breathing through your nose, willing yourself to relax as you adjusted to his size.

The weight of him was overwhelming, but you welcomed the challenge, pressing forward to test your limits. Your hand moved in tandem with your mouth, stroking the base of his cock where your lips couldn’t reach. Every groan, every strained breath from above you fueled your determination.

When his hand tightened in your hair, a subtle but unmistakable tug, you felt the shift in his control. It wasn’t forceful, but it was guiding, encouraging you to take him deeper. The act of surrendering to his lead sent a wave of heat cascading through you, and you moaned softly around him, the vibrations drawing another sharp groan from his throat.

Logan Howlett, the untouchable, unshakable force of nature, was unravelling in your hands—and you couldn’t have been more proud.

Every sound he made only added to the unbearable ache pooling between your thighs. You were soaked—so much more than you’d ever been before. The slickness, the heat, the undeniable need coursing through you—it was unlike anything you’d felt. Sure, you’d given blowjobs before, but they were nothing like this. This wasn’t a chore or a routine act of pleasure. With Logan, every moment felt electric, every touch feeding the fire inside you.

As your hand and mouth worked together to bring him closer, the growing need within you begged for attention. Slowly, one hand trailed down your own body, seeking some relief, your fingers pressing lightly against the wetness that had soaked through your panties.

But the sharp tug at your hair brought everything to a halt, a high-pitched gasp escaping your lips as you broke away to look up at him. His dark, lust-filled eyes burned with a mixture of amusement and dominance.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his tone laced with teasing authority, though the edge in his voice made it clear he expected an answer.

“I—I just thought—” you started, but the wicked smirk that spread across his face silenced you.

“Pleasuring you is my job,” he interrupted, his words sending a thrill through your body. “Go on, sweetheart. Be a good girl for me, and I promise I’ll reward you.”

A rush of arousal coursed through you at his command. Any other man saying something like that would have earned a sharp slap and a swift exit. But Logan? His voice, his touch, his sheer presence—it left you feeling raw, exposed, and more wanted than ever before. You nodded, a small, breathless smile playing on your lips as you returned your hand to his hip.

Lowering your head again, you let your tongue trace a slow, deliberate path down the length of his cock, sampling the taste of him as you collected the salty pre-cum that had begun to drip. His groan was low and guttural, a sound that spurred you on as you began to bob your head, taking him deeper and deeper into your throat with every motion.

But Logan wasn’t content to let you set the pace. His hand tightened in your hair, pushing you down suddenly and forcing your nose to press against the base of his cock. The sheer size of him stretched your throat, and you pulled back with a coughing gasp, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

“Fuck!” he hissed, his voice strained. His other hand reached for your chin, tilting your face up to meet his intense gaze. “You okay, princess?” The damn pet name only made your pulse race faster.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, your voice raspy but eager. “You just surprised me.”

He smirked, but the concern in his eyes was genuine, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek. “Good. Use your words, pretty girl.”

“I want to feel you again,” you said breathlessly, your hand resuming its slow strokes along his length. Your eyes travelled to his lips, then back to his smouldering gaze as you bit your bottom lip. “I want to feel you come in my mouth, Sir.”

His eyes darkened at the word, his grip in your hair tightening just enough to make you shiver. “Good. Fucking. Girl,” he growled, his voice rough and full of praise. “Go on, then. Show me just how perfect you can be.”

This time, you didn’t hesitate. You found your rhythm, relaxing your throat and taking him even deeper than before. Saliva spilled down his length, glistening in the dim light as you worked him with a messy, unrestrained enthusiasm. The sounds of his pleasure—grunts, groans, and muttered curses—were music to your ears, spurring you to go further, to do more.

Logan’s hips began to move, his thrusts matching the rhythm of your mouth. The hand in your hair guided you with increasing urgency, his movements growing rougher, more desperate. “Oh, right there, princess,” he groaned, his voice strained as his control started to slip. “That’s it. You’re so fucking good for me.”

You moaned around him, the vibration pulling another strangled sound from his lips. He was twitching now, his cock pulsing against your tongue, and you knew he was close. You focused on his tip, swirling your tongue around it before taking him as deep as you could once more.

“C-coming,” he choked out, his voice rough and breathless.

You didn’t falter. Instead, you tightened your grip at his base, hollowing your cheeks and pressing your lips flush against him as he reached his peak. His hips bucked, and with one final thrust, he spilled into your mouth. The taste of him—salty, raw, and uniquely Logan—flooded your senses, and you swallowed every drop, savouring the moment.

With a soft pop, you pulled back, licking your lips and opening your mouth to show him you’d taken everything he had to give. The satisfaction in his gaze made your chest swell with pride.

“You are fucking perfect,” he muttered, his voice low and hoarse. Before you could respond, he pulled you into a searing kiss, his mouth crashing against yours with unrestrained hunger. He didn’t seem to care that he could still taste himself on your lips—if anything, it seemed to drive him wild.

“You’re not done with me yet,” he murmured against your mouth, his smirk returning as he pulled you closer. “Not even close.” 

Once again, Logan shifted your bodies effortlessly, rolling you beneath him until you lay sprawled out, vulnerable and waiting. The weight of his gaze made your breath hitch—hungry, predatory, as though he were revelling in every inch of you before even touching you. For the first time that night, nerves began to creep in, a shiver of uncertainty. You were exposed, clad in nothing but your underwear, your body bared for him in the dim light. But then he looked at you, really looked at you, and the intensity in his eyes made your doubts dissolve like smoke.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent, each word laced with longing.

He leaned in, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck. His teeth found the sensitive spots just below your ear, nibbling gently, drawing a gasp from you as your back arched instinctively toward him. You were already so ready, the ache between your thighs unbearable. Tilting your hips, you sought to close the gap, to meet him where you needed him most.

But his hand came down firmly on your hip, pinning you back against the mattress with a knowing smirk. “Impatient, are we?” he teased, his voice dripping with amusement. “Looks like I’ll have to teach you some patience. After all…” He leaned closer, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke, “…I am a professor.”

The kiss that followed was searing, his tongue slipping past your lips to tangle with yours. His weight pressed down on you, holding you in place, his length achingly close but just out of reach. You whimpered against his mouth, your body trembling with anticipation, your hands clawing at his shoulders in frustration. When he pulled back to look at you, his smile turned smug. He could see it all—the half-closed eyes, the way your lips chased his, your complete surrender beneath him.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his tone almost a purr. “So ready. And I’ve barely even touched you.”

His lips found your neck again, trailing hot, deliberate kisses down to your collarbone. Then lower. He lingered at your chest, his hands deftly unclasping your bra. The cool air brushed against your hardened nipples for only a moment before his mouth claimed one, his tongue swirling as he sucked, his teeth grazing lightly. The sensation shot through you like lightning, and a low whine escaped your throat.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin as his hand found your other breast, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers. “So sensitive,” he said softly, his voice full of pride at the way your body responded to him. Switching sides, he made sure to give each peak the same attention, his lips and tongue worshipping you as though nothing else in the world mattered.

His kisses continued their descent, leaving a trail of heat down your stomach. Wet, open-mouthed kisses mixed with playful bites that made you hiss—not in pain, but in sweet, agonising frustration. He paused at your hip, nipping the delicate skin there, and your hand flew to his shoulder, clutching him tightly.

“You’re torturing me,” you whined, your voice a breathless plea.

His response was a soft, almost tender kiss against your lips, a stark contrast to the smirk that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Am I?” he murmured, his fingers slipping lower, brushing against the damp fabric covering your core.

“Oh, God,” you gasped, your head falling back against the pillows as his touch sent a jolt of pleasure through you.

With one smooth motion, he hooked his fingers under the waistband of your underwear and slid it down your legs, leaving you completely bare beneath him. He sat back for a moment, his gaze raking over you with unrestrained hunger.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, almost to himself. “So perfect. So fucking ready.” His lips quirked into a teasing smile. “Does getting me off make you this wet, princess?”

“You’re cruel,” you shot back with a breathless chuckle, only to gasp as he slid one thick finger into you with ease.

“Cruel?” he echoed, his smirk widening. “Oh, sweetheart, we’re just getting started.”

He leaned down, trailing kisses down your stomach and lower, pausing just above where you ached for him most. His tongue darted out, teasing you with the lightest touch, and you bucked against him instinctively. His free hand pressed firmly against your stomach, holding you in place.

“Patience,” he reminded you, his breath hot against your sensitive skin.

When his mouth finally descended, the first touch of his tongue against your clit sent a cry spilling from your lips. He groaned in response, the sound deep and guttural as he tasted you. “So sweet,” he murmured against you, his lips brushing the sensitive nub. “So fucking good. Only for me.”

“Only for you,” you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

He growled low in his throat, the deep vibration coursing through you like a shockwave. His tongue moved with practised precision, alternating between soft, teasing flicks that left you gasping and firm, deliberate strokes that made your toes curl. Every movement was calculated to drive you higher, to wring every ounce of pleasure from you.

Then, his lips latched onto your clit again, sucking gently before his teeth grazed the sensitive nub, sending a sharp, delicious jolt through your core. The cry of his name that tore from your lips was almost instinctual. “That’s it, princess,” he murmured against your skin, his voice gravelly, warm, and thick with lust. “Let me hear you.”

You couldn’t do anything but obey. His tongue began to work you relentlessly, each lap and swirl pulling moans and gasps from deep within you. “Logan, oh god, yes!” Your words spilled out in breathless chants, and you writhed beneath him, your body responding to every masterful flick of his tongue. Of course, he was skilled—far beyond anything you’d ever experienced. He wasn’t some fumbling boy trying to impress you. He was a man—a raw, primal force—and tonight, he was yours.

When a third finger stretched you, your back arched off the bed as you screamed his name. His answering smirk was devastating. That damn smirk. It would be your undoing. You could feel him—his arousal, hot and heavy against your thigh, already primed for more. Yet he wasn’t rushing, wasn’t hurrying to take you. He devoured you like a man starved, his fingers filling you perfectly, his free hand pinning you down as you squirmed beneath his touch.

“Be a good girl for me,” he rasped, his tone a dangerous mix of command and tease, “and tell me when you’re about to come.”

The ache inside you built to a breaking point, sharp and all-consuming. The pressure coiled tighter and tighter until it was unbearable, and you whimpered, your voice trembling as you confessed how close you were.

And then he stopped.

The absence of his touch was like being plunged into ice water. You opened your eyes, glaring at him with a mix of disbelief and fury.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you hissed, your voice trembling with frustration.

Logan leaned back on his heels, his broad shoulders shaking with a low, wicked laugh. His smirk deepened as he looked at you, flushed and furious. “You’re adorable when you’re angry,” he teased, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the tip of your nose.

“I’m not adorable,” you huffed, your cheeks burning, both from arousal and his taunting.

“You’re even more adorable when you’re flustered,” he chuckled, brushing his thumb along your cheek.

Before you could retort, he kissed you hard, swallowing any protest. Without warning, his hand returned, and he thrust three fingers deep inside you, curling them expertly. He found that perfect, spongy spot with devastating accuracy, and when he pressed against it, you screamed his name so loudly you were certain the neighbours would know exactly what he was doing to you.

“That’s my girl,” he growled, his voice rough and brimming with satisfaction. “Let go for me.”

One more precise swirl of his fingers, and you shattered. The climax hit you like a lightning strike, blinding and all-consuming. Your body convulsed around him, your hands gripping the sheets desperately as wave after wave of pleasure wracked your body. It was different—deeper, more intense than anything you’d ever felt before.

But Logan didn’t stop.

“Logan, stop, I can’t,” you gasped, your voice shaking as your body trembled from the aftershocks. “I…I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he coaxed, his voice soft but insistent. “Come on, give it to me, baby.”

The new pet name broke something in you. Before you could process it, another orgasm tore through you, more overwhelming than the first. Your legs clamped shut around his hand as your body convulsed, your arms falling limp at your sides, too spent to even move.

When the waves finally subsided, you lay there, panting and trembling. “That was… God… That was the best fucking orgasm of my life,” you muttered breathlessly.

Logan grinned smugly, clearly pleased with himself.

“Don’t look so smug!” you protested weakly, swatting at his chest, though the laughter in your voice betrayed you.

He lifted his hand, still glistening with your release, and raised an eyebrow. “No one’s ever made you squirt before, right?”

Your eyes widened, embarrassment washing over you as you shook your head.

“Idiots,” he muttered, leaning down to kiss you softly, his lips gentle and warm against yours. “Seeing you like that…that’s the best damn thing I’ve ever seen.”

His words melted your embarrassment, and you smiled up at him, your hand drifting down to wrap around the hard length pressed against your thigh. His breath hitched at your touch, his control visibly fraying.

“You sure, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice softening, the tenderness in his tone stark against the raw hunger in his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt ya.”

His care, his patience, his sheer presence—it all left you breathless. How had you gotten so lucky?

“I want you inside me,” you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation. “I want to feel you—and your release—in me for the next week.”

The sharp inhale of breath and the way his eyes darkened at your words sent a thrill through you. “I’m on the IUD, and I’m clean,” you added, and his nod confirmed the same.

Logan leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he growled softly, “Then let’s make you feel exactly how much I want you.”

Logan sat back on his heels, the muscles in his chest and arms flexing as he pulled off the shirt he still wore. The faint scars scattered across his skin caught the dim light, a testament to his raw strength and resilience. His feral intensity was softened, for a moment, by the way his hands trailed down your legs, spreading them open with deliberate care. His touch sent a shiver through you, not from cold, but from the overwhelming anticipation that coursed through your body.

Gripping his cock, he positioned himself at your entrance, his gaze flicking up to meet yours. “I’m not small,” he said with a low chuckle, his voice gruff but tinged with tenderness. He knew his size could be overwhelming; with his usual flings, he wouldn’t have hesitated, but this wasn’t just a night of mindless release. This was different. You were different. He cared about you, and that thought made him slow down, made him want to savour every moment.

The swollen tip of his cock slid easily through your slick folds, and you inhaled sharply at the slight sting of the stretch. He was bigger than anyone before, and for a fleeting moment, the discomfort was sharp—but it faded just as quickly, replaced by a moan of pleasure as he pushed deeper. Slowly, inch by inch, he worked his way inside, letting you adjust to him.

“Fuck,” he hissed through clenched teeth when he bottomed out, his forehead dropping to yours. He was buried so deeply you swore you could feel him everywhere, filling you in ways you hadn’t thought possible. “So tight,” he muttered, a small, breathless chuckle escaping him. “Damn near came already.”

He kissed you then, slow and deliberate, his lips trailing down your neck as his hand came up to cup your breast. His thumb flicked over your nipple, drawing a gasp from you as his hips began to move. The first few thrusts were slow, measured, giving you time to adjust.

You looked up at him, and the sight stole what little breath you had left. Logan Howlett was beautiful in his raw masculinity—the glistening sweat on his chest, the way his muscles rippled with each movement, his eyes dark with lust and something deeper. His hands left your breasts, moving to grip your thighs, lifting them to rest on his shoulders as he pressed even deeper inside you. The angle made you gasp, your hands gripping his forearms for stability.

“Faster,” you moaned, your voice trembling with need as you leaned up to whisper in his ear. ”Please”.

He growled softly, his lips brushing against your temple as he pulled back to look at you. “So fucking polite,” he teased, a smirk tugging at his lips before his pace shifted.

The next thrust slammed into you, and a cry tore from your throat, your body arching off the bed as he began to pound into you with an intensity that bordered on feral. He moved with precision, each snap of his hips purposeful as though he was searching for something—and then he found it.

Your gasp turned into a strangled moan, your lips forming a perfect O as he hit a spot deep inside you that sent white-hot pleasure ripping through your body. His smirk widened at your reaction, and his hand moved down to your clit, circling it with rough but deliberate pressure that made your voice rise in a chorus of his name, breathless pleas, and mindless cries of “yes.”

“Come on, princess,” he commanded, his voice low and growling. “Come on my dick.”

You shattered at his words, the orgasm ripping through you so hard your body trembled uncontrollably. You cried out his name, gripping the sheets tightly as your walls clenched around him. But he didn’t stop. His hips kept driving into you, harder and faster, his hands gripping your thighs so tightly you knew you’d wear the marks tomorrow.

“Logan, stop, I can’t—” you whimpered, though your body betrayed you, climbing toward another peak.

“Yes, you can,” he growled, his voice rough and commanding. “Give me one more, my sweet girl. One more.”

When he murmured your name, it was over. Your second orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, so intense your legs clamped around him and your arms fell limp at your sides. The sensation of his cock twitching inside you, the warm flood of his release spilling into you, heightened the euphoria.

When he stilled, his chest heaving, he leaned down to kiss you. It was soft, tender, so full of care that it almost brought tears to your eyes. As you blinked them away, his thumb brushed over your cheek, catching the tears before they could fall. He pressed gentle kisses to the corners of your eyes before pulling out of you with a shared hiss.

For a moment, you thought he might collapse beside you, like so many others before him had, but instead, he murmured, “I’ll be back in a sec. Don’t move.”

Too spent to argue, you closed your eyes, letting the haze of exhaustion wash over you. When you felt the warm, damp cloth against your sensitive core, you flinched slightly, startled.

“Relax, baby,” he murmured, his voice full of affection as he cleaned you up with a care that left you speechless. He’d even taken the time to warm the water. Could this man be any more perfect?

“I brought you some water,” he added, holding out a glass as he sat beside you on the bed.

You took it gratefully, managing a soft chuckle. “I don’t think I can move,” you said, half-joking but entirely truthful.

For a brief, vulnerable moment, fear crept into your chest. This was the part you dreaded—the moment where he’d send you on your way, reducing everything you shared to a meaningless one-night stand. You braced yourself for it, but it never came.

Instead, Logan stretched out beside you, his large hand resting on your thigh as he looked at you with those impossibly soft eyes.

“Then stay,” he said simply, his voice rough but sincere. “The bed’s big enough. And not to brag, but I make a damn good omelette.”

The smile he gave you melted every bit of fear in your chest, filling it instead with a quiet joy that made your heart ache in the best way.

You finished your water and curled up against him, your head resting on his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm against your ear.

“I think I like that,” you murmured, your voice drowsy but content.

And in that moment, you knew you were exactly where you were meant to be.