#my thoughts are overwhelming and complicated

[inexplicifics]

I’m also a writer, of both fanfics and works I hope to publish someday, and I was wondering if I could ask your advice. I have a number of larger projects that I want to undertake, but thinking about how long it’s going to take to finish them makes me anxious and then I won’t even start. You’re an incredible writer and you have so many finished works; how do you do it? What would you recommend for someone who feels incredibly daunted by the lengthy and disheartening process that is writing a novel or series?

Also thank you for your Accidental Warlord series; it brings me inexpressible joy every time I read it

Oooh okay this is a complicated one. Let's see.

First off, and this is hard: don't compare your output to other authors. I have what my friends affectionately refer to as Wordy Bitch Disease. I write a lot, I write fast, and I write clean enough copy that Rose isn't doing copyedits, she's doing plot and characterization fixes. I start a new WIP...pretty near daily some weeks, and they do not all get done. My WIPs list is frankly fucking terrifying. But it's important to note that I have been writing pretty consistently for twenty years at least, and I was not as fast, coherent, or skilled when I started. For that matter, when I'm tired or stressed or just feeling blah, sometimes the words don't come, and it's important not to beat yourself up about it when that happens.

Second bit of advice: start smaller. I really, really like flash fic challenges and themed prompt lists and tumblr ask memes, because they make me limit my story to what can be told in a few thousand words. That lets me improve my craft without getting bogged down in enormous plotlines. (Yes, sometimes the story still grows a plot. But it's less frequent.)

Third bit of advice: take little bites, and accept that it's going to take a long time and possibly several drafts. When I started MBTT, I genuinely thought it would be 50K. (I am bad at estimating finished lengths of stories.) But I still took it one chapter at a time, and tried to have each chapter be a coherent whole, a chunk of story that needed to be told. When I'm working on the AWAU, if I think about the whole overarching storyline too much, I get overwhelmed and have to go stick my head under a proverbial rock for a while. But one story is doable, most of the time. I've had to restart drafts for some stories two, three, four times to get the voice and style and plot to cooperate. Be willing to say, That's not working, and try something else, even if you're really fond of what you've written so far.

Fourth bit of advice: learn what style of planning works for you. Some people like to outline in great detail. Some people like a sketchy outline. Some people, like me, can't outline - it kills the story for me. The WIP I started this morning has a notes section for important characterization details and the single plot point "Bandits?" Anything more than that, and I won't write it, because in some sense I've already written it so why bother doing it again?

Fifth and final bit of advice, because this is getting long: if you can find a cheer-reader, cherish them. Having someone in the doc leaving comments or emoticons helps immensely with knowing how my readers will react and with keeping my own enthusiasm for a story stoked high, which vastly increases the likelihood of it getting finished.

Good luck! Be brave! Thank you for the compliments!

I hope to read your stories someday!

[l0singsdogs]

batfam fics by l0singsdogs.

I recently uploaded my Dickkory fics. Now I'm making a small recommendation for my Bat Family fics. The following stand out: mentions of Timkon, Batcat as a couple, Alfred Pennyworth's death, mention of Jayrena, Jason Todd's good older brother, and especially a healing Bat Family. Inspiration from comics and series is highlighted. Trigger warnings in tags.

don't worry im alive. by l0singsdogs. language: english words: 3,482 chapters: 1/1 

Bruce Wayne always knew letting Jason go was the right thing to do — especially when his boy seemed to carry pain on his shoulders and the past in his smile. But like any father, he asked for one small thing: a single text message every year, just to let him know he was alive.

Letting Jason go had been one of the hardest things Bruce had ever done.

But he was a father — and even the worst of them make sacrifices.

Do you want to play with me, B? by l0singsdogs. language: english words: 1,897 chapters: 1/1

Bruce Wayne hallucinates Jason sometimes. It happens in his worst moments — when fear toxin rushes through his veins, when battle overwhelms his senses, when the weight of the world feels too heavy on his shoulders. But he never expected to hallucinate Jason in his office, not when he thought his mind had stopped playing those cruel tricks. Yet, there Jason was, or at least the version Bruce's broken mind conjured. And Bruce couldn’t help but feel that familiar ache in his chest — a pain etched deep into his very soul. "Do you want to play with me, B?" his son asked. Bruce simply nodded, watching his little boy stand beside him, if only for a minute.

tears in heaven. by l0singsdogs. language: english words: 4,010 chapters: 1/1

There was a time when Bruce Wayne had been a fun father. He used to take Jason and Dick to baseball games, go trick-or-treating with them, and just be the kind of dad most kids could only dream of. But after what happened to Jason, that version of him slowly faded, slipping further into the shadows.

Or perhaps it’s just Damian and Tim, watching old photographs and videos of a father they never truly got to know. Maybe, deep down, they both wish they had the chance to meet Bruce Wayne—the one who hadn’t yet been consumed by grief and darkness.

domestic meeting. by l0singsdogs language: english words: 4,053 chapters: 1/1

Bruce Wayne has always been a reserved man—or at least as reserved as he can be, especially with the press constantly on his heels. But when it comes to Batman, he is even more elusive, operating from the shadows. The moments when he reveals himself to his allies—his family—are rare, but when they do happen, they are nothing short of remarkable.

Still, seeing Batman as a father, or even in a more mundane light, is a sight few have the privilege to witness.

Perhaps this is one of those moments.

Or maybe, during an online meeting, the Justice League gets an unexpected glimpse—not just of Batman as a father, but of his vigilantes as siblings. A side of them the world rarely ever sees.

haunted by the past. by l0singsdogs. Language: English Words: 2,236 Chapters: 1/1 

Damian Wayne knows that he has brothers and a sister at the end of the day. He knows his family is complicated, that his father has his issues, and that it's not the typical kind of family he sees elsewhere—but he understands that too.

But he also knows the mansion hides secrets, that the rooms feel haunted and heavy with history. And yet, there is one room he rarely enters, almost as if it’s forbidden.

Still, Damian Wayne is a teenager, and curiosity often runs in their blood.

(Or simply—a quiet moment of Damian visiting the room of his not-quite-dead brother, Jason Todd. Seeing, perhaps for the first time, how often his father still lives in the pain of the past.)

time in a bottle. by l0singsdogs. Language: English Words: 6,829 Chapters: 1/1

Bruce Wayne has children, but he never got to hold them in his arms as babies. He never saw them grow from infancy, never spoiled them in his own subtle way. He didn’t get to sing them lullabies or teach them from the moment they opened their eyes to the world. Damian came into his life at eight years old, Dick Grayson and Jason Todd arrived already knowing the harshness of life, Tim Drake showed up when the situation demanded it, and Cassandra Cain appeared when it was necessary. But when Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, and Cassandra Cain are magically turned into toddlers — for a fleeting moment — Bruce Wayne allows himself to dream. Even if time is short, even if reality will soon crash down on him, he holds his children in his arms, if only for a little while.

one quiet day a year. by l0singsdogs. Language: English Words: 2,781 Chapters: 1/1

Jason Todd is twenty-six when he finally receives the gift of his sixteenth birthday. It took Bruce Wayne ten years to give it to him— a gift he always wanted to give one of his children—a moment shared between father and son, and also within the family.

a gift worth keeping. by l0singsdogs. Language: English Words: 3,976 Chapters: 1/1

Bruce Wayne has many reasons to survive every Justice League mission. But above all, he always comes back for his children. With each return, he brings something with him—a small gift, a quiet treasure, a simple reminder of where he’s been. He stays alive to see their faces, to be their father, to live just one more ordinary day with them. Maybe it's just a token. Maybe it’s become a quiet tradition. But it’s always for them.

like him. by l0singsdogs. Language: English Words: 3,001 Chapters: 1/1}

Everyone knows Jason Todd and Dick Grayson are adopted brothers — they may not share DNA, but they definitely share something else: Bruce Wayne's mannerisms. Maybe Bruce isn't their biological father, but when the eldest two speak, move, or fight, it's as if they've inherited far more than just his training.

This is a story about the quiet, undeniable truth: Jason Todd-Wayne and Dick Grayson-Wayne are living reflections of their father, not just in the way they carry themselves but in the legacy they uphold. Bruce Wayne may die, return, and die again,

but as long as Jason and Dick live, so will his shadow, whether they want it or not.

Moments, soft and sharp, where others can’t help but see it: Jason and Dick, more like Bruce than they’ll ever admit.

[50calmadeuce]

EOL -Chapter 15

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Top Gun: Maverick world, trademarked by Paramount Pictures Corporation. I do not claim ownership of the characters and the world that I am borrowing.

The story and situation I am creating are a work of my imagination and I do not ascribe them to official story canon. This work is for entertainment only and is not a part of the storyline.

I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story, but I do hope it gives you happy thoughts.

These stories are my own, so please do not take them and use them for yourself without my permission. If you see them somewhere else, please let me know.

After helping Jake with the fence, the two of you returned to his parents’ house. You both kicked off your boots in the mudroom before heading into the kitchen.

Jake’s mom opened the refrigerator and glanced over her shoulder with a knowing smile. “I figured you’d be staying for dinner, Y/N.”

“Sure. Thank you,” you replied with a warm smile.

Jake leaned in and gave you a quick kiss. “I’m gonna hop in the shower real quick.”

“Okay,” you said, stepping farther into the kitchen as he disappeared down the hall.

Jake’s mom pulled a casserole dish from the fridge and set it on the counter. “It’s just leftover chicken and rice, but I figured it’d hit the spot after a long day.”

“It smells amazing,” you said honestly, grateful for the comfort of something familiar and home-cooked.

She gave you a soft smile, then turned to preheat the oven. “You know,” she said after a beat, not looking at you, “I always hoped we’d see you walk through that door again.”

Your heart did a little flip, caught off guard by her gentle honesty.

You leaned against the counter. “I didn’t know if I ever would. Things got… complicated.”

She nodded, her hands busy but her eyes kind when they finally met yours. “They always do. But complicated doesn’t mean over.”

You nodded slowly, your fingers tracing the edge of the countertop. “Full scholarship. It came out of nowhere. One of Nolan’s old professors heard about me and pulled some strings.”

Jake’s mom blinked, clearly impressed. “Well, that’s… incredible. And overwhelming, I imagine.”

“Yeah,” you admitted, voice low. “Texas A&M was always the plan. But Glasgow… it feels like this once-in-a-lifetime kind of opportunity.”

She studied you for a moment, then gently placed the casserole in the oven. “You don’t have to decide tonight.”

You let out a small laugh. “Tell that to my brain.”

She walked over and rested a hand lightly on your arm. “Jake loves you, Y/N. That much is clear. But no matter where you go, what you choose—you have to do it for you. Not for him. Not for anyone else.”

You swallowed the sudden lump in your throat. “I know. I just… don’t want to lose him again.”

Mrs. Seresin laughed. "I don't think the ocean could keep you from losing my son. The land sure didn't."

Just then, the floorboards creaked in the hallway and Jake’s voice called out, “What are you two conspiring about in there?”

You smiled as she winked. “Girl talk. None of your business.”

Jake walked into the room, hair still damp, wearing a clean T-shirt and jeans. He took one look at you and grinned. “That casserole doesn’t stand a chance.”

After dinner, Jake walked you out to your truck, the evening air still warm against your skin as the cicadas hummed in the distance.

“So… you leave Friday?” you asked softly, not quite ready to say goodbye.

“Yeah,” he said with a small nod, his hands in his pockets. “Back to work.” He paused briefly. "You're welcome to come with."

You looked up at him, the porch light casting a golden glow across his face. His offer hung in the air between you, tender and uncertain.

“I know,” you said quietly, eyes searching his. “And part of me really wants to.”

Jake stepped closer, his eyes searching yours as he gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

His fingers lingered for a heartbeat, warm against your skin.

“Then what’s holding you back?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he was afraid of the answer.

You exhaled slowly, your gaze dropping to the space between your boots and his. “I’m scared,” you admitted. “Of choosing wrong. Of walking away from something that could change everything. Texas. My family. Glasgow. You.”

Jake nodded slowly, like he understood every unspoken word. “That’s fair,” he said gently. “But if it helps… I’m not asking you to give anything up. I’m asking if we can figure it out—together. Whatever that looks like.”

You looked up at him, your heart aching under the weight of so many paths converging at once. “I just wish there were more of me. Maybe then life wouldn’t feel so complicated.”

Jake grinned. “Darlin’, one of you is more than enough. Trust me.”

You reached up and gently rested your hand over his as he cupped your face, the warmth of his touch grounding you. He leaned in slowly, as if savoring the moment, and when his lips finally met yours, the kiss was deep and tender—full of unspoken promises, love, and everything you'd both been holding back for far too long.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads still resting together, the silence was soft and sacred. Jake’s thumb brushed along your cheekbone, his eyes searching yours like he was memorizing the moment.

“You don’t have to decide tonight,” he whispered. “But wherever you end up—whether it’s College Station or Glasgow or right here—I’ll be in your corner. Always.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, offering a small, grateful smile. “You make it really hard to walk away, Jake Seresin.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm in the still evening air as he pulled you close. “Good. That means I’m doing something right.”

You lingered there for a long moment, tucked against his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat and the soft hush of wind in the trees. Time felt suspended—just you, Jake, and the quiet possibility of something lasting.

You took a deep breath and sighed, breathing in Jake’s scent—a warm mix of leather and bourbon that wrapped around you like a memory. You tried to anchor yourself in the moment, to lose yourself in the safety of his presence, if only for a while, and forget the weight of all the decisions waiting just ahead.

Jake gently pulled you off of him, his hands resting lightly on your arms. His eyes held yours, steady and certain. “But, darlin’, I need you to do one more thing for me before you make all those big decisions.”

“What’s that?” you asked softly, a flutter rising in your chest.

He didn’t answer right away—just smiled that familiar, heart-melting smile. Then, slowly, he bent down on one knee, reaching into his pocket. Your breath caught as he pulled out a stunning white and rose gold engagement ring, the princess-cut diamond catching the porch light like fire.

“Y/N Travers,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “You are my world. I lost you once, and I never want to go through that again. I want us to face every decision—every challenge—together, as husband and wife. Will you marry me?”

Your heart thundered in your chest, breath hitching as you stared down at the ring shimmering between his fingers. Time seemed to slow, the night air thick with anticipation and the unspoken hopes between you.

Tears welled in your eyes as your voice trembled, “Jake… I—”

He reached up, gently brushing a tear from your cheek. “No pressure, darlin’. Just… whatever your answer is, I’m here. Always.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of the moment settling deep inside you. Then, with a shaky but certain smile, you whispered, “Yes. Yes, Jake. I will marry you.”

A smile broke across his face, bright and full of relief. He slipped the ring onto your finger, his hands warm as he held yours close.

Pulling you up, he wrapped you in a fierce, tender embrace, as if holding you close could keep all the uncertain future at bay.

Under the stars, with the world spinning just a little slower, you knew some things were beautifully clear. And this—this was one of them.

He slowly eased you from his embrace, his hands lingering on your waist as he searched your eyes with a steady, unwavering gaze. "Tomorrow," he said softly, "I’ve got a justice of the peace on speed dial—and I already talked to Dr. Weiss."

His voice was calm but resolute, every word carrying the weight of the future he wanted to build with you.

“Jake, what about my mom, my dad…” you asked, worry creeping into your voice.

“Darlin’,” he said with a small, satisfied smile, “I talked to your dad before I even asked you this.”

Confusion flickered across your face. “But… how? When?”

“He apologized already,” Jake said, his tone warm and just a little smug. “He knew you’d make him.”

He reached for your hand again, grounding you in the moment. “He wants you happy, sweetheart. Just like I do.”

You looked at him, heart fluttering. “When did you plan all this?”

Jake gave you that crooked grin that always made your knees weak. “That night in the back of the truck, when I was holding you. You were falling asleep on my chest, and I told you I’d figure something out.”

He squeezed your hand gently. “I meant every word. I just didn’t want to waste any more time.”

You stared at him, speechless, the ring on your finger catching the light between you like a promise made tangible.

“You talked to my dad…” you repeated, still trying to process it. “Jake, that must’ve taken everything in you.”

He shrugged modestly, but his eyes held something softer—more vulnerable. “It wasn’t easy. But it mattered. You matter.”

Emotion swelled in your chest, thick and overwhelming, and all you could do was whisper, “You really meant it. Every bit of it.”

Jake nodded. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

You stepped closer, your forehead resting against his. “You’re making it really hard to even consider Glasgow, you know.”

He smiled, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “Good. Because I’m not afraid of your dreams. I just want to be part of ‘em.”

You took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I guess I have a really busy day tomorrow.”

Jake smiled, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “Darlin’, you just need to find a dress by the time the sun sets. The rest? It’s all taken care of.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly, a knowing smirk tugging at your lips. “You knew, didn’t you?”

He chuckled, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “I had a feeling you'd say yes. Call it a gut instinct—or maybe just years of knowing your heart.”

Tags: @tylers-twister-gal @smoothdogsgirl @tgmreader @crashingwavesofeuphoria @lunatygerqueen @illisea @findthebeautyinbreakdowns @untitled-document-95 @mrsevans90 @djs8891 @fantasyfootballchampion @khouse712 @literal-tv-menace @malindacath @jackiehollanderr @but-I-write-so-I-must-count

[tessa-liam]

W.I.P. Wednesday

Marabelle Series

Chapter 20 - 'Ascension'

"You know?!" Sophie was open-mouthed in utter disbelief as she paced around the fountain. She didn't know whether to be mad at him or... really appreciative of his insight. "Did my aunt really call you to tell you about it?!"

"Yes," Maxwell looked guilty as charged and quickly added. "But don't blame Mom. She didn't really have any other options, especially when my father started freaking out. Mom just wanted me to help you, to calm you down, and well... this is kinda what I do best."

She bit her lip, feeling overwhelmed with a strange sense of gratitude. He had come through for her when she most needed a friend, just as he had always done. How had she never seen it before? Uncle’s actions were insufferable. She suddenly felt like an idiot.

"God, you're too good to be true," she huffed in annoyance and jabbed him lightly on the shoulder.

He grinned back at her, looking uncharacteristically sheepish and shook his head, shrugging it off.

"Trust me," he sighed. "I know. Mom told me what you said to my father. I... have a lot of complicated feelings about what he has done," he trailed off with a wave of his hands. "You'll hear about them sometime."

Sophie looked up at him curiously. "About your dad? Are these secrets known at court? Your mom was all for you - supportive...'"

Smoke and Mirrors Series

Chapter 15 - 'Catch and Release'

The cell was silent.

Outside, distant footsteps come and go.

Riley is curled in the corner, her face pale, but her eyes fierce. Her wrists are bleeding where the restraints cut into her skin—yet the metal is now visibly worn.

Pain is temporary. Focus is everything.

She shifts position, pushing the sharp edge of the stone harder against the weakened metal clasp. A snap. She freezes.

Then—

CLINK.

One wrist is free.

Breathless, Riley focused...

'Come on... come on...'

She worked on the second cuff with trembling fingers. Another snap—both hands free. She exhaled shakily, trying not to cry in relief.

Riley stood, wobbling slightly, the blood rushing back into her limbs. She crossed to the tray near the door, and broke off a piece of metal from its bent corner—makeshift weapon.

The hallway beyond her cell is dim. She studied the lock. Standard. She grabbed the empty tin cup, leans close to the bars, and began to tap it in a rhythmic pattern.

'They have to be listening.'

Counting. Predictable patrols…

Sure enough, footsteps approached. A guard, bored, holding a flashlight. He peered in.

"You’re awake. Cute. Thought you’d sleep through your own ransom."

He unlocked the door and stepped inside, clearly overconfident.

Turning the Page Series

Chapter 18 - 'To Have and To Hold'

Footsteps approached, light but familiar.

“I thought I’d find you hiding out here,” Olivia said softly, her lilac bridesmaid dress catching the morning light.

Liam turned, smiling with quiet warmth. “I needed a moment. Before everything begins.”

Olivia joined him under the trellis, her gaze sweeping over the distant coastline. “Funny. You used to sneak off to avoid state dinners and speeches. Now you’re sneaking off before marrying the woman you love.”

“I’m not avoiding it,” Liam said quickly. “I just… didn’t expect to feel like this.”

Olivia looked up at him. “Like what?”

“Like I’m standing on the edge of something so big, so final, it’s hard to breathe. Not because I doubt her—God, never that—but because I know this isn’t just a ceremony. It’s the rest of our lives.”

Olivia reached out, gently straightening the collar of his shirt. “You’ve always carried more than your share, Liam.

Duty. History. The crown. But you chose her.

And that means you finally get to have something that’s just yours.”

He studied her face, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Do you remember that night in Lythikos? The blizzard? You brought me coffee with cinnamon, and we talked about what kind of king I wanted to be.”

Olivia’s smile grew wistful. “I remember thinking you’d never stop putting everyone else before yourself.”

Liam nodded. “You were right. And yet, here I am… about to put myself first. For once. With Riley.”

Olivia touched his arm. “You’re not choosing yourself instead of Cordonia. You’re choosing someone who strengthens you. Who sees you. That’s not selfish. That’s smart.”

He exhaled, his shoulders easing slightly. “You’ve always known what to say.”

She gave him a mock stern look. “And don’t you forget it.”

They stood in silence for a moment, listening to the cicadas hum lazily in the garden around them.

“Liv,” Liam said softly, “thank you. For being there in every version of my life—crown or no crown, chaos, or calm.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” she replied. “Just promise me you’ll dance with your bride like no one’s watching. Even if Bertrand is counting the steps.”

Liam chuckled, some of the tension finally lifting. “Deal.”

As she turned to head back toward the villa, Liam called after her, voice low but clear.

“Hey, Liv?”

She looked back over her shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re here today. It wouldn’t feel right without you.”

Olivia’s eyes softened. “It wouldn’t feel right to be anywhere else.”

She left him with a wink and the scent of jasmine in the breeze, and Liam stood a moment longer, heart steadier, breath calmer.

The next time he’d stand still would be at the altar.

And this time, he’d be ready.

To be continued…

✨️💖💖💖✨️💖💖💖✨️💖💖💖✨️💖💖💖✨️💖💖💖✨️

@choicesficwriterscreations

✨️Perma-tags: @beau1811 @bascmve01 @twinkleallnight @dutifullynuttywitch @lovingchoices14 @alj4890 @busywoman @bardic-tales @kingliam2019 @malblk21 @delmissesryanandcassi @selina012 @differenttyphoonwerewolf

✨️Liam x Riley: @ladylamrian @snoopdogcone @jared2612 @queenwalton @rafasgirl23415 @walkerdrakewalker @loreofyore @fadingreveries

✨️Liam x Sophie: @snoopdogcone @jared2612 @kyra75 @chiarakole @waffleseggsbacon @scourge-lover @classylady1234 @thethingsidoforausername @belencha77 @soniamayo

[cat-denied]

someday im gonna write that essay about rwby.

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

Why is the kitchen also the low gravity room. Nevermind I hope he got stuck

[styxnbones]

throwing this out into the void here mostly just to test how i feel abt seeing it in words, but im starting to think the 100% aroace label is perhaps not serving me quite the way i want it to and maybe harper's Unlabeled Swag (As A Freak With Proximity To The Acespec) was me projecting just tiny bit

[seawitchkaraoke]

The basic ''secret'' to gaining strength is really quite simple, but it isn't easy - and those two things get mixed up way too often.

Like. It's essentially just do weightlifting regularily (your own weight, dumbells, someone else, doesn't matter) and eat plenty of food, especially lots of protein (but also carbs and fat and all that! if you don't give your body energy, it's not gonna prioritise building muscle).

Like, yes, if you wanna min-max it, you can get really complicated with it and some exercises might be especially good and there's the whole higher weight vs. more reps argument and HIIT being super effective or whatever but if what you're looking for is just generally getting a bit stronger? Find a well rounded exercise plan that works for you and that you at least somewhat actually enjoy doing (look at darebee or hybrid calisthenics for example) and then... do that. And eat food.

Like in general the way to get good at something is to do the thing. Your body isn't different. Wanna be strong and able to lift heavy things? Lift heavy things and work your way up. Wanna be able to run long distances? Go running regularily, you'll get better and better. Wanna be stretchy? Stretch regularily.

With everything, challenge yourself, but don't overdo it, start unfamiliar exercises with low weights first, make sure to do it with good form, stop if it hurts in a Bad Way (there is good exhausted muscles pain, there is stretching juuust at your limit good pain, listen to your body, when in doubt, stop)

Like.... yeah it's not super easy and it'll take time and no you're not gonna become superman overnight and if someone promises you that, don't trust them. But it's also not some magic thing you can't possibly do. Find a sport you like. And then do it.

And Eat Food

[thelawfulchaotic]

When I am appointed to represent a child, my first action is to separate them from their parents and tell them the following things:

1. I am their attorney. I do not work for their parent or the judge or the cops. I don’t care what any of those people want.

2. My job is to listen to them and try and make what they want happen in court. (At this point I make a joke about how most people want me to get them out of trouble but if someone wanted to be in trouble I would do my best.)

3. What they tell me is confidential. It goes nowhere unless they agree to it. (If old enough, I talk to them about mandatory reporters, and how I’m a mandatory non reporter.)

4. I will give them lots of advice because I’ve been doing court for a while and I know a lot about it, and they don’t. It’s all really complicated, and if they don’t understand what’s happening it’s my job to help them figure it out.

5. They will make the decisions. (At this point I usually have to reassure them that I’ll help, I’ll speak for them in front of the judge, and I’ve got their back. It’s scary to have an adult say you’re in charge, most of the time.)

6. I tell them I know it’s absolutely wild to have some stranger come in here and say “hey, you can trust me!” and that I get if they don’t believe everything right away, because I plan to show them through my actions and my words that I’ll fight for them.

7. But nonetheless, I will treat them like a person who can make decisions, because they are living their life and I am not.

I do not:

Pretend to be cool.

Try to be their BFF.

Overwhelm them with detail.

Let their parents in the room until the kid asks for them. (I provide openings for this, and ask if the kid wants their parent to help them remember and understand.)

I want to emphasize I went into this job knowing nothing about how to interact with vulnerable populations, especially children. The training was minimal, and my role means that I can literally walk into a facility and get an unmonitored visit with a minor client one on one.

In my years of practice I have never felt threatened by a child, even one that was “violent” and “unstable.” It turns out just saying “hi, I think you’re a person with thoughts” is wildly successful? Now people treat me like I have special Child Whisperer powers. My powers are that I ask the child what’s up and I’m not scared to say things that are objectively awkward. I know nothing about anything.

[computercuter]

The way my brain is is real bizzare because I'll be the horniest fucker, yearning and desiring so so bad, and then the dream part of me goes 'right okay fine um. Sex dream now maybe' and me in dream will just be like '????? No?? I don't want that actually it makes me feel Bad' so nothing actually happens and then I wake up and feel gross about it irl as well. Like. What do you wantttt

[cinnasite]

nerd gone viral ( ˶°ㅁ°) !!

꩜ pairing: nerd!armin arlert x female reader

꩜ warnings: explicit content, language

꩜ word count: 3.7k

꩜ synopsis: a harmless campus interview turns your best friend into an overnight internet sensation—and suddenly, every thirsty TikTok comment feels like it’s whispering your secret.

☆ art cred: @/juvianism on instagram :3

You nearly spill your coffee all over your Political Theory textbook when you unlock your phone. Another two hundred comments on that TikTok. You know you shouldn't check—you probably watched it about a million times yesterday alone—but your fingers move before your brain can scream at you to stop.

@/bookslvt01: ok but the way he talks about virginia woolf??? NEED HIM CARNALLY @/colossalthighs: i’d let him annotate my entire body fr @/arlertmeout: he looks like he apologises before choking you

You bite your lip, half-entertained and half-horrified, scrolling through the endless comments under what was supposed to be an innocent campus interview. The video has 2.3 million views now, completely insane for something filmed outside the modest main library—the same one you find yourself in at the moment—on a random Tuesday.

"Ugh, don’t tell me. You're watching it again, aren't you?"

Your head snaps up comically quick, caught red-handed, to find Sasha sliding into the seat across from you at your usual table, eyeing your phone screen with knowing amusement. 

"What? No."

"You are! You have that weird, glazed look in your eyes. The same one you get when Professor Ackerman extends the deadline for our research papers." Sasha unwraps what appears to be her third sandwich of the day. You don't mention how it’s only twelve in the afternoon. "You know you could just talk to him about it, right? He's literally one of your best friends."

"And say what exactly?" you finally close the godforsaken app, trying to ignore how your screen time report is definitely going to be embarrassing this week. "Hey Armin, I've watched your viral video more times than I can remember and I'm having very inappropriate thoughts about your tongue piercing that I absolutely shouldn't be having about my friend?"

Sasha snickers, a piece of lettuce tumbling to the table from her mouth. "Well, when you put it like that... actually, yes. One hundred percent that."

"Sasha, I can't just—" you frown in frustration, inhaling deeply. "It's complicated."

"How is it complicated? You've had a crush on him since freshman year."

"That was different. That was before we became friends. Before I knew him." You lean back in your chair, staring at the ceiling as fond memories overwhelm you. "Back then he was just this cute, nerdy guy in my intro psych class who got excited about statistical analysis and always smelled like that vanilla body wash I love. I used to sit behind him just to watch him get all animated during discussions about cognitive behavioural theory, you know?"

Sasha merely rolls her eyes. "Jesus, and you call me demented. Well, what about now?"

"Now? Now, he's Armin. He's my friend who stays up until 3 A.M. to help me with my assignments, who brings me soup when I'm sick, who texts me the dumbest memes about historical figures," you slump forward, close to pouting. "He's the guy who spent six hours teaching me how to play that MMO he's obsessed with just because I mentioned being bored over winter break. He's..."

"He's the guy you're infatuated with," Sasha supplies helpfully.

"I'm not," you start to protest, then wisely opt to give up instead. "Okay, maybe. But that's exactly the problem. I can't risk blowing up our friendship just because some stupid interview made me realise I want to climb him like a tree."

"A tree with a tongue piercing," Sasha adds with a cheeky grin.

"Fuck’s sake, don't remind me," you let your head rest against the table. "Do you know how many times I've replayed that two-second clip where he licks his lips? It's pathetic."

"It's not pathetic, it's kind of sweet. There's a difference." Sasha takes another bite of her sandwich, her eyes evidently lighting up. "Besides, you don't know that he doesn't feel the same way. Have you seen how he looks at you during our study sessions? Boy's got it bad."

"He looks at me like a friend, Sasha. Because that's what we are."

"Believe me, friends don't look at friends the way he looked at you last Friday when you were explaining your thesis argument. I thought he was going to combust from sexual tension."

Before you can blatantly disagree, you hear an all too familiar voice behind you.

"Sexual tension about what now?"

Your stomach drops directly through the floor. You turn around carefully, and there he is—Armin Arlert, campus's newest digital sensation, standing there with that signature bemused expression he gets when he catches you and Sasha gossiping. His blonde hair is mussed like he's been running his hands through it, and he's wearing that adorable blue sweater that brings out his eyes deliciously.

"Oh, um..." You scramble for an explanation, panicking on the inside. "We were just talking about... about..."

"About how Professor Ackerman's lectures are basically academic foreplay," Sasha jumps in smoothly. "All that tension and buildup with no satisfying conclusion. I mean, hello?"

Armin laughs, the sound warm and comforting. "That's fascinatingly accurate, I’ll admit." He shifts his weight, and you only then notice he's carrying his laptop bag and what seems to be a bag of takeout. "Mind if I join you? I brought Thai food and figured you might be hungry since you've been here since—," he checks his phone, "—9 A.M., according to the text you sent complaining about how it’s criminal that the library opens so early on weekends."

Your heart does a little flip at his consideration. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to." He slides into the chair next to you, close enough that you can smell his cologne—a rich blend of velvety caramel and toasted cinnamon that positively makes you want to lick him all over. 

Stop. None of that, you horny bastard.

"Besides, I figured you might want to hear about the latest developments in my accidental internet fame."

Sasha perks up at once. "Hell, yeah. Have you been recognised on campus yet?"

"Five times yesterday," Armin appears to lament, pulling containers out of the bag. "Including once in the bathroom, which was... awkward, to say the least." He hands you your usual order without asking what you want. "But the weirdest part is definitely the DMs."

"DMs?" you pipe up, failing to ignore how domestic this feels what with him knowing exactly what you like. Typical, precious Armin.

"You have no idea," he opens his laptop and turns it toward you two with a nervous twitch. "I've gotten marriage proposals, offers to 'show me a good time,' and at least a hundred messages asking about my tongue piercing specifically."

Your face burns as you push away the thought that you've been mentally composing similar messages. "That's... wow."

"The worst part is, most of them are asking if I'd be interested in demonstrating its uses." He fidgets with his glasses, coming across as embarrassed but also endearing. "I had no idea that thing would cause such a reaction."

"Well, it is pretty noticeable," Sasha remarks with a meaningful peek at you. "Very... attention-grabbing."

"I guess." Armin glances at you pointedly. "What do you think? You've seen the video, right?"

The question is innocent enough, but something in his tone makes you look at him more carefully. There's an out-of-the-ordinary implication that you can't quite put your finger on. "Uh... yeah, I've seen it," you manage to croak out. Terrific. Could you get any stiffer?

"And?"

"And what?"

"What did you think?"

You stare at him blankly, trying to figure out if this is a normal friend question or if you’re incorrectly perceiving the foreign edge of curiosity behind it. "I thought... I mean, your book recommendations were really good. Very passionate."

"Passionate," he repeats, the fleeting flash of understanding across his face confirming your earlier weariness. "That's interesting."

Sasha's phone cuts through the uneasiness with its incessant buzzing, and she scans it with obviously fake surprise. "Oh no, would you look at that. I have to go... meet... someone... about... a... very real thing... I have." She begins gathering her stuff with awfully suspicious speed. "You two have fun talking about books. And passion. And tongue piercings."

"Huh? Wait. Sasha—" you squeak out, but she's already dashing out of the private study room you had booked for the both of you until late afternoon (traitor). Which leaves you alone with Armin, who's scrutinising you with an expression you can't quite read.

"Alright," he speaks after a moment, closing his laptop and leaning back in his chair. "Want to tell me what you actually thought about the video?"

"I already told you."

"No, you gave me the safe answer." He tilts his head slightly, studying you with purpose. "Come on, we've been friends for two years. I know when you're holding back."

You hastily shove some noodles in your mouth, avoiding his gaze. "I'm not holding back."

"Really? Because Sasha seemed to think you had some important opinions about it."

You make a mental note to start drafting your plan for the girl’s well-deserved comeuppance. "Sasha talks too much."

"She does," Armin agrees. "But she's usually right about things. Especially when it comes to you."

The rarely there confidence in his tone makes you look up and, when you meet his gaze, the intensity catches you off guard. "What do you want me to say?"

"Did you know," he continues conversationally, "that TikTok shows you analytics about who's viewed your videos?"

Almost instantly, your heart stops. "What?"

"Mhm. Very detailed analytics. Including multiple views from the same account." His lips quirk up in a small smile. "Want to guess how many times your account shows up in my viewer list?"

You feel heat creeping up your neck. "I don't know what you're talking about." You briefly consider denying reality, blaming a technical issue, or claiming a glitch in the matrix—but none of it sticks.

"Seventy-seven times," he announces, the metaphorical checkmate hitting you straight in the chest. "As of this morning."

Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. He knows. "I can explain—"

"Can you?" He angles himself forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Because I've been trying to figure out why my very good friend has watched a boring thirty-second video of me talking about books seventy-seven times."

You want to run away, mouth opening and closing like a fish. "I... the algorithm is weird sometimes?"

Armin chuckles, low and warm, absent of any malice. "Try again."

"I was checking to see if the view count was going up?"

"Nope."

You're quiet for a long moment, trying to figure out how to get out of this without completely humiliating yourself. You don't suppose it's too late to jump out of a window? Ultimately, you sigh in defeat. "Okay, fine. Maybe I watched it a few times."

"A few?"

You narrow your eyes, crossing your arms in defiance at the unsolicited endless interrogation. "More than a few."

"How many more?"

You want to strangle him, and not in the sexy way. "You’re being annoying."

"Come on." His voice has dropped slightly lower, and there's something almost akin to teasing in it. "I told you about the marriage proposals. Fair's fair."

You mutter a profanity under your breath, groaning. "Fine. I watched it a lot. Happy?"

"No. We’re getting there, though. Why?"

"Why what?"

Armin’s glee sharpens into something ravenous, a flicker of desperation lurking beneath his carefree demeanour—like he’s itching for you to say exactly what he needs. "Why did you watch it seventy-seven times?"

Your lungs feel too tight, too exposed. "Because..."

"Because?"

"Because you looked really good, okay?" The words come out in a rush. "Because watching you talk about literally anything is incredibly attractive, and because that frustrating part where your tongue piercing shows has been tormenting me ever since the video came out."

The silence that follows is eerily deafening. Armin simply stares at you, and you wish the ground would swallow you whole.

"Shit," you grumble, burying your face in your hands. "I'm sorry. That was completely out of line. I know we're friends and I shouldn't have—"

"Hey. Look at me."

The way he asks convinces you to peep through your fingers, reluctant but unable to look away. His expression is attentive and focused—definitely not one of disgust.

"You think I'm attractive?" he questions softly.

"I... yes?"

He blinks, his usual calm shattered by the raw vulnerability in your voice. His fingers tremble, revealing the fierce hope inside that there’s a potential chance that someone sees him as more than the sum of his quirks.  "Even though I'm just a loser who gets excited about obscure paranormal documentaries and spends too much time playing video games?"

"Especially because of that," you admit, having never been more sure of yourself.

His answering smile is slow and devastating. "Good to know."

"Good to know?"

He hums, reaching across the table, and gently pulls your hands away from your face. "I've been wondering if you'd ever see me as more than just your friend who helps you with your homework."

Your brain, without a doubt, malfunctions. "What?"

"Did you really think I started bringing you food and staying up late just because I'm a good friend?"

The words disarm you. You’re trapped between incredulity and the dawning comprehension of what he might be suggesting. "I…"

"And did you think I learned how to play your favourite songs on guitar just because I had time to spare?"

"Y-you said you wanted to practice—"

"And I presume you thought I got this piercing because I was feeling rebellious?"

That stops you short, confusion apparent in the furrow of your brows. "You didn't?"

Armin's grin turns almost predatory. "I got it because I overheard you and Sasha talking about how cool you find them. This was back in October, after you'd been dating that guy with the lip ring."

You feel like a kettle left on the stove too long. "You... what?"

"You said, and I quote, 'There's something about tongue piercings that's beyond exciting.’ Something along the lines of how the person has to be bold enough to get it, but there's the simultaneous insinuation of what they can do with it."

"I’m going to kill myself," you gape at him in horror. "You heard all of that?"

"I was sitting right behind you in the campus coffee shop. You weren’t exactly shy about it." He shifts closer, and you can spot the hint of silver when he speaks, "I made an appointment that very afternoon."

"You got a tongue piercing because of something I said about another guy?"

"I got a tongue piercing because I wanted to be the guy you were talking about."

The confession hangs in the air between you, charged and electric. You stare at him, trying to process this complete change in everything you thought you knew about your friendship. 

"I've been trying to get your attention for months. I was starting to think I'd have to do something drastic."

In spite of being made to face terrifying revelation after revelation, you manage to stutter out a breathless laugh. "More drastic than getting a tongue piercing for me?" 

"I was considering learning to play your favourite video game."

You snort despite yourself. "You hate that game."

He shrugs casually, as if the lengths to which he would go for you knew no bounds. "I know. That's how desperate I was getting."

The atmosphere between you feels tense now, full of possibility and two years of unspoken tension. Armin traces your knuckles and the simple touch sends heat shooting up your arm.

"So," you say, trying to stay as composed as you possibly can. "What happens now?"

"Now," he starts, standing up, "you tell me what exactly you were thinking about during those seventy-seven views."

He's close enough that you have to tilt your head back to look at him, and the unwavering want in the blue of his eyes makes your breath catch. "I was thinking..." you trail off, feeling timid with his attention on you.

"You can do it. Use your words for me?" his voice has gotten rougher, huskier, and it sends delightful shivers down your spine.

"I was thinking about what it would feel like."

"What would feel like?"

"Your piercing. When you..." You gesture vaguely, cheeks burning. Armin's hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your bottom lip. "When I what?"

"When you kiss me," you whisper.

"Just kissing?" The question is loaded with underlying intentions, and you shake your head slowly.

"Tell me what else you were thinking about."

"Armin..."

"Please." The plea is hushed but insistent. "I want to know what's been going through your head."

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry as you let go of the entirety of your self-restraint. "I was thinking about what it would feel like on my body. What it would feel like when you use your mouth on me."

His pupils immediately dilate at your words. "Fuck."

"Is that... is that okay?"

Instead of verbally affirming, he leans down and kisses you. It's gentle at first, tentative, but when you react by fisting your hands in his sweater and pulling him closer, he deepens it. The first brush of his tongue against yours has you gasping, and when you feel the metal of his piercing, it sends intoxicating pleasure shooting through you.

You break apart, breathing heavily, and Armin rests his forehead against yours.

"How was that?" he asks earnestly, voice raspy.

"Good," you breathe. "Really good."

His smile is full of care but there's primal desire behind it. "And the piercing?"

"Want more of it."

He brushes his thumb across your lip again. Truth be told, it’s plain torture. "You know, we're in public right now."

Every wall you built is crumbling under the weight of him, and all you can do is let it. "I know."

"Anyone could walk by and see us."

"I know."

"And you don't care?"

You drag your hand up his thigh, stopping just shy of where he clearly wants it, "Not even a little bit."

He kisses you again, harder this time, and you can't help the soft moan that escapes when his tongue meets yours in another dance of display. The sound seems to flip a switch in him, because his hands are tangling in your hair and he's pressing you back against your chair.

"God, you have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," he murmurs against your lips.

"Tell me ‘Min."

"Since freshman year. Since that first day in psych class when you argued with Professor Smith about the ethics of behavioural modification."

You draw away just barely, shaking under the intimacy of his declaration. "That long?"

"That long." He doesn’t think twice before trailing his teeth along your jaw, and when the metal of his piercing digs into your flushed skin, you whimper needily. 

"You were so assertive, so brilliant. I was completely and utterly gone."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because you were dating that business major asshole, and then when you broke up, we became friends,” he hesitantly halts his ministrations to flutter his eyelashes at you, “I-I didn't want to ruin it." 

Good heavens, you didn’t stand a chance from the beginning.

"But then you kept looking at me like... like you wanted me too, and I started hoping..."

"I did want you. I do want you." The admission comes out whinier than intended, but you can’t bring yourself to be bothered at this point. "So much."

His hands tighten in your hair. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You’re unaware of how many minutes pass as you lose yourself in the sensation of his mouth on yours, and the way he tastes like mint and something uniquely him. You dig your nails lightly into his sides, claiming him in an act of fervent possession. His breaths mingle with yours and the world outside your tangled bodies fades until there’s nothing but lust burning between you. By the end of it, your chests rise and fall in tandem.

"We should probably get out of here," he mumbles, peeking around the library.

Craving Armin has left you dazed, vision glassy as you attempt to make sense of your surroundings. "Right. Um, your place or mine?"

He pecks your nose, full of affection, tenderly guiding you. "Mine. My roommate's gone for the weekend."

You start gathering your things with shaky hands, hyperaware of the way Armin is observing you. When you bend over to pick up your bag, you hear his sharp intake of breath.

"Something wrong?" you ask innocently.

"N-nothing," he mutters, skittishly pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

The walk to his dorm feels like it takes forever, full of stolen glances and the kind of anticipation that makes your skin feel too tight. When you reach his room, he fumbles with his keys for a moment—so fucking cute—before getting the door open.

You haven’t had a lot of time this semester to crash at his dorm—neat and organised, with anime posters on the walls and stacks of books and manga everywhere. But you barely have time to take it in before he's pressing you against the closed door, urgency lacing his actions.

This time, there's nothing apprehensive about it. His hands are everywhere—your waist, your back, squeezing your ass—and when you arch against him, he makes a low sound of approval.

"You taste so good," he shudders against you. "Everything I’ve imagined and so much more."

"You imagined this?"

"Every night for two years." His mouth moves to your neck, nibbling along your throat. "What you'd look like, what you'd sound like when I made you come."

The words send heat pooling low in your belly, prompting you to press your thighs together instinctively. "Fuck, don’t say shit like that.”

"Why not? I’ve been longing for you. All of you," he whispers, pulling back to look at you with dark, lidded eyes. "You’re not getting away until I’ve had my fill."

It would be an understatement to say that you hadn’t foreseen this when you woke up today. That you'd be spending hours with your legs over Armin's shoulders, forgetting your own name; the compassionate, stammering genius the internet drooled over. Too bad he’s not on the market. It would be a treat if his fans could see him like this—flushed and breathless, fingers gripping your hips like he’d die without you. Armin Arlert, golden boy of TikTok, practically begging to let him ruin you.

You grow dizzy at the promise in his voice. "Please."

He lets his hand trail lower, indecently tranquil, and just as you think he’ll do something reckless—he pauses, smirking wickedly.

"Want to find out what this piercing really feels like when I eat you out?"

[thisqueernerd]

.

[aeyumicore]

endless summer - caleb 夏以昼

surrounded by your very own endless summer, what happens when caleb and you reunite for the first time since the events of ‘captive bird?’  my take on ‘endless summer.’ part two of my series of smutty canon compliant caleb fics. (part one)

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: caleb x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE:  smut, porn with very little plot, porn with feelings/angst

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 5.5k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, continued off ‘endless summer’ (caleb’s standard 5*), slightly angsty, lots of feelings, outdoor sex, f!on top, slight voyeurism, unprotected, never pulling out, otherwise pretty vanilla, pet names (baby, brat, princess, pip-squeak), no use of y/n, insecure caleb, conflicted mc

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: part 1: captive bird | ao3 | endless summer memory | where our blue is

━ ✧.˖ A/N: helloooo after talking about this so long ago it’s finally here! 

part two of my series of smutty moments between caleb and mc throughout the canon material. first was my take on ‘captive bird’ which i’ve linked above. this one would occur two weeks after that one. next will be ‘exclusive aftertaste’ no current eta

also i highly rec listening to キタニタツヤ (where our blue is—the outro to jjk hidden inventory arc) as you read. i think it encapsulates endless summer SO well. read the english lyrics :D

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

part one | part two |

“Don’t go.”

Even in his sleep, Caleb’s grip is firm against your wrist. Almost like, even in the comfort of dreams, he was plagued by the feeling of you slipping through his fingers like sand. 

Your heart throbs at his gentle pleas. It’d been two weeks since you’d left Skyhaven—since he’d let you leave. Two weeks since you’d both decided to start being honest with yourselves—honest with how you felt for one another. How you’d always felt for each other. 

Two weeks since you’d given yourselves to each other in the most intimate ways possible—something you found yourself replaying over and over in your head. Particularly at night, when you were alone in bed. 

But was it a misplaced night of passion? Fueled by the overwhelming trauma you’d both endured, both then and all your lives? 

Whether it was or wasn’t, it didn’t matter. Because you’d chosen to leave. And he’d chosen to let you. 

But even now, the way the summer light hit the defined ridges of his thick biceps made you blush like some lovestruck schoolgirl. Made you remember just what those arms could do to you—had done to you. 

You physically shake your head, pushing those thoughts away. If you had any hope of returning to the things were, you absolutely could not be reminiscing on the way Caleb held you, devoured you. 

When his thick eyelashes flutter open, his violet eyes misted with an unbridled despair and longing, his hand coming up to your face to smooth your hair that the wind had ruffled. 

Even awake, he can’t help but plead brokenly, “Don’t leave me alone.” His voice is faraway, like he was still caught in a battle between nightmares and consciousness. It’d only been two weeks since you’d gone back to Linkon, but the way you’d left things made everything all the more complicated and tense. 

Did you want to go back to the way things were? Pretending you felt nothing more than innocent, platonic, love for the man you’d craved nearly all your life? 

No, you didn’t. But worse than going back to a life of pretending was a life where you couldn’t even look Caleb in the eye anymore because of one night. 

He was the most important person in your world. Could you really risk that over one night that very well might’ve been an emotional mistake, born of desperation and vulnerability, on both your parts? 

But for Caleb, now that he had you in his fingertips again, even when things were fractured and unresolved, all he could think about is how your lips were slightly parted, sheened with moisture. How the summer heat made your cheeks flush—nearly the same shade as when he had you folded beneath him. 

Unbeknownst to you, Caleb had never been more assured in anything. Everything he ever did when it came to you was carefully thought out and highly intentional. 

You would never be a mistake to him. 

Without thinking, as if you were his center of gravity, he leans in towards you. His eyelids are heavy with the weight of his thick fluttering eyelashes, still caught between dream and reality. His lips instinctually seek yours, as naturally as his lungs inhaled air—desperate to feel what it felt like to have you again. Not just in his sleepless and hopeless dreams.

For a second you’re drawn to him like you were that night, still that helpless moth drawn to a blinding light. But rational thought, ever the annoying presence, resurfaces. 

Your eyes widen, and the gentle breeze sweeps against you. Something catches in your eye, maybe dust or a fragmented blossom petal. Against your heart’s own longing, you push him back gently, trying to blink the discomfort away. Tears had already welled in your one eye, threatening to spill over. 

“Caleb?” you ask, honestly unsure if you’d mistaken yourself, your vision blurry in the one irritated eye. If, like the countless lonely nights leading to this summer day, you’d imagined him leaning in to kiss you. 

Caleb’s nebulous eyes widen as you push him back, his face falling into a heartbroken dejection. The same feeling when you’d told him you couldn’t stay in Skyhaven. Stay with him. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

The resignation in his voice makes your heart squeeze painfully. You try to reassure him, “No it’s okay…I just got something in my eye.” On cue, your eye starts to twitch and your hand instinctively comes up to rub at it, even when you know you shouldn’t. 

“Let me see,” Caleb murmurs, sitting up off the stone wall he was leaning against. Relieved to have an excuse, he leans in closer, looking into your teary eye. 

“Did you have a nightmare?” you can’t help but ask, knowing he won’t tell you anyways. Ever the protector, he’d rather face everything alone than burden you with even, what he considered, a silly little bad dream. 

You fight the urge to shiver when his eyes flicker to your lips, before he smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes, holding the heavy weight of both his unending longing and depthless loneliness. 

His eyes reluctantly meet yours again, fingers brushing the hair away from your twitching eye. 

“Don’t blink,” his voice is unbearably gentle, his other hand coming up to tenderly hold your face in his fingers. He bites back a groan as his body reacts viscerally to the feeling of your skin against his again.

His hands thread into the strands of your hair, and he leans in until his face is mere inches from yours. Your heart pounds so painfully you can hardly hear anything but the rushing of blood in your ears. You can’t focus on anything but Caleb’s parted lips and warm breath.

This was far too dangerous. Your resolve to return to ”normalcy” was quickly dissolving, leaving absolutely no traces of its existence behind. 

Like he’d done so many times before, he blows gently into your eye. Except it doesn’t feel quite like when he used to do it before, when you were younger. 

You shudder at the feeling of his breath against your sensitive eye. Tiny delicate petals land in his hair, his skin glowing under the soft sunlight. Despite the circles under his eyes, he looked just as you remembered him. Just how he did when he held you against his naked chest on your last night in Skyhaven.

The moment is charged with unspoken tension and you know you should pull away. But you can’t bring yourself to. Your breath catches when one of his hands abandons your cheek, placing his palm over your hand that rests on your thigh. The feeling of his thumb stroking your skin feels so unbearably familiar and natural you have to bite your lip to keep from gasping out loud. 

Again, his stormy eyes fall to your lips before he pulls away, his eyes downcast and his warm palm abandoning your clenched hand. He falls back against the stone wall, the conflict of emotions on his crestfallen face speaking for him. 

He knew exactly what he wanted, but he’d never force it if you didn’t feel the same. If you regretted him.

Spotting a pink petal in his hair, you give him a gentle smile, making a small step towards smoothing over your prickly relationship, “I heard…that the fragrance of endless summers can bring people sweet dreams for a whole night.”

He looks at you in surprise, heart pounding under his white tank top as you clean in closer, blowing it out of his hair, like he’d just done for you.

The delicate fleck of pink flutters into the air with the warm breeze, Caleb’s deep galaxy eyes following its path, until it lands in his outstretched palm. An olive branch of sorts.

As you move to stand, Caleb’s arm darts out, his fingers firmly enclosing around your wrist before he can stop himself. You look at him in surprise, not pulling away.

Caleb’s face doesn’t quite meet yours, but he refuses to let go, “But…there aren’t endless summers in Skyhaven.”

There’s a heartbroken desperation in his soft words, so soft you barely hear them over the rustling of foliage. It melts away the last of any lingering animosity or restraint you’d been holding onto.

You were too far gone. The past was irrecoverable. Probably from the moment you’d laid eyes on him on the tarmac on the Fleet base in Skyhaven—the first time since the explosion. 

And finally, finally, you accept that you don’t want to return to the past. 

Caleb was your weakness, just as you were his. 

With his hand still holding your wrist, you let yourself fall back to him, grasping his face in your fingers. Before you can change your mind, you press your mouth into his, gasping when his soft lips meet yours.

Unlike the first time you’d kissed him on his couch in Skyhaven, Caleb doesn’t hesitate, wasting no time in threading his fingers into your hair and pulling you impossibly closer.

He swallows your squeak of surprise when you topple onto his lap, his hands leaving your face so that they can grasp your exposed legs, your skirt having ridden up. His strong arms make sure you situate safely and comfortably on his thick thighs. Your arms naturally loop around his neck, melting into his secure and desperate hold.

Caleb pulls you closer, your rapidly pounding hearts beating against one another. His fingers dig into the plush of your thighs as his tongue rediscovers every inch of your mouth, groaning into your lips as you squirm against him.

His fingers inch up your legs and under the hem of your skirt, rubbing the pad of his thumb into your heated skin. Your hips roll instinctively as you try to hold back your whimpers, your inner thighs brushing against his crotch. 

“Caleb—!” you gasp, tearing yourself away when your core presses against his bulge, already incredibly hard as it strains against his jeans, grinding against you. 

Caleb groans beneath you, his hands moving to grip your hips firmly, fingertips digging into your skin as he stills your movements. 

“Are you trying to kill me?” he rasps, gripping your chin, forcing your hazy eyes to focus on his own darkened ones. His chest heaves with the effort of holding back his unbearable need for you—an unending black hole of desperation that had grown explosive over the last two weeks. 

He presses heated kisses down your jaw and against your throbbing pulse, murmuring, “Go easy on me, pip-squeak.” Despite his seemingly soft and pleading words, his body moves against yours with precision and domination. 

You feel him grin against your collarbone when a moan escapes your wet lips, unable to contain it when his hips thrust up into you, giving you a taste of just what you’d been dreaming about since leaving Skyhaven. 

“Asking for mercy when you’re the one teasing me,” you grumble, cursing your body as it arches at his will, instinctively giving him better access to your neck. 

He traps you against him, his thick arms hugging your entire body as he chuckles and pushes his lips to yours again. Through the heated clashing of tongue and teeth, you can vaguely feel your knees tingling and you realize Caleb is using his Evol to make sure your bare knees don’t scrape against the rough outdoor ground. You don’t even think Caleb realizes he’s doing it, far too lost in reclaiming what he’d thought he’d lost.

The summer breeze ruffles Caleb’s hair, catching soft pink petals. He tears himself away from your mouth, tracing a trail of wet kisses everywhere he can reach.

Taking a deep inhale of your intoxicating scent, he rasps, “Tell me to stop. Last chance.” 

When his teeth graze against an already forming love bite, you moan unabashedly into the open space by his ear, “W-Why would I do that? This is what I want.” 

Caleb growls, his chest vibrating against yours, “Say that again.” His fingers find their way under your skirt, kneading the soft plush of your thighs, stopping himself from venturing higher, deeper. 

You’re distracted by the teasing touch of his fingers, “Say—ngh—what?” 

Caleb’s fingers dig in, crescents indenting into your skin, “Say that you want me.”

Realizing that you leaving Skyhaven had simultaneously left him broken-hearted and needing validation, you pull away slightly so you can face him. Cradling his jaw in your palms, you whisper whole-heartedly, “I want you. More than anything.” 

Caleb’s eyes darken to a near indigo, his jaw clenching with barely restrained desire. 

He growls, “Not a mistake?” Though his tone is unbelievably commanding, you can make out the faint lingering insecurity, his bright purple eyes pleading with yours. The desperation to know that you needed him as much as he needed you. 

“Not a mistake,” you affirm gently, fingers curling into his hair, lips pressing into his jaw. Your knuckles scrape against the concrete pillar, but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

Before he gives into uncontrollable animalistic need, he chokes out your name, words laced with unbearable desire, desperation, and love.

“I miss you.”

Your still-healing heart splinters fractionally. 

Miss. Not missed. Like, even with you in his lap and his arms encircling you, you were still just a faraway dream to him—a fantasy. 

But this was reality. And the reality was that you were irrevocably his—not a bird trapped in a cage, but a bird returning home after an endless winter. 

Taking his face into your hands, your lips descend upon his. Just before they meet, you whisper, “I missed you, Caleb.” 

You press your lips the remaining distance to his, purposely rolling deeper into his lap as you do so. Caleb receives your kiss, not missing a beat as your tongues meet in a tangle of desperation. 

Your fingers fly to his belt, undoing it eagerly. Caleb lifts his hips up, as if to give you more access, better control. 

Despite his eager movements, he pulls away briefly, voice hoarse with desire but also hesitation. 

“A-Are you sure?” His eyes dart around your compromising setting, heart pounding at the idea of being so vulnerable out in the open, where anyone could find you. There was little to no coverage from your position atop his lap to the back door of the store which stood wide open, the indoor counter visible. 

“The store’s closed, no one will come in,” you whisper in rushed tones, glancing at the back door, “But if you want to stop…”

Caleb growls, his right hand finding your nape, turning your face back to his. 

“Fuck no.” 

Your teeth nearly knock together with the force at which he devours you in another all-consuming kiss. His free hand quickly helps you undo the rest of the barriers between you and his impossibly thick cock, swollen and tall against your naval. 

With your skirt ridden up, only your pitifully soaked panties stand between you and him. His arms are wrapped so possessively around you that your entire body is flush with his, his manhood pressed right into your core. 

Unable to wait any more, you pull your wet undergarments to the side, grinding directly onto him. His cock fits so perfectly against you, parting your sensitive lips until you’re practically fucking him with just your soaked lips.

“Christ,” he grunts into your lips, “Won’t last like this, princess.” 

Your chest flutters with confidence, unbelievably turned on by his yearning for you. 

“Good,” your murmur, “You know I’ve never been a patient person.” 

He lets out a strangled chuckle, swearing when you purposely drag his throbbing engorged tip against your entrance, nearly impaling yourself onto him. 

“That’s my girl,” he rasps, “Such a spoiled brat.” 

You giggle in between desperate gasps, eyes nearly rolling back as he thrusts his hips into you, cock brushing against your clit. 

“You made me this way.” 

Caleb grins, grabbing the base of his erection, dragging himself intentionally up and down your irresistibly responsive skin. He leans into the corner of your neck, nipping playfully at your earlobe. 

“Did I?” 

You gasp as he pushes himself into you, but only enough to stretch you slightly and yearn for more—not enough to fully enter you. 

“Then let me take responsibility.”

His words drip with an arrogant possessiveness that makes you keen into him, nearly collapsing against his marbled chest. His free fingers grip your chin, bringing your fluttering eyes to his. 

Wordlessly, his amethyst hued eyes plead with yours—one last affirmation of consent. 

Biting your lip, you nod eagerly. Caleb’s eyes darken unmistakable, his voice low and animalistic. 

“Good girl.”

You feel his Evol recede, and, using only his hands, he lifts and positions you perfectly against his swollen head. Just as he sinks into you, he curses and captures your lips in a searing kiss, devouring your cry of simultaneous pleasure and pain.

Gently, he nibbles on your bottom lip, encouraging you to call out more for him. It only makes your body seize up, tightening like a vice around his cock.

Caleb stiffens, his fingers digging so forcefully into the soft flesh of your hips that your eyes roll back. It takes everything in him not to slam you down to the hilt, his erection throbbing painfully, wanting nothing more than to bury itself in you and never leave. 

Incrementally, he lowers you until you sit fully on his lap. Caleb trembles visibly under you, chest heaving and thighs quivering under your own. Under the sun, Caleb glows with thin sheen of sweat, his breath ragged as he adjusts to how fucking tight and perfect you were. 

“G-God, couldn’t stop thinking about this,” Caleb rasps desperately, burying his face into your chest, “Thinking about how perfectly you take me.”

You bite your lip, eyes darting around. Though Caleb’s voice was by no means loud, as the trees rustled, you can’t help but be reminded of your surroundings. 

Your arms wrap around his head, cradling him to you, indiscreetly muffling his voice, “Me too, Caleb.” 

Without lifting his head, Caleb looks up at you, his rhythm hungry and rough. 

“Only me, yeah?” 

Though his words are slightly insecure, they’re laced with a possessive confidence that reminds you just who your heart had always belonged to. 

You roll your eyes, wanting to tease him just a bit. So you don’t speak, leaving his question unanswered.

Caleb’s eyebrows furrow at your intentional silence, unaware of how adorably pouty he looks.

“Tell me.”

He punctuates his demand with a sharp pointed thrust up into you, one of his hands moving up to grip your throat. You squeal, your cry strangled by his fingers as he uses his other hand to slam you down onto his lap. 

The deafening sounds of skin against skin, bodies joined in inseparable union, ring out in the open space, mixing with the gentle sounds of dancing foliage to create the most sinful orchestra. Your heart races as you pray no one enters the storefront. 

But Caleb only goes deeper, the lewd sounds progressively growing louder as he awaits your response. As if he might pull your sweet words out of you using his cock.

“O-Of course! Nnngh–who else would there be?”

Caleb looks unsatisfied with your response, his violet eyes wet and shiny with need.

“Please baby. Tell me that you’re mine.”

Any previous confidence that laced his words had since dissipated. Now, as the vast universe of his purple eyes stared into yours, you could tell just how desperately he needed validation. How badly he needed you to ground him in this moment—to reassure him that this was real.

That he could blink, and you’d still be there. Unlike in his dreams, where you’d be in his arms one second and gone the next.

“I—” you moan embarrassingly loud when Caleb captures your clit with his roughly padded fingers, twirling it tenderly, showing it the same care one might show a precious pearl. 

He leans into your neck, his teeth grazing your earlobe. 

“Please.”

Your heart squeezes at his rare vulnerability, and you find yourself confessing to everything he wanted to hear. You’d been thinking it anyway.

“F-Fuuck–! I’m yours Caleb. No one else…” you trail off as he rubs relentlessly into your g-spot, a sensation you could never quite replicate when you found yourself alone in bed with nothing but your longing for a certain Colonel and toys that paled in comparison to this. 

“No one else what, baby?” Caleb demands, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper, “Tell me.” 

He knocks the wind out of your lungs when he grabs your waist, using both his legs and his arms to bury himself into you—losing himself in you. 

“No one else—fuck—stretches you out like this?” 

Caleb swears as his filthy words make you spasm against him, his own veins throbbing inside of you. The sound of your pleasured screams has him wanting to push you further, trying to prolong this moment—a moment he’d been hoping for since that very first night. 

One hand moves to your stomach. “Hah—no one else gets to be right here.” Caleb’s fingers dig gently into the soft skin under your belly button, where there’s an unmistakable bulge of where he bullies himself into you. 

“N-No one!” you squeal in agreement, embarrassed by how easily he could render you a submissive fucked-out mess—putty in his hands. 

Caleb swears under his breath at the sight of you, clinging to him with all the longing in the world, chasing a pleasure that you only wanted and would ever want from him. 

Under the soft rays of the sun, swirls of hydrangea petals dancing around your hair, you looked like heaven reincarnate. Everything he ever wanted, and then miles more. 

“No one else will ever get to feel—to know perfect you are,” he murmurs, his strong arms wrapped around your entire body, pulling you closer to him in a hug that forces you to feel the depth of his adoration for you. He holds you so tightly that you can feel the cool metal of his necklace press against your chest. 

Your breath catches. Trying to convey your feelings for him, you whisper, “I-If I’m perfect, then what does that make you, Caleb?”

For a split second, Caleb seems taken aback. But he quickly composes himself and chuckles darkly, “Just a boy who had the good sense to fall for perfection.”

Your heart flutters rapidly at his words. A boy. As if he’d felt this way about you for far longer than he’d let on. 

“Then I guess I’m just the foolish girl who fell for that boy.”

Caleb’s eyes widen in surprise, almost like he didn’t believe you. Didn't believe he was worthy of your affection—of you.

“Fuck baby—keep saying things like that and I…” Caleb cuts himself off with a strangled grunt, his heading falling back to gently hit the concrete column behind him. You laugh breathlessly, gently taking his head into your hands, pressing his face into your shoulder. Caleb groans as the intimate proximity amplifies your pheromones, mixing intoxicatingly with the summer air.

“And you’ll what Caleb?” you tease, your confident tone betraying how close you were.

Caleb pulls away from your chest, his fingers gently holding your chin between them. Violet eyes hooded with deep rooted desire, he looks at you with a sincerity so honest and raw that it makes the world around you fade out. The blinding sunlight seems to dim, the rustling of leaves fading into silence. 

“I’ll never let you go,” he murmurs hungrily—almost a lightly veiled threat. The truth and sincerity dripping from those simple five words sobers you up briefly—just a fleeting moment of clarity amidst the haze of insurmountable ecstasy and passion. 

You take his hands into yours and loop them tighter around your waist.

“You’d better not,” you whisper, eyelashes fluttering as he hammered up into your g-spot, nearly bruising your cervix as he tried to bury himself inside you, leaving imprints of himself behind. 

Caleb’s jaw is slack—his teeth clenched as he fights his body’s need to release inside you, marking you as his.  

“Never again,” he gasps, your name leaving his lips like a sacred prayer, “Never.” 

The intensity of this moment is all too much—breaking walls that’d raised over months in mere milliseconds. Your body starts to move on its own, grinding down as he pumps up into you. The combined movements feel unbearably passionate, like ocean waves colliding with one another in a crescendo of unfiltered desire and need.

Caleb buries his face into your neck, his teeth scraping playfully against your pulse.

“Close, baby,” he rasps, movements growing increasingly erratic and desperate, “Need to fill you up, okay?” 

You groan, raking welts until his biceps, fingers trailing up and down his heated skin as your gut tightens with impending release. You’re about to speak—beg for it—when you hear the distinct sound of a bell jingling.

The front door of the store.

Your muscles tense, your thighs clenching against Caleb’s lap in fear. Caleb’s violet eyes widen back at you, but he shows no signs of stopping, only chasing your combined releases even more hungrily. 

Faraway and muffled, you hear a voice call out, “Hello?” Footsteps follow, loud and taunting against the wooden  floor beams of the building, “Are you guys still open?”

Even amidst the sounds of your wet thighs slapping into Caleb’s, louder than the sound of wind disturbing the trees and bushes, you can hear the footsteps getting closer. But Caleb shows no signs of stopping, almost as if he cannot hear what you hear. 

“Mmmf–Caleb–!” you say in hushed tones as he bounces you so enthusiastically that your brain feels like it’s rattling in your skull, “S-Someone’s—nnngh—inside.”

Caleb bites the inside of his cheek, impossibly close to his finish, “Shh, princess. Ignore them, okay?”

Your eyes widen at him in disbelief before they roll back in ecstasy. Despite your words, your actions, you couldn’t bear the idea of him stopping. Not when you were this close—when you’d missed him this badly.

“They’re g-going to hear,” you whimper, but you make no moves to stop him—in fact only meeting his movements more excitedly, clit grinding into his pubic bone. 

“They’ll go away,” Caleb growls, begging, “Please. I need you.”

A strangled moan escapes your lips, inexplicably turned on by the way he begs for you—the way he needs you as much, if not more, than you need him.

You squeeze your eyes shut, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, nodding eagerly. Caleb groans in appreciative awe, using everything in himself to bring the both of you to your explosive releases.

Heart hammering, cunt clenching unbelievably tight, you moan, “C-Close, Caleb.”

“Fuck!” Caleb moans under his breath, rambling as his cock twitches inside you, “Close too, princess. Need to mark you. Need this. Need you.”

His words are the nail in your coffin, sending you careening into your orgasm. Your nails dig into his shoulders, thighs clenching tighter around him, as your entire body seizes up. Just as you come undone, his name on your lips, the voice calls out again—closer this time.

“Helloooo?” 

Caleb pulls away from your neck, one hand cradling the back of your head and the other hand clasping tightly over your mouth. If he had to guess, he’d say the person was right in front of the cashier counter, where you’d left the backdoor ajar. At the right angle, they might even be able to see the two of you. 

He needed to keep you quiet, because he’d be damned if he let anyone see you like this.

But he’d also be damned if he ever missed an opportunity to hear you cry for him.

“I’ve got you,” he grits, milliseconds away from his own climax—movements sloppy and erratic, “Just like that. Fucking perfect.”

On the cusp of his orgasm, he whispers, “Let me hear you. I can’t keep trying to remember what you sound like. It’ll never compare.”

Your heart skips an erratic beat at his admission. Knowing that maybe he lay awake thinking of you, of that night, just as you did, night after night…

It made your orgasm crescendo, soaring to entirely new heights.  

Your moans vibrate against his palm, the muffled cries of his name audible even with your mouth covered. 

“Fuck, I’m cumming,” he gasps your name reverently, pressing his forehead to yours, “Christ, you feel incredible.”

The explosion of warmth inside you makes you groan in satisfaction, still into his hand that gently grips the lower half of your face. Caleb grinds up desperately into your tight walls, every stroke a release of thick hot seed.

The sound of footsteps still remains, and in the back of your head you know you should be concerned. 

But it only makes you cum harder. 

You’d say it was the same for Caleb, because even as his pearly essence dripped down your thighs, he was still pumping, still crying your name—almost loud enough to be heard beyond your little summer sanctuary. 

Caleb releases your mouth, only to replace his palm with his lips, pressing a searing kiss to yours. His tongue claims every inch of your mouth, just as his cock marks every possible part of your core.

He swallows your cries hungrily, hips languid in their movements now. He tries to prolong this moment as much as possible, not ready to face reality. 

In the back of your head, you can hear the store bell ringing again, either signaling the customer leaving or a new one entering. But you can’t bring yourself to care, too focused on the way his body feels inside yours. 

Eventually, the overwhelming feelings—pleasure, lust, desperation—boil down until only a tender adoration remains. 

Your head rises and falls rhythmically, laying on Caleb’s heaving chest. Tremors course through your entire body as you bathe in the afterglow of this moment between you and the Colonel you found yourself loving so hopelessly.

Caleb cradles your head, gently holding you tighter against his body, his fingers combing through your wind mussed hair. His lips press into your scalp, taking deep inhales of your scent.

This was the only fragrance that could give him sweet dreams for an entire night, and entire lifetime. 

But then, he’s reminded of how temporary—fleeting this moment is. Like chasing the last day of summer, where the sun melts away just as you really begin to enjoy it.

On instinct, he holds you tighter—as if you might melt away from his fingertips right then and there. Even in the sweltering summer heat, you don’t mind, only sighing happily in pure bliss. 

Your voice cuts through the sound of emerging cicadas, soft and hesitant, “Caleb, if we hadn’t run into each other here…would you have not come back to see me?”

Caleb freezes against you, his muscles tensing, “...Were you hoping I would? Or were you hoping I wouldn’t?”

You gently extricate yourself from his arms, looking straight at him, “I…want you to answer my question first.”

Caleb sighs, unfathomable emotions beyond the depth of his beautiful eyes, “Have you thought about me at all these past few weeks?”

You’re caught off guard by the direct question, “I—”

Caleb continues—cutting you off before you can form an answer, “How many times?”

His face is tilted upward, watching the petals of summer flowers float through the air, “When I want to see you, will you also want to see me?”

You can tell the question isn’t meant for you. It felt like a mantra that he’d repeated to himself repeatedly. And while it was directed at you, it echoes like a confession between the small space between your joined bodies. 

The silence stretches on as you let the words sink in. Caleb wasn’t looking for an answer, but he needed you to feel the weight of his questions. Through the intimacy of the moment, you almost forget he’s still buried inside you, an uncomfortable sticky mess smearing against his lap and your thighs.

Finally, Caleb’s eyes meet yours against, his palm cupping your cheek tenderly. He presses his forehead against yours, skin slightly damp with a thin sheen of sweat. With a reverent whisper of your name, he finally answers your initial question. 

“How could I not come?”

Your heart flutters, eyes stinging with emotion. His breath is heavy against your lips, yours rapid and shallow against his. 

Just before you press your mouth into him, you whisper an answer to his question, “If you’re the one asking Caleb, then the answer is always yes.”

With those words leaving the tip of your tongue, you lean in the rest of the way to kiss him—slowly, tenderly, adoringly. The entire world melts away amidst your embrace, leaving only you, Caleb, and the endless summer surrounding you.

And just like those endless summer hydrangeas—the only ones that bloomed year-round, you’d always remain. You’d always be his center of gravity. 

Even if there weren’t endless summers in Skyhaven.

© aeyumicore 2025.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

[i2sunric]

𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐄 (p.sh)

PAIRING: sunghoon x pregnant!reader (f)

SUMMARY: when the two pink lines appeared on the pregnancy test, the life you had so meticulously built crumbled. but sunghoon gathered the pieces back together, shaping a new life with your two babies.

WARNINGS: pregnancy, suggestive and mentions of sex (no smut), angst (if you squint?), fluff, crack by the end, sunghoon is so caring, their love makes me puke, description of labour and a c-section (i gathered my knowledge from grace anatomy), reader worries a lot, sunghoon works hard, twins (yohan and haneul), bed rest, a little complication with one of the babies, happy ending, pet names (babe, baby), lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

PUBLISHED: 3rd March 2025

WC: 6.5k

TAGLIST: @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @strawberrhypen @heeheeswifey @jakeflvrz @astratlantis @tunafishyfishylike @branchrkive @insommni4 @kirinaa08 @leiclerc @nxzz-skz @laurradoesloveu @beomluvrr @heeshlove @17ericas @riribelle @cloud-lyy @enhamonsterghoul @star-hoon (oneshot) @starry-eyed-bimbo @saphiranishimurashan @jkslvsnella @vrusha01 @notcamii @deluluscenarios @m1kkso @youngheejay @lovingvoidgoatee @motherscrustytoenailclippings @sukisvr @yoonzns @kayjiguki @12e45 @irahina @geniejunn BOLDS COULD NOT BE TAGGED.

NOW PLAYING: Unconditionally by Katy Perry.

a/n: i hope y’all like this, please REBLOG to share and stay tuned for the other members’ fics. <3 sorry for any grammar error, i’m sleep deprived. anw, do you think i should make a small drabble when the twins are older too? lmk.

You hadn’t planned for this. No one really does, do they? 

One month ago, you were just a college student, studying hard, dreaming of the future, with your boyfriend, Sunghoon, by your side.

The two of you were inseparable, sharing classes, meals, and the occasional late-night walk around campus when life felt too overwhelming. 

You thought you had time. time to grow, to figure things out, to live freely before settling into something serious.

But life had other plans.

When you found out you were pregnant, it hit you like a train. 

You remembered sitting on the cold bathroom floor of your dorm, clutching the positive test in your trembling hands, staring at it until the lines blurred from your tears. 

The first thing you thought about wasn’t yourself but Sunghoon. 

What would he say? What would he do? Would he be scared, angry… relieved?

He wasn’t any of those things. 

When you told him, he just pulled you into his arms, held you so tightly you thought you’d break, and whispered over and over that he loved you. That he’d take care of you. That you’d figure this out together.

But love wasn’t enough to stop reality from crashing down.

The college didn’t offer much sympathy. 

As soon as you dropped out—because there was no way you could keep up with tuition and prepare for a baby—they kicked you out of the dorm. No exceptions.

You weren’t a student anymore, so you didn’t belong. It didn’t matter that you’d lived there for years.

You packed up what little you had, stuffing clothes and textbooks into worn-out suitcases while Sunghoon silently paced the small room, phone pressed to his ear as he tried to find somewhere — anywhere — for the two of you to go.

By some miracle, he did.

It wasn’t much. A tiny apartment on the outskirts of the city, far from campus, far from everything you knew. 

The rent was low because the building was old and falling apart, but it had four walls, a roof, and running water. It was home.

Sunghoon tried to stay strong. He was a student, just like you had been, with assignments and exams and his own dreams. 

But those dreams had been put on hold— at least, the version of them he once had. Now, instead of studying in the library with his friends, he was filling out job applications. 

Instead of thinking about internships or grad school, he was wondering how to pay for diapers and formula.

He landed a part-time job at a convenience store after a week of searching, and though he came home every night exhausted and smelling like instant noodles and cold air, he always kissed you softly and asked how you were feeling, if the babies were okay.

Babies. Plural.

That had been another shock, one you’d gotten at your first ultrasound: Two little heartbeats. Two little lives. 

You’d cried then, too. Half out of fear, half out of something that felt a little like awe. Sunghoon had cried with you, holding your hand so tightly his knuckles went white, whispering that it would be okay.

And you believed him. For a little while.

But things were hard. 

The convenience store paycheck wasn’t enough, not when rent, groceries, and prenatal visits drained it so quickly. And even if your parents managed to send you their savings, it still was too little for prenatal vitamins and all the things you had to buy for when the twins would be born.

Sunghoon started losing sleep, staying up late to study after work, waking up early to make it to class, and somehow still managing to hold you when you couldn’t stop crying because your body was changing faster than you could handle, because you felt like a burden, because you were terrified.

You wanted to find a job too. You tried.

But no one wanted to hire a pregnant woman, not even when you were only two months along. 

You didn’t even look pregnant, not really but employers seemed to know, somehow. They’d glance at your belly, at your tired eyes, and find a reason to turn you away.

“We’ll call you,” they’d say. They never did.

It was unfair. You were competent, you had your high school diploma. You could work, you could help. but no one would let you.

Sunghoon told you it was okay. That you should rest. That you were doing enough by taking care of yourself and the babies.

But you saw the way he clenched his jaw when he checked his bank account. You saw the exhaustion in his eyes, the frustration he tried to hide.

One night, after a particularly long shift, he came home, threw his keys on the kitchen counter, and just… broke.

“I can’t do this,” he whispered, leaning against the wall, head in his hands. “I’m trying, but it’s not enough… it’s never enough.”

You’d never seen him like that before. Sunghoon was always calm, always steady, the one who grounded you when you felt like you were falling apart. 

But now he was the one unraveling, and you didn’t know how to help.

You went to him, kneeling beside him on the cold tile floor, and took his hands in yours “We’ll figure it out,” you whispered, echoing the words he’d once said to you. “We’ll find a way.”

He just shook his head. “I don’t want you to worry about this, you shouldn’t have to.”

“I already do,” you admitted, your voice soft but firm. “I worry every day, about you, about the babies, about what’s going to happen to us. But we’re in this together, Hoon, you’re not alone.”

And maybe that was what he needed to hear.

Because he pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your shoulder, and for the first time in a long time, you both let yourselves be scared.

And somehow, in the middle of all the fear and exhaustion, there were moments of happiness. 

Late-night talks in bed, Sunghoon’s hand resting on your belly, feeling the faintest flutter of movement. The way he looked at you, like you were the most precious thing in the world, even when you felt anything but.

It wasn’t the life you’d imagined. But it was a fresh start, and you were going to make it work.

⪩⪨.

The chemistry between you and Sunghoon didn’t die, not even with the exhaustion, the stress, or the growing weight of reality pressing down on you both.

If anything, it seemed to shift into something deeper, more intimate. 

Perhaps it was the hormones, or maybe it was the way Sunghoon looked at you— like you were made of glass and fire all at once. 

There were nights when you’d reach for him, despite everything, when your body burned with a desperate, aching need that you couldn’t ignore. 

It was embarrassing at first — how could you think about sex when there was so much to worry about? But Sunghoon never made you feel ashamed.

Even when he was exhausted, after long shifts at the convenience store and nights spent studying, if you whispered his name softly enough, he’d turn to you, his tired eyes softening, and touch you so gently it made you want to cry.

“You sure?” he’d ask, voice husky with sleep, his thumb tracing circles on your hip.

And when you nodded, needy and aching, he’d love you slowly, sweetly, like you were something precious. 

His hands, rough from work and cold from the night air, would warm against your skin, spreading goosebumps as they moved over your growing belly, your curves softening into something maternal and foreign to you both.

“I love you,” he’d whisper, over and over, like a promise.

And when it was over, he’d hold you, tracing patterns on your back until you fell asleep, his hand never leaving your stomach, like he needed to feel all three of you were still there.

Still his.

⪩⪨.

You hated feeling useless. No matter how many times Sunghoon told you to rest, to take care of yourself and the babies, the guilt sat heavy on your chest; a constant reminder that while he was out there working himself to the bone, you were at home, waiting.

So, you kept looking for a job.

And eventually, you found one.

It wasn’t much: a small corner café, tucked away in the older part of town. 

The owner, a kind older woman named Mrs. Park, had taken one look at you and seemed to understand without you having to say a word.

She didn’t ask about the pregnancy, didn’t ask why you were looking for work so urgently. She just handed you an apron and asked if you could start the next morning.

You said yes before she could change her mind.

The hours were short, just enough to bring home a small paycheck without overworking yourself. Between morning sickness, aching feet, and the constant hum of anxiety, you managed. 

The work kept your mind busy, and the extra money, small as it was, helped. anything to lighten the weight on Sunghoon’s shoulders.

The best part was the way his face lit up when you handled him your first paycheck, small and wrinkled from being folded into your pocket all day.

“You didn’t have to…” he whispered, holding the check like it was made of gold.

“I know,” you said, leaning up to kiss him softly. “But I wanted to.”

He didn’t say anything after that, just pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly enough that you felt the tremor in his hands.

Money was still tight.

You became an expert at stretching every dollar, buying second-hand things for the babies: clothes, a crib, even a stroller someone had listed online for half the price. 

You cleaned everything, scrubbed it down until it looked new, and though it wasn’t the Pinterest-perfect nursery you’d once dreamed of, but it was enough.

⪩⪨.

The fifth month of pregnancy crept up on you quietly, like the tide rolling in, soft and inevitable, until one day you looked in the mirror and saw someone entirely new. 

Your belly had grown, round and firm, stretched with the weight of the two tiny humans inside you. It was impossible to hide anymore.

You were blooming.

Despite the morning sickness that still lingered some days, and the exhaustion that settled into your bones like a permanent guest, there was something undeniably radiant about you now. 

Your skin glowed, cheeks flushed with a soft pink hue, and your hair became somehow shinier and thicker.

Even your eyes seemed brighter, though you chalk that up to getting more sleep now that you weren’t balancing school and work.

“Wow, pregnancy looks good on you,” Mrs. Park had said one morning at the café, handing you a fresh cup of chamomile tea instead of the coffee you so desperately wanted.

You had laughed, shaking your head, brushing flour off your apron. “I feel like a beached whale.”

“You look like a goddess,” she insisted, patting your arm gently before returning to the kitchen.

It wasn’t just her, either. Customers complimented you more often now, commenting on your “glow,” asking when you were due, if you knew the genders yet. 

Some people even touched your belly without asking, which drove you insane, but you bit your tongue and smiled through it, knowing they meant well.

Still, no amount of glowing or compliments could change the fact that you were tired. 

All the time.

Your body ached in ways you hadn’t anticipated. Your back throbbed almost constantly, the strain of carrying twins becoming more obvious with each passing week. 

Walking more than a few blocks left you breathless, and your feet… Lord, your feet.

They swelled like balloons by the end of every day, tight and aching, even when you sat down as much as possible at work.

You’d become clumsy, too. You knocked things over more than once at the café, sending cups crashing to the floor, apologizing profusely as you bent down (with great effort) to clean up the mess.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mrs. Park always said, shooing you away. “Go sit down for a minute. You’re carrying two humans, for heaven’s sake.”

When you got home from work, you always tried to clean the apartment before Sunghoon came back. 

It was small, but you wanted it to feel like a home, not just a temporary place you were stuck in. You’d make the bed, wipe down the tiny kitchen counters, and vacuum the living room—all while trying not to collapse from exhaustion.

Sometimes, you’d manage to cook dinner too, though more often than not, you just ordered something cheap and easy, feeling guilty but knowing you couldn’t push yourself too hard.

Sunghoon never complained.

When he came home, usually around sunset, the door would creak open, and you heard the familiar sound of his keys hitting the small bowl by the entrance.

“Babe?” he called, voice soft but tired.

“In here,” you answered from the couch, where you’d usually ended up, legs propped up on a pillow to help with the swelling.

He appeared in the doorway, still in his uniform from the convenience store, black slacks and a button-up shirt, a little wrinkled, smelling faintly of coffee and instant ramen. His hair tousled from the wind, dark eyes warm but weary.

Without fail, he smiled the moment he saw you.

“Hey,” he said, crossing the room to kneel beside you, pressing a kiss to your temple, then your belly. “How are my girls?”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile came anyway. “Or boys.”

“Or one of each,” he teased, hands gentle as they splayed over your bump, feeling for any kicks.

“How was work?”

He sighed, leaning his head against your shoulder, closing his eyes for a moment. “Long… some guy tried to shoplift again, i’m starting to think I should charge admission fees for all the chaos.”

You laughed softly, fingers brushing through his hair, knowing how much he hated that job but how hard he was trying to keep it for you, for the babies.

“I made dinner,” you said, though ‘made’ meant heating the leftovers you had in th fridge.

“Mhh,” he murmured, already half-asleep against you. “I’d rather eat you. Cheaper and more delicious.”

You smacked his head lightly “You’re almost collapsing, go eat, Hoon.”

“Alright,” he kissed your cheek and got up, moving towards the kitchen “But I’ll have you as a dessert!”

⪩⪨.

Nights were the hardest.

Your body ached more at night, your back screaming every time you tried to find a comfortable position in bed. 

You’d toss and turn, sometimes getting up to walk around the apartment because lying down just hurt too much.

Sunghoon always noticed, even when you tried to be quiet.

One night, around three in the morning, you were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking water and rubbing your lower back, when you heard him shuffle out of bed.

“Babe?” His voice was thick with sleep, hair sticking up in every direction.

“Sorry,” you whispered. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Without a word, he walked over, stood behind you, and began to massage your shoulders, his thumbs pressing gently into the knots that seemed permanent these days.

“You don’t have to…”

“I want to,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

His hands were warm and firm, working down your back slowly, easing the tension until you melted against him, sighing softly.

“You okay?” he asked after a while, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you whispered, eyes closing as you leaned into his warmth. “Just… tired.”

“I know,” he said quietly, his hands never stopping their slow, comforting motion. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. “I feel like a whale.”

“You’re beautiful,” he insisted, his voice so sincere it made your throat tighten. “You’re carrying our babies, that’s… incredible.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough to brush your lips against his. 

It was soft, warm, and lingering, a kiss that spoke of gratitude, of love, of something deeper than either of you had words for.

“Come back to bed,” he whispered.

And when you did, he wrapped himself around you, one arm under your belly, supporting its weight, the other tangled in your hair. His body was warm, steady, grounding.

You fell asleep like that, safe and held, and for a little while, all the worry, all the exhaustion, all the fear melted away.

⪩⪨.

By the seventh month, everything changed.

Your doctor had been gentle, but firm, when she sat you down after your check-up, her eyes soft with concern.

“I’m putting you on immediate bed rest,” she said, her voice leaving no room for argument. “Your body is straining too hard, and with twins, that’s dangerous, iknow you’ve been trying to push through, but if you keep this up, there’s a high risk of preterm labor —or worse.”

“Worse?” you had repeated, barely above a whisper.

The idea of something happening to your babies was too much to comprehend.

You felt your chest tighten, your hands instinctively cradling your belly as though you could protect them from the world with just that small gesture.

“I’ll give you a list of things you need like vitamins and supplements, carrying two is an enormous strain, and I want you and the babies safe.”

You hadn’t argued. You were too scared to argue.

You’d complied immediately, even though it meant using some of the money you and Sunghoon had saved for the babies. money that was supposed to go toward diapers, formula, a proper crib. 

Instead, you’d bought the prenatal vitamins your doctor insisted on, the ones you’d been avoiding because they were expensive and you thought you could get by without them.

When you told Sunghoon, he didn’t complain.

“We’ll figure it out,” he’d said that night, after helping you into bed, his hand warm and steady against your swollen belly. “You’re not going to worry about money right now, i’ll pick up more shifts.”

“But—”

“No.” his voice was gentle but firm, leaving no room for protest. “I mean it. I’ll handle it… for them.”

He always said ‘for them,’ and that was all it took to silence your guilt.

Even Mrs. Park, kind as ever, had understood. When you called to tell her you couldn’t come to work anymore, your voice shaking with apology, she stopped you before you could even finish.

“Sweetheart, don’t you dare apologize. You’re having twins! Focus on your health, and don’t be afraid to ask if you need anything.”

You’d cried after that call,not out of sadness, but out of gratitude.

A week into bed rest, you found out the genders.

The ultrasound revealed it clearly— one boy and one girl. You hadn’t realized how emotional you’d be until you saw their tiny forms on the screen, moving, kicking, their hearts beating strong and fast.

“They’re healthy,” the technician had said with a smile, pointing out their little hands, their spines, the curve of their heads.

In the cab ride home, you and Sunghoon sat in stunned, happy silence, hands clasped tightly together over your belly.

Later that night, lying in bed, you’d brought up names.

“I want their names to match,” you murmured, your head on Sunghoon’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, your own hands tracing the curve of your belly.

“Like… rhyme?” he asked, sounding a little amused, his fingers lazily playing with your hair, “Not rhyme, just… sound good together, you know?”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Okay, uhm, Do you like Yohan?”

You looked up at him, surprised. “Yohan?”

“Yeah. For the boy.” You let the name roll around in your mind, “I like it,” you whispered.

“And for the girl?” he asked, looking down at you, waiting.

You thought for a long moment. “Haneul.”

His lips curved into a soft smile. “Yohan and Haneul.”

“Yohan and Haneul,” you repeated, the names fitting together like puzzle pieces, like they were always meant to be spoken side by side.

“Perfect,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “They’re going to be perfect.”

Bed rest, however, was not perfect.

You knew it was necessary, you wanted to do everything in your power to keep your babies safe, but that didn’t make it any easier.

Sitting on the couch all day, only to move back to the bed or the kitchen chair, made you restless and bored out of your mind. 

You felt horrible, especially knowing Sunghoon was working harder than ever to keep everything together.

He had picked up more shifts at the convenience store, working late into the night, coming home exhausted but still smiling, still touching your belly and asking how “his little ones” were doing.

You tried to keep the apartment clean as best you could from your limited range like folding laundry from the couch, wiping down surfaces slowly, feeling winded even from that.

One evening, Sunghoon came home to find you trying to sweep the floor, your back screaming in protest, your belly making it hard to even bend slightly.

“What are you doing?” he asked, immediately taking the broom from your hands.

“…cleaning.”

“You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I can’t just sit around all day, Sunghoon.” You snapped, harsher than intended.

He sighed, setting the broom aside, and took your hands gently in his, guiding you to sit back on the couch.

“You’re growing two humans inside you,” he reminded you softly, kneeling in front of you, his hands warm against your knees. “That’s not useless, that’s… everything.”

You blinked, your throat tight, feeling tears threaten to spill over. 

Damn pregnancy hormones.

“I just… I hate seeing you do everything,” you whispered.

“I don’t mind,” he said, and you could tell he meant it. “I love you, I love them.”

You reached out, your fingers brushing through his hair, and he leaned into your touch like he always did, eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment of peace.

“I’m so tired,” you admitted softly.

“I know,” he whispered, pressing a kiss t your belly. “I know, baby.”

⪩⪨.

The pain came fast and without warning.

One moment, you were shifting uncomfortably on the couch, rubbing circles over your swollen belly, trying to ease the dull ache in your back.

The next, a sharp, unbearable pressure shot through you, like your entire body was twisting in on itself.

You gasped, hands flying to your stomach. 

The next contraction came even harder, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your vision blurred as panic set in.

Your phone. Where was your phone?

With trembling hands, you fumbled around the couch cushions until you found it, barely able to press the call button before another wave of pain wracked through you. 

The dial tone rang endlessly in your ears before Sunghoon’s voice finally cut through.

“Hey, baby, what’s—”

“Sunghoon,” you choked out, voice shaking. “It’s happening.”

Silence.  “What?”

“The babies—” You couldn’t even get the words out properly. 

You were panting, your whole body trembling, the pain stretching and pulling in ways that made you want to scream. “You need to come home, please.”

“I’m on my way,” he said immediately, his voice tight. 

You could hear the sound of his chair scraping back, the muffled voices of his classmates as he grabbed his things in a rush. “Stay on the phone with me, are you in pain?”

“Yes,” you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut as another contraction hit.

“Baby, you need to breathe,” he said, his voice urgent but gentle. “In through your nose, out through your mouth, you remember what the doctor said, right? Just focus on that until I get there.”

You tried. You really did. But the pain was overwhelming, and all you could do was grip the armrest of the couch, gasping through each agonizing wave. 

Minutes stretched into eternity before you finally heard the sound of the front door slamming open.

“Y/N?” Sunghoon’s voice was frantic as he rushed to your side, immediately crouching down in front of you. 

His hands found your face, your belly, anywhere he could touch to ground you.

“I can’t—” You broke off, biting back a sob. “It hurts, Sunghoon.”

“I know, baby,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his own breath shaky. “But we need to go, okay? Can you stand?”

You nodded weakly, though your legs felt like jelly. Sunghoon slipped an arm around your waist, practically lifting you off the couch as he guided you toward the door. 

Each step sent another sharp wave of pain through you, and by the time you reached the car, you were sobbing into his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he kept whispering. “I’ve got you,.”

The drive to the hospital was a blur of pain and panic. 

Sunghoon gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, running every red light, ignoring every honk and shout from passing cars. Every few seconds, he’d glance over at you, his face lined with worry.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he kept saying, even when you were barely holding yourself together. “We’re almost there. Just hold on for me, okay?”

When you finally arrived, nurses swarmed around you, wheeling you through the halls while Sunghoon ran beside the gurney, his hand never leaving yours.

“She’s having twins,” he told them, his voice strained. “She’s in labour, please, you have to help her.”

They nodded, moving quickly, and before you knew it, you were in a hospital bed, strapped to monitors, IVs in your arm, the sterile scent of antiseptic filling your nose. 

The contractions were coming faster now, sharper, stronger, making your whole body arch off the bed in pain.

“It hurts,” you sobbed, gripping Sunghoon’s hand so tight you were sure you’d break his fingers.

“I’m sorry, baby” he whispered, pressing frantic kisses to your damp forehead. “You”re doing great.”

The doctor came in moments later, her face grave. “You’re not dilating fast enough,” she said. “And with twins, we can’t risk waiting, ae need to perform a C-section.”

Your heart stopped.

“No,” you gasped, shaking your head. “I— I don’t want—”

“Y/N,” Sunghoon whispered, his forehead pressed against yours. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I don’t want to be cut open,” you sobbed. “Sunghoon, please—”

His hands cradled your face, his thumbs wiping away your tears. “I know, I know,” he murmured, his voice shaking. “But we have to do what’s best for them, okay? I promise I’ll be right there the whole time.”

You searched his eyes desperately, finding nothing but love, worry, and unwavering determination.

You nodded, swallowing down your fear.

They prepped you quickly, the spinal anesthesia numbing you from the waist down, but the fear still clawed at your chest.

Sunghoon was right beside you, wearing scrubs over his clothes, his hand gripping yours tightly.

“You’re doing so good,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m so proud of you, baby.”

You barely felt it when they made the incision, but you felt the pressure, the pulling, the strange sensation of something being moved inside you.

And then—

A cry. Loud and strong.

Your heart clenched as they lifted Yohan into the air, his tiny fists flailing, his lungs filled with life.

“A boy,” the doctor said, smiling. “A very strong little boy.”

Tears blurred your vision as you watched the nurse wrap him in a blanket. He was perfect. Tiny, but perfect.

But then—something was wrong.

Haneul wasn’t crying.

Your breath hitched. You turned to Sunghoon, his face pale with fear.

“Why isn’t she crying?” you asked, panic creeping into your voice.

The doctor was already working, her expression serious as she cleared her airway, checked her vitals.

Seconds stretched into eternity before… A weak, but definite, wail.

Your entire body sagged with relief.

“She’s small,” the doctor said. “She needs monitoring, but she’s here.”

“She’s here,” Sunghoon echoed, his voice breaking.

By the time they stitched you up and wheeled you to recovery, it was just the four of you.

You were exhausted, barely able to keep your eyes open, but you watched as Sunghoon cradled Yohan in his arms, his eyes filled with pure love.

“She looks like you,” he whispered, glancing at Haneul, who was wrapped up in a tiny incubator beside your bed.

You let out a weak laugh. “She looks like you, too.”

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “I love you,” he murmured. “Thank you for giving me them.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks as you reached for his hand, squeezing weakly.

“I would have never made it without you,” you whispered.

⪩⪨.

The first few days were harder than anything you could have imagined.

Your body was broken, stitched together but still aching, bruised, raw. 

Every movement sent sharp, burning pain through your abdomen, making even the simplest tasks feel impossible. And yet, you had no choice, there were two tiny humans depending on you.

Two.

The weight of it was crushing. You were a mother now, not just to one baby, but two. Yohan and Haneul. 

They were small, fragile, barely able to hold up their own heads, and they needed you every second of the day.

But you were exhausted. 

Completely, utterly drained.

The moment you stepped foot into the small apartment, holding Haneul while Sunghoon carried Yohan in his arms, you felt the overwhelming urge to collapse onto the bed and sleep for days.

Except you couldn’t.

Because the twins were already stirring, their tiny mouths opening and closing, their bodies wriggling in search of warmth and nourishment.

You barely had time to lower yourself onto the couch before the wailing started. 

First Haneul, her tiny lungs stronger than you would’ve expected for how fragile she looked. Then Yohan, following his sister’s lead as if he had to compete for who could cry the loudest.

“Oh my God,” you groaned, pressing a hand over your face. “How are they so loud?”

Sunghoon, looking just as exhausted, stared down at Yohan with wide eyes. “Do we… do we rock them?”

“No, let’s just leave them to cry themselves to sleep,” you deadpanned.

Sunghoon shot you a look. “Alright, alright, picking them up now.”

He rocked Yohan awkwardly, bouncing him slightly, but the baby only cried harder.

You tried to do the same with Haneul, wincing as you shifted to hold her properly against your chest. Your stitches screamed in protest, and you had to bite back a whimper of pain.

“Shh, baby,” you whispered, rubbing her tiny back. “Please, just a few minutes of peace.”

Breastfeeding had been one of the most painful surprises of motherhood.

 You had read about it, heard stories, but nothing prepared you for the sheer agony of tiny mouths latching onto already sore and swollen breasts.

Haneul latched on first, her tiny hands pressing against your skin. Yohan squirmed in Sunghoon’s arms, waiting for his turn impatiently.

“God, they eat like they haven’t been fed in years,” Sunghoon muttered, sitting beside you.

You snorted, adjusting Haneul in your arms as she sucked greedily. The pain was unbearable at first, but after a while, you barely noticed it, you were too tired to care.

Once she was done, you carefully passed her to Sunghoon, who traded her for Yohan.

Yohan latched on immediately, his tiny fingers curling into your skin.

Sunghoon stared at the two of you, his eyes soft. “You’re amazing, you know?”

You huffed. “Tell me that when I don’t feel like a cow being milked.”

He chuckled, gently rocking Haneul in his arms. “I mean it, you just gave birth a few days ago, and you’re already handling both of them.”

You wanted to tell him you weren’t handling anything. That you were barely holding yourself together, that you felt like crying every second of the day. But you just leaned against him, exhaling slowly.

“We’re trying,” you murmured.

“We’re a family.” he retorted.

The days blurred into an exhausting, sleepless cycle: Feed. Change diapers. Cry. Repeat.

Bathing them was a whole new challenge.

“We don’t even have a tub,” you groaned, staring at the two tiny and stinky babies.

Sunghoon scratched the back of his neck. “We could… fill the sink?”

You stared at him. “You want to bathe our newborn babies in the kitchen sink?”

He lifted his hands defensively. “It’s clean! And small enough for them.” You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Fine, Just don’t drop them.”

Sunghoon grinned. “I would never.”

Ten minutes later, he almost dropped Yohan.

“Sunghoon!” you yelped, catching the baby before he could slip further into the water.“I had him!” Sunghoon insisted, looking guilty.

“You did not have him.”

He cleared his throat, adjusting his hold on Yohan. “Maybe this is a two-person job.”

“No shit.”

Together, you managed to get both babies cleaned, even if it was a messy, wet, and chaotic experience.

By the time they were wrapped in towels and back in your arms, you felt ready to pass out.

Sunghoon flopped onto the couch beside you, letting out a heavy sigh. “I think we deserve a medal for that.”

“You deserve a lecture,” you muttered. “Honestly, I don’t know if I should trust you with our children.”

He pouted. “That hurts, babe.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned against him anyway, watching as Yohan and Haneul drifted off to sleep in your arms.

Sunghoon kissed your temple, his voice softer this time. “We’ll get better at this.”

“We have to,” you said. “They depend on us.”

“And we depend on each other.” He squeezed your hand. “We’re in this together, baby. Always.”

Always.

⪩⪨.

The twins were finally asleep.

You exhaled a deep, shaky breath as you slumped onto the couch, every muscle in your body aching from exhaustion. It had taken forever to get them down, rocking, shushing, feeding, changing diapers, starting over again when one cried and the other followed. But now, for a few precious hours, there was silence.

Sunghoon collapsed beside you, his head tilting back against the cushions. He let out a low groan, rubbing a hand down his face. “Holy shit, that was brutal.”

You huffed out a weak laugh. “I thought we were gonna die.”

He turned his head to look at you, smiling softly. “We can’t possibly be defeated by two itty bitty humans.”

You let your head fall against his shoulder, your eyes closing for a moment.

Your body reminded you of the pain you were still inn with a dull, persistent ache in your abdomen.

Sunghoon felt your wince before you even said anything. He shifted, glancing down at you with concern. “You okay?”

You swallowed, opening your eyes. “Scar still hurts.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, and without a word, he helped you sit up.

“Let’s take care of it,” he said. “Come on.”

The apartment was small, barely enough for the two of you before the twins arrived. Now, it felt even smaller, cluttered with diapers, bottles, and tiny clothes drying on a rack in the corner.

But somehow, Sunghoon still made it feel like home.

He guided you to the bathroom, his hands careful and steady as he helped you undress.

You hesitated when your shirt lifted, revealing the healing incision across your lower abdomen. The skin was still angry and red, the stitches tight. It wasn’t pretty.

Sunghoon didn’t even blink. He just crouched down, his fingertips ghosting over the area as if touching too hard might hurt you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Don’t lie.”

“I’m not,” he said, his voice firm. He kissed just above the scar, lingering for a moment before looking up at you. “This is proof of how strong you are, I love it, I love you.”

You felt something in your chest tighten, an unexpected warmth spreading through you.

“Stop making me emotional,” you muttered, blinking back tears.

He grinned, standing up again. “Can’t help it. Now come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Sunghoon washed your hair, fingers massaging your scalp with a tenderness that nearly made you melt. He was careful around your scar, using light touches to clean the area before wrapping you in a warm towel.

You felt better when you stepped out. Not great, not healed, but better.

He sat you down on the closed toilet seat, kneeling in front of you to apply the ointment the doctor had given you. His hands were warm, his touch featherlight.

“Still hurts?” he asked softly.

“A little,” you admitted. “But it’s better when you do it.”

His lips quirked up. “Guess I’ve got the magic touch.”

Once he finished, he helped you into a fresh set of pajamas, sighing when he noticed the stains on your old shirt.

“Your boobs are leaking again.”

You groaned, rubbing at your eyes. “I know… I feel like a damn cow.”

Sunghoon chuckled, helping you put on a fresh nursing bra before tugging a clean shirt over your head. “You’re not a cow, you’re an amazing mom.”

You gave him a look. “An amazing cow mom.”

He pinched your side gently, making you squeak. “Shut up and get in bed.”

You let him guide you back to the bedroom, sighing as you sank into the sheets. He pulled the blankets up to your chin, tucking you in like you were the fragile one, not the twins sleeping soundly in their shared bassinet.

Sunghoon sat beside you for a moment, brushing your hair back from your face.

“You should get some sleep,” he murmured.

You blinked at him,realizing why he hadn’t changed into his pyjamas snd wasn’t under the covers with you “You need to get ready for work.”

“I’ll leave in a bit,” he said, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Just wanna make sure you’re okay first.”

You reached up, curling your fingers around his wrist. “I don’t want you to go.”

His expression softened. “I know, baby. But we need the money.”

You sighed, closing your eyes. “I hate this.”

“I do too.” He ran his thumb over your cheek. “But we’ll get through it.”

You wanted to believe him. You really did.

But when exhaustion pulled you under, all you could think about was how hard everything was. How much you missed just being you and him.

How much you missed having him next to you, instead of leaving every night to work while you lay awake, waiting for the next time the twins would cry.

Sunghoon stayed until your breathing evened out, pressing one last kiss to your cheek before slipping away to get ready for work.

Even if he hated leaving, he had to. For you. For Yohan and Haneul.

For the life you had built together, not perfect, but beautiful.

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

a darling and a virgin | f. odair

masterlist

summary: you are a victor from district four, having just ended your first victory tour. after being confronted by president snow, you have no choice but to lose your virginity. luckily, your previous mentor is willing to provide some guidance.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: mentions of forced prostitution, angst, gentle smut, loss of virginity, fingering, lots of consent, praise, happy but also unhappy ending??, reader takes contraceptives.

notes: i’ve recently found that i’m incapable of writing short smut one shots so… i’m sorry y’all. love describing every detail too much.

word count: 6.8k

Your hands were clasped over the balcony railing of the penthouse you were spending the night in, the vibrant artificial lights of the Capitol burning your retinas as you overlooked the city. You had finally completed your first Victory Tour and were offered one more night in the Capitol to enjoy its ‘luxury’ and ‘generosity’ before returning to District Four in the morning.

For the past two weeks, you had read fabricated speeches to each District, resurfacing both your trauma from the Games and the families of the tributes you had murdered in the arena. The toll it was taking on you was heavy, but you managed to put on a splitting grin for every interview, speech, and disturbing congratulation. But not for your previous mentor, Finnick Odair.

Finnick had been there for you through the whole nightmare, even during the week before your Games. His support was unwavering which was one of the many reasons you had managed to survive from the moment you were Reaped to the end of the Tour. It was hard to tell when his mentorship had turned into something more complicated, but it had. It had become more about feelings than simply survival. Not a relationship per se, but not just a friendship either. You teetered on the line between the two, never crossing it and never discussing the fact that you were both aware of it either.

For six whole months.

When the final destination of the Tour came—the grand celebration at President Snow’s mansion—Finnick had told you it was the easiest part. All you had to do was manage a happy face, mingle with obnoxious Capitol citizens, and eat an abhorrent amount of food. He would have been right if you were a different person. If President Snow hadn’t demanded your singular presence at the end of the night.

You exhaled a shaky breath, watching the white mist drift into the light-polluted sky. The President’s words bounced around your head: Desirable… Customers... Family. The conversation played on a loop in your mind. You could remember the repugnant smell of roses, the overwhelming whiteness in the room, and the way his too-pleasant face lit up as fireworks exploded outside the window.

Shivers trickled down your spine, forming goosebumps that were borderline painful. The fact that you were on the ninetieth floor and wearing flimsy pyjama shorts and a thin long-sleeve shirt wasn’t helping either. The crisp wind blew against your body, but you had no intentions of moving to seek warmth. It felt appropriate to stay in the cold when your body would soon know nothing but unwelcome heat.

So lost in your spiralling thoughts, you failed to notice as another body silently took up space beside yours, warming up the side of your arm. This heat was welcome.

“Pretty cold out here.”

A startled gasp escaped your mouth. You straightened up and turned to the owner of the voice, only to find Finnick leaning against the railing, forearms over the edge the same as you.

“Sorry.” He chuckled. “I know my presence can be a little breathtaking sometimes. Nice shorts by the way.”

He turned his head turned to you, revealing his infamous flirtatious smirk. The dimples in his cheeks were prominent and charming. His bronze hair was perfectly dishevelled as usual, as if someone had purposefully placed each strand to give him the ‘sexy bed hair’ look. He was still wearing his white button-up and black trousers; the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows and a few buttons were undone, revealing his toned chest. The outfit had been accessorised with a metallic golden corset-like belt among other decorations that made him fit in with the Capitol crowd, but he must have taken them off. Now the outfit sort of resembled one that a boy would wear to a Reaping. Simple yet formal. Still gorgeous, not that he needed reminding.

Normally, you would retort with a snarky remark or, on the off occasion, flirt back, but instead, you resumed your previous position over the railings. You weren’t immune to Finnick’s charms; you praised anyone who was. You would usually be internally swooning at the sight of him, especially with the way he looked right now and his obvious flirting. But this night was much different. Flirting and swooning were at the back of your mind. All you could think about was your interaction with the president; the way his guards manhandled and escorted you to his study. The conversation that destroyed your hopes of a peaceful future.

Desirable. One word that sent ice coursing through your veins. Or snow, to be more poetic.

“I don’t think you’ve said a word since we got back,” said Finnick, still a hint of playfulness in his tone. He watched your gaze—eyes distant though not really seeing. It was clear something was wrong, so he continued, this time more softly. “You were gone during the fireworks.”

You remained unmoving, staring straight ahead at the city. Only when he uttered your name did he finally gain your attention. As you turned your head to face him, tears began to well up in your eyes.

Finnick noticed the silent distress in your expression and straightened up his stance. He towered over you, brows knitted together whilst his sea-green eyes flickered across your face, looking as if pieces were slowly falling together in his mind.

“He spoke with you, didn’t he?” he said. “Snow.”

To answer his question for you, a tear escaped your eye, but you were quick to swipe it away with a sniffle.

Your arms wound around your torso, hugging yourself as the words began flowing. “After I won my Games, when I was being crowned, he said something to me that I didn’t really understand." Your voice was gentle, just above a mere whisper. “Months passed and I’d forgotten all about it. Until now at least. He told me…” You swallowed the ache in your throat. “He told me, ‘I have big plans for you, Miss (L/N). I think you will be a very valuable asset to the Capitol citizens.’”

Finnick’s face had melted into an unreadable expression. His entire body turned to stone; it was like he was a marble statue portraying a Greek God. All of a sudden, he was sixteen again. He was in Snow’s study, being told that if he didn’t cooperate and essentially sell himself to the Capitol, his family would pay the price. And they did.

With a sad smile, you whispered, “I know what he meant now.”

Something inside him snapped and he broke from his stupor.

“No.” He vigorously shook his head. “He can’t do that. You can’t. I’ll go to him and—fuck!” His hand ran through his hair, making it even more dishevelled. The bright lights from the city were reflecting off his eyes, revealing the shine that was starting to gloss over them. “I can fix this for you, I swear I’ll—"

“Finnick.”

“He’s a fucking—”

“Finnick.” The plea in your voice ceased his panicked movements. He just stood there, looking completely and utterly helpless. You both did. Another tear slipped down your cheek as you stared at him, your voice wavering as you asked, “Can you hold me?”

He let out a breath as if the air had been knocked from his lungs and in one fell swoop, he stepped forward and pulled you into his arms. Silent tears began to flow more heavily, saturating his white shirt which he held you tightly against. There was a hand wrapped protectively around your lower back and another stroking the hair flowing over your neck.

You were certain Finnick let a few tears slip too because you could feel the cold breeze nip at the top of your head the slightest bit more. He mumbled the words “I’m so sorry” over and over into your hair but you just shook your head. You told him it wasn’t his fault, but he wouldn’t accept it. He had told you months ago about his arrangement with Snow. You couldn’t have imagined what it was like for him then, but you would be able to now. You would know every single little detail.

His embrace tightened as you turned your head and pressed your ear to his thumping chest.

The tears had stopped, and you managed to find your voice again. “Snow threatened to kill my family. What if the customers don’t think I’m good enough and he takes it out on them? I mean, I don’t have any experience.”

You remained silent, awaiting his response. When the hand stroking your hair halted, you realised your mistake. You realised what you had just admitted to him and mentally kicked yourself. Repeatedly.

Finnick moved both hands onto your forearms, gently pushing you away from him to get a clear view of your face. The surprise in his expression was enough to make you want to jump over the balcony ledge in embarrassment.

“You’re a virgin?”

Hearing the words out loud would have sent you over the edge—literally—if Finnick’s large hands weren’t wrapped around your arms. You tried to turn away from him, but his grip was unshakeable. Your eyes began to water again, and you felt pathetic.

“Hey,” he said tenderly as he tried to regain your eye contact. “It’s not a bad thing.”

Your distraught red-rimmed eyes snapped back to him. “Not a bad thing? Of course it’s a bad thing, Finnick! I have to give my body to a stranger despite never even having my first kiss! Let alone sex!” As you said the words, the full reality of your situation began to set in. Panic turned to sadness as you realised yet again, the Capitol was taking another innocence you thought was your own to give away. You looked down, your tone becoming quieter. “I thought my first time would be special. Or at least with someone I loved.”

God, you felt so embarrassed admitting that to him. Sure, a lot of your conversations were flirty and full of sensual banter. Sex, however, was not a topic that came up very frequently. You would never want to accidentally cross a line with Finnick, especially given what Snow forced upon him. So you liked to avoid the subject as much as possible. Now, it was inescapable.

He released his grip and sighed heavily, looking out toward the view as if he were deep in thought. The vivid city lights cast an unnatural hue on his usually golden-tanned skin; even now the Capitol was changing him into something he wasn’t. His eyes shut for a quick second before he reopened them and looked back at you. The only time he had looked this serious was the morning of your Games and the night you returned. It was a little intimidating.

His jaw ticked and his gaze bore down into your own. “Sweetheart, I’m going to ask you something,” he began, “and I want you to know you do not have to say ‘yes’ if you don’t want to, okay?”

Alright, now he was really starting to scare you.

“Okay,” you said warily.

The hardness on his face remained for a moment longer, but then his expression softened and became the most vulnerable you had ever seen.

His voice was gentle. “Do you want me to take your virginity?”

*************

You were sat on the edge of Finnick’s bed, toying with the black satin sheets with a frown. Your room didn’t get satin sheets. It was probably one of the benefits of being the Capitol Darling. Not that you envied him very much. He would probably be content with sleeping on a dirt floor if it meant he got his autonomy back.

Finnick was in the bathroom doing God knows what. You weren’t sure if he was trying to make himself more presentable or hyping himself up to have sex with you. The latter worried you. The last thing you wanted was to pressure him into something he didn’t want to do. Then again, he was the one who asked.

After you had told him “Yes, please”, he had tentatively but oh-so-gently taken your hand in his and guided you inside and to his room. Neither of you had spoken along the way; you just walked in silence toward something that would either ruin or deepen your relationship. Despite being two victors, this was still a mentor making sure his tribute stayed alive.

You heard the bathroom door slide open and looked up to see Finnick standing outside the door. Shirtless, pants still on, and towel in hand. It took everything in you to not stare at his perfectly sculptured torso, his equally toned arms, or his broad and muscular shoulders. Instead, your eyes met his for a split second before you returned to the satin sheets.

Blood rushed to your head and everything felt too real. Finnick Odair was standing before you, looking like an angel and willing to fu—

“You’re allowed to look, you know,” he chuckled.

But your gaze remained on the bed.

“I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“You won’t.’” He spread the towel on the bed, positioning it in the middle. Then he stopped his movements as he realised what you meant. “It’s not like that. I’m not being forced to do this. I want to.”

Your head snapped up and your heart leapt as those three words left his lips—I want to. For a second, you believed him, but then reasoning came to deflate your hopefulness.

“You wouldn’t want to if I weren’t in this situation.”

He let go of the towel, sitting down mere inches beside you, his eyes amused despite the solemn context. “And how do you know that?”

“Because…” you trailed off, searching your brain for an explanation only to find none. “Because.”

He smirked. “We need to work on your argumentative skills, sweetheart.”

A small smile worked its way across your lips. He returned it with a comforting smile of his own, though the sense of playfulness never left. It never really did and that was one of the things you admired most about him. Even in the darkest of situations, he was able to provide some light.

Rosy heat crept into your cheeks and you were forced to break eye contact again. Hiding how much he affected you was pointless now; if this was going to work out, you needed to be vulnerable with him. With each other. You looked down at the space between your bodies. His hand was resting on the bed beside him and soon enough, it was slowly creeping across the sheets over to your own. He gently brushed his fingers across your knuckles before sliding his hand beneath your palm and interlocking it with yours. You couldn’t help but notice how small your hand looked compared to his, feeling butterflies flutter around your stomach at the small observation.

The both of you silently watched your intertwined hands. That is until Finnick decided to speak up.

“I would,” he said ambiguously, caressing the side of your hand with his thumb. “I would still want to. Even in different circumstances.”

The blush on your face reddened even more; your cheeks were on fire at this point. Even in different circumstances. Was that his way of confessing… that he did have feelings for you? It wasn’t exactly explicit, but it was certainly implied. Oh god, you didn’t know what to think.

You didn’t bother to reply; words probably would have failed you anyway. You just gave his hand a slight squeeze in acknowledgement—well, it was more in appreciation. It was obvious how hard he was trying to make you feel comfortable, but no matter how hard he tried, you couldn’t shake the nerves that were rattling your entire being.

Sex was a pretty big milestone—to you, at least—and here you were, on the precipice with someone you trusted with your life. Did you love Finnick? You weren’t sure. What you did know was that your feelings for him were deep, and even though neither of you had ever clearly confessed to each other, you knew he felt something for you too. Which made everything all the more daunting.

“Are you nervous?” he asked softly.

You nodded.

“We still don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

You shook your head, lifting your gaze to his. “No, I—”

His eyebrows pulled inwards, awaiting your answer. His eyes were so inviting and full of understanding, if you hadn’t lost the ability to form full sentences, you would have found yourself spilling all your secrets to him. He was so patient with you. So good. You had to rethink your uncertainty about loving him.

“I…” you tried again. Your eyes flickered back and forth from his sea-green eyes to his soft, pink lips. As shameful as it felt to admit, you had imagined what it would feel like to have his lips on yours many times before. Usually right before you went to sleep. Never would you have thought the day would come when it would actually happen.

He was still caressing the side of your palm, silently reassuring you, encouraging you to communicate with him. You sighed, closing your eyes. If he wanted you to communicate, then you would.

“Finnick,” you whispered. “Kiss me.”

Your words drifted into the air, stilling everything in the room—the air, Finnick’s hand. Your heart. He just stared at you, unblinking, unmoving, like someone had hit pause on the television at the tensest moment. The tension was tearing you apart and you almost got up and left the room. But you didn’t. Because suddenly, the sides of your face were cupped by large hands and his lips were on yours.

Finnick Odair was kissing you.

His lips pressed against yours once more in one long close-mouthed kiss before leaving again. Shock came and left within seconds and you found the courage to copy his actions. Your lips locked perfectly onto his, remaining still, enjoying the pressure and tingly warmth of simply having them connected. Then your lips moved to kiss him again. And again, and again until soon enough, his tongue had slyly slid into your mouth and you had somehow instantaneously become a master at French kissing.

This kiss felt familiar, despite it being your first. Like something you had done millions of times before, but only with him. Like having his lips on yours was the most natural thing to ever exist.

A hand moved onto your waist and suddenly you were being pulled onto his lap, legs straddling his lap. Your hands fell on his chest, mindlessly wandering and feeling the toned muscles ripple underneath your palms as he pulled you closer by the neck to deepen the kiss. Damn the people of the Capitol, but they were right to say he was an incredible kisser.

“Finn,” you huffed in between kisses, “have you got a rock in your pants?”

He pecked your lips once more with a smirk, resting his forehead against yours as you both attempted to catch your breaths. “No,” he chuckled. “I’ve just got a beautiful girl on my lap.”

Your eyes opened to see him grinning at you with mischief. Oh.

“Is that okay?” he asked.

You nodded jerkily. “Ye—Yes, that’s okay.”

“Okay, good.”

Biting your lip, you looked down between your bodies. Curiously, you rocked your hips along the length of his lap once, earning a quiet grunt from him.

He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. “Careful,” his voice was low, tempting.

And of course, in full defiance, you did it again. His warning was a bluff. He made no real action to prevent you from grinding any further on his erection, so you kept moving, and he kept revealing how good it made him feel. The thin fabric of your shorts created a little barrier between his hard lap and the growing sensitivity between your thighs.

Meanwhile, you found yourself never wanting to be parted from Finnick’s lips. With every rock of your hips, your hands ran over every inch of his upper body, eventually settling in his hair. The way he kissed reminded you of stories of District Twelve. A district full of hunger and desperation. Only what Finnick was craving wasn’t the fullness of food in his stomach, but the desire to devour you whole. To ravage you. And by God, would you give anything to satiate him.

Forget what you thought before. This wasn’t just a victor keeping his tribute alive. As clear as the sea on a sunny day, this was a man giving himself over to a woman he loved. You. Finnick loved you.

When you pulled back to tentatively lift your shirt over your head, his eyes stayed on yours. Your breasts were literally bare and he just continued to scan the features of your face. However, you did notice the subtle shift in his breathing.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, stroking the side of your breast.

A shy, cheek-warming smile crept on your face and then suddenly, Finnick was rolling you over. Your head fell back onto the soft silk pillows, Finnick hovering above you. This position remained for a long while, the time spent simply kissing each other, alternating between deep tongue-filled kisses and soft sweet pecks. There were moments when you both stopped to flirt or giggle. These were the times you entirely forgot the whole reason you were doing this in the first place.

It was just you and Finnick. Two new lovers in a perfect world.

After a while, your lips had swollen with warm, passionate heat. You were flushed and you didn’t even need to look to know your hair was already a tangled mess. But you didn’t care.

One of Finnick’s hands had begun to wander down your stomach, breaking the established pattern of merely making out. You knew what was coming and surprisingly, you weren’t afraid. Unlike outside the penthouse apartment, there was no danger. Not in this room, in this bed, or in the hands that caressed you. He grazed across the skin beneath your belly button, causing your body to flinch up into his.

Of course, he smirked at that—the smug asshole.

He returned to your lips before lowering down to your neck and sucking soft, red marks into your fragile skin. His fingers found the edge of your waistband. At this point, you were already breathing like a marathoner.

His lips detached from your neck. “Can Itouch you?”

“Yes, please,” you breathed.

As he travelled down, down beneath your waistband, he pecked your reddened lips once more. A soft gasp escaped you and warmth tingled between your thighs. His fingers were gentle as he began circling that sweet, sensitive spot only you had ever touched. Having someone else touch you felt so much more different, so much more exquisite. Your body responded to his touch immediately, hips following each movement of his fingers, breaths quickening in pace.

Finnick gazed down at you, observing each pleasured twist of your expression. He began to pick up the pace as he noticed your body familiarising itself with the sensation. More pressure was applied and the gasps leaving your mouth were gradually turning into quiet moans.

“This feel okay?” he asked. Obviously, he knew the answer, but after years of having others take advantage of him, he couldn’t help but want to hear your willingness. Your consent.

But you weren’t sure if the words could form. Everything felt like it was vibrating. All you could do was focus on the pleasure his fingers were building.

“Come on, sweetheart. You can tell me.”

His voice had taken on that seductive purr he was well-known for and you just couldn’t deny him. It took everything inside you to muster up the words. “It—it feels so good.”

He smiled and pressed a kiss to your forehead. The gesture was so sweet, you could have cried. So sweet even with his hand stroking between your legs and his hard cock pressing against your thigh. Time slowed as his fingers sped up. Muscles in your stomach were tightening. Your insides were churning—not like when you first entered your Games’ arena, but in the best way possible. It was a sensation you had never felt before, but before it could build any more, Finnick’s hand stilled. And you genuinely whined at the loss of friction.

Then his hand moved even lower, resting a singular finger over your slick entrance. Your eyes were wide, unsure of how to feel with the sudden turn of events.

Finnick’s eyes flickered between your own. "You trust me?”

You weren’t sure if an easier question existed. “I do.”

And his lips were on yours again, deep and sensual. His tongue rolled over your own, pushing forward and then retreating in a perfect rhythm. He almost successfully distracted you from the feeling of his middle finger sinking into you knuckle-by-knuckle. Some sort of sound resembling a mix of discomfort and surprise vibrated in your throat as his finger bottomed out.

There wasn’t much pain. It was just an odd feeling.

Your lips parted from his and he looked down at you, his eyes holding an immense amount of security as he communicated through your shared gaze.

Does it hurt?

You gave him a gentle smile. No. Keep touching me.

He returned your smile with a grin. Gladly.

His buried finger curled, shooting a sharp pang up into your stomach which caused your back to arch up against his bare torso. Whether you considered it painful or pleasurable was uncertain. Perhaps a mix of both. He did it again. This time you settled on describing it as a tight twinge in your lower stomach which sent a wave of chills down your legs. Definitely pleasurable. Only, he stopped indulging you with the sensation after the second time.

Instead, you felt another finger slowly slip inside you and whimpered. Now that hurt. You felt your inner walls stretch with the second addition and it stung. Especially when he began to scissor his fingers inside you. This was him preparing you for the real deal. How you were supposed to have Finnick inside you when just his fingers had you stuffed was incomprehensible. But you allowed him to keep going, trying to enjoy the comforting kisses he pampered onto you.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he said.

Your hands moved to push back his messy bronze hair as he hovered above you. His dimples deepened with a grin and you swore you would endure any pain to keep them etched on his face. After he deemed you stretched out enough, he slowly rose to his knees, unbuttoning his trousers and throwing them aside. You couldn’t do anything but stare. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

The way you gulped was almost cartoonish. How the hell was he supposed to fit? You had never seen a man naked before—you weren’t even sure Finnick was human. He had a body sculptured by the Gods, a face carved by angels, and a… well, let’s just say he didn’t disappoint in any other areas. You weren’t sure if the smug look on his face was real or a carefully curated mask created for his Capitol customers. By the way it quickly washed away, you could tell it was the latter.

He began sliding your shorts down your legs, tossing them to the floor. Suddenly, you felt extremely vulnerable. Almost inferior. Your knees fell together, concealing the most private part of yourself from him. You avoided his gaze, cheeks becoming red and hot as he observed your naked frame. He had a way of looking at you as if you were a long-forgotten masterpiece, rediscovered from centuries of being lost. No one had looked at you like that before him.

Gently, he pried apart your legs and you didn’t bother trying to resist. Only when he descended and settled between your legs did the insecurity dwindle into the background of your mind. Your naked bodies were hot against each other. His weight pinned you against the bed. Everything that was yours touched all that was his. You thought this experience would feel like a dream, but it all felt so real. You were nervous, you were trembling, and your breaths were shaky.

Finnick was quick to recognise the nervousness radiating off you. His arm curled beneath you, somehow pulling you even closer, meanwhile, his other arm rested beside your head. He brushed strands of hair away from your face, soothing you with his tender touch.

“Tell me to stop and I will.”

You nodded. You wanted this—wanted Finnick. It was just the anticipation that was killing you. Your thighs squeezed his sides to tell him you were ready. For a few moments longer, he restarted the pattern of sweet kisses, rolling tongues, and the warmth of blood rushing to your head. His hand was caressing your cheek; yours were splayed on his back, gliding over the rippled muscles.

Then finally, he shifted, his hand moving south to align himself with your entrance. All you could do was watch his focused expression. This was the moment. The threshold of your relationship would be ­­crossed as soon as he pushed forward. There was no one else you wanted to share the experience with because you knew this wasn’t just sex. Not for him or for you; it was more than that. Something bordering spiritual, breaking the bounds of physical pleasure and entering into a deep emotional connection. Something no paying customer of the Capitol could provide.

He was gazing down at you, half-cradling your head as he began to say, “Are you su—" But before he could finish, you had pressed your lips to his, answering his question. You were sure. He nodded in response.

His eyes were hesitant he began to push his tip between your folds. Your fingers dug into his back, more from anxiety than anything else. It became a game of stopping and starting as he moved deeper inside inch-by-inch, allowing your walls time to adjust around him. Never had you seen someone’s face filled with so many emotions—concentration, controlled gratification, affection. So many feelings twisted his expression. Meanwhile, yours held only one. Discomfort. He was so big; you felt like you were being split apart and he wasn’t even fully inside yet.

Finally, when his pelvis connected with yours, you exhaled a heavy breath. It hurt. Bad. Finnick had the right idea to lay down a towel because you definitely needed it. He had you filled to the brim, stretched out and stuffed. Even the slightest shift in his position had your hands flying to his shoulders in pain.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes, just—” You bit your lip in an attempt to suppress a whimper. “Just go slow.”

He nodded. You smiled. Then for some odd reason, you laughed. And then so did he. Finnick’s face fell into the crook of your neck, muffling his boyish laughs into your skin. The added movements had your insides dully aching, but you didn’t pay it much attention. The moment was so innocently intimate that you wanted to stay in it forever. He lifted his head to press his grinning lips to yours and the laughter began to dissipate. Your mouths moved slowly together, full of heat and fervent emotion, and suddenly, Finnick’s body began to move too.

Careful as not to harm you, he slid himself backward in one slow motion and then pushed forward again in another. Pain stung at your inner walls and your lips left his as a gasp escaped your mouth. You were tempted to close your eyes whilst riding out the discomfort but couldn’t bring yourself to look away from Finnick’s face. He was so mesmerizingly beautiful.

His cheeks were a baby pink. Lips were a rosy red. There was a thin sheen covering his forehead, slightly wrinkled by his furrowed brows. Those messy bronze locks you adored so much fell in strands across his forehead. The evident concentration and care on his face just made him look all the more picturesque.

While you admired his features, you started to notice the pain accompanying his slow thrusts was becoming more tolerable. There was still a sting, but also a dull twinge in your stomach that had you biting your bottom lip. It felt sort of… nice. And you wanted to experiment with that feeling.

Your hands were hooked around his shoulders. “Faster.”

Are you sure? His lustful eyes spoke.

You pulled him back down to your mouth. Absolutely.

And so, his hips started to rock back and forth at a faster pace. You could feel yourself clench around his cock from the change of rhythm but forced yourself to relax. He thrust in and out, rubbing against the ripples of your walls, tip brushing at a spot inside you that was anything but pain. That is what you focused on—that one sweet spot.

Time went on and he gradually increased his speed. Your lips were swollen and red, no doubt from the way he would nip and suck on your bottom lip in between each flick of his tongue. His breaths were coming out louder, heavier, as were your own. Soon enough, you were in a rhythm that was both pleasurable for him and for you. The pain lingered but it was no longer unbearable. A shudder ran down your body and your pussy fluttered around him. Finnick broke away from your lips with a breathy groan that you swore you could feel in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

His thrusts became a little faster, a little more painful. A hand slipped down between your bodies and the pain faded quicker than it came. He was rubbing circles around your clit, occasionally running his fingers across it which caused you to lurch upward. All of a sudden, you came to the realisation that everything bad that had been clouding your mind had disappeared. The ache, the confrontation with Snow. Everything. The only thing you could focus on was the pleasure slowly building between your thighs and in your stomach. And Finnick. His tantalising eyes. His wicked mouth. His throbbing cock.

People always said your first time would be horrible; this was anything but. Maybe it had to do with the fact that you… loved him? Yeah, you loved him. Also because he was something of an expert at sex. You were in a pretty unlucky predicament but having Finnick willingly fucking you was a blessing.

His fingers were relentless, applying the perfect amount of pleasure that had you writhing beneath him. And added with the sensation of his cock repeatedly hitting that spot inside you, your uneven breaths turned into soft moans. He fucked, he rubbed, he nipped and sucked at the delicate skin of your neck. Heat was enveloping your entire body.

“Finnick,” you moaned.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” His voice was strained and hoarse.

His hand left your clit, hooking around your thigh, and curling it around his back so he could thrust even deeper. He restarted his rhythm of rubbing circles, but his thrusts felt different. Instead of just brushing that sensitiveness deep inside you, he was mercilessly hitting it. Over and over. Your moans were louder now; Finnick was more vocal too, grunting and occasionally uttering words of praise.

This went on for a while. His stamina was incredible—if you had a moment to think, you would have realised the depressing reasoning behind it. But you couldn’t think at all. Your heel was digging into his back; nails scratching at his skin. Both of you had a layer of sweat covering your bodies, skin wet, slapping and sliding over one another. Your pheromones had filled the room with the smell of sex, driving your need to finish.

Finnick’s mouth had been everywhere at this point. Your lips, your neck, shoulders, and breasts. Everywhere except your pussy, not that it really mattered anymore.

It was hard for you to comprehend how fucking amazing the sensations you felt were. There was heat and pressure pooling in your stomach, increasing at a slow pace, and growing more powerful by the minute. Finnick’s hips moved at a steady pace, but his hand had begun to slow. Even he had to succumb to fatigue at some point. He sounded like he had run for miles though was obviously pushing himself on for your benefit.

Instead of ceasing his tiring hand movements entirely, he switched hands. And that was when the heat in your stomach turned into a blazing inferno. He was much faster now. Applied more pressure. Your head fell back against the pillow with a cry. His cock was throbbing inside you at the sound.

“That feel good? Huh?” he practically moaned.

He left kisses across the stretch of your neck, running his tongue over the skin and leaving behind red marks.

“Yes!” you cried out.

Your entire body felt like it was being dipped into a white-hot flame of pleasure and the feeling was only increasing. It was clear Finnick felt the same way. His thrusts were becoming more frantic, he was cursing left and right, and he was practically pulsing inside you.

The heat in your stomach was overwhelming but you needed more.

“Finnick, I feel—I feel—” You couldn’t even describe it.

Finnick nodded, breathing heavily above you. God, he looked gorgeous. “You’re gonna come.”

Your half-lidded needy eyes met his. Something about him saying those words sent a wave of acceleration through your body. You hadn’t known what the edge was until you were on the brink of coming, and there was no stopping it. His cock plunged in and out, pushing deep inside you, practically rocketing your orgasm to the surface with each thrust. His fingers moved at such an intense pace you didn’t even know was physically possible.

As your eyes fluttered shut, your mouth fell open and every frantic breath, moan, and cry was able to escape. Finnick had the same problem. Fuck, he sounded so sexy, it only spurred you on.

Then it hit you all at once. “Fu—"

Every inch of your body tensed. You were sent into a space where white noise filled your hearing and bliss was all you knew. No pain. No sadness. Just ecstasy. Electric sparks jolted up and down your body, rising to your head, and causing you to see stars behind your closed eyes. Your moans were uncontrollable and desperate, voicing Finnick’s name over and over.

His thrusts were frenzied and sloppy, prolonging your orgasm as long as he could. He had lifted your lower back into an arch, enhancing the sensation coursing through your body. Your walls were clenching and pulsing around him, so much that he was abruptly thrown into his own high. His hips stuttered and eventually, his cock filled you as deep as he could, spurting out warm strings of white that coated your inner walls.

He collapsed on top of you, face buried in the crook of your neck. Your fingers wound into his hair, clinging to him as the aftershocks of your orgasm ravaged your body. Legs trembling and mouth panting, you lay there allowing yourself to regain your breath and ability to move.

After pressing a lazy kiss to your neck, Finnick slid off you, falling onto the bed beside you. Hopefully the towel was enough to save the silk sheets.

Now that you were resting, exhaustion had the chance to cloud your mind. You weren’t sure what the customs were after sex—whether you made conversation or simply went to sleep. The latter sounded pretty good though. A warm hand slipped beneath your back, turning your body sideways and pulling you so you were half strewn across Finnick’s chest and legs. You made no effort to resist.

Eyes closed, you listened to the heart beating inside his ribs. Thrumming intensely though starting to return to a normal rate.

“Are you okay?” he asked with a murmur, sounding utterly drained.

His thumb drew gentle patterns on the skin of your waist.

You nodded against his chest, remaining silent. After a little while you finally decided to speak. “I’m glad it was you.” And then after a few more moments of silence, you added, “I wish it was just you.”

You felt him press his lips to the top of your head. A long and emotional kiss. The whole reasoning behind losing your virginity returned to mind. It felt heavy, weighing down the atmosphere in the room. No matter how hard you tried to deny it, what was coming was inevitable. You wouldn’t get to stay with Finnick in this bed. You wouldn’t get to belong to him, or he you. You both belonged to the Capitol. To Snow. No matter how much you wished to belong to each other.

He whispered, “Me too.”

[capsi-cuminme]

Blowing Off Steam

summary: in which you're very stressed, and sparring is the only way you can destress. you're having trouble finding a partner though, so logan volunteers to help.

pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader

word count: 1.7k

warnings: mild swearing, fingering, some dirty talk, lots of horny thoughts, 18+ MDNI

author's note: ahhhh sweaty logan on a fighting mat is all i need. anyways, thank you guys sm for the response on my other fic, as a gift i bring you smut ;)

•──✦──•

You’re stressed. You’ve been overworking yourself, you know it, and you need to relax, destress. Your body feels wound up with tension and energy, and you’re unable to release it. It’s not like you have super complicated abilities that mess with your mind and make you lose your shit, no - that’s Jean’s set of troubles, not yours. Your ability is simple enough - super strength. 

So what is it that isn’t simple then? Right. Someone you can actually truly train with and exert yourself out with. There aren’t a load of people who can physically keep up with your strength, not except Colossus, and even he’s just a kid. So when, at times, you want to blow some steam by training, you have next to no one to do it with. 

Or, you didn’t, not until Logan came along. You’ve sparred with him a couple of times, but only for excessively short periods of time, due to you not being able to keep your shit together because of his overwhelming attractiveness. Honestly, you don’t think it’s your fault that you’re unable to focus; his arms look like he could rip apart logs of wood with them, his shoulders are so wide that they’re practically made for people to rest their ankles on, and his demeanor - his understated, wolfish demeanor makes you go insane. 

And as if all these things weren’t bad enough on their own, they tend to get exponentially exemplified whenever you guys spar. Obviously, fighting makes him breathe hard and stuff. So your life becomes even tougher. 

Really, you aren’t trying to be horny around him all the time. But that’s the thing. You’re pent up, stressed, overworked. Being a member of the X-Men means that it gets really hard to get laid due to several factors, and then when your coworkers are so hot? God help you. 

As you sit on the gym’s bench, staring at the sparring mats, you strain your mind to think of someone to spar with. You could ask Colossus, the kid’s always more than ready and could give you some competition on one of your bad days. But there’s too much of a risk. You’re already restless with energy, itching to let yourself go; in case the kid isn’t prepared or you get too excited, you’d end up hurting him, which is something you can’t risk. 

You could maybe go to Ororo and Scott, ask them to come at you together? The two of them together would successfully tire you out. Maybe they’d become a bit more than you’re mentally willing to handle. You don’t want to have to strategise at every step. 

God, you just need someone who can handle whatever you throw at them without having to think too much. Unfortunately for you, there’s only one person in the mansion who can do that. 

“Oh hey Bub, what you doing here? Got no classes to teach?” The somehow smooth but gravelly voice breaks you out of your train of thought as you turn to look at Logan, entering the gymnasium. 

Internally rejoicing at his choice of clothes - the white wifebeater under the oversized jacket - while simultaneously praying that he isn’t here to stay, you get up from your seat to speak to him. “Oh, nothing much. Just wanted to blow off some steam.”

“And you’re blowing off steam by… sitting on the bench?” He raises an eyebrow, looking at you questioningly. 

You sigh through your nose, smiling exhaustedly. “No, genius. I was confused about what I should do to destress.”

Your prayers go down the drain as you notice his eyes light up at the prospect of a sparring partner. Nodding to the mats, he asks, “You wanna go?”

Tongue in cheek, you review your options for a moment. Go to bed frustrated and stressed, or fight an extremely attractive man who’s also able to keep up with you. 

“Sure, let’s go.” 

And that’s how you find yourself attempting to elbow Logan in the face. He dodges and takes a step back, but not too far. Turning, you see the grin etched on his face. Taking it as a challenge, you feign a movement to the right, but attack from the left. Your arm aims for his face, but he deflects it by pushing your momentum to one side, stepping away and behind you and putting you into a headlock.

“What’s up?” he murmurs into your ear. “Can’t figure out what to do? Are you really that tired, huh?” 

You felt his chest heave from behind you, his warm breath tickling your ear. Body humming with excitement and mind buzzing with the thrill of finally being in an equal match, you grit your jaw, throwing your head back against his. As much as you enjoy the tone of his voice, you hope it hits him in the mouth just so he can shut up, because being aroused is not something you’re looking forward to. 

Yes you’re horny, maybe even a little perverted, but you truly don’t have any ulterior motives. 

Logan hisses as his grip on you loosens. Shimmying your way out of his grip, you lunge at him, arms ready to swing, but instead of throwing a punch when you get near, you use your leg to swipe at his legs, resulting in him landing on his back.

Silently rejoicing, you straddle him, pulling your arm back to land a punch on his jaw, but unfortunately he grabs hold of your arms before you can do that. As a result, you’re left heaving on top of him, arms immobile, face right above his. You don’t miss the way he breathes, sweat trickling down his forehead, eyes glinting with something you can’t fully identify. You also don’t miss the dampness of your underwear, the electricity you feel where you’re sitting on him. You realize you’re playing a dangerous game. Just as you’re about to make a move to get up, Logan suddenly moves you by the grip he has on your arms, slamming you onto the mats with considerable force. He looms on top of you, looking down. You squeak in indignant surprise, but he pins your arms on both sides of your face, lodging his thigh between yours. You gasp, not expecting the sudden escalation of events. “Darling, you know I’ve got a heightened sense of smell, right?” he asks, drawling. “I can smell your arousal, practically feel how you’re soaking down there.” Eyes wide and mouth agape, you stare up at him, not sure what to say, how to apologize. “Logan, I- I’m sor-” “Don’t have to say a word, Darling, I’m the same as you,” he emphasizes his point by rolling his hips against yours. You whimper quietly, feeling his erection pressing against your clit. “If I’m not interpreting this correctly, you can stop me,” he hums, getting closer to your face. Waiting for your approval, he looks at you. You close the distance between the both of you, borderline moaning as you feel his tongue grazing against your lips, asking to enter your mouth. More than willing, you grant him entry freely, whimpering as his tongue explores your mouth. You break the kiss, short of breath, but your distance doesn’t last long. Logan is sloppily making out with you as he grinds against you. Your bodies move hurriedly, in urgent need of release. 

“Lo,” you gasp between the kisses, “need you so bad, please.” He complies, hands leaving your arms as he gets on his haunches and quickly unbuttons your pants, pulling them down. His hand moves to your pussy, thumb pressing against your clit, gauging your reaction. Your eyes widen due to the unexpected movement, and you gasp. Satisfied with your response, he rubs short, quick circles against your clit, stimulating you as he slowly pushes in one finger. You moan, hands reaching down to stop the sudden intrusion. It’s been a while since you’ve done this, so your body’s sensitivity is at an all-time high. Logan doesn’t care, swatting away your hands, slipping in another finger. He moves them in shallow thrusts, stretching you out while looking for the spot that’ll finally get you wound up enough for his liking. You bite your lip to keep yourself silent, staring at the way Lo’s fingers pump in and out of you, making a mess out of your cunt. Suddenly, his fingers press into that spot that you’re never quite able to reach yourself, making you let out a loud moan. “Lo, Lo please, right there please, don’t stop-” you break your own voice off with an even louder whimper, eyes closing due to the pleasure. Logan watches you with keen eyes trained on your face. He speeds up his fingers and thumb, enjoying your reaction thoroughly, as it ignites something deep within him. He palms himself lightly, hissing as he realizes how hard he is. “Shit, darling, you make me insane,” he mumbles, guiding one of your hands to the bulge in his jeans, making you feel him. Your mouth falls open with a little “oh,” as you feel him. You try to palm him to relieve some of his tension, but fail as his fingers pump in and out of you, driving you closer and closer to the edge. “O- oh God, Lo, I’m cumming, please please please-” you moan loudly as your orgasm crashes over you, thrashing on the mat. Logan holds down your hips, continuing his languid movements, easing you out of the feeling in waves. As you finally relax, catching your breath, you look up at him, unsure of what comes next. Usually by this point, guys tended to take their own pants off. Logan’s were still very much on. Before you could verbalize your confusion, he speaks. “I think we’ve blown enough steam off in the gym,” he chuckles. “I don’t want Charles to gim’me looks the entire month. I say we take this upstairs bub, what d’ya say?”

You stare up at him, wondering why he’s even asking, when there’s only one possible answer you could make out through the haziness of your mind. “Yes, let’s go.”