#this is such a tiny moment but i loved it so here

[jobean12-blog]

Midnight Confessions

Light SPOILERS ahead!!!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2.5K

Summary: A late night gives you the opportunity to flirt with Bucky and the next night he comes right back for more.

Author's Note: There are some Thunderbolts spoilers here- none really story related so much but more character driven. So reader BEWARE :D I had fun writing all the ridiculous dialogue in the beginning and it's a bit chaotic but I hope it makes you smile! Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: fun and fluff, flirtiness, tension, sweetness

You set the timer and place it on the counter, leaning back with a sigh. While it seems everyone else in the tower is asleep, you’re as wide awake as the bustling city below. This is the second batch of cookies you’ve made this week, but no one seems to be complaining.

After contemplating something on the TV you decide instead to read, hoping it will make you sleepy.

No such luck and just as you’re starting the next chapter you see a dark shadow at the entrance of the kitchen, you’re body stiffening.

“It’s just me doll.”

At the sound of Bucky’s voice, you instantly relax.

“Jeez you’re quiet,” you whisper.

He chuckles lightly and steps into the kitchen. His hair is slightly mussed as if he’s been running a hand through it and his tee shirt clings to the broad lines of his chest and toned biceps. With a hard swallow you let your eyes drop lower, to the way his pants sit low on his waist but still hug his thighs.

“Can’t sleep?” you squeak out, dragging your gaze back to his face.

He shakes his head no and moves closer, revealing a surprise. The guinea pig Yelena rescued from the lab sits atop his left shoulder, tucked close to his neck and partially hidden by his hair.

You sit up with a gasp and rush over to him, cooing quietly and without a word plucking the piglet from his shoulder.

“What are you doing up?” you ask the guinea pig in a sweet voice.

“I probably should have let him sleep but as soon as I made noise he started squeakin’.”

You look up at Bucky and notice his soft expression as he watches you with the guinea pig.

“It’s a boy?” you ask.

“Actually, I don’t know,” he replies.

“Hmm,” you say as you pet it’s soft fur. “I bet it’s a girl.”

“That works too,” he smiles. “Are you making cookies?”

“I am…they should be out…,” and you walk over to the timer, “in three minutes.”

“Great doll. I could use a snack!” He slowly rubs his stomach as he stretches, revealing the dark trail of hair that disappears enticingly into his sweats.

The guinea pig squeaks and draws your attention away before he catches you staring.

“She needs a name,” you state as you cradle her in your arm.

Bucky is silent for a moment before he blurts out, “Cookie.”

“That’s cute,” you giggle, “but I think you’re just hungry.”

He doesn’t disagree and keeps thinking.

“She’s brown and white so…BACON!”

You stop petting the piglet and narrow your eyes at Bucky.

He holds his hands up in surrender, but you can see the way his eyes crinkle at the corners as he tries to hold back a smile.

“Are you going to wash the dishes?”

Bob’s voice is so low you almost don’t hear it but Bucky spins around at the sound.

“Bob!” both you and Bucky exclaim.

“What’s going on in here?” Bob asks as he looks between you and Bucky.

“We can’t sleep, and I made cookies,” you explain.

“And we’re trying to give the guinea pig a name,” Bucky adds.

“Ok,” Bob says. “I’m going to wash the dishes.”

“Do you want help?” you ask him. “I can dry the bowls.”

“Sure,” Bob says.

You hand the guinea pig back to Bucky. “Don’t get comfy. I want her back when I’m done.”

“Anything you want doll,” he says with a wink.

“How about Piglet?” Bob chimes from the sink.

“Like in Winnie the Pooh?” you ask as you slide up next to him and take the first bowl to dry it.

“Yeah…she’s kinda tiny…,” Bob says.

“So, you think she’s a girl too!” you say happily. “Bucky was calling it a he.”

“Not because I don’t think it could be a girl…I just…said he first.”

“It’s a girl,” Yelena says as she walks in.

“See! I knew it!” you sing song.

“What is going on here?” Yelena asks.

“None of us could sleep,” Bob answers. “So, we’re making cookies, washing dishes and naming the guinea pig.”

“Are the cookies ready yet?” Yelena asks, eyeing the oven.

“Just about,” you answer.

“Bob suggested Piglet…but I like Bacon,” Bucky says to fill Yelena in.

“Of course you would say Bacon,” she tsks. “I like Piglet.”

“Do I smell cookies?”

Walker strides in and heads straight for the oven.

“HEY Walker,” you whisper shout. “They’ll be out in a minute.”

He stops and plops himself down on a stool at the island with a huff.

“Why didn’t anyone invite me to the party?” he says.

“Because you’re an asshole,” but you and Yelena chime simultaneously but not without a smile pulling at each of your mouths.

“Can I least have some cookies,” Walker asks.

“Of course,” you tell him.

“Why don’t you name the pig, Hamlet,” Walker adds.

Everyone is quiet for a minute and tries to hide their smiles. “Actually, that’s cute,” you say, ���but we’ve decided it’s a girl so maybe something…more…girly.”

Walker rests his chin in his hands but remains silent.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Ava says, appearing from the other side of the wall.

Bob startles at the sink and Walker rolls his eyes.

“No one can sleep, we are about to eat cookies, and we need a name for our girl guinea pig,” Yelena sums up quickly before opening the oven just as the timer dings.

“Pipsqueak,” Ava says flatly.

Yelena smiles. “I like that. She does squeak…a lot.”

“But she’s brave,” Bob says. “She survived the lab. I wouldn’t call her a pipsqueak.”

“But Piglet is scared of everything isn’t he?” Bucky muses. “So that wouldn’t work either.”

“Oh,” Bob sighs. “Yeah, he is.”

“Still like Bacon,” Bucky mumbles to himself.

“WHO SAID BACON?” Alexei booms when he walks in. “We eat?”

Yelena hangs her head with a sigh and Ava rolls her eyes.

“No bacon,” Bucky says sadly. “But we have cookies.”

“Hm, that will do,” Alexei says as he walks over to Yelena and pulls out the hot tray with his hand.

“You should let them cool,” you say to Alexei as he goes to grab for one.

“No, no…I like them all gooey and melted and messy…” He pops half the cookie in his mouth and hums happily.

Bucky slides over; the guinea pig nestled in the crook of his metal arm as he grabs for a cookie.

Walker reaches over the island to grab his own.

“They’re still hot guys!” you scold but give up with a sigh when half the tray is gone in under a minute. “You better grab one,” you whisper to Bob.

He turns from the sink and wipes his hand, reaching for a cookie and placing it on a napkin near him. “I’ll let mine cool,” he says with a small smile.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence and lots of mumbled praises over the cookies, you ask, “so what are we naming the guinea pig?”

Alexei yells out, “ALEXEI!”

Everyone answers with a determined, “NO!”

Alexei deflates and takes another cookie.

“So far we ruled out all the suggestions,” you say, leaning back on the counter next to Bucky.

Without prompting he hands you the guinea pig. You gently hold her up and look her over.

“I have so many ideas but none of them seem to fit,” you huff.

“All mine are related to food,” Bucky shrugs.

“I still like Alexei,” Alexei grumbles.

“Hamlet isn’t girly enough,” Walker says.

“Piglet and Pipsqueak make her sound too timid,” Ava adds.

Finally, Yelena says, “what about Nat?”

All eyes turn to her, soft with unspoken words.

“That’s perfect,” you say quietly and everyone agrees.

Once the few remaining cookies are packed away and the kitchen is clean you walk over to Bucky who’s leaning against the wall, Nat once again cradled against his chest in the crook of his metal arm.

“She likes that spot,” you say quietly as you gently stroke her back.

“Yeah, maybe because it’s cool,” he says and then softly touches her nose as it twitches.

You watch him for a moment, so sweet and gentle with the little furball.

“You’re so cute,” you say softly.

“She is right,” Bucky agrees.

“She meant you super soldier,” Alexei chuckles from behind you. “Not pig.”

“She’s a guinea pig Dad,” Yelena dead pans.

Alexei waves his had dismissively. “All same.”

Your eyes meet Bucky’s, and you see the tops of his cheeks, just above all the dark stubble lining them, turn light pink.

“You meant little Nat right?” he asks.

“She definitely meant the guinea pig,” Walker says with a yawn as he walks by. “I’m goin’ to bed.”

Ava follows close behind him. “Me too. And she meant you Barnes.”

Alexei slaps Bucky hard on the back, jostling Nat in his arms and Bucky glares.

“Oh. Right, sorry,” Alexei mumbles then smiles wide. “She thinks you are cute.”

He walks away rubbing his stomach.

Only Yelena and Bob remain, Yelena with a smirk lifting her lips and Bob with wide eyes.

Your eyes stay on Bucky, and you lean in closer, still petting Nat. “No. I meant you. You’re really cute. Especially with her. It’s sweet.”

“She said he’s cute,” Bob whispers to Yelena who’s full on smiling now.

“Da,” Yelena nods, grabbing Bob’s arm to pull him down the hall.

“Does she like him?” Bob asks as he passes by you and Bucky.

Yelena laughs but doesn’t answer and keeps tugging him away.

The two of you are now alone and you watch Bucky’s gaze quickly drop to your lips before he says a quiet, “thanks.”

“Hope you can get some sleep,” you tell him then kiss his cheek. “Night.”

“Night, doll,” he whispers as he watches you walk to your room.

The next night when you’re still awake after midnight you head to the common room but when you don’t see a sign of anyone else you decide to go watch a movie until you fall asleep. The light knock on your door an hour later surprises you and when you open it to find Bucky on the other side you’re even more surprised.

“I didn’t wake you did I doll?” he asks in a rush.

“No, don’t worry. I was watching a movie.”

“I thought I saw light under the door so I figured you might still be up.”

“Did you want more cookies? The leftovers are in the cabinet.”

“Actually…Alexei ate them all. I checked…”

You snort laugh and grab Bucky’s hand, pulling him through the doorway.

“Of course he did,” you say as you plop down on the small couch.

Bucky follows and then stands there as if he’s unsure what to do next.

“You can sit,” you tell him.

He does.

“Are you watching The Goonies?”

“I am!” you say excitedly. “I’m so glad you’ve seen it.”

“Classic 80s.”

“Exactly,” you agree.

You settle back into the cushions and let your shoulder brush his. As the movie continues your body relaxes against him and he lifts his arm to rest it along the back of the couch. His fingers brush your shoulder and when he feels your skin pebble beneath his touch he does it again. Your breath catches in your throat and you audibly swallow.

The movie ends and you’re still pressed against him, his arm now circling your shoulders as his fingertips ghost over your skin.

“That’s one of my favorites,” you say and turn to meet his eyes.

“Mine too,” he whispers, curling his fingers around your arm so you turn your body into his.

His eyes wander over your face, their soft reverence only sharpened when they stop on your lips.

“Doll…I…”

Whatever he wants to say is lost in the moment and he presses his mouth to yours, softly at first, but when you slide your fingers into his hair and tug him closer, he hums low in his chest and deepens it, parting your lips.

His knuckles skim down your arm before splaying at your back and pulling you into his lap. His hand slips under your shirt, every caress of his fingertips slow and teasing as if he’s savoring every moment and committing it to memory. His kisses are sweet and languid and the hair lining his face scratches the soft column of your neck as his lips trail downward to your hammering pulse.

A deep and satisfied hum rumbles through his chest and you press yourself closer, feeling the hard lines of his muscle beneath his shirt.

“Bucky,” you whimper.

He lifts his head to stare at you, his breathing fast. His metal thumb lifts to trace your swollen bottom lip before he slides it behind your neck and brings your lips back to his, nibbling the same spot then soothing it with his tongue.

You moan into his mouth and the sound snaps what little control he’s holding on to and suddenly you’re flipped to your back, your wrists in his metal hand and pinned above your head. His eyes teasingly trail over your body, and you go pliant in his hold, your legs falling open as he settles between them.

He leans down, dipping his head to run his nose along your neck, breathing you in before his lips are on yours again.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, his hand releasing your wrists and sliding lower to stroke your curves. “I knew you would be.”

“You’ve thought about it?” you ask as you tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, licking his lips. “I came over here with the intention to ask you out on a date…”

“Is this not…?”

He cuts you off. “This is exactly what I want…you’re what I want. I’m just…trying to be a gentleman.”

Your lips form an O shape, and he kisses you again.

“I’ll go on a date with you Bucky,” you murmur between kisses.

“Good, that’s good,” he says, his warm hands continuing their exploration of your body while his lips trail down your neck.

You arch into him and slide your hands from his hair down his back, scraping lightly with your nails.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

When his eyes lift to yours he wears a pained expression.

“A gentleman,” he repeats.

“Right. A date,” you say.

“Fuck,” he mutters again but doesn’t move an inch.

You stare at each other, the tension building in the small space between you before he dips his head and kisses you again. His lips find the spot just below your ear and he whispers, “if you don’t tell me to go now…”

“I don’t want you to go Bucky. I want you to stay. I want you.”

[ryoflix]

the sukuna family on mother's day | f. reader, she/her, crack 'n fluff, estb. rl, ؛ ଓ

mother’s day starts suspiciously quiet.

too quiet.

you wake up to the smell of something burning very faintly and the unmistakable clink of dishes being “gently” stacked (read: aggressively tossed) in the kitchen. you don’t move, of course — you know better. the moment you sit up, the whole operation unravels, and that’s when chaos wins. so you keep your eyes closed and pretend not to hear the muted bickering coming from the hallway.

“you stirred too fast! you ruined the fluff!”

“you poured too much! now it’s like soup!”

“is it supposed to be pink?!”

there’s a sudden hush when someone realizes your bedroom door creaked.

“shh. we’ll get arrested.”

“for eggs?”

then, footsteps — tiny, rapidly retreating footsteps — and a loud whisper that screams panic.

“hurry, get the card!”

you smile into your pillow.

when you finally rise (thirty minutes later, after someone bravely sent in the daughter to tiptoe in and check if you were awake), you’re greeted by a tray of very crunchy toast, scrambled eggs that are both undercooked and burnt somehow, and a suspicious amount of whipped cream on what might have once been pancakes. 

your daughter has taped a flower onto a folded construction paper card that says “MOM: MAJESTIC OVERALL MAJESTY.” your son’s drawing is a stick figure of you with glowing fists and a caption that says “MOTHER OF DRAGONS (and me).”

and your husband? sukuna literally takes the glass out of your hand mid-sip. “you want water? you tell me. you sit. you don’t move.”

“baby, i already poured it—”

“nope.” he puts the glass down. “i’ll re-pour it. it’s not about hydration. it’s about principle.”

you don’t even bother arguing. he’s on a mission, and he’s not alone.

the moment the kids even look like they’re about to start their usual petty squabble — like when your son insists the oil pastel crayon set is his and your daughter’s jaw tightens like she’s ready to lunge — they both pause, lock eyes, and visibly force a smile so wide it’s actually terrifying. then they… hug. 

they hug. right in front of you.

your daughter, through gritted teeth: “i loovve sharing.”

your son, dead inside: “me too.”

you squint at them. “what are you two doing.”

“being nice,” they chirp, in haunting unison.

later, when you head toward the laundry basket like the fool you are, sukuna sprints from the bathroom like he just heard a burglar. “don’t you dare,” he growls, snatching the hamper. “do i look like the kind of husband who lets his wife do laundry on mother’s day?”

“you are the kind of husband who folds towels like ravioli.”

“that’s not the point.”

you try to sneak into the kitchen to at least clear some dishes — just one dish — but your daughter appears like a tiny bouncer with her arms crossed. “you sit,” she says, shoving a stuffed animal into your hand. “play tea party. you’re not allowed in here until you relax.” your son backs her up, dragging out your fuzzy slippers and putting them on for you, even though he mismatches the feet and they keep sliding off.

they even sweep.

do you want the broom dragging a line of dust in the opposite direction? no. but they’re sweeping. together. without trying to fight each other for broom rights.

there is also a fifteen-minute span where sukuna doesn’t even sit down. he is just hovering behind you like a service staff at a five-star hotel. adjusting your pillow. refilling your tea. straightening the blanket. flinching every time you lift a finger like you’re about to stand up.

“if you get up, i will take it personally,” he warns.

“are you threatening me.”

“yes. out of love.”

by evening, the house is slightly sticky from too many unmonitored hands, you’re full of suspicious amounts of sugar, and your heart? full.

everything feels exaggerated, over the top, a little ridiculous. but you know what? that’s their way. your kids, your husband — they love loud and chaotic and deep. they’re a bit off-beat and extra. and today, that love takes the form of cardboard flowers, cursed breakfast food, unspoken truces, and a very grumpy man guarding you like a national treasure. so you lean back, surrounded by all of them, and sigh.

"next year, i want a spa day," you say.

your daughter nods solemnly. “we’ll bring the spa here.”

your son blinks. “do spas have spaghetti?”

sukuna just mutters, “i'll start boiling water.”

a/n: i wanted to publish a mother's day special but i could not think of anything...belated wishes tho (:

[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.”

[seumyo]

husband!kageyama taking care of your nails for you.

“You know, when you told me you were going to clip my nails, I didn’t think you meant it seriously.”

Kageyama gave a small grunt, not looking up. “I always mean it seriously.”

“That’s what worries me a little.”

He blinked, pausing to glance at you. “Why?”

“Because you have your ‘actual game face’ on. Like you’re about to hit the ball through someone’s soul—my poor finger’s soul.”

His brow furrowed. “This is delicate work,” he said, as if it were obvious. “I have to focus. And I’m careful.”

You laughed, watching him lift your hand like it was a precious object. He took a long moment to examine your fingers—turning them slightly, his thumb brushing along your knuckles in slow circles. It’s gentle and careful, and it warms your heart to see your husband so loving like this.

“You have a hangnail here,” he muttered, frowning. “Were you picking at it again?”

“I got nervous during that meeting yesterday.”

He clicked his tongue quietly. “Stop doing that. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I didn’t know I’d be getting a full checkup afterward!”

“You don’t need to be nervous. You’re… good at what you do.” His voice dropped a little as he said it, like it embarrassed him to offer praise so directly. “I’ve heard you on the phone. You’re smart. And brave.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard. Your smile softened. “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve said all week.”

“I said you looked pretty yesterday.”

“You said I ‘looked rested.’”

“…Oh. Well, you look even prettier today.”

You laughed, and it made his ears turn pink.

He clipped your nails gently, his hands steady, fingers long and precise. He held each of yours securely, guiding you through the process like a practiced routine. It wasn’t rushed; Kageyama took his time, carefully aligning the clipper, checking the angle twice before making a cut. After each nail, he paused to brush the trimmed bits into a little ceramic bowl they kept nearby.

“Do you do this often?” You asked after a long pause. “For yourself, I mean?”

He nodded once. “Every few days. I have to. My fingers are everything. If I don’t keep my nails short and clean, they can catch on the ball or split. It’s stupid how much one little crack can mess with your whole game.”

You gave him a look, eyes wide with something like quiet awe. “You take this so seriously.”

“It’s part of taking care of myself,” he said, and his gaze lifted to yours. “And now it’s part of taking care of you too.”

Your breath caught for just a moment. How did you ever get so lucky to snag this man?

Kageyama picked up the small file next and began to smooth the edges with slow, even strokes. The motion was rhythmic and tender. You watched the way he focused so intently on the task—the slight pinch in his brow, the way his lower lip pressed into a thin line when he was trying to be especially careful.

“You always do this when you’re nervous,” you said softly, brushing your free hand against his hair.

“Do what?”

“Zone in. Like the world disappears except the thing you’re trying to control.”

Kageyama was quiet for a moment, then exhaled. “That’s… true.”

“Are you nervous right now?”

He hesitated. “Not nervous. Just… I want to get it right.”

“Because it’s me?”

He gave the tiniest nod, eyes still trained on your thumbnail. “You’re important. I don’t want to mess anything up.”

You leaned in, resting your forehead against his for a beat. “You won’t.”

The silence between you grew comfortable. The kind of quiet that speaks in glances and gentle touches. After he filed the last nail, he gently ran his thumb across each fingertip, checking for snags, tiny splinters, anything he might have missed. Then he reached for the cuticle oil and unscrewed the little bottle with a slow, almost reverent motion.

“I’m going to massage this in,” he said, almost shyly—yet still determined.

You nodded, watching him carefully as he dabbed a small dot of oil on each nail, then rubbed it in with soft, circular motions. His touch was warm, so warm, like the atmosphere during mornings in a bakery. The way he held your hand wasn’t just careful—it was reverent. As if your hands were something sacred. Something worth protecting.

“I like your hands,” he said suddenly.

You scrunched your nose, barely. “Really?”

“They’re soft. And warm. And… I know them.” His voice dropped lower, murmuring. “I know the way you hold my wrist when I’m anxious. The way you press your palm to my back when I come home late. How you run your fingers through my hair when I can’t sleep.”

You swallowed. Your chest ached in that lovely, terrible way when someone says exactly what you needed to hear without knowing it.

“I want to take care of them,” he added, brushing his thumb along the side of your pinky. “Because they take care of me.”

“Tobio…”

He looked up then, eyes a little wide like he was afraid he’d gone too far. But you leaned forward before he could pull back and kissed him softly. When you pulled away, your voice was barely a whisper. “You are the gentlest man I’ve ever known.”

He shook his head, a breath of laughter escaping. “I’m not.”

“You are. Maybe not with words. Or… you know, strangers. But with me? You’re gentle in all the ways that matter.”

You sat like that for a long moment—hands still entwined, foreheads nearly touching, the world outside fading into white noise. Then Kageyama cleared his throat. “I could… maybe paint them next time? If you want?”

Your eyes lit up. “You’d paint my nails?”

He gave an awkward little shrug. “If you like it. I’d have to practice.”

You hummed, pulling him forward into another kiss, lingering and full of affection. “You’re already perfect.”

Kageyama flushed from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears once again. He’s so easily flustered—it’s almost illegal to be this cute, you think.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[stxxrlights]

𝐁𝐎𝐘 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎

boy next door!geto who you welcomed so warmly the day he moved into the apartment next to you. helping him carry some his boxes upstairs to his new place which surprisingly, was right nest door to yours.

boy next door!geto who would go out and come back to his apartment the same as you almost everyday. you would head for college while he's going for a run early in the morning. always smiling brightly at you.

boy next door!geto who started engaging in small talk with you, trying to get to know you better. what foods you likes, the type of shows you like, your favourite colour. whatever it is, he's happy to know that about you.

boy next door!geto who let's you play with his white fluffy dog named satoru. he seemed to take quite an interest with you. always jumping and barking excitedly whenever he sees you. and he's not small either. he causes you to fall on the ground as he jumps onto you and licks your face.

boy next door!geto who really enjoys your company and values it a lot. he thinks your and interesting person in general. he mostly asks you to accompany him to the laundry mat because why not.

boy next door!geto who would get you groceries when he sees you ordering takeout for almost an entire week. anything to help out his cute little neighbour since you've been so busy with school.

boy next door!geto who eventually asks for your number. giving excuses like, "i need someone to call incase something happens you know. you're the only one i trust here anyways", he winks playfully at you. but once he does, he's going back into his apartment and silent screaming that you took his number.

boy next door!geto who would invite you on his morning and evening walks when he's walking satoru. claiming since he gets so excited around you, he's gonna have more energy and actually get some exercise. he just loves talking to you about absolute nonsense, often smiling at you as satoru trots happily infront of you.

boy next door!geto who's feelings started to get stronger for you. his heart beating a little faster, his palms getting sweatier and he's stuttering more than usual, which he never does, around you. he doesn't understand, but he likes the way you make him feel.

boy next door!geto who couldn't help but smile whenever you cross his thoughts. he could just be laying on his bed staring at the ceiling and he randomly remembers the stupid joke you told him and the pretty smile on your face. he sighs contentedly and knew he had to make you his.

boy next door!geto who started taking your opinions very seriously. "your hair look grwat in a bun", you commented one day and suddenly, he's hair is almost always styled in a bun.

boy next door!geto who would subtly try to woo you into liking him as much as he likes you. throwing compliments whenever he deemed necessary, making you laugh with his jokes and sometimes buying you things and food and tiny trinkets to get his way into your kind heart.

boy next door!geto who would leave chocolates and other sweets you mentioned liking at your door step in secret. you would always find them after you got back from school. they never failed to make your day and you knew who it was, but you didn't tell him. you infact started liking him a little too

boy next door!geto who meticulously planned the perfect moment to confess to you. asking you to go somewhere with him where you found a picnic table set up as you watched the sunset.

boy next door!geto who could not stop his heart from exploding in his chest when you smiled and laughed and confessed your feelings for him as well. he was at a loss for words. his cheeks dusted pink and he's shaking a little not believing that this is happening. overjoyed, he pulls you in for a big hug. whispering 'i love you' over and over again.

boy next door!geto who feels like the happiest man on earth, to have the most beautiful, gorgeous, kind and absolutely adorable neighbour as his girlfriend, and in the near future...his wife.

comments and reblogs are appreciated

[rinsnumber1fan]

Isagi Yoichi is your sweet boyfriend but when hes in bed? Something in him shifts. [MDNI 18+] [mean isagi, dom! Isagi, spanking, power play, hair pulling, p in v.]

Isagi Yoichi seemed like a good boyfriend, anything anyone would want in a boyfriend. He was kind, sweet, he helped you carry your things, he helped you whenever you had a small problem. Yoichi would take you out on dates, they wouldn't too expensive but they would be enough. His presence was enough. Everytime he meets you, he'd bring flowers.

He loved taking you out too. To the outside world and to you he was perfect. He respected you in public and all your friends grin when he walks by, they nudge your elbow and tease you because they know he's good for you.

But is that really the case when you're alone?

One particular night you realized it wasn't.

He seems all sweet during movie night and he bought all the right snacks. Your favourite snacks displayed on the table before you two on the couch of his apartment. And mid-movie he had already forgotten why he was here. He leans his finger close to your chin, his mouth leans closer and you freeze for a moment when his lips meet your cheek.

Adorable, huh?

And before you know it, he has you pinned down on the couch with his hand gripping tightly onto yours. "Couldn't even think about the movie." He complained, like it was your fault, his lips meet with yours hungrily and the sweet lover boy you knew? Gone.

"I told you not to wear this tiny shit when you sit with me." Isagi grumbled, his calloused hands finding their way to your collar and pulling it down while his other hand shamelessly bothered your inner thigh. "Yoichi--"

He places his hand over your mouth and grins. Let's just say he went crazy. His tounge all over your neck, and eveytime you moaned just a bit too loud he'd slap the skin on your inner thigh.

"Pissing me off. Who do you think you are?" he'd murmur as he fucks you into complete oblivion. Untill you're crying and untill you're clinging to him like a moaning mess.

He'd do all kinda of things you didn1t expect him to do. Like him pulling your hair from the back to see that expression on your face. Like him telling you, "aww so fucked out for me?"

And with aftercare? He's back to his sweet self. It's like seeing a switch get turned on and off and somehow, you prefer the mean side of him. He'd go all "I-is this fine?" And be awkward and cute as if he didn't just make your legs break.

[yes-no-maybe-soo]

Girl Dad Sylus Headcanons ♥︎

Warnings: slight allusions to self harm.

other than that, there is nothing here but pure fluff and maybe some comfort(?)

I love how a large part of the fandom looks at Sylus and collectively agrees "he'll be a girl dad". And needless to say, I'm very much part of the Girl Dad Sylus Truthers, so I figured I should contribute some more to the agenda (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟAs always, I haven't really proofread this, but I at least tried to be somewhat organized dhdjfj

Also, I'm currently at the airport bored out of my mind so this got pretty long. It was such a pleasant way to spend the time and so I didn't hold myself back at all. Regardless, I hope you all enjoy ♡(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭

Credit to @/fawndollie for the divider ♡

Sylus' daughter will always be well provided for emotionally, financially, you name it. Unlike him, she won't want for a single thing growing up.

He would ideally want more than one child so that his kid won't ever be lacking a companion her own age. And in his mind, the more the merrier. But he ultimately leaves it up to MC to decide.

Has sung to his little girl ever since she lay in her mother's womb.

Showers her with unconditional love and affection from the very moment she takes her first breath.

Cries when he first holds her. His baby girl makes him feel more vulnerable than he ever imagined himself capable of. He is wrapped around her tiny finger from that moment on.

Can't stop marveling at her or touching her. He has never laid eyes on anything as perfect as his tiny, wailing newborn. The fact that a fiend like him had a part in making something so precious, so innocent... he can hardly believe it.

The immense joy and peace her birth has brought to his heart and soul never dims.

Adjusts his entire sleep schedule to spend time with and take care of her.

Very hands on from the beginning. He takes just as much responsibility as his wife in caring for their daughter.

Has a habit of building his baby soft little nests from blankets and the like (he's a dragon, after all). He likes to curl around her and the nest protectively when she naps.

Is absolutely the type of dad to wear a baby carrier.

Is also the kind of dad that takes tons of pictures of his child. Enough to fill up albums. He wants to commemorate and treasure every single moment.

Her first laugh is the sweetest, most beautiful sound he has heard in all his aeons of life. He absolutely delights in bringing that precious sound out of her no matter how old she gets.

Uses cute nicknames like "Baby", "Princess", "Sweetheart", "Munchkin", "My Little Dove", "Tiger"

His heart melts the first time his little girl says "Dada". And let's not even talk about the first time she says "I love you" (He gets misty eyed). His heart never stops melting, no matter how many times he hears her say either.

Gets very excited about her first birthday and goes all in planning it. And with each birthday that comes, his joy and his pride in his little princess' growth and milestones only increase.

Most likely develops mild back pain due to spending so much time with his tall frame bent down to accommodate his child. But to Sylus, that is a tiny price to pay in exchange for spending time with his baby girl.

Delights in telling her bedtime stories, especially fairytales involving dragons and princesses.

Baking is another common bonding activity.

Enjoys being out in nature with her, and early on imbues her with respect and care for wildlife. Also teaches her how to make pretty flower crowns.

Regularly takes her on daddy daughter dates. (This is them)

Absolutely 100% spoils her. She has more toys and games than she can feasibly play with. If she ever mentions that she likes or wants something even once she will have it by the very next day.

That being said, Sylus is not a pushover and can be strict when it's for her own good. She has timeouts (and curfews once allowed out on her own). She can't always have whatever food strikes her fancy, especially not when sick. He won't give in to tantrums. He scolds her when appropriate (but gently and with empathy and whilst taking the time to also listen to her).

He never raises his voice at her. Ever.

Stays up with her all night when she is ill, comforting and caring for her. Holds her in his arms when she cries, softly sings her her favorite songs, and gently strokes her hair or rubs her back.

Like him, his daughter loves to sing, and also like him, she cannot carry a tune. When she begs him to buy a karaoke machine, he isn't difficult to convince, and the enthusiastic but tone deaf daddy daughter duo has lots of fun torturing the poor machine with their... unique vocals.

Sylus is of course very proud of his daughter's singing. And for her part, Sylus' daughter genuinely adores her dad's singing. Maybe because she is part dragon herself, or perhaps because she has heard his singing for as long as she can remember and even earlier still. Likely both.

He adores her carefree childish chatter, and listens attentively to what she has to say, nodding, commenting and asking follow up questions. She always feels seen and heard and valued by him.

Very physically affectionate towards her. He loves it when she crawls into his lap and puts her little arms around his neck for a cuddle, or when she runs up to him with outstretched arms wanting to be carried by him.

Because he is a giant, his little girl often uses him as a personal jungle gym, and he lets her do so without complaint, finding it amusing.

A wonderful playmate. He loves to play with her, especially pretend. He goes all in for her sake, always creating as fun and exciting a game as possible. Her laughter and shrieks of joy heal his inner child.

Like her mother, Sylus' little girl has a habit of falling asleep in his lap or atop his chest when she is tuckered out. Sylus adores it.

Wears the colorful bracelets she makes him in preschool with love and pride. Those, along with the drawings and barely legible little notes she gives him are some of his greatest treasures. Much more valuable than any of the gems in his vast collection.

Lets her put glitter, stickers, hair ties etc. on him and will wear them without feeling the least bit self conscious. He knows how happy it makes his daughter and he is proud of her handiwork and creativity.

Often does her hair. He has perfected the craft by the time she starts school, and her braids are the envy of her classmates.

Always shows up to her recitals without fail. Business meeting? Consider it canceled. He is not missing his baby's performance for the world.

He helps her practice beforehand, singing and dancing with her and helping her pick out the prettiest dress. Will also participate if she gets stage fright

Extremely patient and emotionally attentive. He respects and communicates with his daughter. Asks her questions and listens attentively to her answers.

Very good at soothing and calming his little girl. For example, he is the type of parent to ask when she takes a fall whilst learning to ride a bike "Did it hurt you or did it scare you?" and to both comfort and talk her through it.

Takes immense pride witnessing her negotiating skills whilst exchanging things like sweets or stickers with their friends.

Encourages and takes an interest in her hobbies, be it science, sports, girl scouts, gaming, etc.

As she grows, he revels in making her groan and roll her eyes with his arsenal of dad jokes. He was born for this.

Takes her on motorcycle rides once she grows old enough, and will also be the one to teach her how to drive herself when she wants to get a license.

Teaches her self defense from a pretty early age.

He is very protective of her and has laid out certain rules she must always follow for her safety, but he is not at all stifling or controlling. He understands and values the importance of his child developing her independence and individuality.

He makes sure that she has impenetrable confidence in herself and that she never doubts her potential.

He also does all he can to instill self love in her from the beginning. He knows what it is to hate one's appearance, to feel "wrong", and what that can lead to. He doesn't want his own child to ever feel the same way he once did, and so he early on reveals his horns and tail to her, wanting to teach her that looking or being different than most doesn't make you less than your peers – it makes you unique, makes you you, and it's something to be proud of.

Keeps tabs on her location via Mephisto when she is on her first date.

Is furious when she has her heart broken for the first time, his own clenching painfully as she sobs into his chest. But despite his anger, and his desire to go disintegrate the idiot who did this to his little girl, he restrains himself, focusing on his child and on comforting and being there for her. As he always has and always will.

Come what may, he loves, supports, and stands by his daughter unconditionally.

[pillow-coded]

Five Hours

Summary: After weeks of pleading, Y/N is granted five rare hours alone with her husband, Spencer, inside prison for a conjugal visit. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) MDNI!!!!! Content Warning: Angsttttt but also kinda fluff and then angst again, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, prison!reid, crying during sex, aftercare. A/N: loosely based on CM S12, prison Reid arc. Word Count: 7.8K

According to the Oxford Dictionary, a conjugal visit is a visit to a prisoner, by the spouse of the prisoner, especially for sexual relations.

However, Definitions are cold and stripped of nuisance.

They don’t tell you about the ache in your chest that doesn’t fade with time, or the way silence settles into your bed when the person you love isn’t in it.

They don’t tell you how it feels to wash your hair and suddenly remember the way his fingers used to rinse the shampoo out for you, gentle like he was afraid you’d break.

So no. Sexual relations is definitely not why I spent two weeks calling people, filing paperwork, arguing with strangers in suits and uniforms.

It wasn’t for sex. Even if it happens, even if we need it like oxygen—that’s not why I did it.

I did it because Spencer’s been in prison for a month, and I don’t know how much longer I can go without holding him.

All I want is to hold him in my arms. To kiss the corner of his mouth. To brush those soft curls away from his forehead and whisper that he’s going to be okay—that no matter what this place is doing to him, he’s still himself.

But I’ve seen it happening. His eyes have been growing dimmer with every non-contact visit. That’s all they’ve allowed me—cold chairs, thick glass, a phone pressed to my ear while I watched him shrink in real time. The only people granted private visits until now were Emily, and Fiona.

And now, finally… me.

I pushed, pleaded, filed the paperwork, followed up, waited. Jumped through every hoop they put in front of me. Some of the guards smirked when they handed me the forms—like they thought I was here for something cheap, something selfish.

But I would’ve done anything to get this time. I did do everything for these five hours they gave us.

And now I’m being escorted down a long corridor toward the conjugal suite—a room designed to look almost like a motel bedroom. Almost normal. Cream-colored sheets, a nightstand, dim overhead lighting. A sad little lamp that tries too hard to feel homey. There’s even a fake window with a painted blue sky outside of it. Like that could fool someone who hasn’t seen the real one in thirty days.

My palms are sweating. My heart won’t stop pounding.

In just a few minutes, I’ll get to touch him. I’ll get to kiss him.

I’ll get to breathe him in, memorize the sound of his voice without static in the way. I’ll get to be his again, not through glass, not with guards watching, but here—in this tiny, borrowed pocket of time where the world outside doesn’t exist.

I didn’t tell him about the conjugal visit.

I wanted it to be a surprise.

I wanted to see his face soften the moment he sees me sitting on the bed. I wanted to watch the disbelief bloom in his eyes, see the guardedness fall away. Just for a second. Just long enough to let him remember he’s loved.

Just long enough to let him feel free—even if it’s only for five hours.

“The prisoner will be here in a few minutes,” The guard says, voice clipped, bored, like this is just another Tuesday. “We’ll call eventually, when your time has run out. If you do not answer this call, we will be coming in regardless of what you two are doing. Got that?”

I nod, throat tight.

She gives me a look—somewhere between warning and pity—then shuts the door behind her.

And just like that, I’m alone again.

In a room pretending to be a bedroom. Waiting for my husband like I’m not half shaking.

I glance at the mirror in the corner, force myself to sit on the bed—knees together, hands folded in my lap. I don’t want him to see the nerves first. I want him to see me. The real me. The one that still believes he’s coming home.

I smooth down my clothes and stare at the door like it might open by magic.

Any second now.

My fingers twist together in my lap. I force them to still. The bed creaks under me when I shift, and I flinch like I’ve broken something sacred. Everything feels too loud. Too sharp. Like the silence in here is made of glass and I might shatter it just by breathing.

Then—The sound of keys, a bolt turning, footsteps. My heart stumbles in my chest, the door opens.

And there he is.

He steps inside slow, cautious, eyes adjusting to the low light. For a second, he doesn’t see me. He’s still in that survival state—shoulders tense, gaze scanning for threats before comfort. His hair is longer, curls hanging low over his forehead. His jaw looks sharper, like he’s lost weight again. His posture is too straight, too stiff. His body has learned prison, and it shows.

And then he sees me—Really sees me.

His breath catches.

That’s when everything changes.

His eyes widen like he can’t believe I’m real, like maybe the prison food’s finally driven him to hallucinations. His whole face crumples—relief first, then disbelief, then something wordless and raw that makes my chest ache. He takes one shaky step forward.

“Y/N?” he breathes.

I nod, standing up slowly, cautiously, as if I might spook him.

“Surprise,” I whisper, smiling through the lump in my throat. “You didn’t think I’d let them keep me away forever, did you?”

He’s already moving.

Crossing the room in a few long, clumsy strides until his arms are around me—tight, desperate, anchoring. I don’t even remember closing the distance. We just fold into each other like we never learned how to be apart.

He buries his face in my neck. I feel him inhale deep, like he’s starving for something only I can give. His whole body trembles against mine.

“I didn’t know,” he whispers. “They didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t want them to,” I say softly, fingers curling into the fabric of his uniform. “I wanted it to be a surprise”

He pulls back just far enough to look at me, his hands coming up to cup my cheeks like he needs to memorize every inch. There’s so much love in his eyes, but it’s cracked around the edges. Worn thin.

“You’re here,” he says, as if still not believing it. “You’re really here.”

“I’m here, baby,” I nod. “For five hours… I’m yours.”

His voice breaks on a sound that might be a laugh. Or a sob. I can't tell. I don’t think he can either.

Then he kisses me—soft at first, reverent, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he moves too fast. I kiss him back like I’ve been waiting for this every second of the last month. Because I have.

Because I’d wait forever just to feel this again.

“I missed you,” he murmurs, his voice muffled against the crook of my neck. He clings to me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear—arms tightening around my waist, fingers curling into the fabric of my dress. “I missed you so much.”

“So did I,” I whisper back, barely holding it together. I run my hands over his back, exploring every new ridge, every place this month has hollowed out. “So, so much.”

We’re still wrapped around each other when the door clicks again—followed by a voice that slices straight through the moment.

“Your wife’s already been informed,” the guard says dryly, arms crossed over his chest like he’s seen this scene too many times to care. “But I’ve gotta say it for the record: we’ll call in when your time is up. If you don’t answer the phone, we’re coming in. It’s protocol.”

He pauses for effect, then adds with an unimpressed glance toward the bed, “So please answer the call. We don’t want to walk in to see… well. You know.”

Spencer flinches, just slightly. Not out of embarrassment—out of habit. Like he’s bracing for punishment, even here, even now.

I feel his breath hitch against my skin. His fingers twitch where they hold me.

“We’ll answer,” I say flatly, shooting the guard a look that makes him shrug and back out without another word.

The door shuts again, but the spell is already bruised.

Spencer doesn’t pull away from me. If anything, he holds me tighter. I press a soft kiss to his temple, breathing him in.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, rocking us slightly like I’m trying to soothe both of us at once. “They’re not here now. It’s just you and me.”

“Just you and me…” he repeats, but it sounds more like a question. Like he’s trying the words on his tongue, testing if they’re real. If this is real. His voice is thick with disbelief, the kind that comes from a month of fluorescent lights, shouted orders, and not a single safe place to land.

I pull back slowly and meet his eyes. They’re wet—but not broken. Not yet. There's still a little spark behind them, flickering like a candle in wind.

I reach for his hand—cool and calloused from rough sheets and cold routines—and he lets me take it without hesitation. His fingers thread through mine like muscle memory.

“Come here,” I murmur.

And I lead him toward the bed.

It creaks when we sit, but we don’t notice. We’re too busy drinking each other in like we’ve been wandering through deserts and finally found water.

He looks around the room, almost bashful now. “This feels… surreal,” he says. “Like I’m not allowed to have this.”

I bump his knee with mine, gentle. “Well, you better enjoy it,” I say with a teasing smile, though my throat is tight. “I busted my ass trying to get this visit. Took a whole week of phone calls and paperwork and playing nice with people who looked at me like I was asking for too much.”

His eyes snap back to mine. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Don’t be.” I squeeze his hand. “It was worth it the second I saw your face.”

He swallows hard, blinking faster now. I can tell he’s trying to stay in control—but emotion’s already slipping through the cracks.

“I’m sure I can get another visit,” I say softly, brushing my fingers against his. “But it might take a while. So for now… just let yourself have this. Please.”

He nods, slow and deliberate, like he’s promising me something sacred.

And then he leans in—forehead to mine, breath to breath—and for the first time in thirty days, we let the world fall away.

“How’d you manage to arrange this? A conjugal visit is rare in most of America.”

His thumb brushes over my cheek, barely there. His eyes are on my lips like he’s forgotten how kissing works but remembers that it mattered once.

I smile, just a little smug. “I know.”

“Seriously,” he says, brows knitting. “You must’ve pulled some impossible strings.”

“I did,” I admit. “There were forms. So many forms. And begging. And calling. And smiling at people I didn’t want to smile at.”

He huffs a laugh, the sound small but real. “You charmed the system?”

“I bullied the system,” I correct, grinning now. “Emily helped push it through once I got it on paper. Fiona found a loophole in the visitation code, and I… well, I gave one hell of a speech to the warden’s assistant.”

His mouth tilts up at the corners. “What kind of speech?”

“The kind that makes people uncomfortable if they say no,” I say, lifting a brow. “A little desperate. A little dramatic. Very persuasive.”

He laughs again—really laughs—and I swear I feel his body melt just a little more beside mine. Like the weight is starting to come off, molecule by molecule.

“You’re unbelievable,” he murmurs.

“No,” I say, reaching up to trace the outline of his face. “I’m your wife… and your wife has been desperate to hold you again,”

And then, like gravity shifts between us—he kisses me.

Slow. Intentional. Like he’s trying to relearn me by feel alone.

He pulls back just slightly, his breath shaky against my lips. His forehead rests against mine again, eyes still closed like he’s afraid they’ll betray how close he is to breaking.

“I was terrified that you would forget about me,” he says, voice cracking on the edges.

My heart squeezes. I cup his face in both hands, forcing him to look at me. “Spence… how could you ever think that?”

“I don’t know…” He swallows hard, like the words are knives on the way out. “This place… it’s dark. It changes you. You start to doubt everything.”

His eyes shine wet. He doesn’t blink.

“My mind keeps going to places I’ve never dared to think of. I imagine you moving on. Laughing without me. Falling asleep next to someone who isn't waiting for a phone call to say goodnight.”

I shake my head fiercely. “No. That’s not real.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I know. But in here, knowing isn’t enough. The silence gets inside your head. It starts sounding like truth.”

I press my forehead to his, trying to pour every ounce of love I have back into him. “You haven’t lost me. You won’t lose me.”

“I don’t want to forget who I am,” he confesses, voice barely there. “And I’m scared I already am.”

“You’re Spencer,” I breathe. “You’re brilliant. And soft. And good. You’re mine. And no steel bars or sleepless nights or whispering doubts will ever take that from me.”

He closes his eyes. A single tear slides down his cheek, and I catch it with my thumb before it can fall too far. He’s holding back. Like he didn’t want to ruin the little time we had by breaking down.

“You’re still you,” I whisper again, like a prayer I refuse to stop saying. “Even here you’re you.”

And then I kiss him—deeper this time, slower—both hands buried in his hair like I’m trying to hold all the broken pieces together before they slip through my fingers.

When I pull back, he’s staring at me like I’ve just given him air.

“I think about you all the time,” I say softly, brushing my thumb across his cheekbone.

A real smile—small but real—tugs at his lips.

“I think about you too,” he murmurs, his voice steadier now. “All the time. Every second I can spare.”

He exhales, long and slow, like he’s trying to let go of something he’s been holding in for too long.

Then he looks at me with that kind of aching desperation only someone truly starved can have.

“Tell me…” he says. “Tell me something about the outside. Anything. I just want to hear your voice talk about something normal. Something real.”

I smile, blinking back tears, and thread our fingers together.

“Well…” I begin, letting my voice soften like we’re already under blankets at home, “Henry won the spelling bee.”

Spencer lets out a small, breathy laugh—surprised and tender. “He did? What was the word?”

“‘Ephemeral,’” I say, and that makes him laugh again, fuller this time, like it physically lifts something from his chest.

“Of course it was,” he murmurs, pride shining through the exhaustion in his eyes.

“And…” I glance at him playfully, “Penelope and Luke seem to have something going on.”

His eyebrows lift. “Really?”

“Really,” I nod, grinning now. “They think they’re subtle. They are not.”

He chuckles and shakes his head like he can’t believe he missed that part of the story—like he’s trying to stitch himself back into a life that still exists without him.

“And I…” I pause, brushing his knuckles with my thumb. “I learned a new recipe. A fancy pasta dish with fresh herbs and this creamy lemon sauce. I think you’d love it.”

He closes his eyes and hums, like he’s trying to taste it in his mind.

“I can’t wait to make it for you,” I add, quiet now. “When you come home.”

That makes him open his eyes again. They're glassy, full of something that isn't quite sadness—but close. Hope, maybe. Or the kind of grief that comes from knowing hope is still possible.

He blinks once, then cracks a crooked smile.

“I can’t believe you managed to make a meal without burning the kitchen.”

I scoff, nudging his knee with mine. “Oh, like you’re any better. The only thing you’ve successfully cooked is cup noodles.”

“Excuse you,” he says, mock-offended. “I’ve made grilled cheese. Twice.”

“Spencer, you set the second one on fire.”

“That was a structural issue with the toaster oven.”

“You tried to grill it in the toaster oven.”

He shrugs, utterly unbothered. “Details.”

I laugh, and it feels like something sacred. It’s small, but it fills the space between us like warmth in winter. For a second, we’re not in a prison conjugal suite. We’re just… us.

He watches me like he’s memorizing the way I laugh. Like he doesn’t know when he’ll get to hear it again.

And then, softer—barely above a whisper—“God, I missed this. You. Us.”

My smile fades into something quieter, deeper. “You missed us?” I murmur, a hint of competition laced in my voice. “Spence… I can’t stop thinking about you. Twenty-four seven. You’re all I think about.”

Spencer’s heart swells at the words, something warm blooming in the hollowed-out space inside his chest. He knows this is hard on me—knows I’m carrying the weight of both of us on the outside—but still, hearing it… hearing that I ache for him just as much—it’s almost too much.

“I can’t stop thinking about you either,” he says, and it comes out like a confession. “All the time. I just… I wish I could hold you, kiss you, touch you. I miss everything about you.”

My hand reaches for his cheek, thumb brushing beneath his eye. “Honey… don’t cry.”

He blinks. His brows pull together slightly, like the realization only just hit. He hadn’t even noticed the tears until my touch caught them.

He wipes at his face with a shaky hand, a flush of embarrassment rising. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice rough and frayed at the edges. “I just… I can’t believe this is happening. That I’m stuck in here. That you’re out there, living our life without me. And I can’t be with you.”

My fingers curl gently under his chin, coaxing him to meet my gaze.

“You are with me,” I whisper. “Right now. I’m here. You’re not alone, Spencer. Not even for a second.”

He leans into my palm like it’s the only steady thing in the world.

“I’m here now,” I say again, firmer. “And for the next five hours, I’m not going anywhere.”

I lean in and press soft kisses to his cheeks, one after the other, catching the tears as they fall. Salt and skin. Love and ache. I kiss each one like I can take it away—like I can undo the weight this place has put on him, one touch at a time.

He lets out a breath of a laugh—a soft, bittersweet chuckle that trembles in the space between us.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, quieter this time, like he knows it’s unnecessary but still feels the need to say it.

“Don’t be,” I whisper, brushing my nose against his.

He tightened his hold on me, his fingers trailing slowly up and down my back—gentle, reverent, like he was trying to memorize me. Every curve, every freckle, every breath I took beneath his touch.

Then he lifted his head, propping himself up on one elbow to study my face. His eyes softened as he traced the line of my jaw with his fingertips, feather-light and full of quiet awe.

His gaze drifted downward, lingering at my neck. He leaned in, pressing a delicate kiss to the pulse point just above my collarbone. It was slow. Intentional. Like he was grounding himself in the rhythm of my heartbeat.

“You know,” he murmured against my skin, “I dream of you every night.”

He kissed me again, lower this time. Another soft press to the side of my throat, then another—each one careful, reverent. Like prayer.

I shivered beneath him as his hand slipped beneath the hem of my shirt, fingers skating across my skin. His touch was feather-light, almost hesitant, as if I might break under it. He brushed the curve of my hip, pausing when he felt me tremble.

“You do?” I whispered.

“I do,” he breathed. “It’s been hell in here. A constant loop of missing you. Of dreaming about you. Wishing I could hold you, touch you, just… be with you.”

His hand moved to the front of my shirt now, fingers brushing each button with aching slowness. He began to undo them, one by one, savoring every inch of exposed skin like it was a miracle.

“Spence…”

“Shhh,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss me—soft and slow, like he had all the time in the world. “Just let me look at you.”

His hands moved reverently across my body, rediscovering me inch by inch. His mouth followed—kissing along my shoulders, the hollow of my collarbone, the gentle rise of my chest. Each touch was a vow. Each kiss, a homecoming.

I let out a breathless laugh, unable to help it. “This isn’t looking,” I teased.

He smiled against my skin, warm and unhurried. “Then let me look with my hands.”

He hummed, his fingers undoing the last of the buttons before slipping it off my shoulders. He paused then—really paused—his gaze sweeping over my bare torso like it was something sacred. Like I was something sacred.

No hunger. Just awe.

He leaned down, lips brushing softly against the skin just above my navel. Then he kissed lower—slow, tender kisses that trailed along my stomach, his tongue flicking out now and then to taste my skin. He moved upward again, mouth worshipping a path back to my chest, my throat, until he hovered above me—eyes burning, but gentle.

“Honey…” I whispered, voice breathy and reverent. Like the word itself was a prayer.

Spencer gazed at me adoringly, his eyes reflecting the warm glow of the setting sun filtering through the small window of the visitation room. In a voice low and thick with emotion, he murmured.

"Beautiful... You're so beautiful, Y/N."

His fingertips traced the delicate curve of my cheek, slow and deliberate, like he was carving the shape of me into his memory. He leaned in closer, nose brushing mine, breath mingling with my own.

"I want to remember every detail of you," he whispered. "The softness of your skin. The rise and fall of your chest when you breathe. I’m terrified of forgetting… of losing this. Of losing you."

Coming from Spencer—someone with an eidetic memory—those words shattered something in me. He could recall entire textbooks word for word, yet here he was, terrified that even his perfect mind wouldn’t be strong enough to hold on to us.

His eyes fluttered shut, and a single tear slipped free, trailing down the sharp line of his cheek. But still, he didn’t stop. His mouth continued its journey, kissing down my neck with a reverence that made me ache—each kiss warm, wet, and trembling. Each one a vow.

His hands drifted lower, abandoning the bare skin of my torso to fumble at the waistband of my pants. I didn’t hesitate. My hands moved to meet his, tugging gently at the fabric of his prison uniform, desperate to strip away everything that stood between us—between now and before.

“You’ll never lose me,” I murmured, voice firm even as emotion caught in my throat. “We’re gonna get you out. I promise.”

“Promise?” he asked, forehead pressing to mine, like he needed the contact to believe it was real. Like he was anchoring himself to my warmth.

“Yes,” I whispered, resting my palm over his heart. “Promise.”

Something in him broke then—not in a destructive way, but in a release. Like hearing those words gave him permission to let go. To feel. To want. To have me, even just for tonight.

He kissed me again, slow and deep. Not hungry. Not rushed. Like a memory being rewritten—carefully, reverently. His hands moved over my body like he was afraid he’d miss something if he moved too fast.

I peeled off the top half of his uniform, it was easier than I expected—like the fabric was eager to fall away. I wanted to touch him. To feel all of him again. But then I saw them.

The bruises.

They weren’t clustered, but they were everywhere. Spaced out and blooming beneath his skin—angry shades of violet and blue, like ugly secrets painted across his ribs and hips.

“Spencer—” I breathed, my voice catching with horror. My hand reached instinctively for his torso, but he stopped me.

His fingers closed gently, but firmly, around my wrist.

“Please don’t,” he whispered, voice raw with shame. “Please just… let’s not talk about it. Not right now. Just... let me have you. Please, Y/N.”

His eyes found mine—desperate and pleading—not for pity, not even for comfort, but for escape. For something pure. Something real. Something to remind him that he hadn’t been ruined completely. That there was still softness in the world, and it lived here, in this room, in me.

So I leaned in and kissed his forehead. Then the bridge of his nose. Then each of his cheeks—tender, deliberate—until I had touched every part of him that looked like it might be hurting.

When I pulled back, I met his eyes again and gave the smallest nod. No words. Just yes. Just I'm yours.

Then I kissed him.

He cupped my face the moment our lips met, like he needed the contact to tether himself. And he kissed me back like he needed it—like this was his last breath and he chose to spend it here, on my lips. There was nothing hurried about it. No urgency. Just heat and devotion, building slow and deep beneath the surface.

His hands slipped down to my hips, guiding me gently onto my back. He followed, hovering just above, not rushing—just looking. His gaze roamed my face like it was the first time he’d seen it. Or maybe the first time he was allowing himself to believe it was really here. That I was really here.

“I love you,” he whispered again, as if repetition might stitch the moment into reality. “So much.”

“I love you more,” I whispered back.

His hand slid down the soft curve of my side—the one he knew by heart, yet had missed so deeply during his exile. He touched me like he was trying to memorize me all over again, as if he didn’t quite believe I was real. As if this was the dream.

His forehead pressed gently against mine, our breaths mingling in the small space between us. I felt the brush of his eyelashes against my cheek, and then his voice—ragged, trembling—barely a whisper in my ear.

“Stay with me,” he breathed, half plea, half prayer. “Stay with me, Y/N.”

My heart clenched at the sound of my name. Stay with him... God, I wished more than anything in the world that I could. But our clock was ticking—fast. Too fast. That’s how time worked in here. Warped. Cruel. We had a couple hours left, and it already felt like sand slipping through our fingers.

“I’ll stay with you,” I whispered, breathless, trying to hold on to the fantasy that we could keep this—this closeness, this moment. “I’ll stay with you forever.”

And with our bodies entwined, he entered me. Gently. Slowly. Like it had been years. Like it hurt to be apart, and this—this was how we stitched ourselves back together.

My fingers tangled in his hair, soft and slightly damp with sweat, and his arms tightened around my waist, pulling me impossibly closer—like he was trying to erase every inch of space between us. Seal me to him completely.

The world outside vanished. No guards. No concrete walls. No ticking clock.

Just us.

Just breath.

Just the steady rhythm of our hearts beating in sync, echoing through the small, borrowed room.

“Do you remember…” I whispered against his lips, the words tumbling out in broken pants, my body trembling beneath his. The feeling of him inside me—of us—was almost too much. “Our first time?”

He swallowed hard, his eyes locking onto mine with a kind of reverence that stole the breath from my lungs.

“Every second,” he said, his voice thick, trembling. “Etched in my mind. In my soul.”

I chuckled, but my voice cracked right in the middle of it. “You head-butted me when you came.”

Spencer let out a breathy laugh, forehead dropping to rest against mine. “I was nervous,” he whispered, smiling despite the tears still threatening at the corners of his eyes.

“You were flustered,” I corrected, running my fingers through his hair. “And apologizing for like ten minutes while I couldn’t stop laughing.”

He shook his head, burying his face in the curve of my neck. “I still think about that. How embarrassed I was. And how beautiful you looked… even when you were laughing at me.”

“I wasn’t laughing at you,” I said softly, smiling into the memory. “I was laughing because you were embarrassed over an accident. It was sweet.”

His arms tightened around me, pulling me closer—like he didn’t want to miss even a second of this. His movements grew slower, more deliberate. We hovered at the edge of everything—not just release, but the kind of closeness that makes the world go quiet.

“I think…” I whispered, voice catching as I pressed a kiss to his temple, “I think that’s when I realized I was in love with you.”

Spencer stilled, just for a moment—his breath faltering against my skin. Then he looked up at me, eyes wide, glassy with unshed emotion.

“You did?” he asked, barely audible.

I nodded, holding him close. “You were so sweet. So nervous. You cared so much about how I felt—how I was. It was messy and imperfect and real. And I just... I knew.”

He kissed the side of my neck, a soft, trembling press of lips.

Spencer lost himself in the sensations—in the feel of me beneath him, around him, enveloping him. Every curve, every dip, every soft swell of my body pressed against his skin, and it was almost too much to bear. It was perfect. It was everything he’d ever wanted. Everything he’d ever dreamed of.

His movements grew more urgent, more deliberate—driven not by lust, but by a desperate instinct to make sure I knew. That I felt it. All of it.

“I love you,” he gasped, the words torn from his throat—raw, broken, honest. He needed me to know. To understand. To feel it in the way he touched me, the way he kissed me, the way he breathed me in like he couldn’t get enough.

His control was slipping fast, the edges of the world blurring until there was nothing left but this. Me. This moment. This love, in its purest, most desperate form.

I didn’t want it to end.

But it was building—rising, unstoppable.

I could feel him unraveling in my arms, every breath he took getting shakier, every movement deeper—more desperate. Like he was pouring everything he had into me. Every ache. Every prayer. Every silent scream he’d swallowed behind prison walls.

“I love you,” he said again, and it was almost a cry this time—like the words had clawed their way out of him, like they couldn’t stay buried a second longer.

“I love you too,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

His forehead pressed against mine, and for a moment, he stilled—our hearts racing together, bodies trembling as if trying to memorize the exact shape of each other. Then I felt it—that last, broken wave washing over him. The way he buried his face into my neck, his fingers digging into my hips, his whole body surrendering to the feeling as he finally let go.

I held him through it. Anchored him. Whispered his name like a balm.

He collapsed onto me, not heavy, just present. Just Spencer. His breath was warm against my collarbone, soft and uneven. His arms never loosened, like if he let go, I might slip through his fingers again.

I cradled the back of his head with one hand and traced lazy shapes across his back with the other. Stars. Spirals. Infinity signs.

He didn’t speak, not at first. Just breathed. Listened to my heartbeat. Grounded himself in the soft rhythm of the only thing that hadn’t left him.

Then he whispered, “Please don’t let this be a dream.”

His voice was so quiet, I barely caught it—just a fragile breath against my skin.

I tightened my arms around him, kissed the crown of his head. “It’s not a dream,” I murmured. “I’m here. We’re here.”

His breath stuttered, and I felt the tremble in his shoulders before he pulled in a deep, shaky inhale.

We lay like that for a while. Twined together. Skin on skin. Nothing but our bodies and the quiet hum of fluorescent lights overhead. It wasn’t a hotel room, or a bed at home. But right now, it was the safest place in the world. Because he was in my arms. Because he still felt like Spencer.

I ran my fingers through his hair, curling soft strands behind his ear. “You’re okay,” I whispered. “You’re okay now.”

His body trembled against mine—not from what we’d just done, but from the release of something heavier. Like tension stored in his muscles had finally found an exit.

He was quiet for a long time.

Then, barely above a whisper: “You know I have an eidetic memory. I can remember what you wore the first time we met, what song was playing the first time we kissed…”

He swallowed, voice catching.

“But lately, I… I’ll be lying in bed and I can’t recall the exact sound of your laugh. Or how your hair smelled that morning you fell asleep on the couch. I know it’s in there, but it’s like I have to dig for it, like it’s fading behind noise.”

I felt him tense again, like he was waiting for me to flinch. I didn’t.

I pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “It’s not fading. You’re just exhausted. You don’t have to hold on so tight, Spence. I’m here. I’ll remind you of everything.”

He nodded against my forehead, the motion subtle, like it took effort just to believe me.

We shifted slowly until we lay side by side, still tangled under the thin blanket. His body curled slightly toward mine—unconscious, like instinct. Like a plant bending toward light.

I rested my head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. It was slower now. Grounded.

But I could still feel it—the tension he hadn’t released. The thoughts that hadn’t been said.

For a long moment, we just lay there in the hush, the kind of silence that feels full, not empty. His fingers brushed absentmindedly against my arm, over and over, like a reflex. Like he was still making sure I was real.

Then his voice, low and raw, cut through the quiet.

“I don’t even know if I did it.”

I stilled.

His breath hitched, just slightly. “The murder. The setup. Whatever this is. There are hours of that night that I… I don’t remember. And that terrifies me.”

He swallowed hard, like the words had burned on their way out.

“I keep thinking—what if the reason I don’t remember isn’t because someone drugged me, or manipulated me, or because I was targeted—what if it’s because I did it? What if I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be?”

He laughed then—quiet and bitter. A single breath through his nose that didn’t even try to disguise the self-loathing underneath.

“I mean, isn’t that the irony? The guy with the perfect memory, the one who can’t forget anything… can’t remember the one thing that could save him.”

My hand found his, instinctively, lacing our fingers together.

“Spencer—” I whispered.

But he shook his head, eyes glued to the ceiling. “I’ve been going over it again and again. I’ve reconstructed the timeline. I’ve looked at it like I would any other case. But when it’s me... everything blurs. I can't trust my own mind. And if I can’t trust that, then what do I have left?”

He turned to look at me then—finally—and it gutted me.

Not because of the tears in his eyes. But because he wasn’t fighting them anymore.

“You didn’t do it,” I said, firm despite the lump in my throat.

His brow furrowed, bitter and disbelieving. “How can you be so sure of that? I mean—I went to Mexico without telling you. I’ve been lying. Hiding things. Being secretive about this whole mess since the beginning.” He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “That’s not exactly the behavior of an innocent man.”

I reached for his hand again, squeezing it tightly. “Honey, I know you didn’t do it,” I said softly. “Because I know you. As cliché as that might sound.”

He turned his face slightly toward the wall, like he couldn’t bear to look at me while I said it.

“I know the way your voice goes quiet when you’re scared,” I continued. “I know the way your hands shake when something feels out of your control. I know how hard you try to do the right thing even when it hurts you. I know how much you love. How deeply. How fiercely. And I know you would never—never—hurt someone like that.”

I swallowed hard, pressing my forehead to the side of his.

“You're not perfect. You mess up. You shut people out. But Spencer... you are not a killer.”

His jaw clenched, a tear slipping down the side of his face and into the pillow.

“But what if I’m broken?” he asked, and it came out so small, it didn’t sound like him at all. “What if prison is breaking me, and I don’t even realize how far it’s gone?”

“Then we’ll get through it together.” I whispered. “I’m not saying I can put you back together, because I cant… but I sure as hell will try to help you through this.”

He let out a shaky breath—half a sob, half a sigh—and pulled me into him like I was the only thing tethering him to the world.

We stayed like that for a while, curled into each other. No sound but the ticking clock we were both trying to ignore.

But I felt the shift in him—the way his grip loosened, the way his breath hitched again. He was spiraling. Quietly, but fully.

I reached up and cupped his face in my hands.

“Spence, look at me.”

He hesitated, then let his eyes find mine. They were glassy, full of fear. Shame. Exhaustion.

“You're still in there,” I whispered. “Even when you feel lost. Even when your mind starts telling you lies. You're still in here.”

I took his hand gently and guided it to the center of my chest.

“Feel that?”

He nodded, lips trembling.

“That’s yours,” I whispered. “You’re still in here with me.”

His face crumpled then, and I wiped the tears that spilled over before they could fall too far. My thumbs brushed his cheekbones, my forehead resting lightly against his.

“You’re not alone,” I breathed. “You never were.”

We held each other like that as the minutes slipped away from us. Soon enough the minutes turned to hours, all spent with us talking and holding each-other.

I didn’t want to remind him of the time, but it reminded us anyway.

The sharp ring of the phone on the nightstand cut through the silence.

I flinched.

Spencer didn’t move at first. Just stared at it. Then he closed his eyes and exhaled like the air had been knocked out of him.

I reached for it, hand trembling.

“Time’s up,” the voice on the other end said. No warmth. No pause. “You have five minutes to dress and prepare the inmate for escort.”

I didn’t respond. Just hung up.

Spencer sat up slowly, moving like his bones didn’t want to cooperate. Like gravity had gotten meaner in the last hour.

I helped him dress, my hands moving on autopilot—straightening seams, buttoning cuffs, smoothing down the stiff collar of his prison uniform even though it didn’t matter. It was a pointless gesture, but I needed the contact. I needed something to do. Something to get my mind off this awful feeling of leaving him.

My fingers trembled, clumsy and obvious, and I hated that I couldn’t stop it. That I couldn’t hold it together for him, even now.

He watched me the entire time. Quiet. Still. His hands stayed at his sides, balled gently into fists like he was physically holding himself back from touching me. His jaw was tight, lips parted slightly like there was something he wanted to say—but couldn’t.

Then he stood.

And I stood.

And something in the room shifted. Broke.

I stepped into him without thinking—without breathing—and he caught me like he’d been waiting for it. My arms wrapped around his torso, and his came around me just as fast, one hand splayed across the back of my head, the other curling around my spine like he was afraid I’d disappear.

I pressed my face into his chest and let myself fall apart. The sob started in my throat and cracked its way out, ugly and trembling and loud. I didn’t try to muffle it. Not anymore. My whole body shook with it, and he just held me tighter, swaying us gently like he could rock us back in time.

“I don’t want you to go,” I choked out, the words barely making it past my grief. “I don’t want to leave you here.”

“I know,” he whispered. His voice sounded scraped raw, like he’d been crying on the inside for weeks. Maybe he had.

He kissed the top of my head, soft and lingering. Then my temple. Then my lips—a kiss with no pressure, no heat. Just ache. Just love. His eyes were wide open the whole time, like he didn’t want to blink. Like he didn’t want to miss me for even a second.

Then the knock came.

Two sharp taps against the door. Not rude, but not kind either. It was the sound of routine. The sound of time’s up.

Spencer stilled. I felt the breath leave his lungs like he’d been punched. His arms didn’t drop right away. He lingered, like his body hadn’t caught up with what had to happen next.

Then, slowly, he stepped back. Not because he wanted to.

Because he had to.

His eyes darted over me like he was taking inventory—my face, my hands, my mouth. He was memorizing again. Storing me somewhere safe.

And then he turned toward the door.

But just before it opened, he paused.

He turned back, and for a moment, we just looked at each other.

I was standing there, my hands on the hem of my shirt, clutching it like it could keep me together. My tears had blurred everything, but not enough to lose him. Never enough to lose him.

His face was unreadable—but not empty. It was full. Of everything he couldn’t say. Of every goodbye he couldn’t bear to speak aloud.

His hand twitched at his side like he wanted to reach for me again.

But he didn’t.

And then the door opened.

He looked at me one last time.

And then he was gone.

[humpster35]

Dilf!Matt x BabySitter!Reader

|Mentions of infidelity, pregnancy, age gap, unprotected sex, swearing, fluff, slight yelling and anxiety

Matt’s foot anxiously tapped the floor, the sound echoing across the house. He had never felt so scared in his life. This part always got to him, the waiting. So with a sigh and fixing of his hat, Matt knocked on the bathroom door.

“Y/n. You done yet?” Matt’s country accent reached the girls ears. They pulled her out of her mind as she stared at the tiny lines.

She was pregnant. Y/n had got gotten pregnant by a man with a family already. The door knob twisted and she didn’t even hear Matt walk in until he was standing right behind her. His belt buckle grazing the curve of her upper back, as Matt leaned into her.

“Y/n. Don’t panic baby.” Matt spoke in a cooing voice while putting his hand on her waist. He knew the consequences of his actions and felt proud that he actually accomplished his goal.

“Don’t panic? Matt you have a wife. AND A FUCKING FIVE YEAR OLD-.” Y/n’s frustrated voice felt like a dagger in Matt’s heart. He thought she wanted this as much as he did. So he took a step back and rested his hands on his hips.

“Alright now sweetheart. No need to yell, i’m right here with ya.”

Y/n sniffled as she looked into Matt’s eyes.

“If you would cheat on her, you’d do the same thing to me. So tell me Matt.—Why shouldn’t I get rid of it?”

Matt didn’t have a response for that. He knew that it was just supposed to be a one time thing, one night he got into an argument with his wife and just wanted to get back at her. Along the way though, he ended up actually falling in love with y/n.

Y/n handed him the test and quickly wiped her eyes as Matt’s son Liam toddled in. He was holding up a coloring book showing her that he had finished the page like she asked.

“Good job little man.” Y/n dryly chuckled as she picked him up, leaving the bathroom and Matt in it.

Matt stood there lost in his own thoughts. Y/n was 19, and he was 25. He never even initiated the flirting. She would walk around the house in a short skirt, purposefully bending over in front of him with fuck me eyes. Matt only ever gave in once he got drunk after the argument he had earlier. Y/n knew what she was doing, she just wanted to try out an older man.

Her friends always bragged about how they’re so much better and seeing as Matt’s wife is mainly working overtime, she took the opportunity. They had a great bond in the beginning. From the moment Y/n walked through those doors, Liam would rush to her arms and cause Matt to laugh.

There was one instance on when Y/n was giving little Liam a bath and he called her mom. This only made her sad for the kid, he needed his mom. Matt overheard this when Y/n thought he was still working on the farm, it just solidified even more that the feelings he was feelings weren’t just because of the sex. His own son saw how much of a joy and light Y/n brought into their once dull home.

“Y/n, you should keep it.” Matt walked out into the living room.

Y/n was helping Liam color as the toddler sat on her lap. She only ignored Matt though, the lump in her throat was building and she wasn’t sure if she could hold back for much longer.

Matt sat down next to them and pinched Liam’s little face. He stroked the back of Y/n’s head which made his son smile playfully. This was normal for them. Y/n didn’t move away from him, she actually craved his touch. It always made her feel something.

“Alright Li, you ready for lunch?” Y/n said while carrying him to his high chair.

“Once you’re done with that, c’mere darling.” Matt stuck a toothpick in his mouth and tilted his cowboy hat in her direction.

Y/n nodded and after fixing Liam his favorite snack, a pb&j with apple slices and a juice box, she let Matt take her hand and lead her to the side room. Matt’s hand felt rough and dry from all the work he does outside, but y/n has always liked it.

“Sit down, we’re gone talk about this and what you are deciding to do little lady.” Matt spoke sternly. He knew that he couldn’t pressure her to keep a baby she may didn’t even want, nor would he ever. He watched as y/n sat down, she wore overalls and a white tank top.

“Wheeewww you sure know how to make a cowboy sing.”

Y/n blushed and flipped her hair to the side. She grabbed Matt by his belt buckle to pull him closer. His hands immediately went on her head as he held her.

“Matt i’m just scared. You are still legally married, even if you say you love me.”

Matt took some of her hair in his hand and squeezed it lightly. Y/n knew that she wasn’t just the only nervous one here.

“If you divorce her then what happens to little Liam?”

“We can get that situated.”

“What if she takes him with her Matt? I don’t want that to happen.”

Matt smiled softly and kissed the top of y/n’a head. He knew that at this point, Liam was sort of already hers.

“I’ll never let her take Liam away from us.” He placed his hand on y/n’s stomach as she started crying.

“Not when he’s got a sibling on the way.”

Y/n looked up at Matt with teary eyes. It was like him saying that only made the reality real for her.

“Oh Matt.”

Matt chuckled and leaned down to kiss her lips softly. It was endearing, the soft movement of his tongue swiping across the bottom of y/n’s bottom lip as he started to suck on her tongue. Y/n let out a moan, the intensity of the kiss made her fall back onto the bed and Matt climbed on top of her.

Y/n felt as Matt’s fingers unhooked the overall straps. She didn’t wear a bra with the tank top because she knew that’s what he liked. The feeling of his rough hands grabbing at her soft flesh, made her feel guilt for how not guilty she felt about this whole thing. Matt knew her. He knew her body and, Y/n didn’t want his wife to feel what she feeling anymore. She did want Matt all to herself and maybe this baby could make that a reality for her.

“Can’t do anything more today sweet pea.” Matt lifted his hat a bit as he smirked down at y/n. His son was in the other room and almost done with his food by now. So he got up and adjusted his pants, and dick, while y/n sat up flustered.

Y/n laughed a bit while fixing her hair.

“That’s how we got into this mess!” Matt laughed heartily while holding his stomach and placed a kiss to Y/n’s cheek.

“Y’right. Cmon let’s head on back now darling.” Matt smacked Y/n’s ass on the way back to the kitchen.

Little Liam was smiling at the girl as he held an apple slice in his chubby fingers. His face was flustered as he eagerly reached for Y/n.

“Mommy!” Liam giggled into Y/n’s chest as she picked him up.

“Now what has happened here little man? Hm?”

Matt walked in after making sure his dick was tucked properly. He took off his cowboy hat and put it on Y/n’s head.

“Aw that’s right. Liam, your mommy here is a good rider.” Matt shot a smirk to Y/n.

“Now now now, don’t be going and believing your daddy Li. Cmon you wanna take a bath?”

Liam cheered and he took the hat off Y/n’s head, the boy failed to successfully wear it though, due to his head being much smaller. The couple laughed and Matt took Liam from Y/n.

“You go and get some rest now hear? That baby’s gonna be wearing your lassie down.” Matt’s voice was husky and deep. His country accent always made Y/n’s pussy wet.

She nodded and left her overall straps down. With her bare tits just barely being covered by a white tank top, Matt felt himself hardening again and he rushed out of the room.

tag list:

@mattsweethart @mattspillowprincess @riggysworld @regulaho @passionfruitchris @eeyoresturnz @eyesonmattyb @chrissonnyangel @bluestriips @billieslittlecumslut @dolliraez @nickssidewitch @salaciousxsturniolo

[croquettish]

That scene had my mouth hanging open! Like Jesus Christ Henry, that was BLATANT. The whole way that scene is structured says a lot- and its before any of the romance dialogue options pop up. So I think this is when Henry realizes that he doesn't care, that much, I think, about repressing his feelings- like he kind of gives up on being anxious and hiding and wondering if Hans will reciprocate- he thinks, "he won't." And from that gives himself the freedom to express his tender emotions without it being a confession that expects an answer. Thus his shock when he DOES get kissed later on.

I haven't been able to quite pinpoint the instant Hans hits the floor though.

You're SO RIGHT omg... Henry spends all game throwing little hints at Hans (and the player tbh) and Hans keeps giving him so so little because he's terrified of a) admitting anything either to himself or b) not having his feelings reciprocated. I do think Henry didn't expect it at all when Hans kissed him, but he's also been trying to RESIST for so long and so hard, in part because of what he knows of that moment carries so much weight between them.

In fact, I keep thinking about this post about how Henry feels like he's the axle around which the world turns:

Which, yes, is very funny if we think of it in the context of this being a video game and him being its protagonist, but it really made me realize how deeply meaningful it is that Hans kisses Henry first.

He tries all game to show Hans that he cares and never expects anything to come of it precisely because he's always the one who has to do everything, always the one who has to initiate everything, and if he doesn't, nothing ever changes. The world only changes if he changes it.

But here Hans makes the decision. He doesn't wait for Henry to make the first move, he kisses him. And it startles Henry so badly, shakes the very foundation of everything he knows and has come to experience in his video game life, that he rejects that advance, that unfamiliarity at first. Before realizing that no, this is also his choice. Hans has shown him what he wants, that he wants a change, in the most direct way possible, and unless he turns around and actively chooses the same in return he'll never have the thing he desperately wants but has been so terrified of wanting.

That kills me a bit. That just once he didn't have to be the one to do it. And it scared him, but he found his footing again, and this really is just the ship of all time????

AS FOR HANS!!! 👀

Not to be insane here but please picture me coming into this classroom glasses askew, learning materials overflowing in my hands, hands covered in chalkdust-- I HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT THIS FOR SO LONG AND I HAVE SO MANY RECEIPTS

I will preface this by saying that in no way do I think my meta on this is canon or correct in any way, it's just how I personally think it happened. I also know I already touched on this a tiny bit in my claustrophobia meta, but definitely not to this extent. So THANK YOU @ anon for giving me an excuse to do a deep dive!!!!

The first indication we get that there's more to Henry and Hans' relationship aside from the entirety of Next to Godliness and how Hans tells Henry he could kiss him after he rescues him in The Prey is in the DLC, The Amorous Adventures of Bold Sir Hans Capon, where Hans tells Henry that he'll have to look elsewhere for the love of his life (while staring right at him) and follows this up by insisting that at least he's capable of appreciating his romantic poetry!

Given the right dialogue options Henry has the chance to start flirting with Hans from like within the first thirty minutes of gameplay:

Henry... why did you say that... you had no reason to say that...

And then two seconds later you're given the option of explaining the nature of Henry's relationship with Theresa. If you don't go with the option of "nothing happened between me and Theresa," Tankard inevitably pushes for more and saucier details, and Henry has the chance to either shut down the conversation right there or... elaborate:

Sending some mixed signals there to your man, Henry...

Hans immediately jumps in to stop Henry:

Regardless of what Henry says, whether he denies anything ever happening with Theresa or he goes into explicit detail, he then proceeds to let out the deepest fucking sigh. In fact, there is a video up about precisely this sigh that I thought was intended to be a hilarious commentary, but after looking at the comments I'm not so sure anymore. Either way you spin it, however, both those offended and those gleefully rubbing their little paws together seem to equally view this as the first hint we get that there might be more to Hans' feelings than meets the eye.

It's also possible for this thought to spark in Hans' mind if you take the Miller Route to get to the wedding that the thought at the very least came up for him here. He quickly bats it away and of course Henry can go the Blacksmith route, but the potential for this thought to arise here exists.

So then, if not at the wedding (where he arguably exhibited quite a few jealous tendencies), then when?

Let's look at their romantic interactions, but backwards.

We know by the time of their romance scene, he knows. He knows all too well how he feels. He just has to work up the courage to do something about it.

Sidenote, it kills me a bit that this is the expression on his face after he realizes that Henry put his hand on his. Like he's trying to tell himself in that moment that if this is all he can ever have, maybe that's enough. Just knowing that the potential was there...

We also know that he knows by the time we run into him in the underground passageway during The Italian Job:

Something he only feels comfortable saying after Henry clarifies that this is about more than just obligation to him:

The "Maybe more than you know..." carries so much fucking weight there. It may as well have been an implicit confession. It's not surprising that Henry felt the need to be this upfront about how he feels, especially given how their interaction up on the ramparts moments earlier went.

(Add to that the fact that Henry almost died just then and it's not particularly surprising that he upped the ante by the time they're in the underground passageway.)

Henry tells him that he thinks they've been spending too little time together lately (of all the times to bring that up, Henry...) and Hans is like no no it's fine don't worry WE'LL BE BACK TO NORMAL BEFORE LONG, this whole gay thing between us might just be a fever dream for all we know!!

He throws it out there like it's meant to be bait for Henry. A test for him to either pass or fail. And honestly? It is. Henry is handed a little note with radio buttons that just reads "Are you 100% heterosexual? Do you really love women? Like really really really love women?" and here are the possible responses:

One of them fails. If Henry says he can't wait to go wenching again, all of Hans' fears are abated. But he's also crushed at the same time.

What a relief! Now I don't have to worry about these gay feelings anymore! ... oh. Now I won't have to worry about these gay feelings anymore.

But Henry answers correctly.

This conversation. I think I could write a whole paper on this interaction alone, I swear to god. Those are some PREGNANT FUCKING PAUSES between what they're saying here. It's like Henry is trying so fucking hard to say the quiet part out loud. Let's translate!

Henry: I like you. I like you a whole fucking lot. Haven't really been worried about wenches all that much.

Hans: Yeah. Obviously. Of course we like each other. And I'm sure we mean that in the same way... which is... actually I don't know which way we mean that...

Henry: Yeah I don't think you understood what I was saying at all. How obvious do I need to be exactly...

Hans: There's no way he likes me like that, right? Am I reading into things?

Hans panics! And promptly taps out. Like yelling out a safe word, he pulls out his safety harness heterosexuality and slams it down on the table.

I'm sharing the full screenshot here just to remind us of the 💪💪💪 he pulls. Holy shit he's trying SO HARD to blow off that entire interaction. Like setting up a safety he can gesture at just in case all of this is actually in his head. All of their romantic interactions make so much sense if you consider that both of them (but especially Hans) always have a church official standing right next to them, watching everything they do and scrutinizing everything they say.

It's entirely possible that things would be a bit different if Hans hadn't been engaged against his will. He just goes from cage to cage to cage in this game (once again thinking about my claustrophobia meta, don't mind me, there's a post about Hans and freedom/agency coming as well). As free as he felt after being rescued from Maleshov, he's immediately imprisoned again via the engagement. Hans almost always has shackles of a kind on him, and those shackles dictate his behavior in certain ways like they do here.

But we can conclude from this that he knows how he feels, even if he doesn't yet know how Henry feels.

The same circumstance applies when Henry has the opportunity to flatter him in Italian! (Incidentally this moment also shows up in tomorrow's fic update.) Does he know what he's saying? Is Henry just practicing his Italian? Did he also say this to the women? It's not inherently romantic if it's said to his bro just... casually.

And Hans knows Italian!!! Hans knew what Henry said, so the fact that he feels the need to clarify does suggest that he's aware of his feelings by the time they hole up in Ruthard Palace as well.

This is further corroborated by their conversation where Henry insists that he'd gladly trade places with Hans instead of going after the papal legate as he worries about leaving Rosa and Katherine with Brabant. And Hans responds by saying this:

Remember how I said that Hans tests Henry? Both of these interactions fit perfectly within that schema. Henry responds by asking, completely baffled, what he's on about:

And Hans is like oh don't worry about it bro my question meant NOTHING AT ALL.

Things are a bit murkier before this point, but not by much.

Their time at the Devil's Den and shortly after is marked by a pronounced jealousy over Sam's relationship with Henry. One could argue that he's unaware of his own feelings in all of this, not entirely sure why he feels so strangely jealous, but that's harder to argue in light of their little hunt out where they have the conversation about Hans' penchant for Karolinas.

This of course goes back further, to when we're told that Hans is dealing with his increasing claustrophobia by riding out to Bohunowitz and getting ridden there in turn:

Why does he lie? Why does he make this up?

We see something similar when he tells Henry about the bow he stole for him:

It seems to me fairly obvious that he's trying damn fucking hard to push Henry away here all while keeping him close. Urging him, effectively, to be as heterosexual as possible and to view Hans as entirely heterosexual in turn.

I have feelings for you. They terrify me. Maybe if they're not an option they'll just go away on their own. Make me lose hope in this. Remind me of how straight you. See how straight I am? I'm definitely not overcompensation. Please for the love of god just tell me you're so unbelievably into women I can't take it otherwise.

One could argue here that he's still unaware of his feelings, the fact that he's trying this hard to actively work against them suggests to me personally that he's trying his very hardest to repress knowledge that he actively knows and dreads. This inclination of his could be dangerous for both of them but especially for Henry and has to be quenched somehow—and ideally sooner rather than later.

But it's not enough. He's still left with the jealousy. He's told himself that he can't be jealous of women (not that Henry gives him any reason to), but that still leaves Sam open as fair game. How dare he not be trying to push Henry away? How dare he just get that closeness without having to go through everything he and Henry have gone through together? How dare he get Henry when Hans is actively denying himself? If Hans is on a diet, no one else should get to eat any food, etc etc. It's just logical! And so very fair of him to demand!

There's no time for him to express much of anything romantic after the massacre at Raborsch, and the last real romantic moment they had was, of course, during his rescue from Maleshov.

So what do we do with that?

If we look at their romance scene, Hans actually invokes a specific moment from earlier in the game, as if he suddenly sees that moment, what Henry said, in a new light. That now he's afforded the context of knowing he's in love with Henry.

I missed this the first time and only later went back and re-examined it (like only a completely sane person would do). I wasn't sure at first Hans meant, and then realized it was this bit:

Because of how badly he wishes he could save Henry for once (even though that was literally one of the first things that happened in the game; you gotta be easier on yourself baby boy) and how much that means to him in a romantic context as well.

He didn't read this romantically at this point yet, but he does by the end. What happened in between those two events?

The engagement announcement.

This is the face of a man who is actively having a panic attack because he both realized what he wants (Henry) and that he can never have it (because he's been engaged against his will):

When he stares out the window after I would bet good money on him wishing Henry was there in that moment.

We do see him being quite jealous when at the banquet at Trosky where Black Bartosch also is, and there's some hesitation in his reply (as though he's genuinely taken aback by what Henry tells him) after you choose the first romance option, but I'd argue that he doesn't have words to put to his feelings by this point yet. The feelings are there, but the understanding isn't. And while they're escaping Maleshov, things are so chaotic that when we choose the romance option, Hans' emotions are 100% on the terror of the secret passageway and not on his feels. So this moment seems to me the most logical by far.

Now, I know not everyone is going to agree with my take on this. That's fine!! Everyone is entitled to their own opinion on this. I just know that the second I saw this scene, I thought to myself, oh my god, he just realized he's in love with Henry. Now, of all times.

[liliesformingi]

"much love, laufey" - a mini series by @liliesformingi. view series masterlist, and outline here.

7. 'misty' - wooyoung x reader “look at me, i'm as helpless as a kitten up a tree.”

author's note: boy oh boy i need a love like this

From the second he’d caught your eye from across the crowded room, you felt every single nerve ending in your body melt like a jar of warm honey, sensation and common sense and any train of thought, finished or otherwise, oozing from your consciousness. Sticky, sweet and so addictive.

It had only been a small smile, maybe a wink.

It didn’t matter that you’d spent the past four years of your life together as a couple. It didn’t matter that the necklace hanging down your collarbone had been a gift for your first anniversary; silver, pearls and tiny white diamonds, dripping like starlight down your skin. No, it didn’t matter that you were his.

You still felt so overwhelmed with love in his presence, just by mere observation.

You weren’t paying attention to the conversation you were in anymore. Hell, you were probably the worst hostess in the universe. But the lights were dim, the moon was glowing through the window, and Jung Wooyoung, the love of your life, was mere metres across the room from you. Your guests were happy enough to entertain themselves. You needed to entertain yourself.

As soon as you appeared by his side, his focus immediately shifted from the smalltalk he was making with Choi San about business strategies. A hand slipped around your waist, fingers gently kneading themselves into the soft flesh of your hips. Your skin was warm, scented with musk and amber. Familiar. And your heartbeat began to settle, slowing to a less frantic rhythm, one that synced with the chest beside yours. 

You slipped your fingers into his, silver rings colliding against each other. He rubbed gentle circles into your palm, and the moment he found a pause in the conversation, he excused himself.

In a fit of lovesick giggles, Wooyoung led you to the balcony outside your shared bedroom. The wind was chilly, but you were wrapped in his embrace before you could complain. He held you close, lips ghosting your neck and collarbone. 

“Missed you,” you mumbled, eyes sparkling in the moonlight.

“Even from just across the room?” he teased, but his actions proved he’d missed your presence just as much as you had. His hands slipped to your waist, and the two of you swayed softly, the muffled sound of jazz from the party seeping through the doorway to the balcony.

The rest of the city was dark, aside from a few lit up windows. The wind blew, the buildings sparkled, and you felt every inch of your body fizz from head to toe, as if your veins pumped champagne instead of blood.

“I’m so lucky to have you . . . you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you know that, right? There’s nobody else I’d ditch a party for, let alone one I’m hosting. Nobody else I’ve felt this way for.”

“You talk a lot, my love,” you said, smiling up at him. “I know. I’m even luckier to have you.”

His eyes shifted into crescents, and you trailed your finger down his jawline adoringly.

You took a moment to admire Wooyoung; his warm, chocolate-brown eyes, the single freckle under his lower lashes, his habit of running his hands through his hair, his lips, the plumpest, most beautifully rose-tinted lips you’d ever seen.

He looked like an angel.

Now, in a silky black shirt and tailored slacks, his soft brown hair tousled, eyes sleepy from the lateness of the evening  and the smear of your burgundy lipstick on his left cheek, he looked perfect. It was enough to send you into another fit of overwhelming adoration for the boy you called your own, enough to set all your senses on fire and let the blood run through your body like stardust.

He pressed a kiss to your lips and ran a hand through your hair, holding you steady against his chest.

It had always been easy with Wooyoung. You’d always felt electrified, a buzz that was familiar and comforting. 

When you told him things, he never contradicted you, questioned you, asked you why, how, when. He would nod slowly, wipe the tears from your cheeks, rub your shoulders, kiss your cheeks, lips, forehead, nose. 

Whilst your love adored to talk, to express every single thing he felt for you in word after word, he also knew when actions were all that was needed.

You didn’t necessarily believe in soulmates.

You didn’t believe in the kind of love that could just walk in and make itself at home in your heart, even if you were to never, ever see them again. The kind of love that just appeared after moments of longing.

Whatever had happened to you and Wooyoung, it was long built up. Catching each other staring, quick kisses to the cheek whenever you left the house, and nights like these.

Maybe this was the kind of love you’d been waiting for.

Maybe? No, this was what you’d been waiting for.

Helpless in his gaze, the kind of vulnerability that you found so much comfort in around him. 

“Why did we host this party?” you asked quietly, arms slung loosely around his waist and face pressed into his chest.

“For you, my love,” he replied, eyes sparkling.

“But nothing’s happened,” you said in confusion, looking up at him. The glint in his eye brightened, and he gently pried your body off him.

“Not yet,” he smiled, kneeling down on one knee.

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[moon-ttokki-x]

hiii lovee

can you do a fic with chan with an overworked!trainee!reader, where he finds her asleep at a cafe near the JYP building, after his day of work and it’s just very fluffy and sweet

-🪻

i haven't got anything to say tbh so . . .

star in the making - (chan x overworked trainee!reader)

pairing: bang chan x overworked trainee!reader

summary: chan finds you asleep in the cafe near JYPE after a long day.

genre: idol & trainee!au, mentions of eating and drinking, chan needs to put a fucking screen filter on his laptop, reader is tired asf, mentions of injuries, self-doubt, chan is the softest mashed potato :[

a/n: i had to drag this out of my brain . . . div by @roseraris

skz masterlist

Chan left the JYP building with his head hung low.

In the dusty purple hue glowing from the late-evening sky, everything felt soft and pillowy, but he couldn't help but drag his feet in exhaustion. The scraping of his shoes against the pavement slowed to a stop as he lifted his head, inhaling a deep, cold breath of lilac air.

He groaned and stretched his back a little, feeling the satisfying vibration ring through his bones. He couldn't remember if he'd actually taken a break from working since the morning, and his eyes stung and watered as he blinked them shut.

"Ow," he huffed, scrubbing at his face. His knuckles came away wet and his vision momentarily blurred, strained from the constant focus on his screens in the studio.

Making a mental note to set his screen brightness lower next time, he looked up just as his eyes focused on the cafe across the street.

Small, golden, and cosy, it stayed open late enough for desperate trainees and exhausted artists to rest, a tiny slice of evening light in the otherwise-deserted streets of Seoul.

Chan checked his watch. He should really be heading back to the dorms; Jeongin would be expecting him. He wasn't sure he'd make it back without some sort of energy boost, though, so he looked across the streets both ways, and then crossed, pulling the wooden-framed door of the little cafe open.

The warm, golden glow of the overhead lights hit him with a soft ray of warmth, making his cheeks turn pink from the effects of the thawing cold in his blood. He sighed, pulling the door shut behind himself, and nodded once to the barista.

She smiled tiredly, wiping down the counter with a cloth, and moved away to attend to one of the coffee machines, too familiar with his face to cause much of a fuss.

Chan ordered a hot drink and paid, before stuffing his receipt in his pocket and looking around for somewhere to sit.

His gaze caught onto a small, hunched-over figure nestled in a tiny booth at the back, a cup of barely-touched tea next to them.

Chan smiled softly, the familiar flop of your hair and the usually-ruffled clothes drowning your frame pulling him like a magnet.

Sitting down next to you and shedding his coat, he draped it over your back before poking you lightly in the side.

"Mmhmff..."

"Wake up, Y/n."

Lifting your head, you groaned before rubbing your eyes with a fist. "Wha- Chan?"

He grinned, the skin around his eyes crinkling. He didn't seem to mind the lack of honorifics, simply choosing to stroke a strand of hair out of your face in an affectionate, brotherly gesture. "Hi."

You sighed sleepily before resting your head on the cushioned backseat of the booth. "What time is it?"

"Late enough." He pushed the cooling cup of tea towards you.

Taking a small sip with a momentous amount of effort, you pushed the cup away before blinking away the remnants of sleepiness. "What are you doing here?"

Chan nodded at the barista in thanks as she set down his drink in front of him, and pulled the steaming mug towards himself. "Needed a boost before heading home. Didn't feel like getting a ride home; I've been sat on my ass all day in the studio."

You snicker, fighting another yawn. "As per usual."

"Shut it, trainee."

A tiny laugh escaped your mouth; you pulled Chan's coat around yourself a little tighter, feeling the post-sleep shiver set in, a disturbance to your previous state. "I've been sleeping since four, I think. It was packed when I came in."

"It's bad for your back to sleep like that, you know."

You fired back without hesitation. "And it's bad to be shut up in a studio all day, staring at a screen."

Chan's chuckle warmed the air between you, a musky, welcoming sound. His voice cleared a little as he took a sip of his drink, the warm liquid soothing his throat. "Fair enough. Still, you shouldn't sleep here. Go home. Rest."

You shook your head, resting it on your folded forearms as you leaned over the table. "Too tired. I had dance practice all day."

He stared thoughtfully into the distance, gaze unfocused. "It can't have been that bad."

"I can't feel my legs. I think I pulled a muscle..."

"Which one?"

"All of them."

Chan choked on his drink, hiccupping as he thumped himself in the chest. You chuckled as he exhaled, wiping the last dregs of his drink from his lips. "Average trainee experience, huh?"

You sighed and nestled further into your forearms, Chan's heavy coat like a hug on your back. "Yeah. I don't seem to be getting any better, though. Lots of my friends have dropped out already."

Chan was silent for a moment. He pressed his fingertips to the warm porcelain of the mug in his hands, relishing its warmth. His voice was soft in the golden light. "Lots of trainees do. It's not just about talent, Y/n; you have to be able to keep pushing and persevering. You need heart."

"I do?"

"Yes," Chan sat back against the cushioned seat. "And you've got plenty of it, little one."

You couldn't fight the warmth rising in your cheeks.

"Okay," you whispered.

Chan's gaze was steady, measured; he ran a finger around the rim of the mug in his hands. "Keep your chin up, hmm? It gets easier around evaluation time. Just push as hard as you can for now and it'll pay off. I promise."

You gazed at him thoughtfully; the smooth, cold-flushed planes of his face, his dark, windswept hair. His eyes, perhaps a little baggy and strained, but as full of loveliness and affection as they had been the day you'd first met.

Your voice was quiet and thoughtful, wary as if you were afraid you'd be overstepping a boundary. "Was it worth it? The struggle?"

His gaze met yours, and he pushed the mug away. "I felt like it wasn't really worth it while I was training. But now, I'm the leader of a successful group, I've learnt so much and met so many new people, I get to spend my days doing what I love-"

"And you have seven kids."

He tweaked your nose, smiling at your cheeky interruption. "Eight. Including you."

You grinned, sleep still faintly dulling your senses in a pleasant, dreamy haze. "Me?"

Chan chuckled quietly. "Yes, you. Our little star-in-the-making."

He picked up your teacup and placed it next to his in the middle of the table. He reached into the pocket of his coat, still draped over you, and retrieved his phone.

"Come on. I'll take you home."

a/n: yayy new fic (do people even read these notes? comment if you do pls)

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[aleskyyy]

Annoyingly Yours (FINALE) — Yeon Sieun x Fem!Reader

You is a bright, carefree high school girl who always smiles, makes friends easily, and sees the good in everyone—except not everyone sees the good in you. When your cheerful nature makes you the target of bullies, no one expects Sieun, the cold and grumpy boy who never talks to anyone, to step in. But he does—with sharp words and quiet strength that send the bullies running.

Warnings— none, just two love birds being a simp to each other.

Main Masterlist WHC Masterlist

Chapter Five

“Stop packing two lunches,” Sieun grumbled one noon, even as he opened the tidy bento box you'd slid onto his desk.

“It’s not two lunches,” you corrected, plopping down beside him. “It’s one balanced meal for a boy who forgets to eat breakfast.”

He surveyed the meticulously arranged tofu flowers and neatly rolled omelet slices. “You even made the rice into little bears.”

“Kuma onigiri are scientifically proven to improve mood.”

“I don’t need mood improvement.”

Yet when you looked away to trade gossip with a friend, he slipped one of the rice bears into his mouth and chewed, cheeks warming at the faint taste of sesame you'd added because you knew he liked it that way.

Final exams crept closer, bringing long evenings of shared silence at the town library. You spread color-coded flashcards across the table, humming while memorizing dates for history class. Beside you, Sieun sketched physics diagrams in swift, precise strokes.

Now and then you'd whisper a joke. He’d answer with a deadpan comment that made you clap a hand over your mouth to hide a laugh from the stern librarian. If your knee bounced restlessly, his sneaker would find yours under the table and tap once—a silent Calm down, I’m here. It always worked.

During breaks he drilled you with mock quizzes, and you bribed him with chocolate drops to keep him from overworking. The partnership was seamless, like puzzle pieces that had always been meant to lock together.

June brought the school’s summer festival, neon lanterns bobbing above courtyard booths. Your class ran a gold-fish-scooping stall; Sieun’s class sold bingsoo.

“Come on,” you pleaded, tugging his sleeve during a lull, “just one game. I’ll win you a fish!”

“I don’t want a fish.”

“Please? The volunteers need customers, and you look really cute in your robe.”

He flushed scarlet; the borrowed indigo robe was too formal for his liking. Still, he let you drag him to the booth. You broke the fragile paper scooper in seconds. He sighed, pulled out his own scooper, and—after a minute of intense focus—presented you with a single shimmering fish in a plastic bag.

“You said you didn’t want one!” you squealed.

“I don’t,” he replied, ears pink. “It’s yours. It reminded me of you—small and hyper.”

You punched his arm gently and beamed so brightly he had to look away to hide his smile.

When dusk settled and fireworks bloomed overhead, you stood in front of him, lantern-light crawling across your cheeks. You tipped up on your toes and pressed a quick kiss to his jaw, powder-sweet from festival candy. For a rare, unguarded moment, Sieun’s gruff mask dissolved, replaced by wonder.

“Happy?” you asked.

“Ridiculously.”

A week later your older sister spotted you and Sieun at the corner bakery. She cornered Sieun while you tested free samples.

“So you’re the boy making my sister float around like she’s in a drama.”

Sieun fumbled for his composure. “I—uh—sorry?”

“Don’t apologize. Just keep that look on her face.” She paused, eyes softening. “And keep letting her keep that look on yours.”

You returned with cream puffs, blissfully unaware of the tiny promise sealed in that brief conversation: he would guard your happiness as fiercely as he guarded his own quiet world.

It was never grand gestures that defined them—it was ordinary magic. The way Sieun instinctively moved you to the inside of the sidewalk when cars rushed by. The scribbled doodles you snuck into his notebook margins—miniature suns peeking over gray clouds.

Your Thursday tradition of sharing a single set of ear-buds on the bus ride, one wire each, playlists alternating between your bright pop and his instrumental lo-fi. His steady voice reading aloud from your literature assignments when your eyes grew tired, punctuated by your sleepy hums of agreement.

Little by little, classmates stopped calling you “too much.” They saw how Sieun—his barbed edges sanded smooth in your presence—looked at you like you was exactly enough. And if he thought so, well… maybe you really was perfect the way you are.

One afternoon, after your last exam, you reclaimed your favorite bench under the tree. Sunlight filtered through gold-green leaves, dusting them in soft speckles.

You swung your legs. “Guess what? I found a university with a great education program and a campus cat café.”

He pretended to think. “Does the cat café influence your decision?”

“Seventy percent.”

“What about the other thirty?”

“It’s near yours.” You nudged his knee with yours. “I want to keep being annoying.”

Sieun traced lazy circles on the back of your hand. “Good. I already applied there.”

Your gasp echoed up through the branches. “You did?”

He nodded, sudden shyness softening his voice. “Where else would I go?”

Your answering grin was sunlight itself. Without hesitation, you placed another bracelet—faded, frayed, but treasured—into his palm. “Will you keep this until we graduate university?”

He slipped it over his wrist, worn yarn against new skin. “Longer.”

Then, in full view of a sky too blue to keep secrets, Sieun leaned in and brushed a feather-light kiss over your temple, lingering just long enough to whisper:

“You, you’re ridiculous and I’m ridiculously in love with you.”

You tried to answer but only air came out—so you laughed, eyes shining, and kissed the words straight off his lips.

Years later, classmates would say they’d never seen a stormcloud look so content sitting beside the sun. And anyone who doubted the pairing had only to watch the way his frown melted at your laughter, or how your chatter hushed the moment he reached for your hand.

Grumpy and sunshine.

Quiet and chaos.

A boy who found his home in the warmth of a girl who refused to stop reaching for him—

—and the girl who discovered that even stormclouds can glow when lit from the inside.

© 2025 aleskyyy

[vampz1re]

pairing: Vil x Yuu, Idia x Yuu, Malleus x Yuu, (All onesided)

cw: angst, hurt NO comfort, rejection, reader is called yuu, GN reader, one sided from yuus side then swapped! (tell me if there's anything else..?)

note: Heres part 2 of the last post ! Sorry for the really late posts :( . I swear i'm working on some more there's just been a lot going on ! This might be rushed, disorganized or just like not written good enough 😞💔

word count: 1.2k approximately

VIL SCHOENHEIT —

i

"Yuu. May I have a moment?"

His voice was polished as ever, but something about it trembled. You turned, finding Vil standing behind you in the corridor outside the ballroom, his usual poise fraying at the edges.

You nodded, although slightly hesitant. "Of course."

He stepped closer, not quite looking at you. "I owe you an apology. For that day. When you confessed."

You swallowed but said nothing, allowing him to continue

"I thought I was protecting myself. My career. My image. But the truth is, I was afraid of the way you made me feel. Vulnerable. Seen."

His eyes finally met yours, and there was no mask this time. Just honesty.

"I care about you. I think I always did. But I was too proud to admit it. And now I am standing here hoping it's not too late."

It was everything you had once wished to hear. But the ache that used to burn in your chest was long gone.

"I did love you, Vil. But I had to let that go. I couldn’t wait forever for you to look at me the way I looked at you."

Vil's breath hitched, and for a brief moment, the ever-composed actor looked heartbreakingly human.

"I understand," he said softly. "And I’m sorry. For not seeing you clearly until now."

You gave a small smile. "You always did have perfect timing. Just... not the right one."

This time, the loss was all his fault.

IDIA SHROUD —

“Yuu. Um… Could I… talk to you?”

You turned from your book slowly, surprised to see Idia standing just inside the library door. His usual hoodie was wrinkled, his hair a faint, unsure flicker of blue. He wasn’t fidgeting like normal. He looked… still. Intentional.

You marked your page. “Sure. What’s up?”

He hesitated, shifting from foot to foot, then walked over like he might bolt at any moment. But he didn’t.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began quietly. “About that day. When you told me you liked me.”

You felt the familiar ache stir in your chest, but you waited, unsure.

“I said something stupid. No — worse than stupid. I told you that you shouldn’t like me. Like I knew better than you. Like I had the right to decide that.”

His voice cracked slightly. He didn’t meet your eyes as he looked around as if the walls were more interesting.

“I was scared. I thought you were too good. I thought… if I let you get close, you’d see everything that’s wrong with me and leave anyway. So I figured I’d just do it first.”

You said nothing. You’d imagined this conversation before, too many times to count.

“I was wrong. I know that now. I liked you then. I still do. And if there’s even a tiny chance…”

You gave him a soft smile, and it stopped him cold.

“Idia. I waited. I hoped. I wanted so badly for you to say what you’re saying now. But eventually, I had to let it go.”

He looked like he’d been unplugged from the world. No glitch. Just grief.

“I get it,” he whispered. “Too late. As usual.”

You nodded, but gently. “It doesn’t mean your feelings don’t matter. They just… came after I needed them most.”

He understood. He had waited to long and the deadline for the ssr moment had long been gone.

MALLEUS DRACONIA —

“Yuu. I have been seeking you.”

You looked up in confusion to find Malleus standing beneath the cherry blossom tree, bathed in moonlight, looking every bit the prince he was. But his eyes were soft, uncertain.

“I wished to speak. If you will allow it.”

You nodded slowly. “Alright.”

He approached, each step deliberate, each word careful.

“When you confessed your heart to me, I did not respond. I let the silence between us speak in my place. I did not understand my own feelings, nor the weight of your vulnerability.”

You remembered. That long, still moment. The cold breeze. The way his gaze had drifted away as if he hadn’t heard.

“I now know what that ache in my chest was. What it still is. I love you, Yuu.”

The world was quiet for a moment, but inside, you felt only stillness. No flutter, no pain — just clarity.

“I loved you,” you said, voice gentle and holding a certain weight. “I waited for something. Anything. But when none came, I learned to stop hoping.”

He bowed his head, as if the air itself had become heavier.

“Another has found your heart.”

You gave a soft nod. “And they gave me what I needed when I felt invisible. I’m sorry.."

“There is nothing to forgive,” he said quietly. “I only regret that I did not speak sooner."

You reached for his hand and gave it a light squeeze, smiling softly - the smile not fully reaching your eyes.

“Thank you for coming. I needed to hear it. Even if it’s too late.."

He nodded once, his expression unreadable, then turned toward the trees — his figure blending into the quiet night as gracefully as he had arrived.

[c4shm0neyxxx]

“The Quiet Between Us”

Pairing: Yeon Si-eun x fem!reader

Genre: Fluff, slow-burn comfort

⸻

The wind was crisp today—cool enough to make you shiver despite the faint sunlight filtering through the trees in Yeongdeungpo Park. You tugged your sleeves over your hands and glanced beside you.

Yeon Si-eun was sitting on the park bench, back straight, hands resting neatly on his knees. His expression was neutral as always—guarded, distant—but you could tell he was relaxed in his own way. The gentle sway of his leg and the way he let out a soft breath every now and then told you more than his face ever did.

“You’re cold,” he said suddenly, his voice low.

You blinked. “What gave it away? My chattering teeth?”

His gaze flickered to you—dry, deadpan.

“You’re not that subtle,” he replied.

You rolled your eyes, but smiled. “You could offer me your jacket, you know. Like a proper gentleman.”

“I would,” he said without missing a beat, “but you’d probably drown in it.”

That made you laugh, and you didn’t miss the tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth. You loved that—you loved the way he didn’t smile often, but when he did, it felt like you’d uncovered something rare. You didn’t need big gestures with Si-eun. His presence, his quiet concern, was enough.

“You always come out here when you’re thinking,” you said, watching the small pond across from the bench. Ducks floated lazily, undisturbed by the cold.

“It’s quiet here.”

“You don’t like quiet?”

“No, I like it,” he said, turning his head slightly to look at you. “But when I’m with you, the quiet feels different.”

Your heart stuttered.

He wasn’t the kind of guy to say things like that. He wasn’t the type to offer compliments or be affectionate without reason. But every now and then, he dropped these quiet, thoughtful lines that left you breathless.

“Different how?” you asked softly.

Si-eun looked away, watching the leaves dance in the breeze. His brows drew together—not in irritation, just contemplation. You’d come to recognize the subtle shifts in his expressions.

“It’s not heavy,” he finally said. “Silence is usually… pressure. But with you, it’s not.”

You didn’t speak for a while, afraid that anything you said might shatter the moment. You simply leaned your shoulder into his, your touch light but intentional. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t move away.

He let you stay there.

That was enough.

⸻

You and Si-eun weren’t dating—at least, not officially. You weren’t even sure what you were. Friends, maybe. Companions. Something suspended in that space between understanding and unspoken affection.

But days like this made you feel like you didn’t need a label.

“You know,” you said after a while, watching a kid try to feed bread to a pigeon twice his size, “most people wouldn’t pick a cold bench over their warm beds on a weekend.”

He shrugged. “Most people aren’t me.”

“Mm, true. But most people aren’t this pretty, either.”

That made him pause.

“Pretty?”

“You know you are,” you teased. “If you ever wanted to stop beating people up, you could just model for skincare brands. You’ve got that ‘stone-cold beauty’ thing going for you.”

He gave you a flat look, but his ears were pink. That was enough for you to claim victory.

“You’re weird,” he said quietly.

“So are you.”

There was a pause. He was still looking at you, his gaze lingering just a moment too long to be casual.

“That’s why I don’t mind being around you,” he murmured.

You were pretty sure your heart forgot how to beat for a second.

⸻

Later, the two of you wandered the nearby streets, your footsteps naturally falling in rhythm. Si-eun didn’t talk much, but his presence filled the space in other ways. You always noticed the little things—how he walked on the side closest to the road, how his eyes subtly scanned your surroundings, how he slowed his steps if you fell behind.

There was comfort in that. In knowing that he cared in ways that didn’t need to be said aloud.

You stopped in front of a small convenience store.

“Want hot chocolate?” you asked.

He nodded once. You ducked inside, grabbing two cans of warm cocoa from the heated shelf. When you came back out, he was leaning against the wall, hands tucked into his pockets, face turned up slightly to the sky like he was trying to read something in the clouds.

You handed him one can.

“Thanks,” he said, fingers brushing yours as he took it.

The contact made you warm in a way the drink couldn’t.

You both stood there for a moment, sipping cocoa in silence.

“I used to do this alone,” he said suddenly.

You looked at him.

“Come out on weekends. Watch people. Drink hot chocolate.”

You smiled. “Sounds lonely.”

“It was.”

His eyes met yours. There was something unguarded in his gaze, a softness that didn’t come often.

“It’s not anymore,” he said.

[kakashislvt]

Team 7 surprises their sensei 😳 (a short little wholesome story)

The sun is shining a little brighter than usual today, Kakashi thinks as he shifts his position on the bench. He uses his hand to shield his eye so he can continue reading his favorite part of the book, the same book he’s read over 20 times now and knows every scene like the back of his hand.

He’s reading the buildup to that scene now, giggling inside his mask like a schoolgirl, when suddenly he senses chakra coming from over the hill. Not just any chakra, either.

No… NO….

Not today. Please, not today, he thinks to himself. He isn’t supposed to be seeing them today.

He tilts his head towards them, ever so slightly.

And, here they come.

Three familiar, tiny figures, are dashing towards him at full speed.

“KAKASHI-SENSEI,” he hears them faintly call his name in the distance.

He closes the eye that isn’t covered by his headband, trying to imagine a world where he had absolutely no responsibilities and could lie here all day reading if he wanted to.

“KAKASHI-SENSEI,” a certain loud individual could be heard over the sound of the rest of them, and Kakashi sighs, opening his eye and flipping to the next page of his book. Maybe if he pretends he can’t see, hear or sense them they’ll just go away.

“KAKASHI-SENSEI,” they’re close now, too close. He’s just about to peek over in their direction one more time when a sprinting Naruto suddenly comes to a full stop right in his face.

“Kakashi-sensei,” Naruto says out of breath as the others catch up to him, first Sakura and then Sasuke, who was slugging behind. “We want to show you something.”

Kakashi glares at Naruto with an expression of pure dread. “Naruto, today is my day off. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“NO KAKASHI-SENSEI,” he shouts, “We’ve been waiting all week to get this together, right Sakura?”

Sakura nods her head yes, still catching her breath. “Right, and it can’t wait another day.”

Sasuke didn’t seem to show even the slightest bit of excitement on his face, but he was there with them, so it must be important to him too. “Just let us show you something,” he adds, standing there with his arms crossed. “But just so you know, it wasn’t my idea.”

Kakashi sighs, closing his book. They’re obviously not going to let this go or leave him alone today. “Fine, but this better not take all day.”

“It won’t! You just have to come with us,” Naruto responds, jumping up and down and using way too much energetic body language for what Kakashi can handle at the moment.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming.”

The three of them lead Kakashi to the hot springs, much to the grown man’s surprise. “This is what you wanted to show me?”

“No, silly, go inside,” Sakura orders him, and he furrows his brow in confusion, looking at the rest of them who are nodding their heads yes.

Kakashi narrows his eyes. He has no idea what to expect from these three sometimes.

He walks inside the first room only to find a small basket at his feet, with some goodies and a card inside.

He takes out the card first and opens it, and it reads:

Kakashi-sensei, thank you for being the best teacher ever, enjoy your day off at the hot springs. We love you!

He takes another look around at the room he was in and… this whole place is Makeout Paradise themed?? It just had the posters taped to the wall, some heart shaped lights hanging from the ceiling that made the room look pink, and plushies of the main characters sitting under the posters, but still…

The man immediately face palms, grunting in agony over the fact that his three kid students know about this series. But he can’t stop the smile from creeping on his face when he thinks about how excited they were just to do something for him.

Before he gets too comfortable, he wants to tell his students they shouldn’t have bothered with this, but when he sticks his head out they were already gone.

Of course.

“Well… don’t mind if I do, then,” he says to himself as he begins rummaging through the basket. There’s a bunch of salty snacks, just as he likes, and some glitter and bath bombs… definitely Sakura’s doing.

He shrugs his shoulders before picking up a bath bomb. “Fine… just this once.”

-end-