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joelsgoldrush · 2 months ago

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“epiphany” | 21k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

SUMMARY: Superheroes and mutants weren’t enough. No—the universe had to throw in soulmates who share scars. Fantastic, right? Except yours had vanished, only to mysteriously reappear with the arrival of a new face: the “Worst” Logan Howlett, fresh from another earth.

OR What happens when a hopeless romantic crosses paths with the ultimate soulmate skeptic?

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ strangers to lovers. drinking. cursing. slow burn. angst. pining. mentions of alcohol. fluff. reflecting on the art of writing/poems/books. dual POV. takes place after the events of “deadpool & wolverine”. TW: multiple descriptions of scars. worst/variant!logan. implied age gap (reader’s in her late 20s). they’re both touch starved. wade’s everyone’s friend. miscommunication/misunderstandings. oral sex (f and m receiving). fingering, grinding. some slight hair pulling. unprotected p in v, creampie. sex with feelings.

A/N: HOPELESS ROMANTICS RISE! here we go again with another long ass fic. this is a soulmates AU in which you get your soulmate’s scars. if you feel triggered by this topic, please refrain from reading. i had a lot of fun writing this even though it took me a while to get it done. thanks to @lubdubology for being my beta and allowing me to share my work with you. and also thanks to @brushworth for giving me the chance to write this. having said this, enjoy the story! i’d love to know your thoughts on it <3

Love giveth and love taketh away.

To this day, it’s still hard for you to wrap your head around the fact that love is what humans both strive and die for.

If it weren’t for love, you wouldn’t be here. No one would, actually. Human beings are the result of billions of people who loved each other just enough—or at least long enough to bring life into the world.

But isn’t it in the name of love that people act in bad faith? Why would something so pure be used in vain?

You don’t get it, but as the years go by, you slowly come to terms with the idea that perhaps you never will. Not because there isn’t a reason, but because you’re in love with the idea of love.

How could you not be? It’s on the streets, on the bus, at work. Everywhere you go, every place you attempt to set foot in, there it is. Love is dressed up in an expensive silk robe, a ribbon tied neatly on top of it. You reach closer, trying to unravel it, though it's pointless. The moment love sees you—truly sees your longing for it—it flees, and you struggle to keep up.

Love runs faster than anyone, hiding within the bushes, counting the seconds until its next appearance.

It had always been a relentless race, your only worry being to catch it before time ran out. But with each day that passed, the finish line only stretched further and further away. Now, they all blur together, to the point where you live and breathe on autopilot.

In a Jane Austen novel, you’d be considered a lone woman. That character who’s nice, and kind, and loved by some, but not in the way she yearns for. Every time she’s mentioned, you go “Oh, the poor girl,” until the slow realization dawns.

In reality, she’s you, and it’s you who you feel sorry for, not a fictional character. You.

All in all, love giveth. And love also taketh away.

Love maketh you miserable.

Soulmates—a nine-letter word that holds so much meaning.

It’s one of those words that you learn early in your life, one you hear at home or on the TV. Your parents never fail to mention it if given the chance. The first time you’re introduced to the topic is at school when you're older, a bit more self-conscious, and no longer preoccupied with picking your nose.

“Everybody has a soulmate. And no,” your teacher had added after a pause, already anticipating the inevitable questions from any curious 10-year-old, “there isn’t such a thing as not having one. We all do. You just have to search for them.”

Back then, that had been your favorite game—always keeping an eye open, scanning the crowd more than once in new places. You knew for sure that more than one person probably thought you’d strained your neck from all the times you glanced over your shoulder.

It must be pretty obvious now, the fact that you’re—well, alone. Saying ‘without a companion’ sounds quite outdated. They can’t see through you, but something in the way you walk or speak must give it away.

Or is it the fact that you always ask for a table for one?

“Are you expecting someone else?” A waitress approaches you, her tone gentle as she makes sure you’re on your own. A small notebook dangles from her slender fingers, and your eyes catch the name stitched onto her apron: Emily.

The response you give her is on the verge of sounding automatic, robotic even, like one of those prerecorded messages busy people leave on their phones. “No. Just me.”

She nods, and you feel the sympathy in her gaze. You’ve mastered the art of recognizing that look—the one hovering between concern and pity.

Of course, people rarely voice it, but they’ll never know their eyes sometimes say more than they think.

As she jots down your order, you’re met with the ring on her left hand. Very pretty, very shiny. Very expensive as well. Your attention must linger on it a little too long, because she catches you staring, making you feel exposed.

Emily—you decide to call her that way from now on, because once you know her name, it feels odd to address her as the waitress—offers you a shy smile.

“I’m getting married next month,” she blurts out, happiness radiating from her pores. Her eyes glint like two lanterns in a starless night. She also looks younger than you, and the abrupt silence forces you to pinch your wrist, a reminder of the fact that this is a conversation, and not just something you're overhearing.

“Congratulations,” you manage to reply, returning the smile. If she saw how your expression faltered the second she walked away, you wonder if she’d still think you were so amiable.

Sometimes, your façade slips—you can’t help it. That’s what the ‘hopeless’ in ‘hopeless romantic’ stands for.

Some minutes later, she comes back with your coffee, and you catch another glimpse of the ring as it twinkles in front of you. Envy doesn’t suit you, so you shift your focus.

Taking out your laptop, you scroll through the latest headlines. This is your attempt at acting more like an adult and less like a girl in her mid-twenties who has no clue what she’s doing.

One article stands out from the rest: Hollywood Actress Divorces Loving Husband of 25 Years to Pursue Presumed Soulmate. “I saw his scars and knew he was the one.”

Interesting. You can’t help but feel sorry for the displaced husband, though.

“Good for you,” you mutter under your breath, clicking the link to read more. There’s a picture of the actress and her new boyfriend that makes you stop dead in your tracks: they’re smiling at each other, their faces close, noses almost touching, while they show off their matching scars—the unmistakable sign that they’re, in fact, soulmates.

Soulmates, superheroes, mutants. It all sounds like a whole lot, doesn’t it? Overwhelming, to say the least. One thing’s for sure—you’ll never get bored in this world.

But, hey! Don’t forget that there are multiple universes out there. Maybe in one of them, you’re not this pathetic.

Why are you being so hard on yourself? That’s not even the point. Shaking your head, you keep glancing at their scars—they’re identical, perfect mirrors of one another. The kind of scars that only two destined souls share.

Their happiness is evident, tangible. You can feel it by just eyeing the image. It’s a bitter sensation that metamorphoses into a warmth, which heavily spreads through your chest, filling up every empty space it finds.

To say you understand that feeling would be a downright lie. And you may be many things, but a pathological liar is not one of them.

As if on cue, you duck your head, rolling up the sleeves of your jacket. You do the same with your shirt, foolishly hoping to find something other than smooth, unmarked skin.

No scars. No marks. No sign of a soulmate, of a lover. In the world you inhabit—this universe full of the most inexplicable things—you’re alone.

Without a second thought, you pack your things, shoving them rapidly into your bag. The cafe feels too little and too large all at once, the walls closing on you.

The rest of the customers are looking at you. Fuck, they already noticed it—you can’t escape it.

Have they? Do you think they see you like you see yourself? The lone woman who writes poems for an addressee who will never read them?

In silence, you hand Emily the money for your coffee. You fear that if you open your mouth, a cry will come out, and that’s the last thing you need today. She gives you that look again—pity laced with sorrow, the one you despise. It burns.

At that moment, a man walks in, passing right by you. You see his face, his green eyes, and the way his lips curl into a grin as he greets Emily.

The scar on her forehead, which you'd missed before, mirrors the one on his.

They are soulmates.

It’s on the streets, on the bus, at work. Everywhere you go, every place you attempt to set foot in, there it is.

She wishes you a nice morning as you leave the cafe. Little does she know you’ll spend the rest of the day locked in your apartment, mourning someone you never even met.

Until the day you lost them, you wore your scars with pride.

They were scattered across your stomach, back, chest, and even your legs and arms. Some were shallow, others deep. It never occurred to you—the thought that they belonged in the shadows, hidden.

Everyone has them, you thought as you stood in front of the mirror, running your fingers along their jagged paths. I just seem to have more than most people.

Over the years, you might have changed your hairstyle or the way you dressed, but your scars never did—they’d always been there, and they were yours.

Partly yours, of course, since you knew they belonged to your soulmate as well.

The older you grew, the more you realized having a good memory was both a gift and a curse. You still remembered that moment so vividly—when you found out that somebody out there was meant for you and only you.

A point of no return, that’s what it’d been. From that day on, not a single one went by without you imagining the first encounter with your Prince Charming.

In the meantime, you dated. A few boyfriends came and went during and after high school, mostly as practice for the real thing, you’d told yourself.

God, you were determined to know everything. To be the best girlfriend ever, so that when you finally met him, he’d be over the moon.

At the age of seventeen, it sounded like a brilliant plan.

You never knew how, but your life became that meantime. All your friends began to find their soulmates: in the supermarket, while traveling, at the goddamn doctor’s office.

Everybody was fulfilling the purpose you’d been taught humans were made for—everyone but you.

The scars multiplied, yet he was nowhere to be seen, remaining out of reach. Your soulmate’s whereabouts were a mystery. What the hell does he do in his free time? was something you used to often ponder. Is he suffering? Does he need help?

“Be patient, give it some time. The less you seek, the more you’ll find,” your mother would say, trying to sound encouraging. Although she was trying to do her best, that phrase alone had the power to make you go nuts.

Be patient? Waiting was all you’d been doing. What was so wrong with you that he seemed to be hiding from you? You didn’t want to wait any longer, no—you wanted to find him. If it meant traveling to Italy like your cousin had to meet her husband, then so fucking be it.

Many nights, sleep eluded you. Lying wide awake, staring at the ceiling, you’d imagine what life with him would be like. What he would look like. You were certain that no matter his appearance, you’d think he was beautiful.

Wasn’t that the whole point of soulmates—that the bond you two shared transcended physical attraction?

Nevertheless, you secretly wished he’d have brown hair. He didn’t need to know, but you had a weakness for brunettes.

On the night of your twenty-second birthday, you were getting ready for the big event when every trace of your scars disappeared.

The bathroom mirror was fogged from the shower’s stream, and as you wiped it clean with the palm of your hand, the image you saw reflected on the glass made your stomach do a flip.

There were no scars. No marks. Nothing. At first, you thought your eyes were playing tricks on you—it couldn’t be. Scars didn’t just vanish. It was impossible.

But as you lowered your gaze, tracing your limbs again and again, the truth hit you. The marks you knew by heart, the ones that reminded you, He’s out there, somewhere, were gone.

You felt it deep in your chest, too. Every sound seemed louder and clearer: the blood rushing through your veins, each shaky breath you took. Where are they? Your fingers dug into your flesh, intending to ground yourself.

Is he… dead? It was the only reasonable explanation, the rule you’d known all along. You’d read it countless times, memorizing the principles about scars.

The scream that tore from your throat brought your mother running upstairs, and she entered the bathroom with a horrified expression on her face.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” she asked, but your mind was already far away. Your whole body shuddered in her arms, a sob slipping past your lips as you crumbled to the floor, desperately hoping it was all a nightmare. “It must be a mistake, honey. I’m sure he’s okay.”

But he’s not, you wanted to tell her. The words, however, never formed—only a broken whimper escaped your lips. Isn’t that what we were taught? Our scars belong to our soulmates; they bind us to them in a way that simple words can’t explain.

It goes deeper than the skin. It delves into our bodies, our minds, reaching into the very essence of who we are. What was once his is also mine, but they’re gone.

He’s gone. He must be, because otherwise, how would you explain this void?

When one’s soulmate passes away, that person will notice the disappearance of their scars. The physical marks that once symbolized their connection fade, leaving no trace. This absence is accompanied by a distinct, unsettling sensation—an awareness of loss that goes beyond the physical, signaling the end of the bond.

A part of you died with him that day.

The first time you exchanged words with Wade Wilson, you thought he was a total dick.

It wasn’t as if you didn’t know him—not when he was so infamous for that mouth of his. Deadpool: the self-proclaimed superhero with a vocabulary that was 90% profanity, who made cracking jokes while fighting the bad guys look easy.

Super funny? Sure. But not exactly your cup of tea when all you wanted was to crawl into bed and forget the world existed.

He was apparently long retired from superheroing. No one had seen that red, sex-toy-looking suit in ages, which was why you were only mildly surprised as you spotted him hauling boxes into your building on a Tuesday afternoon.

It was late, and you weren’t in the mood for small talk. He’d been there barely a week, yet somehow, he’d already managed to fuck things up.

You let out a deep sigh, rubbing the crease between your brows. “Look, Wally—”

“It’s pronounced Wade,” he corrected you, trying to edge his face further into the gap between the door and its frame, though you didn’t let your guard down. “You’re pretty rude, you know that?”

“I’ve been up for twenty-four hours, and I need to sleep,” you groaned, trying to push him away with one hand. Technically, he wasn’t even asking for something that complicated—he wanted to use your microwave to heat his dinner, since his had decided to stop working out of the blue.

The thing was that you’d had the kind of week that felt like a one-way trip to hell, an important detail he wasn’t aware of. “Go ask someone else. I can’t do charity tonight.”

“You’re the only one who answered,” he said, pressing his palms together in a pleading gesture, his lips curling into a heartbreaking pout. “Please, my lovely neighbor, whose name I don’t know. You wouldn’t want me to starve to death, would you?

“I thought you couldn’t die.” You raised an eyebrow, half-interested.

Wade’s arms dropped to his sides, his eyes drifting downward. “And I thought kindness wasn’t extinct, but here we are.” He spun on his heel, acting defeated and dragging his feet like a scolded puppy. “Can’t believe this is what the world’s come to. I’m sure the Bible says something about treating others how you’d want to be treated.”

Why. Just… why? Some cosmic, divine force from beyond might have been testing you that night.

“Wait,” you croaked just as he was about to step into his apartment—which was literally three meters from yours. His face lit up, expecting you to continue, and you moved aside slightly, signaling him in. “Five minutes and you’re out, okay? I really need to get some rest.”

The rest was history. Wade was just standing there, mesmerized by your microwave as if he’d never seen one before.

You could only hear the faint buzzing sound of the gadget, punctuated by the rhythmic drumming of his fingers on the counter. He was humming a tune while shaking his head to the beat.

You tried to focus, replaying the guided meditation you sometimes followed to sleep in your mind.

Allow yourself to feel the stillness of this moment. Notice your breath slowing as your body begins to calm. Be the observer of your breath, flowing in and out naturally, as your lungs—

Yeah, it wasn’t working.

“Please, stop it,” you eventually told Wade, whose gaze shifted from the microwave to you, brows furrowed.

“And why’s that?”

“They say it’s bad for your eyes,” you explained, recalling a half-forgotten news report you’d heard on the TV. Whether it was a myth or not, you’d never know. “I believe it’s because of the radiation exposure.”

Leaning back on the counter, he crossed his arms over his chest. “At this point, I think I’m safe. You, on the other hand… maybe not so much,” he nearly whispered that last part, and your desire to strangle him grew stronger.

Save me, mindfulness, you thought to yourself.

He jerked his thumb toward the pile of papers and books you had on your kitchen table. “So, you’re a writer?”

“Editor, in reality,” you snapped, your eyelids twitching as you watched him leaf through your stuff. “Wade, don’t touch my things.”

“Sorry, can’t help myself. I’m very curious.” Flashing you a quick grin, he opened your notebook, squinting his eyes as he went through the pages. “But you write too, huh? I’m discovering plenty of material here.”

The bastard. “Give. It. Back,” you snarled, lunging at him and trying to snatch the notebook from his hands, but he was faster, raising it out of reach. “I hope your food explodes in that microwave, asshole.”

“Oh, right. I forgot about it,” he snorted, tossing the notebook onto the couch and retrieving his dinner instead. You stared at him in disbelief, opening your mouth to scold him, but nothing came out. Then, there he was, standing in front of you with his plate and a fork.

Wait. Was that your fork?

“It’s hot, I’ll give you that.” He blew on his food to cool it down, and as he glanced up, he was met with your murderous glare. “Whoa. Want some? You could’ve just asked me. No need to get so angry.”

Calling it a desire to kill him would’ve been an understatement. And the worst part? He couldn’t die. “You’ve got what you needed. Now, can you leave?”

“How long’s it been since you talked to another human being?”

You blinked, feeling the sudden urge to look around, half expecting a hidden camera. “Why do you always answer with another question?”

“All I’m saying is I’ve been meaning to talk to you for days now, but you’re practically living the hermit life,” he said between bites of chicken, excusing himself briefly to chew. “That robe you’re wearing? It’s had the same stain on it since I moved in. Also, your doormat’s buried under a mountain of newspapers, so either you really love trees, or you’ve been avoiding any sort of social interaction.”

If he had been wrong, you would’ve felt much better. But he… wasn’t, and it sucked.

“I feel like I should be scared,” you mumbled after a long stretch of silence, your eyes going round.

Wade did no more than laugh at your troubled expression. “Scared of me? That’s cute. I’m a nice guy, sweet pea. Persistent, sure, but I’ve got a knack for getting under people’s skin,” he said, grinning through a mouthful of food—which, for the sake of your sanity, you chose to ignore.

After he had finished eating, he let the fork fall into the sink, the metal striking against the surface with a piercing echo, making you jump. He stretched his arms with a satisfied yawn, and he seemed determined to leave you alone. “Well, I’ve done my good deed for the day.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, following his movements as he ambled toward the door. “Are you telling me your microwave does work?”

“Oh, you’re a smart one, aren’t you?” Wade patted your head, ruffling your hair like you were a puppy who had just learned a new trick. “Good night, peanut.”

From that moment on, the two of you became inseparable. Your personalities clicked in a way you’d never experienced before with any other friend. Wade was loyal to a fault, and he treated you like the little sister he had never had.

Most importantly, he didn’t pity you—he saw you for who you were, not just someone marked by a lost soulmate. You never told him how much that meant to you, but deep down, you were grateful.

Which brings you to the present day. You’ve been friends with him for over a year, and he’s taken every chance to introduce you to his “weird but lovable” (his words, not yours) group of friends.

“Check your social anxiety at the door, thank you,” he’d tell you every time he hosted a get-together and you were invited.

Somehow, you had managed to bond with them—especially Althea, his elderly roommate, who occasionally forgets who you are despite living next door.

“Remind me of your name again, sweetie? All this disco dust must be affecting my memory,” she’d ask, leaning in close so you’d practically have to shout it into her ear. Then she’d nod, smirking knowingly. “Ah, yes. I thought so. Just making sure.”

She’s quite the character. A real sweetheart if you leave aside the number of times she’s offered you more types of drugs than you knew existed.

Tonight, you’re throwing Wade a surprise birthday party. Among all the party tasks, you’ve handled the decorations and the cake. The room’s a riot of color, with balloons floating lazily from the ceiling and a cascade of streamers draping over the furniture.

Guests start arriving, greeting you warmly, a feeling you once thought impossible. They’re Wade’s friends, sure, but on some level, you like to think they’re your friends now too: Vanessa, Dopinder, Buck, Shatterstar, Colossus, Negasonic Teenage Warhead, and Yukio.

As you hear footsteps approaching the door, Wade’s voice filters through the hallway. Panicking, you whirl around to the group. “He’s here! Everyone shut up!” you whisper urgently, turning off the lights and pressing your back flat against the wall next to the door.

Seconds later, the sound of keys jingling fills the air as both Wade and Peter step into the apartment.

You flip the lights back on just as Dopinder pops his much-anticipated party popper. “Surprise!” you all scream in unison, and Wade’s face splits into a grin, unsure of whom to hug first.

“You guys are lucky I’m not armed,” he quips, slinging an arm around Dopinder’s shoulders. “Six years ago, you’d all be dead!”

And you giggle, because… well, what else are you supposed to do?

As you expected, the night unfolds smoothly. You’re having fun, engaging in conversations despite yesterday’s emotional meltdown at the cafe. It’ll be okay—it always is. The food is amazing, the company even better. You remind yourself that romantic love isn’t the only kind that matters—that’s what friends are for, after all, to teach you that lesson.

The low hum of chatter fills the air, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the clinking of glasses, creating a lively symphony that wraps around you like a warm blanket. Yukio calls your name, waving her head in front of your eyes, trying to snap you out of your thoughts. “Everything okay?” she wonders, concern flickering in her voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, tightening your grip on your beer bottle. “Just thinking, that’s all.”

You all gather around the cake when Wade’s about to blow the candles. You know he’s preparing himself for a speech. “Another year of spinning around the moon, huh?”

“Sun, you dumbass,” Al corrects him, and you have to bite your lip to keep your laughter to yourself.

“Okay, flat-earther,” Wade shoots back, giving her a playful side-eye. “Anyway, where was I? Oh, right—I can’t thank you all enough for being here. These past few years have been... well, rough on me, to say the least,” he says, glancing down at the cake with a small, crooked smile. “But I’m happy now. We’ve got each other’s back, like a team!”

“Like The Avengers, you mean?” Dopinder pipes up, eyes sparkling with excitement. There’s a moment of silence in which you swear you’d be able to hear a hairpin drop.

It��s still a sensitive topic.

“Next time, give me a trigger warning before you mention them,” Wade mutters in a hushed tone, and Dopinder shrinks sheepishly. “I guess what I wanted to tell you was…” he trails off, his palm covering the place where his heart is, “that I'm glad you’re all here. Being surrounded by the people I love most is the best birthday gift ever.”

His words stir something inside you. Vanessa gently nudges his arm, smiling up at him. “Why don’t you make your wish?”

Wade dramatically drops to his knees in front of the cake, eyes fluttering shut before blowing out the candles, whistles and cheers erupting all around.

Just then, you hear the unmistakable sound of the doorbell ringing through the air. You exchange a curious glance with Wade, raising your eyebrows. “That’s weird. Want me to get it?”

“Nah, I got it,” he says, excusing himself to answer the door. He slips outside, shutting it behind him, and everything returns to normal. For a while, you assume he’s chatting with someone who dropped by to say hi—but that doesn’t really make sense.

“Don’t you think it’s weird that he’s been out there so long?” Vanessa inquires, her worry starting to creep in.

“I’ll go check on him,” you tell her, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze before heading to the door.

But when you open it, there’s no Wade in sight. Just… his toupee—or “hair system” as he insists on calling it, lying on the floor.

Kneeling down, you gingerly pick it up, a strange sensation settling in your chest.

Where the hell did he go?

After his existence went downhill, Logan turned to prayer.

Completely out of character, right? He thought so too. The number of times he'd stepped foot inside a church could be counted on one hand, so why would a man like him resort to religion?

In the past, he had been told he was part of God’s plan, but somewhere along the way, he felt like he had become God’s mistake.

After living a life plagued with loss and constantly in hiding, he wasn’t shocked that his self-worth was in the gutter.

Things only spiraled after letting everyone down, especially after that particular day when things took a turn for the worse. He had prayed, asking God to make him forget.

When that didn’t work, he just drank harder and smoked more. But not even drowning in alcohol and clouds of nicotine could put an end to his struggles—he was condemned to suffer.

In spite of everyone’s wishes, he’s still going strong, stuck with no defined purpose. It’s almost impossible not to fall into a routine that seeks to numb him, to put him under anesthesia—waking up after passing out who-knows-where, finding the nearest bar, sinking into whiskey and the haze of ashtrays.

Then he does it all over again, a never-ending cycle. His self-destructive habits don’t lead him to oblivion; instead, they intensify every sensation, making each memory and emotion painfully vivid.

Day after day, he convinces himself he’s got it under control. Logan may be tough as fuck, and he may heal faster than anyone else, but his pride is in pieces.

No amount of strength or supernatural abilities can stop the decay he feels inside, the slow rot creeping deeper within him the longer he remains trapped in this life.

He slams the empty glass onto the counter with a heavy thud, tapping two fingers against it. “Again,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

The bartender looks at him like he's the reincarnation of all things vile. “I told you—you’re not welcome here. You’re not welcome anywhere. Now get the fuck out of my bar.”

Oh, yes. Music to his ears. If he had a nickel for every time he heard that, he’d be rich. “Just give me one more drink and then I’ll leave.”

“That’s not how it works,” the bartender replies, and Logan knows he’s screwed. Another public establishment he’s been banned from—fucking perfect.

Will there ever be a day where he’s not treated like garbage?

“It does now,” an unknown voice joins the conversation, and Logan glances to his side, arching a brow. The masked man doesn’t let his stare falter. “Leave the bottle.”

“Do I know you, bub?”

“You don’t, but I know you.”

This serves as evidence of how pliant he’s become. Years ago, he would’ve already wiped the floor with this guy. They didn’t call him Logan “short fuse” Howlett for nothing. But now? He just can’t bring himself to do it.

“Everybody does. I’m the—”

Here it comes, the reminder of his personal calvary.

“—Wolverine.” Once he finishes the sentence, his words taste bitter. Perhaps it’s the venom on his tongue, or maybe it’s just the alcohol from yesterday kicking him again. Either way, both hit hard.

“Yes, you are,” the stranger says, continuing to stare at him, as if Logan’s worth the effort. “And I’m going to need you to come with me. Right now.”

Logan holds his breath. The worst part of it all is that his day’s just getting started. He has no clue who this guy is or why he’s claiming to need him.

But he’s got the wrong man—Logan doesn’t know him, and he sure as hell doesn’t have anything good to offer.

Or so he believed five minutes ago. Life seems to have its own way of surprising him.

Knowing he’ll regret it later, he closes his fingers around the whiskey bottle, chugging the liquor until darkness takes over his senses.

Nighty-night, Logan.

I'm aware that you're not mine, and nor will you ever be.

I’ve spent sleepless nights trying to figure out

where this need to call you mine stems from.

You're like an antique, a rare piece displayed

in a crowded bazaar, drawing curious glances.

I’m aware that you're not mine

because I haven't bought you yet;

I hold no claim over you,

nor can I control who touches you and who doesn't.

I want you to be mine,

but no amount of money would buy your soul.

You're beyond reach—someone has already marked you.

I’m aware that you’re not mine,

and I guess maybe that’s how life is meant to be.

“Bullshit,” you mutter softly into the quiet of your apartment, where the only sound is the echo of your own voice.

Chewing the end of your pen, your eyes narrow as they skim over the poem you’d written over a month ago.

Since then, you’ve been working on refining the details, but something is missing—that you can feel. The flow is awkward, the choice of words stiff. It’s like a puzzle that doesn’t quite fit together.

You take a long sip from your coffee, tucking both knees up onto the chair you're sitting in. 7:30 a.m., and already, your mind is spinning, diving headfirst into a poem when countless other things are demanding your attention—like, a hundred things, really.

Right now, cracking this piece feels more important than any other task on your list.

Who do you write to? That part is easy—your soulmate. That deceased, probably buried, long-gone soulmate of yours.

It shouldn’t be funny, but there’s an absurdity to it.

Without warning, a memory slips into your thoughts—one girl you used to work with once advising you to change the subject of your writing.

“You should go for some self-love crap. People usually eat that up,” she said, not even bothering to look up from her nails, red polish smeared over the edges.

Her fingers were a mess, coated in that fiery hue, but she didn’t seem to care as she tapped your notebook with her lacquered index finger. “This is repetitive. Keep writing about the same thing, and people will get bored of you.”

“I haven’t published them yet,” you answered, your voice coming out more high-pitched than usual, betraying the doubt you intended to suppress. Her blue eyes flicked up, studying your face as you slid the now red-stained notebook back into your bag, away from her careless, messy fingers. “I thought… I thought we were supposed to write about what we feel passionate about.”

That managed to catch her attention. Passionate. She let out a laugh—sharp and cold, like something straight out of a villain’s script in a children’s movie. It grated against your ears.

“Sweetie, you call that passionate?” She waved her hand dismissively, standing up from the table.

Taller, older, and more secure—just the fact that she gave you her time should’ve made you feel grateful. “Not to be a bitch, but what you showed me is kind of depressing.”

Kind of depressing. From that moment on, you kind of hated her. Small victories, though—the agency fired her a year later. You like to think you kind of won that battle.

Still, she might’ve been right about one thing: your writing does fall into patterns. It’s predictable, to say the least—the rhythm, the themes. Even the metaphors you include can be found in several of your poems.

Are you… lazy? Has someone revealed the way to break out of it? If there is, you figure you're fine without it.

You don’t want to write the kind of articles she’d churn out about the latest trends or the five best positions to get pregnant faster. Nor do you want to pick apart celebrities' lives for a flashy headline.

What you do want is to write about love. Real love. Even if you are not the most qualified person to do it. Even if nobody wants to read the words from someone who has never experienced it in the flesh.

And you’ll get there—how? You’re still figuring that out.

As long as you live and breathe, love will remain in your thoughts, haunting you—especially with your muse being the fleeting dream of a soulmate you never got to meet in the first place.

But it’s time to start your day—the real one. The one where you have to step outside the safety of your four walls and deal with reality.

The to-do list assembles in your mind: groceries, that book you’ve been meaning to pick up, emails you need to answer.

You let your mind take over, guiding you through the motions without a second thought. As you head back to your room, you get rid of the comfortable robe you love so much.

Next, your shirt comes off, tossed carelessly onto the bed. Just as you're about to step out of your pajama pants, you notice them.

The scars.

They’re not the same, not the faded lines etched into your skin that you could see every night behind your eyelids. New marks glow against your flesh, each one a map of something you don’t yet understand, standing out like new brushstrokes on an old canvas.

You can’t help but freeze, your breath faltering for a moment, and you nearly trip over yourself. Kicking your pants to the side, you stare down at your hips, thighs, the hollow of your ribcage.

Tentatively, you press your fingers into the lines, expecting them to fade, to disappear under your touch like some peculiar illusion.

But they don’t. They remain. You can feel the raised edges, the subtle roughness, the heat beneath your touch.

These scars are different from the ones you had before. Under no circumstances are they the faint memories you once carried. No—these are fresh and vibrant. Marks that shouldn’t exist, the stories they’ve witnessed unfamiliar to you.

Within seconds, you’re sobbing, and you blink through the wetness clouding your vision, wiping your tears of disbelief (and maybe hope?) away with the back of your hand.

Nothing changes. They’re still there.

You've never heard of scars returning like this. It goes against everything in the manual on your shelf. Scars vanish when a soulmate dies, but they don’t come back. Not like this. And they certainly don’t change.

Barely able to stand without stumbling, you scramble to your phone. The first person you call is your mom, your fingers shaking as you press the buttons. She screams into the phone, and all you can do is laugh through the tears.

What doesn’t sit right with her is the change in the scars. She mentions something about reaching out to a specialist, insisting that your case is rare—one in a million.

Almost immediately, you think of Wade, knowing he’d want to hear this. God, he’d be ecstatic. Before you even realize it, you’re standing in front of his door, finger hovering over the bell.

That’s when the realization hits you: he’s been gone for nearly three days, off doing whatever it is he does.

Ringing the bell, a smile tugs at your lips. News like these are meant to be shared.

“Althea, it’s me!” you call out, hoping she’ll hear you. You press your forehead against the door, fidgeting with your fingers. “I have something to tell you.”

Logan has had better days. Days that didn’t involve escaping The Void, fighting a hundred Wades, or saving an earth that wasn’t even his to begin with.

You know, normal days—of being sneered at while drinking to forget and, fuck, how many hours has he been sober? It feels like an eternity.

When the adrenaline wears off and the heroism fades, he’s back to being just Logan again. If he had a watch, he’d probably tap the glass and fake impatience to Wade, pretending he’s got somewhere else to be.

He should leave. That’s his first impulse: to escape before it’s too late, but a question arises in his mind: does he truly want to?

Wade watches as Logan rises to his feet, planning to walk away. Pretty stupid, Logan thinks, considering he knows no one else in this universe—apart from the scarred man he’s become friends with against his will.

“Logan!” Wade yells his name, his voice light but firm enough to halt him in his tracks. Logan turns to face him, greeted by Wade’s familiar, infuriating smile.

It's a silent invitation to a new beginning.

Nothing’s holding him back, so why not accept it? The odds of being the target of hateful glares are lower here, and that’s reason enough for Logan to give a small tilt of his head and return to the bench where Wade remains seated.

“We’re gonna be roommates!” the latter exclaims, a wide grin stretching across his face as they head toward the building. “Can you imagine all the fun we’ll have?”

Logan presses his lips into a thin line. “Looking forward to it,” he murmurs, a small glimmer of sarcasm slipping into his tone, although Wade takes his words at face value.

“Me too, roomie. Me too.”

“Let’s not use that word.”

Wade holds the door open for Logan with an exaggerated bow. “Why not? It’s the truth. We can even share my bed if that’s—”

The sound of Logan’s claws succeeds in silencing him. Wade recoils and covers his crotch, no doubt remembering past close calls.

“You know what? You can have the bed. I’ll take the couch. No problem.”

Was moving in with Wade the worst idea he’s had in a while? Absolutely. The reason? Althea, the elderly woman he lives with, isn’t answering the door, and he doesn’t have his keys.

Logan covers his eyes with a hand, silently questioning all of his life choices. And it’s only been ten minutes.

“This doesn’t happen often,” Wade reassures him, rubbing his neck.

“Hard to believe,” Logan mutters, some unknown muscle in his jaw beginning to ache from how hard he’s gritting his teeth. “You just leave the house without your fucking keys?”

Wade huffs, jutting out a hip in mock offense. “Those TVA guys didn’t exactly send a ‘We’re here to ruin your day’ memo. I was ambushed, okay?” he retorts, keeping a finger glued to the doorbell, its shrill ring gnawing at Logan’s already thin patience. “Al, I swear to God, I’m replacing your blood pressure pills with laxatives if you don’t wake up!”

“How old is she?” Logan asks, searching for anything to keep him from snapping the other man’s neck. Peaceful thoughts.

“Compared to you, she’s basically a newborn,” Wade replies, rocking back and forth on his heels. He’s having the time of his life—meanwhile, Logan’s self-control is reaching its limit.

His claws twitch in his knuckles. He’s had enough, and with a jerk of his left hand, they gleam as they slide out, ready to break the damn door.

But then Wade jumps in front of him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Easy there, buddy! I’m not letting you turn my door into a strainer.”

“Move,” Logan barks, not an ounce of friendliness in his tone. His stare is flat, unfazed.

“I’d rather not. You can’t just go around breaking people’s doors, man. Not cool,” Wade blurts quickly, placing both hands on Logan’s chest, pushing him away. “How about I ask my neighbor, huh? I gave her a spare set of keys for situations like these.”

“I thought you said this didn’t happen often.”

“Well, life’s full of disappointments.”

Before Logan can answer back, Wade rushes to the door next to his, slamming his fist on it like a madman, his finger hammering the doorbell simultaneously.

The devil’s orchestra—a symphony straight from hell.

Logan grabs Wade’s wrist before he can knock again, hissing: “Have some manners, will you?”

Wade tries to shake his arm free from Logan’s tight grip. “She’s in there. I know it,” he replies in the same tone, but now he uses his other hand to ring the doorbell with greater feeling.

After a pause, he stamps his foot on the floor, throwing his head back. “Come on! Is this how you treat me after being away? Shame on you, Missy!”

This neighbor must be very patient, Logan thinks, to keep up with a guy like Wade without often seeing red.

As the door finally swings open, his grip on Wade loosens, and his hand falls limply to his side.

“What… the fuck?”

The sound of your voice—soft, slightly groggy from sleep—pulls his attention away from the door incident. His gaze is fixed entirely on you—you look as if you’ve just rolled out of bed, which makes sense since it’s still early.

Back in The Void, Wade had rambled on about all his friends, you included. Logan recalls how he had described you: a book editor who lived on her own and loved reading. You were younger—but then again, who wasn’t younger than him?

The picture Wade had shown him, with you standing in the background, hadn’t done you justice. He had found you attractive then, but seeing you in person?

You’re… far more than he expected.

More beautiful, for starters.

Fuck. Why is he even thinking about that? He must’ve been staring at you for quite a while—you glance at him like a startled lamb, clearly feeling self-conscious under his unwavering stare.

“May I know,” you start, tightening your robe, “why you were banging on my door like that? I thought I was getting robbed for a minute.” You direct your question at Wade, avoiding Logan’s presence, which makes something tighten in his chest.

He finds the way you stifle a yawn endearing, though.

Okay, that’s enough, he tells his mind. Let it go.

Wade steps in first, dropping his mask on the nearest surface. “Hello, my dear. Oh, yes, I’m fine. Just a few scratches. No, I wasn’t partying—I was kidnapped. Thanks for asking.”

You draw in a long breath, rubbing your eyes to wake up once and for all, and then you proceed to gesture for Logan to enter. Even now, you find it difficult to maintain eye contact with him. “Do you—would you like to come in?”

Not only are you pretty, but also polite. He nods, muttering a gruff: “Yeah, thank you.”

As he walks past you, your shoulders brush briefly, sending an unexpected jolt through him. A tingling sensation on the verge of being electrifying that has him knitting his brows.

His gaze finds yours, searching your expression to see if you felt it too. But you look away, closing the door to go after Wade.

Great. You must think he’s a weirdo.

“I’m always up for company, but why so early?” you ask your friend, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. “And are you going to tell me what happened the other day? You left without saying anything.”

Wade hops onto a stool at the kitchen counter, swinging his legs like a child. “You know Al. When it comes to sleeping, she’s like a much older version of Sleeping Beauty,” he replies with a grin, snatching the mug you were about to use for your morning coffee. “Thanks, you’re such a doll.”

“That was—mine,” you sigh, hitting him in the thigh, and Wade winces with a fake whine. “I don’t think I’ve missed you that much. Go back to being missing in action,” you say, grabbing another mug and filling it before raising it toward Logan. “Coffee?”

Logan hesitates. You’re treating him like you’ve known him for years, not minutes. “I’m… good.”

“You sure? I made it fresh, just before you guys arrived.”

“Don’t worry, I’m—”

“I love the chemistry here,” Wade interrupts your conversation, drawing your attention back to him, “but you still got the keys I gave you, right?”

You roll your eyes, blowing on your steamy coffee before answering. “I do, but I want answers first. And I want them now.”

Twenty minutes and a rambling, half-coherent story later, your drink has gone cold, and Logan’s patience is wearing thin… again.

Will he survive sleeping under the same roof as Wade? Stay tuned for more.

“And then I told Paradox ‘He has risen, babygirl’—”

“I think you’re being too specific,” Logan interjects, noting how you’re staring into space with wide eyes. “She seems confused.”

“I am,” you admit, rubbing your temples. He doesn’t blame you: Wade’s a terrible storyteller. You offer him a weak smile as you turn to him. “So… you’re from another universe.”

“Last time I checked.” His back collapses against the couch, groaning softly. He sits beside you, and the way your eyes sweep over him, taking in his disheveled and sweaty appearance, doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

“And how is it? I mean, do you have—”

“I’m public enemy number one.”

Too harsh, idiot.

“Oh. That’s… good to know.”

Wade says your name, and you look to your right, lifting your brows. “Do you mind if I grab the keys myself? I need a shower. I’ve been marinating in sweat and blood for way too long.”

You grimace, pointing toward your room. “Top drawer of my nightstand.”

With that, he embarks on a quest to find them, leaving Logan alone with you. Silence stretches between you two.

He doesn’t know what to say, or if he should even say anything. Casual conversation isn’t his forte.

“You and Wade…?”

Letting out a giggle, you lean back on the couch. “God, no. We’re just friends,” you explain, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. For a fleeting moment, your eyes bore into his, and then you return to burning holes in the floor. “I’m single. Haven’t found my soulmate yet.”

It’s his turn to chuckle now—a dark, humorless sound rumbling in his chest. You chew on a cuticle, Logan’s gesture igniting a sense of curiosity in you.

“What?” you ask him, puzzled.

“Do you really believe in that? Soulmates who share scars?” If he were to think carefully, he’d watch his tone. It’s too late, anyway—you straighten your posture, your face contorting with each passing second. “I can tell you do.”

“And I can tell you don’t.”

“Why would I? Those are lies,” he retorts, the corners of his mouth turning upward.

His opinion is anything but objective, totally biased, given that every time he dove into love’s arms, he was met with the crude reality: not everyone’s meant to be loved, himself included.

The look you give him is enough to wipe the smirk off his face.

“Soulmates exist, Logan. We all have one.” There’s a certainty in your tone, marked by the subtle way in which you say his name, that he finds alluring. He shouldn’t, especially when you seem angry above all.

“And where is yours, then?”

He regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth. Your expression becomes inscrutable. You could be either disappointed, frustrated, or even exasperated—sad, perhaps?

Logan feels as though a weight has settled on his shoulders just from staring into your eyes.

You strike back with silence. Plain, pure, dreadful silence that has him wondering if he’s breathing properly.

At long last, Wade comes back from his expedition, keys dangling from his fingers. “It was quite the treasure hunt, you know? You’ve got a lot of garbage in there.” He sticks his face between Logan’s and yours when you don't answer him. “Guys, is there something wrong? Are you doing a staring contest? If so, can I join?”

“I need to start getting ready for work,” you announce, standing up from the couch. Logan mimics you, and you open the door, your fingers curling around the knob. “You should get going. And Wade,” you pause, acknowledging only him, “I need to talk to you later. In private.”

Without Logan. That’s what you wanted to say but didn’t.

“Sure, my queen. I live to serve,” Wade says in rejoinder, and he kisses your forehead briefly, which forces Logan to avert his gaze the whole time his lips are on you, feeling uncomfortable watching. “Take care, alright?”

You give Wade a small nod, waiting until he’s outside your apartment to glance at Logan.

“Goodbye,” you croak, and he knows he should say something, that he—

The door almost closes on his nose.

Had he been an asshole? He was merely expressing his thoughts. The idea of soulmates didn’t sit well with him.

Once settled into Wade’s apartment, Logan steps into the shower, water rinsing off his body. Yet he finds himself unable to stop thinking about you.

The disappointment in your eyes when he asked about your soulmate.

The coldness in your tone at the end, so different from the warmth you initially offered.

He feels drawn to you, as if some sort of invisible string is tying the two of you. Were it possible, he would use his own claws to cut it, but he can’t discern where it begins or ends. Instead, he prefers to blame his touch-starved state for this reaction.

He’s already hating this earth. So much for a man whose skin refuses to scar.

And where is yours, then?

His words shouldn’t have stung the way they did. All the charm—the gruff exterior, the mysterious personality—had vanished.

The guy from another universe, with the claws, the healing abilities, and the raspy voice, is a moron.

A ridiculously good-looking moron? Yes, but a moron nonetheless.

There is something about him you can’t quite place. A chill creeps down your spine as you replay the instant your eyes first locked. Your body had reacted in ways it never had before, drawn to him like metal to a magnet.

Why? You’d seen handsome men before, even been with some. Yet, you’ve never felt this—this gravitational pull, this inexplicable pull to invade someone’s personal space.

How would your soulmate feel if he saw you like this, lusting after another man?

You shudder at the thought. This isn’t like you. You pride yourself on loyalty—perhaps a little too much. You don’t read two books at the same time, and you’ve been buying the same brand of shampoo for the past five years.

So why now? Why him? It feels like a betrayal of your own mind, your conscience turned against you.

Let things stay as they are—it’s safer that way. You don’t want to know the reason behind this forceful need.

After all, being his grumpy and ill-tempered self, he’ll stay holed up in Wade’s apartment, avoiding any interaction with the real world. And you? You’ll forget about him. Easy-peasy.

That afternoon, as you take a nap on the couch, he invades your dreams. It’s not even a wet dream, but he’s there, staking a claim on a part of you he has no right to.

You wake up with your hand clutching your chest, a frustrated punch landing on the nearest cushion.

The next day, you drop by Wade’s place for a quick visit, your eyes darting around the room every few seconds, half-expecting Logan to appear out of nowhere.

“I told you, he’s sleeping. That guy’s got a fucked up sleep schedule,” Wade says, urging you to take a seat beside him at the table. “Why don’t you wanna see him?”

Because he’s messing with your sanity. Your brain cells are practically disintegrating at the mere thought of breathing the same air as him.

“I just—I need to tell you something.”

“Are you pregnant?”

“What? Wade, no! You’ve been gone for three days—pregnancies take months.”

“I’d make an amazing uncle, though.” He grabs your hand between his, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Babies are so adorable at that—”

“My scars are back,” you cut him off, putting an end to his nonsense. Pulling the neck of your sweater to the side, you show him the thin lines etched into your collarbone. “But they are different this time.”

“Different? You mean they changed?” His disbelief is clear as he reaches for your arm, frowning while he inspects more of your scars. Wade’s jaw slackens, color draining out of his face. “Fuck. Fuck!”

“Fuck?”

“Yeah, fuck!” His strong arms envelop you, and you lean into the embrace, resting your cheek against his shoulder. “Is this good news? Are we happy? Does this mean I have a shot at becoming an uncle after all?”

You laugh a little at his eagerness, rubbing gentle circles into his back. “I am happy. I just—I don’t know what these changes mean yet.”

Althea steps out of the bathroom, her cane tapping the floor in rhythmic beats. “I already told you what they mean.”

Wade pulls away from you, glaring at her. “You meddler! Haven’t we talked about not eavesdropping? Hasn’t life taught you anything after all these decades?”

“Upside of being blind: I’ve never seen this motherfucker in Crocs,” she says, pointing her cane at you, though you know her aim is Wade. “Downside of being blind: I hear everything in this apartment. And you, kid, have a new soulmate.”

“I know what we talked about the other day, but... it doesn’t make sense, Al. You only get one soulmate,” you protest, feeling the tension grow as you pace around the table. “Why can’t it just be simple? My friends are getting engaged, years are flying by, and I’m still out here chasing this… this idiot who no one can even find!”

That’s when Logan appears, emerging from his room, holding several empty beer cans. He rolls his eyes and walks straight into the kitchen. “Great. Who else is coming tonight?”

Wade smirks, clapping a hand on Logan’s shoulder as he looks at you. “Sweetie, Logan’s going through his second puberty at the ripe old age of two hundred. The pediatrician said it’s just hormones, nothing to worry about. Excuse his shitty attitude.”

With a low groan, Logan shrugs off Wade’s hand, scowling. If anything, the younger man’s grin just grows bigger. “Wolvie, I gotta admit that whole ‘Don’t fall in love with me or I’ll break your heart’ personality shouldn’t turn me on, but here we are.”

You decide to take that as your cue to leave. You grab your bag, muttering a quick goodbye to Althea as you head for the door.

But Logan calls after you. “Can we talk?”

You freeze, your back to him. “How much did you hear?” you ask, not daring—not being able—to meet his gaze.

“All of it,” he admits after a beat, and you curse under your breath. “But it doesn’t—Hey!” He follows you into the hallway. “I’m talking to you!”

“No, you’re not.” You fumble for your keys, fingers shaking as you try to unlock your door. “Leave me alone.”

“I won’t,” he mumbles behind you, his voice softer now. “Come on. Don’t be so harsh.”

“I can’t believe you,” you whisper, finally finding the right key and jiggling it into the lock. The door swings open, and you step into the safety of your apartment. But when you try to close it, Logan’s foot wedges into the gap, blocking it. “Get out.”

He doesn’t budge. “No.”

“Logan, I’m not in the mood.”

“Well, me neither. But I owe you an apology.”

You wonder if he realizes the hold he has on you. No matter how hard you try to mask it, the unbearable pounding of your heart betrays you.

Scanning his features, you trace the rugged contours of his face with your eyes, lingering on the lines on his forehead—the aftermath of what it looks like a life lived through bitterness and pain.

“Can I come in?” he insists, his tone on the verge of sounding pleading.

You hesitate. The sensible part of you screams to send him away. Thinking that avoiding him would be as easy as stealing candy from a baby is a long-forgotten idea now: you’d been naïve to even consider it possible.

He’s going to find a way to sneak into your space, your home—and you’ll let him in. You’ll grant him a chance to cross a boundary that should’ve been already drawn.

It feels like you’re fifteen again, infatuated with the guy you know you shouldn’t get close to. Paul from high school wasn’t your soulmate back then—Logan isn’t now.

The smart thing would be to take a step back, accept his apology, and ask him to leave. That’s how you preserve what little remains of your sanity and protect your heart, which is already hanging by a thread.

But God, it feels so good to be near him.

You step aside. He walks in. Something tells you this won’t be the last time.

“I’m waiting.” You stay near the counter, pressing your back against it, and keeping your distance. Logan sits awkwardly on the edge of your couch, unsure of where to begin.

“Look, about what I said yesterday…I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” He sounds sincere, earnest. “I didn’t know you believed in soulmates.”

“It’s not a matter of believing in them or not, Logan. My soulmate is out there—yours too.”

Your words coax a grin from him, and he shakes his head. “I guess we’ll never see eye to eye on that.” In a fluid motion, he crosses the room, and you find his unexpected proximity a bit exasperating. “Do you forgive me?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Give me a break, darlin’. I’m trying my best.”

“Well, you were an asshole.”

“Yes.”

“The first time we exchanged words.”

“Also yes.”

“And now you’re apologizing.”

“Positive. I just did.”

It’s not that you’re easy—it’s Logan’s persuasive allure that gets to you.

“What else can I do to win your forgiveness?” he wonders aloud, his syrupy voice making you tighten your grip on the counter.

An idea sparks in your mind. You move toward the pile of books next to the TV, eyeing the titles, until one catches your attention: your copy of Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë, one of the first novels you’d read when you were younger.

It’s adorned with colorful post-its, and the pages, sort of rough to the touch, are marked with handwritten notes in the margins.

“How do you feel about reading?”

“Not my strongest suit,” he answers, arching a brow as he takes in your enthusiasm. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“You want me to believe you’re sorry for what you said? Then read this,” you say, wiggling the book in front of him, “and we can start over.”

“What is it about? Let me guess: love and soulmates. Did I get it right?” he asks, playfulness lacing his tone. His breath hitches as you press the book against his chest, silently urging him to take it. His pinky grazes your hand, feeling your skin and sending a jolt through you.

Logan watches you with half-lidded eyes, and it takes every ounce of willpower to tear yourself away from him and his maddening touch.

You clear your throat. “Open it to page one hundred fifty-three.”

“Do you—you remember specific pages?”

“And read what’s underlined in black,” you murmur, eyes fluttering closed for an instant. “Please.”

Logan must mutter something along the lines of ‘You’ve got to be kidding me’ before searching for it. It’s only then that he begins to recite the passage:

He is not to them what he is to me. He is not of their kind. I believe he is of mine; – I am sure he is – I feel akin to him – I understand the language of his countenance and movements; though rank and wealth sever us widely, I have something in my brain and heart, in my blood and nerves, that assimilates me mentally to him. Did I say, a few days since, that I had nothing to do with him but to receive my salary at his hands? Did I forbid myself to think of him in any other light than a paymaster? Blasphemy against nature! Every good, true, vigorous feeling I have gathers impulsively round him. I know I must conceal my sentiments: I must smother hope; I must remember that he cannot care much for me. For when I say that I am of his kind, I do not mean that I have his force to influence, and his spell to attract; I mean only that I have certain tastes and feelings in common with him. I must, then, repeat continually that we are for ever sundered: – and yet, while I breathe and think, I must love him.

You’ve chosen a damn good page.

Logan looks up from the book, his mouth slightly parted, as if he’s about to speak. You interject before he can find the words.

“You’ve got a week to read it.”

“How long is it again?”

“Four hundred pages.”

He surrenders, sighing in defeat. “You’re killing me here, y’know?”

“Write an opinion essay if possible.”

Right there, Logan offers you a mock laugh. “Haha. That’s so funny.”

“It is for me,” you talk back, unable to hide your smile from him, and soon he mirrors your expression.

As Logan steps toward the door, he hesitates and glances back. “We’re all good then?”

Leaning against the doorframe, you raise your chin defiantly. “We’ll be when you finish the book.”

What he says next has your stomach turning into knots. “You’re trouble.” His tone shifts—no longer teasing, but grounded in truth. Gone are the jokes; he seems to mean every word.

For the rest of the night, one line from the book doesn’t stop echoing in your mind—the line about soulmates: I have something in my brain and heart, in my blood and nerves, that assimilates me mentally to him.

You’re trouble for him, and he’s trouble for you. You hope he knows it too.

He thought that not seeing you for a week would snuff out his feelings. That by next Wednesday, every thought tied to your name, every urge to uncover the last of your secrets, would be extinguished.

That's what time usually did: it diminished dangerous desires that couldn't afford to be voiced, and buried those longings that had no place in the light of day.

Logan now figures he’s been underestimating the spell you cast on him with just a few glances and the intensity of your eyes. He’s seen you animated, angry—both defiant and vulnerable.

Each of your gestures feels like a memory he can’t quite place.

The way you laugh, the right corner of your mouth lifting just slightly higher than the left—he swears it isn’t the first time he's seen a smile brighter than the sun.

Still, he convinces himself it’s all in his head. He must be the one losing his mind, the years finally catching up to him. It’s the only reasonable explanation for the thoughts that consume his every waking moment.

He’s wrong—you’re right. He’s seeing things where there are none—you’re simply too kind.

Too kind. Too young. Too damn clever for your own good, with your books and that sharp mind of yours. He wonders how you see yourself.

Do you like the reflection in the mirror? Are you content with the way your life has turned out?

Do you, too, lie awake at night, the bed stretching endlessly, aching for a touch that never comes?

The walls in this place are paper-thin. When darkness falls, and the moon rises, the big, scary Wolverine can’t close his eyes.

Instead, he listens.

Some nights, you play the same movie on repeat—a romantic comedy that lasts exactly one hundred and twenty minutes. For two hours straight, he’s privy to your laughter, your commentary at the characters on the screen.

He hears you cry when the lead couple drifts apart after a terrible argument, but they always find their way back to each other, and you watch every second until the credits roll.

None of the other films you pick ever ends in heartbreak, he realizes. They all have happy endings—the kind you wish for yourself.

One way or another, there must be a way to get you out of his system. He knows, without a doubt, that you wouldn’t want him. He’s not your soulmate, and it’s clear that finding that person has become the center of your existence.

Logan can’t allow himself to be the moron who derails your purpose.

Sure, he’s done bad things, but he likes to believe that at least a part of him—some small fraction—hasn’t been lost yet. That there’s a piece of him that can be saved, which is the reason why he stayed here: to be a better man than the one he was in his universe.

But it’s hard. Harder still because it’s you who disrupts his quest for redemption. How is he supposed to go on with his life when every thought circles back to you? The idea of holding you, kissing you—sleeping beside you haunts him.

And so the images blur, new dreams twisting with his usual nightmares.

Which one is worse, he can no longer tell.

One afternoon, while deliberately steering clear of Jane Eyre, he reluctantly turns to Wade in search of answers. “Tell me more about her.”

Wade, lounging on the couch, stops scrolling on his phone and drops it onto his chest, drawing his eyebrows together.

“Her? Who do you mean?” His tone oozes with feigned innocence, barely containing a shit-eating grin when Logan grits out your name, his tone rough, almost pained. “Oh, Romeo. You’ve got it bad.”

Intending to maintain some semblance of control, Logan strides into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and the last bottle of whiskey. As he tips it, only a few drops fall into the glass.

“No, I don’t,” he says, extending his arm and holding the bottle up. “We’re out of whiskey.”

“You keep saying we, but you’re the only alcoholic in this apartment.” Wade kicks off his shoes, propping his feet on the coffee table. “So, why the sudden interest in the lady? She getting through that tough exterior of yours? I’ll give her points for that.”

“And you wonder why I don’t talk to you.”

“I saw the book,” the younger man replies, lacing his fingers behind his head, watching as Logan rummages through the fridge with increasing frustration. “You never told me you were into classics. If I’d known, I’d have gotten you a copy of Pride and Prejudice.”

“Shut your mouth.”

“I’m sorry, weren’t you the one who came to me, looking for the essential oil of truth?”

The silence that follows is thick and uncomfortable, mood-killing.

“See what I just did there?” he adds, and Logan feels forced to shake his head from side to side, appearing conflicted. Wade lets out a low huff. “That was Virginia Woolf. Add her to your reading list.”

“Has anyone ever told you how obnoxious you are?”

“More times than I can count. I’m just not everyone’s cup of coffee.”

“Tea, Wade. Not everyone’s cup of tea.”

“Whatever.” Wade simpers, as though Logan’s correction is the punchline to a joke only he gets. He sets his palms flat on the table, looming closer with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So, what would you like to know about my dear friend?”

Logan hesitates, the weight of his question heavy on his tongue. “What’s the deal with her scars?”

The air shifts. Wade’s playful expression fades and he tilts his head, his tone turning serious. “I don’t think it’s my story to tell,” he begins, gaze dropping to the floor. “But she lost them years ago. She was living a normal life, and one day, they were just—gone, like they were never there. It broke her. We didn’t know each other back then, but you’ve seen her.”

Wade’s eyes flick back up, while Logan stands there, tongue-tied. “You even know the kind of books she reads—nothing can shake that belief in real love, in soulmates being destined. Imagine how she must’ve felt when she found out her presumed soulmate was dead… without a single warning.”

From what he had heard, that sense of loss was impossible to put into words. Those who’d gone through it described the experience as if half of you—your body, your soul, your very essence—was being ripped away.

The pain was excruciating, and the only way to survive it was by means of tolerating it—no remedy, just the endurance to outlast the agony.

It wasn’t just a momentary hurt. It was the kind of torment that lingered, making you question who you were and what little remained of you.

You and Logan had more in common than he’s willing to admit.

“She’s a good person,” he mutters absent-mindedly, his thumb grazing the cover of the book. He had carried it everywhere for a week now, without even cracking it open.

“Oh, you dirty pig…” Wade whispers, his eyes lighting up as if a lightbulb suddenly went off in his mind. “Now I get it. You wanna know her. Like, really know her!”

“I don’t—”

“Your sex life is none of my business. I’m all up for you putting your mutant dick to work, otherwise it’s just wasted potential. But it’s my friend we’re talking about.”

Logan’s jaw tightens, and he snaps. “Drop the speech, alright? I’m not trying to get into her pants. I just want to be nice. That’s all.”

“Nice, huh? What’s your version of nice? Starting a two-person book club?” Wade stifles a laugh, pressing a finger to Logan’s chest. “Look, if you want to sleep with her, and the feeling’s mutual, then go for it. Just tell me this—how long’s it been since you visited Pussy Village? Was it before or after the Big Bang?”

Things are never truly serious with Wade Wilson. “I’m not answering that.”

Wade raises both hands in surrender, still chuckling. “Fine, fine. But if you’re really interested, just be clear about it. She doesn’t need a half-assed situationship.”

By now, it’s like a mantra he repeats again and again, hoping that eventually both Wade and he will start to believe it. “I don’t want to have sex with her.”

As he heads back to his (now Wade’s old) room, Wade adds, “I’m sure she’d appreciate it if you underlined some quotes you like.”

Much to his dismay, that’s exactly what Logan does.

His handwriting isn’t the most legible, but he tries his best, leaving notes in the margins of some pages, such as:

I hate this John kid.

Her aunt is a cunt.

This is too cheesy.

Mr. Rochester’s married?

St. John—what a prick.

He finishes the book at 7 a.m. A long-ass book—just for you. While getting ready for work, Wade calls him an unemployed fucker, and Logan knows nothing better than to shoot back a similar insult, stretching his arms as the first rays of sunlight creep through the curtains.

Wade was right about something, even if Logan himself doesn’t wish to admit it: he’s behaving like a teenager—staying up until dawn, practically chained to the bed without daring to go out. Falling for a girl he didn’t know a week ago.

Learning to control his impulses has been a hard task, especially with his temperament. Over the years, Logan thought he’d mastered the art of self-restraint, long past the point where his body moved without his mind’s permission.

As his feet carry him down the hall toward your apartment, he recognizes how wrong he is.

This is a terrible idea, he thinks. And yet, his fist knocks on the wood. Three times.

Fuck.

The door opens just a crack. You peek out, your face barely visible, eyes puffy from sleep. “Logan?”

His name isn’t a fancy one. It’s pretty normal, pretty standard. There must be a thousand other guys named like him—yet it’s only when you say it, your voice turning it into something rare and unique, that it feels different, like it’s only his.

The tone you use with him isn’t the one he’s used to: Logan, you’re a disappointment. Logan, how dare you turn your back on your friends? Logan, they’re all dead. Logan, it’s your fault.

Yours is inviting, and warm, and new. He likes new.

“I just finished it,” he answers, holding up the book, mindful not to grip it too tight as not to crumple the pages.

You scratch the back of your head, blinking at him. “You just finished it… at 7 a.m.?

Yeah, it sounds stupid now that you say it out loud, but it’s true. Hoping his reaction is enough to explain what he can’t put into words, he gives you a slow nod.

This time, you don’t wait for him to say more. “Come in?”

Yes, this is what he’s been looking forward all week. This moment, this interaction.

This Come in. This Yes, thank you. You’re so kind.

His quiet acceptance of your invitation, the unpronounced thought of I don’t deserve this, but I can’t back off now, because how could I ever say no to you?

He follows you into the kitchen as you move to make tea. “Want some?” you ask, but he declines the offer. If he were to drink anything right now, it would be something much stronger, not tea, despite the early hour. “You’re here to talk about the book?”

“Well, you told me I could come back after reading it.”

“I did,” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips as you hide it behind your mug. “I just wasn’t expecting you to be so punctual.”

You don’t need to know that he’s been counting down the seconds, marking each minute in his mind since the last time he saw you. That’s a detail he’ll keep to himself. “It’s a good story.”

“Tell me about it.” You smile even wider, and he takes a moment to absorb the details of your face—the crinkles by your eyes, the way your nose scrunches when you’re amused. “I lent you my most precious book. Fell in love with it years ago.”

“I can see why you liked it,” he explains, flipping through the pages to find the one he marked. “All the romance and the yearning—”

“Hey, it’s also good for other reasons,” you try to defend yourself, but any other argument dies on your lips when he finds the passage he was looking for and begins to read aloud.

“I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you, especially when you are near me, as now,” he recites, his voice lower, almost reverent, as he looks up from the page to meet your gaze. “It is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your frame.”

You seem startled by the sharp sound of him closing the book. He’s sort of breathless, and from where he stands, he can tell you are too. “That’s one of my favorite passages.”

“I can’t blame you for believing in soulmates if this is the kind of thing you read growing up,” he teases, handing the book back to you.

Though a part of him almost wishes he didn’t have to—so that it would still be a reason, a tether, pulling him back to you again and again.

Grinning, you take it, your eyes remaining trained on his. “I happen to notice it hasn’t changed your perspective on soulmates.”

“It’ll take more than a book.”

“This is, in my opinion, one of the best love stories ever written. How else will I convince you?”

“Why do you feel like you need to convince me?” He takes a step forward—you take a step back. “Why can’t it be the other way around? I might end up being the one who convinces you.”

“You could never,” you respond, clasping your hands behind your back. “It would be like convincing me the sky is green instead of blue.”

Logan retreats slightly. “Don’t you get tired?”

“Of what?”

“Of waiting. Of always being on the lookout.”

You don’t react badly to his question. You’re not even shaken, not fazed in the slightest. “When I meet him, I’ll know all the waiting was worth it.”

“And in the meantime?” Logan inquires, pressing himself further into your intimacy, edging closer as if testing the boundaries you’re willing to cross. His words are a subtle request for more, for answers. “What will you do until you find him?”

If you ever do, he thinks, but it’s left unsaid, lingering in his thoughts. He’s getting better at not saying the things that sit heavy in his chest without thinking.

“I think you misunderstand, Logan.” You study him through your lashes, and he feels he’s become the keeper of your most sacred secrets. “It’s not about waiting as if my life’s on pause. I’ve been with other people. But in the end, I want to choose him.”

That casual admission strikes him like a wave of cold water. A flicker of jealousy burns at the edges of his composure, though he tries to smother it.

I’ve been with other people, you say, your tone so nonchalant, and yet the mental images that flood his mind are anything but comfortable.

He imagines someone else standing in your kitchen. Perhaps in five minutes, there will be another man knocking on your door, here to discuss a book, and it won’t be him.

Perhaps this isn’t rare for you—all this come in, grab something to drink, let’s talk when you’re done reading.

Perhaps he’s not as important as you make him feel.

His thoughts spiral until your voice pulls him back from the brink.

“Don’t you understand how beautiful it is?” There’s a dazzling glint in your expression, a light in your eyes that makes him ache. “Outside of these four walls, there’s a person who’s waiting to meet me, in the same way I expect to meet him. I can’t grant myself the choice not to believe in something like this.”

Far from easing the martyr in his mind, this conversation only deepens his internal struggle. The questions overlap each other: what happens if you never find him? Would you ever consider settling for somebody else?

He rephrases that last one—would you ever consider being with him?

“He’s a lucky guy,” Logan murmurs, and just like that, he feels himself slipping deeper, falling into the rabbit hole with you guiding him through the madness.

For a moment, he can pretend—pretend that matching scars and bonds that defy the rules of his principles make sense.

Maybe, just for you, he’ll allow himself to believe it.

Your eyes soften with sudden emotion, glistening with the beginnings of tears. He feels the primal urge to reach out, to cup your cheek, to be there when the first tear falls. “You think so?” you ask, your voice fragile.

I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you, especially when you are near me, as now.

“Of course I do,” he replies, his tone quiet but laden with a strange, undeniable truth.

It is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your frame.

Whatever this is between you—it’s messed up. He’s messed up. And you… you’re just as tangled in this chaos for indulging it, for looking at him in that way that calls out to him.

The more time he spends with you, the less he feels like himself. Everything he’s done lately—reading that damn book, standing in your apartment at 7 a.m.—none of it feels like something he’d do.

It’s not just his mind you’re messing with: it’s his very sense of self.

Logan’s smart mouth had always been a liability, getting him into trouble either by saying too much or by choosing the wrong words. Bad things had always followed in the wake of his tongue.

Somehow, when it comes to you, he’s the most careful he’s ever been. He doesn’t want to upset you, nor does he want to be the cause of any sorrow that might affect your heart.

When the two of you stand at the threshold once more, just as you have other times before, you softly say: “I feel like I’m experiencing a déjà vu.”

He laughs, because it sounds ridiculous. “Care to explain why?”

“You come, we talk, you leave.” You lean against the wall, your hand ghosting over the handle. “But you never stay that long.”

There’s no mistaking the layered meaning in your words. You, who work with language and its peculiarities for a living, never speak by chance—every phrase, every pause, carries an assigned weight. The double meaning in your statement doesn’t escape either of you.

You’re a natural at this madness, diving headfirst into it. You must be losing it, too, because your actions don’t match what you said before.

Slowly, his fingers brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the perfect excuse to feel your skin, to close the distance without saying what he actually wants.

They say food and shelter are the basic human needs, but Logan chooses to believe they forgot to include the longing to reach out and just feel you.

“I can’t stay,” he finally responds to your earlier comment, his hand still lingering against your skin.

His strength—the only thing saving him from completely giving in—helps him pull himself away.

Before the impulse to kiss you becomes too overwhelming to resist, Logan leaves.

Some time later, you’re making lunch, music playing softly in the background at the same time the city’s distinct noise finds a way to break through your tranquility.

You rely greatly on the knowledge that you’re good at multitasking—now more than ever, with a book in one hand and the other stirring the pasta on the stove.

The warmth from the pot rises around you, but you trust yourself not to be careless. Not to be stupid enough to burn yourself with the boiling water.

This time, you miscalculate. Not only do you dip the wooden spoon into the pot, but your fingertips too.

Though it only lasts a second, and the voice in your head instantly screams Hot! Hot! Hot!, the shock makes you drop the book to the floor. You yank your hand back, racing to the sink to run it under cold water.

“Fuck,” you grumble, watching the skin redden in protest. “Lesson learned: no more multitasking.”

The funny thing is, just a door away, Logan’s watching a movie with Wade when he feels a sting in the tips of his fingers.

It’s barely there, practically faint, but he looks down, inspecting his hand like it doesn’t belong to his own body. His skin briefly flushes with irritation before returning to its normal state.

Wade notices his distraction. “Hey, you okay?”

Logan pays no mind to it. “Sure. Just felt something strange.”

Is it still called avoiding if you’re both doing it? You’d like to think so.

For the sake of clarity, let’s say you’ve been actively avoiding Logan, but truth be told—he’s been avoiding you too. That last encounter in your apartment didn’t help matters at all.

If anything, it made everything worse.

You’ve been down this road before, knowing men like him too well: they’re everywhere, until they’re not.

One day, they vanish without a trace, leaving you staring at the empty space they used to occupy, asking yourself ‘What happened to my Prince Charming in disguise?’

They disappear as though they never existed, and not even the best detective can track them down.

So far, your avoidance strategy has worked wonders. Maybe it’s for the best. He’s a distraction—an undeniably attractive one, the kind anyone would want to trip over.

Yet you miss him, which is dumb: why are you missing someone you were never supposed to care about in the first place?

You return home after a long trip to the grocery store, arms laden with bags. It’s the kind of errand that exhausts you, though you keep telling yourself it’s better than thinking about him.

As you struggle to get through the building's exit, you resign yourself to the fact that it’ll take several trips to bring everything up to your apartment.

Then the elevator doors slide open, and you drop everything to the floor.

You should’ve known better than to assume victory so soon. After days of successfully avoiding him, there he is.

And of course, it’s when you look your worst—tired from running around, weighed down by groceries, barely holding it together.

“Hey,” he greets you, standing just outside the elevator, like he’s not sure if he should step inside or stay where he is. He’s dressed in a red-and-black flannel shirt, layered over a white vest, a leather jacket tossed over his shoulders, and a pair of jeans that seem made for him.

He looks... ridiculously good.

“Hi,” you manage to answer after a beat, scrambling to collect the bags you’d dropped. “Just—give me a second.”

“Let me help you,” Logan says, ducking down to gather the groceries, but you pull them away.

“I’ve got it. Are you going out? On a date, maybe?” You nod toward his clothes, trying to keep things light, teasing even.

Glancing down at himself, a crease appears between his brows, and in one swoop, he gathers all the bags with a single hand. “I’m supposed to meet Wade at a bar, but he’ll survive without me.”

“Logan, you don’t—”

But he’s already moving, one hand tugging you out of the elevator, the other gesturing toward your apartment.

“Not up for debate,” he mutters. Then, without waiting for permission, he holds out his hand. “Keys.”

Sighing, you dig into your pocket and drop them into his open palm. He unlocks the door with practiced ease, stepping inside and placing the bags on your kitchen counter.

As he starts to unpack them, you stop him. “You really don’t need to do that.”

That seems to catch his attention. He pauses, turning toward you with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the counter.

His unrelenting stare sizes you up, and he cocks his head to the side. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

He thinks he’s so discreet, so smooth. “Well, I’ve been busy,” you explain, fiddling with the frayed edge of your sweater, tugging at it like it might unravel your nerves.

You hear him click his tongue. “Been busy too.” His words hang in the air, thickening the atmosphere. Your body tenses, and you stare at his shoes, until— “Sweetheart,” he calls you softly, and your eyes snap shut for a moment, your chin almost pressing against your chest. “My eyes are up here.”

A quick flutter of your lashes brings you back to him, and your chest tightens with the effort it takes to look into his eyes. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” you ask, praying he’ll let this go.

You watch as his mouth twitches with something halfway between a smile and a smirk. “You already want me to leave?”

“If you have plans, then yeah.”

He huffs out a laugh, inhaling a shallow breath like you’ve missed something obvious. “Wade can wait. He’ll be fine.” His expression shifts, and the playful tone in his voice falls away, replaced by something more raw. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

You can’t help but snort. “Oh, please. Like you haven’t been doing the same.” You walk over to the couch, feeling your legs wobble beneath you. You collapse into one corner, hoping the distance will help you breathe.

Like a shadow, Logan follows after you, sitting far too close. His legs splay wide, so wide they’re almost grazing yours.

“At least I have a reason for it. What about you?” His hand reaches out, fingers closing around yours in a grip that’s both firm and gentle, enhancing your anxiety. Your throat tightens, the room shrinking around you. “I need you to tell me I’m not crazy,” he says, his voice rough and low. “I need you to tell me you feel it too.”

Panic flares in your chest, and you scramble for time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter, but your voice cracks, the uncertainty leaking through the cracks in your bravado.

He doesn’t buy your acting. “You do. We can’t keep playing dumb. You’re gonna make me lose my fuckin’ mind one of these days.”

It’s not just his words—it’s the way he stands so close, heat radiating from his body, the roughness of his hand gripping yours like he’s terrified you’ll slip away.

The intensity of it all weighs on you in ways you can’t even begin to describe, leaving you breathless, caught between denial and desire.

“Logan, this isn’t—”

“What? Okay?” There’s a glimpse of mirthlessness in his tone as he speaks, his forehead furrowing. “I can’t stay away from you, don’t you see it? It feels too good to be wrong,” he utters, inching forward. You know you should take a step back, tell him to stop. Nothing good can come from this. “It takes two to feel these things. It can’t be just me.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to give in.” Blood pounds in your ears, your pulse racing as your heart hammers unpleasantly. Little shivers of ice run through your spine, and yet, your stomach burns with desire.

More than ever, you feel yourself slipping, your sanity at risk.

Logan runs his eyes up and down your face, agitated, almost going cross-eyed. “Earlier you asked if I was going on a date. Would you like that? Me being with other people? Kissing another woman?” His hot breath caresses your cheek, and you avert your gaze momentarily. “Answer me.”

Don’t do it. For the love of God, don’t. “I can’t—I don’t—”

“Come on, baby.”

“I don’t want you to be with other people,” you mumble, your lips almost grazing his, and that’s all he needs to grip your chin and pull you into a kiss.

His mouth moves hungrily over yours, pushing you back until the armrest digs into your lower back. A choked whimper gets lost in your throat, and you bring him closer by grabbing onto the lapels of his jacket, your chest pressing against his.

Logan bites down on your lip, soothing the sting with his tongue, and the moan you let out reverberates in the apartment.

“This is what you were hiding from me?” he rasps, his forehead bumping against yours. “These sweet sounds you make?”

You end up perched in his lap, your thighs bracketing his hips. He’s hard beneath you, and as you shift, your center makes contact with his erection through the layers of fabric.

Both of you sigh into each other’s mouths, your hips moving on their own accord, rocking slightly against his clothed cock. He hooks one of his arms around your waist, guiding your movements.

Everything seems to fall into place. Outside your window, birds chirp. The world feels lighter, like a better place. The beast inside you quiets, and for once, your mind is blissfully blank.

Logic? Error 404—not found.

You tug at his hair, and Logan growls, breaking the kiss. “Do that again.” He jerks under your touch, bucking up into you. Encouraged, you pull his hair again, fingers wrapping around a strand at the nape of his neck, and you’re rewarded with a deep groan.

He’s dizzy for it, but you’re no better, not when he trails his kisses down your neck, his mouth latching onto your skin, tasting the sweat and salt.

“I can’t control myself around you,” he murmurs, groping your tits, and you wail, the ache between your legs becoming intolerable. His hands slip under your sweater, caressing the scars on your back.

That’s when recognition settles over you.

What are you doing? And why are you doing it?

He ceases sucking your flesh when you go rigid on top of him. Pecking your lips once again, Logan’s hands cradle your face, his thumbs rubbing circles on your cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

You don’t understand how he does it, how he can remain so calm. Doesn’t he realize the gravity of this? “We have to stop.”

“Why?”

“Don’t ask me something you already know the answer to.”

His arms drop to his sides, releasing you from his hold. You push yourself off him, away from the couch, putting as much distance between you as you can.

Pressing your palms to your eyes, you shake your head. “God, I’m stupid. This is stupid.”

Your reaction seems to get on his nerves, his frustration somehow increasing. Logan stands, towering over you. “Was it stupid when you were dry humping me?”

“Fuck you, Logan.”

“I’m not the bad guy here. You kissed me back.” He doesn’t let up, trailing behind you as you try to escape. “You want me as much as I want you.”

“Will you stop saying that?” you bark, throwing your arms in the air. Your chest rises and falls with rapid breaths. “Yeah, we like each other. So? Does that make it right? How can you just ignore how wrong this is?”

His expression hardens, anger flashing in his eyes. “Forget your idea of what's good and bad. You're just upset you can't control what you feel.”

“He’s closer than ever.”

Logan gawks at you, his voice bitter as he goes on with his rambling. “That fucker again? Don’t you ever get tired of talking about someone who you don’t even know? Because you’re certainly wearing me out.”

“You wish you were him, don’t you?” You jab your finger into his chest, feeling his heartbeat, a flutter you choose to ignore. “You want to be my soulmate.”

“Damn right I do,” he practically spits his words, narrowing his eyes at you. “But I’m not him.”

“No. You’re not.”

Everything seems to fall out of place. Outside your window, birds don’t chirp—they scream for mercy. The world doesn’t feel lighter, but heavier. The beast inside you roars back to life, restless and louder than ever, while your mind spins in chaos.

“We shouldn’t see each other anymore.” Your voice pierces through the thick silence in the room, and you swallow down the lump forming in your throat.

“If that’s what you want,” he replies, his jaw clenched tight, irritation radiating off him in waves.

“It’s what we both need.”

“Speak for yourself. I don’t have a soulmate.” His tone is biting, but you don’t miss the undercurrent of longing in his words. “But if in any other universe I do, I hope it’s you.”

Your hand turns the knob, and then he’s halfway out the door, sparing you one last glance before he turns his back to you.

No more visits. No more books. No more bruising kisses that leave you questioning your mere existence.

Let things stay as they are—it’s safer that way. You don’t want to know the reason behind this forceful need.

After all, being his grumpy and ill-tempered self, he’ll stay holed up in Wade’s apartment, avoiding any interaction with the real world. And you? You’ll forget about him. Easy-peasy.

It didn’t go well in the end.

You remember your first heartbreak—seventeen, fresh out of high school. One of your hands clutched a million dreams, and the other, a pillow soaked with your tears.

Your mother remained by your side, caressing your back, attempting to soothe the sobs that racked your body. She murmured that it’d pass, that you wouldn’t feel like this forever. You believed her then, and trusted that things would eventually be okay.

Almost ten years later, another heartbreak shouldn’t come as a surprise. By now, you thought you would’ve developed the tools to survive it. You should be able to piece yourself back together by instinct.

But life, as it turns out, has a peculiar way of catching you off guard.

Whether it’s pent-up horniness, touch-starvation, or genuine affection—it doesn't change the fact that your pseudo-relationship with Logan fell apart.

Though you’re not the one who’s suffering the most. Neither is Logan.

Wade, the third party in this tangled mess, has somehow taken it the hardest.

“I feel like a child of divorce,” he says, his head resting on your lap, eyes distant as they fixate on the peeling wallpaper. “You need to do something about that.”

“I’ll take care of it next month.”

He’s supposed to be the one supporting you, but it feels like the roles are reversed—you’re comforting him, letting him vent.

“My two favorite people now can’t even be in the same room. What are we gonna do for Christmas? New Year's Eve?” Straightening up, he grabs the nearest cushion and buries his face into it to muffle a defeated scream. “Damn it, Cupid! You had one job!”

All in all, Wade’s emotionally unavailable at the moment, grieving your separation from Logan as if it were his own loss, too caught up in his melodrama to be of any real help.

Meanwhile, you fill your days with work, books, anything to keep your mind occupied.

You go to bed too late, you wake up too early. Sleep too little, cry too much.

One thing stays constant—you and Logan don’t talk. Stolen glances in the hallway, awkward elevator rides—those are the only remnants of whatever you once were. Back to being strangers again.

Well, not really. Strangers don’t know the route to your mouth the way he does.

The ache lingers every day. Missing him when you’re awake is a common occurrence. At night, as you toss and turn beneath the sheets, he stars in your dreams. You can’t recall the last time he wasn’t lodged in your thoughts.

Where there used to be ideas, creativity, and plots worth scribbling down, there’s now only Logan—a man destined to problematize your stay on earth.

That fucker again? Don’t you ever get tired of talking about someone who you don’t even know? Because you’re certainly wearing me out.

And yet, despite all of it, you continue to prioritize someone else. Someone who isn’t even here. Clung to the idea of a soulmate, you chose him over Logan.

What did he expect? For you to abandon your principles, your belief in destiny? It’s who you are. Nearly thirty years of life guided by one belief can’t just be discarded like trash.

You liked to separate things into categories: good and bad, right and wrong. A simple method to structure everything, to make sense of your world, and it has worked most of the time.

But now? The limits of those sacred categories look blurred. Your judgment feels unreliable, and you wonder if the choices you’ve made lately have been the correct ones.

Each of your decisions seems to be leading you further down a path you can’t recognize.

What’s the goal? Finding your soulmate, the voice in your head mockingly answers for the hundredth time, rolling its imaginary eyes. And where is he?

You’ve shut Logan out, a man who’s made it clear he has feelings for you, for this elusive person. Isn’t it time he steps into the light at long last?

This is what you fear the most: loneliness.

You don’t want to be the lone woman who sits by herself in a cafe, drawing pity from waitresses who discuss her solitude. By no means do you wish to be that friend who dispenses wise dating advice, but goes home to an empty bed. You refuse to become the godmother whose hand no one holds when her time comes.

No, this can’t be all fate has to offer to you. There must be more. If your life were a book, you’d be flipping through the pages to the last chapter, desperate to see how it ends.

Or, better yet, you’d grab a pen and rewrite it yourself. What kind of ending you’ll have—you’re not so sure about that.

It’s Sunday, one of those endless weekends where the only way to survive is by rearranging your entire apartment. You could manage it alone, but help would be nice—Wade’s help, to be more precise, would be perfect for this kind of task, and you find yourself knocking on his door.

No answer. Deciding to dial his number to see if he’s fallen asleep, you try calling him, waiting through the rings until he finally picks up. “Hey.”

Except it’s not Wade’s voice that answers. “I’m sorry, who is this?”

The door swings open, and Logan appears right behind it, holding Wade’s phone to his ear.

He narrows his eyes, leaning against the frame, a single eyebrow lifted in curiosity. “How sad. You don’t remember what I sound like.”

You feel foolish for still being on the call, so you lock your phone, ending it. “Where’s Wade?” you ask, frowning as you hold your breath, your voice sharper than intended.

“Out and about. Didn’t tell me where he was going,” Logan replies, glaring at you as he raises the phone to your face. “He left without this.”

Abort mission! Nodding in agreement, you begin to step back. “Great, I’ll look for him later.”

You’re close to being locked up once again in the safety of your apartment when you hear him: “You need anything?”

It’s the most he’s said to you in weeks. You hesitate, keeping your back turned. “I’m moving some heavy stuff around. Thought I could use the help.”

“I could do it.”

No. Not really. He’s doing that thing again—offering help when you know you shouldn’t accept it. You shake your head.

“It’s not necessary,” you say, forcing a casual tone.

“Doesn’t have to mean anything,” he retorts, his footsteps heavy and deliberate as they draw closer. With each passing second, your options shrink, leaving you no room for retreat. “Don’t worry. I won’t try to kiss you again if that’s what’s got you all worked up.”

“I’m not worked up,” you hiss, and he sidesteps you easily, his arm nudging yours.

The electricity is still there, undeniable, but neither of you has the courage to acknowledge it, acting as though it’s an ordinary occurrence.

His eyes roam the room, like he’s forgotten what your apartment looked like. He pauses by the bookshelf, his fingers gliding over the spine of Jane Eyre, and a low whistle escapes him as he slips it back into place.

You, frozen at the threshold, feel your irritation simmering just beneath the surface, and the urge to hide in your bedroom only becomes stronger.

After this, you’ll have to burn your favorite book. What a pity.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks, hooking his fingers into the loops of his jeans, his posture both confident and annoyingly relaxed.

There’s a challenge in his tone, and he acts as if you’re the one who pulled him into this situation—like he didn’t worm his way in here.

You gesture toward the couch. “Can you put it by the window?”

He sets to work, moving the smaller pieces of furniture aside to make space for the couch. Under no circumstances are you going to just stand there and watch him sweat.

Instead, you busy yourself with the long-forgotten glasses and cups gathering dust in one of the kitchen cabinets, each one glinting with past disappointments.

Wetting a towel, you start by wiping the rims. The air feels heavily charged with uneasiness, but you're relieved that for once, you can breathe without feeling like you’re on the brink of a heart attack.

You can already imagine Wade’s face when you tell him—

“So,” Logan’s voice cuts through the silence, startling you, “how’s the search going? Got any luck?”

His words have the desired effect on you, and the glass slips from your grasp, shattering against the floor in a crash that mirrors the jump of your heart. You curse under your breath, stepping back from the mess, taking in the shards sprawled around your shoes.

“Be careful,” he says from the other side of the room, still dragging the furniture into place, and you scrutinize him over your shoulder, your brows knitted.

“I don’t need your advice,” you murmur through gritted teeth as you crouch to pick up the larger shards. His attention returns to the couch, but you guess he’s not technically thinking how nice of a person you are.

As you kneel, your hands tremble slightly, and you wonder when that started. You fumble for a larger shard of glass, bracing your hand against the floor for balance, unaware of the smaller piece lying dangerously close to your fingers.

The sting comes fast, slicing through the skin of your pinky. You flinch, raising your hand, and Logan, hearing the faint wince, abandons his task and crosses the room to you.

"I don’t need your advice," he echoes, mocking your tone as he squats beside you, his hand closing around yours to inspect the wound. "You’re bleeding."

“Brilliant observation, Sherlock. I hadn’t noticed—” The words die in your throat, your eyes widening as you take a closer look at his hand. “Wait, why are you bleeding?”

He snorts, diverting his attention to his own hand. “What do you mean I’m—” Whatever it is he intended to shoot back remains unsaid as both of you stare down at the small cut in his pinky.

Driven by instinct, you place your hands side by side, your finger grazing his. The cuts are identical: same place, same width, same depth. The only difference is his vanishes within seconds, leaving only a few droplets of crimson blood as evidence.

Logan couldn’t have cut himself. He was nowhere near the glass. “Are you…?” You swallow thickly, trying to string together a coherent thought, dizziness making its triumphant appearance. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Yes.”

“And what is that—”

“I need a drink.”

“Can you stop acting like a dick for one second?” You peer into his glossy eyes, watching him try to avoid your gaze, though he can’t seem to resist. “Please, Logan. Look at me.”

When he does, his mouth parts as if to speak, then closes again. “I don’t understand. I thought I didn’t have a soulmate.” His gruff tone slows even further, like he's straining to push the words from his lungs. “I thought—I thought I was alone.”

It explains so much: how your scars had reappeared once he and Wade returned from The Void.

The instant attraction, the yearning to be near him.

The dread that washed over you each time he walked away.

The dreams that plagued your nights, and the tightness in your chest these past few weeks that made you wonder if you could ever coexist in the same space as him without breaking apart.

All those times you felt he was getting closer weren’t just a figment of your imagination—he was, in fact, right there.

But he wasn’t just anyone—it was him. Logan is your soulmate. You two are meant to be together. How long would it take for you to truly believe it? Until it no longer sounded like something too good to be true?

Without uttering a sound, Logan gazes at you, silently pleading to see them. To see your scars. You extend your arm, and with a gentle motion, he rolls up the sleeve of your shirt, revealing the marks etched into your skin.

He runs his fingers along the lines, trying to understand the bond you now share—both his and yours.

In a sense, you’re his. You carry his scars, the physical manifestation of the life he has lived. Even though he may not bear any of his own, you do, and that’s more than enough.

He belongs to you just as much as you belong to him.

“There are more,” you tell him. your voice barely above a whisper. He stands, offering you his hand, and you take it, rising to your feet. Logan inches closer, his mouth hovering just above yours, his large hand coming up to cup your cheek.

The look he gives you is one reserved for those he loves, a look filled with such warmth and affection that it almost feels dreamlike.

“Do you want me to see them?” he inquires, and all he needs is a nod from you to gently tug your shirt up your chest and over your head.

He lets out a dry chuckle when you attempt to tame your hair, the effort proving to be in vain. The clock on the wall seems to pause its ticking the moment his fingers begin to trail each of the scars that captures his gaze.

You can’t even begin to fathom what thoughts might be swirling in his mind, but if the flicker of lust and desire you catch in his expression is anything to go by, you’re not so worried.

Logan’s touch carries an unexpected softness, a tenderness you never imagined a man like him could possess.

Deep down, you wish he understood that these scars don’t hurt, that they never have. “I’m okay,” you reassure him, prompting him to explore more of your skin, to claim you as his.

“Do you… like them?” he asks without meeting your eyes.

Do you like my scars? is the real question hidden underneath.

Do you like me? is the one he can’t bring himself to pronounce.

“They’re yours. I could never not like them.”

Before you stands a man you once believed was meant to be your burden, your trial. Logan had been the earthquake sent to test your endurance, to see how much you could withstand before surrendering and waving the white flag.

The same fingers that once imprinted his mark on you now linger on the strap of your bra, waiting for you to decide whether to let him go further or stop.

Desire has a limit before it overwhelms. There’s only so much need a person can contain before it spills over, uncontrollable and raw.

This game, one you never learned how to play, feels as foreign to him as it does to you—neither of you knows the rules.

“Can I see more?” He’s still talking about the scars, still fumbling with the strap, and you nod, your eyelids growing droopier as you take his free hand and direct it to the front of your jeans.

He catches the hint, undoing the button with ease, allowing you to shed the last layers of restraint.

Bare, moments away from being completely naked, standing in stark contrast to Logan, who remains fully clothed, your stomach does a flip as he rubs his thumb along the sides of your underwear.

Leaning your forehead against his shoulder, you stifle a sigh when he splays his hand across your lower back, pulling you closer.

His rough grip tightens on your ass, testing the feel of you, while your breathing becomes shallow, erratic.

“What is it, honey?” He slides his fingers your stomach, just below your belly button, brushing a small scar in there. “Want me to touch you?”

“Yes,” you croak, the plea slipping out involuntarily, throwing your arms around his neck. He buries his face against your jaw, his lips parting against your skin, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck.

You tilt your head back, exposing more of your throat to him, breathless as you whisper: “I’ve waited so long.”

He moves toward the couch, and you follow, trying to anticipate what he’s got planned for you. “I know, baby. I know. You’ve waited long enough.” Guiding your body down, he has you lying horizontally on the sofa. He unhooks your bra, kneading your breasts with both hands, eliciting a ragged gasp from you. “But I’m here now. You don’t have to wait any longer,” he huffs by your ear, rolling your nipples between his fingers, his breath mingling with yours, each exhale warm and inviting. “Gonna let me make you feel good? Show you how much I’ve been thinkin’ about you?”

Instead of answering with real words, you surge forward, crashing your lips against with his, reveling in the way he cages you with his biceps, locking you up in a prison of desire from which you never wish to break free. He tries not to settle his full weight on top of you, attentive not to crush you.

As he nips at the column of your throat, you squirm beneath him, canting your hips up to seek the friction you crave.

He presses his knee against your center and you push back, grinding against him with an animalistic urgency.

You can’t recall ever feeling this desperate, this overwhelmed by a man. But then again, he’s unlike any other you’ve encountered in your array of momentary hookups.

His kisses grow even more insistent as breathy moans roll off to your tongue, merging with the occasional creak of the couch beneath your movements.

Logan spreads your thighs wider, sinking to his knees on the floor to tug your lower half forward until your ass is almost hanging in the air. He places your thighs on his shoulders, supporting you as he leans in to pepper your soft flesh with kisses.

One can be certain that he’s marking your inner thighs with a hickey or two, the scratch of his beard feeling magnificent against your sensitive skin, and you can hardly bring yourself to think about the potential burn he’ll leave behind. Logan inhales your scent, the tip of his nose dangerously close to your cunt, and you tangle a hand in his hair as he continues to test your patience.

“Eager?” he wonders aloud, looking at you through his lashes. While maintaining eye contact, he presses a kiss to your clit through the fabric of your panties.

He does it again, and you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, his fingers deftly pulling your underwear down your legs.

The first drag of his tongue along your folds has you scrunching your eyebrows in pleasure, tightening your grip on his hair. Logan moans against you, the sound muffled as he dips the tip of his tongue into your entrance, lapping at your arousal with an insatiable hunger.

The way you purr his name—a soft caress, a pat on his back that says Yeah, you’re doing fine—only spurs him on, infusing every one of his ministrations with fervor.

His longing for you radiates in the intensity of his touch, sending shivers through you, making you writhe because of his hands alone.

Your core throbs. Your skin prickles with electricity. Your legs quake on either side of his face. He’s hungry and you’re his feast. He’s parched and you’re the last bottle of water in an arid world.

Logan eats you out like this will be the only time he’ll have the privilege—each movement calculated, pushing all the right buttons, pulling out every trick he knows to make you think No, it doesn’t get any better than this. This is as much as one can get.

Then his fingers join the symphony of pleasure, pumping in and out of you as he keeps flicking your clit with expert precision, and your back arches from the couch, following his pace with your hips. He pushes back, you push forward—he pushes forward, you push back.

Who is enjoying this more: him or you?

His pointed tongue teases your bud, matched with the persistent hammering of his fingers plunged into your wet heat. The combination has you coming on his mouth, falling over the precipice while you struggle to keep yourself together.

Your walls flutter around his digits, and your cries fuse with his groans, both overshadowed by his insatiable desire to savor until the last drop of your release.

Shockwaves ripple through your body and you prop your weight on your arms to capture his lips in a fervent kiss, your eyes rolling rolling back in ecstasy as you taste yourself, a mix of sour and sweet.

In a frenzy, he sheds his clothes, practically tearing them away, and you wrap your hand around his length, stroking him in time with your kisses. Logan pulls back, panting against you, and you steal a glance at him.

Your gaze travels down to his hard cock, the tip a furious red, and he seizes your wrist.

“Why don’t you kiss it better?” he rasps, his voice dropping an octave. In this moment, you’re taken aback by his beauty, and the urge to express it rises within you.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur against his thigh, showering his skin with heated kisses. You stare in disbelief at the trail of hair leading to his girth, mouth watering at the sight.

A kiss on the tip, followed by a broad lick along a prominent vein—Logan’s grip on the armrest tightens, his knuckles turning white. “So perfect.”

“Shut up,” he retorts breathlessly, but you revel in the strangled noise that escapes him as you take him deeper, his head disappearing between your lips. His palm rests on your nape, anchoring you in place. “Goddammit. The fuckin’—mouth you have on you.”

You try to take him in further once you’re feeling more confident, while Logan fights with all his might against the need to thrust his hips up into your warmth. He can’t stay still, grunting and smothering you with lavish praise that heightens your arousal, slick pouring out of you in waves.

“Pretty thing you are. Don’t even know how to function around you. You got me all—fuck, actin’ all stupid.”

At one point, he tells you to stop, because he doesn’t want to come just yet. You know what comes next as he rubs his cock along your folds, blending your wetness with his precum.

It’s sloppy, and dirty, and messy—and God, do you love it.

He sinks into you and the world collides in a way you never expected. Everything you thought you knew falls apart, leaving you stranded in unfamiliar territory.

You can’t comprehend how you’ve spent so many years without him. Without this.

Your lips find his, and he swallows every sound he punches out of your lungs. His thrusts grow harder and faster as you adjust to his size, how big he feels inside you.

He digs his fingers into the globes of your ass, yanking you towards his shaft every time he fucks into you. You feel the brush of his balls against your skin, the way his muscles flex beneath your touch.

To this day, it’s still hard for you to wrap your head around the fact that love is what humans both strive and die for.

You come to understand it fully as his eyes flicker to yours, checking for any signs of discomfort in your features.

You understand why people write books and songs about love when he breathes your name in the shell of your ear, chanting how good you’re taking him, how tight and wet you are for him.

You understand the place love occupies in your life as the sound of your bodies slapping together creates a melody which has never been played before.

You understand why you’ve searched for this your entire life, lifting every carpet in hopes of uncovering the love you’ve pined for.

In the past, it had always felt like a race—finding your soulmate before the clock struck twelve. Now that you have him, you wonder what the future holds for you, how this connection will evolve.

For now, you can allow yourself the possibility of relishing the drag of his cock in your interior. His pace doesn’t falter for a second—something about mutants and their non-stop stamina, no doubt. He shoves a hand between your sweaty bodies, rubbing circles on your already swollen bud.

Each time he fills you to the brim, you have to ground yourself, resisting the pull of an altered reality.

“So full,” you blurt out, mewling with a specially hard thrust, a chocked sob lodged in your throat. “Please, stay.”

It could mean many things: Please, keep fucking me. Please, don’t leave after this. Please, remain by my side form this moment onward, because I don’t know how to go on with my life now that I’ve experienced this closeness.

Whatever meaning he ascribes to your words is of little importance. He tightens his arms around you, kissing you deeply, tongue and teeth clashing as they compete to see who wins the battle. “Never. I’m never lettin’ you go, y’hear me?”

Heat pools in your lower back, a coiling tension radiating through your limbs. “You’re mine, princess. Can’t afford to lose you now that I found you. Gonna remind you every day.”

His rambling pushes you over the edge, your dripping cunt spasming around him as you reach your climax, moaning his name against his shoulder. You cling to him, convulsing beneath his body, and he grinds his hips into yours, his chest rumbling as he growls.

“Inside,” you mumble, extending your hand to press it to his waist. “Need you inside me. Please, I want it so bad.”

Logan stutters against you, his forehead falling against your collarbone as he finishes with one powerful thrust, his cock pulsing warm ropes of come within your cunt. You clench around him, whining as he prolongs both your pleasure and his, milking the last drop of his seed. His voice is a constant murmur, filling every space in the room until he slumps against you.

Night has fallen. The cut on your pinky no longer stings. Your scars, after all, are still there, nestled against Logan’s unmarked skin. You caress his back, sighing contentedly as a wave of peace washes over you.

You’ve never felt this relaxed.

Logan grasps your chin and tilts it up, a subtle smirk tugging at his lips. “Hey,” he mutters, his gaze roaming all over your face.

You cup his cheek, his rough stubble grazing your palm. “Hey, stranger. Long time no see.”

A genuine laugh pierces through the silence. the kind he rarely allows himself. Crinkles form at the corners of his eyes, his brow furrowing as he glances at you with love.

Love—hadn’t you pondered its existence for so long? Your fuel for living, the muse behind your best poems, a recurring motif in your fantasies.

Love now has Logan’s name written in ink, no longer a blank canvas awaiting its unknown owner. No—it’s all his now.

You’d do it all over again if it meant ending up like this, tangled and intertwined, with the promise of a future together. He has many stories to share—about his past universe, about himself. You have secrets to unveil, too. There’s so much you both have yet to discover about each other.

But time isn’t up. This isn’t a race, you remind yourself: things are just getting started.

Everywhere you go, every place you attempt to set foot in, there it is. Love is dressed up in an expensive silk robe, a ribbon tied neatly on top of it. You reach closer, trying to unravel it, though it's pointless. The moment love sees you—truly sees your longing for it—it flees, and you struggle to keep up. Love runs faster than anyone, hiding within the bushes, counting the seconds until its next appearance.

Finally, you’ve wrapped love around your finger.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

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scarlet-star-witch · 5 months ago

Text

The moon and his sun

Aemond Targaryen x Female reader

Summary: People would remember their story. Even decades after they were gone, Septa’s would tell young children about the one-eyed dragon prince and his sweet wife as if they were a part of a fairytale, too good to be true for the harshness real life possessed.

Aemond meets a young girl who quickly becomes his most cherished friend and changes the course of history.

Word count: 11.5 K

Warnings: Fluffy, Aemond finally makes a friend, characters will be aged up next chapter, reader is from a made-up house

AN: This is my first time writing for HOTD and I'm excited and terrified to share this story with you. I've had this idea in my head for so long and decided to finally get it out. Hope you enjoy xx

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Epilogue

He was used to playing for second best.

In his short life he became used to disinterested gazes, murmurs of his supposed cold heart and fits of rage, avoidant steps when he passed, the curse he possessed as the scarred second son.

But never from her.

She looked at him as though he put the stars in the sky. She looked at him as if he was the reason the sky bloomed with breathtaking colors in the early morning.

He felt himself unworthy of her attention and affection, something she was aware of, and she would hold him and tell him all the love she gave him was very much deserved.

It was a sentiment he always had trouble not disputing instantly.

She made his miserable heart full.

Aemond couldn’t believe his luck himself for the sun that entered his world and brightened his life.

He never believed he was worthy of her love.

And she spent her entire life trying to prove him wrong.

It was a beautiful, sunny, cloudless day.

A day Aemond was dreading.

It wasn’t often their family made trips away from King’s Landing. His father was King and most visitors made the effort to come to the Capitol and spare them the effort of a visit, but a sudden trip had their entire family uproot their usual routine and he found himself hating every moment of it.

Being dragonless, he was left to endure the crashing waves of the sea that made his stomach turn.

“This place is disgusting.” Aegon said the moment they landed on solid ground.

“Aegon.” His mother admonished with a steady glare. “The Ixtal Islands are a beautiful place and they’re home to one of the most powerful houses in the seven kingdoms. You would do well to show them some respect.”

“Not like they’ll offer me anything of importance.” He muttered bitterly. Rumors had spread of his mother and father’s desire to wed him to his sister Heleana, his future already planned for him.

His mood was immediately soured at the realization that none of the beauties he saw on the Island shore were his intended, but that wouldn’t stop him from having his fun.

“Why are we even here?” Aegon whined immaturely, making his mother suppress yet another eye roll in response.

“The Lord of Ixtal is an old friend of your father.”

“I still don’t understand why that demands my presence here.” Aegon rolled his eyes.

“Our council is in need of a new Master of Coin and your father is considering his dear friend. We are here for negotiations and our family is nothing if not loyal. Your father, our King, needs us.” Alicent answered shortly.

Aemond was excited to finally see the Island he had read so much about. He knew their history, their riches and goods they traded with the entirety of the realm. The Ixtal Islands were the most plentiful and prosperous house in the realm and he was in awe to see his readings come to life before him.

It was the socialization he dreaded.

Nobles would look at Aegon with respect, respect he didn’t deserve even being the first born son of the King. Helaena would be regarded with reverence, a comparison to the Realm’s Delight.

But he was nothing more than a second son, easily brushed over.

Daeron was still just a babe, too young to understand the slight they possessed not having been born first, but Aemond understood all too well.

Their family was escorted into a grand throne room and Aemond was in awe of the intricate ornaments that decorated the hall and he briefly wondered why King’s Landing was where the most powerful man in the realm sat when this place existed.

His wide eyes eagerly took in every sight in front of him, admiring how the vast forest behind the castle casted a mystical green glow on the room from the giant window sitting behind the intricate gold throne.

“Viserys!” A cheerful voice called and for the first time in a long time, Aemond heard his father laugh, a genuinely delighted sound as he embraced his friend.

Aegon shared a brief look with him, his shock at hearing his father's laughter clear in the way he furrowed his brows in bitterness.

“It’s been too long, my friend.”

“Alicent, always a delight to see you, my dear.”

Aemond noted the blush on his mother’s cheeks as the charming lord embraced her. He shifted on his feet as his siblings were introduced. He knew what came next, the flippant dismissal was familiar yet it stung each time.

He looked up as the Lord shook hands with Aegon and gave Helaena a polite nod, her body language giving him the signal she wasn’t comfortable with anything else.

As he stepped in front of Aemond, he suddenly felt two feet tall under the man’s gaze. Until he smiled. It was a gesture filled with warmth he hadn’t been expecting.

“Aemond, a strong name for a strong lad.” The lord clapped his shoulder and Aemond felt his body straighten, his confidence reappearing the second he realized he wasn’t going to be passed over yet again.

He looked up at the Lord with a smile, feeling more respected by the stranger in front of him than he ever had from his own father.

“You remember my wife,” The Lord gestured to a finely dressed woman who smiled and bowed to them courteously.

“My son and-” The lord stopped abruptly, suddenly noticing the absence of the person who was supposed to be next in line and looked to his wife who was already wincing, having expected the abrupt drop in conversation due to their eldest daughter’s absence.

“My apologies, my daughter has lived here all her life yet still feels the need to explore.” The Lady of Ixtal explained, the lack of anger in her voice that gave way to begrudging acceptance made it obvious this was a common occurrence.

Viserys laughed and looked at his friend.

“You could not possibly think your children would give you any trouble, would you?” He chided sarcastically to the Lord who could only laugh in delight at his beloved daughter’s antics.

Aemond watched the interaction with wide eyes, intrigued by the sense of ease that surrounded everything.

If they were in King’s Landing and he was late to an event, his mother would have his hyde.

Suddenly, the great doors slammed open and an armored knight was seen running into the room, his hand latched onto someone small who was giggling in delight.

“My Lord, My Lady, I am so sorry, she wanted-”

“It’s quite alright, Ser Jerrod. I know my daughter could not have made it easy for you.” The Lord dismissed the unnecessary apology and smiled down at his daughter who smiled somewhat sheepishly as she passed by to take her place in line.

She smoothed her hands down the front of her silk dress and stood straighter, putting on the air of the perfect and primed daughter, as if they hadn’t all just seen her enter in a tizzy five minutes late.

Her mother looked down at her and leaned over her brother’s shoulder to pluck a leaf from her disheveled hair. Her eyes widened slightly, fearing retribution for her antics, but her mother only raised a teasing brow, silently admonishing her.

The girl brushed her messy hair off her shoulder and finally moved her gaze to their guests, a smile coming to her face as she met the eyes of the silver haired boy in front of her.

Aemond was rooted to his spot, his expression one of perplexed confusion. The smile she sent him, the gesture which was so simple - and usually faked by most at court - was blinding.

He was taken aback by the fact that she hadn’t looked at the powerful presence that was the King or the Queen faithfully at his side. She hadn’t looked at Aegon, Daeron or even Helaena, the only girl close to her age in the room.

She looked at him first.

She smiled at him first.

It was a gesture that wouldn’t mean much to anyone else, but to him, it meant everything, it lifted the veil of neglect he was so familiar with from his shoulders, leaving him to feel lighter than before.

He listened as the Lord introduced his daughter and he ran her name over and over in his head, feeling his cheeks heat, a blush easily coming to his face as she greeted everyone, but her stare came back to him, smiling shyly.

“This place is beautiful.” Helaena spoke dreamily as she took in their surroundings.

They were granted leave to look around while the servants prepared to set up the welcome feast.

Aemond couldn't take his eyes off the white sand and the crystal blue water. He breathed deeply, relieved to smell nothing but fresh flowers and ocean water and not the filth that permeated King’s Landing.

“Father should take over this place.” Aegon mused, earning looks of disdain from his siblings, which he easily shrugged off. “What? It’s much better than our shithole of a home.”

Aemond rolled his eyes at his brother’s crass nature and kept walking, praying Aegon would somehow get lost or at least get bored of his company and leave.

The sound of a loud laugh caught all of their attention and they walked their way through the lavish gardens to find it. Aemond suddenly became nervous as he saw the children of the Lord and Lady of Ixtal.

The oldest son was playing some sort of ball game with his younger brother. The youngest sibling was reading quietly with her Septa. But the eldest daughter was nowhere to be found.

As they stepped forward, the youngest son straightened and nudged his brother to stop. Catching sight of the young Targaryen princes and princess they let the ball they were playing with drop to the ground as they bowed respectfully.

“Hello.” Helaena spoke brightly and the two young boys were helpless against her sweet nature and they both smiled and greeted her warmly.

“Where’s the other one?” Aegon asked rudely, looking around for the pretty girl from earlier who was missing.

Aemond grit his teeth, praying Aegon wouldn’t drive her away before he even had the chance to speak to her.

“She’s in her tree.”

“Her tree?”

The oldest brother pointed to the enormous willow tree behind them.

He called out to his sister, alerting her to the presence of the royal children and just seconds later, Aemond watched with a slowly growing smile as a lithe form began to descend the ancient tree.

She was slightly out of breath as she jumped the last few feet to the ground, brushing her already tangled hair out of her face as she practically skipped towards them.

As if her Septa’s teachings and her mother’s scolding from that morning had finally caught up to her, the smile on her face fell slightly, remembering she was in the presence of royalty. She slowed her pace and curtsied slightly clumsily as she came before them.

“It is lovely to see you all again. I hope you are enjoying Ixtal.”

Aemond felt his face heat with a deep blush at the sound of her voice, the slight accent he heard capturing him instantly and he wished nothing more than to take the book from her young sister’s hands and demand she read it to him just so he could continue to hear the beautiful sound of her voice.

“Your home is lovely. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Helaena spoke, breaking him from his thoughts. She moved towards the girl, the two of them engaging in easy conversation.

Aegon began speaking with the two brothers, learning the rules to the ball game they were playing, the young boys instantly getting along. Which left Aemond to stand by himself.

He shifted on his feet anxiously, contemplating if he should leave and find his mother. He’d at least have someone to talk to then. The pit in his stomach that grew as the familiar feeling of loneliness settled over him broke abruptly at the sound of the beautiful voice again.

“Would you like to sit?”

He looked up, his eyes meeting hers and for a moment, he wondered if she had actually been speaking to him. His gaze found Helaena who was now kneeling to talk to the youngest of the children who was mesmerized by her lavish dress.

Which left the oldest daughter alone and her gaze on him.

He swallowed against the lump in his throat and stepped forward slowly, his heart racing as he took a seat on the bench next to her.

“What are you writing?” He asked after clearing his throat, wincing to himself at the nerves that lingered in his words.

“Drawing actually.” She corrected. “And not very well by the looks of it.” She shifted closer to him to show him the sketches in her notebook, the scent of lavender invading every one of his senses as her shoulder brushed against his.

His eyes looked over the shaky drawings of flowers and the willow tree she had been sitting in just moments ago.

“They’re beautiful.”

She smiled and the sight was enough to leave Aemond thankful that he was sitting.

“Do you draw?”

“No, nowhere near as well as you.”

“You must be shit then because these are awful.”

Aemond choked on his breath at her words, his wide eyes looking over at her in shock. She had a carelessness to her that he thought he would’ve found arrogant, it was certainly how he felt about the other ladies at court who were so brazen before him.

But he found he could only feel enamored by the girl beside him.

A quiet laugh escaped him, his stomach flipping in ways he had never felt before.

“They’re not so bad.” He spoke quietly, his nerves reverting him to his bashful nature.

“You’re quite the flatterer, Aemond.”

No words came to him, he was left to stare back at her, completely taken aback by her easy nature and blinding smile.

She continued to show him her other sketches, the conversation between them flowing easily, something that Aemond had never experienced.

Later, as their guards escorted them away to prepare for the feast, Aemond’s ears rang with the sound of her laughter, leaving him to hope he would hear it again before he had to leave.

He spent the night with a smile on his face, behaving more animatedly than he had in all his life. Alicent had looked at her second son with barely contained emotion, delighted to see him so at ease.

She was so caught up in her emotions, she hadn’t even noticed how his eyes never strayed too far from the eldest daughter of Ixtal.

The mischievous island girl was known to walk around the halls of the castle at all hours. It had happened so often for so long the guards didn’t bother to stop her anymore and no one batted an eye when they saw her wandering.

She made her way to her parents chamber hours after she had been put to bed.

She couldn’t stop the thought in her head and she had to see it through.

With a smile to the guard at her parent’s door, she strolled in as if it were her own chamber. Her parents looked startled for all of a second before they sighed in resignation.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed, Darling?”

“I was.”

Her father huffed out a laugh. “So what brings you here, Troublemaker?”

She let out a breath, her shoulders straightening, as if portraying herself as proper would help her cause.

“I want to go with you to King’s Landing.”

Her request did not go over as easily as she wished, she spent the next hour arguing with her parents, pleading her case. She may have overstated how much her decision to learn more about court, but her parents did not need to know her desire lay purely with her need to explore what the Capitol could offer.

Her parents knew she loved to explore and the chance to see a new part of the realm was too tempting to not indulge her in. Her parents loved her more than anything, they loved and doted on all their children in ways that left Lords and Ladies from other houses to scoff and roll their eyes in disdain.

They couldn’t say no to her.

By the next morning, she stood at her father’s side as their ship sailed to King’s Landing, her arm linked through his, her head filled with the wonders of what this new place would have to offer.

A smile grew on her lips as she pictured the shy boy who had complimented her drawings and her excitement began to grow.

She was more reserved than she had ever been as she sat beside the table of royals. King Viserys had planned an extravagant welcome feast for the Lord of Ixtal, his new Master of Coin and his daughter to welcome them to King’s Landing.

She had never experienced so many Lords and Ladies approaching her before, giving her their hand to shake and curtsey before them in greeting. It felt as though she had never truly existed until she made it to the Capitol, where the matters of the court actually held weight and prospect.

Her father had regaled many a knight and Lord over the course of the night, leaving her by his side to sit quietly, the overlooked daughter. She knew the power her house held, she knew the reason most Lords gave their good fortune to her father was to ensure their trade routes would continue prosperously. She knew she was nothing more than fodder at her father’s side.

She picked at her food unhappily, contemplating her decision to venture so far from her home, so far from what was comfortable. Her eyes rose from her plate, surveying the large throne room before her, catching sight of her father in talks with a large group of Lords from around the realm.

With a heavy sigh, knowing she couldn’t interrupt her father, her eyes moved to the head table where the Targaryen family sat.

The head seat where the King sat was empty, he was busy at her father’s side. She let her eyes roam over the queen, taking in her quiet servitude and demure presence. Her gaze fell to the heir, Princess Rhaenyra sat with her husband Laenor Valaryon, her brows quickly rising at the sight of the brown haired children sat beside the silver-headed wedded pair.

Her eyes fell to Queen Alicent’s children, a small smile growing as she caught the gaze of Princess Helaena, the quiet girl sparing her a wave to which she eagerly reciprocated.

She was never one to fade into the background and she eagerly took the Princess’ gesture as a sign of goodwill, standing from her seat to make her way to the head table.

Helaena beamed at the girl as she approached, oblivious to her elder brother’s lustful intrigue and her younger brother who sat up straighter as the girl approached.

“Hello, my Lady, I hope King’s Landing is treating you well.” Helaena greeted the girl happily.

“It is lovely, Princess. I am sincerely grateful to your father for allowing myself and my father to reside in your home.”

“We are delighted to have you.” Helaena assured her. She fidgeted with her hands for a moment, her face turning bashful for a moment. “The ladies of the court will be gathering tomorrow, you should join.”

“I’d love to.” She responded eagerly, relieved to know her newfound solitude would not be long held.

“You should join us for breakfast as well. I can show you my collection.” Helaena added excitedly.

“By the Gods, Helaena.” Aegon groaned beside her.

“Collection?” She asked, staunchly ignoring the prince sitting next to the blushing princess.

“My insects. I’ve collected quite a beautiful group of them. I’d love to show you.”

Helaena had a lovely innocence to her she was powerless against.

“I’d be delighted to see them.” She told the princess sincerely, hoping she had found a friend in the eccentric girl. “I’ve also heard wonderful things about your library. I’m eager to read the works about Valryian history and the Targaryen dynasty. There are only rumors where I come from.”

Aemond sat forward in his seat, his eagerness to interject himself finally coming to a head.

“I can show you to the library.” Aemond offered, finally making his presence known.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to take you from your duties.”

“You won’t.” He insisted, positive his face was blooming with a pink blush as her attention now lay on him. “There are many books that have not been translated, I would be happy to read them to you.”

He seemed to melt under her gaze that watched him curiously.

“You would do that?”

“Of course.” He insisted.

“That would be wonderful.”

He was thankful he was sitting because her smile would have knocked him off his feet.

By the next morning, as soon as the sun rose, he was sitting in the library, anxiously anticipating her arrival. He didn’t have to wait long until the door creaked open and her eager eyes took in the vast shelves around her.

She greeted him with happiness as if they were long time friends, causing his stomach to flutter in ways he had never felt before.

“This is incredible.” She mused, eyeing the many books she had to indulge in.

They spent the afternoon together, her at his side as he read the Valryian texts of their history, stopping every few minutes to answer the many intrigued questions she had.

Aemond was sure his face was on fire, he had never blushed so hard. No one had ever taken such an interest in him, no one had ever paid so much attention to him, no one had ever bothered to listen to him.

But here she was, this girl at his side, eager to know more, asking question after question, trusting him to give her the answer. As soon as he began to fear he had spoken too much, taken too much of her time she’d drawl out ‘tell me more’ or ‘what happened next’ and he was rooted to his seat, turning to the next page as he explained the history of the Targaryen dynasty to her eager ears.

He had never felt so important.

King’s Landing proved to be just as wondrous as she dreamed it. Granted, it didn’t have the luxurious beaches or sprawling forests her home did, but she was just thrilled to be exploring a new corner of the world.

Aemond had quickly become her closest ally. He had taken to showing her every inch of the place he thought she would enjoy, dragging her along to the mazes of gardens, the weirwood tree, the luxurious Sept, but her favorite had to be the library. She had spent many late nights with Aemond at her side, perusing through the many ancient works of Valyrian history.

It fascinated her, but she couldn’t deny she loved to hear Aemond’s voice as he read to her, enthralled with stories of Aegon the Conqueror and his two sister-wives, stories of ancient dragons and their riders, of wars long passed.

A week into their stay, as she broke her fast with her father, she was practically bouncing in her seat, shoveling her food into her mouth as quickly as she could, eager to get the meal over with so she could meet with Aemond and Helaena, the two of them quickly becoming her closest confidants.

“Slow down, my love, you’re going to choke.” Her father warned with a chuckle at her enthusiasm.

“Sorry.” She mumbled through the food in her mouth, causing her father to grimace at her very unlady-like behavior.

“Your eagerness wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain Targaryen, would it?” He asked slowly, his knowing smile teasing her clear affection for the young boy she was growing closer to each day.

“Helaena and I are good friends.” She shrugged, effectively dodging her father’s prying. He rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat, watching her thoughtfully. He had no idea where she had gained such a witty mouth, it certainly wasn’t from him or his sweet, quiet wife.

She finished the rest of her breakfast at record speed and hopped out of her seat, pressing a quick kiss to her father’s cheek.

“I’ll see you at dinner!” She called out over her shoulder as she skipped to the door.

“Be safe!” He called out, but she was already racing down the halls. He looked to the guard at the door pointedly who nodded and trailed after the rambunctious girl.

She slowed her pace once she reached the courtyard, suddenly very aware of the many eyes that would be on her if she was caught sprinting through the halls. She spotted a head of silver hair by the gates and she beamed, throwing all care out the window as she began to jog towards him.

“Aemond!” She called out and watched as the boy turned to her, his own smile growing at the sight of her.

“Took you long enough.” He jested playfully and reveled in the dramatic scowl she sent him.

“I’m not late. You are just an insane man that voluntarily wakes with the sun.”

It was so small, something so miniscule, but it still managed to make his heart race. Knowing she remembered a small detail about him, no matter if it was something that was so inconsequential, was something he couldn’t wrap his head around.

He hadn’t expected it to affect him the way it did.

~~~

She found herself with Helaena in the gardens, finding any bugs she could for the enigmatic

princess. Digging a jittery bug out of the dirt, her nose scrunched in distaste as the many legged creature crawled over her hand.

“What is this thing?”

Helaena peered over curiously and a wide smile beamed on her face.

“That’s a beetle.”

“They’re not poisonous, are they?”

The princess laughed in amusement at the widened eyes that met her gaze and she shook her head. “No, you’re safe.”

The girl nodded and, though still on edge, was less stressed as she held the bug in her hands.

Helaena, preoccupied with her own bugs, stole frequent looks at the girl next to her, noting the unease in her eyes. She smiled lightly and leaned in close to her.

“You don’t have to do this with me. I know not everyone likes the things I like. I can do this by myself.”

The girl looked startled by her words, a frown growing on her usually bright features and she looked down at the bug in her hands again, her eyes shifting from a look of disgust to one of determination, as if she could force herself to not feel grossed out at their existence.

“I like being here with you.” She said softly. “I don’t really have anyone else here.”

Helaena frowned, the thought of her brother immediately coming to mind and the smile that would grace his usually sullen face every time he was with the Island girl. As if she had conjured him herself, she looked over her shoulder, noticing him coming their way.

“Hello, Brother.” She smiled, though it was futile as his attention was locked onto the beauty beside her.

“Hello.” He spoke, though his eyes never left his sister’s friend. “What are you doing?”

“Finding bugs. Would you like to join?”

Helaena, having expected a ‘no’, given it was always Aemond’s answer anytime she asked him for help digging through the gardens, was shocked as he took a seat among them and dug his hands in the dirt before them without question.

The Princess watched with barely contained delight as her brother and friend immediately started conversing as if she weren’t there, the comfortable ease between them thriving.

Usually she would feel slighted by such an occurrence, but rather than feeling ignored, she was happy to see her brother, who was usually so serious, look completely unburdened. She worried about him, about how tightly wound he was, but since the Lord of Ixtal and his daughter had come to King’s Landing, she had noticed his demeanor change, as if he could finally take a deep breath and release the things that so often held him down.

Aemond looked at the dirt beneath his fingernails and mourned at what his night routine would be subjected to, but he found he didn’t care all that much. The stolen glances to the girl beside him had all sense of propriety out the window.

“Do you do this every day, Princess?” She asked the Targaryen who shrugged shyly.

“Most days. I find I prefer the company of bugs over people.”

The bark of laughter that left her had both the siblings smiling, her joyful nature contagious.

Aemond was transfixed, until he heard his name and he was forced out of his daydreams. He looked up at Aegon who was standing before them, judgment painting his features.

“What are you doing here?”

“We’re digging for bugs, Brother.” Helaena answered innocently, her eyes thankfully locked onto the caterpillar on her finger so she didn’t see how her brother rolled his eyes in disdain.

Aemond glowered at his brother, his mood dampened, his protectiveness for his sister rising involuntarily whenever he was around. He hated seeing Helaena’s eyes dim with every one of his hurtful words.

The Island girl looked between the siblings, beginning to understand just how different they were to her and her own siblings. The more time she spent with Aegon, the more she disliked him. She looked back at Aemond and frowned, noticing the dower expression grow on her friend’s face, and she called his name.

“Hmm?”

“What are these?” She asked, her dirt covered fingers trailing over the petals of the flowers in front of them, diverting his attention from Aegon.

“Marigolds.” He answered quickly, as if he wanted her to be impressed by his knowledge. “You don’t have these in Ixtal?”

“No. It’s a shame, they’re beautiful.”

Aemond bit his lip, his heart racing as she moved back to digging for bugs. He ignored the nerves that coursed through him and reached out to pluck the flower.

“Here.”

She looked up and her eyes widened, her cheeks burning as he tucked the flower behind her ear, his shy smile mirroring hers, his hesitance clear, but his bravery clearer.

Aegon scoffed, rolling his eyes at the pair.

The noise caused them both to glare at the older Targaryen, their eyes narrowed in annoyance.

“You two are pathetic.”

“It’s not our fault your pea sized brain cannot comprehend the idea of caring for someone other than yourself.” She snarked easily, making Aemond’s eyes widen as he nervously looked between her and his brother whose face twisted in anger.

Thankfully, his brother was smart enough to know not to start a fight with her and he stomped away, most likely in search of more wine.

“You shouldn’t do that.” Aemond mumbled, his worried eyes lingering on his brother’s figure as he stormed off.

“Do what?”

“Antagonize him.”

“Someone needs to knock him off his high horse. Why can’t it be me?” She shrugged, perfectly content to be the antagonist in Aegon Targaryen’s life.

“Because I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Why would anything happen to me?”

“Because… he’s… it’s Aegon.” He stressed, as if his brother’s existence was enough explanation.

“Yes, and he’s an absolute cock.”

Aemond’s eyes widened, not expecting the vulgar word to leave her lips. Helaena giggled and leaned into the girl at her side. His shoulders slumped and he allowed himself to laugh, amazed yet not surprised at her ability to evade him of his worries.

A body crashed into her as she turned the corner, almost knocking her off balance, but arms that quickly wrapped around her waist stopped her from falling to the floor.

She recognized the boy immediately.

“Aemond.” She greeted breathlessly with a smile. He pulled away from her instantly, taking a step back to create space between them, his head bowed downwards, avoiding her gaze.

But she saw the tear streaks through the stains of ash on his cheeks. Her smile fell and she stepped towards him, her hands gently lifting his chin, though he vehemently refused and harshly pulled himself away from her.

“What happened?” She asked, trying to keep the hurt from her voice at his avoidance, something she had never experienced from him.

“Nothing.”

“Aemond.” She admonished gently. She hated when he acted like this, so unlike the kind boy she knew.

He kept his head down and she sighed heavily, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I won’t leave you alone until you tell me what happened.”

Aemond huffed and side stepped around her to continue on his way to lock himself in his chambers and wallow, but she was too quick. She grabbed his hand to stop him and pulled him back towards her.

He spoke her name, the groaned pronunciation indicating he wasn’t in the mood.

“I just want to go to my chambers.”

“Fine. We can go together.” She said simply and linked her arm through his as they began to walk.

Aemond let out a long breath, his annoyance flaring for a second, but the moment he looked over at her it faded away into nothing. He brought his arm that was linked with hers closer to his chest, as if needing her touch to soothe his nerves.

He thought he wanted to be alone. After his mother had brushed off his tears and scolded him yet again for venturing through the dragon pit, he just wanted to wallow by himself, but with her arm in his, her steady presence at his side, he found he wanted nothing but to be with her.

Once they made it to his chambers, he reluctantly let go of her and practically slumped his way to sit on his bed, his head bowed down to his feet, his brother and nephews' latest prank ruminating in his head, causing shame and anger to cascade over every inch of him.

“Are you going to tell me what happened now or am I going to have to force it out of you?”

Aemond huffed at her words and began to fidget with his fingers, focusing on the sand that lingered on his skin rather than meeting her inquisitive gaze.

She rolled her eyes and moved to sit next to him on the bed, brushing the sand from his hair.

“Were you in the dragon pit again?”

He nodded wordlessly and she felt something inside her clench. She would never understand the hole in Aemond’s heart, how his lack of a dragon made him feel so worthless.

“They said they found a dragon for me.” He mumbled, causing her to look over at him with concern, her stomach sinking at the hurt she heard in his voice, knowing his dreams hadn’t come true that afternoon.

She knew it could only be a cruel prank at his expense.

“They gave me a pig.”

Her shoulders slumped, her hand reaching out to grab his, intertwining their fingers with an ease as though she had done it a million times before. She had only held his hand a few times and it made Aemond blush bright red every time, even now as he wallowed.

“I’m sorry. They shouldn’t be so cruel to you.”

“They’re right. It’s pathetic, a Targaryen without a dragon.”

“Aemond-”

“Maybe I’m not worthy and I’ll never get a dragon, maybe that’s why my egg never hatched. I don’t deserve it.”

“Stop it.” She spoke sternly, gripping onto both his hands in an effort to calm him down from his ranting. “You are every bit as good as any one of them, dragon or no dragon.”

Aemond sighed shakily and moved his gaze back down to his shoes, feeling as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“What if I never find one?” He asked quietly, as if afraid to speak the possibility out into existence.

“You will. I know you will.” She assured him, though it did little to release him from his sadness. “There are plenty of Targaryens that didn’t claim dragons until later in life.”

Aemond gave her a plain look, to which she just smirked. Serves him right for teaching her about his family history.

“Aemond, we’re young, we still have so much life to live. It’s not over because you don’t have a dragon yet. You have so much time to find what you’ve always wanted.”

The breath that escaped his lips left him feeling lighter, his hand finally gripping hers back, sending a bashful smile her way, hoping it was enough to convey how grateful he was for her.

He didn’t think he could ever find the words to tell her.

“You’d be with me, won’t you? For my first ride?”

“You would want me there?”

“Of course I would.”

She smiled and he was powerless but to return his own. “Then I’ll be there.”

Aemond’s glare was steady on his face, his eyes locked onto the Strong bastard that twirled her around.

How dare he ask her to dance, how dare he touch her, how dare he make her smile.

His disdain for his nephews was clear, they certainly didn’t give him much reason to be cordial, but this was the last straw. Seeing Jacaerys’ hands on her made his blood boil.

Those damned nephews of his had already stolen her away from his side that afternoon. He could only watch helplessly as she played around with the bastards and spoke politely to his half sister Rhaenyra.

He almost resented how sweet his friend was. He loved her kind heart, he just hated when it extended to his elder half sister and her sons who he despised.

He hated when Jacaerys and Lucerys stole her away from his side. It was happening more and more as they became closer. He felt like he was losing her, the more times she spent breaking her fast with his eldest sister and her brood, the more he dreaded every moment away from her.

She was his only friend, the only one he felt truly understood him, or at least made the effort to. Losing her would mean losing the only shred of happiness he’d managed to find for himself.

He averted his gaze from Jace and the Ixtal girl, the sight of both their bright smiles becoming too painful.

“They seem to get along well.” His father mused, prompting Aemond to torturously follow his gaze to the pair yet again.

His heart began to race at the insinuation, at the knowing look in his father’s twinkling eyes.

“Yes, he seems to be quite taken with her.” Rhaenyra noted with a loving smile.

“They’d make a fine match.” His mother added. Aemond looked to his mother, betrayal in his gaze. His mother knew how much his friend meant to him, she knew someone so precious shouldn’t be shackled to a bastard.

He refused to hear another word. His chair screeched loudly against the floor as he abruptly stood and made his way out of the room as if there were no air left for him to breathe. They couldn’t take her away from him, they couldn’t give her to that bastard.

He raced to his chambers, hoping he was quick enough that no passing guards could see the tears forming in his eyes.

By the next day, he found himself in the gardens, his eyes locked onto the open book in his lap as he read and re-read the same sentence over and over, his racing mind not allowing him to focus on the words in front of him.

The dread he had been feeling since the night before had not dissipated in the slightest.

“Aemond!”

His heart leapt within his chest at the sound of her voice. His hopeful eyes looked around the garden before landing on her and a feeling of lead settled within him, bringing him right back down to his dour mood as he noticed Jace and Lucerys beside her.

She motioned for him to join but he just shook his head softly and moved his gaze back down to his book.

He let out a long breath, trying his hardest to ignore the bitterness that grew in his heart, one that was all too familiar from before he met her. He startled slightly as a body slumped next to him. He looked up and his eyes widened slightly at the sight of her looking at him questioningly.

“Why are you sulking?”

“I’m not sulking.”

She breathed deeply, as if disappointed by his obvious lie. “Why didn’t you join us?”

He shrugged, he couldn’t very well tell her the truth about how he despised his nephews and seeing her with them was like a dagger to the heart, how he feared losing her, his greatest friend.

“I didn’t want to intrude.” He spoke softly.

Her eyes narrowed at his words, her gaze moving to the two Velaryon boys who were talking quietly amongst each other, their curious eyes occasionally drifting to her and Aemond.

She knew there was tension among them, the way they seemed to side with Aegon and play along in the cruel pranks he would play on Aemond always made her stomach twist. She suddenly felt guilty that she had never considered how it would make Aemond feel to be forced in their vicinity after how they treated him.

She turned to her friend and shuffled closer to him.

“You could never intrude.”

Aemond looked over at her, but quickly averted his gaze, finding it just too much to look in her eyes while she sat so close to him.

“You don’t have to stay with me. If you want to be with them, I won’t stop you.” He spoke quietly. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel smothered by him.

“I’d rather be with you.”

Her answer left him using all of his willpower to keep himself from marching directly to his father and demanding a betrothal this instant.

She chose him.

No one had ever chosen him.

She was bored out of her mind. With Aemond and Helaena gone to Driftmark for Lady Laena’s funeral, she was left without her closest confidants, leaving her little to do in their absence. She wished she’d been granted leave to attend the funeral with them, but her father had never met Laena and had been tasked with extra duties while the King was gone, leaving her to stew in her loneliness.

She was curled up on the settee by her bed, her sketchbook in her lap as she scrawled out an attempt at drawing Dreamfyre, to horrible failure.

A soft knock on her door made her lift her head and she sat up straighter when her father entered. The look on his face made her stomach twist, dread falling upon her like a crashing wave.

She got to her feet quickly, feeling unsteady on her now weak legs.

“Darling, there was an… incident on Driftmark.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, her heart racing. “What happened?”

“I wasn’t privy to all the details but all I know is that Aemond has been injured.”

The breath was knocked out of her and at the first sign of her face crumbling into despair, her father crossed the room and held her tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as the first sob broke free.

“Is he alright?”

Her father let out a long breath at her hiccuped words, holding her tightly. He knew his daughter had certain affections for the young boy, but hearing her now made him realize just how deeply she cared for him.

“The Maesters say he has lost an eye.”

A shuddering breath escaped her and she suddenly felt faint. She had no idea how, what could have unfolded, who would dare to do something so barbaric to him.

The next days were spent in agony. She barely left her chambers. Every time her father came to check in on her, he found her sitting by her window, her gaze locked onto the horizon, waiting eagerly for the Targaryen family’s arrival.

On the third day of her lonely torment, she finally spotted it. Dragons on the horizon. She was on her feet in a second and racing down to the courtyard. She was out of breath and disheveled by the time she made it, but her pace only quickened when she saw Helaena with her mother.

She called out to her friend and Helaena let out a breath of relief when she saw her, her arms opening for her as she approached.

Helaena didn’t let many touch her, but she was one of the lucky few she allowed.

“Are you alright? Where’s Aemond? Will he be ok?” She fired off questions, not even able to get a breath out through her frantic words.

“It’s alright, my Darling. Aemond will be fine.” Alicent consoled her, placing her arm around the shaking girl’s shoulders.

“Where is he?”

“He’s been taken to the Maester’s solar. He’ll have to spend some time there while he heals.”

“What happened?” She asked breathlessly.

“What I told him.” Helaena interjected calmly. “He gained a dragon, but he had to close an eye.”

She looked at Helaena with shock. “He… he claimed a dragon?”

She couldn’t make sense of the despair, relief and joy she had felt all at once. Knowing Aemond and his endless plight to gain a dragon, she knew he would see it a worthy trade, but the thought of him injured, permanently maimed, made her want to crumble to the ground below her.

After bidding goodbye to Alicent and Helaena, she made her way to the Maester’s wing of the Keep. She was denied entry, but she was determined to not let it stop her. Each day, at the crack of dawn, she’d drag herself out of bed and, before even breaking her fast, would make the trek to the Maester’s wing and ask to see Aemond.

She was refused each and every day, but it did little to deter her. She kept trying.

It had been weeks since she had seen Aemond. Her heart was aching without the presence of her best friend, without the boy that made her smile like no other could.

On the fifth day of the third week, as she made the familiar walk to his door, the guard stopped her, as usual, though his words were different.

“The Prince does not wish for any visitors.”

She frowned. It always used to be the order of the Maesters or Alicent, claiming her son needed his rest, but now it was Aemond himself refusing her.

She couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, but she knew she had felt her heart crack in a way she had never felt before.

She walked away from the door with her head bowed in defeat.

The hurt she felt mirrored Aemond’s own. Refusing her made him ache, but the thought of her seeing him as he was and looking at him with disgust was unfathomable and he would delay that inevitable despair as long as he could.

He sulked in his bed, the dour expression on his face one that had been constant for weeks.

His mother was by his bedside as she had been for weeks. He couldn’t stand to see her wince or her teary eyes everytime she looked at his ghastly scar.

She had been trying, in no subtle terms, to get him out of the room, even going as far to bring up his friend, the one he longed to see yet dreaded ever seeing the same look on his mother’s face on hers.

“It’s been a few weeks. She’s been worrying herself sick.” His mother told him, making his already weak heart more fragile.

He stayed silent, his frown deepening in despair.

“Aegon and Helaena will be heading out tomorrow to Ixtal. You should take Vhagar and join them.”

Aemond shifted uncomfortably. He knew his friend was leaving tomorrow, to visit home for her mother’s name day. They had all been invited, but with his father’s fading health and his mother’s refusal to ride on dragonback, it left just Aegon and Helaena to join the festivities.

“Aemond.” His mother prompted again, the disappointment in her voice clear.

“I don’t want to go.” He mumbled, one of the few sentences he’d managed over the past few weeks.

His mother sighed in defeat and didn’t bring it up again for the rest of the night, leaving him to his solitude as he preferred.

The next morning, Aemond lay in bed, the wound over his eye itching gratingly. He longed to claw at the wicked scar, to scream in anger, to enact his vengeance on that Strong bastard. The fury festered in him like the open wound on his face, red and flaming.

The soft sound of his door opening and closing made him stir, assuming it was his mother yet again. As he lazily turned his head, dread settled in his stomach, his remaining eye widening in horror at the sight of her, the one he longed for yet resisted.

She froze in her place at the door, her jaw falling slack, a shaking hand covering her mouth as a hitched breath escaped her at the sight of him.

Aemond’s face twisted in agony. This was exactly what he wished to avoid.

“What are you doing here?” He asked angrily, tears forming in his remaining eye.

“I just wanted- I wanted… we’re leaving soon.”

It was faint but he heard it. Fear. The stuttering of her words, the quiet, almost docile way she spoke that was so unlike her was like a hatchet to his heart. The look on her face was even worse. She could barely make eye contact with him.

“Get out.” He spoke lowly through gritted teeth.

“Aemond, I-”

“Get out! I don’t want you here!” He screamed at her, tears steadily falling down his cheeks.

Her own tears began to fall, her face twisting with agony. He hated it. He didn’t want her pity, he didn’t want to see the disgust on her face that everyone would face him with for the rest of his life.

“Leave me alone! I never want to see you again!”

She let out a sob and turned on her heel, leaving the room with haste.

Aemond slumped back in bed, placing his hands over his face, ignoring the way it made his eye ache, and he cried for what he had lost.

Not just his eye, but his love, his happiness. His everything.

She stood on the balcony of the banquet hall, breathing in the fresh ocean air. She missed home. She had thought of this moment for weeks, had been eager and excited to finally visit, yet now that she was there, it was bittersweet.

The sound of the waves weren’t as peaceful as she remembered. The food she ate wasn’t as delicious as she remembered. The music and the dancing wasn’t as exciting as she remembered.

“Darling?”

She turned to see her mother approaching, concern written across her face as she moved to stand next to her daughter, her arm crossing over her shoulders, bringing her in close to her side.

“Are you alright? I thought I’d see you dancing all night.”

“I’m fine.”

The Lady of Ixtal looked to her once vibrant daughter worriedly. She was far from the girl that had left all those months ago. From all the letters she had sent, it seemed her daughter was having the time of her life in King’s Landing. The girl she saw now wasn’t the one who had gleaned nothing but happiness.

“Was it not what you expected?”

She stiffened, the need to defend her friends and her new found home rising. “No, it’s- King’s Landing is lovely.”

Her mother sighed. She had gotten a short re-telling of the last few weeks in the Capitol from her husband and she was starting to put the pieces together.

“I couldn’t help but notice your friend isn’t here.”

She looked up at her mother, her wide doe-like eyes giving everything away.

“Aemond?”

She felt her cheeks heat and she turned her attention back to the view before her, focusing on the waves of the ocean, mirroring her breathing with each crashing wave.

“He’s not my friend anymore.” She spoke quietly through the lump that grew in her throat.

“From what I’ve heard, it sounds as though he is going through an awful time, something no one, especially someone so young, should ever have to endure. People don’t exactly act rationally when they are hurt. It is easy to speak things that are untrue in that state.”

She stayed silent, taking in her mother’s words thoughtfully. It was easy enough to explain, but it didn’t lessen the hurt she felt.

“You can stay here if you wish. The Gods know I would love to keep you in my arms, but I don’t think that is truly what you want.”

She let out a shaking breath, her mind a mess as she thought of her life in King’s Landing, of what she’d be leaving behind. But, if Aemond was being truthful and he didn’t want to see her or be her friend anymore, what would her life be like there?

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You’ll figure it out.” Her mother assured her. “Or else we’ll have a dragon landing on our shores demanding you come back.”

The smile on her mother’s face made the hurt inside her melt away slightly. Her conviction that Aemond would forgive her for her intrusion, that he would bring her back into his life and his arms made her hopeful.

Her mother was never wrong and she prayed she wouldn’t start now.

She clutched onto Helaena’s waist as they flew on Dreamfyre back to King’s Landing. No matter how thrilling it was to ride a dragon, no matter that she felt as light as a feather, that she could touch the clouds and feel as though she was in a magical, untouchable realm, it felt wrong.

Her first ride shouldn’t have belonged to Helaena, it shouldn’t have been with Dreamfyre. It wasn’t what she promised.

As they dismounted, Helaena’s hand held hers and stayed, holding tightly as they made their way from the dragonpit to the Keep, as if knowing her friend needed the comfort.

As they parted, Helaena promised she’d spend the day with her tomorrow, knowing she needed the distraction from Aemond.

She smiled, though it wasn’t as bright as usual, and with a wave, they parted. She stepped into her chambers and sighed heavily, mourning what her time in King’s Landing would hold.

She moved to her bed, content to hide under the covers for the rest of the day, but she stopped, noticing a bundle of flowers on her desk. She frowned, she certainly hadn’t put them there before she left.

She stepped closer, her fingers gently tracing along the soft petals. They were perfectly bloomed and freshly plucked, most likely just placed on her desk mere minutes before she arrived.

It suddenly struck her.

They were marigolds.

She remembered the flower Aemond had tucked behind her ear, the ones he would bring her on occasion simply because he knew she was fond of them.

Her heart began to race, her stomach flipping at the merest notion that it could’ve been from her best friend. She picked up the bundle, inhaling their fresh scent with a small smile.

She noticed the slip of parchment below them, the simple words in familiar handwriting brought tears to her eyes.

I am deeply, truly sorry.

I didn’t mean a word of what I said

Please forgive me

- Your Aemond

Her breath hitched, her chest feeling tight with sorrow.

The words he had screamed at her that day hurt her deeply, yet the thought of not having Aemond by her side, not having him as her friend, was unfathomable.

She spent the remainder of the day in her chambers, picking sparsely at the food her father had sent to her, knowing she wanted her solitude. By the next morning, having thought of nothing but Aemond all night, she was determined to see the end of their rift.

She dressed quickly and stepped out of her chambers, determined to march her way straight to Aemond, but she was stopped by her guard.

“The Prince has requested your presence in the gardens.”

The crease in her brow that signaled her determination smoothed out, leaving nothing but hopeful nervousness as she quickly made her way through the halls of the Keep. She ignored the looks of disdain from the ladies of the court as she raced past them, ignoring the whispers of her undignified behavior.

They were the last things on her mind.

Her heart was racing within her chest as she approached the gardens. She walked the familiar path, one she had taken countless times, to get to their usual meeting spot. Her feet came to an abrupt stop as she turned the last corner and saw him sitting on their bench, the one they always congregated to over the months together.

Nervous butterflies fluttered within her as she approached him.

She called out to him softly, cursing herself for how her voice shook in hopeful anticipation.

Aemond turned to face her and she was shocked to see the eyepatch across his face, covering the angry looking wound she had seen that morning in his chambers.

Her heart ached at the sight of the red scar that peeked out from the patch. It looked painful and the reminder of what he had gone through, what his own nephew had inflicted on him made her want to cry.

He spoke her name in greeting, giving her a small, weak smile. He winced slightly, the pull of his cheeks causing his scar to flair with pain.

Her chest tightened at the sight of him. He seemed smaller, as if he sat hunched over, trying hard not to take up too much space in the world.

“I’m sorry.” She blurted out before he could speak. He looked up at her incredulously, his stomach twisting at the despair he saw on her face. “I shouldn’t have just barged into your chambers. I knew you wanted privacy and I ignored your wishes and I’m sorry. I never meant-”

Aemond spoke her name breathlessly, stopping her rambling apology. He had never seen her so frantic before, it was unnerving to him, nothing at all like the lively girl he was used to. And it was his fault.

“You don’t have to apologize.” He told her softly. He looked down at his hands that fidgeted in his lap, shame overcoming him as he thought back to that day, when he had yelled at her so callously. He had replayed that moment over and over again in his head for days and it was torturous each time.

He couldn’t get the sight of her tears out of his head. To know he was the cause was his greatest shame.

“I’m sorry.” He spoke earnestly, looking her in the eyes intently, hoping she would believe him. “I never should have spoken to you that way. I’m so sorry I made you cry. I never will again, I promise.”

She let out a long breath, his words stirring something inside her she couldn’t recognize.

He frowned deeply at her lack of reaction, shuffling over and patted the space next to him on the bench, motioning for her to take a seat beside him.

She moved slowly, hesitantly taking her seat next to him.

“I’ve never seen you that angry before.” She spoke, her voice barely more than a whisper as she recalled that dreadful day.

Aemond sighed and bowed his head.

“I…” He started but soon found he had no words, no excuses for how he had treated her. Nothing would ever make it ok, never to her. “I hated to see you look at me like that.” Was the only thing he could think to say.

“Like what?”

“Like you were horrified of me.”

“I was horrified.” She said and he felt his insides turn to stone, his throat tightening with emotion. “But not of you. Never of you.” She added quickly, causing him to look over at her, his eye wide and shining with unshed tears.

“But-”

“Aemond, the thought of what happened to you, the thought of you in pain… it hurts me.”

The vice around his heart lifted instantly. His mind was spinning with the insinuation of her words.

“You… you’re not-”

She reached out, taking his hand in hers, causing words to fail him.

“I could never be afraid of you. I could never feel disgusted by you, I could never think any less of you, or whatever other horrible thing you think I feel for you now. No scar will change how I care for you.”

The weight that had been suffocating him for weeks now seemed to lift just the slightest, allowing him to feel as though he could finally take a breath.

He let out a shaking breath and tightened his hand in hers. She smiled softly and leaned in closer to his side, letting her head fall to his shoulder, letting him revel in her closeness.

He hated the stares he got from the ladies at court, he hated the winces, the horrified gasps as he passed them. He hated the worried looks he received, as if he was seconds away from collapsing like a weak mannered child.

But none of it mattered.

She still cared for him, she was still by his side, her hand in his.

Even the burning fury he held for his nephew seemed dim in the wake of the pure delight he felt in her presence.

“But, if you ever raise your voice to me like that again I will smack you.”

Her threat, that held no anger in the slightest, made him laugh and duck his head against hers as his body shook with each breath of laughter.

His first laugh since the incident.

From then, they were closer than ever. One was seldom seen without the other at their side.

The Ladies at court through the two of them were just about the most darling thing they had ever seen. Yet, not everyone was rooting for the threads of young love to flourish.

Alicent watched her son in the training yard with a frown. Her second son, so dutiful and so smart, was becoming distracted. Her eyes never strayed from him as he neglected his own lessons to play around with his friend, watching with a scowl as the two of them laughed together, as if there was no care in the world.

The sight of the young girl in the training yard was enough to leave her appalled, but her son’s willingness to indulge in such unseemly behavior was worrying.

“We cannot let this go any further.” Her father spoke from beside her.

“I can’t very well tell him he cannot be her friend. It would devastate him.”

“Let them be friends, but make it clear that is all it will ever be. Aemond can’t get any ideas about marrying this girl.”

Alicent chewed on her lower lip anxiously. The thought of tearing her son away from such happiness turned her stomach, but the thought of him marrying a girl so unpredictable was just as unfortunate.

“Would it really be so bad? We could gain leverage with her father.”

“Ixtal is a neutral house. They have never taken a stand in any war, that won’t change now. We cannot risk Aemond allying with a house that could not give us leverage for Aegon’s claim.” Otto hissed angrily.

Alicent wrapped her arms around herself, her eyes falling back to her son, taking in the sight of his smile while she still could. She doubted it would be a common sight once he was forced away from the Island girl.

But they all had a duty to perform.

Her arm was looped through his as he guided her past the dragon pit.

“Where are we going?” She asked, looking over her shoulder at the structure that housed the mighty Targaryen dragons they had just passed.

“Vhagar doesn’t stay there. She doesn’t fit.” Aemond explained, a slightly smug smirk crossing his features as he subtly boasted about his newly claimed dragon.

Her smile twitched slightly, her nerves suddenly overtaking her. She’d been hesitant when Aemond offered to introduce her to his mount, but the reminder of the great beast’s sheer size had the beginnings of fear creeping through her veins.

Noticing the subtle shift in her expression, Aemond tightened his grip on her arm.

“I would never put you in danger.” He assured her. “Vhagar is bonded to me, she can feel what I feel for you and she would never hurt you.”

“If I could hear that directly from Vhagar I might be able to breathe properly.”

Aemond snickered and led her forward excitedly.

Soon, they arrived at the crest of the hill, Vhagar’s enormous form coming into view. A shuddering breath escaped her when she came face to face with the historic dragon that fought in wars long before her time.

She could barely comprehend such a beast of her size existed among them, that the sweet boy beside her commanded her or even willingly approached her.

“Relax.” Aemond told her softly, moving out of her hold so his hand could take hers, intertwining their fingers.

The pair of them stepped towards the sleeping giant. She watched, mystified, as Aemond spoke a few words of Valaryian, the dragon's eyes sleepily opening, her large head lifting towards them.

She felt her body freeze, the blood in her veins running cold as the mighty dragon looked past her rider, her curious gaze landing on her. A low rumble shook the ground, Vhagar’s protest to the stranger before her.

Aemond soothed his dragon, placing an affectionate hand on her snout as he spoke soft commands.

She doubted a few measly words would suddenly convince Vhagar that she wasn’t a tasty snack, but she could only watch, her eyes widening as the dragon became disinterested by her presence, laying her head back down on the warm grass she had been slumbering on.

Aemond looked over his shoulder at her prone form several feet back and smiled, motioning her to come closer.

She shook her head adamantly, her feet frozen in place.

He spoke her name, holding his hand out to her.

She looked to his hand and then to his dragon and back again, contemplating the risk to her life.

“Do you trust me?” Aemond asked and her tense shoulders sagged. She had no reason to doubt her best friend. With one look in his eye, she knew he would never let any harm come to her.

She took slow steps forward, her fear not allowing her to move any quicker.

She reached out and took Aemond’s hand in hers as soon as she was close enough, holding on tightly.

“It’s alright.” He assured her.

He guided her hand toward Vhagar, watching the girl beside him closely, gaging every expression that crossed her face in a matter of seconds. From fear, to doubt, to disbelief and suddenly to awe.

A shaky laugh left her lips as her hand softly rested on the rough scales of Vhagar’s side. Pure delight was etched across her face as she pet the mighty beast as if she were nothing more than a house cat. Aemond saw how excited she got when one of the many stray cats that roamed Flea Bottom ventured their way into the Keep.

The excited smile she wore now as she pet his dragon was the same one he saw when she would cradle those strays.

The thought made him laugh and he leaned in close to her, letting his head rest against hers.

Seeing her now, fearless by his mount’s side, only confirmed what he already knew.

She was meant to be with dragons. Meant to be with him.

I will hopefully have the next chapter out within the next couple of days! And yes, every chapter is going to be long, I have no control. Hope you liked it xx

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen fanfic #house of the dragon fic

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simpjaes · 8 months ago

Text

EROTIC EMPATHY (s.jy)

Have you ever taken anyone’s virginity before? Nope. Are you about to? Yep. or the one where jake has a streak of bad luck in bed and his friends make fun of him for it, you find him advertising himself on a dating app and decide to help him out.

minors dni! | if you read it, reblog it

WORDCOUNT― 12.7k

PAIRING― jake sim x afab reader

CONTENT― virgin guy who lives with his parents!jake, he’s not shy but he is very clumsy, a lot of texting so be prepared for that, facetime-sex, real life sex

SIDE CHARACTERS― jay as reader’s best friend and roommate, heeseung briefly as jake’s friend.

NOTE― if you've read this before it's because im the person who wrote it [ncteez] and im revamping it for jake, pls don't send me messages on either account about stealing a work that's already mine!

smut tags under cut::

smut tags―big huge dick jake, phone sex (ish), face time sex, masturbation, pet name: baby, making out, he eats you out twice, fingering, whining and whimpering, deep throating, premature ejaculation, desperate man wants his dick wet lmao, grinding, tit fondling/licking, clit stimulation, he bites the fuck out of his tongue to try and distract himself from coming too soon again, no condom aka cream pie, jake gets feelings like immediately when u touch him

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Check this shit out,” you laugh, presenting your phone to Jay with a chuckle. “yes or no?”

Jay snorts, nearly spitting out the bite of food in his mouth as he reads the bio of the man you’re showing to him.

“Depends, you trying to take his innocence or are you trying to get railed so hard that the entire building can hear?” He narrows his eyes at you, making a point to call you out for keeping him awake last weekend.

You wave him off with an apologetic look. To be fair, the dude from before knew how to make a girl moan, it’s not your fault that you managed to find a decent lay in this city. Even if he ghosted you, you assume you may have been a bad lay for him, if anything.

“I wouldn’t mind trying something new, dude seems desperate.” You swipe through his photos, seeing that he appears to be just a normal dude with normal interests. “He’s cute too, so I’m gonna say yes.”

Jay groans this time, slapping a hand to his forehead and glaring at you.

“You’d better warn me if you end up bringing him home, I’m not about to listen to some guy start crying over a blowjob.”

You nod to him, sending a message to the eighty-two-year-old Jake and feeling delighted at his near-instant response to you.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll make sure you’re out of the apartment if I invite him over,” You wiggle your brows as you stand to your feet and turn toward your room, eyes now glued to the open dating app’s messages. “Maybe you should go out and find a nice girl to rail to get back at me.”

“You’re so fucking weird.” Jay laughs but feels kind of shitty because it’s not like he hasn’t been trying to get back at you for the loud sex. Guess he just doesn’t have the magic dick to make girls moan the same way you do.

Not that he wants to make you moan or anything, he definitely doesn’t. If anything, he wishes you were more like the girls he brings home.

Fucking quiet.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You: i’ve never seen a virgin grandpa on this app before

Jake: ….i’m 21, it says that in my bio

You: I think you’re lying.

Jake: do u know how to change it, my bitch friends won't tell me lol

You: why would i help you lie to other women

Jake: i’m not lying!!1

You laugh to yourself as you text the new sex interest in your life, wondering if he’s lying about his presumed virginity.

You: ok, twenty-one-year-old “jaeyun” who is five miles away from me, you’re actually a virgin? Like for real?

Jake: yea….are u here to make fun of me for it too? all the girls here just turn me down even if i offer to cook for them after

Jake: maybe it's the playlists idk

You: send me the playlist

Jake: [spotify link to a playlist titled “NUT”]

You try not to snort, but you do. Given, he does have decent taste, but why anyone would have dynamite by bts and never say never by justin bieber on their sex playlist is beyond you.

You: surely it’s not your playlist…….

You: anyway

You: you’re really just looking to get laid for the first time, like, ever? and you’re offering to cook dinner too?

Jake: yea

You: you’ve never had a blowjob or anything like that? you can’t seriously think I can believe you’ve never been laid, it’s not like you’re ugly or anything

Jake: u don’t think im ugly? :)

Jake: and yea I’ve had a blowjob before

You: why didn’t you sleep with her then?

Jake: can we stop talking about why im a virgin

You: sure but you know im gonna bring it up again, right?

You’re smiling at your phone, finding him charming and awkward in how he communicates with you via messenger. Of course, you’re curious as to why he’s a virgin, even more, curious as to why he’s on a dating app looking to lose said virginity.

You: do you want my number? it’s embarrassing to have the app open in public if i wanna talk to you.

Jake, on the other hand, is quite literally kicking his feet and checking your profile every few minutes just to look at you. He didn’t even think too hard about you calling him attractive then not following up on it, because the fact that you just offered your number to him in case you want to talk to him? Butterflies. Given, it’s juvenile for someone of his age to still be experiencing the typical high-school crush feelings, would anyone blame him? It’s just how he is, with or without having had sex. He can’t imagine not feeling giddy inside when he’s talking to someone that he thinks is pretty.

Jake: yea :) u can text me whenever [redacted phone number]

You respond to him by texting his number rather than using the app messenger, screenshotting his contact info, and sending it to him with a sly smile.

You: [screen shot// contact name: grandpa jake]

Grandpa Jake: :|

Grandpa Jake: im 21

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Okay so, here’s the thing. Jake is undeniably funny, witty, and kind. Another thing, he’s wildly attractive. Especially upon fulfilling your request for a workout selfie from him. So, what gives? You read the texts he’s sent that made you laugh out loud, you look at his pictures, stare at the workout selfie, and you genuinely cannot understand how he doesn’t have women waiting in line to have at him.

You: it’s been like four days since we started talking

Grandpa Jake: yep, almost five

You: four days of being friends but no mention of your bio on the app, yknow, where you’re begging to have sex for the first time ever?

Grandpa Jake: right, yea. you wanna do it? i didn’t wanna assume lol

You: not answering that til you explain why. i mean, it’s totally ok that you are but like, you’re a green flag all around so im a little worried you might have like a micropenis or something

Disclaimer, if he had a micropenis, you’d still let him use it on you. After all, hooking up is something you enjoy doing regardless of size.

Grandpa Jake: i do NOT have a micropenis

You: prove it

Grandpa Jake: right now???

You laugh to yourself but also like, it’s the first time the two of you have done anything more than bully each other. Or rather, you bully him and he defends himself constantly.

You: answer my question first

It takes a few minutes for him to respond, but you’re doing coursework anyway so it’s not a huge deal. Totally not like your ears perk up and a smile creeps across your face every time your phone goes off or anything. Definitely not.

Grandpa Jake: um… i still live with my parents and before u make fun of me for that pls understand that its not like i wanna be here

Grandpa Jake: i have a job and everything!!! im not a mooch!

He’s getting off track again. You could honestly care less if he still lives with his parents. You wish you still lived with yours, to save money at least.

You: they won’t let you have anyone over?

Grandpa Jake: well, that too but

Grandpa Jake: listen this sounds real stupid but it just never happened? even when i tried or things almost happened, it never did

You: damn, you’re unlucky. so what happened with the girl who gave you a blowjob?

Grandpa Jake: her boyfriend walked in

You: WHAT

You’re trying to pity him, honestly, but damn. Did he go for a taken girl? Yikes. You hate to admit the ick that just flooded your mind.

Grandpa Jake: its not like i knew she had a boyfriend

You: phew

Grandpa Jake: so yea. do u wanna help me out or not?

The whole reason you started talking to him was specifically to help him out. Now that you know he’s not some weirdo, and is definitely super hot and funny, hell yes.

You: yeah, sure.

You: about the micropenis though,

Grandpa Jake: right…um

A few minutes of silence, your coursework is long forgotten in the anticipation of receiving your first dick pic from Jake. You wait, and you wait, and you wait.

You: i mean if you can’t prove it that's ok

Grandpa Jake: just give me a sec damn

He’s doing his best to get the most attractive angle. It’s not like he’s never sent nudes to anyone or anything, but like– this is you. The first person to actually agree to take his virginity. Should he hold it? Put a remote next to it for size? Should he have his face in the pic? Take a mirror pic?

Of course, as he’s taking several pictures of his length to try and impress you, he had to get hard first. He can’t imagine you’d want a flaccid cock pic in your inbox, and that would also mean that he’s working himself up with the amount of touching, holding, and groping throughout the past sixteen photos he’s taken and deleted. It’s at the point that now it’s actually hard to care about taking a photo, pre-cum already dripping out of him as he continues to try.

He’s entered the realm of his regular horny self, only this time he’s texting you. Someone who wants to see what he’s packing. Taking a dick pic is insanely easy once he stops thinking with his brain, and he’s quick to send you a photo of himself this time. His chin at the top of the picture, face entirely hidden, hand wrapped around his thick and leaking cock, sweatpants shoved down.

Grandpa Jake: [image attachment]

In all fairness, you’ve never actually cared much for dick pics. Men always look too confident even with the smallest of girth being offered through the pixels. Jake though. He looks a bit desperate even with his face hidden. His cock looks desperate, his fingers wrapped around it look desperate, the way his sweatpants hug against his thighs look desperate. And now, you feel desperate. You keep your cool though.

You: oh, you were jerking off, got it.

Grandpa Jake: sorry can’t help it

Then he doesn’t text you back. Which is kind of a drag because he looks to be quite big in the photo alone. Maybe you’d be okay just this once to look like the desperate one. Mostly because you’re about ten seconds from trying to figure out which direction five miles away he resides so you can go palm his cock for him. Plus, the idea of an absolute simp virgin like him seeing you act a little desperate would probably be one for the books.

You: you know i can help you out with that, right? especially since you definitely don’t have a micropenis

You’re still being ignored. The silence from your phone makes your belly flip around inside of you at the image of him doing it too. He probably does it a lot. He’s probably desperate to feel good and watches porn like 24/7. You can imagine how he’d act if you were in front of him right now, the very idea of taking his virginity becoming entirely too attractive.

Shrugging, knowing full well what he’s doing right now that’s causing him to ignore you, you press the call button and wait. You’re a little bit nervous, mostly because you’ve never actually heard his voice before, or better yet how he sounds when he’s getting off. You’re shocked that he actually answers.

“Hello?” He says, muffled through the phone and trying to sound not-so-out-of-breath. It’s not like he looked at who was calling him anyway. With his luck, it’s probably Heeseung or some shit.

“Don’t hello me,” You gripe, narrowing your eyes at yourself in your mirror. “You’re just gonna jerk off without me after I agreed to help you fix your little problem?”

The silence on his end is a bit nerve-wracking until you hear the frantic sound of his palm clearly wreaking havoc on him. You smirk, leaning back on your chair and sighing. On his end, processing that it’s you on the other line sends his entire body into a state of burning with arousal. Your voice is sweet even when you speak with the same sarcasm as you do via text.

God, this alone is enough for him right now.

“Were you at least thinking of me?”

He hums into the phone, indicating that yes, that’s exactly what he’s doing. His voice is kind of soft despite only hearing one word and a hum, you want to actually hear him talk to you, or moan, whichever he decides.

“Were you looking at my pictures?”

He nods his head, forgetting that you’re not able to see him and instantly responds with a small and breathy yes instead. It’s a bit difficult for him to talk right now, especially now that he can put a voice to the photos he’s been jerking off to. It’s a bit overwhelming, actually.

“Do you want better ones?” You ask, encouraging him to speak a bit more.

“Oh god, really?” He asks through the speaker, his hand pausing on his length as if to hold off until you confirm. “Like, nudes?”

“Mhm, yeah. If you want.” You smile as you speak to him, already standing to shimmy your pajamas off of you and stand in front of the mirror. “Or, you know what would be better?”

“Letting me come over and actually do it?” That’s what he wants to say to you, but he doesn’t, he simply raises a brow and bites his lip, trying to contain his excitement.

“What?” He asks, still keeping his responses short because despite how into this he is, he’s a bit shy about it.

“I can facetime you.”

He panics. That means you’ll be watching him too, right? Sure he’s sent nudes, he’s received nudes. He’s sent videos too, and received them. But never has he like, you know, live masturbated on facetime so someone else can watch.

“If you don’t want to, that’s okay.” You backtrack at his silence, but you’re cut off almost immediately.

“No! no, we can facetime–”

Your stomach flips again as you fix yourself quickly in the mirror before setting your phone against your desk and rolling back a bit in your chair to determine if it’ll work this way or not. It’s not like he’s expecting you to do it too, he probably just thinks you’re gonna sit here naked for him to stare at. You’re kind of excited to see him in action, to hear him in action for you.

You hit the button to switch the call over to facetime and once again adjust your phone as you stare at yourself in the camera. Then you’re needing to catch your breath at the image of him.

Oh fuck.

There he is, his camera angled towards his face and not at all toward what's going on below his waist, but you don’t mind at first. Looking at him, the lighting clearly shows that he’s a fan of mood lighting. You watch his eyes briefly, staring through the screen at you before moving your eyes to his arm, the one that clearly isn’t holding his phone because you can see it moving as he continues to jerk himself off. It’s an interesting feeling to have only seen him in photos until this moment, and it’s insanely attractive for some reason. Seeing him in motion, knowing what he’s doing, knowing that he feels good right now because of you.

“Let me see,” you say quietly, adjusting your bra strap and preparing to slip it off of you if he so much as asks. “Prop your phone up somewhere like I did.”

He nods, his eyes still staring straight through his screen at you as he moves around and the image becomes a blur of movement rather than his face. He settles in quickly, somehow looking even more attractive with the way his eyes no longer stare at the screen. You can almost sense a hint of shyness from him at this moment and it kind of floors you, given how easy he is to talk to and how easily he sent a dick pic to you.

“Feeling shy?” You ask, spreading your legs wide and cupping the seat of your panties, hiding the small spot of wetness forming there. “You act like I’m not going to be touching you at some point soon.”

You see him perk up, his eyes looking to you on the screen with more fondness than arousal. At the same time, his hand grips the base of his cock as he holds it straight up, erect and glistening proudly for you to look at.

“You look pretty big, bet you could fill me up so nicely,” You try to compliment, boosting his confidence and ego as best you can simply because he looks pretty with a smile on his face. Especially when his cock twitches at the words. “Would you want to do that for me, Jake?”

“Oh god,” He groans, hearing his name come from your mouth for the first time. His hand jerks up his length once, almost aggressively as he winces at it. “This is going to be so embarrassing.” He admits now, sliding his palm up and down shamelessly as he watches between your spread legs.

In a way, he wonders if you can see how desperate he is. There’s no way you can’t, right? Like, you can see how badly he wants you, right?

“Embarrassing, why?” You chuckle, tapping now at the spot between your legs. “Can you not see that I’m just as turned on right now?”

He groans again with deep breaths, releasing his length and using that same hand to swipe his hair out of his face, then immediately grimacing at the fact that he now has pre-cum in his hair. Embarrassing, all of it.

“Well,” He tries to avoid you bringing up the fact that he just did that and only shoots his hand back to his cock in order to distract whatever off-hand shit you’re about to say. “You don’t even have your panties off yet, and I could probably get off right now.”

You laugh, not wanting to ruin the mood with the whole cum on his own face thing, so you save that for later. Instead, you instantly slip your panties off and present yourself to him much like he’s doing for you.

“Better?”

Jake watched with his breath stuck in his throat, now finding it harder to breathe at the image of your pussy and the way he hopes he can touch it one day.

“Can you–” He pauses, not being used to dirty talk towards anything other than the porn playing on his phone. He thinks hard, and you can see it based on the way he, once again, neglects his cock with an unmoving palm.

“Can I do what? Go on,” You urge him, running a hand up to your chest and fondling your nipples right there in front of him, but not yet moving the fabric. “What do you want me to do for you, baby?”

Baby. You called him baby. Not that he’s into that but the fact that you did it makes him wonder if he is now. Maybe it’s because he wants you to take him for all he’s worth at this point. One, to get rid of the virginity looming over his head, and two, because you sound so fucking smooth when you’re watching him get off.

“Can you spread your pussy for me?” He whispers at first, uncaring of how dirty it sounds falling out of his throat with a moan.

His eyes are boring a hole through his screen as he watches one of your hands tease at your hidden nipples, and the other hand sliding up and down the wet folds there. So badly does he want to see it. He wants to see your hole pulsing for him, leaking, needy. Just like him.

His cock twitches wildly the second you do it for him. Two fingers spreading your pussy open and tensing your hips just to move it closer to the screen for him.

“Is this what you want?” You start, making damn sure he can see every part of your glistening cunt. “You want to fuck this?” You chuckle now, slowly dipping a finger into yourself and pulling it back out to present the wetness for him.

“Oh,” he sighs, now fucking into his fist at a pace that proves he’s most definitely never fucked a woman before. “Fuck.”

You nod at him, urging him to keep admitting his attraction to you. You’re aware he doesn’t see it though, as his hips continue to move quicker and quicker each time you press your finger into yourself.

“You gonna act like this when I’m riding you?” You ask with a tilted head, studying how hard he’s fucking against his hand. You can imagine how good it would feel if it were you, and quite frankly, this one finger isn’t enough at this point.

“God. You’re gonna ride me?” He moans, eyes rolling only slightly as he imagines it, mouth falling open at the mere thought of it.

“Mhm,” you hum, now sliding in another finger and scissoring yourself open with them. “Would you want that?”

Before you can even work yourself up, and before he can even answer that question, you see him release. His cum shooting out in spurts across his stomach and nearly up to his chest. His labored breathing shifts the lighting against his abs and makes him look so entirely delicious. You’ve never wanted to lick a man clean so badly in your life.

You’re not even upset that he didn’t make it into the knitty gritty, considering he’s a virgin and all and you’re literally fucking yourself in front of him while implying riding him. You’re actually flattered.

His release caused him to see white for several moments, forgetting he’s even on camera for you. When he comes back to reality, watching you continue to finger yourself as your eyes scan your screen, all he can do is feel bashful.

“S-shit, sorry,” He comments with a half laugh, looking down at his cum covered chest before looking at you again. Honestly, he could probably go again if you let him watch for a bit longer, but he’s embarrassed now. “I uh, didn’t mean to come that fast. It just kind of happened.”

“It’s okay,” You comfort him, slightly out of breath as you wonder if this is all you’re gonna get tonight. “It was cute.”

After a few moments, you sense his embarrassment and slowly slip yourself back into a sobering headspace, closing your legs and trying to ignore how wet you still are.

“Are you, um, done?” Jake says, disappointed.

“Mm, no.” You smile. “But it’s okay, I’d rather make you come first anyway.”

His face lights up despite the disappointment in his gut of not being able to see you get off.

“You still wanna see me after this?”

You nod with a smile, endeared by his need to give, but inability to do it.

“When are you free?” You ask, wondering if he’s ever going to clean himself up.

“Whenever you are.” He laughs, scratching the back of his head with, once again, the same cum-stained hand.

“I’ll text you later then,” You smile through the screen and give a small wave before your genuine smile turns into a smirk. “After I take care of my little problem though.”

You notice him sitting up in protest, but you hang up with a satisfied laugh and head to the shower to both finish yourself off and clean up.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Grandpa Jake: what about 3pm on thurs?

You: you want to lose your virginity at 3pm….on a thursday???

Grandpa Jake: my parents have plans so ill have the house to myself for a few hours

You: or you could just come here?

Grandpa Jake: if ur comfortable with that? i thought u were supposed to come here lol

You: im comfortable, plus my roommate will kick your ass if you’re weird

Jake contemplates hard on that last part but shrugs over it. Probably a girl thing, and it’s not like he’s an actual creep or anything. You’d be the one with power over him when the two of you are alone anyway.

You: what about tomorrow, 8pm?

Tomorrow. Hell yeah, tomorrow. God, he’d show up right the fuck now if you let him. He may live with his parents but he’s got a car.

Grandpa Jake: send ur address, ill be there :)

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Tomorrow, you’ll be a man.” Heeseung croaks through the speaker at Jake, totally assuming that this whole virginity loss dating app plan was actually just a joke.

“Why do you have to say it that way?” Jake groans back, slapping his hand over his forehead and rubbing his temples. “I didn’t think anyone was actually gonna come through, she’s the first one.”

“What makes you think she’s actually gonna send you her address?” Heeseung laughs, once again placing more pity onto his best friend than anything else. “She’s probably not even a real person, you’re gonna end up at some old guy’s house.”

Jake laughs, or snorts really.

“Oh, she’s real.”

Heeseung sits up in curiosity this time, switching his phone to the other ear with interest.

“Hm? Have you already met her?”

“Kind of. We like, um,” Jake pauses, wondering if he sounds way too excited to tell him or not. “We facetimed a few hours ago.”

Silence.

“She got naked.”

“Oh ho ho!” Heeseung encourages him. “So you guys did some stuff on facetime and she still wants to meet you?”

“That’s what I said–wait,” Jake smiles to himself, about two seconds from kicking his feet before realizing what Heeseung just said. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re kind of a loser, we’ve been over this.” Heeseung laughs yet again. “Call me when you get your cherry popped or whatever.”

Then he hangs up.

Grandpa Jake: do u think im a loser?

You: yeah kinda

You’re laughing at his text as you sit across the table from Jay.

“That him texting?” Jay quirks a brow, watching you smile at your phone and practically ignore him.

You laugh again at Jake’s string of defensive texts before responding with a short “it’s okay, i like losers”, and putting your phone down to finish telling Jay that he’s gonna get kicked out tomorrow for the night.

“So,” You clap your hands in front of yourself, glaring at Jay. “You’re gonna have to be gone tomorrow at eight because I'm about to literally obliterate this guy.”

“Jesus, I’m scared for him.”

“You should be scared for me. Because, well…” You trail off for a second, scrolling up your texts to see the dick pic Jake sent before the facetime call. “He’s huge and–”

“I did not need to know that.” Jay sighs, scooting back in his chair and standing to his feet.

“You act like you don’t ask every time I fuck someone.” You roll your eyes at him, smiling. “Weirdo.”

Jay stands there awkwardly before shrugging and lunging for your phone.

“How big?” He laughs, not actually trying to see the dude’s dick but always way too curious for his own good despite never wanting to be around to hear what the big dicks do to his best friend.

“Stop prying, you’ll get jealous.”

He scoffs, brushing off his pants of invisible dust and crossing his arms.

“I’ll have you know, my dick is perfectly sized.”

“I’m sure it is. Anyway, tomorrow, be gone.”

He nods, sauntering to the living room and flopping down on the couch.

“Keep it in your room, please. I don’t want to sit on any cum when I get home.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It’s Thursday. It’s approximately seven in the evening on Thursday and you’re well aware that Jake is probably bubbling with anxiety if his texts are anything to go by.

So many “are you sures,” so many “you can tell me to leave if you decide you don’t want tos,” and even more “i can’t wait to see yous.”

“Jay, aren’t you supposed to be leaving?” You ask, opening the fridge to pull out a bottle of water.

You’ve already showered again today, primped yourself up for him really. Everything smooth, soft, and ready to be touched. You wonder if Jake is doing the same, and smile.

“Hm, yeah. But I kinda wanna see him before I leave.”

You turn your head to him with a curious look, glaring only slightly.

“I swear to god if you scare him off, I’m kicking you out.”

Jay laughs, patting the couch as if to invite you to sit with him to ease your own anxiety. He can smell the familiar lotion you use before dates, and he notes that you’ve really tried to look good today.

“I think you might kill him, if I’m being honest.” Your best friend laughs softly, complimenting you.

“Thanks, that’s the plan.”

And so, the two of you sit together laughing at stupid comedy shows until your phone lights up at around seven thirty.

Grandpa Jake: i’m a little early, is that ok?

“Oh shit, he’s here.” You immediately feel nervous, which is pretty normal for you anyway so it’s easily overlooked by Jay.

He jumps up, brushing off his clothes and walking toward the kitchen to grab his keys and wallet.

“Let him in then, I’ll leave when he gets here.”

You give him a knowing look before nodding.

You: second floor, take a left when you get to the top of the stairs, third apartment on the left.

Within minutes, there’s a very gentle knock on the door and Jay is throwing himself at it to get a look at him. Unfortunately it’s a bit more awkward than he expected it to be.

Not only did Jake think your roommate was a woman, but he, at the very least, expected you to answer the door. He was preparing himself all day for this moment, to knock on your door and have you open it. At first he thought that maybe he even got the wrong apartment.

“Oh, I think I got the wrong place, sorry–”

“Nope, you’re in the right place.” Jay smiles, stepping to the side and opening the door wider for him. “You can come in.”

Jake does, awkwardly. Avoiding eye contact with Jay and barely even looking into the apartment before stepping inside.

“She got all cleaned up for you.” Jay whispers, throwing Jake a wink before stepping out and closing the door behind him.

Jake still hasn’t really looked up from the floor yet, and you make quick work to make him feel more comfortable.

“Don’t mind him, that’s my roommate.” You say, making your way toward him and trying your best not to stare because, okay, wow. He’s kind of ten times more attractive in person, which is fucking insane considering how good he looked through a screen.

“Have you and him ever like…” Jake immediately starts, realizing he might have made things weird.

“Jay?! Oh, god no.” You laugh, reaching for his arm and feeling him lean into it with relief. “You’re allowed to look up by the way. You’ve been staring at that crack in my floor since you got here.”

Immediately Jake moves his eyes up to you, the eye contact feeling more intense than it should, but you’re locked in too. The awkwardness dissolves almost instantly, he feels no need to question you further about anything really, especially with the way he feels his throat run dry at the very idea of this whole plan actually happening at some point.

When he made his profile on that app, it was kind of a half joke until like, people started talking to him. Given, no one ever followed through but you, he’s happy he stuck with it. Happy you came out of the works from said dating app, happy you picked him.

Really though, he picked you. Part of you wonders about why you want to take this from him. For power, for control, to be praised, to feel like you’re his entire world of desire for a brief time? All of those things, yes, but you can admit now that he’s in front of you that it’s a bit intimidating.

He’s not shy at all, just a bit awkward. He seems confident, he seems ready, and you find yourself lucky for being the one to get to do this for him, or with him. If at all, Jake is the type of man you could see yourself hanging out with often, with or without having sex.

Given, upon seeing him face to face for the first time, the only thing you thought about was how attractive he is. Now though, as you look back at him along with the silence of this apartment offering nothing more than awkwardness, it’s not. Because you’re seeing him for all he is and he appears to not be able to help it. Is this what people mean when they say there’s an instant spark between two people? Despite how attractive he is, you find yourself thinking of how many times he’s made you laugh in the short period of time you’ve known him along with how many times he’s willingly embarrassed himself

And now for the first time, he’s right there and all you want to do is…give him exactly what he wants.

“Okay, listen,” You start, swallowing around a lump in your throat as you feel your body heat up at record speed by just having his eyes looking into yours. You know by this point that you’re not going to be keeping your hands to yourself at all. And for his sake, he’d probably prefer it that way. “If I move too fast, just tell me to stop.”

Jake tilts his head with a dopey smile, eyes still fixed on you, scanning you, coming to terms with the fact that you’re absolutely everything he thought you would be and more.

“I don’t think that’s gonna be an issue,” He admits, feeling his length confined within his pants twitch wildly at the fact that this is happening. “I struggled not to get hard just driving over.” He laughs, looking away from you for the first time with flushed cheeks.

You find that painfully adorable. No man would ever admit that to you. Especially after just a few minutes of meeting in person for the first time, but this is Jake and in the short amount of time you’ve known him, you’re kind of expecting him to be really forward and say things that will have you frozen in thought.

“Oh yeah?” You ask, grabbing his hand and leading him to the kitchen. You’re pretending that his apparent inexperience isn’t getting to you, but you’re not really fooling anyone. “Let’s get you some water or something, I can see you drooling.”

Jake laughs, shrugging because yeah maybe he’s drooling a little bit. You smell fucking immaculate, your hand is small in his but still manages to overpower him, your skin feels soft and slightly cold. Honestly, it’s dangerous just having you stand in front of him right now because he could absolutely blow his load just by you looking at him. Embarrassing? Always.

He follows after you, very nearly crowding up to you as the comfort sets in and the last bit of awkwardness leaves his mind. All he can think about is how you sounded over that facetime call. He’s seen what’s between your legs, and during that night all he could think about was touching you, fucking you.

Now he’s here, and you’re right there.

It’s hard not to crowd up, it’s hard not to cling to you, it’s hard not to be excited. Seeing your hand wrapping around that bottle of water to give to him, seeing you lean just before grabbing it– of course he’s staring. Of course he’s crowding closer, almost to the point that he’s up against your ass when you lean back up from the fridge.

You turn after grabbing him the bottle and are shocked by his close proximity when you face him. He looks down at you with a soft face, one that shows he’s not embarrassed by how he immediately attaches to you. His smile is just as clumsy as he is, you can tell he knows exactly what he’s doing too. You’re glad, because it makes it entirely too easy to drop the water bottle, grab his face, and chase his lips all the way until he’s against the counter and kissing you back.

He sighs instantly into it, wincing at the way the kitchen counter hits his back, you pressing against him so harshly just to get that first taste of his lips. He’s excited that you seem as eager as him, maybe even as desperate as him.

For you, a man has never been this eager just to kiss you, nor has a man ever kissed you this good. You can imagine that he’s probably got a lot of experience in terms of kissing, not much elsewhere though. You can tell by the way he moves his hands to all of the right places, but his blatant virginity shows through all of it as he becomes a horny mess almost instantly.

His tongue is warm and wet, small whining sounds coming from his throat as you press yourself against him briefly. His hands never leave your body and he shows no shame in touching where he wants to touch. Rubbing, groping, and caressing every inch of your waist, ass, and even moving up to your face to deepen the kiss. His hips press forward almost constantly, and all you can do is brace yourself on the counter behind him to try and tame his relentless hips and obvious attempts at rushing what he wants right now.

If you’re going to sleep with him though, he’s gonna get the full experience, not a quickie. Plus, you agreed to keep it in your room for Jay’s sake.

“Hey,” you sigh, trying to pull back from the kiss but he isn’t having it. Still kissing against you and running his lips down to your neck when you continue to speak. “We should go to my room, your first time isn’t about to be in my kitchen.”

“Why not?” He groans against your neck, kissing harshly with faint wet sounds, his hands wrapping tightly around your waist now. “I don’t care where we do it, i just want you like, really bad.”

Still, his lips don’t leave you, nor do his hands. You find yourself giggling against him with a shake of your head at the way he protests when you pry yourself from his grip. Of course, though, he’s immediately clinging to you and chasing after you to your bedroom before practically throwing himself at you again.

You barely get the door closed before he’s pressing you against the wall, hand running down again to your waist and easily snaking up your shirt just to feel the warmth of your skin. You let him, enjoying the way he kisses you for just the second time, enjoying more the way you can feel him lose his composure every few minutes from this alone.

You’re kind of in love with the fact that he doesn’t seem to want to pull back even for a breath. He seems to love kissing, and you wonder what else he’ll come to love doing tonight too. From the way he moves his tongue and his lips on you, you can imagine he’d be fucking heavenly at eating pussy.

Successfully you push him away again, rushing to your bed before he can make you melt against his lips for a third time, and you’re instantly trying to present yourself to him much like you did over camera.

“You’re really going to let me?” He asks with a deep breath, brushing his hair out of his face and wiping his mouth. His brain malfunctions at your presumed answer to that question, watching you take your panties and shorts off in one go and leaning back to spread your legs for him.

At this moment, you’re all his and you make it a point to spread your pussy out for him like he asked you to do before. You can practically see his knees buckle that very instant.

“To think I wouldn’t want to do this is insane,” You say, wiggling your hips for him to see. “Look how wet I am.” You pause, studying the hungry look in his eyes. “Do you wanna try eating me out?”

He doesn’t even nod. He’s immediately on his knees against your bed and gripping your thighs to pull you toward his face. You yelp only slightly at the movement, a chuckle coming out shortly after as you sit yourself up properly to take in the image of his eyes sparkling up at you.

It looks like he’s been wanting to do this to someone all his life, with his needy body proving it time and time again. Your breath is caught in your throat, a small groan coming out at the image alone before you’re able to process words again.

“Can’t believe how good you look down there,” You say softly, brushing his hair out of his face for him like he did to himself earlier. “Have you ever done this before?”

He shakes his head, eyes shifting from your pussy to your face. You can feel his nervous yet eager breath against you, making your eyelashes flutter at even that slight sensation.

“Go on then.” You sigh out, trying to prepare for what he can manage with that pretty mouth of his.

You watch him and the way he doesn’t seem to think at all when he does it. Once again, he’s adorable. His tongue goes everywhere, only grazing your clit briefly every few licks, never staying on it presumably because he’s in the process of finding the clit based on how your body reacts.

He has a general idea of where it is, but the feeling of having your pussy spread out like this on his lips alone is enough to overwhelm him with arousal, to the point he genuinely doesn’t know what he’s doing. All he can do is taste and smell the mixture of your warmth along with the soap and lotion you must have used before he came here.

He’s quite literally tasting the entirety of you and loving every second of it. The way his hands grip your legs, both spreading them further open so that he can tilt his head and lick at different angles, and then hugging them to where they almost lock his head in place.

It feels like he does this for ages, learning your body and what makes your legs shake. He sucks in different places, kissing your entire pussy to the point that it’s almost impossible for your legs not to shake in a reaction at what he’s doing to you.

Dare you say, a man who is inexperienced at eating a woman out somehow feels better than one who knows exactly where to go.

“Fuck, knew you’d be good at this,” You compliment with a shaky voice, reaching down to his hair and holding his head in place. “Keep licking there, and use your fingers too.”

He hums without stopping, taking note of where you place his lips and reminding himself that this is the clit, just as suspected. He attaches his lips there, kissing it much like he kissed you in the kitchen.

You can feel his fingers make their way into you shortly after, each bump of his knuckle sending a delicious sensation throughout your body. You’re tingling from your head to your toes at this point and your face heats up beyond what you thought it would. Your hips move on their own in response, experimentally fucking against his fingers as he keeps his tongue flicking at you.

“Just like that,” You encourage him, running your hands through his hair and looking down at him. Seeing his head move with each little thrust of your hips is only more arousing in this moment. His eyes half open, watching you, tasting you, almost smiling around your clit when he makes eye contact with you.

It almost seems like he’s asking if he’s doing well, and goddamn is he. He’s doing amazing.

“So good,” You say shortly, trying to give him the praise he needs while scratching against his scalp as a thank you, still fucking your hips up just to feel his fingers plunge deeper.

He, on the other hand, is fucking feral right now. Tasting you, dipping his fingers into you, feeling that warmth for the first time, the small clenches— he’s swimming in a fantasy. Every time you move your hips up, he can smell the entirety of you, he can feel your pussy squeeze his fingers, and god. He doesn’t think he ever wants this to end.

All day. He could do this all fucking day. No wonder men make fun of other guys for not giving head. Why wouldn’t they? He can feel your legs tensing up around his head, your gentle fingers running through his hair, the sounds coming from your lips. He’s in love, he’s in love.

He doesn’t stop, tongue flicking your clit so beautifully, fingers slowly fucking in and out of you, not even in time with your jerking hips. Shockingly, you approach orgasm so fucking fast that you can barely warn him, you’re not even thinking when you put pressure on his head, pressing his lips so harshly against your clit— his moan sending a vibration straight through you.

“Faster, with your fingers—“ You choke out in a drawn out and pornographic moan, curling your toes and feeling him do exactly as you say.

There, you release with his fingers plunging in and out of you, the wet sound of your pussy only sounding more messy by the time you begin to release. In the midst of it all, you feel him pull his lips from your clit and lick around his fingers before coming back up and continuing his ministrations, working you through an orgasm you’re not even sure he knows you’re having right now.

Insane, really, that he needed to taste the messy relief before resuming.

Strings of curses, little tugs against his hair, legs shaking, all of it happens at once until the feeling of his fingers become sensitive inside of you, until his tongue is flicking a bundle of nerves begging to be left alone.

You swat him away with a smile, leaning up quickly and grabbing him by the shirt.

He doesn’t really know what the fuck is going on but he laughs with you, being pulled to his feet and falling onto the bed on top of you. You can feel his cock in his pants, so fucking hard, probably leaking and feeling quite neglected.

“Did you…?” He asks softly, dipping his head shyly with his wet chin shining in the light of your room.

You smile at him, leaning up to kiss him square on the mouth before you flip him over and get between his legs.

“I did,” You laugh in a daze, starting to work on his button and zipper. You’re reeling from the recent orgasm and want nothing more than to let him feel the same way you do right now. “And now, I'm gonna do the same for you.”

He chokes out a nervous laugh, holding your hand in place from pulling his pants down.

“Unless, you don’t want that?” You ask, tilting your head with a bit of a frown.

“N-No! It’s not that!” He reassures you, cheeks flushing more than they already were. “It’s just that– like, what if I don’t last very long? I’m kind of sensitive.”

His eyes avoid yours when he says it and once again, most adorable man award goes to fucking Jake.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing?” You lean forward, kissing him again. “You just gave me some of the best head in my life.”

The light in his eyes returns and instantly he’s flashing a nervous smile at you.

“Jake, I’ve never gotten off that fast from being eaten out.” You reassure him again, making a point to use his name loud and clear. “If you don’t get off from me sucking your cock, I might actually cry.”

Well, he can’t have that now, can he?

He releases your grip on his jeans, allowing you to pull them down. For some reason unable to look at you despite knowing you’ve seen him jerk off before. It’s the fact that like, what if it’s suddenly not big enough? What if his cock is ugly or curved in a way you don’t like?

Before he can even start to doubt himself more, he feels your lips on the tip and instantly his eyes are looking down at you. You’re the one smiling now, using one hand to hold his base and the other hand already scooping up his balls for added pleasure.

You make a point to look him in the eye as you let the saliva collect in your mouth when you pull back slightly. There, you let it fall from the tip of your tongue, all the way until you feel the wetness against your fingers wrapped around his base.

He thinks he’s going to go fucking insane watching you like this, and god, does he. You don’t even show him your struggle of taking in the sheer size of him. Lowering your mouth until you’re taking him in as much as you can. You try to keep eye contact up until you have to close your eyes.

It’s not shocking that by the point you get half of his length into your mouth, he’s fucking up without full intention and letting out a choked apology. Still, you try to force your stretched lips to smile for him, even through the gag, even through the harsh feeling of his cock hitting the back of your throat.

How the fuck has a cock this good not been worshiped before? By a mouth? A hand? A pussy? You’ll be damned not to choke on it. You’d rather eat glass than to let him leave this apartment without being completely emptied and praised for every drop.

He’s actually struggling already not to come, holding himself back but failing each time his hips chase the warmth of your throat. Each time you gag, it stimulates the fuck out of his cock and he nearly wants to cry each time it happens. Even with that other girl who went down on him, she didn’t even attempt to fit this much in her mouth. Most of the pleasure came from her hand jerking him off while she suckled against his head, but you. You’re down there, slipping your mouth up and down on him like that, gagging, tearing up, and still fucking smiling about it.

He’s in love.

He holds his hands back at least, keeping them against your sheets and gripping them so hard that he fears he’s ripping through them. Everything feels hot, you look hot, you sound hot, your tongue still manages to move against the base of his cock with what little room it does have, and god– your other hand, massaging his balls.

“Wait, wait wait–” Jake groans, fucking his hips into your mouth once again until you pull off with a concerned look.

“Were my teeth hurting you?” You ask, gasping a bit for air.

“No!” He heaves out with fluttering lashes, trying to regain sanity. “I was just getting really close.”

“Hm?” You sigh in disappointment, this time going all in at once and not letting yourself stop until he’s releasing into your mouth.

You feel his shaking fingers brush your cheek when you do it, hollowing it out just to fit more, more, more into your mouth before lapping your tongue against his base again.

His groaning turns into frantic moans, his hips jerking wildly, unable to escape the clenching muscles of your gagging throat, and he’s honestly in heaven once again.

“Ah–wait–fuck.” He tries to protest, not wanting to finish so quickly, but there it goes. There he goes.

Never in his life has he felt an orgasm so satisfying. His eyes roll back and his fingers go numb when he releases, pumping himself deep into your throat and not stopping until he’s dizzy. The fact that you kept your mouth on him through it, the fact that he could still feel you gagging, swallowing, and moaning all at once through it– how?

“How–” he takes a breath, pulling you off of him so you can breathe. “How did you do that?”

You shrug with a confident smile, wiping your tears and crawling up to meet his face.

“I don’t normally do that for guys.” You say with a rasp in your voice. “I certainly don’t just swallow for anyone.”

He feels special, and fucking spent but god does he want to keep going. His softening cock twitching in a relieving way, probably glad to have finally been touched by something other than his own hand. Part of him wonders if you’re done though, because by now you’ve both gotten off and usually that’s the end goal, right?

But he hasn’t lost his virginity yet, and when he looks at you hovering above him, he already knows you’re not done with him.

“We need to let you rest until you can get hard again,” You say, kissing him more easily than before and letting him taste himself, letting you taste yourself mixed with him. “What’s something you wanna do to get you back into the game?”

He sighs out a laugh, fucking amazed that you’re his first. How lucky is that? He thinks hard, watching the way you lift your shirt off of yourself. God, he forgot tits existed for a solid part of this day and that’s a shame because instantly his sensitive cock throbs at the image of them coming into view.

You watch him stare, trailing your hands down and lifting his shirt off of him as well.

“I– I don’t even know at this point.” He admits with a stammer, ignoring the fact that his hair is definitely sticking up all over from you taking his shirt off of him.

“I’ll just love on you while you think, then.”

He gives a short nod, feeling all warm and fuzzy inside at the way your gentle hands caress his chest and abs before you start kissing against the muscles and soft skin there.

He relaxes his body, feeling your hands and lips on him. You were right when you said you’d love on him as he thinks about it. The hard part of it is actually thinking about what’s going to get him harder the fastest. You doing this could be enough, but your tits. And fuck, your pussy.

He lets out a whine, one that feels entirely out of character and it causes you to pause your gentle kiss against his nipple and pull back.

“Already?”

He shakes his head, staring straight at your chest and then down to what's between your legs.

“I want to, um…” He shifts his eyes away from you. “Can I eat you out again?”

That’s new. Twice in one session?

“Oh yeah? Did that get you going?”

You receive a small nod from him before his hands are reaching out for your tits and warming them up.

You relax into the feeling of his fingers on your chest only for a moment before you pull back again, this time adjusting yourself onto the bed face down, ass up in front of him. Might as well try a bunch of different positions for him too, right?

“Whenever you’re ready.” You sigh, already grabbing a pillow to hug through this.

You can feel the bed shift behind you, the weight of his body dipping right behind you before you feel his warm breath against your core. Only now do you realize that you already missed the way he ate you out the first time, you can barely contain yourself knowing he’s going to do it again.

His hands snake between your legs before his lips get any closer, spreading them before pulling his hand back up and spreading your pussy open with his fingers on his own this time.

“It’s really the prettiest.” He says in a clear and shaking voice, watching the way your hole pulses at the air that hits it. “And I've watched a lot of porn.”

You’d tell him to shut up, but you’re not gonna because it’s cute how forward he is with his thoughts. If anything, he’s treating you right now by doing this, so he can say whatever he fucking wants right now.

“Yeah? You just gonna stare at it?” You try to urge him, and it works.

Because of course it works.

You do your best to contain any rising orgasm, solely because you don’t want to spend yourself before you actually let him inside of you in full. But goddamn, he’s just as eager now as he was the first time…if not more.

He thinks back to the things he did before, mimicking that and hitting all of the perfect spots without fail. Still, you hold back, pushing and pulling yourself away and toward him just to feel his tongue chase. He eventually holds you in place against him, big hands holding you firmly against his face with a bit of force. And now? He’s licking you deeper than you’ve ever been licked before. It’s a different kind of sensation, and the way he groans into it is entirely too much for you right now.

You need more, you want more. You want all of him by now, so aroused by every touch, breath, and moan that it’s becoming unbearable to just be eaten out. The thought that he’s doing this to get himself hard again is flooring, and the feeling of his fingers replacing his tongue much like before is intense.

After just that one time, he knows exactly how to make you cum this way and it’s dangerously attractive to realize that. He goes straight for it too, pulling back to watch his fingers slip into you up to the knuckle.

He hums out a rumbled moan at the sound of your cunt squelching around his fingers. So wet. More wet than any of the girls in the porn he’s watched for years. You’re dripping around his fingers, and the smacking sound is so fucking arousing to him.

And yeah, he can’t reach your clit with his mouth this time so he thinks hard about how to fix this little dilemma and you’re floored even more by the fact that he solves problems without questioning. You feel his fingers leave you and land on your clit, and right then you feel his tongue again, just as deep, licking into you and all over you.

The sound of your pussy amplifies when it’s against his tongue, and honestly, he could cum right now if he really wanted to. Already he’s hard again, but god feeling you, hearing you, seeing you like this for him? For some guy who has never once been able to give a girl his all like this?

He’s so focused on you.

Which for you, is a bit of an issue because he’s really not going to let you hold it in, he’s going to have you fucking unravelling again and it’s too good. Thankfully, when you try to lift to look behind yourself, you take note of his other hand working himself.

He’s hard again, and god knows how long he’s been doing that.

You pull your body away from him quickly to let your rising orgasm subside, his protesting moan doing nothing but heating your body up more when you flip over and watch him.

“You were really just going to get me off again and not try to fuck me yet?”

He looks down at himself and then back at you, smiling and running his hand through his hair.

“I like doing it, I wanted to see if I could make you–”

“You absolutely could have but I’m going to be honest,” You start, interrupting him and pulling yourself up to crawl over him. “If you’re ready, I’d like to live up to my promise.”

His eyes are much sharper than they were before when you say those words. This is actually it. He would have been perfectly happy just eating you out, getting head himself, or whatever. Over and over again. Any and all of it is better than being in his room alone, but you’re really–

“Really?” He asks, knowing full well the answer..

“Lay back, get comfortable,” You instruct with deep breaths, scooting up the bed with him, keeping yourself planted on his legs despite the discomfort. “You still want me to ride you, yeah?”

He nods almost frantically, landing his hands on your tits without hesitation and groping them in a blatant show of how ready he’s managed to get himself for this.

Not that you want to rush, but you’re so fucking turned on by this point, the only thing you want is to be filled by him. His is cock likely bigger than any you’ve taken before, and to be fair, you don’t even care if you’re the desperate one at this point. You’ve almost forgotten he’s a virgin.

“Wait,” He stops you when you slide over his cock, bare pussy coating his length in a languid grind. “Oh, fuck, wait- no,” He breathes in a sharp breath and grips your hips. ”Do that again.”

You smile at his frantic thoughts pouring from his lips, sliding against him again, and again, up until he’s leaning forward and attaching his lips to one of your nipples and suckling against it hard.

You groan as you grind, feeling the head of his now, fully hard, cock bumping against your previously stimulated clit. He groans with you, almost at the exact same time but continues to try and leave his mark on you. In love with finally getting your tits in his mouth, your pussy on his cock, and most of all, in love with the fact that you’re not laughing at him for any of it. You seem to melt into it much like he does and he can’t help but want to email the creator of that fucking app and personally thank them for this.

You rub yourself against him until it’s even more unbearable than before. By now, you’ve completely soaked his length and he’s completely soaked your chest in saliva and tiny swollen bite marks. Not that you mind the biting, his little rumbled grow-like moans only made this all the more arousing.

“Ready?” You finally sigh out, deliberately grinding against him slowly now, with almost your entire weight behind the grinds.

He groans out a “please” before immediately gripping your hips and stopping you. Pulling his head back so hard and so quickly– he kind of forgot to unlatch from your nipple and it sends a sharp pain throughout your body, one that only makes you want to ride him hard. Right now.

“Hold on, there’s a condom in the pocket of my jeans–”

“Okay, and?” You laugh, sliding forward again and grinding your clit against him. “I’m on birth control, and I’m clean.”

He looks at you, his sharp eyes falling back into the sparkling doe eyes as his mouth falls open at the very idea that he gets to hit is fucking raw for the first time?

“Unless you’re lying, and you’re not really a virgin?”

He’s quick to silence your doubt. He’s 100% never had his cock inside of anything other than his own palm and– malfunction. He’s blank again, staring up at you and wincing at the feeling of you pleasuring yourself on top of him.

“Please?” He manages to get out, gripping your hips so tightly by now that he’s sure it’s hurting you.

You smile, humming at him when you lift from him, standing on your knees to grab his cock and position him in the right place.

“You sure you want it too?” You ask, only now realizing that you’re genuinely about to take a man’s virginity, and it’s only fair that you give him one last time to decide if he wants you to take it from him. Despite how turned on you are, and regardless of how badly you want to fuck him, it’s not right to just do it without making him really think about it.

“Fuck, yes.” His fingers tighten against you, his eyes squeeze shut, and his voice comes out as frantic and quite frankly, a bit annoyed. “Just do it already.”

You can’t help but smile at him when you do. Lowering yourself slowly on him and feeling the stretch of it. His face is something that you don’t think you’ll ever forget. He appears to be lost in it, eyes rolling back, his chest heaving, his teeth showing through a half-smile as he moans out at the sensation.

He can’t get over how warm it is inside of you, the constant clenching of your pussy dragging along his entire length. He can’t help it when he moans, he doesn’t care that his voice cracks, or that it sounds like a pathetic sob.

By the time you bottom out and sit like that for a moment, you almost feel like he’s the one who needs to adjust. Of course, you’re needing this moment to adjust too but god– just watching him makes you that much more wet and it’s insane how into him you are right now. As if you haven’t been since you started talking to him.

“Feels good?” You ask, involuntary clenching around his size, letting out a small sigh yourself at the feeling of his leaking cock inside of you.

He hums at you and then takes in a deep breath before fully opening his eyes again and looking at you. Technically, he’s no longer a virgin now. It’s fucking happening, and you’re hot? So fucking hot? You feel so good? You smell so good. You sound so fucking good.

Everything is overwhelmingly good, all he can do now is press his hips up and instantly moan out at the new feeling.

You take that as an invitation to absolutely obliterate him, much like you knew you would. So, you do. Lifting yourself up and sliding him almost entirely out of you before sinking down again.

His hands shoot to your waist, then he lifts slightly to grab your ass from behind you, and then he flops himself back– seemingly unable to know what the fuck to do with himself at this feeling.

You opt to grab his hands, intertwining your fingers with his and holding them above his head, all so you can lay chest to chest with him, lips right at his neck. You start kissing, riding him so smoothly and doing nothing but listening to his little sounds that he tries to keep inside.

“You’re really cute, you know that?” You whisper against his ear, kissing there too before pulling back to look at his face.

That half-smile never leaves his face, and his fingers squeeze against yours so tightly that you actually start to worry that he may break them. Thankfully, he begins to relax after a few minutes. Adjusting to the overwhelming pleasure and now losing himself to the arousal rather than fighting it.

You nearly squeak when you feel him release your hands and grab your face, pulling you up to him as he kisses you mindlessly. Breathlessly, moaning into your mouth all while moving his own hips now. You can feel him jerk his hips, imagining how he fucked his hand through facetime. This is better than that.

You prop to stand up on your knees, offering him the space to fuck you as hard as he’d like, and god. It’s hard. It’s deep, and it’s so clumsy. No rhythm, no thought behind it at all, you can fucking tell he’s purely running on adrenaline as he plunges into you.

He’s actually going so hard, that your moans sound more pained than pleasurable, but that’s not the case at all. You actually can’t stop moaning, it’s just the fact that each time he slams into you, your throat lets out a broken sound.

For a moment, you think you can actually hear him unintentionally growl against your slack lips as he does it. Already he’s lasted longer than you thought he would, especially without a condom, and you’re so fucking impressed by it.

You slide your hand between your bodies, easily rubbing your own clit and drying out your throat even more with the consistent loud moans of how good he’s doing. After a few moments though, his hips stutter and you take that as a sign that you should take over again.

“I don’t know how the fuck you’re doing this to me,” You laugh out of pity for yourself, “I really thought I could last longer than this.”

He barely hears you through his ringing ears and rapid heartbeat, but he chuckles at the compliment. Feeling like he must be doing something right to have a woman say that to him. There’s one issue. He’s about two thrusts from cumming again and he will be damned to ruin this for you.

You take over, riding him harshly and rubbing your clit even harder. He takes a moment to try and distract himself from how good your pussy feels clenching him and takes it upon himself to bite down hard against his tongue. Something to hurt enough to keep his orgasm from bubbling over, but also not something so awful that he’d lose his arousal entirely.

You continue, pushing yourself back up from him and watching the way he tries to focus on anything but what’s happening. You ride deliberately to get him off though, knowing that the second he does, you’ll let yourself go too. He doesn’t seem to be picking up the hints.

“Are you close?” You ask, out of breath and riding him so consistently that it’s becoming more and more difficult to hold your own orgasm. “Let it go, do it with me–”

Instantly, you hear him whimper out a moan as he releases the bite on his tongue. Shooting himself forward and hugging you so tightly that the pressure of your fingers against your clit is entirely unbearable.

“Oh, god. I’m–” You start, moaning against his hair as he hugs against you.

He’s so fucking relieved, already releasing into you as you say those words. All he can do is breathe through it, feeling your pussy pulse around him as he continues to empty himself into you.

It’s entirely too intense, his ears popping and heart threatening to send him to a hospital. Never did he think having sex was this intense.

Little does he know… it’s not. But even you, for some reason, find yourself wondering why the fuck that was so good.

By the time you pull yourself off of him, both of you wincing and trying to ignore the mixture of cum running down your legs, all you can do is look at him with curiosity.

He can barely open his eyes to look back at you, but he tries, he really does.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

He’s not going home tonight. Of course he’s not. Like, how fucking rude would it be to take his virginity and send him on his way? Absolutely the fuck not.

In fact, you made him some food, wobbling on spent legs throughout the kitchen as he lays on his death bed in your room. (He’s being dramatic.)

All he can do is listen to the sounds of you in the other room and think hard about how he just felt. Physically, it was a lot. Surely if sex is like that all the time, he’d rather not do it as often as Heeseung does. Honestly, his sanity would be at stake.

But like, you’re kind of amazing. Given, the two of you barely know each other past lame texts and bullying each other. Physically, you know him more than any other woman and that’s a block he didn’t think would be an issue until it became one.

You made him cum twice. And he thinks you did too, unless you’re lying just to make him feel better. There’s no way you didn’t feel the intensity of that though. There’s no way your wobbling legs were lying to him when you got up and told him you wanted to have a snack before bed.

There’s no way you would let him sleep over if you didn’t feel the same way he does right now.

And by the time you’re back, handing him a plate of food, he can’t help but believe that nothing will ever taste as good as you.

The thing is, that’s one of the main reasons you did this. To be praised, to have a man think you’d be the best he will ever have until he eventually meets someone else and they do better than you did. Now though, you feel weird.

This is a one night stand. A charity-fuck, as it still stands at least.

“So,” You start, taking a bite of your food still as naked as can be regardless of how stupid it must look to be eating in a cum-soaked bed like this. “I guess you should change your bio in the app now.”

He looks at you, and then at his food.

“Yeah, I guess I should…”

“I’ll help you fix your age on it. Now that you know what you’re doing with a woman and all.”

It’s silent for a minute.

“Is it too forward if I say that I’d rather just delete the app and keep calling you?”

Thank fuck Jake is forward and embarrassing with it. You’re not ready to give up the single life but on the other hand, after that, you’re not exactly ready to share him with other women just yet either. If he wants to attach himself for a while, you’re going to let him. Purely because, like, look at him. Everything is endearing, and when he’s not being adorable he’s just being fucking hot.

Maybe you will be ready to give up the single life if it’s with Jake.

You nod with a smile, wondering if he expects you to delete the app too. Because you’re not so sure about that, but also you think you probably would if he asks with those stupid doe eyes.

Strangely enough, he doesn’t even ask. He just starts eating the food with a content look on his face. Sweat having dried up but left his hair a mess, his skin is glowing– you think…oh no. Why are you looking at him like this?

“Hey, I should probably call Jay and tell him not to come home until late tomorrow or something.”

Jake nods, lifting his eyes to you and watching you take your phone out.

“I should call my friend too, he told me to let him know when I get my cherry popped.”

You snort at him with a laugh right as Jay answers the phone, and honestly, you’d rather listen to Jake’s friend than Jay whining about having to spend even more time with his overbearing parents.

“Hey Jay, don’t come home 'til I call you tomorrow, bye.” You say quickly before hanging up.

Instantly you’re setting your plate on your table and launching yourself at Jake and his phone.

“Put him on speaker.”

Jake does just that, laughing at Heeseung’s reaction when he hears you speak rather than his best friend over the line.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

#enhypen smut #jake smut #jake sim smut #jaeyun smut #sim jaeyun smut #enha smut

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bunnis-monsters · 2 months ago

Text

All you could ever need

Yandere!Incubus x Fem!Reader

Bunni’s Monstertober Event

Oct 6th

Oct 5th

Oct 7th

warnings: dubcon, somnophilia, aphrodisiac, yandere behavior, soft sex

summary: When an incubus takes interest in you, being in love with another person is dangerous.

The incubus is so soft and sweet on you. He gives you the best wet dreams, getting to fuck you every single night.

But then he comes, looking into your subconscious to think of something fun to try.

And he sees you’ve got a little crush on some… human.

It’s the first time he’s ever felt jealous. Before he met you and stopped feeding on others, he could care less if the person he was fucking has a boyfriend, wife, lover, etc.

But just the thought of you liking someone enough to be having wet dreams about them… now that pissed him the hell off.

He sat in his room, his soft pink robe on as he combed out his long hair. He was beautiful, loved by men and women alike. The incubus could have anyone he wanted… yet you, the woman he desired was attracted to a mere mortal that could never give you what he could.

With a flick of his tail his appearance could become whatever you wanted. You wanted a feminine man with soft eyes that loved to be pushed around? Or maybe a well built man that could manhandle you and lift you up like you weighed nothing? He could be that for you.

But what he didn’t understand was that you didn’t love based on appearances. The reason you loved your crush was because he had been kind to you when you were both children.

The incubus flicked his tail in annoyance, watching as you touched yourself to the thought of your crush being the one to play with your fat cunt.

He had enough of this. With a flap of his wings, he took off towards your crush’s home. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to make you all his.

The news of your crush’s death certainly ruined your week. You called off of work, too devastated to leave your bed.

Now you felt guilty when your cunt became wet at the thought of him. You couldn’t even bring yourself to play with your clit.

But your incubus lover that you weren’t aware of watched from your window. He’d ease your suffering…

As you drifted off, wet and uncomfortable, he slipped in, sinking his fangs into your neck and injecting an aphrodisiac. He’d fuck the sadness and guilt out of you.

His fingers toyed with your clit for a moment before he moved to your tight hole, pumping them in and out as he kissed and nipped at the sensitive spot of your neck.

He could tell you needed this, his poor baby was so stressed. Maybe it was slightly his fault for killing the man you loved,

You woke up just as his ribbed cock pressed into your, making your clench around him and cum instantly. You felt so hot, your hips moving uncontrollably.

“W-who-?”

Your eyes looked into his. His skin was a soft purple, his eyes a black void. “Hush, darling…”

His tail rubbed against your clit as he continued to fuck into you. There was so much love behind his touch that you were left a moaning mess.

“Just relax… I’m all you could ever need.”

———————

YANDERE TAGLIST: @katerinaval @sunset-214 @avalordream @atransmuter @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @sandramalikstyles-blog @anonymouskiwi @pedropascalbabygirl @flamefoxx @swasti8854 @an-ever-angry-bi

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hoshigray · 10 months ago

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𝐒𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲, 𝐈 𝐇𝐚𝐝 𝐚 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞 | satoru gojō

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Going on a date with the guy who broke your heart is something you’d never thought would happen – especially on Valentine’s Day! But it’s just for him to be in your good graces again, nothing more…Yeah, go ahead and tell yourself that.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Gojo x fem/afab! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern + college AU - frenemies to lovers + mutual pining + confessions - Gojo and reader are at least age 20 - going on a date - sex in a public space; hotel room - breast fondling + sucking + nipple play - fingering (f! receiving) - oral (f! receiving) - clitoral play (sucking and swiping) - missionary position - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up or get tf up + Gojo doesn't shoot inside) - pet names (baby, cutie pretty, princess, sweetie) - angst + fluff - cameos: Shoko, Mei Mei, Utahime, Geto, Nanami - mentions of tears and spit - humor bc I'm [not] funny.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.3k (going out with a bang, jfc)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: final part to this short yet fun story !! tysm for the love you've given this series, it was a random idea that came to me last year and I'm so glad I was able to put more thought into it. all y'all's comments and rbs have been entertaining to read thru, love the support and engagement this story sparked with you, and I thank you sm for sticking around ccc: also!!! ty for 5.9k loveliessss mwah mwah~

and lol, yes, the title is based on the laufey song, hehe~

prev story » ❤︎

“Sorry, Satoru, Y/n doesn’t wanna see you right now — like, at all.”

“Oh, Gojo. Sorry, Y/n’s in no mood to talk to you right now. Said you better not make so much as a step past this door. Because if you do, I’ll have to charge your savings.”

“Hmph, you got some nerve, Gojo! Didn’t you hear from Mei Mei earlier? Y/n doesn't wanna talk to you…What the hell did you do this time?”

You could hear your roommates telling off the person showing up at the front door from your door. Before, they’d come to you and ask if you wish to give this person an audience for your presence. Yet you say the same thing: you’re not ready to converse with them. You’ll probably never want to talk with them again.

It’s been like this for the past week. Ever since the little fiasco between you and Gojo — not to mention you slapping him across the face for his upsetting words — things between the two of you have been quiet as promised. The very last words you ever told him were to never speak to you again after publicly humiliating yourself by crying in front of him.

Outside of being the talk in everyone’s mouth (I mean, who wouldn’t gossip about one person slapping another after walking into them saying some mean shit about the other), you’ve been worried about by your friends ever since the incident. Your direct senior roommate, Utahime, was the first one to see you crying to yourself after coming home from classes and immediately called up Gojo to rip him a new one for making her junior roomie cry. Shoko was the passive one who listened to both sides yet still put your emotional state above anything else, telling Gojo white lies that you weren’t in your dorm room whenever he’d try to visit. And Mei Mei walked with you to your classes throughout the week in case the tall figure tried looking for you.

But it didn’t stop there. After that day, your Contemporary Issues course with Professor Naga was sheer awkwardness. The silent tension between you and Gojo was so thick that it effortlessly suffocated your peers and made it hard to concentrate — especially for the professor and your friends, Ijichi and Haibara. Outside of the class, you did your part in avoiding Gojo, and the same applies to the lectures you shared with him. No words, no greeting – not even a mere glance – were shared in his direction. It was as if your life mission was to avoid him at all costs.

However, this is Satoru Gojo we’re talking about. Although he respected your no-talking rule in the premise of lectures, he’d still try to get your attention once class was over. And even then, you’d bolt to the door to not give him the chance. He’d follow right behind you and have to maintain a respectable distance when Mei Mei was the light lavender eyes behind your back.

But what the hell did he expect? What he said hurt you to your core, so there was no way you’d want to speak with him again. He deserved that slap! The sting you inflicted on his face for a few minutes was nothing compared to the torment of your heart that’s been aching for a long while now. You can’t even look at Gojo after what had transpired. The pain he caused has been with you for a while, yet it still felt new and fresh to reflect on.

And yet…your mind still can’t help but agonize you even more. Do you think it was easy to not engage with Gojo this entire time? Oh, it was the worst, both for your soul and mind. The memories of his smile and dimples would come up every often, pooling you deeper into your dread. The routine of him speaking to you with whispers when it was just the two of you — like he didn’t want others to find you in the comfort of each other’s presence — like it was sacred. And the way he said your name. It toyed with your heart whenever you’d reminisce it.

“Y/n!”

Especially after how much has changed in your relationship with him, you really thought things between you and him were going for the better. Or, to be honest, becoming something a lot closer and personal. Something you grew to want with him as the days’ encounters and nightly calls went by.

“Y/n...”

But you were wrong, lecturing yourself for being so dumb and naive for wanting such a thing. Amid the fun, you had forgotten what you two were and believed that you could change from that. Change with him. And yet here you are, broken-hearted, barely concentrating on your Word document on your laptop.

“Hey, Y/n,” your brow twitched with the snap of reality, Utahime opening the door after knocking. “It’s the front door again; it’s—“

“GRRRAAAHHHHHHHHH!!”

You were never one to shout within your apartment — Utahime’s eyes widened at the sudden shout of vexation. You stood up from your desk and walked past her, marching through the hallway. Mei Mei peeks from her shared room, and Shoko pours coffee in the kitchen. All three of your roommates observe you stomping to the door.

You swung the apartment door open with vigor, “I SWEAR TO CHRIST, GOJO, WHAT PART OF ‘DON’T EVER TALK TO ME’ DO YOU NOT UNDERST—…Geto?”

“Oh, hey there, Y/n. I was worried about you.” You were surprised to open the door and not find the unusual silver hair you expected. Instead, it was Suguru Geto, Gojo’s dark-haired direct roommate, rubbing his cold hands together that weren’t covered with his black windbreaker. Next to him was Kento Nanami, standing silently in his sand-colored trench coat.

“Hey, guys,” knowing they aren’t who you thought it would be, your shoulders relaxed with your tone. “What’s up?”

“Well,” Geto sighs heavily before telling anything. “We wouldn’t be here for a reason. And, after hearing what happened between you and you-know-who, I think you can guess why we're here, too.”

And then it hits — the realization of how these two’s abrupt appearance came to be. “…He asked you two to come and talk to me for him.”

The two roommates look at each other for a second, and then Geto points behind him with his thumb to the stairwell door. You follow his finger, seeing the person you’re talking about watching you from the door window. You try not to contort your face into an ugly, exasperated expression in front of the other boys. So, you settle for a sigh to alleviate the stress growing inside you.

“Ugh. What is it.” You ask Geto with an attitude that wasn’t easily sheathed.

“Honestly, all I know is that he really – like, really – wants to talk to you.”

“Well, I don’t want to talk to him. So there,” you shake your head and backtrack past the threshold of your door. “Sorry you two came here for no reason, but I can’t—“

“—Wait!” Geto cuts you off and brings a hand on the door to stop you from closing it. You caught the intervention, widening the door again. Geto explains himself. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you—well, no, sorry. I get that Satoru said some things that hurt you last week. Believe me: I already lectured him hell and back for it when Shoko told me you came home crying, and you have every right to be mad at him right now…But—“

“Did he tell you what he said to me?”

“H—No, he didn’t,” your brow quirked at that response. He didn’t? “All he told me when I confronted him was that he messed up real bad and crossed a line.”

“A line?” You enunciated after him. “That’s cute...Geto, he won’t tell you what he said because I caught him saying those things. That scumbag,” you averted your gaze to the door window, seeing Gojo gulp at your fierce eyes. “—knows what he said. And he knows that I told him I want nothing to do with him for that.”

Nanami was quiet throughout the entire thing, so it took you aback when he spoke. “And I’m on your side in that regard. You’re right, he is a scumbag; tactless, crude, borderline annoying—“

“Just borderline?” Geto points the word out to lighten the mood.

“And the type of person to get on someone’s nerves purposely. And with that, I don’t blame you for cutting him off. If anything, it’s what he deserves, if not more.”

You knew there was more to say beyond that. “And yet…"

“And yet,” Nanami picks it up. “…I’d be lying if I said that guy doesn’t know when he’s at fault. He can be prideful and childishly playful — albeit disrespectful to anyone he thinks doesn’t deserve it. However, he’s not emotionless, and if he is disrespectful to his friends, he knows when he’s in the wrong.“

“And take it from me, Y/n.” Geto comes in with the assist now that things are a bit calm. “Fucking asshat will take days to apologize to me for something stupid, and that’s if he feels like giving me one. But even if he doesn’t, I know he cares about me like any best friend…Like he cares about you.”

You had to fight the urge to roll your eyes, so you close them and shake your head. “He doesn’t care—“

“Yes, he does.” Nanami doesn’t let you finish that sentence. “Like I said: Gojo is many things, but he’s not an emotionless moron. Because I can tell that whatever he said distraught you to your core and made him feel bad about it — pathetically so.”

“…How do you know?” You don’t know why you asked that question; why the fuck should you care? The fucker in question is the one that broke your heart behind your back, so why bother?

“Because when he came home that day, Geto pulled him by the shirt, threw him against the wall, and yelled at him like no tomorrow. And he just stood there, letting Geto give him his rightful lashing. He even told him he didn’t deserve you as a friend, which I agreed with. But then Gojo said something after that…”

Again, this isn’t something you should be caring about. So why are you turning to Geto to ask, “…What did he say?”

“He said I was right, that he definitely didn’t deserve you.” Before the raven-haired boy answered, he exhaled through his nostrils. “And that what he said about you was, by far, the dumbest thing he’s ever done, which is saying a lot.”

“A whole lot.” The blond-haired boy jumped in. “Y/n, don’t take this as me vouching for him. But, if you could have seen the look on his face when he said that,” he nods when you shake your head ‘no’ again. “You would feel the guilt and shame pouring from him. It was pathetic to look at — pathetic for him to express. But it was real.”

And you know it’s the truth — not because it came from Nanami, but because you could picture the scene as if you were there. You could just imagine Gojo’s face, a dangerous move as your heart skipped with a twinge. You imagine the emotions he was expressing, your skin crawling thinking about his blue eyes – usually filled with life and light – appearing so broken and devoid of animation.

“He does care about you — there’s no mistake about it. You two have been friends since freshmen year; he’d be an idiot to let those years go down the drain because of him. And that’s why we went along with coming here in his stead and asking you to talk to him.” You open your mouth, but Geto isn’t finished. “Please, Y/n. You’re the mature one, but you don’t have to act strong on this one. I can only assume, of course, but I’m sure you want this handled, too.”

He wasn’t wrong, yet at the same time, you couldn’t shake the heavy feeling that was weighing you down.

“I…I don’t want to speak with him.” The two guys didn’t change their facial expressions. “Not now, at least...I don’t want to see his face right now.”

“Then how about a phone call later tonight?” Nanami proposed. “You two can talk it out with each other after you guys think about what to say to each other. You can even have the call while we’re sleeping so you can have privacy.”

“Ehhh, but I’m nosy.” Geto teases his sophomore roommate, making the younger blonde huff.

“Not tonight, you are. Plus, you got a project to present tomorrow, so you need sleep.”

“Fair, fair…But seriously, Y/n, you should talk with him. If not for him, then for us, for Shoko, Utahime, Mei Mei, all of us. We don’t want you upset about what this idiot did this time. So, one talk should be okay, right?”

It should be okay. Keyword: should. However, the anxiety that you harbor within your limbs tells you otherwise. The pool in your stomach churning into a state you find uncomfortable to fight against.

But concurrently, you couldn’t lie to yourself; a piece was missing in all of this. The resolution was needed — there had to be a way to see the entire picture in this matter. Otherwise, you’d be walking around campus mad at the person behind a door examining your reactions for the entire semester — no, the whole next year! You knew you didn’t have the mental capacity to deal with that. You can barely go through it right now. So, might as well get this off the table before it worsens…At least, that’s what you say to rationalize.

“…Okay,” you straightened your posture. “The girls have morning classes tomorrow. Tell him to call me at midnight.”

Your answer sealed the deal, the two males dismissing themselves before you closed the apartment door. Your roommates peered around the corner once they heard the door lock, coming to ask if you were all right. You molded a faux smile and said you were fine, and yet you couldn’t tell if that was a lie to them or yourself.

From there, the time felt so long to witness and experience throughout the day, watching one hour pass after the other. The sun had never settled under the horizon so slowly before, taking its time to draw the curtains of darkness over the Earth. And yet the time went fast simultaneously — the minutes spooked you every time you looked at the clock.

Was this the universe’s way of toying with you for agreeing to talk to Satoru Gojo? It had to be. Your stomach doing somersaults didn’t help either; you could barely get through eating dinner because the dreaded talk bound to happen in a few hours was all your mind could think about.

And then, when everyone was fast asleep ten minutes before midnight, your nerves couldn’t settle down. Five minutes before, you decided to take yourself and the phone to the bathroom (because the fan would be loud enough to tune out your conversation), needing the tiny space to yourself to pace back and forth and not to disturb Utahime snoring away. One minute before, you were sitting on top of the toilet, watching the seconds go by on your phone, praying that he wouldn’t call on the dot. He wouldn’t buzz you at the immediate stroke of twelve, right? He had to be doing something — anything else — hoping he’d spare you another minute if he could.

BZZZR!! BZZZR!!

However, that wasn’t the case. He called you right on the dot, and your heart jumped at the vibration from your phone. His display name was titled ‘do not answer this jerk,’ a change you made the day after the incident. Yet here you are, in the bathroom, and your thumb shaking over the green button.

It wasn’t until the sixth vibration that you pressed the button with a sharp inhale, bringing the phone to your ear with haste. The silence was in the air for a couple of seconds, worsening your anxiousness. Until—

“…Hey.” He was the first to say something, thank God.

“Hi…..Where are you?”

“Outside my apartment, sitting on the stairwell...You?”

“In the bathroom.”

“You sitting on the toilet?”

You know what he was doing, making the conversation easier before getting to the hard stuff. Nonetheless, you admit it was working while your nervous state gradually deteriorated. “…And what if I am?”

“Then I’d say….Heh, actually, no. I can’t make that joke right now. Not when we’re like this.”

“Mmm, like this…” You hummed, the awkward tension filling the silence once again. “….Look, Gojo—“

“Before you say anything,” he cut you off, but you allowed it. “I have a lot I wanna say to you, and I want to get them out the way before I forget and never get the chance to say them to you…Can I say them?”

Your brows scrunched together, your free hand drawing reassuring circles on your thigh, and your teeth gnawing on your bottom lip. “…Go ahead.”

“Okay…So, first off,” you held your breath to brace yourself. “What I said about you on that day — I’m not gonna sit here and say I didn’t mean those things when I said them because I did. But NOT in the way you’re thinking.”

“Then what way did you mean them, Gojo?”

“I meant them in the implication that I was trying to protect what you and I had.” Had? “Our relationship was being questioned, some girl was asking about us and…I know you weren’t ready to have our business out in the world yet, so I thought….I just said what was believable with how everyone sees us since we’re always butting heads and shit. So, I said and meant those things to protect us in the heat of the moment. And then…I guess I got carried away.”

“You guess you got carried away?” You repeated, your anxiousness now substituting for subtle anger. “…Just a little person angry at the world around them? So exhausting to deal with someone so boring and uncute as me?”

“Holy fuck, you remember it all—“

“Of course I did!” How could you not!? “And then — hmph, now this one I’ll never forget — ‘I’ve seen prettier, been with better, I feel sorry for the poor bastard who does end up with them’…” Your emotions were a mix of offense and pain, irritation and misery. Despite that, your voice maintained a calm tone, even if you wanted to do nothing but yell at the screen. Yet that wouldn’t solve this. “Gojo, the fact that I know all of that, verbatim, and have refused to talk, think, touch, or even look at you since them…To say you got carried away is just…like, holy fuck. Who the hell were you?”

He didn’t say anything for a minute, but you couldn’t blame him. Being hit with his own words like that, any moral human being would stop and let that shit simmer into their skin.

“…I’m sorry,” you wanted to call bullshit so bad, but not after he followed up with this. “Really. I’m so…so fucking sorry, Y/n. I know that shit wasn’t cool, and, to be honest, I expected more than one slap for that. I only meant it to save you the burden of gossip; believe me when I say that.”

“I—ahem…” Nope, you were not going to do this. Not tonight. “I want to believe you, Gojo. But I just…I can’t; it hurts my head thinking about it.”

“I know…I did that to you, and I’m so fucking sorry. My foot was too far up my mouth when I said all that, just one useless thing after another….And you know what’s crazy? I think my conscience knew me spouting shit wasn’t the right call. I mean, I literally walked with you to the class that day; what kind of friend does that and say shit like that afterward? And when I saw you….the way you looked so…distant? Just like that, everything that we had was just gone. I couldn’t see it — I saw absolutely nothing when I saw you. That scared me, seeing the happiness and the smile you had minutes ago just vanish with the flip of a switch. And I fucking did that. I knew at that moment that I lost you…..Y/n…? Are you crying?”

You immediately moved the phone away from your ear, covering your mouth with the arm of your sweatshirt. The cries you tried to suppress poured out at that moment, and the pain that scratched your insides left your system with every sob and intake of breath. The tears damped the material, soaking them in as they rolled down your cheeks.

As ways to start the eve of your Monday, crying with the person who broke your heart on the phone was not one you expected to be one of them. It all hurt: the rapid emotions, the memories of that day replaying in your head, the genuine sincerity expressed in his voice. It was all too fucking much, your face heating up to a concerning level that you’d think you’d blow up.

You give yourself a few seconds before bringing the phone to your ear, “….What else?”

“Huh?”

“You said—sniff—that you had other things you wanted to say to me.” A change of subject was necessary, not wanting him to notice the broken crack of your voice. “So, what else?”

The request took him aback, but he knew better than to question or fight you. “…Second of all, I wanna say – since I’m not sure I’ll ever get the chance to tell them to you in person – I want you to know that you’re more than what I said. There’s nothing 'kinda' pretty about you — you’re pretty all over. I’m not saying that to butter you up; it’s something I’ve said to myself all this time…Who am I kidding, saying I’ve been with prettier and better when I hurt the most beautiful and kindest one my eyes ever laid on….? Boring and uncute? Heh, you’re anything but. Sure, I say you're uncute when you nag at me to no end, but I don’t think there’s been a single day that I’ve thought you were a sore for my eyes. You’re too gorgeous for that.”

“Gojo—“

“I don’t deserve you as a friend, Y/n.” Your breath hitched. “Honest. I shouldn’t even be talking to you right now. And yet, you gracing me with time to spare shows that I really don’t have the right to have you close to me…I’m sorry.”

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know he was honest about his apology. You felt it in your bones; your gut told you what Gojo told you was true. Your anger was nowhere to be found, but your guard was still up.

You slowly exhale through your mouth before taking your turn in the conversation. “So…Is that all?”

“….”

“…Gojo?”

“….”

“Gojo? Are you still—“

“I like you.”

Okay, you lied; your guard wasn't up for that.

There’s no way he just said that. There’s no way those three exact words left his mouth and entered your eardrums. They kept ringing throughout your head, bouncing off the walls of your cranium with each repeated syllable. Your eyes widened by the second, your body coming to a complete standstill. And yet, the only thing that was moving and showed signs of life was your heartbeat increasing with the silence.

He likes you. The Gojo Satoru — your frenemy, annoying peer, and friend who enjoys your yelling and nagging — likes you.

“You…You what?” You heard him perfectly, but you wanted to confirm this wasn’t some joke.

“I like you.” He didn’t hesitate to replicate. “I do, I really do. I’ve liked you for….quite a long while, way before we started having sex together.”

“How long ago is that?”

“I think since the spring semester of freshman year when we had started to get a little closer before you became friends with Geto...Yeah, for a while now.”

“…Why?”

“Hmm?”

“Why do you like me?

You heard him sigh out a large breath before answering. “…To be honest, I just like how you…are you. Like, you’re not scared to be yourself around me. Many people I’ve known try to kiss my ass for me to call them a friend, and even then, those guys are assholes…But you, I don’t see that — I never saw that. You’d never kiss my ass; you’d always be down to tell me when I’m wrong or right. Being around you was different from other people; I felt comfortable around you like you were one of my friends.”

You didn’t intervene, listening to every word he was to say.

“Not to mention…Heh, you’re so cute. Like, actually. And pretty, and independent, and bright. I can’t count how many times I’ve been lost in my thoughts about you. Especially recently, you’re all that I can think about. I like how it feels to hold your hand, and your fingers look small against mine. I could never get enough of you talking to you; it’s one of the things I look forward to. And, holy fuck, the way you smile. I swear, you could kill me with that face of yours. And your eyes — I’m always told mine are so beautiful to look at, yet I find that impossible whenever I get stuck when you look at me….Y/n? Are you—You’re not crying, are you?”

You said in sniffles. “You’re such a fucking asshole, Gojo…”

“Huh!? Why??”

“You break my heart one day and then say all these things the next…Are you trying to tell me that stunt you pulled is that dumb thing where people say stupid shit about someone else because they like them?”

“Hey, I told you why I said them! Besides, those two bimbos were getting in our personal life, and we didn’t have anything to call our relationship, so…!”

“Sniff—And you! Why didn’t you tell me you liked me for so long instead of annoying me to no end?”

“I could’ve done that, but…I don’t know. I guess our relationship was easier the way we had it. Things were less complicated for you. Plus, you’re cute when you’re angry at me.”You had to scoff at that. Of course, he’d say something like that. He can be such a prick sometimes. “I was okay with how things were, being all naggy and arguing with you while secretly close to you. I didn’t want to change something we were used to into something more.”

“Mmm.” You could only hum to that sentence, letting his words sink in before saying anything. “…Would it have been a bad thing if it was something more?”

He didn’t answer immediately, indicating that he took the question in serious thought. “No…I wouldn’t have minded. But that decision was all yours to make.”

“Gojo,” The words you were about to say were about to be so nerve-wracking that you had to take in a deep breath. Chewing on your lips while exhaling through an open mouth. “….Would it be a bad thing if I said….that I liked you, too? And that…I still like you—”

KA-BANG-BANG!!

You jumped at the sudden sound coming from the other side of the line, as it was not the response you were expecting, and you could hear him saying curses further from the phone. After a few brief seconds, Gojo’s voice comes back.

“Fuck, sorry, sorry! I just dropped my phone on the stairs!” He sounded so worried, as if he lost you. “You.…You like me?”

“Yeah, I do…” Gosh, you didn’t think this would happen, the heat on your cheeks expanding to your ears and neck. “I really do. And I’m also willing to forgive you. BUT, you have to prove your worth by redeeming—“

“I WILL!” Again, it wasn’t the reaction you were expecting! He replied with such momentous excitement that you could imagine the sparkle in his blue eyes. “I will, I promise! In fact, I have an idea; how about I take you out on a date?”

Huh!? “A date??”

“Yeah, on Valentine’s Day, this Wednesday! I know this great place not too far from here, or maybe you wanna go to a small café to wind down from classes? You can pick—”

“Wait, wait! We have classes that day; we have our night class with Professor Yaga—“

“We could skip—“

“Hell. No.” You shut him down with quickness. “We’re going over some serious discussions that day for our papers on Friday; we’re just gonna have to do the date after class.”

“Pfft, God, you can be such a geek sometimes.”

For the first time that night, you rolled your eyes. “Says the Digimon-fanatic talking to me right now.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He snickers at the phone, and your heart swoons at it. It felt like you hadn’t heard that laugh in ages. “So…Is that a yes?”

It had you thinking for a temporary moment; talking with Gojo again just felt so…familiar. It was something you’d been missing for the past week, accepting that you’d never experience it again. And here he is, inviting you on a date? This was, by all means, a weird night. An apology, a confession, and now being asked out?

Regardless, you can’t shake the feeling of wanting to be by his side again. And with a chance like this, why brush it off? “Yes, I accept your date.”

“Then it’s a Valentine’s date. Cool.”

“Cool.” You awkwardly repeated after him, becoming squeamish with the brief silence. “Okay, well, now that we talked. I need to get some sleep.”

“Mmm, okay. Go get your sleep, then. Be sure to think of me in your dreams~”

Your head is shaken again, this time with a smile. “Whatever. I’ll try…Think of me too, Satoru.”

“I always do, Y/n.” Jesus, the way he gently and affectionately said your name. Is this what it’s like to admit you like someone? “Good night.”

“Good night…Oh, wait! You said you had a joke earlier.”

“Hmm…Oh, yeah?”

“Well, now that we’re kinda on good terms…What was the joke?”

“Oh! I was gonna say it’s kinda a shame that you’re sitting on a toilet and not on my face.”

“Goodbye, Gojo.”

“PFFFT, No, wait, I’m so—“

CLICK!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

As far as dates go about, this is one that Satoru Gojo was the most nervous about.

As promised, after your class with Professor Naga ended, Gojo waited for you with his car on Main Street by your dormitory. He was already dressed for the date, adorned with a black turtleneck and jeans that matched his Chesterfield coat. But you had a few things you wanted to touch up on before going out for the night, so he texted back that he’d wait for you outside.

What he didn’t expect was being instantly shot down by you once you came down and walked to his car. Because holy fucking shit, you looked so fucking beautiful. If this was a “touch-up,” all the people he went on dates on must’ve not been trying.

You were wearing a black halter long-sleeve top; your collarbone and shoulders were out for his eyes to trace and breathe to hitch. Your arms were shielded by a hoodie that looked a bit big for you but did its job of protecting you from the cold winds. And black thigh socks that contrasted with the plaid skirt and the puffy boots. And…did you put on lipgloss on? Holy shit.

“So,” you’d say meekly to catch his attention since he’s examining your every feature. “I’m ready…” They were simple words, yet they had the power to have him stop leaning on the car and grab the door for you. You were chewing on your lip, avoiding his gaze that watched every step you took. “You’re staring, Satoru…”

“Hmm? Oh! Sorry...” He’d close your door and mutter, scratching his neck where the heat from his ears crawled around.

And from there, the date began. The plan? He wanted to take you to some fancy restaurant, but you politely declined and told him you’d settle for dinner and a movie. And you two did just that, going to this burger joint that was popping off when you entered. You two sat at a booth by a window, enjoying your food and conversing about each other’s day.

“You did not have to do that.” You said in giggles, bringing a fry to your mouth.

“I did, too!” Gojo replied after taking a big bite from his burger. “The fucker almost tried to dirty my basketball shoes; do you know how much those shits cost? Expensive as hell.”

“Yeah, but to push your buddy to an ice bath because he almost dirtied your shoes?” You shook your head with a smile. “And all shoes are expensive these days, Satoru.”

“Yeah, well, mine were custom-made. So,” he takes another bite. “Serves him right.”

Gojo didn’t notice it himself, but you saw a bit of ketchup on the corner of his mouth. Tending to your friend’s obliviousness, you grab a napkin and stretch to him. At first, he thought you were giving it to him to wipe it off himself; nope. You did it for him, tenderly dabbing the condiment off his lip.

And you didn’t even notice what you were doing until your eyes met his, instantly pulling your hand back. “Sorry! You just…had something on there…”

“Mmm, thank you…” he said it low, but you heard him. What you couldn’t hear, thank God, was the beat of his heart going at an unsteady rate. It took a minute for you two to shuffle uncomfortably for the conversation to flow back.

After the dinner was the movie, a random action movie that you two felt interested to see. And it wasn’t that bad of a film; the plot was pretty subpar, the acting mediocre, but overall, a good movie.

However, Gojo couldn’t focus on the movie for lengthy periods because his eyes would usually drift to the right of him where you sat, surveying how engrossed you were watching the film that you didn’t notice him. God, even in the dark, you looked so gorgeous and cute.

Sometimes, he’d glance at your armchair and look at your hand, the inner dialogue between himself on whether he should go for it and place his hand on top of yours. But he doesn’t do it. He wants to, but he can’t, not like this. It was killing him so much; the feeling of wanting to touch you and have you against him again was haunting him — they’ve been haunting him for the past few days now.

“Fuck…” he’d mutter under his breath, but you wouldn’t hear because of the sound of explosions coming from the theater speakers. He wanted you but didn’t want to mess this date up. He couldn’t afford to screw this chance with you, he just couldn’t.

Once the movie was over, he’d walk with you to the parking lot where the car was parked. The chill winds of February crawl up on your bodies, and you bundle up into your warm hoodie. “Did you enjoy the movie?”

He hummed with a tilted head. “Meh, I’ve seen better. It wasn’t too bad. What about you; you liked it?”

You looked up to ponder and shrugged, swaying side-to-side as Gojo leaned on his car. “Yeah, it was okay. There’s better stuff out there.”

“You just saying that to agree with me?”

“No, maybe you’re reading my mind and copying my answers.” You give a tiny smug look, only for him to smile along.

He then asks, “So…did I do good with this?” He can’t lie; how you lifted your brow instead of giving an immediate answer made him a little nervous. And with the tilt of your head and turning your body fully towards him, you knew you had him in the palm of your hand. You hand him your verdict:

“I think so. You treated me to good food, didn’t try to poison me, and got a free movie ticket out of it.” You jokingly punch his chest. “Yeah, I liked this date, Gojo. Consider yourself redeemed.”

He snickers lightly, “Good, I don’t think I can take another day of you being mad at me.” That made you giggle; good. Things go quiet for a while, and he averts his stare downward. His eyes land on your hand, the thoughts from the movie theater teetering back to his head. Goddamn it, he really wants to touch you—

“I can see you staring through those glasses, Gojo.” And just like that, you propelled your hand to link with his, making the tall boy flinch. “Your subtlety is wearing thin.”

Your teasing tone evokes a chuckle disguised in a sigh from Gojo, his fingers slithering to intertwine with yours. “What makes you think so?”

You peer up to him. Fuck, your eyes were so beautiful. “You were practically staring daggers at me while watching the movie. Am I on your mind that much?”

“Yes.” You expected a different answer – something more playful – and it’s why you couldn’t breathe after he brought his face closer to yours. “Infintely.”

Suddenly, the cold air didn’t bother you anymore. The heat on your face blossoms across your cheeks and ears while maintaining eye contact. “Am I on your mind right now?” He nods, your noses barely brushing each other. You whisper to him, “What are you thinking about?”

“I wanna kiss you.” He closes his eyes; you can see from his shades. “I want to hold you like I did before.” The hand clutching yours gets firmer. “I want you…Just you.”

The way he has with words effortlessly pulls you in, his voice comforting to the point you allow him to put his other hand around your waist. You faintly reply before connecting your lips with his. “I want you too…Satoru.”

When he pecks your lips, a feeling you two feared was wiped off the Earth returns to warm your bodies. Your hands instantly go around his neck like usual, sighing through your nostrils as you permit to sink into his hold and kiss.

Gojo uses this to bring his hand behind your neck to keep you on him, the kiss becoming more passionate by the second. He licks on your bottom lip, a sign of wanting entry. So, you open and lick him back before he takes the initiative to put his tongue inside your mouth. And you moan into his lips — fuck, how he missed the sounds you’d make for him. It felt like forever since the last time he heard them.

This moment brings the spark between you two back, the sounds of the world around you drawing out from your space. All that mattered was you being in his embrace and him having you with him like this again. It all felt right — being with each other — with nothing bothering this peace meant for you two.

So much so that Gojo took it upon himself to convince you to stay with him tonight at a nice hotel close by, where you two couldn’t get off each other the moment you closed the door to your room. Hot kisses are exchanged as you two remove each other’s clothing, Gojo undoing your bra and lifting you to place on top of the bed.

His lips never leave yours, even when his hands play with your chest. Your legs wrap around his waist to pull him closer as he rocks into you. Your core down south experiences throbs that entail you want him, your horniness dialing up with every grind of his groin.

He breaks the kiss to playfully bite your lip so he can hear you yelp for him, placing his lips from your chin down to your neck. You say in shaky breaths, “Hahhh, Satoru, please touch me more…”

He lifts his lips from your clavicle, “Of course, princess; you know I always got you.” He then licks from your collarbone down to one of your nipples in a tantalizingly slow fashion, your body squirming from anticipating what he’s about to do. His tongue finds its way to swirl around the bud, having your hum to the wet touch. And when he decides to suck it into his mouth when it’s hardened, you gasp.

But it doesn’t stop there, one hand tweezing the other nipple as he licks around the one in his mouth. The free one snakes down your abdomen to your skirt, lifting the material for his digits to meet the damp spot of your panties.

You jerk at the feeling of him moving the material to the side, rubbing his bare fingers on your precious, wet cunt and clit. “Ahhnn! Satoru, Satoru—Mmmm…” He rubs around on your folds in circles before adding his forefinger smoothly inside, his slender digit efficiently rubbing your vaginal walls have you holding back whimpers.

When he thinks you’re ready enough, he adds his middle finger inside. Both his digits scrape and graze around your inner walls, provoking silent screams to leave your lips. Your fingers find his hair to tug, which only has him suck on your breast more.

“Hooohhh, mmmmh…Right there, right thereee…please—Ohooo…!” You moan to him, your thighs jerking with every scratch of his fingers in your chasm.

“Mmm…you close, pretty?” Gojo releases your nipple for a quick second, returning it inside his warm mouth after he sees you nod hurriedly. “Hold tight, okay? Lemme get you ready, sweetie…”

You cry at the increase in speed, the nails of his fingers scraping the velvety tender spots inside you. Your body jerks to him as your hands find his shoulders to pinch on. Gojo lets go of your bud once again to move his lips down south, spreading your legs to take a look at your mess.

“Holy shit,” he says with a bitten lip before he crouches down to kiss your clit after slipping your panties off. “I fucking missed this pretty thing so fucking much.” He licks your soapy folds up to your clit, drowning the delicate button with feverish laps of the tongue. It has you screaming his name, and he loved that so fucking much.

Gojo stuffs his face to your slit, drinking your essence while teasing the clit with fast swipes. Your wails get louder and louder, and he doesn’t make it any easier when he keeps your legs spread for him to continue his work. Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m gonna cum, I’m—“Ahhahnn!!”

That’s when you come onto his face, your cunt spasming with electric pulses and your legs shaking with every hit of your orgasm. And he keeps on sucking and licking your fluids; you’d think he’s sucking the life out of you. But you can’t blame him; the boy is starved for you.

He soon withdraws his face from between your legs when you’re done with wailing and crying, licking his lips and leaving off the bed to take out a condom, throwing his jeans and drawls to the floor. But then something is wrong, and you can see it when Gojo presses his lips into a thin line before climbing back to the bed and maneuvers on top of you. He aligns the glans of his cock to the entrance of your vagina, and it’s there that you notice he doesn’t have the rubber on.

“I…I forgot to bring a condom, sweetie.” He says to you in a tune that harbors slight worry, and you can tell from his azure eyes that he’s a little nervous about this step. You held back a giggle; for once, he looked adorable when worried about something.

“…How good is your pull-out game?” You ask, half-jokingly.

His white brows trench together. “Are you sure?”

You nod and kiss him on the cheek. “I trust you, Satoru, so just be careful, okay?”

He blinks at you, taken aback by your lack of resistance. Yet, at the same time, he knew you needed this just as much as he did. So, with that in mind, he pushes the glans into you, observing your breathing to gauge how much to propel inside. The tip of his length then bullies itself inside you, a sharp gasp coming from your sweet lips while Gojo moans at the raw feeling of you around him.

“—Hnnn! H–Hooooly fuck,” with every inch he pushes inside of you, the sensation of your pussy chills him up his spine. The rubber had been shielding this away from him, every dent and smooth tissue of you wrapping around him. Oh, fuck, this was a dangerous game to play. “Oh, shiiit, you feel so fucking good..”

You could agree with that notion, experiencing his naked girth inside you for the very first time. You could feel his veins graze against your walls, the curve scraping your spots tenderly. “Ohhhh, fuck, you too, ‘toru…Oh my God…”

Even starting with slow thrusts was a hard card to pull, the subtraction of the condom making this feel so new and fresh — a scary dance to do with two young lovers. He pulls his cock slowly til halfway up the tip and then rushes it back inside to your wetness. Your pretty purrs fly out with every movement.

Gojo takes this time to look at you with your disheveled figure sprawled out for him to see and pick at like eye candy. Watery eyes batting up at him with pleasure behind half-lidded orbs, your chest that he loves so much out for him to give a nipple another tweak, and your legs curling around him as his tempo increases. You’re so fucking beautiful, and he’s so lucky to be able to have you under him again. He wouldn’t want it any other way — he wants to belong to you and you with him. It’s a dream he’d kill to have with you.

“Y/n…” he says your name in a shaky breath, groaning at your slit clamping onto him so suddenly. “Can I…Be your boyfriend?”

You didn’t have enough time to react appropriately because Gojo hammers his cock into you with no warning. You scream out for him to stop, to wait a minute so you can give an adequate response! But no, he ruts into you like his hips have a mind of their own, forcing you to cling onto him for dear life as the curve of his length jabs you in places that have you rolling your eyes to the stars.

“—Ahahhnn!! Ahhh! W-Wait, Satoruuuu!!” Your words slur out with a hot breath, drool coming down your mouth with no control. “You want me….Mmnph! To be your—“

“Yes! Oh, fuck…yes!” He says with no hesitation, slamming his pelvis down to your pussy so fast that his balls smack on your taint. Oh, fuck, this felt way too damn good! “I wanna be yours, and I want you to be mine—Hooooh….No one else’s…!”

“Nnahh…!! Ohhh, my God, fuuuuck…!” Your heart beats eighty miles per hour, your whole body endures heat shared with Gojo, and your thoughts travel too fast to keep up. He wants to be my boyfriend? He wants to be my boyfriend! “…R–Really?”

“Yeah, really, really.” He smiles breathlessly at you, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Let’s be a couple, yeah? I want you so bad; you drive me so fucking crazy—Hannhh!! Shit, shit… I don’t want to hide this anymore — to hurt my cutie anymore. Let’s make this official so I can be with you without worries.” He snaps his hips harshly, grinding his pelvis with the flex of his abs, provoking more horny howls to seep from your puffy lips. He lowers to whisper to your ear while a hand clings to yours on the side. “Whatcha say, princess, hmm? Let’s be together….Hmmm…!”

Holy fuck, this is not a confession you were expecting while having your insides churned out, with your crush between your legs, in the middle of a hotel room, on Valentine’s Day. Your mind was getting foggy enough from the hot commotion in your inner thighs — now your head was filling up with fantasies of being with Gojo as a couple! This was beyond bizarre, something out of a fucking movie!

And yet, you couldn’t find any reason to say no! There’s no denying it — those feelings Gojo had for you were the same as you had for him. You feel so happy being around him, in his hold, whispering and expressing his vulnerable side to you, and you’d want to throw all that away? Hell no!

“—Mmm, yessss,” you can’t help but shed a little tear at him, to which he readily dries away with a thumb. “Yesss, Satoru, I wanna be yoursss — please…take care of me!”

Gojo slams his lips onto yours, your mewls taken by hungry lips while his strokes go at a rapid tempo. You almost choke on his spit from the way your clit catches abrupt hits from his pelvis, and the tip of his dick pokes your fragile spots with precision.

Oh, Jesus fucking Christ! You felt it; it’s coming. You felt it in your bones, the shivers crawling up your spine as you inhaled to prepare. “Maahhh! ‘Toruuu, I’m gonna cumm…! Quick, pull out—Oooooo!!”

Thank God you gave him a warning. The tall other was too lost in the feeling that he was just about to come inside you! He removes his body off of yours to swiftly pull his member out, using his hand to finish the job for him, although he already misses the warmth of your cunt.

He comes at the same time as you, his load shooting out from his urethra and spilling onto his hand. White fluids slide between his fingers as he continues to stroke himself off while your legs twitch and your slit contracts and flutters on nothing, letting the wave of your climax pass on through with every howl.

The air of the hotel room cools your bodies after disconnecting your sexes off each other, and huffs and pants from heaving figures are evidence of you two trying to find your balance in the world. Sky-blue eyes lock in with yours, and he laughs in faint puffs.

He crawls his way back between your legs after wiping his hand, placing kisses up your neck and chin. “Hahhh, fuck, that felt way too good.”

“Mhmm,” you hum with him, letting him place his head in the crook of your neck.

“Hey,” he traces a finger along your collarbone. “Wanna skip classes tomorrow?”

Your eyebrows draw upward. “One day of Valentine’s isn’t enough?”

“Nope~. Plus, I wanna make up a week’s worth of not being around you.”

“Pfft, sure,” you stifled a laugh. “But you need a single day to do all that?”

He lifts his head with a grin. “Well, we don’t have enough clothes to stay here until Saturday.” He maneuvers himself to lie on his side. “Why? You doubt I can do it?”

“You’re free to prove me wrong,” you give him a sneer. “I suggest you start getting to work.” You didn’t expect your words to flip a switch, causing the snow-haired other to grab you by the legs to him. He restrains your hands above your head, and you can’t fight the giggles from his playful manner.

“With pleasure,” he claims your lips again, your sweet murmurs entering his ears.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Psst, oh my God, do you see that?”

“Holy shit, this can’t be real!”

“Woah…Am I in the right universe?”

“Satoru, I told you people would stare…hurry and let go of my hand—“

“Nope! I like where your hand is right now~.”

It was like this the entire day. Ever since your Valentine’s Day date with Gojo, things instantly returned to where they were supposed to be and more! It was amazing how one day could make the bitterness of the weeks prior dissipate with the February wind. There was nothing to be scorned about —nothing to be scared of — everything felt clear to you and the person you were holding hands with.

After that date successfully went well — and won your heart in more ways than one, you’ll admit — you and Gojo decided it was time to unveil the status of your relationship. No more secrets, no more hiding feelings for each other; you two were officially a couple, both in private and outward!

Spending two days alone together felt like a dream, being so close to each other without worrying about being seen and critiqued in the eyes of others. But now, back on campus grounds, you can’t go back on your promise and have to walk with your cheeks and ears burning as Gojo’s fingers tighten the grasp around yours.

Of course, the change of pace was a complete shock to the students and staff on this Friday. The number of perplexed gazes and starstruck figures who stopped to look at the two of you was too many to count — hell, you even saw Professor Gakunaji’s eyes widen for the first time! It was all so embarrassing, being the talk on everyone’s mind after keeping a low profile for so long. And here you are, holding hands with the star basketball player, the guy everyone knew assumed you couldn’t stand being within arm’s length with, and now, the boy you want to spend the rest of your college life with, Satoru Gojo.

Who, by the way, is loving every single second of this — of course he is, the fucking cheeky bastard! You don’t think you’ve seen his smile and dimples never leave his face for the entire day. He was stuck to you like glue, walking you to your classes and immediately returning to your side after his lectures ended like a happy puppy. He knew you were a little overwhelmed with it all, but that wasn’t a problem because he’d happily make sure you didn’t think you were the only one going through with this. Plus, you just looked so fucking cute looking all bashful around him now that he expresses his love for you publicly. I mean, the way you were in shock after he kissed you on the cheek after walking you to your second class of the day with Utahime? Oh, he wished he had a picture! Especially with your roommate’s jaw dropped to the floor (which never closed throughout the remainder of class as she just stared at you) after seeing the startling, romantic interaction.

And now, here you two go, walking out from your last class of the day with Professor Yaga — who was caught off guard when you two walked in together with a lovey-dovey (mostly on Gojo’s part) atmosphere but gave you a small smile as you walked to your seats (which were changed because Gojo pleaded you sat next to him from now on) as Haibara and Ijichi exchanged cheeky glances at the observation.

You two were walking down to the dining hall, where you planned to have dinner with Shoko and Geto and tell the two best friends of Satoru Gojo of your intimate relationship. But gosh, everything was going too fast! “Hey, Satoru—“

“Yeeeess~?” He says in a sing-song tune, too pleased with himself as he swings your hand to and fro with his.

“Do we really have to do this today? Why not eat with Shoko and Geto tomorrow—“

“Huuuh!!? But I’m taking you out tomorrow!” You want to hide your face when passersby hear your boyfriend’s reaction, immediately swapping gossip when they’re out of your vision. “Besides, they’ll be hella busy studying tomorrow at the library, so today was the best option.”

You nod aimlessly. Ughhh, this is just too much. I feel like my head is gonna implode. Then, you felt Gojo grip your palm tighter and put your walk to a stop, prompting you to look up at him again.

“Hey,” he says with his signature smile, his dimples becoming more prominent now that you’re gazing up at him. “It’s gonna be okay, alright? I got you, and you got me, right?” And he brings you in for a tight hug that has you squeaking and your lips quivering from hearing people gasp at the display of affection. “And now that I finally have you to myself — officially! — don’t think for a second that you can ever get rid of me!”

On the one side, you really want this fool to let go of you so everyone can stop staring and you can get this dinner over with! And yet, on the other side, your heart was beating in such a tune that had you melt into his embrace, and the smell of his cologne made you hum to his chest. You can’t seem to fight the smile growing on your face and your hands coming around to hug the white-haired, lovestruck fool back. “You’re too silly, Satoru…”

“Uhh, are we interrupting something?”

With haste, you and Gojo break the hug to see the owner of that familiar voice. To your surprise, it was Shoko greeting you two with a smile. Next to her was Geto, also harboring a sly smile on his face before you.

You cough to clear your throat away from Gojo, who sneaks his hand on your shoulder to keep you close. “H–Hi Shoko, Geto! I see you guys beat us to the dining hall.“

“Yeah, we were wondering if you two would make it. But now,” Shoko’s brown eyes venture from the figures of Gojo and you being close together, “I can see that you two wanted a bit of time to yourselves.”

“Uhhh, oh, you know; we just wanted to walk together since we had our last class for today!” You try to move your shoulder away from Gojo, but his grasp gets firmer and firmer.

Geto laughs, “Oh, no need to act so shy on us, Y/n! It’s good to know that you two are back to being close and cool now. Especially now that you two are a couple.”

“Ohhh, c’mon now, we’re not—“ you stopped, your body going rigid, and everything suddenly fell silent. “Wait….You knew?”

Geto hums as confirmation. “Yeah? Gojo told me.”

Your face forms into confusion. Gojo?

“Me?” Silver brows hang up at the statement. “I never said anything.”

Shoko makes a slightly bewildered expression. “What are you talking about? Remember that photo that you sent to Geto on Wednesday, and—“

“Woah, woah, woah.” Gojo’s fingers tense on your shoulder. Oh, he knows he’s in trouble. You can tell as he silently removes his hand while you question his best friends. “What picture?”

“Uhhh, the one he sent when you two were out for Valentine’s?” When we WHAT!? “Hold on, lemme pull it up from our messages…Yeah, this one.”

The moment Geto brings out his phone and gives it to you, Gojo felt his heart dropped to his ass. Not that you could tell, but the aura of fear was enough to be picked up. What showed on the screen not only had your jaw drop to your feet, but the cutesy feelings you had a minute ago with Gojo faded. Instead, it was replaced with the growing irritation that had your fingers tremble.

Geto’s phone screen displays a message and an attachment from Gojo on the night of your date. Judging by the time, it happened when you assumed you two were sleeping. The attachment proves your point, showing your sleeping face peacefully on Gojo’s bare chest. And the man in question is shown groggily awake, holding his phone to take the picture while his lips are planted on your forehead. The message below the photo answers Geto’s question, “Yo, you two made up already?” To which the taller figure says, “Yeah, kissed and made up. :3”

“Gojoooo….”

Before you do or say anything, your shaky hands return the phone to its owner, which Geto takes silently while backing three steps away with Shoko.

“SATORUUUU!!!”

You yell out his name without a care for the people around you who immediately look at you. You turn to where he’s supposed to be — supposedly by your side. But you’re not surprised to see that he’s gone, turning your heel to find that the snowy-headed figure was backing up with his hands up.

“H–Hey now, Y/n,” He says nervously. He better be nervous because your eyes showcased a wrath he wasn’t ready for. “Calm down for me, okay, princess?”

“You…Are so…FucKING DEAD!!!”

And it was there that you chased him down, running around the halls. Geto and Shoko watch with baffled expressions before they scoff with laughter. The same goes with the other students who witness the commotion, enjoying the familiar banter between you two.

It’s weird to say that you and Gojo are officially a couple now, at least to the public eye. However, no one seems to be in denial of it or push it aside. If anything, they seem happy for you two, finally coming around to express each other’s love for one another in a better way than insults and shouts.

And your friends can say the same, enjoying the change of ambiance whenever you two are in the same space. No more trying to ignore the rambles and arguments between you two, no more tired eyes rolling around their sockets when you call each other names. Because they know those will happen anyway; nonetheless, it’s now in a better light that the banner of young love is finally open and hanged.

It’s a love that you and Gojo can finally express, be free, and be happy with.

“COME BACK HERE, SATORU GOJO!!”

“NO, YOU’RE JUST GONNA HIT ME!!”

And you two wouldn’t want it any other way.

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