#this is so accurate and just perfectly him

[neodazed]

enhypen - boudoir polaroids

ot7!xfem!reader - showing them the polaroids of your boudoir photoshoot

boudoir: captures sensual, intimate, and often erotic images of a subject in a private setting

warnings: husband!enha, photos taken during sexual acts (solo), masturbation, recording, use of “slut”, brief anal sex, implied unproctected p in v, oral (f), tons of nasty shit i won’t spoil, lingerine, mdni, def longer than the other ones, not proofread

idea belongs to this lovely anon. interpented it in my own way somewhat, so it’s not 100% factually accurate lol. masterlist

HEESEUNG

Heeseung, your brand new husband — the most pussy-clenching title he’s ever worn, probably.

Ever since he became your fiancé, till now, he has been extra, super hot. Has been fucking you even rougher, better, like a good little wife should be fucked (by his words).

So this thing you decided to do, now it was like the perfect answer to that, the perfect sign of devotion.

You hand your brand-new husband an envelope—pretty cream paper, little gold wax seal, soft smile on your face like “open it later, okay?”

And Heeseung waits, as long as his curiousity let’s him. Then later, when he finds himself alone for some minutes, he opens it. You, taking your makeup off in the bathroom, can hear the paper rustling, and you smile at your reflection, waiting.

Silence.

Until he goes

‘Come here’

You gently open the bathroom door, and walk back into your bedroom. He’s sitting at the edge of the bed, a stack of little polaroids spread out on his lap. The look he gives you, is dark. Well, expected, because the photos are mostly close-ups of you…

— with your mouth open, two fingers shoved down your throat, gloss smudged

— you in a bridal white, fingering yourself with those same two fingers

— one with a toy, pink and cruelly realistic, barely halfway in – your eyes rolled back, thighs clenched

— one that appears to be a final shot, biting down on your veil, looking like you’re reaching your orgasm

And Heeseung?

Just processing.

Because his wife did this. For him. Because you posed like a full-on pornstar, hours before you walked down the aisle.

‘How many of these are there?’ ‘Who took them?’ ‘Where’s the rest?’

But he doesn’t actually give you the chance to explain or answer. He orders you to get on the bed. He’s already rock hard in his pants, and he is determined.

‘Wanna recreate this one.’ He holds up the shot of you with your fingers in your mouth and the toy barely inside you. His favorite.

‘But this time, you’re gonna fuck yourself on my fingers, and better keep your eyes on me the whole time.’

Obviously, it’s a sleepless night.

Doesn’t fuck you immediatelly, no, he makes you study the pictures with him.

‘Did you cum before or after taking this one?’

‘Did it feel as good as my cock?’

‘Don’t you think this is more slut than wife-material?’

And when he finally fucks you, it’s mean. No mercy, no patience, just using you to his own desires.

‘This how you looked when you came all over that toy?’

‘You wanna give me more pictures, baby? I want the ones you were too shy to include.’

JAY

It only suits you that you had a damn argument one day into your honeymoon with Jay. Maybe your plans and wants didn’t align perfectly, and the post-wedding stress was still wearing off. Jay was cold. Distant. Didn’t even say goodnight properly.

So the next day, you toss him an envelope across the bed like

‘Peace offering. Take it or leave it.’

Jay opens it like he’s giving you a favor, chin high and movements full of spite. But the second he sees the first photo?

You. His wife. In white lace. On her knees. Sucking a finger like it’s his cock. His reaction is immediate, his throat pushes out an almost choking like sound, and his whole body stiffens. Well, expect his hands which he uses to flip through some of the pictures.

One with you bent over, wedding veil still on, looking back at the camera while your hand disappears under your panties.

Another with your bra pushed under your tits and one hand squeezing lube out onto a toy off-frame.

He sits in silence for a minute. Hand on his thigh. Breathing steady.

Then folds the photos back into the envelope neatly… and comes to find you.

You’re brushing your hair or something casual when you hear his voice behind you:

‘You gave these to me just to get out of apologizing, didn’t you?’

You smirk. ‘Did it work?’

Jay comes up behind you, grabs your hips a little too hard, and leans in to your ear like:

‘You know what works better than an apology?’ He tosses the envelope onto the vanity table — ‘Giving me the real show. On your knees. Now.’

He makes you recreate every shot. Expect, this time he is behind the lens, using his phone camera to make himself even more intimate material.

‘Yes, that’s my perfect wife.’

‘Gonna save this one. Maybe send it to you next time you try to walk away from a fight.’

JAKE

Jake is the most grateful man alive on your wedding night. You could show up in sweatpants and he’d cry and pop a boner right away. But like with most things, you top his imaginations by far.

You pull out the pink envelope, decorated with a little bow in the middle. Slide it over to him on the bed, like it’s no big deal at all.

‘You should open it after your shower, babe.’

He opens it in the warm glow of the hotel lamp, fresh out the shower, towel on his hips — and he just stops breathing. Like genuinely. Just blinks. Stares. Gets real quiet. Because the first glimpse he gets, just a little part, already screams perfect. You’re layed out on soft sheets, pale ivory lingerine panties barely covering your folds. His mouth waters. Lot more of that kind. Some thigh-focused ones, some of you slobbering over your fingers and fingering yourself with the other.

The best one, though? (If gun to his head, he was forced to choose one).

It’s a close-up. Your fingers spreading yourself open, all slick and swollen. A heart-shaped lollipop resting just against your clit. Your hand holding it. His love for pussy and his habit of oral fixation are being stimulated through his eyes.

You’re in the bathroom brushing your teeth, and all you hear is, ‘Baby please come here. Right now. Please.’ In the neediest voice possible.

You walk out and he’s on his knees on the floor. Literal towel pitched up, photos spread out around him.

And when you smile and go — ‘I thought you’d like them. Do you? — he just whines.

Not groans. Not moans. Whines.

‘Are you crazy? I’m already so in love with you I could die, but this is literally attempted murder!’

Then he pulls you into his lap, kissing all over you, your lips, your neck, your breasts, going down on your stomach…

‘Fuck, I love you. I love you so much…’

SUNGHOON

You were sneaky with it. You gave him the envelope with a sweet smile, like you’re handing over a hand-written love letter rather than the dirty content it was hiding.

‘Hope you like them, Love.’

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow but takes it, fingers careful, gaze suspicious. He opens it while you’re brushing your hair.

Starting off strong, the first photo is you on your side, gripping your tit with one hand and pulling your panties aside with the other, head tilted almost innocently, but eyes filled with lust. Then a bunch of other positions, showing off your silky lingerine and delicate curves, always teasing what’s beneath but never displaying it fully.

And Sunghoon — Sunghoon does not react well.

He stands up, envelope in hand, and walks over to you with that same dead-calm expression. Slow and collected.

‘Who took these?’

‘What?’ You blink up at him.

‘The photos. Who the fuck took them?’

Though he’s not even close to being loud, you still stutter, seeing the tension on the veins on his neck, the way he grips the paper, trying not to crumble it entirely.

‘I-I took them myself, of course. Timer. I set it up. Just me. I swear.’

At that, his whole body relaxes. He might even flash a little relieved smile.

Then.

‘Get your ass on the bed.’

At first, he’s cold. No kisses, no nothing. He trips you naked, and studies the polaroids while playing with your body in real time.

‘Spread your legs. No, wider.’

And when he thinks it’s good enough (like he actually gave a fuck about how accurate it is), he grabs his phone and starts taking his own shots.

No warning. No direction, only

‘You want to give me photos? Fine. Give me new ones. Better ones. Real ones.’

‘You think your little solo pics could compare to this?’

‘You’ll look even better when I’ve filled you up.’

SUNOO

You slide it over while you two are cuddling on the honeymoon bed. You’re in a fluffy robe, bare legs over his lap, and he’s scrolling his phone when you whisper

‘I made you something. Open it after I shower, okay?’

Sunoo nods softly, excited but also curious about what could you have come up with.

But baby.

The moment he opens that envelope?

He lets out a scream.

Like a literal, hand-over-mouth, spine-curved squeal.

Because inside of that, it’s you, in a strappy white set, veil slightly off your hair, pink gloss on your lips, sucking your fingers while side-eyeing the camera like a whole whorehouse with a coquette dresscode.

One where your legs are closed on top of each other, but with your palm inside of them, obviously teasing your clit (he can just tell by looking at your face on it).

But the worst for him? Probably the one where you’re pressing your shiny little cunt down on his pillow.

‘You’re evil.’

‘How dare you be this sexy.’

‘You’re not fucking real. What kind of slutty wife does this?’ While he’s already palming his cock.

When you go over to him, giggling, saying it’s not that big of a deal, he just pushes you down on the bed.

‘No. You don’t get to act all casual after doing this to me, baby.’

After that, it’s a mess of giggles and recreating the ones he liked the most. Calls you “my beautiful wife”, “my good little girl”, and “my pretty slut” in the same ten minutes.

Sticks one of the Polaroids to the headboard like a shrine while he eats you out.

‘Just to see how much messier you can get when it’s me who makes you cum.’

JUNGWON

You hand Jungwon the envelope while you’re still glowing from the wedding night — robe slipping down your shoulders, bare thighs brushing his under the covers.

‘I made something for you’

He tilts his head to the side, like a confused little cat.

‘What’s in it?’

‘You’ll see’ Kissing his cheek. Then you stand in front of him, wanting the full, unfiltered first reaction you’ve been itching for.

Jungwon opens it.

Then he goes feral.

Cause every picture looks like you’ve carved the blurry image of them right out of the depths of his mind (which you might have, by how deeply you know and understand him).

Of course, you know he’s a tit-addict. And the photos feed right into that obsession.

You pushing your tits into the camera, covered by the prettiest white bras he’d ever seen. Gripping them, caressing them. With your bra off, looking into the camera with the deadliest doe eyes, licking off frosting (from God knows where) from your fingers, then circle around your nipple with the same one.

One picture of you rubbing your clit and wetting your sweet pussy, followed by smearing your own slick (then cum) all over your chest.

His mouth parts. He stares at them one by one, then flips through again. Ears red. So hard it’s painful.

‘Do you like them?’ You ask with a smile.

In a second, you’re under him, while he’s practically feasting off your boobs, rubbing your cunt with his hand, muttering shit like

‘Were you thinking about me while you did this?’

‘You want new ones? Want me to take them while I fuck these perfect tits?’

And he does.

Set up his phone on video mode while you’re straddling his lap, tits bouncing as he thrusts up into you.

Perfection.

RIKI

You hand Riki the envelope during the car ride back from the ceremony. He’s in the passenger seat. You’re still glowing and giggling, playing with your ring.

‘Open this at the hotel.’ And Riki just shrugs like whatever, tucks it into his jacket.

Later that night, you’re changing into something special in the bathroom, when he remembers he has it and opens it, not expecting to be flashed.

You in a white thong, back arched, pearls laying down your spine, heels still on. His favorite position, his favorite curve. Literally framed like art. It starts off like this?!

The second one might be even better though.

You bent over, panties pulled halfway down your thighs, ass cheek lifted so you can get your fingers underneath. Flash lighting up your thighs, gloss on your lips, veil around your shoulders. Looking like a fucking Goddess.

Polaroids from that position, with your finger teasing both holes, with toys rubbing over them, pearls on your spine, all pretty for him.

There’s one photo, which is…different than the rest.

No face, no pearls, no lingerine, no veil.

Just you, on your belly, knees spread, panties off, and your hands reaching back to pull your cheeks apart. The flash puts a delicious focus of the curve of your spine, ending in the most intimate, shameless shot of your tightest hole on full display — puckered, pink, just a little shiny.

Like you’d already played with it.

Like you prepared it just for him.

In that perfect little black polaroid border, you scribbled in sharp letters

“Next time, it’s yours<3”

Riki doesn’t smile. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even move for a solid ten seconds.

Just stares. Blinks once. Closes the envelope. And then knocks on the bathroom door.

‘Babe. Come out.’

You peek out in a silk robe, small nightgown under, and his gaze goes straight down.

‘Hands on the bed. Just like that photo.’

He drops his pants, and gets behind you. Grabs your hips with so much harshness like he’s mad. Then pauses — cause you have the nerve to giggle.

‘You liked them?’

‘Stop talking.’

Then he spits on your back and watches as it slides down in between your cheeks. Your hole, it’s still open for him. Those damn pictures were freshly taken, with this exact purpose. To get him to fill you there.

So he pushes in. No more prep, no more teasing, just raw pleasure.

‘Gonna stretch it for me properly, baby’

‘You made it look so pretty… wanna see it twitch when I cum inside.’

[thy1quitcentral]

K pop demon hunters

Huntrix vs Saja Boys

X Honmoon! NB oc

Part 1 * Part 2 * Part 3 * Part 4 *

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

.................💓...................

Another day

The girls and god were out and about

"oh I just love going out with you three" honey skipped along and smiled. They hummed a small tune

"mkay so this guy is like a genius and I am sure he will fix this" Zoey typed in her phone and grinned happily, she skipped with Honey. The three girls had to hide themselves while Honey only had to hide their very being to not be noticed by the human eye.

"can we go fabric shopping after this? I have several ideas in my sketchbook and I know it will look elegant on you three" Honey grinned happily.

"sure" Mira smiled gently.

They stopped at the building and paused "human doctors are so silly" Honey giggled as they read the advertisement of the doctor on the door. "Usually they work at more.... professional places" Mira raised a brow, obviously skeptical of the whole thing.

Zoey whined "I think we should give it a shot" Rumi pushed, looking hopeful and almost desperate.

******

"that human was so funny!" Honey grinned happily and giggled. "See I told you he was so legit" Zoey said puffing her chest out proudly.

They chanted "we got the tonics!"

"next stop, recovered voice and Golden Honey!" Mira roared in determination. Zoey laughed and jumped up and down.

Rumi laughed as she held the big box of tonics.

They walked along. Chatting "for the fans, for Honmoon!" Rumi, Zoey and Mira exclaims. Honey laughed at their antics. "Now for my fabric shopping" they state with a huff.

"yep as promised" Mira said.

They all stopped and looked down the alley, they froze "shit, fans" Mira asked as she and Zoey scrambled to hide. So they hide behind Rumi

Down that all was a group of 4 guys, cute ones and rather. Very familiar ones.

"demon boys" Honey whispers, both Rumi and Honey looked to their friends and they were DROOLING.

As they came closer.

Abby looks over and smirks towards Honey and flexes his bicep as he casually ran his fingers through his hair. He got a peak of Mira and bit his lip as a bonus.

Romance only smiled and winked while kissing the hair, he had looked at Mira and bowed his head charmingly.

Baby smiled boredly, giving a casual head tilt to Honey as he walked by.

Mystery only stared at Honey as he passed.

Then there was jinu, he looked up and noticed Honey first. Honey looked back at him and pursed their lips with a small sigh and pretended not to know him and glanced over to what Jinu looked at next.

Rumi was winded, her breath taken away by this tall, dark haired man. Jinu bumped into her, and she falls

Honey swiftly takes her waist and kept her from falling. They looked over and saw the mess "Jinu" They rolled their eyes at Jinu's antics.

"watch yourself" Jinu snapped.

Rumi gasped and glared "watch yourself asshole!" She yelled out. Honey sighed "you okay?" They asked Rumi.

"yea Im peeerfectly fine...and pissed. Both sound accurate" Rumi huffs. She turns and exclaims "look at this mess"

They all cleaned up

"they're so meh"

"no more like BLEH"

The three paused

"mmmmmBLEEH"

Honey snickers. And looked down the alley 'if what he said is true....and all they are here for is music, they shouldn't be a threat right?'

They all heard the music.

They got closer.

They were performing and they were Good

They had the crowd going wild, somebody better hold onto Their Ommas before their souls get sucked out.

Honey shimmied at the music and smiled, the music was so bright and catchy it made them glow. Rumi looked to them in shock

Someone else's song is making Honey glow and vibrate around them. But a different hue of color.

Honey felt enchanted.

They yelp as they were dragged in, somehow they followed their moves perfectly. And it was actually pretty fun.

Jinu smiled and twirled Honey around and sang.

Rumi, Mira and Zoey gasped.

"they just dragged Honey on there" Mira frowned at that. "Wait but Honey is actually really good at dancing" Zoey smiled and clapped for them as the song continued.

Rumi would be lying if she said she didn't feel jealous. The way Jinu was looking at Honey and how Honey looked back in familiarity, she frowned and crossed her arms.

She had to admit, Honey looks so pretty dancing and the song was honestly perfect for them to dance to.

They have a real connection don't they?

The light reflected off of the boys skin and they saw it, the patterns.

All three girls gasped in shock and concern "they are demons"Mira and Rumi glared.

They contemplated killing them but it was too public to do so. "Let's just get Honey away from them" Rumi states.

"right, protect Honmoon" Mira and Zoey huff as they moved further into the crowd.

As the song progressed, Mira tries grabbing Honeys arm but Romance took their hand and swirled them around away from her clutches.

"grrr" Mira growled.

Zoey huffs and circled before trying to tackle Honey but Mystery swoops in and guides her away and into Mira. Both toppling over.

The both groan and Zoey sat up with a mad but blushing face. Mystery only blew her a kiss and she yelps as the heart hits her face.

..

Honey smiled brightly as the song ran its course and they shown so bright, a wave of light was released, echoing far and wide, a magenta pink color.

With all the struggle the deity started to notice, but baby only took his hands and grinned as he guided them to Jinu who took their hand.

"my little soda pop" he winked. He was gonna dance with them more before Rumi jumps and took Honeys other hand.

Jinu looked at Rumi and Rumi back at him, they both glared at each other harshly. "Uh?" Honey spoke up but Jinu lets Honey go and pushes them to Rumi.

Jinu smirked softly at that and waved to the crazy fans.

The song ends.

"you okay?" Rumi asked Honey Gently

Honey blinked slowly "hmm? Oh yea I feel great" they giggle and flipped onto Rumis head like they were drunk.

Rumi frowned at the state Honey was in and looked over to Jinu, Jinu caught her eye and smirked as he wiped his shoulder, the same shoulder that had bumped into Rumi.

She grits her teeth

"jerk"

***

The girls gathered around

"you girls okay?" Honey asked checking up on them curiously. They spot a cut on Zoeys cheek, so they reached into their pouch of needles and other random stuff and takes out a band-aid

"there"

"thank you" Zoey smiled.

"what happened there? You were so into it. And it was like you couldn't hear us call you" Mira asked. Honey stared "oh really? Their music was just so groovy I got distracted I think..."

"let's just go, we have to think about how to get rid of them" Rumi pushed them off.

****

Once home

"oooo you know I'm ready to stop demon scum!" Zoey cawed loudly as she goes to put her outfit on.

"girls lotion" Honey huffs as they throw the bottle to Mira. "Right"

Rumi got ready and looked at Honey, she couldn't stop thinking about it. A demon boy band managed to make Their Honmoon glow like they did.

"so about the glow?" The leader of the trio spoke up, both Mira and Zoey stopped for a moment and looked. "Did you know you can be influenced by demons too?" Rumi asked.

Honey thought for a moment and looked at their sewing kit. "Well, all music and song always catch my interest, their music was hypnotic and catchy....I didn't mean to glow" Honey explained

They fiddled with their fingers and frowned "I'm sorry"

"no it's okay! You liked their music and that's okay" Zoey frowned softly

Mira pursed her lips "but we really do have to keep you away from them, they could try and destroy you in one fall swoop" she puts her hand on Honeys shoulder.

"right"

.................💓...................

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

theirs to share

a/n : jjk characters not mine. contains heavy lemons / mature scenes as the story progresses. reverse harem. femoc x nanami/geto/gojo. jjk alternate au. Wattpad Link : Theirs to Share || Story Masterlist : Jujutsu Kaisen

<…previous ... next…>

FORTYSIX

Nanami’s Room – Late Evening

The door clicked shut behind them with a sense of purpose—and trespassing. Nanami sighed heavily, pinched the bridge of his nose, and stared at the two intruders now sprawled across his minimalist couch like they owned the place.

“Why is it always my room?” he muttered, setting down a mug of tea on his perfectly organized desk.

Satoru was upside down on the couch, legs thrown over the backrest, his long limbs carelessly dangling.

“Because yours has the best lighting. And the least haunted energy.”

Suguru, who was already sitting on the floor with papers spread in front of him like some evil real estate broker, grinned.

“Also because your sheets don’t smell like sugar and narcissism.”

“Excuse you,” Satoru flicked a pillow at him. “That’s custom-blend cologne, thank you very much.”

Nanami exhaled deeply and sipped his tea like he was one breath away from resigning from life.

Suguru looked up from the paper in his hands, more serious now.

“Jokes aside, maybe it’s time we actually did it. Got a place together.”

Nanami looked up, brow arching.

“You’re talking about a shared living space. With all three of us. Under one roof. Every day.”

Satoru grinned like a child offered candy.

“And her, of course.”

Nanami stared.

Suguru nodded thoughtfully.

“We’ve been floating around for a while now. Between your place, the school, hotels, and wherever Satoru decides to call a bed for the night... it’s a mess. She's juggling us in between schedules, dorms, missions—maybe we make it easier. Make it... permanent.”

Nanami leaned back against his desk and stared down into his mug, his expression unreadable.

“She did say ‘mine’ earlier,” he murmured after a long pause.

Satoru sat up properly for the first time.

“Exactly. We’re hers. All of us. So what if we made it so she always had a home to come back to? One that’s ours. Cause as much as I hate to admit it, you bastards are going to be family if this works out.”

Suguru’s voice lowered with quiet sincerity.

“Somewhere she can rest. Somewhere safe. Somewhere we’re not waiting for the next knock on the door to pull her away.”

Nanami looked between them. Their posturing had dropped. No more teasing, no fake bravado—just two men who were ready to anchor something real. And, damn it, he felt the same.

He set the mug down with a soft clink.

“Fine,” he said flatly. “But I get the master bedroom.”

“Absolutely not,” Satoru and Suguru chorused immediately.

“I do our laundry,” Nanami reasoned.

“You do it because you can’t stand the way we fold,” Suguru smirked.

“I live in fear of Satoru attempting to cook,” Nanami deadpanned.

“First of all, rude. Second of all, accurate,” Satoru chimed in with a laugh.

They all went quiet for a moment—just existing in that room that had unwillingly become their sanctuary. A silent agreement settled over them.

This was happening.

They were building a home.

Faculty Courtyard – Late Evening

The night settled like a soft blanket over the campus, and for once, the weight of the world seemed a little less crushing. Satoru strolled lazily across the courtyard, spinning his sunglasses by one arm between his fingers, his white hair tousled by the breeze. His path home shifted when he spotted a familiar silhouette beneath the courtyard lanterns.

Yaga sat alone, nursing a quiet drink, his massive frame resting on a bench like he was holding up the entire day on his shoulders. He didn’t move as Satoru approached—he never needed to. He always knew when Satoru was nearby.

“You look tired, old man,” Satoru greeted softly, a hint of affection threading through his usual playful jab.

Yaga took a long sip and grunted.

“You sound like someone who should be sleeping.”

Satoru plopped down beside him with a content sigh, eyes squinting up at the night sky.

“Couldn’t. My brain’s still spinning.”

Yaga gave him a sidelong look, reading the quiet weight under his words. Then, slowly, he asked—

“Satoru. Can I ask you something serious?”

That got Satoru’s attention. He sat up straighter, sunglasses forgotten on his collar.

“Course.”

“This thing between you, Nanami, Geto, and her… It’s real?”

The question hung there for a moment. Satoru blinked, then chuckled—not because it was funny, but because it felt good to be asked without judgment.

“Yeah. It’s real.” He glanced down at his hands, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. “It’s messy sometimes. But it’s ours. We’re thinking about getting a place. Together.”

Yaga nodded slowly, as if he’d expected as much. Then he swirled the liquid in his glass, thoughtful.

“You might not have to look too far.”

Satoru raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“There’s an old four-bedroom house inside the fortress. Near the river, just past the east perimeter. Quiet, beautiful view, solid foundation. Cliff-side. Secluded, but close enough to the school and shelter in case something happens.”

Satoru sat up straighter, interest visibly piqued.

“Why’s it just sitting there?”

“It was built for Master Tengen years ago. But he decided he wanted to live on the opposite end of the fortress. Said the flow of energy felt better there or some cryptic shit.” Yaga sipped again. “So the house was left alone. Tengen’s been thinking of selling the land—modifying the veil and wards around that area to cut it out from the fortress.”

Satoru frowned.

“Wait, but wouldn’t that create a security risk?”

“Not if you buy it,” Yaga said, giving him a knowing look. “If it’s you three—and her—Tengen won’t modify anything. He’ll leave the wards as-is. Hell, he’d probably be relieved to keep that land fortified with you living there.”

Satoru’s lips parted slowly, eyes narrowing in consideration.

“Four bedrooms… riverside… secluded…” His mind was already painting pictures. “That’s perfect.”

Yaga leaned back against the bench.

“Told you. If you want it, I can talk to him. You’d have to handle the paperwork and pay, of course, but… it’s yours if you want it.”

For a long moment, Satoru just stared ahead—quiet, contemplative.

Then he smiled.

“You know, for an old man who yells a lot and plays favorites, you’re pretty alright sometimes.”

Yaga raised his brows.

“Sometimes?”

“Mm. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

They both snorted quietly, lapsing into a silence that didn’t feel heavy or expectant—just comfortable.

Then Satoru tilted his head and grinned again.

“Think I’ll tell them in the morning. The place, the idea of… all of us under one roof… feels good.”

Yaga didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Because deep down, he was proud. Not just of the strongest sorcerer in the world—but of the man who was finally letting himself have a home.

Nanami’s Room – Early morning, next day

Their unofficial headquarters—Nanami’s otherwise minimalist and meticulously organized room—was unusually alive this morning. A half-folded newspaper sat abandoned on the desk. Satoru was lounging sideways in a chair, legs kicked up on Nanami’s bed like he owned it. Suguru was by the window, sipping his tea with his usual graceful quiet. And Nanami… Nanami was rubbing the bridge of his nose, wondering yet again how he had lost control of his own room.

“So,” Satoru started, sunglasses nowhere in sight, revealing those clear, thoughtful eyes. “I spoke with Yaga last night.”

Suguru glanced over his shoulder. Nanami raised a brow but said nothing, waiting for the punchline.

“He told me there’s a house. A real one. Four bedrooms. Inside the fortress, but tucked near the river. It’s supposed to be for Master Tengen, but apparently, the guy wanted the other side of the fortress for ‘better energy flow’ or whatever.”

Nanami blinked.

“And?”

“And it’s just sitting there. Strong foundation, secluded, close to the school and the shelter—but private. Yaga said Tengen was thinking of selling it. But if it’s us, he’d probably hand it over without changing a single ward or curtain. Still fully protected.”

Suguru slowly set his tea down, eyes narrowing in consideration.

“That sounds like it was meant for us.”

“Exactly.” Satoru nodded, sitting upright now, expression bright with an odd blend of excitement and caution. “But I think we should keep it a secret from her for now.”

That got Nanami’s full attention.

“Why?”

“Because,” Satoru replied seriously. “She’s already adjusting to all of this.” He motioned vaguely, as if “this” encompassed their complicated, fierce love, the chaos of school, their shared living situation, and the fact that the three most emotionally complicated men in the sorcerer world were in love with her.

Suguru leaned against the wall, nodding slowly.

“He’s right. She’s strong, but she’s been through enough. A surprise like this—something so permanent—it could feel too fast.”

“Exactly.” Satoru smiled faintly. “I want her to feel safe about it. Excited. Not pressured.”

Nanami crossed his arms, thoughtful.

“So what do you propose we do?”

“We feel it out,” Suguru said smoothly. “Gauge how she reacts to the idea of ‘home’ with us. Bring it up lightly, in passing. Let her dream about it before we make it real.”

Satoru clicked his tongue and pointed at Suguru.

“See? That’s why I keep you.”

Nanami sighed, clearly torn between being annoyed and agreeing with them.

“We’re seriously considering buying a house.”

“We’re seriously considering building a future,” Suguru corrected, voice low but certain.

Satoru leaned back again, folding his hands behind his head.

“Let’s do it right.”

The room went quiet for a beat. Not heavy. Just full of something solid. Something real.

Nanami sat at the edge of his bed, arms braced on his knees, staring at his phone for a long moment.

It wasn’t hesitation. Just... caution. A familiar companion in matters like this.

He finally tapped in the number and brought the phone to his ear.

It rang once. Twice.

Then: “Nanami,” Yaga’s steady voice answered.

Nanami nodded to himself before speaking.

“Sensei. About the house Satoru mentioned…”

Yaga exhaled slowly, like he knew where this was going.

“You want it?”

“Possibly,” Nanami said. “But we need time. She doesn’t know yet. And I don’t want it on record, or circulating through the school until we’re sure she’s ready to take that step.”

There was a pause. Then a quiet chuckle on the other end.

“You’re the responsible one, as always.”

“I’d prefer to call it being considerate.”

“Fair,” Yaga admitted. “I’ll keep it between us. The property will be marked as pending internal decision. I won’t tell Master Tengen or anyone else. Take the time you need.”

Nanami leaned back slightly, letting a breath go.

“Thank you, Sensei.”

“You’re doing well, Nanami. All three of you. For what it’s worth... I think she already feels at home with you.”

Nanami’s gaze softened at that. A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Maybe. But I want her to feel safe in that, too. No pressure. No rush.”

“Then I’ll hold the house until you say otherwise. Take care.”

Nanami ended the call and stared at the quiet room around him—tidy, predictable, safe. He thought of your soft laugh, the way you curled up next to him, how you fit into his life like you’d always belonged there.

“There,” Nanami said, tucking his phone inside his suit, “All settled. Time to work gentlemen.” 

Shoko’s Room – Last Day of Utahime’s Tokyo Visit

All four of you were crammed under the sheets of Shoko’s bed, legs tangled and arms thrown over each other, the scent of lavender from her diffuser thick in the air. The room was softly lit, calm, and perfectly safe. The kind of closeness that only years of trust and friendship could bring.

Utahime laid on her stomach, chin resting on a pillow as she kicked her legs gently in the air. “I swear, I’m gonna lose it with those two—Mai and Maki. I keep thinking maybe I can get them to be at least cordial with each other. Like Mimiko and Nanako. How did you do it with the twins?”

You chuckled, cheek smushed against Mei Mei’s arm. “They imprinted on me when they were young and traumatized. I didn’t really do much except love them until they healed enough to choose peace. I think that kind of bond just... grew with them. But even if those girls are close, they fight like crazy, but I guess that’s normal.”

Shoko rolled onto her back with a lazy stretch. “First step: get Mai and Maki in the same school. Preferably without knives.”

Mei Mei snorted, brushing her bangs back. “Then try getting them to coexist without killing each other. That’s step two.”

Utahime groaned, flopping dramatically. “You guys are no help.”

“She asked,” Mei Mei replied smugly.

“I did,” Utahime muttered into the pillow, defeated.

After a few seconds of quiet breathing and soft ambient music from Shoko’s speaker, Utahime spoke again. “So... how’s the shelter going? I heard Mimiko and Nanako are running things more lately.”

You smiled, proud. “They’re amazing. They’ve got donation drives going, campaigns circulating... lots of public support now. Suguru’s name is coming up more and more—in a good way. People are seeing how much he’s doing to change the jujutsu world.”

Shoko raised a brow. “That’s the elemental princess effect.”

You blinked. “What?”

She grinned lazily. “Your effect. You soften him without dulling him. You’ve changed the way people see him, too.”

“Definitely,” Mei Mei agreed. “And Suguru puts all his money to good use. Shelter, reforms, education—yet somehow, his bank account still overflows.”

“And don’t even get me started on Nanami,” Shoko added. “That man is the definition of financially responsible. He’s loaded.”

“Satoru is on another level,” Mei Mei drawled. “Old money. Gojo Clan. He probably bathes in yen.”

Utahime huffed a little laugh. “You really do love money, Mei Mei.”

Mei Mei gave a content little hum. “I love what money can do. Especially when I’m the one spending it.”

Then Utahime grew quiet for a beat, her voice softer when she spoke again. “Can I ask something serious?”

You all turned to glance at her. “Yeah?”

“If the boys asked you to move in with them... would you?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “After last night... it probably crossed their minds.”

You stared at the ceiling, thoughtful. “Honestly? I wouldn’t mind. It’s bound to happen, right? We’re practically inseparable anyway.”

Shoko nodded from the other side of the bed. “Makes sense. The three orbit around you like planets.”

You laughed, hiding your warm cheeks behind Mei Mei’s shoulder. “Stop.”

Then, turning your attention back to Shoko, you raised a brow. “What about you, Shoko? Don’t you need a man?”

Shoko blinked. “I’m not opposed.”

“I know someone in Europe,” you offered playfully. “Sweet, grounded, a little chaotic but he’s got that smolder—”

“European guys aren’t really my thing,” Shoko interrupted flatly. “Maybe if you know an American guy. I could consider it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I don’t—but Yuki might.”

The entire bed rumbled with laughter.

“You’re gonna set Shoko up through Yuki?” Utahime laughed, half-horrified. “That’s either genius or dangerous.”

“Both,” Mei Mei said, completely serious. “Which makes it worth it.”

Nanami’s Room – Mid-Morning, after Utahime left

It was supposed to be a productive strategy meeting.

The boys were gathered in Nanami’s room, which had unintentionally become their official base of operations—something Nanami resigned himself to with the quiet suffering of a man who knew resistance was futile. Suguru sat cross-legged on the floor, flipping through some property listings on his tablet, Satoru lay sprawled on his stomach on Nanami’s low couch, and Nanami himself stood in the corner, meticulously preparing his coffee.

“So, how exactly do we test the waters with her?” Satoru asked, sunglasses pushed into his snowy hair as he rolled over dramatically. “Subtle hints? Strategic cuddling? Maybe one of us accidentally calls it home in front of her?”

Suguru didn’t even glance up. “You do that already. Every room you enter becomes your home, Satoru.”

Nanami sighed audibly.

“Okay, okay,” Satoru grinned, flopping onto his back with a groan. “Then what do you suggest, Professor Suguru? You’re the calm one. Enlighten us.”

“I suggested subtle conversation and emotional honesty.”

“Booooooring,” Satoru grinned, launching a pillow at Suguru’s face.

Suguru caught it easily—and threw it right back, smacking Satoru in the side of the head with a dull whump. “You started it.”

“Oh, it’s on, Geto.”

Chaos descended.

In the span of seconds, the two were grappling on Nanami’s carpet like bored teenagers. Satoru tried to pin Suguru with a leg sweep, Suguru retaliated with a half-hearted chokehold, and somewhere between the flailing and laughter, someone knocked over Nanami’s file tray.

Nanami, unfazed, sipped his coffee.

That was the exact scene you walked into: Suguru and Satoru mid-wrestle, panting and grinning like lunatics, and Nanami just… sipping. As if this were Tuesday.

You blinked, eyes wide. “Seriously?!”

All three men froze.

Nanami, to his credit, at least tried to look dignified. “I wasn’t involved.”

You shot him a flat look. “You didn’t stop them either.”

Suguru cleared his throat and slowly peeled himself off Satoru. “Technically, it was a brainstorming session…”

You crossed your arms, eyes narrowing. “If this is what I’ll walk into every time I turn my back, how are we supposed to live together in peace?”

Silence.

You huffed and pointed a finger at the three of them. “I mean it! If we all want this to work, you need to play nice with each other. No brawling in Nanami’s room, no random chaos in the kitchen—especially around knives—and definitely no surprise wrestling when I’m not looking!”

More silence.

Too much silence.

You looked up and suddenly realized all three men were just… staring at you. Not with guilt or shame, but with that quiet intensity that made your stomach flip. Like you’d just handed them a winning lottery ticket without even knowing it.

“What?” you asked, genuinely confused.

Satoru sat up slowly, blinking. “Say it again.”

You frowned. “Say what again?”

“That thing,” he murmured, lips curving, “about us all… living together.”

You tilted your head, oblivious. “What about it? It’s bound to happen anyway. I mean, after that incident the other night?” You shot them a look. “We traumatized Utahime. I’m not risking Mimiko and Nanako walking in next time.”

That did it.

Suguru, calm, composed Suguru, broke.

He let out a sharp laugh—pure relief—and covered his mouth with the back of his hand before leaning into your space and pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “You’re so cute when you’re mad.”

You blinked at him, brain catching up too late.

Satoru chuckled, flopping back onto the floor with a dramatic sigh of joy. “She wants to live with us. I can die happy.”

Nanami, still holding his coffee, finally allowed a small smile to curve his lips. “Well, that answers that.”

You stared at them, slowly turning pink. “…Wait. That was the test?”

“Yes,” all three replied in unison.

But then Suguru tilted his head, brushing a few stray strands from your cheek with a quiet softness. “Well. Technically… it wasn’t meant to be a test.”

Nanami, always the voice of reason, added in his steady tone, “We were trying to figure out how to bring it up with you without overwhelming you. Or making you feel trapped. Or like everything is happening too fast.”

Your brows pulled together, still half in your stern scold-mode. “Trapped? Fast?”

The weight of the words, the tenderness behind their concern, hit you somewhere deep. And yet—

You huffed, scoffing just a little as your arms crossed again. “Aren’t we all at risk of dying in every mission? There’s no such thing as slow or fast in our world.”

They stared again.

And that’s when it dawned on them. Not just how casual you’d been about this life-altering decision—but how emotionally grounded you really were.

You weren’t saying it in panic. Or with reckless abandon. You were just sure. Clear-eyed and calm at your core, even beneath all that fire and rage.

You let out a breath, shoulders relaxing a little as your tone gentled. “You’re scared for nothing,” you murmured. “I’m not some fragile little thing you need to tiptoe around. I’m not the one that breaks.”

You looked at each of them, eyes steady. “We’re the ones that break things. Remember?”

Another round of silence. But this time, it was golden.

“…So,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Are we moving in together or not?”

Nanami set his coffee down with a quiet clink. With all the solemnity in the world, he reached into his folder, pulled out a pristine empty calendar, and in his deadpan voice said, “We’ll need to map out a chore list.”

You lost it.

Your angry façade shattered like sugar glass. Laughter burst out of you, uncontained and bright, and the boys drank it in like they’d just survived something harrowing and divine at the same time.

Suguru chuckled, watching you melt. “You should expect friendly brawls from time to time. Comes with the Gojo package.”

“Regrettably,” Nanami muttered, “Gojo Satoru is part of the household.”

You laughed harder, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. “Fine. But no breaking furniture.”

Satoru raised a hand like a student. “Except the bed.”

Suguru followed with a casual, “Or the table.”

Nanami, almost too softly, added under his breath, “Probably the sofa as well.”

You stared at them.

Then sighed, long-suffering, hand pressed to your forehead.

“You three should be thankful I love you.”

Silence.

This time, not stunned by your logic. Not by your strength.

But by your heart.

Three sets of eyes locked on you.

And not a single one could speak.

[unnamedcorvid]

Was reminded of when I first started Malevolent and couldn’t get the guys out of my head so I looked up pictures of wet cats to find the most John and Arthur ones and came up with this

they both look so stupid. i love them

[johnnyshrine]

★ 067 // “Kiss Collab”

[huginsmemory]

Even with TBOB and thisisnotawebsite.com there's... Still so much we don't know about Bill. Like ok yeah he's given a tragic background, we know a bit more about his henchmaniacs, but we really don't know a lot. Like, what happened directly after he accidentally destroyed his dimension? It isn't said. Sure time baby KNOWS about Bill's destruction of his dimension, but it seems like he didn't show up after Bill's dimension was destroyed to apprehend him because he only knows about Bill after Bill tries to make a deal with him, causing Bill's wanted poster. And how did Bill become basically the overlord of the nightmare realm, and gather all his henchmaniacs? Like there's a good period where we just don't know. And it's implied he's shocked and horrified (likely even dissociates, since he does that) after he destroys his dimension. But his characterization doesn't seem by that point to be one that immediately goes into a self-destructive, violent god-becoming maniacal spiral of self hatred; it's more one to be overwhelmed with grief and spend a good long time in the midst of his grief, then necessarily he's about to DO anything. And generally speaking trope wise, there's steps missing; typically in this sort of scenario, the usual progression is this:

characterized as monster due to being different in some way

tries to prove their not

ends up hurting someone anyways

gets further villainized, and antagonized by others

Acceptance of being a monster, and goes okay? You wanted a monster? I'll be a monster.

Now this fits Bill's early life, up to number 4, but we don't know what happens immediately after. It's possible he just went into his spiral immediately after, but it feels wrong, because it is missing the part of someone further villainizing him beyond himself which causes him to lash out due to the expectation (and internalized) idea that he would cause harm. I'd assume maybe some kind of interdimensional authority showed up and accused him of purposely trying to kill his dimension, which triggered his "okay, then I'll be a monster", or even a situation where his 'monstrosity' through the badge of killing his dimension is garners him respect. Considering that his henchmaniacs are chosen out of monstrosity and violence as a badge of honor, it feels very much like this would make sense, except none of them really know about Bill's dimension. He doesn't brag about the violence of it; he only calls it a liberation, contrary to the idea that Bill ever used it to gain clout. Instead, it's more likely that an interdimensional authority showed up and accused Bill, except from circumstances, it doesn't seem like it was Time Baby, so not sure who it would be... but at the same time, that expectation is often required for the character to truly embrace their 'monstrosity' and become truly violent. Or perhaps it was delayed after the destruction of his dimension, later when he begins to run with his henchmaniacs and disregards the law, but that also doesn't feel satisfactory for character development. Or perhaps I'm just overthinking this trope...

Also, how did he have his powers? Some is clearly stuff he's always had; pyrokinesis from that one rhyme, the ability to see into 3d, and he was somehow able to destroy his dimension by whatever he did to let Euclydians see the stars (telekinesis?), but beyond that? Was he always all-seeing? How did he become a 'dream demon'? Are his deals actually binding or does he lie? Are these things that he acquired later, because Euclydians seem to be written about as if they usually don't have any of these abilities, nor the abilities Bill is known to have when young, nor did Bill seem to be able to be all seeing when he was younger. Plus, how was Bill able to survive the destruction of his dimension, if he's technically made of the same stuff as everyone else, who all seems to have a physical form? Why then does he seems to be characterized as a being made of pure energy and thought; is that just in Earth's dimension, or does he have a physical form within the nightmare realm? There's multiple things that are contradictory about his body (mouth-eye, yet talked about removing his exoskeleton to feed--not sure exactly when this was mentioned--plus his mouth located under his bricks and bowtie in his exoskeleton in journal 3). But he seems so thrilled by his physical form though on earth, and we know that physical forms exist within the Nightmare realm as Ford was in it... yet it seems like hes characterized to have no physical form, so did he perhaps lose his physical form when his dimension died? Did he technically die with them too, but with his powers was able to survive essentially as a ghost like he tells Dipper you become without a body?

[jerrythebug]

Trying to figure out how to draw a White Guy in a Suit. I'm getting somewhere, but still need more practice.

[trunklewunjle]

(VOLUME WARNING) I’m easily persuaded, I will post this here, i love them so much they’re my life

Killer belongs to rahafwabas

Nightmear belongs to Jokublog

[darabeatha]

@hasarjunadoneanythingwrong replied ; this is super informative tbh

/ Thank youuuuu 😭😭😭😭😭 I love him lots and there's so little about him floating around !! it was through my researching and reading that i kept finding things that made sense to me about his design, like maybe a lot of these are speculations from my end/overthinking stuff and it's not that deep (or maybe it is who knows!) but I just love history and character design and symbolism and meaning, and I grew too attached to this emperor 😔✋

[kubb-is-a-swedish-lawn-game]

i've encountered a strange phenomenon in which it is easiest to write a character's voice the less you know and care about the inner workings of their mind

[vullcanica]

@nightmarecountry : “God, you’re like a fancy dinner plate that you don’t wanna budge off the edge of the table.” (I'm sorry dan)

It's usually meant as a compliment, he's found. The way people look at him and think of rare, pretty, cold things by way of comparison. He's learned to accept it without much complaint, learned to gratify it when someone's tone dips saccharine and their flattery turns demeaning. Pearl, painting, plate. Proper perfect Perkins.

He's been called a thing before, in as many words as one could manage.

He's never been called fragile.

Doesn't expect to sting as much as it does, his skin assumedly thicker to the sentiment but, by god, this man - this creature or thing, whatever it is which does not seem to breathe and whose eyes clack enamel behind their shades - he makes it sound affronting. His tone lilts southern, mawkish and cloying, almost sticky-slurred from all the wretched saliva gathered just behind bared teeth, and Daniel's skin prickles. The gravel rumble pitch unnerves where it should charm, eerie in its artificiality like a distorted record. Like a predator growl. There's something wrong and enchanting and infuriating about it all.

You don't know the half of it, he thinks, suddenly, oddly possessed by an urge to defy the assumption. To commit the debasement of gracing a farce with answer. He should leave instead. Run. But disdain is a mighty root and the scowl cannot be helped when Daniel looks at him from beneath heavy brows - luciferian with anger too polite to become fury. His lips curl to stave off a rude tone. He thinks he ought to snarl but can't justify the reaction.

"I think you'll find.. I've weathered worse than a 'budge'."

[poppyseed799]

Astrology is great because how else am I supposed to come up with birthdays for my OCs

[aeyumicore]

where hearts live - sylus birthday special

a sweet fluffy smutty birthday fic inspired by sylus’s new birthday five-star ‘where hearts live’

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

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

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 4.5k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, references and deviations from ‘where hearts live,’ sub/switch!sylus, reader on top, outdoor sex, voyeurism kinda, honestly pretty vanilla and sweet, oral m!receiving, handjob m!receiving, hickeys and marking, vague references to sylus past memories (grassland romance or beyond cloudfall), petnames (sweetheart, dove, bird, love, precious), f!riding, booby sucking

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: ao3 | 'where hearts live' video

━ ✧.˖ A/N: happiest birthday to our most precious dragon sylus! well, today or tomorrow depending on where you are :)

this is inspired/slightly based off of sylus’s birthday memory ‘where hearts live.’ however it’s based only off what i saw in the pv as that’s when i started writing it—before the memory came out. so it might not be entirely accurate to the memory itself.

to all my sylus girlies i hope you can celebrate your man’s birthday and make happy memories with qin che <3

honestly thank @lovegasmic for this one because i wasn’t gonna write for sylus’s birthday but then a yapping misunderstanding led to this…

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

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

You feel a strange sense of déjà vu, lying in the lush verdant grass under the soft rays of sun that flit through the gaps of the swaying maple tree. Maybe it’s the way the fluffy patches of grass slightly itch your lower back, or maybe it’s the warm breeze tickling your cheek as it brushes past your hair. 

Like you’d been here before, in this same spot, in the strong arms of a certain crimson-eyed infamous Onichynus leader. 

But that’d be ridiculously impossible, because you’d never been here before.

Sylus snaps you out of your thoughts when he shifts to face you. He leaves the arm you were snuggled into under your body, bringing his free hand up to stroke your jaw. Like he’d done many times before, he tucks your loose hair behind your ear, his scarlet eyes shining with unspoken emotion. 

"What's going on in that beautiful head of yours?"

You turn onto your side so that you’re facing him head on, faces inches apart, “Nothing. Just that I’m…so unbelievably happy to be here with you.”

Sylus looks surprised for a flash of a second before the shock is masked with a smug smile, “Good. I am too.”

Sylus leans in until your foreheads touch, “You have no idea how much, little bird.”

Your heart pounds at the sincerity of his words, his voice husky with molten desire. Before he can react, you press your lips into his, swallowing his faint grunt of surprise. The arm he had under your body reaches up to gently grip your hair, as if that could ground him against the unending torrent of passion he felt whenever he felt your skin under his. 

What started as a quick chaste kiss quickly melts into something far more heated. Sylus’s palm finds your waist, yanking you toward him until there’s not even space for a single blade of grass between you. His fingers gently massage your scalp, lightly nipping at your bottom lip. At your squeak of surprise, he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into you, tangling possessively with yours. 

He smirks against your lips, pleased when you moan so damn perfectly for him, far more beautiful than anything he’d ever heard. The hand on your waist ventures to the small of your back, fingers toying with the hem of your top, raising goosebumps wherever they touch.

With his outstretched palm splayed against your spine, he pulls you impossibly closer, the unmistakable outline of his erection pressed insistently into your stomach. 

“Sylus—!” you gasp when he pulls away, instead trailing his demanding lips down your jaw. Your body arches into him, head thrown back and exposing your throat to him. 

“Yes?” he murmurs huskily, voice just above a mere snarl, an air of playfulness in his words that makes your toes curl. He smiles into your skin when he’s met with your wordless cry of desire, his teeth sinking gently into where your neck meets your shoulder. You were always inexplicably sensitive there, and Sylus always took advantage.

He always loved marking you there. 

But suddenly he groans in annoyance, bordering on a genuine growl. Your eyes fly open, trying to see what was bothering him. You burst into laughter when you see him swatting away a fallen maple leaf that’d landed onto his cheek. With your fingertips, you grasp it, pulling it away from his face.

Twirling it between your fingers, you can’t help but tease him, “Just a leaf Sylus. Harmless.”

Sylus raises an eyebrow at you, “Nothing is harmless when it stands between me and getting to you.”

Your cheeks heat at his sweet and nonchalant declaration. Trying to distract him, you place the green maple leaf near the crown of his head, giggling at how harmlessly adorable he looks.

Sylus freezes against you, his entire body locking at your innocent actions. For a second, it’s like he’s seen a ghost, his vermillion eyes wide with surprise. He’s quick to mask it—making sure you don’t notice it, that devilish Sylus smirk falling back into place. 

“What’s funny, sweetheart?” 

You smile and shake your head, “It suits you. My handsome birthday boy.”

Sylus scoffs incredulously. Before you know it, the leaf drifts away from his hair. But not in the way that a natural breeze would. More intentional, in the way Sylus’s Evol might behave. 

You try and grab it, but the familiar black hum of energy lifts it higher, just out of your reach. 

Whining, you reach for it again, only for it to float just out of your reach. Again.

“You’re so childish,” you grumble, sitting up to try and catch it again. Sylus chuckles warmly, laying back on the grass, one arm behind his head like a pillow.

“It’s my birthday and you’re going to call me childish? Such a cruel kitten,” he smirks as he makes the leaf dance just out of your grasp. His lengthy elegant fingers twirl right in front of you as he controls his Evol—taunting you. Begging you to dare further.

You sit on your knees, bending down so you can hover your lips millimeters from his. If Sylus is taken aback, he doesn’t let it show, just staring you back down, the corner of his lip turned up in sheer amusement. 

God you adored this smug bastard.

You press your hand firmly into his chest as you close the distance between your lips, your fingers toying with the collar of his shirt, your nails gently grazing along his bare chest. You nearly grin when you feel his sharp inhale, the arm he had under his head coming up to grip your hips. 

When his tongue teases the seam of your lips, demanding entry—you relent and let him take control. In that brief moment of impassioned distraction, your eyes crack open and your free hand grabs at the still-floating maple leaf. 

You just barely graze it before it flickers out of your reach.

“Minx,” he chuckles against your wet lips, his thumb pressing into your pout, “You’ll have to be more clever than that.”

You let out a whine of frustration, sitting up again, “I don’t like this game.” 

Sylus chuckles, his laugh like a deep warm chocolate, your name rolling off his tongue teasingly, “Well I do, love. And I seem to remember you making a big fuss about it being my birthday.”

With a flick of his lengthy fingers, the green leaf flits in front of you, tickling your cheek. As you flinch, your face scrunched up with playful annoyance, it floats down from your face to Sylus’s chest. 

Quickly, you clasp your palms over each other into Sylus’s chest to try and catch it, the metal of his necklace cool against your clammy skin. It only floats further down, your palms following it, pressing into his abdomen, the defined ridges of his muscles hot under your touch. 

Sylus smiles as he watches you, like a cat trying to catch a laser. His kitten.

As the delicate maple continues to breeze further down, your patience runs dry, replaced with a scheming mischief. Your fingers continue south with the leaf, just like before—except this time the goal isn’t to catch it. 

Sylus’s entire body tenses as your hands find his belt, quickly undoing it, the maple stuttering in the air—forgotten. Your fingers trail into his pants, teasing the waistband of his boxers, enjoying the way his body subtly leans into yours, chasing your touch. 

“See, isn’t this a far better game?” you coo, fingers wrapping around his already hardening cock. Sylus hisses, his sharp jaw locked as his hand shoots out to roughly grab your chin.

He angles your face up to look at him, his lips parted slightly with heavy breaths, “It’s a dangerous game, kitten.” And yet, he doesn’t stop you. If anything, his body presses more desperately into you, demanding you to take him harder.

And so you do, your fingers gripping just tightly enough to make his breath hitch with need. You lean down slightly so your hair falls over his face, intentionally letting it tickle him.

Sylus lets out a guttural groan, his hips bucking uncharacteristically into your tight fingers. He was normally a man of unmatched control, typically making you lose control. But right at this moment, under the lush canopy of green, the glowing skylight peeking through, in the open field, where anyone could find you. Anyone could see the way you belonged wholly to each other and only each other?

That was enough to drive him utterly insane—putty in your perfect hands. 

“Faster,” he demands, a growl ripping from his throat, “Just how you know I like it.”

You giggle, jerking him as best as you can under the confines of his dress pants. “Already making demands, Sy? Weren’t you just teasing me?”

He only grunts, hips jerking up into you, one hand clutching the poor grass beside him. It takes every shred of self control he has to keep from pulling you down to use those beautiful lips instead. 

“Sweetheart…” he grits out, entire upper body heaving against the flat grassy ground. 

You bend over so that you can kiss his trembling jaw, your hand still working diligently against the fabric of his pants, “Yeah Sylus?”

The way you purr his name has Sylus cursing lowly, “It’s my birthday, princess.”

You giggle at the near whiny timbre of his words, knowing that’s as close as a ‘please’ you’re going to get. Eyes falling on the abandoned maple leaf, resting on his lapel, you grin cheekily at him.

“It is your birthday,” you sing, reveling in his desperate short breaths, “And since you’ve decided to play nice…” You grab the green leaf with your free hand, twirling it in between your fingers. Similarly, with your other hand, you thumb gently at his leaking tip, knowing just how sensitive Sylus is there. 

Placing the maple behind his ear, you gingerly withdraw your hand from inside his bottoms. Sylus nearly jerks, sitting up slightly to look at you in disbelief. Before he can protest, you undo his belt, pulling the zipper down, freeing his unbelievably excited cock. You gulp as you admire it—thick, red, and leaking with his unending need for you.

For a second, Sylus’s eyes dart around, making sure no one could possibly see the filthy things you were about to do to him. But of course, there wasn’t a soul in sight, save for the two shared souls lying under the maple tree. And even if there was…he wouldn’t exactly mind. 

He loved to show off what was solely and irrevocably his. 

Sylus twitches in your hands at the thought, waiting for your next move. His chest heaves as he watches you climb between his legs, leaning forward to place a heated kiss against his tip, the tip of your tongue lapping up the salty pearls of essence. 

The feeling makes his hips jerk, his jaw slack with pent up desire. Desire that he was desperately holding back, to let you take control. Even though it was his birthday, he wanted to give you that, knowing how much you liked when he let you take the lead.

”Christ…” Sylus growls, his hands shredding the grass beneath them. His broken words fuel you with confidence, your lips enveloping him entirely, jaw unhinged to accommodate his ridiculous size. 

“Perfect little mouth,” Sylus praises, voice strangled, fingers gently threading into your wind tousled hair. He only maintains a light, but firm, pressure—not wanting to control the pace, enjoying how badly you want to please him. On his birthday. 

His precious little dove.

You hum happily, the vibrations shaking Sylus to his core. His hips have a mind of their own, rutting upward no matter how much he wants to let you have the lead. He pants as his throbbing tip hits the back of your throat, the unbelievable tight warmth a sensation he’d never get used to. 

You choke, eyes watering, as you slide him further down your throat, using your fingers to jerk his base, stroking his heavy set balls. The spring breeze reminds the both of you just how compromising your predicament was. Well less compromising and more so downright indecent. 

In the back of your head you know no one would catch the two of you—this small little meadow tucked away in a secluded plot of land Sylus had acquired. Strictly private property. 

But the idea of it still made the apex of your thighs sticky with desire. 

Glancing up through your teary fluttering eyelashes, you moan over him as you watch the dark heated way he watches you, a thin layer of sweat shining on his chiseled face. That look alone is enough to have your legs clenching, trying to control the wet warmth blooming between your thighs. 

Sylus’s fingers tighten in your hair, but instead of pushing you down, he gently massages your scalp, encouraging—praising you.

When your tongue does that wicked thing you’d learn he loved, his grip tightens and his hips buck up fiercely. You gag, pulling back your teeth, nearly taking his entire length up into your throat. 

With a torrid curse, Sylus hoists you off his lap. A whine rips from your lips, already missing the way he perfectly stretched out your mouth, his hot soft skin against your tongue. 

“Get on top,” Sylus demands gruffly. It’s less of a demand and more of a heated, desperate plea. You raise an eyebrow at him, to which he groans and captures your chin with his thumb and index finger. 

“Won’t last very long like this,” he rasps, eyes deep like a red wine, “And I want to be inside you. Need to be inside you. Please.”

His rare plea makes you fold instantly. Swinging your leg over his lap, you hike your skirt up, swiftly pulling your panties to the side. The cool outdoor breeze makes you shudder, feeling unbelievably exposed against the elements. 

Sylus notices, his fingers tenderly gripping your thighs and his palms rubbing up and down, the friction making warmth spread from where his hands explore your skin. He looks up at you, his eyes shining with adoration and undeniable heat. For a split second he’s frozen, his eyes widening fractionally. So slightly you almost don’t notice it.

“Sylus?”

The white-haired man doesn’t respond, hit with his own sense of déjà vu. The way your hair softly fluttered in the wind, the canopy of greenery framing the space behind your head, your weight pressing comfortingly into his lap. The other half of his soul staring down at him, devastatingly and heart-achingly beautiful. 

In another life, he’d been in this exact spot—looking up just like this.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice velvet against the breeze, “Just thinking about what a wonderful birthday it’s been.”

Your heart flutters at his surprisingly soft words before you lean down to brush heated kisses into his jaw, down to his ear.

“Your birthday’s just started.”

You line up with the tip of his aching erection, your skirt lifting slightly against the current of the wind. The initial stretch always inevitably stung—Sylus’s impressive size never something you could fully prepare yourself for. Even so, as you sank down inch by inch your core fluttered excitedly—appreciatively—around him.

“Just like that,” Sylus groans, “You always take me so perfectly, kitten.” He swears under his strangled breath when you seat yourself fully, his hands still gripping your thighs, hugging them tightly to him. 

His fingers dig in, enjoying how soft your skin is against his calloused hands, unconsciously flexing at how wonderfully tightly you squeeze him.  The wind carries off your strangled moan, body tightening as you adjust to his size, shivering at the soothing circles he rubs into your thigh.

“Gonna move now, ‘kay Sylus?” you choke out, the muscles of your quads trembling as you lift yourself incrementally. 

Sylus groans in approval, nearly at his wit’s end but not wanting to rush you. There would be unending opportunities for him to take you how he wanted—but right now, he wanted you to take care of him.

“Please do,” he grunts, chest heaving irregularly as you lift yourself off him—leaving just his tip nestled inside you, “Need to feel you.”

That’s all the encouragement you need to start rhythmically bouncing on his lap, your palms supporting your weight, pressed flat against his chest. 

“Ngh—always so full,” you choke out, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut against the blinding rays of the sun, “Always feel—hah—s’good, Sy.”

Sylus’s hands instinctively move from your thighs to your hips, giving just the slightest lift of support. His scarlet eyes follow yours, lips parted in overwhelming pleasure as he watches you ride him.

“You’ve no idea—” Sylus hisses as you clench around him, “How beautiful you are. How perfectly you wrap around me.”

Sylus sits up suddenly, wrapping his muscled arms around your body and burying his face into the crook of your neck. He doesn’t take control—rather supporting you in your impassioned movements, encouraging you to take what you need from him.

“You were made for me,” his voice is velvet and deep, “Made to take me like this.”

You whine, heart skipping at his honey’d words, inadvertently clamping down on him—entire body reacting viscerally to him. 

Sylus grunts, fingers moving deftly to remove your jacket and expose your bare shoulders. His lips latch onto the column of your neck urgently as you squeeze him, feeling just how tight you were—how irresistibly he fit inside of your perfect heat. 

“Sy-Sylus!” you cry out as his teeth gently sink into your pulsepoint. Your rhythm falters—not just from his sharp teeth and expert tongue, but by his possessive fingers that map out the goosebumps on your shoulders. 

Even with the steady breeze, you don’t feel cold against Sylus’s protective hold, his hands touching you in every exposed spot. Your thighs shake, your bounces slowing to deep rolls—clit brushing against his coarse hair at every deliberate wave.

“Shit—” Sylus curses when he inches back so he can see you fully, your body arched beautifully for him as you lean backwards, palms flat against the grass by his legs. His fingers trace a deliberate trail down your jaw and collar, until they’re toying with the lace of your top. He traces the thin strap, hooking it delicately with his fingers, pulling gently until they’re slipping off your shoulders.

He pulls until the lace top falls just below your breasts, your nipples peaking instantly as they meet the outdoor breeze. You squeal, hips faltering, when Sylus’s warm fingers pinch down against the pebbled flesh.

Sylus smirks in satisfaction, “How lucky am I?”  He wraps his hands around your waist, pulling you firmly forward until your foreheads gently knock together.

”Spending my birthday with…” he trails off, pressing his lips to yours in a passionate kiss, his tongue demanding surrender. Pulling away, his warm breath against yours, “the other half of my heart. Of my soul.”

Your body tightens, chest and core, at his unbelievably genuine and heartfelt words. It was all too much—the way he was stretching you out, the way he looked at you like you were the only one who saw him. 

Hips rolling in a broken rhythm, you whisper, “S-Sylus—so close! W-Want to cum f’you.” 

Sylus’s ruby eyes darken to near black swirls of smoke, “There’s no other gift you could give me that I would want more.” 

His fingers find your hips, supporting you in your desperate movements as you chase a pleasure only he could give you. The pressure of his grip is bruising—so pleasantly delicious as you neared the precipice of your peak.

Your eyes widen when you hear a faint rustling and the distinct sound of voices, trespassers or hikers who’d ventured off the trail. They sounded far—too far to witness the absolute debauchery that was yours and Sylus’s joined bodies—but close enough that your entire body freezes with fear. 

As your body stutters to a stop, Sylus growls with dissatisfaction. Almost entirely indifferent to the prospect of being caught—or rather excited by it—Sylus takes over your rhythm, using his thighs to bounce you and one hand to support you.

His other hand comes to clasp over your mouth, gently muffling your sounds—pace unrelenting. While the risque situation is unbelievably arousing, the thought of showing the world just how irrevocably his you were—in reality your modesty and comfortability was always at the forefront of Sylus’s mind. 

“Careful, precious. Wouldn’t want to draw unwanted attention,” he murmurs gruffly, determined to feel you cum around him. Just like he can feel the way you squeeze excitedly around him at the prospect of being caught, you can feel him twitching inside you.

“Would love to show you off,” he smirks into your skin, nipping gently at your hickey-bruised shoulders, “But let’s save that for another time.”

“On my birthday…I refuse to share you.”

Sylus seals your fate when his hand leaves your waist to paw at your clit, your eyes squeezing shut as you feel the tension in your gut explode against him. Your scream is muffled by his palm, still an absolute symphony to him. 

Your unmistakeable climax triggers Sylus’s, his fingers abandoning your clit so his arm can wrap around you, pressing you tighter into his abdomen—holding onto you so possessively that it quite literally intensifies your orgasm, convulsing uncontrollably in his arms.

His soft lips close over your exposed nipple as he ruts up into you, his movements demanding but tender. His skilled tongue prolongs the waves of your release, drawing it out as long as possible. 

Somewhere in the back of your head, you register the faraway voices disappearing altogether. Sylus releases your jaw, red eyes shadowed with deep and dark desire.

“So damn tight,” he grunts into the wet flesh of your breast, his own orgasm fast approaching, “Could spend forever buried inside of you.”

He throws his head backward with uncontrollable ecstasy as he teeters over the edge and into oblivion, “Close, sweetheart.”

You whine as he fucks you into overstimulation, “O-Oh God, Sylus. Please–!” Your hands tremble as they cup his face, angling him so that your foreheads touch, exchanging heated breaths.

“Gonna cum inside,” Sylus grits out, his rhythm stuttering. Though his words are commanding—leaving no room for argument—his tone conveys that of seeking permission. His deep wine red eyes searching yours for approval before he does anything. 

It’s nearly comical, seeing as you almost always let him do just that. Begged for it, even.

“Course Sy,” you murmur into his ear, the aftershocks of your orgasm spasming against him, nearly pulling his release from him. 

“It’s your birthday after all.”

With a heated and impassioned groan of your name, his teeth digging into that one spot he’s so obsessed with on your shoulder, Sylus explodes inside you. He bites hard enough to leave indentations, not hard enough to break skin—tongue soothing the sensitive area. He doesn’t bother covering your mouth this time, letting your beautiful scream, a mix of pleasure and pain, ring unabashed in the meadow. 

Sylus hugs you incredibly tight and close as he releases ropes of hot thick seed into you, almost as if ensuring you’d receive all of him. Which you always did—happily. 

“That’s it, my love,” Sylus rasps into your ear, “Take it all. For me.” You can feel him still spurting inside you—chest heaving against yours, your hearts beating in unison against one another. He rocks his hips gently, stuffing you with his unending pearly essence, marking you from the inside out. 

You moan gently into the crook of his neck, feeling his warmth mixed with yours starting to seep down your thighs, even as he continues to release into you. His breath is strangled as his movements start to falter, his fingers flexing into the soft skin of your thighs.

“Perfect…”  Sylus’s velvet voice murmurs, hands abandoning your thighs so that he can wrap his arms around you. For a moment, he just holds you snugly against him, one hand stroking your hair, the other rubbing tenderly against your exposed shoulder, keeping you warm. You can’t see, but Sylus’s ruby irises are drawn to the sky—admiring the cloudy sky.

“What are you thinking about?” you mumble, clearing your hoarse throat. Pulling away, you adjust the straps of your lacy top back over your shoulders and look at him fully. 

With his face angled toward the sky, the corner of Sylus’s lips quirk upward, the faintest smile ghosting his chiseled face. Slowly, he turns to face you, fingers tracing your jaw reverently. 

“Nothing. You always look so beautiful under the clouds,”

Your heart stutters at his words, cheeks warming noticeably under his tender gaze. When you avert your eyes shyly, you spot the green maple leaf still neatly tucked away in Sylus’s soft silver hair. You stifle your giggles, teeth digging into your bottom lip to hold back your grin.

Sylus raises his eyebrow at you, his thumb tracing the corners of your lips. Following your line of sight, his hand comes up to comb through his hair and gently pick out the green leaf. 

“Party pooper,” you mutter childishly. Sylus only chuckles, placing the maple leaf behind your own ear, tucking your hair behind it. 

“It looks far better on you,” he says, his eyes glittering in amusement, “Consider it a gift.”

You roll your eyes, shifting slightly as your legs start to fall asleep—still seated atop his lap with his cock inside you. 

“It’s your birthday. Hardly seems appropriate for the birthday boy to be handing out presents.”

Sylus smirks mischievously, readjusting his hands onto your hips and biting back a pleasured groan as you squirm on his lap—growing unmistakably more excited by the second.

“Trust me love, there will be plenty of opportunities for you to give me what I want.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “What’s that supposed to mean? Did Luke and Kieran tell you what I got you?! I swear I'm going to kill th—”

Sylus presses his thumb onto your lips, effectively shutting you up with an amused chuckle. 

“The only thing I want, I already have.”

Your stomach flutters as you feel Sylus hardening inside of you, never having quite softened in the first place. Your breath catches as he gently palms your abdomen, pressing down ever so slightly. 

“I just want to be buried here, forever.”

He leaves no room for you to speak, his thumb pressing into your mouth and against your tongue. You moan gently when he gives you one single languid roll of his hips. 

“But I already know you’ll protest that, so we’ll have to start with just today.”

You yelp when Sylus pulls you down with him as he lays down flat against the grassy floor, rutting up into your g-spot again. The flickering spots of sunlight paint his face in such an ethereal glow that it almost distracts you from the hungry—predatory glint sparkling in his crimson irises. Almost.

“It’s my birthday after all, right sweetheart?”

© aeyumicore 2025.

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

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

[feeshu09]

What if Shen Yuan gets a petty princess boyfriend because the universe (I) said so.

-wrote a little ficlet about them under the cut ✨-

Shen Yuan's (very confused) POV:

You know, there are days you wake up and think, “Wow, life is weird.” And then there are days you wake up and there's a beautiful, irritated, probably-came-from-a-period-drama man sitting on your couch like he owns the place, glaring at your toaster like it personally offended his ancestors.

Yeah. I’m talking about that kind of day.

It started, as these things always do, with a thunderclap, some suspiciously glittery mist, and the next thing I knew, there was a very angry, very elegant man standing in the middle of my studio apartment. He looked around my humble little man-cave—okay, fine, it was a bit of a pig sty. I wasn't expecting visitors—and sneered so hard I thought his face would stay that way forever.

“This is your abode?” he asked, with the same tone I use when I accidentally step in dog poop.

“Uh,” I said intelligibly. “Yes…?”

He hissed. Hissed. Like a very angry, very pretty feral cat. It was alarming. And a little hot? No, stop that, Shen Yuan. Bad. No petting the murder kitty.

So. A quick summary: the stranger introduced himself—begrudgingly—as Shen Jiu.

A handsome stranger.

And he was in my house.

Living in my apartment.

Breathing my air.

Criticizing my instant ramen choices like he wasn’t literally eating all of them.

“You eat like a beggar,” he said yesterday, sipping tea he made himself after complaining my kettle was ‘barbaric’. “This isn't sustenance. It's punishment.”

Okay. One: accurate. Two: rude.

But we fell into a rhythm after a few weeks, somehow. Like a weird little odd-couple sitcom. Every morning, I’d wake up to Shen Jiu curled in a pile of throw blankets on my futon, looking like a disgruntled Persian cat. He hated the TV but would still watch it with a kind of horrified fascination. He especially hated anime. That was… a problem.

The turning point came when he caught me watching some over the top shonen anime and heard me make a passing comment about the protagonist’s abs.

“You like that?” he asked, voice tight. “You like him?”

“What? No, I—” I laughed, awkward. “It’s just anime—”

He made a sound like someone dropped a piano on his pride and turned off the laptop with a single disdainful poke of a button.

“You’re not allowed to look at other men,” he said, eyes narrowed.

“…What?”

“You heard me,” he said, as if that explained anything and then settled on my lap.

Then he stole my glasses.

He literally plucked them off my face like a bully on the schoolyard and perched them on his own perfectly arched nose.

I stared. Squinted, really. “I’m legally blind.”

“Good,” he snapped. “Then you can’t ogle those fake men anymore. Who draws them like that anyway? It’s obscene.”

“Jiu-ge,” I said gently. “Um… Can I have my glasses back please?”

“For what? To look at other men? I don’t think so.”

Never—and I mean never—has anyone been so furiously jealous of fictional anime boys that they physically robbed me of my glasses. It was almost impressive.

And I let him keep them.

Why? Because the alternative was him going back into Feral Mode™ where he hisses and threatens to set my bookshelf on fire with qi that I still don’t believe exists in this universe.

Besides… I didn’t mind the glasses thing so much when he was situated on my lap like I was his personal throne.

“You’re warm,” he said, nonchalant, like this was normal. Like he didn't came from a completely different reality.

“Cool,” I wheezed, not cool at all.

“You’re flustered,” he added, smug.

I was. But I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of admitting it. Instead, I tried to focus on the dead screen of my laptop, even if everything was blurry.

So now I’m trapped in a never-ending loop of being lowkey bullied by a man with cheekbones sharp enough to commit murder, who eats all my ramen, hoards my glasses, gets jealous of anime characters, and has absolutely no concept of personal space.

And you know what the worst part is?

I think I might like it.

Please send help.

…Or not.

[karinasbaby]

LORD HAVE MERCY KAYLA HOW DO U ALWAYS KEEP RELEASING MASTERPIECE AFTER MASTERPIECE BANGER AFTER BANGER WHAT THE HELL ⁉️⁉️⁉️ this one had a diff kind of kick to it cuz like why did u have me tearing up the second i opened my eyes and woke up that’s so Rude.

Patched Hearts | L.HS

「pairing」 : bf!heeseung x fem!reader 「word count」 : 3.5k

「synopsis」 : you go searching for your boyfriend after realizing that he has forgotten your anniversary. however, the fear and anxiety tell you that he just didn't care, heeseung was determined to prove to you just how much he cares and how sorry he is.

「genre」 : angst, comfort, smut, fluff

「warning」 : cussing, mental health issues (anxiety, overthinking, etc...), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), shower sex, make-out session, fingering, slight marking, petnames (baby, princess, good girl...), praising, creampie, heeseung just being sweet, lmk if I missed anything!

「note」 : I turned the small drabble I wrote into a full fic for all of you who asked for it!! I feel like it kinda of fell off the deep end towards the end, but overall I really like how it turned out :) I hope y'all enjoy it!

The rain had started right before you walked up to their front door, drenching you from head to toe seeing as you had no way of protecting yourself. The raindrops covered the tear streaks that had stained your cheeks from the tears that had fallen moments ago. Lighting cracked in the back, muffling the sound of your sobs. 

You wanted to knock on the door, you knew that they wouldn’t care, they never did. Hell Jay would probably give you an earful, but you wished you were here on more happy terms. You wished you didn’t have to track down your boyfriend only to find him at his friends house. He never responded to any of your texts and all of your calls would ring until eventually going to voicemail. It was tearing you apart because you didn’t know what you did wrong, why he would forget such an important day and ignore you on top of it all.

You raised your hand to knock, but there was a hesitation in your movements. You were scared—scared of the rejection, scared of the confrontation, terrified to see Heeseung mad at you. There was a little voice in your head that was telling you to just forget about it, that you were sure he just hadn’t seen the date, telling you to forgive him and keep from arguing because arguments normally led to yelling, and you hated yelling.

Just as you were about to turn and walk away from the house, the door swung open. Jake was taken aback to see you standing there, eyes wide as you looked up at him. He was just as shocked as you were, if not more, because why hadn’t you knocked yet? And why were you just standing in the rain?

“Y/n, what the hell are you doing?” He finally spoke, causing you to jump at the tone of his voice. Was he mad? Did you really do something to cause Heeseung to come running to his friends? You tried to rack your brain for anything that could have happened, but the more you dug, the more it started to hurt your head.

Before you could dwell any further, you felt your body being pulled before you could even register it. You were standing at the entrance of Jake and Jay’s house. Your body shivered at the sudden temperature change, a sneeze threatening to break through.

“Stay here. I’m going to get a towel.” Jake’s voice was softer this time, causing your brows to scrunch together.

Jake could clearly see that something was wrong. You were never this quiet, never so out of it as you were. He was shocked to see you standing on the porch, drenched in water as if you had been standing there for a while. Heeseung had said that you were going to stay home because you had a test you wanted to study for, so why were you here now? 

The questions continued to eat at his brain as he walked down the hall, stopping at the entrance of the game room, where they were all huddled.

“Hee, your girl is here,” he said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. The silver-haired male looked at Jake, confused. You hadn’t told him you were coming; in fact, he hadn’t heard from you all day. That’s what he thought, at least until he reached for his phone, only to realize that it wasn’t on him.

“Fuck.” He cursed under his breath as he stood from his seat, meeting Jake at the door as he was walking back with a towel which only confused the male further. Jake rolled his eyes before shoving the towel into Heeseung’s chest, annoyance pooling in his eyes.

“She’s drenched, and I'm pretty sure she’s been standing out in the rain.” Jake’s words sent a wave of panic through Heeseung’s body. Why the hell would you just stand in the rain? Or even forget your umbrella?

Grabbing the towel, he walked past Jake towards the front door. As soon as he laid his eyes on you, he knew something was wrong. He, however, pushed that to the side as he wrapped the towel around your body, pulling you close.

“Why the hell were you just standing out there?” Your heart skipped as his voice engulfed you, and your eyes trailed up to meet his.

Heeseung could tell that you had been crying; your eyes were bloodshot, making the color of your iris' stand out. Concern and worry etched themselves into his skin, and his hand came up to cup your face in his palms.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” His voice was softer this time, causing more tears to pull in your eyes, and your bottom lip started to tremble once more.

Heeseung could feel his heart breaking, he hated seeing you like this, wanting nothing more than to make you feel better. He needed to know the source first, though; needed to know who had hurt his precious baby.

“You’ve been ignoring me.” The way your voice came out so broken and hoarse was enough to completely shatter Heeseung’s heart.

“No, no, baby, I left my phone in the car by accident. I wasn’t ignoring you, I swear.” His reassurance mended your heart a little bit.

Key word: little bit

That still left the underlying issue that he had forgotten about your anniversary. You didn’t wanna speak it into existence in case it started an argument. That was the last thing you wanted right now. Heeseung could tell that there was more than what you were letting on; leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, noticing how cold your body was. “Fuck baby, you’re freezing. Come on, I’m sure Jay or Jake have some-”

“It’s our anniversary, Heeseung.” The words tumbled from your lips before you could even stop them. Your hand immediately came up to cover your mouth, and your wide doe eyes looked up at him. Confusion pooled in his eyes; he was sure that it was next week. 

“It’s not until next week, though, beautiful.” He sounded so sure of himself that his eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

Your breath hitched in your throat, words failing to be spoken, but your eyes did all the talking for you. Heeseung cursed under his breath before pressing a soft kiss on your forehead once more, then making a beeline for the game room. Not even a few seconds later, he was making his way back to you, his jacket in his hand.

You stood still as he pulled the towel off of your body before draping his oversized jacket over your shoulder. His scent instantly fills your senses and brings you some kind of comfort. You weren’t angry; you weren’t even angry, to begin with. No, you were scared. Scared that he knew but just didn’t care. Scared that he had finally grown tired of you. Scared that-

Your thoughts were cut short when Heeseung cupped your face bringing his lips to yours. It was soft, almost a ghost of a kiss, but enough to fill your frigid body with warmth.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop. Nothing that your brain is telling you is true, baby.” His voice was low enough for only you to hear, and tears brimmed in your eyes once more, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth.

Heeseung knew how easy it was for you to get into your head and start overthinking things. He knew that if he let you continue that you would only start to pick yourself apart, and he’d be damned if he was going to let that happen because of his mistakes.

“Jake, I’m taking your umbrella.” He called down the hall, not even giving the younger boy a chance to protest as he opened the door and ushered you out. 

The whole car ride back home was filled with the soft sounds of the radio station playing and the rain that was still pouring outside. Heeseung would whisper sweet words to you every so often when he noticed that your mind was drifting, his hand squeezing your thigh comfortingly.

Even if his words flowed into your ears effortlessly, they didn’t quite stick; the fear was etched too deep into your soul. A part of you was telling you that he wasn’t mad at all and you were just overthinking everything, but a bigger, much bigger part of you was telling you that he was just waiting for the moment that you two were finally behind locked doors for him to blow up at you. Expecting him to scream and yell about how you interrupted his time with his friends just for some stupid anniversary that he had missed.

“Baby?” Heeseung’s eyes flickered over to your figure, taking in the tear streaks that had been left behind on your cheeks from crying. The guilt of it being his fault was eating at him, and he wanted nothing more than to make it up to you.

Your gaze broke from the rain-clad trees outside, and you looked over to meet your boyfriend's eyes. Just then, you realized that you were no longer moving; you had made it home. Heeseung squeezed your thigh one last time before leaning over to unbuckle your seatbelt. 

All of the blood ran cold in your body. This wasn’t anything new; Heeseung had done this a million times before. So why did it feel so different this time? Why did it feel like he was telling you to get out? That small voice in the back of your head was screaming at you to run before he got mad and started yelling. With a shaky hand, you start reaching for the door handle, but Heeseung’s fingers wrap around your wrist, stopping you.

“What are you doing?” Heeseung asked with a tinge of hurt in his tone causing you to look over at him with wide eyes, lips parted slightly. “You just sit here, and I’ll get the door-” He leans over, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, making your eyes flutter, “It's my job after all, princess.”

You nodded softly before sitting back in the seat. Heeseung smiled widely before scurrying out of the car after grabbing the umbrella. Your body jolted slightly when his door shut a bit harder than intended due to the harsh winds. Your eyes followed your boyfriend's figure as he walked around the car before he came to your door.

Heeseung opened the door swiftly before standing in front of it so it wouldn’t close on you. You swung your legs out of the car, standing on shaky legs. The wind was cold, probably due to your still-soaked clothes, but your boyfriend’s taller figure blocked quite a bit of the precipitation and chilly winds.

“Hold this,” Heeseung whispered softly, your ears barely picking it up over the wind, but you did as told. Grabbing the umbrella from his warm hand, confused. However, before you could question him, he bent down, sweeping your body up into his arms. A small sound of surprise fell from your lips, your free hand clutching onto his shirt as your heart beat loudly in your ears. Heeseung chuckled softly before kicking the car door closed. “Let's get you inside and warm up baby.” 

Heat rushed up your neck, dusting your cheeks a light shade of red. You just buried your face in the crook of his neck, trying to ignore the way his chest vibrated from his laughter.

Getting into the house, Heeseung had you close the umbrella before tossing it off to the side somewhere. He was unbothered at the moment by whether it was put away properly. No, he had one thing on his mind right now.

And that was you.

Making his way into your shared bedroom, you were ready to be sat back down on your feet. However, when your body shifted even a little, Heeseung’s grip got tighter, not allowing you to go anywhere. Your heart lurched into your throat when you looked up to study his face. Even though his body seemed relaxed, his jaw was tight, and there was a gleam in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place.

Walking into the bathroom, Heeseung flipped the light switch on before walking over to the counter. Setting your body down, he was quick to slot himself between your legs, hands on either side of your hips, caging you in. Your breath hitched in your throat when you met his eyes, seeing the multitude of emotions that swirled in his chocolate orbs.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” His voice cracked, and your hands flew up, taking his face in your palms. “I should have paid more attention to the date…”

“Hee…” Your heart broke, and that little voice in the back of your head diminished the longer you watched as tears filled your boyfriend’s eyes. “You don’t have to apologize; it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay thought,” His eyes bore into yours, your thumb swiped away the few tears that had fallen from his eyes, “I fucked up and missed such an important day. Hell, I made you cry, made you think I didn’t care…” He continued to ramble on until you pulled him closer, sealing your lips over his, silencing his words.

Heeseung didn’t hesitate to kiss you back, pressing his lips firmly against yours. The kiss was passionate and wet as his tongue swept across your teeth. His hands gripped your hip, pulling your body flush against his. You were the first to pull away, watching with hooded eyes as he chased after your lips. He was quick to capture your lips once more, stealing the air from your lungs as he sucked on your bottom lip after biting it softly.

After a few moments, he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, eyes locked on yours. Your hands slipped around his neck while he snaked his hands around your waist pulling you closer, leaving no space between your bodies. You shifted your hips, trying to relieve some of the built-up pressure, only to feel his growing bulge brush against your core. 

A hiss fell from Heeseung’s lips as he let his head drop to your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin. “Let me make it up to your princess. Let me show you how sorry I am.” 

It was like the fog had finally lifted from your brain; the little voices screaming at you died with every kiss that Heeseung laid on your skin. Any thought telling you Heeseung didn’t want you dissipated as his teeth grazed over your jugular. The chill that was slowly overtaking your body was being replaced with an indescribable warmth as his hands trailed along the length of your body.

The nod of your head followed by the breathy ‘please’ was all Heeseung needed before stripping you of your soaked clothes. A shiver ran through your body as your bare skin hit the air around you. Heeseung, however, didn’t leave you too long before he was back on your skin. His warm mouth kissed down your neck to your collarbone before finding your breast.

“Hee-” You gasped as his mouth latched onto one of your nipples while his fingers squeezed and flicked the other. Your back arched against him, head falling back slightly. He let go of your perk bud with an audible ‘pop,’ causing you to let out a breathy sigh before kissing back up your neck, stopping just below your ear.

“Be a good girl and sit here and look pretty while I turn on the shower.” He instructed before moving away from your body. A whine fell from your lips at the loss of contact, but you did as told regardless.

Your eyes never left his body as he stepped back, tearing his shirt off of his body and walking to the shower. Heeseung turned the tap on until it was warm enough for the two of you. You watched the muscles in his back flex as he messed with the knobs, thighs clenching together.

Warmth spread throughout your body when his eyes landed back on you. Walking back over, he found his spot between your thighs once more, hands massaging the plush flesh of your thighs.

“Come on, let’s warm you up.” He smiled softly before pulling you off of the counter, keeping your body steady as you shimmied out of the rest of your clothes. Your hands then went to Heeseung’s belt, undoing to buckle, causing him to chuckle.

It didn’t take too long before Heeseung had you pressed against the cool tile of the shower, his lips against yours as his fingers worked in and out of your drenched cunt. The whimpers that fell from your lips were like music to his ears; the burn your nails left on his shoulders felt good, too good. 

“Hee- fuck, please.” You cried out as his thumb pressed against your clit, coaxing your orgasm even closer. Heeseung leaned against you, pressing a soft kiss against your temple before letting his fingers slip from your tight hole.

“Lift your leg for me, baby.” He mumbled against your skin.

Lifting your leg, you let him slip his arm underneath before lifting the other until he was holding you up between his body and the shower wall. A moan slipped past your parted lips when you felt his tip brush between your folds.

Heeseung sealed your lips with his as he pushed into your tight walls, a groan tearing through his throat as you practically sucked him in. Your head fell back when he bottomed out, allowing him to press wet kisses on your neck, adding to the marks that were already showing from earlier. 

Once the initial pain from the stretch faded, all of your nerves were set aflame, wanting nothing more than to have him deep inside you. Leaning forward to capture his lips with yours once more, letting him swallow all of your gasp when you rolled your hips against his.

“Hee, move, please.” You whined, kissing the corner of his mouth, rolling your hips once more.

Heeseung groaned before pressing your body further against the wall and thrusting up into you; his pace was slow but deep, making your eyes roll back.

Heeseung watched as he easily made your mind drift off somewhere other than where it had been. Your eyes squeeze shut every time he brushes over your sweet spot. Your mouth opens as gasps and moans fall from it. The way your walls would flutter around him every time his tip kissed your cervix.

There were hardly any words spoken, but the emotions were more than enough to convey the feeling between the two of you. His slow thrust is different from his normal harsh and fast pace. Your grip on him is tight enough to leave bruises, scared that he’d slip between your fingers.

Both of your orgasms crept up quickly. Your body shook with pleasure not only from Heeseung being in you but also from the water stream coming down between your bodies, hitting your clit perfectly. Groans fell from Heeseung’s lip only to be muffled by yours as your walls squeezed around him.

“I’m close, Hee…” You told him, breathly, nails digging into his biceps. His hips snapped into yours, and a small moan fell from his lips.

“Me too, baby,” He pressed further into you until a choked moan tore through your lips, face falling into the crook of his neck.

Heeseung continued to piston his hips into your cervix until your body was trembling in his hands as you came undone around him. Your orgasm set off his. He panted against your hair as he fucked his cum into you until you begged him to stop because of the sensitivity.

After you both came down from your highs, Heeseung held you close, still buried balls deep in your pussy, whispering sweet words in your ear.

“How about we wash up and watch a movie?” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Can we get ice cream?” you mumbled against his skin, causing him to chuckle softly, but he nodded nonetheless.

“It might be a little late to get some delivered, but I think there’s some in the freezer.” He smiled widely when you pulled back to face him with a small smile of your own. Pulling you close, he pressed a sweet, lingering kiss on your jaw, “God, I love you so fucking much.”

You ran your fingers through his damp locks, a sweet smile overtaking your features, “I love you too, Hee.”

After cleaning up in the cold water, you two did not realize you had been at it long enough to make the water turn cold. You curled up in your cozy bed with a bowl of ice cream, watching movies, not caring how late it had gotten.

Heeseung looked over at you fondly as you started to drift off against his arm, swearing that he would never forget another anniversary or even a birthday. Anything to keep that look of hurt off of your face, wanting nothing more than to see your bright smile every day.

@alvojake | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 : @heesitation @riftanswhore @yeonzzzn @yzzyhee @skzenhalove @seuomo @moonchus @enha-stars @ikeuverse @prized-jules @ro-diaries @yeonjunsfox @luvyong2z @snoopypupp @wonnie99 @pockettwinzz

[selfcarecap]

MUSE [L.H.]

Logan Howlett x reader

summary: Logan would never admit it to anyone, but over the course of his long life he has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. He hasn’t done it in years, maybe even decades, but he’s struck by inspiration when he meets you. Of course, no one can know that Wolverine draws, so he does it in the dead of night, sliding anonymous envelopes with the finished drawings of you under your door. When he sees how much you love them, he wonders if you could also love the person behind them. 

warnings: smut 18+ but with an actual plot for once (brief m masturbation, oral f and m rec, unprotected piv sex, kind of accidental (but consensual obv) facial; pet names: bub, baby, good girl, princess), soft!Logan but he won’t admit it, also soft!reader, fluff (although the summary makes it sounds a bit more dramatic than it is tbh), implication that reader has curly hair, implied mutant/X-men!reader, (obviously the pic doesn’t represent the envelopes Logan uses lol he’s not doing all that)

word count: 7.3k

also i feel the need to say something about the fact that it’s Hugh Jackman’s birthday today lol so uh thanks for being huge jacked man and for giving us our Logan yay <3 | gorgeous divider by @plutism

It’s everything Logan is the opposite of – he would never tell a soul – but over the course of his long life, Logan has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. It’s not really him, but he did have a phase or two.

When he meets you, he hasn’t even thought of picking up a pencil in years. Ever since you’ve been at the mansion though, Logan’s fingertips twitch with the urge to start sketching your features every time he’s with you. It gets hard to ignore after a few days.

He waits until he’s known you a few weeks, there’s no way in hell he’d ask if he could draw you. He’d probably embarrass you by asking, and embarrass himself by admitting he’s into fucking art. That’s not him. 

Except, well, sometimes it is, when he’s inspired. And you’re nothing if not inspiring. 

He gives in to the urge to get out pencil and paper again, waiting until everyone else has gone to sleep. The first few drawings are shit, he feels like they’re almost an insult to you. It’s not that he’s accidentally drawing you ugly, it just doesn’t look like you. So he practises. 

Logan Howlett sits down at night to practise drawing. 

He picks out a few other things to draw then, to ease the pressure that comes with drawing the woman he… is friends with. Yeah, you’re a friend. And he totally knows that you’d never go for someone as rugged as him, that’s for sure. You deserve much more. So much more. 

But after a few nights he feels more confident in his drawing skills again, but still, as much as he can picture you in his mind – he can do that absolutely perfectly – he’s not too sure he could really draw you accurately.

So he gets Rogue to show him how goddamn fucking Instagram works so that he can look at some of your pictures and use them as a model. 

He doesn’t know what you’re doing to him; you’ve got him using social media.

He can’t believe it, but the first time he seriously attempts to draw you, it’s perfect. It’s a small drawing, not even as big as his palm, capturing your gorgeous face. He thinks of adding another few lines to your eyebrows, or to your hair or another small one to the outline of your lips, but he doesn’t want to mess with it. 

Logan hates how drawing makes him overthink, but he loves how it feels to create something other than violence with his hands for once – something that may even be the opposite. 

He hides the drawing in between the pages of a book, and hides the book under a pile of random clutter on his desk that not even he would normally spare a glance at. But when he lies down to go to sleep, he gets all the stuff out again and gets out the drawing. He wants to see it again. And he can’t leave it there anyway, what if the pressure from all the items on top of it smudges it? 

But he doesn’t know what else to do with it. He can’t really have a drawing of you sitting in his room. What if someone sees? Then what is he gonna do with it instead? 

He finally lets himself think the thought that’s politely been waiting to be allowed into his brain from the moment he decided he might take up drawing again. 

He could give it to you. 

Logan knows his drawing isn’t objectively a masterpiece, but if he’s proud of it he has to acknowledge that that probably means it’s at least decent. And you’re definitely the type of person to appreciate something like this. It’s weird admitting to himself that he’s even proud of what he’s drawn; he’s done so much in this world, who cares about a little drawing? 

The only thing is that Logan isn’t sure if he’s ready for anyone to see this side of him. To see the side that has him staying up until 3AM to finely trace the lines of someone’s eyelashes and cheekbones and lips, the side that makes him feel calm inside. 

He knows it’s stupid to hide but he just can’t. He decides he’ll leave the drawing in your room in an envelope, maybe a pink one to show you it’s not a creepy threat but meant as a sign of adoration, from someone who couldn’t resist but try to recreate your beauty. He won’t write his name on it, he just wants you to have it. 

Sappy motherfucker. 

He puts the small drawing back into the book and carefully pushes it between his mattress and the bedframe to protect it during the night. God, who even is he – protecting a tiny piece of paper? He groans at himself as he turns around to go to sleep. 

He dreams of making a thousand drawings of you, with you as his live model. His muse. 

You’re his girlfriend in his dream, he thinks. 

He’s sitting in a chair in your room, drawing you as you tell him about your day. You’re lying on your bed on your tummy, elbows propped up to support your head. You’re gently kicking your feet in the air behind you, wearing nothing but a t-shirt of Logan’s, some silly graphic socks, panties with little cherries on them, and a bright, bashful smile as Logan attempts to capture your glowing features in a sketch block he’s dedicated to drawings of you. 

He wakes up with morning wood. 

Logan is no stranger to jerking off with you on his mind, so he spits in his hand and slips it beneath his boxers, stroking himself as he thinks of you. He imagines you on top of him as he jerks his cock, imagines you under him, or with your legs around his head, or you between his knees on the floor. He cums quickly and hard, leaving his boxers wet and sticky.

He goes for a run after he’s dealt with it and picks up an envelope on his way. He’s doubting himself but he knows he has to just do it. He’d doubt himself even more if he pussied out – a grown man who can’t even slide an envelope under someone’s door. 

So Logan mans up and, like an idiot, kisses the fucking drawing before he puts it into the envelope. He licks the edges of it to close it and writes your name in the most anonymous handwriting he can muster and adds a little heart. 

It’s soo stupid. 

He makes sure no one is anywhere near your bedroom, walks up to your door, and slides the envelope underneath. Except he didn’t check if you were in your room. As soon as the envelope disappears beneath your door, he hears a short creak from your bed and your soft footsteps. 

He hears the small and adorable noise of curiosity you let out – a confused hm? – and then he quickly and quietly makes his way down the hallway. He hears your voice about ten seconds later, an intrigued hello? as you open the door, but you don’t investigate further, closing the door behind you. 

Logan’s heart is beating so fast. He’s never doing this shit again. 

He’s antsy all day, waiting for some type of reaction from you. Except you don’t know that the drawing is from him so he’s probably not even getting one, and he can’t conspicuously come to your room the same day you receive an anonymous drawing of yourself. 

It’s also when the insecurity settles in. Maybe he should have added a few more lines or started the entire drawing anew. Who does he think he is pretending to be an artist? 

He shakes those thoughts off as he starts training with the punching bag in the gym. It’s not something that he necessarily needs to train, but it gets rid of some of that pointless energy. This isn’t him, worried about some lines he drew on a piece of paper – a scrap of a paper, really. Who cares about something like that? Certainly not him. 

He sleeps dreamlessly and wakes up the next day disappointed that he didn’t get to dream about being your boyfriend again. God, what are you doing to him? Making him think about being boyfriend and girlfriend. He’s pathetic. You’re a friend and nothing more, and that’s fine. You probably don’t like him like that and he can deal with that.

-

He’s not even thinking of the drawing anymore, truly, when he walks into the kitchen the next morning. It only comes to mind when he sees you, alone in the kitchen, leaning over the counter to scroll on your phone, your weird green coffee (“it’s Matcha, Logan”) next to you as you stir it mindlessly with a metal straw. 

“Hi,” you look up with one of those sweet smiles of yours, but redirect your attention to your phone. 

At least you don’t immediately say something like hey, you know that drawing you slid under my door? It was so ugly I threw it away. Since when do you even draw? 

Not that he was worried you would or anything. He hasn’t been thinking about it. Obviously. Why would he? And he knows you would never expect that it’s him; that’s the only reason he did it. He never would have given you the drawing if he thought you could have even the slightest inkling that Logan would be someone who draws. But he still wants to know what you think of it. 

“You want some toast too?” You ask, putting your phone down and turning to get some bread. He sits down at the other side of the kitchen counter and as his eyes flicker to your green drink (he still doesn’t get it), he sees it. 

“Is that–” my drawing, he almost said, “What is that?” He pretends to be confused, drawing his eyebrows together, trying his best to look inquisitive, “No toast by the way, thanks.” 

You have one of those clear phone cases, filled with a bunch of tiny pictures and stickers (and is that your credit card?). But wedged in front of all of those is Logan’s drawing. 

“Did you draw it?” He asks. 

You turn around, giggling, “No, I don’t draw. And anyway, I wouldn’t be drawing pictures of myself. I got it in an envelope under my door yesterday, photocopied it because I was scared it would bend in my phone case. I don’t know who drew it.” 

“Secret admirer?” 

Smiling, you say, “I don’t know. I won’t get my hopes up. But the person must definitely be fond of me to draw me like that.” 

“Like what?” He asks, unsure if he’s about to be offended. 

“I don’t know, just, so beautiful. I’m not saying I’m not pretty or anything, but this looks… I don’t look like that. I wish I did. I can’t believe someone actually sees me like that. It’s stupid but I….” You trail off and, conveniently, the toast is done at the same time and you move on to that. 

But Logan won’t let you, “What’s stupid?” 

You turn towards him with a shy smile, “I’m embarrassed.”

Logan stays silent. He can’t seem too pushy and draw attention to himself, but his silence makes you confess.

“I cried when I first saw it yesterday. It’s one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten. And it’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever received, for someone to perceive me in such an artistic way.” 

Logan makes a noise of satisfaction and smiles, asking you to pass your phone so he can look at it more – pretending it’s his first time seeing it. If you think that way about it, maybe the three more lines he was going to add aren’t that important after all. 

The problem is that it makes him want to draw more, his stupid heart melting at your reaction to something he made– no, created. 

-

After a week, he figures he has to give in. Drawing another picture of you is on his mind twenty-four seven. 

It doesn’t help that he still catches you staring at the copy of it in your phone case lovingly more than once a day and you’ve put the original drawing in a special little frame on your nightstand. He thinks he’s sappy for drawing it but he doesn’t think the same of you for enjoying the drawing. 

This is for you. It’s not about him. He’s not an artist or anything like that, he’s just doing something kind for someone he cares about (which is honestly sappy enough but he tries to ignore that). He’s usually more of a silent carer but maybe that’s why he likes this. He’s not making it a grand gesture, not making it a thing that he’s the one drawing for you. It’s just for you to enjoy. 

He’ll just make this second drawing and silently put it in your room, and he’s the last person you’ll suspect. 

But of course now that he knows it means something to you, he can’t get anything right. He draws your hair too curly, then not curly enough. He draws your nose too big, then too small. Your eyes end up crooked. He can’t erase too much because it’ll look sloppy, so even the drawing he gets almost perfect, he ruins with a few final additions at the end. 

It takes him an entire month for the next drawing, and it feels more like him that it’s been making him so angry that he couldn’t get it right at first. Maybe he had the wrong picture of artists. They’re always talking about pain, aren’t they, and that’s what he experiences too (over a drawing. Who is he?). 

He takes another few days to keep track of your routine, to monitor when you’ll be in your room. He can’t have it be as close as last time. 

He ends up doing it in the evening. There’s a time after dinner when most of the team stays together to watch tv, just talk, or play some games. It’s normal for some of you to wander off, come back or stick around a bit longer. It won’t be suspicious if he leaves for a few minutes and comes back.

Logan wants nothing more than to follow you when you say that you’re going to your room for the night; he wants to see your reaction. But he can’t. All he can do is go up to his own bedroom fifteen minutes later, lingering in the hallway longer than he needs to.

Just as he’s about to give up and go to sleep, you walk down the hallway, coming back from the bathroom.

“Logan!” you call all excitedly when you see him, and his heart skips a beat. Do you know the drawing is from him? 

“Look,” you take his arm and pull him to your room, “I got another drawing!”

He breathes out in relief; you don’t know it’s from him. He smiles when you hold up the drawing, already framed.

“Were you expecting to get another drawing?” he teases.

“Noo, but the frames came in a pack of two. Isn’t it gorgeous?”

Logan looks at how your eyes sparkle, how proudly you’re showing him this drawing. All the work he put into it was definitely worth it. It’s another picture of your face, this time from a new angle, and with your hair styled differently, curls coiled another way from last time.

Logan clears his throat, remembering to keep up his act. “It looks good.”

“Good?” you take the frame from his hands defensively, “It’s beautiful.”

He chuckles, “Sorry, I don’t know much about this type of thing. It is beautiful though.” He’s looking at you instead of his drawing.

“It is. And you don’t have to know much about art or drawing to see how pretty this is. I still can’t believe someone would take the time to make these for me.”

Logan remains silent instead of saying what he wants to tell you. Of course he would take that time for you – and you don’t even know how much time it really took him. If there’s someone who’s worth it, it’s you.

Seeing your pleased smile at something he made for you, he decides he’s never going to stop drawing you.

-

He’s on a roll for some time. He’s better at drawing again now that he’s getting in practice, and he makes five drawings of you within the next weeks. Logan watches the collection of them on your nightstand grow fuller, along with your smile that somehow gets bigger every time you tell him about a new drawing.

It’s a wonder you haven’t caught on yet, but you don’t seem particularly interested in snooping around to find out who it is. You respect the person’s privacy, but you’ve confessed to him that you’d still love to know. 

“I won’t try to find out who it is. I won’t push it if they don’t want me to know… but, I mean, anyone would want to know, wouldn’t they?”

You’ve adopted the nickname of ‘secret admirer’ for this mysterious ‘they’, after Logan used the term about ten times. You were reluctant at first, because the person isn’t calling themself a secret admirer – you’d just be putting words in their mouth. But after seeing how much more beautiful the drawings get each time, you’ve accepted and admitted that, okay, yes, the person must be an admirer.

Your secret admirer Logan is particularly proud of his latest drawing, excited to bring it up to your room tonight. 

But this time he’s sloppy. He’s stayed for a few post-dinner card games with the team, and it’s risky, because you’ve been saying that it’s your last game for the last two rounds. But he also knows that you always say that, and never mean it.

Logan gets up to leave, and he hears Scott convincing you to play just one more round.

It’s stupid, really, risking it like that. Even if he’s gone from your room in time before you come upstairs, you could easily guess that it’s Logan. He’s the first one leaving the round tonight, so your first assumption could be that it was him.

Maybe subconsciously he wants to get caught. He’s seen how you light up at every drawing, and no matter how much you respect your admirer’s anonymity, of course you want to know who’s dedicating so much time and work to drawings of you. Of course it’s crossed your mind that the person isn’t just doing this because they’re a good friend. They’re drawing your face because they think it’s beyond beautiful.

Logan doesn’t really know why he hasn’t told you yet that he likes you. He’s good at flirting, and he’s attractive – he’s not blind. But with you it’s different, there’s a bigger risk, for the both of you. The older he gets, the harder it is to open up to yet another person. You’re friends, and you talk about personal things, but confessing that he’s in love with you is different.

Not to mention this stupid recurring dream he keeps having, in which you find out it’s Logan who’s been drawing you, and suddenly your opinion of the drawings changes. You don’t like him back like that, and suddenly the drawings feel creepy if you think about him staying up late drawing your face.

He rolls his eyes at himself and gets the thought out of his head, taking the small envelope out of the back pocket of his jeans, smoothing his hand over it. He looks around, making sure no one sees him.

Logan bends down to slide the envelope under your door as usual, but one of the corners of the paper catches against the wall, and he quickly opens it to check the drawing isn’t damaged. His heart is beating so fast, he feels stupid. 

He can hear footsteps, still far away, but he can hear them. Logan messily licks the edges of the envelope to close it back up, but it’s not sticking. He can’t decide between shoving it under the door like this or leaving now and bringing it back the next day. He can feel his heart hammering against his ribcage now.

Then he hears it. He miscalculated how far the footsteps were.

“Logan?”

He turns around slowly, and it feels like the world has frozen.

You come closer, looking at him and then at the letter that he must’ve dropped. It hasn’t made it under your door yet.

He says something before you can, “I’m delivering for someone else.”

“Who?” you ask, bending down to pick up the envelope. If he wasn’t petrified, he’d enjoy the view of you bent over in front of him.

He breathes. He can’t have anyone taking credit for his work, for his art (you called it that recently, he would never). But his heart is beating so fast he doesn’t know what the fuck to do or say. 

This is exactly why he never wanted to do any of this. He’s making a fool out of himself and that doesn’t usually happen, especially not over a piece of paper. Logan is confident, cocky even, he can admit that, and has no idea how to deal with things like being nervous; he never has to. This really isn’t him.

You don’t wait for an answer and look at the envelope. You open it so carefully, gently taking the drawing out with your fingertips. You’re treating it with so much care he immediately feels better. Again, this isn’t for him, it’s for you. (Well, it’s for him too but it’ll take him a while to admit that). 

He’s drawn your smile this time. You were happy in most of the drawings before, but he focussed more on the eyes, and your lips only ever tugged up in a slight smile. 

This one is a full-toothed grin, mid-laugh. 

You two were drinking last weekend. He barely felt it but your tipsy, giggly mood was contagious. He couldn’t imagine himself feeling any other way but blissful when you’re happy around him. 

It started when Logan made a casual comment about something silly Scott was wearing that night, and he had you giggling. He wanted to immediately hear that angelic sound again, of course, and so he gave you every joke about your shared friends he could think of – all light-hearted, but he was still glad you two were alone. 

It was the stupidest joke of all that made you really laugh, some dumb comparison between Xavier and Caillou. You probably wouldn’t even giggle at it anymore now, but in the moment it was so funny you almost spat out your drink from the deep belly laugh he drew from you, holding onto his bicep so you wouldn’t fall over as tears formed in your eyes from how hard you were laughing. He wanted to engrave the image on his soul. At least he got your smile on paper.

You look up at him now, eyes filled with tears. 

“You drew this?” you ask.

He nods softly. He can’t say it but he hopes the drawings convey how in love with you he is. 

Suddenly, Logan feels like his heart has stopped beating.

You’re kissing him. 

You’ve leaped up, wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, and now your lips are on his. 

He feels your mouth falter, probably because he’s being a fucking idiot and not kissing you back. Logan places his hands on your waist to pull you further towards him. Then his brain finally catches up and he can do what he’s wanted to for so long. 

He takes your chin with two fingers and angles you so you can kiss him easier. He closes his eyes and revels in the feeling of your soft, warm lips against him. You’re soft and warm all over. Your top has slipped up over his fingertips at your sides, and he slides his hands further around your back to support you against him even better. 

Logan’s tongue pushes at your lower lip, and you let out the sexiest, tiny moan of surprise as you part your lips for him, granting him access. 

His tongue touches the tip of yours and from then on your cravings intensify. You feel your way over his muscular shoulders, his big biceps and over the hard planes of his chest. When you’ve had a good feel there, your hands grip his shirt in desperation and Logan gets even hungrier for you. He gently bites at your lower lip, but then you shriek into his mouth and squirm out of his grasp. He opens his eyes wide. 

You grip Logan’s forearm for support when you bend down in a panic, picking up the drawing you just dropped. You let out a big breath of relief when you see it hasn’t been damaged. 

“You made me drop it!” You slap a hand to his chest; it doesn’t actually hurt and it’s not meant to, but it leaves a pleasant tingle behind instead. 

“I didn’t do anything”, Logan laughs, and you shake your head at him with a smile.

You take him into your room where you make him sit on the bed while you stare at the new drawing in awe. “I didn’t know you draw”, you say without taking your eyes off it.

“No one else knows.”

You pretend to zip your lips, smiling, “It’s our secret.” Logan can tell that you like that. He likes it too. It feels much better to share a secret with you than to be keeping one from you.

“I’ll only draw for you anyway, so there’s no point in telling anyone else.”

“You’re really good. I love the drawings.”

Logan gives a satisfied hum at your words, “You inspired me. Can’t have you walking around all pretty and not expect me to try and recreate it.”

You straddle Logan and hover over his lap to hug him, “They’re the best thing anyone's ever given to me. Do I really look like that?” You say the last question more quietly, and Logan wraps his arms around your sides, careful not to bump your hand that’s still holding the drawing.

“You’re more gorgeous than anything I could ever capture, but I think it comes close. I didn’t change anything about you to make you more beautiful. I couldn’t if I tried. I just tried to draw you as accurately as possible, that’s why it’s so beautiful.”

“I really love it,” you say again, happily staring at the details of the drawing. Hearing you say the word love so much tempts Logan, but he doesn’t want to move too fast. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you. He does, however, want to kiss you again.

Logan carefully takes the framed drawing and puts it on your nightstand. You push your mouth against his before he can initiate the kiss, and he grins against your lips.

You don’t know how to put your feelings into words, so you’re kissing him instead. He pulls you down so that you’re not hovering over but sitting on his lap, and the mood immediately shifts to something different. Logan doesn’t want to overwhelm you, but if you’re ready then he’ll take anything he can get.

Your chest is pressed against Logan’s, and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest when he breathes. You may or may not be pressing your boobs against his body on purpose.

“God, baby, I’ve waited so long for this,” he says, already breathless, as his hands trail down your back, leaving goosebumps behind.

“You’ve waited long?” you raise your eyebrows, grinning, “I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day I met you.”

You see the look in Logan’s eyes changing as he bites his lip, “Who says I didn’t want the same?”

You giggle, “Why did it take us so long?”

Logan chuckles, readjusting you so that you’re even closer to him, “I was too busy to actually talk to you, just been starin’ at you so I could draw you.” His cheeks have the faintest red tint, and you kiss them, hugging him.

You whisper into his ear, “Then it was worth the wait. And anyway, it’s not talking that I’m interested in right now.”

He pulls you back to look into your eyes, then at your lips. “Where do you want me?” he asks. You giggle slightly helplessly; you weren’t entirely prepared to have a man like Logan at your mercy like this tonight.

“You can do whatever you want,” you say softly, kissing him.

Logan’s lips are hungry against yours, strings of spit falling between you two, but he pauses the kiss to lie you on your back. “Wanna eat you out,” he husks, “Been dying to know what you taste like forever, bub. Can I?” He reaches for the hem of your top, and you nod so that he can pull it off you, admiring what’s underneath. 

“Sometimes I make myself cum imagining that I’m going down on you,” you confess somewhat shyly, but you figure he’s been so vulnerable for you that you can share a secret too.

Logan smirks, and pulls off his shirt, “Maybe we can make your dream come true then.”

You move to sit up, but he insists on eating you out first. You both take off all your clothes, staring at each other with huge smiles on your faces for a few moments. You’ve never seen Logan this happy.

“Look at you, baby. So pretty,” he leans down to kiss your lips, then down your neck, all the way to your legs. He spreads them, lying down between them as he all but drools at the sight of your wet pussy.

You get nervous all of a sudden. “It’s been a while,” you tell him. He looks up, taking your hand, enveloping it completely in his much bigger one.

“You sure about this? We can wait,” he gently kisses your knuckles, and a warmth spreads in your chest, slowing your heartbeat down a little.

“I’m sure,” you nod, and Logan comes up again to kiss you. The head of his hard cock catches against the space above your clit, and you both look down between your bodies. When Logan looks back up at you, his eyes are desperately begging you. You place your hand on his head, threading your fingers through his hair as he moves down your body.

“Such a pretty fucking pussy,” he mumbles into your thigh, kissing you there. You giggle, getting comfortable, your hand never leaving his hair.

Logan starts eating you out, his tongue gentle but determined against your clit.

“Taste so good, baby. Even better than I imagined.” You hum at Logan’s words, already feeling yourself come undone with his mouth on your wet pussy.

You sink further into the mattress when he starts sucking on your clit, licking into your pussy like a man starved every few moments, and your thighs squeeze around Logan’s head, and it’s even better than in his fantasies.

“Feels really good,” you tell him, pulling on his hair to stop yourself from moving too much, and Logan moans against your skin. Hearing your words motivates him even more, and he pushes two fingers into your wet pussy. He curls his fingers, rubbing up against that spot that makes you see stars.

Your back arches as you cum, Logan’s lips wrapped around your clit as your legs push harder against his head, and all he does is moan, revelling in the feeling.

Logan doesn’t stop licking your pussy until you’re tugging his head away by his hair, and he comes up for air with a grin on his face. You smile back, pulling him up to kiss him. You give yourself only a few seconds of recovery time before you make him sit down. You know you’d never have enough strength to actually make him get into a different position, but he lets you.

You push him onto his back, getting between his legs. You’re blinking up at him all prettily when you ask, “Can I suck your dick? Please?”

Logan huffs to himself because he can’t believe how hot you are, can’t believe that this is really finally happening. He tells you yes – he has no more words to describe how badly he wants this – and he watches you wrap your pretty lips around his cock.

It’s hard to grasp that it’s really you doing this right now – the woman he’s been into for so long. His cock is in your mouth and you look so gorgeous with spit running down from your lips, and all he can think of is all the dirty drawings he can now make of you, if you’ll let him.

He closes his eyes when you take him deeper, enveloping him with your warm, wet mouth. “Good girl,” he whispers absent-mindedly, too gone to say much more.

You’re not using your hands as you suck his cock, your spit trailing down on him, and you’re so eager. But it’s also late, and he sees you getting tired, eyes blinking slower as you pause to catch your breath every few moments. He also sees the determination in your eyes, and the absolute want, but he doesn’t want you to exhaust yourself. 

You look so sexy all fucked out, strings of spit connecting your mouth to his cock as you pull away another time, giggling up at him shyly when you realise that he’s noticing you getting tired.

“Just need a second,” you wipe your mouth, out of breath, and it’s not that you’re not incredibly hot like this, but he still wants to fuck you tonight and he’s not sure that will happen if you keep going.

“C’mere, baby,” he says, reaching out his hand.

“Huh?” you ask, taking his hand nevertheless.

“Get back here, baby. I’m gonna fuck you now, alright? Don’t want you tiring yourself out.”

You let him lift you and put you on your back, but you pout, “Wanna taste you.”

Logan grins, “I’ll cum in your mouth, princess. Promise.”

You smile at his answer, satisfied, so you lie back down, pulling your legs up to your chest. His cock looks huge as he jerks himself off between your legs, rubbing the tip against your clit, making you squirm.

“Don’t know if I can take you,” you bite your lip. You’re not entirely sure if you mean it or not. You definitely want to try.

“We’ll make it fit, baby, we’ll make it fit,” Logan assures you, leaning down to press a kiss to your mouth, a mix of your wetness and his precum between your mouths. You feel his cock at your pussy, “You ready?”

“I’m ready,” you nod desperately, letting him push his cock into your pussy. He pauses after a few inches, but you wrap your legs around his waist more tightly, and he goes deeper.

“Y’okay, baby? You can take it, right?”

You nod, unable to form words with your pussy stretched like this, a combination of pleasure and pain between your legs – but it’s infinitely more pleasure.

“That’s right. You’re my good girl, hm?” He kisses along your neck as he bottoms out, and you both moan when he’s got his cock fully stuffed inside you for the first time. He pulls out slightly when you whine at the stretch, but you scratch down his back to get his attention.

“I can take it,” you tell him, and you watch the look in his eyes darken.

He begins to fuck you, the pain subsiding more with every thrust into your wet pussy. You can barely take him, but it feels good. With your slight tiredness, you feel like you’re floating on cloud nine. 

You can’t believe that Logan – your super hot friend Logan who you’ve been fantasising about for so long – is fucking you. He not only feels the same way about you, but he’s been your secret admirer this entire time, taking hours and hours out of his day to make you smile. You’re the only one he wants.

And now he’s fucking you, fucking you well, and you feel so warm inside, not just from the sex but you feel warm in your heart, because of Logan’s care.

“You okay?” he asks, stroking a hand down your face when he notices you’re not entirely present. You nod happily, smiling up at him, and you can’t talk because you feel so good.

“Good, that’s good, bub, but let me know if it gets too much,” he says as he starts rubbing your clit, watches you nod while he’s fucking you so well, and he’s so big and so deep inside of you, “Squeezing me so tight, baby, feel so fucking good.”

You cum suddenly, letting the warm pleasure flow through your body as Logan keeps fucking you through it, rubbing your clit in just the right rhythm.

“That’s my girl, taking it so well,” he moans, breaths stuttering. You slump against the pillow after a few moments, with a soft smile on your face, and Logan pulls out.

“Gonna make me cum, baby,” he jerks his cock, and you sit up on your elbows immediately, looking him in the eyes with a smile as you stick out your tongue for him. He promised.

Logan moans when he cums, painting your face in his release, jerking himself off. He holds your head in place with his other hand, aiming for your mouth but you’re making no effort to catch his cum there.

“Such a pretty fucking face, princess, ’m cumming all over it,” he rasps, shooting more ropes of his cum all over your cheeks, jacking off onto your face.

You open your eyes when he’s done and breathing heavily, and you smile up at him. You open your mouth, taking the head of his cock between your lips to suck off the last drops of cum.

“Look at you, baby. Look so fucking pretty with my cum all over your gorgeous face.”

You hum, pulling your mouth off him and licking your lips, tasting his salty release. You brush a finger over your cheek, sucking it into your mouth to taste him more. Logan kisses you then, the flavour of himself mixing between your mouths.

He cleans you up gently, carefully wiping your face with a baby wipe and kissing every inch of your cheeks afterwards. You take his face to kiss him properly, and if you didn’t seem so tired Logan would be ready for round two immediately.

“Next time you could try to actually cum in my mouth,” you tease, making Logan grin.

“Sorry, baby. Got too excited. Couldn’t focus on asking you again if it was okay.” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “I liked it.”

Logan grins, “Oh I could tell you liked it, baby.” You lightly slap his chest as you giggle, pulling him in for another kiss.

You cuddle for a while, not saying much because you don’t have to. You’ve both waited for this for so long that you’re just enjoying the moment, enjoying that it finally happened.

You slip out of his arms to sit on top of him. You’re in nothing but panties, the blanket bunching around your hips. You lean your hands against his chest as you tell him more about how much the drawings delighted you. And Logan cares, of course he cares to hear that, but he’s also just a man seeing the woman he’s into naked for the first time still. 

You become quiet when you realise that he’s not listening, and you giggle, “Distracted?”

Logan grins, “Just a little fucking bit, baby.” His eyes don’t leave your body, and you laugh as you bend down to kiss him. He grabs your ass, kneading the flesh. When you slightly sit up again, your tits are near his face, and he can’t help himself. He cups your breasts, playing with your nipples, making you hum.

“I should draw these,” he looks up at you, “Should draw every perfect fucking inch of you.”

“You wanna?” You adjust how you’re seated in his lap, and you feel that he’s already half hard under you again.

“Maybe after I’ve fucked you again.”

You smile, feeling yourself growing wetter on top of him.

“Tomorrow,” he continues, and your smile drops.

“But you’ve got to get more familiar with the inspiration, right? If you’re going to draw me.”

“That’s true, baby. But I think you’re too tired.”

You smile bashfully, ignoring how your eyelids were drooping shut just a few seconds ago, “Okay, but then I’ll have more energy for tomorrow.”

“That’s my girl,” he smiles, pulling you off him to cuddle you again. He tucks you in and kisses your head. 

You turn to your side, taking one of the framed drawings and looking at it for a while. 

Logan watches you looking at it, and the sparkle in your eyes never fails to make him feel all warm inside. “Now that you actually know about it, I don’t have to draw you from memory anymore. I can study my muse in peace.”

“Aww, I’m your muse?” you beam.

“Of course you are, princess. You’re the only reason I’m drawing again.”

“I love your drawings so much.”

Logan clears his throat, and looks at you. “Well, I love you. So, I think that went into them.”

You look at him, pouting and then kissing him. “I love you too,” you say into his mouth. He grins against your lips, pulling you closer to kiss you some more. He can barely grasp that you just said that, but he’ll have enough time soon to comprehend how lucky he is. 

For now, he takes your hand, and asks, “The question might be redundant now, but do you wanna be mine? Be my girlfriend?”

“I’m already yours.”

Logan grins, takes you in his arms, and you’re still cuddling when you’re both drifting off to a peaceful sleep.

P.S. reblog with a comment and let me know your favourite moment/what you liked to get a drawing from Logan under your door tonight and a facial <33

gorgeous divider by @pommecita