#i kind of expected this though so it's fine

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ first time - teach me how to love

chapter summary: After he dropped hints for weeks, you finally give in to Logan.

word count: 11k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: this is a bonus chapter! i consider this taking place before make you mine

this is the request that inspired this chapter

(you do NOT have to read the series to understand this oneshot. it's mostly smut)

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, shy!reader, mention of twirling hair, fluff, smut, fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, oral (f!receiving), overstimulation, not proofread

series masterlist

You turned the page of your book, the hum of some old movie playing on the TV in the bedroom. You were lying between Logan’s legs, your head resting below his chin while his hand absentmindedly twirled a strand of your hair. His other hand was draped over your stomach, fingers occasionally tapping against the fabric of your shirt like he had a thought he wasn’t quite ready to share.

“You actually readin’ that thing, or just pretendin’ to so I don’t distract you?” Logan’s voice was low, lazy, the kind of tone he only used when he was completely comfortable.

You didn’t look up from your book. “I was reading.”

“Was,” he echoed, amused. His fingers gave your hair a light tug before smoothing it down again. “So that means I am distractin’ you.”

You sighed, more dramatic than necessary, but the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. “Logan.”

“Darlin’.”

You tilted your head up, meeting his eyes. “You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“The thing where you get all smug just ‘cause I like being around you.”

Logan smirked, his fingers trailing absently along your side now. “That a bad thing?”

You sighed again, but this time, you leaned into him a little more, letting your book rest against your chest. “No.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling against your back. “Didn’t think so.”

The movie flickered in the background, some old Western that Logan had flipped to out of habit. You doubted he was actually paying attention to it. His fingers skimmed over the hem of your shirt now, his touch slow, deliberate. He wasn’t pushing, wasn’t even making a real move—just there, lingering, testing.

“Y’know,” he murmured, brushing his knuckles along the sliver of skin just above your waistband, “I don’t mind you usin’ me as a pillow, but I gotta say, sweetheart… there are other ways to get comfortable.”

You didn’t take the bait, though your cheeks warmed at his tone. “I am comfortable.”

Logan let out a quiet hum, his fingers tracing the same path over your stomach. “Could be more comfortable.”

You swallowed, shifting slightly in his hold. “Logan.”

He leaned down, his lips ghosting over the side of your neck. “Just sayin’.”

You exhaled, turning the page of your book even though you hadn’t actually processed a single word. “You’re impossible.”

“Nah,” he murmured against your skin. “Just persistent.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, determined not to let him rattle you—at least, not too much. He wasn’t wrong, though. Over the past couple of weeks, Logan had been dropping hints, pushing just enough to see how you’d react. It wasn’t anything overt—no pressure, no expectation. Just a lingering touch here, a teasing remark there, the occasional kiss that lasted a second longer than it needed to.

He was patient, but he wasn’t subtle.

“You’re thinkin’ real hard about somethin’,” Logan murmured, his breath warm against your jaw.

You cleared your throat, keeping your eyes trained on your book. “Just… taking in the plot.”

“Uh-huh.” He didn’t sound convinced. His hand slid just a little higher, resting against your ribs now. “That book’s been on the same page for the last ten minutes.”

You sighed. “Maybe I just like this page.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, his lips brushing against your temple. “Yeah? What’s it about?”

You hesitated, then groaned, dropping the book onto your lap. “Fine. Maybe I haven’t been paying attention.”

He smirked, clearly pleased with himself. “That so?”

You turned your head just enough to meet his gaze. “You love being a distraction, don’t you?”

Logan shrugged, unbothered. “If it gets you lookin’ at me instead of that book? Yeah, sweetheart. I do.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could fire back with something witty, Logan’s hand slipped beneath your sweater, resting warm and steady against your skin. The touch wasn’t rushed or demanding—just there, grounding, like he was waiting to see if you’d pull away.

You didn’t.

Logan took that as an invitation to tilt your chin up, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your lips. He wasn’t pushing for more, but he wasn’t holding back, either. His fingers splayed against your stomach, his thumb brushing lazy circles over your skin.

By the time he pulled back, his smirk had softened into something quieter, something more certain. “See? Much better than readin’.”

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. “You’re incorrigible.”

Logan grinned. “Yeah, but you’re still sittin’ here, ain’tcha?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came to mind. Because he was right.

And, more than that, you didn’t want to be anywhere else.

---

The sound of chalk against the board was somewhat soothing—it usually meant just you and equations. But it wasn’t as soothing today since Logan was leaning against your desk watching you as you wrote across the board preparing for class.

He’d been there for the past ten minutes, saying nothing, just watching, arms crossed, that infuriating smirk lingering on his face. You’d done your best to ignore him, focusing on writing out the equation, but every time you glanced over, he was still there. Still watching.

Finally, you sighed, setting the chalk down with a small clink. “Are you just gonna stand there, or are you actually here for something?”

Logan’s smirk deepened. “Dunno. Kinda enjoyin’ the view.”

You rolled your eyes, but your face warmed at the way his voice dipped just slightly, lazy and deliberate. You turned back to the board, trying to ignore the way his presence was making it difficult to focus. “Well, unless you suddenly got real interested in quantum mechanics, you’re gonna get bored pretty quick.”

“Nah,” he said, the sound of his boots scuffing against the floor as he shifted. “You’re way more interestin’ than whatever the hell’s on that board.”

You hesitated just briefly before picking the chalk back up, your grip tightening slightly. “Logan.”

“Y/N.” He mimicked your tone perfectly, and you could hear the smirk in his voice.

You turned to glare at him, but it was a mistake—because the second you looked at him, you were trapped. His eyes weren’t just amused; they were sharp, knowing, like he could see right through you. And he could, you realized with an exasperated huff.

“You’re distracting me,” you muttered, looking back at the board.

“Yeah?” Logan pushed off your desk, moving closer until he was standing right behind you. “Guess that makes us even, darlin’.”

Your breath hitched as his voice dropped, the warmth of him settling against your back even though he wasn’t touching you. It would be so easy for him to close the distance, to brush his hand against your waist, to tease you just a little further. But he didn’t. He just stood there, letting the silence stretch, making sure you felt him there.

Your grip on the chalk faltered, a small break appearing in the line of your equation.

Logan chuckled. “You sure you ain’t gettin’ distracted, sweetheart?”

You turned sharply, ready to snap at him, but the second you did, his hand lifted, fingers brushing a stray piece of chalk dust off your cheek. The touch was barely there, but it was enough to make your pulse stutter. His hand lingered for just a second longer than necessary before he let it drop.

“That’s better,” he murmured.

You swallowed, blinking up at him. His smirk had softened, something quieter settling in the way he looked at you. That look always got you—it was dangerous. It made you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered to him. And maybe, in some ways, you were.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, pushing past him to grab your notes.

Logan didn’t stop you, but as you moved, he caught your wrist, his grip gentle but firm. “Hey.”

You hesitated, looking up at him again.

“Dinner later?” His thumb brushed against your wrist, barely there.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Logan’s smirk returned, but it wasn’t cocky—it was satisfied. “Good.”

And then he leaned down, his fingers holding your chin gently as he kissed your forehead, the tip of your nose, and then finally your lips.

His lips pressed against yours, slow and deliberate, and you felt the familiar warmth pool low in your stomach. Logan wasn’t in a rush—he never was when he kissed you. He liked to take his time, to savor, to leave you breathless in a way that made your head spin long after he pulled away. His fingers curled under your chin, keeping you close, his thumb tracing a slow line along your jaw.

His tongue flicked over your bottom lip, a slow, deliberate swipe before he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. His smirk was lazy, self-satisfied, and entirely too smug.

“Cherry,” he muttered, his voice low, rough.

“You’re obsessed,” you said, trying to sound unimpressed even as your fingers curled into the front of his shirt.

Logan huffed out a quiet laugh, his hands slipping lower, resting heavy on your hips. “Ain’t my fault you keep wearin’ it.” His thumbs brushed against your sides, slow, absent-minded. “Like you want me to notice.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “It’s just lip gloss, Logan.”

“Sure,” he drawled, clearly unconvinced. “Just lip gloss.” His grip on your hips tightened just a fraction. “You always wear this flavor, or is it just ‘round me?”

You opened your mouth, ready to argue, but the way he was looking at you made your brain short-circuit. His expression wasn’t just teasing anymore—there was something deeper behind his eyes, something unreadable but intense. It sent a shiver down your spine.

He leaned in again, not quite kissing you, just letting his lips hover near yours, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath. “Go on,” he murmured, voice dropping even lower. “Tell me it ain’t for me.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering in your throat. You weren’t sure what was more frustrating—the way he always managed to fluster you so easily, or the fact that he knew exactly what he was doing.

“I—” You hesitated, and Logan caught it immediately. His smirk widened, and you wanted to wipe it off his face, but your brain was too fogged up with the scent of him, the way his hands were resting so firmly on your hips, like he had no plans of letting go anytime soon.

“Thought so,” he muttered, finally pressing his lips to yours again.

This kiss was slower, more deliberate, his mouth moving against yours like he had all the time in the world. His fingers curled slightly, gripping the fabric of your sweater as he pulled you in closer. You felt the scrape of his stubble against your skin, the way he tilted his head just right, deepening it just enough to make you forget that you were still standing in the middle of your classroom.

When he pulled back, you were breathless, gripping onto his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you upright. Logan, of course, looked perfectly fine, his smirk still in place, though his breathing was a little heavier than before.

“Now, what were you sayin’ about this bein’ ‘just lip gloss’?”

You groaned, shoving lightly at his chest. “Logan.”

He caught your wrist before you could push him away completely, pressing a quick kiss to the inside of it before finally letting you go. “Alright, alright,” he said, still grinning. “I’ll stop—” He paused, then added, “—for now.”

You exhaled sharply, stepping back to put some space between you. “You’re impossible.”

Logan just chuckled, watching you with that same damn amused expression, like he was enjoying every second of this. And the worst part? He absolutely was.

You turned away quickly, trying to regain your composure, but you could still feel the heat of his hands on your skin, the ghost of his lips on yours.

“You still good for dinner later?” he asked, casually like he hadn’t just spent the last five minutes making you forget how to think.

You cleared your throat, adjusting your glasses as you grabbed your notes. “Yeah,” you muttered. “I’ll be there.”

“Good.” His voice was warm, satisfied. “See you then, sweetheart.”

And with that, he strolled out of the room like nothing had happened, leaving you standing there, lips tingling, heart racing, and entirely too aware of the fact that you were already counting down the hours until you saw him again.

---

The mansion was abnormally quiet. Most of the students were out for the weekend—some of the older students were looking after the younger ones—and the team was out doing a simple recon mission.

“One and a half cups of flour,” you muttered, leveling off the measuring cup before dumping it into the mixing bowl. The kitchen was unusually quiet, save for the occasional hum of the fridge and the rhythmic clink of your spoon against the bowl as you stirred.

“You talk to yourself when you bake?” Logan’s voice came from the doorway, rough with amusement.

You glanced up, pushing your glasses higher up your nose. “It helps me focus,” you said, reaching for the sugar. “And keeps me from messing up the measurements.”

Logan stepped inside, hands tucked into his jeans as he leaned against the counter, watching you. “Didn’t think you ever messed up.”

You huffed a small laugh. “Everyone messes up.”

“Not you,” he said, smirking. “Not when it comes to stuff like this.”

You shook your head, trying to hide the warmth creeping up your neck as you added sugar to the bowl. “Flattery isn’t going to get you cookies any faster.”

Logan just grinned. “Worth a shot.”

He stayed where he was, not offering to help, not interfering, just watching. He always did this—hovering without making it obvious, keeping you in his line of sight like it was second nature. You’d gotten used to it over the past few months, the way he lingered when you were focused on something, content just being there.

His presence was steady, familiar, something you had unconsciously grown comfortable with.

You reached for the blueberries, tossing a handful into the batter before mixing again. “You’re staring.”

Logan shrugged, smirk never fading. “You’re nice to look at.”

Your grip tightened on the spoon. “Logan.”

“What?” He tilted his head, completely unbothered. “I’m just statin’ facts, sweetheart. ‘Specially when you’re wearin’ this.” Logan tugged on the open placket of his flannel, the fabric loose over your frame.

You huffed, turning back to the mixing bowl. “It was just sitting on the chair. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

Logan’s fingers skimmed the hem, playing with the edge. “Didn’t say I minded.” His voice dipped lower, rougher. “Just sayin’ it looks real good on you.”

Your hands faltered slightly as you stirred the batter, but you kept your focus on the task at hand. “You’re just trying to distract me so I mess up these cookies.”

“Me?” He smirked, shifting closer, one hip against the counter now. “I’d never do such a thing.”

You shot him a pointed look. “You do it all the time.”

Logan let out a low chuckle, reaching over to steal a blueberry from the container beside you. “Alright, maybe I do. But it ain’t my fault you’re easy to rile up.”

You swatted at his hand before he could grab another berry. “You’re the worst.”

“Yeah?” He popped the blueberry into his mouth, chewing slowly. “And yet, here you are, wearin’ my shirt, makin’ me cookies.”

“I’m not making you cookies,” you said, stirring the batter. “These are the blueberries from Ororo’s garden. She wanted me to make cookies with them.”

Logan made a low sound in the back of his throat, arms still folded as he leaned against the counter. “That right?”

“Yeah.” You scooped another handful of blueberries into the bowl, mixing them in. “So, if you want cookies, you’ll have to take it up with her.”

He smirked. “Think she’d let me have one?”

“Maybe.” You flicked your gaze toward him, pretending to consider it. “If you ask nicely.”

Logan snorted, pushing off the counter to move closer. “You ever known me to ask nicely for anything?”

You gave him a look, reaching for the baking sheet. “Exactly.”

His smirk widened. “So that means I gotta find another way to get one.”

“You could just wait like everyone else,” you pointed out, dropping spoonfuls of batter onto the tray.

“Could.” Logan took another step forward, his fingers brushing against the hem of the flannel you were still wearing. “Or I could keep distractin’ you till you cave.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the way your heart picked up just from him being this close. “You’re not as persuasive as you think.”

He hummed, standing directly behind you now, his chest barely a breath away from your back. “That so?”

You swallowed, focusing intently on the cookies. “Yes.”

Logan leaned in just a little, his breath warm against your ear. “Don’t seem so sure, sweetheart.”

Your hands froze for half a second before you forced yourself to keep scooping batter. “I don’t give in that easily.”

“Mm.” His hands skimmed along the counter on either side of you, not touching, just there. “Good thing I like a challenge.”

You exhaled, willing yourself to focus. “The cookies go in the oven in five minutes. Think you can survive that long?”

Logan chuckled, low and deep. “Guess we’ll see.”

His hands finally lifted from the counter, and he stepped back, giving you space again—but not before trailing a slow fingertip down your arm on the way. It was barely anything, just a whisper of a touch, but it left a warm, lingering imprint on your skin.

You shook your head, ignoring the way your cheeks felt hot. “You’re the worst.”

He smirked. “You keep sayin’ that, and yet—” He tugged lightly on the sleeve of the flannel you were still wearing. “Still wearin’ my shirt. Still makin’ cookies.”

You sighed, finally turning to face him fully. “They’re Ororo’s cookies.”

Logan crossed his arms, amused. “Uh-huh.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “You really think everything I do is for you, don’t you?”

He grinned. “No. But I like knowin’ when it is.”

You groaned, turning back to the tray before he could see how much that stupid smirk was affecting you. “You are impossible.”

Logan just chuckled, watching as you slid the tray into the oven. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes, Logan, you can have a cookie when they’re done.’”

You shut the oven and sighed. “Fine. One.”

His smirk deepened. “Thought you didn’t give in that easily?”

You turned, poking a finger at his chest. “You’re pushing it.”

Logan caught your hand before you could pull it back, his fingers warm as they curled lightly around yours. He didn’t say anything at first, just held your hand, his thumb grazing over your knuckles in slow, easy circles.

Your breath caught, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The playful air between you had shifted, just slightly, into something quieter, something that made your heart beat a little harder.

“Y’know,” Logan murmured, his voice lower now, “I don’t just stick around for the cookies.”

You swallowed, your fingers twitching against his. “I know.”

Logan studied you for a long moment, then, with a small smirk, lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to your knuckles. The warmth of it sent a shiver up your spine.

Your breath wavered, and Logan didn’t miss it. His smirk softened, his eyes flicking up to yours. “I’ll be patient, sweetheart,” he murmured, squeezing your hand once before letting go.

Your stomach flipped, but before you could even think of a response, he turned and strolled toward the door. “I’ll be back when the cookies are done.”

And then he was gone, leaving you standing there with your heart pounding and your hand still tingling from where his lips had been.

You took a slow, steadying breath, staring at the closed door for a long moment.

You were in trouble.

---

The night was like any other night. The TV was playing in the room, another old movie Logan had put on, while you read a book—1st to Die by James Patterson.

Your head was resting against his shoulder, while one of his hands absentmindedly stroked your thigh. His touch was steady, casual, like it had been for months now, but you could feel something else beneath it tonight. A quiet kind of intent.

Logan wasn’t subtle. Not really. He liked to pretend he was, but you had known him long enough to pick up on his patterns. The way his fingers traced absent shapes against your skin, his thumb brushing along the inside of your knee before trailing back down. Slow. Measured. Like he was waiting for you to notice.

You turned the page in your book, trying to ignore the way your heart had started to beat just a little faster.

“Y’like that one?” Logan’s voice was quiet, rough in the way it always was. His thumb dragged up again, stopping just beneath the hem of your shorts.

You nodded. “Yeah. It’s good.”

Logan hummed, shifting slightly so he could glance down at you. “Ain’t my usual, but I might give it a shot.”

Your lips twitched. “You barely read anything that isn’t a newspaper.”

Logan smirked. “Fair.” His fingers brushed higher this time, not quite pushing but not retreating either. “But if you like it, I figure it’s worth a look.”

You swallowed, trying to focus on the words in front of you, but they were blurring now, replaced by the warmth of his palm against your thigh, the way his hand lingered, waiting.

After a long moment, you set the book down on your lap and turned slightly, looking up at him. Logan watched you, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze.

His other hand lifted, fingers ghosting along your jaw before his thumb traced over your bottom lip, slow and deliberate.

Your breath caught. He didn’t move closer, didn’t push. He just waited.

It had always been this way with him. The teasing, the lingering touches, the quiet intensity that made your pulse stutter. He never rushed. He was never impatient with you.

But he wanted you to be the one to move first.

You hesitated only for a moment before tilting your chin up, closing the space between you.

The second your lips met his, Logan exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers tightening on your thigh. He kissed you slow at first, steady, like he had all the time in the world. But when he started to pull back, you chased him, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt to keep him close.

That was all it took.

Logan made a quiet sound in the back of his throat before he kissed you deeper, his hand sliding to the small of your back as he shifted, guiding you gently until you were beneath him, your back pressed against the mattress.

He hovered there for a moment, his weight braced on his forearms as he studied you, thumb brushing over your cheek.

“You sure?” Logan’s voice was quieter now, rougher.

You nodded, your fingers sliding up into his hair. “Yeah.”

Logan exhaled slowly, something easing in his expression before he dipped his head again, kissing you softer this time.

He grabbed your book and placed it on the bedside table without looking, without even breaking the kiss. His lips were slow, deliberate, savoring the way you yielded beneath him, the way your fingers twisted in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.

His hand slid lower, over the soft fabric of his flannel that still draped over your frame, fingertips tracing the hem where it met your thigh. He pulled back just enough to look at you, smirking at the dazed look in your eyes. “Y’know,” he murmured, his fingers slipping under the fabric, brushing against your bare skin, “I like seein’ you in my clothes.”

You swallowed, trying to steady your breathing. “You’ve mentioned that before.”

“Yeah?” Logan tilted his head, his smirk deepening as his fingers trailed higher. “Think I might’ve understated it.”

You rolled your eyes, but the effect was ruined when he leaned in again, his mouth brushing along your jaw, then lower, dragging slow kisses down the column of your throat. His hands moved with him, one slipping around to the small of your back, the other pushing the flannel further up your thighs.

Your fingers found the hem of his shirt, tugging lightly. Logan hummed against your skin, then leaned back just enough to grab the collar of his tee, yanking it over his head in one smooth motion. The sight of him—bare-chested, golden skin catching the low light—made your breath hitch.

Logan chuckled, catching the way your gaze drifted over him. “Like what you see, sweetheart?”

You huffed, feigning exasperation, but your fingers betrayed you as they splayed over his chest, tracing the hard planes of muscle. “You’re cocky.”

His smirk widened. “Damn right.” He ducked down again, capturing your lips in another slow kiss, his body settling closer against yours. The warmth of him seeped into your skin, his weight grounding you as his hands continued their exploration, one drifting beneath the fabric of your—his—flannel, the other cupping the back of your neck.

His lips left yours only to find the sensitive skin beneath your ear, teeth scraping lightly before he soothed it with his tongue. “M’gonna take my time with you,” he murmured, his voice rough, his fingers skimming beneath the hem of your sleep shorts. “Gotta get you ready for me.”

Your breath hitched at that, and despite the heat pooling in your stomach, you still managed to murmur, “so cocky.”

Logan let out a quiet chuckle, nipping at your jaw before pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes. “That a complaint?”

You held his gaze for a long moment, then shook your head. “No.”

His smirk softened slightly, something warmer flickering in his eyes. He kissed you again, slower this time, more measured, before his hands resumed their path downward. The flannel slid off your shoulders, and Logan eased it down your arms, letting it pool around you before shifting his focus to your shorts.

His fingers traced the waistband, giving you the opportunity to stop him, to hesitate—but you didn’t. Instead, you lifted your hips just enough for him to slip them down, the fabric dragging along your legs before being tossed aside.

His hands traced back up, following the path they’d just taken, but this time there was nothing between you. His palms splayed over your thighs, fingers pressing in just enough to make you squirm before they trailed inward, brushing against the heat of you.

Logan exhaled sharply, his forehead resting against yours for a brief moment before he kissed you again, deeper this time. One hand stayed anchored against your hip while the other moved between your thighs, fingers teasing, exploring, until they found the slick warmth waiting for him.

His lips curved against yours. “So fuckin’ soft,” he murmured, tracing slow circles that made you gasp, your fingers gripping his shoulders. “And already so wet for me.”

Your breath stuttered, nails digging into his skin as his fingers worked you open, slow and careful, coaxing soft sounds from your lips that only made his own breath turn heavier.

“You always this sweet for me, darlin’?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your cheek, your jaw, your throat. “Or is this just ‘cause you’ve been waitin’ on me?”

Logan’s fingers curled just right inside you, pressing against that spot that made your breath stutter, your thighs twitching where they pressed against his hips. His smirk was small but unmistakable, lips brushing against your cheek as his fingers worked you open, slow and deliberate.

“You’re real sensitive, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice rough with something darker, something restrained. His thumb dragged lazy circles over your clit, and you whimpered, your grip on his shoulders tightening. He chuckled, breath warm against your skin. “Damn shame I didn’t do this sooner.”

You couldn’t answer—not with the way he was touching you, not with the heat pooling in your stomach, threatening to snap. Your head tipped back against the pillows, glasses askew, lips parted around soft, breathy sounds that you couldn’t hold back. Logan didn’t stop them. If anything, he worked for them, coaxing every little gasp from your lips like he had all the time in the world.

“That’s it,” he muttered, pressing slow kisses down your jaw, along the line of your throat. His fingers pumped into you steadily, stretching, teasing, dragging that pleasure higher. “Y’been waitin’ on this, haven’t you?”

“Logan—”

His thumb pressed a little firmer against your clit, and your words broke into a moan, your back arching into him. Logan groaned, deep and low, his mouth finding the hollow of your throat as he kept his rhythm.

“Christ, you sound good,” he muttered. “So fuckin’ sweet.”

You could feel yourself getting close, the pleasure building, sharp and electric, curling tight in your stomach. Logan felt it too—the way your thighs trembled, the way your breath hitched between each desperate sound.

“C’mon, darlin’,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear, fingers relentless. “Let me feel it.”

And you did—your body tensed, your breath breaking into a soft, gasping cry as you came apart beneath him. Logan cursed softly, watching you unravel, his fingers slowing just enough to help you ride it out.

You were still trembling when he pulled his hand away, bringing his fingers to his lips. He met your gaze as he licked them clean, eyes dark and heavy-lidded.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped. “You taste good.”

Your stomach flipped, heat rising to your cheeks, but Logan was already shifting, already pressing slow, deep kisses against your lips. He took his time, letting you catch your breath, hands steady as they stroked over your hips, your thighs, your waist.

“Still doin’ alright?” he murmured.

You nodded, breathless, fingers curling against his chest. “Yeah.”

Logan smirked, but there was something softer in it, something warmer. “Good.”

His hand skimmed down your side, slow and deliberate, rough fingertips brushing over the curve of your hip. He was watching you too closely, the way he always did when he wanted to be sure you were with him, when he needed to see it in your eyes.

You curled your fingers into his hair and pulled him back down to you, mouth meeting his in a kiss that was less careful this time. You weren’t thinking about shyness, about hesitation—just the heat of his skin, the weight of him pressing you into the mattress, the way his hands knew exactly where to touch.

Logan groaned low against your lips, his body settling fully against yours now, bare skin to bare skin, except for the one piece of clothing left between you. His jeans were rough where they brushed against your thighs, the contrast making you shiver as his hands moved—one sliding beneath you to brace your back, the other gripping your hip, his fingers flexing like he was grounding himself in the feel of you.

He kissed you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, the taste of you, like he wasn’t sure if this was real or if you’d slip through his fingers again.

You felt it in the way he touched you, in the way he lingered, his lips dragging from your mouth down to your jaw, the column of your throat. His breath was hot against your skin, each exhale rougher than the last.

“You still with me, sweetheart?” Logan murmured against your pulse, his voice low, rasping.

You swallowed hard, nodding before remembering he’d want more than that. “Yeah,” you breathed. “I’m with you.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. His fingers tightened against your hip like he was restraining himself, like he had to be careful, because this was you, and even though he’d wanted this for so fucking long, he wouldn’t rush it.

Wouldn’t rush you.

His nose brushed against your cheek as he exhaled, long and slow, before kissing you again—slower this time, deliberate.

His hands started moving again, dragging over the softness of your waist, down to your thighs, his touch firm but steady, mapping you out, savoring. When he reached the inside of your knee, he eased it up, guiding your leg around his waist. The shift pressed you flush against him, and Logan let out a sharp breath through his nose, his forehead resting against yours for a moment like he needed to gather himself.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice nearly a growl. His hands flexed against you, one sliding down to your ass, gripping, shifting you just enough that the hard press of him against your core made you whimper.

Logan groaned at the sound, his head dipping, lips grazing your collarbone. “You don’t even know what that does to me,” he murmured, his mouth trailing lower.

You bit your lip, your fingers twitching against his shoulders. “I might have an idea.”

That pulled a rough chuckle from him, but it faded when you moved—when you shifted against him, pressing just enough to draw a hiss from his lips.

His restraint was slipping.

He was already worked up, and you could feel it, the tension coiling in his muscles, the way his breathing had gone ragged. He’d been patient, slow, but the way he was gripping you now, the way his hands were starting to tremble against your skin—he was close to losing that patience.

And you wanted him to.

You reached between you, fingers brushing along his stomach, the waistband of his jeans. Logan’s breath hitched, his hips twitching forward before he caught himself, gripping your wrist before you could go further.

“Darlin’.” His voice was tight, strained. “You don’t gotta—”

“I know,” you murmured, looking up at him. Your free hand brushed against his jaw, grounding him. “I want to.”

Logan’s grip on your wrist loosened at that, his lips parting, something flickering behind his eyes that looked a hell of a lot like reverence.

Then he let go.

You made quick work of his belt, the button, the zipper—your hands were steady, but your heart was racing. Logan watched you, his breath shallow, his chest rising and falling in uneven bursts as you shoved the last barrier down over his hips.

His skin was hot against yours, his body solid, strong, and when he settled against you again, when there was nothing between you anymore, you let out a sharp, shaking breath at the feeling of him, the sheer heat and weight of him pressing against you.

Logan groaned, his forehead pressing against yours. “Christ.”

Your fingers curled into his shoulders, legs tightening around his waist. “Logan—”

“I got you,” he murmured. His voice was softer now, and the hand on your hip slid lower. You made a soft, pleading sound, shifting beneath him, your fingers flexing against his skin. Logan exhaled sharply, his hand leaving you to brace himself above you again. His eyes met yours. “You sure?”

You nodded, but Logan didn’t move. He needed to hear you say it.

“Yes,” you murmured, your voice quiet but sure. “I’m sure.”

Something in his expression eased, and then—

He pushed in, slow, steady, careful.

Your breath caught. Logan groaned, low and rough, his head tipping forward, his body shuddering as he fought to keep himself controlled.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he muttered, his voice thick, strained. His hands flexed against you, his breath ragged against your skin as he pushed in deeper, filling you completely.

You gasped, gripping his arms, your body stretching to take him, adjusting around him. Logan cursed softly, his forehead pressing to your shoulder, his hands shaking against you.

“Tell me if—” His voice was almost wrecked. “If I need to slow down, I will.”

You shook your head, breathless. “You’re perfect.”

Logan let out a quiet, shuddering exhale. “Fuck.”

His hips pulled back, then pressed forward again, slow, measured. His restraint was there, barely, his muscles taut beneath your hands, his movements careful but not hesitant.

You moaned softly, your body arching into him, and Logan swore under his breath, his grip tightening on your hips.

“Goddamn,” he muttered. “You feel like you were made for me.”

You trembled beneath him, overwhelmed by the heat, the weight, the way he filled every part of you so completely. Logan was holding himself together by a thread, his hands flexing against your hips like he was steadying himself, grounding himself in the feel of you. His breath was heavy against your skin, rough and uneven, his forehead pressing against yours as he stilled inside you, letting you adjust.

“Jesus, darlin’,” he muttered, his voice wrecked. “You—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply through his nose. “Fuck.”

Your fingers curled against the broad planes of his back, nails digging into firm muscle as you took a shaky breath. He was big—not just in size, but in presence, in weight, in the sheer way he surrounded you, body and soul. You weren’t sure you’d ever felt this full before. It was almost too much. Almost.

But Logan wasn’t rushing.

He didn’t move, didn’t push. He just stayed there, his body taut with restraint, his jaw tight. His thumb traced absentminded circles on your hip, a small, grounding motion against the intensity of everything else.

“You okay?” His voice was rough, thick with the effort of holding himself back.

You swallowed, nodding, but when you saw the way he was watching you—his eyes dark, searching—you knew that wasn’t enough. “Yeah,” you murmured. “I’m okay.”

Logan’s throat bobbed as he exhaled slowly, like he needed to hear it, needed the confirmation.

Still, he didn’t move right away. He stayed just like that, warm and solid above you, one hand slipping up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

It was gentler than you’d expected. You weren’t sure why—you knew Logan was careful with you, always. He was rough around the edges, sure, but with you, he never let himself be careless. Even now, even with his body wound tight as a wire, he held himself back, waiting for you to let him know it was okay.

You exhaled softly, tilting your head just enough to brush your lips against his in a slow, lingering kiss. Logan groaned low in his throat, the hand on your hip tightening fractionally, but he didn’t deepen it—he let you set the pace.

You pulled back just enough to whisper against his mouth. “You can move.”

Logan’s whole body tensed at that, his breath hitching. “Fuck,” he muttered, his forehead pressing against yours again like he was collecting himself. Then, after a long moment—

He pulled back, just a little, before pushing forward again, slow and steady.

The stretch had you gasping, your fingers tightening against his shoulders. Logan gritted his teeth, cursing under his breath as he did it again, his pace careful, deliberate, as if savoring every inch of you.

“You’re so goddamn tight,” he muttered, voice rough as gravel. His lips brushed your temple, his breath warm against your skin. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

Heat curled in your stomach at the way he said it—like he couldn’t believe this was real, like he couldn’t believe he had you beneath him, wrapped around him like this.

Your thighs squeezed around his waist instinctively, and Logan groaned, his hands gripping you tighter.

“Darlin’,” he rasped, his voice strained. “You keep doin’ that, I ain’t gonna last.”

You swallowed hard, your head tipping back against the pillow. “Sorry,” you whispered, your voice shaky.

Logan let out a rough chuckle, his lips brushing the side of your neck. “Ain’t complainin’.”

He thrust again, just a little harder this time, and you let out a soft, broken sound, your back arching. Logan groaned, his teeth scraping along your jaw before he kissed you again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, drugging rhythm that matched the roll of his hips.

Your hands slid up his back, over the warm expanse of skin, tracing the dips and ridges of old scars. Logan shuddered beneath your touch, his muscles flexing under your fingers.

His mouth left yours only to drag lower, down the line of your throat, over the curve of your shoulder. “Goddamn,” he muttered against your skin, his voice thick with want. “I’ve wanted this—” He cut himself off with a groan, his fingers flexing against your waist. “You don’t even know how long.”

You whimpered softly, tightening your legs around him. “Then don’t hold back.”

Logan’s head snapped up at that, his breath catching. His eyes locked onto yours, something dark and wanting flashing behind them.

For a second, you thought he might tease you, draw it out longer—but something in your voice must have struck him, because Logan let out a rough breath and gave you exactly what you asked for.

He started moving in earnest now, his rhythm still measured but deeper, more insistent, dragging pleasure from you with every roll of his hips. Your breath hitched, your nails pressing into his shoulders as heat coiled in your stomach, sharp and electric.

You gasped as he thrust again, your body tightening around him. “Logan—”

He groaned at the way you said his name, his fingers digging into your hips. His pace faltered for a second, like he was struggling to keep himself controlled, like he was on the edge of losing himself completely.

And maybe you wanted him to.

Your hands slid up to cup his face, guiding him back down into another kiss, one that was messier now, more desperate. Logan growled against your lips, his movements turning just a little rougher, just a little faster, and you moaned into his mouth, your body arching up to meet him.

You could feel yourself getting close, the pleasure building, tightening, making your breath come faster. Logan felt it too—the way your body trembled, the way your breath caught.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice wrecked, his hips rolling into yours just right. “Let me feel you.”

The coil snapped.

You cried out, your body shuddering as you came around him, the pleasure cresting over you in sharp, dizzying waves. Logan cursed, his hands gripping you tight as he followed, his rhythm stuttering before he buried himself deep, groaning low against your throat as he let go.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was heavy breathing, the quiet hum of the TV still playing in the background. Logan stayed there, his forehead against yours, his hands still steady on your hips, like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

Then, slowly, he shifted, pulling you into his chest as he rolled onto his side, keeping you close, keeping you warm. His breath was still heavy, but his hands were gentle as they traced over your back, his lips pressing softly against your temple.

“You alright?” he murmured, voice still rough around the edges.

You nodded against his chest, your fingers curling into his skin. “Yeah.”

Logan exhaled slowly, something easing in his expression. “You stayin’ here tonight?”

You huffed a quiet laugh, pressing your face into his shoulder. “I think that’s a given.”

Logan smirked against your hair. “Good.”

---

Bonus Scene

He couldn’t help himself—you looked cute today. To others, it was just a regular outfit, slacks and a sweater, but the difference was those damn heels.

Logan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching as you walked down the hall, completely unaware of the effect you were having on him. The soft click of your heels against the floor was downright distracting, and the way they made you stand just a little taller—closer to him—wasn’t helping, either.

You adjusted your glasses, scanning over the notes in your hand as you made your way toward the classroom. Logan smirked to himself, shaking his head. Of course, you were completely oblivious.

He pushed off the wall and fell into step beside you. “Fancy shoes, sweetheart.”

You glanced up at him, brow furrowing slightly before realization dawned. “Oh. Yeah.” You adjusted your grip on the papers, glancing down at them. “I don’t wear them often, but I figured I should—”

“Keep ‘em.” Logan cut you off before you could finish whatever practical reason you were about to give.

You blinked up at him. “What?”

His smirk deepened, eyes dropping briefly to your heels before dragging back up. “I like ‘em.”

Your lips parted slightly, as if you wanted to say something, but instead, you quickly looked back at your papers, clearing your throat. “They’re just shoes, Logan.”

“Uh-huh.” Logan’s voice was amused, his smirk never fading.

He could see it—the way you fidgeted slightly, the way your grip tightened just a little on the papers. You were flustered, and it was adorable.

You reached your classroom, your free hand on the doorknob, but before you could step inside, Logan’s hand landed on your hip, pulling you back just enough that you felt the warmth of him behind you. He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“They make your legs look real nice, too,” he murmured.

You inhaled sharply, your back straightening. “Logan—”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

You turned your head just slightly, your cheek barely grazing his. You opened your mouth to say something—probably a scolding, judging by the look in your eyes—but Logan just grinned, giving your hip a final squeeze before stepping back.

“See you later, darlin’.”

And with that, he walked off, leaving you standing there, flustered and gripping the doorknob like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

Yeah. He was definitely keeping those heels around.

---

You didn’t wear them again for a while—you usually would only consider wearing them on days when you didn’t have to be in the lab.

So, a few weeks later they were on again. The day went on normally, no interruptions from Logan, at least not any more than usual, and by the end of the workday you were glad to finally take them off.

You had already taken off your cardigan, leaving you in a simple t-shirt, and now you were unstrapping your heels.

The second heel slid off your foot with a relieved sigh. You flexed your toes against the carpet, rolling your ankles slightly. You hadn't even heard Logan come in—not until his voice rumbled from the doorway.

“Lemme help, sweetheart.”

Your head snapped up, caught halfway through massaging the arch of your foot. Logan was already moving toward you, dark eyes locked onto yours with that unreadable expression, something steady and sure. The kind that made your breath hitch.

“You don’t have to—”

He crouched down in front of you before you could finish, already reaching for your legs. Large hands wrapped around your calves, rough fingers kneading into muscle as he lifted one foot, pressing his thumb into the soft ache just beneath your toes.

A quiet breath left you, head tipping slightly back at the relief of it. He chuckled, low and knowing.

“Yeah, figured they’d be sore. Been watchin’ you walk around in ‘em all day.” His fingers trailed down, slow and deliberate, past your ankle and along your shin, stopping just above your knee. He looked up then, and something about the way he did it—half-lidded, knowing—made heat bloom low in your stomach.

His hands didn’t move away. Not when he squeezed gently, dragging his palms down the length of your legs again, not even when his fingers hooked into the waistband of your slacks.

Your breath caught. “Logan…”

He hummed, a wordless sound of acknowledgment, but he didn’t stop. He unbuttoned them slowly, eyes flicking up to yours. “Just helpin’ you get comfortable, darlin’.”

You should’ve expected it—Logan wasn’t the type to stop at just your shoes. But still, the sensation of your slacks being eased down, the brush of cool air against your thighs as he worked them off, sent a shiver up your spine.

And then, just as you were about to stand, assuming this was about changing into something else, Logan’s hands were on your hips, pushing you back down.

Your brows furrowed. “I thought—”

But Logan was already reaching for the heels again. He slid them back onto your feet, slow, deliberate. His fingers lingered as he adjusted the straps, the rough scrape of his calloused skin against your ankle making your pulse stutter.

Your lips parted, about to ask what he was doing—but before you could, he pressed a firm hand to your thigh, spreading you open just enough, and then he was moving lower, kneeling between your legs.

The realization hit all at once.

“Logan—”

His hands gripped your thighs, pulling you just that much closer to the edge of the bed. He exhaled sharply, and you could feel it—hot, teasing, right against the thin cotton of your underwear. His nose brushed against the fabric, and the sound that left him was almost a growl.

“Been thinkin’ about this all damn day,” he muttered. One of his hands slid up, fingers pressing into the meat of your hip, while the other smoothed down to hook around the back of your knee.

You swallowed hard, fingers curling into the sheets. “You—” Your voice hitched when his mouth brushed against you again, this time with intent. “You could’ve just said so.”

He chuckled against you, lips dragging over the fabric, teasing. “Nah,” he murmured. “Better like this.”

His tongue traced along the dampening fabric, slow and unhurried, dragging just enough to make you squirm. The first real sound of pleasure slipped from your lips before you could swallow it down. He made a noise of approval, pressing his mouth more firmly against you.

Your fingers twitched against the sheets, breath coming faster. “Logan…”

Logan’s breath was hot against you, teasing, his mouth hovering right where you needed him but refusing to give in just yet. His hands stayed firm on your thighs, thumbs pressing circles into your skin, like he had all the time in the world.

Your fingers curled tighter into the sheets, your breath coming in uneven, shallow little bursts. "Logan—"

"Yeah, sweetheart?" His voice was deep, roughened by amusement, like he already knew what you wanted but wanted to hear you say it anyway.

Your nails dug into the fabric beneath you, and Logan chuckled—low, pleased. He pressed a kiss over your underwear, slow and deliberate, letting his lips linger before dragging his tongue over the fabric. The heat of his mouth seared through, and your hips jerked involuntarily.

He groaned, hands flexing against your thighs. "Knew you'd be sensitive."

A flush burned hot up your neck, your head tipping back as his fingers traced slow, teasing lines up and down your legs, just enough pressure to keep you on edge but not enough to satisfy. He slid his hands up, past your knees, before hooking his arms beneath your thighs, pulling them up, over his shoulders.

Your breath caught as your calves rested against his broad back, the heels he had insisted you keep on grazing against his muscles. His grip tightened, locking you into place, and something about the sheer strength of him—the way he held you like this, open, vulnerable, completely at his mercy—made your stomach clench.

He pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss against your thigh, then another, working his way back toward the soaked fabric between your legs. His tongue flicked out again, just enough pressure to make you squirm, before he pulled back with a smirk.

"Logan," you breathed, frustration seeping into your tone.

His eyes flicked up, dark and hungry. "What, darlin'?"

"You—" Your fingers curled into the sheets again, your voice catching as he flattened his tongue against you, pressing hard enough that you felt every inch of him through the fabric. Your back arched instinctively, a soft, broken sound slipping from your lips.

That noise seemed to snap something in him.

Logan growled, deep and guttural, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your underwear. In one slow, deliberate motion, he dragged them down, letting them catch around your knees before finally tugging them free. His hands didn’t waste any time, gripping the backs of your thighs again, pulling you even closer.

"That's better," he muttered, almost to himself.

And then his mouth was on you, hot and relentless.

A gasp tore from you, your thighs instinctively trying to clamp shut, but his grip held you open. His tongue worked slow at first, dragging long, torturous strokes through your folds, before circling right where you needed him most.

Your breath stuttered. "Oh—"

Logan groaned, the sound vibrating through you. "That’s it, sweetheart," he murmured against you. "Let me hear you."

You bit your lip, trying to keep some of the sounds at bay, but he didn’t like that. His hands squeezed your thighs in warning before his mouth sealed around your clit, sucking just enough to make your entire body jolt.

A cry ripped from your throat.

"Atta girl," he praised, the words sending a fresh wave of heat down your spine. His grip adjusted, hands sliding lower, past your hips, thumbs pressing into the crease where your thighs met your body. Holding you still. Keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

His tongue was merciless, alternating between slow, deliberate strokes and firm, insistent pressure that had your thighs trembling against his shoulders. Every flick, every graze of his teeth, sent electricity sparking up your spine.

You didn’t even realize you were babbling his name until he groaned in response, pressing his mouth harder against you. The pressure built fast, white-hot and overwhelming, your whole body tightening as the coil in your stomach threatened to snap.

"Logan, I—" Your voice cracked, desperate, hands flying to grip his hair, tugging without thinking.

That was all it took.

Logan growled against you, and then his tongue was working you over with ruthless intent, flicking and sucking in a way that sent you crashing over the edge. Your body tensed, your back arching, his name spilling from your lips in broken, breathless gasps as pleasure wracked through you.

He didn’t stop.

Your thighs trembled against him, your whole body oversensitive, but Logan didn’t let up. His grip stayed firm, his tongue still dragging through your folds, teasing, relentless.

A whimper slipped from you, half-plea, half-helpless moan.

“Mmm, Logan?”

Your voice trembled—soft, breathless, still caught in the aftershocks of your first climax, and Logan felt it. The way your thighs quivered against his shoulders, your calves resting against his back, those damn heels grazing along the muscles of his spine. He exhaled sharply through his nose, lips still pressed to the slick heat between your legs.

“What, sweetheart?” His voice was low, rough, vibrating against you.

Your breath hitched. The heat of Logan’s mouth lingered against you, his tongue flicking one last, teasing time before he dragged his lips back up to press against the soft skin of your inner thigh. You twitched beneath him, a small tremor still rippling through your muscles, breath unsteady, fingers weakly curled into the sheets.

“I thought you were—”

Your voice caught as his teeth scraped lightly over your thigh, right where it was still damp from his mouth. He hummed, low and thoughtful, and didn’t move away. If anything, he settled in deeper, his broad hands tightening around your thighs, thumbs smoothing up toward the curve of your hips.

“Done?” His voice was all rough amusement, muffled against your skin.

A shaky exhale left you.

His lips curved. “Oh, sweetheart.” A kiss, slow and open-mouthed, right at the crease of your thigh. “You really think I’m done with you?”

Your breath stuttered. He hadn’t moved back—hadn’t given you any space to recover. He was still right there, his mouth still hovering over sensitive skin, his breath warm, teasing, pressing against you like a promise.

You swallowed, fingers flexing against the sheets. “I—”

He turned his head slightly, his nose brushing right where you were still slick, still sensitive. Your whole body jerked at the touch, an involuntary sound breaking in your throat.

Logan groaned. “That’s what I thought.”

And then his hands were on your hips again, sliding up your sides, holding you steady as he buried his mouth back between your thighs.

A gasp ripped from you, your body jolting at the sheer intensity of it. You’d barely come down from the first wave of pleasure, your skin still too sensitive, too raw—but Logan didn’t care. He was relentless, tongue pressing deep, slow, deliberate, dragging up before circling back around your clit.

You whimpered, your hands flying back to his hair, twisting in the thick strands.

He groaned again at the pull, the vibration of it sending another sharp, overwhelming pulse through you.

“Fuck, you taste good,” he muttered against you, voice thick, wrecked. “Could do this all night.”

Your legs trembled. You didn’t doubt him.

He worked you open with his tongue, slow and indulgent, taking his time, like he had nowhere else to be, no other priority but this—this, and the way you came apart in his hands. He pulled you closer, dragging your thighs up higher over his shoulders, making sure you couldn’t squirm away.

The position shifted something, the heels on your feet sliding slightly against his back, the small sharp drag of them making him grunt.

His tongue flicked over you again, lazy, slow, savoring. He had you completely at his mercy, held tight in his grip, and he knew it.

“Logan,” you gasped, voice breaking.

He smirked against you. “That’s it, darlin’.” His tongue circled once, twice, before he sealed his lips around you again, sucking just right.

The pleasure built fast, unbearable, twisting in your stomach like a live wire sparking beneath your skin. Your breath hitched, your thighs shaking against him, the grip you had in his hair tightening as you tried to ground yourself.

Logan groaned, deep and approving, and then he doubled down. His mouth was insatiable, his tongue working you open, pushing you right to the edge without hesitation.

You felt it hit—sharp and sudden, your whole body tensing as your second orgasm crashed through you.

A sob caught in your throat. Logan didn’t stop.

He rode you through it, drinking in every sound, every twitch of your hips, every broken whimper that left you as you shattered against his mouth. He held you steady, his tongue still teasing, slow, languid, like he was tasting you, savoring the way you trembled for him.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he moved up, dragging his lips along your stomach, pressing slow, hot kisses as he went.

“Think you can give me one more, sweetheart?” he murmured against your skin.

Your breath was still coming fast, your body still tingling with aftershocks. “I—”

"Yeah, darlin’," Logan rasped against your thigh, the vibration of his voice sending another tremor through your oversensitive body. He wasn’t asking—just waiting. Waiting for you to tell him no, to push at his shoulders, to make some attempt at stopping him.

You didn’t.

A deep, satisfied hum rumbled through his chest, his stubble dragging against the tender skin of your inner thigh as he pressed another open-mouthed kiss there. His hands stayed firm at your hips, thumbs smoothing slow, absent circles against your flushed skin.

"You got one more in you," he muttered. Not a question. A promise.

Your fingers curled weakly into the sheets, your chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. "Logan, I—I don’t think—"

"You can." His voice was thick, low, possessive. His hands flexed against you, grounding, holding you still like he could feel the way your legs wanted to clamp shut, your body already overwhelmed. "I got you."

And then his mouth was on you again.

A sharp gasp tore from your throat, your back arching as the wet heat of his tongue pressed against your still-sensitive clit. It was too much—the pleasure too sharp, too immediate, your nerves already frayed and exposed from the last two times.

Your hand flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands, pulling without thinking. Logan groaned against you, the sound vibrating through every inch of your body, his grip tightening in response.

"Fuck," he breathed, pulling back just enough to murmur against your skin. "You’re still so fuckin’ sensitive, huh?" He didn’t wait for an answer. Just grinned against you before dragging his tongue through your folds again, slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every reaction, every helpless little sound that slipped from your lips.

Your breath hitched, thighs trembling against his broad shoulders. "I—Logan, I don’t—"

"Shhh, sweetheart." His voice was rough, but his touch was steady, unwavering. His hands slid up your sides, fingers splaying over your ribs, grounding you. "Just let me take care of you."

Your stomach clenched, your body torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. You were too sensitive, too overwhelmed—but Logan wasn’t relenting. He was dragging you over the edge whether you were ready or not.

His tongue pressed deeper, slow and indulgent, before curling up just right, and your body jolted, a sharp cry breaking from your throat. Logan growled at the reaction, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he kept you pinned beneath him.

"You feel that?" he muttered against you, the heat of his breath making you shudder. "How fuckin’ good you taste?" His tongue flicked against you again, making your whole body jerk. "Bet you don’t even know what you do to me."

You moaned, the sound half-frustrated, half-helpless. Your thighs clenched around his head, but Logan only groaned, pressing himself deeper against you, like he wanted to drown in the feeling of you coming apart beneath him.

Your grip in his hair tightened, pulling hard enough to sting. "L-Logan—"

"That’s it," he growled. "Say my name, sweetheart."

You did. Over and over, broken and breathless, as his mouth worked you open, relentless and unforgiving. His tongue was precise, knowing, dragging slow and then fast, flicking before sucking, giving you just enough to send another sharp pulse of pleasure tearing through you.

The coil in your stomach wound tight—too tight, too fast.

You felt it coming, and so did he.

"Give it to me," Logan muttered against you, his voice almost desperate. "Come on, darlin’."

And then he sucked—hard.

White-hot pleasure ripped through you.

Your whole body tensed, your back arching, your breath catching in a sharp, broken cry. The orgasm slammed into you with dizzying force, a wave so intense it nearly knocked the air from your lungs. Your thighs clamped around his head, your fingers fisting in his hair, your entire body trembling against him.

Logan groaned, dragging his tongue through the mess he’d made, working you through every last tremor, every aftershock, until you were nothing but a shivering, spent mess beneath him.

Only then did he slow, his movements easing from hungry and desperate to slow and indulgent, like he was committing the taste of you to memory.

Your breath came in short, uneven gasps, your body completely limp against the mattress. Logan finally pulled back, pressing one last open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh before lifting his head.

His lips were slick, his pupils blown wide, his expression dark with satisfaction as he looked up at you.

"Told you," he murmured.

You could barely manage to lift your head, still dazed, your limbs uncooperative. "Told me what?" you managed, voice hoarse.

His smirk deepened, and he reached up, gripping your ankle. His thumb brushed over the strap of your heel, gaze flicking to where it still sat, perfectly in place on your foot.

"Told you I liked these."

Your cheeks burned, the heat rushing back to your face all at once.

Logan chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. He pushed himself up, his body unfolding as he moved over you, one arm bracing beside your head, his other hand gripping your hip. He was still fully dressed, still perfectly in control, while you lay there completely undone beneath him.

You swallowed hard, your pulse still racing. "You’re—"

A smirk tugged at his lips. "Yeah?"

You huffed, turning your face away, but he caught your chin, gently tilting your gaze back to him.

"You okay?" His voice softened, rough edges smoothing just enough to make your heart squeeze.

You nodded, still catching your breath. Logan’s thumb traced along your jaw, his gaze lingering on your face for a long moment before he finally leaned down, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“Good,” he murmured against your skin.

You felt the heat of his breath, the scrape of his stubble, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The weight of him was solid, grounding, his presence steady and familiar.

Finally, Logan exhaled through his nose, shifting slightly, his hands settling around your waist. He pressed another kiss to your shoulder, then muttered, “Should get you cleaned up, huh?”

You made a small noise in response, still too boneless to move.

Logan smirked. "Yeah, figured."

With an ease that shouldn’t have been possible, he lifted you up, settling you against his chest. His hands skimmed down your legs, his fingers lingering at the straps of your heels before slowly undoing them, slipping them off one at a time.

You let out a quiet sigh as the last one slid from your foot, the ache in your calves finally easing. Logan chuckled, pressing a kiss against your temple.

"Don't get too comfortable, sweetheart," he murmured. "Ain't done takin' care of you yet."

And with that, he stood, carrying you effortlessly toward the bathroom.

yeah... i might've gotten a bit carried away

[00valentina-writes00]

OKAY! I legit love your fics so so much! How about ambessa x pregnant reader. Let’s just pretend woman can get woman pregnant (dream) okay so reader gets injured and Ambessa becomes extremely protective of her after it! Super fluff!!! :3

✞⛧Guarding What’s Most Precious✞⛧

Warnings: Pregnancy, injury, protective behavior

Word count: 1.4k

The day had started off like any other. The sun was hidden behind a blanket of clouds, casting the world in a muted light. The air was thick with the scent of rain, but you weren’t bothered. You had become used to the dampness, the cool air, and the unpredictable weather that accompanied living in such a place. It was the kind of day where you could wrap yourself in warmth and quiet, and maybe even doze off next to the hearth, with your wife’s strong arms around you.

You hadn’t expected the day to take the turn it did.

You and Ambessa had decided to spend the morning walking through the grounds, where the soldiers were training, taking in the crisp air and the sight of the ongoing drills. Ambessa had been as commanding as ever, her presence towering over everyone else as she observed and offered advice. You, on the other hand, had been content to stand back and watch, keeping distance between you and the exertion around you. After all, you were pregnant now, and while you were still as independent as ever, the changes in your body required a slower pace.

But then, everything had gone wrong in the blink of an eye.

You’d been distracted, watching one of the soldiers execute a particularly difficult move, when you felt a sharp pain in your side. A soldier, unaware of your presence, had stumbled backward into you while trying to avoid a particularly powerful strike. The impact sent you tumbling, your feet slipping out from beneath you as you lost your balance.

It had all happened so fast—one moment you were watching the training, and the next, you were crumpled on the ground with a searing pain in your abdomen. You gasped, clutching your side, but it wasn’t the pain itself that had caused the wave of panic to rush through you. It was the sudden realization that you were carrying the life of your child, and the thought that you might have harmed them sent a chill of fear straight through your chest.

Before you could even think to get up, Ambessa was by your side, her towering figure casting a shadow over you. Her golden eyes were wide with panic, her usual calm demeanor shattered.

“Stay still,” she commanded, her voice trembling despite the authority it always held. She knelt beside you, her strong hands carefully cupping your face, her touch unusually gentle. “Are you hurt? Where does it hurt?”

Your breath was shallow, heart racing as you clutched at your side, the pain still a sharp reminder of what had just happened. “It’s… it’s just my side. I think I… I just lost my balance.”

Ambessa’s gaze flickered down to your stomach, a protective, possessive streak flashing in her eyes as she placed a hand over your abdomen. “And the baby?”

You nodded quickly, trying to calm her. “The baby’s fine. I think it’s just a shock to my system.”

Her expression softened ever so slightly, though it was clear she was still very much on edge. Without a word, she carefully scooped you into her arms, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. She was surprisingly gentle, her muscles rippling beneath your touch as she carried you away from the scene of the accident.

Ambessa’s mind raced, her thoughts consumed with the safety of you and the baby. She had always been fierce and protective, but something about the thought of you—carrying her child—being hurt in any way made her instincts go into overdrive. It was as if her heart couldn’t handle it.

“Let’s get you inside, where it’s safe,” Ambessa said, her voice low, but still laced with tension. She was no longer the calm and composed General—now, she was simply a woman who loved you and was terrified of losing you.

She carried you straight to the medical wing, her steps long and purposeful as she moved quickly, but with care. Her grip on you never wavered, and the way she held you against her chest reminded you of just how much she cared—just how fiercely she would protect you.

Once inside, Ambessa wasted no time, placing you on the nearest bed and calling for the physician to attend to you. Her movements were swift, but her eyes were constantly on you, ensuring that you were okay, that nothing had happened to the baby. The physician, a calm and experienced woman, moved swiftly to examine you, checking your pulse and your side.

The examination was thorough, but all you could focus on was Ambessa, standing in the corner of the room, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her brow furrowed in concern. Her posture was rigid, as though she was bracing herself for something, and the moment the physician moved to check your abdomen, Ambessa’s eyes never left you.

When the physician finally gave the all-clear, saying that everything seemed to be fine and that you just needed to rest, Ambessa’s posture visibly relaxed, though she still didn’t approach you immediately. She remained standing in her place for a moment, her breathing still a little erratic, her chest rising and falling with the weight of the tension she’d been holding.

“Ambessa,” you whispered softly, your voice barely audible, “I’m fine. The baby’s fine. Please… come sit with me.”

Her eyes flickered over to you, and for a moment, she hesitated. But then, as if her concern for you was too overwhelming to resist, she moved toward you, her heavy boots thudding softly against the floor as she approached. She gently placed a hand on the bed, leaning over you, her gaze softening as she studied your face.

“I should have been paying more attention,” she murmured, her voice low and laced with regret. “I let my guard down. I should have kept you away from the training grounds.”

You reached up, cupping her cheek in your hand. “It wasn’t your fault, Ambessa. I’m the one who got distracted, remember?” You offered her a small smile, hoping to ease some of the tension in her chest. “I’m fine. The baby’s fine. You don’t have to worry.”

But even as you said those words, you knew it wasn’t that simple. Ambessa’s protectiveness wasn’t something that could be easily calmed. It was in her nature to shield you from harm, especially when you were carrying her child.

She leaned down, pressing her forehead gently to yours. “I’ll never stop worrying about you. About both of you.” Her hand rested softly on your belly, and for a long moment, she just stood there, silent, feeling the warmth of the life inside you.

Your heart fluttered at her words, the sincerity behind them making you feel even more loved than you already did. You could feel the love radiating off her, the deep bond you shared.

Ambessa pulled back just slightly, her gaze dropping to your stomach. “I’ve never been more terrified in my life,” she admitted softly. “But I’d never let anything happen to either of you.”

You could see the fierce determination in her eyes, the same fire that had led her to command armies and conquer battlefields. But now, that fire was directed solely at protecting you—protecting your family.

You placed your hand over hers, gently squeezing it. “I know. And I love you for it.”

Ambessa’s lips softened into a small smile, though her eyes remained intense with the love and protectiveness she felt for you. “I’m sorry if I seem overbearing,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “But I’ll always be here. I’ll always make sure you’re safe.”

You smiled up at her, your heart swelling with affection. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

As Ambessa settled beside you, her large frame effortlessly fitting against your smaller one, you let out a sigh of contentment. She wrapped her strong arms around you, pulling you close as if she were trying to shield you from the world.

“You’re everything to me,” she whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “You and our child are everything.”

And in that moment, wrapped in her embrace, you knew that you were safe. No matter what the world threw your way, Ambessa would always be there to protect you. To protect both of you.

[somnus-lucis-caelum]

Somnus had expected a lot. But not this. Aerith comandeered him around - and as the healer in charge, she had every right to that. Still.

Somnus took little issue with stripping down. To his toga and those folded down, of course. Not his pants – because there were none. And he would not yet strip down to his loincloth in front of the entire lazaret tent. He could already feel the Lucian soldiers’ looks and grins on him before the spectacle even started.

It took all of his selfcontrol not to yelp at suddenly being sprayed with fresh water that’s he simply pulled from thin air. He could not humiliate himself any more, so Somnus tried to endure this, only turning his head away a little.

The look he gave Aerith afterwards was a little bit of the ‘oh really?’ kind, though there was a grin blooming around that. He took the actions in stride. He knew she only acted logical to lower the infection risk on the cut.

Inhaling a little when the healing water soaked cloth touched his wound, Somnus watched Aerith doing her work. She was acting like a professional. She was… invaluable in what she had done for everyone around here.

There was little miracle as to why Jacob wanted her so badly. A healer like her… she could turn tides in wars. Did she even realize that…?

Her uttered words made Somnus smile a little softer, as he laid his fingers against her jawline to make her look at him.

“Please do not.”, he requested her to hold onto this fight, “Do not treat me better than our soldiers.”

It was a fine and political line. Of course, he was her husband. But Somnus also prided himself in being a warrior and being granted different, better treatment than his soldiers, many of whom were way worse wounded than he was…. It would reflect badly on him and they would begrudge him that.

“Besides… I consider it a wedding gift. It will be a good scar. And neither is it the first, nor the last I will have.”

That grin was a little smug, but Somnus did not want her to worry about this. It was just a cut. Nothing serious. And her healing water would minimize any lasting effects. He had full trust in that.

“… you should rest yourself. You treated everyone now. I know your father wants me to bring you to his tent… apparently we will share this one tonight. Gilgamesh will join, too. So, I hope you and your maid like it cozy with a bunch of paranoid men.”

Aerith was pulled from her thoughts at such a forward uttering of her name. There were few among them who referred to her on a first-name basis, and she was distracted enough to not immediately register it had been a familiar voice.

She looked to Somnus in mild surprise. Though her expression softened — she had cleaned up from their struggle, and he still wore it plain. He wasn't precious about any of it but it did kick up the unpleasant memories.

"It's the least I can do." she replied, feeling as though all of this trouble was because of her. Realistically, no, the blame was solely on King Jacob. But everyone here... they had risked life and limb for her. It wasn't a good feeling.

Somnus grinned and pulled at his clothes. A small gasp was pulled from her — she saw that cut immediately, and he was bowing like it wasn't such a big deal. He barely even got to straighten up again before her hands were on him. Clean cloths became dirty ones as she washed around the wound with a crease in her brow.

"You should have come sooner... doesn't it hurt?" she asked, shooting him a look of concern before she looked him up and down. No. This wouldn't do. He was a walking infection risk like this.

"This way. Strip down to your pants." she ordered, so matter-of-factly it might come as a surprise. It had simply been a line that repeated often enough that it felt second nature after that long night.

There was little privacy, but he wasn't ushered along so no one could see. Oh no. It was so no one else would wear the spell he was about to experience. "For the healing water to work, you have to keep the area clean. You can't pull your dirtied clothes back on." She had spent a lot of effort making that small basin of healing water too. She couldn't afford to waste it away to carelessness.

Aerith grimaced a little before she knocked back a small flask. Another mana tonic. She was on her sixth, and her stomach was rioting. If she had to down one more she was going to hurl. "Ouh." she had a small, audible complaint, but shook it off as she collected her stave. The real star of this tent.

"Maybe close your eyes." she offered, then channelled her magic into a steady water spell. It wasn't a gentle flow, but it wasn't assaulting either. Somewhere inbetween. Somnus was watered down the same as countless other soldiers had been though there were a few more glances thrown his way, a few more grins too, especially from Lucian soldiers.

It was over as quickly as it began, and while Somnus wiped down his face or shook some of the excess from his hair, Aerith busied herself at the precious little basin that had been mostly emptied. She only dared to touch with clean hands as she soaked a cloth through and approached her thoroughly-washed husband again.

That cloth was pressed to his side firmly, held there in the same manner, allowing the water time to work some of its magic. "... sorry." she almost whispered. "I forgot to warn you about the sting."

Her eyes lowered. The cloth bloomed with a little fresh blood, but nothing too concerning. The water was already at work. "You don't know how much I'm fighting myself to not simply heal you." she then uttered between them.

[writing-nothing-but-spilled-ink]

No cause you know what would be funny as fuck Ras Al ghul randomly showing up to the Wayne Manor and just letting himself in doesn't wait for anyone to let him in and he doesn't even tell Talia he's stopping by Wayne Manor and it's the anniversary of Jason's rebirth and Ras accidentally missed Damian's birthday because he was out of the country so here he is just waltzing into the manor here's how I think it'll go

Ra's: breaks into Wayne Manor and bee-lines to the batcave cause his spies told him Damian and Jason were down there

Bruce:has his back turned to the entrance in the middle of lecturing Jason for being reckless and for rigging his batmobile to shoot fucking glitter bombs whenever he tried to fire any kind of projectile

Jason: come on it was funny and it worked honestly I thought you'd be happy no one's dead they're just covered in glitter

Bruce: eye twitching

Damian: notices Ras just casually waltzing into the bat cave

Damian: hello grandfather

Bruce:spins around to find Ras in his lair bracing himself for a fight or some type of bad news only for ras to by pass him entirely and beeline to Jason and Damian

Ra's: snaps his fingers and assassin's come out of nowhere seemingly appearing from the shadows one is holding a bear cub with a little bow on its head and hands it to damian and steps back meanwhile another assassin appears with a giant stack of first edition leather bound classic literature and some rare ones that are almost unheard of to have

Ra's: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY GRANDSON'S :)

Bruce: is baffled because why is Ras calling Jason his grandson where did he get a bear cub why is he gifting Damian a bear cub, Damian's birthday was a month ago wtf Bruce's eye is twitching

Jason: oooo these are really hard to get, oh all of these are leather bound this is awesome thanks gramps though it's not really my birthday is your memory going old man

Ra's: this is the anniversary of your rebirth

Jason: ...

Damian: I appreciate the gift grandfather I shall name this bear lilly

Bruce: Damian I ... Look okay.. it's nice your .. his eye is twitching and he's trying to not lose his patience because again wtf.. grandfather has put an effort into this uh. Gift but you simply can't keep a bear in the manor much less in Gotham it's a wild animal

Damian: 😐 so isn't Jason and we keep him around and he gets to waltz around Gotham and the manor

Jason: hey listen here ya little shit

Bruce: exasperated first off your brother is not an animal secondly I'm not sure it's legal to keep a bear cub as a pet in Gotham

Damian: like running around Gotham dressed as a bat to beat up bad guys is legal, or that time you purposely broke into Arkham asylum to free Selina Kyle because her input on your suit was just sooooo important

Bruce: looks to Alfred

Alfred: well we do have the land space to build a sanctuary for the cub and the permits it would be quite an easy task to say the Wayne foundation is funding a bear sanctuary

Damian: ☺️ thank you Alfred

Bruce: turns to Ras why would you gift Damian a bear cub

Ra's: it was on his wishlist, and only the best for my grandsons, also you owe me child support

Bruce: ready to throw hands at this point

Alfred: smirks

Jason: trying really hard not to laugh

Ra's: ofcourse I'll let it go if you let the boy keep the bear cub in fact I have another gift but it won't be arriving for about a week 🙂.. he then turns to Damian you should give your mother a call she said something about wanting to plan something I'm really not sure what it is she's on about but regardless I think she'd like your input ... Well actually both your inputs

Bruce: sighs fine they get to keep the bear and we'll build the damn sanctuary but Damian i expect you to have it at least potty trained and do not under any circumstances let it in the kitchen I do not need a repeat of last time you got a new pet

Ra's: happy that he's annoyed the fuck out of Bruce and got his grandsons Great gifts my job here is done he claps his hands and his assassins fade back into the shadows

Jason: already lounging on a couch reading

Damian: holding the bear in his arms and patting it let's go get you some apples covered in honey 😊 walks out the cave with the bear cub

[aventurineswife]

hiii ! How are youu? Hope you’re fine

can you aventurine x reader who has social anxiety and can never have a conversation with anyone cause they just don’t know how to do it?

The Odds of Understanding

Summary: You’re a socially anxious individual thrust into a high-profile IPC event, struggling to navigate the overwhelming sea of conversation and charisma. Hiding on the sidelines, you unexpectedly catch the attention of Aventurine, one of the Ten Stonehearts. Known for his charm and cunning, Aventurine approaches you with surprising warmth, drawing you into a conversation that feels effortless despite your anxiety. What starts as a casual interaction turns into a meaningful connection, leaving you with a newfound sense of validation and comfort in your own skin.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Social Anxiety, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn (implied), Gentle Introspection, Found Comfort, Mutual Understanding.

Warnings: Brief mentions of anxiety and social discomfort, Minor self-doubt and internalized pressure. Aventurine’s subtle charm may cause emotional swooning!

The gleaming halls of the IPC headquarters buzzed with a steady rhythm of activity, punctuated by the quiet clicks of high heels and the low hum of distant conversations. You stood off to the side, your back pressed against the cool metallic wall, trying to make yourself as small as possible. The sea of sharp-dressed executives and bustling assistants was overwhelming. Words churned in your head—things you could say, ways to start a conversation—but none of them seemed good enough.

Why were you here? You hated events like this, where people’s lives revolved around status, charm, and charisma. Words didn’t come naturally to you; they got stuck in your throat like stones, leaving you frozen and panicked.

Yet, amidst the chaos, a single figure stood out. Aventurine.

He was impossible to miss. His hair was artfully disheveled, his eyes glimmered like exotic jewels, and his dark green and gold attire practically screamed confidence. He looked like he belonged in a deck of cards, a living embodiment of risk and allure.

You knew who he was—everyone did. Aventurine of the Ten Stonehearts, the master strategist whose charm was as infamous as his cunning. He was the kind of person you’d usually avoid. Someone so magnetic, so larger-than-life, that even standing near him would feel like being in the spotlight. But, of course, fate had other plans.

“Ah, hiding in the shadows, are we?” His voice was smooth, with an edge of playfulness that sent a jolt through you. He was standing in front of you now, head tilted slightly, his enigmatic smile firmly in place.

Your stomach dropped. How long had he been watching you?

“N-no, I’m just… um…” The words stumbled out, half-formed and awkward. You wanted to shrink away, but his gaze held you captive.

“Relax,” he said, his tone softer now. “I’m not here to interrogate you. Though I must admit, I’m curious. You don’t seem like the kind of person who frequents places like this.”

Your face burned, and you instinctively looked down, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve. “I-I don’t… usually.”

“Then why are you here?” he asked, leaning casually against the wall beside you. His presence was overwhelming, but not in the way you expected. There was something almost… comforting about the way he angled himself slightly away, giving you space without making it obvious.

“I… I have to be,” you muttered, barely above a whisper. “Work stuff.”

“Ah, the old ‘mandatory appearance’ trap,” he said with a chuckle. “I know it well.”

You glanced at him, surprised. He was looking at the crowd with a distant, almost wistful expression, as if he saw something there that no one else could.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” he continued. “How people spend so much time trying to impress others, yet half of them are just as uncomfortable as you are.”

You blinked. “You think… other people feel like this?”

He turned to you then, his eyes locking onto yours. “Of course they do. They’re just better at hiding it.”

You wanted to laugh, but it came out more like a nervous exhale. “I’m… not good at hiding it.”

“That’s not a flaw,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “In fact, I’d argue it’s a strength. You’re genuine, and that’s rare in a place like this.”

You stared at him, unsure of how to respond. His words were unexpected, and they stirred something in you—a flicker of warmth, of validation.

“I… don’t know what to say,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly.

“Then don’t say anything,” he replied with a grin. “Let me do the talking.”

And he did. For the next few minutes—or was it hours?—Aventurine filled the silence with stories, observations, and lighthearted quips. He never pressured you to respond, never asked more of you than you could give. Instead, he seemed to instinctively understand your limits, guiding the conversation in a way that felt effortless.

Gradually, you found yourself relaxing. You even managed to laugh—a real, genuine laugh—when he recounted a particularly ridiculous tale about a botched negotiation involving a defective shipment of luxury cigars.

“You have a lovely laugh,” he said, almost absentmindedly, as if he hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

Your cheeks flushed, and you quickly looked away. “Th-thank you…”

He tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your heart race. “You’re different,” he murmured. “In a good way. Most people I meet… they’re playing the same game, trying to outwit each other. But you? You’re not playing at all. And that makes you far more interesting.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you didn’t. But your silence didn’t seem to bother him. If anything, he looked amused, as if he found your awkwardness endearing.

As the night wore on, the crowd began to thin, but Aventurine stayed by your side. He never once made you feel small or out of place. Instead, he made you feel seen, as if your presence mattered in a way you couldn’t quite comprehend.

When it was finally time to leave, he offered you a small, almost playful bow. “Thank you for indulging me tonight,” he said, his smile softer now, less guarded. “I don’t often find company as refreshing as yours.”

“I didn’t… do much,” you replied, fidgeting with your sleeves again.

He chuckled. “Exactly.”

With that, he turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving you with a strange, lingering sense of warmth. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you had failed at something.

Instead, you felt like you had won.

[tsuyalovebot]

don't make me wait forever.

pairing: xia yi zhou / caleb x reader (love and deepspace)

cw: sfw. semi-prominent reader characterization (spoiled, occasional use of she/her pronouns, referred to as a "little sister" once). kisses. casual touches. throat holding (both by reader and by caleb). use of "older brother" to address caleb (not by reader). pipsqueak as a term of endearment. reader wears makeup. some spoilers from tender moments, memoria, and bond story. caleb typical warnings (manipulation if you squint).

wc: roughly 3-4k words. unnecessary word vomit.

author's note: a man who yearns is a man who EARNS. hi, it's me again! i had an idea and had to bring it to life. enjoy! ( ^ -. ^ )

Caleb wasn't lying when he said he spoiled you too much as children.

You didn't quite get it at first—he was nothing but sweet with the occasional menace during childhood, sure, but he didn't spoil you spoil you.

You were leaning into his chest, eyes closed while listening to the TV in the background as his large arm wraps itself around your waist. Tucking you against him, feeling his lips against the crown of your head.

"I baby you too much," he sighed, a mellow cheeriness beneath his words.

"And yet, you sound so happy over it," you grumbled. Sleep is so close yet so far, and you'd been squirming around in search of the closest boarding gate. His touch delicate as he pulled you onto his lap.

You snuggled closer on instinct. Picking up on the faint smell of sandalwood and something finer, richer. There was movement on your back, Caleb's palm stroking up and down, while the other held you by the back of your neck like an infant.

"I spoiled you, too."

You frowned, looked at him blearily. "Nuh-uh."

"Uh-huh." He pushed your head back onto his shoulder. "Go to sleep."

Sure, Caleb took extensive measures to ensure your comfortable upbringing with him. But you weren't spoiled.

Right?

But you go on your first date with someone that isn't him, and it kind of hits. Making an offhanded comment about how the water temperature was more cold than warm—you asked for room temp—doesn't result in your date immediately requesting another glass or them buying you bottled water from the convenience store across the restaurant.

Instead, you're told, "they probably forgot, it's fine" and the date continues. You watch the condensation form on your glass quietly. Every rational droplet is speaking to your acrid gut feeling—it's just water. It'll be room temperature eventually.

Later on, your date messages you. They asked if you got home safely, all the while you'd been drinking a glass of lukewarm water in Caleb's dining room. You pressed block once you heard his familiar, curious voice asking how the date went.

"It was meh." And you asked for another glass.

Another time, you'd been hanging out with old high school friends as a simple gathering. Though, you hadn't expected that it would lead to seemingly endless anecdotes in relation to you. Over fruit smoothies and café pastries, they'd all been exchanging stories once the conversation turns over to yourself in high school.

"Remember when she would always ask us to do stuff?" One girl laughed, cutting into her french toast.

Another cleared her throat, exaggerating her voice into a falsetto, "hey, can you get me a bun from the cafeteria? Oh, there's no more? Then, a banana milk and whatever pastry they have."

It earned a crackle of laughter along the table of five people. You, the object of discussion, smiling at the head of the table. Rather awkwardly, too, as you sipped on your drink.

"You forgot to add on the "you can do that at least, right?" at the end!"

"Oh, oh, the sulking too, if you don't do it!"

"She'd always complain about our fans, too."

"Oh my God, yeah. "Why does your fan battery run out so quickly? Did you not charge it?" Like, hello?"

One of the girls face you amidst the active exchange, grinning. Despite the recollection of your nature in the past, they weren't mad. Simply taking the entertainment value in it.

"Don't worry," and she said your name, placing a hand over yours on the table.

"You've got an older brother, right? It may have been annoying, but we're friends. You were like, our little sister."

A muscle in your jaw ticked. His face popped up in your face and you wanna punch him, despite him being nowhere near you at the time of this event. But, you laughed and nodded; acquiescing to her reassurance was easier this way.

It slipped out once more when you go out for movies with Tara. It's the same theater you and Caleb always frequented before. You already swiped your card for payment of movie food, and had besn walking to the screening room.

"Tara, can you check the bucket? Make sure it has enough butter on it?"

"Hm? Okay," she replied. While you scrolled on your phone, you heard the plastic lid of the bucket pop open.

"Seems good to me. You check."

When you move your attention over to the bucket, you're met with mediocre-looking buttered popcorn. The golden syrup of butter scattered over the pieces. You frowned. Since when were they so shy about buttering literal corn?

You stopped walking, brows furrowed. "It's so... pale. Let's go back and ask for more, I didn't pay for that."

"Huh? Oh, okay?" You didn't really register Tara's confused tone of voice until after you had a spat with the person at the popcorn station.

It was some moody teen probably working minimum wage. He was scowling while you talked about the butter portioning.

He sneered, "over some popcorn? Really? Were you that spoiled as a kid?"

It winded you. Tara was pulling at your arm, seeming to try and hold you back despite you being frozen. The manager came out once the commotion seems to stop, only because you were gobsmacked.

He'd been apologizing profusely to you and Tara upon recognizing you both as hunters; his eyes had landed on you with so much familiarity. He's probably been working here for a decade or so. Long enough to have previously seen you and Caleb at movie screenings.

Tara's at the butter dispenser of the self-service station—something they closed over half a decade ago apparently, but frantically opened for today, coincidentally—with you behind her when she finally spoke

She was a bit bewildered, but it was easy to pick up the lighthearted tone. "I didn't take you for the pampered type. That was the normal amount of butter on popcorn for most places."

You shook your head. "No, it wasn't. I was a regular here in the past. Every time we got a bucket of popcorn, they were always so generous with the salted butter."

"By yourself?"

"No, with my friend."

There'd been a pause between you two. She pressed the lid back into place and begun shaking it, the popcorn rattling. Then, she turned to you, like she knew something that you didn't.

"And you never once thought this friend scared the employees into putting extra butter for you back then?"

It always went back to him.

Whenever you'd go to a colleague's place and bore holes into the crooked cuts of the apple slices on a plate, you found yourself recalling Caleb's expert cuts. These ones weren't even red delicious apples.

You're a bit peeved when the food from the monthly catering service at the Association doesn't taste the same way that Caleb makes it, even though the food is the same kind and recipe.

Your next trip to Skyhaven is definitely highly anticipated. You're been exhausted and haggard for the past few days. It only amplifies as the day stretches on, grimacing when Caleb opens the door. He's surprised to see you, panting and sweaty in his white tanktop. Fresh from a workout, most likely. It makes you a bit, a tiny bit, mad.

"Pipsqueak? What's the occasion?"

"You," you hiss, releasing your hold on your suitcases. You kick off your shoes as you push your way into his place, pointing an accusing finger to his chest.

Caleb's confused. It's clear in the furrow of his brow and frantic blinking that his synapses are doing rapid fire checking of what today is, what he's said or done recently, what stores are on sale, and what snacks you need.

Despite being the one who said he himself spoiled you, he clearly has no idea how it's manifested in your life, and it pisses you off even more.

"I'm the occasion?" He squawks, confused. "It's too early for my birthday—"

"You and your stupid past self. I should have your head on a stake," you bark, slamming your fists onto his pecs, pushing him further into his own home.

He laughs a bit, still completely in the dark, but his voice gets a bit more pitchy.

He leans down, cranes his gargantuan ass down to your height. It's polite. You know this, he's done it countless times. But your gut speaks to you. You're going to throttle him.

"Huh? What did I do?"

"You piss me off!"

His face softens with concern. His hands come up, ghosting over yours. He murmurs your name—

Then you're gripping him by the neck. You get to drink in the way his eyes widen to saucers as your fingers delicately wrap around his throat, palms on either side. You don't squeeze, and instead, aggressively shake him. "Pipsqueak?"

"You spoiled me!" You shriek, voice shrill with accusation.

Frustration, the buildup from the past couple of weeks comes to full fruition in this very moment. It's only for a split second that you see realization dawn on Caleb's face before you continue yelling.

"I relied on others to get me snacks because of you, I complain over batteries because of you, now I want specific water temperatures, I can't stand pale popcorn because you demanded extra butter, I'm picky over food—"

"Hey—"

"Don't you hey me, mister!" You jut your finger up at his face, and he shuts his mouth instantly. "I'm like this, because of you!"

You don't miss the glitter of mirth in those stupidly ethereal eyes of his, and it's wholly unreal how your anger amplifies when you notice his twitching lips. He found this funny.

"You're laughing?" You whisper, low and indignant. You squeeze his throat, feel his breath pass under the skin. Adrenaline riveting and real in the low thrum of your heartbeat.

"I'm here, devastated over the effect of your stupid actions on my life, and you're laughing?"

"Devastated?" Caleb echoes. The idiot sounded delighted over this. Like he was finding a great deal of validation in your admission.

A grin quirks his lips into its signature, charming curve, and he's leaning down into you some more. One of his hands sliding over yours with a gentleness only he could emulate. Your resolve stutters, and he's quick to take advantage of that.

"Oh, please, pipsqueak." He chuckles. "That's not true and you know it."

His fingers gently slide between the gaps of yours, making room for himself and filling the emptiness. Effectively peeling them away from his throat, and doing the same to the other hand. You relent, letting your arms hang loosely at your sides.

Caleb's still smiling when he takes a step forward, crowding your space now. It doesn't register that he's cornered you until your back is flat to the closed door and you're surrounded by him and everything about him.

The very man who's fed you every granule, acquainted you with the taste of having the world at your every whim. A charged zap runs up the base of your spine when he lifts your chin.

"If you were really devastated, you'd have come here cryin' instead. You'd be on your knees, weepin' over how I've ruined you. Not yelling and screaming and accusing me," he coos, sickly sweet. His thumb rubbing below your lower lip.

"Are you done? Do you feel better after getting it all off your chest?"

His gaze feels abysmal. Two pools of an oceanic depth, spatial and intergalactic and beyond your comprehension. Hungry.

Something darker lurks there. That one look that flickers in and out of conversations whenever you're close to him, or when the topic tilts into something that you know you shouldn't be touching. Like he's satiated, but still craving more and more. You feel small under it every time.

"Even a kid knows how to manipulate their guardian into givin' them what they want."

The double meaning, one of comparing you to an immature brat, isn't lost on you. Heat crawls up your skin as your cheeks round with the scrunch of your nose. Ready to retaliate with equal venom, even if his words weren't inherently insulting.

But, before you even could, the expression on his face stops you in your tracks.

It's like looking at the colonel. Caleb cocks his head to the side, expression clinically cold. "When someone is speaking, we?"

He stares. He's waiting for a response, you realize.

You finish his sentence, pacified. "We listen."

"Good. Seems you still have the manners I taught you."

Your face heats up.

That stupidly patient smile on his lips was grating on your nerves, far more than any revelation of his ingrained presence in your every action, thought, word, and emotion.

His thumb is soon pressed flush to your lips. He isn't prying it open like he did before, instead rubbing the pad of his thumb along your lips, caressing the divot of your cupid's bow. He's playing with the glossy texture and film of your lippie, smearing it past the corner of your lips.

The first thing you want to do is push him away. Shove him, hard, and make space between the two of you so that your train of thought could return. Yet, the softness that decorates his grape-colored irises was making you hesitate. He's an annoying guy, someone who gets on your nerves, with featherlight caresses and an admiration so sincere.

Rouge stains the pad of his digit when he draws it back. He's curious, his gaze thoughtful as he examines the pigment. Then, you're watching as he lifts it to his mouth with a deliberate kiss. Lashes fluttering over his cheekbones.

When he drops his hand, the scarlet pigment is smeared over his lips like a brand.

You're burning alive. You reach up, immediately trying to wipe it from his lips. "You—"

"Weirdo? I know." Caleb catches your hand with ease, beaming with half-lidded eyes. "Buuut, you're just as weird as me for lettin' me do that, y'know."

He's making a point. You're going to gut him alive, you think to yourself. In stealing an indirect kiss from you, he's replicating every scenario you've ever bared yourself to him. How easy it is, to melt in one's earnest wonder and affection, unable to say no.

In an attempt to regain your composure, you scowl with all the feigned vitriol you could muster. "You're even weirder for condoning my every action."

He cocks his head, like he was reloading a couple memories from the past. The countless times he let you get away with things.

"It's... not that easy for me, pipsqueak."

"Yes, it is." You huff and free your hand from his grip. Settling your palms flat over his chest, fingers curling into the stretchy fabric. "Telling me no couldn't have been that hard."

"Yeah?" He teases. "You think it's that simple for me?"

"Grandma could handle me."

Caleb deadpans at your mention of her, his face relaxing into something like bemusement.

"If Gran or I took away your stuffed animal to clean it, you'd kick and scream and cry. If I denied you of your favorite food or a candy apple, you'd say you hate me."

You blink. That wasn't the response you were expecting. All of a sudden, you feel like someone's wiped your mind of everything you've ever known, and redefined your recollections of childhood. Embarrassment crawls up your face in burning streaks.

"Gran could handle you?" He repeats, shakes his head with a sad look.

There's a pained aspect to his current physiognomy, the furrow of his brow, the deepened set of his mouth. "That's because it's her. Of course, she wouldn't mind your cries. But I did."

He crouches, and for a moment, it was as if he was falling. The sunlight filtered in through the glass of the door behind your head, catching on the nutty brown strands of his hair. Cradling his head against the junction of your neck and shoulder, hiding away his face.

"I didn't want you to hate me." He admits, the words fanned over your throat. You inhale deeply, and his familiar scent invades your senses. You hope that stupid central organ wasn't too loud, or else he'd hear the beating of your pulse working double time.

Caleb's a constant in your life. He was a pillar, from youth 'til now, that never failed to offer you assistance regardless of the circumstances. You knew him to be reliable, persistent, generous. Perhaps it plays into the way he's coated your teeth in sugar, nipping at your enamel in a thick film that tastes of sweetness.

Yet seeing him like this, frustrated and amused and annoyed—it was unfounded.

"I didn't know much." The vulnerability was low yet blaring. "I just knew I didn't want you to hate me. I knew I loved seeing you happy. And if I denied you, you weren't happy."

It's too black and white. So childish and simplified. It's an easygoing description of his feelings toward you during early youth, one that could easily be swallowed up and consumed by the nasty nature of the world.

Yet, you card your fingers through his hair. Press your lips to his temple all the same, and listen to his utterances.

Your bottom lip is jutting out before you can stop yourself. And in spite of his own admissions, the uncomfortable nakedness that comes with it, you mumble a pointed, "you made me high maintenance."

"You're only figurin' that out now?" He snickers against your skin and the subsequent vibrations make you jump. "Pipsqueak, everyone's known you're high maintenance."

You protest, "that's not true."

"Yes," he says, amused. "It is."

Peeling away from your neck, Caleb's face is less grave now. Relief floods your senses and you cup his face, smoothing over the corners of his lip to wipe away the frowns. There's a weight behind you that isn't the door, his palm a welcome touch as his fingers splay over the small of your back.

His other hand resting on the side of your throat, fingers resting on your nape and thumb rubbing the ridge of your jaw. The motion is soothing, and you close your eyes to memorize its rhythm.

"Even if you're high maintenance, I'm the one who caused it. Allegedly."

You bristle and your eyes fly open, "allegedly? There's proof—"

"Ah-ah."

Caleb's brows are raised on his forehead as you pipe down, amused by how quick you were to correct your behavior.

"Much better. As I was saying."

Despite the extra firmness to his voice, his touch on you was nothing short of gentle. Like your body was carved from marble, reinforced by a fragile porcelain, he does that thing where he tilts your head with the hand on your neck. His thumb rubbing your earlobe.

But the most violating part had to be those intense, smoldering eyes that beheld you with utmost priority. How did you ever think he didn't care for you?

Caleb's tone of voice is chiding. "You're high maintenance because of me, and that makes you mine to maintain."

He's talking down to you. Treating you like one would to a child learning how to tie their shoelaces, his voice chiseled with the vines of condescension. Heartbeat speeding in your chest, distinguishing your heartbeat from your rampant thoughts became far more difficult.

The little smile that's on his lips seems manic. Far away, distant, as you slide your hands over his pecs. A shudder ripples over your skin.

"After all, it's my fault for making sure you're comfortable. It's my fault for prioritizing you above all else, as children and as adults." He starts, chillingly calm. He shakes his head to himself with a deep sigh, and tilts your head back against the door. Examining you with an unblinking, almost detached visage. Yet, his words were anything but, thick with emotion.

You breathe slow, torturous inhales and exhales, feeling Caleb's hand wrap itself around your throat. Alarms ring out in the back of your mind—loud, incessant, disturbing, yet you close your eyes and let him hold you there.

He won't hurt you. He never would, intentionally.

Quietly, like a forbidden fruit to not be consumed or heard, he mutters, "it's my fault for wantin' nothing but the best for you, because it's what you deserve. Nothing less."

Oh, you breathe out.

There's absolutely no pressure to the way he holds your neck. His palm wasn't against the column of your throat, instead, the pads of his thick digits were clasping the skin with a touch so invisible it almost felt nonexistent. When you swallow, the flexed skin presses itself up to his touch.

"Do you really want me to take it back?" Caleb asks, breaking the momentary silence and taking you out of your thoughts.

You blank out for a moment too long. "What?"

"You came over to let me know I've spoiled you beyond reversing repair, without wantin' me to change?"

Why did you come over? Why did you decide to come up to Skyhaven one day, literally days away from your regular times of visiting him? Over something like this? Literal outdated information that you've only recently discovered.

Why? You don't know, but you're rushing to speak, holding onto his top. "That's not what I—"

"It's not what you what?"

He tilts his head down toward you and every coherent thought exits your headspace instantly. God, his eyes. They're darker now. Frustration brimming in the burning fuchscia, the indigo of his irises all-consuming.

"I can stop pamperin' you starting today." He offers.

The surfacing ache in your chest is abrupt, disruptive.

"Starting today, I won't buy your favorite snacks. I won't ever pat your head again. I'll leave you to fend for yourself in every fast food line, and you can get your own stuff when we go shopping. You can even do your shopping alone. Is that what you want?"

No. No, it's not what you want, but how do you express that? An entity, so puissant and arresting, is crawling up your esophagus, scraping at the backs of your teeth, trying to pry your mouth open, and wail its truth into the minimal distance between you and Caleb. It's an ugly feeling, one stripping you down to your base needs.

Pain bleeds into his expression, his eyes only softening as a thought crosses his mind. "Are you gonna tell me you don't need me again?"

"Caleb, no," you manage.

"If not, then what's the problem? It's too late. If I've ruined you, you've destroyed me."

You destroyed him? When? You've never... When have you ever—?

Your chagrin spikes in time with your bewilderment. "I never did anything like that."

Caleb peered into your eyes. Your soul. Questioning, a bit disbelieving. Like he can't really believe your own blindness. An incredulous laugh slipping through his nose when he realizes you weren't lying.

He takes a step forward. You're fully sandwiched between him and the door now, and one of his arms come up to rest above you on the surface. "Caleb–"

"I can't go through the grocery store without thinking of what you want for dinner." He admits, the revelation so tender and tied with candor. Your words die on your tongue and dissolve.

"I can't do my laundry anymore unless it's with your brand of fabric softener, since it reminds me of you. Every time I try on a new jacket, I wonder how it would look good on you."

The information comes pouring out of him like a geyser. And his voice is full of nothing but love. You press your hands to his chest with more force, but he won't budge. Your ears are scalding and you're avoiding his gaze now, his face.

"You dedicated a journal to me. You came to every basketball game." Caleb laughs, breathless. A little in awe of you, so full of adoration. "You always visited Skyhaven when I moved out. You pretended to be my girlfriend. You didn't want me to get a girlfriend. You kissed me at my graduation."

He stutters over himself at the end, sighing deeply and it's making your stomach do flips. "God, you kissed me."

Really? You're burning. Did he have to bring that up?

He's pulling you out of your thoughts yet again, using his hold on your yielding neck to find your gaze once more. You could crumble into ashes right now. In fact, you hoped the floor underneath you would just swallow you whole and leave nothing behind for Caleb to dissect.

"You're think you're spoiled, pipsqueak?" Another laugh, and it's mixed with raspy agony and disbelief, shining in his stare. "I'm rotten."

In Caleb's home, you never really heard much commotion. Simply the low hum of the television in the background, the living room a few paces away. Yet, your heartbeat was the soundtrack to his life, and he's made it his favorite ringtone.

You could feel his own racing heart under your palm. He looks defeated now, conflicted. Oh, Caleb.

"You never wanted me to take it back." He says it to himself. Like he's trying to get himself to believe it.

"You just wanted reassurance that I'd never leave you, no matter how coddled you are."

The heart that's thudding rapidly against your ribcage was so fickle, so naïve. It might jump out of your throat at this rate—God, Caleb could probably feel your pulse like this.

Your mind's racing. There's only one way you could resolve this rift formed from these series of revelations and confessions. You weren't going to lose him again. He has no right to leave after this.

"You're so quiet now. Don't tell me you're thinkin' of runnin' away, pipsqueak." His voice is lighter, more in jest now. The first sign of distance, denial.

You clasp his wrist, and whisper, "I'll take responsibility."

"What?"

"I'll take responsibility. For ruining you. In exchange, take responsibility for me too." You declare, louder. You sound more sure.

He's blinking at you now. Then, his brows furrow and a bewildered laugh leaves him. Before he could reply, you push forward, not allowing him any time to recover.

"I'm in your hands now, aren't I? You said so yourself. You did this to me. I did this to you. I'm yours to deal with."

You wind your arms around his neck, hearing how his breaths stutter and feeling his hand leave your throat. You're on your tippy toes, pulling him down so you could settle back against the door, feeling his grip settle over your waist. It's a lovely sensation. One so right. It cements your resolve.

"The only ones who can handle us are each other. Nobody else."

You don't know what you're saying anymore.

But you know you like the rising determination, you like whatever this is. You like the hope that swims in his gaze. The fear that's within them, terrified of this being one of your pranks. It wasn't; you'll prove it to hom.

"You can't make all these promises and leave me alone," You speak in a hushed tone, finality thick in the waver of your voice. You're leaning in before you can stop yourself and whispering, "I won't let you."

You can't help but feel like whatever game you two are playing now, you've lost. He's won yet again. Yet it doesn't quite feel like a loss this time around, not when Caleb's face is smoothing out into one of relief. One of contentment as he closes the distance.

The breath that fans over your mouth is hot and his voice is full of yearning, "I never planned on it."

[the-heliophile]

COFFEE - SEVIKA

FROM FOURMI 🐜💌 Currently suffering from an unhealthy Vi, Sevika and Ambessa obsession, yes I have a type what can I say I love hot women that can just throw me around

song. coffee, chappell roan

pairing. ex!Sevika x ex!reader

content. angst/sadness, no happy ending, kind of toxic Sevika?, no use of she/her but fem implied reader

summary. your ex Sevika asks you to meet up for drinks and you try not to end up in her bed again

You were lounging in bed, still blinking away the fog in your eyes when you got a text. You picked up the phone and squinted to read the time, 8:36AM, you sighed before looking at the actual text.

Unknown number : up for drinks later today?

You sighed, knowing exactly who it was from and how it would end. You and Sevika had broken up over three months ago but you still received an occasional text from her. You fought the urge to answer right away, taking a deep breath and trying to calm your heartbeat first. After a few minutes you gathered the strength to type out an answer.

You : sure, coffee after work ?

Unknown number : only coffee ?

You : I kind of have plans for tonight sorry

"I'd suggest the jazz bar on MaryAnn Street but,

You'd buy me a drink and we know where that leads, so"

You had made that mistake too many times, meeting Sevika for drinks at the end of a rough day, expecting it to end with you parting ways amicably just to be proven wrong each and every time. There was something to her, an allure that you quite couldn't resist, as if her soul was calling out to yours but her heart was constantly pushing you away. It was the reason you had broken up in the first place, her pushing you away, keeping out of the loop so you would never get involved in Silco's business. She meant well and you knew it, but there was only so much you could take. Too many nights where you'd stare at the clock wondering if she would make it home this time, too many times only getting to see her in the early hours of the morning just for her to be too drunk to even speak. You wanted, needed security, someone who could spare some time for you, confide in you and make you feel like a partner instead of a child they must keep out of everything.

"I'll meet you for coffee 'cause if we have wine

You'll say that you want me, I know that's a lie"

You remember the last time you agreed to go out for drinks with Sevika. You both stayed at the Last Drop for several hours, reminiscing the good moments of your relationship, catching up on each other's lives. It only took a couple drinks for the look in her eyes to go from its usual detachment to that dark arousal you'd see whenever she would get home after a hard day. And it was only a couple more drinks that led to Sevika kissing your neck in the back of the bar, she still remembered every erogenous zone, every sensitive spot there and she was kissing them almost earnestly. You crumbled in a few minutes and you ended up in her bed, once again, and once again you promised yourself it would be the last time. She never had any regards for you in the morning, barely addressing you while you were picking your clothes up and getting dressed, it made you feel dirty and yet you could never resist, you always fell for the sweet nothings she had whispered in your ear in her drunk haze.

"If I didn't love you, it would be fine"

Sevika knew she was hurting you every time it happened, but you also hurt her when you broke up with her. She was trying to do the good thing in your relationship, saw you as a light she did not want to dim with stories of the things she did. The truth was that Sevika loved you, in her own way, but she saw you as something fragile, breakable that she should protect. She was incredibly angry and hurt that you had broken up with her after two years, despite all the times she had explained her reasoning, she felt as though it was selfish of you and so she refused to let you just move on. Whenever she found herself missing you she would send a text, asking to go out, knowing full well you would never say no. She would never ask you to take her back, instead she would rather wait until you asked for her to come back to you, but every single time you joined her for the evening Sevika could tell how stiff you were, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt and refusing to look in her agate eyes. Every night ultimately ended up with you in her bed and her almost urging you out in sheer frustration that you wouldn't make the first move. So even if she knew her actions were hurting you, she also knew you still had feelings for her and she texted you once again, capitalizing on your feelings for her to secure a spot by your side, albeit temporarily.

"I'll meet you for coffee, only for coffee,

Nowhere else is safe, every place leads back to your place"

You had just gotten home from work and you immediately started getting ready, there was a little skip in your step for the whole way home, the idea that you would get to meet up with Sevika for something other than getting drunk was making you feel almost giddy. While doing your make-up your mind started drifting to all the soft moments exchanged between Sevika and you and eventually memories of your drunk nights together. Eventually the giddiness faded into bitterness, the corners of your mouth lowering from the grin you were sporting earlier and your shoulders slumping slightly. You knew, deep down you knew. It wouldn't be just coffee, she'd suggest the Last Drop and you'd agree with a "something came up" text to your friends. And once more you'd wake up in her bed feeling used. You look at yourself in the mirror, feeling Sevika's hand around your heart tightening, you were almost fully done up but your mood had significantly worsened compared to when you stepped into your bedroom.

"So let's not do coffee, let's not even try,

It's better we leave it and give it some time"

You let out a defeated sigh before grabbing your phone, typing a quick text to the number you still haven't saved again since you deleted it the first time because "that way you won't be tempted to text her".

You : Sorry, something came up, raincheck?

Unknown number : Sure, what about Saturday?

You : I'll be busy sorry, but I'll text you when I can !

You lied, you won't text her, not again, it had to end. It was time for you to move on and get on with your life. You shed a few tears, your mascara now running down your cheeks and take a deep breath to steady yourself. Promising yourself it was the very last time you had given her the time of day.

''Cause If we do coffee, it's never just coffee,

It's never just coffee"

[yumeka-sxf]

A very short new chapter this week but...wow, the preview mentioned that it's about a dream Anya had, but I wasn't expecting baby Anya right off the bat 😭

A couple things we can infer about this short scene with her mother is that 1) they're both wearing what appears to be hospital or another kind of medical facility gowns, which indicates that they were perhaps both at the lab together. Likely her mother was there first for who knows how long, and Anya was born there?

And 2) the emphasis on being able to fly like a butterfly makes me think that they're trapped there. Anya is too young at this point to understand what's happening, but her mother desires that at least Anya is able to "fly away" to a better life someday.

It's hard to tell if Anya has her mind reading ability yet, or if her mother can read minds too. We don't see any of the "sparkles" that are used as a visual cue for when Anya is mind-reading...I feel like we would have seen that in the scene below when she's looking up at her mother before hugging her. But it could just be too short of a scene to say for sure.

Some notes about the Japanese version, @spencer-is-someone and others were wondering if she calls her ママ ("mama") here as opposed to what she calls Yor, はは ("haha"), and yes, she does call her biological mother the actual word "Mama." This is consistent with the Eden interview scene too.

The first panel of the Japanese version also has this extra text on the left that reads "a precious memory from some other time..."

Something that I mentioned in my review of chapter 102 is how Endo hides the faces of certain characters in other characters' flashbacks, such as how Loid's parents' faces are hidden, as is the face of Henry's wife in Martha's flashback. In the same vein, Anya's mother's face is obscured as well.

I interpret this as the characters' suppressing the memory of the character whose face is hidden due to the emotional trauma that character elicits, a trauma that the character having the flashback is trying to overcome, whether they realize it or not. In Anya's case, it could simply be that she doesn't remember her mother's face since she was so young, but regardless, I like that Endo is being consistent with this.

Side note, it seems like the design for Anya's mother is based on Ashe, a character from one of Endo's previous works. Anya's design was based on Ashe as well, so makes sense that her mother would have a stronger resemblance.

Before the chapter ends, we're treated to "soft" Loid with the little sigh he has (the "phew" cloud in the lower right) whenever he's genuinely relaxing around the family 😊

It's interesting how the mind-reading thing from the previous chapters with Melinda is brought up...when Anya asks if Yor can read her mind, Loid looks concerned, but when Yor tells him she only knew about the potato gratin because Anya saw it on TV, he relaxed.

I kinda hope that the Melinda story continues in the next chapter, but it could be paused for now. Likely we'll be moving onto something else next time. Maybe we'll go back to the "Anya reveals her secret to Damian" thing, since school is resuming according to Loid. I am a bit surprised though that this chapter was so short despite not being called a "Short Mission" chapter. Endo could still be trying to catch up after the recent long hiatus he had due to illness. But it's fine, I'm happy with crumbs of Anya's backstory not matter how small! 😅

[wonubby]

fell in luv - itoshi rin

CHAPTER 01: OTOYA GOT HIS ASS BEAT

SYPNOSIS Rin Itoshi thought life was all about football—until Y/N L/N and their chaotic group of friends proved otherwise. Now, he’s stuck navigating late-night hangouts, dumb arguments, and way too much teasing—all while somehow being hopelessly in love. It’s a story of laughter, love, and Rin just trying (and failing) to keep his cool.

a/n: first part of the series!!! i hope you all enjoy and thank you so much to those who liked/reblogged the first post

written part after all the pics!

< prev masterlist next >

the sound of laughter blended with the breeze as the group of teens lounged together, soaking in their thursday afternoon. rin’s gaze kept drifting to the girl across from him, drawn to her warm smile and sleepy eyes as she spoke. when her eyes met his, she gave him that same soft smile. caught in the act, rin’s face burned with embarrassment, and before he could think, he shot to his feet.

"i… i uh, i'm gonna head home. i need to get up early for training," rin stammered, his cheeks tinged with a faint pink as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck.

a small frown dented y/n's face at his sudden change in demeanour. with a sigh, she stood up, facing him with a playful pout. "come on, rinnie, you can't leave so soon," she whined, her voice laced with disappointment.

rin hesitated, his fingers still lingering at the nape of his neck as he avoided her gaze. “i really should go…” he mumbled, though his voice lacked conviction. the warmth in her eyes made it harder to leave, and the way she said his name sent an unfamiliar flutter through his chest.

y/n huffed, stepping closer. “just a little longer?” she pressed, tilting her head. “the night’s still young, and besides…” she tugged gently at his sleeve, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “you still owe me from when you left my house early last time.”

rin’s lips parted slightly, caught between the urge to stay and the instinct to retreat. he could feel the expectant stares of the others, waiting to see if he’d cave. after a beat of silence, he exhaled in defeat, dropping his hand from his neck.

“…fine. but just for a little while,” he muttered, refusing to meet her eyes.

y/n beamed, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back down beside her. “that’s the spirit! now, where were we?” she grinned, settling in close, her shoulder just barely brushing against his.

rin swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of the space—or lack thereof—between them. training could wait just a little longer.

"ah, there he goes again, giving in so easily," otoya teased, leaning back on his hands with a smirk. "rin, you're getting soft."

"shut up," rin muttered, crossing his arms as he looked away, his ears burning.

yukimiya chuckled, adjusting his glasses. "you say that, but we all saw how fast you sat back down."

naomi nudged riya with her elbow, giggling. "he acts all serious, but y/n has him wrapped around her finger."

"obviously," riya agreed, grinning. "it's kind of cute, though."

rin groaned, rubbing his temples. "can we talk about something else?"

"alright, alright, leave the poor guy alone," yukimiya said with an amused chuckle, watching rin sink further into himself. "he’s already regretting staying."

"as he should," otoya grinned, leaning forward. "but, hey, since we're all here, might as well keep the fun going. someone tell a story or something."

"oh! i have one!" naomi piped up, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "but it's kind of embarrassing..."

"even better," riya laughed, nudging her. "spill."

naomi hesitated for a moment before groaning. "fine. so, last week, i was rushing to practice, right? and i tripped—like full-on face-planted—right in front of coach. but instead of helping me up, he just looked at me and went, 'get up, naomi. this is why we work on balance training.'"

the group burst into laughter, even rin couldn’t help the small chuckle that slipped past his lips.

"damn, no sympathy at all," otoya wheezed. "brutal."

"right?" naomi groaned, hiding her face in her hands. "it was so bad."

y/n giggled, leaning against rin’s shoulder slightly without even realizing it. "at least you can laugh about it now," she said, smiling at her friend.

rin stiffened at the sudden contact, his heart stuttering in his chest. he glanced down at y/n, but she was too busy laughing with the others to notice. his gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he exhaled and looked away, his fingers curling slightly against his knee.

maybe staying a little longer wasn’t so bad after all.

taglist: @levihanmyotp

[ficsbyabby]

Mornings After a Mission

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x female!Reader

Warnings: nothing, could be interpreted as implied smut but it doesn't have to be

Words: 1194

a/n: This is for @omgrachwrites 1k follower celebration! I chose the prompt "Stop moving and let me braid your hair!" Check it out; this girl rules! And thanks for the love on the last post!!

Russian is google translate, so my apologies. Feel free to leave a correction if this is wrong!

милый= darling

дорогой= sweetheart

It was the morning after a mission. You had gotten back late last night, and with the debriefing and how gross you felt, you hadn't gotten a chance to talk to Nat. You had recently started dating, and while you weren't to the point of sleeping together, you usually talked to her before bed and gave her a kiss. Stretching (and wincing when you realized how sore you were), you got up in search of Nat and maybe, breakfast.

In the kitchen of the common floor, Nat was feeling guilty. The mission had been rough. You had gotten hit pretty good by a couple of agents, and she had been busy trying to get to the hard drive, so she hadn't been able to check on you. She knew you were tough; it wasn't about that. Nat wasn't used to this feeling, the way she felt about you. She had fallen head over heels for the newest avenger, this girl fresh out of the SHIELD academy, the one who bounced on the balls of her feet when shown a new weapon. You were pure, something Nat wasn't used to. So here she was, attempting to make your favorite breakfast, planning out a day with you.

You shuffled into the kitchen, yawning. You were so focused on getting coffee that you hadn't noticed your girlfriend standing at the stove. What you did notice was your coffee, made the way you liked, set in your favorite mug, already on the counter. Looking up, you grinned.

"Nat! Thank you, my saviour!" you gushed dramatically.

"You're welcome, I wasn't able to check on you last night, милый, so I'm making up for it." she replied, snorting a little at your theatrics.

"There isn't anything to make up for! I didn't come to see you either! And check up on me? I'm a big girl, I'm fine!"

"Too bad, I'm spending the day with you. We're doing the dorky couple stuff, movie, dinner, whatever you want." Nat answered, ignoring your protest at her checking up on you.

"Whatever I want? I've got some thinking to do." you considered your options.

"Whatever you want, дорогой."

"Okay, first I want you to not burn the tower down trying to make... that." you told her, scrunching your nose up at the smell of burning.

Natasha whipped around, groaning at the burnt mess she had created. Scraping away what was meant to be a nice breakfast, she was grateful for her forethought to have a backup. Slipping away to her room (the greatest hiding spot, no one went into her room), she returned quickly, proudly holding a box of donuts from that little place down the road from the tower. You smiled and took your favorite from the box, happily eating.

"Donuts! Thanks, Red!" Tony exclaimed, walking in, much too peppy for this early and going for the box.

"Nope!" Nat answered, swiping it before Tony could get it, "These are for y/n."

"Come on! This is my tower, share the donuts!" he argued, a pout forming on his face.

Grinning at the exchange, you passed Tony a donut. Though Nat groaned outwardly at the action, inside, she was beaming. This was why she loved you. You were so kind to everyone. She expected this to happen, which was why there were more donuts stashed away. She retrieved them and set them on the counter as more avengers filled the common room. After a few minutes of quiet, filled with the sounds of eating and the occasional groan, Tony suddenly spoke up.

"So why does y/n get donuts? We were all on that mission!"

"Because y/n's her girl, that's what you do." Steve answered.

"That's right! We're spending the day together doing that coupley stuff so don't you dare call me down to the lab because you accidentally blew yourself up! Call dum-E.," you told Tony.

"Ooh, Red and y/n/n are going to be gross today. Thanks for the warning." Tony snarked back. "And I certainly will not call Dum-E. I like the building intact.

Nat shook her head, a fond smile on her lips. The rest of breakfast was filled with similar exchanges. You and Tony could go head to head for hours. You were the only one on the team that could match Tony without ending up in a snit for hours afterward, a trait Natasha and the rest of the team admired.

Soon the group dispersed. With a day off, the team had the freedom to do whatever they pleased. When you and Nat were the only ones left, you both started on cleaning up. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, you started talking.

"So let's definitely watch a movie. Maybe one of those silly rom-coms, and then we can go out for lunch. That can be your choice because I am not deciding everything we do. After that, we'll change into pajamas and do absolutely nothing. Take-out for dinner in one of our rooms if we want to be alone, or we can see what the rest of the team is doing."

"Sounds good, дорогой. But for lunch let's just go for a walk until we spot something that we want. Just a nice casual day." Nat replied.

"Awesome!"

With a plan in place, you finished cleaning up the mess that the Avengers tended to leave when eating and made your way to the movie room. Snuggled up next to Nat, you put on some cheesy movie and relaxed. An hour into it, you got bored; after all, you were used to being busy. You brightened up as you got an idea.

"Tasha, can I braid your hair? My hands need to do something." you whined at her.

This was a pretty big request. Natasha was quite proud of her hair. It was always perfect, something you were quite jealous of. You expected her to say no, for her to take your hands and lay back, but Natasha Romanoff was full of surprises.

"Okay."

Natasha shifted a little so you could reach her hair. You thanked her repeatedly as you got to work making the perfect Dutch braid. Nat sat still for a few minutes, watching as the man on the screen made some declaration to a girl who was not interested. Soon though, she reached a hand behind her and stroked whatever part of you she could reach. Soon that progressed to her snuggling closer. Finally, she turned her head to try and kiss you.

"Nat stop moving and let me braid your hair!" you complained, but your laughter and smile betrayed you.

Utilizing her skills, she wiggled out of your hold without pulling her hair and grabbed you. Pulling you close, she started kissing you, anywhere she could reach. You soon did the same. The two of you were delighted, close to each other, until...

"Oh come on! When I said you guys were being gross, I meant, like being cheesy and giving me cavities. Cavities not nausea!" Tony exclaimed, interrupting your moment.

Nat stuck her middle finger at him, pulling you up off the couch and into her bedroom.

You never did finish that braid.

[prlssprfctn]

Being Robin is an art, in a way. It is hard, and it is always about keeping a balance — being graceful as a cat and yet, hold a power of a lion. Being flashy in all these colourful patterns and, at the same time, completely invisible for enemies.

When Bruce picks up Jason, he thinks he will need some extra training. He doesn't expect Jason, a street kid, to have the same mannerism Dick, the child of the circus, had. And he doesn't - not fully, at least - but the way Jason just... disappears in a way, making himself stealthy and invisible, is incredible. It is natural.

(It is... a talent?)

He is so great that sometimes Alfred and Bruce don't notice him until he wants them to notice him!

'You are good at this, chump,' Bruce compliments him once.

Jason tilts his head, seemingly confused.

'Huh?'

'Enemies never notice you, despite how bright your suit is,' Bruce points out proudly. 'Even I fail to find you in the room sometimes.'

Jason lets out a quiet "a-ah" in realisation and just shrugs.

He is always so humble, this kid.

Red Hood is not exactly humble. He knows his worth. He doesn't fail to remind others of his superior trainings or to mock the weakness of his enemies. But even he refuses to accept this exact compliment.

Why, though? He is tall, bulky — double-fridge, really — and his armour is bright red, and still... and still, people fail to notice his presence most of the time. Isn't it just great?

'Despite how huge you are, you are stealthy enough to match the style of my assassins,' Talia tells him; she is not exactly as beaming as Bruce was, but there is still a hint of respect in her voice. 'It is impressive. Though, I don't appreciate being caught off the guard.'

Jason huffs.

'Yeah, alright. Put a bell on my neck or something — it is not like I am trying to scare you.'

Talia tilts her head but doesn't comment further.

At that moment, Jason fears she knows. She knows exactly why he never accepts these kinds of compliments or where this skill comes from.

'You know, when I first got into Robin suit, Bruce said that he knew someone, who was as good at being invisible on the streets as me,' Stephanie tells him once, when they sit on the coach of the living room, waiting for others to return from the kitchen. 'Never figured out he was talking about you until I saw you scaring the shit out of others by your random appearances.'

Jason hums.

'Crime Alley kids' thing, am I right?' She elbows him, half-amused, half-bitter.

And Jason thinks, yeah. Exactly that.

Because it was never natural for him to take no place in the world — he just taught himself how to. How to make no sound, how not to irritate some men, who gradually got drunker during the day, while passing by the same streets, how to keep himself safe by being an empty space. People can't get angry if they don't see you. They can't kick you out, either.

(He perfected this skill so much that at some point he embraced this emptiness, right after his death. So, maybe it was his fault that Bruce scrapped away everything that was left of him, maybe-)

'Let them think that it is a talent,' he advises, instead.

Whatever makes you look valuable enough, his inner voice adds helpfully. Whatever makes you special to be kept around.

'Yeah. Sounds good to me.'

Jason hasn't lived on the streets for decades now, but he never grew up its habits. He doesn't think he ever will.

And it is... fine.

Because that is just who he is. Who he always was.

[meazalykov]

warm scents and cold hands

lynn wilms x reader series

last chapter - next chapter

chapter four

two weeks later.. the walk to the restaurant was short but brisk, the cold air biting at your cheeks as you clutched your phone in one hand and your bag in the other. 

you hadn’t anticipated how chilly wolfsburg nights could get, and your hoodie, as comfortable as it was, did little to shield you from the wind. 

you mentally scolded yourself for prioritizing style over warmth, but it was too late now. at least your outfit was cute!

when you spotted the restaurant up ahead, its glowing sign casting a welcoming light on the sidewalk, a small smile tugged at your lips. 

the idea of trying sushi for the first time had you excited. you weren’t sure what to expect, but sveindís and lynn had talked the place up so much throughout training earlier that you couldn’t help but feel a little eager.  

stepping inside, the warm, savory scent of the restaurant immediately wrapped around you. it smelled like soy sauce, sesame, and something you couldn’t quite place but knew you’d enjoy. you scanned the room and spotted sveindís sitting at a table near the window, already scrolling through the menu.  

“hey girlie!” she called out, waving as you made your way over.  

“hey,” you greeted back, slipping into the seat across from her. 

“have you been waiting long?”  

she shook her head, setting the menu down. 

“nope, just a few minutes. lynn’s on her way, though.”  

you nodded, feeling the warmth of the restaurant starting to thaw your chilled skin. 

“how was your national break?”  

sveindís smiled, leaning back in her chair. 

“it was good. busy, but good. those matches against denmark were tough, but it felt nice to be back with my team. how about you?”  

“same, honestly,” you replied. 

“it’s always refreshing to be back home, you know?”  

she nodded in agreement, but there was a mischievous glint in her eye as she tilted her head at you. 

“so... are you excited for tonight?”  

you frowned slightly, unsure what she meant. 

“yeah, i mean, i’ve never had sushi before, so i’m kind of excited to try it. why?”  

before she could answer, the door to the restaurant opened, and a familiar figure stepped inside. 

lynn.  

you glanced over, and there she was, dressed casually yet effortlessly stylish in a hoodie and matching colored coat, her hair slightly tousled from the wind. she spotted you and sveindís almost immediately, a warm smile spreading across her face as she made her way over.  

sveindís leaned toward you and whispered, “you’ll see what i mean.” then, she winked.  

you blinked, confused, but before you could question her, lynn slid into the seat beside you. the slight brush of her shoulder against yours sent an unexpected warmth through you, and you found yourself suddenly hyper-aware of her proximity.  

“sorry i’m late,” lynn said, pulling off her coat and draping it over the back of her chair. 

“there was a bit of traffic.”  

“you’re fine,” you assured her, your voice a little softer than you intended.  

lynn turned to you then, her gaze lingering for a moment before she said, “you look beautiful.”  

your cheeks flushed instantly, and you managed a quiet, “thank you.” your mind couldn’t help but note that she hadn’t said the same to sveindís, though you quickly pushed the thought aside.  

the three of you settled into the evening, the conversation flowing easily. sveindís kept things light and fun, cracking jokes that had you and lynn laughing, while lynn chimed in with her own dry humor that only added to the easy vibe. 

when the food arrived, you hesitated at first, unsure of what to try.  

“here,” lynn said, using her chopsticks to point at one of the rolls on the platter. “start with this one. it’s a salmon roll…simple but good.”  

you picked it up carefully, mimicking the way she held her chopsticks. your first bite was tentative, but as the flavors hit your tongue, your eyes widened slightly.  

“oh, wow,” you said after swallowing. 

“that’s actually really good.”  

“see? told you,” lynn said with a small smirk.  

“you’re officially a sushi girl now,” sveindís declared, grinning.  

the rest of the dinner passed in a blur of laughter, warm conversation, and trying new dishes. the restaurant’s cozy atmosphere, combined with the delicious food and the company, made you forget all about the cold waiting for you outside.  

when the three of you finally stepped out onto the sidewalk, the chill hit you immediately.

 you shivered, pulling your hoodie tighter around yourself and rubbing your hands together in an attempt to generate some warmth.  

“you okay?” lynn asked, her voice tinged with amusement as she noticed you practically vibrating from the cold.  

“yeah, just... wasn’t thinking when i left the house,” you admitted, exhaling a visible puff of air.  

“clearly,” sveindís teased, zipping up her coat. 

“come on, let’s head to that clothing store down the block.”  

the three of you began walking, the cold air biting at your exposed skin. as you reached the store, sveindís ducked inside immediately,

however, lynn stopped just outside, turning to you.  

“wait,” she said, pulling off her gloves.  

you shook your head quickly. 

“lynn, no. it’s fine. i’ll survive.”  

she raised an eyebrow, holding the gloves out toward you. 

“your hands are freezing. just take them.”  

“it’s my fault for not dressing properly,” you insisted, trying to wave her off.  

lynn rolled her eyes, her tone teasing as she said, “don’t be stubborn, y/n. here.”  

you hesitated, but before you could protest again, lynn grabbed your hands gently, her warm palms covering your frozen fingers. your breath hitched at the unexpected contact, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at her.  

“see? freezing,” she said softly, her eyes meeting yours.  

your cheeks burned, but before you could respond, she lifted one of your hands and pressed a light kiss to your knuckles. the warmth of her lips against your cold skin sent a jolt of something electric through you, and you bit your lip to keep from smiling too wide.  

“all better,” she said with a smirk, sliding her gloves onto your hands herself. once they were on, she rubbed your gloved hands briefly, her touch lingering just long enough to make your heart race.  

“thanks you,” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.  

“anytime,” lynn replied, her smirk softening into a genuine smile. she gave your hands one last squeeze before stepping back. 

“now, let’s go before sveindís buys the whole store.”  

as she turned to head inside, you stood frozen for a moment, still processing what had just happened. 

your heart felt like it might burst out of your chest, and your mind replayed the feeling of her warm hands on yours, the press of her lips against your skin.  

as you walked in the store, you realized something undeniable: you were falling for lynn wilms, and there was no stopping it now.  

next part here

[nyoomfruits]

46. Confessions during an argument. Nortrell pls

“Why are you here.” It’s not a question, really. It’s a statement. An annoyed one, paired with crossed arms and a pinched mouth.

“Well, you weren’t answering my fucking texts, so,” Max says, holding up his hands as if to say ‘what else was I supposed to do’. Which. Really. What else was he supposed to do? This season has been bad. Sure, Lando won, has been winning, but the press has been brutal, putting expectations on his shoulders Lando’s never going to meet, making his mental health worse by the day.

So yeah, after last week’s race, after last week’s shit show, and with Lando not replying to his text messages for over eight hours, yeah, he’d been worried. Fucking sue him.

“I’m fine,” Lando says, defensively. He’s not fine. He’s in sweatpants and a hoodie, Quadrant branded, but they’ve seen better days. There’s a stain on the sleeve, some kind of sauces. It looks dried in. Days old, maybe. His hair is a mess, and his eyes are small. Red. Tired looking.

Aside from that, the apartment is a mess, food containers on the coffee table, cans of energy on the kitchen table, random bits of paper on the couch.

“Okay,” Max says. “Sure, yeah. Whatever. Just tell me what you want me to do, yeah?” He could clean a bit. Get Lando a proper meal. Make sure he gets some sleep. Lando sleeps better when Max is there, Max knows. He could sleep over, maybe. Make sure Lando gets some proper breakfast too.

But something seems to break in Lando, because he’s gone back to angry, to glaring. “I don’t need your help, okay, I’m fucking fine, I don’t need you to baby me and tell me to fucking eat and to sleep and fuck. You’re not my mum.”

And okay. That’s stings. He’s just. He loves Lando, yeah? He’s just trying to take care of him.

Something must show on his face, because Lando rubs a hand over his eyes, mutters out a quiet ‘fuck’. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t. I’m just. I don’t want to be a fucking burden, or whatever. You always having to fucking drop everything for me and shit. I really am fine.”

He still really is not. “I don’t mind,” Max says.

Lando drops his hand. “But what if I fucking want you to mind? What if I fucking want you to come in here and say this is the final fucking straw, yeah? Find someone fucking else to pick up after you or whatever. Why do you always keep showing up!”

And Max is so tired. And so worried. And so fucking utterly entirely done with tiptoeing around the real reason he’s here. “Because I’m in love with you, you muppet!”

He yells it a little too loudly, and Lando blinks, clearly trying to process what’s going on. “Oh. Well, why didn’t you say so? That. That changes everything doesn’t it?”

“Right,” Max says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Does it?”

“Yeah,” Lando says. He seems to be getting some live back to him, bouncing on his feet a little. “Yeah, man, because like. I love you too. Am in love with you I mean, so like. That’s cool.”

Max looks at him. Wonders if he’s hallucinating. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Lando says, bouncing closer, proper excited now. “Really.”

“Neat,” Max says, unable to fight the grin that’s coming over his own face. Finding he doesn’t want to fight it at all. “We gotta do some dishes first, though. And maybe a load of laundry. Take that hoodie off, yeah?”

Lando wiggles his eyebrows at him. “Already trying to get me out of my clothes, huh? Not even going to proper wine and dine me first like a gentleman?”

Max snorts. “Laundry first. And then maybe I’ll get you some take out. Spring rolls. You know, like a gentleman.”

[cheshireliam]

"My Ideal Life of A Doting Love" Story Event: Chapter 2

Azel Radwan

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

With his hand against the wall, trapping me in place, Azel's brows were in a deep frown.

Azel: It's just—…

Azel: This kind of thing— right?

Emma: … I'm sorry. I didn't quite catch that.

Azel: That's why…

Azel: —… it was in the book.

(Even though we're this close, I still can't hear him.)

He was definitely mumbling about something, but his voice was so soft it was nearly impossible to hear what he was saying.

Azel: Basically, there's nothing you need to worry about.

Emma: Saying that while your face is so red only makes me mor— mmph!

Before I could finish, he resorted to the drastic method of physically silencing me with his lips.

It was apparent that Azel had no intention of backing down until I gave up on pursuing the subject. Each time I tried to speak, his kiss would grow more aggressive.

(This is so unfair…)

His tongue intertwined with mine, gradually increasing the pleasure in my body. My heart was racing, and I was losing strength to keep upright.

I was about to go limp, but Azel caught me just in time, wrapping an arm around my waist to support me.

Emma: … You went too far.

Azel: It's your fault.

(Not an ounce of guilt in him.)

I shot him a piercing glare to express my embarrassment, but he simply turned away.

Azel: Fine, fine. It's my fault.

Azel: Umm… well…

Azel: … Want to go for a stroll?

Emma: A… a stroll?

…

In what seemed to be an attempt at making up for his actions, Azel led me out of the temple to an oasis deep in the desert.

(I never knew such a place existed nearby.)

Since few people would go near the sacred grounds of the primordial temple, there were no signs of human activity.

If Azel was the only one who knew of this place, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to call it "God's Garden".

Emma: This lake is beautiful… it feels good to be here.

As I crouched down and scooped the clear water with my hands, Azel placed a hand on my head with his usual grumpy face.

Azel: Not there.

Gripping my head lightly, he turned it to face a different direction.

Further back, beyond the oasis, near the water's edge— the scenery was absolutely breathtaking.

Emma: No way… is that a flower field!?

Flowers of vibrant colours were in bloom around the lakeside, bringing life to the dry desert sand.

I hurried over and looked at the flowers from up close.

(These are… "Al Flowers".)

The flowers, named after Azel, the Living God, were a special variety genetically modified to bloom even in the desert.

Emma: I never thought they'd grow naturally.

Azel: … They rarely do, so don't tell anyone.

Azel caught up to me and awkwardly averted his gaze.

Azel: This place might be ruined if people found out about its existence.

Emma: I'll keep it a secret.

(… What's this uneasy feeling I'm getting?)

I was curious to know, but I couldn't resist the temptation from the flower field and crouched down to gently touch a flower petal.

Azel: Do you like flowers that much?

Emma: I do. They're soothing to look at.

Azel: … I see.

Azel: I don't care much for flowers, but if you like them, you can come see them again.

Emma: Please come with me when I do.

Azel: …

Emma: Thank you.

Azel: I didn't say anything.

Emma: Your answer is written on your face.

Emma: Eeek…! What the—!?

Although he was firmly pinching my cheek, Azel didn't look entirely displeased.

Azel: I'm charging you an escort fee.

Emma: Shouldn't it be called a date fee?

Azel: … This isn't a date.

Emma: It is to me.

Azel: No, it's not. There's no way I'd do something so frivolous.

Emma: Azel… did you know that flower field dates are a thing?

Azel: …

Emma: That means it's too late now!

I stood up and clung to Azel's arm, with him looking like he was about to flee at any moment.

Emma: Next time, let's bring a tent and lunchboxes so we can have a picnic.

Azel: … Do as you please.

Despite the long and deep sigh he let out, Azel's had a tender look in his eyes.

…

That night,—

(I knew it. He's reading a book again.)

I secretly watched Azel from the bed as he sat by the window, unaware of my staring.

Tonight, I wasn't awake by chance. I was only pretending to be asleep, waiting for the right moment.

(He managed to dodge my questions during the day, but this time…)

Emma: AZEL!

Azel: WHAT!?

I raised my voice on purpose, causing Azel to turn toward in me in shock, nearly jumping out of his skin.

Emma: I heard a noise coming from outside…

Azel: … Huh?

The kind-hearted god didn't doubt my words. He immediately walked to the door to check on the "noise".

(I feel guilt… I'm sorry for deceiving you.)

Making a promise in my mind to prepare a luxurious meal for him tomorrow as an apology, I slipped out of bed and reached for the book "containing national secrets" Azel had left on the floor.

Azel: It was just your imagination. There's nothing outsid—

Azel: …

Emma: …

Azel: … You tricked me.

Emma: I'm so sorry. But…

Emma: … I love you.

[fandoms-in-law]

Not Billy

Summary: Lucas makes the kids realise that while everyone talks about King Steve as if he was the same kind of high school bully as Billy, he definitely hadn't been. It sparks a quest to figure out who he actually had been.

Author's note; Only reason I'm posting this now is I'm currently against WIPs and have a fanfic writing month planned for February and started this one a couple weeks ago. If you want chapters, find it on AO3 please cause tired brain is not up for fighting tumblr on that currently.

/\

Steve was not Billy.

Everyone seemed to think that was an insult since Hargrove came to town, but Steve could not agree. He’d seen close enough to Billy his entire life, sometimes in his father, often in Tommy. He wasn’t surprised the boy that had been his best friend latched onto Billy so strongly.

Steve was not Billy, but he could tell people thought he was.

The first time he felt like pointing out he wasn’t Billy was to the other boy directly, but somehow the words never fit together in his head during those moments. Though Steve also noticed Billy deliberately tried to keep their interactions like that, all words and no giving Steve a moment to reply before Billy left. He didn’t worry about it much, as long as he and Nancy knew he wasn’t, it should be fine.

Perhaps it was because of the king nickname, everyone who had it must have been exactly like the current owner of it, so of course Steve was like Billy. Sometimes he thought goldfish must have better memories than the average high school student.

After Tina’s party and the bullshit speech Steve wondered at Nancy’s own forgetfulness over what were his actions, their choices and the actions of someone completely different to him. He was just glad that everything in the speech had at least been between them but the views didn’t fit from how he’d been viewing their relationship.

Billy was not Steve.

Now that was an insult which Max said precisely once.

He treasured the entire rant she’d gone on that day, coming into Scoops to have a break from home while the rest of the Party were busy. Robin had laughed like he’d been the one insulted and Max tore into her too, about how Steve was never Billy. If anyone knew just what she meant to be an insult or to be a comparison Steve came out on top of it was Max about her step-brother and Steve and she wasn’t going to let anyone laugh for the wrong thing.

Sometime after the fire to cover up the Russians and Mindflayer fight, Robin admitted she understood now what that sentence meant.

/\

Steve was never Billy.

Everyone remembered Billy and the hate he pushed through the school. They forgot that Steve was not Billy though, and hated him for someone he never had been. That often felt especially true about Mike out of all the kids Steve looked after now.

“Just shut up Steve, go back to being a douche somewhere else.” He scathingly called when Steve had been reminding the kids not to get into fights.

“He’s not Billy, Mike.” Lucas countered, glaring at his friend. “Stop acting like everyone that’s ever played basketball besides me is the same.”

Mike gestured over at Steve, “That guy? The former King of the school? You really expect me to believe he wasn’t-”

“He Wasn’t!” Max cut him off. “He’s the one who stopped Billy first of all of us when I was dragged into Hawkins mess and that’s after I’d had months of hearing the actual assholes Billy hung out with declaring him more fun than Harrington. More fun because he hated anyone like Lucas, and joked about assaulting the Byers if Jonathan hadn’t proven better than Harrington already. Plus what was Steve just doing that you needed to insult him over? Looking out for kids that don’t fit in because he wants us to be safe? You really think he could ever have been as bad as Billy?”

At the start of the rant Lucas had looked like he’d say more to argue with Mike too, but now he just crossed his arms in a gesture they all knew was learnt from Steve, waiting for Mike’s reply.

Mike deflated, facing them. “So what was Steve like?” He asked. “Because he definitely changed and gave up his popularity instead of keeping it.”

The trio exchanged looks, and a glance back to where Steve was still sat in his car, looking from them to the arcade he’d dropped them off at curiously before reversing the car when he saw them watching.

/\

Steve was not Billy but the kids now wanted to know who he was when he was King.

“Robin? Who was Steve in school?” Max asked, leading Lucas and Mike into Family Video when she’d seen Steve leave on his break.

Robin didn’t look up from where she was returning some videos to the shelves. “He ate bagels in class and dropped crumbs all over the floor.”

“Okay but who was he?” Mike repeated the question as if it was a demand.

“The guy most girls had crushes on.” She quipped, looking over now as if wondering what the point of asking was, “Honestly even after you guys arrived he was the main crush once the new kid fever died down.”

Max huffed at her, folding her arms. “That’s not who he was. Who was he?”

“Not a clue. I was not popular and tried not to pay attention to them at all.” Robin narrowed her eyes at them all, somewhere between concerned and curious over their focus. “What’s with all the Steve questions?”

“We want to know. All we know is that he wasn’t as bad as Billy.” Lucas explained with a shrug, showing he was actually interested and not just following his girlfriend and friend on the quest for answers.

Robin leant back, looking them over before suggesting, “Try asking Nancy. She dated him while he was King of the school, right?”

/\

Steve knew people had forgotten he wasn’t Billy. The kids were not enjoying finding that out.

“Nancy, what was it like to date Steve?” Max had dragged Lucas upstairs while their friends were setting up a game night in the Wheelers basement

Looking through a crack in her door, Nancy rolled her eyes. “Max, it’s cute you have a crush, but you’re not meant to ask that when your boyfriend is next to you.”

Lucas leant forward to stop the door being shut on them, “Oh no, I’m curious about your answer too.”

“Not the kid I thought would ask me about that. Why?” Nancy narrowed her eyes, before turning away, clearly deciding to avoid asking him about a possible crush.

“No reason.” When trying to decide if they actually should ask Nancy, Mike had made it clear they shouldn’t mention why they were asking, “Who did you think would ask?”

“None of you.” With that the door was shut on them and neither kid was ready to keep bugging Nancy over it just yet.

/\

Will had heard from Jonathan about the fight with Steve, and the apology that turned into fighting the demogorgon. He knew Steve was never Billy.

“You want me to ask Nancy what it was like to date Steve so you can find out what Steve was like when he was king of the school?” He looked at his three friends dubiously, shaking his head when they remained serious in their request. “You’re making this more convoluted than the puzzles I tried to create for campaigns.”

“We need to know!” Mike insisted.

Deciding not to question that again he decided to say what had come up with Jonathan while they were in California one of the times talking about dealing with high school. “Brash, quick with the easy insults and overly aware of how people around him got insulted so the people latched onto him to be popular too wouldn’t turn against him. Quick to try and apologise too when he went too far but kept apologies private as too many being known about apparently damages popularity. That’s what Jonathan said anyway.”

“Jonathan!” Max, Lucas and Mike yelled together, looking between themselves before turning as if to hurry out the door just as they heard someone approaching.

The kids were going to learn who Steve Harrington used to be, somehow.

“What’s with the shouting? Everything okay?” Jonathan asked, leaning around the door.

“Tell us who Steve used to be!” Max insisted, tugging him through.

“Nancy said a couple of you had a crush on him but this doesn’t seem like that.” Jonathanblinked at them, and made an amused noise when Will made a gesture as if saying he had no clue, “I’ll tell you what I remember but why?”

“Because Max insists he’s never been like Billy but all I know is that he was king of the high school too and everyone says he was a bully.” Mike rushed to get the words out.

Jonathan nodded at the explanation, moving to sit on Will’s bed, “Nah, the bullies were the people clamouring to be his friend. Let’s see…”

/\

Dustin heard what his friends were saying about Steve and he was going to get the best answers he could.

Thankfully a lot of college kids were in Hawkins to help their families rebuild and he recognised one face from lots of photos Steve pretended he no longer had.

“You’re Tommy Hagan?” He asked, squinting at the boy cleaning a car outside the address he was sure was correct. He couldn’t remember ever having met Tommy before so wasn’t sure if this was or was not the right person.

Tommy looked him over, gesturing down the road. “And you’re a twerp I don’t know. Move on, I’m busy.”

Dustin shook his head, moving closer. “No. You’re going to tell me about Steve Harrington.”

“Don’t know him any more. We lost touch. Go away.” The words were accompanied with an eyeroll hidden mostly as he leant over the car to wash the windscreen.

“Then tell me who he was when you did know him.” Dustin pushed, certain that it would work sooner than later.

“Why would I?” Tommy huffed, still focusing mostly on washing the car. “You’re a brat that didn’t even introduce yourself before demanding my attention.”

“I could get my friends to come and ask you questions with me or you can just tell me. I’m Dustin Henderson and I will do that.” Dustin offered, dropping his backpack to get his radio out.

“You carry a walkie talkie to call your little friends with?” Tommy said disbelieving. “Why is a nerd asking about Steve?”

Dustin didn’t move to radio anyone, just watching Tommy again, “Tell me about him and then I’ll tell you.”

/\

Steve wasn’t Billy and Tommy knew it. That why he didn’t panic at the sight of his car pulling up while he was still being interrogated by the kid.

“Henderson, we’ve been looking for you all over. What are you doing?” Steve called, walking around the car and only realising who Dustin was with after getting closer, “Tommy?”

“Hey Harrington, the twerp has been asking all about you. Still don’t know why.” He explained, pointing a thumb back at the kid and trying to sound annoyed by it. It was actually one of the more amusing things to happen since getting back from college so he wasn’t being as much of a dick as he would once have been.

Steve nodded, standing with his hands on his hips and looking to the kid expectantly. “Dustin, care to share?”

“Mike and Max had an argument and realised all they know about who you were is that you aren’t Billy. Them, Lucas and now Will and me decided we need to know.”He pulled a notebook out of the backpack, flicking through it as if checking notes.

“So you looked through my stuff and decided to find Tommy.” Steve surmised.

“Clearly.” Dustin had no shame about admitting that and Tommy was curious over what Steve would have kept that showed them together. “Everyone else wasn’t getting anywhere. Jonathan was the one who had the best information that shared it and I know he barely knew you.”

“He really had friends to call to increase how many were asking me questions?” Tommy muttered rounding the car to wash the other side as well as better watch his old friend and the weird kid. “Steve your kid is weird.”

“Tell me about it.” Steve agreed, before focusing on Dustin again, “Who else had they asked?”

“Robin and Nancy. Robin knew barely anything and apparently Nancy decided they were asking because of crushes on you.” Dustin promptly replied.

“What? Why? How…” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, “You know what, thank you Tommy for entertaining this shithead. I’ll stop him giving you any more of a headache. Please tell Carol to call if he tries asking her about me next.” He started pushing Dustin to his car while calling over his shoulder.

Tommy laughed at the comment, “You don’t think I’ve given him enough details to stop this?”

“With these brats I’m not sure there is such a thing unless the subject they’re asking about tries to kill them. See ya.” Steve sounded like an exhausted parent as he spoke, fond but frustrated by his kids.

“See you around Harrington.”

/\

Carol had scales in high school over how rumours and views of the popular kids went and she could tell you with facts and figures how Steve was better or worse than Billy Hargrove over all of them. She could not however explain two girls inviting themselves into her home to ask about him.

“This is breaking in and I’m calling the police.” Carol stated, immediately going to her phone.

“Tell Hopper to pick us up in twenty and you can tell us about Steve until then.” The girl with red hair demanded, “I’m Max. That’s Hopper’s daughter El.”

Carol raised an eyebrow, turning to them in challenge, “The chief has a daughter since when?”

“We’re asking the questions.” Max insisted.

“Since 1983. He gives me waffles.” El added, “Steve does too. You can tell us about Steve.”

The subject the girls were pushing didn’t seem enough to break into her home over but Carol couldn’t see any cause that would be; either way she leant against the door and shook her head. “Not currently. You could do better since I’ve not spoken to him in a few years.”

“High school Steve.” Max snapped, “Who was he?”

Thinking for a moment, Carol let out a heavy breath and turned to leave the room, “I’ll get the scales, if it will make you leave.”

While she was upstairs she heard Tommy calling, “Hey Carol, you left your door- Why are there two kids here?”

“To ask about Harrington apparently.” She yelled back.

“I’ll call him.” The certainty in that decision made her pause, moving back to the top of the stairs curiously.

“Why?”

“Just had the same thing happen and he interrupted the kid that found me. Said to tell you to call if that kid came here, but I guess any kid counts.” Tommy half shook his head before glancing behind him, “Names?”

Carol blinked twice, “They said they’re Max and El.”

“Thanks, what are you doing?” Tommy finished dialling the number neither of them would forget, but carried on chatting with Carol as if the kids weren’t watching them.

“Digging out the scales.” Tommy laughed at the comment, remembering when Carol had decided to make them and how she argued they were better than guys making similar scales because they weren’t frivilously given or constantly used to hurt.

As she finished finding the scales and gathered only the relevant ones to Steve together she could hear Tommy’s side of the call happening. “Hey Steve, sorry, but a Max and El are at Carol’s. Yes, that’s why. No, I don’t know that. Fine, see you soon.”

“Did you have to call him? He’s going to lecture us again.” Max complained, just as Carol started bringing things downstairs.

“Seems like you need that.” Carol remarked, debating if it was worth the annoyance of the chief to call the police on his daughter.

El had a stare that seemed to dissect Tommy when she directed it at him before asking, “You are Steve’s friend?”

“Sure, or I was once.” He agreed easily.

She nodded as if that explained everything. “Friends don’t lie. Of course he called.”

“Er, yeah,” Max frowned a little, glaring at Carol and Tommy’s scoffing, “We’re going to have to go over how things really are for most people at some point.”

“What’s this all over anyway?” Carol asked, placing the things she’d fetched on the coffee table.

Max went straight to looking through the folders. “Steve isn’t Billy but everyone seems to remember him acting just like him. I want to know who Steve was.”

Tommy laughed then, grabbing one folder right out of Max’s hand, “Came to the right place for facts then.”

“And to attack you.” She continued, vehemently glaring at him and snatching the folder back.

He took a step back, sharing a startled glance with Carol over the threat. “Um, what? Kid, I was Steve friend remember.”

“And Billy’s.” She countered, “You came round enough I know it.”

“Read this.” Carol quickly opened a folder and flicked through a notebook to shove it at Max, “Tommy shut up before she tries to. I won’t stop her.”

“Carol!” He protested.

/\

Eddie had known Steve wasn’t Billy.

He really wasn’t happy that the kids decided to learn who Steve actually used to be the weekend he’d finally got the courage to ask for a date.

“Am I TPK-ing the party or cancelling movie nights?” He yelled through the house, not caring that everyone that could be directed to were in the front room and easily seen, “Hi Perkins, I got out before Steve parked. He’ll be yelling to himself for a few minutes.”

“You can’t cancel movie nights!” Max yelled back.

“I can, Mayfield. You interrupted when I told all of you not to.” Eddie insisted, meeting her glare with one of his own. “Did you really worry about Steve’s lecture but not me?”

El stepped between them, “We want to know.”

“El, going behind someone’s back and doing your shit to track down their old friends is not how you learn this shit.” Eddie countered, eyes narrow and only turning to look over the room after finishing that sentence. They he burst out laughing at the scales Carol had out, “Although, Perkins, how did you make popularity nerdy? Is this an insult dictionary attached to it too? Professional Ice Queen turns people into maths. Not something I expected.”

Carol scoffed, tossing her hair back, “Why are you here, Freak?”

“Because we had a date and I decided not to leave El unsupervised. She’s reacted without thinking too many times.” Steve came in saying, grinning as he saw what was out, “Hey Carol, you kept all that stuff?”

“Yes, when did you figure out you could date guys too? There are bets that need settling.” She began, only to notice Eddie had somehow got the notebook detailing those bets in his hands now.

He glanced over at Steve shaking his head. “Don’t answer that. He doesn’t deserve it.”

“Who?” Steve leant over his shoulder to see who would win if he answered truthfully, “Oh yeah, um who do we think does? Tommy, thoughts?”

“Any of the cheerleaders updated their bet to be within reason?” Tommy mused, looking the pair over, “Guessing since Munson is here you don’t want the basketball team to win.”

Eddie tapped a name in the book, “Robin is on the list, Steve.”

“She is? Bitch, when did she place that?” Steve burst out laughing and taking the notebook from Eddie, “And why hasn’t she mentioned it like ever?”

Carol took it from him almost immediately, “After the Halloween break-up and another band kid placed it for her. Apparently Buckley mentioned her guess when complaining about bagels or something and he thought getting her to win would get him a date.”

“Thanks Carol, so we’re saying she got it right.” Steve decided, nodding to Eddie and Tommy.

“How?” Tommy asked finally able to see when Robin’s bet was placed for. “Weren’t you working in the mall then?”

El and Max had moved to the door while the older teens had been distracted talking about the bet, “Hey Steve. We’re just going to go. Let you two head back to your date, stop asking these two our questions. That’s what you want right?”

“No movie night for two weeks like Eddie said-” He began.

Max was quick to protest, “He didn’t say two weeks!”

“But after that, Carol, Tommy, Eddie, Jonathan and I will recount the time of King Steve. Then you will all drop it.” Steve finished stating what would happen over their and Dustin’s meddling with his old friends. “Also what the hell did you say to Nancy? Dustin just said she wouldn’t tell you anything.”

“Asked what it was like to date you.” She admitted uncaring, “Thought that would be what she remembers most so she’d answer it.”

If Steve had been drinking something he would have choked but as it it is he just coughed once and pointed insistently at the girl, “Okay and after that, Max, you specifically need to get to know Nance cause that says you know barely anything about her currently.”

El started pulling Max out straight away, “Bye Steve. We’ll go see the Wheelers now.”

“El!” Max fought to remain and argue.

“Bye El, Don’t scream at her on the street Max!” Steve waved after his kids, before turning back to the conversation they’d begun, “Now yes, Robin’s bet is for when we worked at Scoops so her incessant teasing over striking out made me try flirting with some guy that came in and I found that was just as much fun and easier given how horrible that hat was.”

Carol raised an eyebrow at him, “And when is she meant to get her winnings?”

“That gathering to satisfy the shitheads curiosity.” He decided, “I’ll tell her it’s a bribe to not go off on a rant about bagels or you’ll tell the guy who placed a bet for her that she won.”

“Do I need to update the dictionary over that?” The question was asked while she picked up said book.

Steve pushed her hand back to the coffee table. “I really don’t want you to so am not going to explain it. And if she offers to, I’m telling that guy she won.”

“Harsh.” Tommy snickered.

Steve rolled his eyes, “Like I wouldn’t also be threatening him for being such a prick at the same time.”

“Kids have stopped, you’ve decided who won the Steve likes guys too bet, can we go back to our movie date at yours now?” Eddie asked, looking around the group.

Carol nodded, waving towards the door. “Yes do. Harrington, get out and take Munson with you.”

“Bye, I’ll call you both about when that evening’s happening.” Steve waved over his shoulder as he was tugged out of Carol’s house now.

Steve made one small error in letting the kids investigate how who he’d been early in high school differed from Billy Hargrove. He let Carol and Tommy get to his house early to talk with him Robin and Eddie. Now there was a whiteboard stood in his living room, giant paper hung over it and his four friends were dissecting not just who he’d been but who he was today.

None of them were actually being flattering at all, even if he could see the positive attributes getting written down.

[bluebirdinhissky]

A best friend’s duty is to make you feel at home.

Hyunjin x Reader.

Bird note: This is a continuation of the Seollal celebration. Reminder, Reader is older than Hyunjin and not korean. Also WARNING, this is the longest I’ve written, so thank you so much if you read everything!!

[Masterlist]

The train ride to Hyunjin’s hometown had been peaceful, filled with easy conversation and stretches of comfortable silence. Now, as they stepped off the platform and into the crisp winter air, the reality of what was happening started to settle in: she was meeting his parents.

Hyunjin glanced over at her as they walked toward the station exit, her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat. She looked calm on the surface, but he knew her well enough to catch the tiny signs of nervousness: the way she pressed her lips together, the way she adjusted the strap of her bag even though it wasn’t slipping.

His parents had been excited when he told them she was coming. His mom had immediately started planning meals and didn’t hesitate to text Hyunjin after their call to ask what kind of meals she liked and just laughed when he told her she was as picky as him, or maybe even more; and his dad had casually mentioned how it would be nice to have “another artist in the house” for a few days. Still, he understood why she was worried. Meeting someone’s parents was a big deal, even if it was just as friends.

“Stop overthinking,” he murmured, nudging her lightly with his elbow.

“I’m not overthinking.” She shot him a look.

“You so are,” he teased, grinning when she huffed. “It’s gonna be fine. They already like you, remember?”

“That’s what you say, but what if…”

“Nope.” He cut her off before she could start listing possible disasters. “No ‘what ifs.’ Just relax, okay?”

She exhaled but nodded, adjusting her scarf as they stepped out of the station and took a taxi to his parent’s house. After some minutes of quiet ride, they arrived.

Hyunjin adjusted the strap of his bag as they stood outside his childhood home. He could still feel her nerves even without looking at her, her grip on her suitcase was a little too tight, her breathing just a bit more controlled than usual. He tried to act casual but her nervousness was getting to him, and he was starting to get nervous too but he was better at hiding it.

“You’re acting like you’re about to meet a king and queen.” He laughed.

“It’s your parents, Hyunjin.”

“Exactly.” He grinned. “Not royalty. Just two normal people who already like you.”

She exhaled unconvinced, but before she could talk herself into backing out, he opened the door and stepped inside.

The warmth of home wrapped around him instantly. The air smelled faintly of his mom’s cooking, and the space looked just as familiar as always, soft lighting, the hum of the heater, the cozy silence of a lived-in home.

“Hyunjin-ah!”

His mom appeared from the kitchen, her face lighting up the moment she saw him. And then her eyes landed on the woman beside him, and her expression softened with something closer to curiosity.

“You must be Y/N.”, she said in a heavy korean accent english. Hyunjin appreciated his mom’s effort to communicate with her.

“It’s nice to meet you.” She bowed politely.

“Oh, you’re even prettier than I expected.” His mom smiled, stepping closer. “Hyunjin only told me you were beautiful once, but I can see he was holding back.”

Hyunjin coughed. “Mom.”

Hyunjin barely had time to react before she continued, tilting her head as she studied her. “Now I think my son was lying. He told me you’re older than him, I still can’t believe you’re older than Hyunjin. You look his age.”

Hyunjin sighed. “Mom.”

“What? It’s true!” His mom laughed, turning back to her. “I thought he was joking at first, even now that I see you in person, I still don’t believe it.”

She smiled politely. “People usually think I’m younger.”

Hyunjin smirked. “She doesn’t just look younger. She acts younger too.”

She nudged him subtly, and he bit back a laugh.

His dad entered then, nodding in greeting as he took in the scene. “Welcome,” he said simply, his voice calm but kind. “I hope you had a good trip.”

She nodded. “Yes, thank you for having me.”

His mom beamed. “Of course! Any friend of Hyunjin’s is welcome here. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Hyunjin talks about you all the time, so it already feels like I know you.”

She glanced at Hyunjin, who gave her a smug little smirk.

His dad, standing just behind his mom, coughed and sensed his son’s nervousness. “I hope Hyunjin didn’t give you too much trouble on the way here.”

“Hey,” Hyunjin protested, but she just laughed.

“He was actually well-behaved this time,” she joked.

His dad chuckled. “That’s good to hear. Let’s move to the livingroom.” and so they walked towards the living space where Kkami was already waiting by the couch, tail wagging excitedly.

“Oh, that’s right,” his mom said as she walked to the near couch. “Kkami finally gets to meet you.”

Hyunjin smirked. “He’s gonna love you.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Dogs usually sense when someone isn’t a dog person.” She gave him a skeptical look.

“Dogs love you,” he corrected. “Even though you don’t love them.”

“I don’t hate them,” she muttered.

Before she could say more, Kkami trotted forward, then, without hesitation, he wagged his tail even harder and placed his front paws against her legs, looking up at her expectantly.

“Uh…” She blinked.

“Told you.” Hyunjin grinned.

“Oh, he really likes you! That’s a good sign.” His mom said.

With an amused sigh, she hesitantly reached down and gave Kkami a few pats on the head. He responded by circling her feet before sitting down beside her, content.

“Looks like you have a new shadow while you’re here.” Hyunjin’s dad laughed.

“I hope you’ll be comfortable here,” his mom said kindly. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I really appreciate it.”

For some hours, Hyunjin played with Kkami while she looked at them. He asked her if she could take some videos of them playing, so he could show them to Stay some other time.

“Dinner’s ready!” his mom told them from the kitchen. He missed his mom’s meals so he hurried up while grabbing her by the hand, and she let go of it just before his mom entered the dining room.

At the table, the conversation flowed easily. His mom was full of questions, clearly eager to learn more about her.

“So, you and Hyunjin met through Hannah and Changbin, right?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I moved in with them when I first came to Korea, and Hyunjin was already living there.”

His mom smiled. “And now you two are best friends. It’s nice to see him so close with someone other than the ‘kids’.”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes. “Mom.”

She ignored him, turning back to his best friend. “You know, I was surprised when Hyunjin said you were older than him.”

She smiled, but there was a slight hesitation before she spoke. “Actually… I’m fourteen years older.”

There was a brief pause. His mom blinked, eyebrows lifting slightly. “Yeah, he said that, that’s why I didn’t believe it when I saw you”

His dad, unfazed, simply nodded. “Yes, you certainly don’t look it.”

His mom quickly recovered, nodding in agreement. “Exactly! You don’t look a day older than Hyunjin.”

“Told you.” Hyunjin smirked.

She exhaled in amusement.

His mom tilted her head curiously. “Is it ever awkward? The age gap?”

She glanced at Hyunjin before shaking her head. “Not really. He never makes me feel weird about it.”

His mom’s eyes softened. “That’s good. As long as you’re both comfortable.”

Hyunjin noticed the way she relaxed at his mom’s words, and for some reason, it made his chest feel lighter.

“So,” his mom began, setting down her glass, “Hyunjin told us you moved to Seoul for a change of environment. What made you choose Korea?”

Hyunjin just had mentioned bits to her mom about Hannah inviting her, but didn’t share the real reason. He noticed the small pause before she answered.

“I was heartbroken,” she admitted softly. “A relationship ended badly, and I fell into a really bad place. I was depressed, and I didn’t know how to move forward. Hannah suggested I move here, thinking a new environment would help me heal.”

Hyunjin’s fingers tightened around his cup.

He already knew this, of course. He had seen it, had watched her struggle, had held her when she broke down, had been there in all the moments she thought no one was watching. But hearing her say it aloud, to his parents, made his chest ache in a different way.

His mom’s expression softened. “That must have been difficult,” she said gently. “I’m sorry you went through that.”

She nodded. “It was. But… I had good people supporting me.” She glanced at Hyunjin. “And Hyunjin helped too. More than he probably realizes.”

“I did?” Hyunjin blinked.

“Yeah.” She smiled at him.

His mom watched the exchange with interest before turning to his dad. “See? Our son is sweeter than he pretends to be.”

“I don’t pretend!” Hyunjin huffed.

“It must be interesting, living together. Do you ever get tired of him?” His dad chuckled.

“Dad!” Hyunjin groaned.

“It’s a valid question. Hyunjin can be a lot.” His mom grinned, clearly amused.

She hesitated briefly before shaking her head. “I don’t get tired of him.” Hyunjin blinked, thrown off by how certain she sounded. She glanced at him before looking back at his mom. “He’s helped me a lot,” she continued. “More than he knows. He helped me be happier. Move on. Believe in myself again.” A small pause. Then, quieter, “Heal.”

Hyunjin felt something shift in his chest.

She had never said that before.

His throat tightened as he watched her, trying to process the weight of her words. He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing, just letting the moment settle around them.

“That’s good to hear.” His mom smiled knowingly.

His dad, sensing the change in atmosphere, shifted the topic. “Hyunjin mentioned you like animals. Do you like dogs?”

“I’m more of a cat person.” She smiled nervously.

“She’s not scared of dogs, but she doesn’t get them.” Hyunjin smirked.

“That’s not true.” She protested.

“Well, Kkami will change your mind, I’m sure.” His mom laughed.

Right on cue, the sound of small paws tapping against the floor filled the room. Within seconds, Kkami came bounding in, tail wagging furiously.

“Looks like he already likes you.” Hyunjin grinned.

Kkami pushed against her hand, demanding attention. She hesitated before reaching out, and Kkami immediately leaned into her touch, tail wagging harder.

“Dogs always know good people.” His mom said the fact.

“So, you’ve been in Korea for a while now. Do you plan on staying long-term?” His dad asked curiously.

She nodded. “For now, I’m happy in Seoul. I don’t plan to move away.”

Hyunjin hadn’t realized how much he wanted to hear that until now. He had never considered the possibility of her actually moving away and he was glad he hadn’t think about it before.

His mom smiled, satisfied. “Then I hope this isn’t the last time we see you.”

Hyunjin smirked, nudging her lightly. “See? Told you they’d like you.”

She rolled her eyes, but her posture had relaxed, and for some reason, that made Hyunjin feel lighter, too.

The evening had passed more smoothly than Hyunjin expected. Dinner was warm and comforting, filled with laughter and easy conversation. His mom, as expected, had already taken a liking to her, and his dad, though more reserved, had seemed just as welcoming, but now, as the night settled in, the house was winding down.

His mom stretched as she stood from the dining table. “It’s getting late,” she said, suppressing a yawn. “We should all get some sleep.”

His dad nodded in agreement, already heading toward their bedroom. “Goodnight, you two.”

“Goodnight!” They both called after them.

She stood up as well, hesitating slightly before glancing at him. “Where am I going to sleep?”

“Oh, you’re staying in my room.” Hyunjin smirked, already enjoying this way too much.

Her eyes widened slightly, and for a split second, he saw real panic flash across her face. He barely managed to hold back his laughter before shaking his head. “I’m kidding. Relax.”

“Hyunjin!” She let out a sharp exhale.

“Come on, that was funny.” He grinned before grabbing her suitcase that stayed in the entrance ever since they arrived, forgotten. “I’ll show you.”

He led her down the hall, stopping in front of a door. Pushing it open, he flicked on the light, revealing a cozy, neatly arranged room. He rolled her suitcase inside before stepping aside to let her enter. “It’s not huge, but it’s comfortable.”

She took a few steps in, glancing around. The bed was neatly made, the blankets tucked in perfectly. A small nightstand held a lamp, and there was a window with thick curtains, keeping out the chill.

“This is nice.” She turned to him.

“Told you my parents would take care of you.” Hyunjin leaned against the doorway, watching her.

She smiled softly. For a moment, the silence between them stretched. The house was quiet now, his parents bedroom door already closed.

“You look cute when you’re shy.” He tilted his head slightly, gaze flickering over her.

“I… I’m not shy.” She stiffened.

Hyunjin smirked, stepping just a little closer. “Hmm, really?” His voice dropped, playful and teasing. “Then why are you blushing?”

“I’m not…”

“You are.” He leaned in just enough to make her flinch.

“Your parents are right down the hall,” she whispered, clearly flustered. She turned her face away, avoiding his gaze.

“And?” Hyunjin chuckled, thoroughly entertained.

“And they might hear you flirting and think something weird.”

“Something weird?” He bit his lip to stop himself from laughing.

“You know what I mean.” She huffed.

Hyunjin grinned. He could see her struggling, not because she didn’t want to flirt back, but because she was too shy with his parents so close.

It was cute.

He leaned against the doorframe, watching her as she nervously adjusted the sleeves of her sweater.

“Alright, alright,” he said finally, voice softer now. “I’ll be nice… for tonight.”

“For tonight?” She gave him a look.

“Yeah. Don’t think this means I’ll stop.” He smirked.

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

Hyunjin chuckled as he pushed himself off the doorframe. “Sleep well, okay?”

She nodded. “You too.”

With that, he stepped back into the hallway, heading toward his old bedroom.

And as he walked away, he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face.

*The next morning*

Hyunjin was already up, dressed in a hanbok, an outfit that made him look even more regal than usual. He texted her asking if she was up already. As soon as she replied he went to her room, knocking on the door. She opened a few seconds later.

“Morning,” he said cheerfully, adjusting the collar of his hanbok. “You’re up early.”

“Yeah… it’s hard to sleep in when you’re not in your own bed,” she replied, stretching again.

He nodded, eyes lighting up. “It’s Seollal today, so you’ll get to experience a bunch of traditions. Get ready for some fun.”

“Fun?” she raised an eyebrow.

He winked, clearly enjoying teasing her. “Maybe not fun for you, but it’s going to be an experience, that’s for sure.”

Before she could ask what he meant by that, his mom appeared from behind him, hands on her hips as she smiled warmly at Y/N.

“Y/N-ssi, good morning! We’re going to wear hanbok today, so you’ll need to put one on too. It’s a part of the Seollal tradition. You’ll look beautiful in it!”

Hyunjin chuckled under his breath, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you pick one out.”

She shot him a playful glare. “What, you’re going to pick out my outfit?”

“Of course.” He crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall with a grin. “I’m a fashion expert.”

“Don’t let him fool you,” his mom chimed in, leading them over to the closet where they kept the hanboks. “He has no taste when it comes to picking out clothes. You’re better off picking your own.”

Hyunjin raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fine!”

His mom brought out a few hanboks, setting them down on the bed. The garments were beautiful, rich fabrics in shades of red, blue, and gold, with intricate embroidery that made them look like they belonged in a historical drama.

Hyunjin’s mom gently encouraged her to pick one that felt the most comfortable. “You’ll be wearing it for a while, so it’s best if it fits well.”

After a few minutes of careful choosing, she decided on a soft pink hanbok with delicate gold patterns that seemed to shimmer in the light. Hyunjin stood nearby, watching as she changed into the hanbok, his expression unreadable. When she was done, his eyes widened, and a soft smile spread across his face. “Wow,” he said, voice softer than before. “You look beautiful.”

Her cheeks flushed under his gaze, but she was saved by his mom, who came over with a small box of traditional accessories: a hairpin, a ribbon, and a decorative piece to hang on her waistband.

“Now, we’re ready,” his mom said with a smile, fastening the final touches. “We can begin the formal Seollal ceremony soon.”

Hyunjin, now standing beside her, explained the next steps. “The Seollal celebration involves a ritual called ‘Sebae,’ where we pay respects to our elders and ancestors. You’ll see us bow to them and make wishes for the upcoming year.”

She nodded, seemingly impressed by how seriously he took the tradition.

His mom looked over at them both, satisfied. “Let’s go. It’s time for the family ceremony.”

And so, with their hanboks carefully adjusted and the weight of tradition in the air, they joined his parents in the living room to prepare for the next part of the celebration.

*After the celebrations*

The house had fallen quiet, the celebration of Seollal a distant memory now. After the long day of traditional celebrations and catching up with his parents, Hyunjin found himself standing at the kitchen counter, putting away the last of the dishes. His mind wandered to the one thing that had been on his mind all evening: her.

She hadn’t been to his room yet. He wasn’t sure why, but it felt strange. Back home, she’d never hesitated to come into his room whenever she felt like it. But here, in his parents house, things were different. The tension from earlier in the day still hung in the air. They’d gotten along fine, of course, but he knew she was still adjusting. It wasn’t just the new environment; it was the feeling of being under his parents watchful eyes, and the worry of making a good impression.

He wiped his hands on a dish towel, his gaze drifting toward the living room. She was sitting on the couch, her phone in hand. She seemed a bit distant. He couldn’t help but feel a little curious, a little concerned, but mostly, he was just… impatient. He missed the easy comfort of their usual routine. Pushing the towel aside, Hyunjin walked over to the couch, leaning casually against the armrest.

“Hey,” he started with a teasing grin. “You’ve been here for two days already, and you still haven’t come to my room. What’s going on?”

She looked up from her phone, startled for a moment, and then she looked away quickly. He could tell she was uncomfortable, but he wasn’t sure why.

She cleared her throat, her fingers fiddling with the phone screen. “I didn’t want to intrude,” she said, her voice quiet.

“Intrude?” He raised an eyebrow, amused. “You’re not intruding. You’ve been to my room like a hundred times back home. What’s different now?”

She shifted slightly, her gaze still avoiding his. She seemed a little embarrassed, but it was the way she fidgeted that told him something else. It was like she wasn’t sure of the boundaries here.

“I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable,” she murmured.

Hyunjin’s smile softened a little. He understood now, it wasn’t just about his room or his parents. It was the fact that they were here, under his parents roof, and maybe she was worried it would look… different.

He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping into a more playful tone. “Hey, it’s just me and you. Nothing to worry about, right? Besides, we’re best friends. It’s not like we’re doing anything weird.”

She didn’t say anything at first, but he could tell she was still nervous. He wasn’t sure if it was because of his parents or something else, but he wasn’t going to push her.

After a few moments, he stood up straighter, brushing off his hanbok. “I’m just saying, you’re making it awkward by not coming over.” He glanced at the door. “Come on, let’s go. I’m not going to bite.”

She hesitated, looking at him as if she was weighing her options. He could tell she wasn’t completely convinced, but he also knew that if he kept teasing her, she wouldn’t be able to resist.

“You should probably keep your voice down,” she said finally, her tone quiet and careful.

Hyunjin’s grin returned, but he didn’t press her on it. Instead, he chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “You act like we’re sneaking around.” He reached out and gently tugged on her wrist, urging her to get up. “It’s just me, beastie. Relax.”

She finally stood, following him down the hall to his room. He could tell she was still a little unsure, but he was glad she was going along with it. He didn’t want her to feel awkward about being in his space, especially not here.

Once they were inside his room, Hyunjin turned on the light, revealing the familiar surroundings. The room felt a little different with her here.

He tossed himself on the bed “See? Not so bad, right?”

She gave him a small smile, but he could tell she was still a bit hesitant. He wondered if she was worried about his parents hearing them, or if she just wasn’t quite ready for the familiarity of being in his childhood room like this.

He sat now on the edge of the bed, leaning back a little. “It’s just us, no one else. Don’t worry about it,” he said, trying to reassure her. She stood near the door, not coming any closer, and Hyunjin raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on? You’re not usually so stiff around me.”

She shifted again, clearly unsure. “It’s just… I don’t want to make things weird”

After a beat of silence, Hyunjin patted the bed beside him, an invitation he hoped she wouldn’t resist. “Come on, you can sit here. Nothing to be shy about. Nothing weird will happen”

She looked at him for a moment, then finally, to his surprise, walked over and sat down beside him. There was still a little distance between them, but he could tell she was starting to relax.

Hyunjin couldn’t help but smile. This was all still a little different, but with her, everything felt just like it always had been, natural, easy. Even if they were in his parents house, everything felt right. For a while, it felt like everything was back to normal, just the two of them, their usual easy conversation, and the comfortable silence between them that had always made their time together feel effortless.

Kkami had been quietly lying on the floor, but soon, his presence was felt as he trotted over, his tail wagging energetically. He immediately jumped onto the bed, nudging her with his nose, as if inviting her to give him attention. She flinched at first, not used to having a dog so close, but she didn’t push him away. Hyunjin noticed the way her hand hesitated, and he grinned. “He’s harmless,” he reassured her

“Yeah, I can tell,” she murmured, her voice soft, as her hand gingerly reached out to pet Kkami. He let out a small, satisfied yip, nudging her hand with his nose and Hyunjin found it a bit amusing how his dog had taken a liking to someone who wasn’t particularly fond of dogs.

They spent a few more minutes just talking, Kkami curling up between them, occasionally nudging her for more attention. Hyunjin watched her interact with the dog, noting how she had warmed up a little, even if she was still a bit reserved. Her usual reserved nature around Kkami was endearing, and Hyunjin liked that he could see her letting her guard down, even just a little.

But after a while, Hyunjin noticed a change. She had started to lean back against the headboard of the bed, her eyelids growing heavy, the soft rhythm of her breathing a subtle sign that she was getting tired. He glanced over at her, noticing how she fought to stay awake, even though she was clearly exhausted. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight, her usual quiet determination, even in something as simple as staying up.

“You know, for someone who didn’t want to come into my room,” he said softly, trying not to startle her, “you look like you’re about to fall asleep right here.”

She looked at him, a soft blush creeping onto her cheeks as she sat up a bit straighter. “I didn’t mean to,” she muttered, rubbing her eyes tiredly. “I guess I didn’t realize how tired I was.”

Hyunjin chuckled, shaking his head. “I told you it’d be a long day. You should get some rest. You’ve been up since early this morning.”

She nodded, standing up slowly and giving Kkami one last pat on the head. “You’re right,” she said, her voice still sleepy. She glanced over at Hyunjin, her expression soft. “Thanks for letting me hang out with you for a while.”

He smiled, leaning back against the bed. “Of course. You can come back whenever you want.”

She hesitated for a moment, standing by the door as if she were deciding something. Her eyes met his briefly, then she quickly looked down, suddenly shy. “Goodnight, Hyunjin. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, beastie,” he replied, his voice warm. “Sleep well.”

As she left the room, Hyunjin couldn’t help but feel a little strange. There was a kind of quiet sweetness to the way she said goodnight, a gentle vulnerability that made him think about how much he enjoyed just having her around, even in the silence.

When the door softly clicked shut behind her, he sat for a moment, thinking about how much things had changed, how much closer they had become since she moved to Seoul. The bond they shared had deepened in ways he hadn’t quite anticipated. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly when it had happened, but he knew that whatever was happening between them, it wasn’t just friendship anymore and he couldn’t keep ignoring he wasn’t fine with just being friends.

He leaned back against the pillow, a smile tugging at his lips. Despite everything that had changed, there was still something so comforting about having her around. He wasn’t sure where things were headed, but he knew one thing for sure: he was looking forward to whatever came next, something deep inside of him telling him she might actually feel the same.

With that thought, he drifted into sleep, the peaceful silence of his room enveloping him, leaving the thoughts of the day behind.

*The day after Seollal Celebrations*

The morning light poured through the window of Hyunjin’s room, waking him from his slumber. It had been a restful night, the warmth of the blankets and the quiet house making it easy to sleep soundly. He had gotten used to the comfort of his room, though the knowledge that his best friend was staying at his parents house still made him feel a little like things were on their way to become official. He tried to push those thoughts aside as he stretched out beneath the covers because he didn’t want to be more nervous, the day ahead promising to be a quiet continuation of the family celebration.

Hyunjin’s parents had already woken up, their voices sounding in the kitchen. His mom had started preparing breakfast, a traditional Korean meal of rice, kimchi, and side dishes, the smell of it wafting up through the house.

After getting dressed, Hyunjin opened the door and made his way downstairs, where the sounds of morning chatter and the sizzle of food greeted her. Y/N was already sitting at the table, talking animatedly to his dad while his mom arranged the food. She looked up when she saw him, her eyes softening into a smile.

“Good morning,” he greeted them, his voice a little more casual now that they were surrounded by his family.

“Good morning, Hyunjin.” They greeted him. He walked over and took a seat across from her. His mom joining with food not long after.

As they ate, the conversation flowed easily around the table. His mom asked about Y/N’s life in Seoul and how she had been adjusting, which was something she had mentioned the day before. “You are a brave woman,” his mom said, a warmth in her voice. “It takes courage to move to a new place on your own.”

Y/N gave a small smile. “It wasn’t easy, but I’m glad I came. It’s been… a good change.”

The rest of the morning was spent in a quiet, peaceful rhythm. After breakfast, they spent time playing a few traditional games. Hyunjin’s parents taught her how to play yutnori, a game involving a board and wooden sticks that is traditionally played during the New Year. Even though Y/N wasn’t very familiar with it, Hyunjin’s mom was patient, showing her the rules and laughing whenever Y/N made a mistake. Hyunjin, meanwhile, seemed to enjoy seeing Y/N try her best, though he also teased her when she got too competitive with his dad.

In the afternoon, after lunch, his parents took a nap, and Y/N was left to chat with Hyunjin in the living room. They sat on the couch together, Kkami curling up by her feet, occasionally glancing up at her as if waiting for her to pet him again.

“Do you want to go outside for a bit?” Hyunjin asked, stretching lazily. “Maybe get some fresh air?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

They walked outside into the yard behind the house, the cold air hitting them as they stepped out. The sky was clear, the sun still bright in the afternoon but already starting to dip lower. The house was set in a quiet neighborhood, the occasional sound of children playing or people calling to each other drifting through the air.

Hyunjin looked over at her, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. “So, we’re heading back to Seoul tonight, right?” She nodded, her gaze drifting to the horizon.

“Yeah. I don’t think I’m ready to go back just yet, though. I’m really enjoying being here, but I know it’s time to go home.”

He smiled at that, a little fondly. “Yeah. Me too. I’m glad you came, though. It feels… good, having you here.”

“I’m glad too.”

They stood there for a while, enjoying the calmness of the moment. Kkami, having followed them outside, was happily chasing his tail in the snow-covered yard. After a while, they went back inside to find that his parents were awake, and the evening was approaching.

The day had passed quickly, and before long, Hyunjin and Y/N were gathering their things, getting ready to head back to their apartment in Seoul. Hyunjin’s parents were already getting ready to go to bed, saying their goodbyes as they made their way to the living room to send them off.

“Thank you for having me,” Y/N said sincerely to his mom and dad, her voice quiet but appreciative.

His dad gave her a kind smile. “Of course. You’re always welcome here.”

As they left the house and took the train back to Seoul, the weight of the day seemed to lift. When they arrived, their driver was already waiting for them. The drive was quiet, just the soft hum of the car’s engine filling the space. Hyunjin glanced at Y/N every so often, wondering if she was thinking about the same things he was.

When the driver finally pulled into the driveway and parked, Hyunjin turned to her, the excitement in his eyes unmistakable. “We’re home,” he said with a playful grin. He couldn’t help but feel a little relieved. Having her at his side had become a normal part of his life here in Seoul, and even after the few days with his parents, he was happy to have her back in their shared space.

“Yeah. Feels good.”

Hyunjin’s eyes softened at her words, and he felt a pull to her. “I’m glad you came with me,” he said again, his voice casual but with a sincerity he couldn’t hide. It had been a little nerve-wracking, wondering how she’d feel about the whole family thing, meeting his parents, learning about the traditions. But seeing her hold her own with them, the way she opened up about herself, made him realize just how much she had become a part of his life here in Seoul.

They thanked the driver and headed inside the apartment, still empty, since Hannah and Changbin were not going to arrive until tomorrow

The silence stretched between them as Hyunjin tossed his jacket over a chair, the stillness almost too much without his friends around to fill it. He turned back to her, unable to keep the teasing tone out of his voice. “Hey, since it’s just us tonight, how about you stay in my room?” he asked, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I missed having you there.”

“I guess… maybe just for tonight,” she finally said, her voice softer than usual, but she was playing along.

Hyunjin grinned. “What do you mean just for tonight? No, beastie, it’s where you belong.” The words came out almost too easily, and he could feel his chest tightening with something that was hard to name. He turned to lead the way to his room, already imagining the comfort of her presence next to him.

Once inside, the room felt more like his own. It had been strange, staying away for a few days, but now that she was with him, things felt… right. She set her things down by the dresser, glancing around the room like it was unfamiliar, though it wasn’t. It was as if something about the situation was putting her on edge, even though she had stayed with him many times.

Hyunjin leaned against the wall, his gaze following her as she moved around the room. He started to think about her words she’d said to his parents. He had been thinking about it all day, the way she had spoken so openly about him helping her heal. She had never said anything like that to him before, and it caught him off guard. He wanted to know more.

“I’ve been thinking about something all day.” He let the words linger between them, watching her as she stopped moving and turned her attention to him, her curiosity piqued.

“What’s that?” she asked, her tone just shy of cautious, like she wasn’t sure what he was going to say next.

Hyunjin took a small step toward her, his smirk never wavering. “That thing you said to my parents… about me helping you heal, about me helping you believe in yourself again,” he said, his voice softer now, almost teasing. “I didn’t know you thought that way about it.”

Her posture stiffened, and she fidgeted a bit, clearly uncomfortable with him bringing it up. Hyunjin could tell that she hadn’t meant for it to sound so significant, but there it was, hanging in the air.

“I didn’t mean to make it sound like a big deal,” she said, almost apologetically, her voice low and careful. Hyunjin took a small step closer, his eyes softening, a slight tilt to his head.

“But it is a big deal,” he said, his voice low and serious for a moment. “You don’t have to downplay it. I’m just glad you said it.”

Her lips parted as though she was about to respond, but instead, she simply glanced away, her hands shifting nervously in front of her. Hyunjin knew she wasn’t great at talking about feelings, at least not in such direct terms, but he didn’t mind. Her quiet sincerity spoke more than words could sometimes.

“I guess… I did mean it,” she finally admitted, her voice softer, almost like she was admitting something she hadn’t said out loud before.

Hyunjin didn’t say anything for a moment. Instead, he moved closer again, his gaze never leaving hers. There was something in her eyes, something unspoken, but it made his chest tighten all the same. He had always been used to joking around, to teasing her and flirt nonstop, but this felt like a deeper moment. He didn’t want to ruin it, so he let his smile return instead.

“You don’t have to explain it, Y/N,” he said, his tone light again, brushing his thumb across her hand in a slow, deliberate motion. “I’m just glad you said it.”

She looked up at him, offering a small, shy smile in return, and Hyunjin felt his heart beat a little faster. The tension was still there, thick and almost palpable, but there was something else too, something that felt too natural to ignore.

“Well, I guess we should sleep soon, huh?” he said, shifting the conversation to something else, making him ignore the thoughts of kissing her and maybe ruin the moment, though his words had a different tone. “Unless you’ve got other plans?”

She laughed softly, her smile reaching her eyes this time. “I guess we can sleep,” she said, the hint of humor in her voice easing the lingering tension.

She hesitated for just a moment, but then she climbed into bed. As they settled in, Hyunjin couldn’t help but feel the familiar warmth of having her close. The room was quieter now, the tension between them still there, but in a different way. He turned to face her, his voice quieter than before.

“I really missed having you here.”

She met his gaze, her eyes soft. “I missed you too,” she replied, and the weight of those words made something stir in his chest.

The silence between them grew comfortable again, and Hyunjin couldn’t shake the feeling that something was shifting between them, but for now, as the night stretched on, he let himself enjoy the closeness, knowing that whatever came next, they’d face it together.