#rugged. useful. handmade | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fungateshortcakes · 6 months ago

Text

Crochet me a mistletoe

Got this idea because, well, it's christmas and I recently started crocheting! I am nowwhere near as good as I described the skills of the reader. I can't even crochet a simple scarf. But practice makes perfect, and a girl can dream right? (Reader is gender neutral)

Pairing: Logan Howlett x reader

Summary: Its christmas at the mansion and you've crocheted everyone a special gift. What will Logan think about the present you made especially for him?

Wordcount: 4.9k

Warnings/tags: english is not my first language, none, fluff, slowburn-ish, friends to lovers, reader can crochet, painfully sappy, missunderstandings?, itty bitty bits of angst, happy ending

The x-men mansion in december felt like stepping into a festive snow globe. Frosted windows framed the place, a hord of students racing through the halls as they were excited to spent the christmas holidays at home with their families, their laughter mingling with the soft strains of christmas jingles that seemed to follow you wherever you went.

The large tree in the main living room was a masterpiece, each ornament carefully placed by a team effort of students and teachers. Even Logan had been forced politely asked to string the lights, grumbling about it the whole time while he was secretly ensuring that every lightbulb was perfectly in its place. Despite your reassurance that it was fine and that he could come down from the ladder already, he shook his head, a deep frown on his face as he munched on his bottom lip as he rearranged the lights for the 1000th time.

You sighed with a smile, deciding to let him do his thing. Yet you found yourself sneaking glances at him, something you had been doing more often than you cared to admit over the last few months.

He was rugged, rough around the edges and seemingly utterly out of place among the cheery holiday decorations, but there was something about seeing him standing by the firelight, a string of glittery garlands for the tree slung over his shoulder, that made your heart flutter.

But Logan was just your friend. A good one. And you weren’t about to mess that up by acting on a silly crush that wasn't anything more than that. So, instead of drooling at the way his muscles strained and dipped under the wife beater he wore even in this freezing weather while he helped decorating the place, you threw yourself into your newest hobby: crocheting.

For weeks, you had been holed up in your room, learning and practicing how to crochet everything from scarves, mittens and hats to cute plushies and useful items such as cup coasters or little bags.

It had started as a way to pass the time, especially when there was no mission you were sent to. And now that you were deep into the christmas holidays, you didn't even have a class to teach. That's when you realised you had nothing to do and it was time to find a new hobby.

But once you got the hang of it and felt like it wasn’t as hard as you thought it would be, the idea of creating handmade gifts for your friends at the mansion had blossomed and you were eager to make a perfect present for everyone.

The work was slow but rewarding. You had already finished a soft scarf for Ororo in her favorite lavender colour that complimented her snow white hair and a set of soft, fingerless gloves for Hank in a deep navy blue. Each project felt like a little piece of yourself, stitched into every loop and knot.

But Logans gift had been different from the start.

It had taken you three tries to find the right yarn until you finally settled on a charcoal gray that would suit his style and features without standing out too much.

You decided on a sweater, something warm and practical that he could wear during the long, cold nights he spent patrolling the grounds. And, because you couldn’t help yourself, you added a small, personal touch. A tiny design embroidered over the heart, a pair of crossed claws encircled by a wreath of holly. You might as well, right? This project would take you a long ass time anyway, so a little embroidery wouldn’t hurt.

Crocheting actual clothing pieces like sweaters and jackets was a painstacking process, taking up lots and lots of yarn and taking forever. Only people you loved were worth that effort. You hoped Logan would know that once he held the finished products in hand.

Now with christmas eve approaching fast, the sweater was nearly finished. But you had other projects that you worked on simultaniously. If the task of crocheting another long chain for a scarf became too dreading and boring, you switched it up by continuing to work on a plushie.

“Darlin’, you’re gonna get yourself snowed in if you keep sittin’ there.”

Logans voice startled you, making you lose the stitch you were in. You looked up from your crocheting to find him leaning against the doorframe of the common room. The fireplace crackled warm beside you and outside the tall open window, there were snowflakes swirling in a gentle flurry. You sat cozy on the windowsill in your warmest clothes, enjoying the crisp breeze against your face and watching how the snow painted the garden of the mansion in a dazzling bright white, all while absentmindely crocheting your gifts.

“I like the view” you answered him with a soft smile, the yarn rolling between your feet as you pull at it “And I’m almost done.”

Logan left his spot at the door and stepped into the room, his boots making soft thuds on the wooden floor. “What’re you makin’?” You shook your head as you did only a little to hide the plushie you were crocheting “It’s a surprise” you teased.

Logan raised an eyebrow, hand in his pant pockets, his lips quirking into a smirk. “For me?”

You rolled your eyes with a soft giggle. “Only if you want a teddy bear plush in Scott's outfit" you said, throwing him a knowing look.

He shuddered in mild disgust, chuckled, then settled into the armchair across from you. “Nah, I'm good" he replied, putting his hands up in defence. Then his gaze landed on the bottom of the sweater, his soon to be sweater, that poked out from under your blanket draped over your lap. He pointed to it "I think one of 'em ugly christmas sweaters you are makin' would suit Summers better" he joked, thinking you would laugh along, but he noted your slight hurt frown. Him saying that he thought christmas sweaters were ugly made your heart sting painfully. You pulled the sweater under your blanket completely, shielding it from Logan. “It’s not ugly,” you mumbled, averting eyecontact with him.

In that moment, you weren't too sure about your gift for Logan anymore. The sweater you would give him wasn’t the usual christmas sweater with bright colours and corny patterns, but still, maybe he wasn't a sweater person? What if he didn't like it? He would never say it to your face, but just imagining his unimpressed face, a forced smile as he reluctantly thanked you, already thinking about the best and fastes way to get rid of the clothing piece, it made you want to cry already. All this effort for nothing?

You hadn't realised that you stared at Logan while you where deep in thought, a lit cigar hanging lazily between his lips. “Why’re you always starin’ at me?” Logan asked suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.

Your face heated. “I wasn’t staring. Just thinking” you pressed out, quickly picking up your crocheting again.

Logan blew smoke from out of his nostrils “Sure you weren’t” he said, but there was no teasing in his tone. If anything, he sounded curious, curious of what exactly you where thinking with your brows knitted together.

You focused on the yarn in your hands, on the way your hook looped easily through every stitch, willing yourself to act normal. This was fine. You were fine. “You’re workin’ too hard” Logan muttered after a moment. “Spendin’ all your time on this.”

You shrugged “It’s worth it” you smiled without looking up. “I want everyone to have something special this year. And what's more special than a present made especially for them. I guess the best gift is when someone thinks of you”

Logan looked at you. Looked at you for a long second and didn’t respond right away. When you finally glanced at him, his expression was unreadable, his gaze already turned away and fixed on the fire. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he said quietly, almost to himself.

Your heart skipped a beat, but before you could respond, ask him what he meant by that, Logan stood up, stretching his arms over his head. His white tank top rode up slightly as he stretched, your eyes staring at the dimples on his back before you shook your head, your cheeks on fire.

“Don’t stay up too late” he called, heading towards the door. “Santa don’t visit if you’re awake.”

You laughed, nodding your head dismissive manner “Goodnight, Logan.”

Logan smiled softly as he looked back at you one more time “Night, darlin’.” And then he was gone. You looked down at the half-finished sweater under your blanket, your chest tight as you sighed.

The mansion was alive with holiday excitement the next morning, despite the kids not being there. But if they were, you just knew that they would be buzzing about presents and sneaking peaks under the towering Christmas tree already.

You spent most of the day putting the finishing touches to most of your gifts, tucked away in a quiet corner of the common room. All your presents were nearly finished, except for the sweater you had planned on gifting Logan. You couldn't bring yourself to work on it anymore. You couldn't even look at it, too ashamed that you even came up with this idea.

It wasn’t until late afternoon that Logan appeared in the common room, carrying an armful of firewood. He always looked so effortlessly strong when he carried stuff, it almost made you drool over his forearms and hands. His flannel shirt was rolled up to his elbows, exposing his hairy forearms that had tiny snowflakes clinging to it.

You glanced up from your crocheting, trying not to stare too obviously.

“You been at that all day?” Logan asked, dropping the firewood near the fireplace with a loud thunk. He tried not to smile as he saw you bundled up with balls of yarn and wrapping paper surrounding you, a few ready gifts already stacked on top of the other, a hot cocoa with marshmallows steaming next to you on the coffee table.

“Almost done wrapping everything” you cheered, holding up a crocheted beanie for charles to keep his head warm.

Logans gaze locked onto the garment in your hands. His expression softened for a brief moment before he caught himself and cleared his throat. “Looks good” he said gruffly, turning his attention to the fireplace again.

You smiled faintly, folding the beanie neatly and tucking it into a small box with a gift card and putting it on the stack of finished presents after you wrote Charles name on it “Thanks.”

Logan unsheathed his claws and striked a match on one of them, shaking the tiny flame on a stick before throwing it to the pile of freshly chooped logs “You should take a break. All that knittin' and crochetin' must your fingers” Logan grumbled, blowing at the fire until the flames started to flicker to life, casting a warm glow across the room.

“I will once I am done with all of this” you replied to him, wrapping the next present aside. “it won't take long" Logan straightened back up, brushing his rugged hands on his jeans. “So, what are your plans tonight? Besides playin’ Santa Claus.”

“Ororo planned to watch a christmas movie with the team, I guess I will join them later” you replied, stretching your back a littlesince you had been sitting like a shrimp for the past few days, hunched over your projects. “Why, what about you?”

Logan shrugged "Not much" he cleared his throat “Might head out for a bit. Get some air.”

“On Christmas Eve?”

Logan gave a small, almost shy smile and shrugged “Never been much for all the holiday stuff.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “You could stay in. Watch the movie with us.”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering to yours. “Yeah? You think they wouldn’t mind?”

Your eyebrows raised as he seemed so unsure “Of course not" you denied, smiling warmly. “I can promise that they all want you there, Logan. I know I do"

That evening, the two of you settled into the couch along with Jean and Scott, a bowl of popcorn between you. Ororo sat draped over the seat next to the sofa, Rouge and Remy sitting in front of you on the ground while Kurt was sprawled out right in front of the TV, looking up at the flimmering box with a toothy smile. Even Charles had rolled in to join.

The movie, a classic Christmas move, The Grinch, to be exact, played on the screen, and even though it was one of your favourite christmas movies, you found yourself paying more attention to Logan than the plot.

He was unusually relaxed despite everyone being so huddled up together, leaning back against the cushions with his arms crossed over his chest. You fleetingly looked over to the present neatly tucked away under the tree. His sweater. You had decided to finish it after bickering over it for so long. Well, you didn't exactly have time to make him anything else. And if you did, it would only be half assed. And you didn't want that, Logan deserved more. Something special.

Halfway through the movie, Logan reached for the popcorn, his hand brushing against yours briefly. The contact was fleeting, but it sent a spark up your arm and you felt like you were part of a cheesy and cliche slowburn fanfiction.

You quickly pulled your hand away, your heart racing. “Sorry” he muttered, his voice gruff and quiet as to not alert the others. “It’s okay” you whispered back, trying to sound normal.

The room fell into a comfortable silence again, the only sounds coming from the TV, the crackling fire and a little hushed banter between Rouge and Remy. But you couldn’t stop stealing glances at Logan, your chest tightening with every second you spent sitting so close to him.

“Thanks for talkin' me into this” Logan said suddenly, his voice low. “Didn’t think I’d enjoy it much, but… it’s nice.” Your lips curved into a soft smile. “I’m glad.”

He looked at you then, his dark eyes catching the light of the fire. There was something in his gaze you couldn’t quite place, something warm and unguarded, even though a lot of people were around that could potentionally witness it. For a moment, it felt like the rest of the world disappeared, leaving just the two of you sitting by the fire, the glow of the Christmas lights reflecting in his eyes.

Then Logan cleared his throat quietly, breaking the spell. “You’re really something else, I hope you know that” he muttered, his voice rough but sincere.

Your cheeks heated, and you looked down at your lap. There they were again, his words from yesterday. The thoughts you had repeated in your head the whole night, not knowing what they represented. “What do you mean?”

“You put all this work into makin’ people happy, to make 'em feel included even though they weren't into it at first.” He explained, draping a muscled arm over the frame of the couch. "You force people into their luck, ya know? Haven't seen anything quite like it"

You brushed a lock behind your ear. "I guess I just wanted to do something nice” you smiled softly. Logan let out a deep, content breath through his nose, looking at you, his eyes soft “Well, you did." Logan said, his gaze lingering on you.

For a second, you thought he might reach out and let the arm that rested over the couch snake around your shoulder to pull you into him, but then he shifted in his seat, his hand retreating to his side.

By the time the movie ended, everyone said their goodbyes and goodnights, swarming out to their rooms to sleep, letting the mansion fall quiet. Only Logan and you were left. You also wanted to just fall into your bed and sleep, but you were too tired already to get yourself moving.

Logan was the first to stand, stretching his arms over his head and giving you a good view of the prominent vein that cascaded below his waistband. You started to think he was doing this on purpose. “Guess I’ll head to bed too" he yawned, his tone thick.

Goodnight, Logan” you replied, watching as he headed toward the door.

He paused before leaving, turning back to look at you. His expression was unreadable, but his voice was soft when he spoke. “Night, darlin’. Sleep well.”

When he was gone, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

The morning sun filtered through the frosted windows of the mansion, bathing the common room in a golden glow.

Christmas Day had finally arrived, and the mansion buzzed with the christmas spirit of all. It was a bit overwhelming to see everyone in their christmas pyjamas sitting around the tree, eager for presents.

Logan was already there too, leaning against the mantle with a steaming cup of coffee in hand. Well, you liked to sleep in okay? It wasn’t hard to be down in the common room before you.

Logans presence was as steady as ever, but there was a quiet contentment to him this morning, you noted. He looked up as you entered and something in his expression softened.

“Mornin’” he greeted, his voice low, smooth and warm from the hot coffee he was drinking. You lifted your hand in a tiny wave “Morning” you yawned, smiling as you made your way to the tree, the rest of carefully wrapped gifts in your arms that you had finished just the night before after the movie. You couldn't sleep anyway since the thought of Logan made you stay awake, might as well perfect your presents.

After a while, it was your turn to hand out your presents. You crawled under the large tree, gifting them one by one. You watched in glee as the room filled with laughter and delighted exclamations. Ororo beamed when she unwrapped the lavender scarf you had made for her and Hank was already slipping on his navy gloves. Charles shooked his head with a chuckle as he saw the beanie you had crocheted for him, letting his fingers trace over it.

Logan waited patiently, allthough he didn'texpect there to be something for him, his dark eyes following you as you worked your way through the pile of gifts, quietly enjoying the unfiltered reactions from everyone.

When there was only one wrapped gift left you had to hand out, Logan wondered who it could be for since everyone had gotten their present already. But as you turned to him, handing him the neatly wrapped box containing his sweater, his brow lifted in surprise.

“For me?” he asked, as if the idea of receiving a gift was foreign to him.

You giggled at his reaction "Of course. Did you really think I wouldn't give you something?" you asked, smiling shyly. You were just as nervous for him to open the present as he was.

Logan carefully peeled back the paper, his hands oddly delicate for a man who seemed to handle everything with brute strength. When the sweater emerged, he stared at it for a long moment, his thumb brushing over the tiny embroidered design near the heart. He remembered the colour. This was the sweater he had called ugly. He had called your thoughtful gift ugly. He was a horrible person.

“You made this? For me?" he whispered in awe, a little more to himself, his eyes tearing up slightly.

“I did” you nodded, fiddling with your fingers as your nerves ate away at your insides. “Do you like it?”

He looked up at you, his gaze piercing. “I...this is…” he trailed off, shaking his head as if he couldn’t find the words. Instead, he unfolded the sweater and pulled it on right then and there over his tank top. The fit was perfect and the sight of him in something you made with your own hands sent a warm flush through your chest. He looked like a chunky teddy bear and the urge to hug him was growing strong in your chest.

“Looks good on you” you said instead.

Logan’s lips twitched into a rare smile. “Feels good, too. Thank you.”

The rest of the day passed in a blur of holiday cheer, but you couldn’t help noticing how Logan stuck close to you. He lingered near the kitchen while you baked cookies with Ororo and Rouge, his presence steady and reassuring. At one point, you caught him running his fingers over the sweaters fabric, his expression distant but content. He protected the sweater with his life, making sure no one ruined it by accidentally pouring wine over it. If just one atom of a cookie crumb were to touch the fabric, he would lash out.

It wasn’t until later that evening, after most had gone to bed and the mansion had settled into a peaceful quiet, that Logan found you sitting by the fire.

“You’ve been busy” he mumbled, his voice low as he sat down beside you.

“I guess I have,” you said, smiling. “It was worth it, though.”

Logan studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable like usual. Then he shifted and the next second, his big hand presented you a tiny wooden figurine, a little cat, carefully hand carved by him. "S'for you" he muttered, averting his gaze. The light of the fire did only so little to hide his embarrassed blush.

You gasped, taking the cat into your hands as if it was made out of glass and would break if you looked at it the wrong way "Did you....did you make this?" you asked him and he nodded reluctantly. You never thought Logan was into wood carving. But now that you knew, it made sense. "Yeah...didn't want to give it to you when everyone else was 'round. No need for 'em to know I have this hobby" he explained to you, picking at a loose thread on his sweater. Your stomach felt warm as you thanked him, holding onto his little present tightly.

You could feel Logans gaze on you as you admired his neat craftmansship, warm and steady and it took everything in you not to lean into him.

“Y’know” he said, breaking the drawn out silence between you “this is the best christmas I’ve had in a long time. Maybe ever.”

You looked up at him “Really?” you asked, your mouth agape in wonder.

“Yeah” he said, his lips curving into a small, genuine smile that was rare to see from him “And I think I’ve got you to thank for that.” Your heart swelled and before you could stop yourself, you reached out and placed your hand over his. Logan stiffened for only a short moment, his gaze darting to your hand, but then he relaxed, his fingers curling around yours.

“You’re welcome” you whispered softly. Logan didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes.

The fire started to die out, only faintly gleaming but still enough to wrap you and Logan in a light of warmth. Logans hand was still in yours, his warmth seeping into your skin as the quiet surrounded you both. You couldn’t remember how long you had been sitting there, since when you started to lean against him, head on his shoulder, but time seemed to stretch and slow, every second weighted with something unsaid.

“Darlin’” Logan finally murmured, his voice so soft it felt like it was meant for you alone. “Do you ever think about… settlin’ down?” the question caught you off guard for a second and you turned your head to look at him, your heart thudding in your chest. “Settling down?”

“Yeah” he breathed, his gaze fixed on the low fire. He found an iron rod to dig and shove between the wooden logs that had long turned into coal and ash, trying to distract himself so the words would come easier. “Findin’ somethin’, someone, you can hold onto. Somethin’ real. Y'know, not these kinds of meaningless situationships.”

Your breath hitched and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him. Logan, the man who had always seemed like a force of nature. Wild, untamed and unyielding—looked almost vulnerable now, his expression open and unguarded.

“I guess I’ve thought about it. It would be nice to have that someone. The right person you can lean onto any time” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. You felt like you were leaning against that one person just now. “Have you?”

He let out a soft, almost self-deprecating laugh. “I didn’t think I had to. Thought I wasn’t the type for all that. But lately…” He trailed off, finally turning to meet your gaze, looking down at you cuddled up against him “Lately, I’ve been thinkin’ maybe I was wrong.”

The room felt impossibly still, the weight of his words settling over you like a blanket. “Logan” you began, your voice trembling slightly “what are you trying to say?” allthough the answer seemed obvious, you feared you weren't understanding him correctly.

He let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. “I’m tryin’ to say that I care about you. More than I’ve cared about anyone in a long time. And I know I’m not the easiest guy to be around, but… you make me wanna try. Make me wanna be better.”

Your chest tightened, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “Logan…” were you imagining things? Were you actually by the windowstill, all alone, dying from the cold Logan warned you about? The cold that looked gorgeous from inside a warm room but was vicious in its beauty, killing you because you wouldn't listen and close the window? Were you just taking your last breath, your mind tricking you into dreaming about what could be?

“I know I’m probably messin’ this up" he swallowed deeply, his voice rough with emotion. “But I had to tell you. Couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

His words were real, his warmth, his soft breath fanning across your face. You weren't dying. You were just starting to live. “You’re not messing anything up" you shook your head, voice breaking slightly.

His eyes searched yours and for the first time, you saw a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze. “You mean that?”

Instead of answering, you leaned up, closing the space between you. Logan froze for a split second before his arms came around you, pulling you close into his lap as your lips met in a kiss that felt like coming home after a harsh and straining day out in the cold.

It was soft and tentative at first, but as the seconds stretched on, it deepened, the barriers between you dissolving like snow in the sun. Your hands laid flat against his chest, feeling the warm and fuzzy fabric underneath your fingers. Logan sighed from his nose as the kiss deepened, a quiet, longing noise forming in the back of his throat.

When you finally pulled back, you rested your forehead against his, your breath mingling in the silence of the room.

“I care about you too” you whispered. “More than I can even put into words.”

Logan let out a soft, shaky laugh, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Guess that makes us both pretty bad at talkin’ about feelings.”

You laughed, the sound light and full of relief. “Maybe. But I think we’re doing okay.”

Logan nodded “Better than okay" he murmured, pressing another kiss to your mouth. He was already getting addicted to this.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of warmth and quiet joy. Logan stayed by your side, his hand never straying far from yours as the two of you talked about everything and nothing. You felt like two teenagers that had sneaked away from everyone else to enjoy the thrill of making out and cuddling like in a sappy romance novel.

By the time the first light of dawn crept through the windows, you found yourselves curled up on the couch together, a soft blanket draped over you both. Logans arm was around your shoulders, and your head rested against his chest, the steady beat of his heart lulling you into a sense of peace you hadn’t felt in a long while. The sweater he still hadn't taken off (and wouldn’t for a while) acting like a soft pillow under your face.

“Good night, darlin'” Logan murmured, his lips brushing against your hair before he looked out the window, the sun rising slowly. He knew it wouldn’t take long before the others flodded the room, but he wanted you to sleep and rest, even if it was just for an hour. He kind of felt bad for keeping you up until the sun literally rose again, but how was he supposed to fall asleep when he just found out you loved him back?

“Good night, Logan” you whispered, smiling as you closed your eyes.

For the first time, you knew without a doubt that this was where you were meant to be - wrapped in Logans arms, your hearts stitched together like the threads of a handmade gift, stronger and more beautiful for the care put into every moment you shared with him.

I've never tried putting dividers like this before, how do we like it? I am also sorry that I am not quite posting this on christmas anymore. I just always get the ideas so late and randomly that I can't get it out on time.

I can't type anymore bc my hands are literally that cold and now, update, i read over it and corrected some mistakes. If you still see any, im sorry😔🙏🏻 I've fallen you all

Merry christmas🎄🎀

#logan howlett x reader #x men #hugh jackman #logan x reader #wolverine x reader #x reader #marvel #logan howlett #logan wolverine #marvel mcu #mcu fandom #logan james howlett #fanfiction #fluff #christmas

470 notes · View notes

amkyor · 5 months ago

Note

Heya! Some ideas for mha guys reacting to:

Reader using a pickup line on them

Reader comforting them after a nightmare

Reader saying "I love you" for the first time

Reader giving them a handmade gift

Reader pranking them

MHA GUYS REACT TO...

Reader using a pickup line on them ᡣ𐭩

Short note: I'm sorry if most of them aren't pickup lines, I just didn't want to use cheesy lines like that :) I will be doing all of the suggestions though. Stay tuned!! Also, chapter 21 of my bakguo x Reader Fanfiction came out yesterday. Go check it out!! Link is that the very end of this post!!

Katsuki Bakugo ᡣ𐭩

The soft clinking of pots and pans filled the kitchen as Bakugo stood at the stove, focused on dinner.

His broad back was turned to you, muscles subtly flexing beneath the fabric of his shirt with each movement.

You were sprawled out on the couch in the living room, but the sight of him—effortlessly domestic yet somehow still rugged—was too tempting to resist.

The sight of him—focused, composed, and utterly unbothered by the domestic task—was oddly mesmerizing.

You watched him for a moment, the way his broad shoulders flexed with each movement, his ash-blond hair sticking up in its usual chaotic way.

A small smile tugged at your lips as you thought about how far you’d both come, from chaotic high school days to quiet moments like this.

Unable to resist, you got up from the couch and made your way to the kitchen.

As you approached, you leaned against the doorway and crossed your arms, watching him for another moment.

“You know,” you started, your voice breaking the silence, “you’re surprisingly good at this cooking thing. Who knew the big aggressive Katsuki Bakugo would be so…domesticated.”

He didn’t turn around, but you could see the corner of his lips twitch. “Shut it, woman,” he muttered, though his tone lacked any real bite.

“I’ve always been good at everything. Don’t act so surprised.”

“Uh-huh,” you teased, stepping closer. “But cooking? I thought explosions were more your style.”

He glanced over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at you. “Cooking’s just another kind of chemistry, dumbass. And unlike you, I don’t burn water.”

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your heart. “Excuse me! I’ll have you know I’m perfectly capable in the kitchen.”

“Sure you are,” he said, turning back to his pan with a low chuckle.

“Whatever,” you replied, rolling your eyes.

After a few seconds, you stepped closer to him, the sound of your footsteps muted against the floor as you approached him.

Closing the distance, you slipped your arms around his waist, hugging him from behind.

His body tensed slightly at the contact before relaxing when he realized what was going on.

“Do you always look this hot while cooking,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing, “or is it just the stove?”

For a moment, Bakugo froze. His hand, mid-motion stirring a pan, stopped abruptly.

You could feel the slight hitch in his breathing, and you knew you’d caught him off guard.

“You’ve got some nerve,” he muttered under his breath, but there was a hint of amusement in his tone.

Without responding further, he reached over and turned off the stove with a decisive flick of his wrist.

Before you could react, he spun around to face you, his crimson eyes locking with yours.

His expression was unreadable, but the intensity in his gaze sent a wave of heat through your body.

“What are you—” you started, but he didn’t let you finish.

In one swift motion, Bakugo leaned down, wrapped his arms around your wasit and thigh, and effortlessly lifted you off the ground.

A surprised laugh escaped your lips as he carried you over to the kitchen counter.

He set you down gently, his hands bracketing your thighs as he leaned in close.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

His face was inches from yours, his smirk equal parts cocky and affectionate.

“I don’t think,” you replied, matching his tone. “I know.”

He let out a quiet scoff before closing the distance between you.

His lips captured yours in a deep, heated kiss that sent your heart racing.

His hands stayed firmly planted on either side of your thighs, keeping you right where he wanted you.

The kiss was over too quickly, though, as Bakugo pulled back, his lips barely brushing yours. “Stay put,” he muttered, his voice a little hoarser than usual.

You blinked, still reeling from the kiss, as he turned back to the stove.

Casually, as if nothing had happened, he turned the burner back on and resumed cooking.

“Seriously?” you asked, your voice tinged with disbelief.

He glanced at you over his shoulder, a small, smug grin tugging at his lips. “What? Gotta finish dinner, don’t I?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re distracting,” he shot back, his tone light but still carrying that signature Bakugo edge.

Despite his words, you could see the faint blush dusting his cheeks, and it made your heart swell.

You stayed perched on the counter, watching him cook, a smile playing on your lips.

Even when he was gruff and tough, there were moments like this that reminded you just how much he cared.

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────

Izuku Midoriya ᡣ𐭩

The dim glow of the television bathed the living room in a soft, warm light.

The faint hum of background music filled the air, mingling with the soothing rustle of pages as you turned another in the book resting in your hands.

It was one of those quiet, perfect evenings—the kind you cherished most.

Izuku lay sprawled between your legs, his broad frame draped over you like a human-sized weighted blanket.

His head rested comfortably against your chest, rising and falling with each steady breath you took.

His arms were wrapped securely around your waist, and his fingers splayed lazily across your back as if anchoring himself to you.

Your legs stretched out on the couch, framing him on either side.

The soft fabric of his shirt brushed against your skin with every slight movement he made.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been in this position, but neither of you seemed in any hurry to move.

With your free hand, you absentmindedly scratched at his scalp, your nails trailing through his unruly green curls in slow, gentle strokes.

Each time your fingers grazed his scalp, you felt him relax further into you, his body melting into yours like he was made to fit there.

The weight of him against you was comforting, grounding, and you couldn’t help but smile as you continued reading.

Well, “reading” might’ve been a stretch.

You’d been stuck on the same page for the past five minutes, distracted by the soft, contented hums Izuku made whenever your nails caught just the right spot.

He hadn’t said much since he collapsed onto you, but you could tell he was enjoying himself.

His breathing was slow and even, a telltale sign that he was teetering on the edge of sleep.

You glanced down at him, your gaze drifting from the slight pout of his lips to the faint pink dusting his cheeks.

His freckles stood out even more in the dim light, scattered across his face like a constellation you’d memorized long ago.

You raised your book slightly, letting it rest against the couch as you took in the sight of him.

He looked so peaceful, so utterly at ease, that you almost didn’t want to disturb him. Almost.

“You tired?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to startle him.

“Mhm...” he hummed, his eyes still closed as he nuzzled further into your chest.

The sound was low and warm, vibrating against you like a gentle purr.

Your heart swelled at the sight of him, his lashes fluttering slightly as if he were fighting to stay awake.

You continued scratching his head, your fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles.

You knew how hard he worked and how much he pushed himself every day.

Seeing him like this—relaxed, vulnerable, and utterly content—felt like a rare gift.

He shifted slightly, tightening his hold on your waist as though he were afraid you might slip away.

The action made your chest ache in the best way, and you couldn’t help but brush a soft kiss against the crown of his head.

You studied his face for a moment longer, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips as an idea popped into your head.

You couldn’t resist.

"You know," you began playfully, your voice teasing and light...

You smiled softly, the corners of your lips curling upward as you gazed at Izuku’s serene face.

The moment felt suspended in time, wrapped in the tender quiet of the living room.

The faint glow of the television cast shifting shadows across his features, making him look even softer than usual.

With a warm chuckle, you let the words slip from your lips, their sincerity surprising even you. “I don’t know what it is, but you have this way of making everything around you feel softer.”

Izuku’s eyes fluttered open at your voice, blinking slowly as he adjusted to the light.

His emerald gaze, still slightly hazy with the remnants of sleep, met yours.

For a moment, he just stared at you, his expression unreadable yet filled with an unspoken tenderness.

You felt your cheeks heat under his gaze, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you leaned a little closer, your fingers still trailing through his hair as you added softly, “How are you so good at making ordinary moments feel special?”

Your chuckle was light, almost self-conscious, but genuine. It broke the silence like a gentle ripple across still water.

Izuku’s reaction was immediate and heartwarming.

His cheeks flushed a deep pink, the color spreading all the way to the tips of his ears.

His lips parted slightly, as though he wanted to respond, but no words came out at first.

Instead, he buried his face further into your chest, letting out a muffled groan.

“Y-You can’t just say things like that,” he mumbled, his voice low and slightly hoarse.

Despite the protest in his words, there was no mistaking the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction, the sound light and melodic in the quiet room. “Why not? It’s true,” you teased, your tone playful but laced with sincerity.

Izuku lifted his head slightly, just enough to look up at you. His eyes were impossibly soft, brimming with affection that made your chest tighten.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you replied, your hand moving to cup his cheek.

His skin was warm under your touch, and he leaned into your palm instinctively, like a sunflower seeking the sun.

“I just wanted you to know.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The room was filled only with the soft hum of the television and the gentle rhythm of your breathing.

Izuku’s hand found yours where it rested against his cheek, his fingers curling around yours as if anchoring himself to the moment.

“Thank you,” he said finally, his voice steady despite the emotion behind it. “For saying that. For... being you.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you leaned down to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “Always,” you whispered against his skin.

Izuku’s arms tightened around your waist as he buried his face against your chest once more.

“You’re the one who makes everything feel special,” he murmured, his voice muffled but no less sincere.

You smiled, your fingers resuming their comforting motion through his hair.

The weight of his words settled over you like a warm blanket, and you realized that no matter how ordinary the moment, being with him made it extraordinary.

───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────

Shoto Todoroki ᡣ𐭩

The warm glow of the small lamp in the corner of the room cast soft, golden hues across the walls, giving the space a cozy and intimate ambiance.

You were seated on the floor in your apartment, cross-legged on the plush rug, with Todoroki sitting directly across from you.

His mismatched eyes watched you curiously, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his lips as he observed the items you’d brought back from the bathroom.

In your hands were two face masks—both contained in sleek, colorful pouches—and a pair of headbands.

You had been gifted the masks a few days ago by a friend who swore they were amazing for relaxation, and the idea of doing them with Todoroki had popped into your head immediately.

Surprisingly, he had agreed without hesitation, his calm demeanor making it clear he didn’t mind indulging you in small things like this.

"Alright," you said, breaking the silence as you placed everything on the floor between you. "First things first, we need to keep our hair out of the way."

Todoroki’s gaze shifted to the headbands, his brows furrowing slightly. “We’re wearing those?” he asked, his tone neutral but laced with faint curiosity.

You chuckled, holding one up for him to see. “Yes, we are. Unless you want face mask goo in your hair, which I’m guessing you don’t.”

He tilted his head slightly, considering your words before nodding. “Fair enough.”

With a smile, you picked up the other headband and slipped it over your own head.

The stretchy fabric was soft against your skin as you carefully positioned it, pulling back the strands of your hair that framed your face.

You adjusted it a few times, making sure it sat just right, and then tucked any loose pieces behind your ears.

“There,” you said, sitting back and giving him a small grin. “See? Easy.”

Todoroki watched you intently, his heterochromatic eyes following your movements as if committing every detail to memory.

Though his expression remained composed, you could tell he was slightly intrigued by the whole process.

“You look cute,” he said suddenly, his tone as straightforward as ever but carrying a certain warmth that made your cheeks flush.

You laughed softly, brushing off the compliment as you reached for the second headband.

“It’s just a headband, Shoto,” you teased, though you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

He shrugged, leaning forward slightly as you prepared to hand him the other headband.

“Still,” he said simply, and the sincerity in his voice made your heart skip a beat.

Shaking off the sudden flutter in your chest, you turned your focus back to the task at hand, ready to guide him through the next step in your little self-care ritual.

You handed Todoroki the second headband, watching as he stared at it like it was some foreign object. “Just put it on like I did,” you said, demonstrating with your hands how to stretch it out and slide it over your head. He gave a small nod and attempted to mimic your movements.

The result was… less than perfect.

The headband sat askew, one side bunched up near his temple, while the other was twisted and barely holding back his hair.

A few strands stubbornly stuck out, and the sight was so adorably Todoroki that you couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

“You’re—” you tried to speak between giggles, “you’re not supposed to wear it like that!”

Todoroki blinked at you, completely unbothered by your amusement. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked, his tone as calm as ever.

You leaned forward, still chuckling. “Everything is wrong with it, Shoto. Here, let me fix it.”

Without waiting for his reply, you scooted closer and reached out to adjust the headband yourself.

He sat still as you worked, his eyes fixed on your face as your fingers carefully untangled the fabric and smoothed it over his head.

The world seemed to slow down as you pushed his hair back, revealing more of his face.

His dual-colored strands fell neatly under the band, and his forehead came into view, unencumbered by the usual fringe of hair.

Your movements faltered for just a moment as your eyes fell on his scar.

With his hair pulled away, it was more visible than ever, its jagged edges a stark contrast against his otherwise flawless skin.

You felt your breath catch in your throat, not out of discomfort but because of how striking he looked.

“There,” you whispered softly, finishing the adjustment and making sure the headband was sitting properly.

You were inches away from him now, your hands lingering near his face.

His mismatched eyes met yours, and for a second, neither of you moved.

Unable to help yourself, you let your fingertips brush against his cheek, your thumb instinctively tracing over the edge of his scar.

His skin was warm under your touch, and the texture of the scar was slightly raised but smooth.

“Shoto…” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

His eyes softened, and though he didn’t say anything, the way he leaned ever so slightly into your touch spoke volumes.

Todoroki’s mismatched eyes widened slightly at your words, the faintest hint of surprise flickering across his usually calm expression.

He blinked, as if trying to process the depth of what you’d just said.

For a moment, the room was silent save for the soft hum of the heater in the background.

You kept your hand on his cheek, your thumb brushing over his scar again as you offered him a warm smile. “I don’t see a flaw when I look at you; I see a story that’s made you who you are,” you said softly.

The weight of your words seemed to settle over him, and his lips parted slightly as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right words.

“Scars are like badges of courage,” you continued, your voice filled with sincerity.

“I can tell you’ve faced something and come out stronger. That scar doesn’t take away from your beauty—it adds to it. It’s a part of you that makes you uniquely beautiful.”

His breath hitched almost imperceptibly, and you could see the faintest dusting of pink creeping up his neck and settling on his cheeks.

His gaze softened further, the hard lines of his face melting away into something so tender it made your chest ache.

“You really think that?” he finally asked, his voice low and slightly hoarse.

You nodded without hesitation. “I don’t just think it, Shoto—I know it.”

For a moment, he simply looked at you, his expression unreadable.

Then, slowly, his hand came up to rest over yours, the warmth of his palm enveloping your fingers.

He held your hand against his cheek, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a quiet gesture of gratitude and affection.

“You always know what to say,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I… I’ve never really thought of it that way.”

“Well, you should,” you said with a small laugh, trying to ease the intensity of the moment. “You’re pretty amazing, Shoto. Scars and all.”

His lips curved into the smallest of smiles, a genuine one that reached his eyes. “I think you’re the amazing one,” he replied, his voice still soft but filled with a kind of reverence that made your heart skip a beat.

He leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against yours. “Thank you,” he whispered, the words carrying more weight than you could have imagined.

You smiled back at him, feeling an overwhelming sense of warmth and love in the quiet intimacy of the moment. “Always,” you whispered back.

───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────

Eijiro Kirishima ᡣ𐭩

It was a quiet evening, and the warm golden light of the bedside lamp cast a soft glow across the room.

You and Kirishima were sprawled out on the bed, each immersed in your own little worlds.

He was propped up against the headboard with a manga in his hands, his crimson hair slightly mussed from the day.

You lay on your stomach beside him, scrolling on your phone while your feet swayed lazily in the air.

The room was peaceful, the only sound being the occasional rustle of pages as Kirishima flipped through his book.

You glanced over at him, a small smile tugging at your lips as you admired how focused he looked, his brows slightly furrowed in concentration.

It was one of those quiet, cozy moments that you cherished, but your mischievous streak couldn’t resist stirring things up a bit.

An idea popped into your head, and you bit your bottom lip to keep from grinning too much. You shifted slightly, propping your chin on your hand as you turned your attention fully to him.

“Hey, Eiji,” you said, your voice light and playful.

Kirishima glanced up from his manga, his red eyes meeting yours. “Yeah, babe? What’s up?” he asked, his voice warm and affectionate as always.

You tilted your head, your smile growing wider. "Are you a ninja? Because you just snuck into my heart, believe it!" <those who know...>

For a moment, Kirishima just stared at you, blinking slowly as if trying to process what you had just said.

Then, his expression morphed into one of exaggerated disbelief, and he groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

"Babe, no." he said, his voice filled with mock horror. “That’s so corny.”

You burst out laughing, rolling onto your back as his reaction sent you into a fit of giggles. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad!” you said between laughs, looking up at him with teasing eyes.

Kirishima shook his head, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward in amusement.

“It was terrible,” he said, closing his manga and setting it aside. “Where do you even come up with this stuff?”

“Oh, you know,” you said, waving a hand dramatically. “I just have a natural talent for these things.”

He rolled his eyes playfully, leaning back against the headboard. “Yeah, sure. A talent for making me cringe.”

You gasped, feigning offense. “Cringe? That was romantic! You just don’t appreciate my artistry.”

Kirishima laughed, his deep, hearty chuckle filling the room. “Okay, okay. Let’s hear another one, then. Show me your so-called ‘artistry.’”

You grinned, sitting up slightly as you prepared your next line. “Alright, how about this: Are you a time traveler? Because I see you in my future.”

Kirishima groaned again, throwing his head back dramatically. “Stop, you’re killing me!”

You couldn’t help but laugh even harder, clutching your stomach as you watched him squirm. “Oh, come on! That was a good one!”

“It was something,” he said, shaking his head with a grin. “You’ve got more, don’t you?”

“Oh, you bet I do,” you said, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “Okay, okay, here’s another: Are you a volcano? Because I lava you.”

Kirishima cringed so hard he practically slid down the bed, covering his face with his hands. “Babe, please. You’re gonna make my teeth fall out, this is so sweet it’s painful.”

You were laughing so hard at this point that you had to wipe a tear from the corner of your eye.

“Okay, last one, I promise,” you said, holding up your hands in mock surrender. You paused for dramatic effect, then said, “Are you a bank loan? Because you’ve got my interest.”

Kirishima groaned loudly, flopping onto his side and burying his face in the pillow. “I can’t take it anymore. You’re too much!”

You were laughing uncontrollably now, your cheeks hurting from smiling so much. “Admit it, Eiji,” you teased, poking his side. “You secretly love it.”

He turned his head to look at you, his crimson eyes soft and full of affection despite his exaggerated protests.

“I love you,” he said, his voice quieter now, a playful smirk on his lips. “But those pickup lines? Not so much.”

You grinned, leaning down to kiss the tip of his nose. “Fair enough,” you said, still giggling. “But don’t think for a second that I’m done embarrassing you with them.”

Kirishima laughed, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer.

“As long as it makes you happy, I guess I can survive a few more,” he said, his voice warm and teasing. “Just... maybe not all in one night, okay?”

You laughed, snuggling into his side as the two of you settled back into the cozy quiet of the evening, your heart full from the simple joy of being with him.

───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────

Denki Kaminari ᡣ𐭩

It had been a quiet, peaceful afternoon.

Denki and you were lounging in your shared living room, each of you doing your own thing.

He was sprawled out on the couch, his legs stretched across the cushions, while you sat comfortably on the floor, leaning against the coffee table.

The soft hum of the TV in the background was the only noise filling the room, besides the occasional shuffling of papers or the tapping of Denki’s fingers on his phone.

You were trying to focus on the book in your hands, but every now and then, you’d sneak a glance at Denki.

You couldn’t help it.

He had this lazy, carefree vibe that made him endearing, even when he wasn’t trying.

His hair was slightly messy, as usual, and the way he was sprawled out lazily on the couch made it clear he was in one of his “relaxing” moods.

As you turned the page, you heard a soft shift in the cushions beside you.

Glancing up, you saw Denki sitting up, that familiar cheeky grin spreading across his face.

You raised an eyebrow, already sensing what was coming.

His mischievous glint in his eyes was a dead giveaway, and you could practically hear him about to ask one of his signature ridiculous questions.

He leaned forward slightly, his arms coming to rest on his knees as he locked eyes with you, his grin growing wider.

“Hey,” he said, his voice carrying that playful edge you had come to know so well. “I’ve got a question for you.”

You sighed dramatically, not even bothering to hide your exhaustion at this point. You knew exactly what was coming.

“Please tell me you aren’t about to ask me another one of your insanely stupid questions,” you replied, setting your book down with a soft thud and looking at him with an almost exasperated expression.

Denki’s grin only grew wider, clearly amused by your response. “Aw, come on! You haven’t even heard it yet!” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself.

You knew there was no way you could resist him, not when he looked so ridiculously charming in that moment.

“I’m almost afraid to ask, but fine. What is it this time?” you asked, leaning back against the coffee table again.

Denki’s grin turned mischievous, and he stretched his arms above his head, as if preparing himself for the most profound question of his life.

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at his theatrics; he was such a goofball sometimes.

“Well, here it is,” Denki said, lowering his hands and leaning forward, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Are you ready for this?”

You raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued, but also already bracing yourself for whatever cheesy thing he was about to say.

"I'm not sure... but go ahead." you said, leaning back slightly, crossing your arms as you watched him.

He gave you a mischievous grin, clearly pleased with himself.

Then, he leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a dramatic tone as he said, "Are you a magician? Because whenever I look at you, everyone else disappears."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't help the giggle that escaped your lips at the ridiculousness of it. "Seriously, Denki?" you said, trying to act unimpressed, but failing miserably.

"You’ve been sitting on that one, huh?" You let out a small laugh, shaking your head at his over-the-top delivery.

Denki sat back with a satisfied smirk, looking way too pleased with himself. “What? It’s a classic,” he said, clearly proud of his attempt. “You can’t deny it’s effective.”

You raised an eyebrow, an idea forming in your mind. “Alright, alright. If we’re going cheesy, let me show you how it’s done.”

You leaned in slightly, putting on an exaggerated, sultry tone, though you were doing your best to hold back a grin. “Are you French? Because Eiffel for you.”

Denki’s jaw dropped, clearly impressed, but he quickly recovered, giving you a playful eye roll. “Okay, okay, I see how it is. You wanna play with the big leagues, huh?”

You smirked, leaning back to get comfortable again. “I’m just getting started,” you said with a wink.

He chuckled and sat up straighter, his grin widening as he prepared himself.

“Alright, alright. Here’s one for you. Are you a parking ticket? Because you’ve got ‘FINE’ written all over you.”

You gasped dramatically, clutching your chest in mock shock. “Denki, no! That one was so bad.” You laughed, rolling your eyes. “You’ve got to try harder than that.”

Denki threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m just warming up! You’ll see. I’ve got a whole arsenal.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully, already thinking of your next move.

You leaned forward once more, this time lowering your voice just a little for dramatic effect. “Are you a campfire? Because you’re hot and I want s’more.”

Denki’s eyes widened, and you could see his thoughts race as he tried to come up with something equally cheesy in return.

His lips curled into a grin, but it was clear he was impressed. “Okay, okay, I see how this is going,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ve got some skills.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at how competitive he was getting. “I told you,” you said, sitting back again, feeling pretty proud of yourself.

“You’ve got to bring your A-game if you want to keep up with me.”

Denki laughed, running a hand through his messy hair as he tried to think of something better. “Alright, alright. I’ve got the perfect one for you. Ready?”

He waited for you to nod, then leaned in with a smirk. “Is your name Google? Because you’ve got everything I’ve been searching for.”

You gasped dramatically, throwing a hand over your heart as though he’d just knocked you out with the most romantic line ever. “Okay, that was actually pretty okay. I’ll give it to you,” you said, laughing.

“You’ve won this round, I guess.”

Denki’s grin widened, clearly pleased with himself. “I knew I could get you with that one,” he said, leaning back against the couch, looking smug. “You can’t out-pickup-line me, babe.”

You playfully stuck your tongue out at him, still laughing. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll come up with something even better next time.”

You leaned in and added in a teasing tone, “You may have won this round, but I��m not done yet.”

Denki shook his head, chuckling. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve got in store. But for now, I think I’ve earned the title of Master of Pickup Lines.”

He leaned back, putting his hands behind his head with a relaxed smile.

You rolled your eyes again, but your heart was warm, knowing how much fun you were having with him.

“We’ll see about that,” you said, settling back into your spot on the floor and grabbing your book again.

Denki watched you for a moment, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “You know,” he said, his voice softer now, “I think I could sit here and do this with you all day. Just… hang out, make each other laugh.”

You smiled back at him, your heart swelling with affection. “I’m all for that,” you said, feeling incredibly lucky to have someone as goofy and sweet as him by your side.

For a moment, the room settled into a comfortable silence, the only sound the soft hum of the TV in the background.

You sat there, both of you content, knowing that even in the midst of the silliest games, the best moments came from just being together.

☆ ADULT BAKUGO FANFICTION ☆

268 notes · View notes

yorshie · 5 months ago

Note

sees your requests open and slides in like a penguin on ice 🧊

possibly showing off a new swimsuit in front of the turtles in hopes it gets Raph's attention because every other hint you've dropped has gone wayyyy over his head (...or so you assume) 👀

showers you in love and sparkles!!! ✨️💕🫂

Kkkkkeeeeeiiiiisssshhhhhhaaaaaaa. *clings to you like a wet noodle*

I scrolled all the way down to the bottom of my requests and gasped when I saw your name. >:3. I gladly shower in the love and sparkles, and hope you forgive me for the amount of silent pining I’m about to shove down everyone’s throat. lol.

Bay Raph x fem reader (I think the only gendered terms are two pieces bathing suit but idk does that count in 2025? Question mark? Idk I’m tired)

SFW

Ok. Breathe. You can do this.

The mid-morning sun cut through the lacy curtains and across the tiny vanity surrounding the sink. The bathroom you were holed up in was better suited for the sixties, with the chair rail topped with faded, flowered wallpaper and the worn floor that couldn’t quite hide the handmade nails driven in to hold the boards in place. You knew plans had been made and then discarded over and over concerning updating it, but no one could quite agree on how to update it, and hardly anyone came up to use the little bathroom cooped up at the end of the hallway to be reminded about it.

Which was precisely why you were holed up in it now. Even though the door hadn’t locked for years, it was the safest place to hype yourself up.

You were failing miserably.

“You got this,” You told your reflection for what felt like the hundredth time, gaze flicking down below your chin before resolutely jerking back up to your face.

A second ruled by your thundering heartbeat, before you gave in. “Nope. I can’t do this.”

It’s just a bathing suit. You reasoned with yourself. Just a bathing suit, modest even for two piece standards if you were being honest but…

God, it….. it was so red.

The exact same shade of red as Raph’s bandana.

You’d hunted for that exact shade of color, of course. You practically had it tattooed to the back of your eyelids, had lost countless hours imagining what the feel of that bandana would be like under your fingers if you were only brave enough to reach out.

You’d contemplated it, once, when leaning against the back of the couch while bantering with Raphael. Had thought about just… reaching out, twirling the nearest loop of fabric about your fingers and wrist like it was something commonplace, something you were allowed to do-

But your bravery had deserted you the moment Raph had looked over his shoulder at you, eyes crinkled soft in silent laughter, relaxed and carefree in the conversation. Something you had thought impossible when you had first met him.

You couldn’t have handled it if that soft look had disappeared, if the armored walls he had slowly lowered during the time you’d known him snapped back into place.

You stared at the red bathing suit again, tugging on it gently in the hopes it might cover up more perceived flaws, like it might answer your unspoken questions, like it might give insight on whether or not this would work.

None of the other things you’d chanced to show Raph how you’d felt had worked, after all.

You wanted… You just wanted to show him…

You let out a pained, warbling curse, head dropping to rest in your hands as you contemplated sneaking back to the room you were sharing with April and pretending you were too sick to go downstairs.

A heavy knock sounded on the door, a muffled voice quickly to follow. “Hey, princess, ready to go?”

You startled, badly, tripping on the worn, warm rug laid out in front of the claw footed tub and having to catch yourself to keep from going completely ass over tea kettle into the cold porcelain.

It hurt, no matter what, slipping on the rim and sliding into the hollow, swim suit bottom riding up painfully on the descent.

Raph called your name out in question while you internally panicked, staring at the door while dread coiled oily and dark beneath your sternum.

”I’m- fine!” You called back, wincing internally when your voice cracked in a lie between the two words.

Evidently Raph heard the tell as well. “uh, huh. Yeah, sure. Try that again, peaches. You good?” There came a testing rattle of the doorknob, and your heart leapt. “You didn’t fall, right?”

“Don’t-“ you struggled to get back on your feet, hands and hip slipping on the tub with a loud squeak when your skin stuck to the cold surface. “Don’t open the door!”

The testing jiggle of the doorknob stopped, and you could feel the stare Raph was leveling at the door through his pointed silence. “You did fall.”

Accusing. You flinched at the sound, stumbling towards the door and leaning both hands against it like that might succeed in keeping him out if he decided otherwise.

“I promise I’m fine!” You hurriedly looked around for your T-shirt, anything, a towel for god’s sake, to wrap yourself in. A helpful thought flitted through your mind that you had left your clothes on your borrowed bed to avoid the exact scenario of trying to hide the bathing suit, and your head thunked against the door in internal shame.

Raph shifted on the other side, feet scuffing slightly. You could hear the sound of stiff fabric rubbing against scales, and realized he must have been on his way out to the pond when he came to check on you, the stiff sound of swim shorts unmistakable.

“Ok…. Well, I got a towel for ya, if you want it, so you don’t have to sit on the grass when we’re done swimming. You ready to go?” It was a lot, you knew, for him to give up the line of questioning. It made the answer you were about to give him sour all the more.

You gripped the door knob tight, your other hand clenching tight enough to drive your nails into your skin as you waffled. “I- I don’t think I can.”

A pointed silence. Then: “What? Why?”

It was your turn to shift, weighing each word. “I’m uncomfortable.”

Raph turned that over for a moment in silence, before you heard another rustle of cloth. “Here- open up.”

You gripped the doorknob tighter, parroting him in words and tone without meaning to. “What? Why?”

“S’ my shirt,” The door opened despite you clinging to it, just a smidge, just enough for him to wedge the article of clothing through the crack. “You can cover up with it, so you can still have fun.”

You took the shirt automatically, staring at it like it was a foreign thing while Raph shut the door once more with a soft click.

It was worn, likely years old, the seams frayed and a number of small holes dotting along the neckline. It would likely swallow you whole, take several rubber bands to hold to your frame, but…

It was red. A more muted color than your bathing suit, but-

You swallowed, hard, setting the shirt on the sink and laying a hand on it for comfort, before steeling your spine.

You heard Raph take a preemptive step when you turned the knob, backing up out of the way, but your eyes were fixed somewhere on his midriff as you stepped out into the hallway next to him.

”You…” His words trailed off, sounding a bit higher pitched than you were used to, and you chanced a look up at his face.

Green eyed wide, he stared at you, gaze tracking down over your torso before he seemed to remember himself and his eyes snapped back to your face. The finer scales around his beak and cheeks mottled, turning a more muted color, as blood rushed to his face. “You -ah, s’… nice-”

He snapped a hand up to his face like that might stop the train crash of words leaving his mouth, and you felt the first warm ember creep alive in your chest, that oily feeling lessening.

Silence, for a long moment, as you both considered each other. Sunlight streamed through the far window across the opened space beyond the bannister, backlighting the side of Raph’s shell and his face a golden color. Somewhere below, you could hear Donnie humming a song.

“I… liked the color.” You told him softly, finally, wrapping one arm around yourself and leaning against the door jam, breaking the stand off.

Raph made a low noise, muffled, behind the meat of his hand, and your gaze dropped in time to see his other fist clench tight before tracking back up the scutes covering his chest.

”You good?” You asked him with that same, quiet voice, feeling that beat of self consciousness grow the longer he stayed silent. Chancing another glance up at him, you found a deep look settling over his face, thoughts flashing like rapid fire hits as microexpressions twisted the features around his fist with an alarming rate.

’Yeah,” he finally breathed, hand dropping to clench at his side with the other. “Yea, m’fine. You uh- you ready, then?”

He still had that slightly hunted look, barely stepping to the side as you nodded slowly and moved past. Your elbow grazed the hard plating of his plastron as you stepped past him, and you heard him suck in a sharp breath at the sensation.

Goosebumps erupted down your spine as you felt him move to shadow your steps down the hall, but when you turned to look over your shoulder his gaze wasn’t on you, that still rather thoughtful scrunch between his eyes. “Your shirt?” You reminded him, gesturing back down the hall.

Narrowed green gaze considered you for a moment, not looking back towards the still lit bathroom. They tracked down your form for a moment, and you felt that kernel of warmth once more.

”Leave it… unless you need it?” The second part was intoned like a revelation, half turning like he’d go back for it.

Your hand on his arm stopped him in his tracks. ‘No,” You squeezed, and felt the muscle ripple in response. ‘I don’t.”

#my writing requests #bayverse tmnt #tmnt fanfic #bayverse raphael #bay raph #Bayverse raph #TMNT x reader #Bayverse raph x reader #TMNT raph x reader

290 notes · View notes

lonelymoonbeams · 11 months ago

Text

Sophia lore (because no one talks about her enough)

Sophia is actually canonically Turkish! The grandma in Vertin's head spent a whole trace comparing her to a rug, specifically a kilim, which is a Turkish rug that's known for being very fine, lightweight, and having unique patterns due to being handmade. She's probably from Anatolia, aka Asia Minor.

Her mom was in the hospital for a long time when she was little, and Sophia and Hugh (her dad) would go visit her.

Whenever Sophia finished her studies as a kid, Hugh would give her a candy. She saved them in a jar in order to buy flowers for her mom, although I'm not exactly sure how candies pay for flowers. A trade, maybe?

Also as a kid, Sophia had a habit of calling people's names twice. No relevance. I just thought it was cute.

Sophia used to get up early in order to collect sand from the beach. She used it to polish glass since she wanted to make her dad glasses. Oddly specific skill for a child to know, but hey.

Sophia was the one who introduced 37 to fruits in yoghurt. She learned it elsewhere before coming to Apeiron. She was also the one who gave 6 his metal crown- it was originally going to be a fabric hat until 37 got involved and they made it a metal triangle. Fortunately, 210 intervened and made it wearable.

Sophia worked with 37 on calculating for the return of their ship, likely in the position of Corrector. Both of them were on the shore waiting for it, and both saw their parents get reversed, only to wash up as geometric shapes.

Sophia's nervous habit has always been pulling her hair.

She can get very emotional when answering questions. However, she's always quick to backtrack as soon as she realizes.

Sophia is actually described as very smart. Despite being an outsider, she was faster than many of the others on Apeiron. However, it was never noticed because 37 would always be the one on top.

Girl has such self-esteem issues. Stop. Please. Why are you like this *head in hands*

Sonetto is someone she can relate to. They both are exceptional students and arcanists who will never be better than their childhood friend. They'd probably be friends, in another time.

The reason why she's the Corrector is because no one else wants to do it, since they see it as having to do with the world of matters.

Possibly the funniest- Hofmann has seen Sophia's baby/childhood picture, but they've never met each other.

#reverse 1999 #reverse 1999 sophia #I'm not tagging the others #but y'all aghhhhhh Sophia #Apeiron in my brain 24/7 #i have more but I'll leave it at this for now #otherwise i will NOT stop yapping

236 notes · View notes

alicesivory · 11 months ago

Text

Old Habits Die Hard [5/?]

Previous Chapter // Main Masterlist // Next Chapter

Pairing: Nightwatch! Aemond Targaryen x wildling female! Reader

Genre: Historically accurate Aemond

WC: 3454

Summary: Aemond gradually embraced the rugged and untamed ways of the wildlings, adjusting to their customs and survival skills in the harsh environment they inhabited.

As dawn broke, the first fingers of light seeped into Aemond’s tent, casting a gentle, golden glow that wove through the coarse fabric. The sun’s early warmth stirred him from his slumber, and he awoke with a serene awareness of another day granted to him. The sleep he had savoured was a rare gift from the gods especially when he stepped foot in the north.

The finest sleep he had enjoyed in months.

Surely this humble tent wasn’t as extravagant of his chambers in King's Landing. The Wildling’s tent was as if it brings comfort to him than the Night's Watch barracks. Here, the simplicity of his shelter was a luxury in itself, a sanctuary far superior to the cramped mattresses and the chill of the stone walls. Aemond’s gaze fell upon the fur and blankets that cocooned him—a gift of warmth from the Wildling woman who had shown him unexpected kindness; he knew he might never be able to fully repay her. As he drew the fur closer, he inhaled deeply, savouring the lingering scent of the wild, a subtle fragrance of her that spoke of forests and untamed lands.

Aemond took his time layering his new clothing that formerly belonged to the wildling named Yuri, one of her wildling companions. He wondered if she herself could make good clothing. Putting on the thinnest layer first, he wrapped the sheep skin next around his waist up to his chest. After several layers, he topped it off with the wildling’s distinctive camouflage fur coat. Tying it up, he peeks through his tent, finding the area already alive. Stew boiled as children ran through the snow.

Far much different that the smallfolk yet they were just as simple as they were.

He slips on his boots also made out of thick fur, possibly sheep skin.

Tying his hair like he always did since he was a child,

He looked up to the tent’s opening.

It’s time.

Parting the tent’s entrance, revealing himself as Aemond stepped out of his tent, he felt eyes on him. Some were the same, some were positive stares. Through all that, he couldn’t help but to feel a sense of insecurity washing over him. Yet he masked it well enough, walking through the crowd, searching for familiarity in this foreign world he walks in. And he finds his answer well enough when he spots her.

Sitting on a wooden log on the edge of the camp, beside the stallion he brought from castle black, sharpening her arrows. He stepped closer as his heavy footsteps stomped through the snow. Heavy enough for her to notice him, turning her head around. “Snow haired! You’re finally awake. A good night's rest, I suppose?” She teased with a childish grin across her face. “It was well enough,” he said with a smirk. His wildling friend could only smile back before carving her handmade arrows once again.

“Do you sharpen your arrows everyday?” He asked curiously.

“No, not everyday. Just for special occasions or for hunting,” she said as she shook her head. “And what is today’s occasion if I may ask?” Satisfied with his question, the she wildling turned her head once more. “We are going to take you…hunting, Prince Aemond.” Saying his title with a hint of tease, standing up before him. “Taking me for a hunt?” He repeated.

“Why yes. If you shall fight with us, we would like to see first how well you hunt. How you ride your horse, how quiet your steps are–,” tapping his feet with her bow, recalling how heavy his footsteps were wearing her kind’s heavy boots, “–and how true you were of your skills in swords and such.”

“You want me to prove myself to you?”

“Oh not to me. But to the Chief, to Gruff, to Yuri, and the whole tribe, basically. I have no doubt for you, my prince,” she mocked with a chuckle, bowing ridiculously in front of him. “Do not taint my title,” Aemond said, a bit frustrated with her childish behaviour yet his words did not scare her, it just made the situation more amusing to her. “You clearly are no fun! But is it true though? Are you actually a prince?” Her bow reaches out to swipe his hair away from his shoulder in which he swats it away with a scowl in his face. “Yes, I am.”

She snorted.

“You don’t act like one.”

Walking away to their horse, Aemond took hold of her with his grip on her arm.

“Was that supposed to be an insult?”

She snorted once again. Amused with his temper.

“You tell me,” she cockily said to him before taking her arm away.

“Besides, I can’t imagine you sitting on a tall palace drinking wine as your servant pour you more into your cup. Whilst you stare down at your people like some kind of god–,”

“–I hate to break your imagination, but I simply do not do that–,”

“–Now you just made me doubt for a second. Maybe you really did do that in your lavish castle,” she teased with a laugh. “And what? You have ten girls surrounding you?” She mocked once more, turning herself to face him as she walked backwards. “If you are asking if I have ten whores, no I do not,” he snarled. “I beg to differ, snow haired. I bet you cuddled with them all day as they fed you the ripest fruit in the realm!” She cackles, throwing her head back as she started to walk side by side with him

“And what of you? You yourself are surrounded by two men,” Aemond bickered back, playing with her games.

“Gruff and Yuri? You disgust me. They are like brothers to me.”

“But do they see you as a sister?–”

“–Gruff has a wife and Yuri has two children. Do not speak of them that way.”

Surprisingly, he was satisfied with her answer.

They walked side by side as the sun shone down on them.

“But do you actually have maidens by your side?” He heard her ask.

“Maidens? No, not all the time,” he hummed, his hands behind his back.

“Not all the time? Then when do you have maidens beside you?”

He knew of the maidens she meant. Not just ordinary girls but women who threw themselves at him. Lovers or mistresses. He recalled one or two. Sylvie and another woman he replaced her with. He doesn’t even know if Alys is considered one. But he didn’t want to admit this to her. And he does not know why. She was just a stupid wildling, why would he care what she thinks of him? She could not change his past and he should not care if it did affect the way she looked at him. But he couldn’t.

“Why do you want to know so badly?” He instead said, smiling smugly at her. And he swore to the gods he saw a faint of red tint in both of her cheeks. Surely she had them before because of the cold but he could differentiate her usual red cheeks with a woman’s natural blush. “Badly is a strong word. I was just merely curious,” she replied, inserting her arm into her bow. The one eyed prince has a smirk painted on his face as he watches his flustered friend walking ahead of him. It seems he had struck a chord. And he liked it.

Hunting was a rare activity for him at his youth. His father was too sick to even teach him how to hold a bow and arrow or even a sword. The last time he went hunting was for his ten-and-four nameday. Ser Criston Cole was the one who guided him, Aegon, and Daeron through the woods to catch the biggest boar they could find. Even in that, ser Criston was the one who slew the boar himself for the guard told him that he should not risk himself with hunting since it could put him in risk.

And now Aemond finds himself hiding between trees and shrubs, sitting close with the she wildling. The others hid in other places around them as the snow fell from the sky, slightly covering the area around them. “Look!” She said, pointing towards a doe, walking curiously around the forest as it sniffs an area uncovered by the light snow. “It should be an easy target,” smirking at the one eyed prince before lending him her bow and arrow. A crossbow, yes he has taken hold of that weapon. But to act as an archer? He is ashamed to admit that he is untalented of that particular skill. “I shall skin the deer–,”

“–No, I want you to do it. Prove to them,” she insisted, nudging his arm with her bow.

If he lied– no. There is no escape to this.

“I am untalented with this weapon,” he said, boring his healthy eye onto her eyes that resembled the doe they’re hunting. His heart rate quickened when he didn’t earn an instant answer from her. They were cramped as they hid themselves quietly from their prey. In a swift motion, she positioned herself beside him, guiding his calloused hands to her bow.

“An untalented can be talented if they try,” she whispered.

Her whisper was relevant for their situation, yet he felt tiny bumps erupted across his arms. Every word she spoke was like a spell to him, obeying her as he took the bow into his hands. Her small calloused hands guided him to the bow’s grip, close enough for him to feel his cheek pressed to hers.

“You have your foundations for archery. You just need to take another step further– Keep your grip tight, now pull the string back.”

He did as she told him to.

Fixing his fingers with hers, calloused and rough that made him want to know every single story behind it.

He took a deep breath, aiming at their prey.

“Do not let it slip. Just breathe,” she whispered to him.

Aemond’s hands were steady, but his pulse hammered like a war drum in his ears.

His bowstring flicked, his fingers trembling ever so slightly as he drew the bowstring back, the taut cord singing a soft, tense note. But it hits a tree beside their prey, causing it to flinch and move from its place.

No, he failed.

“Oi! Catch that deer!” He heard Gruff say from a distance, assuming he said it to the other wildlings that came with, but Aemond wanted to prove himself. He was the one who startled it, letting it run. So he took no choice, leaping from his spot and sprinting to the deer. Startled by a human’s presence, it started to run. But Aemond was close enough to leap and trap the deer with his arms. Tackling it down, he pulled out his dagger.

Ready to stab his hunt.

But he looked down, finding the doe’s eyes looking up at him with fear.

It was alive, and it reminded him so much of her.

Doe.

He asked himself, why did he become so weak?

Was it grief? Fear? Was it all consuming his bravery?

Or did he just know how to feel once more?

To be alive like he was before they took his eye?

His train of thoughts were suddenly interrupted when an arrow shot through the doe’s body. He looked back, and saw her standing not far from him, lowering down her bow as she saw how distraught he was. She saw through his cowardliness and he was ashamed of it. All this time he thought of her as his prey, someone he could easily devour. But now he was the one who felt powerless.

He even could not shed a single blood from a doe.

“You are angry.”

The tent’s flaps were yanked open with a force that sent them flapping wildly against the tent’s sides. Aemond stormed inside as she followed along behind him. His boots pounding the earth with a ferocious rhythm that echoed the thunder of his anger. Each step was a declaration, a defiant stamp that shook through the small, confined space. He grunted, throwing his sword and dagger away.

“Snow haired–,”

“–Do not call me that!” He hissed, pointing at her as he glared the seven hells out of her.

“Is your temper that short, Aemond?”

“My temper can be as short as I please.”

Ignoring her question, he sits down and looked away at her as he felt so defeated.

“Then why was it short today? Was it because of the doe?”

“No,” he coldly replied.

“Then what is it?” She asked again, sitting on the fur covered ground beside him. Then he felt it, her hand placed on his shoulder. “If it is not because of the doe, then what is it?” Her tone is careful and gentle. Aemond forgot the last time someone asked him why he was angry. Not why he did what he did, but why he was angry. He turned his head slightly towards her direction, but not fully showing her his vulnerability.

“When you first saw me, what was the first word that came to your mind?”

A comfortable silence.

A faint laughter of small children bleeding through the tent.

“Different,” she answered honestly.

“How so?” He asked, not daring to lock his eye with her.

“Your hair. It was silver. And your posture, your physique was not big and rough like northerners,” she explained further. “Did I scare you? When we exchanged words in that bridge?” Playing with the dagger he previously tossed away. “I know I should be, and I was at first. I was scared that you would not help me or my people,” she answered again. “But did I– scared you?”

“You’re asking the wrong person, snow hair.”

A chuckle erupted from him.

A genuine one.

“It all felt so easy back then. To kill, I mean. I rode Vhagar on dragon back and burned everything to the ground as I please,” he told her, spacing off to a distance recalling his rage and anger throughout the war. “She was my pride and glory— my dragon, Vhagar. The only thing that preserved my identity and power as a Targaryen prince,”

“So you were not a kind prince,” the spearwife pointed out, listening to every word he uttered.

“I believe so. A war cannot be won merely by someone occupying a position on a council or residing in a castle. It requires more than just strategic planning and oversight from a distance. Someone has to take direct action on the battlefield, face the dangers, and engage in the conflict firsthand. That was the role I had to take on, and I embraced it more than anyone.”

“But it was not a pure act, I must admit. All the bloodshed I have done were sins that I must pay— and I believe the way to pay for my sins were to suffer like them. The Gods kept me alive a little longer for me to endure the torture I have placed upon— innocent lives at war. I suffered when I placed my foot on winterfell. I suffered when I heard of my brother’s death. I suffered when the gods left me to realize that the war was not worth all the pain.”

Throwing his dagger aside, Aemond clenched his fists tightly, his knuckles paling. It was true—he was furious. His anger was directed at his own blind ambition during the war, the realization hitting him with a pang of regret. Everything he had fought for now seemed meaningless, and he was tormented by uncertainty about his family's fate. While he remained free in the wilderness, he could only wonder what had become of them, knowing he had abandoned them in the process.

Where is duty?

Lost in his own labyrinth of his mind, he didn’t feel her shift. Their arms touched as the wildling leaned on to speak,

“Everyone who took part in a war has ever felt that way, Aemond. They all thought about what-ifs to escape for a moment from their fate. A war must be won one way or another. But even the one who wins made as many sacrifices as you did. You both endured the same grief as the other.— Both spilled as much blood as the other.”

“But you are still alive now. You might see it as a punishment, but you have a purpose in life.” Placing her palm on his chest. “You are more than just a pawn at war. This place is not your realm anymore. We live beyond the wall and you are free. You are welcome to be anything, for the wilderness does not limit the people.”

“But what is my purpose if I am not a Targaryen? What is the purpose of being free if I know that the people I love are caged in the walls of—.” He halted, a pregnant pause.

Aemond swallowed a lump in his throat, desperate for an answer.

“Then that is your purpose, is it not? You are free so you could rescue your loved ones from misery. To lead my people back into the wall— pass through it and sail your ship home. Save them from their torment. When 5 people are trapped in a cage, without any of them escaping or letting loose from its cage, they would all be trapped in that cage forever. But you— have escaped. You are outside of your cage and it is your mission to find the key and let them all out.”

As the wildling’s words flowed, a spark of intrigue ignited in the the one eyed prince’s eye. Each carefully chosen phrase seemed to resonate deeply, building a sense of connection and understanding. His posture relaxed and their gaze sharpened with growing admiration. Slowly turning his head to face his now companion.

“How old are you, wildling?” He asked.

“I just turned twenty years of age. Why do you ask?”

“I am one year older than you, yet I feel like a boy beside you.”

She smiled gently at him, letting out a bashful chuckle.

“Your mind is clouded by your emotions. I am sure you are just as intelligent as anyone.”

The air crackled with a charged tension. The girl and the prince sat close, their proximity amplifying the intensity of their unspoken connection. Shadows danced on the fabric walls as they exchanged glances that lingered longer than usual, each look revealing a flicker of vulnerability and curiosity. The silence between them was thick, filled with an electric anticipation, as if every word they might speak could unravel the depth of their hidden emotions.

“Preserving my identity as a Targaryen means so much more to me than I can imagine,” he whispered.

“Then preserve it. Don’t let it slip away from your grasp.”

Their nose almost touched as Aemond felt his body drawn to her. The way she never felt him lesser, validating his feelings that no one could ever did in his life. Helping him to crawl out from his own darkness.

Her eyes still reminded him of the doe he failed to kill. He could devour her right now if he wanted, for she was supposed to be his prey and pawn. But something changed within him. He does not wish to over power her. He does not want to exploit her the way he did with the others. She was his prey but he did not want to make her as one.

He refused to kill the doe.

He refused to harm his doe.

His doe.

Brushing a strand of hair away from her face, he sighed. “But I have changed now. I am not the same person I was in the war,” he confessed.

“Then what shall you do about it?” She asked.

Reaching out for his dagger once more, he looked down upon the sharp edge of it. “The Targaryens were identified with its silver hair, and I would like to keep it that way.”

Taking her hand gently in his, he placed the dagger in her palm.

“But I want to leave bad omen from my identity. For I have changed. My hair was long when the war started— and now it has ended. It is time to cut away the man I once was.”

a/n: they’re evolving😈😈😈 STAY TUNED FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER🌷✨🎀

167 notes · View notes

tj-crochets · 1 year ago

Text

Next day reblog, because I genuinely love how this turned out

The rainbow rag rug is complete!

#rainbow rag rug #braided rag rug #handmade #I had zero expectations for this when I started it #I was just making it so I could braid something #and use up fabric scraps as I did so #and it turned into this! :D

495 notes · View notes

creations-by-chaosfay · 10 months ago

Text

Fun fact: You can win a quilt!

Every one of my ko-fi goals will result in a giveaway when the goal is reached. In order to enter, you must support me reaching my goal. How can you do this?

Donations - These start at $5 USD. You can donate using Stripe (debit/credit) or PayPal. If you would like to donate but not enter, please let me know.

Shop Purchases - Not one of my free downloads unless you choose to pay. I have free downloads for art references and tutorials, as well as a paid tutorial. Physical items currently listed are my original paintings, coasters, mug rugs, table runners, wheelchair/baby quilt, lap quilt, and quilt tops. More items are being added nearly every week right now, all of them small and quick to make.

Commissions - It doesn't matter how much you pay. A commission will earn you an entry into the giveaway.

Tier Membership - This is like Patreon. You support me every month and, in exchange for this support, you will receive a postcard every month (except gift months), automatic 15% discount on shop and commission prices, and a few other goodies that vary depending on what tier you chose. The lowest is $5/month. Oh, and you're automatically entered into every giveaway I have. No need to do anything else.

Multiple support means multiple entries. Oh, and I ship worldwide. If your country accept cotton handmade items, you'll be able to receive it.

Please, share this information. I'm only on Tumblr, so feel free to share it on whatever social media you use. Reblogging here will be extremely helpful. For those from social media sites: reblogging is the only way to have things seen here. We do not see your likes. This is a blogging site with social features, and no algorithm.

If you would rather just get a free quilt instead of an entry for one, head over to my Throne page. Any gift from my list that's $75 or more will earn you a quilt of equal or lesser value, that choice is yours. It can be a listed item or a commission.

Thank you!

#words from the artist #artists on tumblr #artist on tumblr #tumblr artist #free stuff

148 notes · View notes

forsworned · 5 months ago

Text

Johnny jostles awake, his body recoiling from the clutches of his sleep as if he'd been thrown from a moving vehicle. His heart palpitates against his hardened and scarred chest as he realizes he’s back in his room. His surroundings are still suspiciously familiar for a moment as his environment drags out in front of him--his brown leather jacket thrown haphazardly across his desk chair, the faded, crooked rugby poster all seems far away. But he quickly shakes off his disorientation, the weight of his nightmare dissipates and he finally drops his guard once again. He’s safe. He’s home. He’s in his room, in his bed enveloped by the handmade quilt his mother gifted him.

That’s how he grounds himself. Nightmares were reoccurring but not exactly identical. It’s the same formula.

Kyle is always the first to fall--completely bled out to the fate of a gunshot wound or a nicked artery that was unable to be controlled. Price, his fearless mentor and Captain, is gone missing, completely vanished, leaving a gaping void in its wake. And then there's Simon, always flirting with death, his strength ebbs out of him as he reaches for his last mag as he lifts his mask to smoke his last ciggie. The final breath he takes before he collapses and Johnny rushes over to hold him.

His bloody saying, "Half way to the knackers' yard.", rings loudly in his ears.

Bloody behemoth, he is in every sense of the word.

He knew he always said it with a wry grin, too. The way his balaclava would warp just a notch upwards would really make him want to upper-cut the bastard. And yet, he had such a soft spot for him. All of them really. He would willingly give his life to any of his brother in arms.

He wipes the sweat off his temple as he reaches over to look at the time on his phone. His screen casts a blue light over his rugged features and his cerulean eyes are bleary as they squint at the harshness of the bright screen.

"Are you awake?"

The top message reads. An unfamiliar collection of numbers as he stares blankly at the notification.

Twenty minutes ago.

He sharply inhales as he unlocks his phone and the lack of messages between him and this number makes him scratch the scruff of his beard as he rummages through his marred brain.

Ah.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as the realization dawns. He's chuffed. It's the bird.

Really, she was an afterthought in his head. Pretty, salacious thing. A brief distraction in the grand scheme of things.

Aye, I'm awake. You in my nightmares now, or just my dreams? He types back as the grin on his face spreads across his sharp features.

He gets more comfortable in his bed, one arm behind his head as he watches the bubble pop up almost instantaneously. It claims his attention.

Depends. You want me to haunt you or make your dreams wetter?

Johnny chuckles. It tickles him in a familiar, warm kind of way. A slight thrill runs up his spine with the promise of good, late night banter.

Haunt me, lassie. I reckon I could use the thrill.

And then, his phone starts to vibrate in his hand, causing his bones rattle and his eyes to pop out of his skull.

She's calling him?

He has to admit. He kind of liked the spontaneity of hers. It hooks onto his skin and reels him in with an irresistible pull. For a moment, he hesitates before he accepts it.

"Bold move, lassie." he drawls, into the receiver, voice low and gravelly still thick with sleep. "Hope ye've got more than words to thrill me with."

His chest remains tight from his nightmare, but her sultry voice is a welcome distraction. Like licking his wounds, comforting and making him sink into his mattress some more.

It feels good. To be admired, tended to, and digitally caressed over his hardening loins--to be numb to the heaviness of his occupation. He's pragmatic. Any connection that Johnny forms is fleeting. He entertains the flirtations, the sweet words, the banter and the sexual innuendos, but it's all a distraction to him.

As her voice dances through the receiver, he can feel her pull like a Siren's song, but he's too disciplined to let himself sink deeper into her oceans.

"Johnny," Her tone changes. It's suddenly not so playful like the game is coming to an end. "you ever think about what life might be like after all of this? After the war."

His throat tightens. "Not really," he admits, the words clipped.

She hums. He expects disappointment to settle into her tone and he has to end the call with some half-hearted excuse and some saccharine nothings, but instead there's just silence. It hangs in the air longer than he anticipates. It's neither uncomforting nor heavy.

She doesn't push. Doesn't pry, or demand more from him. There's no prodding or pushing him into a corner.

"Fair enough," she says, as if there's an indifferent shrug to her casual tone. It's almost disarming. "I guess it's easier that way, yeah?"

Johnny just lays there under the weight of the quilt, looping his fingers through the loose threads. He is used to the interrogation. The pressing, the questioning. But she doesn't even bother with the details, for the practiced speech that he's ready to give a woman to pry her off his back.

But she's nothing like a botfly that sinks under his flesh and has to prise from the depths of his dermis. Merely a curious thing. He doesn't know how to shift the conversation, direction is lost upon him as he struggles to say something.

"Don't think too hard, Johnny." Her giggles rippled through the concaves of his mind, effectively shutting down any lingering thoughts or feelings of suffocation.

He lets out a sigh of relief. It causes her to giggle again and he joins her. A deep, hearty chuckle that makes him feel like his levitating in bed. For a moment he thinks that maybe the pretty little broad he met out in the city could be a prospect.

Maybe if he were normal.

"Aye," his humor slightly fades and the remnants of exhaustion start to trickle into his body again. "I reckon you're right." He feels his eyes shutting, his fingers loosen around the metal of his phone.

"I reckon you need some sleep." She ribs.

Johnny chuckles softly, sleep creeps up on him. "Aye, that's what I was thinkin'." He lets out a slow and steady breath, the tension in his shoulders breaks apart from the lull of her voice, of her acceptance.

"Good night, Johnny." Her voice is velvety and smooth, and part of him feels tethered to her, and this weightless feeling of voluntary free-falling.

"Good night, lassie." His eyes are already shut, he's half asleep and the world feels quieter than ever. And for once, his mind allows itself the illusion of peace.

94 notes · View notes

thedamnedlamb · 1 month ago

Text

Fun lore stuff for sheep/lambs

They more often than not worshipped the Bishop of Death. The one who waits for you in the afterlife. The ultimate shepherd.

Bells are seen as a symbol of power and leadership. A symbol of strength and influence. A symbol of both life and death. Something their god wore often.

There is different bells for different types of influences and leadership dynamics. The elder of a family would wear a humble handmade bell. The leader, and often times preacher, of a village would wear a bell crafted by the villages best blacksmith. Disciples of the Bishop of Death would wear a bell crafted by the bishop himself, this didn’t happen often so bells crafted by him are extremely rare and valuable. And then there’s the bell the bishop he himself wears.

Fiber crafts are extremely important to them. Using their wool in a bunch of different ways. Clothing, rugs, tapestries, dolls, pillows…they have probably done it all.

Jewelry is important to them. Particularly horn, neck, and ear jewelry. Giving someone a good quality piece of horn or neck jewelry might as well be a proposal. A pure gold bell made by a god and said god used to wear it during his heyday as a god? The lamb: Absolutely

Sheep/lambs believe in reincarnation. Most of them would not want resurrected as their old selves, seeing it as unnatural for a soul to come back as the same person. Although many would want resurrected just so they could bring back their race, screw their religion this one time ya know?

If the sheep/lambs came back how would they feel about one of their own being the god of death now? Probably a split between them. Who side do you choose your god or one of your own? Especially after hearing what happened. Many would side with our lamb. Many would side with Narinder. Both narinder and the lamb are conflicted, because they don’t want a war between everyone.

#cult of the lamb #cotl #cotl au #cult of the lamb alternate universe #alternate universe #cotl lamb #cotl alternate universe #cult of the lamb narinder #cotl narinder #colt lamb #lamb cotl #lamb cult of the lamb #narinder cotl

23 notes · View notes

lilacevans · 1 year ago

Text

𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞'𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲

happy vals day babies!!!!<333 here's how you'd spend valentines day with each of the men from pete's place! this is just short and sweet, a little gift for being inactive these past couple weeks!! am finally feeling a little better- just dealing with some wisdom tooth painnn. anywaaaaaay, enjoy besties<33 let me know your favourite! mwah!<3

✧.*ೃ⁀➷ pete's place | the intro | opening night | the playlist ༊*·˚

*this is an 18+ space. minors are not welcome here.

*this is a dark au. there are no happy endings here.

✧˚ · .ೃ⁀➷ 𝐚𝐫𝐢

✧.*ೃ ari plans a night under the stars. a complete surprise. led out blindfolded, mouth wide at the sight. ✧.*ೃ handmade fort, soft pillows and blankets. picnic and wine. portable speaker playing your favourite music. ✧.*ೃ of course you spend time between his thighs in return, he wants to make sure you're not able to speak the following day (mainly so you can't rat him out on what a romantic he is)

✧˚ · .ೃ⁀➷ 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬

✧.*ೃ holy hell. the brute can cook. like, really cook. candlelight dinner, and everything is personally made by curtis. paired wine, matching outfits, fairy lights and roaring fireplace. ✧.*ೃ while dinner is spent mainly in silence, it's one of those times you welcome it. it's comfy. he makes it comfy. footsy under the table, soft smiles and bashful laughter. ✧.*ೃ but don't worry. you'll soon remember of why you fear him. a little chase after dinner? how could you possibly? and that's exactly why you're told to run, and may the good lord help you when he does.

✧˚ · .ೃ⁀➷ 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞

✧.*ೃ sweet stevie would plan a little book/painting date. he'd decorate the manor library, pick out some of your favourite books. gets your favourite drinks, snacks, pastries, etc. ✧.*ೃ the night spent giggling away while you read your book aloud while steve sketches/paints you, until you end up watching a sappy movie while cuddled on a fuzzy rug, snug under a blanket. ✧.*ೃ hands roam, finding their way under clothes. soft kisses turn into burning need.

✧˚ · .ೃ⁀➷ 𝐣𝐚𝐤𝐞

✧.*ೃ rock music, beer, pjs and games! it's a night filled of mario kart, mortal kombat, etc. knocking each others controllers, hurling insults and giggling like children. ✧.*ೃ pillow fights, play fighting that leads to you pinned on the couch, shrieking and laughing as jake tickles your sides, goading you to go back at him. ✧.*ೃ of course this leads to some fucking right there on the couch, jakes filthy mouth, your obscene moans mixed with the loading screen of a game and the music.

✧˚ · .ೃ⁀➷ 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞

✧.*ೃ in his sick little head, i think the man believes he's doing a nice thing by buying you a shit-ton of lingerie and asking you to model it for him while he gawks at you like an utter perv. damn the fact he's got a nice dick and knows how you use it bc damn it you're modelling your ass off to get it. ✧.*ೃ of course he wants a lapdance while you tell him what a perfect man he is, how grateful you are, how much you need him. ✧.*ೃ it's only when you're bouncing on his cock that he's spilling on the fact all he thinks and breathes is you. how lucky he is to have you, how much he adores you. kinda sad he'll deny it if you were to ask him about it the next day.

✧˚ · .ೃ⁀➷ 𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐝

✧.*ೃ if you thought you would be doing anything else other than knelt at this man's feet then you are a damn fool and you deserve it tbh. let's not pretend that's a bad way to spend vals day, anyway. ✧.*ೃ however, you're getting alllllll the pet names and praise. he's strangely lovey. more handsy, hits a little softer, sounds a little sweeter. biggest shock is when he thanks you for all the depravity you allow him to inflict on you. ✧.*ೃ you're helped in the shower, dressed comfy for bed and cuddled in his arms after a longgggggg session. it's nice.

146 notes · View notes

gamercookies · 4 months ago

Text

Doing Anything is Easy! Right?

Genre: Smut, Romance, Dark. (a bit) Word Count: 4.9K Warnings: Cold-hearted CEO!RM, assistant!yn, use of knife, unprotected sex, bj, nipple play, hair pulling, dirty-talk , bit of bleeding, mistreatment, (w/ aftercare at the end) Notes: This is something new I’ve wanted to try, it’s not the best ofc, my irl friend asked to make her this 😭🙏🏼 credits to her, and enjoy bc it’s been a while and I’ve been busy ofc! You’re in love with the CEO, but he doesn’t know it, since he has a girlfriend however you don’t pay attention to that, but rather want him more, despite the coldness of his treatment with you.

It’s late in the evening (5PM), and RM told you to stay longer while he works, he asked you a simple request earlier: “Make me dinner.” That’s all you saw on the piece of paper, you didn’t know what to make. But you knew you had to make it anyway, since you’re in love with him. Despite his cold behavior, it didn’t stop you from having feelings for him, so immediately you went to the kitchen. You think to yourself.. “hmm.. what should I make? Will he like it, is it good for him?” You open the fridge, staring blankly at its contents as you rack your brain for ideas. The clock ticks away, each second feeling like an eternity as you stand there indecisively.

"Come on, y/n... Think," you mutter under your breath, running a hand through your hair in frustration. Suddenly, a thought strikes you - something simple yet comforting that might just do the trick. With renewed determination, you start gathering ingredients: juicy chicken breasts, crisp lettuce, ripe tomatoes, and a block of cheddar cheese. As you work, your mind wanders back to Namjoon, picturing his stern expression softening as he takes his first bite. Once everything is prepared, you plate the dish with care, garnishing it with fresh herbs. It may not be fancy, but you hope the flavors will speak for themselves.

“Mr, Namjoon?” You say as you knock with the tray of your handmade food ready, “Sir.. your dinner is ready, can I come in?” Your knock is barely audible over the sound of papers shuffling and pens scratching across the desk. After a moment, Namjoon looks up, his gaze sharp as he takes in the sight of you standing there with a tray.

"Enter," he says curtly, waving a hand in dismissal of whatever was occupying his attention previously. As you step inside, his eyes narrow slightly, noting the nervousness in your posture. Just as you're about to set the tray down, your foot catches on the edge of the rug, sending you stumbling forward. The clatter of dishes hitting the floor is deafening, followed by the sickening crunch of glass. Namjoon's face darkens with anger as he rises from his seat, striding towards you with purposeful strides.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" You quickly pick up the broken pieces of the plate and try to clean up the mess before he reaches you, your hands are shaking slightly as you avoid eye contact "I-I'm sorry sir, it was an accident..." Your voice trails off as you look up at him, seeing the anger in his eyes, "Please forgive me, I'll remake it for you right away."

He stops short, his boots mere inches from where you crouch, surrounded by the remnants of your failed attempt at cooking. For a long moment, he simply stares down at you, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he snatches the shard of plate from your trembling fingers and tosses it aside.

"Don't apologize to me, y/n," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "Apologize to whoever has to clean this up after you." His words cut deep, and shame floods your cheeks. You can feel his disapproval radiating off him in waves, making your heart ache. But still, you lift your gaze to meet his, determined not to let the tears welling up spill over.

"I'll fix it, Mr. Namjoon," you promise, your voice barely above a whisper. Namjoon's grip on your arms is firm, almost painful, as he pulls you to your feet. His eyes bore into yours, searching for any sign of weakness or defiance. When he finds none, he releases you abruptly, stepping back as if burned.

"You'd better," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. He turns away, dismissing you once more. "Get out of here and don't come back until you've got something edible."

The door slams shut behind you, the sound echoing through the empty hallway. As you stumble back to the kitchen, your hands shaking and your heart heavy, you can't help but wonder why you even bother trying with someone as cruel as Namjoon. And yet, despite everything, you find yourself already planning your next move, determined to prove yourself worthy of his approval. 30 minutes later, the scent of perfectly cooked chicken and roasted vegetables wafts through the air, mingling with the faint aroma of disinfectant. The kitchen is spotless, every dish washed and put away, every surface polished to a shine. You've changed into a crisp white maid uniform, complete with a bow in your hair, a symbol of your dedication to pleasing Namjoon.

As you approach his office again, you take a deep breath to steady your nerves. Knocking softly, you wait for permission to enter, hoping against hope that this time, you've finally gotten it right. The door opens a crack, and Namjoon peers out, his expression guarded. "Well?" he asks gruffly, clearly unimpressed by your appearance alone. "Is it finally ready?"

You nod eagerly, holding out the tray with both hands. "Yes, sir." You say as Namjoon steps aside, allowing you to enter with the tray. As you set it down on the desk, he moves to stand beside you, his tall frame casting a shadow over the food. For a long moment, he simply stares at the neatly arranged plates, his expression inscrutable. Then, without warning, he picks up a fork and spears a piece of chicken, staring at it for a bit. Until, Namjoon's demeanor shifts. His jaw clenches, and a low growl rumbles in his throat. He glares down at the now lukewarm meal, his appetite vanished in an instant. How could you have dared to serve him such mediocrity?

"Y/N!" he barks, his voice echoing through his office. "Get back here, now!" He slams his fist on the desk, making the silverware jump. The anger coursing through his veins is unlike anything he's felt before. He's used to getting what he wants, when he wants it, and this constant disappointment from you is wearing thin. "Explain yourself," he says. Afraid and nervous you mutter softly, "S-sir, I-I'm s-so sorry... I didn't mean to disappoint you again..." you look down, fidgeting with the hem of your skirt nervously "P-please tell me how I can make it right this time..."

Namjoon's grip on your arms tightens, his nails digging into your skin hard enough to bruise. The knife he brandishes is sharp, the blade glinting menacingly in the dim light of the office. His eyes blaze with fury, and his voice drops to a deadly whisper. "You think a half-hearted apology and a pretty plea will save you from my wrath? You're damn right it won't!" With a sudden jerk, he spins you around, pressing the cold metal of the knife against your throat. You can feel the tip pricking your sensitive skin, a tiny bead of blood welling up.

"If you ever disappoint me again, y/n, I won't hesitate to use this on you. Do you understand?" His hot breath fans over your ear as he leans in close, the threat hanging heavy in the air between you. You whimper and nod frantically, feeling the cool metal press harder against your neck, making you shiver, "Y-yes, I understand, Mr. Namjoon! I won't disappoint you again, I swear it!" You manage to say, as tears well-up in fear.

Namjoon's grip on the knife loosens slightly, but he keeps it pressed firmly against your throat, a reminder of the consequences should you fail him again. After a long, tense moment, he finally withdraws the blade, tucking it back into its sheath with a soft click. "See if you keep that promise," he warns, his voice still rough with anger. "Because if you don't, there won't be anyone left to clean up your messes." He releases you abruptly, stepping back to regard you with a critical eye. Slowly, he nods, seeming to accept your assurances for now.

"Very well. You may leave me to finish my 'meal' in peace." You bow deeply and quickly exit the room, not daring to look back crying, hurrying to the kitchen to prepare a proper dessert for him, hoping to redeem yourself further. Once the door closes behind you, Namjoon allows himself a moment to calm down. He takes a deep breath, letting the tension seep out of his muscles. The anger still simmers beneath the surface, but he tamps it down, focusing instead on the task at hand.

He knows better than to let his guard down. As he looks at the food, Namjoon's mind wanders to you who had so boldly entered his life. There's something intriguing about you, a spark of determination that he can't quite extinguish. It's a quality he admires, even as it drives him to push your limits. Just as Namjoon is about to head out to meet with the others, the sweet aroma of your carefully crafted dessert wafts into the office, catching his attention. He pauses, turning to face you as you enter, bearing a beautifully presented plate of creamy tiramisu.

"Well, well," he remarks, his gaze sweeping over her form critically. As you approach him, he reaches out, his fingers brushing against yours as he takes the plate. A jolt of electricity seems to pass between them at the contact, and for a fleeting moment, the icy facade cracks, revealing a hint of warmth beneath. "Looks like someone's been paying attention. This actually looks appetizing." You smile shyly, blushing at the praise, "T-thank you sir.."

Three days later, Namjoon sits hunched over his desk, poring over a stack of documents. His brow furrows in concentration, but the tension in his shoulders betrays his growing frustration. Suddenly, he slams the papers down, his eyes narrowing as he scans the pages again. "Y/N!" he yells loudly from his office, his voice echoing through the hallway. "Get over here now!"

You run to his office, but before you can respond, he's already rising from his seat, striding towards you with purposeful steps. His hands clench into fists at his sides, and the air crackles with barely contained rage, "What do you mean these documents aren't in order?! I specifically told you how I wanted them arranged!" You cry out in fear as he grabs the knife again, pressing it against your throat, pulling your hair back harshly to expose your neck "You're incompetent, Y/N! You never listen!" Namjoon's grip on the knife tightens, the cold steel digging into your tender skin as he yanks your head back. You squirm in fear from the pain, but he pays no heed, his focus solely on expressing his outrage.

"You're an absolute disaster waiting to happen. How many times must I repeat myself before you get it right?" With a sudden jerk, he forces you to bend over the edge of the desk, your chest pressed flat against the polished wood. The position leaves you vulnerable and exposed, your skirt riding up to reveal the curve of your bottom.

"I should have known better than to trust you with such crucial tasks," he growls, his hot breath fanning over your ear. Tears continue to stream down your face as you tremble under his harsh treatment, feeling the cold metal of the knife dig deeper into your skin. “I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to.. I was so caught up on-" Namjoon silences you with a sharp twist of the knife, drawing a thin line of blood that trickles down your neck. The metallic scent fills the air, mingling with the salty tang of your tears. "Don't bother apologizing until you learn to follow instructions properly," he snarls, his free hand coming down hard on your rear, delivering a stinging slap. "You're lucky I don't cut out your tongue for your constant mistakes."

He presses the knife a little deeper, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp. The pain serves as a stark reminder of your predicament – completely at his mercy, with no escape from his wrath. "Now, I want those documents reorganized, and I want them perfect this time," he demands, his voice low and menacing. "Do I make myself clear, y/n?" You nod frantically, crying as you try to catch your breath, "Y-yes sir, I understand... I'll fix it right away..." Namjoon pushes you away as he puts the tucks the knife back in, and gestures towards the door, dismissing you. "Now, get out of my sight and correct those documents."

As you exit his office, tears still clinging to your flushed cheeks, you can't help but feel a twinge of sadness mixed with resignation. Yet, despite the hurt, a small part of your mind refuses to give up entirely. You recall the fleeting moments of tenderness Namjoon showed during their initial encounter - the softness in his voice, the appreciative glance. Perhaps, beneath the gruff exterior, there lies a man capable of warmth and affection.

Suddenly, a bold idea takes root in your thoughts. What if, instead of trying to please Namjoon through obedience alone, you attempt to win him over through more... intimate means? After all, you’ve heard rumors during the day about his notorious appetites and desires.

The hours tick by slowly as you prepare for your late-night encounter. At precisely 9 PM, you decide to wear a provocative maid uniform (than the previous one) complete with a short skirt and lacy stockings. A pair of high heels adds to the allure, making every step deliberate and sensual. Knocking softly on his office door, you wait for Namjoon's response, heart pounding in anticipation. When the door finally swings open, you’re met with a surprise - Namjoon looks up from his paperwork, but instead of the expected lust or interest, his gaze is tinged with annoyance.

"What is it, y/n?" he asks curtly, not bothering to hide his impatience. "Can't you see I'm busy?" You swallow hard, trying to regain your composure. "Oh, um, I just wanted to make sure everything was in order for you, sir," You say, attempting to sound innocent and helpful. "And perhaps assist in relieving some of the stress from your day?" You say as you walk towards this desk saying seductively, "Besides, a little company might be just what you need to unwind." Namjoon raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your attempt at seduction. He leans back in his chair, staring at you with a critical eye.

"You think a skimpy maid outfit and a flirty attitude are enough to distract me, y/n?" he scoffs, his tone dismissive. "I appreciate the effort, but I'm not some easily swayed fool." He pauses, studying you intently. "To be honest, I find your persistence quite annoying. Don't you have any shame left after the way you behaved earlier today?"

A flicker of something - regret, maybe, or a hint of longing - crosses Namjoon's features before he schools his expression once more. "And even if I weren't committed to someone else, which I am, you'd still be far from desirable." Your cheeks flush with anger and embarrassment at Namjoon's blunt rejection. But rather than backing down, you decide to push further, determined to provoke a reaction.

"Oh, really?" You say, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, isn't that just wonderful. You're tied up with some boring girlfriend, probably just sitting at home waiting for you to come and bore her with tales of your 'important' business deals." You take a step closer, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. "I bet she doesn't know what to do with a real man like you, does she? Someone who knows how to take control, show her who's boss..." Your eyes gleam with malice as you continue to taunt Namjoon.

With a growl of fury, Namjoon seizes you by the wrist, yanking you across the desk with brutal force. You let out a startled cry as your being bent over the polished wooden desk. "You think you can just waltz in here, insult my relationship, and get away with it?" Namjoon snarls, his other hand closing around your throat, squeezing just hard enough to make breathing difficult. "I should carve you up like the insolent piece of meat you are!"

His grip tightens, the blade of the knife appearing at your side with deadly precision. In a flash, he slices through the fabric of your maid uniform, leaving you in just your panties and bra.

"I'll teach you respect, you filthy little slut," You whimper and tremble, tears streaming down your face as you struggle weakly against his grip, but you know it's futile. You’re completely at his mercy now, exposed and vulnerable.

"P-please, Namjoon... I didn't mean to upset you..." Your voice cracks with fear and desperation. "I just... I wanted to make you happy, somehow..." You look up at him pleadingly, hoping to appeal to whatever shred of humanity might remain in his cold, angry eyes. "Don't hurt me... I'll do anything, just don't use that knife..."

Namjoon's gaze rakes over your tear-streaked face, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he seems to consider your pleas, the knife hovering mere inches from their trembling flesh. "You think a few empty apologies and pitiful whimpers will save you now?" he sneers, his voice low and menacing. "You've crossed a line, y/n. Insulting my personal life, thinking you could play games with me..."

He leans in close, his hot breath ghosting over your ear. "But since you're so eager to please, I suppose we can find a way to make use of your... talents." With a sudden motion, Namjoon's hands roam possessively over your exposed body, fingers digging into the tender flesh of your thighs as he positions himself between your legs. "Since you're so desperate to serve, I'll give you a task worthy of your devotion," he growls, his voice thick with lust.

"Get on your knees and show me how much you want to make me happy, y/n," Namjoon commands, his eyes burning with dark promise. He grips your chin, forcing you to meet his intense stare. "And remember, if you disappoint me again, there will be consequences. Now, get to work." Namjoon watches with a mix of disdain and arousal as you scramble to obey, your hands shaking as you fumble with his belt and zipper. Once freed, his thick cock springs forth, already rock-hard and leaking precum.

"Mmm, look at that," Namjoon purrs, running a calloused thumb over the sensitive head. "Your mouth waters just seeing mine, doesn't it? Such a greedy little whore, craving my dick." He pushes your head down, guiding you to take the first inch of his shaft into your mouth. You whimper around the intrusion, tongue swirling tentatively.

"That's it, suck it like you mean it," Namjoon orders, thrusting shallowly to force more of his length past those plump lips. "Take all of me, deepthroat that fucking cock until you gag." You gags loudly as Namjoon forces another inch of his massive cock down your throat, your eyes watering from the discomfort. You sputter and choke, struggling to breathe around the thick girth stretching their esophagus.

Finally, unable to take anymore, you pull back with a gasp, tears streaming down your face. "I-it's so big, sir... I don't think I can do it," you wheeze, voice hoarse from the abuse. "But I'll try harder, I promise..."

Namjoon scoffs, a cruel smirk playing on his lips as he surveys at your disheveled state. "Try harder? You call that pathetic performance trying? I've seen better efforts from a drunken hooker." He gives your head a rough shove back onto his cock, ignoring your choked protests. You gag once again and this time you start to choke, coughing and sputtering, your eyes wide with panic as you try to pull off but Namjoon holds you in place.

"Ah-ah-ah, not so fast, slut," Namjoon chuckles darkly, his grip on your hair tightening. "You're going to learn to love choking on my cock. It's the only way you'll ever satisfy me."

With a brutal twist, he wrenches your head back, forcing you to stare up at him as he starts to fuck your face in earnest. Each merciless thrust grinds against the delicate tissues of your throat, making your vision blur with tears and stars. "That's right, take it all," Namjoon groans, his hips snapping forward with increasing vigor. Namjoon's balls slap lewdly against your chin with each punishing stroke, the wet sounds of their forced intimacy echoing through the room. He relishes the sight of your distress, the way their struggles only spur him on.

"Fucking hell, look at you," he pants, his grip on your hair bordering on painful. "Such a pretty little cocksleeve, made just for me to ruin. I bet you'd let me do anything to you, wouldn't you?"

He punctuates his words with particularly vicious thrusts, burying himself to the hilt in your convulsing throat. "Tell me, slut, what else would you do for me? How far would you go to prove your loyalty?" He pulls your hair causing your head to pull out of his cock as you quickly say, "A-Anything! Anything! I love you so much you don’t know that, I want you as mine, not your girlfriend!"

Namjoon's eyes blaze with a fierce, possessive light as your confession spills from your lips. With a sudden, brutal move, he slams your head back down onto his cock, choking you on his thick length once more. "Oh, you have no idea how much I crave hearing you beg like that," he growls, his hips pistoning wildly as he ravages your throat. "Saying you love me, wanting to claim me as yours... Fuck, it's intoxicating."

As you continue to gag and sputter around him he says, "You really think you can just swoop in and steal me away from Hana? Make me abandon everything we've built together?"

"Mmph..! Mmphh!!" You manage to moan as Namjoon's grip on your hair tightens, pulling your head back sharply as he unleashes a torrent of cum directly down your throat. "Swallow it all, every last drop," he commands, his voice ragged with pleasure. "You're going to milk me dry, you insatiable little slut. Drink up and show me how much you crave my essence inside you." As you choke and gag, desperately trying to accommodate the overwhelming load, Namjoon's fingers dig into your skin, marking you as his own.

Once done, Namjoon tosses you onto his desk with a thud, the wood creaking under your weight. He quickly removes your remaining clothing, tossing aside the discarded bra and panties to reveal your dripping, bare sex.

"Now, let's see if you can truly make me forget about Hana," he murmurs, his gaze raking over your exposed form with hunger. "I want to bury myself so deep in your cunt, you'll be screaming my name and make me forget about her."

Without further preamble, Namjoon hikes your legs up around his waist and lines his throbbing cock up with your entrance. He pauses for a moment, savoring the anticipation, before driving forward in one powerful thrust. "Fuuuck," he groans, his eyes rolling back in bliss as your velvety heat envelops him.

You lets out a long, drawn-out moan as Namjoon's thick cock splits you open, filling you to the brim. Your inner walls clench greedily around the invading length, coaxing pleasured whimpers from your lips.

"Oh god, yes... Your cock feels incredible," you gasp, your voice breathy and needy. "Please, Namjoon, fuck me hard. Make me yours, I need you to dominate me." Your words seem to ignite something primal within Namjoon. With a feral snarl, he sets a brutal pace, pounding into your willing body with ruthless intensity. "You're mine now, understood?" You cry out in ecstasy, nodding fervently as Namjoon's dominant declaration washes over you. "Yes, yes, I'm yours!" You moan, your voice high and desperate. "Use me however you want, make me submit to you completely!"

As Namjoon continues his relentless assault on your pussy, his hands roam freely over their curves, squeezing and kneading the supple flesh. He cups your bouncing breasts, thumbs teasing the hardened peaks of your nipples.

"Look at these tits, jiggling so prettily with each thrust," Namjoon growls, pinching the sensitive nubs harshly. "I bet they taste even sweeter than your mouth did." With that, he leans down, capturing a nipple between his teeth and tugging roughly. You whimper and arch your back, pushing your breast further into his mouth as he sucks and bites, your other hand reaching down to rub your clit in desperation "Ohh fuckk namjoon..! Not so harsh.. Ngh!"

Namjoon releases your nipple with a pop, a string of saliva connecting the abused bud to his lips. He gazes up at your flushed face, taking in your arched back and the desperate movements of your hand between their thighs.

"Not so harsh, huh?" he chuckles darkly, trailing his tongue along the valley of your cleavage. "We'll see about that. You want to come undone on my cock, don't you? Begging for release like the needy little slut you are."

His fingers resume to torment of your nipples, tweaking and rolling the sensitive flesh until your squirming and mewling beneath him. "These tits of yours are absolutely stunning," Namjoon praises, his touch gentling slightly. "So full and perky, just begging to be sucked and fucked."

Your moans grow louder and more urgent as Namjoon's skilled fingers work overtime on your sensitive clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your trembling body.

"Ohhh fuck, I'm so close!" You yell out as your hips buckle wildly against Namjoon's thrusting cock. "Please, please make me cum! I need it so bad!" Feeling your pussy start to flutter and clench around him, Namjoon knows he's not far behind. His own climax builds rapidly, fueled by the exquisite sensations of your slick heat and the erotic sight of your breasts bouncing with each frenzied thrust.

"I'm gonna fill you up, y/n," he grunts, his pace becoming erratic as he nears the brink. "Get ready to take my load deep inside you." With a final, savage thrust, Namjoon buries himself to the hilt inside you, his cock pulsing as he unleashes a torrent of hot, sticky cum straight into your spasming depths. Your walls ripple and squeeze around him, milking every last drop from his spent member. "Yes, yes, take it all!" Namjoon roars, his voice raw with pleasure and possession. "You're mine now, forever and always. No one else will ever touch you like this again."

As the aftershocks of your shared orgasm slowly subside, Namjoon collapses onto you, and wraps a protective arm around your waist. Panting you say, “Wait so I’m yours now? I’m confused.. was I too harsh earlier with the rude smack about her-?” Your words cut through the post-coital haze, making Namjoon stiffen in surprise. He pulls out of your well-fucked pussy with a wet plop, his softening cock glistening with your combined fluids. "Hana?" Namjoon scoffs, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "She means nothing to me anymore. You were right, she never could satisfy me like you do."

Before you can respond, Namjoon reaches down and grasps his half-hard cock once more. In a swift, decisive motion, he strokes himself to full mast, his grip tightening as he nears climax again. "Watch closely, because this time, I'm going to paint your tits with my cum," Namjoon growls, his eyes locked onto your heaving chest. "Mark you as mine in the most public way possible." With a guttural grunt, Namjoon unleashes another torrent of semen, this time aiming directly at your pert breasts. Thick ropes of white spurt forth, splattering across the smooth skin and painting it with his mark.

"There, now everyone will know you belong to me," Namjoon declares, his chest heaving with exertion. "No more doubts or insecurities. You're mine, and I won't let anyone or anything change that." He reaches out, gently tracing the contours of your cum-splattered tits, admiring his handiwork. "Beautiful, Just like the rest of you."

Namjoon sees you panting for air after the intense moment you both had, "But since you're feeling exhausted, I suppose I should show some... consideration," Namjoon says, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. "Do you need to rest, drink some water? I wouldn't want my new toy to burn out before we've had our fun."

You giggle, clearly amused by Namjoon's playful attitude. "Now you're being nice? I mean, good because I am tired," you reply with a grin, patting Namjoon's chest affectionately. "So, this job was easy then! But give me a kiss before you leave me here on your desk!” Namjoon's smirk fades, replaced by a softer expression as he looks at you with newfound tenderness. He cups your face gently, thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

"You got it, my new sweetheart," he murmurs, leaning in to capture your lips in a deep, lingering kiss. When you both finally break apart, Namjoon's eyes search your face, a silent promise of protection and devotion etched in their depths. "Rest up, my love. We've got a lot more 'work' ahead of us," he whispers, a sly smile playing on his lips as he pulls you closer, already planning their next encounter.

#kpop #Writercookies🎀#bts smut #bts fanfic #bts namjoon #bts rm #namjoon #namjoon smut #bts #rm smut #bangtan sonyeondan

40 notes · View notes

th3mrskory · 5 months ago

Text

Chapter 7: Echoes of the Past

Pairing: Original fem!Reader x Origins!Logan Warning: Mentions of past trauma (mild), masturbation (male) and I think that's all. A/N: So, I know the slow burn has been crawling, so this time I decided to pour some gasoline on it. This chapter touches on Evelyn’s past— let’s just say a ghost makes a timely return to stir things up. Chapter 8 …well, you might hate me (but I hope not too much). Thank you for your patience and for sticking with me—it means more than I can say. Now, go enjoy this one, and let me know what you think!

Word count: 6.5k

© th3mrskory. don’t copy, translate, or use my works in any form with AI, ChatGPT or any other automated tools. I only share my stories here, so if you see them posted elsewhere, i’d appreciate it if you let me know.

The town fair was alive with the hum of cheerful voices, the scent of funnel cakes and roasted chestnuts wafting through the cool evening air. Strings of colorful lights crisscrossed the fairgrounds, casting a warm glow over the gathering crowd. Evelyn tightened her grip on Logan’s hand as they weaved through the throng, the comfortable weight of his presence grounding her in the lively chaos.

“Didn’t peg you as a fair kind of guy,” she teased, glancing up at him with a small smile.

Logan smirked, his free hand shoved deep into the pocket of his jacket. “The guys at work were all bringing their ladies. Figured I’d better not show up empty-handed.”

Evelyn raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, so I’m just here to save your reputation?”

“Yes,” he replied dryly, though the faint curve of his lips betrayed his amusement.

She gave his hand a playful squeeze. “Well, I’m honored to uphold your rugged logger image.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, his thumb brushing against the back of her hand as they strolled past a booth selling handmade crafts. The fair was in full swing, the sounds of laughter and the occasional burst of music filling the crisp night air.

“Think you’ll get called out for bringing a city girl?” she asked, nudging him gently.

“Nah,” Logan said, glancing at her. “They’ve been waiting to see who’d put up with me.”

Evelyn laughed, the sound light and easy. “Good thing I don’t scare off that easily.”

The banter between them carried on as they explored the fair, stopping occasionally to admire the wares at different stalls or grab a bite to eat. Logan’s presence was steady and comforting, his rare smiles making the night feel even warmer despite the cool breeze.

They passed a booth with a ring toss game, the prizes ranging from stuffed animals to small trinkets. Evelyn stopped, eyeing a plush fox hanging in the corner.

“You eyeing that fox?” Logan asked, his tone light.

She shrugged, feigning indifference. “I mean, it’s cute, but those games are rigged.”

Logan tilted his head, his smirk widening. “Rigged, huh?”

Before she could protest, he handed over a few bills to the vendor and picked up the rings. His first toss missed, but the next two landed squarely on the poles, the clang of success drawing a grin from the vendor.

“Nice work,” the vendor said, handing Logan the plush fox.

Logan turned to Evelyn, holding it out. “For you.”

She laughed, taking the toy and hugging it to her chest. “You’re just full of surprises tonight, aren’t you?”

“Don’t spread it around,” he said, his tone dry but his expression warm.

As they wandered back into the heart of the fair, the hum of activity enveloped them once more. The scent of roasted chestnuts and sweet cotton candy mingled in the air, and Evelyn found herself easing into the moment again, Logan’s steady presence beside her grounding her in ways she hadn’t fully realized until now.

They paused by a booth selling cider, Logan handing her a warm cup before taking one for himself. “Good?” he asked, his voice low but warm.

She took a sip, the spicy sweetness filling her senses, and nodded with a small smile. “Very.”

They strolled on, stopping occasionally to admire the performers scattered throughout the fair—a fire-breather here, a fiddler playing lively tunes there. Logan’s quiet amusement at her fascination with it all made her smile.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asked, bumping his arm lightly.

“Not bad,” he said, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “Seeing you enjoy it makes it better.”

Before she could respond, a loud voice called out from nearby.

“Howlett!”

They both turned to see a group of men gathered near a ring-toss game, several of whom Evelyn recognized from the logging site. One of them—a tall, broad-shouldered man with a salt-and-pepper beard—was waving them over.

“Caught you at the fair, huh?” the man said with a grin as they approached. “Thought you’d be too busy chopping trees or scowling at the world.”

“Guess you don’t know me as well as you think, Pete,” Logan replied, his tone dry but not unfriendly.

The others chuckled, their gazes shifting to Evelyn.

“And this must be the reason he’s been less grumpy lately,” another one said, winking at her. “Nice to finally meet you. Name’s Rick.”

Evelyn smiled, shaking his offered hand. “Nice to meet you too.”

“Don’t mind these idiots,” Logan muttered, though the faintest hint of amusement flickered in his eyes.

“You’re just mad we’re right,” Rick quipped, elbowing Pete. “Good to see you happy, Howlett. It suits you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan said, his hand resting lightly on the small of Evelyn’s back.

Rick smirked, his tone sly. “So, when’s the wedding, huh? You gonna invite us, or are you keeping it small?”

Evelyn laughed, her eyes sparkling as she glanced at Logan. “We’ll let you know if he ever asks.”

Rick let out a booming laugh, clapping Logan on the shoulder. “She’s got you pegged, Howlett. Better not let this one get away.”

Logan shook his head, but the warmth in his expression didn’t go unnoticed. “You done yet?”

“Not even close,” Rick said, grinning. “We just want to make sure she knows what she’s signed up for.”

Evelyn tilted her head, her gaze playful. “Oh, I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

Rick laughed again, his hand resting briefly on Evelyn’s shoulder. “You’re a good sport. Good luck with him.”

After a few more minutes of lighthearted ribbing, the group let them go with a chorus of good-natured farewells. As they walked away, Evelyn glanced up at Logan, her smile softening.

“They seem nice,” she said.

“They mean well,” he replied, his hand slipping back into hers.

“They’re happy for you,” she pointed out, squeezing his hand lightly.

Logan’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Guess they are.”

They continued their stroll, pausing near the carousel where the cheerful sound of calliope music drifted through the air. The strings of lights twinkled overhead, casting a soft glow over the quiet corner. Logan stopped, his gaze shifting to her.

“You doing okay?” he asked, his voice low but steady.

Evelyn nodded, her fingers brushing against his. “I am. Thanks to you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Logan said simply, his thumb brushing against her knuckles. “Just glad I could help.”

She stepped closer, her voice softer now. “You’re more than ‘help,’ Logan. You don’t have to say it, but I know what you mean to me.”

The warmth in his gaze made her chest tighten, and she leaned into him slightly, letting the quiet strength of his presence wrap around her. In that moment, the chaos of the fair seemed a world away, leaving just the two of them standing together beneath the strings of lights.

As they rounded a corner near the Ferris wheel, Evelyn suddenly froze mid-step, her laughter dying in her throat. Across the fairgrounds, standing near a booth selling caramel apples, was a face she hadn’t seen in over a year but would recognize anywhere.

Her ex-fiancé, William.

He looked almost the same as he had the day he left—clean-cut, polished, and standing with the same air of casual confidence that once made her feel safe. But now, he was leaning close to another woman, his arm draped loosely around her shoulders. The sight sent a cold wave crashing over her, the noise of the fair fading into a dull hum in the background.

Logan’s voice broke through the fog. “You alright?”

She turned toward him, startled, her heart pounding. “What? Yeah. I’m fine.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze flicking toward the direction she’d been staring. He didn’t say anything, but his hand tightened around hers, his presence steady and unyielding.

And then, as if drawn by some unseen thread, her ex-fiancé turned. Their eyes met across the distance, and for a moment, Evelyn couldn’t breathe. For a moment, there was no recognition. And then, his expression shifted—first surprise, then something that looked almost like discomfort.

“Evelyn,” he said, his voice carrying just enough for her to hear over the noise of the fair.

She froze, the sound of her name on his lips sending a shiver down her spine. Logan stopped with her, his posture subtly shifting as he positioned himself closer to her side.

“Hey,” her ex said, taking a step forward. The woman beside him glanced between them, her smile faltering as she seemed to sense the tension. “It’s been a while.”

“Yes, it has,” Evelyn replied, her tone carefully neutral.

The man hesitated, his gaze flicking to Logan before returning to her. “You look good,” he said awkwardly, as though unsure of what else to say.

Evelyn straightened slightly, her fingers tightening around Logan’s. “Thanks.”

An awkward silence stretched between them, heavy and uncomfortable. Logan didn’t speak, but his quiet presence beside her felt like a shield, solid and unyielding.

“Well,” her ex said after a moment, glancing back at the woman he was with. “It was good seeing you. Take care, Evelyn.”

“You too,” she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil churning in her chest.

As he walked away, she let out a shaky breath, her shoulders sagging slightly. Logan didn’t say anything, but his hand moved to rest lightly against her back, grounding her.

“Let’s keep moving,” she said quickly.

They walked in silence for a while, the lightness of their earlier banter replaced by a heavy tension that clung to Evelyn like a second skin. She tried to focus on the fair—the laughter of children, the cheerful music drifting from the carousel—but the image of her ex lingered, stirring a whirlwind of emotions she thought she’d buried.

Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. “I need some air,” she murmured, stepping toward the edge of the fairgrounds where the crowd thinned.

Logan followed without hesitation, his hand slipping from hers but his presence close behind. They stopped near a bench beneath a string of lights, the soft glow illuminating the lines of concern etched into his face.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” he asked, his voice low but steady.

She hesitated, her arms wrapping around herself as she stared at the ground. “That was my ex,”she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

The words hung in the air between them, carrying the weight of a history Logan didn’t yet know. His gaze remained steady, his hands flexing slightly as if resisting the urge to reach for her.

“The one who...?” he began, his voice trailing off, leaving the rest of the question unspoken.

She nodded, her throat tightening. “Yeah.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, a flicker of something sharp crossing his expression—anger, maybe, or something close to it. But he didn’t say anything, letting her set the pace of the conversation.

“I wasn’t expecting to see him,” she continued, her voice wavering. “And with someone else...” Her words faltered, and she shook her head as if to clear it. “Not that it matters. It doesn’t.It just caught me off guard. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” Logan’s tone was calm, but there was an edge to it, a quiet insistence that told her he wasn’t buying her dismissal.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she turned toward him, finally meeting his gaze. “It’s complicated, Logan. Seeing him again—it brought back... the hurt, the humiliation.”

Logan stepped closer, his hand brushing against her arm before settling there lightly. “You don’t have to explain it all to me,” he said, his voice softer now.

She closed her eyes for a moment, the tension in her chest loosening just slightly at his words. “I thought I’d moved past it,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “But seeing him... I don’t know. It made me feel like I’m right back at the church.”

Logan’s brow furrowed, his expression shifting into something that wasn’t pity but understanding—a quiet strength that steadied her as her words faltered.

“You’re not there,” he said firmly, his voice low and grounding. “You’re here. And you’re stronger than the person he walked away from.”

Her throat tightened, a rush of emotion threatening to overwhelm her. “It doesn’t feel like it,” she whispered. “It feels like he took something from me that I can’t get back.”

Logan’s hand moved to cup her cheek, his rough palm warm against her skin. The gesture made her chest ache, not from pain but from the tenderness in it.

“He didn’t take anything that matters,” Logan said, his tone steady. “Not the part of you that kept going. That rebuilt herself when he wasn’t there to help.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she let out a shaky breath. “Logan...”

His thumb brushed the tear away, his gaze never wavering. “You’re allowed to feel this,” he murmured. “But don’t let it make you forget how far you’ve come. And don’t let it make you forget who you are now.”

His words settled over her, soothing the raw edges of her hurt. She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat as she leaned slightly into his touch.

“You always know what to say,” she said softly, her lips curving into a faint, tentative smile.

Logan let out a soft huff, his thumb pausing against her cheek. “Just trying to keep up with you.”

That earned a quiet laugh, the sound breaking through the tension and lightening the air between them. She reached up, covering his hand with hers, her fingers curling around his.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice steadier now.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied, his voice rough but warm. “Just... let me be here for you.”

The sincerity in his words made her heart ache in the best way.

She took a deep breath, stepping back slightly but keeping her hand in his. “Let’s go back,” she said, her voice quiet but determined.

Logan nodded, his fingers tightening briefly around hers. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” she said, meeting his gaze. “I’m not letting him ruin our night.”

Logan’s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles, and without another word, he guided her back toward the fair. His hand stayed firmly in hers, his presence a steadying anchor as the lively sounds of the fair enveloped them once more.

Though her mind still lingered on the encounter, the warmth of Logan’s touch and the weight of his words grounded her, reminding her of the life she was building—one that her past couldn’t take from her.

Logan pulled the truck to a gentle stop in front of the cottage, the warm glow of the porch light spilling into the darkened yard. The drive back from the fair had been quiet, but not uncomfortable—filled with the kind of silence that spoke of mutual understanding rather than awkwardness.

Logan turned to her as she unbuckled her seatbelt, his expression steady but laced with something unspoken. “You alright?”

Evelyn nodded, managing a small smile. “Yeah. I think so. Thanks for tonight. For... everything.”

His lips quirked into the faintest smile, his hand resting on the gear shift. “Always.”

As she reached for the door handle, his voice stopped her. “Hey.”

She turned back to him, her brows lifting slightly.

“I was thinking,” he began, his tone casual but carrying an edge of hesitation, “maybe next time, we do something a little quieter. Dinner. At my place.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Your place?”

Logan shrugged, his gaze flicking briefly toward the steering wheel before meeting hers again. “Figured it’s only fair. We’re always here at yours.”

A warm, unexpected flutter spread through her chest at the suggestion. “I’d like that,” she said softly, her smile widening.

“Friday work for you?”

She nodded, stepping out of the truck but pausing before shutting the door. “I’ll bring dessert,” she teased, her tone light.

Logan smirked, his eyes glinting in the dim light. “Deal.”

On Friday evening, the crisp autumn air was tinged with the scent of pine as Evelyn turned her car onto the gravel road leading to Logan’s cabin. The fading sunlight cast long shadows across the driveway, the forest surrounding his property alive with the soft rustle of leaves.

Her nerves hummed lightly as she parked next to his truck, clutching the box of homemade cookies she’d promised to bring for dessert. It wasn’t their first evening together, but this felt different—more deliberate, like a step forward in their unspoken rhythm.

Before she could knock, the door opened, revealing Logan in his usual flannel and jeans, his sleeves rolled up and his hair slightly tousled. There was a warmth in his gaze that immediately put her at ease.

“Hey,” he greeted, stepping aside to let her in.

“Hey,” she replied, offering him a smile as she crossed the threshold. The cabin was cozy, smaller than her cottage but just as inviting, with its rough-hewn wooden beams and the faint crackle of a fire in the stone hearth.

Logan took the box of cookies from her hands, his fingers brushing hers briefly. “Smells good,” he said, glancing down at the neatly tied package.

“Don’t let that fool you,” she teased, slipping off her coat. “They might taste terrible.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Doubt that.”

The cabin felt distinctly like him—simple and sturdy, with a sense of quiet warmth beneath the surface. A small bookshelf sat by the fireplace, filled with well-worn paperbacks and a few framed photos. The table in the corner was set with two mismatched plates and a candle flickering gently in the center.

“You really went all out,” she said, her voice carrying a note of playful surprise as she took it all in.

Logan shrugged, setting the cookies on the counter. “Figured it was time for a change. We’re always at your place.”

Her smile softened at his effort, and she stepped closer, brushing a hand lightly against his arm. “It’s nice. Thank you.”

Dinner was simple but perfect—a roast chicken, potatoes, and vegetables that Logan had clearly put care into preparing. They fell into easy conversation as they ate, the intimacy of the space wrapping around them like a blanket.

Halfway through the meal, Evelyn glanced at the photo frame on the bookshelf. It showed a much younger Logan in a military uniform, standing next to a group of men who were all grinning despite the dust and grime on their faces.

“Is that you?” she asked, nodding toward the picture.

Logan’s gaze followed hers, his expression softening slightly. “Yeah. A long time ago.”

“You look so serious,” she teased gently, though there was no mockery in her tone.

“Wasn’t much to laugh about back then,” he admitted, his voice quiet but steady.

A beat of silence passed, the weight of his words settling between them. Then Logan leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady on hers. “I wanted to give you something,” he said, his voice almost casual, though his tone carried an underlying weight.

Evelyn tilted her head, curious. “What is it?”

He stood and crossed the room to the bookshelf, reaching for something she hadn’t noticed before. When he returned, he held out a pair of dog tags strung on a simple chain.

The metal glinted faintly in the candlelight as he placed them in her hands. “These are mine,” he said, his voice rougher now. “From when I served.”

She stared down at the tags, her fingers brushing over the etched letters. “Logan...”

“You don’t have to wear them or anything,” he said quickly, almost as if he were worried she might refuse. “Just... I wanted you to have something. Something that mattered to me.”

Her throat tightened, and she looked up at him, her voice trembling slightly. “Thank you. This means more than you know.”

After the meal, they worked together on the dishes, their movements synchronized in a quiet rhythm. The soft clink of plates and the gentle hum of conversation filled the small kitchen, adding to the warmth of the evening. When they were done, Logan grabbed a towel, wiping his hands as Evelyn wandered into the living room.

Her gaze landed on a Polaroid camera sitting on the side table. “Oh my God, you have one of these?” she exclaimed, picking it up with an almost childlike delight.

Logan smirked as he leaned against the doorframe. “It’s old.”

She laughed, opening the back to check for film. “Still works, though.” Finding a few shots left, she climbed onto the couch, motioning him over. “Come here.”

Logan rolled his eyes but complied, sitting stiffly beside her. She tilted the camera, angling it just right, then leaned into him with a grin.

The camera whirred and clicked, spitting out the photo. She waved it in the air, laughing at Logan’s slightly awkward expression in the developing image. “Perfect,” she declared.

She adjusted the camera and pointed it at him. “One more—for me.”

Logan raised a brow but didn’t protest, sitting still as she snapped the shot.

Satisfied, she turned the lens on herself, angling it for a final picture. With a playful flourish, she kissed the developing photo before handing it to him. “And one for you.”

Logan stared at the picture, her bright smile frozen in time. His fingers brushed the edge of the Polaroid as a soft, almost reverent expression crossed his face. Without a word, he leaned forward, pulling her into a kiss.

It started slow, but the spark between them flared quickly. Her hands slid up his chest, tugging him closer as his grip tightened around her waist. They sank into the couch, the tension mounting as their bodies pressed together. Logan’s lips left hers to trail along her neck, his breathing heavy, and a low growl rumbled from his chest as she shifted against him.

Her hands slid into his hair, tugging gently, and a soft gasp escaped her lips when his mouth found the sensitive skin just below her ear. The moment was electric, both of them caught in a current too strong to resist.

Logan broke the kiss suddenly, his breathing ragged as he looked down at her. She was flushed, her lips red and parted, her hair clinging to her damp forehead. The sight of her like this, vulnerable yet full of desire, sent a wave of heat surging through him, and he felt his body respond instinctively.

“Evelyn,” he murmured, his voice thick with need and restraint. His hands tightened on her waist, almost as if grounding himself. “I think we should stop.”

Her brow furrowed, confusion flickering across her face as she continued to move against him, her body seeking his. “Why?” she asked softly, her voice laced with longing.

Logan closed his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath as he fought to keep control. “Because if we don’t…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to.”

She stopped her movements, her hands sliding from his shoulders to cup his face. Her touch was gentle, steady, and her gaze searched his, her own chest rising and falling with every shaky breath. “Logan,” she began, her tone softer now. “I trust you.”

His eyes opened, and the storm within them met her unwavering calm. “It’s not about trust,” he said, his voice rough. “You told me to take it slow, and I don’t want to be the reason you change that.”

Her heart squeezed at the sincerity in his voice, the way he was holding back, not for himself but for her. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his. “I know what I want,” she whispered, her words warm against his skin. “And right now, I just want to be close to you. I’m not asking for more.”

Logan groaned softly, his eyes squeezing shut as he rested his forehead against hers. “I can’t—I can’t control myself when it comes to you,”he muttered, his voice low and full of longing.

Her cheeks burned, and she quickly pulled back, her hands flying to cover her face. “Oh my God,” she mumbled into her palms, embarrassed by the intensity of the moment.

Logan huffed a low laugh, shaking his head as he stood. “It’s not you, bub. It’s me.” His voice was gentler now, though his movements were still stiff with restraint. “I just… I need a minute.”

Without another word, he disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of the door clicking shut breaking the charged silence.

Left alone, Evelyn sat frozen for a moment before peeking out from behind her hands, her cheeks still burning. The weight of the moment lingered in the room, but so did something else—a sense of care, of respect, and a deep connection that neither of them could deny.

She exhaled slowly, her lips curving into a small, nervous smile. “What are you doing to me, Logan?” she whispered to herself, the heat in her chest refusing to subside.

Inside the bathroom, Logan braced himself on the sink, his broad shoulders hunched as if the weight of his self-control was a physical burden. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the porcelain, and his reflection in the mirror stared back at him—a mess of frustration, longing, and restraint.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his voice rough and strained. “Come on, Howlett. You’re acting like a damn teenager.”

The words felt hollow as they left his lips. She made him feel like a man stripped down to his most basic instincts, raw and exposed in ways that unsettled him.

He turned on the faucet, letting the cold water rush over his hands before splashing some on his face. The icy shock was a welcome reprieve from the fire that had ignited under his skin. Droplets clung to his hair and dripped onto the sink as he stared into the mirror again.

Her face flashed in his mind—flushed and glowing, her lips swollen from their kisses, her voice trembling with trust and desire as she whispered his name. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he gripped the edge of the sink tighter, his claws threatening to unsheathe.

“Pull it together,” he hissed to himself, his voice low and sharp.

But God, she made it so damn hard. Every touch, every look, every soft sigh drove him closer to a line he didn’t trust himself to cross. He’d never wanted anything—or anyone—this much before.

He shut his eyes tightly, taking in a deep, steadying breath.

His breathing quickened, and he squeezed his eyes shut, gripping the edge of the sink tighter. “Damn it,” he growled. But the ache wouldn’t relent, the tension building like a storm that wouldn’t break.

Logan tried to push it down, to shake it off, but her voice echoed in his mind: I trust you. That trust, that closeness—they meant everything to him. But his body wasn’t listening. He was only human, and the fire she’d lit inside him wasn’t going out on its own.

His jaw clenched as he leaned forward, his forehead resting against the cool glass of the mirror. He cursed softly, his hand drifting lower to his belt, undoing it at an embarrassing speed. His breath hitched as his hand wrapped itself around his painfully hard member, his free hand bracing him against the sink.

He beggan stroking himself fast, almost desperate, and he bit back a low groan as he finally let the tension snap. For a moment, the release brought relief, his body calming as he exhaled shakily. But the satisfaction was fleeting, the guilt settling in almost immediately after.

He straightened, his chest still heaving as he stared at himself in the mirror, disgust flickering in his gaze. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he muttered, his voice harsh.

Logan turned off the faucet and took a moment to compose himself, his hands gripping the counter until the trembling stopped. He didn’t deserve her, not like this—not when he couldn’t even keep himself in check. He grabbed a towel and wiped himself, trying to scrub away the evidence of his weakness.

Finally, he stood tall, steeling himself as he reached for the doorknob. His expression was guarded, his jaw set as he opened the door and stepped back into the room.

Logan stepped out of the bathroom, his face composed, though a faint shadow of guilt lingered in his eyes. He found her curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over her lap, flipping idly through channels on the old TV.

She glanced up as he entered, offering him a small, tentative smile. “Everything okay?” she asked softly.

He nodded, running a hand through his hair as he crossed the room. “Yeah. Just needed a minute,” he said, his voice calmer now, though the weight of his earlier emotions still clung to him.

She shifted to make room for him on the couch, patting the cushion beside her. “Come sit.”

Logan hesitated for a moment before sitting down, the cushion dipping under his weight. She pulled the blanket over both of them, her warmth immediately grounding him.

They settled into a comfortable silence, the soft flicker of the TV casting a warm glow across the room. Some old sitcom was playing, the canned laughter filling the quiet space between them.

As the tension from earlier began to fade, Logan glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She was focused on the screen, her face relaxed, though her hand rested lightly against his arm—a small, reassuring gesture that made his chest ache.

“Sorry if I…” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “ made things weird.”

She turned to him, her expression gentle. “You didn’t,” she said simply.

The corners of his mouth lifted in a small, genuine smile, and for the first time that evening, he felt himself relax. The pull between them was still there, simmering under the surface, but for now, this—just being close to her—was enough.

As the credits rolled on the TV, she yawned softly, her head tilting to rest against his shoulder. Logan froze for a moment, then eased into the touch, his arm slipping around her shoulders.

“You tired?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

She nodded against him, her eyes fluttering shut. “A little.”

“Get some rest,” he murmured, his hand lightly brushing against her arm.

They stayed like that for a while, the room quiet except for the low hum of the TV and the crackle of the fire. Logan glanced down at her, her breathing evening out as she drifted off against him.

For all his inner turmoil, this moment—her trusting him enough to fall asleep in his arms—felt like something he didn’t deserve. But he’d hold onto it, for as long as she let him.

The soft light of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting long golden shadows across the room. Evelyn stirred, slowly becoming aware of the warmth pressed against her back and the steady rise and fall of Logan’s chest. For a moment, she let herself sink into the comfort of it—the solidness of him, the faint scent of cedar and smoke clinging to his skin.

But then, the events of the night before came rushing back: the heated kisses, the way his hands had gripped her hips like she was the only thing grounding him. Her cheeks flushed at the memory of their closeness, the quiet intensity that had left her breathless.

She carefully shifted out of his embrace, the creak of the couch making her wince. As she stood, she noticed the Polaroid on the floor, its corner peeking out from beneath the edge of the coffee table. Bending to pick it up, she stared at her own image for a moment, the faintest smile tugging at her lips.

Her gaze flicked to Logan, still asleep, his features soft and unguarded in the morning light. Setting the photo back on the table, she found a scrap of paper and pen nearby and scribbled a quick note:

Thank you for last night—for everything. You have no idea how much it means to me. See you soon.

She folded the note and placed it beside the Polaroid before grabbing her jacket and slipping out the door, the cool morning air brushing against her flushed cheeks.

Back at her cottage, the stillness felt louder than usual, filling the small space as Evelyn poured herself a cup of tea. The events of the night before replayed in her mind, the intensity of their kisses, the feel of Logan’s hands on her waist, and the quiet way he’d held her as she drifted off.

She sat at the kitchen table, staring out the window, before finally reaching for the phone. Her fingers hovered over the rotary dial for a moment before she took a steadying breath and began to turn the numbers. The line clicked faintly before it started to ring.

Martha picked up on the third ring, her voice warm and full of curiosity. “Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite pioneer woman. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Evelyn laughed softly, shaking her head. “Good morning to you too, Martha.”, let out a soft laugh, sinking onto the couch. “Sorry, I’ve been... busy.”

“Oh, I know exactly who’s been keeping you busy,” Martha replied, her voice laced with amusement.

Evelyn hesitated, her fingers twisting the phone cord as she searched for the right words. “We were at his place last night. He made dinner, and... well, things got a little... heated.”

“Heated?” Martha repeated, drawing out the word with delight. “How heated are we talking here? Because I need details, woman.”

“Not like that,” Evelyn said quickly, her face flushing. “But we kissed. A lot. And it felt... it felt like everything else just disappeared. Like the only thing that mattered was him.”

There was a long, dramatic pause on Martha’s end before she said, “Oh, honey. You’re in deep.”

Evelyn let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through her hair. “It’s terrifying, Martha. I haven’t felt like this in so long. And the last time I did—”

“—it didn’t end well,” Martha finished gently. “I know. But this isn’t that. You said it yourself—Logan’s different. He’s not some flaky guy with cold feet.”

Evelyn hesitated, her grip on the phone cord tightening. “You’re right, he’s not. But seeing William at the fair the other night—I wasn’t ready for that.”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. “Wait. What? You saw him? What happened?”

“He was just... there,” she said, her voice wavering slightly. “I spotted him with some woman, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world. And then he walked up and said hello like nothing had ever happened. Like he hadn’t—” Her words caught in her throat, and she took a steadying breath. “Like he hadn’t left me standing there on my wedding day.”

“God,” Martha breathed, her voice brimming with sympathy and anger. “What an absolute jerk. What did you do? Did you tell him to shove off?”

Evelyn let out a hollow laugh. “I wish. I just... froze. I could barely get a word out. But Logan could tell something was off, but he didn’t press. ”

“That man,” Martha said, her voice practically glowing with approval. “He’s a saint. Or maybe a knight in flannel armor. Either way, he sounds like the real deal.”

“He is,” Evelyn admitted quietly, a warmth spreading through her chest. “But seeing William brought everything back. The humiliation, the hurt, the fear that I’ll never be good enough for someone to stick around.”

“Alright, stop right there,” Martha interrupted, her voice firm. “First of all, you are more than enough. Don’t let some spineless coward make you question that. Second, Logan isn’t your ex. He’s proven that over and over again. The way you talk about him—how he looks after you, how he’s there for you—it’s night and day compared to William.”

Evelyn blinked back the sting of tears, nodding even though Martha couldn’t see her. “It’s just hard sometimes, you know? Trusting myself to not mess it all up again.”

“It’s hard because you care,” Martha said gently. “And that’s a good thing. It means this matters to you. But you’re not doing this alone anymore. Logan’s in this with you. Let him be.”

There was a long pause, and Evelyn hesitated, her fingers twisting the phone cord. “There’s... something else,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh,” Martha said, her tone immediately shifting to playful curiosity. “What is it?”

“We were at his place last night. He made dinner, and... well, things got a little... heated.”

“Heated?” Martha repeated, drawing out the word with delight. “How heated are we talking here? Did you...?”

“No, no,” Evelyn interrupted quickly, her voice dropping to a whisper even though she was alone. “But it got... close,really close.”

Martha let out a low whistle. “Look at you. So, what happened?”

“We were just talking, and then one thing led to another,” Evelyn said, her voice faltering slightly. “It was—God, Martha, it was amazing. But then I panicked and pulled back.”

“Did he freak out?”

“No,” Evelyn said softly. “He didn’t push, didn’t make me feel bad. He just held me. I don’t know. It felt different. Like he actually cares.”

Martha let out a dreamy sigh. “Sounds like you’ve got yourself a good one, babe. I mean, if a man can handle that without making it weird, he’s a keeper.”

Evelyn smiled faintly, her fingers tracing the edge of her mug. “I think I’m falling for him, Martha. And that scares the living hell out of me.”

Martha’s voice softened. “It’s okay to be scared. But from everything you’ve told me, Logan’s not going anywhere. He’s patient, he listens, and he clearly cares about you. You just have to let yourself believe you deserve it.”

“I’m trying,” Evelyn said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“And you will,” Martha replied firmly. “You’ve come so far already. Just... don’t overthink it. Let yourself enjoy what you have with him.”

Evelyn nodded, even though Martha couldn’t see her. “Thanks, Martha.”

“Anytime,” Martha said cheerfully. “Now, when do I get to meet this Logan? Because I need to make sure he’s good enough for my best girl.”

“Let’s take it one step at a time,” Evelyn said, laughing lightly. “But I’ll keep you posted.”

“You better,” Martha replied. “And hey—if he cooks, don’t let him go. A man who can handle a stove and look good doing it? That’s a keeper.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes, the tension in her chest loosening further. “I’ll make sure to pass that along.”

“Good,” Martha said, her grin evident even through the phone. “And call me soon. I want all the updates.”

“You’ll be the first to know,” Evelyn promised, hanging up the phone and leaning back on her couch.

The weight of the conversation lingered, but it felt lighter now, less like a burden and more like something she could carry.

Chapter 6

______________________________________________________________tagging some amazing people that showed interest on my previous post (if you don't want to be tagged please let me know):

@coocoocachewgotscrewed @latinapiscess @littlebunnybigheartfics @themareverine @pandapetals @logansbaby @the-quick-red-fox @throwmethroughawindow @ifyouseethisnoyoudont22 @galacticglitterglue @whos-nin1

@thisismajortom21 @may-vol-6 @Oh-basic @sarahbarbosa22 @luvpalepinkjazz @irish-pooka @yologans @equilight @lxrxvsp @h4nluv @uncannywolverine @thesecretlifeofmo @mystifiesjdmtcw @socisse @thickynicky547 @peculiarpiscess @tezooks @greenturtlegirl @greenbearplaidbow @eummm @benispunk @th8mz @jounal3sports @alsoprettyinpink @softepiloguemylove @manicandobsessive @b-y-3-n @blahkateisdone @karencaribou @sidkneeeee @theworstwolvie @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes @lunellas-library @pedroscurls @britttzy267 @aliensfeltmyjoy @steviebbboi

51 notes · View notes