#maybe i'll talk more about this some time

[neeeooon]

i think otoya is the kind of person who is aware that he is capable of changing his ways with girls when he finds the “one”, but he’s never truly believed in that. but when when like a girl transfers it’s quite literally love at first sight and he wants to change for her. you can decide whether she gets with him or not, thanks so muchh !! ^^

aww yes i love this idea tysm!!

love of my dreams

otoya eita x fem!reader. ft. karasu and yukimiya. love at first sight. fluff, crack, otoya is a bit weird at the start, cussing, slight death/kms joke at the end. wc: 810

“fuck.”

otoya just told karasu and yukimiya how much he liked his bachelor life. how he wasn’t ready to change. to settle down.

and then you just had to walk through those damn doors.

“fuck.”

you had a guide at your side, telling otoya you were a transfer student. his eyes were glued on you, and every step you took, unable to tear his gaze away. he wanted to know your name, where you transferred from, and what you were studying. probably something similar to him, as you were being toured through his building.

a sharp jab caused him to curse again, and otoya shot a glare at karasu and the cheap plastic butter knife he’d been stabbed with. “yer staring.”

“of course i’m staring. i’m in love.”

“you don’t do love,” yukimiya chimed with a snicker before shoving a forkful of salad into his mouth. “that’s your whole thing.”

otoya didn’t want it to be his whole thing anymore—not after seeing you.

he continued to think about you through the rest of his lunch, then his classes, his drive home, and even while he was texting yukimiya for answers to their finance homework. he didn't believe in love at first sight, at least he didn't think he did. you changed that so quick, otoya was still reeling six hours later.

otoya: i need her number

otoya: pls be my spies pls pls pls

karasu: i never thought i'd see down bad otoya like for real and not just to get pussy

otoya: is that a yes

karasu: for all we know she has a boyfriend

yukimiya: or a girlfriend

otoya: GODDDD IM GOING INSANE I NEED HER SO BAD

otoya: she's the one for me. i'm done. no more playboy otoya.

yukimiya: if you're serious. REALLY SERIOUS. i'll help

karasu: same ig

otoya: there's a special place in blowjob heaven for you two 🙏

and two days later, with the help of yukimiya and karasu, otoya had intel. they also told him you had a gap in your schedule and ate lunch by yourself in the dining hall.

and when otoya saw you? he was nervous.

your hair was pulled away from your face, the eraser-end of your pencil tapping your lips as you concentrated so hard on your homework that a delicate crease formed between your brows. otoya wanted to smooth it out with his thumb and kiss the spot instead.

shaking his head, his grip tightened around his sandwich as he slowly approached you. when you looked up, otoya felt his face grow hot. "sorry to bother you. is this seat taken?"

you rapidly shook your head and gestured to the chair. "no, no, you can take it! just make sure you put it back—"

"i mean, is it okay if i sit here?" he quickly cut off with a small grin, his chest fluttering when you blushed in embarrassment.

you dropped your pencil to hide your face in your hands. "oh my god, i'm so... yeah, yes, you can sit here." shaking your hands out to release some of the stress, you flashed a bright smile. "i'm y/n."

“otoya,” he greeted casually, as if a flock of butterflies didn’t make a home in his stomach.

you repeated his name quietly to yourself before nodding. “i think i’ve seen you in this building before. what are you majoring in?”

when he told you, your eyes lit up so brightly that otoya swore they glittered. “no way! me too! weird that we don’t have any classes together, though. maybe next semester!”

the rest of the time spent before your next class was filled with the two of you talking. otoya thought he'd fail at the genuine small talk thing since he didn't want to use any of his usual lines on you, but he was surprised at how easy it was. whenever he got quiet, you were right there to pick up where he left off.

"this might be too soon," otoya started as he walked you to your class. "but would you want to hang out again tomorrow?"

your smile faltered slightly, and otoya was ready to jump over the rail and fall to the first floor. it wasn't too far down, so he probably wouldn't die, but if he hobbled in front of a truck right after—

"i don't have this class tomorrow," you explained gently. "but would thursday work instead?"

fireworks exploded behind otoya's eyes, along with the relief of no longer needing to die. he readjusted his grip on his bag strap and flashed you a slow grin. "thursday works. same spot as today?"

you beamed. "yep! oh, and here's my number, in case i'm late or we have to reschedule!"

otoya knew, as you entered your name into his phone with a cute emoji, that he would eventually die a happy man.

[geddyqueer]

tidbit tuesday

since the people asked. idk how quickly i'll finish this but here's some 8x17 reaction fic:

"I was homeless," Buck says, as the light turns green. "When I was younger."

He feels, rather than sees, Tommy's gaze linger on him briefly before he takes his foot off the brake. "When you were traveling?"

"Yeah. And for a while in LA, too. Like—I was sleeping inside, but I didn't have a mailing address for a long time. And then I was couchsitting. And then I lived with five other guys, and then I squatted at Abby's for a few months after she ghosted me."

Tommy releases a long breath at that. "The green apartment?"

"Yeah," Buck says.

"Did you ever find a pair of black Chelsea boots? Size 12? In a closet or something? I never got those back from her."

Buck turns to look at him. He's focused very hard on the road. "Were they Red Wings?"

Tommy nods.

"Yeah," Buck says. He remembers the way they were molded to someone else's feet, the way they chafed at his ankle bone, but that they carried him along through the loneliest days back then. "I wore them into the ground."

He realizes, as Tommy bursts out laughing, as he bursts out laughing too, that this is the first time they've actually talked about Abby since the night they broke up. Not like they've had time, in the intervening months. Maybe they'll have time now.

"I'm glad someone was wearing them," Tommy says, when he finally catches his breath. "I'm glad it was you."

He turns onto Bedford Street and slows down.

"The loft was the first place I ever lived that was really mine," Buck says. "Other than the old Jeep, I guess. I lived in that for a couple years. Sometimes I'd find short term rentals, but usually I just slept in the car."

Tommy's hand makes its way across the center console, open and inviting, and Buck slots his hand into it. They're pulling into the long stretch of empty street parking in front of the next house, now. It doesn't look like Eddie's here, but Tommy leaves the driveway empty anyway.

"This place felt like mine for a little while. Not—not anymore."

"Whatever I can do to make my house feel like home, Evan," Tommy says. "For as long as you want to live there. Even if it's just a week, or for—I don't know. Just say the word and I'll do it, okay?"

"What if I want a bunch of flamingos in the front yard?"

"Plastic ones, I hope," Tommy says. "I can't afford to put in a flamingo pond right now."

"But you would do that?"

"If I had the money, and you really wanted it, then yes," Tommy says.

"I don't think I want a flamingo pond," Buck tells him. "Not right now, at least."

"We can table it," Tommy says, and he gets out of the truck.

Buck sighs, and squares his shoulders, and heads once more unto the breach.

[mcrdvcks]

truly

summary: After seeing Scott and Jean's newborn, Logan gets baby fever. word count: 6.6k+ pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader notes: here was the request that inspired this! i will say, anon who requested this, it got a little out of hand, lol. so enjoy 2 smut scenes. this is set in the same world as Deck The Halls and i just need this love spiral but you don't have to read those to understand this! (title is a song by cigarettes after sex) warnings/tags: reader and logan have a bio kid, laura, fluff, talks of having a baby, smut, oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, breeding kink, fingering, cum play (?)

The four of you were visiting the X-Mansion to see the new addition to the family, Rachel Summers.

Laura and Sierra had already dashed off to the backyard with some of the other kids, leaving you and Logan alone with Jean and Scott.

"Here," Jean said, carefully transferring Rachel into your arms. "She's fed, changed, and hopefully about to nap."

You grinned, gently settling Rachel against your shoulder. "I've got her. Go take a break."

Jean let out a relieved sigh. "You’re amazing, Y/N. I haven’t had an hour to myself in days."

Scott chuckled softly. "More like weeks."

Jean lightly elbowed him. "Be quiet."

"Go," you insisted softly, waving her away. "We’ve got this."

Jean nodded gratefully, already backing out of the room. "Thank you."

Scott followed behind her, offering Logan a quick grin. "Don’t let the girls destroy the place, please."

"No promises," Logan said dryly.

As they left, you gently rocked Rachel, smiling down at her. "Hey, pretty girl. You gonna sleep for your Auntie Y/N?"

Logan watched from a few feet away, hands tucked casually in his pockets, his eyes fixed on you and Rachel. "Looks good on you."

You glanced up, raising a brow. "What?"

He tilted his head toward Rachel. "That. Babies. Always did."

You laughed softly, moving slowly back and forth. "Yeah, well, I’m just glad ours are finally sleeping through the night."

He snorted. "Mostly."

"Mostly," you agreed.

He stepped closer, leaning against the table next to you. Rachel’s tiny fingers curled sleepily against your shoulder, eyes blinking drowsily before finally shutting. Logan’s eyes softened just slightly.

"I forgot how small they are at this stage," he murmured quietly.

"Yeah," you sighed, gently smoothing Rachel's hair. "Time goes by fast."

Logan watched the baby settle peacefully in your arms, his eyes thoughtful. "Laura and Sierra used to do that too."

"What, sleep?"

He smiled faintly. "Be quiet for longer than five minutes."

You grinned, keeping your voice low. "They're not that bad."

"Not that bad," he repeated dryly. "Laura's probably climbing a tree right now, and Sierra’s probably giving her ideas."

"True," you conceded with a chuckle.

Logan’s gaze drifted again to Rachel’s peaceful little face, the faint rise and fall of her chest. A tiny pang of something tugged deep in his chest, something he wouldn’t dare admit out loud.

"You want to hold her?" you offered gently, sensing his quiet contemplation.

He hesitated a moment, then shook his head. "Nah. Looks like she's comfy with you."

You smiled softly, carefully swaying back and forth. "Suit yourself."

Logan shifted, still watching. A beat passed before he cleared his throat. "Scott and Jean seem good."

"They are," you said. "Exhausted, but good."

"Yeah," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully. "A newborn’ll do that."

You gave him a curious look. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Logan straightened slightly, clearing his throat again. "Just... thinking."

Your lips curved into a knowing smile. "Thinking about what?"

He shrugged lightly, voice careful. "Nothin'. Just... been a while since we had one this little."

You chuckled softly, shifting Rachel gently. "Someone’s getting nostalgic."

He snorted quietly. "Maybe a little."

"Well, you can always babysit Rachel," you teased softly. "Jean would probably be thrilled."

He cracked a faint smile, shaking his head. "Think I'll leave that to you."

"Mhm," you hummed knowingly, still watching him closely. "Sure."

Rachel stirred slightly, fussing softly in her sleep. Logan moved instinctively closer, a hand coming up to carefully rub the baby’s tiny back, helping soothe her immediately. He paused when he noticed your raised brow.

"What?" he muttered defensively. "Ain’t lost my touch yet."

You smiled, tilting your head. "No, you haven’t."

He watched Rachel settle down again, peaceful and warm against your chest. That gentle tug deepened quietly, making him sigh softly under his breath.

"I'll go check on Laura and Sierra," he muttered, pulling back carefully.

You smiled gently, letting him retreat. "Okay."

Logan paused at the doorway, glancing back once more. The sight of you holding Rachel—so natural, so easy—was etched warmly into his mind. He shook his head slightly, hiding a smile as he disappeared into the hall.

---

The house was quiet—after getting back to the cabin late, Laura and Sierra took their showers then got into bed.

You stepped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, Logan sitting on the bed with a notebook in his hands.

“You ever think ‘bout ‘nother one?” he asked, still lazily doodling.

You glanced at him, pausing with your towel still wrapped around you. “Another what?”

Logan looked up, meeting your eyes. “Baby.”

You smiled faintly, resuming your movements as you searched for clothes. “Not much. Maybe a few times.”

He hummed quietly, his pencil pausing. “Today got me thinkin’.”

You chuckled softly, pulling a shirt from the dresser. “Seeing Rachel gave you baby fever?”

He shrugged, setting the notebook down. “Maybe a little.”

You turned to him, amusement on your face. “You’re serious?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t sound so shocked, darlin’.”

“Not shocked,” you said, pulling the shirt on over your head. “Just surprised, I guess. Thought you liked finally gettin’ sleep again.”

He snorted. “Sleep’s overrated.”

“Easy for you to say,” you teased, tugging on a pair of shorts.

Logan watched you, quiet for a moment before speaking again. “Wouldn’t be so bad though, right?”

You paused, looking up to meet his eyes. “Another baby?”

He nodded slowly, leaning back against the headboard. “Yeah. Sierra’d probably like bein’ a big sister.”

You smiled softly, moving toward the bed. “Laura already is one.”

“Yeah, but she’d probably love bossin’ around another sibling,” he smirked. “And Sierra’s gettin’ pretty independent.”

You climbed onto the bed beside him, crossing your legs and looking thoughtful. “You’re really thinking about this.”

“Like I said,” he murmured, eyes gentle as he studied your face, “today got me thinkin’.”

You tilted your head, a soft smile curving your lips. “Are you saying you want another baby?”

He reached out, tugging you gently closer until you settled across his lap. “Maybe I am.”

You laughed softly, sliding your arms around his neck. “Logan Howlett, secretly a softie.”

He rolled his eyes, brushing his thumb along your hip. “Keep it quiet. Got a reputation to uphold.”

You hummed, leaning in, lips brushing his gently. “Another baby, huh?”

He kissed you softly, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes again. “Only if you want.”

Your gaze softened, fingertips trailing lightly along his jaw. “Wouldn’t be so bad.”

He smiled slowly, hands slipping beneath your shirt, warm against your skin. “That a yes?”

You laughed, pulling him closer. “Yeah, Logan. That’s a yes.”

“Good,” he muttered, lips ghosting along your neck. “Figured we’d better get started.”

“Now? I just took a shower and put my clothes on.”

Logan’s lips barely brushed yours as he murmured, “Good thing I’m the one who takes ’em off,” voice low, teasing, full of promise. His hands were already sliding under your shirt, warm palms grazing bare skin as his mouth found your jaw, then lower—kissing along the line of your throat like he had all the time in the world.

You sighed, eyes fluttering as he eased you back against the pillows, but a flicker of something practical snuck in through the haze. “Did you lock the door?”

He groaned, forehead dropping against your chest for a second. “Fuckin’—” He sighed, kissed you once, then reluctantly shifted back. “You ruin all my fun, y’know that?”

You grinned, tugging the hem of your shirt up. “Go lock it, old man.”

He muttered something under his breath about being cockblocked by fatherhood and stomped off toward the door. A second later, you heard the lock slide into place. Then a scrape—he was dragging the chair under the knob.

You laughed, covering your mouth to muffle it. “Paranoid much?”

“Sierra picks locks now,” Logan growled as he returned, eyes dark and determined. “Not takin’ chances.”

Before you could say another word, he was back over you, hand splayed on your stomach, pressing you into the mattress. He shoved your shirt up to your ribs, mouth finding the underside of your breast, stubble scraping along your skin, tongue hot and slow as he sucked a mark against your ribs.

“Still smell like soap,” he muttered against your skin. “Gonna fix that.”

You gasped when his teeth grazed your nipple through the fabric, your hand flying to his hair. “Logan—”

He shoved your shirt up over your head and tossed it aside, then sat back on his heels, tugging your shorts and panties down in one rough pull. “Been thinkin’ about this since the second you held that baby. Looked like a fuckin’ dream. Like I needed to put another one in you.”

You flushed, heartbeat pounding as he lowered himself between your thighs, spreading them apart with firm hands. He kissed your inner thigh first—slow, wet, open-mouthed kisses trailing higher, teasing heat.

Then his tongue flicked—slow, deliberate, dragging up through your folds—and your breath caught hard.

You reached down, tangling a hand in his hair. “Thought you were impatient.”

His voice was muffled against your cunt, lips slick, tongue dipping low. “Can still enjoy it, sweetheart. Gotta get you ready, don’t I?”

His mouth was hot, deliberate, tongue sliding in slow circles around your clit, then back down, teasing your entrance, sucking one of your lips between his teeth just enough to make your thighs twitch. One of his hands slid up, spreading you wider, while the other held your hip down when it bucked.

You let out a breathy moan, biting your knuckle to stay quiet. “L-Logan—”

He didn’t stop. He groaned low against you like you were his favorite meal, tongue flattening and dragging hard and slow right over your clit again—wet, unrelenting pressure that made your eyes roll.

Your hips jerked and he growled, fingers digging into your thigh. “Stay still.”

You whimpered, breath catching. “F-fuck—”

He pulled back just long enough to say, voice all gravel and heat, “That’s it, sweetheart. Just relax. Let me taste you.”

Then he dove back in, and this time he didn’t hold back—tongue pressing deep, lips sealing around your clit and sucking with filthy precision. The wet, obscene sounds of it filled the room, and your thighs trembled as heat snapped up your spine.

His hand moved, one thick finger sliding into you slow and curling just right, and your back arched off the bed, a helpless cry breaking from your throat.

“Fuck—Logan—oh my god—”

He moaned against you like your taste was the best damn thing he’d had all year, and when he added a second finger, stretching you, working you open, it was almost too much. You squirmed, gasped, toes curling as heat bloomed sharp and fast in your belly.

"A-ahhh—fuck, Logan—"

His tongue didn’t stop, his lips slick with you, beard damp against your thighs. “Mmhhhn,” he growled low, the sound vibrating right through your clit like a goddamn electric current. His fingers curled again, slow and dirty, dragging along that spot that made your back arch like a bow.

You reached down blindly, tangling your fingers in his thick hair, gripping tight. “S-shit—Logan, I’m gonna—”

He didn’t even lift his head, just sucked harder, lips locking around your clit, two thick fingers buried deep and fucking slow, pushing you right over that edge without mercy. It hit like a damn freight train, ripped the air from your lungs.

"Logan—ohmygod—"

Your hips jerked, your thighs clenched around his head, and you came hard against his mouth, a helpless, strangled moan punching from your chest as your body shook apart under him. He didn’t stop—kept licking, slower now, easing you through it, savoring it like he wanted to bottle the sound of your wrecked breathing.

"Good girl," he rasped when he finally came up for air, voice dark and hungry, mouth glistening with you. "Fuckin' love when you fall apart on my tongue."

You were still panting, trembling slightly, your skin flushed all over. “Y-you’re a menace,” you managed, trying to blink him into focus as he crawled up your body.

He grinned, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then leaned in to kiss you, and you could taste yourself on his tongue. Hot. Filthy. You moaned into it, hands tugging him closer.

"Not done," he murmured against your lips. "Not nearly fuckin' done."

You reached down between you, felt him thick and hard through his sweats. He hissed between his teeth when your palm pressed against him, his hips twitching.

“Get these off,” you whispered, tugging at the waistband.

He didn’t waste a second, shoved them down and kicked them off, his cock springing free—thick, heavy, flushed at the tip and already leaking. You bit your lip at the sight, reaching to wrap your hand around him, stroking slow. He groaned, low and rough, head dropping to your shoulder.

"Fuck, darlin’... been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day."

"Yeah?" you murmured, breath hot against his neck, hand still moving. “About knocking me up again?”

He growled, deep and hot in his throat, hips rolling into your grip. “Mhm. Watchin’ you hold that baby—made me wanna bend you over right there and fill you up. Stuff you full, see if it takes.”

You shuddered, moaned softly, your thighs squeezing together. “Logan…”

He grinned, dark and wild, then reached down and hooked your leg over his arm, lining himself up with your entrance. His cock nudged against your soaked folds, teasing the head through your slick. "You want it?"

"God, yes—please—"

That was all it took. He pushed in slow, dragging a deep groan from both of you as you stretched around him. Inch by thick, fucking inch, he sank into you, filling you up with no resistance, just wet heat and pressure that made your head spin.

"Shhhhit," he breathed, eyes fluttering shut, jaw clenched tight. "Tight as ever… fuckin’ perfect."

You whimpered, clutching his arms as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours. The stretch, the fullness—it burned in the best way, had you writhing under him, thighs already trembling again.

"Move," you begged softly, voice catching. "Please—Logan—"

He did. Slow at first—rolling his hips in smooth, dragging thrusts that had your eyes rolling back, the head of his cock grinding deep, right where you were still sensitive. You gasped, clawed at his back.

"That what you need?" he rasped, breath hot against your ear. "Want me to fuck another baby into you?"

You nodded, whimpering, too far gone to answer with anything but a broken moan. “Uh-huh—ahh—yes—f-fuck—”

He picked up the pace, thrusts harder now, deeper, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the quiet room. You could hear the chair scraping faintly under the doorknob every time the headboard knocked against the wall. Didn't matter. Let it fall. Let it shatter.

“You’re gonna take every fuckin’ drop,” he growled, one hand sliding under your thigh to lift it higher, angling deeper, harder. “Gonna make me a daddy again, sweetheart?”

You cried out, eyes wide and hazy. “Y-yeah—yeah—want it—want you—”

"That’s my girl," he groaned, slamming into you, pace relentless now. "Gonna breed this pretty pussy till you’re knocked up. Fill you so fuckin’ deep you’ll still be leaking me tomorrow."

You moaned, helpless under him, his body caging you in, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside. It was too much, too good—your second orgasm building sharp and fast. Your nails bit into his back.

"L-Logan—gonna—I'm—fuck—"

"Yeah, baby, I got you," he panted, snapping his hips harder, faster. "Come on my cock—"

You shattered around him with a scream, back arched, body clenching down so tight around him he cursed loud against your throat.

“Fuuuck—you’re squeezin’ me—shit—!”

He slammed in hard one last time, then froze, cock twitching deep as he spilled into you, growling loud and low through gritted teeth, his whole body shaking. You felt it—hot, thick spurts of come painting your insides, filling you up just like he promised.

He stayed there, buried deep, chest heaving, his weight warm on top of you as both of you tried to catch your breath.

Then he chuckled, breathless, voice still wrecked. “That’s one hell of a start.”

You snorted, weakly swatting at his arm. “You're insatiable.”

He smirked, nuzzling into your neck. “With you? Damn right.”

His cock was still twitching inside you, and he didn’t move—just held you, sweaty and tangled, not caring about the mess between your legs, the heat of your skin sticking to his. You stroked a hand through his hair, still dazed and sore in the best way, heart thudding against his chest.

You didn’t say anything else for a long moment. You didn’t need to.

Then Logan shifted, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were warm, wild, a little wicked. “Round two’s gonna be messier.”

Your breath hitched. You smiled. “Good.”

---

A few weeks later, Sierra sat at the kitchen table drawing a picture for Rachel with her crayons. You were at the stove, making a pie for Jean and Scott.

Logan and Laura sat with Sierra, both of them reading—Logan a newspaper, and Laura a comic.

Then, Sierra spoke up. “Daddy, how are babies made?”

Logan choked on his coffee as Laura let out a snort. "What?"

Sierra tilted her head, blinking at him innocently. "How are babies made?"

Laura snickered again, hiding behind her comic. "Yeah, Dad. How are they made?"

Logan shot Laura a pointed glare. "Not helpin', kid."

You pressed your lips together, fighting to stay serious as you turned to Sierra. "Why do you ask, honey?"

"'Cause Rachel is a baby, and Jean said she grew in her tummy," Sierra said, still coloring carefully. "How'd she get in there?"

Laura’s eyes sparkled with mischief. "Yeah, Dad. How did Rachel get in Jean’s tummy?"

Logan’s jaw ticked. "You’re grounded."

Laura rolled her eyes, clearly not taking his threat seriously.

You sighed softly, leaning against the counter. "Well, Sierra, when two people love each other very much—"

Laura snorted again, louder this time. Logan shot her another look. "Laura."

"Sorry," she said, not sorry at all.

Sierra looked at Logan expectantly. "So how'd she get in there?"

Logan rubbed a hand over his face, sighing heavily. "Magic."

Sierra's eyes widened. "Magic?"

Laura laughed outright this time, ducking behind her comic to hide it.

You shot Logan an amused glance. "Really? Magic?"

Logan shrugged defensively. "You got somethin' better?"

You walked over, gently brushing Sierra’s hair back. "Babies come from love, sweetheart. When two grown-ups love each other very much, they decide they want a baby. Then one grows in the mommy’s tummy."

Sierra frowned thoughtfully. "Like planting flowers?"

Laura snorted loudly again. "I’m gonna die."

Logan leaned toward Laura, lowering his voice. "Keep it up, kid, and you’re gonna have this conversation next."

Laura immediately sobered, returning quietly to her comic.

"Sort of like planting flowers," you said gently. "A seed gets planted, and it grows into a baby."

"How does the seed get there?" Sierra asked, eyes big and curious.

Logan cleared his throat loudly, folding his paper. "I’m gonna go chop some firewood."

You shot him a pointed look. "Logan."

He sighed, looking resigned as he turned back to Sierra. "The seed... just gets put there."

Sierra narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "By who?"

Logan’s eye twitched slightly. "The... other grown-up."

You smiled sweetly at Logan. "Good job, honey."

He shot you a dry look. "Thanks."

Sierra seemed satisfied enough, nodding thoughtfully. "Oh. Okay."

Logan exhaled in relief, taking another careful sip of coffee. Laura smirked behind her comic.

"So, Daddy put the seed in your tummy when you had me?" Sierra asked suddenly, eyes brightening with realization.

Logan promptly choked again.

Laura burst out laughing. "Amazing."

Logan pointed a finger at her, voice rough. "Grounded. For real."

Sierra smiled happily, oblivious to Logan's distress. "Right, Mommy?"

You patted Sierra's head gently, trying not to laugh at Logan's red face. "That’s right, sweetheart."

Sierra grinned, returning to her drawing. "Daddy’s good at planting seeds."

Laura howled with laughter, dropping her comic. Logan groaned, covering his face with his hand.

You bit your lip, fighting back a laugh. "Maybe let’s talk about something else now."

"Please," Logan muttered weakly. "Anything else."

---

The next afternoon, Logan walked into the living room, wiping sweat from his forehead with the edge of his shirt. He paused when he saw you sitting cross-legged on the couch, sorting through a box of tiny baby clothes.

He raised an eyebrow. "Ain’t wastin’ time, huh?"

You glanced up, smiling softly. "Just figured I’d see what we still have from Sierra."

He stepped closer, peering into the box and reaching down to lift a small yellow onesie. His expression softened as he ran his thumb over the tiny fabric. "Forgot how little these things are."

You chuckled quietly. "You said that about Rachel."

"Yeah," he murmured. He looked up again, studying you carefully. "You feelin’ alright?"

You smiled reassuringly. "I'm good."

He nodded, thoughtful. "So we really doin' this, huh?"

You tilted your head playfully. "Second thoughts already?"

"Nah," he said, voice firm. "Just makin' sure you're sure."

"I'm sure," you said warmly, tugging gently at his hand until he sat beside you. "How about you?"

His eyes softened. "Darlin', I was sure the second I brought it up."

You leaned in, brushing a soft kiss to his cheek. "Good."

Logan wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side as he watched you fold a tiny shirt. After a quiet moment, he cleared his throat softly. "Laura asked me about it earlier."

You glanced up curiously. "What did she say?"

"Asked if we were really thinkin’ about another kid," he said. "Think she likes the idea."

"That's good," you said softly, smiling. "Sierra already acts like a mini-mom anyway."

He snorted gently. "She bossed me around for fifteen minutes earlier ‘bout how to feed Rocky. Pretty sure that dog ain’t listenin’ to anyone but her now."

You laughed quietly, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Well, at least we know she’s ready to help."

He hummed softly, fingers gently tracing patterns on your arm. "Yeah."

There was a comfortable silence between you, Logan's steady heartbeat soothing beneath your ear. Then—

"Mommy," Sierra said from the doorway, her expression deeply serious, "Rocky ate my crayons again."

Logan sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Told you, he don’t listen to anyone but her."

You chuckled softly, sitting up to look at Sierra. "How many did he eat?"

She held up her fingers. "Three. And one was blue."

Logan grunted, standing up with a resigned sigh. "I'll handle it."

"Thank you," you said sweetly, earning a faintly amused glance from him as he headed toward Sierra.

"You're lucky you’re cute," he muttered affectionately to Sierra, ruffling her hair gently as they disappeared into the hallway.

You smiled to yourself, settling back against the couch and resting a hand lightly on your stomach, already looking forward to the chaos ahead.

---

Just a week later, you got your period. You weren’t necessarily disappointed—you and Logan had only tried once.

You stepped out of the bathroom, catching Logan’s curious glance from where he sat on the bed, tying his boots.

"No luck?" he guessed.

You shrugged lightly, unbothered. "Not this month."

Logan raised a brow, mouth curling into a faint smirk. "Guess I'll have to try harder."

You snorted, rolling your eyes playfully. "Yeah, I guess you will."

He leaned back on the bed, studying you carefully. "You good?"

"Yeah," you assured him, stepping closer. "Took a few months with Sierra too, remember?"

"I remember," he said quietly, pulling you toward him until you settled comfortably against his chest. "I ain't worried."

You smiled, fingers playing lightly with his collar. "Neither am I."

He brushed his thumb along your hip. "Besides, practice makes perfect, right?"

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "Always looking on the bright side."

"Hey," he teased, voice low and warm. "Never heard you complain."

You hummed, leaning up to kiss him lightly. "Guess we'll just have to try again."

"Exactly my plan," he muttered, lips brushing yours softly. "Tonight?"

“Mmh.” You scrunched your brows together. “No. Sorry, honey. I just wanna lay in bed and eat ice cream.”

Logan chuckled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. "Ice cream, huh?"

"Mmhm," you hummed, settling comfortably against his chest. "Salted caramel."

He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Pretty sure Laura ate the last of that yesterday."

You groaned dramatically. "Seriously?"

"Yup," he said, voice low and amused. "Saw her sneakin’ the tub back into the freezer."

"She’s your kid," you muttered. "Stealin’ my ice cream."

"Our kid," Logan corrected, thumb stroking lightly along your side. "And Sierra steals your cookies."

You sighed heavily. "I never get anything around here."

Logan snorted. "Welcome to my world, darlin’."

You smiled faintly, tilting your head to look at him. "Can you go to the store?"

He raised an eyebrow. "For ice cream?"

"Yes."

"Right now?"

You gave him your best pleading look. "Please?"

Logan groaned softly, head dropping back against the pillows. "Fine."

You grinned, kissing him quickly. "You’re the best."

He rolled his eyes playfully, shifting you carefully off his chest as he stood. "I’ll remember this next time I need a favor."

You stretched lazily across the bed. "I’ll be here waiting."

Logan gave you an amused glance as he grabbed his keys from the dresser. "Don’t doubt it."

You heard his footsteps fading as he walked down the hall, followed by Sierra’s curious voice. "Daddy, where you goin’?"

"Your mom needs ice cream," Logan answered gruffly.

"Ooh," Sierra said excitedly. "Can I have some?"

"Nope," Logan said firmly. "You and your sister ate hers already."

There was a brief pause. Then Sierra called toward your room, voice filled with concern, "Sorry, Mommy!"

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. "It’s okay, baby!"

Then, the front door opened and shut, and a few seconds later, Laura’s head appeared in the doorway of your bedroom, eyebrows raised.

"Dad went out just for ice cream?" she asked skeptically.

You shrugged innocently. "He loves me."

Laura smirked. "You’re spoiled."

"Jealous?" you teased.

Laura shrugged lightly, a grin tugging at her lips. "Maybe."

You chuckled softly. "Good. You should be."

Laura shook her head, turning to leave. "I’ll tell Sierra to leave you alone ‘til he’s back."

"Thanks, Laura," you called after her.

A moment later, the house was quiet again, and you relaxed into the pillows, smiling to yourself. A quiet night, ice cream, and Logan—exactly what you needed.

---

A few nights later, the house was finally quiet. Laura and Sierra had both been asleep for at least an hour, and Rocky was curled up contentedly on his bed in the living room.

You stood by the kitchen sink, absently rinsing dishes from dinner, lost in thought until Logan’s hands slid around your waist, pulling you back gently against his chest.

“Kids asleep,” he murmured softly against your ear, voice low and warm.

You smiled, leaning into his warmth. “Mm. I noticed.”

His lips brushed the side of your neck, lingering softly. “Rocky’s passed out too.”

You laughed quietly. “You sound like you’re plotting something.”

“Maybe I am,” Logan muttered, teeth scraping lightly along your pulse point, making your breath hitch.

You set the dish down, water dripping off your fingers as you turned in his arms, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Feeling lucky tonight?”

His eyes darkened slightly, hands tightening around your hips. “Yeah, darlin’. Pretty damn lucky.”

You chuckled, fingertips brushing lightly along his jaw. “Confident.”

Logan’s mouth curved into a faint smirk. “Got every reason to be.”

He leaned down, capturing your mouth softly, the kiss slow and deep. You melted into him, fingers gripping his shirt as he pressed you back gently against the counter. When you finally broke apart, breathless, you smiled against his lips.

“Guess we should make the most of a quiet house,” you whispered.

“Exactly what I was thinkin’,” he agreed, voice rough.

He didn’t waste another second. Logan lifted you easily, setting you onto the counter and stepping between your legs. Your breath hitched as his hands slid beneath your shirt, tracing warm paths along your skin.

“You think tonight’s the night?” you asked quietly, eyes locked on his.

Logan smiled softly, brushing your hair from your face. “Hope so.”

You laughed, hooking your ankles around his waist and tugging him closer. “Then we better get started.”

Logan’s eyes sparked with amusement and heat. “Yes, ma’am.”

He leaned in again, kissing you hard and deep, hands gripping your hips firmly. You let yourself get lost in him, warmth curling low in your stomach as he pulled you flush against him, grinding slowly, deliberately, the friction making you gasp softly into his mouth.

He broke the kiss briefly, his voice ragged against your ear. “Gonna take this to the bedroom, darlin’. Counter ain’t exactly comfortable for what I got planned.”

You laughed breathlessly, fingers tangling in his hair. “Lead the way.”

He lifted you easily off the counter, keeping you wrapped securely around him. You pressed slow kisses along his neck, smiling against his skin as he carried you toward your room.

“Better lock the door,” you teased quietly.

“Way ahead of ya,” he muttered, kicking the door shut and clicking the lock into place.

You didn’t even get a word out before Logan’s mouth was on yours again—hot and demanding, like he hadn’t just had his hands all over you ten seconds ago. He walked you backward toward the bed without breaking the kiss, one hand gripping your ass, the other tangled in your hair.

By the time the backs of your knees hit the mattress, you were already gasping into his mouth, dizzy with heat. He eased you down onto the bed, crawling over you slow like a fucking wolf, all heat and weight and hunger.

You slid your hands up under his shirt, fingertips brushing hot skin and hard muscle. “Off,” you mumbled, tugging at the fabric.

Logan grinned against your neck. “Bossy tonight.”

“You love it.”

“Damn right I do.”

He sat back on his heels, yanking his shirt over his head in one smooth pull. You reached for your own, but he caught your wrists.

“Nuh-uh, lemme do it.”

His voice had gone low, dark—gravel scraped through honey. He peeled your shirt up slow, kissing every inch of skin he revealed. Stomach. Ribs. The underside of your breast. He paused there, nuzzling warm against you, lips dragging over the swell. You arched into him with a soft gasp, fingers tightening in the sheets.

Then he wrapped his mouth around your nipple, sucking slow, deep—just once—before switching to the other, tongue flicking in lazy circles until your breath hitched and your thighs rubbed together on instinct.

“Logan…”

“Shh. I got you.”

He kissed down your belly, thumbs hooking into your waistband, dragging your shorts and panties off in one slow pull. His gaze never left yours. Even with the heat low in his belly and the tension buzzing through his limbs, he wasn’t gonna rush a damn thing.

“You ready?” he asked, fingers trailing up the inside of your thigh.

You nodded, breath caught somewhere in your chest. “Please.”

That smug little smirk curved across his face, and he leaned in, kissing you again—soft this time, like he was savoring it—while his fingers slid down and dipped between your folds.

You moaned into his mouth, your hips rocking up as he rubbed slow circles over your clit, his fingers slick and teasing. Then he pushed one inside—slow and deep—and you gasped, clutching at his shoulders.

“Fuck—Logan—”

“That’s it,” he muttered, sucking on your bottom lip. “Already soaked for me. You really want this, huh?”

You nodded again, barely coherent. “Want you. Want you to fuck a baby into me.”

He groaned low, forehead dropping to yours. “Jesus, sweetheart…”

He added a second finger, curling them just right. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan, body trembling as his fingers fucked into you slow and steady.

“I’m gonna knock you up tonight,” he growled, kissing down your throat again, biting at your collarbone. “Gonna make you a mama all over again. You’re gonna feel it, darlin’. Gonna know it took.”

Your walls fluttered around his fingers, your thighs clenching. “Logan—fuck—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he rasped. “Gimme one. Right here. All over my hand.”

He pressed his thumb against your clit and you broke—moaning, shaking, clinging to him like you’d fall apart without him. Your pussy clamped down on his fingers as you came, soaking his hand with a whimper that died against his shoulder.

He eased you through it, kissed the top of your head, then reached for the pillow, shoving it under your hips with practiced ease.

You blinked up at him, still breathless. “Logan—”

He was already stripping out of his sweats, his cock thick and flushed and heavy in his hand as he lined himself up, eyes locked on yours.

“You want it?” he asked, voice wrecked. “Want me to fill you up?”

You bit your lip and nodded, legs spreading wider. “Please.”

He sank into you with a deep, guttural groan, one hand gripping your thigh, the other planted beside your head. His body was hot, heavy, every thick inch of him pushing slow and steady until he bottomed out, hips flush against yours.

“Fuck,” he hissed, forehead resting against yours, breath hot. “This pussy’s gonna take all of me tonight, huh?”

You whimpered, legs wrapping tighter around his waist. “Always does…”

“Yeah?” He rocked his hips, slow, deep, grinding against your cervix until your back arched. “Gonna take my come too, sweetheart? Gonna let me put a baby in you?”

“God—yes,” you breathed, hands clutching at his back. “Wanna make you a daddy again.”

That sound he made—half growl, half moan—went straight through you. “Fuckin’ hell, you say that again and I ain’t gonna last long.”

“Do it,” you whispered, eyes locked on his. “Come inside me. Fill me up. Knock me up.”

Logan snarled, hips snapping forward, hard. “You filthy little thing… beggin’ to get bred.”

“I want it,” you gasped, breath catching with every ruthless thrust. “Need it.”

He fucked you harder then—rough, relentless, the bed creaking beneath the rhythm of his hips slamming into yours. His hand left your thigh and pressed against your belly, right above where he was buried inside you.

“Right here,” he growled. “Gonna fill you up so full you’ll feel it for days.”

You cried out, nails dragging down his back. “Please—Logan—fuck—don’t stop—”

“I ain’t stoppin’,” he panted, grinding down. “You’re takin’ me so fuckin’ good. This tight little cunt’s made to keep me in, yeah?”

You could barely breathe, every thrust knocking the air from your lungs, pleasure spiking sharp and high. “Gonna—gonna come—”

“Yeah?” He leaned in, mouth against your ear. “Then do it. Milk my cock, sweetheart. Get yourself good and ready to catch.”

You shattered around him, legs locking tight around his waist, your whole body pulsing as you screamed his name into his shoulder. He kept going, driving through your climax, chasing his own with that low, animal growl rising in his throat.

“Fuck—you’re squeezin’ me so tight—fuck—I’m gonna come—”

“Do it,” you begged. “Come inside me—please, baby, I need it—”

Logan slammed deep and stayed there, cock throbbing as he came hard, spilling into you with a choked moan, burying his face in your neck.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he breathed, body trembling. “That’s it—fuck, that’s it, take it all…”

You felt him twitch inside you, his come hot and thick, filling you until it leaked out around him.

He didn’t move for a long moment—just laid there, buried deep, one hand splayed across your lower belly like he could feel it taking.

Then he lifted his head, eyes half-lidded and dark. “That oughta do it.”

You gave him a dazed little smile. “Think you got it in one?”

Logan grinned, kissed you lazy and slow. “Maybe. But better be sure.”

His hand slid down, slow and sure, knuckles brushing between your legs—right where you were still stretched around him, messy and slick with the load he’d just pumped deep inside. His eyes stayed locked on yours as two fingers pressed to your swollen folds, spreading you open just enough to watch it drip out.

“Fuckin’ shame,” he muttered. “Wastin’ good it like that.”

You shivered, hips twitching as he eased a finger back inside, slow and deep. You gasped, back arching slightly. "Logan—"

"Shh," he murmured, voice low, gravel-smooth. “Lemme make sure it stays where it belongs.”

He added a second finger, thick and insistent, curling them inside you like he knew every sensitive spot by heart—and he did. His thumb rubbed lazy circles over your clit, just enough to make your breath catch, not enough to push you over yet.

Your hips rocked into the motion instinctively, body still greedy for more. “God… you’re not done with me?”

He snorted, lips brushing your cheek. “Sweetheart, I’m just gettin’ started.”

His fingers pumped slow, deliberate, his palm slick with a mix of your arousal and his come, still leaking out around his knuckles. You whimpered, clenching down on him, thighs shaking.

“You feel that?” he muttered, dragging his lips down your neck, letting his teeth scrape lightly across your skin. “That’s mine. All of it. Gonna keep pushin’ it in ‘til your body holds on tight.”

“Logan—fuck—” you moaned, legs spreading wider for him. “You’re gonna make me come again…”

“Good,” he growled. “I want you to. That sweet little pussy soaks me every damn time, ‘course you’re gonna come.”

He curled his fingers again, hitting just the right spot, and your whole body jerked, toes curling. You could hear the wet, obscene sound of it—his hand working between your legs, your pussy clenching greedily around him like it knew what he was trying to do.

“I can feel you pulsin’ around me,” he rasped, kissing down your chest. “Just like that. Keep squeezin’. Gonna milk it all up inside you.”

You bit your lip, desperate to hold it back, but your body had other plans. With a sharp cry, you came hard, thighs clamping around his wrist as your cunt spasmed around his fingers, milking them like it wanted to keep every drop of him inside.

“There it is,” he breathed, watching your face like it was the only thing that mattered. “Fuck, you’re so goddamn pretty when you come for me.”

You twitched beneath him, breath ragged, and Logan gently eased his fingers out, slick and dripping. He watched the mess on his hand for a second, then brought it to your mouth.

“Taste what you’re takin’ in,” he muttered.

You opened obediently, sucking his fingers between your lips, tasting salt and heat and something that made your whole body ache with want all over again.

He groaned, leaning in to kiss you slow, deep, filthy. “You’re gonna get pregnant from this,” he whispered against your mouth. “I fuckin’ know it.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, breath still catching in your throat. “Think so?”

He grinned, cocky and warm, brushing his fingers lightly over your belly. “I’d bet on it.”

You gave a tired, blissed-out laugh. “You always so sure of yourself?”

He nuzzled close, lips grazing your ear. “Only when I know I’m right.”

[leashybebes]

i don't have a prompt to give you but like. thank you for all of your writing today, it really made me feel some kind of fantastic way. (did you have an idea for a prompt that hasn't been sent in? consider me asking for that.)

you are so kind and i am so late with this. HOWEVER. have 1.7k of...something.

5 times tommy kisses someone on the cheek, one time someone kisses him on the cheek

1.

His date to junior prom is called Michelle. She's his lab partner in chem class, and she has pretty brown hair, tumbling in curls to her shoulders. Tommy picks her up from her house, because Michelle's really sweet and there's no way he wants her anywhere near his asshole dad.

His friends are all talking in the run up about how they're gonna get laid, and Tommy jokes along because, well. It's not like he doesn't wanna have sex. Of course he does. Michelle's great.

So he picks her up from her house and he hands her a corsage and her mom takes photos and her dad gives him a hard glare that rolls easily off the shoulders of someone who's lived in Thomas Kinard's house all his life and Tommy's hands are sweating and his suit is uncomfortable and her dress is pretty and he doesn't know how to dance and he's so fucking relieved that someone spiked the punch and at the end of the night he walks her home and kisses her on the cheek.

He kisses her on the cheek and she does the same to him, leaving a peachy-orange smear of lipstick and Tommy walks around the neighbourhood until it's late enough that he doesn't think his dad will be awake to bust his balls for being home early, and he doesn't try to figure out whether the feeling rolling in his gut is relief or disappointment. 

2.

His mom won't look at him in the aftermath. It's the first time his dad's ever been on his side in an argument. Well, kinda. If shut up, Sarah, it'll make a man out of him and Christ knows I haven't been able to can really be called being on Tommy's side. His dad had signed the paperwork when his mom had refused, so they all knew this was coming, but his mom's been tearful and furious and a little drunk ever since. 

Tommy's seventeen and he leaves for basic in the morning and his mom still won't look at him.

"Mom, c'mon," he says, trying one last time. "I'll be fine."

"You don't know that," she says, and he hates and regrets how scared she sounds, but he just - he can't stay here.

"I'll write you," he promises. She still doesn't look at him, so he bends down and kisses her cheek. Her skin still smells of the same Nivea Creme it has his whole life, the stuff that comes in the little blue tin.

"I love you, mom."

He lets the door close quietly behind him, doesn't make the trip down to the den to say anything to his dad. Nothing left to say there.

3.

The first man Tommy fucks more than once is called James. They meet in a bar, Tommy blows him in the bathroom, and James suggests they get a motel. They do, and he proceeds to make Tommy see god for the rest of the night and into the early morning hours. They talk after - James works in finance (boring, he says, but I'm not complaining about the money. Tell me more about firefighting, though), he's lived in California his whole life. He tells Tommy how cute he is, how much he'd like to see him again.

He's maybe ten years older than Tommy and so handsome it makes him ache. Tommy's so caught up in it that he doesn't think twice about the fact that they either go to Tommy's little shithole apartment, or James says something about treating him and whisks Tommy away to a fancy hotel in San Francisco or Malibu or even Portland once, for a three night stay where they barely left the bed.

He doesn't think about it until he sees James at the grocery store one day and approaches with a smile, with his heart beating harder in his chest the way it always does when he sees that handsome profile, that scattering of salt through the thick pepper of his hair.

"Hey," he says, and in the aftermath, he can hear the excitement in his voice, the ridiculous way it dips and rises on a single syllable.

James's eyes widen for a split second and he says, "Oh, hey. Tommy, right?" and Tommy has a split second to be confused before he registers the woman at James's side, the way James is putting an arm around her waist, the way he's saying, "Honey, this is Tommy, we go to the same gym. Tommy, this is my wife Suzanne."

Tommy feels sick. He feels like he's going to pass out. He feels like he isn't real. James's eyes are wide and terrified, and Tommy can't believe - 

He smiles and shakes her hand, ducks his head to kiss the cheek she offers him (whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck). 

"It's lovely to meet you," he says, like he isn't in the middle of his own personal apocalypse, like fire isn't raining down on him from the sky.

Stupid, he thinks as he walks away from them, abandons his basket, has a panic attack in his truck. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He doesn't hear from James again.

4.

Tommy's been dating Jackson for three months. They haven't really defined it yet, haven't had the are we exclusive talk, because Jackson's a little younger and he hasn't been out for long. Not that Tommy has, either, but he's trying to be cool. And anyway, it's not often that Tommy gets to feel more experienced than the people he's dating, more knowledgeable, more settled, more queer.

The sex is crazy good, and Jackson's cool with Tommy's weird schedule - they met on a call, after all, so he knew right from the start - and more than anything, it's fun. They don't just fuck, which has been most of Tommy's relationships since James, and that's not - it's not a complaint. Tommy's pretty settled in his own company. But Jackson likes art, and karaoke, and baseball and hiking, so they date. They're dating. Tommy likes it a lot.

And then.

"I think I met someone," Jackson says, and his eyes are sparkling, his smile bringing out a dimple Tommy doesn't think he's ever seen before. Tommy can't even be mad. "I think he's really special," Jackson says, as though that needed saying, with the look on his face.

"I'm happy for you," Tommy says, and he is. He is. He's just also a little…wistful. Not all the way to sad, but…yeah. Wistful. A sense of oh, that could have been something.

They part outside the coffee shop which, on reflection, should have been a sign. They've never just met for coffee before.

"Hey," Tommy says, and gives Jackson a hug, kisses him on his soft cheek. "Don't be a stranger, okay? Good luck with your guy."

"You're so cool, Tommy," he says, and Tommy smiles like that's enough.

5.

Tommy was not expecting Evan Buckley.

Wasn't expecting him to capture so much of Tommy's attention as he's flying through the tail end of a literal hurricane. Wasn't expecting to spend so many hours dissecting that tour and their texts running up to it. (Was that flirting? Was that? Okay, but that had to be, right?) Wasn't expecting to kiss him in his bougie-ass kitchen and watch a softly stunned expression spread over his gorgeous face.

Wasn't expecting that mortifying first date to leave him feeling anything other than like he'd dodged a bullet. Wasn't expecting Evan to reach out again and look at him in the sunshine with so much hope on his face that it makes Tommy feel like he's turned completely transparent and Evan's looking right into the mess at the heart of him. He certainly wasn't expecting an invite to a wedding, of all things. And he definitely wasn't expecting Evan to kiss him - try to fucking inhale him - in the hospital lobby in front of god and everybody and then drag him into the wedding like he's the guest of honor or something.

He also wasn't expecting the enthusiasm, the abandon, the sheer confidence with which Evan took him home that night and took him to bed and took him apart. 

Oh god, Tommy thinks, once Evan's fallen asleep and Tommy's wide awake in the city lights that aren't muted at all by the decor appropriate but definitely not black out blinds on Evan's huge windows. This one's gonna hurt.

He kisses Evan's cheek, warm with sleep, rough with stubble. Evan turns towards Tommy in his sleep, one hand reaching out, a soft murmur leaving his parted lips.

Yeah. This one's gonna hurt real bad.

+1. 

Another coffee shop. Another hopeful smile. Another time that Tommy's heart turns over in his chest at the sight of Evan Buckley.

But everything is different now. Evan is different now. He's marked by grief, and he's more serious than Tommy's seen him, and he's so - he's so calm as he lays it out:

"Listen. I haven't stopped thinking about you. Through all - all this. Through everything before. I miss you. I really miss you, Tommy. I miss the way you see me. The way you know me. The way you like me. I miss your shitty sense of humor and your bitchy eyebrows and how kind you are. Tommy. God, Tommy, life is so short. I want to try again. What do you want?"

Tommy feels like the world is tilting under his chair, like the coffee is going to come back up, like he's on fire.

"That," he makes himself say through numb lips. "I want that. Evan, I want - "

"Okay," Evan says, and smiles, small and real. He leans across the table, big hand tilting Tommy's head, soft lips pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to the angle of his cheekbone. "Okay."

Tommy closes his eyes, tries to imprint every little part of his moment into his memory. Wants to go to his grave remembering exactly how that kiss felt, the smell of Evan's aftershave, the touch of his fingertips, the warmth of the sun.

Evan sits back in his chair and Tommy thinks be brave. Be brave for him. Be brave.

"Hey," he says, and fiddles with his cup. "I'm pretty sure you're the love of my life."

Evan smiles and catches hold of Tommy's hand, brings it to his lips and kisses it. "Well. That works out nicely."

[mydearzero]

The Babysitter | Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x fem!Reader

Summary: You didn’t have any superpowers, nor were you even qualified for the position, yet somehow a mishap between Alexei and Yelena ends up in getting you a new job. Bob-sitter. 

Contents: No Y/N, fem!reader, college student!reader, no warnings apply for this chapter.

A/N: Wow chapter 2 only one day later? Crazy! I already promise that's not a rate I'll keep up, lmao.

Read it on AO3 Chapter 1

Chapter 2 - Keep Him Happy

1.5K words

So, Bob was not, in fact, a child. He was a grown man who seemed perfectly capable of taking care of himself. His face was somewhat youthful, so you weren’t sure exactly how old he was, but you’d wager it was older than you. 

“Why is it exactly that you need a babysitter?” You asked directly. No use beating around the bush. You ignored the whole flashback memory thing, guessing you’d be enlightened with the details when the rest of the team came back. It wasn’t exactly a fond experience. 

“Well, I wouldn’t say babysitter… It’s just, uh… best to not leave me to my own devices, I guess,” he shrugged. You nodded awkwardly, not sure what to make of the situation. The promised pay was good, you wouldn’t actually have to take care of him, just keep him company. It didn’t seem like a bad deal. 

But even then, he was obviously unstable. Maybe what he needed was a mental health professional, not a ‘babysitter.’ You were probably just a temporary solution. 

You sat in an awkward silence for a while, sipping your drink every now and then trying to think of a lighthearted topic to entertain him with. “So… Tell me about yourself, Bob.” 

“Well, I’m… Bob. Short for, uh, Robert, as you might’ve guessed,” Bob nodded. You sighed inwardly, this was going to be tougher than you expected. Children were usually a lot easier, willing to tell you all of their and their parent’s business. Cats were even better, no need for talking. Bob was going to take some work. 

“How’d you end up here, with these people, I mean?” You wondered. He seemed normal enough, but obviously the ‘New Avengers’ cared about him enough to try and keep him out of harm's way and around their building. 

“It’s kind of a funny story, really. One second I’m in Malaysia in some lab for a medical study, the next I wake up in this bunker with these guys trying to kill each other…” 

You squint your eyes in question. “That is… Funny?” 

“Yeah now that I’m putting it like that it doesn’t sound very funny, does it?” Bob chuckled. It seemingly broke some of the tension. He asked you a few questions about yourself and your contact with Alexei. 

“He seems very sweet,” you concluded. Bob agreed, letting you know the man definitely had his heart in the right place, though sometimes a bit overenthusiastic. 

He told you about the rest of the team, and you noticed he was inconspicuously perceptive. He went one by one, wasting time by talking about the people surrounding him most days. 

“Yelena looks really tough, and she is! But she’s really a big softie,” Bob spoke of her very fondly, a twinkle of adoration in his eyes. 

“Ava’s a bit of a tough nut to crack, but she has a really good sense of humour. She’s a bit more reserved, but really has your back when you need her. She’ll deny it, though.” 

You poured yourself another glass of soda, offering Bob one as well. He declined but thanked you for the offer to a degree which dazed you. You took a mental note of the skittish demeanour. 

“John’s an asshole. Can’t really put it anyway else. He’s here, he’ll show up for the others, but… I can’t really say I’ve come to like him like the others. I’d put it as toloration. I mean he has a history… But who doesn’t? Doesn’t give him the right to be a douche, you know?” He obviously had a strong sense of righteousness, and John did not fit into that picture. 

“And lastly there’s Bucky, but I’m sure you know about him. Congressman and such. He’s not around here much. He tries to be, but I feel like he’s still a bit wary of the team. Part of me thinks he just doesn’t want to get attached, which I can understand, given his past…” Bob looked out the window, seemingly lost in a deep thought. His eyes glazed over and an overwhelming sadness overtook his face. It’d gotten dark in the time you’d been here, the city skyline lit up with artificial lighting. 

“Whatever you do, try to keep him happy, distracted and away from danger.” Yelena’s words echoed in your head. There was likely a good reason for the particular instructions. 

“Well, Bob, thank you for opening up and telling me about them. I feel like we’re likely gonna be spending some more time together, so I really appreciate that you feel safe enough to share,” you smiled, distracting him from his spiralling thoughts. 

Bob smiled before looking a little confused at his own actions. You felt like he might’ve maybe shared a little more than he’d intended. 

You were racking your brain for another topic to talk about when the elevator doors opened once again. Bob deflated, hunching in on himself and making himself visibly smaller. You hadn’t even noticed how his posture had opened up during your conversation.

It was Yelena and Alexei, joking with each other in, was that Russian? They walked in as if they hadn’t just fought off whatever it was that had ransacked the subway and blasted itself into the building. You looked at them expectantly, waiting to finally get an explanation. 

“Ah, right, babysitter. It’s quite late, maybe you should head home?” Yelena suggested, cracking her neck while unloading a few weapons on a side table like she was dropping off her keys after coming home from the office. 

“Was this just a one time thing, or will I be coming back?” You wondered. You could use the money.  

“That depends… Bob? Do you like her?” 

Bob spluttered and gaped at Yelena, unsure of how to answer. “I– I mean, yeah, she’s– She’s nice. I don’t know what you want me to say.” 

“We can find different babysitter if you want. Many more on the app,” Alexei chimed in as he huffed and puffed, trying to get his suit off in the middle of the living room. It looked more like he was doing a form of experimental yoga. 

“No, no. This one’s fine,” Bob winced. You’d really have to come up with a different title than ‘babysitter’ if this was going to become a lasting thing. 

“Good, then she stays. Ava and John are debriefing Bucky. It was just some lowlife with some experimental tech, but man, whatever he was shooting with stung like a b–” 

“Lena, language, we have guest,” Alexei shushed her. Yelena rolled her eyes in response. 

She nodded her head at you, motioning for you to come with her. You shot Bob a quick glance, who gave you a tight lipped smile but seemingly encouraged you to go with her. 

Yelena took you to a smaller separate sitting room and offered you a glass of whiskey, which you refused. “No drinking on the job,” you laughed. 

“So, you’re probably wondering, why does a grown man need a babysitter? Well, I’m gonna explain. But first, what did Bob tell you?” she started, sitting down next to you and leaning on the back of the couch, resting her head in her hand. You mimicked her relaxed posture, putting a leg up on the couch. 

“Not much, really. He told me a bit about you guys and how you met. He mentioned something about a medical study in Malaysia, but other than that nothing too memorable.” 

“Did you happen to shake his hand?” Ah, there it was. Yelena could tell by your expression the answer was yes. 

“Yeah, it happened to us, too. You see, Bob… He’s very strong. Stronger than all of us combined. But he’s not stable. He’s a bit of a grey area in the team. We keep him around because he’s nice, of course, but also because we can’t risk anybody else trying to get on his good side and abusing his trust.” She took a sip of the whiskey, relishing its taste before continuing. 

“We’re still not really sure what his powers are, and it’s also not up to me to disclose all of the information besides the basics. All I can tell you is that we can’t risk taking him into the field, but we also can’t risk leaving him alone for too long. His abilities are closely tied to his mental wellbeing. It sounds a little degrading to describe it this way,” Yelena winced. She evidently had very conflicting feelings on the topic. You understood it must be difficult, wanting to keep him out of harm’s way without babying him. 

“But it’s really a matter of keeping him happy and distracted when it’s necessary. He needs help, a lot of it, but we just haven’t had the time to figure out how to go about it. So for now, this is it. I’m sorry for all the confusion, but with a ‘job’ as unpredictable as ours, this is the reality. Can you handle that?” Her gaze was piercing, as if she was trying to read every single thought crossing your mind. 

“You care about him deeply,” you observed. 

She gave a fond smile. “I do.” 

“Then I think I can handle it. As long as I don’t have to lie to him or beat around the bush, I can do my best to keep him company and help wherever I can. I can’t promise I’ll be perfect, but I’ll try.” 

“That’s all we ask.” 

It was settled, then. You were hired. 

TAGLIST: @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @hopes-peak-akademy @rattheraddestrat @i-shall-abide @puer-aurea @kennywantskfc69 @spectacled-studies @hiddlebatchedloki

[thechaoticcherub]

A Problem (pt 1?)

Pairing: Dad!Joel x reader (and actually some Joel x Tess)

Summary: You are essentially a terror who's obsessed with your dad and HATES that Joel might fuck other people

Warnings: NSFW 18+, INCEST, DDDNE, age gap, reader is 18, sex, p in v, voyeurism, lying, feelings, not proof read or beta-ed oops, reader is a fucking terror and maybe a bad person idk, no actual sex between reader and joel(YET)

Notes: welll i'm dipping my toes back into writing more with some dad!joel i'm guessing i'll write a part two for this but tell me what you think.

You had a problem. It was a deep seated problem that wormed around in your subconscious, buried so far below the surface that half the time you couldn’t tell if it was real. It festered and burrowed in the back of your mind, wriggling in all those tight, uncomfortable places. It was your Dad. Joel Miller to the government. Mr. Miller to the kids on your street. Joel to Uncle Tommy. Daddy to you. You had never stopped calling him Daddy as you grew up and there was a part of you that began to wonder about that when you curiously started to google ‘daddy/daughter kissing’, watching your first clips of fake father and daughters…usually mitigated with the word ‘step’ in front of the words. 

Sometimes you wondered if Joel knew because you had never had a boyfriend, never talked about crushes like your friends did. But he was happy that you weren’t interested in boys, it made things easier for him. You never accused him of sexism because he had to scare away boys with threats of violence, because boys simply never happened. You barely spent time with girlfriends, squashing Joel’s considerations that maybe you were a lesbian. You wanted to spend most of your time with him. So you spent your teenage years close with your father. But your problem was growing all the time, gnawing on something inside of you, as if eating away at the wall you had put up to protect yourself from your problem. 

You had never even really been attracted to boys at school, or movie stars, or boy bands. No. The only person who had done anything to make your heart skip or your legs to quake was your dad. Ever since you were young. Back when he went on dates you would throw tantrums and be such a terror for the babysitter that he’d have to come home early. But you knew he had found ways around you to satiate his needs. You had seen the condoms in his bedside table drawers when you snooped in his room.  You had smelled lingering perfume on his pillow when you would lie down next to him in bed and request he read a chapter of your book to you. It infuriated you but you could never explain why, at least not to him and not really to yourself. 

You had thought for a while that he had stopped sleeping around, while you were in high school you never found condoms when you snooped, you never caught him with lipstick on his t-shirt but then only a week after your graduation party, curiosity had gotten the best of you so you stole his phone and read through his texts and got a rude wake up call. Messages to and from a woman named Tess. All similar and straight to the point:

 When can you come over?

Pick up condoms on your way.

My kids at a friends tonight, I’m off work now. 

I’m horny. Need you. 

Can’t tonight, watchin’ movies with my little girl. Tomorrow though, been thinking of that pussy. 

 Any normal girl would be gagging at the thought of her father in a sexual relationship. Not you. No. You were furious. How dare this woman feel entitled to any part of your daddy! You hated every time your name came up in the texts. Whether it was as a reason why  he couldn’t go fuck this Tess person or saying that you were gone so he could have her over. Jealousy burned through you. He wasn’t supposed to do this. You thought he was past that and you wouldn’t have to worry about someone getting him in the way you wanted. The thought slipped out in your anger. You had never let yourself really think about that but that was exactly what it was. You hated Tess for getting Joel in a way that you weren’t. 

You decided you would ruin their fun. Just like you ruined all those dates when you were younger. You were not going to allow this. That was how you ended up coming home “early” from a friends house the next night.  That’s how you ended up sneaking upstairs, not wanting to ruin their fun right away. You stood outside his bedroom door, listening for a moment. Voices. The slap of skin on skin. A high pitched, excited gasps. Then a deep rumble of a moan from your father.   You could practically imagine it. You had been unconsciously imagining your dad in those situations for as long as you had understood what that was. You knew that now and you were finally starting to admit it to yourself. Maybe he had his hands on her hips and was taking her from behind, maybe she was on top of him and his chest was slick with sweat. Maybe the hair on his tummy was wet with it. You let your imagination work out the scenario, but the faceless woman he fucked in your mind always turned into you. You swallowed, this was the first time you let these images swim to the forefront of your mind. That wall you had put up between you and the wrongness of your desire had been torn to shreds now. 

You knew you needed to make your entrance soon otherwise the plan would be ruined so you gave yourself a moment to collect yourself and then you shoved the door open as if you were just coming into the house and looking for your dad to announce your presence. 

“Dad, I decided to come-“ You cut yourself off from your fake entrance speech as you stared at the scene in front of you. Everything must have only lasted a couple seconds but it felt like everything hung in that moment for so long. Joel was on top of this woman, both completely naked, the blankets you wrapped yourself in most nights were shoved down around the base of the bed. He was between her legs, pumping himself in and out of her, her legs were wrapped around him, her head thrown back in ecstasy. You could see sheen of sweat over his back, the tightness of his thighs and ass as he pressed himself into her. You barely had a chance to register your father’s cock, buried to the hilt in this other woman when he jumped so bad and yanked the blankets back up around them. 

“What the FUCK!?” You shouted, it sounded completely believable because it was still how you felt, regardless of whether or not you knew what you were walking into. You hated this woman for what she was doing to your daddy. You were furious at your daddy for doing this in the bed you cuddled him in. 

“Jesus Christ, pumpkin, I thought-“ He started to talk as he wrapped the blankets around his waist. 

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my GOD!” You screeched, turning away from the bed. “How could you DO this!?” You shouted as you rushed out the door of the bedroom. 

“Wait-honey! Wait a second!” Joel let out an exasperated sigh and you heard Tess groan in frustration. You had to bite back a smile as you went to the stairs to run away. 

“Doesn’t she knock?”You heard Tess say and it infuriated you enough to wipe the smirk off your face. There was movement from upstairs and you started to put your shoes on, giving them time to get downstairs before you actually ran out the door. You feigned franticness as you heard steps on the stairs and Dad rushed down, followed by a very sheepish looking Tess who was working on putting her purse over her shoulder. 

You got your shoes shoved on and you started towards the front door, “No, please dont let me interrupt you!” You shouted sarcastically. 

“Honey, calm down!” Joel said, he reached out and grabbed your arm, stopping you from marching out the front door. Tess fumbled down the hallway, 

“I’m just going to go, see you, Joel.” She said to him, lifting her hand to him. The insinuation that she would be back and the way she knew her way around the house so easily sent you into another flurry of rage, 

“No you WON’T see him! Get out, fucking whore!” You shouted, sounding more and more like a child by the second. Joel’s hand tightened on your upper arm and he pulled you around to face him but you struggled, trying to rip out of his grip. When you couldn’t get out of his grip you started trying to hit him, around his shoulders, around his chest. 

“Hey! Quit it, kid!” You didn’t listen, you continued to try to pummel your father with your fists, even though one of your arms was trapped in his grip. You felt a sob rising in your chest. You had planned this whole thing but you hadn’t planned for how upset seeing it would make you. You wanted him more than anything else and seeing him give it to someone else made you sick. The sob escaped before you could hold it back, you feebly smacked at him again and he grabbed your other upper arm in his grip, now holding you by bother your arms and gave you a little shake, “What has gotten into you, honey?” he asked, sounding more worried than angry now. 

Your watery eyes met his brown ones, you didn’t know what to tell him. You were scared it was all going to tumble out of you without your permission if you opened your mouth without a plan. 

“You…why…” Your jaw jutted out. “You aren’t supposed to do that!” You said. Joel snorted, 

“How the fuck do you think you got here?” He asked and it made you even angrier.  You glowered at him,

“You aren’t supposed to do it anymore.” You clarified. It was Joel’s turn to look  little angry, he let go of you and took a  few awkward steps back. He had managed to get his jeans and a white t-shirt obut in the frenzy of getting dressed, his pants were still undone and it was obvious he wasn’t wearing any boxers.

 “I know it probably grosses you out to think of your old man…doing that…” He sounded uncomfortable, and God, if only he knew how little it grossed you out.  “Let alone…seein’ it the way you did, I’m sorry about that.” He avoided eye contact with you. 

Your cheeks heated up, your heart hammered in your chest and you found yourself longing to touch him. You watched as he uneasily reached down to do up his pants and your eyes lingered on the bit of pubic hair you could see until it was covered by his jeans. Your eyes flicked up to his and you watched something cross over his face. Had he noticed you look? Joel shifted where he stood. “But even I got needs, kiddo and…I know you don’t want to have this conversation-“ It was funny because you had orchestrated this very conversation. Forced it into being and here he was, thinking you were uncomfortable with it. You stared at him, your eyes on his, your tongue poked out and ran along your bottom lip as you watched him. “But what you saw was perfectly normal and uhh…I mean someday you’re goin to want to…with boys…like-“ he cleared his throat, “When you go to college.” You could tell how much he hated the idea of you having those feelings and you wished so badly that he understood that the only person you had ever wanted, ever needed like that was him. 

“No.” You said quietly, taking a step towards him, “No, Daddy. I’ll never want that from boys in college.” You were very clear about your wording.  

“Honey, we don’t gotta pretend you ain’t a maturing young woman-“ You watched his eyes flick down, you could have sworn they lingered momentarily on your breasts. Maybe that was just your hope. 

“Daddy,” you took another step towards him, looking up at him. “I hate that you were doin’ that with Tess.” You said, your lower lip stuck out in a pout. “I don’t want you to do that anymore,” You told him. Joel raised his eyebrows and leaned down towards you,

“Well, I’m sorry, sweetheart but you don’t get to make rules for your dad-wait, how did you know her name is Tess?” He asked. 

Part Two

[the-shadesys]

Thanks for the tag! :D

This is probably gonna be kinda long and rambly, since I love to talk (about myself/my interests) and I cannot keep things short, ever.

1. Three ships I like:

I don't really do shipping, to be honest. I'm more interested in found family (headcanons) and shipping characters in a queerplatonic way. Most if not all ships that I like I'd like just as much if not more if they were (queer)platonic. But I guess I ship Miles Edgeworth and Phoenix Wright (Ace Attorney), although I'm again more interested in other kinds of relationships. There's also Aventurine and Dr. Ratio (Honkai Star Rail). And I guess Kaveh and Alhaitham (Genshin Impact). I think certain ships can be interesting to explore and think about but I rarely seek out fanart and fanfics for ships.

2. First ship ever:

Zutara (Zuko and Katara from Avatar: The Last Airbender). Nowadays I'm pretty neutral towards it. I don't dislike it but I now headcanon Zuko as aroace (I am kinda projecting on him there, I admit) and am generally more interested in seeing and reading stuff that's centered around other kinds of relationships.

3. Last song you listened to:

Should be Ocean Planet by Ornithology and Barnes Blvd. It's lofi and we usually listen to it when we're stressed, need to concentrate or no other music is right at the moment (& causes sensory overload). We pretty much always listen to it on loop and I think it was our most-listened-to song in our Spotify Wrapped for last year. I like the way it sounds like ice cubes in a glass of water, clinking together. It's very calming and I like how it doesn't feel too warm (some songs do that for me, might be some form of synesthesia) and doesn't have a lot going on.

4. Fav childhood book:

Lord of the Rings, hands down. It was what really got us into (high) fantasy and reading. We've read it a bunch of times since when we read it in third grade for the first time. We've watched the movies too, of course, and liked them a lot.

5. Currently reading:

Nothing, really. There's a bunch of books we started reading but I don't know which one we read last at this point. Maybe one of our books about linguistics & conlanging? I do wanna get back to reading but there's so many things going on and so much stuff we wanna do that I don't really know when (and also which of our books to read).

6. Currently watching:

I did watch a few episodes of the Loki show (Marvel/MCU) a few weeks ago but haven't been watching anything more recently. I like the show but already know what happens in it and have seen a bunch of clips from it. I was also distracted by a lot of other stuff.

7. Currently craving:

I don't really know right now. Maybe chips though? Something salty and more like a snack, since I already had dinner a while ago.

8. Currently consuming:

Nothing. Gonna drink some water in a bit though, and then I'll go to sleep.

9. Pets:

We have a dog! My mom and I also do voluntary work where we take care of a bunch of animals every week, so they kinda feel like my pets in a way, too. There's donkeys, chickens, a pony, a flock of sheep that like to be petted and cuddle, and two cats (one of which always comes up to be pet by me and he's very cute!) <3

I'm not gonna tag anyone because that kinda stuff makes me anxious and I also don't really know who to tag.

This was fun though!

Get to know the blogger

Thanks for the tag @faggylittleleatherboy

1. Three ships I like: jegulus (marauders), anderperry (dead poets society), narlie (heartstopper)

2. First ship ever: idk, probably Rapunzel and Flynn Rider

3. Last song you listened to: Kill For You - Gigi Perez

4. Fav childhood book: The Magic Faraway Tree - Enid Blyton

5. Currently reading: The King's Men - Nora Sakavic

6. Currently watching: Greys Anatomy

7. Currently craving: Dominoes pizza

8. Currently consuming: just had some water

9. Pets: I'm not allowed pets where I live, but I have a cat back home

npt @zsrntyouil @mairon-goth-minion @mushroom-enby @wishiwereheather13 @overthemoons7 @equippedtolove @andytheoverthinker @woefulstar @cbartonscoffee + anyone else

[myinaru]

Childhood Best Friend Complex - Part 3

You and Heeseung have been best friends forever. Emphasis on forever. Like, learned-how-to-walk-together type of forever. But college throws a wrench into your usual routine: one night blurs a line that was never supposed to move, and suddenly, everything feels different. Now there’s weird tension, awkward silences, and unspoken things you’re both too stubborn to say out loud. You don’t know what’s worse, pretending nothing’s changed or admitting everything has. Because staying friends? That was always the plan. Wanting more? That was never supposed to happen.

Pairing: Lee Heeseung x Fem!Reader

Genre: College AU, Childhood Best Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Smut, Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 39.6k Total (13.4k - Part 3)

Warnings: Dry humping (hell yeah), Corny maybe idc, Lots of misunderstanding, Mentions of multiple kpop idols, Cursing, Cunnilingus, Unprotected sex (pls don't), Praising, Heeseung is a yearner, Lmk if I missed anything lol

Author's Note: First time uploading here lol. This fic was heavily inspired by the manhwa/webtoon Childhood Friend Complex. I'll be splitting it into three parts since Tumblr won't let me post it in one go. Hope y'all enjoy T-T

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

It’s late.

The hallway outside your apartment is quiet except for the distant hum of a fluorescent light buzzing overhead.

Heeseung’s been standing in front of your door for five minutes.

He’s already raised his fist to knock twice—stopped himself both times.

He’s not sure if he even should be here. What if you didn’t mean it? What if you only said it because the elevator was too small and the air too thick and his words too much?

He shifts the weight between his feet, about to turn around- But the door opens.

Heeseung startles.

And there you are, framed in warm light.

Wearing his hoodie. The old gray one with the frayed sleeves and stretched cuffs. The one he left at your place a year ago claiming it was already too small anyway, but secretly hoping you’d wear it one day.

You blink at each other for a few seconds.

“You came,” you say, voice small, like maybe you didn’t think he actually would.

“Yeah,” he answers. “…You told me to.”

“I did,” you murmur. Then step aside. “Come in.” He steps in.

Takes off his shoes.

You both walk to the living room like you’re strangers in your own bodies.

No music. No movie playing in the background. No excuses. Just the couch.

Just you and him.

Heeseung sits on the far end. You sit on the other. Like there’s a wall between you, made of the things you didn’t say for weeks. The silence is thick, unbearable. You pull your knees up to your chest.

You tuck your knees up onto the couch, facing him. Heeseung’s wringing his hands in his lap. He looks like he’s been overthinking this conversation since forever.

“You look tired,” you finally say.

“You look warm,” he replies, nodding to the hoodie.

You both almost smile.

But then the quiet returns.

And this time, it demands more than small talk.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “So,” he says softly, voice tentative, “this is the part where we actually talk, huh?” You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Guess so.” You both stare at the table for a beat.

And then, “Why didn’t you tell me it was you?” you blurt out.

He looks at you, startled.

“The notes. The photo. The stupid banana milk. Why didn’t you just say?”

He shifts uncomfortably. “I didn’t know how. After everything… I didn’t think I had the right to just show up in your life again like nothing happened.” You hug your knees tighter.

“So you left anonymous gifts like some messed up secret admirer?”

“I was trying to apologize.”

“By haunting me?”

“I thought you’d know it was me,” he says quietly. “I thought… I hoped it’d be obvious.”

You shake your head, bitterly. “No. It wasn’t obvious. It was terrifying.” Your voice breaks, but you keep going.

“You don’t know what it felt like, reading those notes and thinking it was her.”

He blinks. “Her…?”

“Yeri,” you admit, almost ashamed to say it. “I thought it was her. Trying to get in my head. I… I saw the handwriting and thought it looked like hers, and the weird phrasing in the notes, the way they kept showing up when I was alone. I thought she was trying to mess with me. To get to me through you.”

You look down, fingers curling into the sleeves of his hoodie.

“And I thought… maybe you let her.” The air sucks out of the room.

Heeseung goes completely still.

“What?” he breathes.

You finally meet his eyes. “You were always with her. At rehearsals. Talking. Laughing. I thought… I thought maybe she knew something I didn’t. Maybe she knew you better than I did.”

“No,” he says firmly, almost too fast. “Y/n, no. That’s not- no.”

He runs a hand through his hair, like he wants to tear something apart.

“She was just a partner. That’s it. She was nice to me, yeah, but… it wasn’t like that. It was never like that.”

“It felt like it,” you whisper.

He leans back, exhaling hard. “I didn’t know you thought that,” he says quietly. “I didn’t know you got scared. “Why didn’t you ask me?” You glance at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He swallows hard. That question stops him cold.

“Why didn’t you just talk to me, Heeseung?”

“Because I thought if I opened my mouth, I’d tell you I loved you.” Your breath catches. The words hang in the air like smoke. He smiles, bitterly. “And I didn’t think you wanted to hear that.” You stare at him. And something inside you cracks.

“You idiot,” you say, voice wobbling.

“I know.”

“We’ve known each other our whole lives.”

“I know.”

“And you thought anonymous banana milk was the move?”

He gives you a sheepish look. “I panicked.”

“Clearly.” You laugh softly, the kind that’s half-sob, half-hysterical. Then you look at him again. Your eyes sting. “I hated seeing you with her,” you admit. “I felt crazy for it. Like I wasn’t allowed to be upset because we were just… friends.”

“We were never just friends.” Heeseung looks at you like he wants to say more, but he stops himself.

And that hesitation breaks your heart a little. “What?” you ask gently. “What are you thinking?” He hesitates again. “I want to kiss you.” You blink.

“But I’m scared if I do… I’ll mess everything up all over again.” Heeseung stares at you like he’s searching your face for an answer he already knows but doesn’t believe. “I don’t want to take more than what you’re willing to give,” he adds.

“Heeseung…”

He sits back a little. Tries to play it off with a small, pained smile. “It’s fine. We can just talk. I mean, it’s been weeks of not talking. Talking is already a miracle.” But you don’t want to talk anymore. Not right now.

You lean in.

And you kiss him.

Your hands grip his jaw like you’re grounding yourself in him, like if you don’t, you’ll fly right off the earth. And he kisses you back like he’s been holding his breath for months and only now gets to exhale.

It’s not gentle. Not clean. It’s emotional. A little overwhelming.

It’s you saying I missed you.

It’s him saying I’m still yours, if you’ll have me.

His hands find your waist, tugging you closer. Your fingers thread through his hair. He gasps softly into your mouth, like he can’t believe this is happening.

But you both keep going.

No more silence.

No more pretending.

Only breathless kisses and shaky hands.

You finally pull back, both of you panting, foreheads pressed together.

Heeseung whispers, “You kissed me first.”

“It’s not the first time.” You whisper back, “Don’t make it weird.”

He smiles, wide and shaky. “You can’t disappear on me again.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“I swear.”

You're now straddling his lap, the air between you heavy and buzzing, like everything that happened before this had been leading right here. His lips are red, kiss-swollen, breath uneven. Your fingers are still curled in the collar of his shirt, and his hands haven’t left your waist. Not since you pulled him in like he was the only real thing left in the world.

Heeseung looks at you like he’s trying to memorize everything. His thumbs are tracing slow, grounding circles against your sides, like he's afraid that if he stops, you'll vanish.

“Are you sure?” he breathes, voice low, wrecked, forehead still resting against yours. “Tell me now if you want to stop. I’ll listen, I’ll stop, I swear.”

You shake your head slowly, eyes locked onto his. You don't pull back. You don’t hesitate.

Your voice is soft, but sure. “I want you, Hee.”

You don’t even remember who moved first. All you know is, one second you were looking into Heeseung’s eyes, chest heaving and heart racing, and the next, his lips were crashing into yours with a kind of hunger that tasted like years of holding back.

He kissed you like a man starved, like he needed to memorize the shape of your mouth to survive. His hands came up to cradle your face, gentle and reverent even through the desperate press of his lips. When he finally pulled away, just far enough to breathe, his forehead stayed pressed against yours, his breath warm and ragged between you.

“You don’t know,” he panted, voice gravelly and thick with emotion, “how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.”

His thumbs brushed along your cheekbones as if grounding himself, as if making sure you were real. “How many nights I’ve stayed awake thinking about this… about you,” he whispered, lips brushing yours again. “Imagining what it would be like to touch you again. To have you like this…”

Your breath caught as his hands slid down, firm and possessive, settling on your hips before tugging you flush against him. The hard line of his arousal pressed hotly against your stomach, and it made your pulse spike. His voice dropped to a whisper as his lips brushed your neck.

“I want you too,” he murmured. Lazy kisses followed his words, dancing along the curve of your collarbone. “So please… please let me be yours. I want to be yours again. I’m all yours, just tell me you’re mine. Just say it, and I’ll be yours. No one else’s.”

Your voice came out low, breathless, trembling. “You’re mine… and I’m yours. Only yours. For as long as you want me, Hee.”

The effect was instant. Heeseung’s whole body shuddered at your words, a guttural moan escaping his throat as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. “Fuck, Y/n,” he groaned, voice raw. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”

When he looked up again, his eyes were darker, glassy with lust and something else, something deeper. Yearning.

He slowly descended, lips never straying far from your skin. You felt the hem of your hoodie lift, his teeth gently tugging at the fabric. His hands traced slow patterns along your waist, fingers warm and careful as he slid the hoodie up. Your breath caught as he pulled it over your head, revealing more of yourself to him.

Heeseung stared like he was trying to burn the image into his brain. He cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over your bra. “I want to explore every inch of you,” he whispered, voice low and reverent. “Worship you like you deserve.”

You felt a sharp nip at your shoulder, followed by the soothing warmth of his tongue. Your skin was on fire everywhere he touched.

“Can I please touch you more?” he asked, his hands sliding lower, fingers teasing at the waistband of your pants. “Taste you everywhere?”

You barely managed to whisper, “Yes… please.”

Heeseung didn’t need anything more. He started pressing open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, tongue flicking out between each one. He dropped to his knees in front of you like it was instinct, like this was where he always belonged.

“Fuck, look at you…” he murmured, his hands smoothing up your thighs before cupping your ass with reverence. “You’re perfect.”

You gasped when his lips brushed your inner thigh.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” he said against your skin. “Tell me how to make you feel good.”

Your hand found his hair, fingers tangling into the soft strands. “Please… I need you.”

He growled softly at your words, hands gripping tighter. But you paused, blinking down at him.

“Wait… You're being unfair. I’m completely naked, and you’re still in every piece of clothing.”

You tugged lightly at his shirt, giving him a playful pout. “Take it off. Let me see you.”

Heeseung let out a shaky breath, the corners of his lips twitching into a smirk as he stood up.

“Yes ma’am.”

He stripped slowly, teasingly. First, his shirt, he pulled it off in one smooth motion, revealing his toned chest and abs. You couldn’t help but let your eyes roam, drinking him in. Then came his jeans, unbuttoned and pushed down with deliberate slowness until he was left in nothing but tight black boxers that barely concealed how hard he was.

He stepped back into your space, pulling you against him again.

“Now the odds are even,” he murmured, voice rough as his lips brushed your ear.

You chuckled nervously, eyes flicking up to meet his. “If someone told me months ago I’d be laying naked with my best friend on my couch, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

His laugh rumbled against your chest as his hands slid up your back. “Believe it now?” he teased, trailing kisses along your jaw.

You couldn’t answer. Not when his hips started rocking into yours, slow and deliberate, the heat between you overwhelming.

“You feel that, baby?” he growled, voice thick. “That’s all for you. Because of you.”

Your eyes raked down his body, fingers twitching with need. You trailed your hand over his abdomen, marveling at the way he twitched under your touch, before slipping your hand beneath the waistband of his boxers.

Heeseung groaned, head falling back as your hand palmed his arousal. “Fuck, Y/n… your hands feel so good.”

And then he was tugging your bra down, exposing your chest before taking one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it until you were arching into him. He gave the same attention to your other breast, his teeth grazing gently before sucking, leaving you trembling beneath him.

“I want to taste every inch of you,” he murmured, voice raspy with longing. “May I?”

You gave him the faintest nod, still hesitant as your fingers clutched the waistband of his boxers.

That was all he needed. He trailed wet kisses down your torso, stopping at your hips to nibble before he hooked his fingers into your panties and tugged them off, exposing you completely.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, eyes raking over you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

You tried to cover your face, but Heeseung gently pried your hand away.

“No hiding,” he whispered. “You’re perfect.”

His mouth found your inner thighs again, leaving a trail of fire as he kissed closer and closer to where you needed him.

"Are you ready for me, baby?"

You barely breathed out, "Just do it, Hee." And then his mouth was on you.

You barely had time to brace yourself before the first slow, deliberate stroke of his tongue parted your folds, dragging from your entrance up to your clit with maddening precision. Your entire body jolted, a breathy gasp spilling from your lips as he did it again—slower this time, like he was savoring you. His lips closed around the sensitive bundle of nerves, and he sucked, just softly, just enough to make your hips twitch and your thighs instinctively clamp around his head.

“Hee—” you gasped, the sound cracking in your throat.

He groaned against you, the vibration sending a fresh wave of heat up your spine. “Fuck, you taste so good,” he murmured, his voice thick, gravelly. “So wet for me already... I missed this so much, baby. Missed you.”

Before you could even process his words, his fingers joined the mix, slipping into your drenched heat with practiced ease, curling just enough to make you arch. His tongue kept up its relentless pace, licking and flicking at your clit with growing desperation, as if he couldn't get enough, like he’d been starved for you.

Your hand tangled in his hair, pulling, needing something to hold onto. “Feels so good…” you whimpered, hips lifting toward his mouth without even realizing. “Even I can’t make myself feel this good…”

He chuckled against you, the sound muffled and cocky and soaked in affection. “Damn right you can’t,” he said, lips brushing your slick skin. “No one else could ever touch you like this, baby. Only me. Only I get to have you like this.”

Your breath hitched. Your stomach tightened. Your eyes fluttered shut as his fingers curled just right inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made your whole body tense with need. “Right there..! Fuck… Heeseung, stop or else I’ll- He didn’t.

He didn’t even hesitate.

He doubled down. His fingers pumped faster, stronger, filling you with just the right amount of pressure while his tongue latched onto your clit, flicking mercilessly. You could feel the wet heat of his mouth, the way he groaned every time you clenched around his fingers like your pleasure was his oxygen.

His voice was a growl, low and ragged against your core. “Come for me,” he murmured, sounding like a man on the edge. “Come all over my tongue like a good girl, baby. I wanna feel it.”

You tried to hold on. You really did.

You bit your lip so hard you thought it might bleed, legs shaking uncontrollably as the pleasure built to a breaking point. Your hand tugged desperately at his hair, but he didn’t let up. If anything, he worked you harder, chasing your orgasm like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

And then you broke.

It hit you like a wave, sharp, hot, overwhelming. Your hips lifted from the couch, your back arched, and a loud, breathless cry of his name tore from your throat. You came undone against his mouth, your entire body trembling as your orgasm washed over you in blinding, white-hot pulses.

But even then… Heeseung didn’t stop.

He kept licking, gentle now, savoring every last drop of you like you were the most decadent thing he'd ever tasted. His hands stroked your thighs as you trembled around him, soothing you through the aftershocks, his lips pressing soft kisses along your inner thighs and hipbones.

“God,” he whispered, voice reverent as he rested his cheek against your leg, looking up at you with eyes dark with lust and adoration. “You’re even more beautiful like this… completely wrecked because of me.”

Your chest heaved, and you tried to catch your breath, but the look on his face, and the way his fingers still traced lazy circles along your inner thigh, told you he wasn’t done. Not even close.

He crawled back up your body, hovering over you with a smirk that was both wicked and loving. His lips brushed yours, and you could taste yourself on his tongue.

“You okay, baby?” he murmured, nuzzling your cheek, his hands never leaving your body.

Still breathless, your voice came out low and shaky as you stared at him with hooded eyes. “I need more of you, Hee…” you whispered. “I want all of you.”

Heeseung’s breath hitched the moment the words left your mouth, your quiet demand lighting a fire behind his dark eyes. He swallowed hard, gaze dropping briefly before he reached down, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers.

"You sure?" he asked, voice raspier now, thick with anticipation. "You say that, and I'm never gonna be able to hold back again."

Your response was a breathless nod, and that was all he needed.

He shoved the fabric down his legs and kicked it off without ceremony. Fully bare now, he climbed back over you, settling between your legs, where your warmth met the underside of his cock. You felt the way he trembled slightly, how his hips rocked forward slowly, coating himself in your arousal.

"You want this?" he asked, voice rough and hushed, like he was scared to wake from a dream. His eyes stayed locked on yours. "You want me to fill this pretty pussy with my cock?"

You swallowed thickly. Your brows furrowed, not from hesitation, but sheer arousal.

Heeseung’s cock was pretty, damn near angelic for how filthy the moment felt. Long and pale, with delicate veins tracing up to the flushed pink tip that throbbed against your entrance. You couldn’t help the shaky exhale that slipped out as your eyes flicked back to meet his.

“So bad,” you whispered, and he visibly twitched at your words.

“Fuck,” he muttered, half in disbelief.

Then he leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that left no space between you, heated, needy, full of everything never spoken. You felt the way he lined himself up with you, the tip pressing at your folds.

"You sure you can handle me, baby?" he murmured against your mouth, nipping gently at your lower lip. "Because once I start... I won't be able to stop."

Your only answer was another kiss, hands threading into his hair, pulling him closer.

With that, he pushed in.

One long, slow thrust. No warning, no easing in, just the smooth, agonizing stretch of him filling you in one go. Your breath caught. Your back arched. Your eyes rolled.

“Heeseung- fuck.”

He groaned deep in his throat, forehead resting against yours as he stilled inside you, giving your body time to adjust. You felt how hard he was trying not to move, how his arms trembled under the weight of his restraint.

“God, Y/n…” he whispered, voice trembling. “You feel so fucking good. So tight. So wet for me.”

He began peppering kisses along your jaw, down your neck, murmuring praises between each soft press of his lips.

“That’s it, baby,” he cooed, thumbs stroking the sides of your waist. “You’re taking me so well. You’re perfect for me, you know that?”

You whimpered under him, your body already trembling, your arms winding tighter around his back like you could anchor yourself to him. “Move, Hee. Please.”

Your voice was small. Wrecked. And maybe that was what undid him.

Heeseung let out a shaky breath, chest rising and falling against yours, his forehead pressing down against your shoulder. "Fuck," he whispered, almost to himself, like he was still trying to get a grip. His hips shifted slightly, cock twitching where it rested inside you, still unmoving, teasing. "You’re so warm, baby... So tight. I could stay like this forever."

You writhed beneath him, the tease of it too much, especially after the orgasm he'd already drawn out of you with nothing but his mouth and his stupidly perfect hands. You needed him to move. To take.

And he finally did.

Slowly, achingly slowly, he pulled back. You felt every inch of him drag against your walls, every ridge, every curve, slick and thick and perfect, before he pushed back in again. Smooth, deep, like he was trying to mold himself to the shape of you.

Your breath hitched. Your legs locked around his waist.

Heeseung moaned. Whimpered. A soft, cracked sound that tumbled out of his mouth like he couldn’t hold it in. He moved again. Another long, steady stroke that had your toes curling and your head tipping back. The rhythm was unhurried, hypnotic. He was savoring it. Savoring you.

“You feel that?” he gasped, voice trembling. “Fucking hell, Y/n... this pussy- God, you were made for me.”

His lips brushed your throat, then your collarbone, damp with sweat and hot breath. His body was tense over yours, muscles taut, every thrust deep and deliberate. He angled his hips just right, and-

You cried out, back arching. Heeseung groaned in response, his pace faltering just a little.

“Right there?” he murmured, dazed. “God, you’re clenching so hard, baby. You’re gonna make me lose it.”

You laughed breathily, trying to hold yourself together, but your body was already buzzing, oversensitive from before. “You make me feel so full,” you whispered, nails dragging down his back without a second thought. “So good. No one- no one ever makes me feel like this, Heeseung.”

And that broke him.

He stuttered in his rhythm, almost like he forgot how to breathe, and his face crumpled as if he physically couldn’t take hearing that. He dove down and kissed you, messy, desperate, all tongue and teeth and emotion. His hips stalled completely, cock twitching inside you while he got lost in the taste of your mouth.

“I’ll always make you feel good,” he breathed against your lips. “I need to. You're mine now, Y/n. Mine to love. Mine to protect. Mine to-” his voice cracked, “-fuck until you can’t remember anything else but me.”

You whimpered. You’d never felt so seen.

And then he started moving again, harder this time. Faster. No longer gentle. His thrusts turned sharp, snappy, claiming, each one punching a moan from your throat. His grip on your hips tightened, rough fingers digging into soft skin like he couldn’t bear to let you slip away.

The sound of skin against skin echoed around you. Wet, fast, heated. His name spilled from your mouth over and over again, “Heeseung, Heeseung, Heeseung,” like a prayer you didn’t know you were chanting.

“You hear that?” he panted, voice hoarse. “This is what happens when you tease me. When you look at me like I’m the only thing you want. When you say my name like it’s the only word you know.”

You gasped, mind spinning. You couldn’t think. Couldn't breathe.

“You’re driving me crazy,” you whispered. “I can't even- Hee, I can’t think.”

“Good,” he growled, and then, with a desperate, broken noise, “Fuck, baby, you’re driving me crazy too.”

You clawed at his back, arms hooked under his, pulling him closer until your bodies were flush. Your nails raked across his shoulder blades and he cried out, loud and choked and so needy, the sound raw in his throat.

“That’s it,” he whimpered. “Mark me up. Let everyone see. Let them know I’m yours.”

He surged forward, kissing you again, rougher this time, tongue plunging past your lips as his cock drove deeper and deeper, rhythm unraveling with each thrust. One hand slid to your throat, fingers wrapping gently around the column of your neck, just enough to remind you that you were his. Not hurting. Just holding. His.

“You’re squeezing me so tight,” he groaned, hips stuttering. “I’m- I can’t- fuck, Y/n-”

You couldn’t speak anymore. You could only gasp, body trembling, thighs shaking around his waist. “Hee, baby… I’m gonna- ohmygod… I’m cumming-”

That did it.

Heeseung let out the most devastated whimper, his whole body going taut above you as you clamped down around him, your orgasm crashing over you in waves that had your vision white and your ears ringing.

“Fuck, fuck, Y/n-” he sobbed, pulling out just enough before his hips bucked helplessly. His hand wrapped around his cock, and with one, two more strokes, he came, hard, spilling hot and thick across your stomach with a long, strangled moan.

His whole body shuddered.

He collapsed above you, catching himself on shaking elbows as his head dropped against your shoulder, his breath coming in ragged, shuddering pants. “Shit,” he mumbled, voice cracking.

“You... You ruin me.”

You giggled through the haze, looking down at the mess he made, cum sticky and warm on your skin. “You always make a mess,” you teased softly.

Heeseung laughed, breathless and still trembling, lips pressing against your neck.

“Only for you, baby,” he murmured. “Only ever for you.”

You looked down to face him, cupping his cheek, and for a moment all the heat faded into softness. He leaned into your touch, his eyes full of something deeper than lust.

“Was that okay?” he asked quietly, almost shy now. “Did I… satisfy you?”

You nodded, smiling up at him through the haze. “You were amazing. Like, ruin-me-forever amazing. But…” You looked down pointedly. “I do need a towel, though.”

His lips twitched, and he kissed your palm before slipping out of bed. “You don’t need to ask,” he murmured over his shoulder as he padded to the bathroom. “I’ll always take care of you.”

He returned a minute later with a warm, damp cloth, and you stayed quiet as he cleaned you up with gentle, careful hands, tender in a way that made your heart ache.

“There,” he said, tossing the cloth aside and lying down next to you. His arms wrapped around you tightly, his mouth pressing a kiss to your temple. “Let’s cuddle for a bit. And then I’ll cook us something. Sound good?”

“I’d like that,” you murmured. “Stay over for the night?”

Heeseung froze. His breath hitched like your words had plucked a string deep inside his chest. His eyes flicked down to yours slowly, searching your face as if to confirm what he heard was real. There was a softness in his gaze now, the kind that made your stomach do a slow, fluttering turn.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice almost too gentle. His thumb traced along your cheek, lingering like he didn’t want to let the moment go. “I don’t want to push or… rush anything. Not if you’re not ready.”

You rolled your eyes at him, the playful smirk tugging at your lips undercutting the thudding of your heart. “Come on. It’s not like it’s the first time we’ve spent the night together.”

That made him laugh, quiet and breathy. “Yeah. I know. But… it feels different this time, doesn’t it?” His voice cracked just the tiniest bit as he spoke, like he wasn’t sure if it was okay to be this honest. “I’m yours now… aren’t I?”

And just like that, your walls softened again. You nestled against his chest, nuzzling into the slope of his neck as your fingers toyed with the hem of his hair. “Yeah,” you whispered into his skin. “You’re mine.”

He rested his chin on top of your head, holding you like he never wanted to let go. “Well, since you’re sure,” he whispered, “then yeah. I’d love nothing more than to stay and hold you all night long.”

You sighed, then giggled softly, your breath brushing against his skin. “I know I love you and shit, but we both seriously need a bath.”

Heeseung burst out laughing, his whole chest shaking as he pulled back to grin at you. “Okay, okay, I can agree with that. We probably smell like-”

“Don’t say it.”

“-like sex.”

You smacked his shoulder lightly. “Gross, Lee.”

He only grinned harder, eyes sparkling. “What? It’s true.”

His eyes lit up with that familiar spark, amusement evident in them. “How about we take that bath together?” he offered, voice dropping lower. “I’ll be good. Promise. Well, mostly.”

He winked as he stood and reached a hand out to you. You took it, fingers wrapping around his, and he gave you a little squeeze, grounding you as always.

He led you to the bathroom, still completely bare and unbothered about it. Heeseung reached over to turn the taps, adjusting the temperature just right, then poured in a capful of lavender bubble bath like it was second nature.

“Want me to throw on clothes for this,” he said over his shoulder, glancing back at you with that boyish smile, “or stay like this? For the vibes.”

You arched a brow. “Who the hell takes a bath fully clothed?”

“Oh, thank god,” he said with mock relief, walking over and looping his arms around your waist. “Because I was really hoping you’d say that. I like it better when you look at me like that.”

He kissed your neck, slow, almost reverent. You felt his smile curve against your skin as he added, “I’m all yours, remember?”

“You’re so dramatic,” you said, chuckling, even as your arms came up to wrap around him. “Come on, Romeo. Let’s get in before the water gets cold.”

Heeseung didn’t need to be told twice. He lifted you easily, stepping into the bath with you in his arms. He sat back against the tub’s edge and settled you into his lap, the warm water wrapping around both your bodies.

“How’s this?” he murmured, his hands settling at your waist. “Comfy?”

“Yeah… just don’t get hard on me. I’m still sore.”

Heeseung made a wounded sound. “You say that like I have control over it.” He leaned in, whispering against your ear. “You’re naked. You’re on my lap. I’m only human, Y/n.”

You smacked his shoulder playfully, but the mood stayed light. A little intimate bubble where everything outside this bathroom felt far away. He massaged your sides gently, letting his thumbs trace lazy circles against your damp skin.

“Oh shit.” You pulled back slightly, eyes going wide. “Is your back okay? I might’ve scratched it up pretty bad earlier…”

He turned so you could see, and yeah, there were definitely a few angry red lines trailing down his skin. But Heeseung? He just looked proud.

“You kidding?” he said with a grin. “I love that. Seeing your marks on me? It’s… I don’t know. It reminds me that it was real.”

You traced one of the marks softly, guilt and something warmer curling in your stomach. He reached behind to tug you close, guiding your arms around his torso, until your chest was flush to his back and your cheek pressed between his shoulder blades.

“Besides,” he murmured, “I gave as good as I got.”

You laughed, heart thudding as the soft scent of the bubbles mixed with the warmth of his skin. “I still can’t believe we basically gave each other all our firsts.”

Heeseung’s breath caught. You felt it. A subtle hitch in his chest before he answered.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “First best friend, first crush, first…” He trailed off, a blush blooming high on his cheeks.

He turned to face you again, cupping your waist, and then your face. “None of it would’ve meant half as much if it wasn’t with you. Everything with you, it just feels right.”

You leaned into his touch, your fingers curling over his wrist. “God, you’re so cheesy when you’re soft.”

“Shut up,” he mumbled, lips twitching into a shy smile. “You like it.” You did. God, you really did.

“I do,” you admitted.

He rested his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut as his hands held you gently beneath the water. For a moment, everything was still, the rising steam, the fading lavender, the warmth of him around you like home.

“We should probably get out,” he said eventually, reluctant. “Before we drain all the hot water.”

You groaned dramatically. “I wanna stay like this forever. Or whatever. Don’t make me move.”

Heeseung’s arms tightened around you. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Me too.” He reached for the soap, starting to gently wash you, each touch careful, as if he thought you might break if he pressed too hard. But when he got to your more sensitive areas, his hands lingered just a little too long.

“But if you’re up for it,” he murmured teasingly, lips brushing your ear, “maybe I can show you more ways to make you feel good.”

“Heeseung-!” you gasped, bolting upright and sloshing water everywhere as you climbed out.

“We just talked about this!”

He was laughing again, standing up after you and grabbing towels. “I said maybe!” You wrapped one around yourself, grumbling, while he held out the other like a gentleman.

“Come here, let me dry you off,” he said.

He was gentle. He always was with you. He started at your shoulders and worked his way down, never once crossing a line, even though the flush in his cheeks said he was thinking about it. Once he was satisfied, he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, still dripping slightly from the bath.

“There we go. Let’s get dressed and I’ll make you something to eat.”

“Make your iconic ramen,” you said with a smirk. “Oh, and I actually bought you a hoodie and pants I was gonna give you as a gift. Totally forgot. You can wear them tonight.”

Heeseung paused, lips twitching into something between a smile and a soft expression you couldn’t name. His voice was quiet when he replied.

“Really?” he said, looking at you like you’d just given him something sacred. “You bought me clothes?”

You nodded.

He walked over, took your face between his hands, and kissed your forehead like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Okay then,” he whispered. “I’d love to wear what you picked for me.”

You don’t know how long he stood there that morning.

Heeseung hovered just outside the dentistry building like he had any business being there.

Hands shoved deep in the pockets of his hoodie, hood up like that’d somehow make him less noticeable. The path was still quiet, just a few students walking past, either half-awake or halflate.

He glanced at the time. 7:43 AM.

The first class usually started at 8 for you. He remembered that detail, not because he’d ever asked, but because of all the times your text replies stopped around then. It was stupid how much he noticed things like that now.

He waited until the hallway cleared before slipping in. The smell hit him first, formalin, minty hand soap, and a faint tinge of coffee grounds. Your department had a different scent than his. More sterile. Sharper. Like the pressure hung heavier in the air.

Heeseung moved fast, walking like he belonged even though the pounding of his heart made everything feel off. He passed by the row of lockers outside the pathology lab, scanning until he found yours. Fourth from the end, top row, tiny sticker of a cartoon molar on the handle. Still there.

He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out the candy, your favorite brand, the one he used to tease you for hoarding in high school. The packaging was slightly crushed from how long he’d been holding it, the edges a little wrinkled from second-guessing. It looked stupid now. Childish. But it was too late to back out.

The tape didn’t want to stick to the metal surface, he had to smooth it over twice, then tilt the packet a bit so it wouldn’t fall. It looked rushed. Sloppy. He cursed under his breath.

Then footsteps echoed down the hall.

Heeseung panicked, retreating around the corner near the stairwell, crouching low like a criminal instead of a lovesick idiot. He stayed there, hands on his knees, trying to breathe quietly. Then he heard it.

Footsteps. Familiar ones.

You.

He dared a glance.

You were walking toward your locker with that sluggish, already-exhausted gait you had on bad mornings. Hair pulled back in a loose claw clip. Backpack half-zipped. You looked like you hadn't slept properly, and you hadn’t even noticed the candy yet,your hand was already on the lock.

But then you paused.

You looked at it.

And he held his breath like the world was made of glass.

You didn’t smile. You didn’t gasp or turn around dramatically. You just stared at it, brow furrowing like you weren’t sure what you were looking at. He watched your hand hover in the air for a second before peeling the candy off carefully, like it might be a mistake.

You didn’t throw it away.

You pocketed it.

And just like that, Heeseung felt the tension that had clung to his chest for the last three days ease by an inch. He bit back a grin.

She knows. She remembers. She gets it. That was me.

You didn’t look around. Didn’t try to find him.

But hey, maybe you were just playing it cool.

Tuesday morning, Heeseung got there earlier this time.

Not stupidly early, but early enough that the corridors of the Life Sciences building were still half-lit and smelled like floor polish. He didn’t even go to this department. He was in media, technically, but he’d memorized the back way into your lab building the way someone might memorize the lyrics to a song that hurt too much to sing out loud.

He wasn’t dressed to be sneaky today. No hoodie. No hat. Just a grey T-shirt, jeans, and nerves.

The drink was cold when he pulled it from his tote, a banana milk with a bright yellow cap. Not the kind you get in vending machines. The kind you’d once argued tasted better “because it had childhood memories built in.”

He didn’t have a big plan. Just a sticky note. Pale pink, from the pack he usually used to mark film theories in his notebooks. The message was simple, scrawled in his regular handwriting, no effort to change it.

Hope today goes easy on you. Drink this.

He stuck the note gently to the bottle, smoothing it down once, then set it carefully on the desk you always claimed during morning lab. Second row from the front, right side, beside the wall. Far enough to avoid the air conditioner draft, close enough to the projector screen.

He didn’t linger. Just turned and walked back toward the exit, down the corridor toward his department’s building, where his own classes would start an hour later. But curiosity was a disease he’d never recovered from, especially when it came to you.

So he doubled back.

Stood half-tucked behind the door frame to one of the faculty lounges across the hall, pretending to scroll through his phone. The view was imperfect, your desk partially blocked by a standing whiteboard, but he could see the back of your head when you walked in. Hair pulled back again, different clip today. Slightly hunched shoulders. You were talking to someone, but your tone was quiet, clipped. Tired?

Then you reached your seat.

He watched you pause, then slow down.

You picked up the drink, looked at it like it was some kind of puzzle. Read the note. Held it in both hands like you were weighing its meaning more than its weight.

And then, there it was.

The smallest thing. A flicker of a smile. Your lips barely twitching. The kind of smile that you used to save for inside jokes and stupid text messages at 2 AM.

You didn’t laugh. Didn’t panic. Didn’t bolt. You didn’t search for whoever left it.

You just quietly tucked the drink beside your laptop and began pulling your lab coat on like nothing had happened.

And that was worse, in some way. More haunting.

Heeseung’s pulse jumped. For a second, he almost walked in. Almost said your name.

But something held him back.

Maybe you were playing it cool again. Maybe you weren’t ready.

Or maybe you weren’t mad anymore, just… done.

Still, he clung to the version of the story that hurt less.

She knows. She’s just waiting. Still pissed, yeah. But she knows it’s me.

The next day, Heeseung hadn’t planned on using the photo.

It was something he’d kept by accident, shoved in the back of a drawer with old receipts and a dried-out highlighter. He only found it when looking for spare batteries two nights ago. But the moment he saw it, slightly bent, colors faded at the corners, he felt everything all at once. The smell of wet pavement. The croissant you both joked had the texture of a brick. Your laugh echoing off the café's foggy glass window, turning an ordinary rainy day into something stupidly unforgettable.

And the worst part? You weren’t even doing anything in the photo. Just sitting there, looking out the window, half smiling at something he’d said. The camera must’ve caught it by accident when he was fiddling with his phone, probably trying to adjust a filter.

Still, he printed it out. Just one copy. From the convenience store kiosk near campus. The print was blurrier than he remembered, the colors washed out and uneven, but the memory was sharp. He couldn’t not leave it.

This time, he didn’t head for your lab or the locker areas. He didn’t think you’d see it in the morning rush. Instead, he found your lecture room in the Prostho department after asking one of your batchmates under the excuse of “trying to return something.” They didn’t question him. Just gave him the number of the classroom like it was no big deal.

He waited until the room emptied out after the previous class.

It looked like all the other lecture rooms, rows of seats with tiny, squeaky arm tables, fluorescent lights humming above. A faint smell of ethanol and marker ink lingered in the air. It was colder than it should’ve been. He hated how sterile it felt.

He walked straight to your usual seat and placed the photo gently across the chair’s table. No envelope. No post-it this time. No cutesy handwriting or cryptic messages.

Just the photo.

A silent Hey. Remember us?

Then he left. Quickly. Before your class could trickle in.

He didn’t wait in the hall this time. Didn’t try to sneak a peek through the glass panel in the door. He just went back to his department building, tried to focus on his own work, editing clips for a short film he no longer cared about, but his foot kept tapping restlessly under the desk.

Later that afternoon, someone from your year posted a blurry group selfie in your class’ shared drive, and he scanned the background, hoping to spot a hint of your expression. But nothing.

It wasn’t until much later, when he walked past your department’s side entrance on his way to the station, that he saw you through the window.

You were alone in a study nook. A folder open on the desk. You flipped through pages, then paused.

The photo. Tucked into the back sleeve like it was something you hadn’t decided what to do with yet.

You hadn’t thrown it away.

You kept it.

That should’ve made him feel better.

But your face didn’t look comforted. It looked… tired. Distant. And for the first time, the doubt started to creep in.

What if she doesn’t know it’s me?

What if this wasn’t her being guarded, or mad, or waiting?

What if she genuinely had no idea who was leaving these behind—and instead of making her feel seen, it was making her feel cornered?

Heeseung bit the inside of his cheek until it stung.

This one felt riskier.

The day after, Heeseung hesitated even before printing the photo, his thumb hovering over the kiosk button for what felt like minutes. The screen flickered under the harsh light of the convenience store, offering him three glossy options and a slightly overpriced polaroid-style print. He picked the polaroid. It just felt more... right. More them.

The photo itself was blurry, faded at the edges, slightly underexposed. Probably because it had been taken on his old phone, back in sophomore year. A rainy afternoon. The kind that soaked your socks and made your bones feel like they belonged to someone older.

He remembered that day like it was frozen in amber.

They’d skipped out on a department event, claiming a headache and a broken charger. Ended up tucked in the corner booth of a hole-in-the-wall café near campus. The croissants were burnt, the cocoa watery. The rain had come down so hard it made the windows fog. But Y/n had leaned into the seat, eyes sleepy, telling him something stupid about how that kind of day should be bottled up and sold like medicine.

He'd taken the photo without thinking.

Just her fingers wrapped around a chipped cup. The corner of the café sign half-visible through the steamed-up glass. A memory disguised as nothing.

And now he was placing it on her seat.

No note this time. No pink sticky reassurance. Just the picture. Quiet and daring. He hoped she’d recognize it. He hoped she'd see it and understand exactly what he was trying to say without him having to say it.

Hey. Remember us?

Heeseung didn't linger this time. He had a group shoot to help set up at the AV hall, and someone from his team was already calling about misplaced backdrops. Still, he made the short detour, third floor of the Dentistry building, just before prostho class began. The room was mostly empty, students trickling in late, hauling their models and groaning about occlusal reduction.

He didn’t expect her to catch him.

So when he later walked past the open lecture hall door, ten minutes into class, hair still damp from stress, he slowed.

Y/n was there.

He recognized the slump of her shoulders even before he saw her face. She was sitting at the back today. Alone. Unusual for her. She was normally the type to take the third row, close enough to catch the prof’s tone, far enough to avoid accidental eye contact.

But now she sat against the wall.

And the photo was in her hand.

Heeseung’s stomach twisted. She wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t fidgeting or biting her pen cap like she used to do when something made her feel shy or flustered.

She was just... staring.

Frozen.

Lips parted slightly. Brows pulled together like she was trying to make sense of what she was holding. Not like it was nostalgic.

Like it was a problem.

He ducked out of view before she, or anyone else, could spot him.

His chest felt tight. Like maybe he'd gone too far.

But she didn’t crumple it. Didn’t throw it away. Didn’t shove it under the desk with a scoff. Instead, she slid it into the side pocket of her folder, gently, like it still meant something. And that had to count for something. Right?

Maybe she’s overwhelmed.

But she gets it.

She knows it’s me.

He told himself that again.

He had to.

Thursday morning. This was supposed to be the lowkey confession.

Heeseung sat on the floor of the small media lounge in his department’s building, legs crossed, shoulders hunched, staring at the scrap of paper like it might catch fire. He’d rewritten the same sentence three times on three different pieces, all crumpled now in the corner of his bag.

He wanted this one to land right. Softly. Honestly. Like when you finally say something that’s been in your chest for years and hope, just hope, the other person has room to hear it. “Maybe you’ll notice me again one day.” No “please.” No name. Just that.

It wasn’t bitter. Not like the first two drafts, anyway. It was... shy. Hopeful. Not desperate. Just human. It read like a whisper, like a question someone’s too scared to ask out loud.

When he finally slipped the folded note into the inside cover of your private notebook. The one with the coffee stain on the spine and your name written inside the flap. He felt a weird stillness settle in his chest. Not calm. Not relief. Just stillness.

You always carried that notebook with you, even when you didn’t use it. He’d seen you pull it out between labs, flipping to a half-filled page of margin notes and doodles. It felt like a part of you, intimate but not off-limits.

He didn’t want to invade.

He just wanted to be close again.

Just... maybe close enough that this time, you’d turn around for him.

It’s now Friday.

No gift today.

Not because he gave up. He hadn’t.

But because he was scared.

Heeseung stood by the vending machine outside his department’s practice hall, half-watching the condensation drip down a bottle of green tea he didn’t even want. His mind wasn’t here, not really. He kept replaying yesterday. The notebook. Your expression. The way you dropped the note like it had teeth.

He hadn’t meant for it to feel invasive.

He just wanted you to feel seen. Like maybe if he whispered gently enough through these small things, you'd recognize him. But yesterday? You looked like someone who’d been cornered.

And that terrified him.

He didn’t leave anything today, not in your bag, not on your seat, not tucked into your folder like a secret. Not because he was out of things to say, but because... he didn’t know how to say them anymore.

He needed time to think. To recalibrate.

Maybe he’d try again tomorrow. Maybe he'd just say it straight next time: It's me. It's always been me.

But even that felt risky now.

Because during rehearsal, you barely looked at him.

Not in the shy, sweet way that used to make his chest go light. Not even in the cold, awkward way it had been after the fallout. This was something else entirely.

Your eyes flickered toward him once, maybe twice, but each time, they darted away like he was something sharp. Something you didn’t want to touch again. Something you used to know and now regretted knowing.

Heeseung tried not to show it. Tried to focus on the counts. The blocking. The choreography they’d run a dozen times before. But his rhythm kept slipping. He kept missing his marks. Not because of the steps, but because of you. Because you were there and not there at the same time.

And then Yeri passed you in the hallway.

He was behind her, a few steps away. Just grabbing water. Just walking back from a short break. He didn’t mean to overhear.

But the second she said it, he stopped walking.

"You look tired lately," she said, soft and casual. "Are you okay?"

He watched the way your shoulders tightened. The way your mouth opened fast, like your brain was scrambling for words.

“I’m fine.”

Too fast. Too hard.

Heeseung swallowed thickly. Something twisted in his chest. Like stepping into a room that smelled like home but looked like a stranger’s place.

That wasn’t how you used to sound. Not even when you were mad at him.

You weren’t just tired. You weren’t just annoyed.

You were scared.

And for the first time, Heeseung let the possibility emerge in his mind, one not even thought of until now:

“She thinks I’m someone else.”

And if she thinks that, if she doesn’t know it’s me, Then everything I’ve done might not feel like a comfort. It might have felt like a threat.

The note was supposed to fix everything.

It was his last card. His final shot at getting through to you without saying it out loud.

He’d spent Saturday afternoon in the corner booth of a café near his dorm, his untouched drink going cold while he stared at three different versions of the same quote. None of them felt right. Too stiff. Too on-the-nose. Too desperate. He wasn’t trying to beg. He just wanted you to remember.

In the end, he settled on the line you used to repeat under your breath while watching that old cartoon on his iPad in middle school, the one with the slow-burn enemies-to-lovers arc before you even knew what that meant. You used to giggle every time the main girl insulted the guy, because deep down, you knew she was in love with him.

It wasn’t just a quote.

It was yours.

“If I hated you, I wouldn’t know your favorite ice cream or where you hide when you’re overwhelmed.”

He copied it slowly. On smooth cream-colored stationery that looked like it came from the campus bookstore. Not too cheesy. Not too plain.

He folded it neatly. Wrote nothing else. No initials. No heart. No flourish. Just the words.

Because you’d know.

You had to know.

You needed to know.

He waited for a moment between rehearsals, after you'd left your bag on the bench and headed toward the vending machine. The hallway was empty except for the hum of the old aircon unit and a couple of tired dancers flopped on the floor by the studio doors.

Heeseung slid the note beneath your water bottle, glanced once over his shoulder, and walked away before anyone could see.

But as he walked across the quad minutes later, the air felt wrong. Heavy. Still.

Like something had been said, but no one had heard it right.

And maybe that’s what broke him a little, because for the first time since he started leaving those notes, he didn’t feel excited. He didn’t feel hope. He just felt tired.

Not because he thought you'd hate it. But because he still wasn’t sure if you'd even read it. If you'd recognize it. If you’d know it was him.

And if you didn’t… what then?

He doesn’t know when the doubt started exactly. Just that by Sunday night, he was staring at his ceiling with an ache in his chest that didn’t have a name. Not heartbreak. Not guilt. Just that hollow, miserable what if.

What if you were slipping away?

And what if he never even got the chance to ask why?

You wake to the soft sound of sheets rustling and the smell of something warm, linen and lavender and him. The light is creeping in through the curtains, soft and filtered, and for a second, you think you're still dreaming. Until you feel a hand lazily tracing circles on the bare skin of your back.

"Morning," Heeseung murmurs, voice husky and thick with sleep. He nuzzles the back of your neck, and you can feel the slow grin spreading across his lips when you stir.

"You're clingy in the morning," you mumble, not even bothering to hide your smile as you stretch, your body sore in places you’re both too shy and too smug to talk about just yet.

"You didn’t seem to mind last night," he says into your skin, his arms tightening around your waist.

You let out a small laugh, swatting at his arm without much strength. “I still don’t.”

You stay like that for a while, just wrapped around each other in the quiet. There’s no pressure to move, no rush to face the world outside this room. Just the steady rise and fall of your breathing, the warmth of his body against yours, and that stupid fond look on his face every time you steal a glance at him.

Eventually, you drag yourself out of bed, half-heartedly muttering about needing to brush your teeth. Heeseung only watches you go with a dazed smile, one hand folded beneath his cheek like he’s still half-asleep. But by the time you’ve finished at the sink and returned to the bedroom to grab fresh clothes, he’s gone, his side of the bed messy but empty.

You hear the clatter of pots in the kitchen.

Curious, and a little suspicious, you wander out barefoot. And there he is, shirtless in the hoodie you gave him last night, sleeves rolled up as he expertly stirs something in a pan like he’s auditioning for a cooking show. His hair is a mess. There’s a light sheen of sweat on his temples. But he’s humming under his breath and smiling to himself like this is the most natural thing in the world: making a ridiculous breakfast for two on a random Thursday morning after… whatever that night was.

You lean against the doorframe and cross your arms. “You’re being suspiciously domestic right now.”

He turns around, brandishing a spatula. “You’re welcome.”

You raise an eyebrow, eyeing the fluffy-looking pancakes, the scrambled eggs, the plate of fruit. “Okay, but why are you cooking like we’re on a honeymoon?”

Heeseung shrugs, but there’s a blush rising on his cheeks. “Dunno. Thought you deserved a good breakfast. You know… maybe this morning could be special.”

You walk over and pluck a grape from the bowl. “It is special,” you say softly, not quite looking at him.

Heeseung’s gaze lingers on you for a moment too long before he clears his throat and turns back to flip a pancake. “Good. That’s… good.”

You sit at the table, and he joins you a few minutes later with two plates, a glass of orange juice, and a sort of hesitant energy buzzing around him. Like he’s not sure where the line is now. Like he’s trying not to assume anything.

And you feel it too, this new kind of tension. But not the bad kind. It’s slow and syrupy. Tender. You’ve slept next to him before, but never like this. You’ve eaten breakfast with him before, but never with this much softness in the air.

Your phone buzzes against the table, breaking the comfortable silence between you and Heeseung.

You don’t move right away. The light from the window is soft. His plate is nearly empty. Yours has a single pancake left, already cold, but you don’t mind. Something about the silence between you two feels full instead of empty.

Another buzz. Then another.

Heeseung lifts his fork lazily, glancing up with a knowing look. “Group chat?”

You groan as you reach for your phone. “Yup. They’re already panicking.”

You scroll through the notifications, eyes scanning line after line of frantic typing in [FestiCoord - Death Penalty].

VICKY:

where tf is everyone?? i’m not carrying this arch alone

SUNOO: where’s y/n??? weren’t u on supplies and leftover booth duty??

JAEMIN:

bro i thought she was leading the backroom sort lol

YERI:

where’s HEESEUNG. he’s supposed to be helping with the prop van

SUNOO:

oh yeah lol. is he even alive?? didn’t see him leave the plaza last night

VICKY:

wait weren’t y/n and heeseung like… friends? can someone tag her to wake her up and drag his ass here

HAYI:

pretty sure they don’t talk anymore??

JAEMIN:

damn that’s awkward lmao

SUNOO:

still. if anyone knows where that guy is, it’s probably y/n

VICKY:

ugh just tag both of them i’m dying here

You read that last message and feel your breath catch in your throat for a second, not because they’re on to you. More because they aren’t.

“They’re looking for us,” you say, voice low, scrolling with your thumb. “Well… mostly you.”

Heeseung leans closer, peeking at the screen. “Oh, so I’m the favorite now?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Yeri literally name-dropped you. No one even remembered we were friends.”

He pauses, blinking. “Ouch.”

You shrug. “We kinda gave them nothing to work with.”

He leans back again, thoughtful. “Still weird, though. Like… they just forgot?”

You glance at him, something bittersweet tugging at your chest. “We were both ghosts for a while. Everyone just filled in the blanks.”

He nods, slow. “Guess that worked out for us.”

You shoot him a look. “Worked out how, exactly?”

He grins. “Now we’re a surprise.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips tug up anyway. You start typing, keeping your tone casual.

YOU: yo chill i’m awake!! on the way soon. don’t collapse without me pls

Almost immediately:

VICKY: FINALLY y/n do u know where heeseung is too??

SUNOO:

can u text him?? we need him like… yesterday

JAEMIN: he’s on prop van duty. he’ll understand once he sees the disaster

YERI:

just tell him to be here in 15. i don’t care how we’re behind schedule

You hold out your phone toward Heeseung like you're offering him a cursed object.

“Congratulations. You’re officially being summoned.”

Heeseung blinks, leans in, and squints at the screen. “Wow. She really typed all that?” He clicks his tongue, reading the string of texts again. “Yeri’s… not subtle, huh.”

“She doesn’t even care that I’m late,” you mutter, slipping your shoes on. “Just you.”

“Must be the Heeseung effect,” he says, tossing you a smug grin. “Not everyone can handle it.”

You scoff. “Please. The only effect you have is delayed group rehearsals and unreturned messages.”

“Ouch,” he says with a hand on his chest. “You wound me.”

You glance at him, raising a brow. “You'll live. Probably.”

Heeseung grabs his jacket off the back of a chair and slings it over his shoulder with mock drama. “Well, since I’m public enemy number one now, guess I better go report in before she sends out a search party.”

You laugh under your breath. “You’re oddly calm about facing your death.”

He grins. “Because I’m dragging you down with me. Misery loves company.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now as you reach for your own coat. “Cool. If she throws a punch, I’m stepping aside.”

“Noted,” he says, giving you a mock-salute. “I’ll be sure to shield you with my reputation.”

“Your reputation is what got us into this mess.”

“Exactly,” he says proudly. “Might as well let it work for something.” There’s a moment as the back-and-forth fades away.

He straightens up, standing close enough that the warmth between you feels intentional.

“So…”

You glance up. “So?”

Heeseung looks at you, not teasing now. Not backing away. “Wanna go together?”

You pause, caught off guard, not by the words, but by the softness in them. “Like…” You fidget with your zipper. “Together together?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “Like you and me,” he says, a little quieter. “No pretending it’s just coincidence anymore.”

He lifts a hand and brushes his thumb gently across the back of yours, his touch light like he’s asking permission.

You don’t answer right away. You let the moment breathe. Then, slowly, your fingers wrap around his.

You give his hand a tiny squeeze. “Okay,” you say, smiling, but not too big. Just enough for him to see it’s genuine. “Let’s figure it out.”

Heeseung lets out a breath like he’s been holding it in for days. The smile that spreads across his face is a little crooked, a little shy, and completely Heeseung.

“Well,” he says, bumping his shoulder into yours as you head for the door. “If we get scolded, I’m blaming you.”

“Typical,” you say, pretending to be annoyed. “Drag me into your chaos, then point fingers.” He just laughs, the kind that makes your stomach flutter.

“We’re in this together now, aren’t we?”

You glance sideways at him. “Yeah,” you say, heart kicking just a little harder. “We are.”

He smiles at that. A little crooked. A little shy. The kind of smile he only gives when it’s just you two and the world feels like background noise.

Then he tilts his head, lips twitching. “You’re gonna be annoying about it, aren’t you?”

You blink, laughing. “About what?”

“This whole ‘figuring it out’ thing.” He leans in, mock whispering, “You’re totally gonna make spreadsheets.”

You gasp, shoving his shoulder lightly. “I do not make spreadsheets for everything!”

He raises his brows. “Okay. Sure. Says the girl who color-coded our ramen stash.”

“That was strategic,” you defend, proud. “And you benefitted from it, mister I-eat-three-of-thespicy-ones-in-one-sitting.”

Heeseung just grins, tugging your hand gently toward the door. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Project Manager-nim.”

“You’re the worst,” you grumble.

“And yet,” he says, fingers interlacing with yours, “here we are.”

Both of you drop by at Heeseung’s for a bit to let him change into more proper clothes. As he finishes, you finally grab your things and head for the door, he reaches for your hand again, threading his fingers with yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He doesn’t let go when you walk outside. Neither do you.

You haven’t told anyone yet.

It’s not like you don’t have to.

Because this, whatever it is between you and Heeseung, it’s yours. And after everything, you’re finally letting yourselves have it.

Even if no one else sees it yet.

Especially because no one else sees it yet.

Well, that’s kind of your favorite part.

The sun’s already high by the time you and Heeseung arrive at the venue, the air was warm and loud with leftover mess. Folding chairs clatter somewhere behind the stage. Someone yells about duct tape from the storage tent. From the road, the campus plaza looks half-dismantled, half tired, half weirdly festive.

You're walking side by side, fingers interlocked from habit, but as the crowd comes into view, your hands loosen, instinctively mutual. No one says anything. You just… let go.  

Your palm feels colder almost immediately.

Heeseung adjusts the strap of the tote bag on his shoulder and glances at you. You meet his gaze for a second, then quickly look away, heart doing something traitorous.

Neither of you says a word about it.

Instead, you push your sleeves up and stretch your arms with a dramatic sigh. “Guess it’s time to suffer.”

Heeseung snorts. “Wow. What a glowing endorsement of volunteer work.”

You grin. “I was promised iced coffee and minimal lifting.”

“You weren’t promised anything,” he says, nudging your elbow as you both step over a tangle of cords near the sound booth. “You got guilt-tripped.”

“You watched me get guilt-tripped!”

“And I didn’t stop it.”

You shoot him a faux glare. “Saboteur.”

He doesn’t apologize. Just smiles again and pulls your water bottle from his bag, your bottle, not his, and hands it to you. No words, just a simple gesture. You take it, trying not to smile like an idiot.

When you arrived further, the storage room was cramped, the kind of space that felt like it hadn’t been properly reorganized in years. Cardboard boxes labeled in fading Sharpie, dusty extension cords hanging like noodles from plastic hooks, and half-collapsed folding chairs all piled in chaotic corners. The Interdisciplinary Festival’s official cleanup was in full swing, and naturally, everyone was tired, mildly cranky, and running on convenience store bread and barley tea.

You were crouched next to a shelf, organizing leftover promotional flyers into plastic folders, when Vicky called from the back.

"Can someone help me with this speaker? It’s heavier than it looks!"

Heeseung, who’d been quietly stacking folding tables near the entrance, was the first to respond. “Coming.”

You didn’t even have to glance to know he’d shoot you a look before stepping away, like: Don’t move. I got this. It had become second nature again, this language between you. You hadn’t had it in a while, but now it was back in full force, like muscle memory.

A while after, you're crouched on the floor, sorting name tags by department, even though no one will probably reuse these again. Your hoodie sleeves are rolled to your elbows, and you keep flicking bits of lint off your pants. Across from you, Heeseung’s refolding a banner that refuses to behave, his expression focused and mildly annoyed, which is honestly just his default face when he’s pretending not to be paying attention to you.

Every so often, your knees bump. Neither of you says anything about it.

Everyone else is scattered around the room, split into pairs and trios, folding, taping, listing inventory. It's productive chaos, like always.  

“Lunch break in ten!” someone yells, which is met by a mix of groans and grateful sighs.

Fast forward ten minutes and the group is now collapsed in a messy circle on the scuffed linoleum floor of the student lounge next door, sharing trays of gimbap, tteokbokki, fried chicken, and convenience store sandwiches. No one bothered setting up tables. Everyone’s sitting cross-legged or sprawled halfway onto their backpacks.

You’re squeezed between Sunoo and Vicky, your paper cup of soda already sweating onto your thigh. Heeseung’s across from you, biting into a half-wrapped sandwich, glancing up every now and then, but not too often.

Conversation flows like it always does, with light teasing, half-bantering arguments, just typical chaos.

“Yo, I seriously thought Heeseung ghosted all of us,” Jaemin says, dramatically tossing his chopsticks into his empty tteokbokki container.

“Same,” Hayi agrees. “Dude pulled a classic ‘fade out post-festival’.”

Sunoo smirks. “Was kinda mysterious though. Not a single text in the GC? Not even a meme?”

Yeri, who’s been lounging with her chin resting in her hand, smiles. It’s casual, but just a little too casual. “Well, not everyone. He’s always had a soft spot for… unexpected people.” Her eyes flit over to you for half a second.

You don’t react fast enough. It hits late.

Someone, probably Vicky, blinks. “Wait… what does that mean?”

Yeri shrugs, still with that faint smile. “Just saying. Some people pull away from the crowd but still stay close to certain… familiar faces.”

There’s a pause. Small. Barely noticeable. But your throat tightens just a bit.

Jaemin, in a half-whisper he thinks is quiet but absolutely isn't, leans toward Sunoo: “Wait, is she talking about Y/N?”

Sunoo whispers back, just as loud, and zero subtlety:

“Duh. Who else is ‘familiar faces’? They’ve been stuck together since birth.”

Everyone hears it. And suddenly, the laughter dips a notch. Still present, but thinner now. The air tenses. You shift, too, just slightly, just enough to look down at your tray and pretend your rice ball is the most interesting thing in the world.

You feel the weight of eyes. Not just Yeri’s. Everyone’s.

Then, without any change in tone or posture, Heeseung sets down his sandwich, wipes his hands on a napkin, and speaks.

“Actually,” he says, not loudly, but it cuts through the chitter. “I’ve always had a soft spot for her.”

You blink. Hard.

Someone half-chokes on their drink.

Heeseung continues. “We’ve been stuck together since diapers. I’ve basically memorized her snack preferences and sleep schedule. Kinda hard not to have a soft spot when she used to steal my crayons and cry when I didn’t want to marry her at age six.” A ripple of laughter breaks the tension, but Heeseung’s not done.

“I just… forgot how to show it, I guess,” he says, almost sheepishly now, but still holding the room. “Which was dumb, obviously.”

Yeri’s smile thins, falters for a blink, but she tucks her hair behind her ear and stays silent.

You slowly lift your eyes to look at him, Heeseung, your best friend, who hasn’t said this out loud before. And not like this.

And then he adds, voice dropping just a notch, still deadpan but warm in that dry way only he can pull off:

“And honestly… I don’t think I wanna hide that anymore. I’m too tired. Hiding’s annoying. It takes too much effort.”

Someone, probably Hayi, gasps. The subtle kind. The "wait is this real?" kind.

Even Yeri’s expression twitches for a moment. She covers it with another sip of her drink.

You, meanwhile, are frozen with your mouth half open, trying to decide between dying of embarrassment or teleporting into another timeline.

But before your brain can short-circuit entirely, Vicky pipes up.

“Well… it’s about damn time.” That breaks it.

The room lets out a collective breath. Some people laugh, some shake their heads, others just smirk knowingly.

Jaemin nudges Heeseung from the side. “So you weren’t just lurking at booths alone for no reason, huh?”

Hayi leans toward you, her tone mock-suspicious. “Y/n… you’ve been awfully quiet. You knew this was coming?”

You scoff, trying to act unbothered. “I’ve been quiet because I was trying not to choke on my rice ball.”

“Sure,” she says, but she’s smiling. “You look… weirdly happy.”

“Must be the rice ball,” you mutter, but your cheeks burn anyway.

Sunoo grins. “Honestly, I was getting so tired of pretending I didn’t see the longing stares.” “You guys are dramatic,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“You're dramatic,” Jaemin fires back. “The tension during cleanup day? I thought I was watching a K-drama.”

Vicky, ever the level-headed one, raises a hand mock-formally. “Okay, okay. Real talk though, whatever happened between you two before... not our business.”

“But we will be discussing the missed signals in private later,” Hayi adds, pointing at you with her chopsticks.

“What matters,” Vicky continues, “is you guys found your way back. Eventually.”

Heeseung smirks. “Found our way back? We were literally five minutes apart at all times.”

“Still managed to be emotionally three cities apart,” Sunoo says under his breath, earning a laugh.

You want to say something. You think maybe you should. But you don’t know where to start. Thankfully, you don’t have to.

Heeseung shifts beside you and, without a word hooks his pinky finger around yours.

It’s not loud. Not some big announcement. Just something that feels like home.

You don’t let go.

Yeri stands.

She doesn’t say anything. No dramatic sigh. No parting shot. Just gathers her drink, brushes invisible lint off her skirt, and walks out of the lounge with her head high.

No one calls after her. No one comments.

She just… leaves. Quietly. No victory. No audience.

Later that afternoon, when everyone’s out by the fountain hauling trash bags and wiping down booth panels, someone, maybe Hyejin, snaps a candid photo from behind.

You and Heeseung are side by side, backs to the camera, arms brushing. His hand is laced with yours, and both of you are looking at something off-frame, smiling faintly. Like there’s something only the two of you are in on.

It gets posted to the group chat with a caption: “Okay, NOW it makes sense.”

No replies. Just a string of heart emojis.

And a single sticker of a smug cartoon cat holding a rose.

You don’t say anything when you see it.

But Heeseung leans in close beside you, voice low, playful. “Think they’ll start taking bets on when we made it official?”

You don’t look at him. “They’re too late.”

“True,” he says, nudging your arm. “We’ve been official since age six, remember?”

You roll your eyes. “Still mad about the crayon thing?”

“I’m still traumatized.”

You laugh. And pretend you didn’t squeeze his hand a little tighter.

It’s late afternoon by the time cleanup wraps. The sun’s dipping low behind the dorms, creating long shadows across the pavement. The group’s scattered now, some folding tables, some sweeping the area, others just loitering around, exhausted and full and running on pure postevent vibes.

You and Heeseung end up near the curb where someone dumped all the empty drink cups in a sagging trash bag. You’re holding a broom, he’s got a bottle of leftover iced tea he didn’t even finish.

You lean on the broom, watching him swat lazily at a mosquito. “I can’t believe you actually said all that earlier.”

Heeseung raises an eyebrow, lips quirking. “What, that I have a soft spot for you?”

You nudge his leg with the broom bristles. “That, and the whole ‘not hiding it anymore’ thing. You said it like we were in a K-drama or something.”

He grins, tilting his head. “Well, maybe I was going for the climactic confession scene.”

You snort. “You skipped the dramatic rain and background music.”

“I can hum something, if that helps,” he offers, deadpan, then starts humming the “Reply 1988” OST surprisingly off-key.

You laugh, swatting at him. He ducks and holds up his hands in mock surrender, but then the laughter fades a little, replaced by a different kind of quiet.

He takes a step closer, just enough for his shoulder to brush yours.

“You remember that stupid pact we made in middle school?” he asks casually, like he’s not been holding onto it for years.

You blink. “The one where we promised to marry each other at thirty if we were still single?”

He nods, smiling a little. “For the tax benefits, obviously.”

You scoff. “Yeah, clearly nothing to do with lifelong emotional support and shared trauma from high school group projects.”

He laughs, then quiets. You feel it before you see it, his eyes on you, really on you.

“…Wouldn’t be the worst thing,” he says softly.

Your heart stutters. You look up at him, and he’s not joking anymore.

And then, almost shyly but with that same confident lilt in his voice he always uses when teasing you,

“So, does this mean we don’t have to wait until thirty to marry each other?”

You raise an eyebrow, lips twitching. “That was a legally binding contract, Lee Heeseung. I didn’t sign up for early commitment.”

He chuckles, then leans a little closer, voice low and playful: “Okay, counter-offer: we date now, and if it sucks, we just… circle back at thirty like we planned.”

You pretend to consider it. “Tempting.”

He bumps your shoulder. “Admit it. You just don’t wanna give up the tax benefits.”

You smile, shaking your head. “Fine. But only if you promise to keep teasing me for the rest of our lives.”

He grins. “Deal. But only if you keep pretending you don’t like it.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks warm. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You don’t argue.

He slips his fingers between yours again, not just the pinky this time, full-on hand-holding, and it just feels so right. No dramatics. No big, sweeping music. Just the noise of the campus winding down and the feel of him beside you, like he always has been.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

[octuscle]

DeepTraining - Carson and Tyler

“Whoever you are, you're certainly not Scott McArthur”. Professor Bloom looked at the man with a mixture of fascination and disgust. The young man seemed like a foreign body here on campus among the time-honored buildings and all the brilliant people. This was where the country's elite was bred. And Scott MacArthur was one of the stars among the alumni. He had completed his doctorate in mathematics in record time, founded two or three incredibly successful start-ups and had become unimaginably rich. Just a month ago, he had donated 50 million US dollars to Bloom's chair. Bloom had been Scott's mentor and had contributed significantly to the business idea for Scott's first startup.

The young man standing in front of him did not belong here. This was a junior on a football scholarship at a third-tier college in the Midwest. He was brimming with self-confidence. Handsome. Not an introverted genius like Scott. “Professor, I assure you, it's me. No one can know this, but I went to some kind of beauty farm. The best there is in the world at the moment. Incredibly exclusive. But it gave me the chance of a new start. It has the power to change everything about you. Just not what's in your head. At least not immediately. You can believe me, a body like that…” The young man tensed his impressive biceps. “… changes a lot, even in a head as brilliant as mine. And I bet it would do the same for you.” Bloom was getting a little nervous. He asked the young man into his office. And Scott began to talk. How he had been approached at a party by an agent from DeepTraining. How he had prepared the transformation into a new life. How he had sold his empire and planned a carefree life under completely different circumstances and conditions. How he became Carson Brown. And that he wanted to offer Bloom something. A new life. A life as Tyler Klein, Carson's best friend. And together they could turn ideas into reality. But without coercion. With lots of fun. Just have the best time of their lives again. That would be his gift to the man to whom he owed everything.

“I know, Professor, this all sounds more than unbelievable. Believe me, it also costs an unimaginable amount of money. But just imagine if it worked. Imagine if I had been a workaholic addicted to junk food some time ago. And now I'm the type of man I've always envied. But I'm still me! And that could happen to you too. I have a brochure here. Please read it and then destroy it carefully. Think about it. I'll be in town for another week. Give me a call.”

Professor Bloom had read the brochure. He had thought about it. It sounded fantastic. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. He had found a little information on the Darknet. If the young man really was Scott, he was offering him a treatment that would normally cost well over 100 million US dollars. But it meant a leap into a new life. It meant a break with his career, his friends, his family. Friends? He hardly had any. A break with his family? That was more on the “pro” list. He called Scott. He would accept the generous offer. What would be the next step?

Apart from Carson, no one knew Professor Bloom was in the building. Carson also knew that Professor Bloom would not be leaving this building. Carson watched everyone who left the building carefully. He knew there might be similarities between Bloom and Tyler Klein. But that didn't have to be the case. There was a young guy approaching him. Straight ahead. With a still somewhat uncertain smile. Damn it, that wasn't possible! The guy was maybe 20, athletic. Baggy jeans, low-cut tank top, baseball cap on his blond hair. He took a deep breath and smiled a little pained. “So Carson, let me introduce myself: I'm Tyler. And as far as I know, I'm starting my football scholarship next semester at Concordia College in Moorhead, Minnesota.” Carson grinned. He remembered how difficult it had been to take his first steps in a new body. He would take care of his old mentor. They would have a great time.

“Bruh, me and my dude carson r vibing hard @ springbreak. But nxt wk, grind starts for real. Bye bye ft lauderdale, hey hey moorhead!” It was the first post on Tyler Klein's new Insta account. Brave to start directly with a nude picture. But Carson and he had no intention of doing things by halves. Studying was going to be the best time of their lives. And it would be!

Inspiration from @rowdy317. And yo, @alphafootballjock67 got a whole bunch of DeepTraining templates on deck!

[batsybat91]

Heyyy bestieee *slides in with cool shades on, almost trips but catches self* I got a lil somethin somethin for your beautiful brain to munch on tehe

I talk to myself a lot (like everyone else) but instead of speaking normally, I whisper cuz I feel awkward if I don't. But I have to let those thoughts out y'know? The inner monologue in my head isn't enough 💀

Sooo, how about a reader who also whispers to themself and Simon catches them

- Biscuits 🌺

Hello, Biscuits, you gorgeous, big-brained genius!! I also talk to myself a lot - usually when I'm playing video games. Occasionally will be talking to myself at work, too. So I totally get you!!

--

You have been cleaning your husband's (you love calling him your husband!) guns all day. He left you a note on the fridge asking you to do it, and of course, you had to look up a tutorial on how to do it. The last gun you have to clean is a very expensive-looking Winchester rifle, with a wooden stock and a bolt action. It's a hunting gun, you know that much. It has a damn fine scope, so you ensure the covers are on and secured.

"Okay," you whisper. "You can do this. It's just a rifle. You cleaned all his other guns. Pistols... rifles. This one is just. Expensive. More expensive than you, probably."

You pick the rifle up gently. It's a .308 caliber, so it's a pretty big gun. It's heavy, too. Maybe not to Simon, who can pick you up and put you on his shoulders without breaking a sweat. But to you? It's fucking heavy. Your arms shake as you carry it from the safe to the kitchen table.

"Okay. Okay. Don't worry. If you fuck this up, Simon will kill you and bury you in his grave," you mutter. "No biggie. No, no, no. We are so chill about this."

You glance at the instructions you wrote for yourself. First, open chamber. Ensure it's not loaded.

"Check."

"Next, remove action from gun, if possible."

You gently turn the rifle in your hands, propping it on the kitchen chair. You point the muzzle up, just like Simon taught you. "Gently," you whisper as you pull the bolt action out. "Gently!"

You get the action out safely. A sigh of relief floods over you.

"Okay, next," you mumble, setting the gun with the muzzle facing opposite of the door.

Simon has just come home, but you don't hear him open the door. You are locked the fuck in on cleaning this gun without hurting it. He sets his gear on a nearby chair and tosses his mask on the end table. He hears you talking in the kitchen, and moves to investigate. Simon assumes you're on the phone with someone, but no.

There you are, hair pulled out of your face with a headband. You are holding his favorite rifle, examining it with precision.

"Take the rod thingy, then the paper towel," you whisper, "Then you thread it through the rod just like that. And then you dip it in some of that..."

He smiles, watching you from the shadows. There's something adorable in how much care you're putting into taking care of his guns. He didn't actually expect you to learn how to clean them. He expected you to call Johnny or Gaz for help.

"And then you put the thingamabob in the doohickey up here," you say, gently pushing the rod into the top of the gun. He can tell you're being very careful with it, wincing any time you even tap the scope.

"Jam it in and out at a real nice pace," you mutter. Then, even quieter, you say, "He better jam it in me when he sees I've cleaned all his guns."

Simon can't help the snort that escapes him. You look up from the rifle, and you positively beam when you see him. "Simon, baby!" you exclaim. "How much of that did you hear?"

"Long enough," he says, a low chuckle rumbling through his chest.

You frown. "Aw man, I bet you think I'm fucking 'daft,' talking to myself like that."

"Not at all," he assures you. "I think it's cute, luvie."

"Well, you hang tight right there, mister," you command, pointing the cleaning rod at him. Then, doing a horrible, horrible impression of his British accent, you say, "I'll clean this musket of yours and shine your shoes for a smacker."

"Real funny," he growls, though there's a smile on his face.

"I'm hilarious," you agree.

You put the bolt back inside the rifle after you're done cleaning it and keep the action open. Simon saunters behind you and rests his chin on your head. "Oh, that's bloody good work, darlin'."

"Thank you, my lord," you giggle. "Now, help me put them all back in your safe."

He presses a quick kiss to your forehead and pats your ass affectionately. "Not a problem, Queen Riley."

You snort, a very unladylike sound. "Queens don't talk to themselves."

"My queen does," he replies, kissing your cheek before padding off to grab a gun.

[sp00kymulderr]

I'll go this way with you

Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Words: 565

Tags/warnings: Nothing major. Marriage talk. Loooove.

A/N: A short follow up to 'it might be nice', written for the @jolacheese trope search. Very loosely using soulmates. I have a whole world cooked up for these two, can't wait to get to writing it one day.

It's been a week since he asked you to marry him.

It's been a week and you still haven't answered. You've avoided the topic from breaching the surface, steering the conversation in other directions.

And Dieter isn't stupid, he knows what you're doing. He doesn't say a thing about it, but he knows. Maybe he's wrong, maybe he was wrong to suggest it. The question hangs in the air everywhere you two go, every moment you spend together. Unanswered and undetermined and a single line of worry that creases his forehead every time he watches you walk away.

"I didn't mean to...to..." He starts, hand in yours as some mediocre actor drones on the tv in the background. That could've been you, truly, you auditioned for that role. It could have been you.

"What?" you say, barely attentive, turning to him. Do you not understand.

"I didn't mean to pressure you. Or- I don't know. Make you feel like you have to marry me. You don't...it's not...it was just a suggestion"

"Dee, can we-" You can't get the words out, as much as you want to steer this conversation to clearer waters.

"I love you. But my love isn't conditional on you wanting to be my wife. I'll still love you if you say no. I'll still love you if you leave me for a- a- tentacled space monster" He says, gesturing to the screen, where said tentacled space monster is currently stalking it's prey.

You snort a little when you laugh. It makes him smile. Every time.

"I'm not going to leave you for a tentacled space monster. Not that one anyway"

His turn to laugh, goofy bright smile making you melt like it always has.

"Dee," You sigh and squeeze his hand, refuse to let it go. "It's not that I don't want to. It's not that I don't love you. It's just...it was never where I thought things were going. I didn't even know you- I thought you never wanted to get married again"

Dieter shrugs. He pauses the movie just as the poorly performed heroine is making her grand escape. He doesn't care about that crap, he only cares about you. He cares about you so much. Too much. Never enough. It's never going to be enough for what you deserve.

"I didn't think I'd want to, either. But jeez, I don't know, things changed when I met you. And call me hokey but I think maybe you're my soulmate, okay? And why wouldn't I want to marry my soulmate?"

You brush away what threatens to spill from your eyes. Bite your lip and try to control the aching love you feel for him. A year ago you would have laughed if anyone suggested you'd fall in love with Dieter fucking Bravo of all people. A year ago you were a depressed waitress with no hope and no friends. And now, now you had a friend and hope and love and so much more all rolled into one very cuddly, very caring package.

"You believe in soulmates?" you mumble, sniffling and avoiding his eyes.

And he pulls you into his arms. Warm and wrapped up and safe, cocooned. You could stay like this forever, burst forth as something new and brilliant whenever you want, and he would support you through it.

“Yeah, yeah I do. It’ll always be you”

[lilaccatholic]

I'm seeing so many hints about getting off of social media and I'm hearing so many people talk about how great they feel now that they've limited their social media use, and I have to say that I worry about my shortening attention span, but at the same time I don't *know* if I'm ready to take such a drastic step back. I think I'm going to commit to cutting down, but not getting off entirely. I like social media. I like our special secret little club, and to be honest with you all, I don't really *have* much going on in my personal life that social media is distracting me from. I've been trying unsuccessfully to find a job, my friends have mostly moved out of state, and my siblings aren't around as much. Whenever I do have more going on, I don't seem to have an issue with not being on social media, but also I miss writing for hours on end and devouring books like someone stranded in the desert finding an oasis. I know social media makes my anxiety worse, and I hate being endlessly advertised to. I worry that too many of my ideas are just parroting what I hear, but I also wouldn't have been exposed to so many of my favorite things and ideas or built as much confidence as I have without it. Some of my dearest online friends have been made because one mutual or another indoctrinated me into reading this book or watching that show or listening to these albums! And I love the silly little tag conversations! The tag games! Getting spammed with boops and friends sending me silly videos they think I'll love! But I also want more out of life than drifting. I just...I don't know. I don't want to leave. I don't know how healthy staying is. So maybe less is the answer? Especially given how many Big Life Changes I want to make, maybe destabilizing this piece of myself isn't too smart? It's a lot to think about.

[robinvomit]

I had a thought

I'm not sure if you've done this before, but how do you think the bat boys (oh any characters you want, idm really) would apologise if they genuinely hurt their gf's feelings? Maybe from a misworded comment or a bad argument

- Shiny

I am.. going to format this as quote responses, simply because I've been in this situation — accidental and straight up abusive — and, gifts and affection don't matter if the verbal response isn't sincere. + I am being affectionately bullied into adding other characters to things, so.. you're getting a whole circus with this. [ Amused that half of these people would need to be held at gunpoint to properly apologize— ]

Dick: Hey, no- I didn't mean it like that. That.. doesn't matter right now, though, I guess. Because I wasn't careful, you heard me say that.. whether I meant it that way or not. Yeah, I was tired but that's not an excuse, not when it leads to me making you feel small. I'll do better, I promise.. you should never be the one on the end of me having a rough day. I'm sorry.

Jason: Listen, I know I was an asshole. I wasn't great with saying what I wanted but that doesn't change what I said. But look, you matter so much it scares the shit out of me. I didn't.. mean to push you away and I'm sorry. I'll crawl through hell just to pull you back and make it up to you.

Tim: ..I.. was trying to make it about logic when you needed it to be about emotion. I replayed it in my head over twenty times, dissecting every single word I said wrong, the tone, all of it. I'm sorry- I didn't mean to minimize you or how you feel. The worst part is that.. I knew I was doing it and still let it happen. You didn't deserve that and I don't expect to be forgiven for it, but I'll work to earn your trust back.

Damian: I deeply regret the phrasing I chose. I do not regret speaking, but I do regret that it hurt you. Perhaps, I could have been gentler about it. I.. am still learning to hold things that are not sharp and you are the softest thing in my life, though that is no excuse. I was unable to protect you from myself and I apologize. It will not happen again.

Kon: Shit, okay. I messed up- I messed up, like, really bad. I don't even have an excuse, no reason, it just happened and I'm sorry. You looked at me like I just shattered the most precious thing on this planet- God, I never want to give you a reason to look at me that way again.. you shouldn't have had one to begin with. I'll fix it, I'll do everything to fix it. You mean more to me than some stupid thought I didn't even think about and I'm going to prove it.

Bart: I.. said something dumb, didn't I? No, that's not it. I said something mean, something I shouldn't have, and I didn't even notice until your face dropped. I hurt you and barely noticed until it was visible and I hate that. I hate the nasty feeling in my stomach and chest when you pull away- it's like everything is moving in slow motion. I'll.. try to think more before I speak, because you're too important to hurt just because my brain outruns my words.

Barry: I wasn't even looking at you when I said it, but I felt it. It felt like the room cracked open. I tried to fix it too fast, too easily, like I always do and that made it worse because it didn't seem sincere. I'm not trying to outrun it this time- you deserve so much better than thoughtless comments and I'll give you better. I promise. I'm so sorry for not thinking before opening my mouth.

Oliver: Look, love. I talk a lot of shit, I let my mouth overload my ass. I always have and maybe it's about time I met the consequences of that. I cut you down with something that was supposed to be a joke and a joke should never be at your expense; you're a lot more to me than something like that. I'm not even looking for forgiveness, just the chance to prove I'm able to change.

Clark: I didn't.. mean for it to come out that way. I always try to be careful and I wasn't with the one person who deserve it the most.. and that's not something I'm going to treat lightly. I'm not asking you to forget it or forgive me, but I do want to show you that I've never wanted to hurt you like that. Whether it was meant or not, that's how you felt it and that's.. not something I'm just going to brush off. I hurt the person I love and that's the worst failure I can think of.

Bruce: You are the only part of my life that let's me feel like a man above being a weapon and I spoke to you like you were a soldier.. not the person I love. This wasn't a mission, not something I needed to be in control of. I spoke like someone who is used to being obeyed, instead of someone who is loved and I'm sorry. I will spend every day showing you just how much I mean that.

Diana: I pride myself on doing things with honor, with grace.. but today I chose the wrong words and held none of that. I wounded you and it was not out of malice, but my failure to listen properly. I would rather stand and face the wrath of the Gods before ever being the reason of sorrow in your eyes again. I will make this right, if you will allow me to.

John: Yeah, I said it- yeah, it was cruel. But don't go thinking I didn't feel it the second it left my mouth. You've got this way of looking at me like I'm worth your time and that's a helluva thing, love, cause I'm not. It's not 'cause I want to push you away. It's cause you look at me like that and I'm scared shitless you'll finally see me beneath it and leave before I notice. Still, you didn't deserve that and if you walk, I'll get it- won't stop you. But, if you stay, forgiveness of not, I'll spend the rest of my miserable bloody existence trying to fix it and deserve you.

[heretohavenone]

Okay. I've been pondering Jack Slash for a bit. Slimy basted he is, and Number Man, the weirdo HE is. I've come to a couple conclusions after reading through Worm and most of Ward (working on it you'll all be getting my dog gruel opinions on it after) and some of Jack's Backstory via Wildbow posts. First I'll talk about Jack, since he needs more piecing together, for me at least.

Jack Slash is essentially a grifter/shitty salesman when he's speaking 99% of the time. Hes trying, almost without even putting up an act to get you to believe there is some philosophical point he's reaching towards, or some reason why what he's doing means Anything greater than just plain old being a dick. He'll put on different hats to tell you Why he's killing, but in the end, the only thing he wants is to make the world worse and to cause conflict. And that's it. 100%, honestly it. He'd probably kick a puppy if he thought that'd actually help make more people do Worse things, and get him into more conflict. For almost his entire interlude he doesn't really think of himself in terms of what he gets in goals, he simply observes others and thinks of how to best pressure them to continue making things worse while under his control. I think its pretty evident from how much he throws himself into chaotic situations and tries to make things so complicated he can't keep up that Control isnt really what hes most into.

Let's now put this into the context of his past, and more importanty, what Shards want. His past is pretty interesting: locked in a bunker by abusive parents, and told the world had gone to war. They told him a story about how bad everything had gotten, kept him in there for a Long Long time, and he triggered when he left the bunker and he realized it was a lie. Specifically, the thing that broke him wasn't the fact that his parents lied to him. It was that the world was Sane, and Safe, and Not at war. Something he'd grown used to, and absorbed into himself while in that bunker. Essentially, he torn apart by the fact everything was Okay when he was convinced utterly that it had all gone to shit, and people were in senseless conflict like he thought. His worldview got flipped, everything felt wrong, and he triggered. He only thinks the world makes sense In conflict, he had the ability to really process a healthy, constructive world severely damaged to him when he was young.

Jack's desire for conflict make a little more sense with that, but his shard Loving his ass makes a hundred times more sense. He's literally trying to cause humanity to act divided, just like the Shards want, and to create conflict testing. No wonder it likes him so much, that's about as ideal a host as any shard could net, ever. Its like a weapon tester finding a group of suicidal combat junkies. Like. Exceptionally lucky. So Jack is rewarded for his instincts by things Working for him, and gets in a loop of conflicts that are their own reward by making the world as horrible as he thought it was, and making him Comfortable. It's his natural environment. Anything actual push to be constructive and grow attached probably feels alien to him, or just gets contextualized as a tool to create conflict, because he no longer really would know how to do anything but be a grifting jackass hurting people. Even his games are shows of this, every rule meant to be broken and unfair, because you're supposed to stop thinking about them as Rules and more like tools to fuck eachother over. The game Is cheating the game. The point isnt anything he says, it's trying to Kill him.

This is what makes his relationship to Number Man maybe the top five ????? Things when I first read it. He liked the person who's entire sociopathic, utilitarian goals were: Helping The World and Making Order. Seemed contradictory, but Jack did like him as a person, not necessarily his philosophy. Still. They're people who think back on each other fondly, despite what they've become. While Jack doesn't know Where Number Man went, he's not being hunted or hurt or even being pitied for not following conflict like Jack.

They seem to be like Wildbow's fucked up little views on systems and those who take them down rather than working on them, which I disagree with, but they're still fascinating. As much as Number Man is a monster like Jack, who would do everything Jack does if given reason to by finding it the best way to improve people's lives, Number Man is mature by trying to be constructive with his views on what is and is not important, while Jack is purely deconstructive of everything. Their similarity though is how they both seek out their version of thing purely for their own satisfaction, and that's the reason they both seem to admire eachother. Theyre both entirely selfish people.

They're also, hilariously, both killed by people who are both out-doing them in their field. The only Parahuman who hurt Jack Slash was Gray Boy, someone who didn't care about anything but his own selfish ideas of fun who found Jack 'boring', and a disappointment, and that Might have actually thrown Jack off enough it let Gray Boy hit him with a time loop. Number Man got factored in as an uncared for number in Contessa's plan to defeat Teacher. I'm very curious if this one of Worm's few narrative punishments for both's wrong deeds, or just coincidence. Whichever, it's pretty interesting to look at these two freaks' dichotomy in terms of the story, and what Caulron does vs what those who fight against systems in the story do.

But, I like Jack Slash tbh. Cartoonishly evil as he is, he wasn't really didnt do anything else than what he sent himself out to do, and he CLEARLY enjoyed himself while doing it. And Number Man took some time to grow on me, but I also enjoy how he's kind of the opposite in how he shows himself to be very simply then pulls some marble slingshot bullshit to lobotomize someone a mile away.... OKAY I'm still a lil shocked by that.

[brian-kinney-apologist]

What are your thoughts on s5? And on Michael?

well here we go I guess, my big hater moment has come 😈

(this is going to be a very long post, buckle up everyone)

personally I didn't like s5 because the writers did dirty EVERYONE:

I hated how they massacred ted's personal growth, he was at his lowest in s3 and he managed to overcome the obstacles in s4 and finally gained some healthy self-esteem. his s5 plot line was AWFUL, in what world was ted (and scott!!!) old or bold or fat (the last one especially never made sense to me bc he literally looked the same as in the previous seasons?????? like they didn'teven try??? (and the excuse of well ted hated himself so he saw himself worse doesn't work bc we dealt with this issue in s4!!!!!!))

I was annoyed with watching melanie and lindsay constantly fighting by the end of s4 but somehow they overdid themselves in s5. like we already had them breaking up over cheating and sharing a child in season fucking one, why are we doing yhis again??Plus this is s4 related but picking michael as the father of their future child was the stupidest idea EVER because mel and linds had a fit every other time when brian tried to be here for gus and they for real thought michael (and debbie) would just idk hang out with the kid once a year or what??? and yes I know the writers wanted to talk about the guy divorce™️ but once again: already happened in s1

and speaking of michael and ben, I really liked their final moments with hunter and I definitely teared up when they asked him to be their son 💔, HOWEVER see the previous point. the fighting over the baby that was never supposed to be theirs was INSANE. I hated them both during this time sooo much

now let's talk about brian and justin.

justin and randy did not deserve s5 writing. it was so painfully obvious that they simply didn't know what to do with him. imo s5 should've focused more on justin trying to figure out who he was and what he wanted from life. he went through a lot for someone in their early 20s. he had so many job opportunities too and now he was back to square one. I think that should've been their main disagreement with brian in s5 too: brian hovering over him and justin refusing to go in the direction brian wanted him to. maybe by the end of the season justin could've decided to go back to pifa for his own personal reasons, not because of brian. or we could've watch him fail a couple times because barely anyone becomes super successful when they're young and just an ordinary person. that's another reason why the ending of s5 looked super unserious to me: justin going to new york because of 1 (one) article from some random guy...........bffr rn 🙄 + this ending was literally s4 ending in a different font. moreover, justin wanting a child as a 21/22 gay man here and now was literally so funny, like this would work for a female character of that age because women are conditioned by society to want children/family from a young age. men on the other hand.......

now about brian: imo the whole s5 plot line of him fucking other guys happened only because in s4 brian had cancer and thus wasn't fucking that many people on screen, thus they just came up with the most random idea of why suddenly will fuck a million guys per episode again to bring back the viewers. imo this change of behaviour was similar to ted's where they just started to write as if these were the characters from s1, not s4/5. AND if they wanted to have some conflict between brian and justin so they'd have their big reunion after the bombing, there was a plenty of reasons to make them have a fight about something new. it was tiring to see them breaking up for the 3689044th time for the same fucking reason. like come on, it's a tv show, write something new. imo they could've made them argue about something else and justin be like I'll go sleep at daphne's tonight or something and then have the I love you scene with the same reactions from the audience

(forgot to mention how everyone tried to insert themselves into britin's relationship as if they had any say in it 🙄)

overall, I think that the main issue with s5 was that it was too repetitive, the writers clearly didn't know how to wrap up the show

now let's talk about michael. I understand why some people may like him but he's not my favourite. I don't hate him overall but he has his moments. I think his best scenes in the show were with ben and hunter, I really liked them together (also when he was hanging out with the gang™️). however I do find him annoying at times and I will never understand his crush on brian because you are a grown man, STAND UP. I understand that it was the premises of the show but it became concerning very soon. maybe i just look from a perspective of a person who walks away from any type of relationships the second anyone looks bad at me and I just can't imagine loving someone who dgaf about you (in a romantic way) for 15+ years....... also michael beefing with a literal teenager was something else 😭 like wishing death upon justin was INSANE, the craziest thing anyone has said on this show. michael didn't even know the depth of britin's relationship and dared to insert himself in it????......also brian having to apologise every single time even when michael was the wrong one pissed me off so bad. like in s5 when brian tried to end their fight and michael made it even worse...... I also dislike how michael never faced any consequences for his actions just once (jutin was an icon for snapping back at him lol), considering the fact that brian was blamed for everything all the fucking time for no reason but whatever I guess

I think I'll end this here because this post is already too long 😅

[hopeymchope]

My new theory on Takumi Sumino from Hundred Line: Maybe he's not a dick, just kind of socially inept... ? Or could he just be... dumb?

I'm pleased to report that, after passionately venting my frustrations with the characters' actions in The Hundred Line: Last Defense Academy, I continued on in the game and found myself soon absorbed in the mysteries of the story again. I managed to be enthralled by the main plot enough to ignore the weird behavior of the characters for a while, and that's more than enough to keep my attention.

Btw, the first/default 100 days doesn't have nearly enough Moko Mojiro, whose Hope's Peak talent would be Ultimate Cinnamon Roll.

However, I began to notice something weird about Takumi. It happened when his behavior frustrated me AGAIN, in a whole new way.

I'll need to talk about some events from the middle of those first 100 days to really dive into this, but I'll try to keep the details around those events as vague as possible.

See, there's a morning early in the back half of the first 100 days (somewhere in the 50s or 60s) where Nozomi rings Takumi's doorbell to tell him that she really wants him to tell her about the girl he knows that looks like her some time. (If you've seen any trailers or read the web site for this game, you know this is referring to Nozomi's strange resemblance to Takumi's lifelong/childhood friend Karua.) A few days later, Takumi and Nozomi spend hours in a single location together... mostly in silence. He doesn't know what to talk to her about. He thinks to himself that he really wants to talk to her about Karua, but he thinks it would just upset her. You know—despite the fact that she literally TOLD HIM to tell her, just a few days prior?

"I better not bring up that topic that she specifically asked me to bring up to her soon."

Another couple days pass, and this happens again. He is talking with her privately and thinks to himself about how he wishes he could talk to her about Karua, but he doesn't think it's appropriate/the right time... for some reason that he doesn't explain.

Of course I realize that, in actuality, this is just hand-waving away the obvious opportunities to advance the mystery because Kodaka doesn't want to do those reveals this early in the narrative. But if we want to justify these decisions from the perspective of the characters, what would drive this line of thinking? Why would Takumi—who was literally asked by Nozomi to tell her about Karua—assume that he definitely *shouldn't* do that on MULTIPLE obvious occasions?

A few days after the above incidents—we're in the back half of the 60s in terms of the first 100 days now—Takumi expresses to Nozomi that he's worried about her. She snaps back with the question "Are just worried about me because I look like that girl you know?" Takumi is silent. He has no idea how to respond. Later that night, in his room, he wonders what Nozomi wanted him to say in that moment. He wonders what he was supposed to say or do when she asked him that to make her feel better. It's not a question for him of what the honest answer is—it's a question of what answer she'd LIKE. Now... that's a pretty silly question, right? Any bog-standard "normie" person would obviously know what she wanted to hear. But somehow, Takumi doesn't have the ability to understand what she was looking to hear.

In light of these incidents, I came to a theory: Maybe Takumi can't read people whatsoever. (ETA: It's been brought up to me that this could be construed as some kind of disability or some form of autism, which is actually a really interesting/cool interpretation. But I don't want to pretend I know much about the autism spectrum. Sadly, I don't. I don't want to say anything ignorant. So... I'm just going to leave that subject here in these parenthesis so that you know it's a cool possibility that would explain a lot, and now I'll move on.) He doesn't know when someone means what they say or doesn't, he doesn't know what different facial expressions mean. This would also retroactively make some sense out of his decision to throw his trust and support behind Ima shortly after Ima stabbed Takemaru and was strongly implied to be abusing his sister in some fashion... see, Takumi just can't comprehend human interaction for some reason. He is, on a base level, poor at interpersonal communication because of some major blind spot—which you can explain/interpret however you like.

Alternatively: Could it be he's just... dumb? In a far more general sense, I mean? This is easily the more unkind interpretation, but I don't mean to say that him being "dumb" would make him a bad person at all. Perhaps it's not just that he has some kind of basic failure to understand people's words and expressions—perhaps Takumi just has a basic failure to understand things, period.

After some further consideration and additional game progress, I came to the conclusion that "Takumi is kind of stupid" actually has SOME supporting evidence.

There's a missable conversation you can have with Eito one morning where Eito is talking about how he stayed up late reading in the library, and he asks Takumi what kind of books he likes. Takumi doesn't know what to say because he's (*drumroll*) never read any books. Like literally, he's never read A single book. (He does further clarify that he's never read any "real" books, which leaves some room for interpretation. So what's a "not-real" book, then? Is he saying he's read some manga? Maybe children's picture books or something?)

We know from his dream flashbacks that Takumi had some trouble understanding his classes at school more than once. (This is assuming his memories are all legitimate, which I suppose is something of an open question.) This can and does happen to all of us at times, of course, so it's not noteworthy by itself... but in the context of everything else I'm listing here, it could be seen as supporting evidence for the "Takumi is kind of dumb" argument. .... Maybe he'd do better at school if he read one of his schoolbooks. :P

Throughout the game, you can freely "explore" outside the academy by asking three people to go with you and look for resources. There eventually comes an event where someone else wants to find a resource outside. Takumi instantly agrees to join in, and—despite the fact that you can pass some other students AND tell them your plan to do this mission on your way to the Entrance Hall—he does not think (and you, the player, are not allowed) to ask anyone else to join them, thereby making the mission significantly more difficult than usual because there's only TWO of you this time instead of the standard four. You could call this ludonarrative dissonance, I suppose. Or you could call it Takumi being pretty thick-headed.