#but if it turns out that they were just doodles people did because they were bored I don't even care because its just so human <33< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[fangdokja]

The sweetest kisses are often the most dangerous.

❤︎ Synopsis. Your best friend has always been your safe haven—until his touch lingers too long, his words drip with unspoken threats, and you realize too late that safety was never part of his plan.

♡ Book. World Ablaze (WA): For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Light Yagami x Reader

♡ Novella. In the Name of Love - Part 2

♡ Word Count. 7,794

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, general non-con, possessiveness, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, abandonment issues, angst + tragedy, gaslighting

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr content guidelines involving minors, some plot details of the original story were changed to fit the platform. If you want the true original story, please look at the author's official website or Ao3.

♡ A/N. This is a request, but I have not yet fulfilled the full request (hence the lack of proof of request). This turned out better than I thought it would. No explicit stuff yet, but the subtly of it? Yeahh.

Once you finally became of age, it brought with it a new set of challenges—and some old, familiar dynamics. Light Yagami, your self-proclaimed best friend and eternal tormentor, had somehow grown into the golden child of your school. Teachers adored him, parents praised him, and students—especially the girls—flocked to him like moths to a flame.

You, on the other hand, remained firmly in your lane. A slacker by nature and a ‘loser’ by reputation, you floated through school just barely scraping by. Your grades hovered just above the failing mark, your desk was perpetually cluttered, and your teachers sighed in resignation every time you turned in a half-finished worksheet.

“How are you two even friends?” became a question whispered in every corner of the school.

———

Light, of course, handled his popularity with the effortless charm he’d always had. Girls left love notes in his locker, baked him cookies, and blushed when he smiled their way. He’d already received more confessions than most people would in a lifetime.

“Another one?” you’d ask flatly whenever he showed you a new letter, scrawled in pink ink and dotted with hearts.

“They’re very persistent,” he’d say with a smirk, tucking the letter away. “You jealous?”

“Not even remotely,” you replied, your attention already back on the handheld game console in your lap. “Have fun with your fan club, Your Highness.”

———

For a while, Light balanced his new relationships with his time spent with you. He’d date the occasional girl, give her his full attention for a while, then inevitably move on when the novelty wore off.

“Why do you even bother?” you asked once, sprawled on the grass during one of your cloud-watching sessions.

“Because it’s good practice,” he replied matter-of-factly, hands tucked behind his head as he stared at the sky.

“Practice?”

“For social dynamics,” he explained. “Understanding how people think, what they want, and how to navigate their expectations. It’s useful.”

“You sound like a robot,” you said, unimpressed.

Light smirked. “You’re just mad I’m right.”

———

When the girls dragged him away, as they often did, you were left to your own devices. You didn’t mind—at least, that’s what you told yourself. It wasn’t like you’d ever been the center of attention, anyway. Loneliness wasn’t new to you; it was just an old companion that came and went as it pleased.

You filled the time with your usual distractions: gaming, reading, cloud watching, and sketching mindless doodles in the margins of your notebooks. Sometimes, you’d overhear whispers about Light and his admirers, but you tuned them out.

“Why don’t you go after him?” someone asked you once, their tone half-curious, half-mocking.

You didn’t even look up. “Because I’m not an idiot.”

———

Despite the distance his popularity sometimes created, Light always found his way back to you. When the crowds cleared and the noise died down, it was the two of you again—two opposites bound by years of shared history.

One evening, as you both sat in your room playing video games, he glanced over at you and said, “You’re not mad about the other girls, right?”

“Why would I be mad?” you replied, not taking your eyes off the screen. “You’re Light Yagami, the golden child. Go do your thing. I’m good.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. Then, with a small smirk, he said, “You’re impossible, you know that?”

You grinned. “Takes one to know one.”

No matter how far his orbit expanded, Light always seemed to come back to you. And though you’d never say it out loud, you were glad he did.

────────────

From Light Yagami’s perspective, life was predictable—and predictably successful. He was the golden child, the perfect student, the center of admiration. People hung on his every word, sought his approval, and envied his effortless excellence. For the most part, it was satisfying. Life unfolded as it should, meticulously planned and executed.

But then there was you.

His so-called best friend, the antithesis of everything he represented. Lazy, unmotivated, and perpetually on the fringes of mediocrity. Despite your differences, you were always there—silent, sarcastic, yet strangely dependable in a way he couldn’t quite define. It wasn’t something he thought about too often. You were just…you.

Until the day he noticed you staring.

———

It was during lunch, an ordinary afternoon where Light was half-listening to the chatter of his friends while methodically organizing his notes for the next class. His focus should’ve been on the conversation, but his gaze flickered to you, seated a few tables away as usual.

You were always in the corner, avoiding attention, engrossed in some book or game. But today, your attention wasn’t on the usual distractions. It was on him.

Not Light. Not one of his admirers. No, your focus was fixed on a scrawny, nervous wreck of a kid seated a few tables over.

The boy was all sharp angles and awkward movements, perpetually hunched over as though trying to shrink into himself. Light recognized him vaguely—a shy, nerdy kid who tripped over his own words whenever called upon. Nothing remarkable.

Yet, you watched him.

Not with mockery or disdain, but with something quieter, more intent. You weren’t laughing, whispering, or rolling your eyes like most people would. You just…observed.

It unsettled Light in a way he couldn’t immediately place.

———

Later, as he packed his bag and prepared for the next class, Light’s thoughts returned to that scene. He prided himself on his ability to read people, to predict their behavior and motivations. And yet, he had no explanation for your interest in that boy.

He brushed it off initially. What did it matter? You were free to stare at whoever you wanted.

But the image lingered, uninvited, in his mind: the distant look in your eyes, the way your usually indifferent demeanor softened just slightly.

He frowned, closing his notebook with a bit more force than necessary.

———

The following week, he started paying more attention. It was subtle—Light was nothing if not discreet—but he kept you in his peripheral vision whenever he could.

And there it was again.

That same quiet, almost contemplative look as you glanced at the boy in question.

Light found himself growing irritated, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. It wasn’t like he cared who you watched. You had your own life, and he had his.

So why did it bother him?

———

He thought back to the countless times he’d teased you about being jealous of his popularity, the playful smirk on his face as he’d waved off another confession or accepted a gift from yet another admirer. You never cared. Not once.

It had been mildly disappointing, in retrospect. He’d thought it might get a rise out of you, but you never so much as flinched.

Yet here you were, paying attention to some no-name boy like he was the most fascinating thing in the world.

Light’s fingers tightened around the strap of his bag. It didn’t make sense.

Not yet, at least. But Light Yagami didn’t like questions without answers.

He decided then and there that he’d find out what had caught your attention—and why it left him feeling so uncharacteristically unsettled.

────────────

Light never let himself get too attached to anything, at least not to the point where it would affect his plans. He had control over his emotions—he had to. And yet, as he watched you sit with Ethan, that crack in his composed facade began to form, slowly but surely.

It was subtle at first. The boy, Ethan, always seemed to be at the edges of Light's awareness, always there when Light was distracted by his admirers or lost in his own thoughts. But this was different.

You didn’t just sit with him. You spent time with him. You helped him with his homework. You joked around with him in the way you never did with anyone else. You went out of your way to keep him company at lunch, when no one else would. You, who had always kept your distance, kept your circle small—yet now you were investing time in him of all people.

And Light hated it.

There was no reason for it. It didn’t make sense. Ethan wasn’t even someone worth considering. He was shy, weak, and socially awkward. Everything about him screamed mediocrity, the kind of person who would never stand out, never make anything of themselves. So why? Why were you helping him? Why were you treating him like he mattered?

Light had always been the one to push you, to help you improve, to get you to rise above your own mediocrity. He'd worked tirelessly to shape you, to make you better. And now, here you were, giving that same attention—your valuable attention—to someone who didn’t even deserve it.

But then, as he continued to observe you two from the sidelines, the truth started to unfold, albeit in a way that made him recoil. He couldn’t stop it from clicking into place. You didn’t see Ethan for what he was now. You saw him for what you used to be.

He reminded you of yourself.

The realization hit Light like a wave. You hadn’t always been the person you were today—motivated, sharp, and at least somewhat capable. No, you’d been the same kind of outcast Ethan was now. Alone. Invisible.

And you saw a part of yourself in him, that small, quiet echo of who you used to be.

You wanted to help him. You had to help him.

Light would have expected a feeling of satisfaction, even a touch of flattery. After all, you cherished your experiences with Light enough to want to help someone like Ethan, someone who reminded you of the person Light had pulled you from. But it didn’t feel like that. It didn’t feel warm or appreciative. It felt... cold. It felt harsh and bitter, like the sting of jealousy he’d never fully acknowledged before.

Why? Why was it this way? Why didn’t he feel proud that you were helping someone who could never repay you?

He hated it. He hated how it made him feel, how his thoughts twisted and spiraled into something darker.

———

Light tried to keep himself composed, but it was becoming more difficult. As the days passed, and he saw more of you with Ethan, that unease continued to eat at him. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but it was growing harder to ignore.

If he confronted you about it, it would mean acknowledging something he wasn’t ready to face. Something he couldn’t process. He wanted to think it was just about Ethan. But deep down, Light knew it wasn’t. He knew it wasn’t about the boy at all. It was about you—and the way you were slipping further away from him.

He was jealous.

It was ridiculous. He of all people, jealous of someone like Ethan?

But he couldn’t ignore it. It hurt.

So, he buried it. He buried it like everything else—like the ambition he’d always kept under wraps, like grand plans where he couldn’t afford to falter. He buried it deep down, pretending it didn’t bother him, pretending that you could still be his, that your attention was his, even as you drifted to someone else.

There were moments when he almost confronted you, asked you why you were so hell-bent on helping someone so insignificant, but he held back. Instead, he bit his tongue, letting the resentment simmer inside, like a serpent coiling around his thoughts.

It was a feeling he couldn’t quite place, but one he couldn’t escape. And for once in his life, he hated not having control over it.

────────────

It had been a month, a whole month, of Light trying his best to suppress the gnawing frustration and resentment. On the surface, life carried on as usual—he kept up his studies, dated other people, spent time with you, pretended everything was fine. It was routine. Everything was routine. But underneath, something had shifted. Something that made everything feel hollow.

He’d watched Ethan grow in confidence, all because of you. He couldn’t deny it. Ethan had improved significantly—he spoke up more, stood taller, even started getting more attention from others. And Light hated it. Hated how he had been replaced, how your attention, once reserved for him, was now shared with Ethan.

You didn’t even notice, though. You were too absorbed in your "little project," as you called it. You genuinely wanted to help Ethan, and it was clear to everyone, Light included, that you had. You were kind to him in a way you had never been with anyone else, and though it made Light’s stomach churn, he couldn’t argue with the results. Ethan had gone from an anxious, nervous wreck to someone who could hold a conversation, someone who felt like he had a place in the world.

But all of that—the improvement, the attention, the support—it was nothing compared to the point of no return.

The moment it all cracked open for Light was when he saw Ethan, of all people, trying to kiss you. Trying to confess to you. In that moment, every bit of control Light had over his emotions snapped. All of the jealousy, all of the uncertainty, the fear that he might lose you to someone else, came crashing down in a split second.

Ethan had moved closer to you, his hand reaching out toward your face. You were looking at him in that quiet, gentle way you always did when you were being supportive, completely unaware of how things had changed. Light’s heart raced, his chest tight, suffocating with a mix of jealousy and... something deeper. Something he couldn’t ignore anymore.

Without thinking, he moved. He didn’t care how it looked, didn’t care that it would make him seem possessive or irrational. He couldn’t let this go any further. Not now, not when he hadn’t even had the chance to process it himself.

“Hey,” Light’s voice was sharp, cutting through the tension between you and Ethan. His hand shot out to grab Ethan’s wrist before it could get any closer. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

Ethan recoiled slightly, a mix of confusion and disappointment flashing across his face. You looked between the two of them, still unaware of what had just happened.

“Light?” you said, voice confused. “What’s going on?”

Light forced a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He tried to maintain his usual cool demeanor, tried to act like nothing was wrong, but his mind was racing. His heart was pounding in his chest. “Nothing,” he said smoothly, his voice casual. “I just thought it was a little too soon. You don’t have to rush things with him, do you?”

He kept his gaze on Ethan, the mask of indifference slipping in place. It was all too easy to be the confident, charismatic Light Yagami in front of others, but inside, something was boiling. He wasn’t ready to admit it—not to you, not to himself—but it was there. A slow-burning ache. The realization that he might actually care more than he’d allowed himself to believe.

And he hated it. Hated how unstable it made him.

You seemed to brush it off, distracted by the sudden interruption, and shifted your focus back to the situation at hand, oblivious to the internal war happening inside him. Light gave Ethan one final look, sharp and piercing, before letting go of his wrist, silently warning him to back off.

“Let’s get back to work,” Light said, his voice cool and collected, as if nothing had happened. His smile was back, a perfect mask to hide what was really going on. “There’s no need for any of that, alright?”

Ethan nodded, visibly uncomfortable, and after a moment, he stepped away. Light watched him leave, his gaze lingering a little too long, as if to make sure Ethan didn’t try anything else.

When the two of you were alone again, Light tried to act normal. He even teased you lightly about it, making some comment about how you were apparently too irresistible for Ethan. But beneath it all, the feeling stayed with him, thick and suffocating. The truth was there, buried deep inside.

He wasn’t ready to face it. He wasn’t ready to admit it to you. But Light was starting to realize just how much you meant to him. And for the first time, he wasn’t sure how to deal with it.

So, he buried it again. He kept the mask in place. He pretended it was just a moment of concern, just a protective instinct over his best friend. He’d dealt with worse. He’d always dealt with worse.

But as the days went by, the pressure continued to mount. And no matter how hard he tried to push it down, that little crack inside him was only getting wider.

────────────

Light was a master of subtlety, an architect of unseen movements in the intricate game of social dynamics. He didn’t need to manipulate overtly—he understood that power wasn’t in direct control, but in the delicate nudging of events, in guiding people without them ever realizing they were being guided. And so, when it came to you and Ethan, he did what he did best: he bent the circumstances in his favor without ever leaving a trace.

It started with a casual observation. Light knew that Ethan’s new-found confidence, while refreshing, was also a weakness. The more he was validated by his peers and admired by the girls in school, the more distracted he became. He was no longer the shy, introverted kid, but a rising star in a social hierarchy that was just as demanding as it was fickle. And that, in Light’s mind, was his opportunity.

It wasn’t enough to push Ethan directly. That would have been too obvious, too aggressive, and would only serve to make Ethan wary, perhaps even resentful. Instead, Light did what he always did: he stayed in the background, gently adjusting things without ever touching them directly.

———

One afternoon, Light invited Ethan to study at his house, a seemingly innocuous gathering. It wasn’t that Light wanted to help him with his homework—he was smarter than that. No, he invited Ethan because he knew exactly who else would be there.

“You should join us,” Light had said, his tone casual but with a hidden undercurrent of suggestion. “I’ve got some friends coming over. A few people from our class, actually. I’m sure you’ll enjoy their company.”

Ethan, eager for approval, agreed without hesitation. And when he arrived, he was greeted by not just a group of classmates but also a few girls from your year—girls who Light had carefully cultivated an interest in Ethan. They were charming and confident, just the kind of people who would make Ethan feel special, like he was part of a social circle he’d only just begun to enter.

Light watched with quiet satisfaction as the evening unfolded. He knew that Ethan, although still somewhat socially awkward, would be swept up in the flattery, in the attention from the girls. He would find himself caught up in their world, a world that was fast and shallow and entirely separate from the quiet, introspective world you inhabited.

But Light wasn’t finished yet.

———

The next day, when Ethan and you were supposed to meet for a study session, Light intervened once more, subtly inserting himself into the equation. He casually mentioned that Ethan was already busy with other plans.

“I’m sure Ethan has his hands full,” Light had said with that same detached, almost apologetic tone. “He’s got a lot going on with his new... friends, after all. It’s good for him.”

You had simply nodded, the familiar pang of abandonment not even worth acknowledging. Light could see the slight drop in your expression, the way your shoulders slumped imperceptibly. But he didn’t act on it immediately. No, he needed you to feel like you had no other choice, that it was just a natural consequence of the circumstances.

And as the days passed, Light continued to keep Ethan distracted. More invitations, more group activities, more of those seemingly innocent social events. He made sure Ethan was always busy, always surrounded by people who pulled him in different directions. He could feel Ethan growing more distant, his once-deep friendship with you fading into the background as he became more absorbed in his new social circle.

———

On the surface, nothing changed. You two continued to hang out, study, talk. But Light knew. He knew that you were slowly becoming aware of the shift, of Ethan’s increasing distance. And that’s when Light did what he did best—he made sure you still felt like you had him.

One evening, after Ethan had canceled another plan with you, Light casually invited you over to his place, no agenda, no ulterior motive—just two friends spending time together. But Light’s manipulation wasn’t about grand gestures. It was in the small things.

He’d set up a video game session, one of your favorites, and while you played, he would drop little hints, reminders that you were the one he always came back to. He never let the topic of Ethan come up, choosing instead to distract you with conversations about your interests, your hobbies, things you hadn’t realized you’d been missing. Subtly, quietly, Light reminded you of your place in his life. You were the constant, the one who always remained, the one who didn’t leave.

———

When you finally admitted your inner thoughts to Light, he didn’t show much reaction at first. He kept his calm, his cold indifference.

“It’s a bit sad,” you’d said, your tone light, almost detached, as if you didn’t want to admit how much it stung. “But I’m not too sad. I’m used to it.”

Light, the ever-constant figure in your life, simply nodded. “Yeah. I get it.”

But it wasn’t just that. Not for you. You had always been prepared for this moment. Prepared for the day Ethan would outgrow you, for the day he would soar to greater heights. You had always been alone in that way, haven’t you? You knew how to let go.

And that’s when Light’s grip on you tightened, though you didn’t fully realize it. He was the only one who came back to you, the only one who had never truly left. He was the constant in your life, no matter what came and went. He was the one who always returned.

You couldn’t quite explain it, but something about that—the fact that no matter how many people came and went in your life, Light was always there—comforted you. And maybe that’s why, deep down, you never questioned his actions. You never thought to look at the situation from a different perspective, to wonder why Light was so intent on keeping you around, when you were used to being discarded so easily by others.

You saw the change in Ethan, sure. You saw the way his life had shifted, how he had grown. But that didn’t mean you resented him. You never did. You were prepared to let him go if it was what was best for him, just like you had done for everyone else.

But Light? He never let go. Not completely. And you never had to ask why.

────────────

The evening was peaceful, the kind of calm routine you had come to expect when it was just you and Light. The house was quiet save for the faint sounds of clicking buttons as you both battled through another video game session, your focus entirely on the screen. You didn’t need to speak much to him—nothing ever felt awkward when it was just the two of you. It was always comfortable, always predictable, until it wasn’t.

As you took a break to rest your fingers, Light leaned back against the couch, looking at you in a way that made your stomach tighten. His gaze was uncharacteristically serious, and there was something in his eyes that you couldn’t quite read. For a moment, you wondered if he was going to start one of his usual philosophical tangents or give one of his self-imposed lectures on some obscure topic. But when he finally spoke, his voice was steady, and there was no trace of teasing or sarcasm.

“Can I kiss you?” Light asked, his words blunt and direct.

You blinked, not immediately reacting. It was such an out-of-place comment that it took a few seconds for it to register. You raised an eyebrow, your fingers still hovering over the game controller. You were certain he couldn’t be serious—Light was always surrounded by a revolving door of girlfriends and admirers. He was practically a Casanova, after all.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” you asked, still unsure whether he was joking or not. You didn’t want to entertain it, but the sheer randomness of his question caught your attention.

Light didn’t miss a beat. “I broke up with her.”

You shook your head at the nonchalance in his voice, thinking about how many times you had seen him casually switch partners in the past. It was never a surprise. Light was always the one in control, always the one who seemed to be in charge of everyone and everything, and you had learned long ago that his romantic entanglements were always temporary distractions.

“You really are a Casanova, huh?” you muttered under your breath, continuing to focus on the game as your thumb pressed the button to start the next round.

Light smirked, but there was something different in his expression, something that made the usual cockiness feel almost forced. His eyes were still locked onto you, and there was an intensity there that you hadn’t noticed before.

“I’ve been saving my first kiss for you,” he said, the words so calm, so matter-of-fact, that it almost sounded rehearsed.

You paused mid-game, your thumb stilling on the controller. You turned to him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What? Why?”

“It’s simple,” he said, his voice softer now, but still carrying that logical, detached tone. “You’re the one who matters the most. You’ve always been there. Everyone else is just a distraction.”

His words hit you like a strange mix of sincerity and something else you couldn’t quite place. He had always been there for you, the constant in your life, the one person who had stuck by you through everything, despite all the weirdness of life. But as his gaze lingered on you, something felt different. There was a weight in the air, an expectation you hadn’t noticed before.

You didn’t immediately respond, unsure how to take his words. You glanced at him, brow furrowed. “Are you serious? You’re asking me this now?”

Light leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a softer tone, the edges of his usual confidence giving way to something quieter. “I know you don’t get caught up in emotions. You’ve never been the type to care about that kind of thing. But... I’ve been feeling things, and I think you should too.”

There was something almost... resigned in his words, as though he had been carrying a burden for a while. The way he spoke wasn’t forceful, but there was a subtle gravity to it, like he was simply revealing something long kept beneath the surface.

“You know,” he continued, his voice becoming even more subdued, “I’ve always been here for you. But you’ve been spending so much time with Ethan lately. Helping him out, giving him your attention...” He paused, just long enough to let the silence fill the space. “I couldn’t help but wonder why.”

You hadn’t realized how much he had been observing, how much he had noticed. You always thought things were just as they were—Light and you, close as ever. It had never seemed like there was more to it, never something to question. But hearing his words now, there was an unfamiliar sting that gnawed at you.

“You’ve always had me,” Light added, his gaze steady, though there was something new, something deeper in it now. “And I’ve always made sure to be there. I guess I just... I never thought you’d be so busy with other people.”

It wasn’t blame, exactly. It was just the way he said it—like an old truth suddenly reexamined. He never demanded your attention before, never pushed for it. But now, in this moment, it felt as if he was trying to help you see something you might have missed.

“I should’ve said something earlier, but... I guess I was too focused on being there for you.” His words hung in the air, as if he was unburdening himself of something that had long been kept quiet. “Maybe... maybe I didn’t want to admit that I’ve always been waiting for you to notice.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of his quiet confession pressing on you. You had always been so focused on helping Ethan, on seeing his progress, that you hadn’t realized how much Light had been in the background, how much he had been giving without asking for anything in return. His presence had always felt constant, like a backdrop to your life, never demanding, always patient.

He shifted closer, his voice lowering even further. “So... can I kiss you? I’ve been waiting for this.”

———

As Light’s words lingered in the air, you felt a strange pull in your chest, a mix of confusion and guilt that twisted deeper with each passing second. His gaze was steady, unwavering, as if he had already anticipated your hesitation. You had always trusted him, relied on him, and the thought of disappointing him—of not recognizing what he had done for you—felt like an unbearable weight.

But still, you couldn’t shake the uncertainty that gnawed at you. Something didn’t sit right, not entirely. But when Light spoke again, his tone soft yet somehow firm, you couldn’t ignore it.

“You’ve always had me,” he repeated, his voice more intimate now, like a whispered confession. “I’ve always been here for you. And maybe that’s why... it’s so hard for me to see you with someone else, giving all your attention to Ethan, when I’ve given you everything. When I’ve always been here, waiting for you.”

There it was—the subtle shift in his words, the quiet insinuation. The way he made it seem like you owed him something, like you hadn’t truly appreciated everything he had done. And it worked. The guilt bubbled up inside you, slowly at first, but it soon filled every inch of your chest, clouding your thoughts.

His eyes softened, his voice quieter now. “I don’t want to make you feel bad... but I can’t help how I feel. And I’ve always been there for you, through everything.”

The logic, the gentle push—it was all so subtle, so carefully calculated that you barely even realized how much it was affecting you. You didn’t want to hurt him, didn’t want to make him feel neglected or unimportant. And the truth was, you hadn’t thought about him the way you should have, not in this sense.

The thought of him hurting, of him feeling left behind, sent a pang of guilt through you. Wasn’t he always there for you? Wasn’t he your best friend? And hadn’t he given you so much, asking for nothing in return? How could you not see that he needed something from you too?

You swallowed hard, feeling as if you were cornered, though he had never raised his voice. You met his gaze, and the weight of everything—his words, his feelings, the years of friendship—pressed down on you. Maybe, just maybe, you could give him this, just this once.

“Okay,” you muttered, almost too quietly, nodding in agreement, though you weren’t entirely sure why. “Okay, Light.”

His eyes brightened, as if he had been waiting for you to finally understand, to finally see what he had been trying to show you all along. And before you could think any further, before you could change your mind, he closed the distance between you, his lips pressing against yours with a fervor that surprised you.

The kiss was hard, intense—far more passionate than anything you had ever imagined from Light. His lips parted, and before you could react, his tongue slipped into your mouth, coaxing you deeper into the kiss. His hands, once casual and comforting, were now firm, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

You tried to pull back, to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions that were suddenly flooding your senses, but he was relentless, his grip tightening around you as he deepened the kiss, pouring out all his hidden feelings in the act. There was a rawness to it that unsettled you, a sense of desperation that didn’t feel like the Light you knew.

“Don’t pull away,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours as he kissed you harder, more urgently. “I’ve waited too long for this.”

You struggled, your hands pressing against his chest in an attempt to create space between you. But his hold was unyielding, his mouth determined as he kissed you more forcefully, his body pressing you back into the couch. The more you tried to push him away, the more he responded, tightening his grip, kissing you with an intensity that left you breathless.

It was like he was trying to make you feel every ounce of what he had been holding back all this time—the possessiveness, the longing, the unspoken need. You couldn’t escape the feeling that this wasn’t just about a kiss. It was about something deeper, something he wasn’t willing to admit, and for some reason, you were caught in the middle of it all.

Your heart pounded, your breath quickening as you tried to regain control, but it felt impossible. Every time you thought you might push him away, his presence swallowed you whole, and you found yourself trapped in the moment, uncertain of where it was going or what it meant.

And in the chaos of it all, you couldn’t help but wonder: Had you just given in to something you weren’t ready for?

———

The kiss seemed to stretch on forever, the force of it stealing your breath and leaving you spinning. Light’s lips were desperate, hungry—each movement sending a storm of emotions through you, making it hard to think clearly. His hands were unrelenting, pulling you closer as if he needed you to be closer than ever before, and you couldn’t tell if you were suffocating or if it was just the intensity of the moment.

But just as you thought you might lose yourself entirely, Light finally broke the kiss. His lips lingered near yours, a soft breath escaping him as he pulled away slightly. His eyes were wide, almost unsteady, and there was a flush on his cheeks, a vulnerability you hadn’t expected. He looked at you, a mix of guilt and something softer in his gaze, almost as if he had been holding something back for far too long.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Light’s voice was low, softer than you had ever heard it. The usual confidence was gone, replaced by something raw and apologetic. He reached up, his fingers brushing lightly over your cheek as if trying to make sure you were still there. “I just... I’ve wanted this for so long. Wanted you to know how I feel. But I didn’t want to push you, didn’t want to scare you off.”

You could barely breathe, the rush of emotions still flooding your chest. But his words, the way he spoke—so calm, so seemingly vulnerable—made it harder to argue with. He was always in control, always the one who seemed so certain about everything. But now, he seemed... different. More human. More real.

“I know you care about Ethan,” Light continued, his voice growing quieter, almost like he was confessing a long-hidden secret. “But you’ve always been my person. And I can’t just keep pretending that it’s okay to watch you give all your attention to someone else. I can’t do that anymore.” His gaze softened, and he let out a slow, shaky breath. “I’ve always been here for you, through everything, and I’ll always be here for you. But you need to know that I need you too.”

Your chest tightened, a mixture of guilt and confusion flooding you. You had always relied on Light, always seen him as the constant in your life—the one person who never faltered. But now, with him standing so close, his eyes filled with emotion, it felt like he was asking for something that you didn’t know how to give.

“It’s just hard, you know?” he went on, his voice softer, almost as if he were talking to himself. “I never wanted to make you feel pressured, never wanted you to think I needed something from you. But I’ve been waiting for you to see it... to see me. The way I see you.”

His words stung, a sharp reminder that maybe you had been blind to his feelings, had never really considered how deeply Light had been there for you. His presence, his care—it had always been so constant that you never thought of it as anything other than friendship. But now, hearing him speak so openly, it felt like you had missed something, like you had failed to notice the depth of his emotions.

“I’m sorry,” he added, his hand moving to cup your face gently. “I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. I just wanted you to know how much you mean to me. How much I’ve been there for you. You’re my everything, you know that?”

You couldn’t help but soften, despite the overwhelming swirl of emotions inside you. He was right about one thing—he had always been there for you, through every up and down. He had given you so much without asking for anything in return. Couldn’t you just give him this? Couldn’t you show him the same loyalty, the same devotion he had shown you?

“I know I’ve been selfish,” Light continued, his voice thick with emotion now. “I didn’t want to admit it, but I’ve always needed you, and I can’t pretend that I don’t anymore.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. His words were so soft, so raw—something about the vulnerability in his tone made it hard to keep your walls up. He was your best friend. He had always been there, a steady force in your life. How could you not want to give him this?

“I’m not asking for anything big,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just want you to see me. To know how much I care. To know that... I’ve always cared.”

Your heart clenched as the weight of his words settled over you, and despite the uncertainty swirling in your mind, you nodded slowly. You could never refuse him. Not Light. Not when he had always been your constant, the one person who had never wavered in his loyalty.

“I... I do care about you, Light,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

He smiled softly, almost sadly, as if he had expected something like that, as if he had known you would give in.

“I just needed you to understand,” he whispered, leaning in again, this time his touch gentler, more tender, as he kissed you once more.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself be swept away by the warmth of his lips, the tenderness of his touch. Even as doubt whispered in the back of your mind, telling you that something wasn’t quite right, you buried it deep. After all, Light was your best friend. The one person who had always been there for you. You couldn’t turn away from him now, not after everything he had done.

And so, despite the confusion, despite the overwhelming swirl of emotions, you let yourself fall into the kiss, letting the weight of his presence consume you. Because in the end, he was the one constant in your life. And to you, that meant everything.

────────────

As Light’s lips moved against yours, his touch became softer, more controlled, though the intensity beneath the surface didn’t waver. When he finally pulled away, he didn’t let go. Instead, he wrapped his arms tightly around you, drawing you into an embrace so firm it felt like he was trying to fuse your body with his. His chin rested against your shoulder, his face buried in the curve of your neck, inhaling deeply, almost reverently.

The scent of you—natural and subtle, like soft florals—flooded his senses, grounding him in a way he hadn’t anticipated. His grip tightened for just a moment, and though you couldn’t see his face, there was an unguarded smile stretching far too wide, twisted in its elation. Ah. Finally. This feels so good. So perfect.

He allowed himself one long, slow breath, savoring every second of having you in his arms. His face remained hidden, safely tucked away where you couldn’t see the mask slip, where you couldn’t catch the flicker of something far darker than the tenderness he pretended to offer. His voice, when it came, was warm and light, the perfect mimicry of someone lovestruck. “I’ve waited so long for this,” he murmured, pressing his lips lightly against your temple. “You have no idea how much you mean to me.”

But inside, his thoughts were far from gentle.

Calm down, Light. Don’t ruin this. Not yet. She’s not ready. He had to physically restrain himself, fingers digging into your back to keep his hands steady. The urge to take, to claim, to make you entirely his surged like wildfire, burning away the edges of his composure. Not yet. You’ll ruin everything if you move too fast.

Your naivety was what made you so precious. You were brilliant in your own way—smarter than him in certain areas, even—but socially? Oh, you were practically a child, stumbling blindly through interactions while he played the perfect friend, the perfect protector. And you trusted him so implicitly. That’s your greatest weakness. You trust me.

His mind was a whirl of strategies and calculations, and all of them led to the same conclusion: you were his, and you always had been. It was simply a matter of time before you realized it too. If he had to break you, mold you, and piece you back together to make you understand, then so be it. He would do it slowly, carefully, ensuring you never saw the cracks in his façade.

You think you’re safe with me. The thought was almost laughable, sending a ripple of satisfaction through him as he tightened his embrace. You don’t realize how deep you’ve already fallen into this. How much I’ve shaped your life to keep you close. But that’s okay. You’ll understand soon enough.

He could feel the heat of your skin against his, hear the soft hitch in your breathing, and it made him drunk with control. He’d never felt calmer, never felt more in command of himself. Every step from here on out was carefully planned, meticulously crafted to lead you exactly where he wanted you. There was no need to rush.

I’ll break you, little by little. But you won’t even notice, will you? You’ll think I’m helping you, protecting you. And when there’s nothing left of the girl who thought she could exist without me, you’ll thank me for it.

You stirred slightly in his hold, and for a moment, he almost let his grip slip—almost let his hunger get the better of him. But he reined himself in, forcing his breathing to slow, forcing the wicked grin on his face to soften into something fond. His lips brushed against your neck, leaving a featherlight kiss that made you shiver, though you didn’t pull away.

“I won’t let you go,” he whispered, his voice so soft and tender that it sent a pang of guilt through you for even considering doubting him. “I’ll always take care of you. I promise.”

And he meant it. Oh, he meant it in every twisted sense of the word. You were his to care for, to cherish, to love. And if caring for you meant destroying every piece of independence you had, if cherishing you meant breaking you down until you couldn’t live without him, then that was exactly what he would do.

Because to him, you weren’t just the person he loved. You were his purpose, his possession, his world. And no one—not Ethan, not anyone—would take you from him.

As he pulled back slightly, his hands lingered on your shoulders, holding you at arm’s length as he gazed at you with eyes so warm, so sincere, you felt your heart twist. “Thank you,” he said softly, his lips curling into a gentle smile. “For trusting me. For letting me in.”

You didn’t have the words to respond, too overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, too consumed by the vulnerability you thought you saw in his expression. You nodded, offering him a small, shaky smile of your own.

And Light, ever the patient predator, smiled back.

Good girl.

────────────

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[novascharms]

teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe

reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.

word count — 3.6 chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap. masterlist

six tuesday, january 28th

you sat on your bed, legs crossed over eachother with your laptop on your lap. your philosphy teacher had given out this assignment friday and you'd been mulling it over the entire weekend.

you stared at the question asked.

what defines 'perfection"? is it a universal concept, or is it deeply personal and subjective? discuss how ideals shape our perceptions and actions.

you'd been staring at a blank page for five days now, unable to come up with anything. it was like writer block's mean older sister, academic block. anything you did come up with was stupid: a stupid attempt at dissecting society's perception of perfection which was boring, everyone was going to do that. another attempt would talk about how perfection didn't exist and though that was true, your writing quickly turned into the whole, 'nothing is real, nothing really matters mumbo jumbo.' so, you scrapped that too.

your thoughts were abruptly interrupted when you felt something being thrown against your head. you flinched and looked at rafe who was sitting there, innocently with his bowl of jellybeans.

"do you know how lucky you are that i've allowed you to eat in my room? and here you are, just taking my kindness for granted," you say and he laughs and waves his notebook up.

it's messy, full of scribbles where he scratches out his mistakes instead of using an eraser. the corners are littered with little things he doodles like footballs and small animals. by now, you could read it all perfectly though, could understand what he meant even when he didn't even remember his own thought process or was unable to read through all the scribbles on his page. "i'm done." he sings and you glance at the time, "23 minutes, record time." you praise as he stands to stretch his legs.

"we're approaching it."

"what are we approaching?"

"the moment when student becomes teacher." he says plainly and you roll your eyes with a stupid grin. "yeah, can't wait." you mutter, eyes flicking back to your screen.

"if i eat anymore of these, i might actually go up a weight group and coach will chop my balls off so i'm gonna go give your brother a sugar rush. be right back." he says and it only dawns on you after a couple of minutes of him being gone that you didn't even flinch at him just meshing in with your family, casually going down to your brother and you could just imagine the smile on your brother's face when he saw rafe, partly because of the jellybeans in his bowl but also because of how much he'd grown to enjoy rafe's presence.

you didn't know whether to be scared or happy.

you glanced at his sweater on your desk, all frumpled up right next to yours, neatly folded.

you looked back at your screen and started typing.

the concept of the ideal: a personal reflection

the concept of the ideal is elusive but also compelling, isn't it?

philosophically, ideals are often framed as unattainable benchmarks, guiding us but forever out of reach. plato’s theory of forms suggests that ideals exist in a realm beyond our physical world, serving as pure, perfect templates against which our imperfect reality is measured. yet, in our daily lives, ideals often take on a more tangible form—not abstract but embodied in people, moments, or emotions.

for me, the ideal feels deeply personal. it's not static or universal but shifts with my experiences and perceptions. i've always thought of 'perfection" as something distant, unreachable, and theoretical, yet recently, i've found myself reconsidering this definition. sometimes, the ideal isn't flawless but deeply flawed in ways that make it real and irresistible.

take, for instance, the idea of the ideal person. philosophers like aristotle argue that virtue and reason define the 'ideal human' but our hearts rarely follow reason. we find ourselves captivated by individuals who challenge our ideals and force us to question whether perfection lies in symmetry or in the cracks and contradictions.

my own life is a perfect example. i used to imagine the ideal as someone who fit a checklist—organized, predictable, and safe. yet lately, i've been drawn to the unpredictable, the messy, the human. there's someone i know who doesn't fit my old definition of perfection, but somehow, they embody something more profound. their laugh is loud and uncontainable, their honesty is sharp and unpolished, but it's real, they're restless and noticeably want more from life, there's a chaos to them that should be maddening but instead, feels like freedom.

perhaps the ideal isn't a fixed destination but a reflection of what we value in the moment. it's fluid, shaped by context, emotion, and the stories we tell ourselves. this realization doesn't make the ideal any less compelling or desirable. if anything, it makes it more so, because it feels within reach—even if only for a fleeting second.

in the end, the concept of the ideal may not be about finding something flawless but about recognizing the beauty in imperfection. it's about the moments, people, or ideas that briefly make us pause and wonder if we've just had a glimpse at something divine.

rafe walks into your room, your little brother in his arms. "that's not what i meant when i said you need a study buddy." you tell him as you close your laptop and rafe pauses from blowing raspberries in his stomach. "you're my study buddy," he says to you before holding your brother up real high and making him giggle up a storm. "this little rascal is our mascotte!" and your mouth hurts from smiling so you turn away from them and start tidying up your room.

"you wanna go somewhere with me?" yes. always, every day, any time. literally anywhere.

"depends on where you want to go." you say and go to pick up your brother who is now waddling to your book shelve and is bound to drop a couple of books on his own head.

"my friends are pestering me about this bonfire." rafe explains as he's putting his hoodie back on. "i kinda stood them up when i went to the retirement home with you last week so they're on my case now. it's close to your house but i can drop you off at home afterwards if you want?"

did he want you to meet his friends? you weren't sure you really wanted that. you had friends that you wouldn't trade for a thing in the world but maybe this was him trying to show you that he did want you in his life for longer than the next four months.

his friends were different than you, liked different things, had different priorities and different interest but ultimately, rafe was one of them and you really liked rafe so who says you wouldn't like them?

"how many people are going?" you ask even though you're already thinking about what you're going to wear and which perfume screams, 'i may be a little bit of a nerd and at times too studious but i know how to have fun when in the right mood.'

he takes your brother from your arms and goes to lie on your bed with him. "i'm actually not sure. hopefully not too many cause all this algebra has me pretty beat."

you're hesitating. you don't know anyone but him and he wasn't even sure if this was a bonfire which would turn into a beach party or a bonfire that would stay just that: a cute little bonfire with less than fifteen people which was totally your vibe. beach party with fifty plus people? not so much.

"but i'll be there," he says like he can feel your hesitation from across the room. you fiddle with the blouse in your hand. "and i won't abandon you." it sounds like a promise and you're a sucker for those.

you turn and nod, "okay, yeah, let's go."

"you're not invited." he says to your little brother, a sad little look on his face. you smile and turn back to your closet to pick an outfit.

you do your best at hiding how nervous you are on the car ride there and rafe doesn't seem to really notice which is good. you want him to think you're normal. just a normal girl who maybe doesn't ever go to parties but isn't about to shit her pants at the thought of one right now.

you look down at your outfit. a little unusual for you and your sister did give you a look when you were leaving but when you hid in the bathroom to search "bonfire outfits" on pinterest, this was what everyone was wearing. the pictures had lots of loose clothing, loose pants and big hoodies which you didn't have much of. the most casual thing you owned were these leggings and your dad's old university hoodie. a pair of sneakers that you bought for the gym membership you never used. they were almost brand new and a tote bag with some essentials. it wasn't that bad, right? you felt that maybe it was too sporty because it was missing those damn loose pants but you didn't have those in your closet.

when you arrived and took a look around, you realised, rafe looked perfect—always—but specifically for the occasion. he blended in seamlessly and what did you see? atleast twenty girls in either bikini's or skirts. you were ready to scream into your pillow. they were wearing sandals which you didn't understand because the sand would get all over them? and bikini's? it was january. that's like one of the coldest months of the year.

either way, whatever you thought made sense didn't matter because you were the one who stood out like a sore thumb, walking over with one of the most stared at people in this town.

the bonfire’s glow grew brighter as you and rafe walked down the sandy path, the muffled sounds of laughter and music getting louder with every step. the air was cool, carrying the faint scent of saltwater and burning wood, and the horizon was painted in deep oranges and reds from the flames licking the sky.

as soon as the two of you stepped into the circle of firelight, it was like a switch flipped. people called out rafe’s name from all directions.

“rafe, my man!” one guy shouted, jogging over with a grin that could rival the flames. a group of girls nearby waved enthusiastically, their voices blending in a chorus of greetings.

“hey, you made it!” a tall blonde clapped rafe on the shoulder, already pressing a cold beer into his hand. “and who’s this?” he asked, eyebrows raised as his gaze shifted to you.

“this is—” rafe started, but you jumped in with your name and a polite smile.

“right, right, the tutor!” the guy said, giving a quick nod before motioning toward the group gathered near the fire. “come on, everyone’s over here. there’s drinks and snacks if you want.”

as you approached, more introductions followed.

"guys, look who's graced us with his presence!" the guy who was obviously already drunk said to the group sitting around together.

"rafe!"

"what's up, cameron."

"and you brought a friend.."

the girl who said that didn't seem too pleased but before you could let it simmer in your mind too long, rafe started talking. "i'm gonna do a very quick round of introductions, just try to keep up and remember no one expects you to really remember these names." he says and the guy cuts in, "except my name, i fully expect to be remembered." he grins making the group laugh. you smile when rafe starts, "this pestering moron that has been attached to my hip since elementary school is topper," rafe introduces him first and topper does a little bow.

"then we have, kelce, cleo, adriana, jj, pope, kiara, john b and cora." he points at each person and you recognize most of them from school and almost all the boys seem to be on the soccer team. you knew without a doubt that adriana and cora were cheerleaders because of the pep rallies.

"so, you're the girl who's been keeping rafe so busy." so busy? you saw him twice a week. they got him for five, that sounded like a really sweet deal to you.

"honestly, it's the opposite. she's got better shit to do then tutor me." rafe says before you can and you feel a wave of relief come over you that you aren't totally being put on the spot here.

"right because you're student body president, right?" one of the girls, cleo, you think, says. for some reason, it excites you that she knows you, that these people know anything about you. you never cared before but you wanted rafe's friends to like you or at least, not hate you.

"yes, that's me." you smile and tuck your hands into the pockets of your hoodie when you feel a sudden breeze. "shit, you're number 1, aren't you?" one of the other guys suddenly says and you tilt your head, frowning in confusion. "your class rank." he clarifies and it dawns on you what he means, you nod and hope they don't feel like you're bragging.

"she's also number 1 for grade rank." rafe says it proudly and your heart warms at the thought of him even remembering that. "wait, what's class rank? what's grade rank?" you think his name is kelce but you aren't sure.

"you know that number right in the corner of your report card that says 'rank: 410'? with her it says 'rank: 1" because she performed the best in our grade. you can try to guess what yours means." kiara explained while the others were already laughing at kelce's rank number.

"i've been trying to beat you since sophomore year." the same guy who pointed out that you were number one speaks again.

"pope is number two." jj says before putting a joint between his lips and your eyes go wide, "wait, so," you pause and turn to rafe. "this whole time, pope could have been helping you with algebra!?" you're happy he didn't but still, the idea didn't dawn on them?

"he didn't want to help me!" rafe laughs and looks at pope who's quick to defend himself, "woah, woah! i tried to help him! he's the worst student!"

"false accusations, you just don't explain it the way she does."

"what? she's better than me?" pope laughs astonishedly.

"well, we know she's better than you. you're number two." topper says mockingly as he wraps an arm around rafe's shoulder.

pope's eyes briefly close as if it actually pained him but he's smiling so you know it didn't. "low blow, thornton."

"okay, how about another round!" one of the cheerleaders said and opened the cooler to distribute more beers.

they handed rafe another one almost immediately, while kiara held out a cup toward you.

“drink?” she asked, her smile warm.

“oh, no thanks. i don’t drink,” you said casually, shaking your head.

the reaction was instantaneous. every conversation in your immediate vicinity paused as heads turned toward you. “wait, what?” john b asked incredulously, and cora chimed in, “not at all?”

kiara blinked at you, still holding the cup as if you’d suddenly sprouted a second head. “you don’t drink? like, ever?”

you laughed nervously, feeling the weight of their stares. “yeah, um, i just don’t. it’s a personal choice, but also, i’ve read a lot about what alcohol does to the brain. it slows down neurotransmitters, messes with your decision-making, and—” you paused when you realized they were all still staring at you like you were speaking another language. “anyway, it’s just not my thing.”

an awkward silence settled over the group for half a second too long. then, rafe cleared his throat, stepping in smoothly. “she’s got a point,” he said, holding up his beer. “matter of fact…” without hesitation, he set it down on a nearby log. “guess i’m not drinking tonight either.”

a few eyebrows rose at that, but no one questioned it. instead, someone cracked a joke about who was going to give rafe a hard time for being sober, and just like that, the conversation shifted seamlessly to the music playing in the background. the tension evaporated as the group resumed their chatter, and the attention shifted away from you.

"you don't have to do that." you tell rafe and he's shaking his head, moving to sit on a log near the fire. "it's all good. i'm very worried about my..neuro..things.." he says slowly as if he's trying to guess the world. you giggle, "neurotransmitters." you correct and he nods, "that, and i'm driving you home so i shouldn't drink anyway." he did have a point.

rafe stayed with you for a while but then more and more people showed up and the music only got louder and topper forced rafe up to his feet and they were gone, disappearing in the crowd with big smiles on their faces.

"so, if you don't drink, i'm assuming, you don't smoke either?" kiara was suddenly asking and you smiled small, shaking your head. "then what's your poison?" cora asks and you guess you don't really have one.

"i.. don't think i have one.." you say and see adriana's brows go up. "how bland." she says flatly. you weren't sure when it became uncool to not be addicted to substances but for some reason, your lips wouldn't move to defend yourself. "shut up, adriana. no one asked." cleo tells her and adriana's rolling her eyes and walking away. cora follows her. "she's not usually like that. she's been in a mood for a while." john b suddenly says before he's shrugging and facing the sky again, joint between his lips.

"it’s perfectly normal. pope is the same way. the only thing pope can’t get enough of is…" kiara trails off, gesturing somewhere far behind them.

you follow her gaze, squinting into the distance until you just barely make out pope and jj—practically attached at the lips.

“oh, i didn’t even realize they were—”

“they’re not,” john b interrupts, cutting a glance toward the scene with a faint grimace. “jj’s a freak about commitment.”

kiara smiles sadly, but you can’t help the way your brain immediately starts connecting the dots. “well, that actually makes sense,” you blurt out, drawing their attention. “there’s a 2017 study in personality and social psychology bulletin that suggests people who have commitment issues often have a stronger sensitivity to rejection. it’s not that they don’t want connection—it’s more like they’re wired to perceive potential threats in intimate relationships, so they avoid them altogether.”

cleo, john b and kiara blink at you, a mix of disbelief and faint amusement in their expressions.

"why does that sound like something pope would say?" cleo gasped with a smile.

"i was about to say!" kiara laughs and john b perks up, “god, you and pope really are a match made in nerd heaven,” he says, rolling his eyes.

kiara shoves his arm and tells him to be quiet before turning back to you. “so what’s the science on why you’re always blurting out facts?”

“probably an overactive prefrontal cortex,” you joke, earning a laugh from kiara who shakes her head, "we have no idea what that means!"

you have to admit, the bonfire is fun and apart from adriana, you felt okay about everyone. rafe popped in and out a couple of times but you didn't expect him to stay by your side the entire time either. everyone here seemed to want to talk to him so you stayed with kiara and cleo and even danced a little. it was fun but you were ready to go. it was still a school night. you only gave yourself this much time because you were having fun and you finished your essay.

you had briefly seen rafe with cora and she was standing by the makeshift bar, opening a can of beer. you lightly tap on her shoulder and she whips around, "oh..hey." she says and you ignore her complete disinterest in you. "hi, i'm looking for rafe. i saw him with you a couple of minutes ago but then i lost him again."

"oh..he's.." her voice trails off and she's quiet for a moment, eyes almost examining you. "over there." she points behind some wooden beach bar that was closed. however, you could see people surrounding it so you thanked her and walked over to beach bar, grateful to be standing on some solid land.

you didn't see him immediately and started to wonder if cora hadn't sent you here just to get you out of her sight. you sigh, pulling out your phone as you walk to dial his phone number even though the chances of him hearing his phone were slim.

that’s when you saw him—or them. rafe was leaning casually against the ledge, adriana tucked between his legs like she belonged there. they weren’t kissing, but somehow, it felt worse. their faces were so close, lips barely grazing as they exchanged soft words and easy laughter. the way they smiled at each other made it clear: they were flirting, and neither of them cared who saw it.

you couldn’t stop staring. for a split second, your mind flashed back to all the times rafe had said something to you—his teasing comments, the way his smile lingered just a little too long. you’d wondered if he was flirting with you, or if you were just reading too much into it.

but now you were sure. because the way he was looking at her? it was the same way he’d looked at you.

your stomach twisted, an ache blooming in your chest that you didn’t want to name. you turned quickly, forcing yourself to walk back toward the party, your footsteps heavy and unsteady. that’s when you saw cora, standing there like she’d been waiting for you.

her smile wasn’t kind. it was small and pitying, laced with something sharper. “don’t worry, they’re just friends,” she said, her tone light but somehow cutting.

your lips parted to respond, but she wasn’t done. her next words hit you like a slap. “it’s a different girl every day with him. but hey, maybe next time it’ll be you.”

for some ridiculous, stupid reason, there were tears threatening to spill from your eyes. you blinked them back furiously, refusing to let them fall. you weren’t about to cry over a guy who, a month ago, barely knew your name. no way.

without another word to cora—or anyone—you kept walking. past the party, past the noise, past the place that suddenly felt suffocating. the whole way home, you blinked those tears away, again and again, the lump in your throat tightening with every step.

by the time you reached your door, the ache in your chest had dulled, but it hadn’t disappeared. you let out a shaky breath, swearing silently to yourself that this would be the last time you let rafe cameron get to you.

chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap. taglist — @rafeysworldim19 @my-name-is-baby let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist & interact with post to remain tagged <3

[sysig]

Challenge level: Impossible (Patreon)

[pyomatic]

oh don't mind me.....crying in the corner over early medieval graffiti

[the-odd-shu]

Sky regrets trying to play wingman

A continuation of lab shenanigans.

Masterlist

Next part

Characters: Viktor, Jayce, Reader, Sky

(Pre-Jayce/Viktor/Reader) (POLYCULEEEE!)

Summary: A sketchbook goes missing, Viktor and Jayce feel soft about it and Sky is fighting for her life.

Note; this takes place during season 1, and the reader is gender neutral with they/them pronouns.

Lab Illustrator!Reader has a secret A5 sketchbook they don't use for assignments. It's a small thing, that they keep tucked beneath all of their other paperwork during the day, and take home with them every night.

It is as non-descript as sketchbooks come, with a plain, black cover and pages brimming with hundreds of sketches and stuck in sheets of paper.

But what makes it different from their professional sketchbook, you ask? And why does it need to be a secret?

Well, because it is a notebook solely dedicated to drawings and doodles of their co-workers. And neither of them know that Reader has been drawing them.

There are hundreds of stolen moments stuffed between these pages. Late night coffee breaks, where the pencil lines are thick and dark to accentuate the dimness of the lab against the stark light leaking out of the kitchenette, where backs are turned and coffee mugs steam, whilst eyes fall to half-mast from the sheer weight of the late hour.

There are a dozen or so slower, more carefully done doodles of Jayce sprawled out across the lab couch in various positions. Several cane studies, because Viktor had a habit of leaving it in more and more odd places when he has had a breakthrough, and sheer determination and spite keep him standing unaided before the whiteboard.

There are pages dedicated to Viktor reading. And pages brimming with Jayce's broad shoulders and winning smile.

There is a double page spread of Viktor stood before the chalkboard, cane in one hand, his other tucked under his chin with a piece of chalk tucked between two of his fingers, his lips pursed in thought as he tried to find a solution to the problem before him. The lines of this sketch are soft and gentle, almost dreamlike, as the image was teased out of the page.

The pages directly after it show a heavy handed pen drawing of Jayce bent over his desk, goggles over his eyes, his tongue peeking out from between his lips as he welds pieces of metal together. A single, loose curl of hair having broken free of its slicked back appearance, and is now sprawled cutely down his forehead.

And that's only the beginning.

Neither of them know that Reader draws them. As far as they know, Reader can't even draw people. And Reader wants to keep it that way. Because if EITHER of them found the sketchbook, they just KNOW they would not let them live it down. Jayce would be embarrassed, no doubt asking stupid questions like, 'is my nose really like that from that angle' or 'why didn't you tell me I had soot on my cheek', which, how dare he, you'd spent hours learning how to draw him and picking out imperfections was just an insult to your skills. Whilst Viktor would make fun of your subject choices, and then make it one hundred times harder to sketch him without him getting suspicious and catching on and deliberately moving around MORE to make it seventeen times more difficult.

Out of everyone in the lab, Sky was the only other person remotely artistically inclined. She'd shown an interest in your work one afternoon, and let slip that she liked to draw in her spare time. And although she insisted her work was nothing like your professional illustrations, they were good! And you told her as such.

Unofficially, the pair of you had begun taking your lunches outside in the academy gardens together to chat and draw. She did not look it, but Sky was a mean gossip, and seemed to know everything that was going on in the science department. Such as who in the academy was currently trying to court who, or the latest experiment that blew up (literally) in a freshman's face, or that Councillor Medarda herself dabbled in painting.

The last one certainly caught your attention more than the drama on campus, which of course Sky was more than happy to provide more details for. Apparently, the Councillor's paintings were bold and striking. Depicting scenes from her childhood lands, and figures dressed in traditional Noxian-style garbs.

"Gorgeous, simply gorgeous." Sky said, tone bordering on wistful. "And large too. Councillor Medarda works on such a large scale, that some of her pieces literally command your attention the moment you step into the room. I'm sure you can talk Jayce into getting you a glimpse of some of her works. He and the Councillor have been growing close lately."

You ignored the suggestive hint to her voice, in favour of humming noncommittally and finishing up your lastest sketch of Sky perched on the wall beside you, waving her sandwich around as she talked animatedly. You were so engrossed in your work that you didn't notice she was watching, when you flipped back towards the front of your sketchbook, only for her to choke on her next bite.

“Wait!" She blurted out between sharp coughing. "Is that Viktor!?” And then suddenly your sketchbook was no longer on your lap and the apprentice of the man you were always drawing was flipping through the pages. The pages that HEAVILY featured Viktor's face.

Your cheeks burned, and lunged for the sketchbook out of sheer panic, as Sky began discovering just how MANY sketches of Viktor you've been hoarding and that he's not the ONLY ONE you've been drawing.

"Jayce too I see." She mused, more to herself than you. And then she snorted. "Why are there so many?”

“Because I get bored sometimes, and they're always just there!" You defend yourself guiltily. "It's good anatomy practice.”

Which wasn't technically a lie. The lines never came as easily as they did when you’re sketching your co-workers. So much so, that now, it had almost become instinct to know when your pencil had drawn a line wrong, even before you glanced back to the reference themselves to check. The pair of them were just so effortlessly beautiful in their own ways. It would a a crime for you <i>not</i> to draw them, and focus solely on the things you're SUPPOSED to be illustrating instead.

Sky hummed along, having paused on a page with a rapid, barely recognisable pen sketch of Jayce ducking away with a cackling laugh as a furious Viktor swung his cane at his head. Her fingers idly slid down the sketchy lines, a fondness to her expression.

"Have you shown them these?" Sky asked, "they're really good. All loose and fun. I can practically hear Jayce laughing in this one with how you captured his expression."

“Of course not!" You were quick to deny as your cheeks heated. "Do you know how embarrassing it is to show someone you’ve drawn them? Jayce will pretend to be all impressed but subconsciously begin to pick out all the things I got wrong. Like the shape of his ears. And Viktor will tell me it's 'lovely' without looking up from his textbook."

You shuddered at the very thought, already seeing Viktor's disinterested frown and Jayce's tight grimace in your mind's eye.

Sky frowned, her eyes jumping between your down turned expression and the sketchbook in her hands. “I dunno about that."

“Can I have it back now?” She shook her head and went back to flipping through the pages, the other half of her sandwich forgotten in her lap. “You know, I think Viktor would be flattered if he knew you paid so much attention to him. And Jayce would probably try to steal a couple of these and frame them for his desk.” You scoffed.

Sky's frown deepened. "Why are you having such a hard time believing they might like these?"

“Because in the end it doesn’t matter how they'd react,” you decided sharply, “because they're not going to find out. Are they, Sky?”

“You’ve even drawn Viktor's canes!”

“Sky, focus!” “I am focused- IS THAT A JAYCE HAND STUDY-?!”

"OKAY ENOUGH OF THAT FROM YOU!" You tackled her, and she went down screeching, drawing the attention of several passing students as the pair of you fell cleaningly off of the wall and landed in the flowerbeds below.

Sky did not keep her promise.

After a week or two of waiting to give the impression she'd forgotten about the whole ordeal, she sprung into action.

It was obvious now that she knew just how much Reader paid attention to their co-workers. It seemed like they were constantly sketching the boys throughout the day, a private, fond smile on their stupidly love-struck expression, as their pencil flew across the page, documenting coffee breaks and break throughs, and verbal spats. Now Sky has noticed that they did it, she couldn't stop seeing it, and it is driving her crazy. All three of them are so oblivious, and watching her superiors pine for one another whilst doing nothing to move things forward, was NOT the working environment she'd been hoping for during this internship.

So she took matters into her own hands.

When the hour was late, and the lights were dim, Jayce passed out at his desk for a quick nap, Viktor's attention on his textbooks at the chalkboard, and Reader in the kitchen cracking open a can of energy, Sky sidled over to the latter's desk. Her eyes immediately clocked the little, black sketchbook, easily overlooked amongst the other papers and opened notebooks with half complete drawings scrawled all over the place. It was a testament to how much they trusted each other in the lab, that no one questioned why she was lingering so close to a desk that was not her own.

It almost made it too easy for her to simply pluck the sketchbook out of the pile, add it to her pile of library books already balanced in one hand, all before loudly calling "good night" to the room and leaving.

Sky planned to be the first person in the next morning to plant the sketchbook, but the lab doors were unlocked when she turned up, and all three of her superiors were already in the room, looking in various states of exhaustion. Did they even go home last night?

Not to mention, half of the lab looked like a hoard of dogs had come tearing through. Come to think of it, Reader's desk was especially messy, with papers strewn everywhere and the drawers hanging on just barely- oh fuck! They had already noticed, hadn't they?

"Ah Sky, good morning." Viktor acknowledged her from where he was calmly sorting through a stack of books. Picking one up, and shaking it out before placing it onto a second stack and picking up the next. "Right on time." "Good morning," Sky greeted calmly, "what's going on here?" She motioned to the war zone that was the lab. To Jayce balanced precariously on a chair, checking a high book shelf, and the frantic shuffling sounds of Reader under their desk. They were out of view, but somehow, Sky could just envision the frenzy in their expression from the sound of their searching alone.

"Ah, well, Y/n appears to have misplaced a rather important sketchbook."

There was a yelp as a skull collided with the underside of a desk, before Reader's head popped up over the edge. "Sky! I can't find it!"

"Oh no." Sky replied, trying to ignore the burning weight of the 'it' in question, currently hiding in her backpack. "Where did you see it last?"

"They insisted it was on their desk." Jayce interjected, hopping down from his chair with a shake of his head.

"But I'm assuming it's grown legs," Sky joked, "judging by that picked over, barely standing, mess of a desk."

"This isn't funny Sky."

"No, you're right." She put down her backpack and began to help in the search. After all, not doing so would immediately out her as guilty, and she'd already come this far, why stop now. "Come on, it can't have gone far."

Of course, Viktor discovered it amongst his books and papers a couple of days later.

It was during one of those rare hours in the lab when he was alone. The hour was late, but the curtains were not yet drawn despite the darkening sky.

He frowned when his fingers brushed the unfamiliar notebook, tucked behind a stack of textbooks and scrunched up balls of notes. Pulling it out of its hiding place, his brows furrowed as his eyes tracked the state it was in. How the edges of the hardback covers were creased from numerous journeys in bags, whilst pencils marks and scuffs from countless hours of being opened and used, marred the covers.

At first, he assumed it was one of Jayce’s notebook. The material was expensive enough. Definitely of high quality. The paper itself was thick when he rubbed his finger along a page. But when he opened it, he quickly realised the pages are not lined, and were once blank before they had been filled in with hundreds of drawings.

The first few pages were illustrations of everything under the sun. Still life drawings. Animals. People. Silhouettes. Isolated body parts with detailed annotations encircling them, such as the names of muscles and tiny corrective comments like ‘fingers too long’ or ‘that muscle doesn’t stretch that far’. 

Then he turned a page, and was met with himself. And then Jayce. And then more and more sketches of himself and Jayce. Sometimes together and interacting. Sometimes just existing.

The drawings were skilfully done, as all of Reader's illustrations tended to be. A little rough in the beginning, from rushed pen strokes. But then the artist seemed to understand something. A break through of sorts, and he recognised himself more and more. The sketches held his likeness. From the way he stood, to the slouch of him sitting at his desk, to the way his hand held something as simple as a stick of chalk.

They were always sketches from behind or a side profile. Never head on. And any that did depict him as facing the artist, were drawn when his attention was elsewhere; focused down at a textbook, or fixing something on the table. 

It was flattering really. He looked good in the drawings. Confident, with an authoritative aura. Seemingly engrossed in every task he sat down to complete.

And Jayce, Jayce looks good in his drawings too. His sunny personality shining through in drawings where he was animatedly talking or debating with sketched Viktor. There seems to be a whole double page spread trying to figure out the shape of his slicked back hair, and then even more drawings of the gel softening throughout the day, causing strands to fall down around his ears and frame his eyes.

But what really catches Viktor's attention was the way the artist had caught their interactions. The way they have depicted Jayce's softened eyes when looking at Viktor when his attention was elsewhere. The way they caught Viktor's private little smile when Jayce got lost in a muttering spell and stopped including Viktor in the debate. It left him feeling a little raw in truth, like this person had seen something no one else had taken the time to notice before.

No wonder Reader had been so adamant about finding this sketchbook. This must have been hours upon hours of careful work.

Carefully, Viktor closed the sketchbook and sat back in his chair. It felt heavy in his hands, and he almost didn't want to put it down.

The door to the lab swung open then, and Jayce called out a greeting.

"What you got there V?"

And of course, Viktor was contractually obligated to show him. It would simply be criminal if he didn't show his partner just how well their resident illustrator managed to capture his winning smile. A much more accurate depiction of it, compared to the 'man of progress' merchandise the academy sold nowadays.

The sketchbook continued to go unfound.

Reader was growing more and more distraught.

The guilt gnawed at Sky and she confessed.

All hell broke loose.

An hour later, Skye came SPRINTING into the lab, the double doors CRASHING into the walls in her haste to get into the room.

Both Viktor and Jayce jumped in their seats in the kitchenette. Viktor barely managing to keep from spilling his sweetmilk everywhere. And Jayce almost THREW the little black sketchbook across the room, where he had been admiring its pages.

“Woah there, where’s the fire?” Jayce tried to joke, but Sky looked GENUINELY scared. 

“Sorry! Sorry! I left something in here, and the owner is NOT happy with me.” Sky scrambled to explain, as she charged towards��Viktor’s desk and began pulling apart stacks of paperwork. Sweat beading on her brow.

“Hey, calm down. What is it? Where did you see it last?” “It was a sketchbook. Um, uh, black, hard cover, it was practically bulging with how many pages it had stuck in it.” Sky explained, "I could've sworn I left it on Viktor's desk." Viktor’s brows jump up in realisation. His eyes dart over to the sketchbook in Jayce's hands, before leaping up to meet the man's wide, knowing eyes.

“I take it that Y/n found out you took it then.” Viktor spoke up. Sky winced. “I may have let it slip-” her voice began to backpedal, before the distant stomp of approaching footsteps made her pale. The gait the recognisable, the tempo just a touch faster than its normal pace. “DON’T THINK HIDING BEHIND VIKTOR OR JAYCE WILL SAVE YOU NOW!” A booming voice hollered from down the hallway. 

Sky became frantic again. She redoubled her efforts.

Jayce very slowly lowered the sketchbook down to his lap, where the table would conceal it from view if anyone peered into the kitchenette. And Viktor just sighed as he got comfortable.

Heavy footsteps approached the laboratory door, which was then promptly kicked open, so fast that the door smacked into the opposite wall for the second time today. Y/n, brandishing a broom of all things, visibly seethed in the doorway. 

“Do you know how much <i>work</i> has gone into that sketchbook?” They demanded, more furious than Viktor had ever seen them before. “How many hours I’ve spent amongst those pages.” Sky looks appropriately guilty. “I know! And I’m so sorry I lost it, I really thought I was doing you a favour!”

Reader’s lip curls up into a furious snarl, eyes narrowing. “And I thought I told you to leave it alone!” They snarled.

“But they’re just so good. I seriously don’t think you should be hiding your talent. What if the right person managed to find it, like Councillor Medarda, imagine the connections-” “And how, pray tell, is Councillor Medarda, supposed to come across my sketchbook in the laboratory of all places.” Skye’s voice lowers. “Well, she does stop by to see Jayce often enough.”

Reader sighed heavily. "Side-stepping that poor excuse, because we both know you were just trying to embarrass me-" "I was not! They're good drawings!"

“Where is it Skye? For the final time.”

They stepped menacingly into the room then, broom clutched tightly in both hands, only to pause when a single sheet of paper slipped out of their pocket and fluttered to the ground. The action clearly held significance, because Sky winced.

Meanwhile, Reader took a deep, steadying breath, before slowly, calmly leaning down to pluck the paper off of the floor. It was only for a second, but Viktor could have sworn he saw yet ANOTHER sketch of him and Jayce, which HOW? They'd been with the pair of them in the lab ALL DAY!

“Now look at me, I’m shedding paper left and right without my sketchbook to keep all my thoughts ORGANISED!” “I’m sorry! I’ll buy you a new one.”

A groan. “Skye, that is NOT the point-!”

“Okay, okay! Time out! Let us all take a breath.” Viktor interjected to which both apprentice and Illustrator startled. 

Reader visibly seethed in place, whilst Sky just winced and ducked her head.

It was the former who spoke up first. “Sorry for the interruption.” They said sharply, eyes cutting over to Viktor and Jayce. To which Viktor just inclined his head, whilst Jayce very poorly concealed his guilty wince. Reader was too preoccupied with Sky however to notice as they turned back to her. “May we continue this debate outside? Preferably away from the workshops?” Skye seemed to shrink in on herself more. Eyes darting over to Viktor, then jumping up to Jayce. 

“Sky!”

“Only if you promise to stop yelling.” She demanded. 

Reader breathed out forcefully through their nostrils. Expression thinning out, shoulders easing, although the tightness to their jaw remained stubbornly present. “Fine.”

"Leave the broom!" Viktor called after them, to which Reader audibly groaned but let the broom in the lab before stepping out into the hall with Sky. The door clicked shut behind them. 

Jayce and Viktor shared a look and held their breaths. Waiting. Listening. The conversation that inevitably started up once the door closes was fast paced, but in the promised quieter tone. 

"I'm just going to-" Jayce began to say before motioning to the desks out in the main lab. Viktor shrugged, and allowed his partner to stand, sketchbook in hand, only for both of them to freeze when a loose slip of paper fell out.

"Oh no." Jayce said aloud as Viktor quickly pinned the sheet to the floor with the toe of his shoe, before it could drift away. "This is going to be adorable, isn't it?"

Viktor did not reply, as he stooping to pick it up. He turned it over, and he and Jayce collectively sighed as they discovered yet another sketch of the pair of them.

They're stood in front of the chalkboard, which seemed to be Reader's favourite place to draw them without being discovered. And it was clear from the way the pair were facing each other that they were deep in one of their debates. But what really caught the pair's attention, was the way that their drawn selves were looking at one another.

Viktor's with a small, knowing smile and a visible twinkle in his eye - which should have been an impossible thing to capture with merely a pencil. And Jayce's who was staring down at Viktor with an intensity in his eye and a playful lift of his eyebrows that spoke of challenge. They looked happy together. Feeding off one another's energy.

And it was startling that an outside perspective had managed to capture such a moment without either of them noticing.

"We don't get that absorbed in our debates, do we?" Jayce asked tightly, a soft look in his eye now as he gazed down at the sketch with reverence.

Viktor did not bother to deny it, because they both knew that they did. Here was a sketchbook stuffed with the evidence right before them.

Jayce tucked the sketch back between the pages, his expression complicated and yet oh so fond for someone who was no longer in the room with them.

Jayce and Viktor put the sketchbook back on Reader's desk, who later comes back in, visibly more subdued, and Sky nowhere in sight.

Viktor cracks a joke about them having stuffed her in a supply closet somewhere.

To which they reassure him that, "no, she had a meeting," and he would still have an apprentice turning up to work tomorrow.

Jayce looks up from his work, as does Viktor, when they make a beeline for their desk. In time to watch Reader stiffen when they see the little, black sketchbook placed neatly on top of their larger, official lab sketchbook. Then they lunge forward, snatching it up and flipping through the pages, shoulders loosening when all seems to be in order.

"You found it!"

"Viktor found it." Jauce interjected.

To which Viktor just preens and makes another joke about Sky thinking twice about getting between Reader and their belongings. He also throws in a compliment on the penmanship, just to see how Reader reacts.

To both of their surprises, Reader locks up at the compliment. “Please tell me you didn’t look though it.”

“I liked them." He said truthfully, "you certainly captured my likeness.” They groan and drop eye contact. 

“Please don’t joke about it.” They plead, “it was just anatomy practice. But I completely understand if it makes you uncomfortable-”

“Uncomfortable?" Viktor parrots back, shooting Jayce a look. "Why would it make us uncomfortable?" "You might feel watched?" Reader offers.

Jayce shrugs. Viktor waves off their concern.

Jayce, "can we put some up on the pin board?" "No. None of these are remotely good enough to be hung up on display!" Reader is quick to deny.

By the end of the day, there are three new papers pinned to the pin board above Jayce's desk. One drawn by each of them in the lab. A chicken scratch drawing of Jayce, courtesy of Viktor. A carefully, but wonkily drawn Reader, courtesy of Jayce. And a recognisable and remarkably good drawing of Viktor done by Reader.

(Yes, they had a drawing competition and sat in a circle around someone's desk, simultaneously posing for and drawing each other. The boys had to do some major convincing so that Reader didn't assume they were being made fun of. And they all ended up having a great time).

Next part

[heirloomgem]

Infatuation Series

Summary: Small snippets and cute scenes on your crush on Sung Jinwoo and how Sung Jinwoo courts and wins over you in high school after using the cup of reincarnation.

His sole purpose in this life is to win your heart, become your faithful husband, and have you be the mother of his children. No one else but you. (Mini chapters)

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything except for my characters and plot.

Warning/Genre: OOC, Romance, fluff, high school life (Sorry for the miss grammar)

Chapter 1: Chances

Lately, you have been too flustered for your own good but that’s because you’ve started liking someone.

In a classroom filled with students, the sound of pens scratching on paper echoed as students took notes while listening to their teacher.

Some people were diligent, some were dozing off and some were distracted, and you were among them.

Twirling your pen in one hand and leaning on the other, you did your best to listen to the lesson.

However, the calm spring breeze coming through the window seemed to lull you, and your mind gradually began to drift away.

Slowly, your eyes were closing.

Just as you were about to nod off, you caught yourself and quickly straightened up. Opening the back of your notebook you opted to doodle so you won't fall asleep.

It begins with a flower, followed by a bear, a knight's helmet, dragon wings, a dagger and various other unusual and unrelated items until finally you unconsciously draw a chibi version of him.

You felt your cheeks heat up.

Sung Jinwoo.

A second-year student in your high school, whom you started liking recently.

He was your senior by a year as you were in your first year. He was one of the handsome, popular and competent students in your school that most girls fawn over and for boys to idolize.

Like most girls in your school, you were no different from them, who accidentally glanced at him and were instantly smitten.

Foolishly and stupidly smitten.

You didn't know why, but after catching a glimpse of his soft black hair reminiscent of the night, his slender yet beautiful grey eyes, framed by long eyelashes, and his lips, which had a slight reddish tint.

That day, a deep sense of familiarity surged within you. Those feelings captured you and he entangled you with his very being without hesitation.

Even to this day, just remember that moment and how your eyes met made your body heat up, your cheeks flush and a deep aching echo inside you.

Finishing your doodle, you took a moment to admire your drawing of him.

Even though it's just a silly drawing, you couldn't help but caress his small face. A sweet smile appeared on your lips before shaking your head, catching yourself.

Looking at the front, you let out a sigh of relief when you saw that the teacher and your classmates didn't catch you making a silly face out of nowhere and were focused on the lesson instead.

You didn't want anyone, particularly your teacher, to catch you daydreaming especially when your mind wandered toward your silly little crush or else with just a slip everyone in your school would talk about it no doubt and soon he would hear about it.

Just imagining his uncomfortable expression made you shudder, scared and embarrassed.

There's no way you would be able to endure such humiliation if such a thing were ever to happen.

Slapping yourself awake, you flip your notes back and resume jotting down points.

Soon the bell rang, signalling for a break.

You gratefully took the time to stretch your stiff body, worn from sitting in class for almost half of the day. Hearing your bones crack, you let out a sigh of relief, you turn toward your friend before happily inviting her to go out and buy some snacks.

Walking down the hallways while talking to your friend, you furtively give a few glances at his classroom as you pass it. Hoping to catch a glance of him.

However, it seems that luck wasn't on your side, as you didn't even see a glimpse of his clothes. A sense of sadness envelops you, leaving you disheartened.

Unfortunately, you weren’t in the same class or year as him so there were only a few times when you could see him.

Although you envy the students that were in the same year as him, that didn’t dismay you from time to time to wander the hallways of his classroom to try to catch sight of him.

This was one of the few times you hoped to see him, but it seemed the gods were not in your favour today.

You haven't seen nor heard of him at all throughout the morning and now it's already past noon.

You were hoping to at least even just once, you would see him.

Glumly choosing some snacks, you paid right away and waited for your friend's turn before the both of you walked back to your classroom.

Your head hung low as you considered the rest of the day would be unmotivated and restless due to not seeing him.

You wonder why you weren't born in the same year as him. If you had been, you might have had the chance to be with him that year or, even better, have him as your classmate instead of your senior.

Probably because you were too busy weeping childishly, you didn't pay enough attention to where you were going, causing you to crash into someone.

Expecting the painful impact, you held your breath when suddenly, you felt a strong hand holding your waist and pulling you into a warm embrace, steadying your fall.

With your heart racing from fright and still dazed from the incident, it took you a moment to come to your senses before you looked up, ready to apologize.

But your eyes widened instead, your tongue stuck in your throat, and not a word came out.

You felt your face blush uncontrollably, and your whole body trembled. This time, you knew your heart was racing not from fright, but from the nervousness of your crush's sudden appearance.

Standing face to face with your crush, Sung Jinwoo, you could feel his breath as your faces were close to each other, his head bent down, looking at you.

“I’m sorry. Are you alright?” He asked as he gave you a worried look while you, in turn, could only look at him with your mouth wide open.

Both of your friends, who saw the whole situation stood frozen.

For one, your friend knows who your crush is while the other was bewildered with the whole situation.

Lifting his eyes, Sung Jinwoo’s eyebrow furrowed, concerned in his beautiful grey eyes, then brought a hand to touch your forehead which was now red from the earlier collision with his back.

“Your forehead’s bruised. We should go to the infirmary.” He murmured as he caressed your forehead.

Feeling his gentle touch, you snap out of your bewilderment and start rambling nonsensically, your arms flailing, your voice squeaking, and your face all messed up.

You couldn't help but cry in your heart.

Of all times, your bad luck just has to kick you when you least expected it and now you're making a fool of yourself in front of him.

Worst of all you just showed him yourself gawking at him unreservedly.

Not taking it anymore and embarrassed from head to toe, you immediately took your friend’s hand, apologizing before dashing away from the awkward situation.

You’re sure not only your face but your whole body is red as a tomato. Your back sweating profusely.

You’ve always imagined countless scenarios in your head. If you ever got the chance to talk to him, you would act smoothly and gracefully, ensuring that not a hint of your crush would show.

But now! BUT NOW!

You cried in despair.

God! You wish you could burrow yourself in a hole.

You were just grateful that only the four of you were in the hallway; otherwise, not only would you be mortified by your embarrassment, but you were certain that his fans would be furious with you for getting too close to him. And for sure you would be dead meat by the end of the day.

You were so grateful that wasn't the case.

As you and your friend were still running toward your class, a shameless thought popped into your mind, causing your once-red face to turn even redder.

Even though it was but a moment, you shamelessly recalled how his body felt against you.

His body was hard and built.

If you bet with anyone that he absolutely has abs even though he's only a high schooler, you will surely win.

With your mind clouded by immoral thoughts, you didn't notice the classroom door was closed, resulting in you running into it.

A loud sound echoed down the hallway, causing your friend to yelp in concern at your unhinged state.

You muttered a whole storm of curses under your breath.

You're certain the gods intended for you to die in shame today, leaving no corpse behind.

Meanwhile...

As Jinwoo watched you run off, he chuckled, his ears turning red from your cute reaction. After all this time, he had finally reunited with you.

He is eagerly looking forward to the days when you two can finally be together again.

A/N: Ahh, the taste of high school crushes! It’s so fresh but SO cringe at the same time, I couldn’t help but look back at my past crushes. SO CRINGE AND YET SO BITTER AND SO GOOD! Lol!🤣

Anyway, Sorry for the late post. Life has been too busy though I hope you enjoyed this fanfic!

{All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author}

[colorlessjay]

Here's a Destiel prompt based on a doodle I did but also Chappell Roan:

Dean Winchester is your average picture perfect American boy. Tall, blonde, football team quarterback, Kansas sweetheart with a little brother he's way too over protective of, and a southern drawl he swears he doesn't exaggerate. He's brash and rude, his confidence making him an easy target for over excited crowds and the occasion fights. The girls at school want him when he gives them a wink and a smile, and most guys envy him. Wish they were him.

But Dean had his eyes set on the unattainable

Castiel Novak. the Student body vice president who seems to fly through school like he was above it all. But not in the obnoxious 'I'm better than you' way in most teen movies. No, Castiel radiates an energy. One of pure intent, kindness, and joy that makes people fall for his hypnotic blue eyes

People like Dean, Castiel's best friend, and the guy he confides in more often than not

And Dean hates that he does. Because Castiel,for all his intelligence, was as clueless as they come

So whenever Castiel asks him to wingman for him

It's months worth of heartache and fake smiles as he watches Castiel pull every trick Dean taught him

Because Dean Winchester? He's the practice boy

-----

Castiel, wanting to the full college experience, asks his best friend Dean to help on how to date/seduce girls (Since Dean is really good at it and has been in relationships before. But only to distract from his massive crush on Cas)

And Dean, being a good friend, walks Cas through every step regardless of how much it hurts to flirt with Cas, only for Cas to use those same words and actions on girls

And one day, Cas asks Dean how to kiss. If he'll be a good kisser. Castiel's self conscious about it. Self deprecating and confused cause his lips are always chapped and his hair always a mess. And he's scared he won't close his eyes

And Dean just goes on about how those can be good things. How they're attractive. Blurting out stuff he personally feels about kissing Cas

"Your hair's perfect for kissing, short and soft and perfect to hold"

"If she doesn't like your eyes when you kiss, then she's blind as a bat!"

"Your lips look chapped but I'll bet my Baby they're as soft as the look you get when you see a bee"

"hell! Given the chance, I'd kiss you and I'd be the one left breathless"

And of course, they practice kissing

And Dean was right. It leaves him breathless

Leaves him heartbroken too when he finds Cas kissing Meg the same way a week later

-------

"I can't take it anymore, Cas! I'm so fucking tired of being your goddamn practice dummy!" Dean turns around, finally facing Castiel after he storming off "Yeah, I asked for it. It was fucking stupid to even suggest it, but you can't be so goddamn blind to not see that everything I've said, everything I've taught you, was more then just a shitty flirting lesson to me!"

Castiel stops in his chase, staring at Dean wide eyed as the rain picks up

Dean powers on, pacing and flailing "Fuck me for thinking the way you kissed me meant something then just practice" he laughs humorlessly then lets out a sob

"Fuck, Cas…" Dean looks up. his hand coming down to clutch at his wet shirt. Tears and rain running down his face "It meant something to me… you saying it otherwise doesn't change that… it just makes it hurt"

Castiel stared wide eyed and frozen. His mind flashes back to every interaction, every little touch, every word said between them

And all he could muster up was

"Dean…"

[800db-cloud]

spare some spy hcs? 👀

OKAY. ok. so i have been putting off answering this ask because i’m admittedly very shy and very afraid of sharing my headcanons. and also because i have A LOT OF THEM.. but here we are!

here are my headcanon spies :) René works for RED and Jacques works for BLU!

where to start, where to start… i have a LOT of headcanons for them, i’ll be talking for FOREVER here. i’ll just start with story because why not! xP

René’s parents were also agents/spies, so he was always destined to be one as well. And he lives up to his parents’ legacies! He’s most notorious for destroying gangs and mobs and the like from the outside in. He was brought to America years ago to take out a dangerous mob boss, but unfortunately found himself infatuated (and involved) with the boss’ daughter. Luckily for him, the boss’ daughter wanted the guy dead, too.

René’s story is honestly a lot more fleshed out than Jacques’, but here goes anyway:

Jacques’ father was a very rich and powerful man in politics. Jacques himself was the result of an affair, and to keep it hush-hush, his father decided to raise him. Raise is a strong word, though— but he did help his father gain intelligence and blackmail on opposing political parties. Jacques proved to be a promising spy since childhood.

If anyone has any suggestions/ideas for Jacques’ story, let me know haha x) he didn’t have the greatest upbringing per se…

last thing on this section i wanna talk about is the Scouts. René is related to both of the Scouts; he’s RED Scout (Jeremy)’s biological father, and he’s BLU Scout (James)’ adoptive/step-father. Jacques has no relation to either scout, but acts as a guardian figure to BLU Scout.

anyway, this is the part where i continue talking about other miscellaneous headcanons! and these come with doodles :)

You couldn’t catch René DEAD without his mask, or his suit! He’d neeever take them off around other people (‘other people’ is mainly just Scout. For obvious reasons.) Meanwhile, Jacques is pretty lenient in letting his teammates see his face! Everyone on BLU’s seen his face at least once.

A big part of why René refuses to strip down is also due to the fact he has a LOT of tattoos. No doodle for this one because I’ve yet to decide on what tattoos to put on him (ideas are very welcome!!), but yeah! Most of the tattoos were ‘forced’ onto him/he had to get for jobs and ‘fitting in’ with bad crowds, but a good few of them were of his own accord, too.

Jacques doesn’t have tattoos, but he has a myriad of another thing: scars! Lots and lots of scars on this guy. Faded and old, sure, but they’re there. Most prominent ones are the one around his neck (from when the RED Medic beheaded him) and the ones on his forearms (those are from the LAST time he was imprisoned— looong story…)

René doesn’t cook very often for his team, but when he does, everyone’s always BLOWN AWAY by this guy’s cooking! René’s really bad at taking compliments, though— (“Cooking food that’s remotely edible isn’t a compliment, it’s basic survival.”) —but rest assured he’ll be thinking about it for the next month. Jacques, however… Do NOT let this guy into the kitchen. Ever. The BLU base has a special fire extinguisher “In Case Spy Decides To Turn On The Stove”

oooh, this one is an hc and a HALF to me. René much prefers working alone. It’s just in his nature, being isolated and whatnot. He likes to deal with things by himself– maybe he doesn’t want to burden others? On the contrary, Jacques NEVER works alone. It’s a trait he’s had even before being hired to BLU. You never know when things could go wrong, so it’s best to have someone else to fall back to… or someone else you can blame!

these hcs both have something to do with how René and Jacques show their trust in other people :) it’s a bit convoluted but it gets there:

René is, amusingly, very bad at remembering names. Almost laughably bad. There have been many-a-story of his days before RED where he’d get a target’s name wrong, even after he’d repeated it in his head dozens of times over. Names are difficult for him, so if he remembers yours, it means you mean a lot to him! He prefers using his teammates’ names rather than their titles. René is unaware of how charming this specifc trait is to his coworkers (they saw how much work and effort it took for him to memorize their names, they’re just happy with how far he’s come!)

Jacques has a… to put simply, very complicated relationship with food. But the one thing he’ll never turn down is sweets. His favorites especially being chocolate bonbons. Jacques has a hard time eating in front of others, let alone sharing his food! But if he genuinely likes and trusts you enough, he’d have half the mind to share with you. Admittedly, he hasn’t brought himself to share with most of the members of his team yet, except for a select few. Mostly BLU Medic and BLU Sniper.

—

and of course, eventually, EVENTUALLY, these two also become friends! it took a little bit but believe me, they both respect each other’s skill in their job :)

AHHg i could go sooo much longer about them— from things like their physical traits (how much teeth they have? it’s a pressing question) or different periods of their life (why did rené have to leave his family? why was jacques imprisoned for the last time?) BUT this post is so… so, so long. My fingers hurt from typing

If you’ve managed to read through this Beast, THANK YOU RAAHH!!! thanks so much for asking this, too. i hope to spare more hcs someday. hehe ^_^

[munsonsmixtapes]

Guilty as Sin?

Inspired by the Taylor Swift song because it has been stuck in my head and it’s just so Eddie coded

mechanic!Eddie x fem!reader

summary: Because of a misunderstanding, people think that you and Eddie slept together and are quick to judge you for it even though the only sex with Eddie you’ve had has all been in your head.

word count: 4.2k

cw, MDNI 18+ smut (p in v) hurt/comfort

Rain pattered against the building as you sat that the front desk, doodling on your little notepad, humming along to the song that was playing from your Walkman. The car repair shop where you worked had very little customers considering that it was morning and raining. You never minded when it was slow, though. You liked being able to just sit there and get paid to surf the internet or work on your drawings. In your mind, it was a win-win.

You could hear commotion coming from the back and could just tell that everyone’s favorite employee had showed up for their shift. You turned in your chair and watched Eddie Munson push through the door that led to part of shop where you were. He had yet to change into his uniform, dressed in a muscle tank and a pair of jeans. It was almost unfair that someone could be that attractive.

You turned back to your drawing and continued to doodle, trying to not make your attraction obvious. Sure, the two of you had been flirting for months, but that didn’t mean he needed to know just how much you wanted to be with him. He was just so cool and hot and you didn’t think that he felt the same way.

You felt Eddie’s hand rest on your shoulder as he leaned over to get a glimpse at what you were working on. He always complimented your skills and had even kept the little drawings you had given to him in his wallet, a reminder of his adorable coworker.

“What are you working on this time, trouble?” His mouth was right by your ear, the breath coming from his lips, tickling your skin. You closed your eyes, imaging what it would have been like having him whispering the dirtiest things into your ear while he pounded into you.

Your dirty thoughts had been getting out of hand as your crush on Eddie had progressed. Anytime you were around him, it was as if your mind had flipped a switch, the most impure thoughts taking over it.

You could practically imagine how it would all go; him saying the sweetest thing that juxtaposed the firm grip he had on your waist. Moans slipping past your lips as you left scratches down his back to signify your pleasure. Him thrusting into you fast and hard, claiming you as his and afterwards, he’d pull you into his arms, scrawling the letters M-I-N-E across your thigh to really signify that you belonged to him.

“Is that a turtle?” Eddie let out a chuckle and a chill ran down your spine at the feeling of his breath on your skin. “That’s so cute!” He gave your shoulder a squeeze and you finally turned to him, showing him the smile that he had grown very fond of.

You studied his face and noticed that he hadn’t shaved like he usually did. His facial hair was growing in quite nicely and you could practically imagine the way it would scratch against your skin as he kissed you roughly, taking exactly what he wanted from you as you were pliant underneath him.

“Even gave it a top hat.” You held the small piece of paper up to him and he took it, your fingers brushing as he did so.

You watched him hold the thing up to his face and chuckled at the fact that he never wore his glasses because he didn’t like the way they made him look. You supposed you could understand what he meant, but thought his need to see should have outweighed his want to look “cool.”

“This is really good. Mind if I keep it?” Who were you to say no when he was smiling at you, his chocolate eyes all warm and gooey?

“Of course I don’t mind.” He ripped the page from the pad then pulled his wallet from his pocket, carefully placing it with the cash he carried. He then closed the wallet before putting it back where he found it, patting the spot to make sure that it was safe and secure.

“So, what are your plans tonight?” He leaned on the counter, his face just inches from yours. You could smell the tobacco on his breath and even though you never liked the scent, it mixed nicely with whatever cologne he was wearing.

Eddie always asked what you were going to be up to after you got off work, but his tone sounded different…almost as if he was asking you out. But he couldn’t have been doing that, right? Maybe you were just reading too much into it.

You supposed that you would’ve never found out because right as you were about to answer, there was a lot of commotion coming from the shop. It wasn’t the usual yelling that you were used to, it was louder and angrier, tools clattering around as the screaming continued.

You rushed to the door that led to the shop, looking through the tiny window and you let out a loud gasp as you caught sight of Jason Carver. Eddie stood behind you and you turned to him, seeing his eyes widen in fear as he realized who you were looking at.

Jason’s head snapped in your direction and you grabbed onto Eddie’s shoulder, pulling him down with you as you ducked down out of Jason’s view. Despite your quick movements, he still caught sight of the metalhead, making a beeline for the door.

You didn’t know why, but you felt the need to protect Eddie. He had experienced so much shit in his life and you decided that he needed someone in his corner. Someone who would be there for him no matter what. And why couldn’t that someone have been you?

You grabbed hold of his hand and pulled him along, searching in panic for somewhere you could escape to. Your eyes locked on the supply closet across the room and you raced to it, opening the door as quickly as you could, pulling Eddie inside with you before shutting the door.

You pulled the string between the two of you and warm light spread through the room, showing you just how badly everything needed to be cleaned as dust covered every single surface and product that sat on the shelves behind Eddie.

You both stood there, catching your breath, trying to get your heart rates down. Your gaze locked on Eddie’s and your eyebrows furrowed, seeing that little sparkle of mischief in his chocolate eyes. Just by the look on his face, you could tell that he had been up to something. Something that had to with Jason Carver’s anger.

“You did something to Jason’s car, didn’t you?” You crossed your arms over your chest, raising one of your eyebrows. Eddie could never lie to you, but he was considering it, knowing that you wouldn’t be happy with what he had done. He couldn’t disappoint yet another person.

“Maybe,” he shrugged, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. You stepped closer to him in an attempt to intimidate him even though both of you knew that you couldn’t do it even if you tried.

“Maybe I cut his brake line.” He shrugged again, speaking so causally as if he was telling you the weather forecast.

“Eddie!” You gave his shoulder a shove. If Eddie had done it on his own time, you wouldn’t have bat an eye since you didn’t like Jason either, but you really didn’t want him to lose his job because he let his anger get the best of him.

“Hey, he deserved it,” he pointed at you. “He was walking through the shop all smug because he had gotten your number and was rubbing it in my face.” You weren’t sure where Jason would have gotten your number since you hadn’t given it to him. He had asked, but you had politely told him to fuck off.

“I didn’t give him my number.” You shook your head and Eddie stepped forward so the two of you were toe to toe.

“You didn’t?” His head titled to the side to the side. He should have known you well enough that you couldn’t have been paid to give your number to the guy.

“No, of course not. He’s an ass.” Eddie let out a sigh of relief. He had thought he had lost you for a second. Considering how much you both had shit talked Jason, he almost felt betrayed. He should have known it was all bullshit and that you wouldn’t have touched the guy with a ten foot pole.

“Which is exactly why I cut his brake line,” he grumbled. You reached and grabbed onto his arms, pulling him into a hug. He rested his head on your shoulder while his arms wrapped around your waist. He gave you a squeeze while your hands moved up to give his head a scratch.

You hadn’t hugged before in all the months of friendship, but you both had to admit that you liked it. It just felt natural. It was like two puzzle pieces fitting together with the way his head perfectly fit in your neck, your bodies pressed together.

“C’mon, Eds, let’s get out of here before we-” your words were cut off by the door being ripped open, the pair of eyes staring at the both of you in shock. You pushed Eddie away from you as quickly as possible and turned to face Mike-the person who had opened the door-fully, your face getting hot as if you and Eddie had been caught naked. All you had done was hug, nothing inappropriate at all.

“Were you guys-” You couldn’t even believe he was asking. You were fast, but not that fast. And as if you’d fuck in the supply closet where you worked. That was just unprofessional-but maybe you’d throw all of your morals out the window if Eddie had asked if you wanted to have a quickie.

“No,” Eddie cut him off. “We were hiding from Jason.”

“But you were-”

“Just hugging,” you finished. You knew that Mike was young and didn’t know much about sex, but you had hoped that even he knew that that wasn’t what you and Eddie were doing.

You headed back to the desk as Mike spread the rumor like wildfire. You didn’t know why he felt the need to tell people, especially since it wasn’t true. You could see him whispering to people and wondered why they believed him since he was known to spread to misinformation just because he thought it was funny. This however, was not.

Throughout your shift, other employees would pat you on the back in congratulations while the customers judged you with glares and some even insulted you, asking you why you would do such a thing at your place of work and most importantly, why you would have done it with Eddie, who was obviously a devil worshipper.

You couldn’t see why it was seen as a bad thing. Eddie had been a friend to you and he also just so happened to be super hot, which you didn’t understand why more people weren’t trying to hit that.

Okay, maybe you did understand why, but that didn’t mean you agreed. You thought that Eddie was just misunderstood. You had done a campaign with the Hellfire Club and could confirm that there was no satanic worship nor any cult behavior going on. In fact, it was actually just a ton of fun.

You walked home after your seemingly never-ending shift in anger, thinking about nothing but Eddie. You wanted to talk to him, but he left not long after the rumor had spread. You hadn’t blamed him at all. The whole town thought he was evil and now they thought that he had corrupted sweet, innocent you. They wouldn’t have thought you were so sweet and innocent if they saw what you had been thinking about Eddie.

You just wanted to apologize since it had technically been your fault. You honestly wouldn’t have blamed him if he never wanted to talk to you again. You thought it was what you had deserved for all the pain you had caused him.

Just as you pulled your phone out of your pocket to give him a call, Eddie’s van pulled up next to you. He rolled the passenger window down and you were confused by the bright smile on his face.

“Need a ride, trouble?” He asked, his smile getting wider. You didn’t want to be around him, but you figured that being in the air conditioned van was better than walking home in the blazing sun.

You just nodded and hopped into the passenger side, letting out a huff as you threw your purse down into the floorboard. You then slammed the door closed, eating for Eddie to drive, but didn’t. He just put the car in park and sat there, facing you, concern written all over his face.

He had a feeling he knew why you were upset, but was almost afraid to ask. Was he so bad that you had been offended that people had thought that the two of you had fucked in the supply closet? He knew about his reputation around, but he at least thought you were one of the good ones. He thought you were different.

Eddie choked down his fear and scooted as close to you as he could. He then reached out, pushing some hair behind your ear so he could see your pretty face. Your eyebrows were furrowed and you were picking at the skin around your nails, something that he noticed you did when you were upset or anxious.

“What’s going on, hm?” He asked, his voice soft, no judgment behind it. His hand rested on your shoulder and he gave it a reassuring squeeze as you turned to look at him.

The truth was that you were pissed off on Eddie’s behalf. If he was upset, he didn’t show it and that made you mad. If anyone deserved to be pissed off about anything, it was his. He had been the towns punching bag, taking blow after blow because he was accused of being something that he very much was not.

“God, why the fuck does everyone think that it’s their business what’s going on between us?” You turned in your seat to face him, trying to keep your cool but it annoyed you that he was so calm. “Why are you so okay with this? They’re spreading this stupid fucking rumor and there you are with that dopey smile on your face. What the fuck, Eddie?” Eddie’s heart broke at your words. He thought you would have considered it a compliment that people thought you guys had fucked. Maybe he had misread everything and read your flirting very wrong.

“I didn’t know that the thought of us fucking pissed you off so much,” he spit and you leaned back in confusion. You honestly had no idea what he was getting at. “My apologies. Whatever,” he turned back to the steering wheel and put his hand on the gear shift to put the van back in drive. You put your hand over his not wanting him to drive you home without knowing the truth.

“What are you talking about, Eddie?” You asked and his head snapped to you.

“What are you talking about?” It had been a long day and he wasn’t in the mood for an argument, especially not with you. He had lost too many people in his life and really couldn’t risk losing you. He just needed some time to cool off before he could forgive you.

“Do you want to know the reason why I’m pissed? I’m pissed because the rumor isn’t true.” For once, Eddie had absolutely no idea what you were talking about. Why would you have been upset that the rumor wasn’t true? Unless-yeah, no that absolutely wasn’t true. He must have misheard.

“What are you talking about?” Apparently you were going to have to spell it out for him. You took a deep breath and licked your lips before leaning closer to him, wanting him to see the sincerity in your eyes when you told him everything.

“I’ve wanted to sleep with you since the moment I met you, Eddie.” The man’s eyes widened at your confession. So he had been right. He didn’t know why he had doubted himself when the truth had been right in front of him. The very pretty truth.

“You have?” He face lit up as he leaned closer to you, bringing his lips between his teeth as he tried his best to hide his boner that was forming at the thought of actually fucking you. God, he had wanted you just as much as you wanted him. For once, his feelings were reciprocated.

“Yes,” your word came out breathy as you inched forward, your lips ghosting over his. As soon as the word left your mouth, Eddie brought his hand up to the back of you and pushed your face towards his.

His mouth crashed against yours, the kiss messy and rushed, the cause of months and months of pent up want. His hand moved to your jaw, moving your head so he could get more of you, taking exactly what he wanted from you.

The scruff of his unshaven face felt just as good as you imagined scratching at your skin as your hands grabbed onto Eddie’s shirt as your tongue slipped into his mouth, swirling around his own. The two muscles tangled together as you both tried your best to get closer to each other, your desperation getting the best of you.

Eddie’s other hand slid up your shirt, over your bra, squeezing your breast before massaging it the best he could with the fabric in the way. You pulled away as Eddie tried to chase your lips but he stopped when he realized what you were doing. He moved his hand away as you unhooked your bra and took it off before letting the thing clatter against the floor board.

You then took his hand and shoved it back up your shirt so he could continue his task. You placed your mouth back on his and he went back to massaging your tit, his thumb moving to your nipple, giving it the affection he thought it deserved with how hard it had become.

“Oh,” you let out a soft moan into his mouth and his cock hardened even more at the sound. He needed to be inside you at that moment or he swore he was going to cream his pants.

This time, Eddie was the one to pull away, your chests rising and falling at your labored breathing. He looked down at the skirt you were wearing, hoping, praying that you were as wet as he was hard. He had never needed anyone as much as he needed you, ready to have his way with you already.

“Do you want to move things to the back?” He asked, and you nodded enthusiastically, your eyes filling with lust as you did so.

You climbed over the seats and Eddie followed you, both of you kicking off your shoes and socks as you did so. Eddie fell on top of you as he got to the back and you both let out laughs but they quickly died down as his gaze shifted to your lips, nothing but fire behind them.

He pulled you in for a bruising kiss, his tongue finding yours quickly as both of your hands hurriedly undressed each other. Your shirts were off and you both let out gasps, you at his tattoos that you had no idea about and him because your tits were just as hot as he imagined.

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmured as he brought his lips to yours once again. “The other women in town should be jealous. I bet they are.” Your cheeks burned at his compliments. They fell so easily from his lips and you knew that he always meant every word.

“Not true,” you scoffed as his mouth trailed kisses down to your neck.

“Very true,” he responded, peppering the spot with gentle kisses. “Want me to show you just how beautiful I think you are?” His lips were now by your ear and his hot breath sent shivers down your spine.

“Gonna be really mad if you don’t.”

“Good, because after this, you’re going to be mine.” He brought your earlobe between his teeth and gave it a soft bite, causing a gasp to fall from your lips.

His mouth was on your neck again as his fingers intertwined with yours. He lowered his body down onto yours as he gave the skin a hard suck, eliciting a moan from you.

“Eddie.”

“That’s right,” he chuckled. “Wanna make that sound again?” He gave your neck another suck and you moaned his name once again, the sound making Eddie even more hard.

He grazed your neck with his teeth as one of his hands traveled down to your skirt. He unbuttoned it and easily slid the thing out from under you, tossing it to the side. He teeth grazed your skin and you gasped loudly, your fingers digging into any skin you could find in response to the pleasure.

Eddie removed his mouth from your neck, admiring the red color that adorned it, shining with his spit. He then pulled his wallet out of his pocket. He grabbed a foil packet from it then tossed it aside. He removed his jeans and underwear and you sat up, wanting to get a view of his cock that definitely didn't disappoint. Beads of pre were dripping from it as he rolled the condom onto it and you felt your underwear dampen even more at the thought that he was finally going to be inside.

You pushed him so his back hit the floor and he let out a yelp as his eyes widened at your eagerness. You pressed your lips to his, letting your tongue roam around his mouth before pulling away. Eddie look up at you, his eyes filling with lust at the thought of you taking the reigns.

"I'm on top," you told him, pinning his wrists to the floor. Eddie gulped, his mouth going dry in response at your words. God you were so fucking hot and he hoped you knew that.

"Yes ma'am," he nodded, his breathing labored. You straddled him, slowly settling yourself onto Eddie's cock, the two of you moaning at the sensation. You rolled your hips into him as you slowly rode him, wanting to warm up before getting up to the pace that you usually liked.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he whimpered as you bucked against him.

"I know, honey. I hope you have a lot of energy because we're just getting started." You picked up the pace, riding him faster, watching him completely come undone below you. His eyes were shut tight and his pretty hair was fanned out on the floor. He looked so fucking hot and that image was definitely going to be burned into your brain forever.

Sex with Eddie had been everything you had ever wanted. He made all the noises that you had imagined and treated you with so much respect even though he was saying the most filthy things to you. Even though he hadn't written "mine" on your upper thigh, you couldn't have asked for a better partner, hoping that you could make fucking him a regular thing.

Your hands moved to his shoulder as you leaned over so his dick could reach further into your pussy, rolling your hips into his as his hands gripped your waist roughly. Your were both moving fast and hard, moan after moan falling from your lips as you reached your climaxes.

You climbed off of Eddie and after you did all of the proper things to clean the two of you up, you both laid down on the floor of the van. Eddie took one of the blankets that was folded up in the corner and draped it over your bodies, pulling your to him so you were flush to him.

He grabbed hold of your leg and draped it over his hip, holding it there with his hand as his other one reached up and wiped the sweat from your forehead. He placed a kiss to it and let his other hand lazily trace patterns along your skin, his chocolate eyes filled with so much affection.

"Can you guess what I'm writing?" He asked and you focused, trying to figure it out. His finger lightly wrote the first letter and you used all of the brain power that you had left to try and figure it out.

M-I-N-E was what he had written. You were sure of it. You had envisioned it so many times, practically feeling his fingers on your skin every single time.

"Mine," you replied so confidently before pulling him into a sweet kiss, smiling against his lips.

"Yep," he nodded, pressing a kiss to your nose. "You're mine now."

"As long as you're mine," you said, snuggling further into him, resting your head against his bare chest.

"I always was," he said with a smile that you couldn't see as he pecked the top of your head, resting his chin on top of it. After years and years of being rejected and called every single name in the book, after years of torment and resentment, Eddie finally got the girl.

[tibby-art]

i am straight up on my hands and knees BEGGING for more hitman au

crazy that you mention that actually because i did write another snippet a little while ago.. here’s a doodle i did to accompany it + the writing under the cut

=+=

Grian gazed out the window of the bus, soaking in the quiet evening of the city. It had been some time since he was out in public like this, since he had felt like a normal citizen going about her daily buisness. It was nice to be outside the NHO headquarters for once, free to do what she pleased. Well, sort of.

Grian wasn’t exactly free. He was allowed some free time out when there was no training, lab visits, or missions. However, she was only allowed outside the NHO with a bodyguard. Someone who could both protect him from the overstimulation of the outside world, as well as protect others from her… if he were to ever lose control of his powers, or something.

Yes, riding the bus with a former-criminal-turned-professional-hitman certainly made the whole experience feel less normal for Grian.

“It’s nice to take public transportation once in a while,” Scar mused, stretching his arms over his head. “Us vexes don’t get to do that much anymore, when we can just fly around wherever we need to go.”

“That must be so much better, though,” Grian pointed out. “You can fly wherever you want, and you don’t even have to pay the bus fare.”

“Let me tell you, Grian, flying can be so tiring,” Scar huffed. “Sometimes I’m so tired by the time we show up to a hit, we need to take a breather on the roof for a few minutes. The NHO should just let us have a car for the long missions, for goodness’ sake!”

Grian did a quick check of his surroundings. The bus was pretty empty this time of day, but she got no sense that any of the passengers were paying attention to Scar so casually talking about being a hitman. A brief tap into watcher vision didn’t show any movement from the passengers behind her, either.

“Cub’s in much better shape than me,” Scar rambled on. “Did you know that man was a professional basketball player once? Or was it golf…? Actually, I think it was both.”

The NHO didn’t deem it too urgent to send both their prized hitmen on Grian-watching duty, so Cub had stayed behind at the headquarters. Last time Grian had seen Cub, he was showing off a ring of keys to Scar, saying how he was going to get a lot of ‘research’ done that night.

“What are those keys for?” Grian asked.

“Don’t know yet,” Cub shrugged. “That’s part of the fun”.

“So… those aren’t your keys?”

Cub and Scar just grinned at her.

“….This is our stop,” Grian said.

The pair exited the bus. The Hermit City library stood before them.

“Library, huh?” Scar asked. “Do you have some overdue books from before you became a watcher or something?”

“Not so loud,” Grian scolded, glancing around a mostly empty city street. “But, no. Speaking of… that, I wanted to see if there were any books I could find on the subject.”

Scar raised an eyebrow. “Do you think a public library would have better information than what we have at the NHO?”

Grian shrugged. “It’s worth a shot.”

The library was pretty empty at this time of day. In fact, they probably closed in an hour or so. Grian had deliberately chosen a time of day where less people would be around, so that the trip was less overwhelming on his new senses. Scar had complained that he wasn’t a morning person, so they settled on the evening instead. Grian secretly was also glad she could sleep in a little.

“Geez, when’s the last time I’ve been in one of these?” Scar muttered, glancing at the countless shelves of books as they walked past.

“What, are you allergic to reading?” Grian teased.

“Well, I am dyslexic, so… sort of?”

Grian realized that for a trip to the library to do some research, she probably should have gotten Cub to come. The man literally has two science degrees, after all.

The two made their way to the front desk, where the librarian on duty appeared to be preoccupied… knitting a hand puppet of some kind?

“Well howdy there!” The librarian looked up from his work cheerfully. He had long, brown hair that was dyed neon green at the tips, matching perfectly with her pointed green glasses. “What can I help y’all with?”

“Uh, yes, um.” Grian tapped his fingers on the desk. “We were wondering if you had any books on Watchers, and where they might be?”

“Watchers, huh…” The librarian furrowed their brow. “Now that’s an obscure topic.” He swiveled his chair towards his computer to investigate further. Grian began to grow anxious with how obvious he felt they were being.

“I know, right?” Scar sighed, leaning on the desk casually. “It’s for some lame group project that’s like, a fourth of our final grade in the class.”

“Yikes! That sounds rough,” The librarian remarked as she typed on the computer. Grian tapped into his sixth sense and didn’t pick up on any feelings of suspicion from the librarian. Maybe bringing Scar was a good idea.

“Okay, well, most of these books that are coming up seem to be more on the… fantasy side,” The librarian explained after a moment of scrolling. “I know those guys are mythological beings, but you said you’re doing a research project, so I’m guessing you want something more factual…”

“Yeah, anything with information about where they came from, what they do, stuff like that.” Grian nodded. “Y’know, like if they were real.”

“Oh! Here’s something promising.” The librarian turned the monitor so that Grian and Scar could see. “This book right here seems to be a study of the tales of Watchers throughout history. Although… it looks like our only copy is checked out at the moment.”

“Really?” Grian asked. “By who?”

The librarian blinked. “Hm… y’know, I’m actually not sure if I’m supposed to like, give that information to people? Like, legally?”

“There’s another person in our group project, so we just want to know if they beat us to checking out this book,” Scar lied. “Communication in group projects, am I right?”

“Pff, yeah, that makes sense,” The librarian turned the computer back to face him. “It looks like this book is currently being borrowed by a Martyn. With a y! How fancy.”

“Ah, Martyn with a y, of course!” Scar exclaimed. “Well, now we know that Martyn has the book, right Grian?”

“Yup,” Grian agreed, mind racing.

“Hey, actually…” The librarian scrolled down on the computer some more. “You guys sure got the right person for this project. It looks like this Martyn fella has been checking this book out for a few months now?”

Grian’s eyes widened.

“Ohh, that Martyn,” Scar laughed. “Always getting the head start on things! Uh, did we need anything else, Grian?”

“Um…” Grian needed to think fast. Whoever this Martyn person was, he’s been checking the same book on Watchers out for months. Surely he has to know something about them. Grian had to speak to him. But how on earth were they going to find this person?

Grian focused on the back of the librarian’s computer monitor. For a brief moment, in her mind’s eye, he could see the content of computer screen, from the librarian’s eyes. There on the screen was a full name: Martyn Littlewood.

“Nope, that’s all,” Grian replied, blinking rapidly as he returned to his own vision.

“Great. Well, you two have a good one!” The librarian said cheerfully, and returned to their knitting.

Grian and Scar briskly made their way outside.

“Wow. So who’s this Martyn guy? I didn’t think anyone else cared about Watchers that much,” Scar began, turning to Grian. “Oh uh, Grian, you’ve got something there…” Scar pointed to his own nose, looking worried all of a sudden.

“Huh?” Grian wiped his nose on his sleeve instinctively, expecting snot. However, when he glanced at his arm he saw red.

“Ah.” At least her sweater was already red.

“What did you do in there?” Scar asked, his green eyes intense with a mix of curiosity and concern.

“I was able to get a better look at that computer, and see the guy’s last name,” Grian explained. “Martyn Littlewood. Whoever he is, he might have a ton of information about Watchers. I’ve got to find him and have a word with him.”

“Grian, you’re amazing!” Scar exclaimed, impressed. “Well, finding someone in this city should be easy enough for a Watcher.”

“Shush,” Grian glanced around the empty bus stop. “Or we could try, y’know, looking the name up online first…” Grian quickly pulled out her phone. “Ah. Found him.”

“What? You’re kidding.”

“Oh my god, Scar.”

“What?”

“Scar.” Grian held the phone out. “Martyn Littlewood is…”

“A youtuber?” Scar’s jaw dropped as he scrolled through the list of videos. “And he makes videos talking about-“

“Watchers.”

Scar stared at Grian, dumbfounded.

“Scar, I think we just found the world’s biggest, and perhaps only, Watcher fanatic,” Grian stated in disbelief. “And he lives right here in Hermit City.”

[darlingbabyboo]

I've been thinking for a while about a particular one shot request and I read it last night on another fandom, so now I kinda wanna see it with TR.

So here it is : How would some of the guys react to us doodling on their hand during some boring class? (Mikey, Draken, Takemichi, Mitsuya, Haitani brothers and the Kawata twins)

Sorry if it's too much! It doesn't have to be anything big, just a small reaction would be more than perfect, since I love your writing so much. 🥹

Baby, What Are You Doing...

Summary: the guys react to you doodling on their arms

Notes: some small blurbs about the guys. These vary in length and I was lowkey running out of ideas while I was writing but I tried my best to stay original! Also, not edited bcs I don't got time for that, you see a mistake, no you didn't <333

Mikey is kinda out there so he probably wouldn't even notice you were writing on his hand, but when he does he eats that shit up. He's lazy so he doesn't like going to get tats but he loves some ink. He will praise you and start requesting things like you're a professional artist. 'Please babe, I want a dorayaki on my forearm.' You bite your lip to hide your blossoming smile, 'you know I'm not a professional artist, right?' Your boyfriend shrugs and smacks a kiss to your cheek, 'you are to me babe!'

Draken notices right away what you're doing and is probably a bit confused at first. Like, do you want him to get another tattoo??? He'll do it hun, just ask. You two are relaxing in his bed, just enjoying each other's presence. He's surprised when you pull out a Sharpie and start doodling your name on his arm. 'Honey, what're you doing?' You give a sheepish grin, 'sorry, is it a problem.' He looks at the doodle, and you start to relax when you spot no disgust in his eyes. 'No problem hun,' he turns to you, 'think I should get this my next visit?' You squeal and wrap your arms around his neck as he looks at the doodle in wonder, more love sprouting in his heart.

Takemichi is a loser (affectionate) and he would never get a tattoo because he can't stand that pain, so he will take take that doodle and he will hold it with pride. 'Sweetie, I love it so much!' He wraps his arms around your waist and you can feel his smile against your stomach. You giggle at his wonder at some shitty stick figures along his arms. 'It's really no big deal' You say, running your hands through his hair, 'you don't need to be so happy.' He shakes his head, 'it is a big deal,' He insists, 'I've never seen anything better!'

Mitsuya my love, my heart, my will to live. He will be gassing up so much that you'll probably start believing that you're the best artist in the world. He's just such a supportive cutie pie <3 'Darling, this is one of the greatest things I've ever seen,' You laugh at the amazement in his eyes as you scribble your name in mock script on his arms. It's barley legible, but Takashi doesn't seem to care, 'you sure about that?' The smile doesn't drop from his face as he looks at you with hearts in his eyes, 'I think it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.'

I'm sorry but Smiley is probably the biggest asshole when he catches you doing this. He loves it, I promise, but he's a jerk 100% of the time, it's hard for him to turn it off. He raises an eyebrow when he sees you uncap your sharpie and start to draw something on his hand. 'What the fuck is that supposed to be?' He mutters. You laugh awkwardly at his harsh tone and drop your Sharpie, 'sorry, I just saw some cute videos about people putting their initials on their boyfriends wrists and I thought-it's stupid sorry-I don't know why I did that.' You duck your head down, burying your face into his chest, feeling that your body's on fire. Smiley looks at the half-finished doodle on his wrist. 'Don't stop baby, shit's pretty cute.' He presses a kiss to the crown of your head, 'I might get it tatted up.'

Angry is so flustered when he sees you doing this and he loves it so much okay. He feels like wearing it is a testament of how strong your love is. He will ask you (nervously) to do it every day because he doesn't want it to fade. 'Oh my gosh! Souya, you scared me, what're you doing there?' He stands awkwardly in the corner of your room, playing with the ends of his sleeves. 'Sorry... I didn't want to scare you... I just...' He pulls up his sleeve and he sees the fading bunny on his arm. 'I don't wanna bother you, I just-' 'Don't worry baby, I get it.' You cut him off, cupping his cheek and placing a kiss on his cheek. You pull him towards the bed and tell him to wait, 'I just need to get my Sharpies!'

Ran won't notice I'm sorry. He sleeps most of the day and he already has so much ink that some doodles won't pop out to him too much. It's only until he notices you doodling on a piece of paper one day and compares it to what's all over his arms that he starts tweakin'. 'Angel have you been inkin' me up?' He raises an eyebrow at you, confused. You hide your smile, 'of course not, I have no idea what you're talking about.' He narrows his eyes, '...okay.' Not completely believing you, but too sleepy to question things. 'Wanna take a nap?' You feel the Sharpie in your pocket and bite the inside of your cheeks, 'I'd love to!'

Rindou will eat that shit up, oh my gosh he loves it so much. He's like the extreme version of Angry and Mikey. He wants it obvious, and he wants it bold. 'C'mon princess, your name on my collarbone, I need it.' You raise an eyebrow as you straddle him, 'in red though, that's a bit... much.' He shakes his head, 'no, no, it'll be perfect.' You shake your head in exasperation, your boyfriend is a big dummy, but he loves you with every part of himself.

[empresskylo]

ೃ⁀➷ call of duty incorrect quotes

⋆｡°✩ all featuring gn!reader insert ⋆｡°✩ AUTHOR'S NOTE | hopefully these aren't cringey lol, i pulled most of them from pinterest. i just thought they'd be fun. let me know if you'd want to see more.

cod masterlist | main masterlist

soap: *bursts into the room, starts panicking* ghost: you: ghost: what happened? soap: no one died you: WHAT KIND OF ANSWER–

gaz: have you heard the joke about the gaslighter? soap: no... gaz: no, you definitely have. soap: no I haven't. gaz: you've literally heard it before. soap: no i haVEN'T gaz: yes you have soap: I DON'T KNOW IT?!? gaz: you're crazy, man. ghost: *hiding his smirk* you: *giggling beside ghost*

soap: I just fell– you: from heaven? soap: no, like I literally just fell– you: in love with me? soap: my fucKING ARM IS BROKEN you: okay, but do you think i'm pretty? be honest.

you: i sleep with a dagger under my pillow. gaz: weak. I sleep with a gun. ghost: you're both pathetic. you: oh?? and what do you sleep with? ghost: soap. you: *spits out drink*

you: what are you, 5? konig [snorts]: yeah, 5 heads taller than you. you: konig: konig: I'm sorry, please don't kill me.

you [on the phone]: uh... price? price [tired]: is the base on fire? you: well...no? price: then it's not an emergency price: *hangs up* gaz: WHAT DID HE SAY? you: he said it's not an emergency. soap [pinned under a cabinet that ghost and alejandro are trying to get off him]: HOW IS THIS NOT AN EMERGENCY

ghost: i invited you into the woods because I crave the most dangerous game. you and soap [both nodding]: knife monopoly. ghost: i was actually going to hunt you for sport but now i'm interested in whatever the fuck knife monopoly is.

ghost: *is carrying all the groceries* you: *holds out a hand to help* ghost: *aggressively moves all the groceries to one hand to hold your hand*

you: can you keep a secret? ghost: do you know anything about my life? you: no, i do not. good point.

[you and ghost texting] you: where are you? ghost: turn around ghost: no the other way ghost: wrong way again you: ghost, where exactly are you?? ghost: at base, but the thought of you turning aimlessly in circles amuses me.

soap: go big or go home! you [tears in your eyes]: i am begging you, soap. for once in your life, go home. please. just this once. go home. ghost: *nods in agreement* soap: i'm going big!

soap: hey, random question, what are your favorite flowers? you: peonies, why? soap: you: were you going to get me flowers? soap: you: soap: it's a possibility...

you: why are you smiling? price: what? can't I just be happy? soap: gaz tripped and fell in the parking lot.

ghost: i wish i could block people in real life. you: restraining order. soap: murder. gaz: jesus fucking chr–

you: so you don't have a thing for anyone at the moment? soap: well... i didn't say that. you: oh. what's she like then? soap: you're just gonna assume they're a 'she'? you: are they– you: are they not a girl? soap: *gay panic*

ghost: i made tea. you: i don't want tea. ghost: i didn't make tea for you. this is my tea. you: then why are you telling me? ghost: it's a conversation starter. soap [looking between you two, confused] you: that's not really a conversation starter. ghost: oh, it isn't? we're conversing, aren't we? checkmate. you [scoffing]: well it's a lousy one then. ghost: never said it wasn't. you: *looking at soap* soap: *looking at you*

price: what does 'take out' mean? alejandro: food. gaz: dating. soap: murder. you: it can mean all three if you're not a coward. ghost: soap: gaz: price: you: what?

ghost: look, i know you think my judgment is clouded because i like soap a little bit. you [holding ghost's notepad]: you doodled your wedding invitations. ghost: no, that's our joint tombstone. you: oh, right, my mistake.

konig: hello, welcome to our first debrief. konig: today we're talking about... you [whispering]: building loyalty. konig: killing royalty. you [under your breath]: oh my god.

ghost: i am a very bad person. very very bad person. i am a horrible person. soap: you: gaz: ghost: "no you're not, ghost! we still love you, ghost!"

[feverdreamjohnny]

"Why There Will Never Be a Peeb Adventures" otherwise known as "The Peeb Adventures Pre-Mortem"

Since 2020, I've made a good chunk of games. Hell, even though I've been doing this for 10 years to date, the majority of my progress as a creative began over the course of this 4 year period.

Out of all the games I've made - or otherwise had a hand in - there is only one that's apparently struck a chord so deeply with people that to this day I still get messages and comments asking when it will come out.

The title of this post already explains the whole deal so I'm not gonna be dramatic about it right here. As per usual, I will instead get heart-clutchingly dramatic about the subject by the end of this story.

I felt the idea of a "Pre-Mortem" might be a fun way to talk about games that will never be finished. Maybe I'll make more of these down the line for other old games, who knows.

"The Incredibly True Origins of Peeb Adventures" or "Wow! I Hate It!"

Peeb Adventures began as a gift game for my long-time friend Aaron. It was simple, mostly functioning as a fun little gag that stemmed from a 3D model I made of a character he doodled during a drawpile session. I gave Peeb a grapple hook just because I wanted to experiment with swinging mechanics and felt the gag gift was a great space to toy around in without having to actually ask myself how on earth I'd want to structure a game around a grappling hook. Foreshadowing!

Eventually, the gag gift did that classic thing all developers have experienced before where your game spirals out of control and grows into a hideous monster, and what started as a fairly abstract grappling toy convergently evolved into that dreaded state we call a "3D Mascot Platformer."

I made a very short demo in the summer of 2020. It went absolutely nowhere, and after an idol of mine caught wind and asked to play it (before sending about 3 paragraphs of feedback suggesting how to improve what was, in my view, a trainwreck of baby blocks stacked on top of eachother), I shelved the project.

"The Absolutely Tremendulous HPS1 Adventure of Peeb" or "My Friend Jam Suggested I Revive the Project and So I Did"

Shortly after Peeb was shelved for the first time, I joined a community of game developers called Haunted PS1. For those not in the know, HPS1 was essentially the nexus point for "retro horror games" in the indie sphere, and a lot of the resulting deluge (non-perjorative) on itch.io can find its roots in this community.

HPS1 was a good place. Lots of nice, talented people willing to tolerate the kind of mindless riffing I often do in voice calls, anyway. I made a decent chunk of friends there, some of which I'm still quite close to, even today.

HPS1 has this tradition called the HPS1 Demo Disc that began in 2020, and with the year coming to its end, there was talk of a new one set to arrive in spring 2021.

Unlike the first demodisc, however, 2021's disc required you to submit a game in-progress to a panel of judges. They'd then give their yay-or-nay, and you were either in or out.

One day, I was musing over the fact that I didn't really have anything to submit so I would likely have to sit out of 2021's disc. My friend, Jam, who you might know as the developer of the Heilwald Loophole (or Beton Brutal) suggested I consider reviving Peeb Adventures as my submission to the demo disc.

Why did I follow through on this? I don't know. It's funny to think a scenario this simple was the launch point for my career.

Over the next 6 months, I worked on turning the absolutely horrendous gag game into... Something still kinda trite but at least playable. I had some help from my longtime teammate drurylain, my longtime friend Aaron (the creator of Peeb's original design), and my longtime spiritual uncle Tim, and with our powers combined... A new kind of demo experience where you don't do anything of particular note besides swinging around was born.

Also quite important: the very same drawpile session that spawned Peeb also spawned Orbo, who would also make his own appearance in Peeb Adventures as a recurring side character (since I felt like Peeb needed a friend).

"Go! Incredible Friendship Unites in the Gameosphere! Peeb and Orbo are Born!" or "Peeb Adventures: Coming Never"

So the demo for Peeb Adventures was finished early March 2021, and the demo disc went live on itch.io on the 25th of the month.

The demo disc then proceeded to do a backflip and pick up a LOT of traction online. Which then meant Peeb itself was catching little bits of the traction in its mouth and smacking its lips.

I went from "guy who makes games for nobody" to "guy who makes games for that one very specific brand of teen on twitter who loves the object head show", and I was riding high.

Fanart poured in. People showed a lot of love. I was dazzled by it all, really.

Despite the love for the game and the potential on hand, progress was stagnant. My group of friends and I all got together in a google doc and wrote an entire planning bible for the game. Game mechanics, story beats, twists and turns, the whole thing. Despite having the structure lined up, I had other ambitions and began working on a multiplayer deathmatch game that quickly overtook my work schedule.

Peeb sat on the backburner, but at the time I still wanted to finish it one day. My main excuse was "well, I just need more money! If I'm going to work on this game it's gonna need more than one fulltime person and I can't just ask people to work for free!" That excuse worked on me for a while.

"I Don't Think I Want to Play With You Anymore Peeb!" or "There's Such a Thing as Too Much Love"

A while had passed at this point. My ambitions hadn't just grown, they'd completely shifted. Before long, I found myself working on yet another demo for the 2022 HPS1 Demo Disc, "The Spectral Mall."

Nowhere, MI wasn't just some random toy for me, but the culmination of all my love into one game. Despite its silly demeanor, the game was a product of a lot of pain, and even now I still desperately want to finish it. Except I have to make money to live, so... Oops!

Anyhow, there was a shift in demeanor for me during 2022. You have Peeb, a game that I made on a whim as kind of a joke with friends, and you have Nowhere, MI, a game that meant the world to me during really dark times.

And you know what? There were a lot of people that wanted Peeb. People that never stopped asking me about it.

I realized while working on Nowhere that I didn't really know what I would even do if I ever had the chance to work on the full Peeb Adventures. Not only did I find the nagging kind of annoying, Peeb was also something I couldn't really... Wrap my head around?

It occurred to me that Peeb wasn't really "my" game anymore, it was "his" game. The old Johnny.

I'd changed a lot since the game had come out in early 2021. In a year and a half my world got flipped upside down, and... I don't know, Nowhere was way more reflective of who I was now. Sure the humor was still pretty asinine, but there was a shift. It was hard to picture the "Peeb Adventures" people were actually looking forward to when my own sensibilities had drifted so far.

When the Nowhere demo came out along with Spectral Mall, it did... Alright? People liked it, but it wasn't the same as Peeb's release. Hell, even in Nowhere's release there were people pushing it aside to ask the same question they'd been asking every week leading up to it. "When is Peeb Adventures coming out?"

"Goodbye Peeb!"

It was increasingly harder and harder to not look back at Peeb and kind of hate it. It was rough in every respect, and yet it whenever I met people who'd heard of me online, they always cited Peeb Adventures.

Strangers continue to ask me when it's coming out. On rare occasion I'll get someone asking about Nowhere and I'll feel a bit excited anyone else cares about that game besides me and maybe my friends, but most of the time people just ask about Peeb.

To finally answer this question I've been asked for nearly 4 years: There will probably never be a Peeb Adventures.

"Goodbye Johnny."

I like to believe one of the reasons people are attracted to my body of work is because I make games to reach out to other people. That's probably not the real reason, but it's nice to play pretend and imagine your work has more significance than just "ha ha boner."

I put a lot of myself in my games and I rarely hold back, even if an idea is insanely stupid or strange. The result usually becomes something more like a scrapbook than a game.

It's hard to try and expand on a game like Peeb when the Johnny who made it isn't really with us anymore. If I worked on Peeb now, you'd get some kind of irregular frankenstein that'd never be as exciting as the original vision was.

By the time I get around to Nowhere again, am I still going to be this Johnny? Or will the next Johnny look back at Nowhere the same way I look at Peeb now? Who knows.

Anyway, look forward to more games from me and my friends. Even if it's not Peeb Adventures, it'll still be us.

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ homecoming

chapter summary: While giving a guest lecture at your alma mater, you run into two people you never expected to meet.

word count: 9.4k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: the ending of this is kind of the set up for every other chapter; you'll see what i mean when you read it :)

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, shy!reader, mention of absent parents, oral (f!receiving) fluff, slight angst

series masterlist - chapter 2 → chapter 4

“When two particles interact, they become linked, no matter how far apart they are. Changing one affects the other instantaneously, faster than light…”

Your voice faltered as you glanced at Logan, who sat at one of the desks, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with a small, amused smile. He wasn’t even trying to hide how much he adored you. You could practically feel it radiating off of him.

You froze mid-step, letting out a soft sigh. “This isn’t going to work,” you said, taking off your glasses and rubbing the bridge of your nose.

Logan raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “What’s not gonna work, sweetheart?”

“This,” you gestured toward him, exasperated but fond. “You’re looking at me like my husband, not a bored college student who probably only showed up because there’s free food after the lecture. How am I supposed to practice if you’re just… swooning at me?”

Logan leaned back in his chair, chuckling. “Swooning, huh? Don’t think anyone’s ever accused me of that before.”

You crossed your arms, trying to appear stern, but the warmth in his gaze made it impossible. “I’m serious, Logan. I need honest feedback, not… whatever this is.”

Pushing himself up from the chair, Logan walked toward you, his hands finding your waist as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Alright, darlin’. Give me fifteen minutes. I’ll make it more realistic for you.”

“Logan—” you started to protest, but he was already heading toward the door, a sly grin on his face.

When he returned, you were taken aback. Logan had enlisted some of the younger students—Rogue, Bobby, and Kitty, among others—and had them seated in the classroom. To keep things authentic, he had provided them with snacks and, you suspected, strict instructions to act as uninterested and distracted as possible. Rogue was already doodling on her notebook, Kitty was whispering something to Bobby, and Jubilee was tapping her pen loudly on the desk.

You frowned, looking at Logan as he leaned casually against the wall near the door. “You know I already teach them, right? This isn’t exactly a new audience.”

Logan shrugged, that trademark smirk playing on his lips. “Yeah, but they’re good at actin’ like they don’t care. Go on. You’ve got this.”

Rolling your eyes, you adjusted your glasses and turned back to face the room. The students quieted down a little, though their expressions remained deliberately bored. With a deep breath, you launched back into your explanation, this time ignoring Logan’s soft chuckles in the background.

---

Later that evening, after the impromptu lecture had ended and Logan had dismissed the students, you found yourself in the library, curled up in one of the oversized chairs with a book. Logan entered quietly, his presence impossible to miss as he sat down on the arm of your chair.

“You did great, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and warm.

You glanced up at him, a small smile on your lips. “You think so?”

He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “I know so. You’re brilliant. Just had to make sure you believed it.”

Feeling a little less shy, you reached up to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “Thank you, Logan. For always believing in me.”

His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “Always, darlin’.”

For a moment, the world seemed to still, and it was just the two of you, together in the quiet.

---

“Well, if there are no more questions…” Robert, one of the faculty at Stanford, looked out into the audience, giving a polite nod toward the murmuring crowd. “Alright, thank you, Mrs. Howlett, for coming all this way for us.”

The room began to stir as students shuffled in their seats, gathering their belongings. A few polite claps echoed, mingling with the hushed sounds of conversation. “There are some food and drinks out in the hall if you’d—ah, no point,” Robert trailed off as half the students ignored him, funneling toward the exit.

You stood by the podium, your heart still racing slightly from the presentation. Public speaking wasn’t your forte, but Stanford was your alma mater, and you’d been determined to deliver a polished talk. From your vantage point, you spotted Logan lingering near the back, his arms crossed, a half-smile tugging at his lips. He didn’t bother to hide the pride in his expression.

As the room emptied, Logan made his way toward you. His heavy boots echoed in the quieting auditorium, his presence grounding as always. “Told ya it’d go fine,” he said as he stopped in front of you.

You smiled, still a little flustered. “Yeah, well… you’re biased.”

Logan snorted. “Sure. But it doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear with a surprising gentleness. “Proud of you, darlin’. Bet half of them couldn’t keep up, but that’s their loss.”

Rolling your eyes, you adjusted your glasses. “Thanks, Logan. That was—”

“—adorable? Endearing? Downright brilliant?” he offered, smirking.

“Not what I was going to say,” you replied with a laugh, shoving his arm lightly. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

He stepped aside to let you lead the way, trailing comfortably behind you. Once outside, you were both met with the sharp, sunny California afternoon, a stark contrast to the cool Westchester climate you were used to. The warmth in the air was matched by your mood—light, content, maybe a little relieved.

But before either of you could make it to the parking lot, a voice called from behind.

“Excuse me! Y/N?”

You froze mid-step, the hair on your arms standing on end. Logan instantly noticed your shift, his body tensing as he placed a steadying hand on your lower back. Turning slowly, you were met with the sight of an older couple, a man and a woman in their late fifties or early sixties. The man wore a sharp suit, the woman a tasteful blazer, though they both looked somewhat uncertain, hesitant.

The woman took a step forward. “Hi… I—I know this is sudden, but…” Her gaze searched yours for recognition, but there was none. Her voice softened. “We’re your parents.”

Your stomach dropped.

The words hung in the air like they weren’t real, their weight pressing down on your chest. Your first instinct was to laugh, to brush it off as some cruel joke, but their expressions didn’t shift. They were hopeful. Nervous.

Logan’s hand tightened ever so slightly against your back, a subtle reminder that he was there. You swallowed hard, taking a shaky breath as your mind struggled to catch up.

“I—I don’t…” you stammered. “Why now?”

The man, your supposed father, winced. “That’s a fair question. We—well, we’ve always regretted not reaching out sooner.”

“Sooner?” The word caught in your throat as you tried to process. “I’ve been alive for twenty-seven years. You could’ve called. Written. Literally anything. But you didn’t. And now, suddenly—”

“We’re sorry,” the woman interrupted softly, her eyes glossy. “We want to get to know you, if you’ll let us. Maybe… dinner? Tonight?”

You flinched at the suggestion, glancing at Logan. His jaw was tight, his gaze scrutinizing, but he didn’t speak, letting you handle this at your own pace. For a moment, you wanted him to step in, to tell them off for their audacity. But you shook the thought away, taking another deep breath.

“I’ll think about it,” you finally managed, your voice flat. “Can I… get back to you?”

They nodded quickly, a mixture of relief and sadness flickering across their faces. “Of course,” your father said. “Here—” He handed over a business card, the expensive stock and minimalist design further underlining the contrast between their lives and the one you’d known.

After a few more polite murmurs, they walked away, leaving you standing there in stunned silence.

---

Back at the hotel, you paced the room restlessly while Logan sat on the edge of the bed, watching you with a mix of concern and quiet protectiveness. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Darlin’,” he said gently, “you don’t owe them anything.”

You stopped, turning to face him. “But what if I do? They’re my parents, Logan. My parents. And I don’t even know why they gave me up. What if it was something… unavoidable? What if they’ve changed?” You ran a hand through your hair, your glasses slipping slightly down your nose. “What if I’m just being a coward by not hearing them out?”

Logan stood, crossing the room in two strides to stand in front of you. His hands rested on your shoulders, grounding you. “Coward? No. You’re not that. But you don’t gotta torture yourself trying to fix somethin’ that ain’t your fault.”

His words soothed a little of the storm inside you, but they didn’t erase it entirely. “I know,” you murmured, leaning into his touch. “But if I don’t go, I’ll always wonder. I just…” You hesitated, looking up at him. “I don’t want to do it alone.”

His expression softened instantly. “You think I’d let you?” he said, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “If you decide to meet ‘em, I’ll be there. No question. Always.”

The weight in your chest lifted slightly. With Logan, it didn’t feel as scary. You nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it. Dinner.”

Logan pressed a light kiss to your forehead. “Alright, sweetheart. But just say the word, and we’re outta there.”

---

You fiddled with the edge of your dress, keeping your gaze down from your ‘parents’ across the small restaurant table. The world around you was warm and inviting—the soft clatter of plates, the low hum of conversation—but it might as well have been silent. Your parents, the very people who had abandoned you as a child, now sat across from you, smiling as though they’d earned this moment.

Logan, ever your anchor, sat beside you, his hand resting lightly on your knee under the table. The subtle pressure was calming, a wordless reminder that he was here, that you weren’t alone in this. You took a steadying breath and finally looked up to meet their gazes.

“So,” your mother began, her tone almost too casual, as though she were trying to bridge a lifetime of absence with small talk. “How long have you and Logan been together?”

You hesitated, glancing at Logan. He gave you an encouraging nod, his expression unreadable to anyone but you. “About a year and a half,” you said finally. “We got married six months ago.”

“Married already?” your father said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s… fast, isn’t it?”

“Not when you know it’s right,” Logan said smoothly, his voice low and steady. He leaned back in his chair, his arm now draped along the back of yours. Though he appeared relaxed, you could sense the subtle tension in his posture. He was watching them, every word and movement, like a hawk.

Your mother smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “And where do you work now? Still at Stanford?”

“No,” you replied, shaking your head. “I teach physics at a school in New York.”

“Physics,” your father repeated, his tone carrying a trace of surprise. “That’s impressive. Your grandmother always did say you were smart.” He sipped his wine, glancing briefly at Logan. “And Logan? What do you do?”

“I’m a teacher too,” Logan said simply, his gaze unwavering.

Your mother tilted her head, clearly not expecting that answer. “Oh? What subject?”

“History,” Logan replied. His tone was polite enough, but you could tell he was tiring of the scrutiny.

You shifted uncomfortably, eager to steer the conversation away from Logan. “What made you decide to reach out now?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended but firm.

Your parents exchanged a quick look, and your mother’s smile faltered. “Well,” she began, folding her hands in her lap, “we’ve been thinking about you for a long time. And after your grandfather passed recently…” She trailed off, her expression turning somber.

Your chest tightened at the mention of your grandfather. Though your grandparents had divorced long before you were born, you’d had a close relationship with him growing up. Although, it had fizzled out when she died, he still made sure to send you letters every holiday.

Your father cleared his throat, his voice gentler now. “He left something for you in his will. A substantial inheritance. We thought it was important that we deliver the news personally.”

You blinked, stunned. “What?”

“He wanted you to have it,” your mother added quickly, as if that somehow justified their sudden reappearance in your life. “He left… quite a bit of money. Enough to make a difference.”

The words hung in the air like a lead weight. You glanced at him, and his jaw was set, his eyes sharp as they flicked between your parents.

“So, let me get this straight,” Logan said, his voice low and cutting. “You didn’t want her. Didn’t care enough to reach out for twenty-seven years. But now that there’s money involved, you’re here playin’ happy family?”

Your father bristled, his gaze hardening. “That’s not fair.”

“No?” Logan shot back, his tone daring him to argue. “Sounds pretty accurate to me.”

Your mother opened her mouth to respond, but the ringing of Logan’s phone cut through the tension. He pulled it from his pocket, glancing at the screen. “It’s Jean,” he muttered to you, standing. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

As Logan stepped away, your parents exchanged another look before your father let out a quiet scoff. “That’s who you married?” he said under his breath, though he didn’t bother to lower his voice enough for you to miss it.

Something in you snapped.

“That’s who I married,” you said sharply, your voice louder than you intended. Both of them turned to look at you, startled. “The man who’s been there for me every single day. Who loves me, supports me, and makes me feel like I matter. Unlike the two of you, who couldn’t even be bothered to stick around when I needed you.”

Your mother’s eyes widened. “We—”

“No,” you interrupted, standing now, your hands trembling. “You don’t get to explain. You don’t get to waltz into my life after nearly three decades and act like you care. You gave me up. You made that choice. And you don’t get to make me feel guilty for not wanting to play along with whatever this is.”

The restaurant was quiet now, other diners casting wary glances your way, but you didn’t care. You grabbed your bag, your heart pounding. “If Grandpa wanted me to have the money, fine. But don’t pretend you’re here for me. You’re here because you know you have no claim to it, and you’re hoping I’ll feel sorry enough for you to share.”

Your father’s face hardened, but your mother looked close to tears. As you turned to leave, you caught sight of Logan standing just outside the restaurant’s glass door, his expression unreadable. You knew he’d heard every word, his enhanced hearing ensuring he hadn’t missed a thing.

When you stepped outside, his arms were around you instantly, pulling you close. “You okay, darlin’?” he murmured, his voice low and steady.

You nodded against his chest, the weight of the confrontation beginning to lift. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I am now.”

Logan pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his grip tightening slightly. “Proud of you,” he said simply, and those three words meant more than anything else in that moment.

As you walked away from the restaurant together, hand in hand, you felt lighter. Logan was your family now, and with him, you had everything you needed.

---

Logan paced quietly near the small dresser in the hotel room, the dim light catching on the hard line of his jaw. You sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing your dress over your knees, the faint hum of the air conditioning filling the space. The weight of the confrontation had lifted slightly, replaced by a strange, bittersweet relief.

“Feel okay?” Logan asked, his voice soft, breaking the silence. He stopped pacing, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed as he looked at you.

You nodded, offering a small smile. “I think I do. It’s like… I finally said everything I’ve wanted to say for years. I’m not sure I even care about the inheritance. It’s just nice to have it out.”

Logan stepped closer, his movements measured, his eyes searching yours. “You were incredible back there,” he said. “I meant it when I said I was proud of you. Standing up for yourself, for us—it wasn’t easy, but you didn’t back down.”

His words sent a warmth through you that had nothing to do with the room. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You felt the bed dip slightly as he sat down beside you, his arm coming to rest around your shoulders. He didn’t rush you, just sat there, his presence solid and grounding.

“You sure you’re fine?” he asked again, his fingers brushing against your shoulder in a light, comforting touch.

You tilted your head to look at him, your glasses slipping slightly down your nose. “I’m sure,” you said firmly this time, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “Especially with you here.”

Logan’s eyes softened, a small smirk forming as he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “You’re stronger than you think, sweetheart.”

His hand slid from your shoulder to the curve of your waist, his thumb brushing against the fabric of your dress. The touch was subtle, almost absentminded, but it sent a shiver down your spine. You leaned into him, your breath catching as his lips found the corner of your mouth.

“Logan,” you murmured, a hint of hesitation in your voice.

“Hmm?” His lips moved along your jaw, slow and deliberate, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re good, right? Tell me to stop if you need to.”

You shook your head, your hands finding his chest. “I don’t want you to stop.”

That was all he needed to hear. Logan’s lips claimed yours fully, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck. The kiss was slow but deep, his tongue teasing against yours, drawing a quiet moan from your throat. His other hand slid lower, skimming the edge of your dress before tugging it slightly higher, his fingers brushing the bare skin of your thigh.

“You’re wearing this damn thing to kill me, aren’t you?” he muttered against your lips, his voice rough with need.

You flushed, a soft laugh escaping. “It’s just a dress.”

“It’s more than just a dress,” Logan said, his hand gripping your thigh, pulling you closer. His lips moved to your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there. “It’s you in it.”

Your breath hitched as his teeth grazed your pulse point, your hands clutching at his shirt. “Logan…”

"Let me take care of you, darlin’," Logan murmured, his voice low and intimate. Before you could respond, he was guiding you back onto the bed, his hands sliding up your legs, pushing the fabric of your dress higher. His touch was firm yet deliberate, each movement precise and confident, like he already knew exactly what you needed.

The hem of your dress bunched at your hips as Logan settled between your legs, his rough hands warm against your thighs. His eyes met yours, the intensity there enough to send your heart racing. "Still okay?" he asked softly, his voice steady, but his grip tightened slightly, grounding you.

You nodded, breath hitching slightly. "I’m fine, Logan. Really."

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Good. ‘Cause I’m not stoppin’ unless you tell me to."

His hands pressed your thighs open further, his gaze locked on the spot where your panties were already damp. He hooked his thumbs into the fabric and dragged it down slowly, the rough pads of his fingers grazing your skin and making you shiver. The cool air of the room hit you, but Logan’s warm breath soon replaced it, and you squirmed in anticipation.

"Patience," he muttered, his tone edged with teasing as his hands slid back up your legs, spreading them wider. His lips pressed to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, leaving a trail of kisses that grew closer and closer to where you ached for him most.

"Logan," you whispered, your voice barely audible. It wasn’t a plea—it was a need, a longing you couldn’t contain.

"Yeah, sweetheart, I know," he murmured, his breath hot against you. Then his mouth was on you, his tongue moving with slow, deliberate strokes that had your hands clutching at the sheets. Logan worked with a practiced precision, the rough scrape of his stubble against your skin contrasting perfectly with the soft heat of his tongue.

Your head fell back against the pillows as a quiet gasp escaped your lips. The tension in your body began to melt away, replaced by a wave of warmth and pleasure that only he could give. His hands gripped your thighs firmly, keeping you in place as he delved deeper, his tongue exploring every sensitive spot with maddening care.

"You taste so fuckin’ good," he said against you, his voice a low growl that sent a fresh surge of heat through your body. He glanced up briefly, his lips glistening. "Could stay here all damn night."

You bit your lip, your hands reaching down to thread through his hair, the soft strands catching between your fingers. "Logan," you whispered again, more insistently this time. The sound of his name seemed to spur him on, his tongue circling that sensitive bundle of nerves before sucking gently, drawing a shuddering moan from you.

His hands tightened on your thighs, holding you steady as your hips jerked reflexively against his mouth. Logan groaned low in his throat, the vibrations sending another jolt of pleasure through you. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow, just kept up the steady rhythm that had your body trembling beneath him.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he muttered against your skin, his voice rough, his lips brushing the slick heat between your thighs. "Love hearing those sounds you make."

You swallowed hard, your breaths coming in shallow gasps. "Logan... please," you murmured, your fingers curling tighter in his hair, urging him closer.

"Please what?" he rasped, his lips pressing kisses along your inner thigh before returning to where you needed him most. His tongue flicked over your clit again, and you nearly cried out, your back arching off the bed.

Your voice was barely above a whisper. "Don’t stop."

Logan smirked against you, his hands shifting to grip your hips, pulling you closer to his mouth. "Didn’t plan on it, darlin’."

He was relentless, his tongue teasing and stroking in ways that made your head spin. The sensation built steadily, your body tightening as the heat coiled low in your belly. You couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel as he worked you over, his stubble rough against your skin and his tongue unyielding.

"Oh- Logan," you gasped, your thighs trembling against his shoulders. He hummed in response, the sound low and guttural, his hands flexing against your hips.

The tension inside you snapped suddenly, and your entire body arched as a wave of heat and pleasure crashed over you. You cried out, your fingers tugging at his hair as you rode out the aftershocks, your thighs quivering in his grasp. Logan didn’t stop until you were squirming, pushing weakly at his shoulders as the sensation became too much.

He finally pulled back, his lips and chin glistening as he looked up at you with a satisfied grin. "There’s my girl," he murmured, his voice soft but edged with pride.

You let out a shaky breath, your head falling back against the pillow as you tried to steady your racing heart. Logan moved up the bed, settling beside you, his hand brushing against your arm as he leaned in to press a kiss to your temple.

"You good?" he asked, his voice quiet, almost tender.

You nodded, your breath still uneven. "Yeah. I’m good."

Logan stretched out beside you, pulling you close until your head rested against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat grounding you. His hand rubbed slow circles on your back, his other arm draped over your waist.

"Meant what I said earlier," he murmured, breaking the comfortable silence. "You were amazing tonight. Stood your ground, didn’t take any crap. Made me proud, sweetheart."

A small smile tugged at your lips, and you tilted your head to look at him. "Thank you," you said softly, your voice steady now.

Logan leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You don’t gotta thank me for telling the truth."

You settled back against him, your body relaxing completely for the first time all evening. Logan’s hand stayed firm on your back, his thumb tracing idle patterns against your skin as the quiet settled between you.

In that moment, there was no past, no lingering tension from the confrontation earlier. Just you and Logan, tangled together on the bed, his presence steady and unshakable.

---

You walked into the kitchen, the scent of freshly baked cookies still wafting in the air. Your eyes immediately caught Logan, mid-action, reaching for one of the chocolate chip cookies you and Jean had finished less than 30 minutes ago.

Before he could take a bite, you hurried over, grabbing his wrist. "Wait! I wanted that one!"

Logan looked down at you, raising an eyebrow in mild amusement. "There’s more right here, darlin’," he said, nodding toward the plate piled high with cookies on the counter.

You shook your head stubbornly, crossing your arms while keeping your hand on his wrist. "But I don’t want those," you said. "I want that one."

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "They’re all the same, sweetheart," he teased, holding the cookie just out of reach and starting to lift it toward his mouth. "Bet you wouldn’t even know the difference."

"I would," you shot back quickly. "That’s the one I want, Logan."

He smirked, his lips curling around the edges of the cookie as if to bite into it anyway, just to prove a point. Your eyes narrowed, and you acted on pure instinct.

Leaning in quickly, you pressed your lips to his, a fleeting but deliberate kiss. The move startled him just enough to loosen his grip, giving you the perfect opportunity to snag the cookie out of his hand.

"Ha!" you exclaimed triumphantly, taking a step back and holding the cookie aloft like it was a trophy.

Logan blinked, recovering from the surprise, and his smirk deepened into a full grin. "Did you just—" he started, shaking his head as his laughter spilled out. "That’s dirty play, darlin’. Using a kiss to steal it? You’re lucky you’re cute."

You bit into the cookie with an exaggeratedly smug expression, savoring the sweet, warm taste. "Lucky has nothing to do with it," you replied between bites.

He stepped toward you, a playful gleam in his eyes. "You know that’s not gonna fly, right? No one steals from me and gets away with it."

You tried to dart around the island, but Logan was too quick. He caught you easily, one arm looping around your waist to pull you close. You squealed, half-laughing, holding the half-eaten cookie out of his reach.

"Let me finish it!" you said, your voice muffled by laughter.

"Not a chance," Logan murmured, his nose brushing against your cheek. "Not after that stunt."

"Logan!" You wiggled in his grip, still laughing, trying not to crumble what remained of the cookie.

He dipped his head closer, murmuring low against your ear, "Fine. You win. This time." Then, with one swift motion, he stole a bite of the cookie you were holding, his smirk more self-satisfied than ever as he pulled back.

"Hey!"

"What? Just evening the score," he said, popping the stolen bite into his mouth.

The playful bickering turned to more laughter as you stayed in the kitchen, Logan’s hold never loosening entirely. Jean walked in a moment later, glancing between the two of you, her hands on her hips.

"You two do realize there’s a whole plate of cookies, right?" she asked, her tone laced with amusement.

"It’s not about the cookie, Jean," Logan replied smoothly, casting you a wink that made your cheeks heat. "It’s the principle of the thing."

Jean rolled her eyes. "You two are ridiculous. But at least now I know who I should’ve made extra for."

Still tucked against Logan’s side, you shot her a sheepish grin. "It’s his fault," you said, trying—and failing—not to laugh.

Jean just shook her head, smirking. "Sure it is," she said before grabbing a cookie and walking out of the kitchen, leaving the two of you tangled together in the aftermath of your very serious cookie standoff.

Logan’s grip stayed firm as he kissed your temple, murmuring, "You’re somethin’ else, you know that?"

"Is that a bad thing?" you teased, nibbling at the remaining bite of your cookie.

"Not even close," he said with a warm grin, his thumb tracing a slow, reassuring pattern against your waist.

---

Logan grumbled at his desk, glaring at the stack of papers in front of him like they owed him money. Being the history teacher wasn’t exactly his dream job, and grading exams just reinforced how much he hated it.

"How the hell do you mess up World War II?" he muttered under his breath, flipping through yet another exam where half the essay was about Napoleon. "Wrong war, wrong damn century."

Arms came around his neck from behind, your soft sleep shirt brushing against his skin. “You’re gonna tear that paper from how hard you’re grippin’ it.”

Logan’s scowl softened as your voice cut through his frustration, and the stiff set of his shoulders relaxed just a little. He glanced over at you, leaning against him with sleepy eyes and tousled hair, clearly fresh from bed. You were wrapped up in one of his old flannel shirts, sleeves hanging past your hands, paired with soft, fuzzy sleep pants. The sight alone made him feel warmer.

“Kid deserved it,” he muttered, though his tone had lost its bite. He held up the offending exam. “Wrote about Napoleon in World War II. Napoleon. You believe that?”

You huffed a quiet laugh, lips brushing against the edge of his ear as you leaned closer. “Maybe they figured he’d make a comeback.”

“Yeah, well, if he did, he’d still lose.” He dropped the paper onto the growing pile with a grunt and tilted his head back to look up at you. “What’re you doin’ up? Thought you were out cold.”

“I was,” you murmured, fingers absentmindedly tracing the line of his jaw. “You weren’t there.”

Logan stilled for a moment, his sharp gaze catching yours even upside down. That quiet admission—so simple, so soft—always hit him deeper than he cared to admit. He reached up, catching your hand in his larger one, and brought it down to rest against his chest.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, voice lower now, rough around the edges like it always was when he spoke to you. “Go back to bed. I’ll join you in a bit.”

You stayed still, your other arm still looped around his neck as you leaned more of your weight against him. “You’ve been at this for hours,” you said softly, glancing at the remaining stack of exams. “You’ll fall asleep right here at the desk.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Logan said with a slight smirk, but when you didn’t let go, he sighed. “You don’t quit, do ya?”

“Not when it comes to you,” you answered with an ease that made his chest tighten.

A small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he turned in his chair, his hands landing lightly on your waist to steady you. “Alright, darlin’. You win.” He stood, forcing you to step back slightly, though he kept one hand on your hip as if afraid you’d float away otherwise. “But if I see Napoleon showin’ up in another World War II exam, I’m quittin’ this job.”

You grinned, taking his hand as you tugged him toward the bed. “I’ll talk to Scott. Maybe he’ll give you a raise.”

Logan scoffed. “Yeah, I’ll hold my breath.”

The bedroom was dimly lit, moonlight spilling through the partially open curtains. You crawled back onto the bed first, curling up under the comforter as you waited for him. Logan, meanwhile, paused just long enough to strip off his shirt, leaving him in just his sweats before he settled in beside you. The bed dipped under his weight as he pulled you close, his arm sliding under your head to tuck you against his chest.

You melted into him easily, your cheek pressed to his bare skin as you sighed contentedly. “See? Isn’t this better than failing kids for Napoleon?”

“I wasn’t failin’ him,” Logan murmured, his lips brushing the top of your head. “Gave him a mercy D.”

You couldn’t help but giggle quietly, and Logan felt the sound reverberate against him. “Mercy D,” you repeated. “You’re such a softie.”

“Watch it,” he warned, but there was no heat in it. His fingers absentmindedly traced patterns along your back through the flannel, and for a while, the room settled into silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of blankets and the steady rhythm of your breathing.

You broke the quiet first, your voice soft and muffled against his chest. “Why do you still do it?”

Logan blinked, looking down at you. “Do what?”

“Teach history.” You tilted your head slightly, “you don’t seem to like it much.”

He exhaled slowly, his hand stilling on your back. “Someone’s gotta do it. Better me than some idiot who doesn’t know the difference between Normandy and Napoleon.”

You smiled faintly at that. “Fair point.”

Logan’s voice softened as he continued. “Most of these kids—hell, they don’t know half of what happened before they were born. I figure if they’re gonna learn somethin’ about the past, it might as well be from someone who’s lived a lot of it.”

You looked up at him then, your gaze searching his face in the dim light. Logan didn’t look away, but there was something guarded in his expression, like he wasn’t sure why he’d admitted that much.

“You’re a good teacher,” you said softly, your fingers brushing against his chest.

Logan snorted. “Yeah. Tell that to the kid who thinks Napoleon was stormin’ the beaches at Normandy.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his chest before settling back down. “Well, I think you’re great.”

Logan didn’t respond right away, but his arm tightened slightly around you, pulling you closer as he pressed a kiss to your hair. “Get some sleep, darlin’,” he murmured. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

You smiled against his skin, letting his warmth lull you back to sleep. Logan stayed awake a little longer, though, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as his fingers traced absent patterns against your back again. He didn’t say it out loud, but moments like this—the quiet, the warmth of you beside him—were the reason he stuck around at all.

For someone who’d lived lifetimes, this was the only one that mattered.

---

As you were walking from your classroom to your office, Jean called out your name telepathically, “someone’s at the front door for you.”

You frowned and made your way over to where a man in casual clothing stood outside. “Hello?” You asked, Jean holding the door only halfway open.

“Are you Y/N Howlett?”

“Yes.” You responded, moving slightly closer to Jean for comfort.

The man held out an envelope, “you’ve been served.”

You stared at him, stomach dropping at the words. Slowly, you reached out and took the envelope, the weight of it far heavier than just paper. Your fingers barely curled around it before the man turned and walked away without another word, leaving you and Jean standing in the doorway.

Jean looked at you, her brows furrowed in concern. "Are you okay?" she asked softly, her voice carefully even.

You didn’t respond immediately, your eyes still on the envelope as if opening it might explode your entire life apart. "I..." You glanced at Jean, trying to ground yourself in her steady presence. "I don’t know."

“Come inside.” She placed a hand on your back and guided you gently through the door.

Once inside, she closed it behind you and walked you to one of the couches in the main hall. Her calm, methodical movements gave you enough time to focus. "Do you want me to stay while you open it?"

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Yeah. Please."

You tore open the envelope, unfolding the crisp papers inside. The legal jargon was an immediate headache, but the gist hit you quickly enough.

Your parents—parents you’d met just once at Stanford, a month ago—were contesting the will of your grandfather. You skimmed the words, anger brewing beneath the shock. The lawsuit wasn’t about you. It was about the inheritance your grandfather had left to you. Money you hadn’t touched—didn’t want to touch. Money your mother and father were determined to get their hands on.

“What is it?” she asked gently, leaning over a bit.

You sighed, lowering the papers slightly. “They’re suing me for the money my grandfather left. The same money they showed up to tell me about last time.” You shook your head, blinking furiously to keep your frustration and embarrassment in check. “I told them I didn’t want it. I never even filed anything to claim it.”

Jean frowned, her gaze hardening in sympathy as she processed what you said. “That’s awful, Y/N. I mean… that’s your family.”

“Not really.” You laughed bitterly, though the sound lacked humor.

Jean put her hand on your knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Hey, we’ll figure this out. Do you want to talk to someone about this? Scott can—"

"Logan," you cut in, almost reflexively.

Jean paused but nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Okay. Do you want me to get him, or—?”

"I’ll go." You stood abruptly, still clutching the papers. “Thanks, Jean. For… sticking with me through that.”

“Always.” Jean watched you head out before leaning back on the couch with a worried sigh.

---

Logan was in the garage, predictably half under his motorcycle. He was wiping his hands with an oil-streaked rag when he heard you approach. As he sat up, he took one look at your face and tossed the rag aside.

“What happened?” he asked immediately, his voice rough but threaded with concern.

You held up the papers wordlessly, struggling to hold his sharp gaze. He took them from your hands, skimming through quickly, his brow furrowing as he absorbed the contents.

“Christ,” he muttered after a long moment, his fist tightening slightly around the edges of the papers. “They’re suin’ you? For money that’s yours?”

“Money I didn’t even want,” you added, sitting heavily on the bench by the wall. Your hands tangled together in your lap, a nervous habit you couldn’t quite break.

He looked at you, anger darkening his expression, but it wasn’t directed at you. It never was. “They think you’re some kid they can push around,” he growled, folding the papers and setting them down before crouching in front of you. His large hands found yours, prying them apart gently. “But you’re not. You’re a hell of a lot stronger than they give you credit for, sweetheart.”

Your chest tightened at the way he spoke to you, so firm yet so gentle all at once. “I don’t want to deal with this,” you admitted, your voice small. “I don’t want the money, Logan. I never did.”

“You won’t have to.” His grip on your hands firmed, grounding you. “We’ll fight this. They ain’t takin’ a damn thing from you.”

You nodded slowly, letting his words soothe you, though doubt still nagged at the edges of your thoughts. “What if they win?”

Logan’s jaw flexed, his sharp features hardening with resolve. “They won’t.”

“Logan, I—”

“Hey,” he interrupted, his voice low but insistent. He pulled you forward slightly so that your knees brushed his shoulders. “Trust me, Y/N. This’ll get sorted. I ain’t lettin’ them screw you over, okay?”

You searched his eyes for any trace of uncertainty but found none. Logan, as always, was unwavering.

“Okay,” you said softly, exhaling as you leaned your forehead against his.

The moment stretched quietly before he broke it, pulling back just far enough to press a kiss to your temple. “C’mon. Let’s get this over to Chuck. He’ll know what to do.”

You hesitated, though his calm tone bolstered you. "You don’t think it’s… embarrassing?"

Logan leaned back on his heels slightly, cocking an eyebrow at you. “Embarrassing? Dealin’ with greedy parents? Not even close.” His smirk softened into something fonder. “You ain’t gotta hide stuff like this from me, darlin’. Or from the team. We’ve all got somethin’ messy in our pasts. Ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of.”

His reassurance worked its way past your anxiety, easing the knot in your stomach a bit more. "Okay," you whispered again, squeezing his hands. “Let’s talk to Charles.”

Logan stood and pulled you with him, his arm immediately going around your shoulders as he guided you inside. Whatever fight lay ahead, you knew you weren’t facing it alone.

---

Logan leaned against the dresser, shaking his head. “No.”

You gave a mock pout, holding up the pastel blue sweater that matched your sundress. “C’mon, Logan. It’s just for today.”

Logan crossed his arms, leaning against the dresser with a look of pure defiance. “No way. Not wearin’ that.”

“It’s Easter,” you reasoned, trying not to laugh at the sheer stubbornness etched onto his face. “The kids are excited, and it’s a pastel color. You’ll look festive. Besides,” you added with a teasing tilt of your head, “it matches my dress.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Festive? Darlin’, I ain’t the ‘festive’ type.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” came Jean’s voice from the doorway. She leaned against the frame with a smirk, her arms crossed. “I think you’d look great in it, Logan. Adds some softness to your usual gruffness.”

Logan shot her a glare that only made her smirk widen. “Nobody asked you, Jeannie.”

You hid your smile behind the sweater, trying to keep the peace. “Jean, don’t make it worse,” you murmured, though your tone was light.

“I’m just saying,” Jean replied with a playful shrug before disappearing down the hallway, leaving you alone with Logan again.

“See? Even Jean agrees,” you said, holding the sweater out to him again. “Come on, Logan. Just for a little while?”

He huffed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re not gonna let this go, are ya?”

You shook your head, your smile growing. “Nope.”

Logan stared at you for a long moment, his expression softening despite his obvious resistance. It wasn’t the sweater he was giving in to—it was you. With a grumble, he snatched it out of your hands. “Fine. But if anyone takes a picture, I’m burnin’ it.”

You bit back a laugh as he pulled the sweater on over his usual white undershirt. The pastel blue clashed hilariously with his rugged demeanor, but you had to admit, it looked... sweet on him. The way it matched your dress only made it better.

“There,” Logan said, tugging at the hem like it might suffocate him. “Happy?”

“Very,” you said with a warm smile, stepping closer to adjust the sweater’s collar. “You look good.”

He grumbled something under his breath but didn’t stop you. Instead, his hands found your waist, pulling you close enough that you had to crane your neck to look up at him. “You owe me for this,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to his tone.

“Oh, do I?” you teased, resting your hands on his chest. “What do I owe you?”

Logan leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’ll find out later,” he said, his voice low enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Your cheeks flushed, but you managed to keep your composure. “Well, let’s see if you make it through the egg hunt first.”

He groaned, pulling back enough to look at you. “Wait. Do I gotta do that, too?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, laughing when his head fell back in exaggerated defeat. “The kids will love it. And you look adorable.”

Logan shot you a flat look. “Adorable?”

You grinned, standing on your tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Yup. Now come on, let’s go before Rogue eats all the candy.”

Logan shook his head, muttering something about how he’d never live this down, but the small smile tugging at his lips told you he didn’t really mind. Not as long as it was for you.

---

You and Logan sat across from the lawyer Charles had recommended. The room was quiet, save for the faint rustle of papers as the lawyer flipped through the documents. Logan leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, a scowl set deep on his face. You sat with your hands folded tightly in your lap, your glasses slipping slightly down your nose as you watched the lawyer with a mixture of apprehension and exhaustion.

“Well,” the lawyer finally said, setting the papers down on the desk in front of him. He adjusted his own glasses, his expression professional but sympathetic. “The good news is that the will is clear. Your grandfather left the inheritance to you and only you. Your parents’ claim has very little legal ground.”

Your shoulders sagged slightly, but the tension in your chest didn’t fully ease. “But they can still drag this out, can’t they?” you asked quietly. “Even if the claim isn’t strong?”

The lawyer nodded. “Yes, they can file motions, request hearings, and essentially make this as difficult as possible for you. It’s not uncommon in cases like this.”

Logan growled low in his throat, his impatience bubbling to the surface. “So what do we do to shut this down for good?”

The lawyer glanced at him, unfazed by Logan’s tone. “There are a few options. You can contest the claim in court, which could take time but would likely result in a ruling in your favor. Or,” he paused, looking at you, “you can choose to forfeit the inheritance entirely. That would require specific legal filings, but it would end the dispute.”

You blinked, the weight of the decision settling heavily on your shoulders. “I don’t want the money,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “I never wanted it. I didn’t even know about it until my parents showed up at Stanford.”

Logan’s hand slid over yours, grounding you. “You don’t have to decide now,” he said, his voice softer than before.

The lawyer cleared his throat, his expression cautious. “There is one other matter to consider. If you choose to forfeit the inheritance, it wouldn’t simply revert to your parents. According to the terms of the will, the funds would be held in trust for any future heirs—your children, specifically.”

Your head snapped up, and you stared at the lawyer in disbelief. “Future children?”

He nodded. “Yes. It’s an unusual clause, but your grandfather was quite specific. If you don’t claim the inheritance, it remains part of the family estate and will be managed until it can be passed down to your descendants.”

Logan’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, and you glanced at him, your cheeks warming at the faint surprise in his expression. You hadn’t explicitly talked about children with him yet, though the thought had crossed your mind more than once.

“That’s… a lot to process,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “I didn’t even know he thought about me that way. We weren’t close at the… end.”

The lawyer offered a small, understanding smile. “It’s not uncommon for people to make decisions like this in their wills, even if they weren’t directly involved in someone’s life. He may have wanted to ensure you were cared for in some way.”

You nodded slowly, your thoughts swirling. Logan leaned forward, his gruff voice breaking the silence. “Let’s say she forfeits. What’s to stop her parents from tryin’ to get their hands on the money anyway?”

“There are legal safeguards in place,” the lawyer replied. “The trust would be managed independently, and your parents wouldn’t have access to it. It’s airtight.”

Logan grunted, seemingly satisfied with that answer, but his focus shifted back to you. “What do you wanna do, sweetheart?”

You hesitated, your gaze dropping to where his hand still covered yours. “I don’t want to go to court,” you said softly. “I don’t want the money, and I don’t want to fight with them. If it can go to… someone else, to the future, then maybe that’s the right thing to do.”

Logan’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, his voice steady. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

The lawyer nodded. “I’ll start drafting the necessary documents. It’ll take a little time, but once it’s filed, your parents won’t have a legal leg to stand on.”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

As the meeting wrapped up and the lawyer left the room, Logan turned to you, his expression softening. “You okay?”

You nodded, though your chest still felt heavy. “Yeah. It’s just… a lot.”

He pulled you into his arms without hesitation, holding you close against his chest. “You did good, darlin’,” he murmured against your hair. “Don’t let this mess get to you.”

You closed your eyes, letting the warmth of his embrace chase away the lingering tension. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“For what?” he asked, pulling back just enough to look down at you.

“For being here,” you said, your gaze meeting his. “For always being here.”

Logan’s lips quirked into a small, crooked smile. “Where else would I be?”

You laughed softly, the sound shaky but genuine, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead before leading you out of the room.

As the two of you walked into the kitchen, Logan pulled out a bottle of mango juice from the fridge and poured you a glass. His movements were calm and deliberate, a quiet reassurance that everything was going to be okay. He set the glass down in front of you, leaning against the counter as you took a sip.

"You doin' alright now, sweetheart?" he asked, his gaze steady on you.

You nodded, holding the cool glass in your hands. “I think so. I just hate that it had to come to this.”

Logan reached over, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “Ain’t your fault. They made their choice, and you made yours. That’s all that matters.”

You managed a small smile, his support giving you the courage to push forward. But the lawyer’s earlier words lingered in your mind, and after a moment of hesitation, you decided to voice the thought that had been nagging at you.

“Logan,” you said, your voice soft, “did it… bother you? What he said about the inheritance going to future kids?”

Logan arched a brow, folding his arms across his chest as he watched you. “Bother me?” he repeated, his tone questioning.

“Yeah.” You looked down at the mango juice in your hands. “We’ve never really talked about that, and I just—”

His hand was under your chin before you could finish, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “Does it bother you?” he asked, his tone gentle but intent.

You bit your lip, feeling your cheeks warm. “I don’t think so,” you admitted. “I mean, I’ve thought about it before, but I didn’t want to push. I wasn’t sure if that was something you…” You trailed off, unsure how to phrase it.

Logan’s lips curved into a small smirk, his gaze softening in a way that was meant just for you. “Darlin’, I’ve thought about it plenty. Didn’t bring it up ‘cause I didn’t know if you were ready for that kinda talk.”

A soft laugh escaped you, nervous but sweet. “Guess we’re both good at overthinking things.”

Logan’s hand slid around your waist, pulling you closer until your hips bumped against the counter. “I’m not the kind to plan much of anything,” he said, his voice dropping to that rough, affectionate tone that always made your heart flutter. “But you… you make me wanna think about things like that.”

Your chest tightened with a mixture of nervousness and joy as you briefly rolled your bottom lip between your teeth. Logan’s other hand brushed against your cheek, his thumb sliding lightly across your skin, grounding you in a way only he could.

“Darlin’,” he said softly, his voice low and filled with warmth, “you don’t gotta look so nervous. We’re on the same page.”

You let out a soft, shaky laugh. “I know. It’s just... I didn’t think this conversation would come up like this.”

“Didn’t exactly expect it over lawyer talk,” Logan admitted with a small smirk. His hand cupped your cheek, pulling you just a bit closer. “But you think too much sometimes. There’s no rush, no pressure—none of that. But if you’re askin’ if I see it... yeah. I see it, sweetheart.”

Your gaze flicked up to his, caught in the sincerity of his words and the steady way he was looking at you. His eyes, weathered from lifetimes of heartbreak and battle, were now soft and filled with something you could only describe as hope.

You smiled, this time more genuine, a warmth spreading through you. “Me too,” you murmured.

His lips quirked into that crooked grin you’d come to love, and his hand slid to the back of your neck, tugging you forward until your lips met. The kiss was slow and unhurried, a promise sealed in silence. When he pulled back, he kept you close, his forehead pressed against yours.

“No better time to start than now,” he rumbled, the faintest hint of a playful edge slipping into his tone.

Your breath caught, your cheeks instantly flushing. “Logan,” you whispered, voice laced with equal parts shock and anticipation.

He chuckled, that deep, throaty sound sending shivers down your spine. In a swift, effortless move, he lifted you off the ground, one arm supporting your back while the other braced under your knees. You gasped, your hands instinctively wrapping around his neck.

“Logan!” you squeaked, your heart racing as he carried you like you weighed nothing.

“What?” he teased, his smirk widening as he began walking out of the kitchen. “Thought we were on the same page.”

You buried your face against his neck, laughing softly. “We are,” you admitted, your voice muffled against his skin. “You just caught me off guard.”

“I’m full of surprises,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple.

As the two of you reached the bedroom, the door creaked as Logan kicked it open, a certain ease in his movements that you envied sometimes. He set you down gently on the bed, leaning over you with a wolfish grin that made your heart do a somersault.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice suddenly softer again, no teasing this time. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing the edge of your glasses like it was instinctive for him to touch you this way.

The love in his voice and the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing anchoring him to this world—stole whatever doubt you might have had. You nodded, your hand curling around his wrist to keep his touch against your skin.

“Yeah,” you whispered, smiling. “I’m sure.”

Logan kissed you again, deeper this time, his arms wrapping around you like he never wanted to let go. And for that moment, nothing else in the world mattered.

this is still 2005! next chapter is also going to be 2005 and then after every chapter will be spanning 1 year!

(although i am now realizing that my timeline is a bit off but just roll with it)

[cattolino]

like me better.

pairing: lee minho x f reader. warnings: hand kink, fingering, praise kink if you squint, slightly narcissistic minho but he just loves himself too much lol, implied oral (m receiving). genre: smut, strangers to friends to lovers/fwb....? rating: explicit. word count: 2.6k

Changbin’s roommate had the sexiest hands.

And you said exactly that.

Lee Minho was a second year digital arts student and taught dance classes in his spare time. With an experienced dancer body and a face that looked sculpted by the Greek Gods themselves, Minho was accustomed to admiring remarks about his ideal body proportions, his muscular and flexible physique, his thick and sinewy thighs, his excellent and toned pecs, his sharp jawline, his plump and pouty lips, his pointed nose, his big and round eyes… and the list went on because everyone always had something to talk about when it came to Lee Minho.

As a complement to his exquisite appearance, he had just the right amount of confidence that made people either want to be with him or want to be him. It was like every fragment of his being was the pristine example of transcendence beauty. Very praiseworthy. And everyone should be jealous. Minho was aware of all that. To be frank he relished in the heart eyes of people as they walked past him.

But then Changbin brought you into his shared apartment to work on a project together.

Instead of widened eyes and parted lips and a stuttered breathing like the reactions he’d gotten from most people, you beamed and happily greeted him with an unashamedly loud and sincere “oh, wow, you’re really pretty! And nice hair, too!” before following Changbin to the living room.

Your compliments were honest. But clearly lacked worship. And where’s the ulterior motive in the eyes begging to get fucked? Thought anyone wants him in bed? Minho blinked, glancing at your back.

And then it was the umpteenth time you came to hang out. You and Changbin doodled on your respective sketchbooks but you’d been too distracted to carry on. You were blatantly staring at Minho’s hands chopping some vegetables on the kitchenette across from you. The next minute you casually told him that he had the sexiest hands you had ever seen.

He couldn’t help but choke on his own spit coughing profusely as his knife clattered against the cutting board. Changbin eyed you with a clear “what the fuck” look evident on his disgusted face.

Because when people say something about Minho’s hands, it would be that they were nice or soft or chubby or just anything else other than sexy. You shrugged, “I said what I said.”

You weren’t joking. His arms might not be as beefy and massive as Changbin’s, but you thought they were the perfect amount of toned and well-defined. The veins protruding along the skin of the back of his hands and forearms especially when he was straining might be the cause of your sudden moan. The width and length of his hands were below the average of an adult male that you likened them to kitten paws sometimes.

But his fingers… Well, they were thicker and longer in size than most people you hooked up with. And most definitely much thicker and a little longer than yours.

So yes, when you said his hands were the sexiest you had ever seen, you weren’t joking.

“You should stop saying I have nice hands.” Minho commented with a laugh one day.

You were filling in your glass with ice water from the fridge as he leaned back against the wall with his arms crossed against his chest.

“Oh, but I never did.” You denied, before sneaking a quick glance at him with a chuckle, “I said they’re sexy.”

“And you mean it?”

You turned on your heel with a glass full to the brim, “from the myriad of hands I’ve observed, yes, yours belong to the sexy category.”

He poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, brows furrowing amusedly as an idea that’d been invading his thoughts lately travelled down to the edge of his tongue, threatening to be let out. And he did, “so you have a hand kink.”

You hopped onto the counter and paused for a moment, taking a gulp from the glass, letting the cool liquid freshen up your throat as you stared up at the ceiling. And then you shrugged, “yeah, that makes sense.”

If Minho was surprised at your nonchalance at the accusation, it wasn’t shown through his face as his grin widened and he laughed. You glanced over at him with a raised brow, “what?”

He shook his head, “do you usually go around telling people you like their hands and admit it right away when they tell you that you might have a hand kink?”

“Not people. Just Changbin and you.”

“You like his hands too?”

“His hands are sexy.”

“Sexier than mine?”

“Gotta be honest, no.”

“I always love your honesty.”

“You mean you love the compliments.”

“So you like my hands better?”

Your eyes narrowed with interest, all while the distance between you and Minho had eventually gradually scaled down. He was practically standing between your legs, and the glass in your hand was the only barrier between your chests. You took another sip of the cold water, “depending on what needs to be done.”

“I’ll make it easier. Whose you’d prefer to have around your neck?”

“What the fuck kind of conversation did I just heard?” Changbin stood behind you across the island counter with a pair of ice packs attached to the back of his thighs. Yesterday was his leg day.

Minho shrugged, “just kinks and stuff.”

Changbin’s face contorted in disgust as he walked around to grab a can of diet coke from the fridge. He sauntered back to his bedroom, leaving the scene with a shout, “I don’t care if you bang each other. Just not in the kitchen!”

Minho shouted back, “suggestion accepted!”

You rolled your eyes with a giggle, pushing his chest away with a pad of your finger and about to hop off the counter but you caged you in. He took your glass and put it on the counter, leaning in to speak lower despite his roommate having been out of earshot.

“So whose hands you like better?” You thought it was just another flirting attempt, unless there wasn’t a sign of it on his face when he said that. Instead, his eyes were searching for yours as he was waiting for an answer.

You smiled.

Perhaps you had a hand kink. Combined with the attractive Lee Minho? And you’re dead.

You were settled in his lap, back flushed against his chest as he reclined back against the leather headboard of his bed. His legs intertwined with your own, holding each of your legs apart as his hand smothered along the inner of your thigh. His other hand rested around your throat, keeping the back of your head stilled on his shoulder as his lips moulded with yours.

Once his thumb added a slight pressure to the side of your neck, you released a shaky breath into his mouth. And he smiled against your lips.

He discarded his shirt, leaving himself with only his boxer shorts. The whereabouts of your skirt and shirt were vague in your head. Probably in the doorway of his room where he’d had you pinned against earlier, or somewhere at the foot of the bed where he’d dragged you from to settle between his thighs. Somehow you just ended up in only your panties and bra.

He caught your lips again. His hand trailed up to the warmth of your center, fingertips gently rubbed against your clothed cunt before he hooked a finger around your panties and dragged the thin fabric to the side. You pulled away once the cool air caressed your bare entrance, head thrown back on his shoulder and releasing a long sigh as he began stroking your clit.

He nibbled the shell of your ear. The hand on your neck cradled your jaw, pulling your head off of his shoulder for you to look down. “Watch.”

And God, were you so soaked already.

Even in the dim of his room you could still see how his palm and fingers were glistening, his slick-wet skin reflecting the lights from the night lamps at each side of his bed. But hotter than all of that was the protruding veins that bulged along his arm all the way to the back of his hand as his fingers persistently rubbed your clit, each stroke leading his middle digit to dip deeper into your entrance. You squirmed and mewled, legs lightly shaking at the mere sight of it.

There had been a few nights out with alcohol in your system where someone would have their fingers deep inside your walls and make you moan out loud. Minho wasn’t the only person who’d laid a finger on your sensitive area trying to get you off, but nobody had ever managed to get you drenched with only the tip of their finger barely inside you like he did now, no. To his credit, there wasn’t a drop of alcohol in your system. Only a few gulps of cold water.

The amount of slick you produced pooled in the creases towards the center of his palm. You gripped his wrist tight, whining out loud cries of his name as he kept assaulting your clit with perseverance. His lips stretched wide into a pleased grin, chin resting on your shoulder as he himself watched his middle finger slowly sink into your entrance.

“You haven’t answered my question.”

His thirst for compliments. Seriously.

The answer was, his. His hands were just so oddly sexy it was ridiculous. But curse him and his overflowing confidence and overwhelming self love. You might want to tease him a little.

You bit down onto your lower lip as you watched his finger sink deeper and deeper, your walls clenched at the intrusion. Your grip around his wrist loosened, letting him go inside of you further. You let out a long exhale, and hummed, “Changbin.”

And all the increasingly pleasant tinglings coiling up in the pit of your stomach forcefully boiled away as he pulled his finger out. You turned to him with furrowed brows of disapproval.

“Better ask Changbin to make you feel better than I could ever do then, darling. I’m afraid I’m not up to your standards.” His lips pursed into a feigning frown as he spoke. But in contrast to his disappointed pout, he brought his hand up to his lips, licking his drenched digits clean with a sensual movement of his tongue without breaking eye contact.

You wouldn’t lose to him. You’d get what you wanted. You weren’t the only one affected here, if the slight poke on your backside was anything to go by.

You mirrored his pout, palm wrapping around his wrist and bringing it back down between your thighs. He let you, but only until his palm hovered over your folds, barely touching you. His face twisted with an impish grin, “you know the magic words.”

Still with a feigning pout, you leaned close to plant kisses up his jaw, then settled your head back down on his shoulder. Your face nuzzled the side of his neck. “Of course I love your hands better, silly. Isn’t it obvious enough?”

“Better than everybody else’s?”

If you had learnt something else about him tonight, it was that everything seemed to be a competition for him. Or he was just eager to have your sole attention on him. Tsk.

You hummed.

His fingers thrusted once.

Then twice.

“Words, baby.”

You grinded down, shifting backwards to where a tent of his erection poke your backside. He groaned at the slight contact, then humping forward to get more friction, while simultaneously adding the second finger in.

You giggled, “better than even my own hands.”

It was all he needed to give you what you wanted. His middle and ring fingers were sliding in and out of your walls in an unforgiving pace that made your thighs quiver. His other hand found its place around your middle. You looked down, purring when you watched his fingers only get wetter and wetter as they kept disappearing and reappearing inside of you.

“Oh—” you sighed, nails clawing at his arm, “good… feel so good…”

As if his fingers weren’t already tormenting enough, his hips began jerking forward, his clothed bulge grazing and rubbing between your ass.

Your eyes threatened to slide close at the tingles in your stomach that gradually evolved into an overwhelming bliss the more he assaulted you from both sides. And yet you couldn’t give up on keeping track of the indecent sight down there; his thick and long digits invading your walls and poking deep into your bundle of nerves, his whole hand coated with your juices and the drenched sheets beneath you.

It was too much. His fingers were too much. His throbbing clothed length was too much. The sight was too much.

And then you convulsed, your walls clenched hard. Head thrown back, curses and his name and an endless of “good… good… good…” spilling out of your parted lips. It wasn’t a plain white ceiling above your head, but stars and white and sparks.

His fingers curled, drawing more of your juices to dribble out of your hole.

When had been the last time you came you hard with just two fingers inside you? But it was two thick fingers and veined hands of Lee Minho we’re talking about here.

You heard a loud pop beside you. Minho was licking clean his slick-glazed fingers. “Tastes so sweet,” he hummed in delight.

Even in your fucked out state, your mind went towards the prominent erection that kept twitching against your backside. Hell, you could even feel his precum even through his shorts and the thin lace of your panties.

“You haven’t— you haven’t come… you…” you said between ragged breaths, attempting to turn around.

He chuckled, sliding his shorts off and helping you lay on your side between his legs. He carefully pulled you closer where your head could comfortably rest on his bare thigh.

He combed through your hair that was half wet with sweat, moving the stray strands out of your face before stroking your cheek softly. Maybe you shouldn’t have only paid attention to his sexy, veined hands because oh my God he looked godly from down here. Perhaps you eventually grasped the obsession people had over him.

You almost gave into the gentle touches of his hand on your face, head still hazy with the most blissful orgasm you’d had in a long while— if it wasn’t for a distracting view presented right there for only you to gawk at.

Your hooded eyes fixated on the glory of his length that stood proud against his toned abs. Your hand reacted faster than your hazy brain, mindlessly reaching for the base and stroking it lightly.

Your eyes were big and pleasing when looking up at him, wordlessly and helplessly asking for permission. He snickered.

“Pretty,” he caressed the side of your face down to your jaw, “so pretty for me.”

Then he brought his hand up to his face. He licked his thumb. The pad of his forefinger tipped up your chin, and his thumb rushed over your parted lips, coating the plump flesh with his spit.

His unoccupied palm led your hand to properly wrap around the base of his cock, guiding you to stroke and palm the head. And when you thought he was about to jerk himself off using your hand, he dragged your face closer with his other hand and hovered the tip of his cock over your lips, precum slowly dribbling out of its slit.

He parted your lips wider with a thumb, smiling down at you, “my turn?”

[divinegrey]

ᴘᴀɪɴᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴏᴡɴ ʙʟᴜᴇ / ᴊɪɴx x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

sorry for the wait everybody!! been writing other things in the meantime, arcane hasn't been my sole focus. also i have homework and exams. but here's something to appease all of you!! anon, i hope i did this prompt justice!

prompt: I'd like to request a Jinx x Fem! Reader. I like the idea of the reader being a follower of Jinx, as I think the dynamic could be fun. I think it could be cool to explore a follower of Jinx getting to know her and realizing that she's more than just a symbol. She's a multifaceted individual.

words: 1585

warnings: none

It started when she caught you tagging the side of a building. With her face, no less. 

With all the shit going down in Zaun in the wake of Silco’s death and every gang leftover fighting for scraps of power, it was only time before Jinx caught up to the fact that while yes, her face is plastered everywhere on wanted posters, there are about a dozen more spray-painted graffiti tags of her over them. Which was the goal of what you were doing when she dropped down from a building and walked to your side. 

All she did was look at the statuesque version of her face, washed in shades of blue, and say, “My nose doesn’t look like that.” 

And she was right.

Of course, with time, you got better at it. The wanted posters did a mean disservice, honestly. The only thing they got correct were the pink eyes, pink eyes that followed you when you went to your shitty box of an apartment and flopped onto a mattress flattened by years of use. You’d go to sleep, wake up, grab your paint duffel, and head back out again. The nice thing about Zaun is that there’s always an empty spot just waiting to be tagged. 

Somehow, Jinx always finds you. 

“You know people see you as a leader, right?” You say, shaking a can of neon pink, the ball rattling around inside the canister. You glance over your shoulder to where Jinx sits on some pipes connected to the wall, her braids dangling and the gold bullet casings wrapped around reflecting the faint light that falls through the fissures. With a gesture to your own head of hair, dyed an insane hodge-podge of bright colors, blue included, you continue, “Silco’s gone. Whole world down here has turned upside down. But for the first time in a while, we’ve got hope. Cuz of you. Cuz of what you did to those fuckin’ Pilties.” 

“For all the good it did,” Jinx remarks, a dryness to her tone you’ve come to know and love. 

“I’m serious. C’mon, you can’t tell me you don’t know the reason why I keep painting you? Why a dozen other taggers I know keep painting you? Why the color blue is nearly sold out in every damn shop?” You kneel down, arcing a curve of pink paint along the grey brick wall, moving quick and precise. Overthinking it makes it worse. “I’m not wearing spray-painted clothes in your colors for nothin, Jinx.” 

She turns, peering at you. In the shadows, her eyes seem to reflect some more, glowing like a cat’s would. “Because y’all have some weird, deluded sense that I’m a leader, or somethin’.” 

“You are. To me. To us.” You point at the other tags in the alleyway, some of them copies of the same mark you’ve seen a dozen times around town. Jinx’s name, sigils of BOOM! and explosives doodled about. You twist and take a seat on the scaffolding, your legs dangling off the side of it. “I didn’t know you when I first started drawing you. I heard what you did, and I thought damn, there’s someone out there willing to actually do something. In a single day, you did more than Silco ever did in years. Sure, we might be going head long into a war, but dying free is better than living under someone else’s boot.” 

Jinx hums. She leaps off the pipes, crossing the gap between you and her with ease, landing on the wooden scaffolding. She straightens up, gazing at the half-finished tag you’re working on. With a hum, she turns to you, and puts something in your hand. Before you have the time to look down and figure out what it is, Jinx says, “Nozzle control. Quality on some of your cans are shit, no offense. Slap that thing on it and you won’t have an issue after that.” 

“Oh, thanks—” 

“Don’t mention it!” Jinx steps off the scaffolding, landing on the ground below with a THUD. “And for the record, I ain’t the kinda person to follow.” 

“You’re gonna have to try harder than that to convince me!” You call down, grinning from ear to ear. Her brows furrow together, then a small huff, a hint of a smile on her own face. She walks away, off to do… whatever it is that she does when she’s not hanging out with you. 

It isn’t for some time that you see her again. You’d say you’re worried, but you pass through the crowds hearing whispers of Jinx sightings. Every day, it seems another head of blue hair appears, the quiet signs of revolution brewing in the heart of Zaun as the enforcers grow more and more strict, searching anyone and everyone for some hint or clue to find the one that destroyed the Council Chamber in Piltover. You’ll never say a word. 

You walk into your apartment. Work was… work, boring and mind-numbing as it always is. You wonder if you can handle another day of it, but another day will bring another chance of seeing her out there, so you decide not to fly off the handle just yet. You shrug off the soot-stained work clothes, and where you reach for your paint-splattered jacket, it isn’t there. 

Instead, a note. 

Never had anyone believe in me quite like you. The Hound’s statue, midnight. Come and get it. 

With the pink lettering and the doodles of monkeys and bombs scribbled across the page, it doesn’t need to be said just who left this note. You snatch it off the wall, utterly beaming; Gently, you fold it into fourths, tucking it into your shirt. Thank god for the late shift— less waiting!

Any of the weariness you might’ve felt before is gone as you race through the streets, taking any and every shortcut you know. The night is quiet, what with the enforced curfew put up by the Pilties to discourage wandering, not that they’ve done a good job of it. Zaun is Zaun, and the cogs down here will always keep turning, whether Piltover likes it or not. 

When you arrive at the open plaza where the statue erected to Vander, the Hound of the Underground, is, your mouth drops in shock to find the entire plaza covered, every square inch of it, in neon paint. Sigils upon sigils that you have seen time and time again, glowing in the dark. It reaches all the way to the statue, pink highlights in Vander’s hair and blue accents along his metal jacket. 

Sitting on the shoulder of the statue, paint can in one hand and your jacket in the other, is Jinx. 

“Shoulda known you’d be a little early. Good thing, I work fast,” Jinx remarks. She crooks a finger at you to come closer, and you do, taking care to step over the paint lines on the stone. You’re a little in awe of the work she’s done— how has nobody taken notice? Come to think of it, you heard there was a scuffle a few blocks away. The logistics don’t seem to matter anymore the closer you get to her. 

You arrive at the base of the statue. “How’d you even know where I live?” 

“Sweets, there are a lot of things I know about you. And a lotta things you know about me. Things that might drive other people away, but not you,” Jinx says, something like an angel as she looks down upon you from the statue. In the flash of a second and the trace of neon light left in the sky, she’s standing in front of you, your back pressed against the statue. The beam of moonlight that breaks through shines on her, her shimmer-pink eyes locked onto your frame. “You keep sticking to the inside my brain, can’t stop thinking about you.” 

“Could say the same for you,” you reply, a little breathless. “Why’d you do all this? Get my jacket and bring me here?” 

“Cuz you showed me somethin’ important. That people, for whatever crazy reason they got in their head, believe in me,” Jinx says. She holds out your jacket to you, and you take it, slipping your arms through the sleeves and fixing the collar so it stands upright. Her eyes go from bottom to top, taking her sweet time. “I wanna show em what I can do. Give those people with my blue in their hair a reason to keep going. To keep fighting.” 

“You have me. All the way, Jinx,” you say, putting a hand over the front of your jacket, where a pink heart has been painted. “So what do you wanna do? Other than all this?”

“Right now?” Jinx cocks a grin. “I wanna kiss you.” 

What? You blink, wondering if you heard that right, but her taking a step closer to you only confirms that yes, you did hear it right. You swallow the nerves, finding your cheeks hurting from how hard you’re smiling. “And then what?” 

“And then, we show Zaun all the fun we have to offer, and we tell Piltover to shove their Hextech where the sun don’t shine,” Jinx finishes, her hands grabbing the lapels of your jacket and pulling you in. Your lips touch hers, something you never thought would happen, not in your wildest dreams. 

But here you are, arms wrapped around Jinx as she kisses you in the streets of Zaun, the cry of revolution soon to come. 

~~~~~

A/N: thank you for reading!! comments are always appreciated <3