vofriviasblog

[vofriviasblog]

Priority

SUMMARY - After Quidditch practice, Draco prefers to return to his beloved and spend time with her in the comfort of his private quarters rather than attending a party with his team.

AUTHORS NOTE - This is my first fic. I hope you enjoy it! Comments and reblogs are welcome!

Draco was exhausted after practice. As the captain, he decided with the team to increase the number of practices per week to prepare as best as possible for the upcoming match against their eternal rival, Gryffindor. Sweat cascaded down the Slytherin's face. All he dreamed of now was a shower and his beloved waiting for him in the prefect's quarters. Just the thought brought a wide smile to Draco's face.

He patted each team member on the back as a sign of thanks for their presence and commitment, then headed towards the castle. He hadn't gone far when his good friend Blaise Zabini appeared in his line of sight, panting as if he'd run a marathon.

"Hey, hey, where are you going?"

"To the castle?" he raised an eyebrow in a questioning gesture, as if urging his friend to spit out what he had to say and leave him alone.

"Aren't you staying for the party? Mattheo got the best juices for drinks from the kitchen! Do you know how many nights it took us to find the house-elves' stash to get our hands on these wonders!?" Before Draco could answer, Blaise was already rushing with the answer. "The answer is too many. So you can't slip away now, you'll miss all the fun."

"Sounds pretty good. You deserve great respect for your perseverance in your mission, but I have to decline the invitation. I already have other plans that can't wait any longer."

"What?!?!?! Man, don't do this to me. This is the second time you've decided that the party isn't for you. What plans are more important than your buddies, hmm?" the dark-skinned boy looked at the blond with undisguised irritation, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Y/N is waiting in my quarters. I want to spend the evening with her," Draco couldn't help but smile as he said this, and just mentioning his beloved's name made his heart beat faster. Blaise, on the other hand, looked at the blond with his mouth agape as if he were an alien.

"Man, you're ditching us, your buddies, for a girl!?"

"Yes. Is that so strange?" Draco couldn't understand his friend's exaggerated reaction.

"Yes! That's exactly the same reason Nott used to decline the invitation. You're becoming terribly boring!" The blond rolled his eyes and replied, "You're such a kid. You'll understand me and Theo when you have a girlfriend. I heard Astoria doesn't like parties." This fact effectively shut Zabini up, who was ready to retort with a sharp comeback. All he did was widen his eyes and watch his friend until he disappeared behind the castle doors leading to the dormitories.

The sight that greeted Draco as he entered his prefect's room was the best balm for his sore muscles. His beloved lay comfortably on his bed, engrossed in a book about magical creatures. Draco had bought her this book a few days ago during a trip to Hogsmeade. The image of her sparkling eyes with happiness would stay with him for the rest of his days. He loved bringing her joy with such small things. This way, he wanted to convey that he thought of her every hour of the day and night.

Draco took a breath to calm his racing heart a bit, then walked lightly towards the bed. The sound of his footsteps pulled the girl out of the fictional world. At the sight of her boyfriend, Y/N smiled brightly, causing an equally wide smile on the blond's face.

"Hey."

"Good evening, beautiful," the girl's cheeks flushed at this term. She tried to hide her embarrassment by burying her face in the book. The boy's smile widened even more. He wouldn't trade this moment for any party. He lived for these moments filled with peace and love.

Without waiting any longer, he threw himself onto the bed with a thud, causing the girl there to squeal, completely unprepared for it. Like a snake, he wrapped his beloved in a tight embrace, as if he'd been waiting for this all day.

"Draco!!! You're all sweaty and dirty with soil. You'll ruin the sheets!"

"I don't care. I've waited too long to have you in my arms. No dirt or sweat can stop me from completing this task," the boy's serious tone elicited a peal of laughter.

"Sweetheart, you need to take a shower and change."

"No."

"Draco..."

"No," the boy, to further show his protest, tightened his embrace, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy! You are going to take a shower right now, or I'll go back to my dormitory," the blond, with obvious reluctance and a look of a beaten dog, obeyed his girlfriend's command.

When he returned to the room, refreshed and dressed in more comfortable clothes, his face still bore the look of a martyr. Y/N, familiar with his antics, smiled at him innocently and opened her arms in an inviting gesture. The boy, with undisguised joy, jumped into her arms. As soon as he settled comfortably, Y/N's hands went to his hair. Draco practically purred with pleasure as his beloved played with his hair.

"How did practice go?"

"Pretty well. We're well prepared for the upcoming match."

"I'm very glad."

"Will you come to the match?" the boy looked at her pleadingly. He knew perfectly well that when he did this, his beloved couldn't refuse him.

"Of course, darling," she kissed his forehead, receiving in return a look full of gratitude and adoration. "I heard from Pansy that the Slytherins are having a party in the main dormitory," she got only a quiet "mhmm" from the boy, so she continued. "Don't you want to go?"

"Nope."

"But why? You'd spend some time with your friends."

"I'll pass. I'd much rather spend my time with you than drinking with that idiot Zabini. You, my dearest, are my priority. I will always choose you first, no matter what I'm offered," to emphasize the seriousness of his declaration, Draco propped himself up on his hands to level his face with hers. The boy placed a gentle, deep kiss on the girl's lips, leaving her breathless. Yes, this was definitely his favorite way to spend evenings.

[vofriviasblog]

I couldn't stop smiling during the reading. It's so lovely and adorable. Definitely worth reading <3

worth it

pair: Draco Malfoy x reader requested by @alastorsbookie10228

hey. guess who’s back lol. can you do some fluff with draco where he’s a prefect and has to check the grounds at night and the reader meets up with him somewhere and they just spend time together and hug and kiss and love each other?? thank youuuuu!!

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Draco Malfoy made his way through the dimly lit halls of Hogwarts, his prefect badge glinting in the moonlight that streamed through the tall windows. It was his turn to patrol the grounds that night, and he walked with purpose, keeping an eye out for students sneaking around after hours.

As he turned a corner near the entrance to the courtyard, he saw a familiar figure leaning against the stone wall, waiting. A smile tugged at his lips as he recognized you. You were bundled up in a warm cloak, a soft scarf around your neck, looking up at the stars.

“Hey,” he whispered, stepping closer.

You turned at the sound of his voice, your face lighting up with a smile. “Hi,” you replied, moving towards him. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a warm embrace. You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“I thought you were going to be inside studying,” Draco murmured, his chin resting on top of your head. His hands rubbed gentle circles on your back.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you admitted. “And I missed you.”

Draco pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. His expression softened, and he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I missed you too,” he said quietly. “But you shouldn’t be out here. If another prefect finds you, you’ll get into trouble.”

You shrugged, a playful smile on your lips. “Worth it.”

He chuckled, the sound low and soothing. “You’re impossible,” he teased, but his eyes were full of affection. He took your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. “Come on, let’s go for a walk. I have to finish my rounds, and then I can walk you back to your common room.”

You nodded, happy just to be with him. The two of you strolled through the quiet halls and empty corridors, the only sounds were your footsteps and the occasional rustle of Draco’s cloak. Every now and then, he would glance over at you, a soft smile playing on his lips, and you would squeeze his hand, your heart full.

When you reached the courtyard, Draco stopped and turned to face you. He reached up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across your skin. You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words so soft they were almost carried away by the wind.You opened your eyes to meet his gaze, your own voice barely a breath. “I love you too, Draco.”

He leaned in, his lips finding yours in a tender kiss. It was slow and sweet, filled with all the emotions you both felt but didn’t always say. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, savoring the moment.

“Stay safe,” he whispered. “And get some sleep, okay?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice. He gave you one last quick kiss before leading you back towards the castle. As you walked hand in hand, you felt the world fade away, leaving just the two of you under the night sky.

[vofriviasblog]

Simple but beautiful. Your soft and caring version of Theo is adorable! Great fic @strangled-slytherin

Buried in Books

Summary: Theo finds you asleep on your books in the library after a long night of studying and insists on taking care of you.

Pairing: Theo Nott x Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Trigger Warnings: None

It was late, well past curfew, but the library was still and quiet, save for the soft sound of Theo’s footsteps as he wandered through the rows of dusty bookshelves. He had been looking for you for the past hour, mildly annoyed but mostly concerned. You’d promised to meet him in the common room to go over notes for Potions, but when you didn’t show up, Theo knew exactly where you’d be—buried in a pile of books, probably lost in your studies.

As he turned the corner into one of the smaller study alcoves, his suspicions were confirmed. There you were, seated at a small table, surrounded by textbooks, parchment, and ink bottles. But you weren’t reading. Your head was resting on your folded arms, face turned to the side as soft breaths escaped your lips. You had fallen asleep, completely knocked out after what must have been hours of hard studying.

Theo paused in the doorway, taking in the scene. The corners of his mouth twitched in amusement, his initial annoyance fading as he watched you sleep so peacefully amidst the chaos of your schoolwork. He shook his head, a fond smile pulling at his lips despite himself. You always did this—pushed yourself too hard, determined to get every detail just right, to master every spell and every potion. But sometimes, you didn’t know when to stop.

He approached quietly, his movements careful not to disturb you just yet. He could see the faint smudges of ink on your fingers and even a light streak on your cheek from where you’d likely brushed your hand across your face at some point. Your hair was slightly mussed, and the way you were slumped over the table looked far from comfortable.

Theo’s gaze softened as he knelt down beside you, his eyes taking in the sight of you, your peaceful expression as you slept, completely unaware of the world around you. He sighed quietly, feeling a mixture of fondness and exasperation. You always worked so hard, and he admired that about you—but Merlin, did you need to take better care of yourself.

Gently, he reached out and moved a stray strand of hair from your face, his fingers light and careful, not wanting to wake you just yet. The simple action felt oddly intimate, and Theo hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering in the air before he pulled it back, clearing his throat softly.

"Y/N," he whispered, leaning in closer so that only you could hear him. "Come on, love, you can’t sleep like this. You’re going to wake up with a stiff neck."

You stirred slightly at the sound of his voice, your brow furrowing in your sleep, but you didn’t wake. Theo chuckled quietly under his breath, shaking his head. Typical. He wasn’t sure how you could sleep so deeply on such an uncomfortable surface, but somehow you managed.

"Alright," he muttered to himself, pushing the books aside carefully to make room for you. He stood up and gently slipped his arm under your shoulders, lifting you up just enough to coax you out of your awkward sleeping position. "Let’s get you somewhere a bit more comfortable."

You blinked groggily, starting to wake up as you felt yourself being moved. "Theo?" you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep as you rubbed your eyes, looking up at him in confusion. "What… what time is it?"

"It’s late," Theo replied, his tone soft but teasing. "Late enough that you shouldn’t be here, passed out on your textbooks like this. Come on, let’s get you back to the common room."

You blinked again, still disoriented and not fully awake. "I was just… studying," you mumbled, your head lolling back toward the table as if you were ready to fall asleep again.

Theo smirked, keeping his arm around you as he gently pulled you to your feet. "Yeah, I can see that," he said, amusement lacing his voice as he guided you away from the table. "But you’re not going to learn much if you’re asleep on your notes."

You groaned softly, leaning into him as you rubbed at your eyes. "I didn’t mean to fall asleep," you muttered, half-apologetic and half-embarrassed. "I was just trying to get through the chapter on antidotes…"

Theo rolled his eyes, though his expression was more affectionate than annoyed. "Of course you were," he said, shaking his head. "You work too hard, Y/N. You need to sleep, not drown yourself in textbooks."

You gave him a sleepy smile, though your eyes were still heavy with exhaustion. "But I have to be ready for the exam," you protested weakly, your words slurring slightly as you leaned more heavily into Theo’s side.

"The exam’s still days away," Theo replied, his voice gentler now as he led you through the dimly lit corridors, back toward the Slytherin common room. "You’ll be fine. You always are."

You hummed in response, not really arguing but not entirely agreeing either. You were too tired to put up much of a fight. "Thanks for coming to get me," you murmured, your head resting against his shoulder as you let him guide you.

Theo glanced down at you, his lips quirking into a small smile. "What else would I do? Leave you to drool all over your books?"

You gave him a sleepy laugh, shaking your head. "I wasn’t drooling," you mumbled, though the blush on your cheeks suggested you weren’t entirely sure if that was true or not.

Theo chuckled, his grip on you tightening just slightly as he helped you down the last flight of stairs. "Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night," he teased.

When the two of you finally reached the common room, Theo helped you over to one of the cushioned sofas by the fire. He knelt down in front of you, his hands resting on your knees as he studied your face, making sure you were more comfortable now.

"You’re exhausted," he said softly, his voice losing its teasing edge. "Get some rest. We can go over the Potions notes tomorrow."

You nodded, your eyes already half-closed as you curled up on the sofa, the warmth of the fire making it impossible to stay awake any longer. "Okay," you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. "But don’t let me oversleep."

Theo smiled, standing up and grabbing a nearby blanket to drape over you. "I won’t," he promised, his voice soft. He paused for a moment, his eyes lingering on you as you drifted back to sleep, looking far more peaceful than you had back in the library.

As he turned to leave, he glanced over his shoulder one last time, a quiet smile on his face. "Goodnight, Y/N."

And with that, Theo settled into a nearby armchair, pulling out his own books—just in case you needed him when you woke up.

[vofriviasblog]

It's so well written! The amount of joy that fic brought me is beyond. I couldn't stop smiling during the read. My heart is so full of love for Tom and his soft side 😍

𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐮𝐧

𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -Y/N interrupts Tom’s work with a stolen kiss, a playful chase ensues through their home. Tom’s vow to always have the final kiss isn’t just a game—it’s his way of ensuring their love is never outdone.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 - Thought about this when I woke up.

𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃 - @bernardsbendystraws

Tom Riddle sat in his office, his sharp features illuminated by the flickering firelight. His long fingers rubbed his forehead, betraying a rare hint of stress as he scanned over the parchment strewn across his desk.

His mind was a whirlwind of strategies and plans, his dark eyes narrowed in concentration.

The creak of the door broke his reverie. He didn’t look up immediately, assuming it was a house-elf or perhaps one of his Death Eaters seeking an audience.

But then he caught the faint scent of Y/N’s perfume, a presence that could calm even the darkest storms of his mind.

She stepped into the room with a soft, mischievous smile playing on her lips, her eyes sparkling with intent.

Tom finally glanced up, his hand pausing its motion. He let out a quiet sigh at the sight of her, some of the tension in his shoulders easing.

“Y/N,” he greeted, his voice low, smooth, and laced with affection. “What is it, love?”

She didn’t answer, instead walking toward him with that playful glint he knew all too well. She stopped just in front of him, resting her hand lightly on his desk, her gaze flicking to the papers he had been poring over.

“Busy, I see,” she said softly, her tone teasing.

Tom gave her a wry look, his lips curving slightly. “Always,” he murmured, leaning back in his chair. “What are you planning?”

Y/N didn’t respond. Instead, she leaned in quickly, catching him off guard with a sudden, soft kiss on his lips. Before he could react, she pulled back, the impish grin on her face widening as she darted away.

“Doll,” Tom said, his voice sharper now, though not unkind. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor as he watched her with narrowed eyes. His gaze softened slightly, though, as he caught the echo of her laughter in the corridor.

For as long as he could remember—since they were teenagers—it had been a simple rule: Tom Riddle always got the last kiss. It wasn’t a matter of pride or control; it was a ritual, a claim, a way of ensuring that his love for her lingered longer than hers for him.

And now she was testing him.

“I know what you’re doing, love,” he called as he strode from the office, his voice carrying down the hallway.

Y/N’s laughter grew louder, echoing through the halls as she sprinted past the ever-vigilant Death Eaters stationed at various points in the house. They stood frozen, watching their master chase his wife with an uncharacteristic mix of exasperation and amusement.

“Tom!” she called over her shoulder, her voice teasing.

“You can’t outrun me,” he said, his tone a blend of challenge and playfulness as he quickened his pace.

But then, just as he was closing in on her, realization dawned on him. He slowed to a stop, his head tilting as a small, knowing smirk curled his lips. He sighed, shaking his head before disapparating with a sharp crack.

When Y/N burst into their shared bedroom, her breath quick and her grin triumphant, she wasn’t the least bit surprised to find Tom already there, standing with his arms crossed and his expression both stern and amused.

“Love,” he said, his voice low and edged with mock disapproval.

“Dear,” she replied sweetly, smoothing the front of his robes as she stepped closer to him. “You seem... upset.”

Tom exhaled, his hands finding her waist and pulling her to him. “You know what I must do,” he murmured, his voice rich and velvety as he tilted her chin upward.

“Do you?” she asked, her lips twitching into a smile.

Without another word, he leaned down and kissed her. This time, it was slow and deliberate, his lips lingering against hers as if to ensure she couldn’t argue about who had the final kiss. When he finally pulled back, she was breathless, her cheeks flushed.

“There,” he said softly, his tone triumphant as his hand cradled her face.

She laughed lightly, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “Always needing the last kiss,” she teased.

“It’s not a need,” Tom replied smoothly, his dark eyes gleaming. “It’s a certainty.”

Y/N shook her head, leaning into his embrace. “You work too much,” she said softly, her tone shifting from playful to tender.

Tom sighed, pressing a kiss to her temple. “For you, I’ll allow myself a break,” he admitted quietly, his arms tightening around her.

They stood there for a moment, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s presence, their playful chase a memory as the stress of his work melted away.

[vofriviasblog]

I don't have words to describe how much I love this. It was so lovely to read. What can I say, I just love soft Theo with all my heart 😭

𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐬

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -Y/N calls Theo late at night, unsure of what to say but desperate to hear his voice. 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 -I think this is from a book, I'll try and find the title. But saw this on tiktok and decided to write it :) 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃 - @bernardsbendystraws

Y/N paced back and forth in her dimly lit living room, her phone clutched tightly in her hand. The moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows on the walls. She hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and dialed Theo's number.

The phone rang twice before he picked up. "Y/N?" His voice was a comforting mix of surprise and warmth.

"Hi, Theo," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She suddenly felt a wave of uncertainty wash over her. What was she supposed to say now?

There was a moment of silence, neither of them speaking, just the faint sound of their breaths echoing through the line. Theo broke the silence first. "Sixteen," he said softly.

"What?" Y/N asked, confused.

"You took sixteen breaths in the last minute," Theo replied, a smile evident in his voice.

She furrowed her brow, a small smile tugging at her lips despite her confusion. "How many breaths do you take in a minute?"

Theo chuckled, the sound sending a warm shiver down her spine. "No idea. I was staring at a clock, and all I could hear was you breathing, so I just... counted."

Y/N felt her cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and affection. She hadn't realized how much she had missed him until this moment.

"Im glad you called," Theo responded, his tone gentle and full of unspoken emotions. "Im glad you answered," she finally said, her voice barely a whisper.

Y/N's heart swelled with warmth. It was such a simple exchange, but it meant everything to her. "I guess I just... missed you," she admitted, her voice trembling slightly.

"I missed you too," Theo replied, his voice tender and sincere. "I’m glad you called."

They stayed on the line for a while longer, the silence between them now filled with a comfortable understanding. Neither of them needed to say much more; their connection was enough.

[vofriviasblog]

Adorable slow burn. The anticipation for their kiss was killing me but in the end it was definitely worth it. And the tiny amount of angst if she is going to stay or not was perfect at the end to hold the tension just a little bit more. I loved the ending. It warmed my heart and made me smile. Thank you for this @logaenhowlett

I THINK THEY CALL THIS LOVE - L.H.

Summary: A flat tire, a blinding snowstorm, and a mix-up leads you to Logan's cabin. Things happen after another, and before you know it, Christmas means being snowed in with a complete stranger.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: 6.0k of pure fluff, Mutual pining (even Logan isn’t immune to cupid’s arrow), Sickeningly sweet slow burn, Major ‘just kiss already’ energy, How the Grinch Stole Christmas reference (pretend it exists in the 80s)

A/N: Can this happen to me please? And yes, it's inspired by The Holiday. Title creds to Elliot James Reay. Enjoy and happy holidays everyone, may your dreams be blessed with this beautiful man!

MASTERLIST

Nestled amidst snow-kissed pine trees, our cozy cabin offers a serene escape. Simply a perfect winter retreat overlooking breathtaking valleys and stunning mountain ranges, where you can unwind or explore our charming town just a short drive away.

Light cascades over his features, the glow harsh and bright as he squints at your phone, reading the brief description. Gusts of wind whip past as you wait expectantly, shifting your weight from one foot to another to keep warm.

"You got the wrong place," he says, peering out from behind the partially opened door.

Mouth agape, cold breaths misting in the chilly night air, you stare at him in disbelief. "This is the address they gave me," you reply desperately. It's a pointless attempt, you're not sure why you even bother trying. Clearly, you've ended up in the wrong place and arguing with this stranger won't change that.

"Well, they made a mistake, alright?" Brows creasing in mild annoyance, he leans forward, "S'my house. I live here.” The words hang in the air, heavy and final, punctuated by the squelch of your boots slightly sinking into the snow.

With a defeated sigh, you shuffle away from his front porch, the biting wind nipping at your exposed skin. Gloved fingers stiff from the cold, you fumble with the near-frozen handle of your car, the metallic hinges protesting as you wrench it open with a grunt. The thought of finding someplace to at least spend the night fills you with dread. Surely, scrambling at the last minute is bound to leave very few and certainly overpriced options.

Glancing back, you trace his figure silhouetted against the amber glow radiating from behind. "You wouldn't happen to know if there's a motel around, would you?" you ask, blinking tiredly against the glare.

"Closest one's 'bout an hour away." His expression remains unreadable, though, a flicker of something - perhaps sympathy - crosses his face. Just as you're sliding into the driver's seat, his voice cuts across the distance. "Hey - wait," he calls out, emerging from his house.

The collar of his flannel flaps from the breeze, and glimpses of the dark curls on his chest peek through the unbuttoned top. You wonder how the hell he's not shivering as he trudges through the snow, hands merely shoved deep into his pockets. He stops near your window, breath fogging up the glass as he looks at you hesitantly. "S'not safe to drive right now," he murmurs, weighing his next words, "Look, why don't you stay here tonight and figure somethin' out tomorrow?"

His offer takes you by surprise. The memory of his earlier dismissiveness stings, making the shift more jarring. Incoherent murmurs tumble from your throat, eyes widening at the thought of spending the night at this stranger's house. A ridiculously attractive stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. Sensing your unease, he sighs softly. "I get it, you don't know me. But, you're not gonna find anythin' this late anyway," he shrugs, taking a small step backwards, "S'up to you, just sayin'."

The rhythmic tapping of your fingers against the steering wheel echoes within the car. Doubt creeps into your mind as you study him, and eventually, the faint, encouraging smile he returns draws a shaky exhale. With a slight nod, you kill the engine.

Logan - as you learn shortly after - is a rather simple man. The interior of his cabin is minimal, almost sterile in nature and devoid of any personal touches. Yet, the warmth of the fireplace bathes the space in a cozy, inviting light. Scattered beer bottles and a couple of well-worn paperbacks lay on the coffee table, along with a radio humming a smooth jazz tune. A vague scent of pine lingers in the air, mingling with the smokiness of the aged wooden beams crisscrossing the ceiling. Shockingly, there isn't a single festive ornament in sight unlike the heavily decorated neighbourhoods you drove through to get here. And honestly, the longer you spend in his company, the more questions arise.

"Quiet night in, huh?" you note, trailing after him.

"Usually how it goes," he replies with a huff, the muscles of his back straining against his flannel as he wheels your suitcase towards the single door at the end of the hallway.

"Oh. I can sleep on the couch, you don’t need to–"

Despite your protests, Logan gestures inside, stepping back for you to enter. "Take the bed, I'll be out there." And there's absolutely no room for a debate; the set of his jaw and the determined glint in his eyes make that painstakingly clear. Still, he can't contain his amusement as you open your mouth again. "Don't fight me on this, alright?" he adds, fixing you with a pointed gaze.

You hold eye contact for a few seconds, the intensity slowly melting your resistance. Reluctantly, you nod and he flicks a switch, a soothing glow casts over the room. The bed, with its crisp white sheets and a pleasantly startling number of pillows, seems so comfy you almost sigh in relief. "If you need anythin', just ask," he continues, hand hovering over the knob.

The door creaks behind him as you call out his name. Pausing his motion, he turns around, eyeing you with patient curiosity. Now, in proper lighting, you spot the flecks of green in his eyes, the perfectly tousled waves of his hair, and the incredibly soft beard you suddenly want to stroke. "Thank you," you rasp, your voice inexplicably thick with surprise.

Logan nods once with a tight-lipped smile. "My pleasure," he whispers, bidding you good night. A beat of silence passes, then the muffled sound of his footsteps receding down the hallway. Grumbling in confusion, you slide under the covers, the blanket enveloping you in a much-needed embrace.

Today was a bad day.

A truly awful, no-good, very bad day. Last night, when you'd impulsively booked this getaway, the possibility of handling flat tires and battling harsh weather only to end up at the wrong place, all because of some mix-up never crossed your mind. It seemed like the perfect escape, a chance to relax and enjoy the Christmas cheer, a well-deserved break from the months of stress and the endless workdays. Unfortunately, luck - the heartless bastard - had other plans. Logan, however, managed to salvage your spirits, at least a little, with his unexpected goodwill.

So maybe, today was a slightly less bad day.

The smoke alarm is moments from a full-blown wail. Logan curses under his breath, beads of sweat trickling down his temple. He'd only wanted to make a simple stack of pancakes, yet the kitchen remains a travesty and the once-promising batter now a charred mess on the griddle.

It's all unchartered territory, having someone over, much less a complete stranger. Save for the rare visit from his lumberjack buddies, which involves more beer than conversation, or the neighbourly kindness of Diane, the elderly woman who regularly presses homemade meals into his hands in exchange for mending broken fences or leaky pipes, he's never had any real company. And so, he doesn't exactly know what compelled him to wake up earlier than usual and rummage through the sparsely stocked shelves to whip up something decent.

Tossing a quick, and almost furtive glance down the hallway, the steady cadence of your breathing filters through the bedroom walls. Logan shakes his head, resignation twisting his lips. Unimpressed with his terrible attempt, he scrapes the burnt food into the trash.

A restless energy thrums beneath his skin, his mind consumed by a nervous current since he'd made the impulsive offer last night. Moving through the cabin like a man possessed, he rearranges the perfectly stacked firewood, dusts the already pristine surfaces, and even opens the refrigerator for the fourth time only to stare blankly at its contents, having gained nothing but a momentary distraction. He's sure the carpet is dented from the sheer number of times he's paced the same worn track, each turn drawing him closer to the bedroom, then away again.

The quietness is deafening for a couple of hours until the soft thumping of your footsteps quirks his ears. Logan stops fiddling with the salt and pepper shakers, then straightens his posture to lean against the kitchen counter.

The fading smell of something wrinkles your nose. "I didn't sleep through a forest fire or anything, right?" you mumble, rubbing your eyes tiredly with the back of your hand.

His eyes involuntarily flick towards the stove, and for a fleeting moment, a sheepish smile touches his lips. "Don't worry 'bout it," he says a little too quickly, "Sleep well?" The steam from his coffee curls upwards as he takes a slow sip.

"I did, and thank you for letting me stay. You didn't have to do that." He nods in response, trying to downplay the gesture.

A charged silence stretches between you, crackling with unspoken thoughts and lingering awkwardness. There's a brief and almost hesitant exchange of glances before you speak at the same time.

"I should get going then–"

"There's a diner nearby–"

Stopping abruptly, a slightly embarrassed chuckle escapes your lips, mirroring the faint grin that tugs at the corners of his mouth. The shared laughter dissipates some of the tension and the atmosphere becomes almost comfortable. Only a second passes before Logan tries again, the words tumbling out a little faster than he intends. "There's a diner nearby if you're hungry."

He doesn't know why he just said that - the thought hadn't been consciously formed at all. Though he feels this strange pull, this unexpected urge to prolong the conversation, a subtle plea for you to stay. He eyes you with barely concealed anticipation, awaiting your reaction with bated breath.

"Okay, I have to ask. What's with the severe lack of Christmas decor?"

Logan watches you swirl the last of your milkshake, the metal spoon clinking against the glass. The diner's fluorescent lights, while unforgiving to most, seem to soften as they trace the delicate curve of your jawline, highlighting the pale flush of your cheeks courtesy of the winter air. Leaning back against the worn leather of the booth, a small smile spreads across his face as he considers your question. His gaze sweeps over the room, noting the strings of twinkling lights haphazardly draped around the tables, the paper snowflakes dangling from the ceiling and a rather lopsided Christmas tree tucked next to the jukebox.

"S'not really my thing," he admits, a faint shrug lifting his broad shoulders.

"Not even a little?" you tease, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

The corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement, his smile widening just a fraction. "Never had a reason," he says with an almost offhand casualness. But the flicker of curiosity, or perhaps even the touch of concern, in your expression doesn't escape him. Logan catches the way your lips press together for a moment, a subtle sign of contemplation as you piece together the sparse details you'd gathered about him. Clearing his throat, he shifts slightly in his seat. "Why'd you pick this town?" he tries, changing the subject.

"It was the cheapest option. Or at least, in comparison."

He chuckles as you groan, "So this was all a spontaneous decision."

"Hey, it's my turn to ask!" you interject, raising a hand in mock protest.

"Wasn't a question," he retorts playfully.

Nearly two hours slip by with this back-and-forth, lighthearted volley of exchanges. The diner empties out slowly, the hectic energy subsiding into a quieter hum as the two of you settle into a pleasant rhythm, taking turns to ask questions. Most of them are silly, designed to elicit a laugh or a quick anecdote - but the tone shifts here and there, venturing into deeper waters. The laughter doesn't disappear entirely, but it's interspersed with moments of thoughtful silence and understanding.

"So, what do you actually do? You know, besides running this bed and breakfast thing?"

Shaking his head, Logan rolls his eyes at your joke. "Work down at the lumberyard just like the next guy 'round here," he says with a vague gesture. "And what do you actually do?" His voice mimicking the same teasing tone you'd used.

The slight downturn of your smile takes him aback. "Journalist." It comes out strained, almost clipped. "I cover a bit of everything - well, whatever my boss throws at me anyway." The last part is delivered with a small, forced chuckle and he can't help but notice the change in your demeanour, the way your shoulders stiffen or how your jaw tightens. And despite not being the cause of it, regret fills him immediately, a sharp pang of guilt that settles in his stomach.

"Sounds... rough."

"Exactly why I needed a break."

Logan understands, with a surprising clarity, that pity is the last thing you want. And so, he steers away from anything of that sort, discarding the sympathetic expression that involuntarily surfaces. "Too bad your plans went to shit, huh?" he offers bluntly, his eyes, however, soften in the slightest.

Something akin to gratefulness shines in your smile, "Tell me about it."

The diffused light of the morning sun seeps through the frosted panes of the bedroom window. You stir awake, still incredibly tired as the remnants of a restless night hover like a persistent fog. Logan's bed had generously provided warm company for hours as you scoured for new accommodations in the area. Of course, with the holiday season, the internet had proven a frustrating dead end, most places booked solid during this time of year. Sleeping in your car was starting to feel like the only option until you stumbled upon a listing for a small lodge on the outskirts of town that had become vacant due to a last-minute cancellation.

The relief had been immense, a great wave washing over you as you secured the reservation. But now, as you slowly surface from sleep, the memory of that frantic search lingers, a dull ache pressing behind your eyes. Stretching out your stiff limbs, you squint at the alarm clock on the bedside table, wincing slightly at the early hour. And despite exhaustion weighing you down, a sense of purpose pushes you out of bed.

The wheels of your suitcase rumble against the wooden floorboards as you emerge from the hallway. Logan stands by the large window, his back a dark silhouette against the stark white landscape beyond. His gaze locks onto yours instantly, a look of sympathy - tinged with wry amusement - softens his features. "Hate to break it to you, but–" he begins, gesturing outside with a tilt of his head.

"Wha– oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me!"

A thick layer of fresh snow blankets the ground. The pine trees, a deep green last night, now laden with a heavy dusting, branches drooping under the weight. The scene is undeniably perfect, picturesque even. But the beauty is utterly lost on you in that moment. Everything is covered with a pristine white expanse that stretches as far as the eye can see. And there's simply no way in hell you can step out without sinking knee-deep, much less move your car even an inch.

"Happened overnight," his voice calm against your rising irritation. "Weather guy said it'll last a few days." Logan senses your distress, the dejected slump of your posture drawing genuine concern. "Listen, don't worry 'bout stayin' here. I don't mind at all, okay?" His reassurance eases your worries by a fraction, the sincerity and sheer honesty in his tone dispelling any hesitation creeping in. "'m serious," he adds gently.

"Thank you... so much, Logan. Really," you manage, the words catching in your throat.

And you are. Deeply, and truly grateful. Your carefully laid plans once again derailed by something beyond your control. Yet, it could have been so much worse. Thanks to Logan's unwavering support, his willingness to welcome a stranger, you're not completely shelterless while the snowstorm continues. The idyllic Christmas getaway you envisioned withers into a distant mirage. But in this moment, surrounded by the warmth of his presence, this feels more than enough.

Hours pass as you drift into a well-deserved nap on the couch, the hushed murmur of the wind outside lulling you into a peaceful slumber. The quiet doesn't last. A sudden bang echoes through the cabin, jolting you awake. "The fuck–" you murmur, disoriented as you stand up. Frowning at the interruption, you pad towards the noise, and eventually, stop dead in your tracks. "Holy shit."

Snow dusts his hair and shoulders, clinging to the rough fabric of his denim jacket. Logan, cheeks flushed red from the cold, wrestles a decent-sized fir tree through the back door. And judging by his grunts, it's evidently too wide for the opening. "Good, you're up. Hold the door, would ya?" he grumbles, muscles flexing against its considerable weight as he inches it further and further inside.

Shock momentarily freezes you in place, but his request snaps you out of your stupor. Rushing forward, you push the door with all your strength, the hinges groaning as you force it open at an awkward angle. With a final, mighty heave and a muttered curse, he manages to carry it fully indoors.

"What... is this?" you ask bewildered. A flurry of snowflakes and pine needles spread onto the floor, the crisp scent of nature filling the space. It's a wild and untamed thing, the sight of it so random and yet, somewhat festive.

"S'clearly a tree."

He doesn't cower from your glare. "Yes, I know it's a tree. What's it doing in your living room?"

Logan pauses briefly, and you can’t quite decipher if the deepening flush on his cheeks is solely from the lingering chill or something else entirely. He avoids your direct gaze for a second. "Figured since you're stuck here, might as well decorate a little." A studied nonchalance masks his attitude as if lugging a six-foot tree into his cabin during a raging blizzard is the most normal thing in the world.

Stunned doesn't even begin to capture the whirlwind of emotions churning within. Logan had already opened his home to you, and now, he's gone to the trouble of dragging this laughably enormous tree inside, all in an effort to cheer you up. Something spreads through your chest in an almost overwhelming capacity and the air suddenly feels intimate. And expressing the full extent of your appreciation feels too vulnerable, so you deflect instead. "Thought it wasn't really your thing."

"Yeah well, 'm runnin' a bed and breakfast as you said. Gotta keep my only guest happy, right?" His smile nearly melts you. The effect immediate and surprisingly potent. One that speaks of pure kindness and his quiet, unassuming warmth. One that makes the absurdity of a giant tree propped in the middle of his living room not only reasonable, but somehow perfectly right.

"I'll make sure to leave a four-star rating."

"Four?"

"I know you burnt something yesterday."

The evening comes quickly and time flies, surprisingly so, as you and Logan get to decorating. The lack of traditional ornaments proves to be only a minor obstacle because with a little creativity, colourful ribbons from old packages become tinsel, pinecones transform into rustic baubles, and even a string of spare light bulbs is carefully wrapped around the branches.

A natural rhythm falls into place as you work. You talk about random things: childhood memories, neighbours, and his startling lack of Christmas movie knowledge - a revelation that elicits a gasp of mock horror. There are moments when you stand close, brushing fingertips as you reach for the same thing. A shared look lasts a fraction too long, a breath catches in quiet air before one of you shyly steps aside. And strangely, despite the unusual circumstances that brought you together, despite the fact that you're practically strangers, it feels easy.

Fuck.

The shovel bites into the heavy snow with a satisfying crunch, lifting a thick slab that Logan heaves to the side of Diane's driveway. Earlier, her voice, tinged with desperation, had come through the answering machine, asking if he could possibly clear the mess in exchange for a warm dinner. He'd readily agreed, a gesture so typical in weather like this. But, in the course of the call, he'd let slip that he wasn't alone. And Diane, ever the hospitable and nosy soul, immediately insisted that you join in too.

He keeps a steady and even pace, breath puffing out in small white clouds in the fresh afternoon air. The muscles in his arms and back strain beneath his jacket as he clears a path through the deep drifts. You stand nearby - supposedly helping - bundled in your warmest clothes.

He's about to tease you for your lack of contribution, the words practically forming on his lips, when something cold and wet hits the back of his neck. Whirling around sharply with a surprised expression, he finds you grinning. The evidence is clear: melting remains of a snowball cling to your gloved hands, while a few snowflakes adorn your hair, creating a delicate halo of white around your face. With a few quick swipes, the snow is brushed away, his gaze not straying from yours.

"Now that was a mistake, darlin'."

Before he can retaliate, you turn and bolt. It's a comical attempt at an escape, a sort of waddling run rather than a sprint. Within seconds, he gains distance and tackles you gently, sending you both tumbling into a soft pile of snow. Laughter bubbles up and then fades, leaving Logan staring down at you. Inches apart, noses almost touching. A strange energy hangs in the air, pulling him imperceptibly closer.

"You kids'll catch a cold playing in that!"

He huffs a laugh, the sound a little breathless, a little unsteady, before pushing himself up. "Don't worry Diane, 'm takin' real good care of her," he yells back, extending a hand towards you.

"I'm sure you are," she mutters to herself knowingly. "C'mon in, dinner's ready!"

The kitchen table groans under the weight of the food: a glistening roast chicken sits proudly in the center, surrounded by steaming bowls of creamy mashed potatoes, green beans and thick slices of homemade bread. Diane bustles around the table, refilling your plates, urging you to try the gravy, her face beaming with satisfaction.

She shifts her attention to you, asking about your life, your hobbies, your family. Logan catches himself staring more than once, a faint blush rising as he diverts his gaze to the food. But the pull is undeniable; his eyes keep returning, hooked as if by an invisible thread.

Dinner passes in a warm haze of hearty conversation and fond memories. "Is this your son?" you ask, carrying the dishes to the sink. A framed photograph rests on the bookshelf near the doorway. Light falls onto the glass, reflecting a gentle glow on the smiling faces within.

"Yes, my Charlie. Real sweetheart that boy, calls every week to check in. He works down in the city, busy as can be. I haven't seen him in... it must be nearly two years now." The lines around her eyes crinkle slightly as she dusts the picture. "But Logan's been a blessing, I tell you. Always there for me."

"Don't go spreadin' that 'round. Can't have people thinkin' I give out special treatment," he retorts playfully, leaning against the counter.

"Oh, I think everyone can see who you're sweet on."

Logan shifts slightly, his smile faltering at the comment. A redness creeps up his neck, betraying his composure as he steals a glance at your stunned expression. Clearing his throat a little rougher than normal, he turns abruptly to the front door. "Gonna get some firewood."

A gust of wind, sharp and sudden as a physical blow, smacks against him the moment he steps outside. He gathers a few logs, the rough bark scraping against his fingers, but his mind remains stubbornly elsewhere. As he retraces his steps to the front porch, the gentle lilt of Diane's voice filters through the walls: "Could you get the door, honey?"

The door swings inwards, and his breath hitches immediately. Suspended just inches above, dangling from a slender crimson ribbon, hangs a sprig of mistletoe, its pale berries gleaming. Your gaze follows his, an embarrassed chuckle slipping out. From somewhere behind, Diane hums, a sound that resonates with blatant intention. The weight of the firewood in his arms increases tenfold as he meets your eyes. He can’t quite decipher the expression in them – amusement, a hint of nervousness, and something else he can’t quite place. "You don't... have to–" he mumbles.

Then, your attention dips down to his lips, a fleeting glance that sends a jolt of electricity through his body, momentarily stilling his heartbeat. He feels frozen, every muscle taut, the firewood heavy and forgotten. But at the very last second, you turn your head and press a kiss to his cheek instead.

The cherry of his cigar burns a steady ember. He leans against the rough-hewn logs of his cabin wall, the wood pressing into his back. The ghost of your lips on his cheek persists, a phantom touch that caresses his skin long after you’ve moved away. Logan draws deeply on the cigar, the smoke winding upwards in wisps, obscuring the stars above. He's only known you for a few days. So how could this feeling, this unsettling, foreign tinge of exhilaration, possibly exist?

"Hey."

The single word, soft yet distinct in the quiet night, floats like a whispered secret. Darkness traces the lines of your face, casting delicate shadows that accentuate your features. "Hey."

"Aren't you cold?"

"Run pretty warm," he replies, smoke escaping his mouth as he takes another drag. "Sorry ‘bout Diane. She can get a little–"

"No. That's alright." With a slight, almost languid wave of your hand, you brush aside his apology. "She's quite fond of you," you whisper, accompanied by a subtle upturn of your lips.

Logan huffs lightly as the silence returns. The moonlight, filtered through the branches overhead, creates dappled patterns of light and shadow across the ground. “So,” he begins, his gaze locking onto yours, “this... everythin' you hoped for?”

"No." Your response is immediate. A small, genuine smile blossoms on your face at his reaction, sending a wave of unexpected warmth surging through his chest - a warmth that has nothing to do with the slowly burning cigar held loosely between his fingers. "It's better."

He fights hard to school his expression, to maintain a neutral facade, not wanting to reveal how much your simple happiness affects him. A furrow appears between your brows, and your lips part slightly as if you’re about to speak, then hesitate. "What're you thinkin'?" he asks gently.

"Work. I don't wanna go back," you confess. The heavy sigh that follows speaks volumes. "It's just... not what I thought it would be. It's not what I want anymore." The dejection in your voice is palpable, a sadness that makes him ache to reach out and offer comfort.

Logan sees the weariness etched on your face, the way your gaze drifts towards the dark silhouette of the distant mountains as if seeking solace in the vast landscape. "Then what's keepin' you there?" he wonders aloud, an instinctive pull bringing him a step closer.

You pause almost abruptly, the flow of conversation halting as if it hit an invisible wall. The soft vulnerability that had been present just moments before vanishes, replaced by a guardedness that makes him instantly regret his question. "I should get some rest."

“Wait–”

“Good night, Logan,” you mumble, the door clicking shut behind you.

Hi, Mr. Grinch!

Cindy Lou?! What are you doing up there?

I came to see you. No one should be alone on Christmas.

The scene plays along as you and Logan sit beside each other on the couch. He’d suggested the movie, feigning a sudden interest in Christmas classics. But you knew the real reason. The insistent buzz of work emails had been plaguing your phone all day, and he’d seen the way your eyes kept flicking down to the screen, the shadow of worry that clouded your features. This was his quiet way of offering respite - a gentle distraction.

The light from the television flashes across his profile, illuminating the strong line of his jaw and the curve of his lips. He seems completely absorbed by the movie, but a stillness in his posture tells you he’s not as engrossed as he pretends to be.

A wave of drowsiness washes over you, your eyelids fluttering closed and then snapping open again in a futile attempt to stay awake. But the warmth of the fire, the muted hum of the movie, and Logan's comforting presence prove too much to resist. Your head lolls to the side, almost of its own accord, finding a soft landing against his shoulder.

The sharp clatter of pots and pans colliding rouses you from sleep. Then, a savory blend of garlic, herbs, and something undeniably rich and tomatoey, wafts through the air. As you round the corner to investigate, your jaw drops.

There, stands Logan, putting the final touches on a scene that looks straight out of a romcom. A small, round table has been pulled away from the wall and positioned near the window. Candlelight dances on the polished wood surface, reflecting in the delicate glassware he’d clearly unearthed from some hidden corner of the cabin. Two steaming bowls of pasta sit on either side.

His head lifts as you appear, some kind of hopeful affection shimmering in his eyes much like the flames themselves. He quickly steps back from the table, as if caught in the act of some grand romantic gesture. The glow from your makeshift yet charmingly decorated Christmas tree in the living room spills into the kitchen. It’s all so carefully arranged, so thoughtfully put together, that it takes your breath away.

"What's all this?"

"Nothin' special... just thought it'd be nice. Christmas Eve n' all."

"I'm... impressed," you stammer nervously, but the sentiment feels inadequate on your tongue.

Logan ducks his head rather shyly - a small almost boyish action that flushes his rugged features. He then moves with a newfound purpose, reaching for the back of the chair closest to you and pulling it out in a smooth motion. And in that moment, there’s no world where you’d say no. The thought doesn’t even cross your mind.

The meal had been delicious, but it was the shared conversation, the easy laughter that truly filled you. "Maybe I'll have to bump you up to five stars."

"Hm, that so?"

"I said maybe."

He chuckles, holding your gaze for a beat longer before rising suddenly. Static bursts into the room as he fiddles with the radio, a brief, crackling intrusion before giving way to fragmented voices and snippets of music. He continues turning the dial until a slow melody emerges. Spinning around, Logan extends a hand towards you, his palm facing upwards in a clear invitation. "C'mon, trust me," he whispers.

Hesitantly, you grasp his fingers - his touch gentle and firm. As you draw closer, the scent of woodsmoke and his cologne crowd your lungs. The movement feels surprisingly natural as if you’ve danced a hundred times before.

"This is... the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

At your words, Logan’s hand tightens on your waist. The subtle change in his posture, the slight tilt of his head, the way his focus lies solely on you, steal any semblance of logic in your mind, replacing it with a dizzying rush of anticipation.

"Yeah? You deserve it," he murmurs back, his voice low and husky. "I like seein' you happy."

You make me happy. The words tremble on the tip of your tongue, daring to break free. The distance between your lips is almost nonexistent, a hair’s breadth separating you from the building tension. Time seems to slow, each second stretching into an eternity as you both lean in, the promise of a kiss hanging heavy in the air. You can almost taste him, a sweet ache swelling in your chest.

But the jarring tone of an emergency broadcast shatters the moment. “The severe snowstorm warning previously in effect for this region has now been lifted. A true Christmas miracle! Tomorrow will bring clear skies and–”

As you walk side-by-side along a beaten-down path through the mountains, the crisp breeze nipping at your cheeks, he steals glances at you, drinking in the sight of your joy. The moon paints the world in silver, mirroring the pure happiness that had been shining in your eyes. Logan had spent the day showing you around town: the local bakery, the family-owned bookstore. You’d even braved the icy air for a short walk along the frozen lake, nearly slipping until his quick reflexes caught you just in time.

He stops as the path opens up onto a breathtaking vista. The town below sprawls out like a miniature constellation, each house a tiny spark of light against the dark canvas of the valley. Strings of colourful lights crisscross the streets, weaving a tapestry of festive cheer. Logan watches you, a quiet satisfaction settling in his chest. He can see the awe etched on your face as you absorb all the details.

"What'd you think?"

"It's... beautiful," you exhale.

"Thought you'd like it." He shifts closer, subtle yet deliberate as his chest brushes lightly against your shoulder. A wildfire courses through his veins, temptation burning away his doubts. He’d wanted to kiss you - countless times. The impulse had been a constant undercurrent for days, a silent hum beneath the surface of every conversation, every shared look. Leaning in, breath warm against your ear, he whispers your name. "Tell me 'm not crazy. Tell me you don't want this and I'll stop."

"Cause darlin', 'm runnin' out of reasons why I shouldn't," he murmurs.

And then, you turn. The sweetness of your lips becomes almost intoxicating and unlike anything he ever imagined. Logan's hand trails up your side, mapping the curve of your waist. With a soft sigh, he dips his head further, deepening the kiss. All the pent-up tension comes crashing down as you pull away. It's a rush, a torrent that sweeps through him, rendering him breathless and nearly disoriented.

His thumb caresses your cheek, a silent plea that echoes the longing in his tone. "Don't... don't leave."

"Logan... I can't." His heart sinks. It’s not a dramatic plummet, but a slow, agonizing descent. Regret stings your eyes as his hand falls away.

"Why not? You're not happy workin' that job. Stay here, you'll find somethin'," he tries desperately.

"Stop. Please," you whisper, choked with emotion. "Let's just go back."

Heartache keeps Logan tossing and turning all night. Sleep had offered no escape, only a relentless replay of yesterday's conversation. His eyes burn, gritty and heavy as he pushes himself up on his elbows. But a strange unease stirs in his gut. He can't sense your presence. The air feels empty, lacking your familiar warmth and energy.

Panic flares in his mind. Did he push you away? Did you leave in the middle of the night? A cold dread grips his heart. He throws the blanket off, feet hitting the cold wooden floor with a thud.

Nausea rolls over him. A hollow ache in the pit of his stomach inches through his entire body. His hands tremble as he rakes them through his hair, breath catching in his throat. He’s about to give in to the rising despair, the crushing weight of believing you’re gone when a faint scent drifts in through the slightly open window. Relief knocks him hard, so intense his knees almost buckle.

"Fuck, I thought–" he starts, heading towards you.

"I quit."

Logan freezes, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What?"

"I quit my job." The corners of your mouth curve into a smile, and his heart leaps at the sight. "Running out of reasons why I shouldn't," you chuckle softly, fingers lacing together at the nape of his neck, the touch sending a shiver down his spine. "But next year, we're getting real decorations," you add playfully, and he grins.

"I'll buy some today, sweetheart."

[vofriviasblog]

Definitely needed comfort fic like this one. Under this gruff exterior is a man with a loving heart. I could die happily snuggled in his arms and listening his soft voice, which would be reserved just for me. This was so good to read. Fantastic!

I'll Take Care Of You

logan howlett x fem!reader - reader has a cold, soft logan, comfort, cute, fluff, teasing, cuddling, no y/n used, no reader description

You have a cold so Logan takes care of you.

read on Ao3

a/n: I'm sick right now so I literally wrote this to comfort myself.

The sound of your alarm pierced the quiet room, and you groaned, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle deep into your bones. When you opened your eyes, the sunlight streaming in through the blinds felt too bright, making your head pound. Every muscle in your body ached, and your throat felt raw like you’d swallowed gravel.

You sniffled, wincing at the burning sensation in your nose, and rolled over, hoping to drift back into the comfort of sleep. Before you could even close your eyes again, a rough, familiar voice rumbled from the doorway.

"Feelin’ alright, darlin’?"

You cracked an eye open, seeing Logan standing in the doorway, arms crossed, his brow furrowed as he took in the sight of you bundled under the blankets. His usual cocky smirk was missing, replaced by a look of concern.

"Fine," you croaked, though your voice barely sounded like yours. "Just a little tired."

Logan arched an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. He stepped closer, the floor creaking under his heavy boots, his eyes sharp as they flicked over your pale, tired face. "Yeah? You look like hell."

"Gee, thanks," you muttered, snuggling deeper into the covers in an attempt to escape the cold that seemed to cling to your skin. "Just what a girl wants to hear."

Logan sighed, shaking his head as he walked over to the bed. Without a word, he reached out and pressed the back of his hand against your forehead, his skin cool compared to the feverish heat radiating from yours.

"Jesus," he muttered, pulling his hand back. "You’re burning up."

"I’m fine," you lied, sniffling and trying to sit up, but a wave of dizziness hit you so hard that you collapsed back onto the pillows with a groan.

Logan gave you a look—one that said he wasn’t about to let you pretend you weren’t sick. He stood there for a moment, silent and assessing, then with a resigned sigh, he walked over to the closet and pulled out one of his old flannel shirts.

"You’re not fine," he grumbled, tossing the shirt onto the bed. "You're staying in bed, and I’m not hearin’ any arguments."

You blinked up at him, surprised. "You’re bossy when you’re worried."

Logan shot you a half-hearted glare, though there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Yeah, well, someone’s gotta take care of you. ‘Cause you clearly won’t."

You were about to argue, to insist that you didn’t need his help, but another coughing fit interrupted you, leaving you gasping for air and clutching the blankets tighter around you. Logan watched for a moment, then shook his head and turned toward the door.

"Stay put," he ordered, his voice gruff but filled with a quiet kind of care. "I’m gonna make you somethin’ hot to drink."

You didn’t have the energy to argue, so you simply nodded and sank deeper into the covers, your body aching with every movement. A few minutes later, you heard the sound of clinking mugs and the soft hum of the stove heating water. Logan was surprisingly quiet in the kitchen, but you could still hear the occasional muttered curse as he fumbled with the tea kettle.

Eventually, he returned, carrying a steaming mug in one hand and a bottle of cold medicine in the other. He set the mug down on your nightstand, then opened the bottle of medicine with practiced ease, pouring a dose into the tiny cup and holding it out to you.

"Drink," he said firmly, giving you no room to refuse.

You made a face at the bitter smell of the medicine but reluctantly took it, downing it in one go. It was disgusting, of course, but you could already feel the effects of it working their way through your system.

Logan handed you the mug next, his hand lingering a little longer on yours as you took it. "Here. Tea. Storm said it’d help."

"Storm?" you asked, sniffling as you took a careful sip, the warmth immediately soothing your raw throat. "You called Storm?"

Logan shrugged, looking away as if it were no big deal. "She knows stuff about herbs or whatever. Figured she’d have somethin’ useful."

You couldn’t help but smile at that, even though your head was pounding. "That’s... kind of sweet, actually."

Logan grumbled something under his breath, refusing to meet your eyes. "Don’t make a big deal outta it."

For a moment, the two of you sat there in comfortable silence, the only sound the occasional clink of your mug as you set it back down. You leaned your head back against the pillow, letting out a long sigh.

"I’m freezing," you muttered, pulling the blankets tighter around you, though no matter how much you wrapped yourself up, the chill seemed to seep into your bones.

Logan watched you for a moment, then sighed and reached for the edge of the blanket. "Scoot over."

You frowned, confused. "What?"

"Move," he said, more insistent this time, tugging the blanket out of your grasp. "You’re freezin’, and I’m not gonna sit here watchin’ you shiver."

Before you could protest, Logan climbed into the bed next to you, pulling you to his side with surprising gentleness. He wrapped the blanket around the both of you, his body warm and solid against yours. You stiffened for a second, not quite expecting him to just jump into bed with you, but then his arm came around your waist, pulling you even closer.

His warmth immediately began to seep into your chilled skin, and you felt yourself relax, your head resting against his chest. His hand rubbed slow circles on your back, and the steady rise and fall of his breathing was oddly soothing.

"You’re... cuddling me," you murmured, a bit bewildered but far too tired to argue.

"Yeah," Logan grunted. "And what of it?"

"Didn’t take you for a cuddler."

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Don’t go gettin’ used to it. This is just ‘cause you’re sick."

You smiled despite yourself, closing your eyes as you nestled closer into him. "Right. Just because I’m sick."

Logan’s hand stilled for a moment, and you could feel the way his chest rose and fell more steadily now as if he was content just being there. "Yeah," he muttered, his voice softer now. "Just ‘cause you’re sick."

The two of you stayed like that, the room quiet except for the sound of your breathing. Logan’s warmth wrapped around you like a cocoon, and for the first time that day, you didn’t feel quite so miserable.

"You know," you mumbled, half-asleep now, "if this is how you take care of people, maybe I should get sick more often."

Logan chuckled softly, his hand gently brushing a stray strand of hair out of your face. "Don’t push your luck, sweetheart."

Even though his words were gruff, there was a tenderness in his touch, a quiet care that made you feel safe. You drifted off to sleep with a small smile on your lips, warm and content in Logan’s arms.

Though he’d never admit it, Logan stayed right where he was, holding you close, watching over you for the rest of the night.

[vofriviasblog]

The simplicity of this fic is beyond beautiful. I need Theo in my life so bad. He's so cute and charming. He's so happy that he can hold her hand awwwwww

𝐍𝐨 𝐍𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐆𝐨

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - In a crowded hallway, Y/N grabs Theo's hand, and he becomes completely fixated on keeping it in his, despite the jostling of other students. As they reach the Potions classroom, Theo’s subtle possessiveness and sweet gestures leave Y/N unexpectedly touched. He opens the door for her, never once letting go of her hand. 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 - This was inspired by the Darkest Sins by Neva Altaj 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃 - @bernardsbendystraws

The hallway was more crowded than usual. Students bustled in every direction, their voices a low hum as they rushed to their next classes. Y/N was walking briskly, trying to dodge the cluster of students blocking her path, when she caught sight of Theo, just ahead of her. Without thinking, she grabbed his hand, pulling him along with her.

Theo’s heart skipped a beat as soon as her fingers brushed against his, a warmth spreading up his arm at the simple touch. He froze for a moment, staring down at their entwined fingers, mesmerized by the way her hand fit perfectly in his. He hardly noticed the students jostling him, their elbows bumping against his arm as they pushed past. His only focus was keeping their hands locked together, not letting go for anything.

Y/N kept walking, oblivious to how Theo was practically glued to her side, his gaze fixed on their hands. She led him through the crowded corridor, her pace quickening as they neared the Potions classroom. Just as they reached the door, Y/N began to pull her other hand from his, the one she intended to use to open the door.

Theo immediately frowned, his grip tightening as he squeezed her hand gently but firmly, making it impossible for her to pull away. "No," he said softly, voice almost a little desperate.

Y/N glanced at him in surprise, brow furrowing. “Um, I need that hand,” she said, gesturing toward the door in front of them. She had been planning on using her free hand to open it.

Theo smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “No, you don’t.”

Her eyebrows raised in objection. “But I need—”

He interrupted her, his voice calm, yet full of confidence. “You don’t need to do anything, amore. Let me.”

Before Y/N could protest further, Theo moved forward, still holding her hand, and pushed the door open with his free hand. He held it wide for her, his other hand never once loosening its grip on hers. She stood there for a moment, blinking in surprise at his gentlemanly gesture, then stepped inside, her heart fluttering at how natural it all felt.

Theo, still holding her hand, led her to their usual seats next to each other. He was hyper-aware of every movement, making sure their fingers remained interlocked. His eyes flicked down to their hands as he guided her to the desk, a sense of possessiveness and tenderness filling his chest. That hand is mine, he thought, almost proudly. She offered it to me freely, and I’m not letting go unless I absolutely have to.

As they settled into their seats, Theo’s mind wandered for a moment. One day, maybe, she would let him touch more than just her hand.

One day, maybe, she would let him hold her close in ways he couldn’t even imagine right now. But for now, he would be content with this—her hand in his, her fingers so warm against his.

He gave her hand another squeeze, a silent promise to never let go unless she asked him to. For now, this was more than enough.

[vofriviasblog]

So sweet! Tom for his beloved is so gentle, so in love. I love reading how he express his love for his wife, how his eyes softened when she is with him. The teasing is just adorable, I can't. Soft Tom is my favourite!

𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐝, 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - Y/N teases Tom Riddle, playfully addressing him as "My Lord" after one of his followers does the same.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 - Literally came up with this while re-reading my dark fics. Needed some softness in my feed.

𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃 - @bernardsbendystraws

Y/N had been walking through the halls of Hogwarts, her mind occupied with thoughts of her day, when she spotted Tom Riddle talking with a few of his followers.

They were whispering in hushed voices, but she caught snippets of their conversation.

Tom’s usual commanding presence had them all hanging on his every word, his dark eyes flashing with that sharp intensity only he could manage.

As the conversation ended, one of them turned to Tom with a dramatic bow, lowering his head in reverence. "My Lord," he said, before walking off with a hurried step.

Y/N couldn't hold back a laugh. It was always amusing how his followers treated him with such absolute deference. To them, he was their leader, their lord.

Stepping forward, she put on an exaggerated, mock-serious expression and dipped into an overly dramatic bow of her own. "My Lord," she said in a teasing tone.

Tom, who had been about to turn away, froze, his brow furrowing as he looked down at her. His usual stoic demeanor softened just a little at the sight of her playful smirk.

"Don't call me that," he muttered, but his voice was filled with an affectionate kind of annoyance. He was used to being the one who commanded attention, who was never the one on the receiving end of mockery. But with Y/N, it was different.

Without saying another word, Tom reached for her, his strong arms wrapping around her shoulders in a tight embrace, pulling her against his chest. Y/N laughed softly, pressing her cheek against his robes.

"I could call you whatever I like, my Lord," she teased again, her voice muffled as she looked up at him with bright eyes.

His lips twitched at the corners, but he didn't respond immediately, instead letting out a quiet sigh, almost like he was defeated by her charm. "Please call me anything else," he said, almost pleading.

Y/N tilted her head, her eyes glinting with mischief. "What about Tommy?" she asked, drawing out the name with an innocent tilt of her head.

Tom's face immediately contorted in a mix of disbelief and mock horror. He hated it. He hated every variation of his name that came from her lips, especially that one. He sighed again, this time in resignation.

"You know I don't like that, love," he muttered under his breath, his eyes closing briefly in frustration.

Y/N leaned up on her tiptoes, pecking him lightly on the chest. "Okay, love," she said softly, smiling sweetly as she tucked herself against him.

The word made his heart skip a beat. He felt a flush creeping up his neck, his usually cool and composed demeanor cracking for just a moment. He hated how easily she could make him feel this way, but at the same time, it warmed him in a way he couldn't describe.

"Love," he repeated, his voice soft and a little more vulnerable now. He kissed the top of her head, his arms tightening around her slightly as if grounding himself in this quiet moment of affection. "That’s only for you."

Y/N rested her head against his chest, smiling contentedly as she felt the warmth of his embrace. "And you're mine, Tom," she murmured, feeling the unspoken bond between them grow even stronger.

Tom didn't say anything more, but the way his arms held her tighter was all the answer she needed. He may have commanded the loyalty of so many, but with Y/N, he was simply hers, in a way that no one else could ever claim him.

[vofriviasblog]

This is so raw, emotional but at the same time hearwarming. He cares so much that even hearing that his partner was crying made him tense and be on alert. It warmed my heart when he brought his partner on his lap to feel her, be closer to her. Definitely he is worthy of every ounce of love. Beautiful!

Could I request a one shot of Old Man Logan? Something with fluff and angst like a huge argument between him and his other half and Laura works to get them to make up after days of not talking

things i wish you said

chapter summary: You and Logan get into a fight and Laura tries to get the two of you to see the errors in your ways.

word count: 2.8k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: thank y'all for sending in requests! i've been working on the last chapter of i love you, in every time but i ran into a bit of writer's block so the requests really helped <3

anyways, i hope this was what you wanted anon!

warnings/tags: au of 'logan (2017)' aka logan doesn't die at the end, arguments, angst, laura being smarter than reader and logan, really this is just laura being a smartass, fluff

"I can’t believe you!” You set the dish towel angrily down on the counter, glaring at Logan. “You are the most stubborn man I have ever met.”

Logan leaned back against the doorframe, arms crossed, his expression hard. “Yeah? Well, someone’s gotta be stubborn, considering you’re trying to fix a situation that ain’t broken.”

“It is broken, Logan!” you snapped, pointing a finger at him. “You just refuse to see it because that’s what you do! Shut everything out, pretend like nothing’s wrong until it all blows up in your face.”

His jaw clenched, and he shook his head. “What’s wrong is you makin’ a mountain out of a molehill. I said I’ll handle it.”

“You handling it usually means disappearing for a week and coming back bloodied and brooding!” You threw your hands up, exasperated. “God forbid you actually let someone help you for once.”

“I don’t need your help!” he barked, his voice rising. “I’ve been doin’ just fine on my own for years.”

“And look where that’s gotten you!” The words came out sharper than you intended, but the frustration boiling in your chest wouldn’t let you stop. “You’re not on your own anymore, Logan. When are you gonna get that through your thick skull?”

Logan’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then, his voice dropped to a dangerous low. “You don’t think I know that? I didn’t ask for any of this, but here we are. I’m doin’ the best I can, and it ain’t enough for you, is it?”

“That’s not what I said!” You took a step toward him, shaking your head in disbelief. “But you don’t even try to meet me halfway. You just... shut down and push me out the second it gets hard.”

“Maybe I’m tryin’ to protect you,” he shot back, his words laced with frustration.

“From what? From you?” Your voice cracked, the argument chipping away at the walls you’d built to keep your own emotions in check. “I’m not scared of you, Logan. What scares me is losing you because you’re too damn stubborn to let anyone in.”

Logan’s mouth opened as if to retort, but no words came. He stood there, breathing hard, the weight of your words hanging heavy between you. Without another word, he turned and stalked out of the room, the screen door slamming behind him.

You stood there, staring at the door, your heart pounding. Part of you wanted to go after him, to yell more, to make him understand. But another part of you was too tired—too hurt.

The house was quiet now, save for the faint creak of the floorboards as Laura walked in from the hallway. She didn’t say anything right away, just hovered in the doorway, her arms crossed in that way that made her look far older than her twelve years.

“You two are so loud,” she finally said, her tone flat but edged with something that sounded suspiciously like annoyance.

You groaned, dropping your hands and looking over at her. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. We didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” Laura replied, stepping further into the kitchen. She pulled out a chair and sat across from you, her sharp gaze studying your face. “You’re crying.”

You swiped at your cheek quickly, though you weren’t sure why. Laura didn’t miss much. “It’s nothing, kiddo.”

“It didn’t sound like nothing,” she said, her tone even. She leaned her elbows on the table, her small hands clasped together. “You and Logan fight all the time now.”

“That’s not true,” you replied automatically, though the words felt hollow as soon as you said them.

Laura just stared at you, unblinking. “It is.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “Sometimes grown-ups argue. That’s just how it is.”

“Yeah, but you’re mad at him all the time. And he’s mad at himself. It’s annoying.” Her bluntness cut through you, and she tilted her head. “Are you going to leave?”

“What? No.” The question startled you, and you leaned forward. “No, Laura. I’m not going anywhere. I love Logan. I just... wish he’d stop shutting me out.”

Laura didn’t say anything for a while. She just stared at you, her gaze as sharp as ever, like she was picking apart everything you’d just said.

Finally, she shrugged. “Then tell him.”

You blinked. “I have told him.”

“No, you yelled at him.” Her voice was flat, matter-of-fact, and it made you feel about two inches tall. “That’s not the same.”

You sighed, running a hand over your face. “It’s complicated, kid.”

Laura tilted her head. “No, it’s not. You’re mad. He’s mad. You both stop talking. Then you stay mad.”

You stared at her, caught off guard by how simple she made it sound. “It’s not that easy.”

Laura didn’t respond to that, just gave you a look—one of those looks that made you realize this twelve-year-old could probably win a staring contest with the Grim Reaper. She stood up without another word and walked back toward the hallway, leaving you sitting there with a mix of frustration, guilt, and... something else you couldn’t quite name.

---

The next few days were... quiet. Too quiet. Logan didn’t come around much, and when he did, it was brief—mostly to grab a beer or say a gruff goodnight. You didn’t push him, not yet, but the silence between you was its own kind of argument.

You also knew that he wasn’t sleeping in bed with you. You could tell because you’d wake up early for work, only to find Logan sprawled out on the couch, his legs dangling off the armrest. You would’ve woken him up—told him to go to bed while you left—but you stopped yourself every time. The anger hadn’t completely faded, but it had started to feel hollow, replaced by something heavier.

This morning was no different. You paused in the living room doorway, coffee in hand, watching him. He was fast asleep, one arm thrown over his face, the other hanging off the edge of the couch. You sighed quietly to yourself.

“Just go to bed, idiot,” you muttered under your breath, knowing he wouldn’t hear it.

---

Laura stood in the doorway of the garage, watching Logan fiddle with the same part of the truck he’d been pretending to fix for the past twenty minutes. She didn’t say anything at first—just stood there, arms crossed, her quiet presence heavy enough that Logan eventually sighed.

“You gonna say somethin’ or just stand there starin’?” he muttered without looking up, his voice rough.

Laura shrugged. “You’re not fixing anything.”

Logan’s hands paused for half a second before he went back to the wrench, a little harder this time. “Truck needs work.”

“It doesn’t,” Laura said bluntly. “You’re hiding.”

Logan froze again, jaw tightening. “Ain’t hidin’.”

“You are,” she insisted. Laura took a step closer, eyeing him like he was some kind of experiment she was studying. “You and Y/N are mad. It’s annoying.”

Logan finally looked up at her, scowling. “What’s annoying is you stickin’ your nose where it don’t belong.”

Laura didn’t flinch. She just stared at him, unfazed as ever. ��If you don’t talk to her, she’s going to leave.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, and his grip on the wrench tightened. “She’s not gonna leave.”

Laura raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

Logan stared at her, expression unreadable, but he didn’t answer. He looked back at the truck instead, as if the bolts and metal could give him something to focus on. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, kid.”

Laura stepped closer, crossing her arms tighter over her chest. “I know you. And I know her. She cries when you’re not looking.”

Logan stilled, his shoulders tensing, but he didn’t look at her. He didn’t want to hear it—didn’t want to think about it.

Laura didn’t stop. “You think shutting her out makes her safer, but it doesn’t. It just makes her sad.”

“Laura,” Logan said sharply, his voice low.

She ignored the warning in his tone. “You don’t want her to leave, but you’re acting like you do.”

That hit something, and Logan finally set the wrench down, exhaling harshly. “You don’t get it.”

“I do.” Laura’s voice was calm, but there was something pointed beneath it. “You’re scared. You don’t want to need her.”

Logan looked at her, his scowl deeper now, though it lacked its usual bite. “Yeah? Where’d you get all that from?”

Laura shrugged. “I watch you. I listen. You’re both loud.”

Logan shook his head and ran a hand over his face, grumbling under his breath. “You’re a real pain, you know that?”

She just tilted her head. “You’re worse.”

Logan let out a low, humorless chuckle. “Great. So now I’m gettin’ life advice from a twelve-year-old.”

Laura shrugged again and turned to leave. “If you don’t talk to her, I will.”

That got his attention. “Hey—”

But she was already walking out of the garage, not bothering to look back. “You’re welcome,” she called flatly.

Logan swore under his breath, watching her disappear. He sat there for a moment, hands resting on his knees, staring at the half-fixed truck. He hated that kid sometimes—hated how she could cut right through him like that.

And worse, she was right.

---

You came back from work late, opting to eat out instead of at home to avoid any awkward interactions. By the time you walked through the door, the house was dark except for the faint glow of the kitchen light. You set your bag down quietly, not wanting to risk waking anyone up.

But as you turned toward the living room, you noticed Logan sitting on the couch, a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the coffee table. He wasn’t looking at you—his gaze was fixed on the floor, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely together.

You hesitated, debating whether to say anything or just go straight to bed. Before you could decide, his gravelly voice cut through the silence.

“You didn’t come home last night.”

You froze, then blinked. “What?”

He finally looked up at you, his expression unreadable. “Laura told me. Said she noticed. I didn’t.”

You frowned, your heart sinking a little. “Logan, I—”

“I should’ve noticed,” he interrupted, his voice low, almost too quiet. He leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face. “That’s on me.”

You crossed your arms, unsure what to say. “I didn’t stay out because of you.”

“Yeah, you did,” he replied bluntly, cutting you off again. “You’re avoiding me. I get it.”

The way he said it—so matter-of-fact, like he was resigned to it—made something twist in your chest. You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I’m not avoiding you. I just needed... space.”

Logan scoffed, his lips curling into a humorless smirk. “Space. Right. Because I’m such a walk in the park to be around.”

“Logan—”

“I get it,” he repeated, louder this time, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “You don’t have to explain it. I know what I’m like. Hell, Laura reminds me every day.”

You shook your head, stepping closer. “This isn’t about Laura. It’s not even about you being... difficult. It’s about you not letting me in.”

He stiffened at that, his jaw clenching. “I’m tryin’.”

“Are you?” Your voice softened, but the hurt was still there. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you’re just waiting for me to give up.”

His eyes flicked to yours, and for a second, you thought he might argue. But then he sighed, slumping back against the couch. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his voice rough, almost bitter. “I don’t know how to let someone in without... screwin’ it all up.”

You stared at him, the anger you’d been holding onto slipping away, replaced by something softer. “You don’t have to have all the answers, Logan. I don’t expect you to be perfect. I just need you to try.”

“I am trying,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. “It just... doesn’t feel like it’s enough.”

“It is,” you said firmly, stepping closer until you were standing in front of him. “But you can’t keep shutting me out every time things get hard. That’s not how this works.”

He looked up at you, his expression guarded but vulnerable in a way you rarely saw. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, just studied your face like he was trying to decide whether to believe you.

Finally, he let out a long breath and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees again. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” you said softly, your voice steady. “But you have to let me stay.”

Logan nodded slowly, like he was finally starting to understand. “Alright,” he said, his voice low but resolute. “I’ll... figure it out.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” you said, offering a small, tentative smile.

He didn’t smile back, but the tension in his shoulders eased slightly. He leaned back against the couch, his eyes meeting yours. “You eaten?”

You blinked at the sudden change in topic. “What?”

“You look tired,” he said gruffly. “Bet you skipped dinner.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “I grabbed something on the way home.”

"Good," he muttered again, leaning back against the couch with a long exhale. His hand moved to the bottle of whiskey, but instead of picking it up, his fingers drummed against the glass absently.

You hesitated, then walked over to the couch, standing just in front of him. “Logan.”

He looked up at you, his brow furrowing slightly, waiting for you to say whatever was on your mind.

Instead, you sat down beside him, close enough that your knees touched. For a second, neither of you said anything. Then Logan let out another heavy sigh, reached over, and pulled you into his lap with a quiet grunt.

“Logan—”

“Just sit,” he said, his tone softer than usual, though still carrying that gruff edge. One of his hands rested lightly on your hip, the other settled on your thigh. His forehead dropped against your shoulder, and you could feel the tension in him start to ease as he let himself rest against you.

Your hands moved up instinctively, one settling on his arm, the other gently threading through his hair. He didn’t say anything at first, just breathed deeply, the weight of the past few days pressing down on both of you.

“You should come to bed tonight,” you murmured after a while, your voice quiet but steady.

Logan didn’t move, but you felt the way his body tensed under you. “I’m fine out here.”

“You’re not,” you said simply, your fingers brushing through his hair again. “You look miserable on this couch.”

He huffed a quiet laugh against your shoulder. “I’ll survive.”

“That’s not the point,” you pressed. “I want you in bed. With me. Where you belong.”

Logan lifted his head then, his eyes meeting yours. His expression was guarded, but there was something softer there too, like he was considering your words. “You sure you want me there?”

“Of course I’m sure,” you said, your hand moving to cup his jaw. “I always want you there, Logan. Even when I’m mad at you. Especially when I’m mad at you.”

That earned a faint smirk from him, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Didn’t think I was much for sharing a bed with someone.”

“Well, you’re not great at it,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood. “You steal the blankets, and you snore.”

“Don’t snore,” he muttered, his lips twitching slightly.

“You absolutely snore,” you shot back, smiling despite yourself. “But I don’t care. I just want you there.”

Logan studied you for a moment, his hand tightening slightly on your hip. Finally, he gave a small nod. “Alright.”

You smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to his temple. “Good.”

For a few minutes, you stayed like that, the silence between you no longer heavy but comfortable. Logan’s head rested against your chest, and you could feel the tension slowly draining out of him as your fingers moved lazily through his hair.

“Y’know,” he muttered after a while, his voice low, “Laura’s a pain in the ass sometimes.”

You chuckled softly. “She’s just looking out for you. For us.”

Logan grunted, his arm tightening around you slightly. “Kid’s too damn smart for her own good.”

“She gets that from you,” you said, smiling.

That earned another faint smirk, though he didn’t argue. Instead, he let out a quiet sigh, his eyes closing as he rested against you. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

“Good,” you said softly, your hand continuing to stroke his hair.

For the first time in days, the tension between you felt like it was beginning to mend.

[vofriviasblog]

Flustered Theo is so adorable. The fact that simple hand holding bings him so much joy and happiness, awwww he's so sweet. I started to think how he would react from a kiss, he probably would be glowing as bright as stars in the sky. I'm in love with this fic and with soft Theo.

𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: A shy request leads to Theo’s heart fluttering as Y/N takes his hand through the snowy streets of Hogsmeade, and he finds himself smiling more than ever before. What starts as a simple touch becomes a lasting memory.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: Inspired by a headcanon i saw on tiktok on how'd he react if you asked to hold his hand.

𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃 - @bernardsbendystraws

The cobblestone streets of Hogsmeade were bustling with witches and wizards enjoying the crisp winter air. Snow dusted the rooftops, and the golden glow of shop windows bathed the village in a soft, magical light. Y/N glanced over at Theo, who was walking beside her, his hands stuffed in his coat pockets. He seemed relaxed, though his usual sharp gaze was slightly softer as he watched the falling snow.

“Theo?” Y/N’s voice was soft but clear enough to catch his attention.

He turned his head, his messy curls bouncing slightly as he looked at her with raised brows. “Yeah?”

Her cheeks flushed, though she braved through her nervousness. “Can I… hold your hand?”

Theo froze mid-step, and his mouth opened slightly in surprise. His heart seemed to leap into his throat as he processed her words. “You—uh—you want to hold my hand?” he stammered, his voice pitched a bit higher than usual.

Y/N nodded shyly, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her scarf. “Only if you want to…”

He blinked, then quickly nodded, his blush spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “Yeah! Of course, yeah. Just—uh—my hands are a bit…” He trailed off, awkwardly pulling one out of his pocket and holding it up. “Sweaty,” he finished lamely, cringing at himself.

Y/N giggled softly, taking his hand anyway. “I don’t mind.”

The moment their hands entwined, Theo thought he might melt right there. Her hand felt small and warm in his, and though he was sure she could feel how clammy his palm was, she didn’t seem to care. His smile stretched wide, boyish and genuine, as he glanced down at their joined hands. The butterflies in his stomach were going wild, but he didn’t let go, not even for a second.

As they strolled through Hogsmeade, Y/N guided him from shop to shop, occasionally pointing out little things that caught her eye. Theo wasn’t paying much attention to the shops, though—his focus was entirely on her. He couldn’t help but sneak glances at her face, the way her nose crinkled when she smiled, how her eyes sparkled as she admired the holiday decorations.

When she paused to peer into the window of Honeydukes, Theo hesitated, then carefully reached into his pocket with his free hand. Pulling out his phone, he snapped a quick picture of their entwined hands.

The moment the picture appeared on his screen, he grinned, quickly setting it as his lock screen.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket just as Y/N turned back to him. “Ready to go inside?” she asked with a bright smile.

“Yeah, let’s go,” he replied, his hand still firmly clasping hers.

As they wandered through the candy-filled aisles of the shop, Theo silently vowed that this wouldn’t be the last time he held her hand.

But for now, he cherished this moment—the warmth of her touch, her laughter ringing in his ears, and the knowledge that, somehow, she didn’t mind his sweaty hands.

And as they walked back out into the snow, Theo realized he hadn’t stopped smiling since the moment she’d reached for him.

[vofriviasblog]

I swear @anawritez-posts your fics are my daily dose of happiness. I literally had butterflies when I was reading it. It's soo cute!!! 💝💝💝

𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐖𝐢𝐬𝐡

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - Theodore’s birthday only moments away, Y/N arrives at his dorm to share a sweet surprise: a cake with candles glowing brightly. But when he makes a wish, it’s a confession of a dream he’s had since he was twelve, and it involves her.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 - Inspired by a cute smallville edit I saved.

The soft glow of the hallways lit the way to Theodore Nott’s dorm, and Y/N felt her heart racing with excitement.

It was nearly midnight—just ten minutes to go until his birthday—and she had something special in mind. She approached his door quietly, box in hand, and knocked softly.

The door creaked open just slightly, and there he was, sitting on his bed, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You’re early," he murmured, eyes twinkling with curiosity.

Y/N grinned, holding up the box. “I know, but can I come in?” she asked, the hint of playfulness in her voice.

Theodore gave a small nod, stepping aside to let her in. As she stepped over the threshold, she was sure her heart skipped a beat.

There was something about him, something about tonight. She turned to him, setting the box down on his desk.

“Close your eyes,” she said softly.

His eyes flicked to her, then slowly closed with a teasing sigh. “Don’t peak,” she added, voice filled with mischief.

Theodore chuckled, crossing his arms, but he obeyed, covering his eyes with his hands. "You’re really going all out, aren’t you?"

Y/N couldn’t help but smile as she bent down to pick up the cake she had carefully enchanted. With a flick of her wand, the candles on top flickered to life, their flames casting a warm, golden glow in the dim room.

The air smelled sweet, and she couldn't help but feel a sense of joy at the surprise she was about to reveal.

“Okay,” she said, her voice soft but excited.

Theodore’s eyes fluttered open just as Y/N stepped back, holding the cake in her hands. His gaze immediately fell on the candles, and his lips parted in disbelief. “Is that… for me?” he asked, clearly surprised.

“I know, it’s not your birthday for another seven minutes,” she replied, teasing. “But I wanted to surprise you.”

His eyes softened, and without saying a word, he reached for the cake.

Carefully, he lifted it from her hands, as though it were the most precious thing in the world. Y/N watched as he placed it gently on the desk, and for a moment, there was only the sound of their breathing.

“Make a wish,” she murmured, her voice low.

Theodore’s fingers brushed the edge of the cake, and for a brief moment, his expression faltered. He swallowed hard, eyes glancing at her with a vulnerability she hadn’t expected.

“I’ve been wishing for the same thing since I was twelve years old,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N’s brow furrowed slightly as she took a step closer to him. “And now?”

He looked up at her, and for the briefest second, she saw the uncertainty in his eyes, replaced by something warmer, deeper. “And now,” he said, voice thick with emotion, “I don’t have to.”

Before she could fully process what he meant, Theodore placed the cake down, its candles still burning brightly, and gently took her hands in his. The room felt charged, filled with a quiet anticipation.

“She’s standing here in front of me,” he confessed, his voice soft, almost reverent.

Y/N's breath hitched, her heart thumping loudly in her chest. She didn’t need any more words.

She stood on tiptoe, feeling the warmth of his hands wrapped around hers. And then, as if on cue, the clock on the wall struck midnight, the chimes echoing through the room.

Theodore leaned down, his face inches from hers. Time seemed to slow, the world outside their bubble falling away as he kissed her—gentle at first, then deepening as their hearts beat in sync.

The room, the cake, the candles—it all faded into the background, and in that moment, there was only them.

[vofriviasblog]

It was lovely to read it and I enjoy it very much. Tom was so sweet taking care of her. The terms of endearment always make me love this character even more 😍. Beautiful!

𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -Tom’s quiet affection for Y/N shines through when he carries her to her room after she falls asleep. As he whispers a tender goodnight and hears her sleepy response, Tom realizes that, despite his restraint, he’s ready to take the next step in their relationship.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 - Saw this photo and had to immediately write about it.

𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃 - @bernardsbendystraws

The soft rustling of pages filled the quiet library, the scent of old parchment mixing with the faint aroma of burning candles.

Tom Riddle sat across from Y/N at a large wooden table, the glow from the candles casting a warm light over the books sprawled before them.

They had been studying for hours, both absorbed in their work, but there was a certain comfort in the quiet shared between them.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered as she struggled to keep focus, her eyelids growing heavy with each turn of the page.

Despite the academic drive she shared with Tom, the exhaustion from sleepless nights was beginning to take its toll.

She tried to shake it off, but eventually, her head drooped, her cheek resting against the edge of the table as her breathing evened out.

Tom glanced up from his own studies, his sharp eyes immediately noticing the soft rise and fall of her chest as she drifted off.

A small smile tugged at his lips, though he quickly masked it. He had grown accustomed to her presence, and he couldn't deny how much he enjoyed having her nearby.

But as he watched her, it became apparent that she was beyond tired.

Carefully, Tom stood, his movements smooth and controlled. He approached Y/N, looking down at her with a quiet tenderness that few would ever see.

His gaze softened when he saw how peaceful she looked, her body curled slightly as she dozed in the quiet library.

With a delicate touch, Tom gently lifted her from the table, cradling her in his arms.

Y/N stirred slightly, mumbling softly in her sleep, but she didn’t wake. Her head naturally rested against his chest, her body instinctively relaxing into his hold as if trusting him entirely.

"Go back to sleep, my love," Tom whispered softly, his voice barely above a murmur.

The words, though natural, held a tenderness he rarely allowed anyone to hear.

He could feel her warmth against him as he carried her toward the door, his heart a little heavier with affection than he’d expected.

Y/N, too sleep-deprived to fully register the words, let out a quiet sigh in her sleep.

She shifted, burying her face against him, completely unaware of the soft nickname he had given her.

To her, it was just a dream, a vague, comforting warmth in her half-conscious state.

Tom carefully made his way to her room, taking note of how serene she looked in his arms.

As he entered her room, he gently laid her down on the bed, making sure to tuck her in carefully.

He lingered for a moment, staring down at her, his heart a little more exposed than he’d like to admit.

He fought the overwhelming urge to press a soft kiss to her cheek, his lips hovering near her skin but not quite touching. He wanted to—he really did—but something held him back. It wasn’t the right time, not yet.

He straightened up, the moment fleeting, and as he prepared to leave, he whispered softly, almost to himself, "Good night, my love." His voice was gentle, the words lingering in the quiet room.

Y/N, still in a daze, half-woke at the sound of his voice. Her lips curled into a faint smile, and she murmured sleepily, still caught in the haze of sleep, "Good night, love."

Tom paused at the door, his heart skipping a beat as he heard her echo the words back to him. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at his lips.

There it was again—her gentle affection, something so soft and beautiful it made him feel as though everything was perfectly in place.

He left her room quietly, his heart warm with the knowledge that soon, in the morning, he’d find the courage to ask her more than just a simple goodnight. But for now, he let her sleep, and that, for tonight, was enough.

[vofriviasblog]

This is so sweet, innocent. I was giggling and smiling like an idiot during the read. Imagine how life can be beautiful when a partner, that you love, show you how much you mean to them by all these kisses. Beautiful fic ❤️

Kissy Missy

I got my inspiration for this from the movie Scoop (2006), in which Hughs character Peter Lyman says "I can't let you go, you're too beautiful. Look at ya, I can't." to his affaire while kissing her in between words.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x gender neutral!Reader

Summary: Logan can't stop kissing you

Wordcount: 1.7k

Warning/tags: none, pure fluff, established relationship, lots of kissing, english isn't my first languange,

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It started innocently, like most things with Logan did, oddly enough. A sweet kiss here, a short peck there. On your cheek, on your lips, on your temple. Nothing you couldn’t handle. But you were quickly realizing that when it came to the simple task of kissing you, Logan Howlett was insatiable. Like kissing you was his way of breathing oxygen.

You had no idea when this happened. When he became so addicted to pressing his mouth to yours every chance he got. Maybe it was the first time you kissed him and he discovered just how soft your lips were, how good they tasted when he timidly let his tounge sweep over them. Or maybe it was the way you always sighed when he kissed you like you’d been waiting for it all day.

All you knew now was that Logan couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop. Never. You would have to escape his cold, dead hands for it to stop.

“Logan, seriously-” you muttered against his eager lips that seemed to magnetically attach to yours. “Nope” he cut you off, hands settling firmly on your waist as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips. Again.

“Logan” you tried for what seemed to be the 100th time, your attempt futile as he kissed you yet again. One kiss turned into two. Two turned into three. Soft, quick little pecks that left you breathless and laughing, your hands pressing against his chest in an effort to push him away. Which was only halfhearted. It was too easy to get lost in his kisses and you almost forgot why you didn't want him to love you with his lips.

“Stop interrupting me!” you scolded, though the smile on your face gave you away in an instant. You didn't have it in you to be mad when he kissed you. “Can’t help it” Logan murmured lowly, the sound only a rasp in the back of his throat, his voice rumbly against your mouth. He tilted his head, brushing his lips across yours again ever so softly, sighing through his nose. “You talk too much.”

His words made you gasp in mocked offence, shoving at his chest as he chuckled in that rough, gravelly way that made your stomach do flips. “Excuse me?”

Logan smirked smugly and kissed the corner of your mouth. He knew you weren't truly angry, he would have already gotten a hefty slap to the face if you were. “You heard me" he teased, grinning in that rare way that made him look years younger than he was. He pressed a kiss to your flushed cheek. “Too much talkin’” Another kiss. “Not enough kissin’”

Before you could fire back a snarky remark, he claimed your lips again, this time a little longer, a little slower, deeply savouring the way your lips made his tingle with every touch. His hands slid up your sides, pulling you flush against him like he couldn’t bear the space between you.

You melted against him, forgetting entirely what you had been so determined to tell him in the beginning. Your hands wrapped around his neck, one buried in his thick hair, while the other slipped under the back of his shirt collar. When he finally pulled back, just enough to let you both breath, you blinked up at him, dazed. And oh, so in love.

“See?” Logan said, his voice rough but teasing. “Quiet now.”

It wasn’t just that moment, either. The man was relentless in every sense of the word, every time of day. You couldn't seem to catch a break from his love.

You would be sitting on the couch in the common room, all alone, minding your own business, when Logan would walk by, only to pause, look at you, and say, “C’mere, baby”

And before you could respond, hop off the couch or something before he got you in his iron grip again, he would lean down and kiss you -once, twice, three times - as many times as were needed to leave yu giggling like an idiot.

Oh, don't even think about to leaving the room the room when he is in it. “Where you goin’?” he would ask, already getting up to follow like a little puppy on a leash, trotting beside you.

Your hand was already on the door handle as you turned to him, a basket of dirty clothes under your arm “Uh, laundry?” you said, more like a question because it seemed so obvious to you. How naive you were, you should have seen it coming. “You sure that can't wait?” he had asked you, taking the basket from you and tugging you back towards him by your hand. “I haven't gotten my daily fill of kissed yet” he really chose the worst times for this. Before bed, you would be cuddling and have all the time in the world to kiss until your lips fell off, but no, Mr. 'If-you-dont-kiss-me-right-now-I-will-think-you-hate-me' had other ideas. And he would kiss you again, like he was a man dying of thirst and you were the only thing in the universe that could sooth the ache in his dry throat.

One evening, you were attempting to cook dinner for the X-men team, standing at the stove with a wooden spoon in hand and stirring some veggies in a pan, when you felt Logan’s presence behind you. That meant no one else was around in a one mile radius most likely. Logan wasn't a big fan of pda and didn't need anyone to catch his soft side.

“Don’t even think about it” you warned without him even touching you or saying anything, knowing exactly what he was about to do.

Logan put up his hands in defense for a second, even though you couldn't see. “Think about what?” he said innocently, though his hands were already sliding around your waist. You groaned. “Logan, I’m cooking-” He kissed your neck. It made your breath hitch, but you quickly catched yourself “Logan” Another kiss, right on your jaw this time. It wasn’t anything of sexual nature. Just pure and raw affection that overcame him everytime he saw you.

“I swear, if you don't quit it-” you barked, but it didn’t have any serious bite to it. He turned you around before you could even finish your sentence, his hands framing your face as he kissed you deeply, pulling you against him like the rest of the world didn’t matter. You melted instantly, any words against his actions dying on your tounge, forgetting the stove entirely as you clung to him.

When he finally pulled back, Logan smirked, looking far too pleased with himself. It made you want to wipe that self-assured smile off his face. But who were you kidding? He had you wrapped around his finger as much as he was wrapped around yours.

“You were saying?” he murmured, his thumbs brushing gently across your cheeks. The look in his eyes, so tender as he admired your face, it took your breath away. You narrowed your eyes, though your flushed face gave away just how much you loved this. “You’re impossible.”

Your words pulled a grin from him. “Yeah?” He kissed the corner of your mouth. “Look at you.” Another kiss, this time on your lips. “Can’t just let you go.” Kiss. “You’re too beautiful.” Kiss. “Way too beautiful.”

You smiled against his lips with every kiss, your heart threatening to burst. "Logan!” you squeaked through laughter, swatting at his chest. “The food’s gonna burn!” but your concerns fell on deaf ears “Let it.” He grinned, swooping in to kiss you again like he couldn’t get enough. He really couldn’t.

It wasn’t just the passionate kisses, either. Sometimes it was soft, absentminded things that caught you off guard and left your heart doing flips like it never had for anyone before. Logan would kiss your temple when you leaned into his side during a movie. He would press a lingering, loving kiss to your hand when he grabbed it, just because he could. He would kiss your forehead when you were curled up with him in bed, all cozy and warm in his strong arms, his lips brushing against your skin like a quiet promise.

Logan wasn’t great with words - he never had been. But this? This was how he showed you what he couldn’t say. And you wouldn't change that for the world. You'd rather have a man that didn't say 'I love you' quite that often and instead showered you with love that you could feel, instead of a guy that chewed your ear off with meaningless words used to make you think he actually cared, but never getting to feel what his words promised you every day.

One night as you laid in bed together, you found yourself tracing circles across his naked chest with your nails and listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The patterns you drew against his skin made pleasant shivers run down his spine. Logans hand slid up to tangle lazily in your hair, his thumb brushing over your temple while he planted a kiss there, letting his lips linger.

You huffed, kissing his chest “You really can’t stop kissing me, can you?” you teased softly, looking up at him through your lashes. Logan cracked an eye open, his lips twitching with the barest hint of a smirk. “Not my fault you make it hard not to.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, though the warmth in your chest betrayed how much his words meant to you after all. He caught you rolling your eyes like that and frowned softly. “I’m serious,” he added, his hand slipping down to cup your cheek. “You’re sittin’ here, lookin’ at me like that and you think I’m not gonna kiss you?”

Before you could respond, Logan leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss that made your head spin. When he pulled back, you were breathless. It stunned you how he had kissed you countless times already and your bashful reaction remained the same. The warm and giddy feeling in your chest never faded away, only grew stronger with every touch of his lips.

“You’re unbelievably corny, you know” you muttered, though you were smiling. How could you not when you had him loving you more than anything else?

Logan grinned faintly, his thumb brushing along your jaw. “Yeah? You love it.”

And you did.

You really, really did.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

I really hoped you liked this relatively short fic! Let me know your thoughts down below in the xomments and don't forget to like and reblog to support me if you want <3

I just NEED NEED NEED Logan to kiss me (or any Hugh Jackman variant) it would literally solve 99% of my problems

[vofriviasblog]

My heart is melting from all these pet names. "My love", "darling wife". I need someone to call me that

𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭

𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - When Y/N is upset with Tom, he playfully tests her resolve by calling her by the pet names she can’t resist.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 - Thought about this while driving home, I really need to stop coming up with these scenarios in random moments cause that was dangerous.

𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃 - @bernardsbendystraws

The door to their shared bedroom opened with a soft creak, and Y/N stepped inside, her posture rigid.

Her lips pressed into a stubborn line, and she avoided looking at Tom Riddle, who was comfortably seated against the headboard, a book in his hands.

His dark eyes lifted, immediately noticing the subtle tension in her movements.

A smirk played at the corners of his mouth; he knew she was upset, though the reason escaped him. Not that it mattered. He knew how to handle his darling wife.

"Good evening, my love," he drawled, his voice smooth and calm as ever. Y/N didn’t respond, simply placing her things on the nearby chair and moving around the room in pointed silence. Tom tilted his head, his smirk widening.

"Are you ignoring me, darling?" he asked, a mock-offended note slipping into his tone. When she still didn’t answer, he sighed dramatically. “Hey, love, can you come here for a second?”

Y/N stopped mid-motion, but she didn’t turn. Instead, she let out an audible huff, resuming her silent routine.

Tom chuckled under his breath, setting his book aside and rising from the bed. He moved toward her, his movements deliberate, with the natural grace of a predator stalking its prey.

"Is my darling wife upset?" he murmured as he slid his arms around her waist from behind. His voice was teasing but warm, his hold firm yet comforting. Y/N stiffened at first, but he could feel her resolve wavering already.

“No,” she replied curtly, though the word was almost laughably unconvincing.

“My love,” Tom murmured, his breath brushing her temple as he dipped his head to press a soft kiss there. "What’s wrong?"

“Don’t do that,” she mumbled, her voice catching slightly, and Tom’s smirk deepened.

“Do what, my love?” he teased, resting his chin lightly on her head. He knew exactly what she meant, but drawing it out was part of the game.

“That,” she said, her voice a little softer now. Despite her best efforts, her body was leaning into his touch, betraying her resolve.

Tom hummed thoughtfully. “You need to be more specific, darling.”

Finally, she turned in his arms, her eyes locking with his. She saw the mischievous gleam in his gaze, his expression smug and entirely too self-satisfied.

Her irritation melted further as memories flooded back—how those very pet names had become her weakness.

“Don’t call me by your pet names, Tom,” she said, her voice softer now but still tinged with a pout. “You know they’re my weakness.”

Tom tilted his head, feigning innocence, though his smirk gave him away. “What, like calling you the love of my life, my darling, the mother to my heirs, my light—”

Y/N couldn’t take it anymore, swatting his shoulder in exasperation. “Okay, you win!” she exclaimed, laughing despite herself as she buried her face in his chest. Tom chuckled, pulling her close, his arms enveloping her.

“Good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You can never stay upset with me.”

Y/N leaned back to glare at him, though her eyes were filled with affection. “Yes, I can,” she countered half-heartedly.

Tom raised a brow, daring her. “When?”

She opened her mouth to argue but faltered. She remembered all too well how he’d struggled with affection when they were younger. Back then, pet names hadn’t been his thing—they’d felt foreign, even forced. She still remembered the first time he’d called her something affectionate, the hesitant way he’d murmured “doll” when they’d just started their relationship. It had been rare and uncertain, but it had melted her heart because it was so unlike him.

And then, as their relationship deepened, he’d called her “darling” more frequently, the word rolling off his tongue with growing confidence.

But “my love”—oh, that was the one that undid her completely. He’d only started calling her that after realizing his true feelings for her, and it held a weight and sincerity that left her breathless every time. She knew it was the same for him; knowing someone loved him just as deeply, just as vulnerably, had been his weakness too.

“See?” Tom said smugly, snapping her back to the present. “You can’t think of a single time.”

Y/N groaned, pulling away slightly, though her arms stayed around him. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“And yet, you adore me,” he replied smoothly, his smirk practically oozing triumph.

“Unfortunately,” she grumbled, though the softness in her voice betrayed her.

“Fortunately,” Tom corrected, his voice low and teasing as he leaned down to press another kiss to her temple. “Very fortunately.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips was undeniable. “Alright, alright, don’t push your luck, my love.”

Tom chuckled deeply, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, though they both knew better.

[vofriviasblog]

I'm emotionally unwell. I'm dying because of his forehead kisses. I need a man like him in my life. Absolutely beautiful 🧡💚

Human Connection

Part II

Logan Howlett x Reader with injury related memory loss

Word count: 4.4k

A/N: Inspired by Pandapetals’ memory loss fic (taken over all by thoughts since I read it) as well as the song We’ll Never Have Sex by Leith Ross. Trust there will be more parts.

Warnings: a combination of angst and fluff, suggested feminine reader (called Logan’s wife) but no true descriptions, special appearance from some of the Xmen as coworkers because I love them and they’re all alive and well (but they do not necessarily follow canon)

Logan swears you are trying to stress him into a heart attack. He’s certain that at this rate, he is going to go gray by next week. He woke up alone. His arm was draped across your empty side of the bed. By the cool temperature of your sheets he guessed you’d been out of bed for a while. He jumped out of bed, panicked. He hurried out of the bedroom, glancing into the empty office before making his way to the kitchen where he found you sitting on the dining table with a bowl of cereal. You left the lights off, allowing the soft glow of the sunrise to light the room. There was music softly playing from the radio.

“You’re up!” His tense shoulders dropped as he sighed and let himself relax. Logan felt better noticing that you seemed genuinely happy to see him again.

“Yeah, I’m up.” He took another deep breath to calm himself. Once he had stopped panicking he took in the image of you. Although you hadn’t changed clothes, he guessed you had already gotten ready for the day as your hair looked more styled and you looked more awake. You aren’t sitting where you normally did but you unknowingly aren’t far off. You sat with the same breakfast you’d normally eat on a work day, cereal with granola. Logan thought it was strange how some things didn’t change.

“Is everything okay?” Your voice interrupts his thoughts.

“Yeah, I just wasn’t expecting you to be awake before me. Just got scared for a second. How’d you sleep?”

“..Good. I had weird dreams but I guess that’s to be expected when you have brain damage.. I think I slept better because you were there.” You admitted sheepishly.

“And I couldn’t help noticing that you wear dog tags even while you sleep.. Is that where we met?”

“No. We.. No, that’s not where we met. I’m glad I could help you sleep- And you remembered which cereal is yours, that’s something.”

“No? I just know what I like?”

“Ah.. Yeah. Duh.” Logan put his hands over his face as he sighed again. “I’m going to go get ready.”

“Okay. I’ll be here.”

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Logan washed up in the bathroom then went to get changed in the bedroom. When Logan came back a few minutes later, you were in the same place as promised but you had put away the cereal and placed your dishes in the dishwasher. He was wearing his unofficial uniform; a tank top under a flannel with jeans. You stood up and walked over as you saw him, going to pass him on your way to change into real clothes.

“Aw, and there goes your biceps” You say with an overdramatic pout to go with the mischief in your eyes. Your comment stopped him in the hall where he stood as he laughed at your words.

“What?”

“Don’t look at me like that! We’re married, I’m allowed to like the way you look.” Your face blushed pink at the slightest push back but, you were trying hard not to get flustered. He took a step closer to where you stood.

“I thought I was just a stranger right now? Now I get to go back to being your husband when I’m being objectified? Woww” His tone indicated that he was joking.

“Well legally- we are married, that doesn’t change with my memories. I just mention it because I assume you knew what you were getting into..” You took a step towards him but stayed close to the wall that was now behind you as you stood across from him.

“I did. But I usually don’t get complaints about covering up my arms so early in the day.. You are my wife, I’ll take it off if you want me to.” His voice dropped a little lower as he offered to remove his shirt. The warm pink blush quickly returned to your face. He laughed.

“I’ll admit, I didn’t know how much I missed being able to make you blush so easily.” He kissed your forehead before continuing into the kitchen. You stood there a moment before returning to your own task of going to the bedroom. You get changed and leave the room wearing loose clothes that you hope will irritate your stitches the least. A grey hoodie, with a symbol you didn’t recognize, over a t-shirt and dark sweatpants. When you re-enter the kitchen, Logan is in just his white tank top, flannel laying on the back of a chair. He sat in the chair across from where you sat minutes before him, reading more unbound papers while drinking coffee.

“You didn’t have to actually take it off-”

“Hm? Oh, I know. But now I know you’ll be lookin’ at me when I’m not wearing it.” And you were already blushing again.

“I probably won’t need it today anyways, it looks like it’ll be pretty nice today.” He was right, the sun was shining through a nearly cloudless sky. A contrast to yesterday’s gloom.

“Maybe we could go for a walk? At the hospital they said stuff like that is good for healing. You could show me the area more. If you want.”

“Sure, just let me know when you want to go. Speaking of healing, how are you feeling today?”

“Like I was hit by a truck.” You said with a deadpan expression.

“Well.. Yeah.” He pictured your small car, crumpled around the front of a stupidly large truck. The driver had apparently been drinking when he ran the red light. He didn’t even slow down. Logan had seen the wreckage before he met you at the hospital. The amount of blood in your car scared him. He felt like the scent of iron followed him all the way to your post-op bedside.

“What time do you have work? Where do you work anyways? Wait, where do I work?”

“Hm?” He snapped out of it. “Uh we’re both teachers. And I have a sub until you’re better.” After he said it you felt dumb for asking. He must be grading student essays.

“Ahh. That’s why- yeah okay. So you must teach English.”

“History.”

“Oh. You make them write papers for history?” You said, sitting down at the head of the table, in the chair kitty corner to his.

“Yes, it’s a better way to make sure they actually understand the events we talk about in class.”

“Well what class do I teach? Do I also force such cruel punishments on students?” He rolled his eyes in fake annoyance and ignored your last question.

“Some of the science electives. Anatomy, microscopy and immunology, and chemistry this year. Pretty much whatever science class student’s sign up for is what you teach.”

“Hm. Which grades?”

“Any grade level can take your classes but it’s mostly sophomores and up. You’re kind of known for being a tough professor.. They like you as a person but you’re a little hard on them at times.” He smiled at you as he said it but you didn’t find anything he said worth smiling at.

You laid your head down on your arms as you tried to picture yourself as a highschool teacher. Teaching seemed like the furthest thing from your skills and interests. Logan went back to grading for a few minutes until you spoke up again.

“You shouldn’t be taking that much time off. I’ll be okay. You should be with your class.”

“They’re good kids, they’ll be fine. You’re more important- and you shouldn’t be alone right now. One of our friends is going to drop off more assignments for me to grade in a day or two so I won’t get too behind on that.” You still felt guilty. Intentionally or not, you were isolating him from his coworkers and friends. As you thought of his friends a face popped into your mind.

“Which friend? The red headed doctor?”

“What? You- you remember Jean!?” Logan looked up, shocked.

“Yeah, that’s her name. Jean Grey, right? And she’s married to that tall dorky guy.. I don’t remember his name but I know he has a brother- Alex Summers I think.”

“You remember! Is there.. Anyone else you remember?”

“No.. sorry. I just remember their names and faces. Nothing else specific.. Scott! That’s what it is. He has blue eyes but no one ever sees them because he has to wear that visor.” A pang of jealousy hit Logan. Of course you remember Scott before him.

“What? How do you know that?”

“I don’t know. Someone told me I think. Hmm.. Yeah I don’t know.” You shrugged.

“Huh.” Logan looked off, apparently lost in thought.

“Sorry- I think I cut you off. Which friend is bringing your papers?”

“Kurt Wagner. He offered to. He’s a good guy.” You nodded without lifting your head off your arms.

“You know, we could go pick up those papers. Everyone has been asking to see you, a lot of them visited you before you woke up. I’m sure they’d like to see that you’re doing well.”

“Umm, I don’t know. I don’t think it’s a good idea.. It’s just going to be uncomfortable, all these people I don’t know are going to want to be sad and touchy and asking how I am and if I remember them and I’ll just have to tell them that I don’t and they’ll give me sad looks just like you do. I can barely take one of you, I don’t know how I’ll cope with a whole group giving me that look.”

“What look?” Your hand comes up to his forearms and starts tracing shapes as you sit up.

“Just the way you look at me everytime I say I don’t remember you.. You look like you’re made of sand and if I repeat what I said you might just disintegrate.”

“Yeah? Well I promise I won’t. Don’t worry about whatever I’m feeling, you just worry about getting better. We don’t have to see them, it was just an idea. For what it’s worth, they’d still want to see you. Even like this. Your student’s probably miss you too.”

You shrug.

“Just think about it, alright? Oh it’s 9 o’clock, did you take your meds yet?” You give him a look and smile.

“Yes, mom” He laughs and playful nudges you with his arm.

“Well someone’s got to take care of you.”

“Yeah? And who’s taking care of you?”

“.. normally you do. More than I deserve sometimes. But right now you just need to worry about yourself.”

You sigh as his words do little to calm your worry for him.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

Eventually the two of you moved to the office. You spend several hours watching him grade at one of the desks. You pass the time by snooping in your stuff, reading, drawing, going on the internet. Always bringing your activity back to the second desk in the room, sitting across from Logan. It’s not until a while after lunch that you get bored enough to interrupt him.

“Do you want me to help you grade?”

“No, I’ve got it. Thank you though.”

“Alrightttt” You sigh out the word like you were disappointed.

“What?”

“Nothing, I’m just bored. Trying to find something productive I could do.”

“I can take a break, we could go for that walk now” You perk up at the idea of exploring.

“Yeah! Let’s do that!” Logan smiles at your excitement.

“Ok, I’ll finish this essay then we can go.”

“Woo! Alright, no rush.”

Within five minutes you’re getting your shoes on and heading out the door. You walk most of the way in silence. There wasn’t anything notable for him to point out to you. Logan walks next to you but is still definitely leading. The way you walked was cleared as if it was a trail that was walked often. It weaved through the woods around the neighborhood so you assumed it had to be walked by more than just you and Logan. There was a slight chill in the air that you could really feel when a breeze flowed through the trees. As it did you took the opportunity to grab Logan’s hand and cling slightly to his arm. He smiled down at you. He hated that you didn’t remember him but at least he got to watch you fall for him all over again.

“We should probably turn around here.”

“Wait, how long does the trail go this way?” Motioning towards the direction you had been walking.

“That’s another two miles that way, we’ve walked almost a half mile.”

“Come on, let’s just keep going this way. I feel fine and I want to see what’s this way-”

“Slow down, I don’t want you to over do it.”

“I won’t, I feel great! And increasing blood flow helps the healing process. I'd walk to Seattle if it meant I’d feel better sooner.”

“It only helps if you don’t pop your stitches or worse-”

“Eh, I’ll be fine.” You wave away his concerns, taking his arm again as you try to keep walking.

He gave in and let you pull him along until he catches up to where you are. You don’t make it more than 10 minutes before he feels your grip on his arm loosen. He looks over at you.

“You alright?” He says, concerned.

“Yeah, yeah. Just feel a little-” And you passed out.

You’re not out for more than a few seconds but it’s enough to decide you’re going home. Logan catches you and lowers you to the ground. He checks your pulse as you regain consciousness. Seeing that you’re at least alive, Logan scoops you up and starts carrying you back home. You put an arm around his back to feel secure.

“Sorry..”

“I know.”

“Mm you’re so strong” You blurted out, suddenly noticing how easy it looked for him.

“Thanks.”

“..I promise I’ll do better tomorrow, I’ll listen and I won’t push myself so hard.”

“Even if you do, I’ll still be here to carry you home.”

“I’m sorry I can probably walk on my own-”

“Really, it’s okay. I don’t mind, lifting you is a piece of cake.” He secretly loved the closeness that carrying you provided.

“You promise?”

“Promise. I could even do it one handed if I wasn’t scared of dropping you.”

“Okay.. I believe you.”

He carried you all the way back to the door before he let your feet touch the ground again. You both went inside and took off your shoes. The second yours were off he was picking you up again and carrying you up the stairs.

“Ah! You don’t have to-”

“You fainted, I don’t want to hear any complaining about how I take care of you.”

That was enough to quiet you until he set you down in bed.

“Thank youuu” You said with a sing-songy tone.

“You’re welcome. Just sleep for a while. If you need anything else, you know where to find me darlin.” You nod. Both of you were too focused on each other to notice the pet name that slipped into the conversation unconsciously.

His broad frame hovers over you, hands on the bed on either side of you.

“You sure you're okay?” He whispered.

“Mhm.” You nodded.

A hand met his chest as you sat up to press a kiss to his cheek. His expression shifted from worried to heartbroken as you pulled away. He shifted to put his forehead against yours. You could feel his breath lightly on your lips. Finally, he wordlessly pulled away, the sorrowful look stayed on his face. Neither of you spoke up as he left the room.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

You awoke to the feeling of a large hand stroking your cheek. You stayed still, curious. Your face felt cold as he disconnected from you and walked towards the door, closing it as he left. Your muscles still ached as you shifted to sit up and forced your eyes open. It was darker in the room than you expected. You rubbed your face and took a deep breath. You glanced to your nightstand to check the time only to find it obstructed. There was a big mug sitting on a potholder. Chopsticks lay on top of the rim. There was a note on the corner of the nightstand. You picked it up. The beautiful flowing calligraphy surprised you.

Don’t go arguing about how I didn’t have to make something for you, it’s just ramen, nothing fancy so I don’t want to hear any of your complaining later. I don’t want to wake you up so when you’re up, let me know if you want anything else or if it’s cold and I’ll heat it up. You should just be resting. Kurt is bringing over the papers for me later so don’t be startled if you hear talking. - Logan

You mentally read the note in his voice, adding the attitude you imagine he was giving you through the note. You rolled your eyes and picked up the warm mug.

You were halfway done with your food when you heard someone knock at the front door. Then you heard talking. Logan’s voice you recognized but the other man had a thick accent, German it sounded like. You listened to the two of them as they talked quietly down the hall. You couldn’t make out most of it but it sounded like Logan kept denying whatever request the other man made.

Curiosity got the better of you and despite Logan’s expressed wishes, you got out of bed and hesitantly opened the bedroom door to venture out to where they were talking. You saw the blue man first, his appearance admittedly surprised you. Logan had his back to you so the other man saw you before Logan heard you.

“There she is, how are you?” He pushed Logan aside to talk to you more directly.

“I’m alright.. Sorry- I don’t remember you quite yet, I’m not sure if Logan told you..”

“Ja, he did.” He stepped closer and put a hand on your shoulder, you didn’t pull away. “I am Kurt Wagner. We are good friends-” Logan cut him off.

“What happened to resting?”

“Eh, I can rest later. I wanted to see what you kept saying no to.”

“Well, I wanted to pray over you. Logan said you wouldn't want me to do it while you were asleep.”

“Yeah honestly that would be a little invasive, I’m not particularly religious.”

“Oh I know, you’re the only Xmen who still talks theology with me! Even after all this time. You usually don’t mind when I pray for you”

“Sure but it’s different when it’s in the same room as me and I’m asleep.” You shrugged.

“I suppose. We’re just worried about you. I’m glad I can tell the team you’re well.”

“Yeah go tell them that, you should go back to the mansion now.” He turned to you for a moment. “And you should go back to bed. Thank you again for the papers.”

“Ah alright. Gute nacht, mein freund.”

“Good night Kurt. It was good to meet you.. again I guess.” He gently pulled you in for a hug which you reciprocated. You smiled at him as you both pulled away.

He turned around and said something quietly to Logan. You took that as your signal to return to your room. You kept the light off, hoping the darkness would help the headache you felt coming on. You sat on the edge of the bed and ate your noodles. By the time Logan returned, your empty mug sat in the same spot it started in and you laid with your legs hanging off the bed.

“What’d you think?” You sat up as he asked.

“Of Kurt?” He nodded. “I like him. He seems nice. I feel like I liked him before. He feels.. Comfortable. I don’t know how to describe it.. Did you get the papers you wanted?”

“Wanted isn’t the word I’d use.. but yeah, I got them. He brought some of your assignments too if you feel up to grading. I’m sure I can find your answer key on your computer, you’re pretty organised.”

“Yeah at some point I’m sure I’ll want to. I don’t think I’d be able to focus enough to do it tonight though.”

“You don’t have to- You just seem bored so I thought you might like something to do.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it. I probably will when my headache goes away.”

“You’ve got a headache? I think you can take more pain meds pretty soon-”

“Two hours, I checked.”

“Ah. Sorry.” He finally moved to sit down on the bed next to you.

“I’ll live.”

“Is there anything I can do?” You shook your head.

“Not unless you can un-traumatize my brain” You said with a smile.

“Not last time I checked.” He pulled you in and kissed your temple. “I would if I could.”

“I know.” You leaned into him.

You stayed like that in his arms for a while. You moved back and angled yourself to see his face better. You looked into his eyes. Your hand reached up to his face and you lightly scratched at his scruff.

“You’re sweet.” His expression was soft as he looked at you. As you looked at him, a wave of emotions washed over you as you allowed yourself to remember your situation. Your own expression shifted suddenly from an appreciative look to an emotional one.

“I want to remember you, I do. I’m trying to but..” You gestured and shrugged as tears started to roll your face. “I got nothin’. I’m really sorry- I can see how hard this is for you and I don’t mean to be a problem. I’m trying not to be difficult. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. None of this is your fault. None of it. It kills me that you blame yourself. You’re not difficult or a problem or any of that nonsense. You’re my wife. In sickness and in health right? Even if you never remember me, even if you never remember us; I’m always going to be here for you.” You could see the tears welling up in his eyes.

“Don’t worry about forcing yourself to remember, I just want you to be healthy. You could have died that night.. I’m just glad you’re alive.”

You nod but look away.

“Maybe you don’t care if I remember, but I do. I hate feeling like this.”

“Yeah I know. I understand more than you know. Your memories will come back.”

“I’m glad you’re an optimist.”

“I’m not, usually that’s your role.”

“Well thanks for filling in.” You forced a small smile.

“Yeah I figured you were being sad and depressing enough for the both of us.” His smile was a little more genuine than yours. You rolled your eyes at him and nudged him with your arm.

“That’s one thing that surprised me.”

“What?”

“Just- The things that are different, the things that didn’t change. It's just.. I don’t know. You’re different.” You sniffled and grabbed two tissues from the box on your nightstand, handing one to Logan. You took a breath before speaking.

“Yeah well. Experiences shape who we are, right? And I have almost no memories. That changes a person. This is just who I was before you.. Like seeing a ghost I guess. It’s a good thing really. It means I’ve grown as a person. That’s what I’m going to tell myself at least.” You paused for a moment while deciding if you wanted to know the answer to your question.

“..Bad different?”

“..No. But I can’t lie to you.. I do miss the you who knows me.”

“I’m sure. Like I said. In a way, you’re mourning a loss.”

“Yeah.. Yeah..” He sighed quietly.

“I should get back to grading for a bit. If you want to go back to sleep, I can wake you when you have to take more meds.”

“No, I’ll sit with you. I don’t think I could sleep now anyways.”

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

A few hours later you find yourselves in bed again. Tonight you stayed on your own side but his arm reached across your midsection. It was clear to you that he just needed the connection. He just needed to know you were there.

“You can come over here and cuddle with me, if you want. You don’t just have to keep your arm stretched out like that.. Seems uncomfortable.”

“It’s not as uncomfortable as it looks” His voice was half muffled by a pillow. “I will hold you again if you want me to, I’m not trying to avoid you. I just get hot. I’m not used to wearing this much to bed unless it’s winter.” You shifted to turn towards him more as it became a ‘real conversation.’

“Oh. You’re just wearing them for me?”

“Yeah, I figured it would make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s your bed too, do what makes you comfortable.. Um. just maybe don’t be completely naked.. Please.”

The tone of his voice told him he was amused at your request.

“Yes ma’am.”

You heard him shift in the darkness, saw his silhouette moving against dim light that slipped through the curtains. When he returned to your shared bed, you immediately felt his large arms pull you towards him. You were suddenly glad it was dark as you blushed feeling his bare flesh against you. Part of it felt scandalous. Part of it felt poetic. You were completely clothed; covered by soft, baggy, navy colored fabric. While he was nearly entirely exposed. He was completely vulnerable. In your mind the last few days have felt the opposite. You’re completely vulnerable to him. He knows things about you that you don’t. And yet, to you he’s a stranger; aside from what little you’ve found out about him. It wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t make up for years of marriage, and even before that, years of close friendship. Not in only a few days. Or you could see it from another way, he was emotionally open to you, in a way you couldn’t be with him. Try as you might, you couldn't make yourself love him. Not in the way he deserved. Not the way he loved you. That kind of love only came with time and the threat of losing it.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

Tags: @kemi707 @klwrites @fluff-lover @a-leg-without-fear @aoi-targaryen @vofriviasblog @jupiter-sky @crypt1dcat

[vofriviasblog]

𝐁𝐮𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐨, 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - Y/N is caught off guard when her daughter greets her in flawless Italian, and Theo takes pride in their little linguist while teasing Y/N for her surprise. 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 - This was inspired by a video I saw on tiktok but that one was with a confused father and the baby girl spoke spanish but you know what I need to start writing dilf!Theo fics so here you go.. 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃 - @bernardsbendystraws

The morning sunlight filtered softly through the curtains of the Nott family home.

Y/N stretched as she stepped into the hallway, still rubbing sleep from her eyes. She smiled to herself, knowing her next mission was to wake up her daughter, Isabella, who often resisted mornings with all the might of a determined three-year-old.

As Y/N opened Isabella’s bedroom door, she was greeted not by her usual sleepy-eyed toddler, but by a bright-eyed, grinning little girl who sat upright in bed, clutching her stuffed owl.

“Buongiorno!” Isabella chirped, her little voice full of pride.

Y/N froze in her tracks, blinking as her brain attempted to process what her daughter had just said. “Um… what?” she stammered, her head tilting slightly as though the angle might help decipher the mystery.

Behind her, Theo leaned casually against the doorframe, watching the scene unfold. He bit back a laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching as he tried to remain composed. When Y/N glanced back at him for help, he couldn’t hold it in any longer, a deep chuckle escaping as he pushed off the doorframe and walked toward her.

“Buongiorno, mia cara ragazza,” Theo said smoothly, his voice rich with pride as he addressed Isabella, who squealed in delight at her father’s words. Her small hands clapped together, and she repeated the word again, this time more confidently.

“Buongiorno, Papà!”

Y/N turned to Theo, her mouth agape, gesturing toward their daughter. “Since when does she speak Italian?!”

Theo chuckled, stepping behind Y/N and wrapping his arms snugly around her waist. He leaned his head onto her shoulder, the warmth of his breath against her cheek sending a soft shiver down her spine.

“I’ve been teaching her,” he murmured, a smile in his voice. “Every night before bed. Clearly, she’s a natural.”

Y/N huffed playfully, rolling her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips as she glanced back at Isabella, who was now babbling in a mix of gibberish and the few Italian words she had learned.

Theo tilted his head toward Y/N’s ear. “And you, amore mio, might need a lesson or two yourself,” he teased, his voice low.

“Oh, hush,” Y/N laughed, nudging him gently with her elbow. She turned back to Isabella, who had already flung her blanket off and was reaching out for Theo.

“Papà! Papà!” she called, her excitement boundless.

Theo released Y/N and crossed the room, scooping Isabella into his arms. She wrapped her little arms around his neck, giggling. “Buongiorno, mia cara ragazza,” he said again, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Y/N leaned against the doorway, her heart swelling as she watched them. Isabella beamed, clearly delighted by her new language skills and her father’s praise.

“Alright, you two,” Y/N said with a playful sigh, “don’t gang up on me with the Italian. I’ll need subtitles at this rate.”

Theo turned, a cheeky grin on his face. “That’s what happens when you marry a Nott,” he said, giving Isabella a wink. “We’re full of surprises.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head, but her smile lingered as she watched them, her heart full of love for her little family and their sweet, chaotic mornings.