#why can i never have a nice dream about him

[mayullla]

Title: His Dream Wife

Character(s): Richard (Original character / Original work)

Synopsis: He always wanted a perfect family, but life never gave him what he wanted. Instead, he was blackmailed into marrying a gold digger. But after seeing you for the first time the wife of his friend all he could think of was you. So don't mind him when he was given the option to swap his wife's consciousness with yours he took that chance immediately.

Warnings/tags: Yandere Dilf x meek reader, yandere pov, general yandere themes, body swap between reader and Yandere's wife, cheating (not done by reader), arranged, baby trapping, Yandere wants that traditional wife and lifestyle. Word count: 4.2k (Please tell me if I miss anything!)

Note: I just finished reading the webtoon "Marry My Husband," so you can probably see many small ideas taken from it in this story!

Ever since he was young, Richard had fantasies and dreams of a perfect family. He always loved the idea of someone relying on him just as much as he would on them, and someone who would love him exclusively and trust him completely. Maybe that was why he liked wolves, having been told back then that those animals would mate for life. He liked that. He wanted that. Friends were nice there is nothing wrong with that. But there is something about a family that he wanted. Maybe it was because he was jealous back then of how affectionate his grandparents were between each other, while his parents were far from that.

That was what he wanted and well maybe he started to want a little more the older he got. He wanted what his grandparents had, he wanted what the movies had… he wanted what his fantasies had. He loved the idea of a family, coming back from work to an affectionate housewife with her tummy big inside a second or third child while holding the first. The idea of kisses between each other, while his lover irrupts in giggles, playfully pushing him back telling him that he should not let the food turn cold or let the kids see them.

Someone he could spoil and give everything to while she relied on him and his money. He would work hard every day just for her and the kids, to give them the home they deserve. She would give back by cooking and cleaning the house, anybody knows that those things are hard work and everything takes time. But she would do it for the both of them, for him. 

Yet he wasn't able to attain that dream. He wasn't allowed to have it. He attracted the attention of a viel woman, who had used any and every blackmail to tie him down to her. He was a manager at a big company already quickly climbing up but also came from a rich family, he unwantedly got the attention of a woman who was greedy for money and something handsome. 

And her own manager was ripe for the picking.

She did many things but somehow he was able to avoid many of them however that could only go on for so long. She was cunning, too smart for her own good. He didn't know how she did it, it made him furious at what she did waking up in a hotel with her right beside him. He had no memories of the night yet she did when she told everyone that she had his baby a month later.

Everyone was frantic, his parents especially who cared so much about their appearance and reputation than anything else. While he hated them for the lack of love or care only forcing him to their whims to get a word above their acquaintances and rivals. The idea of him their own son mudding their name with the fact that he got someone pregnant without marriage made them furious. They wanted him to marry her immediately and he had no choice not when they held his job, reputation, and life above him not when that woman too did the same with her connections and people behind the scenes. It was idiotic that he fell into her hands like this, no matter what he did she did not let go and sank her claws deep into his skin.

Richard wanted to know if this child was his, but there was no time when everybody demanded his and that woman didn't give him a chance to check. Only to cry after the marriage that the child from miscarriage due to stress from his selfishness. Many blamed him even though he knew that she was lying this whole time but no matter what he said her crocodile tears worked far better than any explanation.

He was furious, angered by everything that happened but he wasn't allowed to do anything he wasn't allowed to break up with her. His life, everything that he worked for had turned to nothing by this woman. She could care less about love or something genuine and only cared about his money, demanding that he give her money to go shopping to buy expensive brand items and clothing while also going to parties and bars with her friends coming back home late leaving only a mess with how drunk she was.

Some days she would not come home at all and he assumed that she was with another man, as he didn't give in to her sexual demands even if they were husband and wife. At this point, the idea of touching her body even her hand disgusted him.

He thought he lost everything, he felt hopeless when he could not break up with that woman who made sure that he could not have a divorce without destroying his reputation and paying her a huge amount of cash. She was insane.

Rather than be with her he would rather drown in his work in his office. The house smelled like her strong perfume that could only make his head hurt the moment he took one whiff of it even though that woman wasn't even in the house having already left to head to the next new bar that opened up in the city.

That was his life, he genuinely thought that this was his ending, a story that didn't end so well, yet unable to change anything with knives around his neck daring him to move. But in the end, nothing is concrete, sometimes all it takes is helping an old lady who just so happens to be a fortune teller. 

Typing away at his computer late at night in his office as he looked at the time, his thoughts could not help but let his thoughts drift for a moment. Richard closed his eyes slightly burning from looking at the laptop for too long. Leaning his chair, he pulled his tie down a little as he thought about this afternoon when he helped out a poor fortune teller the old woman after picking some stuff up at the market, who looked to be in her 80s stuck outside homeless and struggling to open her shop. As she had dropped something that had rolled towards him he picked it up and gave it to the old lady. He didn't know what moved him to help her. But as a present, he had gotten a small viel.

"Thank you for your help. You are quite the hard worker." The old woman said, sitting on the chair when everything was finally set up. She looked at him with a sly smile on her face. The old woman he later realized had a way of speaking, that wasn't normal. Weird yet at the same time sharp... too sharp. “Too bad you are stuck with such a mean spirit woman. How you handle such a woman for so long now… I am impressed.” Sharp as in she knew too much than he would have liked for a stranger to know.

"Buahahaha, don't worry boy this would be the last you would ever hear from me after this." The old woman laughed at his stiff glare. He didn't know how she did it but she seemed to know a lot about his relationship with his wife and the trouble that he was in yet at the same time she had a knack for poking at his sore spots. 

Before Richard could think about calling the police she suddenly pulled out a vial inside containing a blue liquid, "You help me with my little trouble so I want to give you a little something, that could help you with your own little trouble. Besides, I couldn't resist helping someone in need.” 

“A little swap potion, let your wife and your sweetheart drink it and they will swap at the start of the next day. The lil spell would wear off in a month but if there is nothing to return to… well then that means nothing could even happen. Dont yah think so boy? Haha!” He took the vial from the lady, thinking about throwing it when she was nowhere in sight. The creepy grin didn't match her so-called kind action, but she was not finished with talking.

“You better move fast my boy, that woman will make sure you will be dead before a year. It is very easy to hide evidence with a car crash.”

After that, it was difficult to throw the thin vial. Part of him could not drop the liquid into the bin, so he stored it on his office desk, locked but with a key, along with other important documents and such.

"Richard!! Why did you not show up at the dinner party?! Do you know how much embarrassment you have caused me?" his wife screamed. He couldn't help but groan in annoyance the moment he walked through the entrance. It was too early in the morning for such screaming, but she just continued on and on: "And why are you here now?!! It is the next day!? Explain yourself!"

"I don't need to explain myself to you at all." Walking past his wife who was glaring daggers at him. The more he learned about his wife the more he realized that she was similar to his parents, cared only about reputation, and was selfish putting themselves first before anything else. Hypocrites. "I had to finish up some work so I stayed at my office. I needed to finish all the file work before the meeting." Unlike a certain someone who would come home the next day afternoon after being in someone else's arms. 

Walking into his own home, he could not recognize it... everything was thrown about and trashed everywhere. Expensive decorations on the floor and shattered. Sofa and pillows ripped letting cotton spill from them. Walls wet and dirty with glass cups, and pots of plants shattered on the floor. Looking at everything he kept his anger internally holding everything in as he continued to walk towards his office and bedroom locked with a key.

This wasn't the first time this happened, he had found out that there was no use to teaching someone who saw no reason to change her ways. He just needs to call in some cleaners, replace the things that broke and that was it.

Heading to his home office to place his bag on the table he suddenly received a text on his phone. Pulling out the device to check who it was while the woman continued to scream at him.

"That doesn't explain why you didn't tell me you couldn't join the dinner!" It was because she wouldn't listen, no matter what. If he had told her, she would have either demanded that he come or screamed at him—first on the phone, then again when he got home. "Answer your phone when I call! Are you even listening to me?!"

He knew of the calls and messages. She had been calling non-stop and texting for an hour since he didn't come to her friends' dinner. He just didn't care to answer and left it on mute to let him focus on his work. Looking at the sender he couldn't help but sigh.

"Hey, I am talking to you!" Her shrill screaming was mind-numbing as he got his clothes unable to stand her voice and would rather change elsewhere. "RICHARD!!!"

He quickly left the house and got into his car, ignoring the high-heeled shoe that was thrown at him—missing as it landed. Starting the engine, he drove off, tuning out her shouts.

It was past midnight, and he was alone on the road. No one else was in sight. As he waited at a red light, he pulled out his phone to check a message. It was from a "friend" he had made at university, inviting him to dinner the next day. The guy had always been friendly—or at least tried to be. He had the personality of a know-it-all, and while he didn’t care for him much, it seemed the guy had once considered them friends. That was until money and popularity got to his head.

The guy knew a lot and had multiple connections and friends, he was the one who helped him find a cleaner will to keep silent about everything that happened in the house after the housemaid quit due to his wife assuming that he and the maid had done something sexual in the bedroom. The woman was crying as her hair had been pulled and her face slapped by his wife.

He also had seen the lust in that friend's eyes whenever he looked at her. Even after the guy was married for over a year he still looked at another wife with lust, it was disgusting to Richard that his friend would do such a thing but as the guy had helped him with a few of his troubles he didn't just cut him away.

The message was an invite for a double date. Having just left his house and his furious wife behind (not that he would ever take her anywhere unless absolutely forced), he tried to decline, saying that his wife was a bit "busy."

[Dude, dont worry about it and just come then.]

[Won't it be awkward for your wife?]

[It doesn't matter she would just say that it is fine either way.]

[Don't leave me here with her. You have already talked with her either way it is not a problem anymore. ]

From what he remembered it seemed that it was an arranged marriage between the two. Something that was decided by their parents for the benefit of their companies. The guy absolutely hated the fact that he was pushed into this marriage and had nothing good to say about his wife but that was a goody two shoes and boring. "She lacks the wildness that I am looking for." The guy said he was drinking in a bar one time having called him to express his frustrations after an official meeting with her. "She probably doesn't know anything except how to clean dishes.”

"I would not leave the house with a babe like yours. How do you keep everything in your pants?" The guy asked too drunk from all the alcohol to be careful with his words. "You might like my fiance a lot with your uptight attitude and lack of fun. Maybe we should switch wives later. Hey, wanna wife swap one time? It would be fun~~."

He had ignored the very obvious lust in the guy’s eyes, choosing not to address it and instead steer the conversation elsewhere. In the end, between hiccups, the guy told him he’d introduce him to his future wife and insisted that he should come to the wedding.

A few days later, with the invitation in hand, he attended the wedding. There, he saw the guy’s wife—and he was absolutely floored.

It was just a moment. A fleeting glimpse. He caught sight of her for only a second, walking toward his friend across the hall. Through the open door of the bride's room, he saw her, and he froze.

She was stunning.

He could not believe that a woman like you would become the wife of the guy. He wanted to take a step back to see you again, yet when his wife called him he was forced to start walking again not wanting to cause a scene due to her fickle pride. 

After all, he could see you again on the walkway when the wedding starts.

But he didn't want to leave either way.

Seated on the husband's side as the music stopped hinting to the guest that it was about to start soon. He watched as his friend walked the aisle, knowing but not commenting on the dirty slutish look his wife was giving to the guy looking at him up and down and waiting for you to show up.

You arrived soon after, dressed elegantly and sophisticated holding bouquets of flowers. He noticed how pretty you were, your walk and movements were elegant and soft, a far cry to his wife who walked to call the men's attention dressed a little too revealing for the formal occasion.

Would he have married a woman like you if this wench hadn’t come to destroy his life? Would he have married you if your parents and your friend’s family hadn’t forced the two of you into it? If this wasn’t some kind of mask, and this really was you, he wouldn’t have any complaints about being stuck with you. In fact, he would have demanded it—forced it, if he could. But that wasn’t how life turned out... You were not his.

The wedding soon came to an end and that was it. Legally you were tied to his friend while he was already stuck with his own problems. It wasn't fair. He just couldn't let it go as he stayed in his seat even after the end of the wedding speech as everybody started to leave to eat and dance. While his wife went to meet up with the groom he stayed where he was just thinking.

How surprised he was that he ended up meeting you so soon.

The guy had invited him to dinner a few times and he quickly understood that it was to have someone else in the group after the guy was forced by his parents to take you out a few times. But that didn't matter to him when he was finally able to talk to you, to chat with you.

When he reached the restaurant, the guy stood up after a small conversation, stating that he needed to run to the bathroom, take a call, or use some other excuse he had up his sleeve. He left the table for as long as possible only to come back near the end with maybe a lipstick on his shirt or something. And if Richard’s wife was there, the guy would start subtlety flirting with his wife, uncaring if he or his own wife was there, not that the woman herself cared.

He pitied you, as you kept on your smile even when your eyes swirled with an understanding of your place, yet at the same time, you were still so hurt. You were silent for the most part keeping to yourself.

You and he become rather close but not really, it was a kind of comradery of your situations or that was what he would like to think. Whenever you and him were left alone, rather than keep the awkward air around he would start to talk to you.

You were a little flustered at first but slowly you started to get used to talking with him. Chatting amicably as if enjoying the conversation between you and him. He also did enjoy conversing with you. No heavy topics, it wasn't business or anything to do with work but stuff like traveling, hobbies, and favorite food. The things that you would like to do if you only had the time or chance to do them. 

You weren't loud but you were delicate, gentle, and easy to fluster too. You were polite and careful with your words but also curious asking him many questions when he talks about his own stories. You would keep all your attention on him, even if he noticed you didn't seem maybe that interested in a topic or two.

There was one time he went to your apartment, an invitation from your husband who invited him and his wife. Your place was in a high-end apartment probably paid by the family, with decorations that were chic and modern but there was also a homely feeling to the place, cleaned and cared for with love, unlike his messed up house. The smell of the house was similar to that of a fragrant laundry detergent instead of strong perfume. Just for a moment, he realized that you were the one who did all this when he saw you coming out from the kitchen unwrapping the apron you were wearing.

Just for a moment you gave him an actual vision of a home, a vision of what he wanted so much and could have had yet was taken away from him. You gave him a vision of what it would be like to have a wife who cares so much. 

He could not help but crumble and fall.

He started to crave for you, the more he chatted with you the more he fell every night he fantasized about you in his arms. He wished... he craved for you so much that he thought he started having delusions that you were his. At night, he couldn’t close his eyes without seeing you clearly in the darkness.

But you just had to break everything, you just had to slam a hammer to his dreams and fantasies just like everyone else.

"I'm sorry," you said, a sorrowful smile on your lips. "I know my husband is using you to get out of our date. I apologize for taking up your time when you're so busy. Please, I’ll make sure this doesn't happen again. You don’t have to come every time he asks you to. I’m sure you’re busy too."

Why...? Why did you say that? He thought you knew that he already understood. He thought you knew that it didn’t bother him at all—especially when you both always had such enjoyable conversations. Why did you apologize? Why would you tell him to stop coming? Why were you pushing him away?

Your eyes looked at him in sorry and guilt and it clicked you were scared you were so scared that something wrong might happen. Because in the end, you were loyal, loyal to a man who didn't even love you.

It made him livid. 

Even if you thought you knew more than he did, he was the one who knew more. He knew well what your husband does on nights that he isn't home, where he goes, and what he does there. In Richard’s own house, he could hear the sounds of two people with familiar voices thinking they were alone. 

His wife and your husband.

You didn't know that, while you probably knew that he partied every day you seemed to have hope that he didn't have the audacity to lay in bed with another married woman much less the wife of his own friend. He didn't care who that guy lay with, but it made him irritated that a guy like him had you.

That appointment ended up awkward. Too awkward as both of you waited for your husband to arrive. The guy knew something was up the moment he arrived but seemed to choose not to say anything having enough tack not to right at that moment when he usually didn't.

Looking at the message again he sighed declining the invite again even when the guy tried to put up a fuss. It was just that he could not face you right now, not when you made it clear that all you felt towards him was guilt.

If only it was you... if only he had found you first if that woman didn't chain herself to him using blackmail and connections.

If he could just swap his wife with you he would have been happier... he would have the life he wished he had and he would spoil you with all his love and time. While you would wait oh so lovingly for him while cooking and cleaning while he worked to bring the money to keep you happy materially. He would be a better husband than your own and he already knew that you would be a far more better wife than his own.

But you just had to draw that line. That line of law and morality.

Watching the road as he drove, he could not help but let annoyance fester him at this whole situation till he saw a poster pass by him. Purple with a familiar design that he saw just this morning. Something to do with a certain fortune teller who knew a little too much and who gave him a small vial.

Truthfully he didn't believe in such things, but part of him had become so desperate that he just could not think straight. He was desperate and he knew that the old woman knew that and was laughing at him for it.

"Here yah go. This is a little something that would have cost a shit ton but I am gonna give it to you for free." The old woman cackled, she was having way too much fun knowing his situation. "If you plan to add this to a drink don't worry about the colour at all."

He didn't believe in such things. But there was a whisper in his mind a little spell in his brain that told him that this would work. That there was something different about that mad woman who probably lived only in entertainment.

His hand moved before he could even think about it, accepting the dinner invitation as he finally reached his office. It was supposed to be closed, but a few employees were pulling an all-nighter, so the building wasn't locked. In his mind, all he could think about was the life he once dreamed of—the life that had been taken away from him. All he wanted was a life with you, and that thing—that vial—would be the answer to all his problems.

[ponderingmoonlight]

And yet, you're here

Pairing: Geto x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,8k

Synopsis: Years after Suguru left, you're still not able to get him off your mind. When he reappears years after his betrayal, the past collides with the present. Unexpected, in a way you didn't even dare to dream about.

Warnings: this isn't proofread 100%, the emotional rollercoaster you deserve, hurt to comfort big time, this is for all my geto girlies who deserve their happy ending

please please please make this go viral thank you

„He’s a threat for the whole population!”

“We need to kill that brat before he kills all non-sorcerers.”

“I can’t believe someone like him was able to do something like…that.”

“So much wasted potential. Why does a special grade sorcerer act this way?”

“I thought he’s a nice boy.”

“So, you’re not one of those nice guys I guess.”

The sun already hung so low in the sky that you were barely able to see his soft features, let alone the surprised look that crept over his face while hearing those words coming from your mouth.

“Are you talking about me or Satoru?”

You let out one of those cute chuckles he adored so much, the kind he heard in his head on repeat even when you were long gone. Gosh, he couldn’t get enough of this. Those lonely nights with only you and a cigarette by his side, the countless hours he spent trying to understand you while it was his mind that slowly but surely fell apart.

“Nope, I’m always talking about you, Suguru.”

“What am I if not a nice guy, then?”

Sure, Satoru Gojo was his one and only best friend, but you were something else entirely: An unspoken bond that lived in the spaces between words, in glances that lingered just a moment too long. You weren’t a lover, not in the conventional sense, but you weren’t just a friend either. You were a mirror to his soul, the keeper of truths he couldn't bear to speak aloud, and the only person who could hold the weight of his silence without it breaking you both.

“You’re... complicated,” you finally replied, the word laced with warmth rather than judgment.

“You’re the kind of person who feels too much but hides it too well. The kind who would burn the world down if it meant saving the people you love. Not everyone understands that, but I do. Or at least I’m convinced I do.”

Suguru’s lips twitched into a faint smile, more melancholic than amused.

“Complicated, huh? That’s one way to put it.”

“And dangerous,” you added lightly, the hint of a smile in your voice.

“But not in the way they think. Not to me.”

His expression softened, the darkness in his eyes easing for just a moment as he stared at you.

“Not to you,” he echoed, as though testing the words on his tongue, letting them sink into the cracks of his fraying soul.

Till this day, that one last conversation both of you had on that lonely bench still haunts him. The way you looked at him back then, as if you’d already knew that you might never see him again, as if you just counted the hours until he goes berserk.

What are you thinking about him now?

Is he still on your mind?

Are you hating him the way Satoru does?

“You’re thinking about her again, don’t you?”

Fuck. He thought about you.

Again.

Suguru lets out a sharp exhale, the sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh, bitter enough to sting his own ears. How pathetic he has to look to the people surrounding him. When he walked down this path, he knew that he’ll have to do it without you, that he won’t be able to see you again. And yet…

Losing you seems to hurt more than anything else.

 “Of course I am,” he admits to his assistant, his voice low and rough like gravel underfoot.

“Not like I can help it. She’s everywhere, even when she’s not. It’s ridiculous.”

There it is again, your face ghosting through his mind. Other than Satoru and Shoko, you never really tried to find him. If you wanted to, you would, right? Maybe you’re too mad at him for all the things he’s done. Or maybe you already forgot about him.

 “But it doesn’t matter, does it? She’s gone. Just like everything else.”

For a moment, he closes his eyes, trying to drown out the memories, the sound of your laugh, the way your voice softened when you said his name, the weight of your eyes on him as if you could see through all the lies he told himself. He’d burn every memory if he could, let them smolder in the same fire that consumed the rest of his life.

“Besides. She’d hate me now, just like everyone else. Maybe she was just waiting for me to turn into the monster she saw coming.”

“Stop stewing in these thoughts, that doesn’t matter anymore. We’re expecting another bunch of monkeys in half an hour.”

But even as she said it, the words tasted wrong. It shouldn’t matter that he can still feel the warmth of your gaze, your unwavering belief in him, and yet it cuts deeper than any accusation ever could. Suguru shakes his head while straightening his shoulders, eyes locked onto Manami in front of him in order to force you off his mind.

“Doesn’t matter,” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper, as though trying to convince himself.

“It’s too late for that now. So, where’s the monkeys?”

“Why did I know I’d find you here?”

His voice startles you, making you jump slightly. You turn to see none other than Satoru Gojo standing there, hands in his pockets, his white hair catching the fading sunlight. The sunglasses perched on his nose don’t quite hide the sharp edge in his expression he usually wears around you.

“Because I’m always here, I guess,” you reply softly, your tone as tired as the circles under your eyes appear.

“And I told you to stop a long time ago,” Satoru bites back, his voice bitter, cutting.

“The Suguru you knew… he’s gone.”

The weight of his words lands hard, though they’re not new. He’s said them before, with the same venom in his voice, every time you bring up Suguru or the past.

“I know. I’ve always known.”

“Then why do you keep punishing yourself? Dropping out of Jujutsu High when everyone needed you didn’t bring him back. Hiding out here doesn’t change anything, y’know?”

“It wasn’t about bringing him back, Satoru,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intend.

“It was about… letting him go. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” he challenges, stepping closer.

“I’ve spent years watching people destroy themselves over things they can’t fix. I know the look in your eyes - you miss him. You always have. But you didn’t even try to stop him when he turned his back on us.”

You flinch, his words hitting a nerve.

“Because it wasn’t my place. I wasn’t like you, Gojo. I wasn’t his best friend. I wasn’t strong enough to drag him back kicking and screaming or to stand in his way. All I could do was… let him live the way he decided to. I thought… maybe if I stayed behind, if I didn’t follow him, he’d understand that I believed in him, that I trust him and his actions, the path he chooses. That I’d be here if he ever wanted to come back.”

Satoru’s shoulders tense, his jaw tightening. He never understood. Until this day, he never wrapped his head around the fact that you didn’t try to stop his best friend back then. You, who had more power over Suguru than himself.

God, how much he hates that disgusting truth until now.

“And look where that got you,” he mutters.

You look away, your hands gripping the edge of the bench for support.

“I never expected to see him again, Satoru. I didn’t think I’d matter enough to him for that.”

The silence between you stretches thin, brittle as glass.

“Do you think he hates me?” you ask, your voice barely audible.

“For staying behind? For not going after him?”

Gojo doesn’t answer, which is answer enough. You know he blames you, at least a little, for what happened. For not doing more. For leaving everything to him. For allowing Suguru to turn his back on Jujutsu High.

“Suguru hating you? Never. I bet he still thinks about you every damn day”, Satoru mutters under his breath before turning on his heels and leaving you standing in the rain.

Suguru, still thinking about you? You shake your head vehemently, not allowing that absurd thought into your brain. If he would miss you, he’d visit you, right? In all those years, he never lifted a finger in order to find you.

You were right there. In your small apartment, at jujutsu high.

Maybe he forgot about you after all.

“Me? Forgetting you? I’d never be able to do that, (y/n).”

Maybe some promises are meant to be broken.

-a few evenings later-

You’ve drank too much.

You always do when Shoko isn’t with you, when no one’s around to watch you. But even though you emptied a whole bottle of liqueur on your own, you still aren’t able to forget him. Fuck, his face is glued onto your mind like a second skin, never leaves you even though you drink enough to forget your own name.

Will it always feel like this? Will that ache ever go away?

“What are you thinking about, handsome?”

“Something I’ve lost some while ago”, you mumble, absently swirling your glittery cocktail around.

“That’s a bummer.”

You don’t even gift the random stranger next to you a look, the guy who smells like cheap cigarettes so vehemently that you feel like throwing up.

Maybe it’s time to call it a day.

“Yeah. Whatever.”

You spring back onto your feet, the alcohol vibrating through your veins. You were never much of a drinker back then, only shared a cigarette with Suguru from time to time. But this became your only way to numb the pain. At least for a few hours, at least for some time.

The cold air of the night hits your face like a wall. Even though it’s far past midnight, the city buzzes in street light, laughter and cries. And yet, all you’re able to think about is him again. His laugh, his voice, the way he used to look at you when he thought no one else was watching. Is it wrong to long for him? Is it disgusting that you couldn’t care less about the things he’s done those past years, about what he’d become?

You shake your head, trying to dispel the thoughts, but they cling to you, stubborn and relentless. Why can’t you just stop? Stop longing for something that will never happen, stop running after a person who is long gone? Suguru won’t come back, you won’t just meet him on a random street-

The click of footsteps catches your attention. Heavy, yet elegant footsteps across the still busy street.

At first, you think it’s just another stranger wandering through the city’s darkened streets. But something about the rhythm - steady, purposeful - sets your nerves on edge. Something about this feels familiar.

You glance up, your heart skipping a beat as your gaze meets a pair of familiar dark brown eyes.

Suguru Geto.

The world around you blurs, the sounds of the city fading into silence. It’s him, unmistakably him. His hair is longer than you remember, strands sticking to his face from what looks like rain, or maybe it’s sweat. Blood splatters ruin his clothes and the sharp line of his jaw, painting a stark, gruesome picture paired with those cold orbs. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes… they’re searching, watching your every move.

You should run, or scream, or yell at him – at least something that shows him what he put you through.

Anything.

He’s the same man who left you, who walked away from everything, from you. He, who didn’t even tell you about his true feelings, who didn’t care about the consequences of his actions, who didn’t even ask you to join. All those miserable nights you imagined him sitting next to you on that bench, the bottles of alcohol you’ve drank just to forget his name. He needs to pay for it, needs to know what he did to you by leaving you behind.

But instead, your feet move of their own accord, closing the distance between you in an instant.

Before he can react, you throw your arms around him so, pulling him into a tight embrace.

Suguru freezes, his body stiff against yours. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, as if the sheer force of your presence has left him powerless. You bury your face against his chest, not caring about the blood, the grime, or the hurricane of questions swirling in your mind. All you care about is the fact that he’s here, alive, and solid beneath your touch. You can feel him – not only in your dreams, but for real.

Suguru is here.

He’s alive.

He’s right between your arms.

The scent of him - familiar, though tinged with something darker - fills your senses, dragging you back into a world you thought you’d never touch again. Tears sting your eyes, but you bite them back, unwilling to let them fall.

“Suguru,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

Finally, he moves. His arms lift hesitantly, then wrap around you with a force that knocks the air out of your lungs. He holds you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear any given minute, his grip firm and desperate. His head dips slightly, and for a moment, you think you feel him trembling too.

“What are you doing?”

His voice is rough, low, almost broken.

“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice muffled against his chest.

“I just… I missed you.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes scanning your face as if trying to memorize every detail.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, his tone a mixture of regret and warning.

“Neither should you,” you counter, your gaze unwavering.

Suguru’s lips twitch, almost forming a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He lifts a hand, his fingers brushing against your cheek as though testing if you’re real.

“You should hate me.”

“Maybe I should,” you reply, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you.

God, you’re so furious at him. Mad because he ran away, mad because he left you standing in the rain.

Mad because this is actually the first time Suguru Geto hugged you.

“But I don’t. I guess I could never hate you.”

His expression falters, the mask he’s worn for so long cracking just enough to reveal the man beneath. The one you knew, the one you loved in a way you never fully understood. And for the first time since leaving everything behind, he feels that small ray of sunshine taking in his heart again.

“You don’t know what I’ve done, what I’ve become. I was so sure you’ll hate me like everyone else.”

“I know enough. And I don’t care. You’re still Suguru Geto, aren’t you?”

He exhales sharply, the sound almost like a laugh, though there’s no humor in it. You, not caring about the fact that he ended countless lives out of his own fulfilment? You, a jujutsu sorcerer who always protected those monkeys?

“You’re too good for this,” he bites back, shaking his head.

“Too good for me.”

“Don’t decide that for me,” you snap, surprising even yourself with your suddenly so sharp tone.

“You don’t get to make that choice. You already did when you left without saying goodbye”

The silence between you stretches, heavy with unspoken words. You’re right and he knows it. But… Was it really a possibility to take you with him back then? Was there a tiny chance that you…would have joined him?

Slowly, he leans his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as though seeking comfort in your presence. No, he doesn’t want to think this through. Not right now. Not when he feels your heart pound against his body, not when you’re this close to him for the very first time.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he admits, his voice barely a whisper.

“I told myself it was better that way.”

“And yet you’re here,” you point out softly.

“And yet I’m here,” he echoes, his lips curving into a faint, bitter smile.

For a moment, it’s just the two of you. No blood, no curses, no jujutsu, no past or future. Just the weight of the present, fragile and fleeting. And for now, that’s enough.

For now, simply holding the man you thought you’ve lost forever on a random street is more than enough to make you feel whole again.

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[yandere-daydreams]

Daytrip Illumi my beloved... and poor Darling. You capture how unnerving and unsettling he should be so well!

Illumi should be Strange and Uncanny even at his mildest(? not sure if an Illumi in love could be 'mild', but idk if it could be called volatile either. Darling was right, you can't ever tell with him); man was cosplaying Pinhead for a week. He could talk the whole time but just literally rattled at people. And poor Ghost, my stomach just dropped because everything so far was downright too tame and too thoughtful for a Yandere.

Aside from the porn, I was waiting for that drop. Darling really can't have nice things, can't she? Or rather, she can't have anything he's not able to take. Whether a Darling is defiant (Obedience Training, Ingress) or submissive (Daytrip) he's always going to pile on the trauma.

But the moment he started mouthing and groping at her in the car, I knew he was out of patience. Everything else that day was window dressing and foreplay, and the bit where she picks a cute, frilly, puff-sleeved dress really sold the toy and doll comparison later, she was so right at the observation that Illumi took her as a ballerina for his music box. In the end, the daytrip really wasn't for her to enjoy: he ripped up her dream dress, dashed her hope that her cat was doing well without her, and didn't get to eat anything at the picnic aside from the morsel he gave her. Girl couldn't even enjoy the scenery cause he blocked it off with himself. The end was so despondent in comparison to the beginning where she resolves to take any out that presents itself, falling asleep and giving into the dark (Illumi) swallowing her.

And meanwhile, Illumi's just had an epiphany on why his parents kept having kids even after the designated heir Killua. And also patting himself on the back cause he checked off all the boxes on his 'perfect romantic date to-do list', and gotten the *ideal* ending of having finally lost his v-card. 10/10, Great Day. Would do again sometime (but not too soon).

The juxtapostion between her opinion of how the daytrip went and his opinion of how it went must be... something. I almost don't want to know, and I don't know how to properly describe what this made me feel, but it's visceral.

i love it when you people treat my silly little fics like they need to be studied under a microscope,,,, i will be living on this ask for weeks thank you anon <3

illumi just makes me,,, yeah. i feel like there's so little you can do to actually fight against him (running's not an option when he has you under surveillance 24/7, fighting a seasoned hitman won't end well, etc.), but good behavior only makes him more likely to proceed with the awful things he would've done anyway, had you spent every minute from your inevitably kidnapping kicking, screaming, and cursing his name. he's got a running checklist of uncomfortable positions he'd like to see you in, and it's less a question of when you'll be ready for it and more what he'll have to do to make you compliant enough to be, if not a willing participant, than a docile one. i think he does care about your feelings and you loving him back, but your priorities are so drastically different that you two are never actually going to end up on the same page. in his mind, he's done his research (i.e. played roughly a hundred hours of the most popular dating sims he could get his hands on), been a good partner, and taken very good care of his beloved doll/pet/captive. in yours, you've been violated and abused by the man who both kidnapped you and admitted to killing your cat without blinking, and there's very little reconciliation from there.

[runningincircl3s]

Nothing Ever After

Noah Sebastian x Reader x Vinny Mauro

Chapter Seventeen

masterlist

chapter warnings: alcohol, SMALL SMUT WARNING (through a flashback), reader singing just pretend, subtle foreshadowing through the songs...

this is just a fun and super silly filler chapter! bad omens want to keep their cool and mysterious reputation but ik these guys are lovers of fun, also i wrote this chapter when i was soo tired so reading this back honestly felt like a fever dream

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The bar was pretty lively tonight, the constant hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter filled the air, along with a lingering smell of alcohol as you stood at the bar and ordered another margarita before asking Noah if he'd like another drink

“I’ll have a pepsi.” He smiled, looking up from his phone. 

“One margarita and a pepsi…” The bartender nodded, adding it to Noah’s tab. 

“I just told the guys we’re here, they're already on their way,” Noah mentioned, leaning against the bar as you waited for your drinks.

The two of you had already been here for about half an hour. It’s been nice to spend time with him away from the others and somewhere that isn’t a hotel room or empty tour bus.

“You sure it's okay for them to join us?"

“Yeah of course, I thought that was the plan anyway.” You smiled, glancing at your phone as you waited for the bartender to return with your drinks. You had been hoping for a text from Vinny, maybe an apology, but so far, nothing.

“So," Noah asked as you were given your drinks, "How was your weekend?"

“It was fine,” you said, putting your phone down on the bar, “Vinny’s parents were lovely, and I made sure I got plenty of pictures for them.”

“I didn’t know you and Vin were even that close,” Noah says, raising an eyebrow, “Wasn't it kind of weird?”

“Not at all, anyway his parents invited me, didn't they. Vinny and I are pretty good friends, I guess you just don’t see us around each other that often.” And you wonder why that is. 

“Well, after seeing you two the other week I’d say he might have a crush on you,” Noah smirked, “I don’t blame him.”

You almost choked on your drink, holding back laughter.

“A crush? What are we, seven?” You scoffed, “I don’t see him like that at all, he's just a good friend.”

“Vinny please! Fuck, you’re the only thing on my mind when I’m with Noah, there's nothing between us… Not when this is all I think about!”

“Oh yeah?” He smirks, your words only egging him on as he lifts your legs over his shoulder, his cock hitting deeper than it ever had. He looked even more beautiful like this, the sweat beading on his forehead, the hair hanging over his eyes as he leaned down, his lips attaching to your neck, “I bet you wanna moan my name too… Oh what would he do if he ever found out you're my pretty whore, sweetheart.” 

You tried to push away the thoughts that came flooding back from last night, you also tried to stop thinking about Vinny so much as you were with Noah tonight. Between the silence on the drive home and the way he spoke to you in his hotel room, you realised your feelings towards him probably weren't as reciprocated as you were led to believe.

“Hey it’s your birthday next month, right?” Noah asked, noticing how you had gone silent.

“Yep,” you smiled, “I’m not telling you the date though. I don’t want anyone making a fuss, and Bry knows how I’d feel if he ever told anyone.”

“Okay,” Noah chuckles, “I was just asking.”

“There you guys are!” You heard Folio before you spotted him, with Matt, Jolly, Nicholas and Bryan. 

“So... When does karaoke start?” Jolly asked, clapping his hands together, noticing how nobody was singing yet. 

“I’m pretty sure it’s already started-”

“Since when? You could’ve told me, Noah!” You gasped, smiling at Jolly as you took his hand, “Can we do a duet?”

“I thought you’d never ask!” 

"We're gonna play 8-ball, we'll watch from over there!" Folio called out as you and Jolly walked up to the makeshift stage.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“What’s the sense in sharing, this one and only life.” You sang into the microphone, getting caught up in the energy with a wide smile on your face as you looked over at Jolly, who was reading the words off of the screen.

“Ending up just another lost and only wife.” Jolly sang, “You count up the years.”

“And they will be filled with tears” You sang together. 

“Love only breaks up to start over again!”

“You’ll get the baby, but you won’t have your man…” Jolly seemed to be a little off, you chuckled to yourself as you assumed he didn’t know the song too well. 

“While he is busy loving every woman that he can… Uh huh!” 

This was easily the most fun you’ve had the whole tour, as you were catching your breath you spot Matt leaving the guys and making his way over to the two of you, looking ready to join in. 

“Young hearts run free! They’ll never be hung up, hung up like my man and me!” The three of you sang, Matt leaned towards you to share the mic, as s couple people in the bar cheered for all of you, and you saw Noah singing along with a grin on his face. 

As you three continued to sing the rest of the song, you kept motioning for Noah to join in, or one of the other guys, but they all shook their head- even Folio which surprised you the most. 

When the song ended, you noticed no one else was eager to get up next and sing, so you took a sip of your drink and promised the small "audience" an encore. You scanned the song list, hoping to pick one you knew Noah would join you in.

Then you saw it, the perfect song. You turned to Noah, watching his expression change as the music started.

“Come on, Noah!” you smiled, “Just this one?”

His smile was slow but inevitable, though he shook his head, looking down at the ground. Anyone watching would have thought he was a little embarrassed. A faint blush coloured his cheeks as you pouted, calling out again.

“Please!” You pleaded, “...Do it for Cher!”

Somehow, whatever you did managed to convince him and he said whispered something to Nicholas before slipping his phone in his pocket and began walking over to you. As he approached, you noticed how good he looked tonight, even in a simple pair of black joggers and a matching t-shirt. Maybe it was his hair, he’d clearly styled it differently tonight. It was growing out again, and you couldn’t help but hope he’d let it keep growing.

“No matter how hard I try… You keep pushing me aside and I can’t break through! There’s no talking to you…” You bobbed along to the music as you sang, a wide grin on your face as Noah picked up the other microphone.

“It’s so sad that you’re leaving,” he joined in, “It takes time to believe it, but after all is said and done, you’re gonna be the lonely one.”

“Do you believe in life after love.”

“I can feel something inside me say…”

“I really don’t think you’re strong enough!”

“Do you believe in life after love!”

Noah knew the song so much better than you, which didn’t surprise you at all. You thought back to the night by his pool when he told you about his love for Cher, explaining how a fan had gifted him the Cher shirt he wore all the time.

“I don’t need you anymore!” Noah sang, trying not to laugh.

“No, I don’t need you anymore!” You matched his energy, grinning.

After the song ended, you both bowed dramatically to the small handful of people in the bar who were enjoying the show you were putting on. You couldn’t help but smile contently as Noah threw his arm around your shoulder, walking back to the guys. You noticed Folio raised an eyebrow.

“Who knew you could sing like that?” Noah chuckled, taking a sip of his drink as you both sat down opposite the pool table, it was currently Ruffilo's turn.

“Yeah well compared to you-”

“Well, if you two are gonna keep flirting, me and Bryan want to see if they have 'don't stop believing'.” Folio announced with a grin.

“We're not-”

“It’s okay,” Noah patted your knee, “He’s not wrong is he.” He smirked, and you hid your smile as you took a sip of your drink, finishing yet another margarita.

"So, y/n," Bryan cleared his throat, "How was your weekend?"

"Why does everyone keep asking?" The words left your mouth quicker than you intended, sharper than you meant for them to be. "It was fine."

"Did something happen?" Jolly asked after a moment of silence, concern in his eyes as he noticed how the question clearly pissed you off.

It only pissed you off because it reminded you of him.

"Oh, no not at all!" You shake your head, "It was fun, I just, uh, everyone keeps asking me but I was just there to take pictures. I was working." You said, almost trying to convince yourself.

"What do you think about Vin?" Bryan asked, "I didn't realise you guys were even friends."

It was as if the guys all shared one single braincell between them.

"That's because I wasn't there as his friend, Bry," You were so thankful the only two of the guys who knew about your situation with Vinny weren't here at this moment, "I think he's a great guy, we're good friends but his parents specifically asked if I could come because they wanted a photographer."

"But, wait isn't his sister a-"

“Oh my God they’re really doing it,” Nicholas laughed, pointing over at Nick and Matt, “And they’ve only had one beer!” 

“Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world! She took the midnight train going anywhere!” Folio sang and you tried to contain your laughter, he looked so happy to be up there, bless him. 

“Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit… He took the midnight train going anywhere!” Matt sang, nodding his head as he read the lyrics off the screen. 

You couldn’t help but crack up at Nick’s air guitaring, followed by the way Matt looked so passionately at him as they sang together. 

However, your attention was drawn back as Noah’s phone started to ring. But, to your surprised, he took one look at the contact which happened to be ‘Toby (Sumerian)’ and he didn't hesitate as he flipped his phone over. 

“Weren’t you supposed to answer that?” You asked, and he thought for a moment before shaking his head. 

“No, not tonight,” he sneakily wrapped an arm around you as you felt his hand rest on your waist, “I’m here having a night off with my friends, with you.” 

He kissed your forehead, and suddenly your cheeks were hot, a rush of warmth spread through you. It had been so long since you’d felt like this with Noah, so long since the Noah you’d fallen for had shown up. But tonight, it was like he had come back.

You noticed Nicholas giving you two the side eye, his lips curling up into a teasing smirk, but you chose to ignore this. 

As Nick and Matt finished their song, you had an idea that you knew the guys would hate you for, but one which would be quite funny. You would need to sneak away from them- maybe pretend to go the bathroom. You wouldn't do it yet, you'd wait a little while first, maybe have a couple more drinks first.

"Wow," was all you could say as Matt and Folio returned, "We need your guys' vocals on the next album!"

"I've been saying that for years, y/n. They just won't listen." Folio sighed dramatically, "Anyone want another drink?"

"Please." You smiled, the rest of the guys shook their heads in response, their glasses still full.

You checked your phone again, still no text from Vinny. You wondered if you should text first, but held yourself back.

"So," you put your phone back down and look up at Noah, "What did you get up to whilst I was gone?"

"Not much..." He thinks for a moment, and you noticed he gave Bryan a look before saying, "Me and Matt went to the gym... Uh, yeah that's pretty much it."

You watched as Nick returned with drinks for him and yourself, placing yours down on the table before he sat down with his.

"Well, I went fishing and caught a..." Folio lost you as he began explaining the fish he caught, how he had never caught one of them before and how rare it is. You just smile and nodded your head, it was quite wholesome to hear him talk so passionately about his hobby.

"That's so cool!" You smiled, despite not understanding a word he said.

The guys all talked, and you occasionally joined in, but as you finished your drink you thought now would be the perfect time to execute your plan.

"I need to pee." You said to Noah, "Can you look after my stuff?"

"Of course." He smiled, and you got up from your seat and headed to the bathroom.

However, as you returned, instead of going back to the group, you made a beeline to the karaoke stage. A couple of young girls were belting out a song when you approached, and you patiently waited and cheered for them as they finished. As you searched for the next song, you could feel the anticipation building inside you, this was your moment.

You were almost certain they wouldn't have this song, and you were right, but you knew all the words so all you needed was the backing track and you were good to go. 

As the music began to play out of the speaker, you felt the familiar rush of adrenaline mix with the alcohol in your veins, making you giddy with excitement. Your smile was wide, and you couldn’t suppress it as you picked up the mic. You glanced over at the guys, who had no idea what was coming. They were all busy talking, unaware that you were about to take them by surprise.

“I’m not afraid of the war I’ve come to wage against my sins…” 

Their reactions were priceless. You couldn't contain your laughter as you saw the pure terror on Noah’s face, the way Folio's smile quickly faded, Ruffilo's eyes widening in fear and the way Matt, Bryan and Jolly all burst out laughing. 

“I’m not okay… But I can try my best to just pretend, so will you wait me out? Or will you drown me out… So will you wait me out…" You began to really feel the music, bouncing up and down as you sang, "Or will you drown me out?! I can wait for you at the bottom! I can stay away if you want me- Noah what are you doing?” You giggle as he takes the microphone from you, cutting the music and beginning to lead you away from the stage.

“You’re drunk,” he chuckled, “C’mon it’s probably time we leave now.” 

“But I didn’t thank them!” You pouted as he puts his hoodie that he brought with him over your head, letting you slip your arms in.

“Thank who?”

“My audience.” 

“You mean the two old guys eyeing you up?”

“Exactly!” You giggled, feeling Noah’s arm wrap around you as he walked back to the guys. 

“I think I’ll get y/n to bed and make sure she has some water. See you tomorrow guys.” He chuckles, collecting your things as you wave to the guys.

The group gave their goodbyes, and Noah led you out of the bar, his arm protectively wrapped around you as you stumbled slightly, leaning into him for support. The cool night air hit your face, and you smiled up at Noah, feeling an odd sense of calm settle over you.

“I’ve had a lot of fun tonight, Noah.” You tell him, holding onto his arm as you walk together. 

“Yeah? Me too, I’ve actually been able to switch off from work for the night, and I don’t think I’ve done karaoke in about 10 years!” 

“You do karaoke every other night on tour!” You laugh, “Have I ever told you how much I love your voice?”

“Uh…” Noah thinks, “No I don’t think so.” 

“I fucking love your voice...” Your words slur as you mumble, “You’re unreal!” 

“Well, thank you,” he grinned, clearly entertained by your drunken honesty. “And your rendition of Cher? It was... unique.”

“Hey we could be Sonny and Cher for halloween!” 

“Really? I’d rather not spend my birthday with a moustache.”

“You’d look hot with a moustache!” You blurted out, without any hesitation.

“I’ll have to disagree with you there, angel.” He laughed.

“Yeah me too.... you always look fucking hot.”

Noah couldn’t help but chuckle at how open you were being right now, but they do say drunk words are sober thoughts. 

“And you always look beautiful.”

Your steps faltered for a moment, and you suddenly stopped walking, catching his gaze under the streetlight. His words seemed to hang in the air between you.

“Really?”

“Why would I lie?” He says, “Y'know, you always look best in the morning when we have to rush you out of your room on to the bus, , the messy hair, old stained pjs, grandma slippers-”

“Bastard!” You smack his chest, “I value my comfort over anything, thank you.” 

“And that's what I love about you y/n… You just don’t care. You’re real, and that’s something that’s so rare to come by these days. That's part of the reason why I gave up on dating," He confesses, "But then you came along again, I've always wanted to get to know you better since the time we first met, it was my idea for you to join us on this tour-”

“Really?” You ask once more, feeling a lump in the back of your throat at his words, “Noah I-”

“I wasn’t finished,” he chuckles, pressing a finger to your lips to silence you, “I was worried whilst you were away with Vin this weekend-” 

“Fuck Vinny!” You spat out, the anger suddenly flaring up in your chest. But he shook his head, cutting you off.

“My point is,” he said, taking a deep breath, “I don’t want to hide anymore. If you think we have something real, I think we should give it a shot... I know I shouldn’t be telling you this now, because you’ll probably forget everything by the morning, but I can’t keep pretending like this. I don’t know how much longer I can go without you, y/n. I feel terrible about the way I’ve been acting lately. I never realise how much I hurt people until it’s too late, and you’re the last person I ever want to hurt.”

You were stunned, unable to find the words to respond. His sincerity hit you like a wave, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to disappear.

You suddenly reached up, pulling him down to your level, pressing your lips to his. The kiss was unexpected, but it felt right, and for a few seconds, the chaos of everything else faded away.

When you pulled away, your breath coming in shallow gasps, you suddenly turned, feeling a wave of nausea hit you.

“Y/n are you okay?” He asked, rubbing his hand on your back as you bent over. 

“No… I think I’m gonna be sick…” You whispered, feeling his hands move to hold your hair back. 

“Think you can wait until we get back to the hotel?” He asks softly. 

“Maybe…” You breathe in and out slowly, “Just don’t make me walk too fast.”

That’s okay,” he chuckled, his arm steadying you. “Let’s go and get you to bed.”

"Yeah..."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“C’mon,” Noah says as he pushes your door open, “Let’s get you ready for bed.”

“I’m so tired.” You mumble, sitting on the edge of your bed, barely able to keep your eyes open.  

“I know, baby,” he murmurs, crouching down in front of you with a soft pout. He carefully slips your shoes off, his touch surprisingly tender. “But trust me, you’ll feel so much better in the morning if you let me take care of you tonight.”

“Okay…” You sigh, trying to keep your eyes open as he searches your room for your pyjamas. 

“Can you dress yourself?” He asked, setting the tshirt and shorts down next to you on your bed. 

“Can you help me?” You asked, picking the shirt up to find it’s inside out. 

Noah smiles gently.

“Of course,” he says, taking the shirt from your hand and flipping it the right way around before helping you out of your clothes. His hands are steady and he remains respectful as he slips his fingers under the hem of your shirt, lifting it carefully. There’s a quiet intensity to the way he helps you, his gaze never straying from your face as he helps you step out of your jeans.

You don’t mind the intimacy of the moment. It felt strangely comforting.

When you’re in nothing but your underwear, he picks up the band t-shirt you’ve stolen from Bryan all those years ago. He pulls it over your head with a soft chuckle as you mutter nonsense.

Once you were dressed, he led you to the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth. You couldn’t help but giggle as he sat you on the toilet and tied your back, pumping some of your cleanser onto his hands and carefully massaging it into your face. 

“Since when were you into skincare?” You smiled.

“...How’d you know?” He questions.

“You knew what the cleanser was for.” He chuckles as he runs a cloth under warm water and begins wiping it off your face. 

“Maybe I like to take care of my skin too.”

“I love your skin.” You mumble, getting up and reaching for your toothbrush. 

As you got into your bed, Noah grabbed a bottle of water from the mini bar and handed it to you, telling you to have at least three sips before going to sleep. 

“Thank you, Noah.” You smile as you pulled the covers over you, getting comfy as you let your eyes shut. 

“For what?” He chuckled, fixing a strand of hair that had fallen over your eyes. 

“Tonight… It’s been fun…" You mumble as your eyes fall shut, "Even if you did have to look after me…”

“It’s not like I haven’t done it before, angel.” He smiled, noticing how peaceful you looked as you fell asleep, “Sweet dreams.”

As he moved to get up from his place beside you on your bed, he heard your phone vibrate from it’s place on the nightstand.  He knew he shouldn’t, but he looked over anyway in case it was something important, but he furrowed his eyebrows as he looked and saw it was a text.

From Vinny?

-------------------------

@rumoured-whispers @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @lma1986 @thisbicc @dominuslunae @miss570 @miamore0570 @jilliemiw86 @itsyaboinoah @kait16xo @discocowgirly

[emptymasks]

i've had constant aus and self-insert stories spinning around in my head for the past two months that i've been back into spn for, but i wasn't planning on doing anything more with them until i was browsing the fanart tags and discovered so many cool artists on here have been making spn ocs? it just never occurred to me that there would be any, let alone multiple, and to especially see ones being queer and trans made me really happy to see. so i took one of the too many different plots i'd been rotating in my head and made a little character out of it.

august north. he was killed by a demon when he was 26. his body was experimented on with the intent of creating an alternate long lasting vessel for lucifer. but a small amount of lucifer's grace bonded to august's body, reviving him as something not human, but not an angel. he meets the winchesters during season 4 of the show. he has some powers due to the archangel grace in him (healing factor, telekinesis) but it is not to the level of an archangel's power, possibly similar to regular angel's power or a bit less. he is a suitable alternate vessel for lucifer, if he were to say yes lucifer wouldn't burn through him like he does with nick. if lucifer's grace were to be removed from august's body then august would die, it is keeping him alive. the scar on his chest is from where lucifer's grace entered his body.

because of the whole 'boy with the devil's grace label' he ends up bonding a lot with sam, the two of them both being tied to lucifer through no choice of their own, and them both experiencing distrust and disgust from others because of this.

i really don't want any comments telling me that's not how angel grace works, i just liked the idea and it's my self-indulgent au. and august is entirely here for me to ship with lucifer so if that idea or lucifer in general makes you uncomfortable please just scroll on and don't judge me. i can't help falling back in love with this terrible archangel. i actually made a couple shrines on my website for sam and lucifer and boy i ended up writing way more about why i like them than i thought i would. the tldr is that i find things to relate to with lucifer in terms of the whole being cast out, family issues, being the black sheep of the family etc. and i find him fascinating, especially season 5 lucifer.

i'm not 100% sure on the storyline for august and lucifer, but lucifer does want to seek august out, partially because he's disgusted at a human having any of his grace, and partially because since sam is so hesitant to say yes it's nice for him to have this other option. i can imagine him visiting august in his dreams like he did with sam, trying to convince/manipulate him into saying yes, august not being bothered by his presence and instead feels drawn to him and ends up spending these dreams asking lucifer questions, and while lucifer is still trying to manipulate august into saying yes... he is lonely and this dead-alive human-angel boy is looking at him without disgust, isn't flinching when he touches him and he hasn't had anyone react like this to him in a long time and while he won't admit it a part of him is visiting august so often because out of all these hairless apes, this one isn't awful.

wow i wrote so much more than i meant too, oops. i guess that's good though, been a long while since i had an oc ramble this long.

[ID: a digital sketch page of my supernatural oc 'august north'. there's a half-body and full body drawing, with text around them. some of the text on the image i've already repeated in the text under the post but the rest reads: august north, supernatural oc, the boy with the devil's grace, pronouns: he/him, gender: trans man, height: 5'8", orientation: omnisexual, demisexual, demiromantic, nationality: english, occupation: hunter. august has pale brown curly hair that comes down to his collarbone in length, with a grey streak at the front right. he has two little braids going in front of each ear. in the half-body he's wearing a black coat, black long-sleeved shirt, a red bandana tied around his neck, white feather dangling earrings. in teh fullbody he's wearing black pants, black boots with spats over the top that look like little corsets, red with gold ribbon to lace them over the boots, a shirt button up that's unbuttoned and opened revealing the star shaped scar in between his pectorals from where lucifer's grace entered his body. he has two moles on his face, one under the outer corner of his right eye, one above the left side of his lip. his eyes are a blue-ish grey.]

[erotomanicpixiedreamgirl]

had a lovely dream last night where i miscarried [redacted]’s baby. Ok

[triglycercule]

killer eating food in front of horror as a way to taunt him. duuuude do you see this delectable parfait he has in his hands right now. he just put a spoonful in his mouth. horror is scratching at his own arms right now (trying not to jump this bitchass). killer can't even taste it LMAOOO another bite ‼️ imagine not being able to eat food 🤣🤣🤣 killer can't even taste it and enjoy the food but horror can't even EAT food

then horror grabs the parfait glass out of his hands and oh killer you should probably teleport away before horror does to you what undyne did to his eye

[leonardalphachurch]

sometimes i remember that most north fans don’t write him as an absolute insane person ethical manipulative girlfriend style and i’m like. what is he even then… just a pleasant white man? you know what. more power to you if you need a pleasant white man for a blorbo but god that could not be me

[lonely--seeker]

I think I'm going insane. Lately my dreams have been so mundane, it wouldn't be weird if I wasn't just a person that has nightmares 80% of the time, so I now my dreams are so hard to distinguish from reality.

I wouldn't be able tell what was real from what not if it wasn't because last night I went to my doctor's appointment and I was handed new glasses by Harvey just to go back home and find out Laois was cooking something in my backyard.

[hoshigray]

𝐍𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐲 𝐁𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲, 𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐅@#𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲!? | suguru getō

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Next time you wanna do something nice for your boyfriend, how about making sure he doesn’t see the package – let alone OPEN it! – before you? Especially if it’s something with bunny ears…!

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Geto x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern au! you and Geto are college sweethearts - implied that you and Geto are early 20s - lingerie + bunny outfit - oral (m! receiving) - anal fingering (f! receiving) - use of an anal toy; butt plug - backshots/doggy style + deep impact positions - impact play (spanking) - clitoral play - praise - finger sucking - cervix fucking - unprotected sex (psa: don't be silly; wrap the willy) - pet names (angel, baby, bunny girl, little bunny, good girl, my love, princess, sweet baby, sweetie) - cameos: Utahime, Mei Mei, and Gojo - reader is very shy but is trying their best! - kind of freaky! Geto awakening, lmao - humor - mention of drool/spit and tears - will be proofread l8r.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 9.2k (sigh..)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: based on this ask!! haven't done a suguru fic in a long while so ehh, why not? && tysm for 8.8k, my loves xoxo

“…”

Oh no.

“…Well,”

I have to be dreaming…

“Needless to say, I brought your package inside, Y/n.”

THERE’S NO WAY!!!

Being an introvert can have its trivial times; you should know that. Looking back on your life, you can’t seem to say you had the drive to stand out, an expertise you regret not putting effort into. You couldn’t do it; you’ve tried but to no avail! Going out of your comfort zone is too scary, shivering or freezing on the spot whenever you’re being spoken to or fumbling with words when trying to make a point. Man, it’s so embarrassing! It sucks — you’re a grown adult, and yet you can barely get through any gathering without anxiety rattling your bones.

Some are good at talking with others or are lucky enough to be naturally blessed with a social spirit. Some people like your boyfriend, for example. 

Yes, you have a boyfriend. 

Suguru Geto, your partner, wasn’t a complete extrovert. Honestly, he’s comfortable keeping to himself if he could choose. After meeting you, he preferred dates when you visit each other’s dormitories and enjoy each other’s company. However, compared to you, his people-pleasing skills outclassed yours unquestionably. Geto knew how to talk, drawing people in with his mellow tone and inviting aura. He was good at mingling and making everyone feel comfortable around him. You were a victim to it, lured in by his charm and soft ambiance.

He was terrific, a role model to you. How he would efficiently put himself out there while you stayed close in his shadow never failed to inspire you. The way he spoke, how he listened intently to others’ concerns, and his maturity seen as a dependable figure to lean on. It’s absurd to think that such a marvelous man fell in love with you and asked to court you.

You and Geto have dated since your junior year of college; what you once thought would be a tiny crush on one of the school’s notorious heartthrobs became your first and longest-running relationship! How did that happen!? You couldn’t tell; one moment, you two were paired up for an end-of-semester project, and he managed to have you relax and talk with him daily. The next thing you know, he’s asking you to live with him in his apartment the second you finish graduation. Now, you two have been a couple for nearly half a decade. It’s unbelievable to think about.

But even with how long you two have been together, there are moments where you feel as though you weren’t doing your part. Being in a relationship is such a hurdle for an awkward person, aka you, such as going stiff whenever old friends of Suguru pop up and greet him or him inviting you along to parties only for you to stay glued to a corner in silence. You felt as though you were…boring? Dull? Deadweight!? The list goes on, and the guilt never tires you out.

And Geto – God bless him – has repeatedly expressed and assured you that you didn’t have to feel as such. His alluring purple eyes and soothing voice vouch that he doesn’t mind standing in as your sponsor and speaking for you, and you are eternally grateful to the stars above for gracing a loving and understanding boyfriend your way. Nonetheless, the stress that churns your stomach doesn’t go away. He’s always been the one to voice for you, attend to you, and look out for you. Hell, even in the bedroom, he’s doing most of the work. Again, he’s never complained nor seems to ever will, but still!

He’s done so much for you, and you want to meet him at least halfway and make him feel appreciated. So, you took matters into your own hands and decided to do something special for your man!

Here was the plan: going out and buying stuff meant talking to people, and talking meant letting strangers know about your business; merely thinking about it had you trembling a storm. So yeah, nope. You went on the Internet and found sites catering to your search. You can’t say you were the type to wear anything risqué, especially in the bedroom. So, you dialed up your two best friends, Mei Mei and Shoko, to help you find stuff that they thought would look nice for you to wear.

Luckily, they came in clutch and found something for a beginner like you! It’s not something you’d wear in public—you’d rather die—but it’s a good start when implementing new things into your lifestyle. You added the item to your cart, purchased it, and waited silently for your package to arrive. To say you were anxious about this new step of adulthood was on the nail, but you beamed with glee once you got the notification that your bundle would be delivered today!

Before then, you decided to nap and wait for the item to be delivered to your apartment door. You woke up to that once you saw the notice on your phone, yawning your way out of the shared bedroom to retrieve it.

However, what you saw as you entered the living room stopped you dead in your tracks, and your eyes widened with absolute horror.

What you should have accounted for was that today was a Thursday, meaning Geto would usually come home from work on weekdays. So, while you were snoring in the comfort of your blanket, your boyfriend was the first to see a mysterious box with your name on it at his doorstep. And to add more salt to the wound, you caught him in the act unboxing the package and inspecting its contents, and you’re too shocked to fall on your knees at what he has in his hands.

Geto sat on the living room couch, the box perched on the coffee table opened with the wrappings decorating the brown table surface. His eyes find your figure to latch onto, but yours honed on what he was inspecting. In his right hand was a black lacy top meant to be worn around a chest—the other holding onto a headband with bunny ears of velvet material. 

This is where we lay our current scene; astounded, you could only stand in place — like Geto — at the sight before you. And with every passing second, you wanted nothing but to explode into bits. Your boyfriend had found your package and opened it!

Of course, you’d be stammering your words! “W-Where did you get that!?” What a silly question; where else would he have gotten it, dumbass?

Nonetheless, the dark-haired man answers after a forced cough. “Well, umm, I saw it at the door coming from work. I brought it in and was going to let you know, but you were asleep, and I…didn’t wanna bother you.”

“Why did you open it if you knew it was mine??”

Geto raised his hands defensively, still holding onto the items. “I–I’m sorry! I thought it was something different, like the cute glass cups you liked and ordered last week. I figured I would set those up on your behalf. I had no idea it would be something…” Your feet suddenly felt heavy, watching your boyfriend scan the lace top. “Like this.”

Any attempt to fight the mini shakes of your knees was impractical, and your throat was going so dry that you were scared to swallow.

“This doesn’t seem like something you would buy; could someone have accidentally sent this with the wrong information?” He inquires with furrowed brows. “Better not be some fucked up prank or whatever.”

“N-No, it’s, I…” Fuck, this had to be the worst scenario to admit this. “….I did mean to buy it.”

Have you ever had those moments where people would look at you after saying something that you wish you hadn’t? You indeed hated those moments; they made you feel so scrutinized by the public judging you. And seeing your man’s eyes widen and his expression morphed his lips to a small “o” shape? Oh, you couldn’t breathe adequately.

“You bought,” your quivering lips worsen when his left wrist flicks with the bunny-eared headband. “This?”

Your hands come to your face, shielding yours from his as you silently squat down with the weight of your humiliation. The shakes rock your entire frame, and you can sense your tears forming. This officially was the worst day ever; out of all the dilemmas that could happen, why did it have to be the worst one of all?!? Your partner had found out about the out-of-the-norm purchase you made without you present to explain yourself first. Now he probably thinks he’s dating some freak into weird shit. Can this day get any worse!?!

You wanted to cry, hoping the floor beneath you would give way and ingest you out of this cold, cruel world. But alas, you’re still here and can hear the footsteps approaching your crouching state, and you jolt when Geto embraces you.

“Y/n,” God, why did he say your name like that? His tone was smooth like honey, and he rubbed your back as he brought you closer. “It’s okay, baby. I didn’t mean to judge you or anything; I was just curious, is all. Sorry, I opened your package without letting you know, okay?… Ahh, did I make my sweet angel cry?” Raven brows scrunched together at the view of you burrowing into his chest more. “Aww, Y/n, I’m sorry…”

Yes, you were indeed sniffling into his sweatshirt. Although, it’s not that he opened your stuff without your consent that upset you the most. You whine while moving your face, “I just…wanted to do something different.”

“Hmm?” Geto’s hand doesn’t stop rubbing your back, speaking to you in a low mode. “What’s the reason, sweetie?”

“Because, well,” you chewed the inside of your cheek as they warmed. “I just felt like I wasn’t…Like—sigh, you’ve done so much for me in this relationship, and I’m so lucky to have you as my boyfriend. But I feel like I don’t do my part as I should, you know?” Nothing is said from the other, so you continue. “I just–sniff–want you to know that I appreciate you and all you’ve done, although I didn’t know if my words would do me justice. So, I, uhh,” your thumbs find their way to fiddle with themselves. “I asked Shoko and Mei Mei for help and bought…..this to wear for you.”

Three seconds pass without saying anything, then six. At ten seconds, the silence suffocates you and probes your unease more and more. 

However, his chest’s sudden rise and fall startles you, along with his pleasant laughter. “So that’s what this is all about, huh?” Your body’s rigid compared to his lively motion. “My angel was gonna doll up for me?”

“Yeah, and you ruined it!” You fuss, your cute teary face all hot and puffy as you complain. “I just wanted to do something special for you after I finally muster up the courage to go out of my comfort zone and do something nice and…well, sexy,” you cringed internally at the final word. Yet, it was true. 

Geto hums through your explanation. “You’re always sexy to me.”

“That’s not the point!” He laughs at your remark, the sound filling you with warmth. “I–…I’m different compared to you. Whenever we’re out, you’re so much more social than me; I feel like I’m a burden or make it seem I need you to watch over me or something…And I know you’ve said you’re okay with it and don’t mind, but it’s….sniff–I don’t know, like I’m putting more on your plate when it’s more of a ‘me’ problem…”

Your eardrums pick up low chuckles. Then, like the Prince Charming he is, Geto uses his hand to bring your chin up. Your face warms up at his handsome face in your vicinity. “Baby, although I appreciate you going out your way to do something for me—believe me, I could jump over the moon right now—you don’t have to go outside what’s comfortable to you to impress me or anything.”

“But I—“

“I mean it; I really don’t mind that I have to be some voucher for you. It’s not a burden; that’s just who you are. And if that’s the case, you’re too cute as hell the way you are.” You didn’t see his small smile grow because your eyes bashfully averted away from his gaze. “Now, if you want to build your confidence, don’t be afraid to ask me for help, okay? No need to force yourself to change up for the sake of ‘appeasing’ me or feel as though you’re not fitting whatever bullshit mold of an appropriate partner you’re expected to be.”

“Suguru…”

“Y/n,” your name pierces your heart like an arrow as his hand prompts your face back to him; God, he’s so dreamy. “I like you no matter what. You’re my princess; your troubles are my troubles. I’d tell you long ago that you’re bothersome if it wasn’t. But you’re not, so don’t put too much weight on yourself. Promise not to stress yourself over this, okay?” He boops your nose, “Remember: communication is key, right?”

Once again, you’re reminded how lucky you are to have such a man like Suguru Geto to court you. So understanding and attentive to your feelings and wrapping you in his blanket of love constantly makes it hard not to fall in love all over again. Chewing your bottom lip doesn���t even help the heat of your cheeks creeping onto your ears. 

“You’re right,” you almost melt under his lips as he kisses your forehead. “I promise.”

“Good girl,” your heart skips a beat. “But what are we gonna do with all this?” He points to the open package with his chin. “Now I feel kinda bad for having you buy this for me and ruining the special occasion.”

Wincing at the box, you remove yourself from Geto’s embrace to inspect the contents. “Honestly, looking at them in real time, I regret buying them. I’ll return them tomorrow or Monday, seeing I don’t necessarily need—”

“Woah, woah,” you stop in your tracks at your boyfriend’s exclamation. “Why are you returning them?” 

Huh? “Well, I mean, there’s no need for them, no? It was meant to be a surprise.”

“Yeah, but you already spent so much money for my sake. Plus,” Geto picks up the bunny ear headband from the package. “If this is what you were gonna wear for me, then it would be kind of upsetting if I didn’t see you wear it at least once.”

Oh, God, no. “S–Suguru, it’s totally fine; I can just—“ Oh no, he’s looking at you with that face, his eyebrows slightly trenched with a minuscule sad glint in his expression. Your stomach was doing flips out of guilt and concern, and the formidable gets worse when he asks the following:

“Y/n,” you swallow spit thickly as the man dangles the headband around. “Would you please wear this tonight?”

The question nails you to the ground, frozen in place as it rings within your mind. You? Wearing this for tonight?! “N–No, I can’t!!”

“Why not? You bought it to be worn!”

“Yes, but t-that was before you looked through my package and didn’t give me the chance to try it on myself!” When you thought your face couldn’t get any hotter than before, the embarrassment of this predicament humbles you. “And thanks to you—“

“T-Thanks to me??”

“—I don’t wanna wear it anymore!!”

Geto raises his other hand in defense. “Okay, okay! Look, I’m sorry; it’s my bad. But, to be honest, I’m thrilled that you went out of your way to think of doing something for me out of nowhere, and as I’m looking at this outfit,” He glances at the rest of the materials in the box. “I think you’d look beautiful and hot in it.” You can’t tell if your heart is thumping from his words or because you’re about ten seconds away from combusting. “So…One night to test it out, yeah? And if you surely don’t like it, then you can ship it back tomorrow.”

He’s so good at that, using his charm and words to shade you into rational thought. You take a huge breath and exhale through stressed nostrils, and your wish to dig a hole and rot away increases. 

Of course, you bought the items to treat your boyfriend for something out of the norm; that was the entire point of the plan! But what is the use of following a plan when you’ve let your guard down, and the element of surprise backfires in a way that you had foolishly unforeseen?! There’s no way you could put that stuff on you now that you’ve been exposed. Absolutely not!

“I think you’d look beautiful and hot in it…”

And yet, Geto’s words repeat like a broken record, each time making you as timid as the last. He wants to see you wear what you had bought, so eager to marvel at his partner adorning such risqué clothing that you don’t comprehend how you put said purchase in your cart! The thought of wearing such a thing in front of your man bubbles an excitement that is borderline frightening yet new; picturing his expressions and imagining his compliments is dangerous for your brain to form a headache.

But not as dangerous as the slight friction of your inner thighs pressing close to each other.

With a stare downcast and fidgeting thumbs, you ask, “…Just for tonight?” 

And Geto assures you with a nod.

“Only for tonight.” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Geto sat on the bed in silence, listening to the ticks of the bedroom clock on the wall as he waited patiently.

As you two entered the bedroom, the man found his place on the bed, a still figure in the dimly lit room. You, on the other hand, made a beeline straight towards the bathroom. “Wait here…D-Don’t peek inside!” You commanded him, your voice betraying a hint of shyness. He obeyed, settling on top of the comforter.

Minutes soon went to double digits; nervousness wasn’t something that usually struck Geto. But the more he sat on the bed and listened to your mutters behind the door–distancing the two–the more he couldn’t help but feel an itch to worry for you. “Y/n? Are you okay?”

“Y–Yes!” That didn’t sound convincing… “I’ll be out in just a second!”

“Okay…”

And so he waited for a minute. Which turned to two minutes…Three…..

Anticipation transitioned to unease, calling out to you once more. “Y/n?” No answer; not a good sign. The tall man gets up and strides to knock on the bathroom door. “Baby? Everything alright?” Nothing, even if he knocks on the white surface again.

CREAAAAK…!

But his frets are handled once he hears the sound of the door opening slowly. He steps back to make way for the person on the other side of the door, and lo and behold, you stand.

There are things in Geto’s life that never cease to amaze him—you being one of them. From the moment he saw you, he swore that in his life, there had never been something that looked so mesmerizing and captured his eye in an instant, and Gojo and Shoko are always sure to tease the guy for such a confession. And the time you reciprocated his feelings and accepted being his domestic other half, words could not describe the elation his poor heart couldn’t handle. 

Right now, he is experiencing those same feelings when he’s with you. His expectations were blown out of the water once you entered the plane again.

Your face was the first thing he looked to, a sheepish yet cute expression that went with the adorable white bunny ear headband you adorned at the top of your head. Your casual attire had been withdrawn to the bathroom tiles, substituted with the outfit you had been fussing about until now. Your chest harbored a black lacy negligee with intricate designs that had Geto’s purple eyes dance and trace around; the faint drapes of the gown cascaded down to your upper thighs, yet your underwear could still be seen. It matched the lacy black thong that made your boyfriend gulp thickly at how gorgeous your hips looked–not to mention the tiny bow at the top center. And to complete the look, black stockings come up your knees.

“…”

There is silence between you and him. The only sound you can use to distract yourself is the beat of your heart.

“…”

But the longer you wait for a response, the louder the rhythm. 

“…”

The lack of his voice was killing you – eating you alive – and you’re sure that you’re bound to faint if this kept going. Did I wear it wrong? Do I look weird?! Oh God, please say some— 

“Y/n”

You squeaked. “Y-Yes?”

“Can you please,” Geto takes a few steps closer, enough for his hands to come around your waist and pull you in. You almost choke on the air. “Remind me to thank Mei Mei and Shoko first thing tomorrow, okay?”

“Wh–What the—What does that mean—?”

“You look amazing.” Three simple words have you still. “Like, seriously. Hold on, let me get a good look at you.” He leans around to look at the details of your sides, and your brain short circuits when he moves behind you and lifts the negligee to see the rear of your panties. What is happening… “Holy shit, this suits you so well.”

“Re…Really?”

“Really.” You can see the sincerity in his gaze as he surveys every physical thing about you. “I’m so tempted to grab my phone to take a picture.”

“Oh my God, please don’t!!” Your frightened hands grab his sweatshirt with a vigorous grip, contrasting the trembling owner. “Don’t take a picture, please!!”

“I won’t, I won’t!” the dark-haired partner assures you through a fit of laughter, his warm, slender hands finding your fists and pounding him. Again, you are frozen stiff when he kisses your temple. “Besides, I prefer not sharing something as beautiful with anyone else.”

You don’t know how many compliments you can take before spiraling into a puddle. “You really do like it.”

“I love it,” another kiss to your cheek while his hands now find purchase on your waist. Oxygen suddenly feels foreign when you’re so close to him to pick up the cologne on his clothes. “It looks so much better now that you’re wearing it. You really know how to spoil me, huh, angel.”

Was it him being spoiled right now or you? How he spoke to you had your heart racing uncontrollably since you left the bathroom. You’ve been a complete nervous wreck from the moment your friends probed you to buy this outfit up until now, and now you can honestly feel that you’re feeling a sense of glee wearing it because your boyfriend likes it so much. Regrets no longer linger in your bones, goosebumps calm down on your skin, and you hum as you return the embrace. 

That is…until you feel something pressed against you. Something….hard.

Curiosity sprinkles your pretty little head until it snaps and your hips sway to experiment. A subtle jolt rocks Geto—confirming your hypothesis.

“Su..Suguru…” You don’t know why, but the following words felt prohibited to leave your lips. “Is that—“

“Hnnm…Sorry,” he purrs abjectly. “Guess I got a little too excited.” He lifts his head from your shoulder to look at you, and your stomach churns at the sight of his stare, holding a misty, lustful glint. You don’t even mention his hands silently moving to cup your ass. “Is that too much, baby?”

Violet eyes latched with yours make you shiver, suppressing a gasp when he throws a slick rut to grind the tent of his dark sweatpants on you. “N–No!” You squeaked, feeling small when his smile got broader.

“So sweet like always,” a chaste, gentle kiss to your lips feels like clouds. He then steps back out of your arms, pulling down his sweats to reveal the erection contained by the boxer briefs. Geto sits on the edge of the bed and tilts his head. “So, will my sweet bunny girl care for me tonight?” Seeing you gawk at him, he stifles a chuckle, and it takes a good mental slap to bring you back to reality. A few seconds pass, and you finally build up the courage to walk forward and crouch between his spread legs. 

Mini prayers replay in your brain as your hand hesitantly touches the clothed shaft, the firmness of it getting stiffer and stiffer as your fingers touch thoroughly. When you’re ready, you bring the hem of his underwear down, welcoming his cock to the open air for it to intimidate you with its girth. Precum trails from the urethra, traveling down from the corona, foreskin, and underside. God, it’s been a while since you were up close and personal with this thing; its sheer size is enough to reconsider the regret you threw out minutes ago. Too late now, though.

Come on, Y/n, you use your inner thoughts to motivate you. You’re doing this for Suguru; don’t chicken out now! So, you bring your lips to meet the head of his cock, earning a hum from the man above. Blowjobs have never been your forte; again, it’s been a while since you’ve had his cock near anything outside of your lower regions. But today was different as you used your tongue to lick the lip of the cockhead, the salty flavor of his fluid teasing your tastebuds. And with the sounds of him whimpering, you begin to remember the routine as the seconds go. Your mouth takes in his tip with hollowed cheeks, and your hands grasp around the shaft before you glide up and down.

“Hahhhh, yes, sweetie,” Geto soothed, biting his lip at the display of you pleasing him with your plump lips. “Just like that…Nnngh…!” His words fuel more confidence in your motion, using this to move to the next step and take in as much of his shaft as you can. You don’t go all the way to the hilt–a task that you’re afraid will have you choking– but once you reach halfway, your head starts to bob up and down at a gradual pace. Black brows furrow at the movement; fuck, you felt so good for him. So nice and warm on his dick; he wouldn’t mind having his whole evening dedicated to this. “Fuck, my love, loosen your jaw for me…Mmmm, good girl, that’s it. Keep sucking like that.”

It’s not before long that you find the groove; albeit sucking on Geto amateurishly, he places a hand on your head, which you can only assume is that you’re doing a decent job. Saliva coats the limb busying your oral cavity, mixing with the excess come that escapes and spreads with your lips going to and fro. Your tongue goes on to flick and lap on his tip some more, evoking the hottest moans you’ve ever heard from him. And while you stroke his member, your free hand finds his scrotum and massages the pair in unison, a buck of his hips as your thumb presses down on the testicles with a curl. Your bobbing becomes frequent, a mediocre cadence that has your partner throw his head back. The veins scraping along the upper walls of your mouth are too erotic for your mind to comprehend

“Shiiiit, I can’t—Nnnmm!” He hisses before he cups your wet cheeks. “You’re doing so good, princess.”

Your eyes open and peer to the person talking above you. With a soft ‘pop,’ you release his length before placing sloppy kisses and licks. “Yew fink shoow?” You speak with a mouthful of his dick to his frenulum, humoring the dark-haired man.

“Yes, little bunny,” he teases, and you can sense the throbs between your legs getting worse after referring to you with that title. “Wait, I just remembered something…Hold on, lie on the bed for me.”

You’re gently pushed off him as Geto stands up from the bed, confused. You take your place atop the bed, and he grabs something from his sweatpants and heads into the bathroom. The sound of running water from the sink fills the silence before it’s shut off. He then returns to the bedroom holding a bottle of lube you’re familiar with in one hand, and the other with a wet, metal…fluffy…looks like a kind of—

Eyes shoot wide open when you finally register what he’s holding, and the anxiety hits you like a punch to haunt you. “Wh–W-Where did y-you get that?!”

“I saw that you left this in the box before dressing up,” no, you didn’t forget a damn thing. You deliberately avoided the very item that Geto was holding because looking at it was embarrassing enough; it would be horrifying to have this in the same room as you now! Between his thumb and forefinger was a metal butt plug–a small one, nothing too major–with what appeared to be a white fluff ball at the end. It’s meant to be worn with what you wore, but these bunny ears already trampled your dignity. Adding an anal toy to the frey might as well have you sign up for assisted suicide! “I figured we needed it to complete the look.”

“N-No! No, no, no, absolutely not!” Rejections fly out of your system. “That’s too much!”

Geto blinks. “You think so? It’s pretty small from what I’ve seen.”

You’ve seen these before!?!? “Even then, I don’t wanna—“

“Didn’t you see this with the set before you bought it?”

You almost choked on your tongue. “W-Well…Y-Yes, but,” your thumbs find themselves fidgeting, anything to distract the humiliation that overshadows your nervous state. “That doesn’t mean I wanted to…wear it.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s—” embarrassing as hell! A bunny tail as a butt plug!? Just kill me!! “—It’s…..It’ll look weird on me.”

Oh, how you didn’t know how much of a switch that flipped for Geto, the other quietly thought to himself before speaking again. “Y/n,” you perked at the mention of your name. “Turn around for me.” Chewing on your lips, you shook your head—you knew what he was doing. “C’mon, now, I thought you were my sweet girl.” You flatten your lips when he comes close to squeeze your cheeks. “Please? Wear this for me, my little bunny?” 

Oh, for God’s sake, this night was getting more challenging to get through with the hour. Inner dialogue can’t even bring you to a consensus, as your conscience is getting in the way of coming to a decision. On the one hand, you feel as though you’re venturing out of your comfort zone enough, wearing this flustering nightgown and these damn bunny ears. Yet, at the same time, this isn’t about you; this is all meant to be for your partner, something entirely out of the norm to make him feel special. And you being reluctant to accept his wishes is just pushing you back to square one and defeating the purpose of this entire dilemma, right? 

Your hands find your face to shield, releasing a long sigh that should have stretched to your final days. Nonetheless, you slump your arms down in defeat, and a short nod is given: “.......okay.”

Without being told again, you feebly follow Geto’s request and turn around. Your lower half is the only thing in his line of sight. Your lips can’t stop quivering in such a position, and breathing becomes arduous once you feel your boyfriend’s weight dent the mattress. You jolt when his hand comes to the top of your laced thong, bringing the material down to expose the bare skin of your ass to him. Damn it! A pillow within your proximity is brought to your face, using it to hide yourself from the world.

However, “Aww, don’t be so shy on me, baby,” Slender fingers faintly brush from your spine down to the very crevice of your bottom, making your body shudder. “Shouldn’t be hiding that pretty face from me.” The sound of your gasp, when his lubed fingers teeter around your rear entrance, ignites a flame, and now he has a thirst he’s itching to indulge with. “Shhhh, breathe, my love. Gonna go real nice and slow for you, okay?”

The pillow muffles your moans as Geto begins to push one finger inside your puckered hole slightly. The stretch of the digit is a pain you have never experienced, making you whimper like a poor babe. Your boyfriend coaxes you through it, adding more lube to ease your ass as his finger goes back and forth to prepare you. Adding another finger causes you to shake your head, and your entrance accommodates the insertions, whether you like it or not.

A full minute or more passes where your ass is played with, and Geto smoothes you with a rub of your buttcheeks as he removes his digits out of your lubed hole. “Now, time to test this out…” A sudden chill has your arch, and the cold metal of the butt plug has you clamping involuntarily, yet the raven-haired partner reminds you to relax your body while he pushes the toy inside you. It doesn’t invade with the snap of the finger; thirty seconds in, and your butthole is slowly but surely adapting to the alien plaything. And before you know it, you feel the whole thing finally be swallowed into your rear walls; you grip the pillow as your mouth releases silent cries. 

“Haaah…I-Is it in?” You lifted your head to inquire. 

“Yes, angel,” he playfully smacks your ass, and you jerk at the unexpected contact. “Damn, now you look all cute and sexy with this on.” Geto then shifts to stand on his knees before maneuvering above you, removing the pillow from beneath you so you can’t hide yourself from him any longer. And more trembles crawl all over your body when you feel his solid cock create friction on the rift of your ass. “Lift your butt a bit for me,” your hips follow his hands, guiding you upward until you meet his pelvis. “Good girl…Gonna start putting it inside, okay?”

You nod leisurely, grabbing the comforter beneath you as Geto pulls the thong to the side. It’s no surprise to see that your cunt is covered in your slick, the tip of his member queued to kiss your labia. The lascivious man hisses at the sensation, anticipation climbing up as he pushes himself unhurriedly. The same goes for you, your mouth agape with quieted shrieks when the cockhead makes it inside your vagina, gripping the sheets as he slowly pushes more of himself, every inch of his penis becoming greater and greater, inaudible babbles once the base meets your folds.

Geto allows you a couple of seconds to stabilize your breathing, starting with excruciatingly slow thrusts–so painfully slow that you can feel every dent and vein that ventures inward and outward your chasm; it’s hard for your hips not to move on their own. With every pull, your inner walls clench on the shaft as if wanting more as he leaves your warmth. And every push makes you full to the brink of tears, and your brows trenched together as your fists ball the sheets.

“Mmaahh…Nnahaah…!” The brush of your velvety channel feels good within the minute, and the insertion pain is now being replaced with pleasure. Your roll to the ceiling at the graze of your G-spot, the butt plug made your nerves more sensitive with how busy your lower half was. And once he’s warmed up enough, your companion turns up the speed of his ruts. “Taahhh, I, ohhhGod…! Sugu—Oooo!!” Did he just poke your cervix!? You sobbed out loud.

“Nnmm, holy shiiit, you feel so good, sweetie,” Geto moans, taking in the view before him. The lingerie you were wearing gave a beautiful image of your backside, his indigo orbs survey from the muscles of your back to your prompted ass. Holy hell, it was driving him crazy, watching how the flesh of your butt reverberates with the smack of his pelvis. It makes him want to go ever faster, harder. And don’t get him started on the white bunny tail butt plug; shit was too cute to resist and toy with, pulling on the item lightly and turning it around.

The action had your holes clenching simultaneously. “Shh–Shhtop, Suguuu!!” You wailed out, toes curling as he taunted your anus with light pulls and pushes. “D-Don’t do that…!”

“Heh, sorry, my bunny girl,” God, the way he was teasing you was literal hell on Earth with how he’s using your body right now. “You know I can’t help myself when it comes to you…Aiisshh! Fuhuck, you’re squeezing me so hard…Hmm? You like it when I tease you, huh, baby?”

You shook your head no in a rushed manner, the heat of your face already coursing to your ears. But then your frame jerked along with the sound of something, and it was a hand smacking on the skin of your butt.

“Now, don’t be like that,” Geto chuckles above you as you cry. The same hand he used to slap you soothes the blow. “You know you can be honest with me. At least your body is…Don’t you like being close to me like this?” You don’t reply, too busy squealing at another graze of your sensitive spots.  So, he slaps your buttocks once more. “Don’t ignore me, love.”

“—Mmmph! Ahh-hahh, I-I,” You swallow spit before choking on it. “I can’t…Hic, it’s shoh embarrassing…!”

“Aww, is the little bunny still scared?” He then bends down to your ear, a big move on his part as you swear you’re bound to shut down from the closeness. “Hmm? What’s so embarrassing?”

A sluggish pull back before Geto snaps his hips into you harshly, another jab to your cervix practically has you seeing stars. “Hoooh!! Be–Becausee!!” God, it’s so hard to think right now, the pound of your head getting harsher with the increased heat. “Y–You—Ahhaa! Youu make me…s-sound sho dirt—Eeeyahh!” 

“Oh?” He licks your ear before nibbling on the helix. “You don’t like it when I fuck you like this? Don’t like it when I whisper to your ear while you scream for me?” You shake your head no, which is extinguished once Geto stuffs your mouth with his fingers. Your tongue, played with by his fore and middle finger, has you mewling like no tomorrow. “Hmmm, that’s a funny thing to say when your pussy can’t stop twitching on me. Make it seem like you’re not embarrassed to milk my cock dry, huh, princess.” 

“Nnoohh, it’s not—hic—not like that!” A tear trickles down a hot cheek as you suck on his fingers, his thumb there unaware to wipe it. “Don’t say stuff like that…!”

“Why? Too crude for my angel’s ears?” He keeps teasing you, “Even though we’ve fucked lots of times, you still act like such a cutie.”

“Stooop,” Lord have mercy. Any more than this, and you’re bound to melt away sooner rather than later. “D-Don’t tease me…”

He can’t help it, not when you sound so cute and flustered because of him. It makes him think of an idea and straightens himself off of you. But not away from you — he then grabs your leg and rests it on his shoulder while straddling the other, changing the position so you can look at each other. Something a lot more intimate as he goes back to drilling his length into your heat. With a smug grin, he asks, “Is this less embarrassing for you, sweet baby?”

Your heart almost jumped out of your throat; no, this is much worse! Your shrieks returned to erupt out of your figure as Geto’s pace increased. The new angle achieves having his dick venture deeper inside your throbbing channel, pounding to you until the hilt meets your southern lips, and the bump and grind of your clitoris with the motion is enough to have you winded. “—Ohoohh!! Dooahh! N-Nooo, d-don’t look…!” You try to shield your face with your forearm.

Yet Geto instantly refutes that, using his free hand to move it while he bends back down; his added weight has you whining aloud. “Don’t do that,” he groans at the contract of your walls, retaliating with more rough plunges. “No more hiding from me; I wanna see that pretty face always.”

“Suguu, pleasee—Nnnn!” Scrapes to the walls of your vaginal walls are even more dangerous in this position. “T’oo faaast!!”

“Hnngh! FFfuckin’ shit…But you feel so good,” Geto presses his forehead onto yours. “You feel so good, you look so good, like holy fuck! You drive me too crazy; it’s–Ghhh!- just not right how you can make me go wild. I wanna see it all, wanna see how cute you look, how dirty you look, and how fucking hot you sound because of me—and only me.” A kiss to your nose before placing one on the corner of your lips. “Starting now, I wanna see all these sides of you, so don’t hide them from me…” 

You are given no room to reply to his statements as a kiss to your mouth finally seals the deal for tonight. Light pecks gradually dwell into steamy, longing smooches, tongue and teeth classing for intimacy. It’s all it takes for you to sink into his touch finally and the comforter beneath you, submitting to him as he finishes you off.  

Geto then rolls his hips at an erratic cadence, and relentless hits to your cervix have you blubbering helplessly into his lips. Ungovernable throbs around his girth are ineluctable, the climb of your orgasm climbing up tenfold with the brush of your clit up against his pelvis. OhhhGod! It’s coming, I’m gonna—“Mmmmph!”

The peak of your crescendo has you moaning deep into the kiss, your writhing figure submitted to the end of your session as your cunt flutters around Get’s girth as the shocks of the climax rock your entire body. And your contraction is all your partner needs to let go of the reins and cease to his own release, his pulsating shaft expelling his load deep into your palpitating vagina. The two of you continue to kiss as your bodies heave and jolt, with the last of the aftershocks coursing through your nerves. 

He breaks the kiss, the two of you gasping for air in sync. Drool slips from your lips and comes down to your chin, and Geto smiles before kissing your cheek. “Thank you for the gift,” he commends you. “Ya sure I can’t get at least one picture of you?”

You’re undoubtedly out of breath, yet your facial expression doesn’t fail to display unease. “Please…stop teasing me,” you sniffle with hooded eyes.

“Okay, my sweet bunny girl,” he chortles. “Well, at the very least, let’s go another round, ‘kay?”

“Wha—H-huh!?!?”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“…I will never listen to your advice ever again.”

“Wow, rude?”

“Right, like whatever happened to ’thank you’?”

As far as mornings go, this one was ultimately out of the norm. When was the last time you woke up with your body sore to the bone? Because the moment the sun’s rays peaked through the curtains and landed on your eyes, you couldn’t move a single finger or toe without feeling a sense of heaviness. Or maybe it was because you found that your tall boyfriend was still sound asleep; his slim frame was spooning you close to him. You could hear his light snore as he rested in the crook of your neck and arm to your shoulder with a strong leg between yours. 

Your face warmed up at the realization that he was so close to your proximity, and it only worsens when you realize that you both are in the nude, which rarely [if not NEVER] happens! Where’s your pajamas? At the very least, an oversized shirt and panties! 

But you couldn’t find them anywhere. All you could see was a black negligee and a white bunny-eared headband, and memories of last night finally started to swim into your brain. But the true horror was when you saw the butt plug from before down on the comforter, and it slipped past your mind not to scream and kick the item in humiliating terror while abruptly waking up your partner. WHAT THE FUUUUCK!??!?

And to add the nail to the coffin, your body didn’t look like how you left it yesterday. As you got up to head for the bathroom, you caught a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror and felt like you witnessed a scene from a horror movie. Your skin was covered in light bruises and bitemarks, discoloration where it’s implied there were hickeys received all around your neck, stomach, and inner thighs. You were still wearing the black knee-high stockings. However, those looked utterly different from how they looked initially; tears and holes were found all over, but most prominently, the inside of your upper thigh area.

Speechless was the word to describe your puzzlement—appalled, dumbstruck, void of thinking as your reflection showcased an entirely different person. Th-…There’s no way… That’s all you could say to yourself, but it was the way.

Once Geto left for work, it wasn’t any easier for you to work around the house. Working remotely suddenly became an obstacle, as every time your mind recalled the events that transpired the night before, you’d become too flustered to continue your work. You couldn’t even walk into your shared bedroom, too rattled to the point that you just used the guest bathroom! The notion of embarrassment was getting challenging to function today; had you known this would’ve been the effect of buying that damn outfit, you would’ve stopped yourself!

Hence, you’re now complaining to the people who probed you to purchase it in the first place. “A ‘thank you’? I could barely enter past the threshold of my own room, and you want me to thank you!?”

It was late afternoon. You were washing dishes and drying them in the kitchen while putting them aside. But you weren’t alone; your laptop sat at the kitchen island with an application running. On the screen, a window harbored two screens with different faces: one woman with brown hair appearing to smoke out her balcony, and the other with pale blue hair styling her hair to a bun. 

The brunette, Shoko, responds to your words. “Y/n, calm down; all you did was have sex in a bunny costume; nothing radioactive happened there.”

“Yeah, well, I feel like I did something radioactive!” You retorted, wiping the sponge across the wet plate concerningly fast. You pick up the headband from last night and grimace. “Damn this headband…God, I’m so sore.”

“Having sex for an hour straight will do that to a person,” a nerve is stricken when the other speaks; Mei Mei is now done styling the back of her hair with a sly smile. “Pfft, I still find it funny that you passed out.”

“It’s not funny!!” To your dismay, you only make your two best friends laugh even harder. “This is not how this is supposed to be; I don’t even recognize my own body…You saw the pictures!”

Shoko titters, “Yeah, I saw, and it looks like Geto couldn’t keep his hands off you.” She takes a drag of her cigarette and exhales the smoke. “Isn’t that a good thing, though? It means that he liked the gift and appreciated it tenfold.”

“Exactly,” Mei Mei agrees. Your complaints seem to suggest that we completed the mission of making him feel special—which was, you know, the main reason you wanted to do it in the first place.”

“Oh, he felt special, alright,” you said, placing a dry plate on the rest. Although you’d been in a constant state of indignity, what they were saying was true. The whole point of making a fool of yourself and wearing a costume was meant to be outside the norm. It’s exciting for you and Geto, and you can assume that the outcome brought a satisfying end for both parties.

…However, it would be nice if it didn’t cost you a lot of hickeys and soreness. You sighed heavily, “You’re right…I’m just happy that he enjoyed it. He even said I looked cute dressed as his little bunny.”

“I bet!! Why didn’t you take pictures!?” Shoko complains, her device coming closer to her face to emphasize her disheartened tone of voice. 

“I would rather die than have photos of that of me around,” the thought alone causes an unsettling quiver.

But Mei Mei also voices her grievances. “Ehhh, but I bet you looked so adorable~. You better take pictures the next time you do something like that!”

You could’ve sworn your neck was nearly to break when you snapped your head to look at your laptop screen. “Are you insane; what do you mean next time?” 

A silver brow rises. “Oh, be real, Y/n; you really think this is some one-and-done type thing? I bet you ten dollars that Geto would love to pull those bunny ears out again.” 

The brunette chuckles after exhaling more smoke from her pretty lips. “Aye, maybe we should find you some more outfits to wear for him. Maybe we should have you in a fox costume next.”

Your mouth drops in displeasure, but Mei Mei beats you into saying something. “Mmm, now that’s a good idea; I saw something online with cute ears and a skirt. And,” her lavender eyes narrow with a scoff. “I’m sure you’d love to wear the butt plug tail of that one too, Y/n—“

“GOODBYE!!”

You slapped your laptop screen down as your farewell to your best friends, whom you’re sure are probably laughing to themselves for witnessing your reaction. 

Your cheeks are so hot that they are in discomfort; unbelievable. A next time!? You couldn’t comprehend the possibility that you’d be wearing something like last night again. Could you even look at bunny ears the same again after what just happened?! Bunny tails, too; what you primitively thought was cute and pure has now been tarnished to a suggestive and erogenous image. No, there’s unquestionably no way you would be put into that position ever again. No, no, nope, and no!!

DING-DONG!!

The sudden noise of the doorbell diminishes your reluctant energy within milliseconds. You checked the kitchen clock — Geto should be coming home right about now, but why would he be ringing the bell? Inquisitiveness draws up to your shoulders as you dry your hands, taking light steps to the door and opening it after unlocking. 

You leave a small opening to peak through, “Y-Yes?”

“Is that the lovely Y/n I’m seeing~?”

That voice…Not Geto’s, but familiarity sparks up, and recognition prompts you to open the door wider. 

Pure snowy white hair is the first thing that captures your attention, along with the dark shades concealing its owners’ eyes—a signature look of your partner’s friend, “Sa–Satoru?”

“Aye, you remembered to call me by my first name that time!” The named man was dressed down in his work attire, his hand holding his black blazer while he brought his sunglasses up for his azure eyes to throw a wink at you. “It’s been a while, huh?”

“It has!” Your perplexity was evident in your tone; you had forgotten just how tall the man was. “Wh-What are you doing here?”

“Well, I was finally able to catch your boy-toy here before ditching me at work,” Gojo brings your boyfriend into view with the tug of his collar, the raven-haired man expressing nothing but total irritation. “Dude owes me dinner, and I heard someone is cooking a nice meal tonight! Have room for another person?”

“Who said you were invited?” Geto questions his best friend after getting out of his hold.

“I did!” The white-haired man answers. “You owe me for saving your ass yesterday with that file scare—you’re welcome, by the way,” he ignores the glare of his friend. “And just be glad I’m asking for a home-cooked meal, or else I’d be draining your pockets at that new steak place that opened up recently.” 

“Unbelievable…” Geto sighs exasperately. “Hurry up and get in.”

You move out of the way so the men can enter your abode. “Excuse my intrusion~,” the blue-eyed man says as he takes off his dress shoes in the foyer and happily walks to the living room. 

Your boyfriend shakes his head, “Sorry ‘bout this, baby.”

“It’s okay; I was done washing dishes anyway.”

“Mmm,” he brings you in for a hug, part of the routine when he returns home. “How’re you feeling now?” 

Your heart skips a beat. “I feel…okay, still sore, but, you know…” He smelt so good, his cologne pleasantly sinking you in. 

“Heh, sorry,” he kisses your temple. “I had a good time; you really spoiled me.”

The heat in your cheeks ventures to your ears and nape, and your heart returns to racing at an irregular dance. The memories of last night all come back to haunt you once more; images of you being bent into different positions and crying out for Geto hit you one after the other. The lewd thoughts are too much for your pretty little head, especially when you imagine the tall, dark-headed man all sweaty and panting above you with a grin on his face like last night.

At this point, your face will need an ice pack because it’s getting hot. “I’m..really glad you liked it.”

“Loved it,” he takes your hand and after removing his shoes. “Can’t wait to try it again next time.”

And with those last two words, the world suddenly fell to a standstill. You didn’t hear what you just heard—no, you didn’t. “N-Next time?” You repeat.

“Of course!” he leads you down the hall to the open space. What, you thought you’d spend all that money on me for just one night?” No, I HOPED so! “Besides, I was looking online during my break at work, and I saw this fox variant look that I think would look real good on you—”

You couldn’t believe your ears; not only did Mei Mei prove you wrong, but now you have to deal with your boyfriend’s interest in wanting to indulge more in this idea you’ve brought into the relationship. What you thought and hoped would be for one night is now bound to haunt you for many days to come, and that thought in itself had you shaking in your slippers.

As well as the fact that you now owe your best friend cash for jinxing this situation. Damn her!

“Yo, Suguru.”

You perk up when you hear Gojo’s voice as you two enter the kitchen area. And just when you thought this world couldn’t chew and spit you out enough, the image of the white-haired man standing beside the kitchen island holding something in his hand mortifies you to the core.

“What’s with the bunny ear headband? I thought Easter went and passed already.” 

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header art by alp (ringoya) + dividers by @/cafekitsune.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Seeing kny men shirtless for the first time

Pairings: Rengoku x fem!reader; Gyomei x fem!reader; Sanemi x fem!reader (bonus: all hashira men x fem!reader)

Word Count: 3,2k

Warnings: this might be a little shitty so be nice pls, this is actually the first time I ever wrote for Gyomei so please please please let me know what you think! not 100% proofread 🥹🤍

Rengoku Kyojuro

“Have you seen Rengoku-san? There’s something I want to ask him about our upcoming mission.”

Tengen tilts his head to the side ever so slightly, lips unable to keep that dirty grin off his face. Yeah, surely you’re asking for a mission and not because you’re having a crush on the flame hashira since joining the pillars.

“He went outside in the gardens to view the blooming roses”, he lies oh so innocently.

A bright smile creeps up your face, heart already skipping a beat in excitement. If you were only brave enough to finally ask Kyojuro out, how easier your life would be if you’d just keep your distance to him. But the prospect of seeing him alone is enough for your mind to go blank. Hopefully, the others don’t notice.

“Thank you so much, Tengen”, you blurt out with a hasty bow before yanking out of the room.

“Didn’t he say he wanted to change since he sweated so much during training?”, Shinobu thinks out loud.

“Yeah, that’s going to be a lot of fun”, Tengen replies with a smirk plastered onto his face.

Your mind races back and forth as you make your way to the gardens. What will you even ask him? Maybe what he has planned, if he already knows something? What if you mess up? This is actually the first time you and Kyojuro got assigned a mission together. You have to make a good impression or otherwise, he won’t take you with him again.

“Rengoku-san, I don’t mean to disturb you, but I have a few questions regarding the ne-“

Your breath gets stuck in your throat immediately, feet coming to a rapid stand.

There he is, the flame hashira.

Shirtless, his upper body soaking wet while he empties a bucket of water over his head.

“Oh, (y/n)! I didn’t expect you here!”, he announces with his eyes widened.

You can’t even blink, mind going dull. You always secretly imagined what Kyojuro might look like underneath that uniform, if his muscles look as buff as they feel underneath your touch while training.

And they do.

Oh god, they definitely do.

“I-I…Tengen told me that…You’re here to see…the roses”, you blurt out, still unable to look away.

“Indeed! But before that, I really needed to change my uniform since I sweated a lot during training.”

“Yeah, I can see that”, you mumble.

“(y/n), are you not feeling well? You look quite red from afar. Allow me to check on you.”

When he suddenly starts walking towards you with his chest muscles tensing with each and every step, you feel like fainting. Of course you never doubted that this man looks good underneath that uniform, but this?

“Your cheeks are really hot”, he comments while running his wet hand up and down your cheek.

“I…I…”

Your mind is a mess, not a single thought is making sense right now. Are you dreaming? Is that really Rengoku Kyojuro standing in front of you with his abs glittering in the heat of the sun, so close that you’d be able to touch him.

“Maybe you should go and see Shinobu-“

“I’m flustered!”, you finally cry out like an idiot.

Only to regret your words immediately.

His hand stops right in its tracks, the piercing presence of his orbs forcing you to look up at him.

“Why would you be flustered, (y/n)?”, he questions innocently.

May the ground swallow you whole in hope you’ll never return. God, why does this have to be so embarrassing? You’ll definitely have a word with Tengen when this is over.

“Because I…I have a crush on you, Kyojuro.”

The words you never dared to say out loud, that lingered through your mind each and every time you saw him. Like a rock, they fall off your chest while a wave of pure panic starts rushing over you.

You just confessed your feelings to him.

Him, Rengoku Kyojuro.

“I think I need to go now”, you blurt out, already starting to turn away when Kyojuro grabs your wrist gently.

“Please don’t go, (y/n). Actually, I feel the same way about you.”

He sweeps you around so rapidly that you are forced against something as hard as a wall. Did he accidentally throw you against a wall, the nearby tree?

The second you open your eyes again, you stare at his bare chest, only millimetres away from your face.

That wasn’t a wall.

“I had an eye on you since the first time I saw you. You are just…so amazing!”, he confesses with a passion that is even unusual for him.

“Kyojuro, I…”

Your bare face touched his naked chest.

“I…”

And don’t get started on his sight, his broad chest, the muscles that flex when he grabs your shoulders passionately.

“I…I can’t…”

“What’s wrong, (y/n)? A cat got your tongue?”, Tengen jeers from behind.

All your senses seem to come back to you in the split of a second when a wave of anger washes over you.

“You little…Why did you do that!?”, you cry out while storming towards the much taller man.

“Because your face looks very flashy when it’s this red.”  

 Gyomei Himejima

To say that you are exhausted would be the understatement of a century. Being out in the scorching sun all day really took its toll on your already bruised body.

Not to mention the training methods of none other than the stone hashira himself.

Gyomei is not a stranger to you. You’ve known each other for quite some time by now, joining the demon slayer corps almost simultaneously. And that force of a man never failed to impress you.

You wrench your sweat-soaked clothes in the river while staring at your own reflection. Why are you even here, though? You might not be a hashira yet, but you trained with Gyomei countless times before. Over and over, you shoved rocks around and almost drowning in that exact river. At this point, the basic training of the corps members isn’t even enough for you to break a sweat. You find yourself shoving that rock 10 cho by now while carrying tree trunks on your back.

You furrow your eyebrows. Now that you think of it, you didn’t even catch a glimpse at Gyomei himself since being here. Apparently, the hashira training does keep him busy.

That sting of agony that pierces through your heart can’t be stopped, though. Over the span of those last years, you got to know the stone hashira better. Despite his tall and threatening appearance, he is the softest man you’ve ever known. So kind that he brought tears to your eyes more than once, so considerate that it’s hard to believe that this man lives alone.

It was inescapable for you to fall from him head over heels. And now you find yourself longing for his presence even though you know all too well that he is busy training the corps members.

“I didn’t expect to greet you here at this late hour.”

You almost trip over head-first into the water, caught by a strong hand last-minute before you take another dive into the river.

“I’m beyond sorry for scaring you like this, (y/n)”, an all too familiar voice continues while pushing you back on your feet.

Normally, the first thing you see is his demon slayer uniform and cloak draped around him in a somehow elegant way.

But not today.

You swallow hard, widened eyes blankly staring at his naked chest. This man standing in front of you…Gyomei wears nothing but his uniform pants.

“I…uh…don’t w-worry”, you stutter like an idiot, his arms still holding you in place gently.

“Did I interrupt you? I didn’t know that you were taking a bath.”

His soft voice paired with that sight in front of you. You’ve never seen him shirtless, never witnessed the way his veins pop out of his arms and how well formed he is underneath that uniform. It would be so easy to allow your fingertips a taste and let yourself discover his muscles even better, to just stretch out your hand and-

“Does it bother you that I am shirtless? I came here to take a bath myself.”

“Bother?”, you press out.

“I…I’m not bothered at all!”

“I guess I’m just a little…flustered…”

“Flustered?”, he repeats in confusion.

“If I make you feel uncomfortable, I’ll cover myself of course. I just noticed you were here and we haven’t seen each other for a long time by now.”

“I missed you”, he adds, forcing your world upside down for a minute.

Since you’ve got to know him, there was never more than friendly words between Gyomei and you. Not more than a shoulder rub, not more than motivating words from time to time. You never allowed yourself to compliment him or talk about anything apart from missions.

Until now. Until Gyomei confessed out of nowhere that he missed you.

While being shirtless

“I…missed you too”, you finally give in.

You allow your eyes a little glimpse at him. Just a little taste of his broad shoulders and how his veins stand out. Just a little something of his rock-hard abs, his enormous upper body that is usually covered by his uniform. Just one look at-

“I thought about you all the time, to be exact”, you breathe out before you even realize what you’re talking about.

“I’m feeling the same way, (y/n). Let me assure you that my heart beats just as fast as yours at the moment.”

Gently, he cups your hand with his and presses your palm against his bare chest, straight against his racing heart that pulsates against your skin.

Oh god. You feel like fainting any given minute, your very own heart pounding so hard that you might get a heart attack.

“Now, allow me to put on my uniform again so that we can have a proper-“

“Wait!”, you blurt out.

“Let’s just stay like this for uh…a little longer…”

Sanemi Shinazugawa

It’s hard to keep your palms from sweating when you know exactly where you’re going. To him, the wind hashira. The man who swept you off your feet without even trying, the man you haven’t seen in such a long time by now.

While Sanemi always kept himself busy with missions, you were assigned to a mission far away from home. It took you over a month to finally find the demon who was responsible for this mess. And eventually, Sanemi just stopped writing you letters or replying to your messages. Even though you were so sure that he might feel the same way about you, he proved you wrong.

In the most painful way.

“I can’t go any further, that’s exactly where he is”, you complain while following your crow around.

You know this path uncomfortably well, the way it leads you next to a river, through a field of strawberries. Straight into the wind hashira estate.

“Direct orders from Kagaya-sama! You need to undergo the hashira training!”

“I just returned from an exhausting mission, did you tell him that?”, you bark back only to get attacked by your stinky crow.

“So cheeky! Watch how you talk to me!”, it cries out, literally dragging you along with it while its beak bursts the skin of your cheek.

Your heart almost stops beating, pounding rougher and rougher against your ribcage with every step you take towards the wind hashira estate.

What if the man you still love rejects you? What if he breaks your heart in front of everyone else, if he speaks out those words you imagined when you waited another day for his reply?

You want to escape, want to get as far away from here as possible. But your unforgiving crow drags you with it until you find yourself at the front doors of his estate.

“Get yourself together, dumbass! Go inside and talk to him! GO!”

With one last bite it finally leaves you alone, right at the opened front door.

There’s nothing you’d like more than vanishing from this earth, to get swallowed whole. Why on earth does it have to be him first? Why aren’t you allowed to train with Tengen, Giyu, basically everyone else? Your heart races so hard inside your ribcage that it takes your breath away, eyes staring into the dark estate.

Is he even home?

You allow yourself to take a few steps into the building, to look around. No cries, no voices? Maybe he isn’t even home. Are they training somewhere else, in the nearby woods, maybe?

“Fuck!”

His voice almost sends you over the edge, forces your eyes to dart around in sheer horror. That was Sanemi, without any doubt. But is he alone?

What if he’s not?

What if he’s with a girl?

You swallow hard, the ugliest thoughts taking over your head when you hear water splashing from a room nearby.

You can’t help it. As quiet as possible, you make your way towards the room the sounds originate from, ready to find literally everything. What if that’s the reason he didn’t write you back? What if he fell in love with another woman and simply forgot about you?

Your eyes peek through the ever so slightly opened door.

And your jaw drops to the floor in an instant.

There he stands, nothing but a towel covering his private parts while droplets of water run down his naked back. Sanemi just washed himself.

But oh…

You can feel your mouth watering just by looking at the scars that cover his back, how delicious the water than runs down his neck seems.  You’re only a few steps away from that force of a man, only a few steps in order to touch him. You always wondered what his skin feels like, if his outside is as rough as his inside. And what does he smell like straight out of the shower? Does he still smell like himself? And what about his abs-

All air drains from your compressed lungs as you suddenly find yourself pinned against the wall straight in Sanemi’s bathroom.

“Why the hell are you spying on me like some little freak?”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

“I…wasn’t spying”, you press out, his distressed orbs meeting yours.

Fuck, you’re screwed.

“Oh yeah? Why were you standing outside my bathroom then? I didn’t even know you were back!”

“Because you never fucking asked”, you finally bark back.

He draws even closer, lingers over you like an unpromising shadow with his naked upper body still dripping. No, you have to concentrate on the fact that you’re mad as hell right now, there’s no room for inspecting his upper body.

But his abs definitely look as good as they feel.

“You were out on a mission, how the hell was I supposed to ask? I thought you’d just let me know when you’re back”, he bites back.

“Oh, could have tried answering my damn messages, maybe? Did you ever think about that!?”

“Me answering your messages? You never replied to me!”

You furrow your eyebrows.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“What I’m talking about? I sent you countless messages and you never answered. I even asked Kagaya-sama if you died or something! I…I was so fucking worried…”

His heavy breath mixes with yours, caresses your oversensitive skin.

“But Sanemi…I did the same”, you finally mutter.

Sanemi’s chest rises and falls rapidly, a few water drops escaping the force of his skin. His oh so glowy skin. Of course you knew that this man would look good shirtless. But this? How are you supposed to stay focused when his skin turns pink ever so slightly, when his muscular chest moves like that?

“Can you stop staring at my abs and focus on me for one minute?”, he barks while flicking in front of your way too focused eyes.

You feel your cheeks heat up in an instant, glossy eyes staring at him like a caught deer. If there’s one thing that’s worse than checking Sanemi out, it’s definitely getting caught.

“Sorry, I have to go”, you mumble while pulling yourself away from him.

Only to find yourself wrapped in his naked arms even tighter.

“You’re not going anywhere. I just asked you something”, he warns you.

“Let go of me!”

“Did you…miss me?”

Your arms stop right in their tracks, widened eyes staring at his flustered face in sheer disbelief. There he stands, Sanemi Shinazugawa, straight out of the shower while asking you if you missed him?

“Yeah, always”, you reply out of instinct.

“Good. Because same.”

He doesn’t even give you the chance to second-guess your answer. In the split of a second, you get devoured by his muscular arms, your very own kimono soaking wet in an instant.

Are you dreaming?

“Wait, what?”, you breathe out.

“And you totally checked me out”, he adds proudly.

“I didn’t check you out-“

“Oh yeah?”

He lets go of you just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his delicious upper body again.

“Maybe a little bit…”

-Bonus-

You huff out in exhaustion. What the actual fuck were you thinking when you agreed on training with all hashira? Well, apparently not that you’d literally vomit all over yourself after getting hit without any mercy by all of them.

“That little fucker Shinazugawa”, you curse under your breath while stomping towards the wind hashira estate.

“I’ll kick your puny ass next time.”

Your feet drag you back to them with last strength. Rengoku, Tengen, Obanai, Shinazugawa, Tomioka…why on earth are all of them so damn strong? Super unfair.

“Have you seen how I beat the shit out of her?”, you hear Sanemi jeer from afar as well as the constant mumbling of the others.

“It wasn’t necessary to hit her this hard”, Giyu comments.

“Hell yes it was. Now that brat knows what she’s dealing with!”

All you see is red. Even though your body begs you to stop, you storm towards their voices.

“Listen up, you little shit-“

Your breath gets stuck in your throat, eyes darting around without a real aim.

There they stand. Shirtless. Every single one of them.

Oh.

“Don’t worry, it’s not your fault that you’re a loser-“

Just this once, you’re actually able to ignore Sanemi’s shitty words. That toned abs Rengoku has, Tengen’s veiny arms, Obanai’s athletic build, the scars that compliment Sanemi’s muscles so well-

Why is it suddenly so hot?

“Are you okay, (y/n)?”, Giyu questions while rubbing the back of his head with a towel.

How is it possible that he looks this good underneath that loose uniform? You always expected Giyu to be rather athletic that muscular given his fast movements. But that mountain of a biceps definitely doesn’t lie.

“I…”

Not a single logical thought is left in your blank mind, eyes roaming back and forth between them.

“I need to go.”

In the matter of seconds, you disappear inside the wind hashira estate without a trace.

“Is (y/n) alright? She looked rather pale”, Rengoku thinks out loud, still staring at where you last stood.

“She was definitely checking me out”, Tengen announces proudly.

“You? Bet she was looking at me”, Sanemi jeers at the tall man.

“How are they so hot?”, you mumble to yourself while inspecting them through the window.

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine @laurencrsnt

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。yours, always yours

synopsis. satoru has always been yours—and he needs you to know you’ll also always be his

— word count. 2.4k (read the breakup fic first for better understanding, but can be read as a stand-alone)

— contents. fem! reader, college! au, rich boy! gojo, post-getting back together angst that gets a little heated <3, minors do not interact, fingering, unprotected sex, edging, satoru cumming too quick <3, creampie, tbh the smut is short and a lil rushed my b, it ends in fluff tho !! trust !! there is fluff !!

— notes. tbh this will probably get flagged rly fast but oh well u win some u lose some. anywayyyyy here is the make up sex bc yall nasties deserve it <3 jk love u guys

satoru falls first. and he falls hard. everyone knows it, it’s never been a secret.

“you want me to wash your hair?” you ask gently, kissing his shoulder as the water falls over his head. he hums, nodding absentmindedly as he stares blankly at the tiles of your shower wall.

“sure,” he mumbles, “don’t tug.”

“i never tug,” you roll your eyes, snorting. he huffs a small chuckle, but it’s not the usual laugh satoru gives you. it’s mechanic, almost—just there to fill the space. “baby?” you ask softly.

“yeah?” he asks, “oh, should i bend a little? sorry, i—”

“what’re you thinking about?” your hands cup his cheeks, gentle and warm from the hot water as it soaks his skin.

he shakes his head, trying to smile as he clears throat. “just how nice it is to be pampered. maybe i’ll let you break my heart every once in a while so i get my back scrubbed and hair washed like this.”

“satoru,” you insist. you know—and he knows it too. “tell me?”

“why’d you do it?” he mumbles, “why’d you listen to him?”

“toru, you know why,” you sigh, “you know i didn’t think there were any other options.”

“you could’ve talked to me,” he furrows his brows, “just because my stupid old man threatens you with my stupid inheritance doesn’t mean we have to break up.”

“i was afraid you’d choose me.” it comes out as a whisper, like a confession you can’t bear to admit.

“i would have chosen you,” he agrees, “why’s that bad? how’s that wrong—”

“you’re not thinking about the bigger picture,” you shake your head, “that company is yours. you’ve spent your whole life—”

“so what? was i supposed to give up the rest of my life for it too?” he asks tiredly—satoru’s defeated. he’s never been defeated, it’s the most magnetizing thing about him.

even before you date him. he asks and asks and asks no matter how many times you say no. because there’s always a chance you’ll say yes, and he’ll never stop as long as there’s a chance.

“i’m sorry,” you sniffle, lips wobbling, “i could have….i should have said something. i didn’t want you to make a choice young and then….and then regret it.”

“you think i’d regret you?” he’s wounded—absolutely wounded at the words.

satoru has always been careful, diligent and so, so meticulous to love you right, to love you how you need to be loved. hadn’t that proven enough? that he was in it for the long run—for forever? he’d been so sure you’d be his future, that the break up feels like waking up from a peaceful dream to a house fire—devastating, with smoke in his nose and lungs that he can’t breathe right, and everything gone within a moment before he can even register it.

he stares at the ashes in despair. nothing prepared him for the hollowness of not being yours—because satoru has never cared to make you his. all he’s ever wanted was to be yours.

you’re quick to remove him from everything, deleting pictures from your socials, untagging him from posts, removing him from your private stories and close friends list. he doesn’t understand how you could change your mind so quickly—and then he realizes you probably don’t. because he knows you—better than anyone ever has, satoru knows you.

so he’s comes to you, drenched from the rain, from standing outside your door even as the water pelts against his skin because he’s determined. he’s going to get an answer out of you, going to make you explain why you pulled him in so close, let him reside in your heart and fall asleep to the comforting rhythm of its beating—and then push him out like he’s nothing. what made you push him out?

and finally, when he does, when you let him be yours again and admit it’s never what you wanted, that it’s because it’s what his father wanted—well, satoru can’t keep his composure. don’t you know? hadn’t he always told you? hadn’t he poured his heart out and let you know every moment he’s always been stuck dangling from his father’s fingers? stuck somewhere between the sky and ground, too high to feel the floor under his feet but never high enough to feel the wind in his face.

you’ve always known, always listened—and fuck, you held him some nights too, let your fingers dip into his hair and soothe his sorrows of always being stuck.

satoru’s always been stuck, always had every choice made for him and every instruction carefully laid out on the table. and then you decided to make his choice for him too, walking away and choosing his future for him like he’s never had a say.

he’s always been stuck, but never with you—but now, he wonders if that’s changed.

“no,” you squeeze his cheeks, “no i don’t think you’d regret me….but satoru losing what you have is a big thing,” you mumble, “people work their whole lives not having a fraction of what you do. that’s a lot to let you lose.”

“i’ve never seen my dad kiss my mom,” he stares at you, hard and unwavering, his eyes stare into yours, “he’s never held her hand or made her laugh. and you know what she told me? that she would sell her share of everything to have what we do. why do you always look at me for what i have first?” he asks angrily, the water pouring over his shoulders as they shake, “why can’t you just look at me first for once?”

“i do look at you,” you insist, “toru, all i ever see is you—”

“then stop caring what he says,” he says louder, his voice echoing through the small bathroom of your small apartment.

everything about your home is small—smaller than satoru’s especially. but he loves it, thinks he’d rather be here than anywhere else.

because it’s yours. and as long as you’re here, the world fits into this tiny apartment, the galaxy too.

“okay,” you say shakily. and then you nod, looking him in the eye, “you’ll handle it?”

he nods, kissing between your brows, “yeah, i’ll handle it. who else is gonna take over that company anyway?”

“but what if he finds someone else? and then he—”

“he won’t. my grandpa will shred him.”

“but he’s old, and he stepped down, so what really can he do if your dad decides—”

“god, baby,” he groans, pushing your body against the wall gently, “i love your voice, but you talk so much. i’m wanna listen to something else.”

his lips find your neck, sucking gently at the skin, hand trailing to your tits before his thumb circles your nipple. it’s slow, deliberate, teasing as it rolls over the bud.

you whimper, clutching onto him as a breathy, “t-toru,” leaves your lips.

“yeah,” he nods, “that’s what i wanna listen to instead.” his lips are in a grin against your neck, kissing and biting until he reaches your collarbone. “anyone dm you after you took me out of your socials?” he asks bitterly.

“j-just one,” you admit through a stutter, “b-but i didn’t even open it! i wasn’t really—oh, toru,” you gasp as his finger finds your clit, spreading your legs as he lets out a soft growl at your words.

“what? just cause my face isn’t on your instagram suddenly you’re not mine?” he asks, thumb rubbing harsh circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves—you close your eyes, moaning as your arms wrap tightly around his neck. “you’re always mine,” he murmurs against your ear, low and careful so you hear him well, “yeah? got that?”

“got it,” you nod furiously.

“got what?”

“‘m al-always—oh, fuck,” you mewl as one finger prods at your entrance, gathering your slick before slowly sliding through your walls.

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he says firmly, “finish your sentences.”

“always yours, toru! always yours—please, please j-just…”

“just what?” he raises a brow.

“more,” you sob—it’s a broken plea as your hips thrust against his finger.

he’s quick to slide in a second, thrusting his digits mercilessly into your soaked cunt, his palm gliding over your clit as the slick sound of his fingers fucking you is almost drowned by the water in the back.

your water bill will be high this month. you decide it’s a sacrifice satoru deserves.

“you think someone could ever learn this body better than me? make you cum like i can? you think anyone will ever love you enough to learn you like i do?”

“n-no,” you pant, his fingers hitting that spot inside of you so perfectly, you feel that dull ache build up quickly. it’s good—everything with satoru is good. his other hand finds your chest to pinch a nipple, twisting and squeezing until your nails leave indents on his shoulders as you moan loudly. “no one—no one but you.”

“exactly,” he growls, “how could you leave me? how could you leave us?”

“‘m sorry,” you sniffle, whimpering when the tips of his fingers slam against that spongey spot of your walls, fluttering around him and squeezing him in. you’re close—so close that you almost don’t know what he’s saying anymore, too focused on the way your impending orgasm is approaching. fast. “i’m sorry, i’ll never—ever leave again.”

“say you love me,” he demands.

it sounds like he’s pleading, though, if you listen closely. there’s a small crack in his voice, a slight shakiness that makes you force your eyes open and stare at him and whisper, “i love you, satoru. i love you.”

and then he rips his fingers out—right before you’re about to cum. you gasp, pleading nonsense as you cling to him and buck your hips and search for something, anything to take you over the edge.

and then you hear a sniffle. is he crying? is that wet droplet on your shoulder a tear or the water? you’re too busy calming down from your orgasm dying before it ever came to focus.

satoru’s hard against your thigh, throbbing and painful to sink into you. he strokes himself a few times, whimpers as his thumb gathers the pre cum from the sensitive tip, smearing it along his length as he shakily lets out a quiet moan.

“f-fuck, i gotta feel you. please, can i? please—”

“yes,” you pull him closer, grinding your heat over his hard-on, “yes please, toru. more, need more.”

he’s sliding along your folds, dragging the tip of his cock along your entrance and smearing a mix of your arousal with his. and then slowly, ever so gently, he’s pushing into your after that, pushing past your walls and bullying into your soaked cunt, curving into you perfectly.

it’s only been a week—you feel like you haven’t felt him in years. but it’s familiar. you remember every part of him, including every vein that drags along your walls and makes your head spin. he remembers every part of you, including where that spot is that he needs to angle his hips to find.

he slams into you, hard and rough and fast—doesn’t even let you adjust your position to hold onto him tighter before he’s thrusting his hips and fucking into you desperately. you can feel him, every inch of his skin against you, every part of him that’s touching you. and you can feel the way his cock nudges past your folds, the friction burning pleasure through ever nerve.

satoru knows how to fuck you, just like he knows how to love you, he knows your body—every dip and ever curve, every place to touch and every part that has you gushing around him. it’s just the way he is, too good at giving you what you want, what you need.

when he moans, it’s breathy and he’s panting as he lets out those soft whimpers that make your head spin. “feel that? feel me?” he asks, grunting as you squeeze around his length.

“yeah,” you breathe, “‘m so full.”

“i need you. please, please,” he murmurs, “can’t lose you, baby. never you,” he chants, the quiver in his voice tearing you apart.

“i’m right here,” you gasp, lacing your fingers with his and squeezing his hand. he squeezes back, just to let you know he’s there too, “right here, baby. you got me.”

and then he cums, just as soon as you whisper that—he spills right into you with a broken cry, his hips rolling, needy and desperate and so, so lost on the pleasure. he’s too busy working himself through his high, trembling over your body to care he’s cum too quick—and you don’t have it in you to tease him. you can feel the hot ropes of cum filling you, painting your walls white, fucking deep into you as the blunt head of his cock slams into you without a second of hesitation.

but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter that brutal pace as his hips slam into you, perfectly kissing your sweet spot every time. and before long, you break—your head pushes back against the wall behind you, mouth parted as you wail his name and cum—hard. you’re quivering and spasming around his swollen cock, enough that he whimpers at the way you’re so tight.

it’s good, it’s always good. satoru makes you feel good. he’s the best you’ve ever had—the best you’ll ever find.

and then you hear it again, the sniffle into your neck as he clutches you tightly. you know for sure that wet droplet is a tear this time, and your fingers tangle into his hair as you stroke the wet strands.

“i love you, toru,” you murmur, “my sweet boy. i’m sorry, okay? i’m so sorry.”

“don’t do that again,” he huffs in between tears, “that was so mean. so mean.”

“i said i won’t,” you chuckle, fighting back your own tears, “how long are you gonna hold this against me?”

“how long do you plan on being mine?”

“well,” you pull him from your neck, cupping his cheeks as you wipe away tears and peck his lips softly, “i think….forever.”

“well, get ready, then,” he glares softly, “i’m gonna hold this against you forever too.”

“okay,” you nod, “that’s fair.”

“and i love you too,” he adds, “but block whoever dm’d you. it better not be that zenin boy.”

“block those girls who’s pictures you liked,” you shoot back, glaring at him with a pout of your own.

“don’t yell at me,” he mumbles, leaning into your touch as your thumb strokes his cheek, “i’ve had a rough week. you have to be nice.”

dabitee anon. are u seeing this. did u see the satoru who cums too fast. did u see it. report back if u saw this. i repeat, dabitee anon report back if you see this

[aperrywilliams]

That Wasn't Fake (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader.

Request: Can you write a Spencer fic where the reader is kind of quiet and shy when she begins working at the BAU, and Spencer has a crush on her, and then they have a case, and she has to like to seduce the unsub lowkey and everyone kind of like...how is she going to do this shes not very outgoing but when she does shes really good at it, and everyone is surprised and impressed.

Summary:  You're shy and reserved. Spencer has a crush on you, and unbeknown to him, you have a crush on him. Maybe the cat can get out of the bag when you have to step aside of your comfort zone to catch an elusive unsub.

Word Count: 4.2k (no self control here)

Warnings: Words like 'fuck' and 'bitch'. A rant about self-doubt. Typical CM stuff: unsubs, killings, etc.

A/N: Another request I loved! It should have been a little shorter, but I'm having a hard time getting to the point these days. Please keep sending requests!

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Spencer knows it is inappropriate, but he can't help it. You're coworkers, and that itself sets a boundary, so he shouldn't be thinking of trespassing.

But the crush he has on you seems to grow every day.

He doesn't know if it is your beautiful smile, the kindness you show in everything you do, or the enthusiasm you put into every task you are committed to. Since the moment he saw you pass the bullpen glass doors, Spencer knew he was damned.

From that moment, Spencer knew he wanted to know you and learn everything about you. About what you liked, what you hated, and what your fears and dreams were. Everything.

But not much after that revelation in his mind, he understood it wasn't going to be easy to get to you.

You were extremely shy and reserved.

In fact, your first interaction - when Emily introduced you both - consisted of a wave of your hand and a timid 'nice to meet you.'

He thought as time went by, you would loosen and become less bashful and quiet. And in part, he was right. As the months passed, you began to feel more comfortable within the team. You laughed at Luke's jokes, you commented on Rossi's stories, and you could even - when the stars aligned - crack a joke yourself to Tara or Matt.

But beyond that, no one knew much about your life outside of the BAU, unlike JJ, who always talks about her kids and her husband, or Matt, who talks about his kids, too. Or Tara, who recounts her failed dates. Or the same Luke who always shows photos of Roxy.

You, on the other hand, seemed to be an enigma. But Spencer Reid loved decoding enigmas.

At first, he turned his interest in you out of mere scientific curiosity. However, internally, he knew it wasn't just that.

It started with small random questions about the times you worked together: Is this coffee okay? What was the last book you read? Do you think we should buy some donuts for the team?

If you were honest, it picked your interest why, from all people, Dr. Spencer Reid was so adamant in making conversation with you.

From what you knew and from what the team said, Spencer was not a person very interested in things other than work or books. But suddenly, out of nowhere, he asked you what the last movie you saw was or something like that.

You always answered his questions; however, you would have liked to be much more talkative and engage in longer conversations, but your nature stopped you.

'What if I don't have anything more interesting for him to say?'

'Does he just talk to me because he feels sorry for me?'

And that was the big issue: you have never had problems with the way you live your life. You're pretty satisfied with what you do in your job and out of it, too. But you have always thought you are too 'simple' to entertain people's interest.

And to be honest, being surrounded by people with so much experience and big things happening in their lives still intimidates you a bit. So, you usually refrain from talking too much about yourself or anything for that matter.

But with Spencer, things are a bit different. He's always checking on you but respects your boundaries. He has learned that sometimes you just don't want to talk, and he doesn't push.

Despite his interest beyond the professional, Spencer would never do anything to make you uncomfortable. Being able to share time with you will have to be enough for him.

In a way, he has become your protector. He is your backup during interrogations or in situations where you can feel awkward, like the times when some police officers tried to flirt with you and got too close. Sure, you know how to turn them down, but sometimes guys don't get the memo and keep pushing. You're too shy to yell or be aggressive about it.

The team also understands the way you are, and they know it does not make you any less professional. However, they have always been careful not to take you too much out of your comfort zone.

---------------

A whole two weeks and five murders later, the team is stuck trying to catch an unsub who has preferences for killing women after club nights. The profile says he is not interested in just any woman but in those between 25-30 years old who like to flirt with several men in the clubs. But it is not just any type of flirting; it is the type that is initiated and dominated by them. In short, he likes to kill women who are the opposite of submissive. He sees them as predators on a hunting ground.

Another finding in victimology is that the women he kills, in addition to having a specific age range, have very similar physical characteristics. And similar to you.

All his victims have your build, eye color, hair color, and height. It gets to be creepy to a certain point. And it's something difficult to ignore.

Bouncing information and possible strategies, the team agrees they need to be proactive to get him to show up before another killing happens.

"Okay, what options do we have?" Emily asks.

"The witnesses haven't gotten us anywhere," Luke complains.

"Although we've narrowed down his hunting grounds," Rossi shrugs.

"Yeah, we know the clubs where he likes to hunt," JJ backs Rossi.

"But although the profile, we have yet to learn about what to look for there. I mean, we know what the unsub wants, but not how he looks like." This time, it's Tara who speaks.

You've rarely seen Emily bite her tongue when she wants to say something, but it's clear that she has something on her mind, and she doesn't know how to put it, or maybe the problem is something else. You look at her out of the corner of your eye, and she looks back at you; what do those eyes say? They look like they're even apologetic.

It's a fraction of the time before she comes back to behave like herself.

"We need to lurk him. It's the only way," she says. And everyone's eyes - yours included - are on her immediately.

"Lurk him?" Matt repeats.

"Yes. And all we know who should be the one going undercover to do that," Emily adds, looking at you this time.

That's it—the elephant in the room.

Of course, you're the ideal candidate. Well, you're perfect in the physical aspect because if we talk about the victim's personality and yours...

There's silence in the room, and you can feel like the team's eyes are all on you.

Do they expect you to say no? To refuse? From your perspective, it's not a question; it's more like the option you all have to catch the guy.

"It's true (Y/N) would be the closest to the unsub type, but there are a lot of things to take into account," Matt says. And you know perfectly well what's behind his words, even if he doesn't say it directly.

And that's okay; it's perfectly plausible they have their doubts. It is not enough to look like the victims for the operation to work.

But if there is one thing you are sure of, it's that you will always give your all to your job, even if that means becoming a completely different person.

"I can do it," you mumbled so quietly that if the AC weren't in the lower setting, people wouldn't have heard you.

"But (Y/N), you know about this guy. It's dangerous," Matt points, a frown on his face.

"Not to mention he likes rough interactions," Luke adds.

"You don't have to do it if you feel uncomfortable." This time, it is JJ who voices her opinion. And you know, that's the closest reason to the team's main concern.

And the fact you can blow up the entire plan.

Spencer stays in silence. Internally he's freaking out thinking of you having to lurk on the unsub, but he knows you are a professional. And he feels a kind of deja vu.

When he was younger, the team would have said the same about him doing something like that. Spencer knows what it's like when people baby you, making you feel insecure. Sure, he hasn't had to worry about that anymore. Spencer is almost forty, and no one would dare to tell him he can't do something. Not after all the things he has been through.

"JJ is right, Bella. You don't have to do it. We can think of another way," Rossi backs JJ.

That's when Spencer notices the slight frown on your face. It's invisible to everyone but him. He knows it's there.

You stay collected, even when everyone on the team has something to say about how bad the idea of you going undercover to lurk the unsub is.

Emily is who stops everyone's rant.

"Guys, hey. If (Y/N) is telling us she can do it, we're going to do it. Of course, we'll be there to back up her and catch this unsub."

And this is how the discussion is settled.

Emily sends everyone out with a task to prepare for the night. Today is Friday, and the unsub will surely be stalking some new victim. The chances are high.

When it's just you and Spencer in the room, he still looks at you in silence.

"Do you also think I'll not be able to pull off this mission and I'm going to ruin everything?"

You downcast your gaze, exhaling deeply.

"No. I don't think that," Spencer clarifies, and you raise your gaze to meet his eyes. "You are more than capable, (Y/N). The team is worried because you'll be out of your comfort zone in a dangerous situation."

"The team? Not you?" You narrow your eyes to him.

You try not to sound accusatory, but if you're as scared as everyone, you also are fed up with the other's doubts.

Spencer closes the distance between you both but doesn't invade your personal space.

"Of course, I'm worried too! I don't want anything bad to happen to you. But I trust you and your judgment."

Your heart does flip-flops, and you're not sure if it's because Spencer is worried or because, despite that, he trusts you—or both.

"You do?" You ask, not so convinced.

Spencer nods and smiles at you.

"And we'll be there when you catch the guy."

If that is the reassurance you need, you don't mention it. Instead, you grin at Spencer as a promise you'll do your job just how you are supposed to.

---------------

You insist on getting ready in your hotel room. The only assistant you ask for is Emily. She was the one who trusted you first in this, so you'll take every piece of advice she can give you before this night starts.

Everyone has a role in the plan.

Rossi will be the chauffeur who will drive you to the club.

Luke and Spencer would be in the club, mingling with the patrons. JJ, Matt, and Emily would be in the van monitoring the whole situation with cameras and earpieces. Rossi would keep his facade as a driver so he could be at one of the entrances. Tara would be at the club, too, eyeing nothing suspicious going on in the bar because there is a chance the unsub is getting help from the bartender.

When you are in front of the mirror applying the last touch of makeup, Emily is looking at you with a stare you can't decipher.

"What?" you ask, and Emily chuckles.

"Please, don't take this in a bad way, but I never thought I would live the day of seeing you using clothing like this. And Jesus, you look so hot!"

Your cheeks redens.

"It's a little bit odd coming from my boss, don't you think?" you muse, smoothing the fabric of your dress.

"Point taken," Emily raises her hands in defense. "Although I know someone who is going to run out of breath after seeing you."

You let out a scoff. It's not a surprise for you. The BAU girls - boss included - have been trying to set you up with Spencer since forever. You don't entertain the idea only because you don't think it's possible and not because you don't like the concept.

"Come on, don't say that. You are not helping to my nerves."

"Sorry, I'll shut up. We should go, though," Emily says, checking her watch.

One of the SUVs drives you to the van parking point. You needed to review the operation details.

At the back of the van - or commander point - JJ, Luke, Tara, Rossi, Matt, and Spencer see you come up with Emily.

For the best US profilers, they're not doing a good job hiding that they are gawking at you. Surely, no one imagined seeing you in such a revealing outfit. Outfit that, without a doubt, suits you extremely well, highlighting all your body attributes.

Spencer feels like he died and was resurrected after seeing you.

"Okay, guys, we need to check the details again," Emily announces.

The plan is in motion, and everyone is in position.

As expected, you arrive with Rossi at the club, who opens the door for you and helps you descend from the car. Rossi gives you a reassuring smile before letting you go.

Like a switch, you are no longer the shy SSA (Y/L/N). Now you are the woman who is going to take what she wants and attract the unsub attention doing that.

Your walk is determined, and your eyes send out flames of confidence to those who look at you. The music is very loud, something that would usually bother you, but not now. This needs to feel like your environment. That's how you like it, you tell yourself.

Almost instantly, you start to attract the looks of men who are eager for a woman like you.

You exude determination, and you don't go unnoticed.

Walking into the club, you make brief eye contact with Luke, who is on the dance floor. You see Spencer perched in a booth, nursing a beer.

At the same time, Tara is stationed at the bar.

"Remember (Y/N); the unsub expects the woman to approach men. The flirt needs to come from you," Emily reminds you by the earpiece hidden in one of the earrings you're wearing.

"Show time," you mumble to yourself.

You walk seductively to the dance floor, where a young man is dancing with a blonde. You approach and whisper something in his ear. That makes the boy completely lose interest in the blonde and start dancing with you. You smile and cling to the man's body, who wastes no time and takes your hips as if they were his possessions.

That dance certainly has nothing innocent about it. You continue whispering things in the boy's ear, and he looks more and more excited. Once you consider it a reasonable amount of time to have attracted attention, you leave the boy alone and head to the bar. Just a few meters away from Tara, a suspicious man is staring at you. You see him out of the corner of your eye as you order a drink. When the bartender passes it to you, you make subtle eye contact with Tara, who nods, indicating that the drink is clean.

You look next to you and see another man not so subtly looking at you. You know the unsub's profile, and you can't be intimidated or dominated by another man. You are the one who calls the shots. Otherwise, this will not work.

Before the man makes his attempt to seduce you, you turn to him, and with a penetrating look and disdainful voice, you stop him.

"Sorry, honey. Don't waste your time. You're not my type," and with that, you leave to move to the opposite side of the club. The guy huffs, and you're almost sure hearing him call you 'bitch' under his breath.

JJ, who's following the cameras inside the club, sees someone who looks suspect.

"Hey, this guy has been peeking at (Y/N) the entire time, and look, he clenched his fists when (Y/N) turned down that guy at the bar."

Emily confirms JJ's observation before giving you the next instructions.

"(Y/N), you're doing great. We have a possible target. So we need to raise the bet."

You know exactly what Emily means. You both had talked about the strategy to follow, having more details about what you should do than the rest of the team.

Matt and JJ look confused at each other but say nothing.

Your next step is to find another dude to seduce before delivering the coup de grace.

Luke and Spencer keep an eye on you. And while Luke is pleasantly surprised by your audacity, Spencer can't help but feel his stomach tighten. He tells himself it's because he is afraid something bad could happen to you, but inside of him, it's that and the fact of seeing you flirt with other men.

Just like you did with the guy on the dance floor, you attract the attention of another man; this time, you take his hand and pull him to the dance floor.

JJ and Matt's jaws drop to the floor. If Tara, Luke, and Spencer could do the same without giving themselves away, they would have done it, too.

As if it were your second nature, you laugh and move to the music. The man seems to enjoy the moment so much that he takes a bold step by leaning in to kiss you. You let him get closer until his lips are almost on yours. But before touching each other, you pull back with a malicious smile.

"Naughty boy. I'm who says if you can kiss or no," you pout, faking disappointment. Dizzed, the guy cocks his head and sees you walk away.

Matt chirps now. "It's him. Look boss," he tells Prentiss, pointing to the same guy JJ saw before.

There is no longer any doubt that it is him. Now you just have to catch him red-handed.

"(Y/N), we got him. It's time for the last play," Emily tells you.

With Emily's instruction, you go to the bar for another drink before heading over to where Spencer is sitting.

He tries to play it off, but he has no idea why you're approaching him.

"Is this seat taken, handsome?" You ask, with your drink in hand.

"N- no. Please," Spencer gestures to the booth on his front, but you opt to perch to his side. Spencer thinks he never has been this close to you. He looks at your eyes, and it's like you are a totally different person. It's a little bit contradictory for him, to be honest. He already likes you just as you are, but this version of you? It's driving him insane.

Some resemblance of your true self looks with a kind of curiosity the nervousness on Spencer. You don't think much about it; you assume he's playing the nervous guy who is baffled by you.

The thing is, Spencer isn't playing. He's definitely baffled by you.

"Are you okay?" You ask him, masking your question with a seductive smile.

"Yeah. Are - are you?" Spencer stutters a bit—something that is perfect for the plan but embarrassing for him.

You get closer to him to speak in his ear.

"This was Emily's idea," you tell him before kissing his ear and gently biting his lobe.

Spencer's breath hitches in his throat, and he thinks he's going to pass out any second. You're not doing it better: your heart is also pumping hard from the adrenaline. Of course, you had imagined something like that with Spencer, but only in your erotic dreams. You wouldn't dare do this on any given day.

You keep teasing Spencer, who, despite the nervousness, tries to play along. If this is the closest he will ever have you, he wants to engrave this in his memory.

"Just a little push, (Y/N). We almost have him," Emily instructs by the earpiece.

You swallow as subtly as possible as you wrap your arm around Spencer's neck, pulling him closer to you.

It's only a second between that action and the fact that you're kissing Spencer like it's your last meal.

Spencer doesn't know how to respond, and you were counting on that; it was enough time for the unsub to notice that you were the one who chose her last prey.

When Spencer is about to reciprocate the kiss, you murmur a 'sorry' into his lips and quickly pull away, giving him a disdainful look—which you hope he understands is fake—before getting up and walking toward the back exit door.

As expected, the unsub follows you towards the back door, and while your back is turned, he believes he has the advantage to attack you. What he doesn't know is that Matt and Luke are ready to lunge at him the moment he tries to touch you.

Everything that happens after is too fast.

The unsub is detained and taken to a patrol car while the team gathers around you, congratulating you on the successful operation. They all apologize to you for their previous apprehensions. You tell them that you understand and that there is no need to apologize. And it's like the switch has been flipped again since you came out of the femme fatale role.

But something is wrong. Spencer is not in the group. You see him a little further away, near the exit door of the club. Emily notices the looks between you both, and she sends the team on different tasks to close the case, leaving you and Spencer there.

There's something in his eyes that you can't decipher. You think it's resentment for using him without warning him what you were going to do.

You shyly approach him.

"It's me again," you tell him, pulling a face. You don't know what to say to make the situation better. Spencer nods.

"Yeah. You did it great, by the way," he compliments you. But it doesn't feel good like Spencer's compliments usually do.

"Look, about the kiss back there-" you start. He needs an explanation as a bare minimum.

"I know. It was fake," Spencer cuts you off.

Those words shouldn't hurt you as they do now. But isn't that the most reasonable thing to believe? The you in the club weren't you, so all you did inside was pretend.

Everything except that kiss.

If it's true you couldn't enjoy it the way you would have liked, you will never forget his lips on yours.

A tense silence takes over the moment. This is not okay.

You can't afford to lie to one of the most important people in your life, even if telling the truth takes you out of your comfort zone.

What the hell! Tonight has already been a total of 180 from a usual day for you.

"It wasn't," you mumble, and you see his eyes flicking to yours in a second.

"What?" Spencer asks, narrowing his eyes at you.

"Everything was fake, but not the kiss," you say with a stadied voice this time.

Spencer's heart races again. If you say you didn't fake it, then what he felt on your part at that moment was real?

"It wasn't fake?" He asks for clarification. You nod.

A smirk forms on Spencer's lips, seeing your cheeks redden.

There you are. The girl he had fallen for in the past two years.

"Well, you know that I am a man of science, right?" he tells you, and you frown because you have no idea where this is going.

"I know," you say with some hesitation.

"And as a man of science, I need evidence of things, you know?"

Now, you are the one who smirks at him.

"Evidence, huh?"

"Yep," he says, emphasizing the 'p' and swaying his body on his feet. You hum.

"I believe I can provide the necessary evidence if you need them," you concede, and Spencer's eyes sparkle with excitement.

Now, he is the one who reaches out and cups your cheeks. Your breathing quickens, but that doesn't stop you from standing on your tiptoes and connecting your lips with his.

This time, there is no unsub, no curious eyes are looking at you, there is no rush, there is no femme fatale role, and above all, this is not fake; it's as real as the fact that your heart beats for him, and his for you.

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Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity @levi-of-starz @themoonchildwhofell @silver138 @lovelybaka @shinytinywhispers 

[mcrdvcks]

Until I Found You

Summary: Living in a small town had it's pluses and minuses. But when an older man and his daughter move in, things start to change, perhaps for the better.

Word Count: 24.3k+

Pairing: Logan (X-Men) x fem!teacher!reader

Notes: this is looong, and believe me, i was surprised when i realized that it ended up being 24,000 words.

this thing is a slow-burn, i was literally screaming at my screen saying 'just kiss already!' then realizing that, in fact, i'm the one who has to make them kiss or confess or do something.

reader has a last name, but other than that, she isn't described. this technically could be considered an AU of logan (2017) where logan survives, so this was written with old man logan in mind.

i would like to turn this into another oneshot series, so don't be afraid to send in any requests! (relating to this or anything else you want to see!)

warnings: none!

The small town you lived in meant a few things, everyone knew everyone, and everyone got in everyone’s business.

A few months ago, an older man and his young daughter moved into town. You weren’t sure exactly how old he was, of course you knew who he was, but even you had to admit, he was attractive. But that’s what everyone thought, you heard the mothers who would pick up their children from school, looking at Logan as he picked up Laura.

It was nice to see a man who picked up his kid, though you’ve never seen Laura’s mother, so perhaps that explains why.

Laura was a quiet and sweet girl, at least that’s what you thought. Apparently, she also had the spirit of a firecracker and got angry easily. And while she’s visited the principal’s office at least 9 times since she’s been here, you still can’t help but see her as a cute little girl who’s been through something traumatic, whatever it was.

You were standing outside with your class in the afternoon, waiting until all the students were picked up. Laura was in another teacher’s class at the end of the day, your coworker Emma Zhou. You and Emma stood next to each other, your classes mingling as they waited for their parents to pick them up.

Emma leaned close to you, “this is my favorite part of the day, you know.”

“Yeah, I think it’s everyone’s favorite part of the day. We get to go home after this.” You replied.

“It used to be that, but now…” Emma trailed off as you glanced over at her, “there aren’t a lot of people in this town who are good looking. But he’s a great new addition.”

You hummed noncommittally, so what if Logan was good-looking? It wasn't like you spent your time ogling him. He was just another parent in the sea of them, a bit rougher around the edges maybe, but nothing that special. Emma shot you a knowing look.

"Come on, you’ve seen him, right? That scruffy beard, those eyes," Emma said, nudging you with her elbow. "He’s like one of those rugged cowboys from the old Westerns."

"You sound like you're about to swoon," you teased, trying to keep the conversation light. You didn't want to admit you might have noticed the way his eyes softened when he looked at Laura or the way he seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"Well, can you blame me?" Emma shot back with a grin. "Small town like ours, and a guy like that shows up? It's bound to turn some heads."

You knew that much. All the women, even those who were married, always ogled him, but he either didn’t mind or didn’t care. His salt and pepper hair, the thick beard—he was practically a wet dream for women everywhere.

Emma nudged you again, eyes gleaming with mischief. "What, you’re not even the least bit curious about him?"

"I mean, sure, he's... attractive, but I'm not about to join the fan club," you said, shrugging it off, though you could feel heat creeping up your neck. You kept your focus on the kids in front of you, especially Laura, who sat quietly on the steps, doodling in her notebook like she always did while waiting for her dad.

Emma smirked, clearly not buying your indifference. "Yeah, right. I see the way you look over there sometimes."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "You're seeing things."

Just then, you noticed Logan’s truck pull into the school parking lot. He stepped out, running a hand through his hair as he made his way over to the crowd of parents. Laura immediately perked up, her quiet demeanor shifting just a little, and she started gathering her things without a word.

"Speak of the devil," Emma murmured, but you ignored her, watching as Logan approached, his usual scowl in place, though it softened when his eyes landed on his daughter.

He gave a brief nod in your direction as he came closer. "Afternoon."

"Hey," you replied, casually. You weren’t about to give Emma the satisfaction of seeing you flustered.

Laura stood up, slinging her backpack over her shoulder as she walked over to him. She paused in front of you, though, glancing up with those big, serious eyes of hers.

"Bye, Ms. Aberra," she said, her voice quiet but steady with a hint of her accent.

You smiled. "See you tomorrow, Laura."

She gave a small nod before taking Logan’s hand. He didn’t say much else, just a simple ‘thanks’ before turning to leave with Laura in tow. You watched them walk away for a moment longer than necessary, noticing the slight limp in his step that he tried to hide.

"Y/N," Emma sing-songed, breaking you out of your thoughts. "Admit it, you’ve got a little thing for him, don't you?"

You rolled your eyes. "You really need a new hobby."

Emma laughed, but before she could press any further, her attention shifted to another parent picking up their kid, and you were grateful for the distraction. Still, you couldn’t help but wonder about Logan and Laura, what their story was. Everyone in town seemed to have their theories—some more ridiculous than others—but you’d always figured it wasn’t your place to pry.

As the crowd of students and parents thinned out, you found yourself thinking about Logan again. His gruff exterior didn’t bother you—it reminded you of those old Clint Eastwood characters, tough but with something vulnerable underneath. Maybe it was the way he looked at Laura, so protective but with a softness that made you wonder what kind of man he really was when he let his guard down.

Emma’s voice pulled you back to the present. "So, what’s your plan for the evening?"

You shrugged. "Probably just grading papers. Maybe catching up on some Netflix. You?"

"Trying to figure out how to run into Logan at the grocery store," she joked, though you wouldn’t have been surprised if she wasn’t kidding.

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Good luck with that."

As you both said your goodbyes and headed to your cars, you couldn’t help but glance over at Logan’s truck one more time. He was already driving off, Laura in the passenger seat, her head leaning against the window.

You let out a small sigh and got in your car, starting the engine. You weren’t sure what it was about him, but there was something there. Maybe Emma wasn’t entirely wrong.

Not that you’d ever admit that to her.

---

Much to your dismay, you had to go to the store once you were already clad in your loungewear. You wanted to make pasta, only to remember you forgot to get milk after work.

So now, here you were at the small local grocery store grabbing milk and a pint of ice cream for your troubles. The store was quiet at this hour, a few other people milling about but otherwise uneventful. You grabbed a basket and made a beeline for the dairy section, trying to get in and out as quickly as possible. Loungewear was great for a lazy evening at home, but not exactly your first choice for public appearances.

Once you made it to the frozen section, you looked at the pints of ice cream, specifically looking for one of your favorites, Ben and Jerry’s s’mores. “Fuck.” You muttered, seeing a pint of cookie dough in the spot of the s’mores.

You angrily grabbed the cookie dough ice cream to look behind it, only to find a chunky monkey pint. With a huff, you looked at the pint of ice cream, mentally cursing your luck. Just as you were about to put it back onto the shelf, a deep voice spoke from beside you.

"Didn't figure you for a chunky monkey type."

Startled, you looked up and found Logan standing there, one eyebrow raised, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He was holding a six-pack of beer and a carton of eggs in one hand, the other casually resting in the pocket of his jeans.

You blinked, thrown off by the sudden appearance. "What? Oh, no, I was just... I was looking for s'mores," you explained awkwardly, holding up the ice cream like it was evidence.

He nodded, his smirk deepening a little as he glanced at the shelves. "Guess they’re out, huh?"

"Yeah, my luck tonight," you muttered, a little embarrassed to be caught standing here obsessing over ice cream in your loungewear. Not exactly how you wanted to run into the guy you were definitely not crushing on. How could you? He was the Wolverine, around 200 years old, and looked to be the age of your father. Well, if your father was still alive. Or if you ever got to know him.

Logan glanced at the shelf again and shrugged. "S'mores is overrated anyway."

You quirked an eyebrow at him, momentarily forgetting your embarrassment. "Oh really? What’s your go-to then, Mr. Anti-S'mores?"

He smirked, that same low, gravelly voice coming through as he responded. "Not much of an ice cream guy, but if I had to choose… probably plain vanilla. Simple. Not too sweet."

You couldn't help the chuckle that escaped you. "Of course you'd go for the most basic flavor."

His eyebrow twitched slightly at that, and you could see the playful glint in his eyes. "Sometimes simple’s the best option."

You rolled your eyes, grabbing a pint of vanilla. "Well, I guess I'll take your advice tonight, then. Not like I have much of a choice."

He gave you a brief nod, and for a moment, it seemed like the conversation would end there, but then Logan shifted slightly, his weight on one leg, clearly trying to mask the limp you'd noticed earlier. You weren’t sure if it was from the adamantium or something else, but it definitely wasn’t healing like it should. You found yourself biting your lip, wanting to ask but knowing better.

Instead, you went for something safer. "Laura’s doing well in class, by the way. She’s sharp. A little stubborn, but sharp."

He glanced down at you, a flicker of pride crossing his face. "Yeah, she’s a tough one." His expression softened as he added, "She doesn’t talk about it, but I know she likes you. Keeps her distance with most people."

Your heart fluttered a little at that. Laura was a bit of a mystery, rarely engaging much with the other teachers or students, so hearing that she’d let her guard down even a little with you meant more than you’d expected. "Well, she’s a good kid. I try not to push her too much."

Logan nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than you expected, like he was sizing you up in that quiet, brooding way of his. It made you feel both exposed and… oddly seen.

"Anyway," you said, breaking the silence, "I’ll let you get back to your shopping. I’m sure you’ve got more important things to do than stand around talking about ice cream."

He gave a small grunt that might’ve been a laugh, but it was so subtle you couldn’t be sure. "Yeah. See you around, Ms. Aberra."

"Y/N," you corrected, feeling a little awkward. "You can just call me Y/N."

He hesitated for a split second before nodding. "Y/N, then."

You gave him a small smile, feeling a strange warmth at the way your name sounded in his deep voice. He gave a nod before turning to leave, but as he walked away, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at his retreating form. There was something about him—something rough, broken, but undeniably captivating.

---

The next morning, you pulled into the school parking lot, iced coffee in hand, still replaying your chance encounter with Logan at the grocery store. Why did it have to be the one night you went out in loungewear? If Emma ever found out, you'd never hear the end of it. You mentally braced yourself as you walked toward the building, determined to shake off any lingering thoughts about last night.

As you entered the teacher's lounge to drop off your things, Emma was already there, nursing her own cup of coffee. She spotted you immediately and raised an eyebrow.

"You look a little too chipper for a Wednesday," she teased.

You shrugged, trying to act casual. "Just happy to be halfway through the week."

"Uh-huh," she said, not quite convinced. "You didn't run into anyone interesting last night, did you?"

Your heart skipped a beat. How does she know?

"Like who?" you asked, trying to play dumb, but Emma's smirk told you she wasn't buying it.

"Oh, I don’t know... maybe a certain rugged cowboy-looking guy with a truck?" she said, her grin widening.

You groaned. "Seriously, do you have a sixth sense or something?"

"I knew it!" Emma practically squealed. "You did run into Logan, didn’t you? Come on, spill!"

You rolled your eyes and took a seat at the table. "It was nothing. We just ran into each other in the frozen section, talked for, like, two seconds. That’s it."

"Uh-huh, and?" Emma leaned forward, eager for details.

"And nothing. We talked about ice cream. He said s'mores was overrated."

Emma let out a dramatic gasp. "Overrated? Now, I know he's not perfect."

You chuckled despite yourself. "Yeah, well, that's the most thrilling part of my story, so feel free to be disappointed."

Emma shook her head, still grinning. "Oh, I'm not disappointed at all. This is just the beginning."

"There's nothing to begin, Emma," you said, exasperated. "He's just another parent."

"Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that," she said with a wink before heading out to her classroom. You couldn't help but roll your eyes again as you followed her out into the hallway.

---

The morning passed uneventfully, but Laura had been quieter than usual in your class. Not that she was typically the most talkative kid, but today she seemed more distant, even from you. She’d finished her assignments early, as usual, but spent most of the class staring out the window instead of doodling in her notebook.

During lunch, you decided to check in with her. You found her sitting by herself outside, picking at the sandwich Logan had packed for her. You approached cautiously, not wanting to startle her.

"Hey, Laura," you greeted, taking a seat on the bench next to her. "Everything okay?"

She glanced at you, her expression as unreadable as always, before giving a slight shrug. "Yeah."

You studied her for a moment, noticing the way she kept her gaze low, avoiding eye contact more than usual. Something was definitely off. You knew better than to push too hard, but you also didn't want her to bottle everything up.

"Well, you know if you ever want to talk, I’m here," you said gently.

She gave another shrug, but this time, her eyes flickered up to meet yours briefly. "I know."

You nodded, letting the silence settle between you. Laura wasn’t one for big emotional outbursts—at least not around you—but you had a feeling she'd talk when she was ready.

"By the way," you said, changing the subject to lighten the mood, "your dad said he don’t like s'mores ice cream. Is that true, or is he just weird?"

Laura looked up at you, her lips twitching slightly like she was trying not to smile. "I like s'mores."

"Thought so," you replied with a smirk. "Well, I’m officially questioning all of your dad's taste now."

Laura didn’t laugh, but her expression softened a little, and she took another bite of her sandwich. It wasn’t much, but it felt like progress. You let her finish eating in peace, feeling a little more at ease knowing that you’d at least gotten her to relax.

---

The afternoon flew by, and soon enough, the end-of-day pickup routine was in full swing. You and Emma stood outside again, watching the usual parade of parents and cars. Logan’s truck was easy to spot as it pulled up to the curb. You tried to act like you weren’t paying attention, but of course, Emma caught you glancing over.

"Still nothing, huh?" she teased under her breath.

"Shut up," you muttered, doing your best to seem disinterested.

Logan stepped out of the truck, his usual stoic expression in place as he made his way toward the school. Laura was already waiting, standing near the steps with her backpack slung over her shoulder. She saw him and walked over without hesitation, but before they left, she turned back to you.

"Bye, Ms. Aberra," she said, her voice a little softer than usual.

"See you tomorrow, Laura," you replied with a smile.

Logan gave you a nod as they walked past, and you couldn’t help but notice the slight limp in his step again. It was subtle, but there. Your curiosity piqued, but you pushed it down, reminding yourself it wasn’t your place to pry.

Emma, however, was still watching you closely. "You’re so not fooling anyone."

You shot her a look. "Seriously, get a hobby."

Emma just grinned, clearly enjoying this way too much. "Oh, this is my hobby, Y/N. And I’m going to enjoy every minute of it."

As you both stood there, watching the last of the kids get picked up, you couldn’t help but glance over at Logan’s truck one more time as it drove away. Emma’s teasing was getting on your nerves, but there was a part of you that couldn’t completely dismiss what she was saying.

Maybe you were a little curious. Just a little. But you weren’t about to admit that to anyone—not even yourself.

---

Over the weekend you decided it was time to get an oil change. You weren’t going to go to ‘Mavin’s Oil Change’, not after that happened. Which is why for the past few years you’ve been doing it yourself.

It wasn’t difficult, and it was a lot cheaper, both wins in your book.

You walked around the hardware store, glancing at the shelves as you carried a new oil drain pan. You paused in front of the rows of motor oil, scanning the labels. Conventional had always worked fine for you, but maybe this time you'd splurge on the synthetic blend. It wasn't a huge decision, but it felt like a small act of treating yourself, in a way.

You were debating the pros and cons of the oil options when you heard the sound of someone walking up behind you.

"Didn’t peg you for the kind to do your own oil changes."

You turned your head and were met with Logan’s familiar gravelly voice. There he was again—of all places, he’d found you here in the auto section of the hardware store.

"Yeah, well, it's cheaper this way," you replied with a casual shrug, hoping to mask the slight surprise in your voice. You gestured to the oil in front of you. "What about you? Conventional or synthetic blend?"

Logan glanced at the shelf, then back at you. "Conventional. Gets the job done."

"Figures." You grinned a little, grabbing the conventional oil off the shelf. "Guess I’ll stick with what I know too, then."

He raised an eyebrow at you, but there was a hint of amusement behind his usual stoic demeanor. "Figured you’d be one to overthink it. Synthetic’s not all it’s cracked up to be."

You chuckled. "I’ll take your word for it, Mr. Oil Expert."

He grunted in response, grabbing something off the shelf for himself. For a moment, you both stood there, surrounded by tools and motor oil, neither of you saying much. It was kind of nice—quiet, comfortable in a way you wouldn’t have expected.

You shifted, holding the oil pan in your hands. "So, is Laura doing anything fun this weekend?"

Logan glanced at you, his face softening slightly at the mention of his daughter. "Not much. She likes to keep busy, but… this town ain’t exactly got a lot going on."

"True," you nodded, biting your lip as you tried to think of something. "She could come by and help me out with my garden, if she’s interested. I know she likes plants."

Logan looked at you, a little longer than usual, and you wondered if you’d crossed some kind of line offering something so personal. But then he nodded. "She’d probably like that."

"Cool," you said, feeling oddly relieved that you hadn’t messed up. "Let me know if she wants to. I could use an extra set of hands."

He gave a small nod, but his eyes lingered on you again for a second before he turned his attention back to the shelf. There was that same weight to his gaze, like he was always sizing things up, figuring people out.

"You know," you said, breaking the silence, "I’m starting to think you’re stalking me. First the grocery store, now here. Should I be worried?"

Logan snorted, shaking his head. "Pretty sure it’s the other way around."

You raised an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. "Excuse me? If anything, I’m just a simple schoolteacher who likes ice cream and doing her own oil changes. Hardly the stalking type."

"Sure," he replied, the corner of his mouth twitching just slightly into what could almost be considered a smile.

You felt your own lips tugging into a grin, and for a moment, it felt easier. Logan wasn’t always the easiest person to talk to, but something about these small, random moments with him made you feel more at ease than you expected.

"Well, good luck with your oil change," he said, turning to head down another aisle. "Maybe see you around."

"Yeah, see you around," you replied, watching him walk away before you continued shopping, a strange warmth lingering in your chest.

As you walked toward the checkout, you couldn’t help but think back on how natural it felt, just talking to him. There wasn’t any awkwardness or forced conversation—just two people running into each other at the hardware store. Nothing to overthink. Except, maybe, the fact that you were starting to like these encounters more than you’d like to admit.

---

Logan blew out a breath of his cigar smoke. Laura said she didn’t like it when he smoked inside so he started doing it outside on the porch.

A small added bonus was seeing you, a few houses down, across the street, currently underneath your car getting the oil to drain.

The door opened and shut behind him as Laura stepped out, “ella te gusta,” she said softly.

He let out a huff, “kid, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, but I don’t know Spanish.”

Laura let out her own huff, sitting down next to Logan’s chair with her sketchbook, flipping it open. She didn’t say anything for a while, just started sketching in that intense, quiet way she had. Logan leaned back, puffing on his cigar, watching the smoke curl up into the air.

He caught himself glancing back across the street, where you were still working under your car. Laura's earlier comment lingered in his mind, even if he pretended not to know what it meant.

After a few minutes of silence, Laura looked up from her drawing. “You should go help her.”

Logan snorted, taking another puff of his cigar. “She’s fine. Knows what she’s doin’.”

Laura raised an eyebrow at him, her expression skeptical. “You’re always saying people shouldn’t be doin’ stuff like that alone. What if something happens?”

“Yeah, but she’s not helpless,” he grunted, though there was something in his tone that sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than her.

Laura shrugged and went back to her sketch. “Still think you should.”

Logan glanced at her, then back at you. You were sliding out from under the car, wiping your hands on your jeans, looking like you’d handled it just fine. He grunted again, though this time it was more to himself.

“What are you drawing?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

Laura held up her sketchbook, showing him a detailed drawing of a plant—a vine with thorns twisting around a branch. It reminded him of your garden, something about the way the plants seemed to grow wild but still had a certain beauty to them.

“That for Ms. Aberra?” Logan asked, the name slipping out before he could stop it. He tried to keep his tone casual, but Laura shot him a knowing look.

“Maybe.” She shrugged, but there was a smirk playing on her lips. “She likes plants. Thought she’d like this.”

Logan just nodded, staying quiet. He wasn’t about to get into a conversation with an eleven-year-old about why he’d noticed things about your garden or how you seemed to have a way with plants. That wasn’t his style.

“Why don’t you go show her?” Logan suggested, nodding toward you as you gathered up your tools.

Laura seemed to think about it for a second, then shook her head. “Maybe later. She’s busy.”

Logan raised an eyebrow at her but didn’t push it. He knew better than to try and make Laura do something if she wasn’t in the mood. The kid had a stubborn streak a mile wide. Though he supposes it was his fault.

A teenage girl who was walking a dog, a tan pit bull, stopped in front of your driveway, the dog happily wagging its tail as it patiently waited for you to say hello.

You were still wiping the oil off your hands when you noticed the pair. "Hey, there.” You smiled as you crouched down to greet Juno, who leaned eagerly into your hand, her tail wagging excitedly. "How are you, Juno?" you cooed, giving the pit bull a good scratch behind the ears.

The teenage girl holding the leash smiled politely. “She’s been dying to see you again,” she said, giving the leash a little slack so the dog could get closer.

"Well, I’m always happy to see her." You grinned as the dog nudged your leg, clearly wanting more attention. "Been a busy evening?”

The girl shrugged. “Yeah, but Juno here makes it better. You know how it is.”

You nodded. "Definitely. Plants are my version of Juno. Or baking, it’s hard to decide.”

The girl chuckled lightly before glancing at the car behind you. “Doing your own oil change?”

"Yep," you said, standing up and wiping your hands again on the rag. "Easier and cheaper than going to a shop."

She raised an eyebrow. "Impressive. I wouldn’t even know where to start."

“You’d be surprised how easy it is. YouTube tutorials, mostly,” you said, shrugging as you wiped your hands on the rag.

The girl smiled. "I might have to try that next time. If I don’t mess up my car in the process.”

You laughed. "That’s what the tutorials are for. But yeah, it’s not too bad. You’d get the hang of it."

As you chatted with the girl for a bit longer, Juno continued to happily soak up the attention. You scratched behind her ears one more time before standing up straight. “Well, good luck with the rest of your walk. Always nice seeing you two.”

“Same here,” the girl replied, tugging gently on Juno’s leash. “C’mon, girl. Let’s get home.”

You waved as they continued down the street, Juno looking back at you with her tail wagging. With a satisfied sigh, you turned back to finish cleaning up, putting away the oil pan and bottles of motor oil.

Across the street, Logan puffed his cigar, watching as you gathered your tools and wiped your hands one more time. Laura had gone back to her sketching, though every now and then she’d glance up at him with that same look.

“She’s done now,” Laura said after a moment, still sketching.

“I can see that,” Logan grumbled, tapping ash off the end of his cigar.

“Still think you should go help,” she added, not even bothering to look up this time.

Logan huffed, staring at you as you double-checked your work and began packing up. He didn’t need to help—you were obviously handling everything just fine. But still, there was something about the way you worked so methodically, so determined. You’d done it all yourself, like you didn’t need anyone’s help. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling, though, that maybe he wanted to offer it anyway.

“Kid, you sure know how to push buttons,” he muttered under his breath.

Laura just smirked, flipping another page in her sketchbook.

Logan grumbled to himself for a moment longer before standing up from his chair, tapping out the last of his cigar in the ashtray. “Stay here.”

He walked across the street toward your driveway, hands in his jacket pockets, his eyes set on you as you knelt by the toolbox, sorting through the remaining tools.

“You done already?” he called out, making his presence known.

You glanced up, not expecting to see him again so soon. “Yeah, just finished up,” you replied, standing up and wiping your hands on the rag again. “What about you? Something break down?”

“Nah, just figured I’d see if you needed any help,” he said, his tone casual, though you could tell it wasn’t exactly his style to offer assistance without a reason.

You raised an eyebrow, smiling a little. “You offering to help after the job’s already done?”

"Guess I am," Logan replied with a hint of a smirk, his eyes not quite meeting yours.

You couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, it's the thought that counts, I suppose. Next time, I’ll be sure to save the hardest part for you."

"Yeah, you do that," he said, his voice gruff but not unfriendly. He shifted his weight slightly, glancing over at the now-finished oil change. "You do this kind of thing often? Or just the oil changes?"

"Mostly just the oil changes," you admitted, as you leaned in closer like you were telling a secret. “I went on a few dates with Mavin’s son the first few months I was here and didn’t go over well. Now he overcharges me.” You held up your hands, “but if it’s something complicated, I promise I drive 30 minutes to the city to get it checked out.”

Logan's eyes flickered with interest, the corners of his mouth twitching into something resembling a smile. "That right? Well, can't say I'm surprised. Mavin's a bit of a jerk."

You chuckled softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Yeah, he wasn't thrilled about me ghosting his son, that's for sure. But hey, I learned how to change my own oil, so I guess something good came out of it."

Logan grunted in agreement, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He didn't say much after that, his eyes lingering on you as if he were trying to piece together something that didn't quite fit. You had a feeling he wasn't used to people like you—people who seemed to find their way into his life, one way or another.

"Well," you said, breaking the silence, "thanks for the offer, even if the job’s already done." You smiled, a little uncertain about what to do next. "Guess I'll see you around."

He nodded, but didn't make a move to leave. "Laura likes you, you know."

That caught you off guard. "Oh," you replied, a bit flustered. "Well, I like her too. She's a good kid. Smart, but... you already know that."

"Yeah," Logan muttered, his voice softer than usual. "She doesn’t open up to many people. But you... you’re different."

You weren't sure how to respond to that, so you just nodded, feeling an unexpected warmth spread through your chest. "I’m glad she feels comfortable around me. She’s been through a lot."

Logan's eyes darkened slightly, a shadow passing over his features. "More than most," he agreed, his voice rough with something that sounded a lot like guilt.

You wanted to reach out, to say something that might make him feel better, but words failed you. So instead, you just stood there, the silence stretching between you, not awkward but charged with something unspoken.

"Anyway," Logan said, clearing his throat as if to shake off the heavy moment. "If you ever need help with the car, you know where to find me. Or Laura."

You smiled, feeling that warmth again. "I’ll keep that in mind. And if you two ever need help with, I don’t know, math homework or... anything else, you know where to find me."

He nodded, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Noted."

You watched as he turned to leave, feeling a strange mix of relief and disappointment. As he walked back toward his house, you couldn't help but feel that maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something more than just friendly encounters at the store.

---

During lunch, you sat in your classroom, enjoying 30 minutes of peace and quiet before the kids came back into the room. The soft hum of the heater filled the space, making the room feel warmer than usual as you flipped through the stack of quizzes you needed to grade. The formulas and diagrams were a blur as your mind drifted back to the weekend, specifically to Logan.

The way he’d offered to help with your oil change, the quiet moments that had followed—it was so unlike him. Or maybe, you realized, you just didn’t know him well enough yet. Either way, something about it had left you feeling... something.

A soft knock on the doorframe pulled you from your thoughts. You looked up to see Emma standing in the doorway, that cheeky grin on her face.

“So,” she started, stepping inside your classroom. “I hear you’re making friends with a certain someone across the street.”

You rolled your eyes, setting down the quiz you’d been half-grading. “I’m not ‘making friends.’ We just happen to run into each other.”

Emma raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Mhm. Sure. Totally normal for him to come help with your oil change, right?”

"My God, how do you know?" you asked, eyes widening in disbelief as you sat back in your chair.

Emma smirked, leaning against the doorway like she had all the time in the world. "Small town. You know how people talk." She paused, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Besides, you’re not exactly subtle. Logan? The gruff guy across the street? It’s hard to miss that you two have been... running into each other more than usual."

You sighed, rubbing your temple. "It’s not like that. He just offered to help with my car, and Laura—"

Emma’s grin widened. "Ah, Laura. That’s the key, isn’t it? I’ve seen how she looks at you. That kid doesn’t warm up to just anyone. She’s a little... prickly, but with you? She’s different."

"She’s a good kid," you said, trying to deflect. "She’s been through a lot, you know? I just think she needs someone to talk to. Someone who’s not... intimidating."

"Sure, sure," Emma teased, walking further into the room and sitting on the edge of one of the desks. "But you can’t tell me there isn’t something more going on between you and Logan. I mean, come on. He doesn’t exactly strike me as the ‘friendly neighbor’ type. More like ‘leave me alone or I’ll stab you with my claws’ type."

You chuckled despite yourself. "Okay, yeah, he’s not exactly Mr. Rogers. But it’s not like we’re... you know, it’s just—"

"Flirting?" Emma offered with a raised eyebrow.

"Friendly," you corrected quickly, though the warmth in your cheeks betrayed you. "It’s just friendly. He’s Laura’s dad, and we’ve talked a few times, but that’s it."

Emma gave you a knowing look. "Uh-huh. Sure. And I’m the Queen of England."

You groaned, pushing your quizzes aside. "Why are you so obsessed with this?"

"Because," Emma said with a shrug, "it’s about time you had a little fun in this town. You spend all your time either at school or working on that garden of yours. You deserve to have a life outside of grading papers and pulling weeds."

"I have a life," you protested.

Emma raised an eyebrow. "Really? And when was the last time you went on a date?"

You opened your mouth to reply, but quickly closed it, realizing you didn’t have a good answer. "Okay, fine," you admitted, "it’s been a while. But that doesn’t mean—"

"Exactly my point," Emma interrupted, flashing a triumphant grin. "Look, I’m not saying you have to marry the guy. But Logan? He’s clearly interested. And I think you are too."

"Okay… even if I was interested, I’m pretty sure a guy like that doesn’t have dating or relationships on his mind. Especially with someone like me." You leaned back in your chair, feeling a mix of frustration and doubt.

Emma gave you a skeptical look, shaking her head. "Someone like you? Come on, Y/N. Don’t sell yourself short. You’re smart, funny, and clearly, Logan thinks you’re worth his time. He’s not just helping anyone with an oil change, believe me."

You sighed, crossing your arms. "It’s not that simple. You know what he’s been through. And Laura... she’s been through so much already. I’m not about to mess with their lives."

Emma smirked, tapping her fingers on the desk. "Mess with their lives? Or make their lives better? Laura clearly likes you, Y/N. She’s practically glued to your side when you’re around. And Logan? He’s different with you. I see it."

You frowned, picking up a pen and twirling it between your fingers. "Laura’s nice to me, yeah. But that doesn’t mean anything. She’s indifferent to most of the other teachers, and she barely talks in class. I don’t even know if she likes me, or if it’s just... I don’t know."

"She doesn’t warm up to just anyone," Emma pointed out. "You’re different. She looks at you like she trusts you, and Logan trusts you too, whether he shows it or not. That’s not something that happens often with them. They’re... well, guarded, for obvious reasons."

You were quiet for a moment, thinking about Laura. It was true—she was quiet, distant with others, but with you? There was something different. She’d even started staying after class sometimes, just sitting there while you graded papers or prepped for the next lesson. And Logan? He was always nearby, watching, but never intruding.

Still, the idea of anything happening between you and Logan felt... complicated. "Even if he did trust me, it’s not like he’s the type to be thinking about relationships. The man’s got enough on his plate. And me? I’ve got work, and... I’m not exactly relationship material."

Emma laughed, shaking her head. "Please, Y/N. If anyone deserves a chance at something real, it’s you. You’ve spent so long taking care of everyone else—your students, your job. Maybe it’s time to let someone take care of you for a change."

You looked at her, skeptical. "You think Logan is the type to 'take care of' someone?"

She smirked. "He already is. He’s just doing it in his own way. And trust me, the way he looks at you? There’s more there than you realize. You just have to stop overthinking it."

Before you could respond, the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Emma stood up, giving you one last knowing smile before heading for the door. "Just think about it, Y/N. Sometimes, the best things happen when you least expect them."

You watched her go, your mind still swirling with doubt and a tiny sliver of hope. Could there really be something more between you and Logan? Or was it just your imagination?

As your students started filing back into the room, you pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the rest of the day. But even as you taught your lessons and graded papers, Logan lingered in the back of your mind.

---

Later that evening, you found yourself in the garden, pulling weeds and trying to clear your head. The sun was starting to set, casting a warm orange glow over the small town. You liked this time of day—the quiet, the calm.

Just as you were settling into the rhythm of pulling weeds, you heard footsteps behind you. Turning around, you saw Logan standing there, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his expression as unreadable as ever.

"Need any help?" he asked, his gruff voice breaking the silence.

You blinked, caught off guard. "Uh, with the garden? I’m just pulling weeds."

He shrugged, stepping closer. "Doesn’t hurt to have an extra set of hands."

You smiled, feeling a bit awkward but oddly touched by the offer. "Sure, if you’re up for it."

Logan crouched down next to you, pulling at the weeds without saying much. The two of you worked in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being the rustling of plants and the distant hum of traffic.

Eventually, you spoke up, trying to break the tension. "So... Laura’s been doing well in class. She’s quiet, but I think she’s starting to come out of her shell a bit."

Logan glanced at you, a hint of surprise in his eyes. "Yeah? That’s good to hear. She doesn’t talk much at home either."

"She’s a smart kid," you added, pulling another weed. "But I think... she could use someone to talk to. Someone she feels safe with."

Logan was quiet for a moment, then nodded. "She’s been through a lot. Trust doesn’t come easy for her."

You hesitated, then asked, "What about you? Do you feel safe here?"

He looked at you, his expression softening just a little. "Safer than I’ve felt in a long time."

That simple admission hit you harder than you expected. Logan, this gruff, guarded man, was letting his walls down, even just a little. It made your heart ache in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

"That’s good," you said quietly, your eyes meeting his. "I’m glad."

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The quiet between you felt heavy but not uncomfortable. Logan’s presence was grounding, solid in a way that made you feel... safe too.

Finally, he broke the silence. "I appreciate what you’ve done for Laura. She doesn’t trust many people, but with you... it’s different."

You shrugged, trying to downplay it. "I’m just doing my job. She’s a good kid, like I said."

Logan gave a low chuckle, shaking his head. "It’s more than that. She trusts you. And... so do I."

Your breath caught in your throat at his words. There was something unspoken in the air between you, something neither of you was ready to address. But it was there, simmering just below the surface.

"Logan, I—"

Before you could finish, he stood up, brushing the dirt off his hands. "Anyway, I’ll let you get back to it."

You stood up too, feeling the weight of what was left unsaid hanging in the air. "Thanks for the help."

He gave a brief nod, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he turned to leave. "Anytime."

As you watched him walk away, your heart was pounding in your chest. There was no denying it now—there was something between you and Logan. Something real. And it scared you just as much as it excited you.

---

Parent-teacher conferences always stressed you out. Gathering all your students’ information, organizing it all, it was hectic and unreasonable. You couldn’t understand why an email didn’t suffice.

Possibly the worst thing about it is the fact it took place in the school gym, which had no AC. The heat was almost unbearable, making your clothes stick to your skin as you shuffled through your notes, waiting for the next parent to arrive to your table.

The gym was packed, parents and their kids moving between tables as they talked to teachers, making the already stifling room feel even hotter. You fanned yourself with the stack of notes you’d organized earlier, feeling sweat prickle at your back.

You glanced at your list of appointments, sighing when you saw who was next: Logan. You hadn't expected him to come. Laura was doing well enough in your class, but she wasn’t exactly the type to care about grades. You figured Logan would be the same—practical, but not overly concerned about school meetings.

You straightened up, glancing around to see him approaching with Laura by his side. She looked slightly uncomfortable, her arms crossed and her gaze focused anywhere but the gym, while Logan was, well... Logan. His expression was gruff, unreadable as usual, but there was something in his eyes that softened when he saw you.

“Ms. Aberra,” Logan greeted as he reached your table, giving you a nod.

“Logan,” you said, smiling at Laura. “And Laura. How are you two doing?”

Laura shrugged, barely meeting your gaze. Logan pulled out the chair for her, and she reluctantly sat down, still quiet. He stayed standing, leaning on the back of the chair, watching you with that familiar intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” you said lightly, trying to ease the tension. “Laura’s doing fine in class. Really, there’s not much to talk about.”

Logan glanced at Laura, then back at you. “Figured I’d come by anyway. See how things are goin’.”

You nodded, pulling up Laura’s grades on your tablet. “Well, like I said, she’s doing great. She’s one of the best in the class, actually. Quiet, but I can tell she’s always thinking.”

Laura’s face remained impassive, but there was the slightest twitch of a smile at the corner of her lips.

“She’s got potential,” you continued, looking at Logan. “Especially in science. I think she’d be great at anything she wanted to do, honestly.”

Logan grunted in response, but there was a proud glint in his eye. “That’s good to hear.”

Laura finally spoke up, her voice quiet but clear. “I like science. And math.”

You smiled, surprised by her willingness to engage. “Well, you’re really good at it. I was thinking, if you ever wanted, there are some extracurriculars coming up. Science club, math competitions—stuff like that. It might be fun.”

Laura glanced at Logan, who simply shrugged. “Up to you, kid.”

She seemed to think about it for a moment, then nodded slightly. “Maybe.”

“Well, no pressure,” you said, trying to keep it casual. “You can always decide later.”

There was an awkward pause as you flipped through the rest of Laura’s grades, though there wasn’t much else to say. She was excelling, especially considering her background. You couldn’t help but feel a little protective over her, knowing what she’d been through.

“So, uh, anything else you need to know?” you asked, looking back up at Logan.

He shook his head. “Just wanted to check in, make sure she’s on track.”

You smiled, feeling the warmth in his words even if he didn’t show it. “She’s doing great. Really.”

Logan gave you a brief nod, his gaze lingering on you a little longer than necessary before he straightened up. “Thanks.”

You watched as he turned to Laura, ready to leave, but she didn’t stand just yet. Instead, she glanced between the two of you, her brow furrowed slightly like she was piecing something together.

“Are you... friends?” she asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the noise of the gym.

You blinked, taken aback by the question. Logan seemed just as surprised, his eyes widening slightly before he quickly recovered.

“Well,” you said slowly, glancing at Logan for a cue. “I guess you could say that.”

Logan cleared his throat, crossing his arms. “Yeah. Somethin’ like that.”

Laura’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if she didn’t quite believe it but wasn’t going to argue. “Okay.”

She stood up, her chair scraping against the floor as she started toward the exit. Logan hesitated for a moment, giving you one last look before following her. “See you around,” he said, his voice gruff but softer than usual.

You watched them go, feeling that strange mix of emotions again—the warmth, the uncertainty, the possibility of something more. As the door closed behind them, you realized that, for once, you didn’t mind the heat. It was a small town, and people noticed everything. But you were starting to wonder if maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Laura grabbed his hand as they exited the gym, having already seen her other teachers. She looked up at Logan, as he stared straight ahead at the truck in the parking lot. “Creo que ella te gusta.”

He let out a huff, “kid, don’t know how many times I gotta say it, but I don’t know Spanish.”

Laura gave him a sidelong glance, clearly unimpressed by his response. "You should learn," she muttered under her breath, squeezing his hand as they reached the truck.

Logan grunted as he fumbled for the keys, a slight wince crossing his features as he slid into the driver’s seat. He glanced at Laura, who was already buckling herself in without a word. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t quite easy either.

He turned the key in the ignition, the truck sputtering to life as he pulled out of the parking lot. His mind wandered back to the parent-teacher conference, and specifically to Y/N. She’d always been good with Laura, he could see that. But lately, something about her seemed to calm him too—a feeling he wasn’t used to and didn’t quite know how to handle.

“You like her,” Laura said, breaking the silence with her blunt observation. It wasn’t a question.

Logan’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “She’s a good teacher. You like her, too.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Laura said, crossing her arms. “You act different when she’s around. You don’t growl as much.”

Logan let out a low chuckle, though it lacked any real humor. “I don’t growl.”

“Yes, you do,” Laura said, looking out the window. “But not at her.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t. Instead, he focused on the road, trying to push away the thoughts circling in his mind. He wasn’t a man used to... feelings, especially not ones that left him unsure. But Y/N had a way of sneaking under his defenses, and that scared him more than he’d like to admit.

“I like her,” Laura said quietly after a long stretch of silence.

Logan glanced at her, surprised by the soft admission. Laura didn’t trust people easily, and she certainly didn’t like many. But her words carried weight, especially to him.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice softer than usual.

Laura nodded, still looking out the window. “She’s not like the others. She doesn’t treat me like I’m different.”

Logan felt a knot in his chest loosen, though he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the relief of knowing Laura had found someone she trusted, or maybe it was the way Y/N had already become a part of their lives, without him even realizing it. Either way, he didn’t say anything more, just drove the rest of the way home in silence, lost in his own thoughts.

---

The next morning, you thanked the stars that it was Saturday. You were exhausted from the large amount of human interaction last night and decided to sleep in a bit before tending to the garden.

After that, and taking a shower, you slipped into comfortable clothes, some small shorts and a large t-shirt that covered the shorts, since it only getting warmer outside.

Even with that said, you couldn’t help but crave chocolate chip cookies, thanking the stars once again that you had all the ingredients.

You turned on the oven, allowing it to pre-heat, as you grabbed a mixing bowl and walked around your small kitchen looking for the ingredients listed on your worn-out piece of paper. You still hadn’t memorized the recipe after making it for years.

The doorbell ringed as you poked your head out the side of your kitchen. When you answered it, you were pleasantly surprised to find Laura outside, wearing what you could only describe as a cute grey shirt with a colorful bear on it. You’d never say it to her, she’d probably leave if you said she looked cute.

“Hey, Laura. D’you need anything?”

“Daddy said I could help with the garden.” She spoke softly.

“Oof, sorry kiddo. Already did it this morning.” You looked back inside your house before turning back to Laura, “though, I could use some help making cookies.”

Laura hesitated for a second, her dark eyes studying you as if trying to decide whether this was worth her time. You were still getting used to her quiet, guarded nature, but you’d learned quickly that she was different around you compared to other people. It was like you had some sort of unspoken understanding, even if you didn’t fully get why.

“Okay,” she finally said, stepping past you into the house.

You closed the door behind her, walking back into the kitchen and grabbing a second mixing bowl. “You ever make cookies before?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder at her.

Laura shook her head, standing by the counter as she watched you.

“Well, today’s your lucky day. I’m about to show you the magic of sugar, butter, and chocolate chips.” You grinned as you started measuring out the ingredients. “Can you hand me the brown sugar?”

She scanned the countertop before reaching for the brown sugar, silently passing it to you. You got the feeling she wasn’t used to this kind of thing—normal, mundane stuff like baking cookies on a lazy Saturday. Not that you knew her whole story or anything, but you’d heard enough about Logan and his complicated life to guess Laura hadn’t had a typical upbringing.

As you started mixing the butter and sugar together, you tried to think of something to say. Conversations with Laura could be tricky; she wasn’t the chatty type, and you didn’t want to push her too much.

“So,” you started, keeping your tone casual, “what’s Logan up to today?”

She shrugged. “Resting.”

You raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. Logan resting was a good thing. You knew he’d been having a rough time lately with his health, even though he wasn’t the type to admit it. You figured he was just being stubborn, refusing to slow down even though it was clear his healing wasn’t what it used to be.

Laura remained silent, watching as you added the flour to the mix.

“You wanna stir?” you asked, offering her the spatula.

She looked at it for a moment before stepping closer and taking it from you. Her movements were careful, deliberate, and you couldn’t help but smile as she focused on the task.

“Nice job,” you said, giving her a thumbs-up. “You’ve got a future in cookie-making, I can tell.”

Laura didn’t react much, but you swore you saw the tiniest flicker of amusement in her eyes.

As she stirred, you reached for the chocolate chips. “Best part of making cookies—sneaking a few of these before they go in the dough.” You tossed a couple into your mouth, then held the bag out to her.

She paused, looking at the chocolate chips like she wasn’t sure what to do. After a second, she picked one up and ate it, chewing thoughtfully.

You chuckled. “See? Told you it’s the best part.”

Laura kept stirring the dough while you got the baking sheets ready. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, just… quiet. You didn’t mind it, though. Laura wasn’t the type of kid who needed constant conversation, and you appreciated that about her.

As she worked, you glanced at her again, feeling a strange sense of protectiveness. You didn’t know what exactly she’d been through, but whatever it was, you could tell it had shaped her into someone far older than her years.

When the dough was ready, you started scooping it onto the trays. “Almost done,” you said. “Then it’s just a waiting game while they bake.”

Laura nodded, wiping her hands on a dish towel as she watched you.

You slid the trays into the oven and set the timer before turning back to her. “You want some water or anything while we wait?”

She shook her head, her eyes still on the oven like she was trying to figure out why people made such a big deal out of cookies.

“Well, I’m grabbing a drink.” You poured yourself a glass of water, leaning against the counter as you sipped. “It’ll take around 12 minutes for them to finish. Then we put in another batch, and another until the dough has all been used.”

Laura gave a small nod, her eyes still focused on the oven. It was like she was trying to figure out if all this waiting was actually worth it.

You studied her for a moment, wondering what was going on in that head of hers. She never really said much, but it was clear there was a lot happening behind those dark, watchful eyes. You weren’t exactly sure why she’d taken to you, but you were grateful for it. Laura didn’t let many people in, that much was obvious.

“I can show you a movie. Or maybe some music? I usually play somethin’ while I wait.”

Laura glanced up at you, her brow furrowing slightly. “Music,” she said quietly.

You smiled, glad she was at least open to that. “Cool. Let’s see what we got.” You pulled out your phone and scrolled through your playlist, landing on something mellow, nothing too upbeat or distracting. You hit play, letting the soft sounds of a guitar fill the room.

Laura leaned against the counter, listening, her arms crossed over her chest. She wasn’t fidgety or impatient, just quiet, like she was absorbing everything around her.

You took another sip of water, watching her from the corner of your eye. “You ever help Logan with stuff like this? Like cooking?”

She shook her head. “No.”

You figured as much. “Well, if he ever asks, you’ll be a pro now.” You winked at her, earning the tiniest of shrugs in return.

You both stood there in a comfortable silence, letting the music play. It wasn’t awkward, just… peaceful. The smell of the cookies starting to bake filled the kitchen, and for a moment, it was easy to forget all the heavy stuff hanging in the air—Logan’s health, Laura’s past, whatever weight she carried that you didn’t fully understand yet.

After a few minutes, Laura spoke up. “I talked to Logan about you… last night.”

You paused, surprised she’d bring it up. “Oh yeah? What’d he say?”

She didn’t answer right away, her gaze fixed on the oven. “He said you’re... different from other people. In a good way.”

A warmth crept into your chest at that. “Well, that’s nice of him to say. I think he’s pretty different too, you know. In a good way.”

Laura looked at you, her expression unreadable. “He likes you,” she said, her tone flat, but there was something in the way she said it, like it was a fact she was still processing.

You felt your cheeks heat up a little. “Yeah? Well… I like him too.”

She stared at you for a moment longer before nodding slowly, like she was piecing something together in her head. “He doesn’t trust people. But he trusts you.”

You swallowed, not quite sure how to respond to that. “I’m glad he does. I mean… I care about him, Laura. And you too.”

Laura’s eyes flickered with something—maybe understanding, maybe something else you couldn’t quite name. She didn’t say anything for a while, just looked down at the floor.

Before the silence could stretch too long, the oven timer beeped, cutting through the moment.

“Cookies are done,” you said, turning to grab the oven mitts. You pulled the trays out, setting them on the counter to cool. The smell was even stronger now, warm and sweet, filling the entire kitchen. “Wanna taste test one?”

Laura hesitated for a second before nodding.

You carefully lifted a cookie from the tray, holding it out to her. “Careful, it’s hot.”

She took it, blowing on it before taking a small bite. You watched as she chewed, her face still neutral, but you could tell she liked it.

“Good, right?” you asked, biting into one yourself.

Laura nodded again, chewing slowly. For a split second, you thought you saw a hint of a smile tug at the corner of her mouth, but it was gone just as quickly as it came.

As you both stood there, munching on cookies, the air felt lighter, like some kind of invisible barrier between you had shifted just a little. You didn’t know all of Laura’s story, but you didn’t need to. What mattered was that she was here, sharing this small moment with you, and that was enough.

“So,” you said after a few minutes, breaking the silence. “What should we do next? More cookies? Or maybe try out that movie?”

Laura looked at the remaining dough, then back at you. “More cookies.”

You grinned. “Good choice. Let’s make this batch even better.”

---

After all the cookies came out of the oven, you sent Laura home with a container of some of the batch. You could never eat them all on your own, and you ended up giving some away anyways, so why not give some to Laura?

You walked Laura to your front door and watched as she crossed the street, her figure disappearing behind the door three houses down. There was always something surreal about the way she moved—so quiet, so controlled, like she had learned to blend into the background. It made you wonder what her life had been like before coming here.

When Laura walked in, the container held tightly to her chest, Logan sat on the couch, the soft murmur of the TV barely audible as he sipped from a whiskey bottle. His eyes flicked over to her as the door clicked shut behind her.

“You were gone a while,” he muttered, his voice rough but not harsh.

Laura shrugged, walking past him toward the kitchen. “Made cookies.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, watching her disappear from view. The faint clinking of a container hitting the counter reached his ears. He knew she didn’t do stuff like this unless someone dragged her into it. “With Y/N?” he asked, taking another sip.

Laura reappeared, nodding as she plopped down beside him on the couch, the container of cookies now on the coffee table.

Logan stared at it for a moment, then gave a small grunt of approval. He reached over and grabbed a cookie from the container, breaking off a piece and popping it into his mouth. He chewed slowly, savoring the sweetness that felt out of place in his usual world of bitterness and whiskey.

“Not bad,” he muttered, glancing at Laura. “You help with these?”

She shrugged again, still watching the TV, but there was a hint of satisfaction in her expression that didn’t go unnoticed by Logan.

“Hmm,” he grunted, leaning back. “Maybe next time, you can bring some whiskey to wash ‘em down.”

Laura didn’t smile, but her lips twitched slightly as if she was trying not to.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, the low hum of the TV filling the room. Logan’s thoughts drifted back to Y/N. He didn’t trust people easily—never had, and probably never would. But Y/N was different. He’d seen how she handled Laura, how she didn’t push too hard or ask too many questions. And she was patient, something Logan knew he didn’t have much of.

“Y/N’s a good one,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

Laura didn’t say anything, but she shifted slightly, leaning her head against the arm of the couch.

Logan watched her for a moment, then sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. He knew settling down wasn’t really in his nature, but for Laura’s sake—and maybe a bit for his own—he was trying. And Y/N? She made that easier, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

“She ask about me?” Logan asked, more curious than he wanted to let on.

Laura nodded, her eyes still on the screen. “Yeah. I told her you were resting.”

Logan snorted. “Resting. That’s a nice way of putting it.”

Laura didn’t respond, and Logan didn’t push further. He knew what Y/N probably thought—that he was just some grumpy guy with a limp, maybe a few too many scars for comfort. She didn’t know the half of it. But she didn’t pry either, and for that, he was grateful.

“Guess I’ll have to thank her for the cookies,” Logan said after a while, taking another sip from the bottle. His mind wandered to the thought of Y/N—the way she smiled when she was around Laura, how she always seemed to have the right balance of patience and understanding. It wasn’t just anyone who could handle a kid like Laura, let alone make her feel comfortable enough to bake cookies on a Saturday.

“She likes you too, you know,” Laura said suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet.

Logan’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“Y/N,” Laura clarified, her tone as flat as ever. “She likes you.”

Logan chuckled, though there was a bit of discomfort behind it. “You don’t know that, kid.”

Laura looked at him, her gaze piercing and a little too wise for someone her age. “She does. I can tell.”

Logan stared back at her, caught off guard by how matter-of-fact she sounded. It was hard to argue with Laura when she had that look on her face, the same look that said she saw through everything and didn’t waste time with pleasantries.

He cleared his throat, trying to brush it off. “Yeah, well… that’s her problem, not mine.”

Laura didn’t react, just turned back to the TV. But Logan could feel her eyes on him for a few seconds longer before she settled back into the cushions.

Logan shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of Laura’s words hanging in the air. He wasn’t used to people ‘liking’ him in the way Laura seemed to imply. People tolerated him, sure, maybe even respected him, but liking him? That was new territory.

He let out a sigh and reached for another cookie. It wasn’t worth thinking about. Not right now.

But even as he chewed in silence, he couldn’t shake the thought of Y/N—and what it might mean if Laura was right.

---

A few days later, you found yourself at Logan’s house helping Laura with some of her English homework. You usually don’t make ‘house calls’ to help students, but you couldn’t deny Laura.

Logan stayed seated in the living room, drinking a beer and watching the TV. But really, he was pretending not to listen to their conversation in the kitchen.

“You’re doing good, Laura.” You said.

Laura shrugged, her eyes flicking over to Logan in the living room. “Can you stay for dinner?” She asked you.

Logan’s head snapped up at that. He hadn’t expected Laura to ask, but there was no denying that the kid had gotten attached to you. Before you could answer, Laura added, “I made something. With Logan.”

That was a lie, of course. Laura had barely touched the stove since the cookies, but she gave Logan a look that told him to back her up.

Y/N smiled softly. “I wouldn’t say no to dinner.” She glanced at Logan. “If that’s okay?”

Logan grunted, shifting his weight. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

Laura gave a small nod, clearly satisfied with the answer. You smiled, pushing the papers aside. “Guess I’m staying for dinner, then.”

Logan shot Laura a look, one that said what exactly are we eating? but she ignored him, turning her attention back to you. “It’s nothing fancy,” she said, which wasn’t reassuring.

“Well, I’m excited. Food always tastes better when someone else cooks it,” you joked, standing up to stretch your arms.

Logan watched you from the corner of his eye as he sat back down on the couch, pretending to be more interested in the muted TV than he actually was. You couldn’t help but notice the way he seemed a little tenser whenever you were around, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. He was trying to stay low-key, but you could tell he was keeping tabs on every move you made, every word you said.

“So, what’s on the menu?” you asked, trying to ease the quiet that had settled over the room.

Laura, sitting across from you, didn’t answer right away, like she was carefully considering her next move. Logan’s eyes flicked over to her, waiting for her response.

“Spaghetti,” she finally said, her voice as flat as ever.

You raised an eyebrow, suppressing a smile. “Oh yeah? Sounds good.”

Logan gave a low grunt from the couch, and you could tell by his expression that he was trying to figure out when they’d supposedly made spaghetti. But he didn’t contradict Laura, just took another swig from his beer.

“Well, I’m looking forward to it,” you said, standing up from the kitchen table. “Let me know if you need any help.”

Laura didn’t say anything, just headed to the stove where a pot of water was already simmering. You followed her, glancing at the nearly-empty box of spaghetti on the counter. It was clear she hadn’t done this a lot, but the effort was what mattered. And if it meant spending more time with her—and Logan—you weren’t about to complain.

“I’ll get the sauce going,” you offered, stepping beside her. Laura gave you a slight nod, sliding over to make room.

Logan watched from the couch, his eyes narrowing as if he was weighing the situation. He hadn’t expected you to just roll with it, but then again, you always had a way of adapting.

“So, how’s school?” you asked Laura, trying to keep the conversation light while you opened the jar of sauce.

“It’s fine,” she said, her tone noncommittal.

You stirred the sauce, giving a little shrug. “Well, if you ever need help with any other type of homework, you know where to find me.”

She glanced up at you, her expression unreadable, but something in her eyes softened for a second. “I know.”

The two of you worked in quiet sync, with Laura focusing on the pasta and you keeping an eye on the sauce. It wasn’t long before the kitchen started to smell of tomatoes and garlic, the scent filling the air and making the small space feel cozy. For a while, the only sounds were the bubbling pot and the clinking of utensils.

Logan shifted on the couch, clearing his throat. “Need me to do anything?”

You glanced back at him with a smile. “Just sit there and look pretty, Logan. We’ve got this.”

A low chuckle escaped him, though his face didn’t change much. “That so?”

Laura glanced at Logan, her expression unreadable, but you caught the briefest hint of approval in her eyes before she turned back to stirring the pasta.

Once everything was ready, you and Laura brought the food to the small dining table. You plated up the spaghetti, topping it with sauce and a sprinkle of Parmesan. Logan joined you both, moving slower than he probably realized, and sat down with a grunt.

As you all ate, the room stayed comfortably quiet. It wasn’t one of those forced silences that felt awkward—it was more like everyone was just settling into the moment. Laura was still guarded, but you could tell she was starting to relax, even if it was just a little.

“You did good, Laura,” you said, twirling some spaghetti on your fork. “This tastes great.”

She didn’t say anything, just kept eating, but you saw her shoulders ease up ever so slightly.

Logan, on the other hand, glanced between the two of you, chewing slowly. He hadn’t been big on cooking or anything domestic like this, but he could tell Laura had put in effort. He took another bite, grunting his approval. “Not bad,” he said quietly.

You smiled to yourself. This whole thing wasn’t exactly what you’d planned for the evening, but it was nice in its own way—just simple, like normal people having dinner together.

As you were finishing up, Logan pushed his chair back, grabbing his beer bottle from the table. “I’ll handle the cleanup,” he said, his voice gruff but not unkind.

You raised an eyebrow, standing to gather a few plates. “You sure?”

Logan waved you off. “Yeah. Laura and I got it.”

You nodded, stepping back. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it then.”

Laura watched you quietly, her dark eyes flicking between you and Logan. You could tell she wasn’t used to this kind of thing, the casual ease of sharing a meal and cleaning up afterward. But she was learning, and it seemed like she didn’t mind having you around for it.

“Well,” you said, grabbing your bag from the chair. “Thanks for dinner, you two. I’ll see you around?”

Logan grunted in acknowledgment, giving you a nod. Laura followed you to the door, her small figure standing by your side as you reached for the handle.

Before you could leave, she spoke up. “Will you come over again?” Her voice was quiet, almost hesitant.

You smiled softly. “Of course. Anytime.”

She nodded, her face still unreadable, but there was a certain calmness to her now, a trust that hadn’t been there before.

You gave her a little wave before stepping out into the evening air. As you walked back to your house, you couldn’t help but think about how unexpected this had all been.

---

You muttered to yourself, hanging up the phone. Your sink had started to leak, and even though you were fairly handy, when you tightened the pipes, it did nothing.

So here you were, on your lunch break, looking for a handyman that didn’t want to charge you $200 for a quick fix.

Emma walked in, holding a folder with her lesson plans. “So…”

You rolled your eyes, “don’t start.”

“What! I’ve told you, word travels fast. Rose saw you leavin’ his house last night.”

“Rose?” You shook your head, “that woman is 85 and still gossips like she’s 20.” You put your phone down, “I was helping Laura with her English homework.”

"Helping Laura with her English homework?" Emma raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "You mean, at ten o'clock at night? Sure, Y/N."

You groaned, leaning back in your chair. “It wasn’t like that. She’s struggling with some of the writing prompts, and Logan’s... well, you know he’s not exactly the best person for that.”

“Uh-huh,” Emma nodded slowly, setting her folder down. “I’m just saying, you and him… there’s something there. You can deny it all you want, but people see things.”

“People need hobbies,” you muttered. “Besides, Logan’s... complicated. It’s not that simple.”

“I’m not saying it is,” she shrugged. “But you’ve been spending more and more time with him and Laura lately. I’m just curious.”

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes at her. “Curious about what, exactly?”

“Just curious when you're going to admit you like him,” Emma smirked.

“I don’t—" you started to argue, but stopped yourself. “Emma, he’s… I mean, I care about him, but it’s not like that. He’s a single dad with a kid, and I’m just the neighbor who helps out sometimes.”

“Yeah, sure, Y/N.” Emma grabbed her folder and gave you a pointed look, “if you don’t make a move, someone on the ‘Wolverine Watchers’ will.”

You choked on the iced coffee you took a sip of, “the what?”

Emma grinned, “the ‘Wolverine Watchers’. A bunch of women in the town created a Facebook group about him. I joined out of curiosity.”

You blinked at Emma, still processing what she’d just said. “Hold on—there’s a Facebook group about Logan? Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” Emma said with a smug smile. “They call themselves the ‘Wolverine Watchers.’ There’s, like, at least 30 women in it. Maybe more.”

You shook your head in disbelief, sinking back into your chair. “That’s insane. Why would anyone even...”

“Oh, please,” Emma interrupted. “Don’t act like you don’t get it. He’s rugged, mysterious, barely speaks to anyone, and he’s got the whole grumpy-silver-fox thing going on. They eat it up. Hell, even I get it.”

You glared at her. “You’re not helping.”

She leaned against the desk, still grinning. “Just saying, don’t wait too long, or one of them might swoop in.”

You waved her off, though a part of you felt oddly defensive about the whole thing. “Logan’s not interested in any of that.”

Emma shrugged, pushing off the desk and heading for the door. “Maybe. Maybe not. But are you interested?”

You opened your mouth to respond before shaking your head. “Okay. I’m going to forget this part of our conversation and continue to try and look for a plumber or handyman.”

Emma laughed, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “Fine, fine. But if you need help with Logan or plumbing, you know where to find me.”

She left the room at the same time Laura walked in. She walked over to the front of your desk and stared at you with those eyes of hers. “You need help?” Laura finally asked.

You shook your head, “no. Just need a plumber. The sink in my kitchen is leakin’.”

Laura tilted her head slightly, considering something. “Why don’t you ask daddy?”

You sighed, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “Because your dad’s busy, and it’s not his problem to deal with. I’ll figure it out.”

“He fixed the dishwasher last week,” she pointed out quietly, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “And the dryer.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to bother him with stuff like this,” you countered, trying to ignore how her face lit up every time she mentioned something Logan had done for you. “I’m sure he’s got enough on his plate.”

Laura didn’t respond right away. Instead, she leaned against your desk, her small fingers tapping lightly on the wood. “He likes helping,” she murmured, almost like she was testing the waters.

You looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Mhm,” she nodded, but quickly glanced away, pretending to focus on the bulletin board behind you. “He’s good at fixing things.”

You watched her for a moment, your irritation from earlier starting to melt away. It was hard to stay frustrated when she was being so earnest. “Okay, okay, I get it. But your dad doesn’t need to be the town’s go-to handyman.”

Laura glanced up at you through her lashes. “Just tell him. Please?”

There was something almost… hopeful in her gaze, and you felt a twinge of guilt. Laura wasn’t the type to ask for much. If this meant that much to her…

“Fine,” you sighed, holding up your hands in surrender. “I’ll ask him. But only because you asked nicely.”

Laura’s lips twitched in the faintest smile, a look of victory crossing her face. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, but you’re not off the hook yet,” you teased gently. “You still owe me an essay on Newton’s laws of motion, remember?”

She scrunched up her nose, making a face. “I know. I’ll finish it.”

“Good,” you nodded, giving her a playful wink. “And don’t go trying to bribe me with homework just to get me to talk to your dad, okay?”

Laura’s eyes widened in mock innocence. “I would never.”

“Uh-huh,” you said skeptically. “Alright, head back to class. Lunch is almost over.”

She gave a small nod, then glanced back at you before leaving. “He really likes you, you know.”

Your heart stuttered, caught off guard by her bluntness. “Laura—”

“Just saying,” she added quickly before ducking out the door and heading down the hallway.

You stared at the empty doorway, a mix of emotions swirling in your chest. Liking you? What did that even mean coming from an eleven-year-old?

You shook your head, trying to push the thought away. Logan was… well, Logan. Gruff, quiet, and often impossible to read. And sure, he’d been more present lately, but that didn’t mean anything. He was just being a good neighbor.

You glanced at the time on your phone, groaning softly. Lunch was almost over, and you hadn’t even finished setting up for the afternoon class.

“Guess I’ll ask him about the sink,” you muttered under your breath, more to convince yourself than anything.

Because if Laura was already noticing things, how long would it be before the whole town started talking?

---

That evening, after school had ended and you’d finally managed to get through the rest of your lesson plans, you found yourself standing in front of Logan’s place. It was only a short walk down the street, and yet, your feet felt heavier with each step.

You could hear the faint sound of a TV through the open window and the soft murmur of voices—Laura and Logan, probably talking about her day. It was… nice. Domestic. Something that made your chest tighten with an inexplicable emotion.

“Just ask about the sink and go,” you whispered to yourself, giving a firm nod. “No big deal.”

You knocked lightly, and a few seconds later, the door swung open to reveal Logan. He was in his usual attire—flannel shirt, jeans—and he looked at you with that same unreadable expression.

“Hey,” you said, suddenly feeling awkward under his gaze. “I, uh, wanted to ask for a favor.”

His brow furrowed slightly, and he stepped back, gesturing for you to come inside. “What’s goin’ on?”

You hesitated, then took a deep breath. “My kitchen sink started leaking, and… well, I tried fixing it, but I think I made it worse. Laura said you’re good at this kind of stuff, so I thought… maybe…”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You want me to take a look at it?”

“Yeah,” you nodded quickly. “If you’re not too busy. I don’t want to—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted, already grabbing a toolbox from a nearby shelf. “Let’s go.”

You blinked. “Wait, you don’t want to, like, finish dinner or something first?”

He shot you a look that was almost amused. “I’m not gonna let your kitchen flood because of a sink. C’mon.”

You let out a small laugh, relieved by his reaction. “Okay, fair point. Thanks, Logan.”

“No problem,” he grunted, stepping out onto the porch. “Lead the way.”

As you walked back to your place, you stole a glance at him. Logan might have been gruff and intimidating to most people, but you’d come to learn there was more to him than that.

When you reached your house, Logan set to work immediately, inspecting the pipes under the sink. You leaned against the counter, watching as he tinkered and adjusted, his movements methodical and precise.

“You didn’t have to come over right away,” you said softly, breaking the silence. “I know you’ve got a lot going on.”

He didn’t look up, just shrugged. “It’s fine. Better to fix it now than let it get worse.”

“Yeah, I guess,” you murmured. “But still… thanks.”

Logan glanced at you then, his eyes lingering for a moment longer than usual. “You don’t gotta thank me every time I do somethin’ for you, Y/N.”

“I know,” you replied, offering a small smile. “But I want to.”

He gave a low grunt, something between acknowledgment and dismissal, and returned his focus to the pipes. You stayed silent, watching him work, trying to make yourself useful by occasionally handing him a tool or holding a flashlight.

“You’ve done this before, huh?” you asked, breaking the silence again.

Logan didn’t look up, but you saw the faintest twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Couple times.”

“Fixing sinks?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “Or just everything?”

“Everything,” he muttered. “You learn to handle stuff when no one else can.”

There was an unspoken weight behind his words, something you didn’t pry into. You knew Logan had been through more than he let on—there were pieces of his life you still hadn’t put together, and you weren’t sure you ever would. But that didn’t stop you from being curious.

Instead, you chose to keep the conversation light. “Well, I appreciate it. I probably would’ve made a bigger mess if I’d kept trying.”

He grunted again, this time almost in agreement, and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Okay, I walked into that one,” you admitted. “But seriously, thank you. Laura was right—you are good at this.”

Logan tightened the last pipe and stood, wiping his hands on a rag. “She talks too much sometimes.”

You shook your head, still smiling. “She’s just proud of you.”

He didn’t respond, his eyes darkening for a brief moment before he shifted the subject. “It’s done. Shouldn’t leak anymore, but if it does, just call me.”

You nodded, feeling that strange tightening in your chest again. “Got it. Thanks again.”

Logan grabbed his toolbox and started for the door, but something in the air between you both felt unfinished, like there was something unspoken hanging there. Before you could second-guess yourself, you called out.

“Logan?”

He paused, his back to you.

“I meant what I said earlier,” you continued, a little more quietly this time. “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, and I don’t want to add to it. But I appreciate you helping me.”

Logan turned, his gaze locking onto yours. There was something in his eyes—something you couldn’t quite place. For a second, you thought he might say something, but then he just gave a slow nod.

“Don’t worry about it, Y/N,” he finally said. “If you need somethin’, I’ll be around.”

He turned and walked out the door, leaving you standing in your kitchen, staring after him. You exhaled, feeling a mix of confusion and warmth.

Later that evening, as you cleaned up and prepared for the next day’s lessons, you couldn’t stop replaying the interaction in your head. Logan’s quietness, his willingness to help, Laura’s knowing smiles. There was something stirring there, something more than just neighborly concern.

But you pushed the thoughts aside, reminding yourself of the practicalities. Logan was a single dad with a complicated past, and you… well, you had your own life to focus on. This wasn’t the time to start overthinking things.

Still, as you drifted off to sleep that night, the image of Logan fixing your sink—focused, calm, and oddly comforting—stayed with you.

---

You’ve never liked storms. You’re not sure why, you grew up in Houston where it rained consistently and encountered a few hurricanes.

But when you turned 18, you went to college further north in Texas, getting away from the rain and finally getting sunshine and real heat, not humid heat.

It never rained much in the north of Minnesota, but when it did rain, it rained a lot. So much so that the school cancelled classes for the rest of the week.

You could use the time to catch up on grading assignments, but instead you found yourself barely able to keep your attention on the TV, flinching every time you heard thunder.

The storm outside raged on, lightning flashing every few seconds, followed by the rumble of thunder that rattled the windows. You glanced at the stack of papers you’d set aside to grade, but your mind just wasn’t in it.

“Why does it always feel worse at night?” you muttered, sinking deeper into the couch, trying to focus on the TV.

Then, a knock at the door startled you. You weren’t expecting anyone, especially with the weather this bad.

You got up, hesitating for a second before opening the door to reveal Laura, soaked from head to toe, holding a small flashlight.

“Laura? What are you doing out here?” you asked, eyes wide with concern.

“Our power went out,” she explained quickly, shivering slightly. “Daddy said I could come over here since your lights are still on.”

You frowned, glancing past her toward Logan’s house, which was barely visible in the heavy rain. “Is your dad coming over too?”

Laura shrugged, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “He said he’d figure it out.”

You closed the door behind her, grabbing a towel from the bathroom and handing it to her. “You should’ve just called, you know. I would’ve come to get you.”

Laura gave you a small smile as she dried off. “It’s fine. I didn’t want to wait.”

You shook your head, unable to suppress a smile at her stubbornness. “Of course you didn’t.”

The two of you sat in the living room for a while, Laura settling into the corner of the couch with her legs tucked under her, still glancing out the window at the storm every so often.

“How long’s the power been out?” you asked after a few minutes.

“Since just after dinner,” she replied. “Daddy was gonna try and fix it, but he said it might take a while.”

You nodded, already feeling a little guilty. If the power didn’t come back on soon, you’d probably end up with both of them staying over. Not that you minded, but it was one of those situations where you didn’t want to impose. Especially with Logan.

Almost on cue, there was another knock at the door, this one heavier, more deliberate.

You didn’t even have to look to know it was Logan.

You opened the door to find him standing there, drenched like Laura had been. His hair was plastered to his head, and his usual gruff expression was softened slightly by the rain dripping from his face.

“Come on in,” you said quickly, stepping aside.

Logan entered, shaking off some of the rain before giving you a nod. “Thanks. Power’s out, and I don’t think it’s comin’ back anytime soon.”

You closed the door behind him and offered him a towel, which he accepted without a word. He glanced over at Laura, who had made herself comfortable on the couch, and then back at you.

“You alright with us bein’ here?” he asked, his voice low but genuine.

“Of course,” you replied, waving it off. “I’m not gonna let you sit in the dark with no heat.”

Logan nodded, though there was something in his eyes—something like gratitude, though he didn’t voice it.

The three of you sat in the living room for a while, the storm still raging outside. It wasn’t exactly the most comfortable silence, but it wasn’t awkward either. Just... quiet. Logan wasn’t one for small talk, and Laura seemed content just to be around people, her gaze flicking back and forth between you and her dad.

As the night wore on, the storm didn’t let up, and Laura’s eyelids started to droop. You glanced at the clock, noting how late it was getting.

“You’re welcome to stay the night,” you offered, glancing between them. “It’s still coming down pretty hard out there, and I don’t think the power’s coming back on soon.”

Laura perked up at the suggestion, but Logan hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. “We’ll be fine,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t wanna impose.”

“You’re not imposing,” you said firmly, crossing your arms. “There’s a guest bedroom, and I’ve got blankets. Besides, I’m not letting either of you walk back in this mess.”

Laura, sensing her opportunity, chimed in before Logan could object. “I want to stay,” she said quietly, her eyes big and hopeful.

Logan sighed, glancing at his daughter, clearly torn. “Laura…”

“Daddy, it’s still storming,” she added, her voice soft but insistent. “We can stay, right?”

You jumped in before he could refuse. “It’s no trouble, Logan. Really. Laura can take the guest bedroom, and I can sleep on the couch.”

Logan gave you a skeptical look. “You’re not sleepin’ on the couch in your own house.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s your bed,” he grunted. “I’ll take the couch.”

Before you could argue, Laura piped up again, her voice full of innocent mischief. “You could both sleep in the bed.”

Your eyes widened, and you quickly glanced at Logan, whose expression had shifted to one of slight surprise.

“Laura,” you started, but she just shrugged, clearly enjoying this more than she should have been.

“What?” she said innocently. “It’s a big bed.”

Logan sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You’re not helpin’, kid.”

Laura just grinned, her eyes gleaming with quiet victory. “I think I am.”

You cleared your throat, trying to regain control of the situation. “I’m fine with sleepin’ on the couch, really. Can’t really sleep when it’s stormin’ anyways.”

Laura, still lounging on the couch, piped up again, her grin growing wider. “You could just share the bed.”

Your face flushed, and you shot her a look. “Laura—”

“What?” She shrugged, playing innocent, but you could see the hint of mischief in her eyes.

Logan sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Kid, stop messin’ around.”

She held up her hands in surrender, but the teasing smile on her face didn’t budge. “I’m just saying it’s an option.”

You shook your head, feeling a mix of embarrassment and amusement. “Laura, you’re gonna sleep in the guest room. I’ll be on the couch. End of story.”

Laura rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. “Fine.”

Logan glanced at you, his eyes softening for a brief moment before he muttered, “You sure about this? I don’t wanna take your bed.”

You waved him off, trying to sound casual. “Seriously, it’s no big deal. Just get some rest. You’ve been out in the rain long enough.”

He hesitated for a second, then gave a small nod. “Alright. But only because you won’t stop arguin’.”

“Exactly,” you said, smiling a little as you grabbed an extra blanket from the hallway closet and tossed it to Laura. “You can get settled in the guest room, kiddo.”

Laura caught the blanket and headed toward the guest room with a little bounce in her step, clearly pleased with how things were turning out. You watched her disappear down the hallway before turning back to Logan, who was still standing in the living room, looking somewhat out of place.

“You can leave your wet clothes by the door if you want,” you offered, trying to keep things normal, even though the situation felt anything but.

Logan gave a quiet grunt of acknowledgment, pulling off his soaked jacket and hanging it on the back of a chair. He moved slowly, like he was still debating whether to argue about the sleeping arrangements again, but thankfully, he didn’t.

After a minute, he glanced back at you, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You really are stubborn, you know that?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Takes one to know one.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he walked past you toward your bedroom. “Fair enough.”

Once he disappeared into the room, you let out a small sigh, running a hand through your hair. This was... not how you expected your night to go. Sharing your house with both Logan and Laura during a storm, with Laura sneakily playing matchmaker. It was almost funny, if not for the fact that Logan being this close made your heart race a little too much for comfort.

You settled back onto the couch, pulling a blanket over yourself and staring at the TV screen without really watching it. The sound of rain pounding against the windows and the occasional crack of thunder filled the quiet, but it was hard to focus on the storm when you knew Logan was in the next room.

Laura had probably planned this all along.

You glanced toward the hallway where the guest room was, wondering if she was already asleep—or if she was lying there, scheming her next move.

Thunder broke you out of your thoughts, making you flinch slightly under the blankets.

You settled deeper into the couch, but sleep wasn’t coming any easier despite the exhaustion from the day. Your mind kept wandering, mostly back to Logan and how natural it had started to feel having him and Laura around. Maybe a little too natural.

A sharp crack of thunder rattled the windows, and you flinched again, instinctively pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. You’d thought you were getting used to storms, but this one was relentless, dragging on with no signs of easing up.

Just when you started to think you’d be up all night, you heard the soft creak of the floorboards behind you. You turned, expecting to see Laura coming out of the guest room, but instead, Logan stood there in the dim light of the living room, looking as uncomfortable as you felt.

“Can’t sleep?” you asked, your voice quiet but steady, despite the storm.

He shrugged, leaning against the doorway. “Not used to sleepin’ anywhere but my own bed.”

You nodded, biting back a knowing smile. “Yeah, I get that. Storm’s not helping much either.”

Logan’s eyes flicked to the window, then back to you. His gaze was a little softer than usual, like the storm had taken some of the edge off his usual roughness. “You alright? Heard you jumpin’ every time the thunder hits.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to brush off his concern. “It’s nothing. Just... not a fan of storms.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Logan said, stepping further into the room. He hesitated for a moment, then moved to sit on the armrest of the couch, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. “Don’t have to tough it out, y’know.”

You looked up at him, caught off guard by the gentleness in his tone. It wasn’t like Logan to be this open, to offer any sort of comfort. He usually kept things buried under layers of gruffness and distance.

“Guess I’m just used to toughing it out,” you said softly, offering him a small smile.

Logan studied you for a moment, his eyes flicking over your face, like he was weighing his next words carefully. “You don’t always have to. Not with us.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. You weren’t sure what to say. This side of Logan—the quiet, protective side—was something you’d only seen glimpses of before, but tonight, it was like the storm had brought down some of his walls.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” you finally said, but your voice lacked its usual conviction.

“Not worryin’,” Logan replied, his gaze steady. “Just statin’ a fact.”

The thunder rolled again, quieter this time, as if the storm was finally starting to let up. Logan’s eyes lingered on you for a beat longer, before he stood up, looking like he was about to head back to the bedroom.

But then he paused, glancing over his shoulder. “If you want... there’s room in the bed.”

Your breath hitched, and you blinked up at him, not sure if you heard him right. “What?”

Logan’s lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile, but his expression remained serious. “I ain’t suggestin’ what Laura was earlier,” he muttered, a little embarrassed. “Just... if it helps you sleep better, I don’t mind. Couch’s not exactly comfortable.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, caught off guard by the unexpected offer. Logan wasn’t the type to offer comfort lightly, and the idea of sharing a bed with him—platonically or not—made your pulse quicken.

“I—” You faltered, unsure how to respond. But something in the way he was looking at you made it clear this wasn’t just about the storm or being polite. This was about something more—something that had been quietly building between the two of you for a while now.

Before you could overthink it, you nodded. “Okay.”

Logan’s eyebrows raised slightly, surprised by your answer. He stepped aside as you stood, grabbing the blanket from the couch. Neither of you said anything as you walked down the hallway to your bedroom, the tension thick but not uncomfortable—more like an understanding had settled between you.

Once inside, Logan shifted awkwardly as you took your side of the bed, pulling the blanket over yourself, trying to act like this was normal, like your heart wasn’t racing in your chest. Logan laid down on the opposite side, keeping a respectful distance, though the bed felt smaller with him in it.

The sound of the rain outside softened, though the occasional rumble of thunder still rolled in the distance. You stared at the ceiling, hyper-aware of Logan beside you, the space between you feeling charged.

“You good?” Logan asked after a minute, his voice low in the quiet.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m good.”

A beat passed. Then another.

“Thanks,” you added, not just for offering the bed, but for being there, for not making this weird.

Logan turned his head slightly to look at you, his eyes soft in the dim light. “Ain’t nothin’.”

But it was something. It was a lot, actually.

You both lay there in silence for a while, the sound of the rain becoming almost soothing. You could feel the warmth of him next to you, solid and reassuring, and slowly, the tightness in your chest began to ease.

Just as your eyes started to drift closed, Logan’s voice broke the silence again, so quiet you almost missed it.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he murmured, his voice gruff but sincere. “You don’t have to do this on your own. Not with us around.”

Your heart swelled, a mix of emotions you weren’t quite ready to confront just yet. You didn’t know what to say, so instead, you reached out, your hand brushing against his in the small space between you.

Logan didn’t pull away. Instead, his fingers curled gently around yours, his grip warm and steady.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you fell asleep without flinching at the sound of thunder.

---

You woke up to the sound of soft rain pattering against the window, the storm from last night finally easing up. For a second, you forgot where you were, until you felt the weight of the blanket and the warmth of another presence next to you. Logan. His steady breathing filled the quiet space, and you shifted slightly, careful not to wake him.

This was new.

You glanced over at him, his face relaxed in sleep, the tension he usually carried nowhere to be found. It was strange seeing him like this—calm, almost peaceful. You could feel the residual warmth from his hand where he’d held yours last night, and the memory made your chest tighten.

Carefully, you slipped out of bed, not wanting to disturb the rare moment of quiet. You padded out into the hallway, stopping by Laura’s room to peek in. She was still asleep, wrapped up in blankets, her small body barely a lump under the covers.

You smiled to yourself, already suspecting that she had something to do with last night’s sleeping arrangements. Laura was too clever for her own good sometimes.

In the kitchen, you started brewing coffee, the scent filling the small space. As you waited for it to finish, you found yourself staring out the window, your mind still on Logan. Last night had been... unexpected. But not unwelcome. The way he’d stayed close, offering comfort without making a big deal out of it—it meant more than you wanted to admit.

The soft creak of footsteps behind you pulled you out of your thoughts.

“You’re up early,” Logan’s gravelly voice broke the quiet.

You turned to see him leaning against the doorway, his hair still a little mussed from sleep, but otherwise looking much like his usual self.

“Couldn’t sleep much after the storm,” you shrugged, offering him a small smile. “Coffee?”

“Yeah,” he grunted, moving to sit at the kitchen table. “Thanks.”

You poured two mugs, setting one in front of him before taking a seat across from him. For a moment, neither of you spoke, just sipping your coffee in the comfortable silence that had settled between you.

Logan glanced at you over the rim of his mug, his eyes softer than usual. “You sleep alright?”

You hesitated, remembering how easily you’d fallen asleep next to him. “Better than I expected, honestly.”

He grunted in acknowledgment, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Guess the storm wasn’t as bad as you thought.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to fight the heat creeping up your neck. “Or maybe it was the company.”

Logan’s smirk widened slightly, but he didn’t push it. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning the kitchen before settling on you again. “Thanks for lettin’ us stay. Laura didn’t give you much choice, huh?”

“She didn’t have to,” you replied with a shrug. “I wasn’t gonna let either of you stay in a freezing house with no power.”

Logan nodded, his eyes drifting to the window. “Power should be back on soon. I’ll head back once it’s up.”

You didn’t say anything, but part of you felt a pang of disappointment at the thought of him leaving so soon. You hadn’t had many moments like this—quiet, with just the two of you—and you found yourself wanting it to last a little longer.

Laura’s quiet footsteps broke the silence as she padded into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

“Mornin’, kid,” Logan greeted her.

“Mornin’,” Laura mumbled, glancing between the two of you with a knowing look before plopping down at the table. “Is the power back on yet?”

“Not yet,” you said, trying to ignore the way she was eyeing you and Logan.

Laura just shrugged, grabbing the cereal box from the counter and helping herself. “Guess we’re stuck here a little longer, huh?”

You shot her a look, but she didn’t seem fazed, her focus on her cereal. It was hard to tell if she was playing innocent or if she was just that good at pretending.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” you asked, trying to shift the conversation.

Laura perked up at that. “You said you’d help me with my English homework, remember?”

You blinked. “I—uh, right. Yeah, I did say that.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, looking at Laura. “Since when do you need help with English?”

Laura shot him a quick look before turning back to you, all smiles. “I figured Ms. Aberra would be better at explaining it than you.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, starting to catch on. “I’m sure you’re doing fine in English, Laura.”

She shrugged, playing with her spoon. “Yeah, but it’s better when someone explains it.”

Logan just shook his head, clearly not buying it either, but he didn’t say anything, letting Laura’s little game play out.

“Well,” you said, getting up from the table. “I guess we can take a look at it after breakfast.”

Laura grinned, clearly pleased with how things were going. “Thanks, Ms. Aberra.”

You smiled back, even though you knew something was up. Sure, you had been helping her with English homework for a while now, but she didn’t need the help. When she would show you her essays or answers to questions about a reading, they were always perfect. Still, you played along, grabbing your coffee and heading toward the living room.

“Alright,” you said, glancing over your shoulder at her. “Go grab your stuff, and we’ll take a look.”

Laura jumped up, cereal forgotten, and dashed off to retrieve her things. You settled onto the couch, sipping your coffee and trying to push aside the strange feeling that this was part of something bigger. But what?

Logan followed you into the living room, sitting down in the worn armchair opposite you. He gave you a look—one eyebrow slightly raised, lips set in that half-smirk he sometimes wore when he was figuring someone out.

“She really roped you into this, huh?” he asked, voice low and rough.

You shrugged, trying to seem casual. “It’s not a big deal. I’m used to kids asking for help with schoolwork.”

“Yeah, but Laura? She doesn’t ask for help unless she’s got some kind of angle.”

You laughed softly, but the truth of his words settled somewhere in the back of your mind. Laura wasn’t just a smart kid—she was calculating. You’d seen it in class and at home. The way she observed things, the way she always seemed to know what was going on, even when no one said a word.

“I guess I’ll find out,” you said, leaning back into the couch.

Before Logan could reply, Laura returned, a small notebook and a pencil in hand. She sat beside you, flipping it open to a random page. You glanced at the page, immediately noticing that it was filled with neat, almost perfect handwriting. The essay she’d written didn’t have a single correction or revision mark.

“Alright,” you began, pretending you didn’t see the perfection in front of you. “What do you need help with?”

Laura handed the notebook over, her face perfectly serious. “I just wanted to know if the introduction’s strong enough.”

You skimmed through the first paragraph, and honestly, it was better than anything you’d expect from a sixth grader. If anything, it felt more like she was testing you than asking for actual feedback.

“It’s good,” you said slowly. “Your thesis is clear, and you have a strong opening sentence. You might want to make the transition to your first point a little smoother, but overall, it’s solid.”

Laura nodded thoughtfully, pretending to make a note in her notebook. You watched her for a moment, trying to figure out what game she was playing. There was no way she needed your help, but for some reason, she wanted you here. And Logan, too.

Logan just sat quietly, watching the two of you like he wasn’t quite sure what was happening either. His hand rested on the arm of the chair, fingers tapping lightly. You could feel his presence, steady and grounding, even when he wasn’t saying anything.

Laura glanced at her dad. “Ms. Aberra’s a pretty good teacher, don’t you think?”

Logan’s eyes flicked to you, his smirk back in full force. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

You gave Laura a suspicious look. “You’re not just buttering me up for extra credit, are you?”

Laura’s eyes widened in mock innocence. “No. I just like the way you explain things.”

“Mhm.” You weren’t buying it, but it was hard not to laugh.

The quiet hung between you all for a moment, just the sound of the rain outside and the occasional scrape of Laura’s pencil against her notebook. It felt… peaceful, despite the nagging feeling that something was going on beneath the surface.

“Alright, well,” you finally said, pushing yourself up from the couch. “Looks like you’ve got this handled, Laura. I don’t think you need much help.”

Laura blinked up at you, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Thanks anyway.”

You caught the look she sent Logan’s way, and suddenly, it clicked. She didn’t need your help with homework—she was just trying to get you to stick around a little longer. Maybe even trying to give you and Logan more time together.

Smart kid.

Logan, of course, said nothing, just watching you with that unreadable expression he wore so well. You could never quite tell what he was thinking, and it both frustrated and intrigued you.

"So," Laura said suddenly, breaking the quiet. "What’s the plan today?"

You glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "You’re the one with the notebook full of perfect essays. I thought you had plans."

Laura grinned at that, not even trying to hide it anymore. "I was thinking we could all go out for lunch. Since we’re stuck here."

Logan gave her a look, but didn’t say anything, clearly seeing through her. You stifled a laugh, playing along. "Lunch, huh? You paying?"

Laura shrugged, looking way too pleased with herself. "I’ll ask nicely. Maybe you’ll cover it."

You shook your head, pretending to think it over. "Might be able to swing it."

Logan snorted. "Real generous of you."

"Hey, I’m a teacher. Gotta budget wisely," you shot back, smirking at him.

Laura just smiled, clearly happy with how things were going, and it hit you again—she was definitely playing matchmaker. Subtle, but it was there. Not that you minded. Spending more time with Logan wasn’t exactly a hardship.

Logan leaned back in his chair, his eyes still on you, though. "You’re sure you don’t mind us hanging around?"

You tilted your head, genuinely surprised. "Logan, if I minded, I wouldn’t have let you in. You’re both always welcome here."

For a second, he looked like he was going to argue, but then he just gave a slow nod, like he was accepting it—maybe even appreciating it, though he’d never say that out loud. "Thanks."

You shrugged, trying to act like it wasn’t a big deal, even though you knew it kind of was. "Don’t mention it."

Laura got up, stretching her arms over her head before grabbing her empty bowl. "I’ll go get ready for lunch then," she said, already heading to the sink. "I’m starving."

You watched her go, then turned back to Logan, raising an eyebrow. "Think we’ve got time for that before the power comes back on?"

Logan shrugged, his smirk returning. "Could be out a while longer."

"Convenient," you muttered, though there was no real bite to it.

Logan chuckled, a low, rough sound that made something in your chest tighten. He set his empty mug on the coffee table and stood up, stretching slightly. "Guess we better make sure the kid doesn’t eat the place out of food while we wait."

You laughed, following him into the kitchen. The dynamic between the three of you felt easy now, comfortable in a way that surprised you. Even with Laura’s not-so-subtle attempts at matchmaking, there was something natural about how you and Logan were around each other. It wasn’t rushed or forced. Just... right.

Laura appeared from the hallway, already dressed and tugging on her jacket. "Ready when you are," she said, a little too cheerfully.

Logan gave her a look. "We haven’t even decided where we’re going."

"I’ll leave that up to the grown-ups," she said, grabbing her shoes.

You exchanged a glance with Logan, both of you clearly thinking the same thing: this kid was way too clever for her own good. But neither of you called her out on it.

"Alright," Logan finally said, grabbing his jacket. "Let’s get going before the power comes back and ruins her plan."

Laura grinned but didn’t say anything, grabbing your hand as you all headed out into the damp, cool air. The rain had finally stopped, but the sky was still overcast, a soft, gray light filtering through the clouds.

You walked beside Logan, Laura skipping a few steps ahead, her eyes darting around like she was taking everything in. She was always like that—watching, observing. And now you knew why. She was playing a long game, slowly pushing you and Logan closer together, little by little.

You couldn’t help but smile. She was good. Really good.

And maybe, just maybe, you were starting to appreciate her efforts.

---

The school did something special for parents on Valentine’s Day. Instead of just handing out donuts or cupcakes, they did a competition.

There was different challenges for each couple, or pairing, to finish, and to make it even better, their kids would have to guide them on certain challenges, like walking blindfolded to the finish line on the field.

Emma glanced over at you as you were going through the list of parent’s names, making sure everyone had a partner. There were a few single parents, so you had to figure out who they should be paired with. But there was an odd number, one parent would have to sit out.

“So… who’s sitting out?” Emma asked, leaning on the desk next to you. She had that casual curiosity in her tone, but you knew she was just as invested in making sure things ran smoothly as you were.

You chewed your lip, staring at the list. “Looks like we’ve got one extra parent. I’m not sure yet.”

Emma peeked over your shoulder, scanning the names. “What about Logan?”

You paused, looking at the list. Logan’s name was there, as was Laura’s, but you hesitated. He wasn’t exactly the type to jump into school events, especially one that involved blindfolds and teamwork. And while he’d been involved in Laura’s life, you weren’t sure he’d want to participate in something like this.

“Yeah, guess he can sit out. We have an odd number of parents anyways.” You put down the clipboard and looked at the empty donut box, “I’ll be right back. Gonna go to the other room and get another box.”

As you moved toward the door, you noticed Laura sitting quietly in the corner, fiddling with her notebook, watching everything with that usual sharpness in her eyes. She had been quiet all morning, almost too quiet. You gave her a smile before heading to the break room, still feeling a little awkward about pairing up the parents.

Emma stayed behind, her eyes flicking between you and Laura, a slight smirk tugging at her lips like she was onto something.

You weaved through the hallway, your mind still on the whole situation. These parent events were always a little tricky when it came to single parents. You knew Logan wasn’t exactly the type to jump into the school scene, especially for something like a Valentine’s Day competition, but you couldn’t help but think maybe he’d want to give it a shot for Laura.

Grabbing the donut box, you paused for a second. The idea of Logan being there today, paired up with someone else, didn’t sit right. Not that you had any reason to feel that way. It was just... Logan. You weren’t even sure if he’d show up.

When you returned to the room, Laura was still sitting there, now scribbling something in her notebook. She glanced up as you entered, her expression neutral but her eyes watching you closely.

“Everything okay?” you asked, setting the fresh box on the table and moving to grab the clipboard again.

Laura nodded. “Yeah, just thinking.”

“Thinking about the competition?” You smiled, trying to make conversation, but she just gave you a vague shrug.

“Something like that.”

Emma glanced at you, her smirk still there as she made a little noise of amusement. “Logan didn’t strike me as the ‘competition’ type. But who knows?”

You shot her a look, but before you could respond, the door swung open, and Logan walked in. Speak of the devil. He looked around, taking in the sight of parents getting ready, kids buzzing with excitement. His eyes landed on you, and he gave a short nod, his usual gruff greeting.

“You’re here,” you said, surprised, trying to keep your voice casual. “Didn’t think you’d make it.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, his hands in his pockets. “Laura signed us up. Thought I’d better show.”

Laura, sitting nearby, perked up but kept her face mostly neutral. She wasn’t about to blow her cover, not yet anyway.

“Right,” you said, glancing down at the clipboard. “Well, there’s an odd number of parents, so... I was thinking maybe you’d sit out.”

Laura, quick as ever, jumped in. “Or you could partner with someone else.”

You blinked at her, caught off guard. “Well, yeah, I guess, but we don’t really have—”

“You could partner with Daddy.” Laura said it so simply, like it wasn’t a big deal, like she hadn’t been plotting this for weeks.

Logan’s eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced between the two of you, clearly realizing what his daughter was doing, but he didn’t say anything. He just stood there, waiting for your reaction.

You stammered a bit, caught completely off guard. “I—I don’t know if that’s a good idea...”

Laura gave you a look, one that said she knew exactly what she was doing. “It’s just for the competition. Besides, it’ll be fun.”

Logan’s gaze flicked to you again, and this time, there was a slight smirk on his face. “It’s just a game, right? We’ll survive.”

Emma, watching the whole thing play out, was trying very hard not to laugh. “Looks like you’re stuck with Logan, Y/N.”

You felt a wave of heat rise in your cheeks. It was one thing to think about spending time with Logan, but being thrown into a school competition with him—especially with Laura being the mastermind behind it—was another.

“Okay, fine,” you muttered, trying to act like this wasn’t a big deal at all. “I guess we’ll partner up.”

Logan just gave a nonchalant shrug. “Let’s get this over with.”

Laura’s eyes practically sparkled with victory as she hopped up from her seat, already heading toward the field where the first challenge would take place. You followed, trying to shake off the awkwardness, but it was impossible with Logan right next to you.

As you reached the field, the first task was announced: a three-legged race. Of course. Out of all the challenges, it had to be this one. You glanced over at Logan, who was already eyeing the ropes being handed out for the pairs to tie their legs together.

"This should be interesting," Logan muttered under his breath, taking one of the ropes and holding it out for you.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to hide your nerves behind a smile. "I feel like this is a recipe for disaster."

Logan’s lips quirked into a smirk. "Only if you don’t keep up."

"Me?" You chuckled, shaking your head as you bent down to tie the rope around your ankle and his. "You’re the one with the bum leg."

Logan grunted, not arguing, though his usual swagger was still intact. "I’ll manage."

Laura stood off to the side, watching with a faint smile, clearly enjoying the show. You could tell she was pleased with herself, and part of you was too, even if you were trying to act like this was no big deal.

"Alright, ready?" Logan asked, standing up straighter after securing the rope.

"As I’ll ever be," you replied, trying to gauge the best way to navigate the race without falling flat on your face.

The whistle blew, and before you knew it, you were awkwardly hopping forward, one leg bound to Logan’s as you tried to find some sort of rhythm. The first few steps were disastrous—Logan’s longer strides making it nearly impossible for you to keep pace without stumbling.

"Slow down!" you laughed, grabbing his arm to steady yourself as you nearly tripped.

Logan smirked, his hand quickly coming to your waist to keep you from toppling over. "You gotta move faster than that, Y/N."

"Or maybe you need to move slower!" you shot back, trying to adjust your steps to match his. After a few shaky moments, you finally found a rhythm, the two of you moving in sync—well, mostly. Logan’s hand lingered at your waist, steadying you as you both half-hopped, half-laughed your way toward the finish line.

"Not bad," Logan grunted as you crossed the line, not quite first, but definitely not last either.

"Not bad?" You shot him a look, still a little breathless from laughing. "I’m pretty sure we almost face-planted three times."

"Could’ve been worse," he replied with a shrug, that smirk of his still in place.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny the way your heart was still racing—though you weren’t sure if it was from the race or from the fact that Logan had kept his arm around your waist longer than necessary.

Laura, waiting at the sidelines, gave you both a knowing look as you untied the rope. "You guys were pretty good," she commented casually, though the glint in her eyes said otherwise.

"Pretty good?" you echoed, shooting her a playful glare. "We almost ate dirt, Laura."

Logan grunted in agreement but didn’t say much, just shaking his head as he rubbed his leg a bit. You noticed the slight grimace that flashed across his face—something you hadn’t seen often, but it was there for just a moment before he covered it up.

"Next challenge is... egg balancing," Emma announced from the other end of the field, holding up a spoon and a carton of eggs.

You and Logan exchanged a look, and you couldn’t help but laugh. "Oh, this’ll be fun."

Logan just sighed, clearly less than thrilled about the prospect of trying to balance an egg on a spoon, but he didn’t protest. You handed him one of the spoons as you lined up for the next round.

"You got a steady hand?" you teased, raising an eyebrow at him.

Logan glanced at the spoon, then back at you. "Steadier than yours, probably."

"Let’s see about that," you shot back, placing the egg carefully on your spoon. The whistle blew, and you both started across the field, trying to keep the fragile eggs from toppling off. You had to admit, Logan had a surprising amount of focus for a guy who usually looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

"Not bad for an old man," you joked, glancing over at him as you both carefully moved toward the finish line.

"Careful, Y/N. That’s how you get egg on your face," Logan muttered, but you could hear the amusement in his voice.

Just as you were nearing the end, Laura darted over, watching closely. "Come on, you guys can do it!"

It was hard to ignore the pride in her voice—she was definitely enjoying watching you two work together. And maybe, despite the ridiculousness of it all, you were too.

By the time you finished, both of your eggs still intact, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of accomplishment. It was silly, sure, but being paired with Logan for these goofy challenges wasn’t as awkward as you thought it might be. In fact, it was... kind of nice.

"Two for two," Logan said with a smirk, handing his spoon back as the event wrapped up.

"Don’t get too cocky," you replied, bumping his arm lightly as you handed yours in too. "We’ll see how you do with the next one."

Laura appeared beside you again, her eyes bright. "You guys make a good team."

You gave her a sideways glance, trying not to read too much into her words. "Yeah, well, it’s all about teamwork, right?"

Logan didn’t say anything, but his eyes met yours for a brief moment, and there was something there—something unspoken that made your heart skip a beat.

The rest of the day went by in a blur of silly games and laughter, and by the time the event was over, you were exhausted, but in the best way possible. Logan had stayed the whole time, never complaining or trying to bow out early. Laura, of course, was thrilled with how things had turned out, and you couldn’t help but feel like she had succeeded in whatever plan she had been cooking up.

As the parents and kids started to trickle out of the school, you found yourself standing beside Logan near the door. Laura had already run ahead to grab her things, leaving the two of you alone for a moment.

"Thanks for sticking around," you said, glancing up at him. "I know this probably wasn’t your idea of a fun day."

Logan shrugged, his usual nonchalant expression in place. "Wasn’t so bad."

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. "Well, I’m glad you came. Laura seemed to really enjoy it."

"Yeah," Logan agreed, his gaze softening slightly as he looked in the direction where Laura had run off. "She’s a good kid."

"She is," you said, nodding. "And she’s lucky to have you."

Logan didn’t respond right away, but after a moment, he gave a small nod. "Thanks."

There was a brief silence between you, the air charged with something unspoken but palpable. Before you could say anything else, Laura came bounding back, her backpack slung over one shoulder.

"Ready to go?" she asked, looking between the two of you with that same knowing glint in her eyes.

"Yeah," Logan said, ruffling her hair lightly. "Let’s get outta here."

As they started to head for the door, Logan paused, glancing back at you. "See you around, Y/N."

"Yeah," you replied, feeling your heart skip again. "See you around, Logan."

---

It had been a few days since the Valentine’s Day event, and things had settled back into routine. You were sitting in your living room, halfway through grading papers, when there was a knock on your door.

Opening it, you found Logan standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, looking slightly out of place.

"Hey," he greeted, voice low. "Laura wanted me to ask if you'd join us for dinner tonight. Nothing fancy. Just... thought it’d be nice."

You blinked, surprised by the invitation. Logan wasn’t exactly the type to invite people over casually, but something about the way he stood there, slightly awkward, made your heart skip a beat.

"Sure," you said, smiling. "I’d like that."

Dinner at Logan’s place was unexpectedly warm. Laura set the table with care, and you found yourself laughing more than you expected as Logan recounted some old stories about his past. The tension that usually simmered between you felt different tonight—softer, like you were slowly crossing an invisible line you’d both been careful to avoid.

As you helped clear the dishes, your hand brushed against Logan’s, and the brief contact made you pause. He glanced at you, and for a moment, neither of you moved. It was like a quiet acknowledgment of something building between you.

“Thanks for coming,” he said, his voice low, his gaze lingering just a little too long.

“Anytime,” you replied softly, feeling the weight of his eyes on you as you turned to put the plates away. You tried to ignore the flutter in your chest, but it was hard with Logan standing so close. It was like every time you were around him, you felt like something unspoken hovered between you—something that Laura, in her quiet, clever way, seemed determined to help along.

Laura wandered back into the room, a book in her hands. “Y/N, can you help me with my English homework?” she asked, holding it up and glancing between you and Logan like she hadn’t just interrupted a moment.

You blinked, turning to her with a small smile. “Of course, I can take a look.”

“Great!” Laura said, her voice a little too cheerful. She plopped down on the couch and spread her notebook and book out in front of her. “It’s this essay I’ve got to write.”

Logan lingered by the kitchen counter, his eyes flicking to Laura’s book with an expression you couldn’t quite read. “I’ll leave you two to it, then,” he muttered, and before you could say anything, he was stepping outside, probably to get some fresh air or give you and Laura some space.

You turned your attention back to Laura, still smiling but a bit confused. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got here.”

Laura launched into an explanation, talking about a character analysis she needed to do for class. As you glanced over her notes, though, it struck you that everything was pretty much perfect. Her sentences were clear, her argument made sense, and she’d clearly put a lot of thought into it. Like always, it was perfect.

“Laura… this is really good,” you said slowly, giving her an impressed look. “I don’t think you need help with this.”

Laura’s face stayed impassive, but you caught a faint hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Just wanted to make sure it was okay,” she said casually, glancing in the direction Logan had gone.

Something clicked then, and you had to suppress a chuckle. So this was just another one of Laura’s little schemes to get you to stick around. You were starting to see the pattern—tiny excuses to keep you close, to get you and Logan in the same room more often. It was subtle, but now that you were catching on, it was impossible to miss.

“Well, your essay’s great,” you said, folding your arms as you gave her a knowing look. “But I think there’s more going on here than just English homework.”

Laura’s gaze stayed steady on yours, and for a moment, you could see a glimpse of something deeper in those eyes—something far beyond her years. “He’s lonely,” she said quietly, so softly that you almost missed it.

Your heart gave a small squeeze at that. It was true that Logan always seemed like a man on the outskirts of everything, never quite fitting in. And you knew he and Laura had been through a lot together, more than most people could imagine. But he wasn’t exactly the type to talk about his feelings—or admit he might need someone else in his life.

“Maybe,” you replied gently, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. “But that’s something he has to figure out on his own, okay?”

Laura nodded slowly, but she didn’t look entirely convinced. “He likes you,” she said, blunt as ever. “And you like him.”

Your cheeks heated, and you glanced away, trying to keep your voice steady. It wasn’t the first time Laura has said something like this. “It’s not that simple, Laura.”

“Why not?” she asked, her brow furrowing like she genuinely didn’t understand.

You struggled to find the right words. How could you explain that things with Logan were complicated—that you weren’t sure where you stood with him, or if there was even a place for you in his life beyond being Laura’s teacher? And yet, every time you were near him, there was this pull, this quiet magnetism that made you wonder.

“I just… don’t want to mess things up,” you admitted finally, feeling a little silly for having this conversation with an eleven-year-old.

Laura’s gaze softened, and she reached out to squeeze your hand. “You won’t.”

Before you could respond, the door swung open, and Logan stepped back inside, his gaze immediately going to the two of you. “Everything okay?” he asked, his tone gruff but laced with something you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“Yeah, we’re good,” you said quickly, trying to push down the strange mix of emotions Laura’s words had stirred up. You stood up, smoothing down your shirt as you gave him a smile. “I should probably get going, though. It’s getting late.”

Logan nodded, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something that almost looked like disappointment. “I’ll walk you out.”

He led you to the door, and you hesitated for a moment, glancing back at Laura. She gave you a small, encouraging smile, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Thanks again for coming,” Logan said as he opened the door, his voice a little softer than usual.

“Anytime,” you replied, echoing your earlier words as you stepped outside. The cool night air hit you, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling the weight of Logan’s gaze on you.

There was a long pause, the kind that felt like something should be said, but neither of you knew what. You shifted on your feet, biting your lip as you glanced up at him.

“Logan, I—”

“Y/N, I—”

You both spoke at the same time, then paused, sharing a startled laugh.

“You first,” Logan muttered, his lips twitching into a faint smile.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “I just… I wanted to say that I really enjoyed tonight. And I know Laura’s been… well, playing matchmaker or something,” you added with a chuckle, “but I just want you to know that I’m not—”

“Using her as an excuse to get close?” Logan finished for you, his voice dry but not unkind.

You nodded, feeling a little self-conscious. “Yeah.”

Logan stood there, his eyes steady on yours, and for a moment, you both let the silence fill the space between you. He shifted his weight, his usual stoic expression softening just a bit, and for the first time, it felt like he was truly considering what to say next.

"Look, I know Laura's been trying to push things," he said, his voice low and gruff, but gentler than usual. "She's... smart, too smart sometimes. But this—tonight—it wasn’t just about her."

You blinked, surprised by his admission. You weren’t used to Logan being so open, especially about anything personal. He seemed to read the surprise in your face and let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of his neck like this was harder for him than any physical fight he’d been in.

"What I mean is," he continued, glancing at the ground before his eyes flicked back up to yours, "it’s not just her, Y/N. I didn’t mind tonight. And that’s not something I say often."

Your breath hitched a little at his words, heart beating a little faster. There was a vulnerability in Logan that you weren’t expecting—a side of him that he clearly didn’t let out much, if at all.

"I didn’t mind it either," you said softly, trying to match his tone, to let him know you weren’t taking this lightly. "And Laura... well, she’s got a way of seeing things."

Logan let out a quiet chuckle, a rare sound that caught you off guard. "Yeah, she does. Sometimes I think she’s too smart for her own good." His eyes softened as he spoke about her, a fondness there that made you smile.

"She just wants you to be happy," you said gently. "And, I guess, maybe me too."

Logan looked at you for a long moment, something unspoken passing between you, and for the first time, you wondered if maybe—just maybe—there was something more here than just a shared concern for Laura. You had always admired Logan’s strength, his quiet loyalty, the way he looked after Laura with such fierce protectiveness. But standing there now, with the night air cool against your skin and Logan’s presence so close, it felt different. More personal.

"You know," Logan said after a long pause, his voice low again, "I don’t exactly have a lot of people in my life. Never been good at that sort of thing. But... you’re good with Laura. And you’re—" He stopped, his jaw tightening for a second like he wasn’t sure if he should say the next part. "You’re good for us."

Your heart thudded in your chest, and for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and you could feel the weight of what he wasn’t saying—the layers beneath that simple statement. You’re good for us. It wasn’t just about being Laura’s teacher anymore. It was about something more.

Your heart thudded in your chest, but you forced a smile to keep things light. “Good for you?” you repeated with a slight chuckle. There was an ache there, something that hinted at how much more those words meant coming from Logan—someone who didn’t let people in easily. The way he looked at you, steady and deliberate, made it hard to brush aside. His eyes held yours a little longer than usual, almost daring you to look away.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice a low rumble, and you couldn’t help but notice how the weight of the night seemed to gather between you, thick in the air. Logan’s usual guarded stance had softened, just enough for you to sense it. He stepped a bit closer, enough that you could feel the faint warmth of him, the earthy scent of cigars and the wild outdoors clinging to his skin.

You shifted on your feet, trying to figure out where this was heading, but the flutter in your chest only grew stronger. Something unspoken seemed to pass between you two, like a current beneath the surface, waiting for one of you to reach down and touch it.

“I think Laura’s got something figured out,” you admitted, voice soft as you kept your eyes on him. “She’s smart enough to see what’s happening here.”

Logan’s lips quirked into a small, barely-there smile. “Yeah, too smart sometimes.” His gaze fell to the ground for a moment, and when he looked back up at you, there was something different there—something raw. “But she’s right. You’re good for us. Hell, you’re good for me.” His words carried a weight, a kind of honesty that took you by surprise, even though deep down, you’d been hoping to hear them for a while.

You swallowed, trying to keep your composure, but your pulse quickened. “Logan, I…” You started to say something—anything—to break the tension, but the words stuck in your throat. He was so close now, you could feel the heat radiating off him, and there was a wildness in his eyes that drew you in.

And then, as if some invisible line snapped, Logan took another step toward you, his rough hand reaching out to cup your cheek. His thumb grazed your skin, the touch light but electrifying. “I don’t say things like this often,” he muttered, his voice husky, the growl in it more pronounced now, “but I want you to stay close. For Laura, yeah, but... for me too.”

Your breath hitched as his words sank in, your body reacting to the closeness of him, the way his hand lingered on your cheek. It wasn’t just the softness in his eyes or the tenderness of his touch, but the way he was looking at you, like he was seeing more than just the surface.

“I’ve wanted to stay close,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper, as your hand gently touched his chest. His heartbeat was strong, steady, and you couldn’t help but feel drawn in, like the pull between you was more than just chemistry.

Logan’s gaze dropped to your lips, and for a moment, everything else faded away—the cool night air, the sound of distant traffic, even the faint light from inside the house. All that mattered was the closeness, the way you could feel his breath mingling with yours.

Before you knew it, Logan was leaning in, and you closed the gap without thinking. His lips pressed against yours, rough and warm, and everything else just melted away. The kiss was slow at first, almost tentative, but then it deepened, and the heat between you flared like wildfire.

His other hand found your waist, pulling you closer against him, and you could feel the solid strength of his body as you pressed into him. The kiss was everything you hadn’t let yourself think about for so long—filled with a hunger that had been simmering beneath the surface, waiting to spill over.

Logan kissed like he lived—intensely, without holding back. His grip on your waist tightened as if he was afraid to let go, and you responded in kind, threading your fingers into the rough texture of his hair. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing; just the two of you, connected in this raw, unexpected moment.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, you both stood there for a moment, neither of you saying anything. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and Logan’s forehead rested against yours, his breath still ragged.

“I—” you started to speak, but he cut you off, his voice low and hoarse.

“Don’t,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly. “Don’t ruin it with words, not yet.”

You nodded, biting back whatever thought was trying to escape. The night air felt cooler now, the warmth of Logan’s body contrasting sharply against it, grounding you in the moment. His hand lingered on your waist, thumb brushing your side, and you could feel the slight tremor in his fingers, like even he was surprised by what just happened.

After a long silence, he finally spoke, voice quieter than before. “Didn’t think this’d happen,” he admitted, almost to himself.

You gave a soft laugh, still trying to catch your breath. “Me either.”

His lips quirked into the faintest of smiles, and he shifted slightly, his hand moving from your waist to gently brush your cheek. The gesture was so uncharacteristically tender for him that it made your heart twist a little.

For a moment, you both just stood there, the weight of everything unspoken hanging between you. Part of you wanted to step back, to put some distance between you and Logan, to give yourself a chance to think. But another part—the stronger part—wanted to stay right where you were, feeling the warmth of his hand on your skin, the rough edge of his thumb grazing your cheek.

Meanwhile, Laura peeked through the blinds, a smile spreading across her face.

tags: @freythecrazyfae

[fayes-fics]

To Know You…

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict knows you better than anyone. But does he know himself well enough to know what he truly wants?

Warnings: none really… fluffy fluff. Childhood friends, class differences, marriage mart shenanigans, dancing, marriage proposals, Benedict being adorable while also a complete dumbass, unrequited to requited love, love confessions.

Word Count: 10.4k (yeah, it's a long one, folks)

Authors Note: this is a request fill for @curlsincriminology (ask HERE) about Benedict showing you all the wonderful things he sees in you, but will he figure out his own feelings before it's too late? Thanks to the complete trooper @colettebronte for beta reading this monster one-shot. Enjoy <3

I: To Know You….

“I would rather not, Miss y/l/n,” the young man clips, walking away from you at a brusque pace. 

You sigh and look down at your feet. Mrs Parsons will be so very disappointed, is all you can think.

—

Benedict may not have heard the words spoken, but even from his vantage point at the other end of the ballroom, he could see the disdainful way the young man uttered his parting words to you. It makes anger flare hot in his chest, his fist forming reflexively at his side.

He watches as you look down, shoulders hunching, folding in on yourself physically, as if the rejection for a dance has manifested in a body blow. He feels a pang in his gut—of sympathy, indignance on your behalf and mainly at the injustice of it all. To him, you are a wonderful, intelligent, caring person worthy of a good match. Still, the circumstances of your upbringing seem to stymie your attempts to join so-called ‘polite’ society at every turn…

—

You look up with a defeated mien until your eyes land on one person who has always been able to ameliorate any of your more morose moods—Benedict Bridgerton. Instantly, you feel lighter. You give him a polite nod across the crowded room, and, to your delight, he returns it, a hint of a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. It is just so very characteristic of him to offer silent support, to understand, from witnessing a moment of interaction, precisely what you are feeling. A large part of you feels so wistful that there is no other man quite as nice as him. Suddenly, your overwhelming need is to leave this stuffy ballroom and catch some air.

You grew up under the tutelage of the kindly doctor’s widow, Mrs Parsons, whose house is not far from the vast Bridgerton estate in Kent. The naturally born daughter of nobody quite knows whom, you were taken in as her ward when you were abandoned upon her doorstep at a mere two years old. Her reputation for kindness towards young waifs and strays is likely why you were left there. It is an event you were too young to recall, so all you have known your whole life is her generosity and kindness, raising you as if her own. 

And now that you are of age, she takes you to events around Kent in the hopes of securing you a respectable husband, the most prestigious being tonight’s Hearts and Flowers Ball at Aubrey Hall. The Bridgertons have always been gracious enough to invite local families, those without the means to partake in the London season, to events at their country estate—a kindness that allows for your attendance tonight. It’s just such a pity that the one bachelor Mrs Parsons was so very keen for you to meet, one Mr Reeves, just rebuffed you so thoroughly. 

You glance down at the remaining empty slots on the dance card tied to your wrist and sigh again. Now that you are out on the terrace in the fresh evening air, the light breeze is at least a partial balm, allowing you to recover from the sting of rejection away from the hubbub of the ballroom.

“I will never understand how the men of this county can consider themselves anything approaching mannered.” 

You would know that refined voice anywhere. It haunts your dreams. Just the sound of it making your ribs tighten. You turn to see Benedict sauntering towards you, two drinks in hand, that sympathetic smile still in place.

“You are far better off without such rudeness,” he adds dryly as he pulls up beside you, arching an eyebrow for your entertainment.

“You are far too kind, Mr Bridgerton,” you answer, taking the glass he offers with a meek smile, trying not to let your ardent admiration for him be too evident. 

“Mr Bridgerton?!?” he scoffs, “What happened to BenBen?” he teases gently, recalling your childhood name for him when you were a mere four and he was nine.

“We are at a formal event; I should address you as such, should I not?” you reply playfully, a warmth spreading inside as it always does when you get the chance to have a witty, convivial exchange with him.

By gosh, if there is one man to whom you would pledge yourself without hesitation, it is him. But, of course, he is the second son of an illustrious family. To think you would have any chance to win his heart would be as likely as a future king to marry a commoner. Still, you can dream…

“At least call me Benedict, Skylark,” he winks over his wine glass as he takes a sip, butterflies erupting in your tummy at the affectionate nickname he has used since you were small; you have to avert your eyes to avoid blushing deeply.

Just as he goes to speak again, his brother, the Viscount, materialises at his side. Looking to all intents and purposes as if he is trying to escape the ball as much as you are.

“Mother is best avoided tonight, brother,” Anthony warns sagely, taking a large gulp of his champagne. “She is under the erroneous impression I am suddenly in want of a wife.”

You can't stop the giggle that bubbles up from within at his wry observation of his predicament.

“Hello, y/n,” he greets warmly, just noticing you are also there, his face morphing into a youthful, playful grin. If Benedict is the husband you have always dreamed of, Anthony is the elder brother you have always yearned for. In fact, that is always how he has treated you, akin to Eloise and Daphne, who you grew up playing with, being of similar age.

“Hello, Anthony,” you chime back. “How was the hunt earlier? Did the infamous Bridgerton brothers kill another prized stag?” you inquire, keen to engage both of them for as long as they will entertain you. Just being around them always lifts your spirits to no end.

—

Benedict observes you as you listen intently to Anthony’s recounting of the hunt earlier that day, impressed by your resilience. He has no doubts any other woman would feign an attack of the vapours had a man rejected her so harshly. But here you are, politely listening to his brother’s boasting, even though he can tell you are hurting inside.

Perhaps it helps that your snub went primarily unnoticed. You are unknown to the Ton; any witnesses likely dismissing it as the business of ‘country folk’ unworthy of note. Which, frankly, he could scoff at, seeing as he holds you in higher regard than all of the other attendees combined.

“How about you?” Anthony ends his story with a question to you, interrupting Benedict’s train of thought. “How has your experience been at our fine event this evening?”

“Oh, the house is splendidly decorated and the music wonderful,” you obfuscate behind flattery. Anthony appears to buy it, but Benedict sees behind your facade, the flame behind your usually bright gaze dimming a little, making something ache in his gut to see it. 

Damn that idiot for ruining your evening! This just won’t do…

—

You can feel Benedict’s eyes upon you as you respond abstractly to Anthony.

“Y/n here is too polite to say it, but she was treated harshly by that young Reeves chap from Tenterden,” Benedict edifies as you bow your head, embarrassed. “Let’s be sure to rescind his invitation to future events, brother,” he appends with a surly tone.

“Duly noted,” Anthony nods sincerely, a brush of confusion flitting over his face regarding his brother's vehemence.

“No, there is no need…” you begin to protest weakly but halt mid-sentence under the intensity of Benedict’s gaze.

“I bore witness. Believe me, He shall not darken our door again,” he states firmly.

It appears the matter is very much decided, and you don’t want to put up much of a fight, seeing as it ultimately benefits you. You do, however, want to bathe in the warm glow inside whenever Benedict defends you. It's wonderful to have someone looking out for you, especially one so handsome and kind.

—

Two days later, you are taking afternoon tea with Mrs Parsons at the local tea shop when Benedict breezes in, looking so majestic dressed in Bridgerton blues that you grind to a halt. Luckily, he has not seen you as he makes a beeline for the counter.

“‘Tis rude to stare, my dear,” Mrs Parsons lectures sotto voce, nodding to your teacup, frozen in mid-air.

You shake your head a touch and place said item back in your saucer as she turns briefly to look at what or who caught your attention. Then she reaches out, her lace-gloved hand gently patting yours. 

“It would be prudent to set your sights a little more realistic…” she advises with a sympathetic air.  “Not that I fault your choice,” she adds, so quietly at first you're not sure you heard her correctly, but there is a tiny playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Your mouth falls open fractionally, and you stare as she shrugs. “I may be old, my dear, but I am not blind.”

Well, I never, Mrs Parsons!

As you take a bite of food, Benedict twists around from speaking to the proprietor, and he sees you. There’s a jolt down your spine as he breaks into a huge smile that claims his whole face. And you almost choke on scone crumbs as he makes a beeline over to you rather than the exit.

“Good afternoon, Miss y/l/n, Mrs Parsons!” he greets effusively. “Would it be terribly impolite to ask to join you briefly?”

Mrs Parsons' face is a picture of surprise. “Not at all; the pleasure is ours, Mr Bridgerton,” she responds affably, gesturing to the spare chair at your small round table.

As Benedict sits, Mrs Parsons shoots you an incredulous look. It's your turn to shrug fractionally.

“Mrs Parsons, I feel it necessary to tell you Mr Reeves was excessively rude to Miss y/l/n here at the ball, and I wanted to assure you that he will not be welcome at Aubrey Hall again,” he divulges sincerely.

Mrs Parsons looks taken aback and turns to you. “Why did you not tell me, my dear?”

“I-I did not think it necessary…” you twist your mouth into a bashful pout, biting your lip.

“Mr Bridgerton, thank you for bringing this to my attention, and I thank you for your generous offer, but that sort of action does not seem warranted,” she replies accommodatingly.

“That is what I said…” “That is what she said…”

You and Benedict speak in unison at the exact same moment, and your eyes ping to each other, both laughing then bowing your heads immediately. You know your cheeks are flushed.

—

Benedict loves the look in your eye sometimes. That spirited sparkle with glowing cheeks. In his opinion, that is the only look you should ever wear; no one, especially one as unworthy as Mr Reeves, should be allowed to rob you of it. He feels a strong compulsion to do everything in his power to keep you looking like that—carefree, happy, stunning. It’s what motivates his subsequent words.

“If it is not considered too impudent for me to do so, I have a suggestion for Miss y/l/n’s introduction into society,” Benedict offers sincerely. “I believe you should be able to find her an excellent, worthy match by casting a wider net.”

“What are you proposing, Mr Bridgerton?” Mrs Parsons inquiries, almost warily.

“That Miss y/l/n come to London and partake in the remainder of the season as a guest of my family. My mother seems to think it an excellent idea, and I know my younger sister Eloise is already a good friend. I do not see why they could not attend events together,” he shrugs genially.

Mrs Parsons's face is a picture again. “You have already spoken to the Dowager Viscountess of this matter?” she checks, unable to modulate the astonishment in her tone.

“Of course,” he confirms with a nod. “I made such a suggestion this morning when your names came up. She heartily concurs. Miss y/l/n here is too bright and good of a person to have her marital choice limited by geography or circumstance.”

His eyes fall on you, and his heart gallops at the searing look you are giving him.

—

You don’t even try to temper your doe-eyed expression as you look upon Benedict, him extolling your virtues to the audience of the tea room. 

Even distracted by all the wondrous things he has to say, you can detect the noise level on the surrounding tables has reduced; everyone in town always keen to eavesdrop on a Bridgerton conversation. Especially one that contains such noteworthy gossip as a local young lady being invited to the London season at the family’s behest.

“My dear, I trust that Lady Bridgerton will look after you well,” Mrs Parsons professes. “I have no objections should you desire to seize this opportunity.” Her tone pointed, very much encouraging you to do so.

“That would be just wonderful, Mr Bridgerton,” you exhale with a grateful smile. “I cannot thank you enough for even thinking to raise such a petition.”

“Think nothing of it, Miss y/l/n,” he smiles, standing up and giving you both a brief, shallow bow. “I shall see you anon, no doubt.” 

And with that, he sweeps out of the tearoom, your eye line tracking his concave outline through the curved glass as he rounds the corner out of sight.

“Well, well,” Mrs Parsons puffs out her cheeks. “I am not sure what you did to inspire such actions in a gentleman. But bravo, my dear, bravo,” she holds her teacup aloft in a toast. 

You are a jumble of emotions and could not even begin to answer Mrs Parsons about what you could possibly have done. Mostly, you are just elated by the prospect of the chance to attend the whirl of the London season, even if there is also a small pang of regret that Benedict is so keen to see you matched.

II: …Is To Love You

The following Tuesday, as your carriage pulls up outside the grandeur of Bridgerton House, you have nothing but butterflies. And as Lady Bridgerton - Violet as she insists you now call her - and her lady’s maid show you to your charming guest room, you cannot temper your excitement.

“Get yourself freshened up, my dear. There is a soiree this evening at the Queen’s new residence no less, and there is no time like the present to begin your introductions,” the dowager viscountess warmly counsels.

You nod your thank yous, and after they take their leave, you twirl excitedly around the room, taking in the elegant furnishings and airy sunlight flooding in. You pull up in front of a large sash window and are delighted to see bounteous gardens beneath. The rear of the property is very much an oasis of calm in the heart of the city. But one sight in particular draws your eye: a majestic oak with two swings attached to a stately arm. It looks like a place of refuge, and you feel oddly compelled to take a seat there.

Three hours later, walking into the palatial Buckingham House, you are in a different world from the one you know in Kent. Candlelit crystal chandeliers glint like towering clusters of jewels, spraying thousands of shards of light around the room. Every railing is bedecked in hundreds of drooping flower garlands, and the walls groan with enormous portraits of royalty. The mellifluous strains of a chamber orchestra fill the air. Your grip on Eloise’s arm is tight as you try not to look agog at all the opulence surrounding you.

“And I thought Aubrey Hall was grand,” you murmur quietly, and she just guffaws.

—

Benedict arrives late to the soiree from his bachelor lodgings, bustling in as stealthily as possible, knowing he will likely catch his mother’s ire for his tardiness.

But then he sees a sight that makes him temporarily stop dead in his tracks. There, hanging on to his little sister, surveying the room utterly lost in reverie at its grandeur—is you. He has not seen you dressed up as you are now, made over with the full attention of the Bridgerton staff. And he isn't afraid to admit to himself, at least, that it catches his breath. How they have applied cosmetics and styled your hair, emphasising your already evident beauty. And the dress they have chosen… well, he is almost ashamed of the heat pooling low in his gut; he has never seen you in such tailored, refined silks. 

Whosoever marries you shall be quite the luckiest man indeed.

He doesn't miss the way you inhale sharply when your eyes finally land on him, his chest swelling slightly with pride as your lips part in surprise before breaking into that winning smile which always seems to brighten every room, tonight being no exception.

As he pulls up to the family, he hears his mother opining to you about the men attending the ball.

“Y/n, I would like to introduce you to Lord Shelton; he is a fine young man with many interests, and he has a lovely estate near Hove,” his mother recounts as you listen intently.

“Oh god, no,” Benedict immediately intervenes, “Shelton has amassed significant debt at the Pudding Lane gaming hell…” 

Violet looks up surprised, then raises an eyebrow. “Pray tell dear son, how do you have knowledge of such? Benedict Bridgerton, you had better not be frequenting the hells of the East End,” she threatens quietly, in that stern maternal manner that has any grown man quaking in their polished shoes.

“No, of course not, mother,” he bristles, his eyes cutting briefly to you, not wanting you to think such things of him. “It is an open secret at Whites’, and why he is currently banned from the card room there.”

—

You cannot tear your eyes off Benedict as his mother side-eyes him.

Violet hums sceptically before declaring. “Well, not to worry, there are plenty of other options available for Miss y/l/n…” She steers your attention towards another crowd of young men, all talking and sipping champagne. “Baron Corning, Lord Jennings, Viscount Tewkesbury,” she recounts, nodding subtly to each one. “Any would make a fine addition to your dance card, my dear.” 

“We can do much better than any of them,” Benedict chides.

You are slightly taken aback at how very much he sounds like Anthony tonight; apparently very invested in curating who you should dance with. The problem is, with each additional suggestion his mother makes to you, he roundly dismisses them out of hand. 

Is no one in attendance up to his standard?

“Benedict, dear, a word?” Violet states pointedly after a third round of his withering opinions. “Get yourself another lemonade,” she smiles at you, patting your hand before looping her arm in her son’s and dragging him away.

—

His mother’s arm is surprisingly strong when she needs it to be.

“Darling, may I remind you, while Miss Y/l/n is indeed a wonderful person, I do not think we can afford to be too picky for her prospects. Her background is rather… unestablished,” Violet points out diplomatically as soon as you are out of earshot.

“We can do better than braggards, bores and philanderers,” Benedict shoots back, raising a pointed eyebrow.

She looks up at him and sighs. “Well, that is true.”

“As I thought, mother,” he winks as she affectionately swats his forearm. “Why not benefit from my knowledge? In fact, perhaps it is prudent I assist in your search for a suitor.” 

“Oh, is it now?” Her tone suddenly filled with intrigue, her face entirely too scrutinising for his liking. “And does not my second son wish to join their ranks?” She adds entirely unsubtly.

“I have no time for romance; I have my art. I am most preoccupied.” He waves a dismissive hand, but even he knows his answer is tellingly brusque.

“And yet, you do not seem too busy to assist with the search, dear…” she points out archly. 

Benedict has no response to that. 

—

The day after the grand ball, you are sat in the dappled shade in the gardens of Bridgerton House, attempting needlework. It's never been your strength, frankly. You would much rather be allowed to partake in more physical pursuits, like archery or fencing, a want to burn off nervous energy as you await the arrival of any suitors. You did end up dancing with a couple of gentlemen, both of whom were…. fine… in your estimation.  

After messing up yet another stitch, you throw down the embroidery hoop and emit a deep sigh when a familiar chuckle rings out behind you.

“Not your favourite pastime?” Benedict correctly guesses.

“You can say that again,” you grumble, twisting to smile at him, a little frisson in your belly at his mere presence, alone as you are.

He rounds to take a seat opposite you, across the table.

“So let me guess,” his face charmingly skewed into a thoughtful mien. “You would prefer to be doing something, hmmmm, more athletic?”

You giggle and cast your eyes downwards briefly, abashed he seems to know you so well. “Correct again.”

“I remember you being a crack shot in archery,” he smiles nostalgically before continuing with genuine curiosity. “Why did you not continue it?”

“I was informed ‘tis unbecoming for a lady,” you rue, the mental image of Mrs Parsons deeming such things ‘unladylike’ flitting through your mind.

He scoffs. “Since when did fearsome little Skylark care one jot for societal expectations?” he teases gently, with a wink, as again he invokes the nickname he bestowed upon you a long time hence. 

You smile briefly before you become more sanguine. “Since I have been informed I must find a husband…” you sigh.

He frowns a touch. “Any man would be lucky to have a wife who can keep him company on the archery field. I know I, for one, would greatly appreciate a spouse with whom I could share such a pastime.” 

A bittersweet twinge in your gut that one day he will indeed be married to some deserving, no doubt elegant, lady.

“I would venture that you are not like most gentlemen in that regard…”

“Perhaps not,” he agrees, looking thoughtful, “but then you are not like most ladies, Skylark.”

“I am not a lady…” your counterpoint softly-spoken, almost ashamed.

“You are more lady than any other member of the Ton,” he asserts, his gaze suddenly intense, as if he is willing you to believe his point. “And you should be free to pursue any pastime you wish.”

You say nothing, just smile wanly, wishing you could believe it was true.

—

How you constantly doubt yourself causes a little stab behind Benedict’s ribs. A sudden burning need to prove that you should do as you please. He slaps his thighs and stands up swiftly. 

“In fact, I am going to go set up the archery targets right now,” he nods decisively, making a beeline for the far corner of the garden where he knows the targets are kept, hoping you will follow.

“Coming?” he calls, twisting to look back at you. “I won't tell anyone…” he adds with a conspiratorial wink, seeing from the involuntary bounce of your leg how much you wish to join in. 

He cannot help the smile that engulfs his face as you jump to your feet with a mischievous giggle. Nor can he help deliberately aiming badly, letting you roundly defeat him at target practice, basking in the victorious glint in your eye as you tease him gently for losing. 

He also pretends not to notice his mother watching from a high window, her expression riveted and so very telling.

—

Later that day, you are reading quietly with Eloise when Violet sweeps into the drawing room with her lady's maid. 

“Y/n, Sir Denton is here to see you,” she smiles brightly. 

“Oh, I…” you stutter, sitting upright, surprised.

“I can send him away, Miss?”  The maid offers, intuiting your disquiet.

“No, no, it is fine… I am just surprised, that is all. ‘Tis almost 4pm. I was not expecting that anyone would be calling, given the late hour.”

Benedict suddenly materialises in the doorway. As ever, there’s that trademark flutter in your chest.

“Any reason Denton is lingering in the hallway?” he inquires airily, grabbing a teacup and pouring himself some.

“He is here for y/n,” Violet breezes as his eyes cut to you, a wave of irritation seeming to cloud his face.

“Well, we should dismiss him,” Benedict sniffs, pausing in his action, his face souring.

“Why?” Violet frowns.

“I had a chance to look into his past since I acquiesced to his dance with y/n last night…”

“Acquiesced?!” Violet scoffs, but Benedict ignores her interjection, save for a curt eyebrow raise.

“I have subsequently discovered he has vastly overstated his assets,” Benedict bristles imperiously.

“Who woke up and made you Anthony?” Eloise pipes up witheringly.

Benedict shoots her a look of irritation. “Anthony has deputised me to run family matters while he is away on business this week, sister,” he reminds pointedly.

“Yes, but you did not have to adopt his personality as well,” Eloise shoots back, disgust evident on her face.

“I take finding y/n here, a suitable match, seriously,” he volleys. “Do you wish to see your good friend married to someone unworthy of her?”

“Well, no…”

“Then kindly permit me to handle matters,” Benedict orders with finality, uncharacteristically forthright in his opinions.

“I do not wish to see her married at all…” Eloise mutters under her breath as he stalks away to dispatch Denton before anyone can argue.

You just sit there mildly dumbfounded, unsure what to make of it all. 

—

The following evening, you are attending a music recital with the Bridgertons; Benedict is notably absent, which makes you a touch melancholic in a way you don’t want to dwell on. 

However, the evening turns for the better while you are taking refreshments at the interval. A friendly-faced young man strikes up a conversation with you after an introduction from Violet.

“Are you enjoying the music tonight, Miss y/l/n?” he asks genially.

“It is very nice, Lord Glassborough,” you offer politely, trying to stifle your slight boredom. You enjoy music, but a two-hour concert is a little too much for you. You much prefer a short set of songs as they play at balls.

“I find it rather dull myself,” he opines quietly, leaning in. “I much prefer a lively song one may dance to.”

You know your face is a picture of surprise that his opinion is an exact mirror of your own.

“Have I offended you so?” he checks, looking mildly contrite.

“Not at all, my lord. I was actually just thinking the same myself,” you chuckle quietly.

He looks inordinately pleased and breaks into a friendly, toothy grin. He seems like a nice, agreeable sort. A pleasant, if not particularly handsome, face. Over his shoulder, you see Violet looking inordinately pleased you appear to be getting on so well.

—

“I am not sure I can do this...” you sigh as Ms West genially taps the metronome.

“You can, dear; just remember your finger placement,” she encourages as your fingers fall to the cool ivory keys.

And so you begin again. Attempting to master this tricky piece, your eyes tracing the lines of music as you play the pianoforte. Violet is so keen for you to brush up on your skills, given Lord Glassborough’s interest in you yesterday. You could not find an adequate excuse fast enough, and so here you are, in a slightly reluctant music lesson, trying your best to recall how Mrs Parsons taught you to play a few years ago.

“Men do so appreciate a lady who can entertain them with exquisite music,” Ms West nods approvingly as you play.

Mostly, you are relieved when you make it to the end with no mistakes, at least none glaringly obvious.

“I much prefer to sing…” you admit tacitly as Ms West shuffles the sheet music.

She looks at you surprised, then shoos you from the piano stool. “Sing for me then, my dear…” taking a seat and beginning the opening bars to a song that, fortunately, you know well.

You begin to sing along, growing more confident with every note, allowing yourself to get lost in the words, the story of a lady awaiting her true love.

“Exceptional!” she peals delightedly over the sound, and you feel bolstered to continue, her playing the perfect accompaniment.

—

Benedict stops short as soon as he enters the house. The most lilting, beautiful sound echoing gently down the marble hall.

“Who is that Jenkins?” he asks of the butler who takes his coat.

“I believe it is Miss y/l/n, sir.”

He draws inexorably closer, finding himself watching you through the crack in the doorway, listening to you sing a touching tale of love that sounds so hauntingly hypnotic in your mellifluous tones. Your eyes are closed, and you sway to the melody, lost in reverie, in the narrative you weave.

The piano stops abruptly.

“Can we help you, sir?” an elder lady calls crisply.

Benedict realises the door has crept open slightly before him, enough for him to be seen by your music teacher. He watches as you swing around and look horrified that you may have an audience. It makes him take a resolute step forward into the room.

“Do you need us to desist? Is it perhaps too loud?” the lady checks deferentially, likely assuming him to be the head of the household.

“No!” His reply is a touch too forceful. “Please continue,” he modifies. “I was merely drawn by the splendid sound I heard. I am not sure I have ever heard such a wondrous voice,” he adds, keeping his gaze steadfastly upon the lady, not able to look you in the eye as he confesses as such. 

—

You are mortified when you realise Benedict heard you singing; you have always managed to keep it private, until now at least. But now your heart is suddenly pounding at his extolling words.

“She does indeed have a most excellent voice,” Ms West concurs with his sentiment, looking at you expectantly as Benedict walks further into the room, his face with the same hopeful expression.

“I am not sure I can…” you stumble, nervous for an audience, most especially him;  his is the opinion that would matter to you the most—you would be crestfallen should he not like it.

“Sing more for me, please, Skylark?” His ask is gentle, beseeching as if it were just the two of you alone.

“Skylark?” Ms West sounds enchanted.

“My childhood nickname for Miss y/l/n,” Benedict explains as he takes a seat. 

“Skylarks have a wonderful song,” she sighs wistfully.

“Indeed,” Benedict chimes, his eyes still upon you. “I never knew how appropriate it was until this very moment.”

Something warm cracks in your chest at his sweet words, making you courageous. At least enough to nod when Ms West looks to you again from the piano. And so you restart the song for your special audience, heart in your mouth. The words coming easily to you, an extra layer of meaning he will never know as you sing words of unrequited devotion, looking to him in your braver moments. His face is enrapt, leaning forward, his eyes soft and expressive. 

As you reach a high note at the end of the song, holding it, Benedict bursts into applause, jumping up from his seat and taking you by surprise, grabbing your gloved hands in his.

“You should always be singing Skylark…” he pronounces. “Truly beautiful. Please promise me, no matter what happens, that you will always, always sing…” 

You duck your head briefly, unsure how to deal with his effusive praise. Ms West’s face is a picture as you stand there, your hands still trapped in his, feeling a tingle where the warmth of his skin seeps through the layers to yours.

“I-I-I promise,” you reply meekly, a touch dazed as you raise your eyes again to meet his, the intensity making your lungs restrict.

“Thank you.” 

Two words have never sounded so sincere or loaded with significance. 

III: … And I Do.

A few days later, it is the Trowbridge Ball, a decadent affair that is usually the most talked about of the season, apparently. You share a carriage ride there with Benedict and Eloise, trying your best not to stare at him—so handsomely dressed in a white cravat and black velvet cropped jacket that clings to his tapered shape. But mostly, you fail. Your skin flushes hot the more you look at him. You could swear that his gaze strays to you, too, subtly sweeping the fine teal silk Madam Delacroix has expertly tailored for you.

“You look beautiful this evening, ladies,” he offers politely to both you and Eloise.

“What do you want?” Eloise cuts across your reply, narrowing her eyes at her older brother, instantly suspicious of his flattery.

“Can I not compliment without an ulterior motive?” he frowns, their usual sibling dynamic emerging.

“Not usually,” Eloise sniffs, with another suspicious glance, before looking out the carriage window.

You take the opportunity to mumble your thanks to him. His responding smile warms your entire being, his hazy eyes lingering in a way that makes your skin prickle. And when he offers a chivalrous hand to assist you down from the carriage, you could swear his hand lingers upon yours a few seconds longer than is necessary. 

Around an hour later, as you go to partake in a refreshment, a sneering Lady Cowper utters something cruel under her breath as you pass, her sour-looking daughter smirking beside her. You do not hear all of the words, but you do not need to. One sideways glance tells you all that you need to know. It seems so unnecessarily cruel, never having even exchanged so much as a word with you, but even as you feel a lump in your throat, their attention is already elsewhere.

“Ah! Mr Briddgerton,” her entire demeanour changing to oleaginous charm, “my daughter looks particularly stunning tonight, does she not? I do believe you should secure a place upon her dance card before there are none left!” 

You watch Benedict blanch at the very words.

“I do not dance, Lady Cowper, but I bid you ladies a good evening,” he responds, polite but firm.

You try your hardest not to giggle at the disdained look on their faces as he sweeps past them, and you feel light as air as, instead, he draws up to you and winks.

“That woman does not realise she is doing her daughter’s prospects more harm than good with her brashness,” he comments dryly as he grabs a glass of champagne from the stand next to you.

“I am not so sure the daughter would do much better without her; she seems perpetually furious about her own hairstyle,” you opine sardonically, making Benedict snort loudly into his champagne glass. A lightness fizzles in your being as he shoots you a look of unmistakable admiration for that remark.

“I daresay you are a much better dancer than her,” he contends, not breaking eye contact, placing aside his drink before leaning in and continuing in a hushed voice. “Perhaps you would do me the honour of a dance, Skylark, to confirm my suspicion?”

There is a vault in your chest as he employs your private nickname in public and, not only that, is offering you a dance when, just a moment ago, he declared publicly that he would not. 

You can only nod, heart hammering, as he breaks out into the most handsome smile, offering you his arm and leading you to the centre of the room as you hear a ripple go through the nearby crowd. Apparently the sight of one Benedict Bridgerton taking to the dancefloor is a rare occasion indeed.

—

As he takes your gloved hand in his and curls an arm around your shoulder, he realises this was perhaps a mistake. An impromptu offer, the hollow thrill of petty revenge for the insult he observed the Cowpers sling at you. But now he realises it has rather backfired upon him.

He cares not a jot for the gossiping, people nodding and pointing to you both as you begin to dance. No, the problem is much more concerning than that. 

It is how discombobulated he feels having you in his arms.

How your body seems to fit and move perfectly with his. How, when you dare to look up at him, his mouth goes a little dry. He has never truly noticed how striking your eyes are until seeing them this close. Indeed, the evident beauty of your face, the way you seem to glow from within, more tonight than ever. It makes his chest - and somewhere else on his body - feel entirely too tight.

—

Nothing could have prepared you for this.

The feeling of literally being swept off your feet. With Benedict's handsome face smiling down upon you as you seem to float around the dancefloor. 

Surely, this is what dreams are made of?

You know it is a flight of fancy, but it seems as though the floor beneath your feet is a shower of diamonds rather than candlelight refracted through chandeliers. The warmth and strength of Benedict’s embrace caged around you, respectful but so close it makes your lungs feel too small to gasp the air you need to keep moving. But you never want to stop. A whirlwind of sensation as you twirl, carried away by the music, the man, the moment.

“Thank you, Benedict,” you breathe, knowing you are likely looking up at him far too adoringly but unable to mask it, a burning need for him to know how grateful you are for this dance, not even noting your over-familial use of his first name at a society event. 

His eyes flash and you could swear they dilate a fraction before you must turn your back to him, following the steps.

“I was right,” he rumbles cryptically from behind you now, his large hands wrapped around yours as you hold them aloft together, following the moves of the dance. “It is indeed an honour to dance with you.” 

Your belly flares as you turn in unison and realise that you are now dancing right in front of Cressida, her expression murderous. It makes you bolder than you have ever been, tilting your head sideways a fraction so your cheek almost brushes Benedict’s, fuelled by the envy you feel seething from within her.

You could swear he sighs ‘Skylark’ as his hot breath tickles your ear, your chest pounding, a flavour in the air you can taste, a powerful stirring low in your belly.

—

Benedict knows this is a dangerous path and yet is powerless to do anything but walk it. Breathing your nickname into your hair as he inhales your scent, heightened by the movement of your dancing. A light, sweet floral perfume but underneath the smell of you, familiar from many years of friendship but altered now, more decadent, an undercurrent of tart berries that thrills and stirs deep within him. Even while knowing his ever-vigilant mother is watching, an inscrutable expression upon her face. 

He is almost grateful when the music ends before he does something foolish. But then you are staring up into his face, all doe-eyed expectant beauty and his tongue feels unexpectedly tied. He is almost grateful when an interrupting hand wraps around his shoulder.  

—

You watch Will Mondrich whisper in Benedict’s ear, and before you know it, he is offering apologies to you with a shallow, polite bow before hurrying away. Coming back to reality with a bump, you drift awkwardly from the dance floor, feeling judgy eyes upon you, suddenly flooded with concern your behaviour was entirely too wanton. 

Before your thoughts can spiral too far, however, someone materialises at your side.

“I do so hope your dance card is not full tonight, Miss y/l/n,” a newly-familiar, chipper voice cut in.

“Lord Glassborough,” you breathe; your relief at seeing his cordial face is palpable. “I am available to dance right now,” you smile politely, taking his proffered arm and letting him lead you back out to the spot you and Benedict had just vacated.

As the music begins and you move together, the difference is… noticeable. Gone is the frisson over your limbs, that excitement as if your skin could vibrate off your bones. Instead you feel comforted, almost a brotherly presence as he leads you in the dance. He is technically proficient, but it feels lacking—that tension, that heat burning in the space between you. It makes you yearn for Benedict even though he was just with you. It makes your stomach settle with a leaden weight you realise you will have to settle for less than what you truly desire.

Still distracted by your mental comparison, you absently acquiesce to his suggestion to take some air upon the terrace as the dance ends. You sense Violet, ever the vigilant chaperone, follow as he leads you into the cooler air outside. 

“Miss y/l/n…,” Lord Glassborough begins cautiously. You sense a nervousness in his being, pulling your full focus to him. “I think us most compatible, would you not agree?”

“We make most excellent friends, indeed, Lord Glassborough,” you hedge, not wanting to appear overzealous.

“And friendship is the most appropriate foundation to build something more… tender,” he argues with a smile. “I do believe I could offer you a most agreeable life.” 

There is a strange twinge in your chest as suddenly, you realise what this is. The moment everyone, except perhaps yourself, has been awaiting all season.

“I would be honoured if you would consent to be my wife, Miss y/l/n,” he humbly offers a sincere kindness shining in his eyes.

And there it is. An offer of marriage from a perfectly nice, respectable gentleman done in an appropriate manner. 

To one side, you see Violet clutch a hand over her chest, face delighted, even as you form fists within your delicate gloves, wishing this moment were not happening so soon after a truly breathtaking dance with the man of your dreams. Who is not the same man as the one before you, nervously shuffling from foot to foot, awaiting your reply. 

“I am honoured, Lord Glassborough,” you answer cautiously, bowing your head demurely. “This is a big decision to make. Please allow me time to give you my proper, considered answer?”

“Of course,” he bows chivalrously, his accommodating nature making this moment all the more bittersweet. He is indeed a lovely man. 

He is just not the one you want with every fibre of your being.

—

That night, you cannot sleep. Knowing you have the most significant decision of your life to make. So, in the small hours, you find yourself drifting to the deserted kitchen of Bridgerton House to do what you do best when you need to think calmly—baking. 

An activity you have grown up doing with Mrs Parsons. Many hours spent happily with flour dusting your hands, sun streaming into her grand but homely kitchen. A perhaps slightly maverick pastime for a lady of her social standing, with staff to do such things for her should she wish it, but so very enjoyable nonetheless. 

Throwing a large, heavy baking apron over your nightdress and robe, you potter around, the flagstone of the basement floor cold underfoot, a grounding feeling that stops your mind from racing too much.

You have no idea how to respond to Glassborough’s proposal. On one hand, he is a seemingly nice man, certainly of a good family. You are sure he would be a perfectly acceptable husband, unlikely to be mean or untoward. It is just… a nagging voice is telling you to turn him down despite him being an imminently sensible choice, your heart wanting, well, the impossible. A man that excites you, not just a safe, practical option.

You are onto your second batch of lemon and rosemary biscuits when a voice makes you jump out of your skin.

“What on earth…?”

There in the doorway is Benedict, looking confounded to find you here. The very man who makes your heart skip, always. He is dressed the most casually you have ever seen him— also barefoot, in a white frilled shirt and dark trousers, brocade braces slung around his hips. You swear you may have to grab the bench before you to stay upright.

“Y/n! We have cooks you can call upon at any time should you need food!” he fusses, instantly concerned, moving to ring a bell on the wall.

“No! Please do not!” You exclaim, rushing to stop him, grabbing his sleeve in your haste. “I-I enjoy baking. It is relaxing; it helps me to think.”

His brow knits and his eyes flick down to your hold on his sleeve, a warm vein pulsing under your fingertips. You snatch your hand away quickly, a blush staining your cheeks, mumbling an apology as you scurry back to your biscuit-making.

“Alright,” he concedes slowly, still appearing confused. “When I saw the sconces lit from the rear stairwell, I assumed one of the staff was still down here.”

You find it bemusing that he seems at pains to justify why he might also be in the kitchen, especially to you, a guest. This is Bridgerton House, and he is a Bridgerton. He may go wherever he pleases, surely? And yet here he is, doing so.

“I was rather hoping for some hot cocoa,” he explains with that soft, crooked smile that always makes your heart flutter.

“Oh! Well, umm, I could make you some cocoa?” you look down, wiping your hands upon your apron and moving to do so.

—

That you would make such an offer, as if seeing yourself as unpaid help, spurs him into action.

“No, you certainly will not!”  He decries, moving swiftly towards the larder before you can. “I am perfectly fine with some cold milk,” he assures, re-emerges with a bottle and pouring himself a glass, leaning back against the sink to take a sip.

Despite the lateness of the hour, he finds your heretofore secret pastime strangely fascinating. A lady who bakes. By choice. So he watches as you return to making your biscuit dough, entertained as you begin to beat the mixture quite furiously with a wooden spatula.

“Have those ingredients caused you some sort of personal offence….?” he jests lightly, nodding to the bowl.

He observes a flit of contrition across your face before you answer.

“I, umm, have a decision that I must make; baking helps me think,” you explain vaguely, then appear to rapidly change the subject. “I am, however, sure of one fact - some biscuits are a must to accompany milk. There is a completed batch over there.”

“Genius,” he opines with a wink, enthusiastically moving to grab one from the cooling rack you signalled to, delighting in the blush that darkens your cheeks. But he decides to push the topic you abruptly avoided. Concerned there could be a topic you are genuinely wrestling with. If his opinion on the matter can ameliorate your burdens, he would be most honoured to assist.

“What sort of decision must you make?” he inquires before temporarily losing the power of speech. There is an explosion of tart lemon and earthy herb on his tongue that melts into a buttery sweetness, utterly divine. “Lord alive, these are delicious!!!” he exclaims around the mouthful.

“Thank you,” you answer softly. 

You are always so modest about your talents; it sometimes makes him want to grab your shoulders and shake you gently. To make you see what he does. 

“To answer your question, it is a perplexing matter that needs serious consideration,” you explain, stopping short of detail. It appears you are not yet ready to share the news with him. Something about that makes him a touch sad, but he also does not want to pry if you are reluctant to divulge. 

—

Benedict swallows the bite he has taken, and you find yourself staring at the movement of his throat as he does. Knowing one thing to be true—if it were his proposal, you would not even hesitate for a split second. That wistful thought makes you suddenly melancholic, and you sigh, pushing aside your mixing bowl, realising this may be an issue baking will not fix.

“I do so hate to see you doubt yourself, Skylark,” he offers quietly after a beat, mien so earnest. “Trust yourself. You will find the right answer for your dilemma; I am certain of it.”

He is so remarkably supportive that, ironically, you almost want to scream at him.

“I should leave you to your thoughts,” his tone is gentle, reluctant.

“Please, there is no need, Benedict,” you try to assure. “To be honest, in all of this world, yours is the company I enjoy the very most…”

That truth is out of your mouth before you can censor it. 

You sheepishly glance over to be met by a surprised look on his face. He takes a few steps towards you, probably without realising it, and suddenly, he is very close, faint wisps of his woodsy, citrus cologne tickling your nose.

“And I, yours, Skylark…” he rumbles, his gaze falling to your lips. 

Time seems to stop, and you feel pinned under glass, staring up into his handsome face as he breathes slightly ragged, your body rioting as he engulfs your senses, definitely too close to be considered gentlemanly, polite…

…But then, he takes a sharp inhale and steps back as if coming to his senses. He turns heel with a hastily muttered goodbye, and before you know it, he is gone. Leaving you bewildered, your thoughts scattered.

—

The following day, Benedict is idly reading the paper, partaking in a leisurely lunch of tea and cake, when his mother swans in, reeling off a set of instructions for her lady's maid.

“Oh, and lastly, do not forget, we should secure an appointment with the modiste, in case Miss y/l/n should know her answer today…” Violet concludes breezily as she takes a seat.

“Yet another ball we must suffer, mother?” Benedict drawls drily, folding down his paper and taking a hearty bite of zesty lemon drizzle.

She shoots her son an exasperated look before neatly smoothing a serviette into her lap as she is served her usual afternoon Earl Grey by the butler. “Miss y/l/n will be in need of a wedding dress, Benedict, dear.”

He spits an array of crumbs onto his newspaper, coughing in shock. “She will need what?!?” he wheezes, barely recovering.

“Lord Glassborough proposed to Miss y/l/n last night, my dear, at the ball. She has yet to give her answer, but I am certain she will. They are a fine match,” Violet declares, taking a sip of tea.

“Why did she not mention it to me?” he mutters, more to himself than anyone, his forehead creasing heavily in a frown as he swallows the rest of his mouthful.

“Why would she have?”  

“We talked last night…” letting slip perhaps too much in his perplexed state, lost in his own tumbling thoughts.

“When last night? We returned from the ball very late,” a suspicious tone in his mother’s voice, belatedly releasing he should know better than to think aloud; she is sharp as a tack.

“I-I found Miss y/l/n baking last night… in the kitchen when I went for cocoa… she told me she had a dilemma she was wrestling with…” he admits, looking down at the paper, the words now a jumble before his eyes. “Mother do you think it is possible she will say yes??” Benedict's head snaps up, his heart suddenly pounding in his ears.

“She would be a fool not to,” Violet points out, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow at him. “Unless there was another, perhaps more wanted, proposal she could consider. Do you possibly know of one? Son?” 

Even he can read between those lines. 

“I-I am late,” he abruptly changes tack. “I promised to meet Anthony today to discuss the soil at Aubrey,” he bustles rapidly, standing and fleeing the room before he can allow his mother to see how much of a complete lie that is.

—

Benedict spends the afternoon at White’s, downing perhaps one too many whiskeys as he grills his fellow patrons upon the Glassborough family. Looking for any reason he can find to object to the betrothal while steadfastly refusing to examine why he feels so passionately about the subject. He also spends time checking the hefty tomes of Debrett’s the club holds.

He returns to Bridgerton House just as dusk settles in, the sky streaking red and pink as he enters.

“Where have you been, dear?” Violet asks as he rounds into the parlour.

“Researching,” he gruffs economically.

“What? Or rather whom?” Violet inquires, revealing she already has a firm idea of what she asks.

“I can find nothing wrong with him!”

Benedict paces, an energy emanating from his being as if he is rattled by that very fact.

“That is a good thing, is it not, son?” Violet reminds pointedly. “We want y/n married to a good gentleman…”

Benedict shoots her an exasperated look but relents. “I suppose…”

“Is not your reluctance perhaps for another reason, my dear?” Her question is gentle, if not particularly subtle.

He slumps into a wingback chair with a defeated sigh. “Go ahead. Say your piece, mother.”

“I have watched you, darling,” she begins gently, watching him tip his head back and screw his eyes shut. “I do not know exactly when, but your regard of Miss y/l/n has altered, and I am not the only one to observe it.”

Benedict's eyes fly open, and he tips his head down with a frown as his mother continues.

“Even Colin has marked a change in you. If you feel anything, my dear, then Miss y/l/n has the right to know. Before it is too late. The right to make an informed choice if you are bold enough to give her one. Son, I have only ever wanted my children’s happiness. And if your happiness lies somewhere that perhaps even you have not realised until now…. well then I encourage you to follow it. Follow your heart.”

Her impassioned speech suddenly makes the pieces of a jumbled jigsaw before his eyes arrange into a pattern, a way forward that is suddenly clear and sharply in focus.

It makes him leap to his feet, an urgency thronging in his being.

“Where is Miss y/l/n?” he almost barks. 

“I do not know,” Violet confesses, “but I do know she has not yet seen or written to Lord Glassborough,” she adds.

“Good…” he rasps, headed determined out of the room to find you.

—

The verdant lush grass is cool between your toes as you curl them over, sighing heavily, the night now dark, a twinkle of silver among the navy sky, soon to be black. The swing under the big oak, a refuge you have sought many times since staying at Bridgerton House, feels a particularly poignant place to be tonight as an internal war rages within you, your decision swaying back and forth as much as the wooden seat you are perched upon, the rope digging into your cheekbone as you slump against it, flummoxed.

You know what your answer to Glassborough should be. Indeed, what it should have been from the moment he asked. 

A resounding yes.

In every practical measure, this is the best possible outcome of your London season. A proposal from a thoroughly decent, acceptable gentleman, way above the station you were expecting, given your less than prestigious certainty of lineage.

And yet.

And yet.

There is a large part of you, your heart, that wants to turn down the proposal, foolhardy as that may be. Wanting to feel akin to what you felt as you danced with Benedict last night. You are not so foolish as to believe he would ever propose, but perhaps there is someone else out there for you that may evoke something similar for you? Even if only half, it would be enough. Enough for you to build a future around and feel contentment in your heart, to not just settle for what your head knows to be a sensible choice. 

—

Having searched the house, he rounds into the garden and stops short, heart leaping into his throat as he spies you, swaying gently upon the swing, looking thoroughly lost in thought. It makes his chest ache that you are so melancholic about a decision that should indeed be joyous. The selfish part of him celebrating, hoping that perhaps you are not. His memory recalls with perfect clarity how you have looked as lost as he now feels every time you have been close. The unbearable lightness of hope seizes his legs and draws him inexorably closer.

—

You whip around as you sense company and have to take a deep breath as your eyes fall upon Benedict. His face pinched with a restless intensity.

“I was hoping I would find you,” he exhales.

“You have,” you shrug, still confused by his crackling energy, him seeming in a rush to say something.

“Skylark, you deserve the very best of everything. Sincerely. And part of that includes that you should know the truth in the hearts of those lucky enough to know you…” a slight quake in his voice as he takes a step closer.

“Alright…” you respond cautiously, your brow creasing as you sense the nerves emanating from him.

You gasp as he rapidly drops to one knee before you, a hand clutched to his chest. 

“I have been a fool to not see it before now. My own ardent admiration for you, for your talents, for your beauty. I realise now, perhaps too late, that you are truly the most wondrous, precious being in this world. You may not always see it, but it would be my greatest honour to show you, every day, if you will permit me, what I see when I look upon you. What I have always seen if I am honest with myself. A light that shines brighter than any other, a bird that soars higher and sings more sweetly than any other. A soul that it would be a privilege to be bound to. I know it is perhaps the worst possible timing, seeing as you already have a proposal from a perfectly acceptable gentleman. Still, I could not let you get married without letting you know the contents of my heart.”

You are stunned. Speechless. 

Your heart pounds in your ribcage as you sit there stupified for what must be an age, Benedict looking upon you expectantly, breath slightly ragged from his long speech. Somehow, convincing yourself this could only be a dream. That the man you have adored since before you can remember has just made the most beautiful poetic confession of love you have ever heard. And it’s to you.

So, you do the only logical thing that comes to mind. Pinch your own leg. Hard.

—

Benedict is momentarily confounded at your actions.

“Owwww!” you yelp. “Not dreaming then…” is your muttered follow-up, rubbing your own knee as his face morphs into the most enormous grin, a lightning bolt of joy tearing through him as he realises what you are doing, that you can scarcely believe this is happening any more than he can.

“It is really me, Skylark,” he chuckles softly, seeing the way your eyes dilate rapidly as he can't help the lopsided grin that claims his face, a warmth behind his ribs that is just for you.

“I realise that now,” you sass back, and there is a stirring in his trousers at the tone you employ.

“I love you.” 

It's a reflex; he doesn't even realise he says it. But as soon as it's out of his mouth, it's like an invisible burden has been lifted from his entire being. The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

—

You know your face is aflame as you snap back at him, entirely without meaning to, but then he says three little words that tilt your whole world even more. 

“I-I-I love you too.”

You are bewildered when you say it aloud. 

 The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

“Marry me? Please. My darling, wonderful friend,” he implores, his bare hands grabbing yours, tingles shooting over you as your skin touches his.

“Yes!! I will!!!” you answer breathlessly, not even a second of hesitation. 

He leans in and captures your lips with his. They are warm and soft as they move gently with yours. And when he opens your mouth with his and his tongue rolls delicately over yours, it feels as if all the fireworks you have seen in the sky live now inside you, popping and exploding in a riot of colour. A whole new world of sensual pleasure is promised in that one move.

“Are you certain?” you murmur as you break apart for air, a flash of insecurity that this is happening so fast, even as there is a strong pull inside, a want to keep kissing him over and over.

He smiles, tilting his forehead to yours, a wistful look in his blue eyes.

“To know you, truly know you, is to love you, Skylark,” he sighs, his words a blanket settling over your quaking heart.  “And I do. I truly do.”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @notanotheruniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[egophiliac]

Hello ! I positively adore the running joke of Idia unknowingly finding Lilia to be the coolest guy ever whenever he doesn't know it's him, like when Silver described his father, or obviously with muscle red. I can't say what'd be funnier, Idia finding out his online best friend is actually Lilia, resident spooky hyper fairy; or them both never finding out, and it'd become even more ridiculous as time goes on. How do you think it'll play out ? You're always so on point

(Also, though it makes sense, I'm still devastated bat boy didn't get a ticket for the Halloween skeleton train : ( does anyone mentions him at some point ? Like how he'd have fit right in with all those Halloween town little freaks, and how he'd have impressed them with his spooks and scared techniques; after all he's been every Briar Valley's children worst fear on Halloween for centuries. I'm on the eng server and I didn't wanna spoil myself by watching the whole thing on youtube)

Have a nice day !

you and me both, Idia and Lilia being oblivious online BFFs (+ Idia being incredibly intimidated any time Silver brings up his jock gamer dad) is my favorite running joke/subplot. 🤝 it's SO good, to the point where I also am unsure if I actually want it to ever be resolved or not...maybe, like, as a post-canon stinger or something? everyone's standing around covered in overblot ink, and Idia and Lilia's phones go off at the same time...

(legit I do think this is part of why Idia couldn't be present for Lilia's dream, because for some reason Lilia decided he was going to just. embody his past self online. he probably quotes his own battle strategies or whatever in the middle of boss fights. Idia didn't pick up on the whole "oh how weird that we both live on a super remote island" thing, but he would spend thirty seconds listening to General Lilia describing siege warfare and be like "w-wait")

all that aside, however it does end up happening, I do see Lilia being very blasé and all "oh! cool!" about it. y'know, taking it very much in stride! and Idia...very much not.

(can't tell if tumblr is going to chew this into illegibility or not, this will be a fun surprise ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ)

as for Lilia sadly missing out on Halloweentown shenanigans...he does get one little mention as part of an offhand reference to the light music club, but so far no one has brought up how this basically is just Lost In the Book of Liliatown (Sebek's been too busy yelling about not getting to be in the same group as Malleus). 😔 honestly though, it's probably for the best that he got left out, because he would just settle right in and refuse to ever leave. canon would shatter. we would miss out on all the delightful angst of episode 7 because Lilia is too busy eating poisonous shrubbery inbetween practicing his very best screams, and no one can pull him away from it.

(I can hope for a sequel next year though...)