#New ideas keep things fresh! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joelsgoldrush · 4 months ago

Text

“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

4K notes · View notes

smileysuh · 10 months ago

Text

crossroads

🌙 starring. Kim Mingyu & Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. If one neighbour is a Doberman, then the other is a Golden Retriever. They’re like night and day, and yet, you’re drawn to both, as if some gravitational or celestial power is pulling you to them… it also helps that they both have motorcycles. How had it been so easy to ghost Wonwoo in the past, only to find yourself at a crossroads with his roommate seven months later?

tw/cw. Threesome, unprotected sex, multiple sex scenes, big dick Mingyu, creampie, oral (f/m receiving), blow job, deep throating, hand job, Eiffel tower/spit roasting, breast worship, nipple pinching, nipple licking, panty kink, eating pussy through panties, fingering, squirting, pussy stretching, praise, dirty talk, ‘sir’, dom!Wonwoo, switch!mingyu, blindfold/sensory deprivation, voyeurism, listening to your neighbour have sex, masturbation, reader reads erotica, mutual masturbation, slight dacryphilia, blindfold/sensory deprivation, inklings of humiliation, etc… I pet names: (hers) angel, baby. (Mingyu’s) gyu. (Wonwoo’s) sir.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 19.8k

🍭 aus. Biker!meanie, booktok!reader, neighbours!au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. This was not supposed to be this long. I don’t know how this happened.

Prologue

“Who keeps messaging you?” your cousin asks, trying to act nonchalant as he sips his margarita, but you can feel his eyes on you as you stare at your phone.

“The Harley dude,” you sigh, quickly reading the text message.

“The guy who missed your first date because he was napping?” Jeonghan nearly chokes on his drink, setting it down in favor of flashing you a judgemental look.

“Yeah, the same guy who also tried to rebook our first date as a group ride night with all his friends,” you roll your own eyes at the stupidity of men. While the idea is fun, it’s not the way to get to know someone new.

Jeonghan lets out a low whistle. “Sheesh.”

“You can say that again.” You set your phone down, grabbing at your bellini, and relaxing against the patio chair, trying to soak up the sunshine in an effort to calm yourself.

“Well? What did he say?” your cousin presses.

“He said his entire week is free if I want to meet up.”

“And what did you say?”

“Nothing.” You tip your head back, letting out a contented breath. “He had two chances, I’m not about to give him a third.”

“Summer is almost over,” Jeonghan points out. “I know you wanted to find some hot dude with a motorcycle and ride off into the sunset. You’re getting low on time.”

“Honestly, Hannie? This Jeon guy is not worth it.”

One

After a long winter, it’s finally getting warm enough that you can open your apartment windows and enjoy the fresh air. Trees are beginning to blossom, birds are singing songs that act as white noise while you sit at your dining table completing the last few emails for your remote job.

As you’re finishing up your very last correspondence of the day, new noises join in with the robbins and wrens. These noises, however, are nowhere near as pleasant.

There’s a banging outside your door, a few thumps, and a distinctly male voice cursing.

Living in a fairly quiet apartment complex, these sorts of sounds aren’t something you’re used to, and they can only mean one thing; your landlord finally found new tenants for the two-bedroom next door that’s been vacant for over a month.

With a sigh, you close your laptop, wrapping your sweater tightly around your body as you venture toward your door. You can’t help the curiosity bubbling inside of you, and after another deep breath, you decide to take a peak into the hallway beyond.

Two men are struggling to get a couch through the doorway into unit 317. You stay silent, watching the way one man’s biceps bulge with each maneuver. His hair is on the longer side, dark strands licking and curling at his throat, which is covered in a light sheen of sweat from the effort of moving.

“Come on Cheol, we’re almost there,” he encourages the man holding up the other end of the sofa.

“Fuck you, Mingyu,” the other says, stepping back into the apartment and out of your view.

You wait patiently, and after a minute or so, the pretty man moves into the hallway again, giving you a full view of his face. He lets out a deep breath, shaking out his muscular arms- that’s when his eyes meet yours, and you swear your heart skips a beat in your chest.

His mouth curves into a wide grin. “Hi! Sorry if we bugged you with the noise- that couch was not making moving easy.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him quickly. “You must be my new neighbours.” Your gaze shifts past him to the second man, who has appeared in the hallway too.

“Nah- I mean, I am, but this is Cheol, he’s just a friend,” the pretty man tries to explain, stopping in front of you. He wipes his hand along his jean leg, then holds it out to you, “I’m Mingyu.”

You allow him to shake your hand. Despite his attempt to wipe some of the sweat away, his palm is still a little clammy, although, you’re shocked to find that the physical contact isn’t unpleasant.

You tell him your name, watching Cheol trudge past you to the elevator. “So if that guy isn’t your roommate, who is?”

“My buddy Wonwoo. He’s actually visiting family in Korea right now, won’t be moving in till the end of the month.”

“I see,” you nod. “Well, welcome to the building.”

“Thanks,” Mingyu beams again. “If all our neighbours are as friendly as you, I think we’ll like it here.”

“If I’m being honest, we’re a quiet building, lots of us are kind of reclusive,” you try to explain, choosing your words carefully.

You hear Cheol let out a chuckle as he waits for the elevator, and you wonder what he’s found so funny.

“Quiet,” Mingyu repeats, letting out a breath. “Noted. We’ll do our best not to be a disruption.”

You want to believe him, but something in his grin tells you not to.

Two

It’s been about a month and a half since Mingyu moved in. You’ve not seen him, or his roommate, although, you have heard them through your shared wall a few times. One of them - Wonwoo you’re guessing- is pretty into video games, because yelled lines like ‘I’m trying to revive you, dipshit!’ and ‘stop fucking dying so much then!’ have irritated you and interrupted your soft girl movie nights.

From what you can tell, Mingyu’s elusive friend who was visiting Korea is now sharing his bedroom wall with you, and at two AM on a Tuesday night, your suspicion is confirmed. You wake to noises that aren’t gamer screams, they’re screams of pleasure.

Muffled cries of “harder, daddy!” and “please!” have your skin tingling as you shift under your duvet, feeling suddenly very hot.

As you lay there and listen to the sound of a headboard beginning to hit the wall, you try to decide if you’re annoyed, or horny. The tingling between your thighs, and the heat along your neck makes you think it might be a combination of both.

Part of you wants to bang your fist against the wall, but you’re much too shy to risk any sort of confrontation. Instead, you simply lay there, fighting the need to slip your hand down your sleeping shorts.

You figure the sex will be over soon, but five minutes stretches into fifteen. The woman’s cries have stopped, but the low thumping of a bedframe against the wall has only gotten more intense.

You’re no stranger to kinky shit- you’re an avid reader of smut afterall, and being a voracious reader, your mind comes up with reasons why the girl may have stopped begging. Had Wonwoo put something in her mouth to shut her up? Panties perhapse? Or had he flipped her into doggy position, pressing a hand to the back of her head to force her face against the pillows?

If Mingyu had been hot, his best friend must be sexy too- guys like that travel in packs, and Cheol hadn’t been bad on the eyes either. You imagine a faceless man, muscled and gorgeous, railing some girl not four feet away from you, with only a wall keeping you from seeing the perverse act. You feel dirty, like a voyeur, and you’re equal parts relieved and saddened when the noise finally stops.

You sit in silence, listening to your own heavy breaths for a few minutes, wondering if the sounds will pick up again.

They don’t, and soon, you’re drifting off into a lusty sleep.

Three

You’ve been awoken to the sounds of sex three times now. The idea of approaching the property manager to file a noise complaint has been on your mind, but you can’t find it within yourself to make waves.

Due to all of this, when you finally bump into Mingyu in the building’s shared laundry room, you see it as the perfect chance to quietly resolve the issue without causing trouble.

He’s dressed in gym shorts and a black muscle shirt that shows off his expansive shoulders as he moves wet clothes into the dryer. Standing in the doorway of the laundry room, you’re once again struck by how beautiful your new neighbour is.

With a deep breath to find courage, you appraoch him, going for the washing machine next to his. “Hi,” you greet him.

“Oh, hey neighbour,” Mingyu grins, pausing what he’s doing to look you up and down.

You’re hyper aware of the sleeping shorts that hardly cover your legs, and the sweater you’d tossed on does little to hide the fact that you’re currently braless. Even so, if you don’t bring up the noises now, you’re not sure when you’ll get another chance.

“Hey, do you uh…” your words come out quiet, and you try to raise your voice a little, wanting to sound confident, “do you think you could ask your roommate and his girlfriend to keep it down?”

“Huh?” Mingyu’s brows furrow in confusion.

“The person whose room is next to mine,” you try to explain. “They’ve been kind of loud with uh… a girl, recently.”

“Oh!” You can practically see the lighbulb go off in Mingyu’s eyes. “Sorry, you said girlfriend, and that part stumped me. The last time was about a week ago, yeah?”

“Something like that.”

“Don’t worry, I already talked to him a few days ago. Told him to get his fuck buddies to keep it down- they’re annoying, huh? I thought I was the only one losing sleep over it.”

“Definitely not the only one,” you let out a small laugh. “If I’m being honest, I was considering talking to the property manager about it, but I don’t like to cause issues, so I’m glad we’re on the same page about this.”

“We’re for sure on the same page,” Mingyu assures you. “Thanks for not talking to the manager about this- hey, listen, what if I give you my number, and if it happens again, you just have to text me and I’ll go bang on his door or something?”

“I’d appreciate that,” you grin, watching him pull out his phone so he can grab your digits. “Honestly, I work from home, and for the most part, you guys have been pretty great neighbours.”

“Ooh, one of those post covid remote jobs,” Mingyu nods in understanding. “I mean, I’m out during the days usually, I work at a tattoo shop across town, and Wonwoo sleeps most of the time so he can be awake for his evening bar job.”

“That actually kind of makes sense,” you admit. “I never see you guys around.”

“Well…” Mingyu leans against the dryer, flashing you a boyish grin. “We could change that. You could come over sometime.”

Your heart leaps into your throat. From his body language, and the suggestion, you’re pretty sure this gorgeous man is flirting with you. “I, uh…” you swallow thickly, “maybe.”

“Well, I have your number, and now…” Mingyu types something into his phone and a moment later yours dings, “you have mine. So if you want to take me up on that offer, just shoot me a text.”

“Okay.” The words comes out kind of shaky, and you internally smack yourself for becoming so shy from this pretty man hitting on you.

With a wink, Mingyu leaves the laundry room, and your thoughts are scattered for the rest of the day.

Four

It’s been too long since you’ve seen all your friends from highschool. Soonyoung, Seokmin and Seungkwan are three of the rowdiest guys you know. They love doing bar crawls with you whenever they’re all in town and can find the time.

Seungkwan lives in another city these days, studying law at a prestigious university. Soonyoung travels the country with dance troup. And Seokmin spends hours every day at the theater practicing for new performances and productions.

They’ve taken you to a bar you’ve never been to, and you’re enjoying the booth style seating. Millennial and old classics are playing through the speakers, and every time a good song comes on, the three men start singing, whether it be Cher, or Britney, or even Kesha.

You’re a few drinks deep, but they’re even deeper, and it’s gotten to the part of the evening where they want to hear everything about your love life.

“Okay, book girlie,” Soonyoung slurs, throwing his arm around your shoulders, “spill the beans. Who you fucking?”

You laugh, pushing at his cheek to get his face away from yours. He wreaks of tequila and the Gucci cologne he practically drowns himself in every night before going out. It’s not the most pleasant combination.

“I’m single,” you insist.

“We all know you always have your eye on someone,” Seungkwan insists, leaning over the table to point his finger at you. “Tell us.”

“Okay, maybe there is someone I’m interested in,” you admit.

All three men let out delighted squeals and laughs. “We knew it!” Seokmin exclaims.

“The issue is, he’s my neighbour, and dating in your apartment building can get messy,” you explain.

“We love messy,” Soonyoung insists.

“You love messy,” you correct.

“So who’s this hot neighbour?” Seungkwan asks, wanting to dive into the gossip.

“His name is Mingyu.” You let out a sigh. “He’s tall, and handsome, and his arms-”

“Does he have a motorcycle?” Soonyoung interrupts you. “We know you love men with bikes.”

“I don’t think so,” you shake your head. “But it doesn’t matter. My motorcycle phase was last summer.”

“Baby,” Seungwan frowns dramatically, “Honey, sweetheart- You’re a booktok girl. We all know kinky little sluts like you need their bikertok boy to make their fantasies come true.”

You hate it when Seungkwan reads you to filth like this, and you hate it even more that he’s so right. You’ll always have a soft spot for men on motorcycles- or is it a wet spot?

“Anyways, Mingyu is cute, he gave me his number and invited me over-”

“Bitch, go fuck him!” Soonyoung bellows a little too loudly, and you immediately slap a hand over his mouth, looking around to see if anyone heard him.

That’s when your eyes land on a man behind the bar. His curly dark hair is cute, but when you study his regally handsome face, you realize you recougnize him.

“Fuck,” you whisper, immediately lifting your drink to hide behind it.

“What?” Seungkwan turns in his seat. “The bartender?”

“Babes, he’s been checking you out all night,” Soonyoung grins, cuddling closer to you.

It’s only Seokmin who studies you and asks, “Do you know him?”

“The bartender?” Seungkwan scoffs, as if it’s a stupid idea, although, when he turns to look at you again, his jaw drops. “Fuck, you do know him! Girl, spill!”

“Do you guys remember that Harley dude from the summer? Jeon? The one I ghosted after he missed our first date then suggested a ride night with all his friends to make up for it?” you ask, lowering your voice and continuing to hide behind the glass in your hand.

“Shit, that’s the Harley dude?” Seokmin’s eyes widen in realization.

“Fuck me, this is awkward,” you groan, taking a large sip from your drink. “Can we get out of here?”

“Babes, we just ordered another round,” Seungkwan points out, lifting his full Gin and Tonic to show you.

“Don’t be like this,” Soonyoung pouts. “Harley man is a bartender, so what? He can’t ruin our night. Maybe he doesn’t even recougnize you!”

“If he’s been staring, I bet you he does,” Seungkwan points out, taking a swig of his drink.

“Thanks, Seungkwan,” you say sarcastically, “that really makes me feel so much better.”

Your friend only grins, raising his glass.

You do your best to be calm, but you can’t control the racing of your heart. Your gaze keeps shifting to Jeon, and then, the night takes a turn for the worse: Mingyu walks in, followed closely by Cheol, and some other guy you haven’t met.

The group walks right up to the bartop, and you note the way Mingyu grins at Jeon, holding out a hand so the two can do a slight hug over the counter before the three men take their seats.

“Shit,” you whisper, downing your drink.

“What?” Soonyoung also whispers, following your gaze.

“That’s my neighbour,” you explain. “This is not good.”

“Looks like they know each other,” Seungkwan points out.

“Again,” you sigh, “not helping. Fuck me, I need to go to the bathroom.”

You stand abruptly from the table, darting off to the space at the back of the bar. In the ladies room, you splash your hands with cold water, trying to chase away the fire that licks across your skin. Your heart is still thundering in your chest, and deep breaths don’t do anything to help.

You feel like you’re caged in- like there’s no way out of this bar without running into Jeon and Mingyu.

You’re not sure how long you stay in the washroom, trying to relax- you give your friends time to finish their drinks, and you’re hoping that when you exit, you can simply escape with them, using the three men as a human shield.

When you exit the bathroom, however, you run directly into Mingyu, who’s just coming out of the men’s room.

“Sorry-” he apologizes, only to look you up and down. “No way! Neighbour? Damn, I didn’t expect to see you here!”

“Oh, hi,” you say awkwardly, forcing a smile.

“How’s your night going?” You usually like Mingyu’s happy energy, but right now, it feels nearly overwhelming.

“Good, you?”

“My night’s going great- hey, listen, I want you to meet someone!” Mingyu grabs your hand, and before you can stop him, your large neighbour is dragging you back out into the bar.

As he tugs you closer and closer to Jeon, pieces begin to click in your head, and when you reach the bartop, you’re not even surprised when Mingyu says, “This is Wonwoo, my roommate!” He had mentioned Wonwoo worked at a bar, after all.

“Hi,” you say awkwardly, forcing get another smile.

Jeon - or Wonwoo - looks you up and down. God, he’s even more handsome than his Tinder pictures had made him out to be. But fuck, you’ve heard him fucking other girls through your bedroom wall over three times- and you’d ghosted him-

“Hi,” Wonwoo echoes, his voice all deep and sexy in the loud noise of the bar.

You feel like the wind has been knocked out of you.

“Wonwoo, this is our neighbour, you know, the one I mentioned.” There’s an insinuation in Mingyu’s tone, and the fact that he’d talked about you to Wonwoo has your stomach erupting into erratic butterflies that threaten to catch in your throat.

“Right.” Wonwoo’s tone is so unimpressed, and you’d bet your life the man is holding a grudge over the whole ghosting thing.

“Wait, Y/N, you should join us for a drink!” Mingyu suggests.

“Actually, I’m here with friends, I should really get back to them,” you say awkwardly, tugging your hand away from Mingyu’s grip. “Thanks for the offer though.”

“Right, yeah, okay.” God, Mingyu looks like a kicked puppy, but then he flashes you a smile and your heart melts. “Listen, text me, just to let me know when you get home safe.”

“You got it,” you agree quickly, giving him a tight lipped grin before you nearly stumble over yourself to get back to your table. “Guys, we have to leave, now.”

“What happened?” Seokmin asks, clearly concerned while Seungkwan sighs and pulls out a wad of cash.

“They do know each other,” Soonyoung blurts out.

“Turns out Harley Jeon isn’t just Harley Jeon, he’s also Wonwoo, Mingyu’s roommate,” you quickly explain, grabbing your jacket to wrap around your body.

Soonyoung’s eyes light up in realization. “And they were roommates,” he whispers.

“And I ghosted one of them!” you whisper yell back. “The same one who I’ve heard fucking multiple girls through my wall over three times!”

Seungkwan lets out a chuckle. “Girl. You’re fucked.”

Five

Jeonghan lets out a deep sigh. “You know, when Seokmin texted me to come check on you for some Grade-A Tea, I never expected any of this.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you roll your eyes. “I know I’m in deep shit.”

“Nah, you’re good,” your cousin assures you, standing and stretching. “You’ll figure it out.”

“I wish I had the confidence in myself that you have in me,” you breathe, also rising to your feet. Jeonghan’s been over for a while now, and after giving him all the gossip, you feel like you could use some time to yourself.

“You’ll get there,” your cousin assures you, heading toward your front door so he can slip into his shoes. “Keep me updated.”

“I will. Thanks for coming to see me.”

“Of course,” Jeonghan opens your front door, stepping into the hallway before pulling you into a hug. “If I didn’t have a board meeting tomorrow, you know I’d stay longer.”

“I know. But I’m good,” you assure him. “I think I’ll sleep early tonight. This week has been a lot.”

“Sounds like it,” he nods, releasing you in favor of heading over to the elevator. Before he can press the button, however, the elevator dings, the doors opening. Wonwoo steps out. He stops infront of Jeonghan, giving him a once over before his eyes shift to you, still standing by the doorway to your unit.

Then, to your annoyance, Wonwoo grins, shaking his head and brushing past your cousin.

Jeonghan gets into the elevator, the doors closing, and as Wonwoo walks past you, you can’t help but make waves. “What?”

“I never said anything.” Wonwoo stops in front of you, hands nonchalantly tucked in the leather pockets of his jacket.

“You gave me a look,” you insist.

He shrugs. “It’s just gonna break Gyu’s heart to know you already have a man in your life, that’s all.”

You roll your eyes. “That was my cousin.”

“Sure it was.”

“It was!” You can’t help the way your voice is raising.

“And the guys at the bar?”

“Friends!”

“Right.”

He turns to leave, and you swallow thickly, mind reeling for a comeback.

“I just don’t see how you can be making assumptions about me,” you state.

Wonwoo stops, gaze finding you again. “What do you mean?”

“Just that.. I mean… I’ve heard you fucking girls, mister Jeon, if that’s even your real name!”

He actually grins at your words, eye brows raising in surprise. “Girl, actually, singular. It was one girl. A recent hookup. She’s not into gags like the others, they’re generally pretty quiet for you, aren’t they?”

You’re so shocked by what he’s just said that you physically take a step back, jaw dropping.

“Oh, and by the way,” Wonwoo heads to his door, reaching into his jacket for his keys. “Mister Jeon is what people call my father, I’m sure you know that I prefer to be called Daddy.”

He unlocks his apartment, flashing you a wink before he heads inside. You stand in your doorway for a solid ten seconds, processing his words before you go back to your room to scream into a pillow.

Six

After the events of the week, and work on top of that, a nap the moment you're done sending the last emails of the day is exactly what you need.

Birds are singing outside, your window ajar. The warming air carries the scent of blossoming buds, and you relax against your pillow, enjoying the feeling of your duvet against your skin.

You’re just drifting off when a loud engine jolts you back into consciousness. You flop onto your back, staring at the ceiling.

You’ve been a motorcycle fan for long enough to know the sound of one when you hear it, and as the revving continues, you’d bet your right hand that some jackass is doing burnouts in the alley outside.

It’s probably some enthusiastic douchebag who has finally brought their motorcycle out of the garage after a long winter-

Actually, wait. You know an asshole with a motorcycle. An asshole with a Harley to be exact.

Fucking Jeon Wonwoo.

God, you hate that man.

Grabbing your pillow, you burry your head under it, wishing for the sounds to stop.

Surprisingly, soon enough, you hear the motorcycle take off, with two more engines revving up to follow.

Your apartment complex used to be so nice and peaceful.

It used to be.

Seven

After your nap had been interrupted, you’d trudged around for a while. It’s the evening now, and you have no energy to cook, so you’ve ordered takeout. When you head down to the lobby to grab your food, you bump into Mingyu.

“Look at us, always running into each other,” he grins, watching you step by him to bend down and pick up your takeout.

“Seems like a common theme,” you agree, letting out a sigh.

“You good, neighbour? You look tired.”

“You want the truth?” you ask, straightening to look at him.

“Always.” He holds the door open for you to come back into the apartment complex.

As you head to the elevator, you choose your words carefully, after all, you’re pretty sure Wonwoo was culprit behind the motorcycle incident two hours ago. “I just… I was trying to have a nap after work, been tired lately, and some guy was revving his motorcycle outside my window. He woke me up and I was too irritated to go back to sleep.”

As you enter the elevator, you notice Mingyu’s skin turning pink, and his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly. “Actually… uh… I, uh…” He rubs the back of his neck. “I have a Harley, but uh, I got a new sportsbike, and that was me doing burnouts to test it out a little.”

Your heart lurches into your throat, your jaw dropping. When it comes to your neighbours in 317, you always find yourself conflicted. You’re annoyed at him, but at the same time, the fact that he also has a motorcycle makes this ten out of ten man even ten times hotter-

“Oh,” you look down at your takeout.

“I’m really sorry,” he apologizes quickly. “It won’t happen again- you won’t tell our building manager it was me right? Like, we’re good?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” you let out a breath. “I mean, technically quiet hours don’t start till ten pm, and this was like, five, so I guess it’s my own fault for trying to nap so early.”

“Not your fault,” he assures you. “You definitely look like you need some rest- if it helps, I promise no burnouts near the apartment.” Mingyu even crosses his heart, and your body relaxes, shoulders slumping as you crack a smile.

“Okay, that would be nice.”

The elevator dings as it reaches your floor, and the two of you exit together, closing the short distance to your door.

“Your takeout smells good,” Mingyu notes. “Maybe you could put yourself in a food coma and pass out for a bit, I promise there will be no noise issues tonight.”

“That sounds nice, actually,” you admit.

“Also uh… you know, you still haven’t taken me up on that offer about coming over sometime.”

When you look over at Mingyu, you find him leaning against the hallway wall, staring down at you with soft puppy dog eyes.

“Yeah, I’ve been busy-” you search for an excuse. “Also, I mean, I don’t know if Wonwoo would be good with me coming over.”

“Why wouldn’t he be?” Mingyu shrugs, which is when you realize that Wonwoo must not have told Mingyu anything about your failed dates or the ghosting.

“He just didn’t seem to like me very much when you introduced us,” you blurt out, grasping for straws.

“He always has a resting bitch face, don’t take it personally,” Mingyu assures you. “Seriously, come over sometime, we don’t bite.”

Mingyu might not, but you get the sneaking suspicion that Wonwoo does.

Eight

The reverse harem adult romance your reading had drawn you in when you’d first opened it, but as time goes by, your mind keeps wandering when you reach the sex scenes.

Threesomes have you imagining Wonwoo and Mingyu, and try as you might, you can’t shake the image from your head.

It doesn’t help that they fit the character personalities, one puppylike lover, and one more stoic and dominant. You can’t help but wonder what the two would be like in bed, and with a groan of frustration, you slot your bookmark between the pages and set the novel down on the bed next to you.

As you sit there, deep in thought, you think about what Mingyu had said about owning a Harley.

That’s when you realize, last summer, when Wonwoo had suggested a Harley ride night as a date- if you had gone with him, would you have met Mingyu?

You decide that Mingyu definitely would have been there.

It’s interesting how the domino effect works- or maybe this is invisible string theory; the idea that, you can pass someone, or have missed chances, but one way or another, that person will always end up in your life.

What would have happened if you’d met Mingyu that way?

What would have happened if you’d met Wonwoo that way?

At the moment, there’s no question as to which of the two neighbours you prefer. Mingyu is happy and welcoming, he always has a smile, and you could see yourself having a great relationship with him- if things were to take a turn that way.

But on the flip side, Wonwoo is more similar to the type you’ve dated in the past.

If one neighbour is a Doberman, then the other is a Golden Retriever. They’re like night and day, and yet, you’re drawn to both, as if some gravitational or celestial power is pulling you to them… it also helps that they both have motorcycles.

How had it been so easy to ghost Wonwoo in the past, only to find yourself at a crossroads with his roommate seven months later?

Nine

You’re outside your apartment waiting for an Uber when two familiar men on motorcycles pull up in front of you.

Wonwoo’s on his Harley. It’s all black, and although you’re not very well verses with motorcycle types, you’re pretty sure it’s a Fat Boy or a Street Bob- but as you stare at the wheels, you begin to lean toward Street Bob.

Mingyu, in contrast, is on a red Kawasaki Ninja, which is evident by the name on the side. He lifts up his visor when he comes to a stop two feet away. “Hey, neighbour,” he greets you. “Waiting for someone?”

“An Uber is picking me up.”

“An Uber?” Mingyu looks around. “Where are you headed?”

“A family thing. We’re going to be drinking so I figured I shouldn’t drive,” you explain.

“Good idea,” he nods, then, without skipping a beat, he asks, “Wanna ride?”

You gaze shifts from Mingyu to Wonwoo, and you can practically see the Harley rider roll his eyes. With an aggressive rev of his engine, Wonwoo bolts off, leaving you and Mingyu in his dust.

“Uh, don’t you two have plans?” you ask.

“We did, but we were just going for a ride. I can take you where you need to be and meet him later,” Mingyu shrugs. “Seriously, don’t mind him.”

You’ve been on a motorcycle once before, and you know enough to understand that the short romper and light spring jacket you’re wearing is not enough to protect you on the back of a bike. And that’s the least of your worries. “I don’t have a helmet-”

Mingyu begins to undo his, and you watch in shock as he pulls it off, shaking out his hair and offering you the red head gear. “Take mine.”

“Isn’t it illegal to ride without one?”

“We’ll be fast- but not dangerous, I’ll be good, I promise. Where are we going?”

With a deep breath, you pull up your Aunt’s house on your phone’s map app, showing it to Mingyu.

“I can get you there in ten minutes, easy,” he says.

“This is not a good idea,” you warn, although you accept the helmet.

“Cancel your Uber,” Mingyu urges softly. “Let me do this for you.”

With one last sigh, you cancel your ride, then, you allow Mingyu to help you onto the back of his bike.

“Have you ever been on one of these before?” he asks.

“Once,” you admit, adjusting the helmet on your head before you tentatively wrap your arms around Mingyu’s large body.

“Just hold on tight.”

“Take care of me,” you retort.

Mingyu grins. “Always.”

A moment later, he’s revving his engine, and the two of you take off on his bike, your clothes whipping around and contorting flat to the curves of your form.

You hold Mingyu tighter, and he takes one hand off his handlebars to rest it over yours for a second, giving you a reassuring squeeze.

When he pulls onto the main road, Mingyu is true to his word about not being dangerous. He doesn’t lane split or push the bike too hard. When you come up to traffic, he waits patiently, resting his elbow on your knee as if this is something the two of you have done together a hundred times before.

You become so lost in how attracted you are to Mingyu- how you have to hug him tight when he accelerates, that the trip is over before you know it. He pulls up to your aunts house, turning to offer you a hand so you can get off the Ninja.

Your legs feel wobbly as you step on solid ground, and Mingyu helps you with the chin clasp of the helmet, removing it easily.

“Thanks for being my backpack,” he smiles.

“Thanks for giving me a ride,” you grin back.

“If you want, you can text me when you’re done, and I’ll get you home safe. I’ll even bring a spare helmet this time, and maybe a proper riding jacket for you.”

“That would be really nice actually.”

“You got it, angel,” Mingyu flashes you a wink before he pulls the helmet onto his head. You move to the sidewalk, standing there to watch him as he gives you one last nod and takes off, the engine loud enough to be heard even as he makes it two blocks away in record time.

A low whistle startles you, and you turn to see Jeonghan standing in the driveway. “Damn, that dude was hot.”

“That’s my neighbour,” you sigh.

“Which one?”

“The good one!”

“You should take him up on that offer of hanging out,” Jeonghan suggests.

“And you should keep your nose out of my love life.”

Your cousin simply laughs. “Never going to happen.”

Ten

The jacket Mingyu brings for you when he picks you up from your family gathering is long enough to be a dress. You struggle with the thick material as you try to get on his bike, and you can see Mingyu grinning from the opening in his full face helmet.

“That’s it,” he encourages you, allowing you to settle behind him.

You pat his thigh when you’re good to go, and the two of you slot down your visors before he takes off.

It’s the late evening now, and being on his bike feels different in the dark. The city lights whip past you, and the lanes are pretty empty for Mingyu to go faster. Now that you’re both in full protective gear, there’s not as much of a need to be safe, although, as you hold tightly to your neighbour, you realize this might be as safe as you’ve ever felt.

You trust Mingyu, in a way that you can’t quite explain.

As it was before, it’s easy to get lost in the act of being on Mingyu’s motorcycle, and before you know it, he’s pulling into your apartment complex’s underground garage.

You hate that the ride has ended so quickly, and you hate it even more that you have to let go of Mingyu’s large, warm body. You stand next to the motorcycle while he gets off of it, and you wait patiently for him to take off his helmet before he helps you with your own.

“Do you have plans for the rest of the night?” Mingyu asks while the two of you walk toward the elevator.

“Not really,” you admit. In fact, you’re feeling a little tired. You hadn’t drank as much at the family dinner as you thought you would, and sleep sounds pretty good right about now.

“Do you wanna come see my place?”

“I really shouldn’t-”

“If you’re worried about Wonwoo, he went to work before I came to pick you up,” Mingyu tells you. “Come on, just one drink or something. Don’t you wanna compare your one bedroom to my two bedroom?”

You are curious to see what sort of decorations these two men have- they’re mid to late twenties at best, and you love to laugh.

“Fine, one drink,” you let out a breath as you enter the elevator, turning to look up at Mingyu. “Why do you care so much if I come over? Like, honestly?”

Mingyu meets your gaze, fiddling with the helmet in his hand. “I guess maybe… because I like you.” He shrugs. “You’re a good neighbour, and an even better backpack. You look cute in my jacket- why wouldn’t I want to get to know you better?”

“That’s a good answer,” you admit with a laugh.

“I’m glad you liked it,” he grins.

When the two of you exit the elevator, you follow Mingyu past your apartment to his own door. You watch the way he pulls out his keys, fumbling a little to get into his place. He lets you enter first, and you step into the foreign home with a curious gaze.

You slip out of your shoes, undoing his jacket around your shoulders as you wander further into the apartment. The two men are cleaner than you would have expected. The furniture is minimalist, and mostly cream coloured- which isn’t a shade you would have thought would match the motorcycle riding, black wearing men. You wonder how the couch in the den is so well kept- there’s not a hint of stains on the nicely textured cover, no beer or food-

There’s no dirty dishes in the sink, no miscellaneous bowl of car keys and other shit that guys always tend to carry in their pockets.

In fact, this place almost looks like a ‘girl sanctuary,’ the type of pintrest board apartment inspo you’d find online.

“What do you think?” Mingyu asks, coming up behind you and helping you take off his jacket.

“It’s really nice,” you say honestly. “Not what I expected.”

“I’m a bit of a neat freak,” he admits with a chuckle.

So he’s big, muscled, kind, rides a motorcycle, and he knows how to do housewife cleaning duties? How did you ever manage to score a jackpot like him for a neighbour?

“Anyways, take a seat on the couch, I’ll grab some beer. You drink beer, right?”

“Sure.” You move to settle into the sofa, and Mingyu brings over two cans of lager from the fridge, cracking one open before he hands it to you.

“Cheers,” he grins, gently clinking his can against your own.

You take a sip, focusing on the way Mingyu sits on the other end of the couch, angling his body toward you. “So… you mentioned you work at a tattoo parlour? How did you get into that?”

“I’ve always been into art,” he explains. “My buddy Cheol was more into tattoos with me, opened up his own shop and encouraged me to apprentice with him after I graduated from uni with my arts degree. I wish there was more to it, but I really just got kind of lucky.”

The list of his good qualities just keeps getting better and better- a university educated man? Yes please.

“I guess, maybe what I’m wondering is why you don’t have any tattoos yourself?” you ask, looking at the beautiful unblemished skin shown off by his muscle shirt.

Mingyu laughs, also gazing down at his arms. “Would you judge me if I told you I’m scared of needles.”

“That’s cute,” you grin, sipping your beer.

“You’re cute,” he retorts, mirroring your motion and trying to hide his smile behind the can in his hand. “Anyways, you said you’d been on a motorcycle before?”

“Yeah, just once.”

“Tell me about it?”

“There’s nothing much to say,” you admit. “Went on a date with a guy, he mentioned he had a sports bike, offered to take me for a ride, so I said yes.”

“So…” Mingyu taps his fingers along his beer can, “you like guys with bikes?”

You let out a laugh. “Maybe.”

“I’m feeling better and better about my odds,” Mingyu smiles.

“Your odds are very good,” you tell him. Now it’s your turn to drink in an effort to hide the massive grin on your face.

“Yeah? I was a little worried, I mean, I gave you my number and you didn’t text- took a little bit of convincing to get you on my bike, to get you into the apartment- I hope I didn’t overstep anything there.”

“No, you’re fine,” you assure him. “I can just… be a bit shy sometimes.”

“It’s cute though.”

Your skin heats at the compliment, heart thundering in your rib cage. “What about you? I’m into bikes, are you into cute girls?”

“A hundred percent,” he nods. “They’re my favourite kind.”

“Do you have any experience dating neighbours?”

“No, but I’d like that to change.”

“Do you think being neighbours could complicate things?” you enquire.

“I mean… if I didn’t see you as girlfriend material, then yeah, I’d never turn a neighbour into a hookup, but then again, I’m not huge into hookups to begin with,” Mingyu explains.

“You know… I’m trying to find even one red flag about you, and I’m seriously coming up empty.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

You smile, looking down at your nearly finished beer. “I guess not.”

“How about you? Any red flags?” he asks.

Aside from the downright pornographic books you read on the daily? “Probably not.”

“Probably not, huh?” Mingyu chuckles. “Maybe I should be the one keeping a look out for red, but then again, with rose tinted glasses, red wouldn’t stand out that much to me anyways.”

You’d not expected your night to turn out like this. You’d figured it would be a nice family dinner, some drinking, then an Uber home and sleep. Instead, you’ve been on Mingyu’s bike twice, worn his jacket, his helmet- and now you’re here in his house, with your hot neighbour flirting with you in the most wholesome way-

In your tired state, you’re feeling a little overwhelmed. Your shyness is taking over- the fear of the unknown, of making a misstep, clouding your enjoyment of the peaceful space Mingyu has created in his apartment.

“Listen, don’t take this the wrong way,” you sigh, finishing your beer, “But I’m really tired-”

“Yeah, no worries, I said just one beer and it looks like you’re done,” Mingyu is quick to down the rest of his, reaching out to take your can so he can move to the kitchen. He places the empties under his sink, and you follow, keeping your distance.

“Thank you for this though. I know we didn’t talk for that long, but I feel like I know you better,” you admit.

“I’ve still got a lot of questions for you,” he grins. “But I’ll save those for another time. I’m not about to get in the way of a girl and her beauty sleep.”

“I appreciate that.” The two of you head to his door, and you slip your shoes on.

“Can I give you a goodbye hug or something?” Mingyu suggests. “It would feel weird letting you leave without one.”

You nod, allowing Mingyu to pull you close to his chest. He’s so tall, your cheek pressed tight to his well defined pecs- and fuck, he smells good. This isn’t the overpowering Gucci type cologne that Soonyoung wears, it’s a more muted, spicy yet clean scent. It’s the type of scent that encourages you to take a deep breath, your body relaxing as your neighbour hugs you.

“Thanks for coming over,” Mingyu whispers.

When you go to pull away, you find yourself tilting your head to look up at him. Your eyes meet, and it feels as if you’re hanging in a moment frozen in time. Your breath catches when his gaze dips down to your mouth, and you know what’s coming next.

His hand cups your cheek, stroking your skin, and he gives you ample opportunity to pull away, but you don’t. You simply stare into his beautiful chocolate brown eyes, waiting for him to make the move that you know is going to capture your heart completely.

When his lips finally touch yours, that sense of relief washes over you again. You shift in his embrace, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck to pull him closer. Mingyu lets out a soft sigh of contentment, parting his mouth ever so slightly so he can lick at your lower lip.

You mirror the motion, your tongues gently clashing.

You’ve met some guys who try to force their way into your mouth, who try to dominate you- but Mingyu isn’t like that. He’s soft and fluid, reacting to your movements moreso than anything else. His hands slip down to your hips, holding you close while you kiss each other.

No first kiss has ever felt this natural, and like with riding the bike, it becomes so easy to get lost in your neighbour.

When you finally break away, you’re both breathing heavily. You can taste the beer on your lips, and it makes you release a small laugh, giddy joy surging through your entire body.

“That was…” Mingyu swallows thickly, “wow.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “Wow.”

Eleven

It’s been two weeks since you started getting to know Mingyu better. You’ve gone on motorcycle dates, stopped at food trucks while enjoying the sunshine of spring, and when Wonwoo’s not around, Mingyu has invited you over for movie nights.

While there’s been lots of kissing, and a growing desire for more, the two of you haven’t gone much farther than second base. You kind of like taking things slow with Mingyu, he’s very good at not applying any pressure, and you adore that about him.

You’re hanging out in your apartment when Mingyu calls you, asking if you have any garlic he can borrow for his meal plan. Part of you thinks it’s a little late for dinner, but you agree anyways.

Sometimes you think he comes up with this sort of thing just to see you, stealing kisses at your door- but this time, when he comes over to grab ingredients, he doesn’t simply wait in the hallway.

“Can I come in?” he asks, peering at your apartment beyond.

“Come in?” you repeat.

“Yeah, I mean, you’ve seen my place, and I haven’t really gotten to see yours yet.” He sounds nonchalant, but you can tell that your personal space - the way you conduct yourself in your own home - is something that makes him curious.

“Okay.” You step away from the door. “Come on in.”

Mingyu bends down to kiss you as he steps over the threshold, and you grin against his lips, enjoying the way his hands softly grab your waist.

“I’m guessing you didn’t really need garlic, did you?” you tease.

“Nope, I ate dinner after work.” Mingyu takes his shoes off while you close the door behind him, and he looks around your apartment. “It’s nice in here.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you want to give me a tour?” he asks.

You let out a giggle. “Okay.”

You’ve never given a formal tour of your apartment before, but you do your best, showing him through the kitchen and the small living room area. You’ve got certain knick knacks that are special to you, and you explain them to Mingyu while he listens with a smile.

Finally, you make it to your bedroom. Before you can even open your mouth to say anything, Mingyu’s arms are wrapping around you, his chest pressed to your back, lips on your throat.

He already knows your sweet spots, and you let out a soft sigh, tilting your head to make things easier for him.

“Gyu…”

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispers in your ear, nibbling gently on the lobe.

“No.”

You hadn’t expected this tonight, but you’re at a point now where you don’t want to wait. Mingyu isn’t the type to use you and leave you. He’s made his intentions clear, and the sexual chemistry between the two of you is undeniable.

You find yourself turning in Mingyu’s embrace, cupping his cheek so you can draw his lips to yours. He lets out an immediate groan of satisfaction, and it goes straight to your core, which flutters with delight. You kiss him deeply, pouring all your wants and desires into the meeting of your mouths.

Then your hands find the bottom of his shirt, and before you know it, you’re stripping the fabric from Mingyu’s body and tracing your hands over the muscles you love so much.

His body jolts when you tease your nails across his lower abdomen, and it prompts Mingyu to reach down, cupping your ass and easily lifting you up. Your legs wrap around his hips, tongues clashing in a lusty battle as he carries you to your bed.

Your hands trace along his strong shoulders as he lays you onto the mattress, looking down at you with blown pupils. He’s breathing heavily already, and you can see the bulge of his cock through his jeans.

You’ve grinded against him before, sitting on his lap on his couch while he rubs your tits through your comfortable evening sweaters, so you know how big Mingyu is, but knowing he’s about to be inside of you makes your heart race in an entirely different way.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Mingyu asks again, straightening to look down at you.

“Uh huh,” you sit up, meeting his gaze. Then you reach out, undoing his buckle while keeping steady eye contact.

“Fuck,” Mingyu groans, chest heaving with each breath. “You don’t have to-”

“Don’t have to what?” you tease, moving onto the zipper, which you tug down roughly.

“Don’t have to-” he swallows thickly. “I want to make you feel good.”

“What if you do that after?” you suggest. “I want to make you feel good first.”

“Fuck, Angel, okay.”

“Yeah?” You raise a brow at him, hooking your fingers in his jeans and briefs.

“Yeah,” he nods quickly. “Do whatever you want- whatever you want.”

You tug his pants down, allowing them to bag at his knees. You’re already much too focused on the cock in front of you to care about getting him fully undressed.

Your eyes take in Mingyu’s rock hard length. You’re not great with measurements, but you swear he must be seven or eight inches. He’s got a pretty mushroom tip, all flushed and pink. There’s a prominent vein running along the underside of him, and it makes your mouth water.

You haven’t sucked cock in a while, but you’d read a very good erotica about it last night, and you know exactly what to do.

Grabbing the base of him, you angle Mingyu’s cock slightly upward, running your tongue along the vein.

“Shit,” Mingyu groans, hands flying to your head. He doesn’t apply any pressure, simply strokes you as you take the tip past your lips, suckling on it and twirling your tongue. “You’re- fuck, you’re good at this.”

You let out a happy hum, and the vibration makes him twitch, pushing him further into your mouth.

Your eyes are closed now, and you allow yourself to enjoy the act of pleasuring Mingyu. After being so patient with you over the past few weeks, he deserves it. The sounds he’s letting out are more than enough encouragement for you, and soon, your drool begins to drip down to your fingers, making it easier for you to pump his neglected shaft.

There’s no way in Hell you’ll ever be able to fit all of him in your mouth, but unless he’s used to dating women schooled in oral aerobics or some shit, you doubt any of his past lovers have ever achieved that feat either.

Instead, you focus most of your attention on the tip, knowing that the head of his cock is where he’s got a lot of his nerve endings.

Your tongue dips along his slit, tasting the salty precum. Mingyu moans loudly above you, fingers threading through your hair.

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna cum too fast,” he warns you.

Part of you wants him to cum, so you go even harder- only for Mingyu to gently pull you off of him.

You blink up at the gorgeous man, pleased to find that he’s flushed. His chest, shoulders, neck and cheeks are all a pretty pink colour, and he’s panting heavily. “Seriously, Angel, I don’t want to cum yet.”

“What if I want you to cum?”

“I’m not making you swallow the first time we sleep together,” Mingyu states, and you can tell that it’s a hard boundary. “And I’m not cumming on you either- I think…” he licks his lips, “I think it’s my turn to make you feel good now.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

Then Mingyu leans down over you, grabbing your shirt and tugging it off. Your pants are discarded next, left on the floor next to his own while he adjusts you on your bed.

He’s left your bra and panties on, and when his lips find yours again, you kind of appreciate that he’s intent on more foreplay.

Your core is aching through the cotton fabric, and your nipples are pressing up toward the cups still confining them. It’s driving you crazy as he kisses you deeply, but then one of his hands reaches up to massage you through your bra, and you let out a sinful whine.

“Take it off,” you whimper, “please.”

Mingyu’s mouth moves from your lips to your throat, and he reaches under you, undoing the clasp. He gently pulls the bra from your form, and his kisses finally make it to your breasts.

His soft hair is teasing your skin with each kiss, but when his lips wrap around your sensitive nipple, you can’t even find it within yourself to care about the slight ticklish sensation. Mingyu’s got your full attention now, his teeth gently dragging across the hardened bud, making you cry out even louder.

You grab at his broad shoulders, holding onto him for dear life, wriggling under his large form.

His cock is pressing between your legs, rubbing against your pussy through the thin fabric of your panties.

“Fuck, Gyu-” you whimper. “I want you so bad.”

He groans in response, moving to your other breast to pay it as much attention as he had the first. Your neighbour takes his time, and you enjoy every second of it, although you’re absolutely desperate for more.

You want him to take the lead, as you lean more toward a submissive temperament in bed, despite the ballsy way you’d approach sucking his cock for the first time.

You wonder if he’s aching the way you are- if he’s throbbing with need for you the way your pussy is already trying to clench around nothing, anticipating the cock that’s going to split you open in a way that no man ever has before.

Unable to help yourself anymore, you reach down between your bodies, grabbing his length and pumping him gently. Mingyu groans against your breasts, giving you one last lick before he brings his mouth up to your own again.

“Angel, fuck-” he practically whimpers, thrusting toward your hand. “You’re not ready yet.”

“I’m ready,” you try to assure him.

“Trust me,” Mingyu’s hand slips into your panties, two fingers teasing your core, “As wet as you are, you’re not ready for me.”

“Gyu-” You want to argue, but when he pushes two digits into your core, you realize he’s right. Because even with two fingers, you feel like he’s stretching your tight walls.

You’re so wet that it makes it easy for Mingyu to begin finger fucking you, his mouth finding your throat so he can kiss your sweet spot desperately while you continue to stroke his cock.

“Wanna make you cum once,” he groans, “before- fuck, before I take you.”

Your core throbs at his words, and it’s clear from the smile you feel against your skin that Mingyu can feel the way your body is reacting to him.

“Do you like when I talk dirty to you, Angel?” he asks.

“Yeah.” You nod, applying more pressure as you stroke him off.

“You’re already taking my fingers so well, who got you this wet?”

“You did, Gyu,” you whimper.

“Can you cum with just fingers? Or should I rub your sensitive little clit too?”

“My clit-”

His palm immediately finds the bud of nerves, and you let out a strangled gasp, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. “Fuck-” Your hand stops on his cock in favour of grabbing both of his shoulders.

“Like this?” he asks, applying a little more pressure that has you wiggling beneath him.

“Yeah, just like that,” you groan, threading your fingers through his hair, guiding him to continue kissing your throat while he finger fucks you open.

“Have you wanted this as much as I have?”

“Even more,” you confess.

“Not possible,” he retorts, but by the squelching of your pussy, you’re pretty sure you have him beat. You don’t have the energy or the mental focus to fight him on this, so you simply give in to the pleasure he’s providing you. “So good for me.”

“Gyu-” you whimper, legs shaking as your orgasm builds much too fast in the pit of your stomach.

“Always so good for me,” he continues. “The best backpack. The best neighbour. The best girl-”

You cry out as your orgasm slams into you with no warning. Something about this brand of praise has made you feral, and your core throbs around Mingyu’s fingers as he works you through your high.

“Just like that,” he coos. “So good for me.”

You draw his lips to yours, kissing him breathlessly. He kisses you back, tongue invading your mouth and gently stroking your own.

You’re practically shaking by the time your orgasm is over, and Mingyu pulls his hand out of your panties. “I’m gonna take these off now,” he tells you, pressing a kiss to your nose. “And grab a condom.”

“Actually…” You bite at your lip, meeting his gaze. “I’m on birth control.”

He pauses for a moment, and you can see the wheels practically turning in his head. “And… I mean, I know I’m clean-”

“I’m clean too,” you assure him. ‘It’s uh… it’s been a while for me, since I… well, you know.”

You can feel your skin heating at the admission of your near celibacy over the past few months. While you’ve imagined fucking all sorts of heros and villains in your books, the only thing that’s been inside you recently has been your six inch glittery pink dildo.

“And you uh… you want me to cum inside?” Mingyu clarifies.

“Please?”

Mingyu lets out a shaky breath, then he nods. “Okay, yeah, I can do that.”

He tugs your panties down your legs, and before you know it, the two of you are completely naked. Mingyu returns between your thighs, his arm muscles bulging as he holds himself over you, one hand grabbing the base of his cock so he can tease himself through your pussy lips.

“Can I convince you to let me eat you out first?”

“I need you,” you tell him, on the verge of crying if you don’t get your way.

“Another time, then.”

“Another time,” you agree with a laugh.

The tip of his cock teases by your clit and it makes your entire body jolt at the sensitivity.

“If it’s uh… if it’s too much,” Mingyu licks his lips, tearing his gaze from your core so he can look you in the eyes, “if it’s too much just let me know and I’ll stop.”

“Gyu, please, I’ll be okay-” you try to assure him, although, you’re not sure if you’re even certain with yourself on this one. There’s a possibility you might not even be able to walk tomorrow, but that’s a risk you’re more than willing to take.

He brings the tip of his cock down to your wet hole, gently pushing into you. The head alone is enough to have you moaning, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and throwing your head back against the pillows.

“Fuck-”

“Yeah,” his breath is hot against your chest, “I know, I’m sorry.”

It’s so endearing that the man is sorry his cock is so big.

“Don’t be sorry,” you let out a laugh, “I’ll just have to get used to you.”

“I like the sound of that,” Mingyu admits, pushing another inch past your wet walls. “Fuck, you have no idea how good you feel.”

“Just wait till you’re fully inside of me,” you whisper, closing your eyes and doing your best to relax your body so you can take him.

Mingyu lets out a groan, hips gently thrusting so he can coat his cock in your wet juices. Each movement has him burying deeper and deeper, earning sounds of pleasure from your lips.

Your nails claw at his shoulders, but it’s clear that Mingyu is too focused on your pussy to even care or notice.

“Almost there,” he tells you, capturing his bottom lip between his teeth.

Nothing in the world has ever felt like Mingyu, and as his hips finally come flush to your own and he lets out a sigh of relief, you know that there’s no coming back from this.

You both groan “Fuck” in unison, crashing your lips together a moment later as he begins to move. He starts off slow and gentle, his cock hitting spots so deep that you swear he’s rearranging your guts

You’ve spent years reading erotica, imagining what great sex would really look like, and now, you’re finally experiencing it for yourself.

You’ve never gone completely mind numb for someone before, but with Mingyu, you’re reduced to feral instinct. Sounds like the ones leaving your lips right now are not sounds that have ever come out of you before, and you swear you’ve never been this wet in your life.

Each thrust has Mingyu’s tip rubbing against a place that has you seeing stars, and as he picks up his pace, it’s the most you can do to keep kissing him even while wanting to scream with pleasure.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, and when Mingyu releases a grunt, bringing his mouth to your throat so he can gently bite at your skin, you realize he kind of likes the pain.

The thought has your pussy tingling with even more delight, and Mingyu groans loudly.

“So good,” he moans. “So fucking good.”

“Don’t stop, please, fuck- no one has ever fucked me like this before-”

From the way Mingyu fucks you even harder, it’s clear he also has a praise kink. It’s funny how often praise and pain go hand in hand in pleasure.

You’re thankful for all the books you’ve read about this sort of thing, because they allow you to read Mingyu in a way that you’ve never imagined being able to read someone. He wears his heart on his sleeve, and you adore it.

Mingyu lifts his thigh, angling himself better on the bed so each thrust can go as deep as possible. Your headboard is hitting the wall now, and part of you almost wishes Wonwoo was home so you could annoy him with the sound as much as he’s annoyed you with it.

But at the same time, you’re glad Wonwoo is probably at work. As interesting as being a vouyer is when you’re the one listening in, due to your interesting past with your Harley loving neighbour, you’re not sure how you’d feel about him being privy to this intimate moment you’re sharing with Mingyu.

It’s clear Mingyu is completely present with you. From the sounds escaping him, you know that he’s not thinking about anyone else listening in. His ability to be completely enraptured by you makes it easier for you to get lost in him again, and when you draw his lips to yours, your mind goes pleasantly blank once more.

You’re not sure how long he fucks you like this, but soon, his hand finds your clit again, and you realize he wants you to cum with him.

“Can you give me one more?” he asks, looking down at you with those eyes you’ve come to adore.

“Yeah,” you nod, already feeling the tightening of your abdominal muscles. You’re still sensitive from your first orgasm, and it’s way too easy for him to get you there again, especially with the way his cock drags against your inner walls and sets your entire body on fire.

“Fuck, you’re getting so tight, Angel, holy shit-” Mingyu groans deeply, pressing his forehead against your own. Each panting breath, each whimpered moan and grunt that escapes Mingyu has you closer and closer to the edge.

He should seriously consider getting a job reading erotica for money, like on the Quinn app or something, because fuck, no man has ever sounded this sexy before.

“Come on,” he encourages you, “I won’t be able to last, fuck- you’re gonna cum with me, right?”

“Yeah-”

“You’re close?”

“Yes-” You dig your nails into his shoulders, closing your eyes and focusing on the way he’s circling your clit.

“Please, please, please,” he practically begs, bringing his lips to your ear. “Be a good girl and cum for me again, come on, Angel, cum on my cock.”

You explode around him, crying out. Your legs tighten around his hips, and Mingyu’s entire body shudders as he cums with you. You can feel your core throbbing around him, milking him of his cum as he fills you to your absolute limit.

You’re both gasping, holding each other like life lines while orgasms ravage your bodies. It’s Heaven, but from the way your muscles are contracting, it’s also a little bit of Hell. Nothing has felt this good, but you know you’re going to be exhausted in the morning- fuck, you’re already exhausted.

Mingyu’s thrusts have faltered, but he tries to ride you through your highs. Soon, he’s half collapsing on top of you, your sweaty chests pressed together. Then he’s kissing you desperately, and it feels like you’re both pouring a thousand unsaid words into the meeting of your lips.

You make out for a short while, and then Mingyu pulls out of you, reaching for the kleenex box on your nightstand. “Here,” he offers, holding it between your thighs to stop any cum from dripping onto the bed.

“Thanks,” you let out a small laugh. “I’m gonna head to the bathroom.”

“Good idea.”

Your legs are wobbly when you stand up, and it reminds you of the first time you’d gotten off the back of his bike.

You don’t mind Mingyu making it hard for you to walk, in both ways.

Inside the bathroom, you do your best to use the toilet and clean up the cum. After double checking yourself in the mirror and deciding to brush your teeth for good measure, you head back to your bedroom… which is where you find Mingyu flipping through the most recent book you’ve been reading.

Your heart lurches into your throat, body freezing in the doorway.

“I didn’t know you read this sort of thing,” Mingyu muses, looking up at you.

“What?” you squeak.

“Erotica,” he responds casually. “This seems interesting though.”

You slowly approach the bed, joining Mingyu under the covers while he reaches to put your book back on your nightstand.

“Uh…” you don’t even know what to say. “I didn’t mean for you to see that.”

Mingyu laughs, pulling you close to his chest. “Why not? It’s not like I’m judging you.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope. Why would I? I think I read somewhere that men like visual porn and women lean towards the written stuff, nothing to be ashamed of.”

He really is the perfect man.

“Plus, I keep seeing shit on tiktok about booktok girls needing their bikertok boy, I don’t mind filling that role for you.” Another nonchalant comment that makes your heart do somersaults. “Although… aren’t all of you booktok girls into masked men and threesomes and shit?”

His words make you hide your face against his chest, shyness overcoming you.

“Sorry, was that an overstep?” he laughs, rubbing your back with a large, warm hand.

“No, I’m just not used to talking about this, especially not with guys I just slept with.”

“The erotica you read is the fantasy you’re interested in, it would be a shame never to talk about it,” Mingyu muses. “That threesome between the demon knight and the guardian angel seemed pretty interesting.”

“God, you really weren’t supposed to read the book on my nightstand.” You can feel your skin getting hotter with embarrassment with each passing second.

“You’re adorable.” Mingyu cuddles you closer. “Look, I’m just going to put this out there, and if your answer is a no, then it’s a no… If you ever did want to try a threesome, Wonwoo would be into it.”

Now your heart is really racing, and your entire body stiffens in Mingyu’s embrace.

“Shit, my bad for even suggesting it,” Mingyu apologizes immediately.

“It’s not that…” you take a deep breath. If you’re going to continue things with Mingyu, he needs to know about your past - however unimportant it is - with Wonwoo. “Look… I uh… I matched with Wonwoo on a dating app last summer, nothing came out of it, but, I don’t know, I still feel awkward around him.”

Mingyu is silent for a few seconds, and you’re too scared to look up at his face, too scared of the expression you might find there.

“That would actually explain a lot,” Mingyu says finally.

“It would?”

“Yeah, when I first introduced you two, he was more of an asshole than usual. And that first time I offered you a ride on my bike, he just took off. I kind of chalked it up to him being socially awkward sometimes around cute girls, but, now things make a bit more sense.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”

“It’s all good,” Mingyu assures you, rubbing your back. “Honestly, I’m pretty tired. How do you feel about the two of us staying here tonight, cuddling till we fall asleep, and talking more about this in the morning?”

You let out a sigh of relief. “That actually sounds perfect.”

Twelve - Wonwoo

As if listening to you and Mingyu fuck the first time wasn’t enough, Wonwoo had been woken up at three am, and then again at seven to the sound of your moans carrying through his walls.

His room is dark thanks to his black out curtains, but in the blackness of his room, Wonwoo finally snaps. He’d done his best to wear noise cancellers the first time, to put his head under his pillow the second, but now, Wonwoo has lost all of his resolve.

Your small whimpers are simply too hard to resist, and as Wonwoo’s hand slips down to his aching cock, he can’t help but wonder what would have happened if things had worked out with you all those months ago. It could be him that you’re under right now, not his best friend, and that’s a conflicting thought.

Wonwoo lets out a quiet sigh as he begins to stroke his hard length. He closes his eyes, focusing on the muffled sounds of pleasure that make it through the walls.

When Mingyu had first mentioned that Wonwoo’s escapades had been keeping you up, he’d dismissed it, but now after being woken three times, he can see your annoyance.

He’ll have to try to go easier on you.

As Wonwoo works himself up to your moans, he wonders if you’ve ever been in this exact situation; touching yourself while he got off with someone else just a few feet through a wall.

The thought sends a shiver up Wonwoo’s spine and he shifts under his duvet, tossing the fabric off of himself, abdominal muscles clenching with delight.

From the sound of Mingyu’s thrusts and the headboard hitting the wall, Wonwoo’s pretty sure Mingyu is close already- fuck, he would be too if he had you to bury his morning wood into. And from the noises escaping you, Wonwoo knows you’re just as close.

He applies more pressure to his aching cock, speeding up his strokes- Wonwoo wants to cum with you and his roommate, although he’s not quite sure why.

Sure, once you both cum, his entertainment is over, but there’s a need to be paired with you both, something that goes beyond a voyeuristic act like watching porn, which he could easily switch to when you’re finished if he wanted to prolong the experience.

A muffled “Fuck, I’m close” has Wonwoo’s entire body tensing, and as your moans crescendo, the tightly wound knot inside of him snaps. He lets out a gasp, pumping his cock while ropes of his own cum paint his chest.

He wishes his hand was you, but the image of you instead of his hand is enough to make another wave of pleasure pass over him. He works himself through it to the point of overstimulation, finally stopping when the headboard sounds cease.

Wonwoo lays there for a moment, eyes closed, catching his breath.

When he finally turns his phone flashlight on and looks down at his chest, he realizes he’s cum more listening to you and Mingyu fuck than he’s probably ever cum inside of a girl.

It’s then that Wonwoo realizes how truly screwed he is.

Thirteen

Seungkwan had nearly spat out his drink when you’d revealed Mingyu’s offer to invite Wonwoo into your bed. Soonyoung’s jaw had dropped, and it’s stayed that way. Seokmin looks like he’s having a panic attack, his cheeks all flushed, his hands tugging at the neckline of his dress shirt.

“So what are you going to do?” Seungkwan asks finally, taking a sip of his Gin and Tonic with his wide eyes glued to you.

“I’m honestly not sure,” you admit, letting out a sigh.

“Bitch,” Seungkwan rolls his eyes, “don’t give us that. You read smutty threesome shit all the time, and here you are, being propositioned by your hot neighbour and his best friend, who both ride motorcycles, I might add- this is a fucking no brainer and we all know it.”

“You’ve been wanting a proper fuck session forever,” Soonyoung agrees.

“It’s actually like… one of your biggest things,” Seokmin points out, nodding.

“But don’t you think this would be messy?” you ask. “Like, if these were randoms I’d never see again, it would be one thing- but they live next to me, and I’m low key dating Mingyu. Wonwoo doesn’t seem like the polyamory type.”

“Babes,” Seungkwan reaches a hand across the table to squeeze your forearm, “This doesn’t have to be polyamory. Wonwoo can just be some dude that fucks you with his bestie sometimes. You can mostly focus on Mingyu, I mean, after all, we all know you and Wonwoo don’t even really like each other after the whole… ghosting thing.”

“Which is so valid,” Seokmin assures you, also reaching out to grab your hand. “Who suggests a group motorcycle trip as a first date, that was very stupid.”

“Plus, didn’t you mention hearing Wonwoo fuck some girl through your wall?” Soonyoung asks, playing with the straw in his bellini. “I bet you’re wondering why she was being so loud. I mean, obviously his dick game must be good.”

“I have been wondering,” you admit. “Mingyu is so soft with me, so good and gentle- Wonwoo seems like he might be the opposite.”

“And you’ll never really know until you give this a try.” Seungkwan pats your hand encouragingly. “I think you have your answer, babes. Go make those smutty dreams of yours come true, or you’ll regret it the rest of your life.”

Fourteen

Mingyu’s been coming over more and more often. Even though his place is just next door, he tends to have a preference for holding you until he passes out in your bed. You don’t mind, being in his arms helps you get the best rest you’ve had in ages, and you never feel closer to him than you do when you wake up next to him in the morning.

It’s a Sunday, and you’re laying in bed. Mingyu had gotten up, decided he��d wanted you for breakfast, fucked your brains out, and now, you’re stroking each others skin while you catch your breaths.

“Are you thinking about something?” Mingyu asks, and you realize he must have noted your silence.

You take a deep breath, looking up into his eyes. He’s done his best to foster an environment of safety- you know you can talk to him about anything, and now seems as good a time as any to broach a few subjects that have been weighing you down.

“What are we doing?” you ask.

“We’re cuddling?”

You let out a laugh. “No, I mean… what are we doing? Like… I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you, and from the way you spoke at the start of all of this, it sounded like you were looking for a relationship, but ever since you mentioned inviting Wonwoo into bed, I guess I’m just a little confused about… the trajectory of this. Sharing the girl you want to date exclusively with your bestie just doesn’t seem like a usual start to a new relationship.”

“Valid question,” he nods. “I can see where I caused some confusion… I guess, I mean- It’s not that I want to date you exclusively, I already am dating you exclusively, and I have been since the start.”

While this is news to you, you suppose it’s not the most surprising thing. Mingyu has been spending so much time with you lately, he’d have to be Superman or the world’s more snakey person to be able to juggle anyone else.

“When it comes to the whole Wonwoo thing- If I’m being honest, we’ve been friends forever. We’ve had like… three or four threesomes together? So I guess I feel comfortable inviting him because we have that foundation of trust there, and based on the stuff you read - correct me if I’m wrong - but I think a threesome is on your bucket list.”

Now this is some hot gossip. You’d never for a moment considered the idea that Wonwoo and Mingyu have shared girls together before- but now that the idea is out in the open, you feel stupid for it having never crossed your mind.

“So there really wouldn’t be any jealousy or any problems if Wonwoo joined us?” you clarify.

“There never have been before. Wonwoo’s not the relationship type. If I honestly thought there would be a problem, I wouldn’t have brought it up,” Mingyu tells you. “Sounds like you’re open to it.”

“I am,” you admit. “Also… I’m exclusively seeing you too, by the way.”

Mingyu laughs. “I know, Angel. Wonwoo is an exception, the only exception.”

“Agreed.”

“So…” Mingyu pulls you tighter to his chest. “Are we gonna bring this up with him?”

“Do you want to ask him?”

“I think we should do it together.”

The idea of bringing this up with Wonwoo makes your heart race. “You think he’ll react okay?”

“Angel, he matched with you on Tinder before, and tried to take you out three times, even if you did ghost him, you’re way too sexy for him to ever say no to.”

Fifteen

When you’d arrived at Mingyu’s place after dinner, he’d suggested a movie night. Wonwoo usually gets off work around one am, and with his Harley, Mingyu expected him to be back at one thirty at the latest.

Around midnight, you’d fallen asleep, with Mingyu following close behind, and when the sound of the front door unlocking finally pulls you from your slumber, a quick check at the clock tells you it’s already past two.

Mingyu groans behind you, pulling you closer, pressing his lips to the back of your neck.

Wonwoo walks into the den area in time to see the exchange, and he pauses by the open concept kitchen, staring at you in the dim darkness of the space.

“What are you doing out here on the couch?” he asks.

“We were waiting for you,” you say softly, pushing at Mingyu’s hand in an effort to wake him up fully.

Wonwoo stays quiet, and after a moment, Mingyu finally groans and sits up, turning to look at his best friend. Mingyu rubs at his eyes, yawning. “We have something to talk to you about,” he mumbles.

“Let's hear it,” Wonwoo sighs, setting his helmet and gloves onto the kitchen counter before he goes to remove his leather jacket.

“You know what… maybe it’s too late for this,” you suggest, turning to look at Mingyu.

“Don’t be shy,” he encourages you, pulling you closer and kissing your throat.

You note the way your body reacts, head tilting to the side to give him better access. It’s clear that you’re not as afraid of being watched as you’d thought you might be, and when your gaze shifts to Wonwoo, you find him staring at the place where you and Mingyu’s bodies connect.

A muscle in his jaw feathers, and you see the way his fist clenches at his side, but he stays silent.

“Do you want me to do it?” Mingyu asks.

“Yes, please.”

Mingyu gives a reassuring kiss to your cheek. “I know you two have a past-” he begins.

“She told you about that, did she?” Wonwoo interrupts.

“Uh huh, she’s a good girl like that,” Mingyu holds you tighter. “Anyways, I know you two have a past, and I know you’re attracted to each other-”

“Mingyu.” There’s a warning tone in Wonwoo’s voice now, and it makes your skin tingle.

“I’m too tired to do this right,” Mingyu sighs, “but listen, she wants to try a threesome, we’ve done threesomes, I figured I’d put it on the table, if you’re interested.”

Wonwoo stands in the kitchen for a moment, then he lets out a sigh, turning and placing both of his hands on the counter. He looks down at the ground, and you wonder what’s going through his head.

“Aren’t you two dating?” he asks finally.

You open your mouth to respond but decide to shut it, turning to Mingyu to allow him to answer. “Yeah, I mean, we’re exclusive.”

“How can you be exclusive if you’re inviting me into a fucking threesome?” Wonwoo snaps.

“Because you’re you,” Mingyu shrugs. “Why do you seem mad?”

Wonwoo lets out a deep sigh. “This isn’t the right way to start a relationship, Gyu.”

You find it comical that Wonwoo - of all people - is trying to school Mingyu on how to treat a girl.

“I’m pretty confident in us,” Mingyu grins, pressing a kiss to your cheek. You kind of love how sure he is, and it makes your trust in the budding relationship feel even stronger. “Look, if you don’t want to-”

“I want to.”

It feels like the air is knocked from your lungs. Yes, you’ve considered this for weeks, but part of you never really thought it would get this far, never thought Wonwoo would actually agree-

“I’ve been listening to you two fuck through a wall for weeks,” Wonwoo continues. “Of course I fucking want to.”

“So what’s the problem?” Mingyu asks, brows furrowing at why his friend still sounds so angry.

Wonwoo turns to look at you. “This is going to complicate things.”

“Only if you let it,” Mingyu argues. “Look, you’re both overthinkers, and I get that, but with me here, I’ll keep us all grounded, I promise.”

“It’s not that easy,” Wonwoo sighs.

“It can be, if you both let it be.” He sounds so sure, and you want to believe him on this-

“So is this just going to be a one time thing?” Wonwoo asks, and you note the way his gaze shifts from his roommate to you. Then you feel Mingyu’s eyes too.

“Uh… I hadn’t thought that far,” you admit.

“We could always just go with the flow,” Mingyu suggests.

“You know I’m not that kind of guy,” Wonwoo retorts.

“Honestly, I know it was just a simple case of ghosting, but you two don’t seem to actually like each other that much,” Mingyu points out, “unless I’m misreading something. So how about we give it a shot, and go from there?”

Wonwoo looks to you, and after a moment to consider it, you nod, he mirrors the motion soon after.

“Fine. I’m in.”

“Can you try to sound more enthusiastic?” Mingyu teases. “This is my Angel I’m letting you get a taste of.”

“Don’t test your luck,” Wonwoo warns. “Are we doing this right now?”

“I’m already half hard just thinking about it,” Mingyu grins. “Are you up for this, Angel?”

Things are happening a little fast for you, but you worry that if you don’t bite the bullet and try this now, you might chicken out if you give yourself enough time to overthink and talk yourself out of it.

“Let’s do it,” you respond.

Wonwoo stares at you from the kitchen, and you wait to see who will move first. Finally, Wonwoo nods. “Okay, my room.”

He walks away without another word. Mingyu is quick to get up, reaching down to tug you to your feet. You’re a little shocked at how abrupt Wonwoo is being, and how quick Mingyu is to act on Wonwoo’s locational choice.

You’ve never seen the inside of Wonwoo’s room, and you find it even more minimally furnished than the rest of the apartment. With nothing but a bed, a dresser and a gaming station set up, Wonwoo clearly has very few loves in his life. There are no books, no clothes strewn about- it almost looks like a room straight from the Ikea Catalogue with the theme ‘my ocd teenage gamer’s sanctuary.’

The only thing of any true interest, is a tiled wall mount light piece, and from the way Wonwoo is standing near it and looking down at his phone, you’re pretty sure it’s bluetooth. As Mingyu leads you to go sit with him on the bed, the tiles begin to change colour, and you’re not even surprised when Wonwoo goes for a red hue that makes this entire situation feel correctly sinful.

Mingyu sits behind you, prompting you to settle on his lap. His hands find your thighs, stroking you through your sweatpants. You can tell he’s waiting on something, and when Wonwoo finally looks up at the two of you, setting his phone down, you realize just how much power you’re about to hand over to the man you’d ghosted all those months ago.

Wonwoo approaches you and Mingyu, coming to stand right in front of you. He meets your gaze, but he’s quiet. You hold your tongue, knowing that now is not the time to start being a brat.

“So,” Wonwoo says finally. “My guess is Mingyu’s been going easy on you since you started fucking.”

Mingyu lets out a laugh behind you, and you find yourself wanting to defend him. “I wouldn’t say he’s been going easy on me-”

“I’m going to make an assessment, and you’re going to tell me if I’m wrong,” Wonwoo states. “You look like the kind of girl who wants to be dominated. The shy ones can sometimes be the kinkiest girls you’ll ever meet, and something tells me that if you’re interested in a threesome - interested enough to let me be the one to come in here and fuck you - you’ve got some specific itches that need to be scratched. Mingyu’s a vanilla boy. He doesn’t even like to call sleeping with a girl fucking. I’m betting he gives you everything you want, never makes you work for it, or beg for it, or any of that shit. The guy wakes up three times a night to rail you for fuck’s sake. So I’m guessing, even though he probably meets most of your needs, there’s something you’re missing that Mingyu thinks I can provide.”

Mingyu’s mouth finds your throat, pressing soft kisses that wordlessly tell you he’s not about to answer this assessment, it’s fully on you.

“I…” you swallow thickly. “I guess, I mean, that sounds correct.”

“You’re happy with Mingyu.” It’s more of a statement than a question, but you find the need to answer it anyways, so you nod quickly.

“Very happy.”

“But he doesn’t dominate you.”

You shake your head.

“And tonight, you want someone to tell you what to do.”

You nod.

“You want someone to make you scream the way I made that other girl scream, the girl that kept you up at night. You want what I was giving her.”

“God, yes,” you admit, letting out a shuddery breath. You can feel Mingyu smile against your throat, and he wraps his arms tighter around you, holding you close to his chest. You can feel his cock straining up against your ass, and it’s driving you wild already.

“What’s off the table?” Wonwoo asks. “Be thorough.”

“I think… no anal. Hard pass on anal, at least, right now,” you start. “And… please don’t be mean to me? Like… don’t degrade me?”

“If you’re our good girl, there will be no reason to degrade you, will there?” Wonwoo says smoothly, reaching out to cup your jaw. His thumb brushes by your lips and you open your mouth for him, accepting the digit that presses flat to your tongue. “See, you’re just a good girl looking for direction, there won’t be a problem tonight.”

He removes his hand, and part of you mourns the loss.

“Everything else is on the table?” he clarifies.

“Nothing gross.”

“Nothing gross,” Wonwoo repeats with a laugh. “I guess that’s all subjective, but I get what you mean.”

God, you wonder what dirty, nasty things this man has done in his lifetime.

“Safeword?” Wonwoo asks next.

You take a deep breath, only needing a moment to consider one. “Harley.”

Mingyu groans behind you, his hands teasing up your thighs, closer and closer to where you need him while he begins to suck on your sweet spot. You can tell from his reaction that the safe word pleased him, and you know that everyone is aware how close you are to letting the fun actually begin.

Wonwoo has done his due diligence, now, he just has to do you.

“Gyu, how about you get her warmed up?” Wonwoo suggests, and the man you’re sitting on wastes no time with the request. Mingyu immediately slips his hand under the waistband of your sweatpants, fingers finding your clit through your panties while you squirm on his lap.

“Fuck,” Mingyu groans, “she’s so wet already.”

“That’s no surprise,” Wonwoo says nonchalantly, pivoting and moving away.

You watch him go, curious as to what he’s up to. Mingyu, meanwhile, is focused on getting your attention. He pushes your panties to the side, stroking your pussy, teasing as if he’s about to dip his fingers into you, only to circle your clit again.

You snap way too easily, turning to press kisses along his jaw. You reach a hand up to cup his cheek, prompting him to meet your lips. All it takes is a little tongue action for Mingyu to also break, finally slipping a digit into your wet core.

You whimper at the feeling, grinding down on his hand. The wiggling of your hips adds friction to the front of Mingyu’s pants, and he releases his own groan of pleasure.

He adds a second finger and you find yourself gasping. Your thighs spread to accommodate Mingyu. His slow stroking is driving you wild, and the ever constant pressure on your clit only intensifies the situation.

“Lay her down,” Wonwoo’s voice snaps you out of your Mingyu haze, and you break the kiss to blink up at Wonwoo.

You notice something in his hands, but before you can get a better look, Mingyu is pulling his hand from your core and standing up, taking you with him.

He gently places you onto the bed, tearing off your pants. His fingers go to hook in your underwear, but one tutting sound from Wonwoo makes him stop in his tracks.

“Leave those on for now,” Wonwoo instructs. “You might be skipping things because you’re needy, but I remember your panty kink.”

Panty kink? Mingyu has a panty kink?

Fuck.

You wonder how much Wonwoo knows about Mingyu’s sexual preferences, things that you haven’t even learned yet.

No matter how worried you were about this before you agreed to a threesome, it’s becoming more and more clear that Wonwoo might carry the keys to unlocking Mingyu’s full potential in bed- now, you’re worried what that means for the fully monogamous aspect of your relationship.

“Take off your shirt and bra for us,” Wonwoo prompts next. “I want to see you.”

His voice had softened at the end of the request, and the fact that Wonwoo has a good mix between commanding, and a tone that’s almost on the pleading side, has you immediately making good on what he’s just asked of you.

You slip your shirt off, tossing it onto the floor. Arching your back, you get at the clasp of your bra, and soon, it joins the discarded fabric next to the bed.

Mingyu gets onto the mattress between your thighs, his hands stroking up your legs, which spread for him again.

“Here,” Wonwoo tosses the thing he’d been holding onto your chest.

When you pick it up, you realize it’s a blindfold.

Wonwoo meets your questioning gaze. “Put that on. You trust us, right?”

You swallow thickly, then, you slip on the blindfold, obscuring your vision completely.

“That’s our good girl,” Wonwoo muses, and his satisfaction has your core throbbing. He’s being a lot nicer than you’d hoped he would be- part of you had wondered if this would a rage fueled fuck, revenge for the ghosting. But the way Wonwoo’s treating you- it’s clear he has no animosity toward you for your past, regardless of the cold way he’s been acting toward you up until tonight.

Even with the blindfold, it’s clear who’s still rubbing your legs. And when Mingyu shifts his weight, bending down to press kisses along your inner thighs, you know it’s still him.

Although there aren’t any surprises happening in terms of who is touching you, with your vision cut off, every brush of Mingyu against your skin feels even more intense. Without the pressure of keeping your eyes open, or following the action with your gaze, you can simply lay back and enjoy what’s happening.

Mingyu’s mouth reaches your core, and his breath through the fabric makes you twitch.

When his tongue makes contact with your wet panties, you both let out groans. The world seems suspended in anticipated pleasure, if even just for a moment, before Mingyu practically dives in.

His tongue pushes at your panties, and the teasing aspect of his muscle prodding at your core has your stomach already twisting into knots. It’s like he’s trying to devour your underwear, trying to push his tongue through so he can get at you-

You’d never imagined keeping your pussy covered with a thin piece of fabric would reveal to you how desperate Mingyu is to properly be eating you.

Your hands reach down, tangling in Mingyu’s hair, and you begin to grind against his face, using his nose to add pressure to your clit.

Something brushes by your nipple, and you practically jump at the contact. Then, the soft bud is pinched between two fingers. It’s not a hard pinch, not enough to hurt, but enough to have your pussy throbbing even more from the idea of pain.

You also know that it’s Wonwoo who has finally decided to touch you, and you’re kind of scared of the effect that’s having.

Mingyu doesn’t even notice his friend beginning to play with your tits, he’s much too distracted by licking your core through your panties. You’d bet that if you took your blind fold off right now, you’d find his own eyes closed, his mind completely consumed by the act of being close to your pussy without really being able to get at it.

“Does he feel good?” Wonwoo asks.

“Uh huh,” you nod, tightening your grip in Mingyu’s hair so you can grind harder against his mouth.

“He’s already nearly breaking,” Wonwoo muses, “how far along are you?”

“I-” You swallow thickly. “I don’t know.”

“I want you to enjoy the teasing, want you to be brought to the edge like this, and when you’re finally about to snap, I’ll let him pull your panties to the side. You can ride his face while you cum for us.”

Your muscles clench at his words, and you nod quickly. “Okay.”

“Where are your manners?” He pinches your nipple even more roughly, and you let out a delighted squeal.

“Okay, yes, thank you, thank you, Wonwoo,” you correct yourself.

“Good girl.” The pinching subsides, but you almost miss the pain. “You look good like this.”

“Thank you!” you blurt out, not wanting to fumble your manners so early just because he’s being sweet to you.

Wonwoo’s fingers leave your breast, and your focus shifts to Mingyu again. He’s begun rubbing his nose against your clit, and you’d bet that Wonwoo’s words about getting you to the edge have inspired the motion.

Mingyu knows that clit stimulus will get you there faster than the teasing of his tongue along your panties, and you give yourself to the pleasure he’s providing.

Wet lips wrap around your nipple and your body jolts. One your hands immediately flies to the back of Wonwoo’s head, threading through his soft curls while he sucks on you. He releases a groan of satisfaction. You respond with a whimper of your own, pushing your chest up toward his mouth.

Nothing has ever felt like this.

Having two sexy men worship you is making your body short circuit faster than it ever has before.

You can feel your orgasm rising in your stomach, and before you even know it, you’re letting out a gasp. “Fuck, I’m close- shit, thank you, fuck, I’m gonna-”

You can’t even finish your sentence, Mingyu tugs your panties to the side, pushing two digits into your hole while his lips find your clit, sucking the sensitive bud while he groans like a starved man.

Wonwoo’s teeth simultaneously graze your nipple, and the combination of stimuli is enough to throw you over the edge.

Your pussy clamps down on Mingyu’s fingers, waves of pleasure exploding out from your core. The loudest moan you’ve ever released sings out of you, and your grip tightens in both of their curls. You’re used to having one anchor, Mingyu, who you hold onto to keep you from floating too high to cloud nine, but now, even with two anchors, you still find yourself drifting away into a state of bliss you’ve never even dreamed of.

Wonwoo’s free hand finds your neglected breast, and a pinch at your nipple has even more electric energy surging through you, your back arching at how intense this all is.

Mingyu hasn’t stopped between your thighs, his fingers are unrelenting inside of your throbbing core, his tongue flicking your clit better than any vibrator or toy ever has.

You cum, and cum, and cum-

Mingyu releases a sinful groan, and you can feel something splash your inner thighs. Mingyu pulls away from your clit, licking up the liquid-

Wonwoo’s mouth leaves your breasts, and you can feel his gaze slipping between your legs.

“Fuck, I didn’t know you could squirt, baby,” he muses, massaging your breast in a way that almost feels loving.

“I didn’t-” you struggle to speak amidst your moans, “I can’t-

“No one’s ever made you squirt before?” Wonwoo finishes your sentence for you.

“No, sir, I mean- yes, sir-”

You hear Wonwoo let out a chuckle, and he pinches your nipple, making you cry out even more. “Sir, huh? Looks like our good girl has really learned her manners, Gyu.”

You’re not sure where the title had come from, but calling Wonwoo ‘sir’ had just felt right, it still feels right, as you writhe against his bed sheets.

“Okay, I think that’s enough,” Wonwoo sighs. Fingers brush by your cheek, and the sudden touch makes you flinch. “She’s crying, Gyu.”

Mingyu groans deeply, his fingers coming to a stop in your pussy. When he removes them, and both men pull away, you can finally take a deep breath after the intensity of your orgasm. Your entire body shudders as you try to steady yourself after what they’ve just given you.

In the periphery, you can hear a wet sucking sound, and you’d bet your life that Mingyu is licking his fingers clean.

“Squirting all over him like that got your boyfriend hard as fuck, baby, I think I’ll be nice and let him fuck you now.”

God, there’s so much you want to think about with that sentence- specifically the way Wonwoo just referred to Mingyu as your boyfriend, a term that you haven’t yet used- but you’re also so needy for Mingyu’s cock now that you can’t sit and ponder the relationship development.

“Yes, please, Mingyu, fuck, need your cock-” you whine, reaching down to tug your panties off-

Another set of hands grabs the fabric, and before you can fumble to get your underwear down your legs, Mingyu simply tears them in two to get at you.

His cockhead is rubbing against your soaked folds a moment later, and you let out a whimper of desperation.

“Fuck, Angel, you’re doing so good for us,” Mingyu groans, slipping the head into you.

“Gyu-” you whimper, grabbing at the bed sheets, your eyes rolling into the back of your head from the stretch of his girthy tip.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he tells you, one hand flattening on your abdomen to keep you still. “I could slide all the way in like this-”

“Do it,” Wonwoo says simply. “Bet she’d fucking love that.”

“I would,” you agree, whimpering at the idea of him filling you up with one powerful thrust. “Please, split me open-”

The words no sooner leave your mouth than Mingyu is doing just as you’d asked. In one motion, he sinks the entirety of his cock into your wet, ready hole.

His hips hit flush to your own, and you release something between a cry and a scream. Your inner walls struggle desperately to accommodate the large intrusion that your body is still not used to even after fucking Mingyu countless times.

Before Mingyu, ‘Like a Virgin’ had just been a Madonna song, now, it’s something you understand completely.

Mingyu’s mouth finds your neck as he leans his entire, large, muscled body over your own. His lips are hot as they suckle on your sweet spot, and you grab at his strong shoulders, wrapping your legs around his hips.

He starts slow with his motions, only pulling out slightly. With each small rut, his cock sinks so deep that it hits a spot that makes you go mind numb.

You’re a gasping, wriggling mess for Mingyu, and from the sounds leaving his own lips, you know he loves it.

His pace starts to increase. You can feel your pussy tingling with each thrust, the vein along the underside of his cock stimulating your walls perfectly.

Mingyu draws your lips to his own, and you find yourself in a desperate clash of tongues.

“How cute,” Wonwoo’s voice draws you back to reality. “For the record, baby, I’ve never seen Mingyu this into someone.”

God, why is he being so nice to you?

Why does the thought that you make Mingyu come undone unlike anyone else have your pussy throbbing?

Your hand moves before your mind even registers what you’re doing. It flails out toward Wonwoo’s voice, and you’re pretty sure you make contact with his thigh.

“What are you doing?” Wonwoo asks, tone shifting.

You break the kiss with Mingyu, and his lips find your throat while you address his friend. “Wanna touch.”

Wonwoo is silent, and moments feel like minutes. Then, you hear a belt buckle, and a zipper being pulled down.

“You just wanna touch?” Wonwoo prompts.

Before you can even respond, Mingyu is nipping at your ear. He’s breathing heavily, fucking you faster. “Do you wanna suck him off, Angel? I won’t be mad if you do.”

This is a threesome, it wouldn’t be fair if Wonwoo didn’t get a bit of you too…

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” Wonwoo prompts.

“Yes, I wanna suck you off,” you clarify, doing your best to make your voice sound confident.

Mingyu groans, and then he pulls off of you. You whine at the loss of him, but he flips you onto all fours, pulling your ass into the air so he can push his cock into you again. You do your best to steady yourself on your hands, and the bed dips in front of you, signaling Wonwoo’s arrival.

“Here,” Wonwoo’s voice is soft, as soft as his touch when he pulls the blindfold off of you. “Wanna see that pretty face when you choke around my cock.”

In the red light from the tiled wall mount, Wonwoo looks insane. Yeah, a little insane in the crazy way, but insanely sexy too.

He’s taken his shirt off, and you’re shocked to find washboard abs that make you drool immediately. His curls are all flouncy and illuminated by the red, like a halo, or even devil horns. His jeans are undone, but he doesn’t have his cock out yet, which you kind of appreciate.

Although you can see his length straining against the black denim, he didn’t immediately stick his dick down your throat, he’s giving you time to adjust to the new position.

You blink up at him, and Wonwoo smiles, cupping your cheek. “You’re doing so good, baby.”

“So good,” Mingyu echoes, digging his fingers into your hips as he begins to fuck you like a mad man.

“Sir,” you breathe.

“Yes, baby?”

“Can I suck you off now?”

Wonwoo’s grin widens. “Go for it.”

You realize he’s not going to help you take his cock out, not yet at least. It’s difficult to hold yourself up with one hand while Mingyu fucks you, your free one reaching for his jeans. You hook your fingers in the fabric, trying to tug them down.

Part of you thinks Wonwoo likes watching you struggle. He’s said he’d be nice, wouldn’t degrade you, and he’s not, but this feels like it’s bordering on humiliation.

Here you are, getting fucked stupid, holding yourself up on one shaky hand while the other tugs desperately at his pants, trying to free his cock so you can have it sink down your throat-

“You’re cute,” Wonwoo muses, finally giving in.

He pushes his pants down, his cock springing up against his abdomen.

He’s long. Maybe not as long as Mingyu, and not as thick either, but that just means you might actually be able to take him fully into your mouth, unlike your boyfriend’s monster cock that you can’t even fully suck halfway.

Even though Wonwoo isn’t as big as Mingyu, he’s confident in himself, and that makes things all the more sexy.

He grabs the base of his length, holding the tip out for you.

Meeting his eyes, you open your mouth, sticking out your tongue.

Wonwoo taps himself along the wet muscle, then he teases the tip just past your lips- you go to wrap your mouth around him, only for him to pull back with a laugh. “Eager, are you?”

You nod, “uh huh.”

He doesn’t even tut at you for your lack of manners, after all, you’re still holding your mouth open for him, unwilling to close it if even for a few moments to say a ‘yes, sir.’

“I guess I can give it to you,” Wonwoo sighs. Although he’s trying to sound unbothered, you can tell from his leaky red tip that he’s just as turned on by this as you are. You can see through Wonwoo now, and you wonder how that’s going to impact your opinion of him.

This man who likes to seem hard and domineering, who likes to appear nonchalant- you wonder what kind of thoughts are swimming in that pretty head of is.

Wonwoo slips his cock into your mouth, and you immediately begin to suck it, twirling your tongue along the tip. He pushes in another inch, testing your abilities. His eyes are fixed on yours, and you stare up at him, wanting to please.

Mingyu fucks you harder, prompting you forward onto Wonwoo’s cock. You take more and more of him, doing your best to relax and focus on the pleasure Mingyu is giving you, rather than the uncomfortable feeling of a heavy dick on your tongue.

You enjoy giving oral, but you’ve always found it easier to have some other stimulus to anchor yourself- Mingyu’s cock splitting you open is just the right amount of distraction. When Wonwoo hits the back of your throat, you hardly choke, too enraptured by Mingyu behind you to carefully about your gag reflex.

“Fuck, that’s good,” Wonwoo tells you, having watched for your limits and reactions.

He begins to thrust now, matching Mingyu’s motions. It’s a push pull, and you kind of love being used like this, having two cock filling you up. They’re almost synchronized, and it turns you on that they’ve done this before, that they’re familiar with each other.

You couldn’t imagine a better pair to lose your threesome virginity to.

Wonwoo’s hand grabs your hair, and you watch as he throws his head bad, letting out a groan.

Fuck, he’s so sexy- they both are. Mingyu’s grip on your hips is even tighter, and you know what that means.

“I’m close,” your boyfriend announces.

“Well I just started,” Wonwoo retorts. “Hold it.”

You’re shocked that Mingyu doesn’t even fight back, his thrusts simply slow down a notch. Wonwoo, meanwhile, speeds up, and you do your best to hollow your cheeks around his cock, sucking on him like you’ve never sucked on anyone before.

“You’re good with your mouth, baby,” Wonwoo praises you.

“She’s so good,” Mingyu agrees, reaching a hand around your body so he can rub your clit.

You jolt at the contact, pussy clenching desperately around Mingyu’s cock.

“Fuck, Woo, we’re both close-” Mingyu groans, resting his forehead against your shoulder, his breath hot across your skin.

“I guess I can make this quick,” Wonwoo grunts, hips shuddering.

Mingyu draws fluid, lazy circles on your clit, speckling your shoulders with kisses while he ruts slowly into your core. You suck on Wonwoo diligently, like it’s your job- after all, it is your job to make him cum in order for you and Mingyu to get there too.

The pressure in your abdomen is getting tighter and tighter, you’re not sure how much longer you can hold off, especially with the sounds Mingyu’s making-

“You two are so needy,” Wonwoo muses, letting out a small chuckle. “Fuck.”

“You gotta let her cum,” Mingyu practically begs. “She’s squeezing me like a fucking vice, dude- this is torture.”

Wonwoo’s hips jolt at Mingyu’s words, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat. You feel your muscles constrict around both of them, and they both groan in response.

“You’re too good at this,” Wonwoo tells you. “When I cum, you both get to cum.”

It’s not an outward admittance that he’s close, but you can tell he is. His stomach muscles are clenching with effort as he uses your face, and the small groans of pleasure leaving him are higher in number now.

He fucks your face even faster, and Mingyu takes this as a cue to begin fucking you properly again. “Can you rub your clit, Angel?” he asks. “I need to grab your hips.”

You moan a sound of affirmation around Wonwoo, holding yourself up on one wobbly hand while the other slips between your legs.

“That’s it,” Mingyu groans, straightening behind you and taking hold of your hips with both hands. His pace matches Wonwoo’s now, and you can feel your orgasm so close-

You can almost taste it.

In fact, you can taste Wonwoo’s, a strangled gasp escaping him as he cums down your throat suddenly.

“Our turn, Angel,” Mingyu moans, pace quickening to a speed that would almost be painful if it wasn’t so pleasurable. Your fingers are rough on your own clit, and you do your best to swallow every drop of Wonwoo’s spend.

When he pulls out of your mouth, you breathe in a strangled gasp- only for moans of pleasure to escape you uncensored.

“Fuck, that’s it, Angel, almost there, almost there-” Mingyu groans. “Fuck, cum for me, cum for us- fuck, cum on my cock-”

His words throw you over the edge. You lean forward, resting your cheek against Wonwoo’s thigh while your orgasm overtakes you. Waves of pleasure surge through your body, making you shake- Mingyu’s hands hold your hips steady, keeping you where he wants you while he fucks you through your high, coating your insides with his thick cum.

You’re both moaning messes, completely given over to the ecstasy that you find in each other.

Your hand falls from between your legs, and soon, Mingyu’s motions stop. He keeps himself buried inside of you, trying to catch his breath.

“I’ll get some tissue,” Wonwoo says. He pulls away from you, and you collapse face first onto the bed, shuddering from the aftershocks of your high.

Mingyu’s hands begin to stoke your body, a silent assurance that you did well for them.

Wonwoo comes back with tissues, and Mingyu pulls out. You bring the kleenex to your dripping hole, careful not to get any cum onto Wonwoo’s bed-

Which is when you remember you squirted all over the comforter already.

You lay on your back, giggling to yourself.

“What’s so funny?” Wonwoo asks. Fingers go to pinch your nipple and you flinch, rolling away from him.

“I got squirt all over your bed,” you tell him.

“Naughty girl,” he says, but there’s an inkling of pride in his tone.

“It’s okay,” Mingyu says, reaching to pull you off the bed. “I’m going to go clean her up, you can throw your stuff in the laundry, and we can stay in my room tonight.”

You’re not sure why the idea of sleeping next to Wonwoo feels more intimate than the fact that he just came down your throat, but ten minutes later, when you’re snuggling between the two men, you find yourself almost unsure of how to act.

Mingyu’s already passed out, soft snores filling the room, and it’s Wonwoo who notices your unease as you shift under the sheets.

“Relax,” he tells you, his hands drawing you to his chest. “You’re safe with us.”

For some reason, his words actually calm you down, and after a few more deep breaths, you pass out on the chest of the man you’d ghosted over half a year ago.

Epilogue

It’s been two months since you and Mingyu invited Wonwoo into your bed. Two months of great sex, but it’s even deeper than that.

Mingyu is outwardly your boyfriend, and he loves showing his claim over you every chance he gets, but Wonwoo is still on the fence about where he fits in your relationship.

You’re at the bar where Wonwoo works, it’s a place you’ve been becoming more of a regular at. Mingyu is out with Cheol, but he’ll be meeting you shortly. Right now, all there is to do is wait and try not to flirt with Wonwoo too hard while he mixes drinks.

Wonwoo is chatting with another regular, an old guy who keeps looking over at you. Finally, the man asks, “How do you two know each other?”

You and Wonwoo exchange a look. You wait for him to define the relationship, after all, out of everyone in your odd little throuple, Wonwoo’s the one who likes to go slowest when it comes to relationship milestones.

After a moment of consideration, Wonwoo responds, “She’s a friend. Dating my roommate.”

“Ah, okay,” the man nods.

It hurts for Wonwoo to not claim you the way you wish he would, but at the same time, you understand his hesitancy.

When you’d first started fucking Wonwoo, you’d thought he was a doberman to Mingyu’s golden retriever, but now, you think he’s more of a black cat. If you move too fast or too sudden, you’re afraid of scaring him off, and that’s the last thing you’d want to do.

With a sigh, you lift your drink to your lips. You suppose having one boyfriend who claims you with all of his heart makes up for having another who is still unsure about what to call you.

But it doesn’t mean things hurt any less.

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! I'm happy I was able to get this fic out in time for spring :) when I tell you this shit was five months in the making-

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below!

🔮 preview. Mingyu gives you all the love you’ve ever dreamed of from your romance novels. And Wonwoo gives you all the kinky sex you’ve fantasized about from the erotica you read. It’s the best of both worlds, and as Wonwoo sinks his cock into your wet pussy, you begin to suck on Mingyu.

cw/ tw. Exhibitionism, unprotected sex, sex in an alley, sex over a Harley motorcycle, eiffle tower/ spit roasting, quickie, blow job, deep throating, dirty talk, praise, cum/filling kink, inklings of humiliation, Wonwoo is a little rough, etc… I petnames. (hers) baby.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.7k I teaser wc. 220

🌙 staring. Wonwoo & Mingyu x afab!reader

bonus

“I’m just gonna head outside with Cheol for a quick vape break,” Mingyu tells you, giving you a kiss on the cheek before he exits the bar with his buddy.

You turn to Wonwoo, who is busy mixing some elaborate drink for a group of cougars a few seats down. It’s a decent night here at his workplace, it’s summer now, so most evenings are good for him.

“Is this seat taken?” You turn to see the regular from a few months ago standing there, and you’re quick to offer him the chair, after all, you and Mingyu will be leaving soon anyways. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” the man asks.

You exchange a look with Wonwoo. “Yeah, I uh… I met you a few months ago,” you try to explain, pointing at your bartender. “I’m this guy’s friend.”

“Right, dating his roommate, now I remember,” the man nods.

Wonwoo has stopped what he’s doing, and he’s staring at you.

There’s a hint of danger in his eyes, and you’re not quite sure why. Then he sets down his drink, coming around the bar, and grabbing your arm. “Come outside,” he instructs.

“What? Now?” you ask in shock, looking around at the bartop that's full of people who need drinks. “You’re working!”

“I don’t care. Come.”

☀️to read the full 2.2k bonus, subscribe to my Patreon - then - click here

👹 or check out what else is on my patreon here

🔮if nothing strikes your fancy, check out my m.list

general taglist

@gotshinct - @runahways - @milkteade - @mocha000

@anothershorthuman - @notbeforelong - @darthlunaa

@librarian-stacks - @meowniee

@just-here-to-read-01 - @shiningnono - @lovelyhan -

@grilledbananas - @quennlenn - @zezedoesshit

@unlikelysublimekryptonite - @wonwoothinker

svt taglist

@candidupped - @cheolussy - @aaniag - @imprettyweird

thanks to those who interacted with the teaser!

@kyungsooislifeu - @beautifulnctzen - @cecefarm

@horanghaezone - @gyuminusone - @lovely-ficsfor-me

@fixonbreakoff - @babieculture - @sashaaahh - @justhereforkpop

@mitzoa - @weakformingyu - @hannieween - @multislut

@piplupnani - @thelost-soul - @asyre - @acolytees - @axo-l0tl

@btsreadss - @amazinggraxia - @pandabur666 - @jky001

@bemysolaces - @megseungmin - @thasecrets

@saintksy - @kundann

#mingyu smut #wonwoo smut #svthub #kim mingyu #jeon wonwoo #jeon wonwoo smut #kim mingyu smut #mingyu #wonwoo #svt #svt smut #seventeen #seventeen smut #minwon #meanie #minwon svt #svt minwon #mingyu x reader #wonwoo x reader

5K notes · View notes