#THANK YOU FOR THE OPPORTUNITY I LOVE TO TALK ABOUT THEM

[em1i2a3]

Fire For You

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: Bob has been head over heels for you ever since he met you, but he has never admitted it. Sentry is getting sick and tired of him dancing around the subject, so he goes to extreme measures to get Bob to confess.

Warnings: No warnings in particular, Sentry is an absolute menace in this though, and there is Fluff, but yeah that’s pretty much it :)

Author’s Note: I really enjoyed writing this little blurb, and the concept was cute as shit lol. Thank you @sol-lol for the request! Hope y’all enjoy! <3

Word Count: 3,801

Afternoon sunlight filtered through the high-paneled windows, casting long, golden streaks over the hardwood floors. Even the ever-present hum of the compound's security system felt muted–as if the entire building had exhaled, grateful for the rare stillness. Most of the team had shipped out at dawn, leaving only Bob and you behind, sentenced to stay and grind through mountains of post-mission paperwork.

You were across the hall in your room, with the door cracked, and music playing low. It was barely audible, but you were humming along out of tune. That little sound though had tugged at Bob like a thread caught in his chest. From his room he could see yours, and his eyes lingered there for a second too long before he turned away, running a hand through his dripping wet hair, closing his own door and padding barefoot across the hardwood floors of his bedroom.

He bent slightly, grabbing his black sweatpants from where they hung off the end of the bed, faintly warm from the sun that was beaming into his bedroom. Just as he was about to step into them–

“You should go into her room and tell her how you feel Robert.” The voice hit him like a low rumble in his chest, reverberating off the inside of his skull. Deep and rich, with that molten smoothness that made it impossible to ignore. It was a voice meant for command. Worship. Destruction. Right now, though, he sounded supremely annoyed. Bob groaned under his breath and pulled the soft cotton up his legs with an aggressive tug.

”I can’t te-tell her. It’s plain and simple, Sentry. How can you not understand that?” He hissed, keeping his voice low, casting a glance towards his door. The last thing he needed was for you to hear him arguing with himself like an exasperated older sibling. He crossed the room to his wooden dresser, pulling open the top drawer and grabbing a clean white t-shirt, yanking it over his dripping hair with more force than necessary.

“This is the perfect opportunity to confess your feelings…I’m getting sick and tired of watching your pathetic little mating dance. My patience is wearing thin.” Bob let out a small laugh under his breath–dry and crackly–shaking his head.

”Your patience?” He muttered, pacing towards his mirror, seeing the soft golden hue shimmering over the oceanic blue of his irises, “I’ve been waiting for these feelings to go away for six months, and we’re ta-talking about your patience?” The silence that followed was heavy, and for a split second, Bob thought that maybe he had stunned the sun god into temporary retreat. Only for him to come back swinging.

“You’ve been making yourself look like an absolute fool, and I’ve been allowing it thinking that you’d eventually grow a spine and do something about it. But I guess I was wrong. Guess you’ll just keep pining for your teammate in silence until the both of you die from mutual emotional constipation.” Bob pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, rubbing at them in frustration.

”Don’t try to pull that reverse psychology crap on me. I’m not that st-stupid.” He muttered. Sentry scoffed loudly, like a clap echoing through his head.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Sentry shot back, “Only an idiot treats telling someone they love them like it’s the end of the world.”

“Wow…Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?” Bob snipped, turning slightly to reach for his forest-green crewneck–the soft one with faint bleach stains, and frayed cuffs. He held it in both hands for a moment, running his thumbs over the texture as if it could soothe himself before tugging it over his head.

”Y’know, if you ac-actually thought about the consequences, I think you wouldn’t be encouraging me to do it.” He added, adjusting the hem of the sweater so it covered him properly. That earned him a sudden jolt in shoulder. Not pain, exactly–but a violent reminder of who he was arguing with. The Sentry rarely used force on Bob, but he always knew how to make his point felt.

“You’re not defusing a goddamn bomb, Robert. You’re just being honest. What kind of consequences are you building up in that overthinking brain of yours?” Bob paused, leaving on the edge of his desk, staring blankly at the sight of himself.

”If she doesn’t like me back…” He started slowly, “Then we’ll have to work together. We still have to live under the same roof, train in the same gym, eat at the same goddamn table. Do you have any idea how aw-awkward that would be?” For a long moment, there was no reply. Then came the laughter. Not mocking, but indulgent. Low and syrupy, warm like something dripping from heaven, curling through his spine like a lit fuse.

“It is painfully obvious that she likes you back. I have seen her through your eyes. I have watched how she looks at you when she thinks you're not watching. It’s not exactly subtle.” Bob snorted and shoved a hand through his hair again, tugging it slightly, his cheeks going hot at the thought of you sneaking quick glances at him. He never noticed and it was quite possible Sentry was just making it up to push him.

“Oh yeah? So why doesn’t she say anything then, huh?” Sentry let out a long groan that vibrated through Bob’s ribcage. It was almost like he was bored of the conversation, or he was sick of the predictability of his host and his line of thought.

“She doesn’t say anything because she’s a woman, Robert. You’re supposed to make the first move.” Bob let out a sharp laugh.

”Well that’s just not fa-fair,” He said, arms thrown wide for no one to see, he felt like he was going crazy in his own room–technically he was–but he couldn’t give in, “I’m not going to put myself in that position just to ruin our friendship, and that’s final.” He went to reach for his mini notebook, about to slide it into the pocket of his sweatpants, when Sentry’s voice changed.

Dropping into a lower, colder tone.

“…I guess I’ll have to resort to some extreme measures then.” Bob froze in his spot, as he slowly looked up, and glanced over at the mirror.

”…What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He asked warily, but there was silence, like a phone line being cut off midway through a call.

”Se-Sentry?” He whispered, taking a cautious step backward from the mirror, feeling his heart rate pick up. He didn’t understand what extreme measures meant, and he truly didn’t want to know, but he wasn’t going to go and admit something so sensitive like this. There was too much risk involved and he cared about you too deeply to put his feelings ahead of yours, because that’s just how Bob was with you.

Then a knock on the door made him jump up in the air.

”Bob, I’m making some iced latte’s, do you want one?” You asked. Bob pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, trying to will the fluttering in his chest to slow down. His pulse thudded hard in his ears–too loud for the quietness in his room. It felt like Sentry’s absence was a weighted pressure now, not a relief. Like something had just coiled back instead of vanishing. He turned toward the door, voice soft and strained.

“Um…Yeah. Yeah, that would be nice. I’ll be out in a se-second, thank you.” You didn’t reply, but he heard your footsteps padding gently down the hallway, the distant clatter of ice cubes being dropped into a glass, the hiss of the espresso machine warming up. He let out a long breath, fingers dragging down his face. He turned back toward the mirror above his dresser, stepping in close, peering into his own eyes. Blue. Clear. Normal. No trace of gold, and that only made it worse.

There was no way Sentry would just slink off like that without more sarcasm, more threats, more “divine push”–especially not after uttering a line like “I guess I’ll have to resort to some extreme measures.” Bob leaned closer, as if looking hard enough would summon the god back to taunt him.

“Wh-Where the hell did you go?” He muttered. “You never shut up this fast…” But there was nothing. No response. No flicker. No warmth in his bones. Just his own reflection staring back at him: flushed cheeks, frizzy damp hair, and a nervous tension coiled through his jaw.

He sighed and stood up straight, tugging down the hem of his forest-green sweater, smoothing it out even though it still sagged a little too loose at the collar. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to flatten it–pointless, really, but it gave him something to do.

Then he stepped out of his room.

The hallway smelled faintly like citrus cleaner and your perfume–orange peel and peach, you had told him happily when he had asked. The sunlight slanted in lower now, catching motes of dust that danced lazily in the air. The door to your room was still cracked, music still playing just because you wanted to keep listening to it even though it was faint–but you weren’t humming anymore.

He followed the sound of clinking glass and the gurgle of the espresso machine down the hall to the kitchen.

You were standing at the counter in a loose t-shirt and bike shorts, back to him, scooping ice into two mason jars. You had your hair pushed out of your face, and the late afternoon light that was pouring through the window kissed your bare legs, making you look like you belonged in a painting more than the compound's kitchen. You were a work of art to him, and he could admire you for hours if he could go unnoticed doing so. Bob swallowed thickly, and he could feel his stomach turn, a wave of nausea floating over him.

You turned when you heard his footsteps and gave him a small smile–soft and easy, like the two of you hadn’t been alone all day with miles of tension simmering between you. He watched as you poured a little bit of liquid sugar into the cup before adding a shot of espresso and some milk with the rest of it. You shoved a straw into the drink and mixed it around quickly.

”Here you go,” You said, handing him the jar, “Made yours a bit sweeter this time, cause you always make a face when it’s too bitter.” You added. Bob blinked down at the glass for a moment and cleared his throat.

”Oh. Th-Thanks.” He replied, wrapping both hands around the chilled jar, grateful that he was able to keep his hands occupied. The cold bit into his palms, but it grounded him enough to distract him from worrying about Sentry. You leaned casually against the edge of the counter, crafting your own drink with a soft rattle of ice against glass, throwing little glances his way. You didn’t seem to notice how stiff Bob had gone, shoulders locked and jaw tight as he lifted the straw to his lips.

The first sip helped. The sweetness, the cold. It settled like a stone in his stomach and gave his trembling hands something to focus on.

But it didn’t last.

A warmth bloomed beneath his skin–subtle at first. Then stronger. Not the warmth of sunlight or embarrassment. It was internal. Like standing too close to a furnace. Bob blinked, shifted on his feet.

And then–a bead of sweat slid from his temple, down his cheekbone. He wiped it away absently.

Then another.

And another.

He gulped loudly, his eyes flicking up to you nervously.

”Hey…Is it getting hot in here, or is it ju-just me?” You looked up from your drink, brows furrowing slightly at the question.

”They’ve got the AC on full blast…Can’t you feel it?” You asked, your voice laced with concern. Bob blinked slowly, almost like he was dazed. The cool air licked at his damp forehead, but it felt like nothing. His skin felt tight, hot, wrong.

“…I’m…I’m getting really ho-hot actually.” He mumbled, setting his glass down carefully on the countertop so it didn’t slip from his sweaty palms. With a clumsy, shaky tug, he peeled the forest-green sweater over his head, tossing it onto a nearby chair. You caught the brief glimpse of his bare waist as the hem rose–taut, pale skin, a soft line of hair trailing down below the waistband of his sweatpants–but you forced your eyes back up before he could notice. Your heart began to skip anyways. Bob ran the back of his wrist across his forehead, strands of damp hair sticking to his temples.

“Jesus,” He breathed, trying to shake the feeling off, fanning himself with one hand, “It really feels like I’m burning up.” He added, almost breathlessly.

“Bob,” You said slowly, eyes narrowing with concern, “Are you getting a fever or something?” He shook his head immediately, rubbing at the back of his neck, which was now slick with sweat.

”I was fine before. I-I don’t know what’s going on, I–“

“If you don’t tell her, I’m going to boil your insides until you’re a puddle of skin and blood.” Sentry said, his voice cracking like lightning inside his skull. Bob stiffened even more at the words.

And then–everything ignited.

It felt like his blood had caught fire.

One second he was upright, trying to breathe through the heat crawling up his spine, and the next–it was everywhere. Searing pain radiated out from his chest, licking through every vein like liquid metal. His nerves flared, his muscles seized, and his vision blurred at the edges with violent, pulsing white.

It was like being cooked alive from the inside out.

“Holy…Ho-Holy fuck,” Bob whispered, his voice barely audible through the rising static in his ears. His eyes darted around the kitchen like they couldn’t hold still, couldn’t focus. His pulse was hammering too fast in his neck. You stared at him, wide-eyed. His white t-shirt was plastered to his chest, soaked through as if he’d stepped into a shower fully clothed. Sweat dripped from his temples in heavy rivulets and the waistband of his sweatpants was already damp.

”Bob, what the hell is happening?!” You asked sharply, your drink completely forgotten behind you. He tried to answer, but his mouth opened–and nothing came out. Only a shallow, panicked gasp.

Then–his knees gave out.

“Shit-” You gasped, rushing forward and catching him before he hit the tile. Your arms looped beneath his, bracing his full weight as he sagged against you like a ragdoll. His head dropped forward, thudding against your shoulder with enough force to make you stumble. He was the weight of a boulder compared to you, but the angle you were able to catch him at really helped with your leverage. You eased both of you down onto the cold floor, your knees scraping the tile as you cradled him in your lap. His head lolled slightly, sweat-soaked curls sticking to you, seeping into the cotton of your shirt. He felt like he was steaming. Your hand flew to his forehead.

“Jesus Christ, Bob,” You breathed, barely holding back the shake in your voice. “You’re boiling hot–what is this? What’s happening to you?” His skin radiated heat like a furnace. Not fever-warm. Inferno-warm. Unnatural. You’d been around him enough to know what a post-mission stress spike looked like–what adrenaline did, what panic attacks did. This was something else. His skin was flushed, his breathing fast and shallow, like he was suffocating inside his own body.

“Bob,” You whispered, pressing both hands to either side of his face. He was slick with sweat, taking in shallow, desperate breaths, like all he was doing was inhaling thick humidity, “Look at me. Please, you gotta tell me what’s going on so I can help you.”

“Tell her or I’m going to keep going.” Sentry snapped. The pressure climbed again, cruel and sharp, curling beneath his ribs like a vice.

”St-Stop,” Bob gasped, voice hoarse, shaking his head against you, “Stop, please…I can’t, I can’t.” You froze at his begging.

”Who are you talking to?” He couldn’t answer. He couldn’t move. His hands were limp in his lap. His eyes fluttered closed, lashes clinging with sweat. His whole body trembled with the effort of not screaming. It felt like his bones were melting. You brushed his soaked hair back with shaking fingers.

“I’m not–“ He tried, letting out a groan of pain, arching his back and writhing a bit. You thought he was being possessed, like somehow a demon got into him, because that would be more plausible than him just going through this at random, “I’m not…Strong enough to fight him wh-when he’s like this…” You paused, breath catching in your throat.

”…Sentry,” You said under your breath. Bob didn’t nod for you to get full confirmation of this, because you could feel it now–something else lurking beneath his skin. Something immense and ancient and merciless. The pressure in the room had changed, the air grown heavier. You felt the way the light dimmed, like it was being pulled inward, like the very shadows in the corners of the kitchen were watching.

“Why is he doing this to you?” You whispered, stroking his cheek with your thumb. “Why would he hurt you? He’s never done this before.” Bob’s eyes opened, barely. There was no gold in them, it was as if Sentry was camouflaging himself–but you could see the panic, the regret, and longing even.

”…It’s be-because I won’t tell you the truth.” He croaked, shivering a bit, twitching against you.

”What truth?” You asked, confused.

“Now, Robert. Say it, or I’ll peel your consciousness apart piece by piece and make you feel every single moment of it.” Bob winced at his words, as he let out another grunt of pain, his stomach aching, his lungs burning.

”Stop. Pl-Please stop.” He begged, his breath hitching in his throat. You moved fast, gripping his cheeks again, forcing him to look at you.

“Bob,” You started, voice breaking, “Whatever it is, just tell me. I’m right here. If it makes him stop, just tell me for god sake!” He stared at you. Pupils blown wide, almost eating the familiar blue he always sported. Sweat dripping down his neck in steady streams, wetting your legs beneath him. The heat had reached his ears, his fingertips. He felt like he was dissolving–turning into a puddle in your arms.

And finally, with his lips trembling and his body shaking in your arms, he whispered “…I’m in lo-love with you.” You stayed just where you were, cradling his burning cheeks, the sweat from his skin soaking into your palms. Your legs were going numb beneath him, but none of that mattered now. His chest heaved with shallow, uneven breaths. His eyes were wide and desperate, waiting for impact.

But your expression didn’t change.

“That’s it?” You asked softly.

Bob blinked. “Wh-What?”

“That’s the truth that was going to kill you?” You shook your head a little, almost in disbelief. “You’re burning alive from the inside out because you didn’t want to admit you loved me?” He nodded. Quickly. Frantic. The heat still trembled beneath his skin like something half-released.

“I’ve–I’ve loved yo-you since I first saw you,” He stammered, words tangling into little balls of misunderstandings. “I thought it would go away, I tried, I really tried, but it just…It just got worse and I didn’t know how to…I’m so sorry.” You stared at him for another beat, your thumbs brushing instinctively along the damp skin beneath his eyes. He was flushed and shaking and somehow still apologizing. A soft laugh slipped from you.

“Only you would apologize about loving someone.” Bob groaned, like his body had finally started to come down, the tension bleeding slowly from his frame. His breathing began to even out, though he still looked like he’d run a marathon through a thunderstorm.

“Ye-yeah…” He muttered, eyes fluttering closed for a second. “Because I have a god inside me who wants to kill me and have me ruin all my friendships in th-the process.” He tried to breathe through the humiliation, through the cool air finally creeping back in. He was regaining himself, physically. But emotionally, he was trying to retreat, blinking away from your eyes, gaze dropping down to your chin, then your lips, then the floor. You leaned in slightly. The space between your mouths thinned. You could feel his breath–still hitched, still hot–against your lips. You didn’t blink.

“Who said the friendship was ruined?” You whispered. Bob’s eyes flicked up. He blinked at you, lashes damp and heavy.

“…Well…” He rasped, “Yo-You don’t…You don’t like me like that…” You raised your eyebrows, a dry laugh slipping from your throat.

“Who told you that?” You shot back, a smirk coming up on your lips. He swallowed hard.

“…My-Myself.” He replied, voice breaking around the answer. You let out a breath through your nose, equal parts amusement and affection.

“Then I guess you’re wrong.” That confused look passed over his face like a ripple in water–eyebrows scrunching together, lips parting just slightly like he was about to ask–

And then you leaned in, your lips finding his before he could finish the thought.

It wasn’t a rushed, breathless kiss like the kind that usually came after a confession. It was slow. Sure. A quiet answer. Your lips moved against his in steady rhythm, grounding him more than the cold tile, more than the sweat that was now cooling on his skin. His breath caught in his throat again, but this time not from pain–just pure shock.

He kissed you back like he was afraid he was imagining it.

Like he couldn’t believe he hadn’t melted for nothing.

When you pulled back, just slightly, his eyes were glassy again–but softer now.

“…You kissed me,” he whispered, stunned.

You grinned. “Yeah. I noticed.”

“…Can you do it again?”

You laughed.

And then you did.

[svenrecs]

i have BEEN slacking on catching up bc life has officially fucked me sideways and not in the good way like how rogue and phoenix are fucking 😒

this is just going to be a cluster fuck of thoughts. i don’t even know if it will make sense. i just want to scream about it so i will.

JK SEEKING OUT NIX? TO SHARE HIS SPECIAL SOURDOUGH MAKING W HER? at also 3 am in the morning, which personally, i would’ve said fuck no, but for kook? there’s unfortunately a lot i would allow for this man 😔

also, i love how soft JK gets when he's talking about his mom :') he just gets so soft, and mushy, and becomes a boy who just his misses his mom. and i'm pretty sure the hints are making it seem like she passed away..? or so i think anyway bc he only talks about her in past tense if i rmr correctly and MY HEART UGH HAS THIS BOY NOT BEEN THRU ENOUGH? SHITTY DAD, SHITTY EX, SHITTY CREDIT??? GOD KNOWS WHAT ELSE, BUT HE STILL MANAGES TO B SO BRIGHT AND SMILEY 😭 P A I N i will fight anyone who hurts this man again (kiki this is ur opportunity to write me into the fic as jk's personal body guard, please and thank u. i will not take no for an answer 😐)

AND THE FLOUR SCENE? SO FUCKING CUTE. SO FUCKING ADORABLE. WHEN I TELL U I WAS SMILING INTO MY SCREEN LIKE A FUCKING IDIOT. THEIR DYNAMIC IS LITERALLY TO DIE FOR AND WE'RE BARELY THAT FAR ALONG. LIKE FUCK FUCK FUCK. how they go from being two idiots having the most fun with each other to having THE HOTTEST FUCKING SEX EVER (AGAIN, WHERE DO I FIND FMU!JK????? I DONT THINK I HAVE EVER WANTED A MAN SO BAD IN MY LIFE, IT'S NOT HEALTHY). they're push and pull, the way they meet each other line for line UGH. so compatible in so many ways, i actually fear my heart won't handle it when they catch feels and get all cute and soft for another 🥹

ahh and the talk about their love lives. jungkook not being able to see that tessa's affection was interest in him :') his trauma from mia plays such a big role he can't see it, and if things do happen between him and tessa or another love interest, i can only imagine how mia will haunt that new relationship. he's still healing and unpacking ad unlearning, and honestly some things run so deep, you almost never fully unlearn them. he's not able to see kindness as just kindness, sincerity as just just sincerity, affection as just affection (MIA WHEN I GET MY FCKING HANDS ON U). his brain can't fully understand that someone being nice can be genuine and not because there are strings attached. and i feel like he struggles with that more when it applies in romantic relationships more than platonic :’)

operation sunny not crying over jk for being a) a soft, lovable lil shit b) traumatized tf out, and c) S HOT HORN DOG IN A WAY THAT ALTERS MY BRAIN CHEMISTRY is going v poorly. i fear i am too attached...

AND THE SEX? FUCKING HELL. SO. FUCKING. HOT. I AM UNWELL. I'VE BEEN UNWELL. I SAT STARING AT MY CEILING QUESTIONING MY WHOLE SEX-ISTANCE AND THEN SOME BC WHAT THE FUCK. THE VANILLA? THE DIRTY TALK? and man is he good at the dirty talk JUNGKOOK BEING ROUGHER? FUCK ME UP. the title of this fic is really quite fucking genius. NIX KISSING HIM AFTER HE EATS HER OUT WHEN SHE NEVER DOES THAT? ALRIGHT GIRL. HOW MANY OTHER RULES HAVE U BROKEN FOR HIM, HM? HOW MANY WILL U CONTINUE TO BREAK? HUH? she is so down bad (for the sex at least lol) and she hates she has no control of it, and she brings that out by being mouthy JUST AS JK NOTED!!! control is such a big thing for her, it comes out everywhere (and helps make really great sex apparently). she just needs some semblance of control bc her body wants jk so bad and she feels she has no control over that. over her reactions, over how her body chooses to respond, over how much she likes it. she needs the upper hand bc that's her safety net and i love how we explore this with sex bc OOF. and i love that jungkook's catches it, clocks it, calls her out while simultaneously fucking her brains out. and i REALLY love how he says:

"You need to know I like it," he says, "so you can file it under 'doing well,' and that's how you let yourself feel good."

UM?? I WAS LITERALLY THINKING THE SAME. not me psychoanalyzing her trauma during sex growing up with parents like hers, you sometimes don't get praised until u prove u deserve it. until you've done smthing right, done smthing to make them happy or proud. and only after that can you be even try to appreciate your own efforts, but good luck there, too. bc usually the thought process is 'okay. they were happy about it, so i did something right.' there’s this need for external validation before you can even acknowledge how you feel bc the anxiety and worry and consequences about if u didn't perform good enough? usually a direct attack to your self-worth. she's learned to gauge her value and performance in environments where love, praise, or approval were probably conditional. and i love how this is explored in sex bc WOW. genius. i'm sure it'll come up again in soooo may other ways and i cannot wait to sit there and UNPACK.

and now, honourable mentions lmao:

"Better than doomscrolling Twitter," he shoots back without missing a beat.

this was a call out... i am extremely offended....

"Please. You were wearing makeup on a Sunday. And that green top thing that makes your—" He cuts himself off, clearing his throat. "Anyway. Spill. How'd it go with Professor Boring?"

and how'd u know that, boo 🤨

And yeah, you catch him looking. That look. The one that says he's already decided how this ends.

this made me snort bc genuinely how do men go from being ur bff or having a normal ass convo with u to giving u bedroom eyes in 0.0000002 seconds. i've gotten genuine whiplash from this before.

"Now be good and let me taste my birthday cake."

kiki, if u want me to die, just say it 😐

"There she is," he whispers. "There's my good fucking girl."

a bullet to the head would be nicer

also???? has anyone else clocked that these two have fucked EVERYWHERE but the bedroom. bc i have. and i am very interested if this was deliberate (who am i kidding it honestly probably was 😭)

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 25

˗ˏˋ vanilla drips ˎˊ˗

"Sometimes the sweetest confessions come in the form of flour wars and vanilla extract kisses, when 3 AM vulnerability meets kitchen counter chemistry and you realize you've been lying to yourself about what you actually want."

next | index

✧ chapter details ✧

word count: 11.2k

content: 3am sourdough therapy sessions, flour warfare, vanilla extract as foreplay, kitchen counter confessions, raw intimacy (literally), tessa reconnaissance missions, jason date debriefs, smut, penetration, vanilla kink as always

✦ author's note ✦

Okay. Before anyone starts warming up their fingers to type “why is Y/N being such a hypocrite about Tessa,” let’s stop right there because actually? She’s not. Not even a little bit. What you’re witnessing here isn’t hypocrisy—it’s human behavior. It’s trauma logic. It’s psychological realism. And it’s honestly the most consistent Y/N has ever been.

Here’s the thing: what she has with Jungkook is sex. She’s said it, she’s acted on it, and more importantly—she believes it. Her brain doesn’t categorize him as a romantic option, not even subconsciously. So when she pushes Tessa toward him, it’s not because she’s lying to herself—it’s because, from her point of view, Jungkook deserves something good. After Mia? Yeah. He deserves a little sweetness. Tessa’s nice. That’s literally it. She’s responding with a moral instinct, not romantic jealousy. And that’s not hypocrisy—that’s compartmentalization paired with a genuine (if ill-defined) desire to see someone be treated well.

But here’s the question the chapter’s really asking: is “something good” always what someone needs?

Because Jungkook doesn’t recognize affection as safe. The boy has trained himself not to see it—thanks to a past that weaponized intimacy against him. So of course he doesn’t clock Tessa’s interest. It’s not him being stupid. It’s a trauma-informed blind spot. He’s too tuned into control dynamics to perceive sincerity when it’s offered without strings. (And let’s be real, how many of us have had our receptors miswired by the wrong person?)

That’s where the mutual curiosity comes in—both Y/N and Jungkook ask about each other’s dating lives in this chapter. Not because they’re pining or secretly in love or any of that fluff. They’re not. What they are, though, is interested. Maybe not in a romantic sense, but definitely in a human one. They’re trying to read each other. Understand each other. That’s what friends do. Or, in their case, that’s what trying to be friends looks like. They’re clumsy, they’re defensive, but they’re showing care in the only languages they know—flour fights and 3 AM bread commentary and checking if the other person is sleeping with someone else, just to make sense of the shape of things.

And Jungkook? For all his snark and dodging—he reads her this chapter. Like really reads her. He names her deflections. Calls out her need for control. Gives her permission to let go in ways no one else has. That kitchen scene isn’t romantic, it’s recognition. And that’s what makes it intimate. Not love. Not pining. But connection.

The vanilla extract moment—look, I know some of you are rolling your eyes at the "of course it's vanilla because that's Y/N's scent" metaphor, but hear me out. The fact that he was drinking it? That's not cute quirky behavior—that's concerning. It's self-medication disguised as harmless habit. For those of you who don’t know or haven’t caught up—vanilla extract is ethanol. Which means, it is alcohol. And Y/N recognizing it but choosing to transform it into something sensual instead of confronting it directly? That's her attempting to heal through intimacy rather than conversation, which is very much her emotional language at this point in the story.

Anyway. Enjoy the mess. Enjoy the tension. Enjoy Jungkook's dirty talk and Y/N's stubborn deflection and the way they're both falling without admitting it. It's about to get so much more complicated, and I am absolutely living for it.

✧ read on✧

ao3

wattpad

You're halfway to sleep when the knock comes.

Soft at first, almost hesitant, like whoever's on the other side isn't sure they should be there.

"What?" you mumble, voice thick with exhaustion.

No response.

Another knock, louder this time.

"Whatttt?" you snap, sitting up and glaring at the door.

Still no answer.

With an annoyed huff, you throw off the covers and march to the door, yanking it open—and nearly stumble into Jungkook.

He's leaning against the frame, one arm braced above his head like he's posing for a magazine cover. His hair is messy, his silver ring catching the faint light from the hallway.

You take a step back instinctively, narrowing your eyes. "What do you want? It's three in the morning."

He tilts his head toward the kitchenette, lips quirking into that infuriating half-smile. "I'm making sourdough."

You blink at him. "Sourdough?"

"Remember I told you about my Steam nickname? The baking pun?" He raises an eyebrow like he's daring you to remember.

"Huh," you say flatly, still trying to process why this man is standing outside your room at an ungodly hour talking about bread.

"Wanna see?" he asks, his grin widening.

"No," you reply immediately, crossing your arms. "Why would I want to see your midnight bread experiment?"

"Because it's cool," he says simply, as if that explains everything.

You stare at him for a long moment before sighing and stepping out of your room.

"Fine. But if this is stupid—"

"It's not stupid," he interrupts, already turning toward the kitchenette. "It's art."

"Oh my god," you mutter, following him reluctantly.

The counter is a mess of flour and bowls and what looks like a dough blob covered with a damp cloth. Jungkook gestures at it like it's a masterpiece.

"Behold," he says dramatically. "The future of bread."

You squint at it.

"It looks like a brain."

"Shows what you know about baking," he retorts, grabbing a wooden spoon and poking at the edges of the dough. "This is proofing."

"You're proofing my patience right now," you mutter, leaning against the counter.

He smirks but doesn't look up from his work. "You're just jealous because I have hobbies."

"Making bread at 3 AM isn't a hobby; it's a cry for help."

"Says the girl who reads Kafka for fun."

"It's called intellectual stimulation."

"It's called depressing bug stories."

You roll your eyes as he starts shaping the dough.

"So this is what you do when you can't sleep? Play housewife?"

"Better than doomscrolling Twitter," he shoots back without missing a beat.

"Shut up." You watch him for a moment longer before asking, "Why sourdough?"

His hands pause briefly before resuming their rhythm.

"My mom taught me how to make it when I was younger," he says quietly. "I loved it, so I picked it up quite easily. I guess it's just habit now."

There's something softer in his voice now, something almost reverent.

You don't press him for more details; it feels like enough that he shared this much.

"But I mean... why do it now?" you ask instead.

He shrugs but doesn't look up. "I told you, it helps me think."

You scoff, trying to keep the mood from dipping too far into serious territory. He finishes shaping the dough and places it on a tray before turning back to you.

"Wanna help?" he asks, holding out the wooden spoon.

"Nope," you say immediately.

"Oh come on." He wiggles the spoon enticingly. "Live a little."

"I'm living just fine without touching your weird blob bread."

"You're no fun."

He sets the spoon down with exaggerated disappointment and starts cleaning up the counter.

You watch him for another moment before grabbing the spoon and poking at the dough experimentally. It feels weirdly satisfying under your fingers—soft but firm, pliable but resistant.

Jungkook glances over and smirks again.

"See? Told you it was cool."

"Don't push it," you warn, but there's no real bite in your tone.

He chuckles softly and continues tidying up while you poke at his sourdough creation like it might reveal some hidden secrets about him—or maybe just about yourself.

And somehow, in this quiet kitchen at three in the morning, surrounded by flour and sarcasm and unexpected softness, it feels... okay.

You're still poking at the dough when Jungkook flicks a bit of flour in your direction. It lands on your arm, a tiny white puff against your skin.

"Oops," he says, not sounding sorry at all.

You narrow your eyes. "Don't start something you can't finish, Rogue."

His eyebrows shoot up at the nickname, a challenge sparking in his eyes.

"Is that a threat, Phoenix?"

"Yes it is."

You dip your fingers into the flour bag and flick it back at him, leaving a white streak across his black t-shirt.

"Oh, that's how it's gonna be?" He grins, reaching for more flour.

You back away, holding up your hands. "Don't you dare."

"What are you gonna do about it?" He advances slowly, a handful of flour cupped in his palm like a weapon.

"I'm serious, Jungkook," you warn, but you're already calculating escape routes. "I just showered."

"Should've thought about that before you started a war."

You dart around the sofa, putting it between you.

"This is childish."

"Says the girl hiding behind furniture," he counters, mirroring your movements as you circle the couch.

"I'm being smart."

"You're being a chicken."

You gasp in fake outrage. "Take that back!"

"No can do," he taunts, lunging suddenly to the left.

You shriek and bolt right, nearly slipping on the tile as you move through the narrow space between the coffee table and the couch. He's right behind you, laughing as you sprint to the other side.

"Get away from me, you monster!" you yell, but you're laughing too, the absurdity of the situation hitting you.

"Never!" he calls back, his voice pitched higher in a cartoonish villain impression. "Ueheheheh!"

You grab a throw pillow as a shield, holding it in front of you.

"I'm warning you!"

"Oh no, not the pillow," he mocks, still advancing. "Whatever shall I do?"

You swing it at him, but he dodges easily, grabbing your wrist with his flour-free hand.

Before you can react, he's smearing the flour across your cheek, touch surprisingly gentle despite the roughhousing.

"Got you," he says, voice low and triumphant.

You retaliate immediately, snatching the bag of flour from the counter and shoving your hand in.

"Fuck that, this means war!"

And so then, war begins indeed.

Flour flying everywhere, breathless laughter echoing through the apartment, furniture used as barricades and launch pads.

You leave white handprints on his shoulders when you try to push him away; he leaves them on your waist when he catches you mid-escape.

The aftermath leaves the kitchen floor looking like a disaster zone, flour coating every surface like a dusting of snow.

You're both covered in it—hair, clothes, skin—looking like ghosts in a low-budget horror movie.

"Truce?" you gasp finally, out of breath from laughing and running.

"Never surrender," he declares, lunging for you again.

You dodge, but your sock slips on the flour-covered floor, and before you fall, Jungkook grabs you, steadying you with a hand on your waist.

"Gotcha," he says again, softer this time, his face inches from yours.

You're both breathing hard, covered in flour.

His eyes flick down to your lips, then back up, a question in them.

And then—

SMACK.

His hand connects with your ass in a playful swat, leaving a perfect white handprint on your black sleep shorts.

You gasp in outrage as he dances away, cackling like a maniac.

"You did NOT just—"

"I did," he confirms, looking far too pleased with himself. "And it's a work of art, if I do say so myself."

You glance over your shoulder, trying to see the handprint.

"I'm going to kill you."

"Worth it," he declares, already backing away as you advance on him. "Totally worth it."

"You're dead, Ro," you threaten, grabbing another handful of flour. "Dead!"

He just laughs, eyes bright with mischief, not looking sorry at all.

"Come and get me then, Phoenix."

And despite yourself, despite the mess and the late hour and the flour in places flour should never be, you're laughing too, chasing him around the kitchen like you're both twelve years old instead of college students with responsibilities and complicated lives.

It's ridiculous. It's childish.

It's the most fun you've had in weeks.

Flour permeates the kitchen air like falling snowflakes.

Jungkook is now leaning against the counter, still grinning like the Cheshire cat, surveying the flour-dusted disaster.

You, for your part, are trying to brush flour off your arms, which is mostly just smearing it around.

"You know," Jungkook says, his voice laced with that fake-innocent tone he uses when he's about to say something outrageous, "all this flour… it's probably not great for your pores."

You eye him suspiciously. "And?"

"And," he continues, pushing off the counter and taking a step closer, "you should probably shower again."

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock." You gesture vaguely at your flour-coated state.

"I could help," he offers. "You know… save water. Be environmentally conscious."

You burst out laughing, a startled, disbelieving sound.

"Are you serious right now? We just had a flour war, and your first thought is how to get laid?"

"Efficiency, Nix," he says, tapping his temple. "Always thinking efficiency."

"You're deranged," you choke out between laughs. "A completely deranged, horny bitch."

He just shrugs, unbothered.

"Maybe. But think of the planet."

You're still chuckling, shaking your head at his sheer audacity, when a thought flickers through your mind, uninvited and slightly uncomfortable.

Tessa.

If he actually starts dating her, if they become a thing… this—the easy banter, the late-night flirting, the casual hookups—it would all have to stop, right? You can't exactly keep sleeping with him if he has a girlfriend.

The thought leaves a weird, vaguely metallic taste in your mouth. Not jealousy, exactly. You don't want Jungkook in that way.

But the dynamic you have, this messy, undefined thing… it's familiar.

Weirdly comfortable in its own chaotic way.

The idea of it changing, ending… it's just… weird.

You push the thought away, shaking your head again, trying to clear it. Not your problem right now.

"Yeah, I'll pass on your noble environmental efforts," you say, trying to regain control of the conversation.

You look around at the white-dusted apartment, then back at him.

"Seriously though, when did you even get home? I didn't hear you come in at all."

He leans back against the counter again, crossing his arms over his flour-streaked chest.

"A while ago. Maybe you were too busy dreaming about me to notice."

"In your dreams, Rogue." You pick a stray piece of dough off your sleeve. "I was sleeping. Like normal people do at"—you glance at the microwave clock—"three-thirty in the morning."

"Normal is boring," he counters easily. "Besides, I'm stealthy. Like a ninja. A bread-making ninja."

"A messy ninja," you correct, gesturing at the flour coating literally everything, including him. "You look like a powdered donut."

"A sexy powdered donut," he clarifies, striking a pose.

You snort. "Keep telling yourself that."

You start trying to wipe down a section of the counter with a paper towel, which mostly just creates floury streaks.

"Seriously though, you didn't make any noise. I would've heard the door."

He shrugs, grabbing another paper towel and starting to help, surprisingly.

"Maybe I'm just light on my feet. Or maybe your ears are full of wax."

"Rude."

You throw the floury paper towel at him. He dodges it effortlessly.

"Just stating facts," he says, grinning. "Maybe you should get them checked. Could be impacting your hearing. Explains why you never listen to me."

"I listen," you argue, crumpling up another paper towel. "I just usually choose to ignore you because ninety percent of what you say is bullshit."

"That feels statistically inaccurate," he muses, wiping down the handle of the fridge. He leaves a faint white handprint behind. "I'd say it's more like… eighty-two percent bullshit. The other eighteen percent is pure genius."

"Delusional," you mutter, tackling the flour patch on the floor near the sink. "Completely delusional."

He stops wiping and just watches you for a second, a thoughtful expression replacing the usual smirk.

"You really didn't hear me come in?"

"No," you say, looking up. "Why? Should I have?"

He shakes his head, the smirk returning.

"Nah. Just means my ninja skills are improving. Or you're a really heavy sleeper." He leans closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Do you snore, Nix? Is that your dirty little secret?"

"I do not snore," you hiss, flicking water at him. "And get out of my personal space."

He laughs, easily dodging the water droplets. "Just asking!"

He resumes wiping the counter, humming softly under his breath.

You watch him for a moment, thoughts about Tessa still churning in your mind.

It's ridiculous, standing here covered in flour at nearly four in the morning, cleaning up a mess you both made, arguing about ninja skills and snoring.

But somehow, it feels… normal. Your kind of normal, anyway.

Messy, complicated, and definitely not boring.

You're on your hands and knees, attempting to wipe up a particularly stubborn patch of flour near the leg of the kitchen island, when you decide to go for it.

Operation: Tessa Reconnaissance. For the sisterhood, obviously.

And maybe a tiny bit because you're curious how this whole mess fits together.

"So," you say, keeping your voice casual as you swipe uselessly at the floor, "your friends seem… like a lot."

Jungkook snorts from where he's attempting to de-flour the coffee maker.

"Yeah, they're idiots. But they're my idiots."

"Including Library Girl?" you ask, aiming for nonchalance. "The redhead? Tessa?"

He pauses, glancing over his shoulder.

"Tessa? Yeah, she was there. Why?"

"No reason," you say quickly, maybe too quickly, focusing intently on the flour patch. "Just noticed you two talking a lot. She seems… nice."

"She is nice," he agrees easily, turning back to the coffee maker. "Super smart, too. Knows her shit about film. Like, really knows it."

Okay, good start. He acknowledges her existence and intelligence. Phase one complete.

"Yeah?" you prompt. "She mentioned you guys talked about… Park Chan-wook?"

You pronounce the name carefully, hoping you got it right based on Tessa's text.

He brightens instantly, forgetting the coffee maker entirely and turning to face you fully.

"Dude, yes! She actually got why The Handmaiden is structured the way it is. Most people just focus on the twists, but she was talking about the shifting perspectives and visual storytelling… it was cool."

His enthusiasm is genuine, almost nerdy. It's the same way he lit up talking about John Mayer's guitar playing. He's clearly impressed by her film knowledge.

"So… you like her?" you ask, trying to sound like you're just making conversation while scrubbing the floor.

"Yeah, she's cool," he says easily. "Definitely one of the few people in that class who isn't a total poser. We had this debate about Bong Joon-ho's genre blending—it was actually interesting."

He seems focused entirely on the intellectual connection. No hint of anything else.

Time for phase two: physical attraction assessment.

"She's really pretty, too," you add, still scrubbing. "Like, model pretty."

He shrugs, grabbing a damp cloth to wipe down the counter where his dough blob still sits.

"Yeah, I guess. Didn't really notice."

You stop scrubbing and look up at him incredulously. "You didn't notice? She looks like she walked off a runway and directly into that ramen shop. How could you not notice?"

He frowns slightly, like he's genuinely trying to recall her appearance beyond 'classmate'.

"I mean, she's got… hair? And a face? I don't know, Nix, I was more focused on the conversation." He seems genuinely perplexed by your insistence. "Why are you so hung up on how she looks?"

"I'm not hung up!" you retort, feeling defensive for reasons you can't quite articulate. "I just… stating facts. She's objectively attractive."

"Okay?" He draws the word out, like he doesn't understand the relevance. "Lots of people are attractive. Doesn't mean anything."

He gestures vaguely with the damp cloth.

"Are we gonna finish cleaning this up or are we analyzing the relative hotness of my classmates now?"

You huff, returning to your floor scrubbing.

Unbelievable. Either he's genuinely oblivious or he's the world's best actor.

Given his track record, oblivious seems more likely.

"Fine," you mutter. "Just making an observation."

"Well, observe the flour patch you missed by the trash can," he retorts, pointing with the cloth.

You glare at the spot, then at him.

"Bossy."

"Best one."

You crawl over to the trash can, wiping up the offending flour.

Okay, so he acknowledges she's nice, smart, shares his interests, but is apparently blind to the fact that she's a literal goddess?

Why are men so confusing?

"So," you try again, shifting tactics. "Since she's so cool and smart and into the same weird movies as you… you gonna ask her out?"

He stops wiping again, looking genuinely surprised by the question.

"Ask her out? Why would I do that?"

"Because… you like her? You just said she was cool and smart?"

Are you losing your mind? Is he actually this dense?

"Yeah, as a friend," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "We're in the same class. We talk about movies. That's… what friends do?"

"Jungkook," you say slowly, sitting back on your heels and facing him directly. "Girls like Tessa—girls who look like her and are that nice—don't usually go out of their way to talk to guys about obscure Korean directors unless they're interested."

He stares at you, blinking. Like the concept is entirely foreign.

"Wait, you think she… likes me? Like, likes likes me?"

"Is there an echo in here?" you ask dryly. "Yes, you absolute walnut. That's generally how that works."

He runs a hand through his flour-dusted hair, looking completely bewildered.

"No way. She's just… friendly. People are friendly sometimes, Nix."

"Not that friendly," you insist. "Trust me. There's friendly, and then there's 'laughing at all your jokes and touching your arm every five minutes' friendly. That's different."

He actually seems to consider this, replaying interactions in his head.

His brow furrows.

"She does laugh a lot… And she did touch my arm…" He looks back at you, still skeptical. "But maybe she's just, like, a touchy person?"

"Or maybe she wants to touch your dick," you deadpan.

He chokes on air, eyes widening.

"Dude! What the fuck?"

"Just saying! It's a possibility you seem to have completely overlooked."

He shakes his head, a disbelieving laugh escaping him.

"Nah. No way. You're messing with me."

"I'm really not," you say, suddenly feeling bad for Tessa—because this poor beautiful girl is putting in the effort, and he's completely clueless. "She basically told me she likes you."

"She told you?" Finally, he looks like oxygen is reaching his brain. "When?"

"At the party. We talked for a bit."

"And she just… announced her romantic interest in me? To my roommate? That seems weird."

"It wasn't like that! She was asking for advice! Because she was nervous!" You're practically defending her now. "She's really sweet, Rogue. And clearly into you."

He leans back against the counter again, processing this information.

He doesn't look smug or pleased, just… thoughtful.

And maybe a little overwhelmed.

"Huh," he says softly. "Never would've guessed."

He's quiet for a moment, staring down at the floury cloth in his hand.

"I mean, she is… really nice."

"So?" you prompt. "Now that you know the feeling might be mutual…?"

He sighs, dropping the cloth into the sink.

"I don't know, Nix."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

He avoids your eyes, turning on the faucet and starting to rinse the cloth with unnecessary focus.

"Dating's… complicated, you know?"

"Everything's complicated with you," you mutter.

He glances back, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before it's gone.

"Yeah, well. Maybe that's just how it is." He turns off the water, wringing out the cloth. "Besides, I'm not really… looking for anything right now."

"You're never looking for anything," you point out. "Except maybe your keys. Or a clean mug."

"Exactly," he says, attempting a grin, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Too busy looking for my keys."

There it is again. That deflection. That hint of something heavier beneath that he refuses to acknowledge.

You think about what Yoongi said, about Mia, about Jungkook needing to be careful.

Maybe he's right to be hesitant.

"Okay," you say quietly, deciding not to push it further.

You've done your recon. You have information for Tessa, even if it's not the straightforward green light she might be hoping for.

"Just… don't be a dick to her, alright? If you're not interested, fine. But she's nice. She doesn't deserve games."

He looks surprised by your defense of her.

"I wasn't planning on playing games." He hesitates, then adds, almost reluctantly, "She does seem… different. From…"

He trails off, but you know who he means.

Mia.

An awkward silence hangs between you for a moment.

Unspoken history and potential futures.

Jungkook breaks it first, clapping his hands together with forced brightness.

"Okay, enough about my potential love life," he says, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "Let's talk yours. How was the date with Jason?"

You freeze, paper towel in hand, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation.

"What?"

He's halfway through sweeping a particularly stubborn pile of flour when he pauses, leaning on the broom handle.

"You know, Jason? Tall guy, glasses, probably owns more vests than actual personality traits?" He waves the broom vaguely. "The one you were all dressed up for earlier?"

"I wasn't dressed up," you protest automatically, even though you know it's a lie.

You definitely put effort into your appearance for that coffee date.

Jungkook snorts.

"Please. You were wearing makeup on a Sunday. And that green top thing that makes your—" He cuts himself off, clearing his throat. "Anyway. Spill. How'd it go with Professor Boring?"

You narrow your eyes at him.

"His name is Jason, and he's not boring. He's... mature."

"Mature," Jungkook repeats, drawing out the word like it's a foreign concept. "Right. Because that's what every college student dreams of. Maturity."

"Some of us actually want to date functioning adults," you retort.

"Functioning is overrated," he says with a grin. "But seriously, how was it? Did he dazzle you with his extensive knowledge of... what does he study again? 18th-century doorknobs?"

"Modern literature," you correct, rolling your eyes. "And it was nice."

Jungkook raises an eyebrow.

"Nice? That's it? Wow, don't oversell it or anything."

You sigh, grabbing the dustpan to help him with the flour pile.

"It was really nice, okay? He's smart, and he actually listens when I talk. We had a great conversation about female agency in Gothic novels."

"Riveting," Jungkook deadpans. "I'm sure the sexual tension was off the charts. Did you hold hands while discussing the patriarchal oppression of women in corsets?"

"You're such an ass," you mutter, but there's no real heat behind it. "Not everything has to be about sexual tension, you know."

"Doesn't have to be," he agrees, sweeping the last of the flour into the dustpan you're holding. "But it sure makes things more interesting."

And yeah, you catch him looking.

That look.

The one that says he's already decided how this ends.

One hand still loosely gripping the broom handle, the other braced against the table as he leans into it like he's posing for a fucking cologne ad.

You don't acknowledge it at first. Too proud. Too fucking annoyed by how easily he can flip the switch. One second you're arguing about Gothic literature and vests, the next—he's practically leaking testosterone across the countertop.

"I know that face," you mutter, not even looking up. "That's your 'I need to nut or I'll die' face."

He grins, unbothered. "Not wrong."

"Go jerk off in your sad little windowless cave like a normal person."

He shrugs, grabbing the bag of flour again, sifting some through his fingers with mock concentration.

"Mmm. Say it again. That mouth of yours, Pix… always so fuckin' mouthy."

You roll your eyes, but your stomach dips. "Maybe if you had more than two brain cells to rub together, I wouldn't have to talk so much."

"Yeah?" he says, ignoring the flour and stepping forward.

One stride. Two. And then he's right in front of you, eyes glinting.

"Keep runnin' that smart pretty mouth. See what happens."

You're about to fire something back—something snarky, something biting—but he grabs you.

Just yanks you forward by the waistband like it's nothing. Like you're nothing but a ragdoll he gets to toss around.

Your body stumbles into his chest and suddenly both his hands are on your ass, gripping it with filthy enthusiasm—greedy, solid handfuls of flesh through thin cotton, palms still dusty with flour. His fingers press, squeeze, spread, claim.

You gasp—too startled to bite it back.

And he fucking grins.

"See what you do to me when you act like that?"

His cock's hard against your stomach. Rock solid. Obvious. Shameless. He doesn't even try to hide it.

"God, Nix," he mutters, voice thick now. "C'mon. It's been too long."

You snort. "I sucked your winny yesterday."

He breaks—a bark of laughter, genuine and scandalized.

"Winny?" he repeats, like he can't believe you said it. "You calling my dick a preschool toy now?"

You shrug, deadpan. "Fits. Loud, annoying, kind of a drama queen."

He leans in again, dragging his mouth close, too close.

"Uh-uh, and I ate you out the day before that," he says, scornful little smile tugging at his lips like he's winning something. "So technically… still overdue."

"So?" you snap, but your voice is breathier than it should be. "That's not overdue."

"It is," he says, like it's math. "I mean actually being inside you. Kinda been craving it for a while now."

You swallow. Loud.

"Should I bend you over the kitchen table?" he murmurs. "Fuck you from behind? Bet you'd like that, huh?"

"Please," you scoff. "You'd probably knock over your sacred sourdough."

He grins, cocky and low and unbearable.

"So protective of the dough. But not my Winny?"

You slap his chest, trying not to laugh.

"Don't say it like that."

"Me? You gave it a name, so… C'mon, give my Winny some love, Pix."

You snort, and it comes out halfway between a laugh and a groan because your thighs are starting to ache with how badly you want pressure. Relief. Something.

"Counter or table?" he asks, already walking you backwards.

You hesitate. Just a second.

"…Counter."

He doesn't wait. Doesn't ask. Just grabs you and lifts like it's easy, like you weigh nothing. Drops your ass right onto the cool marble and steps between your legs—close enough your knees bracket his hips.

And his voice? His voice is low and filthy and unforgiving.

"Atta girl."

His mouth is on you before you can roll your eyes.

Hot, hungry kisses trailing up your neck—messy, unhurried, lips dragging like he wants to brand you. He bites at your jaw, just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. You tilt your head without thinking, baring your throat like a fucking offering.

And he groans—low and wrecked—like that does something to him. Like you're giving him more than skin.

His hands stay on your thighs, thumbs digging into the soft crease near your hips, holding you open while he devours.

You blink, and something catches the light near the sink.

Tiny. Brown. Familiar.

Your arm reaches past him, still off-balance on the counter. Fingers curl around it—vanilla extract.

You hold it up between two fingers, smirking.

"Why the fuck is this out?"

His head lifts just enough to glance at what you mean.

"Oh," he says, then immediately dives back in, mouthing at your collarbone like he didn't just answer you. "Nothing. Was sipping a lil bit earlier."

Your body stiffens. Barely. But he feels it.

You don't say anything for a second. You just… look at the bottle.

That rooftop moment. Yesterday. Him alone up there while the party buzzed under your feet. You didn't press then, just made a joke, let him deflect.

But it doesn't take a genius to figure out why someone drinks baking extract ethanol like it's bourbon.

You lick your lips. Keep your voice easy. Teasing.

"That why you smell like a cookie?"

He huffs a laugh against your throat. "You love it. Bet it's makin' you wet just thinking about biting into me."

He's joking. He's back to kissing.

But the bottle is still in your hand, glass warm from your skin, rolling between your fingers like it's got a heartbeat.

And okay. Fine. Maybe you're a little unhinged too.

"Wanna try something?" you ask, voice quiet, a little hoarse.

His head lifts slow. Eyes lazy. Lips wet.

He tilts his head, cock twitching against you like it heard the shift in your voice before he did.

"Yeah?" he says, grinning like he already knows he's gonna say yes no matter what it is. "What're we trying, Phoenix?"

Because you know—you know this man would let you pour hot sauce on his dick if you told him it'd turn you on.

His gaze flicks to the bottle still resting against your palm. Back to your mouth.

"Fuck, yeah," he says, voice already going gravel. "Show me."

You dab two fingers against the lip of the bottle, tilting it just enough to coat your skin in that sticky-sweet scent. Not much—just enough to cling. Your pulse, your collarbone, the hinge of your neck.

His eyes track everything. Like he's under hypnosis.

Slow drag up your wrist, down your throat. Pupils blown wide. Tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip like it's instinct.

And then you offer it to him.

Your throat—tilted, bare. Vanilla blooming warm across your skin, seeping into heat, mixing with your scent.

You watch his jaw tick, tension wrapped in restraint.

He hesitates. Just for a breath. Not because he's unsure. But because he knows what'll happen if he starts.

His eyes drop to your hand. Then back up to your face. And then—

He grabs your wrist, rough but reverent, and slides your fingers straight into his mouth.

His tongue curls around them, sucks them clean like he's starving and this is the only sweet thing he's allowed to have.

His eyes don't leave yours for a second.

Heavy. Dark. Quietly fucking feral.

You feel it in your cunt.

That twitch—sharp and sudden—when he lets your fingers fall from his mouth with a wet pop and immediately dives back into your neck.

No warning. No mercy.

Just mouth on skin, lips dragging open over the vanilla, tongue flattening against your throat like he's licking you clean. Like you're the bottle. Like he's drunk and this is the relapse.

"Mmmfph—fuck," he groans against your neck, hot breath flooding over your skin. "You're—fuck—you're dessert, Phoenix."

He's biting now. Mouthing. Bruising.

Your head falls back against the cabinets with a dull thud and you don't care. Not even a little.

His hands are under your thighs again, yanking you closer to the edge of the counter like he's going to eat you here and now and be proud of the mess.

He doesn't stop licking your neck—just shifts slightly, mouth dragging lower, wetter, hungrier—until he can grab the flask again without even looking. He uncaps it one-handed, like he's done it a hundred times in the dark.

Because he probably has.

And then he's holding it over your chest.

"Hold still, Phoenix."

Voice low. Thick with something needy.

You barely nod before the cool drip hits your skin—fuck—a slow, deliberate trail spilling from the center of your collarbone and down, sliding between your tits, disappearing under the fabric of your tank top.

He watches it move. Doesn't blink. Bites his bottom lip like he's trying to restrain himself and failing spectacularly.

"Fuckkk," he mutters under his breath, and the way he stares?

You'd think he just watched God part the Red Sea between your tits.

But he can't see where it goes. Not really. Because of the shirt.

And that?

That's unacceptable.

So he doesn't ask. Doesn't even warn.

He just grabs the hem of your tank and yanks it up, fast and messy, until it's bunched under your armpits. The cool air hits your bare skin, but his gaze is scorching—dragging down to your breasts, then lower, following the trail of sticky syrup that's now sliding beneath.

He drops the flask without care.

Leans in.

And presses his mouth to the spot just under your breasts, where the drip ends. A hot, open-mouthed kiss. Tongue darting out to chase the taste.

He groans against your skin, like you're something forbidden and fuck, he's eating it anyway.

Then he starts licking up.

Slow. Thorough. Filthy.

Tongue dragging up the underside of your tits, between them, following the line of vanilla all the way back to your cleavage. His breath is hot and shaky, hands holding your thighs tight like he needs to anchor himself before he devours you.

"You taste like fucking heaven," he growls against your skin.

And you can barely breathe.

You lean back on your palms, spine arching subtly, thighs spreading wider across the counter—silent invitation.

His mouth twitches. Just slightly. Like he's trying to play it cool, like he's not already mentally wrecked.

Your fingers close around the vanilla bottle again.

And you tip it over your stomach.

A thin stream spills, slow and syrupy, tracing a path from just under your ribs down to your navel.

Sticky gold pooling in that soft dip, then slipping lower—toward your waistband, beneath it.

He stops.

Mid-breath.

Eyes drop.

Then drag back up to your face, slow as fucking sin.

And those eyes… those fucking eyes.

Dark like blackout curtains. Hungry. But quiet, too. Restrained. Like he's hanging onto the last thread of control and it's fraying fast.

He bites his lip again, teeth dragging over it, jaw flexing.

You raise a brow.

"Aren't you licking the vanilla off my skin, Rogue?" you say, voice steady, teasing, like your pulse isn't sprinting. "Go ahead."

He snorts through his nose—horny.

It's not even a laugh, not really. More like disbelief.

"Jesus, you're such a fucking menace."

Then he moves.

Hands at your waistband, yanking your shorts down like they've personally offended him.

There's no grace. No finesse. Just desperate, fumbling urgency, like if he doesn't get them off now he might lose it.

They hit the floor. So do your panties.

And then he drops to his knees.

Hooks your thighs over his elbows and pulls you closer to the edge of the counter, eyes level with your pussy. Eye to eye with his fucking meal, and the smirk that twitches at the edge of his mouth is so cocky it should be illegal.

But then he pauses.

Eyes catch on the fact that you're smooth. Bare.

His gaze flicks up, that same damn smirk sharpening.

"So you did plan on wishing me a happy birthday, huh?"

You groan, head thunking back against the cabinets.

"Shut up before I change my mind."

He just laughs, grabbing your thigh and yanking you closer, like that's his response.

It is.

"Thanks for the gift," he says with mock sincerity, "but like… full runway smooth? Nix. Just so you know, I like a little design."

You gape at him.

Is he serious right now?

Does he ever stop speaking?

Or think before he speaks? Like 'oh this might sound embarrassing coming from my mouth, I probably should keep it to myself.'

No. Definitely no.

"Design?"

He nods, dead serious now.

"I'm just saying. Little lightning bolt? Maybe a star? I could help you trim it next time. Get real artsy with it."

"I hate you," you mutter, scandalized and laughing, because of course this is what he's focusing on.

"I'm just saying…" he defends, grinning like a madman. "Bare's too creepy. I like texture, Phoenix. But not, like, a forest. I'm not tryna floss with it."

"God, you're disgusting," you shoot back, heat simmering low in your gut despite the absurdity.

"Disgustingly honest," he counters. "I want a little… edge. Like an angled fade. A pussy taper."

You laugh so hard your core clenches and he notices. Eyes drop. His smirk vanishes.

And just like that, he's focused again. Hands tightening around your thighs. Mouth opening. Ready to dive in.

But not before he whispers:

"Now be good and let me taste my birthday cake."

His mouth hovers. That maddening space—right there, close enough to feel his breath but not close enough to feel him.

It's hot. Each exhale fanning over your cunt like a fucking tease. You twitch, involuntary, hips tilting forward on reflex, thighs tensing around his shoulders.

"Rogue," you murmur, half-warn, half-beg.

He smirks. That slow, cocky pull of his lips that tells you he's going to drag this out just to see how long it takes before you snap.

He leans in, tongue barely peeking out like he's going to lick—

And then doesn't.

"I will actually punch you in the face," you hiss.

But he's already grabbing the bottle again.

His other hand steadies you, fingers splayed on your thigh, as he lifts the vanilla flask to eye level. Tips it slightly.

"Wait—" You grab a fistful of his hair. "Wait. Is that even safe?"

He pauses. Looks up at you, eyes wide, surprised—but not annoyed. Just… calm.

"Yeah," he says, voice casual but sincere. "This one's alcohol-based, not oil. No sugar. Won't mess with your PH or anything, I like your pussy way too much to risk it."

You roll your eyes, but okay. Fine. He's got a point.

And he's never put you in danger—annoyed, yes. Insane with frustration, absolutely.

But never unsafe.

"Okay," you mutter. "Proceed with your perversion."

"Oh, I plan to."

He uncaps it.

And the way he does it—so casually, like this is just some Wednesday night extracurricular?—makes your whole body lock up in anticipation.

He tips the bottle, lets a slow stream of vanilla drizzle from just above your navel, down the curve of your belly, heading lower.

It tickles. Warm and sticky, trailing through your folds, and your whole fucking body tenses with it.

His tongue flicks out, but this time, it's not teasing—it's the real deal.

His tongue drags up.

One long, slow stroke—base to tip—starting where your thighs twitch and ending where the vanilla's pooled.

He groans into it. Groans. Like it's crème fucking brûlée and he's been starving for a week. Like your cunt is the main course and dessert and a Michelin star.

You blink down at him, suddenly weirdly self-conscious.

Because—why the fuck is he acting like it's the best thing he's ever tasted?

It's vanilla extract and you, not caviar. Chill.

Your instinct is to kick him. Or flick his stupid forehead. Something.

But your cunt's already clenching around nothing, wetter than you want to admit.

Because—goddammit—his enthusiasm is doing something to you.

Like deeply. Shamefully. Physically.

You glance down, ready to call him dramatic. Maybe smack the back of his head.

But his eyes are closed.

And not in a performative way. Not for show.

They're hidden—lashes soaked, hair falling in messy dark strands over his brows. His whole face is fucking soft—relaxed, like he's at peace. Like this is meditation. Like your pussy is his church.

You reach down, tug his hair back just enough to uncover his face—need to see him.

Need to look.

And then—fuck. He looks up.

And he smirks. Caught you in 4K. Knew exactly what you were doing.

You want to smack him. Or yank his head down harder. Or kiss him. Or maybe scream.

It's all too much. He's too much.

But he just shifts again, mouth zeroing in now—on your clit this time. Tongue flat. Warm. Pressure steady and—fuck, fuck—

Your head slams back against the cabinet. You don't even feel it.

Because he's staring straight at you while he licks.

Intense. Sure. Smug. Like he knows. And the worst part?

He does.

You don't like eye contact. You hate eye contact.

Or—you did. Before he made it his fucking thing.

Now it's some kind of sex death ray. You're melting under it. You can't breathe under it.

He pulls back just enough to speak, his voice hoarse, lips slick with you.

"So mouthy up there…" he breathes, thumb dragging over your inner thigh. "But fuck, you're weepin' for me down here."

You choke on your own spit.

"Shut the fuck up with your cringy little sex monologue."

He snorts. Has the audacity to laugh into your cunt like it's funny.

"Uhhh? I thought we were past that whole thing where you pretend you don't like my dirty talk."

"I don't—"

He cuts you off with a slow circle of his tongue around your clit. Just once. Cruel.

"Right. That's why you got all hot when you said, 'Do you want me to ride you?'" he mimics, low and teasing. "Looked me in the eye when you said it, too. Said it just like that. Fuckin' purring, Pix."

You groan. "God, I hate you."

He grins. "No, you don't. You just hate that you like this."

Another lick.

Another smug look.

Another twitch deep in your gut.

And all you can do is glare at him—until his mouth is back on you, and then you can't even do that.

Because fuck, he picks up the pace.

Your right leg bends, heel dragging up his arm, foot planting itself on his shoulder like it belongs there. Toes curling the second his tongue swirls just right—just there. Over and over. Unrelenting.

Your whole torso arches back, spine stretched out like a bow. Head thunked against the cupboard above, hands gripping the edge of the counter so tight your knuckles go white.

And he doesn't stop.

Both his hands keep you steady, locked around your thighs, until the right one slides up—palm dragging over your skin, hot and too much. It settles right in that spot between your hip and waist. Thumb pressing into your side like an anchor.

Like he's keeping you from falling.

Like you're breakable.

You want to scream. Or sob. Or maybe just bite him for being so fucking considerate while simultaneously licking your pussy like he's trying to win a Michelin star.

You whimper. Actually whimper.

Because it's too much.

Because how the fuck does he even do that with his tongue?

It's obscene. Criminal. Feels like he's mapping you from memory now—like he's figured out every angle, every twitch, every exact combination that gets you to the edge in five minutes or less.

And—fuck—there it is.

That low hum in your belly, spiraling sharp and fast, heat pulsing outward. Nerve endings tightening. Your thighs start to close but he forces them open with a flex of his arms, tongue flattening again.

You gasp. Loud. Desperate.

Your hand flies down to his head and you yank his hair—hard.

He growls against you, frustrated, head jerking up, lips glossy and chin slick and brows scrunched like he's ready to fight.

"What," he snaps, breathless, panting. "What—what the fuck—"

You just whisper, shaky:

"Inside."

He blinks. Once. Twice.

Mouth parts. Eyes still a little wild.

"Huh?"

You meet his gaze, still breathless.

"I wanna cum with you inside me."

It short-circuits him. For real.

He pushes to stand so fast he almost stumbles. Feet trip a little. Palms slap the counter behind you as he catches himself and mutters, "Yeah—okay—fuck—gimme a second—"

But you reach out. Grab his arm. Stop him cold.

You lick your lips.

Probably look stupid. Glossy-eyed and dazed, like someone just rewired your brain through your pussy.

Whatever. You don't care.

You don't care because you can feel it now.

That ache. The need. The desperate, pulsing want for him to just get inside already. Your whole body's still twitching from his mouth and now it's fucking empty.

No thank you.

So you yank him. Hard.

Fingers curling in the loose fabric of his tee, tugging him back toward you like gravity's rewired itself around your cunt.

He lets himself be pulled. Doesn't even fight it. Just stumbles forward until he's between your legs again and then—then you're crashing his mouth to yours.

No hesitation. No buildup. No thoughts.

Just heat. Tongue. Need.

It's messy. Teeth clash. Vanilla and sweat and slick.

His hands slam to the counter beside your thighs for balance, knuckles brushing your waist as your tongue slides against his and you swallow the groan he lets out.

And yeah. You don't kiss men after they eat you out. Ever.

You've always thought it was gross, honestly. You live in your pussy. You don't need the flavor profile introduced.

But with him? Right now?

You don't even care.

You just want to taste what he tastes like. Want his spit in your mouth. Want to feel him.

So you kiss him like you mean it. Like you're not overthinking it. Like this doesn't break five of your own personal rules.

When you finally pull back, lips slick and breathing uneven, you keep your hands fisted in his shirt.

And say—quiet. Calm. "No need for condoms."

His eyes snap open.

You watch them go wide like you just told him the world's ending tomorrow and there's a free-for-all orgy scheduled at noon.

He coughs. Legit coughs. Like your spit went down the wrong pipe.

"Wait—what?"

You shrug. "I have a copper IUD. Works from minute one. I'm good."

His mouth opens, then closes again. Brain buffering.

"I mean…" he blinks. "I—I just—I didn't think you'd…"

You arch a brow.

He shakes his head a little, eyes dropping to your lips.

"No—like—I'm not complaining, I just—" His mouth staggers like he can't quite get the words out fast enough. "Are you sure?"

"I mean, you've been fucking with condoms, right?"

"Yeah. Always. Jesus. Yeah."

"And you've been getting tested?"

He gives you a look. "You think I'd be rawdogging around Brooklyn without paperwork?"

"Kind of," you mutter, just to mess with him.

"Okay, rude," he says, palm flattening on your thigh like it's involuntary. "I'm not feral. I'm—I'm… a respectful slut."

You almost laugh. Almost.

Then you say, quieter, "I haven't fucked anybody else since I fucked you."

And that? That actually makes him pause.

He blinks again. "Wait. For real?"

"Yeah. Nothing so far."

And he doesn't make it a thing. Doesn't get all soft and stupid about it.

He just takes a beat, stares at you, lips slightly parted like he's replaying it. Like the logistics are finally syncing in.

"Okay," he says. Rough. Breathless. "Yeah. Yeah, that's… okay."

You tap his chest. "Just cum outside, alright? Just in case."

He groans. Low and pained.

"Pix."

"I'm serious."

"You're killing me."

"Don't care."

"I'll pull out," he promises, fingers tightening on your skin. "But I swear to god, if you keep saying shit like that—inside, raw, no condom—I'm gonna lose it before I even get my pants off."

You grin back. "Sounds like a you problem."

And he breathes out, frustrated and horny and fucking wrecked, and mutters—

"You're my fucking problem."

He licks his lips.

Slow. Deliberate. Like he's already tasting you again.

Then he leans in and murmurs against your cheek—

"Okay. Turn around."

You blink. "Huh?"

The corners of his mouth tug up. "Turn. Around."

"Of course you wanna change positions."

"What can I say," he shrugs, cock already visibly straining through his sweatpants. "Artist's curiosity."

Still. You do it.

He helps you down—steadying hands at your waist, guiding you like you're breakable, which, let's be honest, rude. And once your feet hit the floor, you shift, pivoting slowly to face the counter.

Elbows down. Back arched.

You stick your ass out just to be a bitch about it.

He groans. Actually fucking groans. Like it hurts him.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, hands immediately cupping your ass like it's reflex. "You're such a bitch."

You smirk into the counter. "Complaining?"

"No complaints." He huffs out a laugh. "Hands on the counter."

You glance over your shoulder. Raise a brow.

"Trust me," he says, already dragging one palm up the curve of your back.

You hum. But you do it. Flatten your hands, palms flush with the counter's edge.

Behind you, there's a shuffle.

Then that sound—the sound.

Elastic snapping as he yanks his waistband down.

You hear him shift his stance, toes lifting slightly as he lines himself up behind you. And then—

The press.

Just his tip, nudging against your entrance, and your whole body seizes, lips parting around a silent gasp as your thighs instinctively press together.

"You better not let go of that counter," he mutters low.

You don't answer.

Not out of defiance—just because your brain's gone static.

So he spanks you. Sharp and hot and immediate.

"I said something to you," he growls, palm landing hard enough to echo. "Did you hear?"

"Yeah," you breathe. "Okay."

"That's what I thought."

Then his hand drops from your ass, slides between your thighs, fingers spreading you open as he lines himself up again. Still doesn't push in.

Just rubs.

His cock slides up and down your slit, slow, deliberate strokes. Slick everywhere. Your breath stutters every time he nudges your clit on the way up.

"God, you're so fucking slippery," he mutters, almost in disbelief. "Dripping for it. I haven't even put it in yet."

You close your eyes, grip tightening on the edge of the counter.

"Your pussy's acting like it missed me," he adds, rocking his hips again, cockhead dragging lazily across your folds. "She's not even pretending."

"Maybe she has bad taste," you snap, voice shaky.

He laughs. Loud.

Then does it again—another glide, another tease, tip pausing right at your entrance just long enough for your breath to catch, then slipping away again before you can adjust.

"You're gonna lose it, huh," he murmurs. "All that smart mouth. All that sass. Gonna forget how to speak when I give you what you want?"

You grit your teeth.

He slides his tip back again, holds it there—barely inside. Just pressure.

Still not pushing in.

Still not giving it to you.

You whimper, shoulders tensing.

"Gripping the counter, Phoenix?" he asks sweetly. "Like I told you to?"

Your fingers curl tighter.

He grins.

And stays right fucking there. Not moving.

Just waiting.

Just standing there behind you like a smug little shit, cockhead resting at your entrance, hot and heavy and perfectly fucking poised—and somehow not going any further.

You shift your hips back slightly, trying to bait him.

He clicks his tongue. "Uh-uh."

"Rogue."

"Pix."

You groan. "You're so fucking annoying."

"Don't tempt me. I could stay like this all night," he says, cock dragging up through your folds again just to prove his point. "Just rub it against you until you're crying."

You scoff. "You act like that's a threat."

He leans forward, chest brushing your back, voice right at your ear.

"You'd cry so pretty."

You twist your head just enough to glare at him.

"You're actually insane."

"Says the girl bent over the counter like a porn scene," he grins, straightening back up. "All 'no condoms, fuck me raw, Rogue' like it's nothing."

You roll your eyes. "Oh, sorry. Do you not want it?"

He hums thoughtfully. "Kinda liking the view, not gonna lie."

"Oh my god."

"Seriously. You ever seen your ass from this angle? Top-tier."

"Shut the fuck up," you mutter, squeezing the counter harder. "You gonna give a Google Maps review next?"

"Might," he shrugs. "Five stars. Would fuck again."

You start to reply—some scathing, lethal retort—but you don't even get the first word out.

Because suddenly—he pushes.

All the way in.

One smooth, brutal thrust.

And you moan.

Loud. Unfiltered. Embarrassing.

Your hands slam flat on the counter like your body can't fucking handle it. The stretch, the shock of it.

You feel full. Too full.

He doesn't ease in. Doesn't give you time to adjust. Just buries himself in one go like it's his fucking right.

Then—smack.

His palm lands on your ass again, sharp and fast.

"That's more like it," he pants behind you, hand lingering after the slap. "There's my girl."

He pulls out slow.

Real slow.

Too slow.

Like he wants you to feel every inch leaving you, feel how empty you get without him. Like he's making a point.

Then—slam.

Hard. Deep. Ruthless.

You jolt forward, hands scrambling for grip as the counter rattles under your hips. A broken sound slips out of you—more instinct than choice—and behind you, he laughs.

Actually laughs.

A horny little chuckle, cock still buried deep like he didn't just rearrange your goddamn organs.

If you could twist around and kick him in the ribs, you would.

"What the fuck are you laughing at," you bite out.

He hums, smug as ever. "Sounded cute."

You glare at the spot, then at him.

"I'll show you cute—"

But you don't finish it. Because he pulls out again, and then slams back in with the same brutal force that leaves your legs trembling and your lungs gone.

What the fuck is he so cocky about?

He's the one getting it raw.

You're the one granting the privilege here. He should be grateful. You could revoke his rights real quick.

Even though… you won't.

Because there's something about it. About this.

No condom. Just skin. Just him.

It's different.

You don't know why it's hotter. Why it feels so much more intimate. You didn't think it would be. It's just cock. Just fucking. But now you feel everything—every twitch, every drag, every time he shifts his angle and catches that spot that has you choking on air.

And then he murmurs behind you, voice low—

"Does it hurt?"

You swallow. "No."

"Good," he says. Calm. Like it's logistics. "If it does, just arch your back more. Fixes the angle."

Fucking hell.

There it is, again.

How is he being considerate and a little shit at the same time?

You're not even flustered because of the sex anymore—you're flustered because he's flipping toggles like he doesn't even notice he's doing it.

You don't respond.

You can't. Because he grabs your hips and—

Slams into you again.

Not fast. Not rushed. Just one clean, devastatingly hard thrust that knocks the breath straight out of you. His grip holds you there, cock pressed deep, dragging that edge of pain into something white-hot and filthy.

"God," he mutters, breath catching. "The way you're gripping me—fuck—you like that, Nix?"

You don't answer.

Too proud. Too dazed. Too stubborn.

So he spanks you. Again.

Sharp and immediate.

"Answer me when I talk to you."

You flinch. Then growl, "Keep spanking and being demanding and I'll revoke raw rights so fucking fast—"

But he just snickers.

"Oh, will you?"

You can hear the smirk.

Then he leans over, chest brushing your back, breath hot on your ear.

"You like it when I slap my hand on your ass, Nix," he says, low and satisfied. "That's why I keep doing it."

You scoff. "You're making shit up."

He grinds into you once, slow and cruel.

"Am I?"

"Yup."

"Naaah. I've been testing."

You blink. "Testing."

"Mhm," he confirms. Another slap to your ass, gentler this time. Palming over the skin after. "And now I know."

You suck in a breath. "How would you know what turns me on?"

He huffs a laugh—mean, hot, unbothered.

"Because you always mouth off about the shit that gets you going."

Your heart stutters. He keeps going.

"Too embarrassed to just let yourself enjoy it, so you talk shit. Every single time."

"Fuck off," you hiss.

He smirks again, hands dragging your hips back slightly. "Nah. You're not fooling anyone, Pix."

"Eat shit," you bite out, but your voice betrays you—tight, breathy. Fucked.

He groans, head tilting back for a second like he can't believe how good he has it.

"You're so full of it."

You scowl over your shoulder.

He slaps your ass again. Just to punctuate it.

"This," he says, palm dragging slow over the sting he just left, "is textbook Phoenix behavior."

"Fuck's that supposed to mean?"

"What I just said. You always talk shit about what you like." He thrusts again, not deep—just enough to feel like a warning. "First it was the dirty talk. Remember?"

You roll your eyes. "Barely."

"Oh, you remember." His voice drops. "Because you called it cringey, and five minutes later you were soaking my jeans."

You grit your teeth.

"And then you rode me," he continues, like he's delivering an airtight closing argument. "Said 'do you want me to ride you?' all breathy. Like you hadn't spent days pretending you were above it."

You don't reply.

He leans in, hips pressing closer, cock buried deep and still not moving.

"And yesterday?"

You clench without meaning to.

"Yeah," he laughs softly. "Yesterday. You wouldn't even look at me when you were sucking me off. Acted all bratty and 'ugh I hate eye contact,' and now tonight you were pulling my hair back just to see my face."

You did do that.

"And now it's the spanking," he says, rocking his hips slow. "Bitching about it."

Another smack, firm and deliberate.

"But you just clenched around me. Again."

You groan into your arm. "You're fucking exhausting."

He grins against your shoulder. "You're fucking lying."

You shake your head. "You're not right."

He pulls back a little, just enough to move again. One clean stroke, all the way out and back in with a grunt.

Then—

"You're wet as fuck."

And you are. You feel it. Feel him glide. Feel the mess. Feel how your body wants him deep, no matter what your mouth says.

"You keep acting like you're not into it," he murmurs, breath hot. "Like you don't love being talked to like this. Touched like this."

"Shut up," you whimper, because you don't want to admit it. You don't want him to be right.

But he already is.

"You act like it's for me," he mutters. "Like I'm the one getting off on it."

And he is. Of course he is.

But so are you.

"You keep lying like it's gonna protect you," he says. "But your body gives you away every time."

He's still going.

Deep now.

Fast.

No hesitation, no mercy—just relentless drive, hips snapping into yours, angle brutal and right. Every time he hits bottom it knocks a broken little moan out of you. Loud. Unfiltered. Fucking real.

And still—still—he doesn't shut up.

"You've convinced yourself it's all for me. That you don't enjoy it. Can't. Won't."

Your jaw clenches.

"You can't let yourself," he continues, thrusting hard enough to slap skin. "Because you need to stay in control. Need to be good. Do it right."

His hand grips your hip tighter, pulling you back to meet every thrust. Your ass bounces off him with every slam, lewd and hot and loud.

"You need to know I like it," he says, "so you can file it under 'doing well,' and that's how you let yourself feel good."

You want to argue. You really do.

But you can't.

You're moaning too loud.

"You don't even stop to ask what you like," he growls, eyes locked on where you're joined. "But I'll tell you."

Smack.

"You like this position."

Smack.

"You like it raw. Hard. Deep."

You whimper.

"You like when I spank you," he murmurs, biting his lip, thrusts picking up even more.

"Shut up," you hiss. "Shut up, shut up—"

But it's useless.

You're already flushed down to your chest. Already arching into every thrust. Already leaking down your thighs.

Your hands grip the counter like a fucking lifeline—knuckles white, arms shaking.

He groans, hands adjusting—one on your waist, the other wrapping low across your belly to pull you into every stroke.

"It's okay, Nix," he says, voice rough but coaxing. "You don't have to say it."

He slams in harder, burying himself to the hilt, making your knees buckle on instinct.

"Just keep gripping the counter."

Your breath stutters.

"Don't let go if you like it."

You bite your lip.

"Don't say anything. Don't explain. Just grip."

You hesitate. One second. Maybe two.

And then—you do.

Fingers curl tighter around the countertop edge. You lock in. Anchor yourself.

Give it to him.

You don't say a word. But that grip? That's your answer. That's your yes.

He groans, hand dragging up your spine, palm flat between your shoulder blades like he wants to feel how it wrecked you.

"There she is," he whispers. "There's my good fucking girl."

That last comment—

There's my good fucking girl.

It does something. Snaps something in your spine. Or maybe your brain.

Because your cunt flutters around him hard, slick tightens, thighs tremble, and yeah, yeah you're closer. Closer than you should be. You were already there when he first slid in—already so worked up you could've finished in sixty seconds if he just shut the fuck up and focused.

But of course he didn't.

Of course he ran his mouth. Called you out. Read you like a book.

And now?

Now you're clenching around his cock like you're about to shatter, and he feels it.

You know he does.

Because he leans in, breath gone wrecked. Lip caught between his teeth.

"Hmm?" he pants. Thrusts harder, deeper. "What's that? You like when I call you that?"

Your jaw clenches. You want to scoff. Or deny it.

But your cunt clenches instead.

He feels it.

"Ohh fuck," he groans, like it hits his brainstem. "You do."

You turn your face into your arm, humiliated by your own goddamn response. But it's too late. He's already there—already winding it tighter.

"Let's see if you like it even more when I do this."

You blink. "What are you—"

He grabs your thigh.

Hooks it up onto the counter. Bends your leg at the knee beside your elbow, spreading you wider without warning. Opening you up. Letting him deepen.

And he does.

Slams into you again with the new angle, and fuck—it hits different. Hits deep. Your whole body pitches forward with the force, mouth open on a sharp moan you can't swallow.

Then—his hand.

His fingers find your clit. Circle it once, slow and effective.

And you whimper.

It's high-pitched. Unintended. Undignified.

You want to vanish.

But then he's right behind your ear again, voice slurred and drunk on it.

"Gonna cum for me, angel?"

Your body jolts.

Because yeah. Yeah, you are, especially now that he's got your leg hooked, your pussy stuffed, your clit being worked with just enough pressure to make you lose it.

He feels your thighs twitch.

"Do it," he breathes, cock dragging thick inside you, fingers pressing just right. "Come on, let me feel it. I'm close too. Gimme it, Pix."

And your body obeys.

It rolls over you in one hard pulse—core tightening, vision blanking, thighs squeezing in and failing to stay strong.

Your moan punches out of your chest, loud and cracked, hips grinding back into his like you need more even as you're falling apart.

"Ohhhh my god, fuck yes—fuck, yes, Nix, fuckkkk."

He keeps fucking through it. Doesn't stop. Lets your pussy spasm around him, wet and squeezing and pulling him deeper as you ride it out. You whimper, already too sensitive, hips twitching, but he's not done.

Because he's laughing now.

Not mocking. Not cruel.

Just that fucked-out little giggle he always gets when he's high on it. Like your orgasm lit him up from the inside.

"Jesus—oh my god—holy shit," he's muttering, still fucking you, little messy stutters in his rhythm now. "You feel so fucking good when you cum, I swear—fuck."

He moans again—short and desperate and real—and you feel it in the way his thrusts go uneven.

"Where—where do you want it?" he gasps. "Fuck—I'm gonna—I'm so close, where do I—"

"Ass," you croak, head low, voice barely there.

That's all he needs.

He pulls out instantly, like he's yanking a ripcord.

You whimper at the loss but then you feel his hand—fast and rough—working himself over the curve of your ass.

"Oh fuck—oh god, yeah, look at this gorgeous ass—fuckfuckfuck—"

And then he's cumming.

Thick, hot ropes spilling over your skin as he pants and jerks through it, one hand steadying himself on your back, the other stroking through every twitch of his cock like he's trying to squeeze out every drop just to paint you.

"Shit," he gasps, hips still flexing forward. "Fucking hell, Phoenix."

You don't move.

You just breathe. Still shaking. Still clenched. Still wrecked.

There's cum on your skin, sweat between your shoulder blades, and your thighs feel like they've forgotten how to exist—and somehow, you still feel good.

Too good.

And a little fucked up about how good.

But you'll deal with that later.

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[garez19]

hellooo!!1 tysm <33 i also hope i never go bald… you’re highly appreciated. and ofc you can!! ;))

the remedy for lovesickness

yandere actor! x gn! makeup artist! reader. yandere themes, power imbalance, manipulation. 2.6k wc

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

he was born in a small town.

he spent the majority of his life hating it, a total waste of a land full of fussy and old people. it didn’t have enough bars to socialize, nor did it have a swimming pool for him and his friends to enjoy. it didn’t have enough area for him to let his emotions out. there weren't enough people for him to express himself. 

no, there weren’t enough experiences this small town could give him.

maybe that was the reason he became so good at his job. he didn’t have a place to express himself, yet the classroom had plenty of empty seats to think about how one must feel in certain situations. he didn’t have many reasons to get angry, but he could always watch the old man in the neighborhood going crazy over the kids making too much noise. he could read books about agony and love.

at first, he did it for laughs. the jester way of conveying the message. then it became a hobby. then— an overgrowing passion.

and, safe to say it paid off well. a pretty face with talent -with the devotion to get it right-, and of course, a little bit of luck finally helped him get out of that shithole. a pretty face and the obsession with imitation got him places, unlike what that one girl from highschool had said. 

it got him fame, thousands of people who cheered him on, lovely apartments, and numerous opportunities to try and catch a glimpse of new lives, of new roles.

still, he didn’t like the metropolis any better. a total waste of a land that’s too industrialized for his country-boy tastes, although he might have not liked to admit. it didn’t give people enough time to process their feelings, and the crowd wasn’t something he thought he could get used to. 

but he still loved his job, and he most certainly had thousands of inspirations.

except for that one role. the story of a prince and his undying adoration for his lover. the one his manager didn’t stop blabbering about. he had considered it for an hour or two. “no,” he then decided. it was a role he had never got the chance to explore. he wouldn’t know how a lovestruck guy would act and talk like. he didn’t have enough time to practice.

but his manager didn’t seem to take no as an answer.  

“you have time to practice,” she said, “it’s a good opportunity.”

guys with possessive tendencies truly sold a lot, apparently. 

the manager was too sure that it was the perfect role for him at the moment. it took a long time and effort on her end to convince him, but it was a good opportunity.

“a good opportunity…” he finally agreed. 

he had to be ready by the tenth episode. and he had nothing except books about love.

“so kais loses his mind, right? he’s now a madman telling everyone he met about leyla’s breathtaking beauty and praising her. people start making fun of him, ‘majnun’, they say, ‘madman’,”  

now, you weren’t really sure if that was in your contract. 

still, you nodded, signalling him to go on as you kept applying his makeup. either your boss was very fond of love books, or he was bored to the point where he would talk about anything. 

you loved being a makeup artist. you loved working with idols and celebrities. gossiping to your friends about them was fun. seeing them without filters or scripts was fun. most importantly, makeup was fun.

“you know the remedy for lovesickness?” he asked suddenly.

“no. could you please close your eyes? thank you. I’m going to put on some powder now.”

“if love causes sleeplessness and delirium, it’s understandable to worry that the person might lose their mind. in such cases it’s a good option to keep them fed with easy to digest foods… like soup. um, and a hot bath should help them relax.” 

“interesting...”

“yeah, and the scent of violet oil can also help too. that’s the remedy of the body.”

“could you lift your head just a little bit— perfect.”

“as for the soul, that’s kind of like a mental illness. the person should be talked to gently. at least until they calm down a bit. they can also keep themselves busy with other things. to distract themselves, you know.”

this guy didn’t know how -and when- to stop. 

it was hilarious. it was strange. but there was something truly captivating about him. so you didn’t stop him. you didn’t pretend you weren’t interested. you didn’t intervene with his drawn-out threads that felt like a needlessly long script from a soap opera. 

“duly noted.”

by the time they shot the fourth episode, he had shared a handful of stories. all revolved around one plot: love sickness with tragic endings. you didn’t think too much of the obsession with it, and honestly, you probably wouldn’t really understand even if he told you that was the only way he could learn. 

“on the wedding night kerem tries to undo the buttons of asli’s robe. but he keeps failing. and then he takes a deep breath, right? he sighs so deeply… that he quite literally bursts into flames.”

you couldn’t help but snort at the very sudden ending, “what?”

“yeah, because the buttons are enchanted. and then asli tries to save him but ends up catching fire too.”

you hummed. 

“I’m gonna need you to stay quiet or a second now,” you said. he nodded before asking, “what do you think?”

“fire as a metaphor for love is… intense.” you changed the brush. “within that, the stories you’ve shared focus on forbidden love more often than not.” 

he closed his eyes. 

“the metaphor starts making much more sense in such cases.”

you tried your best to stay professional, to not speak unless you’d been told otherwise, and to make sure you did your job properly. but he was friendly. not just with you. he was close with the whole crew, and it wasn’t something you often came across.he was easy to talk to, genuinely warm, and honestly fun to listen to.

“and, you’re ready,” you said. 

“it’s all about the unrequited -or forbidden- desire,” he mumbled.

“kais was literally a prince. and layla loved him back.” you finally replied to his ramblings.

you definitely didn’t sign up for this. it wasn’t that deep. love-turned-obsession stories often came with such characteristics, but that didn’t mean that was the case all the time.

“he was still scared he couldn’t have her.”

“I don’t know. maybe some people are just not meant to be.”

“wouldn’t that make their love sweeter?” he laughed softly.

debating on love every other day with your regularly transformed opinions while doing your job was not something you often told your friends about. but you weren’t complaining, not really.

6th episode’s shoot, and you were busy with doing someone else’s makeup. but, not a big deal, not at all. it happened in sets all the time after all. it was chaotic, unbearable. the part he hated the most. but it was fine. he had stories to tell. people who listen. or so he thought.

the new makeup artist seemed easy going too. yet, the story refused to be known. the tale wouldn’t let him reveal it. he couldn’t bring himself to say a word. he adapted quickly to most things very quickly, but he could hardly let them go. it was his little ritual: underlining passages from the books and getting excited to tell you more about it the next day.

it hadn’t even been that long. but he didn’t dare tell the newest story to anyone but you. as I said, he picked up silly habits easily. sometimes worryingly so. he even waited for you to finish your job so he could talk to you— but no. someone always had to ruin the day.

7th episode, and he didn’t seem as excited about telling a love tale. his mind was obviously on something else. the quietness was unfamiliar and almost unbelievable, but for some reason, it wasn’t bothering you. 

still, you truly wanted to ask what was going on in his head, even when you did your best to stay professional.

“do you want to work with me?” he finally spoke up. you let out a sudden “huh” as you grabbed the eyeshadow palette.

“would you like to be my personal stylist?” he asked again.

“oh, I do have a contract with the producer of the show at the moment.”  

“I’m not asking you to quit.”

a good opportunity, one that you shouldn’t even hesitate before saying yes. “it’d be more appropriate to talk about it later,” you said, a perfect way to dodge the question . he handed you a card with a phone number.

“reach out to my manager whenever you’re available.”

he sounded like a businessman, a person who hated love books and romance more than anything, like he was rude towards service people on purpose. but well, mostly likely because he was tired, at least you thought so. 

you loved your job, but it sure had drawbacks. working with people adored by everyone didn’t suddenly make you as appreciated, for instance. you were still easily replaceable. every single person in this industry was.

and a contract meant insurance, a promise, and a guarantee of employment. working for a successful actor meant promising career prospects in the long term. it meant network and experience. and there was hardly anything that could be considered as a con. an opportunity too good to pass. an opportunity too good to be true.

was it professional? not that you cared.

“it’s a good opportunity,” he agreed, “better not waste it.”

so you didn’t. 

8th episode, and he finally turned back to normal again. full of joy and positivity, wishing everyone a very good day as he passed by. full of energy and with little stories of love and adoration while you made small comments here and there.

love stories then evolved into his ramblings about his town, his annoying physics teacher and what that one girl had to say about his acting skills in highschool -he seemed very offended by it, by the way-, and questions of what your life looked like. question that almost felt like an interrogation.

questions about your routine and habits, your love life, whether you liked that one book, and a bunch of very privacy related stuff you’d rather not answer.

he was made for this job, you decided when you watched episode 10.

but that is also when you realized his obsession was a two edged sword. his devotion to playing the character accurately, to see him through the scripts, to not just act like him but becoming him— it meant danger. the character and his successor would merge into one; eventually, they would become impossible to distinguish. was it always the case? most certainly. playing the role of an angry old man, he used to storm into the street, snatching the kids’ ball while also shouting they were making too much noise. or at least, that’s what he suddenly remembered.

it didn’t always have to be the case.but here he was, calling his manager, the crew and the producer by your name. “my bad,” he’d say quickly, correcting himself, and then his eyes would wander around the room exactly three times. the makeup would take much longer than usual. the seventh time he pinpointed the eye makeup– implying you should redo the left eye, you would sigh with frustration.

it didn’t always have to be the case. but here he was, yet another prince of the metropolis, featured in magazines with his picture everywhere. interviews, questions about how he prepared for the role– but no, please give him a second as his stylist fixed his goddamn hair for the fifth time in ten minutes.

you didn’t sign up for this.

you weren’t his goddamn manager. you didn’t know you had to follow him everywhere he went, even to places he certainly didn’t need any makeup or hair styling. but emergencies could happen, he would say. 

14th episode, and it was getting harder to keep the script straight in his mind. tangled stories with the image of you and dialogues he had made up. his face would grow warm, the slow thrum of his pulse made his knees weaker. the accidental mentions of your name turned into small comments on how well you did your job. soon, they became long, winding monologues about you, the kind someone with a fevermight mutter in the middle of the night.

that was how kais felt when they called him majnun.

the magazine pages kept mentioning the scandalous news, although no one could confirm any of it for sure. the manager ran her hand through her hair, swearing under her breath as she tapped furiously on her phone. she spent her days arguing with journalists, demanding they take the stories down.

you tried your best to act oblivious. ignorance was bliss, after all. but it was hard when he acted like you two were joined at the hip. when he kept claiming how much he loved you. when he was so desperate for attention he ended up crying, ruining the makeup he asked you to redo every 15 minutes.

“do you know the remedy for lovesickness?” 

you made soup for him. told him to take hot baths, said it’d be good for his body. then you gave him books to keep his mind busy. after that, you started applying violet oil to his clothes every day. none of them truly helped. if anything, the fact that you made soup for him only made things worse.

“you should quit.” the manager finally said to you. and if you had to be honest, although the job did pay you well, being the center of attention because of a madman made you consider leaving. so all you did was nod. you didn’t try and solve it. you didn’t pretend you weren’t scared and uncomfortable. 

safe to say he didn’t take it well.

“I'm just wondering— where did you get this stupid idea?” his harsh tone didn’t match the kindness on his face. the type of kindness that held that strange, almost gentle warmth.

“I didn't sign up for this,” you said, voice louder than you intended. he blinked, as if confused, then let out a faint chuckle that almost made you shiver, “yes, yes you did,” he smiled. mouth ajar, you glanced at the manager, her lips pressed into a tight, straight line. he gave a small tilt of his head when he noticed you looking at her. the manager caught the signal and nodded once, then silently left the room.

“you did sign up for this,” he said, voice flat. “the moment you let me read those book passages out loud. when you let me ramble about my nowhere hometown, stupid stories from my high school like any of it mattered,” he looked at you, unreadable, “you knew you signed up for it the second you took the opportunity. don’t pretend you didn’t.”

“I’m quitting, then,” you murmured. you’d never seen him so serious, and the unfamiliarity made your body tense.

“yeah?” he gently smiled, “you truly believe I’ll let you walk away? just like that?” he let out a quiet, genuinely amused laugh. “do you really not see it? your career’s pretty much over.”

a contract meant insurance. protection. it also meant chains. guaranteed captivity.

“and one more thing” he muttered, rummaging through the drawer as he spoke. at last, he finally pulled out a small bottle— the violet oil. “I adore you,” he said, voice too sharp, a little too bright. “and that—“ he gave the bottle a little shake, 

“is not the cure. not even close.”

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

love your wips right now and waiting patiently for updates on here as well as ao3! for 💔 i missed the perfect moment to start reading it on here, so i‘m waiting for the ao3 updates, but i‘m still gonna request it because i want you to get to the finish line! so my requests are:

💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

and

🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷

Aww thank you so much!!

27 for 💔

---

In all his travels, all across the country and across the hemisphere, one place Buck had never visited was Minnesota. 

There’s no reason for that. No bias against it or anything. He wasn’t avoiding it. The truth is, during that time of his life, he went where opportunity and suggestion took him, and it never took him there. 

Not until now. 

Today Buck finds himself in a cemetery in St. Paul, after arriving late last night, on an inconveniently timed flight that appealed to Eddie’s economic sensibilities. The cemetery is beautiful, as far as cemeteries go. It’s verdant and green, glittering with a contrarian sense of life. It’s a gorgeous final resting place. Buck can see why Bobby chose it for his wife and children, and why Athena chose it for him. 

Though he came to Minnesota with Eddie, Buck came to the cemetery alone. Not because Eddie didn’t want to come or didn’t offer. On the contrary, they discussed it a lot. They both need to visit Bobby. It’s both of their first times here. Not an easy trip to make, after all. They’re each going to come alone. 

Buck’s up first. 

It doesn’t take him long to find the headstone. The one with all four names. Like Bobby never left them at all. The only hint he did is present in the eleven year difference in their dates of death. But he did a lot in those eleven years. He had a whole second life. And although he’s been returned to this one, Buck hasn’t forgotten. He never will.

---

27 for🪷

---

“I’m the reason all three of you died,” Howie says. “And now you’re all back.”

Kevin’s brain glitches a little at that. 

“What?” Maddie demands. “Howie, no.” 

“That’s absolutely not true,” Bobby adds. “We just talked about this.”

“Chim…” Buck looks at Howie with uncomfortably big, sad eyes. 

“It’s true,” Chim says. “I’m involved in all three.”

“Okay, wait a second,” Shannon says, putting her mug down on the table. “I was hit by a car. Were you driving the car?”

Howie frowns. “No, but-”

“Then it’s not your fault,” she says decisively. “There is literally no one to blame for what happened that day but the driver who plowed into a crosswalk full of pedestrians.”

Christopher looks a little green. 

“Is that person in jail?” Kevin asks. 

“Sadly, no,” Eddie says quietly.

“We should egg their house,” Kevin suggests. “Light to moderate vandalism, I think.”

Shannon considers this. “You know what? We should.”

[prismatoxic]

alright im here to say: ramble abt the "awful boys" pls! You can share any fun facts abt them or just abt matt or even just share out of context facts abt the lore! (that'd be very funny) ✨

IF YOU'RE SURE... I CAN CERTAINLY DO THAT...

despite not being "mine", arguably felix actually is mine, just as much as matt is max's. we share them so much that they haven't really developed outside of that context, so a lot of things about them are entwined... though that said i do have a more solid grasp on matt since he is the one i made and largely craft the lore for. if there's anything i don't feel comfortable speculating on for felix i can always ask max what he thinks though

i don't really remember everything i've actually posted here, although i think i've largely been vague on tumblr with the exception of the lore dump under matt's new ref. i can reshare that and maybe felix's backstory as well, but first i'll just share some facts and lore tidbits

also this got So Long so here's a cut

felix met the original matthew once. at a company party, matthew had come along at his father's insistence, and really didn't want to be there. his father introduced him to felix--probably flippantly, they're closer in age than matthew is with most other people there but also the old CEO resented felix and wasn't exactly trying to include him in anything--but the conversation went nowhere. the next time felix saw him, matthew was dead and the godking had taken his place as "matt". (we have an au where the conversation did go somewhere and they actually started "dating", which is just even more awful for poor matthew than what he canonically goes through. felix shouldn't ever date other humans, he's a toxic cesspit)

there's an underworld of demons that has direct connections to the company, both in location and in business. it's part of why matt finds it so interesting. in the canon/"just me and max" version of the story, the demons working at the company are generally pretty good at being covert and are rarely noticed. once matt shows up, suddenly none of them go to the top floor, quickly hurrying out of the way if he's on other floors. felix notices, one of the several things that brings him to the conclusion of something being weird about matt before the truth is forced out.

(there's another version of the story where we've involved several friends, most of whom made demon ocs, though some made other entities. matt remains the only entity of his kind in that version of the story, but the divide between him and other supernatural beings is less severe.)

when felix does find out about matt's true nature, it's not in any particularly descriptive way, and the best guess he can make is "angel of death". the existence of potentially-religious figures concerns him somewhat, as he was raised in a religious household and if hell is real, then brother, he's gonna have a bad time. that said, this particular assumption is what leads to one of his most common petnames for matt: "angel", which matt seems to actually enjoy, usually

on the topic of petnames--they both use them and both usually do so sarcastically or mockingly. "angel" is usually used that way, too. it's later in their relationship when any of them become fond; "angel" is one used in such a way, but matt doesn't have any that are so specific. he defaults to mushy stuff like "love," "beloved," and "darling." it's easy to assume he's still being sarcastic.

but don't be fooled by talk of gentle fondness and love. a lot of their early relationship is marked by dubcon and eroguro, along with dozens of other filthy things, and those mostly continue indefinitely (maybe not dubcon, but certainly cnc). matt can't be killed via normal means and he can always bring felix back; with no consequences, they can do such horrible things, and felix's top kinks happen to include "snuff". how lucky he is! (i told you he's a toxic cesspit)

even so... they do love each other. maybe not at the start, no, but as things progress, absolutely. and neither thinks it's worth holding onto. for felix, matt certainly will never feel the same; for matt, it's simply foolish to feel such a way about a mortal. and yet... every time he brings felix back from death, he imbues him with some of his own stardust. felix doesn't know it's happening until his own powers start manifesting and he starts feeling matt's emotions. even then, matt brushes off his involvement in those things happening.

i actually wrote a little story about one of the defining moments of their relationship, a turning point for them both (but especially felix). i meant to post it here and never did. maybe i'll do that. anyway

matt has always inherited memories and desires from those he devoured, but upon leaving a vessel he's often lost big parts of that. even so, the person he is now feels like an amalgam of all those he's eaten, and he has... surprisingly huge identity issues. he's kind of shaken when he realizes he's started thinking of this vessel as himself, not just "the body". he's never lived a life so full in any of his vessels, never had cause to tether himself to one identity. it scares him. but... he doesn't want to leave. felix is still here.

on that note, he inherited a few kinks from matthew that he's not really ready for. matthew never got to act on them, but matt can, and he does--much to felix's delight. watching matt turn into a drooling whimpering mess is such a treat.

i'm exhausted so idk how many more things i can easily rattle off. but you're welcome to ask more stuff!

here, have the malix playlist:

and below i'll put these guys' backstories, just because

Matt

The Godking is a young cosmic entity from an unknowable place somewhere out in the universe. He used to enter relationships with older beings, but as a younger being he was rarely fully respected; as a result, he became obsessed with the idea of gaining the sort of power that would force the others to acknowledge him as a peer. Crafting a divine dagger with parts of his own being, he used it to kill his partners, devouring their essences to absorb their powers. 

His last cosmic partner was an arachnid-like being who saw him for what he was before he could murder them. While they were unable to take his dagger, they still nearly killed him in the ensuing fight, and in the wake of the battle he was banished from his home dimension for his crimes. In his banishment, he lost his original form, left to wander the cosmos as a formless cluster of stardust.

He eventually ended up on Earth, drawn by the presence of supernatural beings mingling with the humans, as well as the humans themselves. He found himself enamored with the concept of human religion—of gods and deities that were worshiped for their control over the world. This was where he adopted the moniker Godking, an apt description of his influence on the humans who idolized him. For millennia he drifted from project to project, forming cults in his own name or joining human settlements to play with some of the residents, stealing the bodies of singular members to become "prophets" delivering the word of their new God. Inevitably, he always got bored, killing his favored toys so they couldn't exist without him and abandoning those who worshiped him. 

Not too long ago, the CEO of a successful company used ancient texts from one of the Godking's religions to invoke his name, asking for his aid in making the company prosper beyond his wildest dreams. Amused by the request, the Godking gave his word, then used his hypnosis abilities to drive the CEO mad to get him out of the way. Needing a new vessel to "fulfill the agreement" (a conscious choice, as he isn't the sort to be bound by deals or laws), he devoured the soul of the CEO's son, Matthew, assuming ownership of his body and using it to take over the company. 

He's grown fond of the name Matt, and in truth has also grown fond of Matthew's body, though he does frequently alter it to suit his needs. It's been some time since he enjoyed a specific form so much. It helps, perhaps, that a specific high ranking member of the company—the only person to have broken through the illusion to discover the sinister truth underneath—seems to like this form too.

He needs to leave it eventually, of course, lest his essence get so tangled up in it that breaking away gets difficult. Surely that won't be hard. 

Felix

Felix was born to an incredibly average family out in the suburbs, not too far from the city where he works now. By all accounts, he was a very normal child; he was pleasant, if a bit withdrawn, and wore very normal clothes, had a very normal haircut, and kept his room very plain. His interests were few and nothing noteworthy, and his performance in school was decent. 

Of course, all of that was only what outsiders saw—his extended family, school peers who didn't share classes with him, and the many mental health professionals his parents sent him to all considered him to be a normal, plain child. Anyone who spent a little more time with him could tell there was something wrong. His immediate family, closest to him by virtue of living with him, actively considered him a threat.

Felix was prone to killing and dissecting small animals, blatantly lying to manipulate others, collecting blackmail material whenever an opportunity presented itself, and generally intimidating anyone who could be pushed around in such a way. While many of his traits could potentially be explained by sociopathy, Felix was never formally diagnosed with anything, charming anyone who may have been able to into thinking he was fine. Perhaps his parents waited too long to get him looked at. Or perhaps Felix was always a conniving sadist, something within him darker than any mental disorder could explain.

Having since moved out of the suburbs and largely distanced himself from his family, Felix lives in an apartment with two roommates and works at the company Matt took over. When the old CEO was still in charge, Felix used his skills to blackmail the man extensively, gaining a position perilously close to the C-suite with the intentions to move even higher when the chance manifested. He was blindsided, as were many others, when the old CEO was institutionalized and his son inherited his company. Yet as the other executives and employees easily took to Matt's presence, Felix was furious that his plans had been disrupted... and cautious of the ways in which something about Matt seemed off.

When attempts to learn more or get Matt under his thumb failed, Felix resorted to murder. He's resorted to murder a lot, over the years. He's never been caught, never been confronted, never been stopped—and never met someone who could shake off a bullet to the skull. 

Until now.

[triglycercule]

triglycercule.... please give us a lore dump about your mtt

ohoho,,,,,,,HAHAHAHAHAH i have been WAITING for this day. I have awaited it. 𝓱𝓮𝓱...... well, Anonymous, since you so Kindly asked for it.............

killer first (dust and horror l8r this is too long already)

ALRIGHT!!! so to begin with killer my take puts a lot more emphasis on his Coding than anything really,,,, when i was analyzing him i was looking through rahafwabas's posts about killer and i saw this:

more importantly the lines: "when he did that he thought he'd go back to his coding" to "... because it doesn't know if its a human or monster soul" and the part about killer's thoughts

these lines are important to know for my something new ˃̶͈◡˂̶͈ like normal something new it begins with chara doing a ton of genocide routes (chara is just the vessel the player uses to interact with the world, nothing more (because i dont think or remember if there's any proof to show they're anything else in smthnew))

now the thing is since there's big impact about the code in my take killer wont actually do much in these resets because he simply is not allowed to do more. his code limits him from doing more than breaking character (occasionally, like dropping the usual sans smile, getting desensitized to all the death, or hesitating to do certain things like getting up in the morning (because they're all going to die in a few moments, and he's going to do as well, so why even get up,,,,,,). the limitations the code has on sans arent a like force that makes him do things regardless of what he wants, more like just the possibilities of what he would do

sans would never kill everyone, because he doesn't have the ability to. he would never be able to convince himself to do that in an unaltered state, and even if he did, he would never go through with it. the code simply doesn't allow it (and the player eventually realizes this)

but it would be BORING if it were just a story where sans went to killer in just a single snap of the code wouldn't it?? thats exactly where the first image about killer's thoughts comes into play (it makes it 10x more interesting :333)

"he have these dark thought like "what will happened if I killed that monster I mean no one will know after the reset" then he say later "what no no no stop I don't want to do this I don't want to be like them""

i think if killer had these dark thoughts of being like chara, killing everyone and having no consequences afterwards, it would make something new a lot more fun. he became exactly what he didn't want to be (hey this sounds like a certain other dusty sans!) and the worst part: based off these thoughts, he wasn't even that against it.

now from an objective standpoint, killer would actually be more against all that he did than he believes. after all, he hates himself and what he did, but when you're guiltridden and you know you did something wrong on the scale of this, wouldn't you blame yourself more for what you did? from an outsider perspective, killer may have been forced to do this, but to killer, this was partially his fault, and his choices are what caused this.

along with the code being a big part, the concept of choice is also very important in my killer take. keep that in mind (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

now let's say by now, the player has altered killer's code. i know people usually say that they forced him to say yes, like the code only gave him the ability to say yes instead of no, but i shall show something that is the basis of a different interpretation in my take

i know that rahafwabas didn't have the best english at the time they were creating for killer, but i still wanna bring up the words they used here.

the text for what the player wants says let him say yes. LET him say yes. am i nitpicking here MAYBE but the word let instead of like, make him say yes, implies that killer would be free to make that choice instead of being forced to make the choice to join the player. maybe instead of completely altering killer's code to force him to say yes, the player just gave him the ability to say yes? (this coding they added would then later become killer's "determination coding", or what influences him towards stage 3/stage 3 itself. at this point in time, killer just thinks its his thoughts (but worse))

this would mean that after changing the code, killer wouldn't immediately accept the deal. instead, he would take a few resets to agree (especially with those stupid violent thoughts of his putting the thought into his head.) i think that this would make it more difficult for killer (as it should. MORE SUFFERING 🙏‼️) to go through a reset. chara can see his own inner turmoil. he's giving them something new to enjoy, which is exactly what they want. he has to look around at everyone around him, at all of his friends, at papyrus and know that in his head, he's genuinely considering killing them all. every reset when he dies at judgement hall, it just gets harder to not want to agree.

chara looks like theyre having so much fun fighting against him and killing him over and over. he's bored. wouldn't he like to feel something new again?

chara doesn't help with the thoughts too, especially with how much they call him out for his thoughts. chara knows that killer enjoys when he kills them, it makes him feel something. chara brings up how they'll all forget after they reset, and killer can't help but be a bit soothed by that thought (but it's not like he wants to do that. he wouldn't do that? right?)

eventually killer breaks. he agrees to the deal. and to him, it was a voluntary choice. still, he doesn't want this (kinda?)

now onto part 2 of something new: to cope with the fact that he did actually agree to the deal, he leans into the fact that everyone is just going to forget (as shown in the something new comic + in those 2 summaries of something new i showed images of :3) and that if he wanted, he could just go back. i assume thats a possibility killer thought of because rahafwabas said that killer thought "when he did that he thought it's a one thing and he will be back to his normal "coding"". but both chara and killer (although its his determination coding saying it) know that he can't go back. killer probably on the inside knows that he can't go back too (the guilt would probably eat him up. so its too late to go back even if everyone is still alive). so obviously killer breaks down at the end of something new part 2 because this reasoning just isn't enough, especially when faced with papyrus

a bit ironic that killer agreed to the deal to feel something new and then when he does feel something new (the guilt of killing everyone) he immediately says he didn't want it and he'll never do it again. determination probably says that he's lying. after all, if he didn't want this, then why would he agree to the deal? chara says nothing; they're having too much fun watching killer spiral on his own with minor influence from them. he didn't even need to be told to kill flowey and grillby, nor to burn down grillby's, and he was able to kill papyrus and then put on a show! how much fun could they milk out of killer anyways atp LOL

in this part of something new, killer's dialogue and thoughts are split between speech that has "" and speech that doesn't. with how much i've mentioned the code, the "speech with quotation marks" is the determination coding/dark thoughts killer has. sans and determination contradict a lot in this part with sans being stuck on his regret and past attachments to the underground while determination is more focused on the current situation, despite how cruel and dark it is. this is the same sans and determination that killer has during that one comic where he talks with dream btw (>ᴗ•)

its just that "killer" does not exist yet because he is seperate from the sans and determination thought processes. as of right now, sans is the one going through these things, and determination is just his own inner thoughts (this is one of my favorite panels/parts about killer :3)

finally: something new part 3,,,,, killer and chara go around KILLING EVERYONE EVIL STYLE 😈 ok but actually its safe to assume that a couple many resets have probably passed by this time,,,, maybe its just because we hear less of killer's inner thoughts because he's learned to shut up and have his little inner morality fight inside his head or maybe it's because he's adapted more to the mentality that determination and chara have. or maybe he just got used to killing everyone like he did when he got used to chara killing everyone. PROBABLY ALL 3!!!

ok but thats not the major part the major part is when killer gets his soul at the end. i've mentioned it already but to me this is the part where killer comes to be (i mean he existed as soon as his code was altered but like as a seperate identity killer exists).

rahafwabas says:

"because he shouldn't do this and his soul get mixed out between a monster soul and the human determination soul. why you ask because the game only know that you/Chara/and frisk are only people have this soul. so the game got more broken and gives that to sans that why you see his soul looks wired because it doesn't know if it's a human soul or monster soul."

this idea that killer got his from a game glitch is what i will be RUNNING with for how he got his soul. SPRINTING in fact 🙏 because from what i remember theres not an actual reason why killer got his soul aside from this little tidbit 🤔 so yeah! killer was acting so much like chara/the player that along with his abnormal coding, it glitched and gave him the determination because characters that have the freedom to do actions like killing others and stuff are player characters and player characters have determination,,,,

but how did that happen in the actual story to killer you may ask?! i shall answer......(it has to do with save points)

i think more hidden than just the obvious fucking red soul that CLEARLY has determination in it is the little flavor text that appears on the last panel of something new :3

now i'm not an undertale expert but i am PRETTY SURE that the DETERMINATION text apoears when you touch a save point right??? or something like that it has to do with save points. so my theory is that killer's monster body couldn't handle all the determination because he was getting all melty and amalgamated so he was dying on that flower field. but then he was able to load right before he died because of his determination

to me the save star is more important to killer than buttercups. i've had this scene in my head where when he was laying on the buttercups with all that dt clouding his vision that he could only see small little specks of light similar to that second photo rahafwabas drew,,,,,, killer reaches out to try and grab some of the light in his little woozy right about to die state (because he likes stars (used to!)) and that little speck of light was actually a save star!! so killer returned back to life

i also like this idea because it would give killer a small understanding of determination and how it works (and how to get control over the timeline, you have to be the most determined). maybe when the game was glitching his determination was the highest and that was why for just that small moment, he was able to come back to life as opposed to like chara resetting and bringing him back from the dead. having that small experience and being a smarty pants killer would eventually be able to piece together how to control the timeline (because if he asked chara, wouldn't that seem a bit suspicious?????)

i would assume during the period between killer figuring out how to gain control over the timeline + stage 1 deciding that he would reset and erase himself in the process that killer worked with chara to just fuck around in the timeline and do a variety of bad things but i never really consider that much because when killer gets his soul he's basically done as killer (without character development) BUT

YIPPEE!!!! yes this is my something new take,,,,,, however if you would like more after s1 decides to reset the timeline you could,,, perchance,,, read my fic where i write a continuation of that ending of something new 💔💔 SHAMELESS SELF PROMO I KNOW 💔💔💔

recently i've found myself leaning more towards using more in depth medias to portray things like art or writing over smaller posts like hcs but hey!!! i can throw in a couple headcanons for killer here :3

stage 3 is just killer's determination coding/his mentality that everyone is scripted and stuff. stage 3 killer is really careless of people's feelings/wellbeing, cruel and sadistic, and overall similar to how a player would act. like those people who play through undertale and kill everyone or be mean "just because i can", stage 3 is similar to that (i mean what did you expect from the coding that told killer to just kill dream at sight XP)

killer's stages work similarly to a slider. on one end is stage 1/sans coding, on the other is stage 3/determination. since i said choice was a big part of my killer interpretation, whichever stage killer listens to more, his soul becomes more like that stage and therefore his mentality (again, like that one panel in the dream talks to killer comic).

however, different traits from s1 and s3 can overlap even if killer is closer to one end of the spectrum. like he could have s3's apathy for people's wellbeing while also having s1's guilt for killing at the same time. it really just depends :P

stage 4 is (hehe) ABSOLUTELY ruthless. since we know next to nothing about stage 4, i hc that s4 acts based off the chara speech at the end of the geno route in undertale. chara says: "I realized the purpose of my reincarnation. Power. Together, we eradicated the enemy and became strong. HP. ATK. DEF. GOLD. EXP. LV. Every time a number increases, that feeling... That's me. “Chara."" based off this and due to the fact that as the stages progress, determination (and as a byproduct chara) gains more control over the soul as seen below,,,,

then that means that as the stage furthest from stage 1, 4 would be the closest to chara and since chara describes themselves as the gaining of stats, that would be what stage 4 mindlessly does. i mean REALLY what's the FASTEST way to increase those stats in ut? killing people,,,,, so yeah thats stage 4 for you

killer is a brute force type of fighter. because he was in his underground for so long fighting against the people he's ridiculously op against and also has memorized every attack they could do, he doesn't really need to TRY and come up with stuff like a strategy since he could really just kill everyone Ez (only until he begins going around worlds and meeting people more powerful than him does he realize he actually has to put in effort fighting hehe,,,)

my killer take doesn't smile much usually he has the 😐 face hehe,,,, SHOCKING I KNOW killer is literally smiley mcgee but Nope! killer just doesnt care enough to do it (very common reasoning for why killer does/doesn't do things LOL) and also i think from an analysis standpoint it shows that he's clearly Not Sans anymore (since he doesnt do the 24/7 sans smile)

killer's outfit was actually given to him by his chara. my chara design shares similar things to killer (such as the black leggings, gloves, knee covering things, and boots) that killer didn't have originally. why? well killer's reason is chara's reason: black makes blood easier to wash out ( •ॢ◡-ॢ)✧˖°

killer has little to no physical senses (let's hope i remember this because i usually forget what he can and can't feel LMAO) per usual, no pain unless its INCREDIBLY extreme (like 3 mangled limbs type shit), no taste, a lack of the ability to feel hungry or tired + his eyesight is FINE but its blocked by the determination

SPEAKING OF HIS EYES you know how when in stage 1 killer's left eye light pops up? well that happens for stage 3 with the right side too :3 and then both can pop up too but i dont really have a reason why :9

due to having a not human not monster body, killer's body can SOMEWHAT handle the determination he was given better than full monsters (although not perfectly as seen with his eyes leaking excess determination)

killer doesn't have many likes and dislikes that he can pinpoint for certain,,, either his likes and dislikes are what stage 1 and stage 3 like or he just doesn't have any at all ƪ(‾ε‾“)ʃ i dont see him caring much for things like favorite colors or foods and if he did it would be because of an experience related to that thing that he liked :3

one thing all the stages do like is cats :3 stage 1 likes the lazy fat cats while stage 3 likes the really silly kitty cats!! killer (oh btw "killer" is stage 2) likes cats in general not for any specific look or personality but because he likes the experience of having them warm up to you and then be all friendly and affectionate :3

rahafwabas brought it up a lot that a part of saving killer would have to include "fixing his soul". idk what that means but im assuming it's getting rid of the determination coding 🤔 now one thing i would say is that killer is Permanently stuck like this now with his soul and s1/s3!! i'm sure finding a in multiverse way to remove the determination coding would be hard and probably really fucking dangerous to killer + from my own perspective,,, "fixing" killer in this way is BORING!!! like if i wanted killer to go back to being sans undertale then i wouldve just liked sans undertale himself from the start you know?? so for that reason i say that killer's ideal ending is not to be saved and have his soul fixed but instead to find a way to comprise all parts of himself (ex: killer himself finds a proper identity outside of s1+s3 and his past, s1 finding a way to recover from the guilt and tolerate s3, & s3 finding a way to satisfy boredom/curiosity that doesnt put other people at risk) (also they should all probably find a way to make up for all the People They Murdered. Erm.)

ok how long is this now. i actually dont want to know don't answer that. anyways i'm gonna split the answer to this ask up into like 3 (or maybe 4 parts if i plan on doing all 3 together) seperate parts to explain my mtt interpretation,,,,,,, dust and horror yapfest coming in like 20 business days LMAO

TRIGLYCERCULE OUT! ٩(๑^o^๑)۶

[bittersweetresilience]

can you be baited into talking about the good aesthetics of jingrenheng? the themes? please and thank you and have a nice day?

................okay... just for you anon...

they have complimentary color palettes! jing yuan has a lot of light associations, blade dark associations, and dan heng's teals are gradient or in between

they all have a symbolic plant of sorts, which sounds funny, but it looks pretty. the gingko and the spider lilies and the maple leaves. those are also red orange and yellow which mix well together. and imbibitor lunae has a lotus thing going on but he and dan heng mostly look visually similar

they have sun moon star symbolism. jing yuan is the sun, blade or should i say yingxing (应星) is the star, and dan heng or should i say imbibitor lunae (饮月君) is the moon. you could also argue that jing yuan (景元) is the world that the celestial bodies orbit in... the center of gravity, but also easy to overlook as an unchanging part of the surroundings...

dan heng is also wearing something associated with both of them. yes, The Relic™. BUT his coat also reads the same poem from which jing yuan took the name of starfall reverie

and lastly they are just three beautiful men okay it's impossible for them not to look aesthetic together

THE THEMES ✨

a guy running from his past, a guy chasing it down and driven perpetually by it, and a guy who can do nothing but hold onto it. it's like a soap drama of perfect proportions

someone who represents the right path, someone who represents the wrong path, and someone who represents the neutral path or trailblazes their own path

they were entangled in their previous lives and they remain entangled now, by their own will or otherwise. it can't get any better than this themewise.

renjing

i was going to say something about what each individual ship in the trio brings to the trio but i got distracted. what was i talking about again

okay, renheng has this 'thin line between love and hate going on' (因爱生恨) and it's about the extremes of passion to me. the hunter and the hunted. it's about the things from the past that should be shed but cannot be. then hengjing has the 'reconnecting through lives and through the mire of identity'. it's about forging a future uncolored by the mist of the past while also acknowledging that that past was there and meant something. then renjing has everything renjing has. renjing has

sorry i can't be objective about them renjing has everything because they are my babies

ANYWAY the point is when you put them together you net the ability to explore all of these different relationship dynamics at the same time plus trio dynamics like the mediation, the competition, each of them feeling left out in their own way, varying levels of memory, varying levels of history... a feast for the feasters

i also think jingrenheng successfully resolves all three of their issues in the sense that it's a relatively stable way for each of them to be able to recognize but also make peace with their past, and not let it impede their future. if jingrenheng actually experienced enough character development to get together and not kill each other, that would mean they have fixed things. a win for everybody.

[erikaslumbers]

Yap about Uenuku and/or Hineila. I beg of youuuuuu twin🥺🙏 yap about them. Their relationship, their personalities, their bonds with other friends, whatever, just yap your heart out. I need your divine revelation 😞🥀

okayyy twin, i shall share with you the Divine Revelation (=delusional headcannons) about the springs duo 🌈 💧

...it got so long i think im gonna have to put a read more so it doesnt mess people's dashboards

in group settings or everyday life, Uenuku is rather laconic and reserved, doesn't express himself too much (Hineila would speak for him sometimes, even if she often misrepresent his thoughts/intentions so he'll step in anyway) but he does get into long monologues if asked for his input or when teaching them things like survival skills or how to use the terrain to your advantage during a fight

this post... one of my fav hcs about him...

he has very strong opinions and convictions, and is very resilient and stubborn at times, even if he doesn't look like it at first

to him an ideal world is one where people would be united together and help one another out and where everything is fair for everyone. it wasn't necessarily the case in ancient natlan but he tried to do his part

judging by the line that Hineila repeatedly advised him to abandon his village but he refused, I think he was very attached to his village and really wanted to protect them

he was a traveling fighter when he met the team, going around helping weaker people/settlements and fighting abyss/criminals/etc

he's good at persuading and convincing people when he needs to, and also very good at reading others

Hineila, on the other hand, is more talkative and friendly

she only cares about her mission so this friendly act is, well, an act, to earn their trust

she started getting attached to Uenuku, and to his friends too to a lesser extent, but she refused to admit it to herself until the very end because to her it would be like betraying Egeria and the mission she gave her

to Hineila the absolute worst thing that could happen ever would be for her to betray Egeria (in the end it was only the second worst, the first would be uenuku dying)

if there were multiple Oceanids, she was the 'leader' of the group and the most respected and prevalent one in general (even if she wouldn't necessarily see it in that way because to her they're all loyal to Egeria and not her anyway)

(also btw

i think she chose Uenuku specifically because he has similar motives as this heheh)

Uenuku is very good at using the environment and surroundings to his advantage, and analyzing the terrain, whether it's in combat or for everyday life out in the wild. his fighting style is very strategic and analytical. he has also a very good sense of direction and even if he's lost he's the most likely to find the original road back this earned him to be the team's navigator, they often turn to him to ask what the best road is to take, is this edible or not, where the hell they are in the middle of nowhere

Hineila mostly likes to find a water source and sit close to it when they're idle the wiki states that Callirhoe is the only one shown to be able to give a blessing, but Hineila says she'll bless Uenuku's spear... so i like to think she gave him a blessing similar to Diona's drink blessing... probably to make him stronger or maybe to make the spear unbreakable or something in combat she's more of a support, and since Oceanids can all summon water mimics of animals I hc she did too to assist in battle among the team, well her role is kinda Uenuku's assistant but she's also very good with water, diving, swimming etc so if they need to go underwater for some reason or scout ahead on an island separated by water they'll send her

back then Meztli was a pretty small and weak tribe and were often attacked but protected one another and were all solidary despite all when Uenuku was little everyone did their best to protect him as much as possible, even if well he still saw people die and his village get attacked i think that's the root of his belief in unity and also he wants to protect them back (i also had a random hc that his dad was the village chief and i cant stop thinking about it)

Hineila well has the standard Oceanid backstory hahah, was given the mission then dispatched to Natlan

I like to think (bc i like angst and tragedy) that Uenuku didn't wholly trust Hineila until the end. he saw her agenda since the beginning and even though he could tell she changed a little bit since the beginning, and part of him hoped she could change and become genuinely close with them, he still didn't completely trust her when she died for him it was the last thing he expected and he regretted not having trusted her more, even when he could tell she had a small change of heart, because, well, she did the ultimate sacrifice, her own life, for him

it sounds to me like Uenuku & Ixquieh had similar views and goals?? so they understood each other very well like imagine them talking about their ideal world then enjoying a moment together in silence just enjoying each other's company... he's the closest to her i think...

Hineila doesn't like her horrible influence on Uenuku, but also... Ixquieh is nice enough to her and one of the most accepting, despite the fact that Ixquieh is rude and withdrawn... but looks out for Hineila whenever possible?? she's conflicted as hell whether she likes Ixquieh or can't stand her (spoiler: she does like her, she's just in denial) Ixquieh was actually wary of Hineila at first, but then deemed her to be harmless and treats her like she treats everyone else (standoffishly but also looking out for them constantly and loving them, even if she isn't the best at expressing it)

Uenuku&Maghan are also quite close. i thought about them stargazing together... (id say Uenuku also taught Maghan a lot about traveling bc Maghan never went out of his remote fog shrouded village but, given that Maghan joined like first or second and Uenuku joined last... lol) i think they were very close... both find the other easy to talk to and like to spend time together...

i think Maghan is kind of like. the caretaking figure for a lot of them. for Uenuku, but also Hineila. she'll die before admitting it though... literally. he's kind of like. a calming presence to her? no judgement, no stupid decisions, no constant yapping, no constant questions about why she's here, it's nice and calming to share a moment with him sometimes hear me out on Maghan Hineila friendship though. they're both devoted to someone they love. Maghan is genuinely so and doesn't hide it, Hineila... has to act with her facade of yes i'm doing everything for him but at this point she's still planning to use him, but imagine they have a heart to heart one day and it makes her think a lot more about what Uenuku truly means to her (of course, in the end she brushes these thoughts off with "that stupid priest is putting ideas into my head")...

Hineila was annoyed by Lianca at first. too chatty, asks too many invasive questions, is definitely trying to gauge out her true intentions. but Lianca also went the extra mile to make her feel welcome? and looks out for her? and acts like that with everyone? i think, at the end, Lianca was Hineila's second favorite (after Uenuku, of course) Lianca... I think immediately welcomed Hineila and didn't scorn at her or anything. not in a naive blind trust way ofc but she thought everyone deserves to be treated kindly and as long as Hineila doesn't try anything. Lianca was very curious about this new species from a faraway land and was interested in conversing with Hineila and hearing her story... ofc Hineila wasn't like super receptive or would lie or conceal truths Lianca would make sure that Hineila knows she's welcome, at least with her, because she's a different species from a whole different place and might be homesick or feel out of place. of course Hineila didn't concern herself much with these issues, it was her mission and nothing else, but maybe a part of her appreciated it?

Uenuku deeply admires Lianca. the way she can easily befriend everyone without looking like she thinks much about how to persuade them, the way she acts so carefree and merry even in bleak situations, the way she's so. strong and confident, much more than himself, and established her own settlement where she takes in weak people and protects them... she's basically what he wishes to be, but he's not even jealous he's just admiring and her thinking he's endearing... her agreeing with most of his views except except the "when he becomes king" part... (and he's like omg lianca is agreeing...) they're the friends of all time i love them

i want Hineila&Och-Kan to be a Duo. idk but they're the only not fully humans of the team so they had to right. i'm not sure they'd be friends if he knew that 1/ she is a spy 2/ for some god who is decidedly not xbalanque 3/ she tries to take advantage of natlanis even if in the end she genuinely cared. but obviously she wouldn't tell him that, it'd make her suspicious and that's the last thing she wants. sooo they're friends. sorta. and he has esteem for her skills but i like the parallel, Hineila saved and protected her beloved and what he stood for despite not originally wanting to. and Och-Kan, well... is the opposite...

Och-Kan admires Uenuku's skills (i love how his diary is written, when having to explore an underground ruin he thinks of Uenuku first and the Oceanid later), I like to HC Uenuku admires Och-Kan's skills as strategist and dragon interpreter too... (idk if it's just me but the people of the springs use a lot of dragon tech.. yk like spiritways and ntm Hanan Pacha being right above them... what if... Och-Kan translated for them a lot...) Uenuku thinks it's a shame that Och-Kan hates his draconic part so much, he thinks he could be a wonderful example of two species coming together. he does try to convince him to be easier on himself and dragons but... well, Och-Kan's the only one Uenuku couldn't use persuasion on

Ahpub & Uenuku, I think, possibly had their disagreements and clashes. it seems that Ahpub tended to want to beat the opposition, while Uenuku tended to be accepting and even accepted a shady sus water fairy. Ahpub isn't also a fan of the Uenuku/Ixquieh friendship, because this guy is too lenient and naive and is a bad influence on his sister (the entire reason Ixquieh was close with Uenuku is because they agreed with each other to begin with, but... go explain that to the dude who stabbed her). but ultimately they're companions, so Ahpub will still look out for him, and Uenuku still hopes they can agree and be closer one day

Ahpub is distrustful of Hineila and doesn't miss an occasion to remind it to her or to the others. she's just like "say what you want" but internally she's like oh fuck he's on to me can't he shut up for once. i'm not sure they would be particularly close if it wasn't for the gang, but... well, similar reasoning as with Uenuku, she's still his companion

Uenuku on Yupanqui in a shellnut. they're so. different. they're both kind and accepting, but you have an analytical, quiet and meticulous one vs a loud reckless moron... but I think they adored each other... on the battlefield though?? they might not be as efficient as other duos because they'd be arguing on whether luring the opponent into a trap would be a valid way to get rid of an opponent or a cheating tactic that only a fraud like Och-Kan would use

Hineila acting friendly and caring to earn their trust even though she doesn't give a shit (or at least is convinced she doesn't)... and Yupanqui acting prickly and uncaring but has long admitted to himself at least that he loves them (the ones not named Och-Kan and Lianca at least, took a bit longer for him to admit he also liked them, especially Och-Kan)... Yupanqui saw and treated her like any other member of the group. he had no problem with her being an Oceanid or from a different land. he didnt have enough braincells to doubt her but also was very accepting in general. both were rather prideful so i can imagine they clashed but he forgot about it the next hour and she had more important things to do than wasting energy to beef with some self-important tagalong

Hineila and Xbalanque is like. two people having the friendliest interaction but with Layers - in truth he's subtly threatening her and she's subtly defying him he unnerves her a bit sometimes but she won't let that self proclaimed sun king best her he's on to her from the beginning so he's glad she's with his group so that he can keep an eye on her - even if he trusts Uenuku's reassurance that it's fine, he understands the suspicions but he knows what he's doing... when she dies though he acknowledges her as a hero of natlan who gave her life for them

Uenuku and Xbalanque is so interesting to me. Uenuku is the bearer of "unity", yet Xbalanque is the one credited with uniting everyone. my Uenuku isn't really the type to be jealous or resentful (he's humble, and cares more about the people being united than who united them), but...makes you wonder Xbalanque is inscrutable. Uenuku struggled to read him at first but the more time they spent together the more he understood him and could tell if he had something like a moment of weakness or something bothering him... Uenuku's probably the only one in the group who can make Xbalanque a little uneasy by looking at him a bit too intently them having mutual respect...

as for how they joined the gang i'm thinking

either Meztli got attacked, the traveling springs duo and the team all came here to defend, met, sympathized and he came

or they went there as part of Xbalanque's tribe uniting tour to talk with the chief of Meztli, Uenuku happened to be back home for a short while to make sure everything was okay and they met, sympathized and he came

or they met in the wilderness, the springs duo found the team having suffered an attack with some injured members and brought them back to their own camp then helped them and then joined

or. Uenuku & Xbalanque both were starting to be known as traveling heroes and heard of each other, both wanted to meet the other and secure an alliance. they tracked each other down and yea

or a sillier one: team lost somewhere. everyone rejects the fault on someone else. Hineila & Uenuku happen to pass by, he tells them the various places they can get to from here and the directions. the springs duo were going in the same direction so they kind of travel together for originally a short while but then they kind of stay and the group's reaction is "finally a navigator!"

i don't know maybe i should just do a weird combination of all of these...

aaand I'll stop here for now bc I think i covered. mostly everything i made up clearly so far?? hopefully these are good and make somewhat sense 🙏 (hard to make sense of a mf we know jackshit about. but)

[rin-rin-kururin]

other than that... i'm tired. prepare for a long rant in the tags if you decide to read more

[spookythesillyfella]

Hello! I'm finally free to send you an inbox :D I wanted to just stop by and say "Hello!", Whenever you've got some time do you feel like talking about any music.. Been trying to talk about things on my end but nothing is coming out right so SOMETIMES when others talk about something enough I'll feel inspired to! This is not forced by any means.. I just find your posts very nice to read over sometimes after a long day/early morning depending on when I log on at different times! I love you Spooky!!! /p Hope you know I'm shooting beams in your direction of all things nice and peaceful!!

OMIGOSH OMIGOSH OMIGOSH YESS !!!!!!!

OH YES YES !!!!! IVE BEEN KEEPING THIZ BOTTLED UP LONG ENOUGH BUT THIZ GIVEZ ME THE PERFECT OPPORTUNITY TO JUST RAMBLE ABOUT THE SONG !!!!!!!!

"Datura Hamburger Shop" – Dobuno Awa !!!!

thiz song doezn't tie in with anyone in hv! [or at least i haven't determined WHO it tiez in with] but itz so incredibly relatable to ME so ...............

"On a lonely table are // Some juice and hamburgers // Who’s come to sit // Before me?" – okay so . i want you to picture a buzy restaurant scene – and . in a small corner . a table placed right beneath a ticking clock ; a table where one iz sat alone . watching everyone else socialize and have a good time – they ordered two trayz of food . and await someone to sit alongside them as well . to share the company with

"As the hours pass by // The clocks hands // are laughing at me, saying // 'You kept waiting, but they never came'" – i hope i don't have to explain much on why i go berserk over thiz lyric – not only iz it symbolic of the passage of time . but itz also a really sick and nifty reference to The

"The world is teeming // With lively voices // It’s so noisy that nobody // Even realizes I’m crying" – i think thiz lyric iz especially relatable [moreso than the last one] ; people around are full of life . sharing storiez so loudly – all their voicez muddled together echo through the restaurant – and one remainz ... alone ... burdened to only listen ... never to voice their own – a soft cry . buried under everyone elsez voicez

"Drop dead."

"On a lonely table are // Puddles of tears // I don’t care who sits with me! // Come on." – the second verze [which already haz changez to the instrumentalz and the mv . signifying not only that time haz passed since the first verze . but also that itz somethingz off] the restaurant iz still buzzing with noize . and one iz left to indulge in the food alone . leaving behind only remainz of their sorrow ; one still demandz company and urgez someone . anyone . passing by to take a seat

"Sit down // Sit down // Sit down // Sit down // Sit down // Come on // Sit down" – the constant insistence and entitlement one feelz to company

"It's unclear // It's unclear // It's unclear // It's unclear // It's all too much // It's all too much // It's all too much // It's all too much" – "why iz thiz happening?" one askz themselvez over and over again . and with the constant sound of people burning in their earz . it only getz harder to think – it drownz out their thoughtz and all of it muddlez together ; not only iz the reazoning unclear . but so are the soundz coming from around them

"I swallowed my tears // And I indulged in this haze // It’ll be fine if I just // eat everything like this" – and they know nobody iz coming to accompany them ; one haz to suck it up and take care of matterz on their own – indulge alone . itz your only choice

"The world reeks of blood // So much that it drives me insane // 'Thank you for meal' // We said, and pressed our palms in the night'" – it all feelz so burdening – the entire world – it drivez one crazy ; and yet . one still thankz the world for thiz gross meal they're forced to consume all alone

"It’s getting late" – and itz about time we stop thiz meaningless crying

"I want to die."

"On a vacant table // There’s some juice and hamburgers // I wonder who will come // And sit down next?" – and the cycle just endz up repeating ; no lessonz learnt . no changez made – meaningless hope for company . and the aftermath of another foreseen disappointment

i also want to speak a bit about what the song iz symbolic for . in my eyez

personally . i think the meal [the hamburgerz . more importantly] reprezent loss / grief / any kind of trauma – eating them impliez handling them

the absence of another person seated at the table reprezentz the lack of support during troubling timez . and the constant begging being reprezentative of begging to have SOMEONE help you during thiz – just ONE shoulder to cry on

the ignorance of people around – whether or not it comez from the fact they already have people there for them . or simply don't pay any mind to onez sobbing – addz onto the belief that the feelingz one iz dealing with are useless . and that they should deal with them on their own . becauze itz clear nobody will come to their aid

the fact "the world reekz of blood" . in my eyez . reprezentz all the awful thingz that happened and how they all end up affecting the way one seez like ; i see thiz lyric to be the most fitting with the "grief" narrative . becauze the death of someone can make the world so bleak and mean absolutely nothing – it all reekz of their blood . tainting everything they loved and everyone they ever met

and yet . since death iz a natural part of the cycle of life . we have to "thank" the world for even letting them live in the first place ; maybe we justify the loss with the "they were too good for thiz wretched world" belief ...

finally . the ending of the song really just showz . az i said . the repetition of the cycle – a bad event happenz . you hope someone will reach out to you during thiz awful spiral . nobody comez . you have to depend on yourself to get through it . you bury it all deep in your heart . you make it seem like you moved on . rise and repeat – and how . even after being shown that the people you're surrounded by are never going to help you in momentz like theze . you still want to devote your time to them and to being together

so dependant on connectionz ... even when the people one iz connected to never help ...

[thatcrazycrowgirl]

I was curious What class was Magnolia family was? Do they have a good relationship with their daughter?

And how was the relationship between nolie's mother and father? ( Like do they hate or love each other or is it neutral)

thanks for answering 🪻

Hello there! Thanks for dropping by and giving me a chance to talk more about Nolie's family! ^_^

So, to answer your questions:

1. The Bensons (Magnolia's family) are part of the upper-middle class. Not super rich, but decently well off, thanks to the business they get from having their lodging house so close to one of the train stations in the City of London district.

2. Magnolia has a pretty good relationship with her parents for the most part. She butts heads more with her mom than her dad (he's the more laid-back parent of the two), but more than half the time they get along. lol

3. Lastly, Olivia and Thomas (Nolie's parents) actually love each other very much. Tom is more openly affectionate out of the two (sometimes embarrassingly so, hehe), whereas Olivia is more private - but make no mistake, even after over two decades of marriage and three kids, the love is still very much there. (After all, Olivia was originally part of the lower-upper class and willingly married "under her station", because she fell so deeply in love with Tom.)

[crossbackpoke-check]

re your notes on the mack post: oh. my. gosh and also 100% AGREED 😵‍💫

(he and will are both ******* those old men lbr)

- @bondedpairs

sometimes i have brief moments of introspection in which i wonder whether or not there are things better left in my drafts and usually i say fuck it we ball and then we DO ball and i love y’all for that. would you still love me if i whip out my footnotes and references

FOOTNOTES:

*somewhere in there is an aside about mack having to think about joe stroking somebody ELSE’s dick on the bench and having a panic about it.

**i DO see the will smith mackelini celebrini ?!;&/‘os everyone has been posting. that is the devil talking as in i cannot become invested or else it will ruin me. f1vegas you are NOT forgiven for putting ‘the tk/pat parking garage vibes of it’ in front of my eyes like my! god! i do NOT WANT TO KNOW THE NARRATIVE (too compelling i think. too much to get into with the bc(?)/bu rivalry and zeev buium was there and there’s another shark too somewhere??. i can’t care about a fish a MACKEREL you guys and will smith is not allowed to be my sharks bicycle because the team whoré borde already exists!!) where i was trying to go is sometimes you both fuck the same old man and he’s like. losers. get a polycule. and they end up together (obviously to me jumbo is in an ???? with patty and burnsie)

ABBV. REFERENCES:

ro’s other post where mack says to “ask smitty about [hunting cougars]” (src: holyjost)

ko’s transcript of fun facts from the interview that made me too endeared. girl nobody made you take advertising courses?? change your major

aforementioned f1vegas post. this is by tags alone because after reading that i was not capable of watching the video

[silhouettecrow]

365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 218

Adjective: Sweet

Noun: Haunt

Definitions for those who need/want them:

Sweet: having the pleasant taste characteristic of sugar or honey, or not salty, sour, or bitter; (of air, water, or food) fresh, pure, and untainted; smelling pleasant like flowers or perfume, or fragrant; pleasing in general, or delightful; highly satisfying or gratifying; (informal) used to express approval or admiration, or excellent; working, moving, or done smoothly or easily; (US) denoting music, especially jazz, played at a steady tempo without improvisation; (of a person or action) pleasant and kind or thoughtful; (especially of a person or animal) charming and endearing; (dated) (informal) infatuated or in love with; dear, or beloved; (archaic) used as a respectful form of address; used for emphasis in various phrases and exclamations; used to emphasize the unpredictable individuality of someone's actions

Haunt: a place frequented by a specified person or group of people; a ghost; a place or event involving a ghost or spirit haunting a person, location, or object

[froothytoothy]

Your Idol

Saja Boys x Idol! Reader │ part 2

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summary - the saja boys finally get to meet you, although they aren't too happy with the way you've been treated

warning - fem reader, light bullying, a lil spice, possessive behaviour, obsessive fan behaviour

w/c - 3,3K

a/n - wish I could like comments, the ones I got on my previous chapter had me BLUSHING I love u all sm! pls correct me if there are any mistakes, comments, reblogs and likes are much appreciated, hope you enjoy!

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Blurred sounds scattered across you as you began to wake up. Your eyes were still blurry, so you couldn't make out the figures surrounding you, but they sounded oddly familiar. 

"Guys, shut up. She's awake".

A warmer, much larger hand grabs yours, "Are you alright now, love? You were out for a while, we were all so worried".

The stranger sounded nice, but your vision still hadn’t cleared up enough to figure out who was talking to you, so all you could do was stare blankly at the person holding your hand. 

The room went silent for a while before being interrupted by another man from your left. "I know she's just confused, but I can't lie that face she's making is so adorable". You assumed he was talking about you and a warm blush coated your cheeks. 

"Romance, now is not the time!"

Romance? As in, from the Saja Boys? 

Your vision soon came back, and surrounding you, you could see all five members of the Saja Boys, each staring at you fondly. 

Abby was the one holding your hand. He was sitting on the infirmary bed with you and Jinu. 

Mystery and Romance were on your left.

And Baby was on your right. 

You couldn't help the gasp you let out once you saw them. 

"Am I dreaming?" you accidentally said aloud. 

Jinu lets out a chuckle, "No darling, we are very much real. I could pinch you if you don't believe me. Are you feeling better now?"

You beamed, eyes sparkling with happiness. It almost sounded too good to be true, but still, you went along with it. 

After being trapped in the studio, you assumed you were too late to meet them. and concluded that it was nearly impossible for a group as popular as the Saja Boys to join a company as small as yours. Talking with other idols, especially those of the opposite gender, at things like award shows wasn't forbidden, but it was strange, so today was probably your only opportunity to meet them, and you did.

Albeit in a very unconventional way.

"I'm feeling a lot better now, thank you so much. I'm so happy to meet you guys, I'm such a big fan. But, what are you doing here with me? Shouldn't you be touring the company?" you questioned, finding it odd how they weren't with Jina, but with you.

“You passed out in Abby’s arms, how could we just leave and pretend nothing happened?” Baby spoke up calmly, although his eyes glistened with hints of worry. Your heart warmed at their thoughtfulness. 

According to Hojin and the other staff members, you weren't an important member, so they often ended up forgetting about you. Whenever something happened to you, they told you to just suck it up.

But despite never meeting you, the Saja Boys already cared so much about you. So much that they would wait here in the infirmary with you. 

Suddenly, you were reminded that you had forgotten to introduce yourself.

“Sorry, I forgot to say, I’m (Y/N). I'm a member of Harmoness. It's an honour to meet you”. You bowed your head, mostly in gratitude. If it weren't for them you'd probably still be stuck in the dance studio.

“We know who you are, princess. We did our research before coming here”, Romance teases, getting closer to the bed and putting his arm around your shoulders. You shivered at the close proximity between you. He began to lean closer, slowly closing the distance. By now, your body had frozen in place, your eyes locked into his. His every move was under your impenetrable gaze. You could see his lips coming closer and closer to yours, till they quickly diverted towards your ear. 

You'd be lying if you said you weren't just a bit disappointed.

The feeling of his warm breath and strong grip had your mind in a frenzy. He was so close you could feel the heat radiate off him and smell the sweet, but musky scent of his cologne. 

“Although you should know, princess, most of our information was from one of us,” he began, turning his head to the side. You followed his gaze, being too curious to stay frozen. 

Your mouth hung slightly in shock once your eyes made contact with an awkward-looking Mystery. His feet were shuffling across the ground, and his head was drooped down, almost like he was guilty of something. 

Romance walked away from you, much to your dismay, and came back dragging Mystery, who seemed very unwilling. “Go on, man, you can do it. You've been waiting so long for this moment”.

Mystery refused, shaking his head firmly. Watching the scene unfold was the equivalent of watching someone grow an extra head. You were left utterly confused. Why would Mystery know anything about you? Them doing research before coming here made sense, but out of all the people they got their information from, why was it Mystery? 

Mystery was the cool, mysterious figure of the group, so watching him act like this, so embarrassed, it was honestly so adorable. Perhaps the mysterious, quiet persona he had was just a cover-up for his shy personality.

Romance shook his head in disappointment. “Mystery is a big fan of yours, (Y/N). He's a little too shy to admit it, though”. You blinked slowly, taking in the revolutionary, newfound information. For a moment, you thought you had heard him wrong.

Mystery, a fan?

Of you?

You were surprised that he even knew about you, but being a “big fan”, it just seemed impossible. 

A monotone-like voice perked up, “Ever since you debuted, I've been a fan”. Taking a closer look at Mystery, you could see a red hue crawling up his neck and ears. Just saying that much was too much for him, but he pushed through the embarrassment and continued, slowly coming closer to you. “Honestly, I didn't care about the others, I only liked you”.

Despite how unbelievable it was, it was the truth. Before being recruited by Jinu and becoming one of the Saja Boys, Mystery had been obsessed with you since your debut. His time in the Underworld became a lot more bearable once you entered his life. The image of your warm smile burned layers into his brain. He’d seen countless hours of footage of other humans, and despite his very stoic face, he could tell how fake their smiles were, but yours. Yours was carved by angels.

His need to consume human souls almost completely subsided once his hunger was directed towards you.

Although it was a very different type of hunger.

Mystery had become completely infatuated with you, so when Jinu proposed that he join the Saja Boys, he knew this was his way of finally getting to you. 

And now you were finally right in front of him, but all those hours of planning were in vain. He just couldn't find the right words to say. Couldn't figure out how to stand or move right. His heart wouldn't stop beating, and his head wouldn't stop replaying the images from his fantasies. It was all too much at once. He was glad Romance had stepped in to help. 

You sat there, blissfully unaware of the turmoil occurring within Mystery. The other members stared at the both of you in amusement, knowing just how deep Mystery's obsession with you was. When he talked, it was only ever about you. 

And once the members saw you passed out in Abby's arms, they could finally understand him. They could smell the purity radiating off you, and with that, a warm, longing feeling overcame them. They would often tease Mystery for his strange fixation with you, but now they were all just as crazy about you. 

An adorable, child-like giggle interrupted their thoughts. You thought it was silly how someone as talented as Mystery would be a fan of someone like you. He even said he didn't care about the other members, which you found even more amusing. 

Still, it made your heart flutter knowing you were special to him. You looked up at him and smiled even wider, almost laughing at the confused look on Mystery’s face. “Thank you for your support! I never would've thought I'd be saying that kinda thing to someone like you. I figured I was so irrelevant that no one would notice me, but it's crazy how you guys do”, you babble, oblivious to the changing emotions going through the boys.

‘Irrelevant’

The word sent ripples of disgust through them. 

Being the most level-headed of the group, Jinu asked the question that was on everyone’s minds. “Why would you be irrelevant?” 

Maybe it was because you’d just woken up, or the lack of food in your stomach, that you ended up speaking without thinking. “My manager likes to tell me that a lot because I'm the least popular member of Harmoness. But he thinks that that’s a good thing because my looks and vocals aren't very good”. 

Looking around the room, you realized you had chosen the wrong dialogue. You could see each of their faces, drenched in what looked like rage. You couldn't understand what about your sentence made them this angry, but still you apologized. 

“Sorry, I'm just rambling at this point. It's probably cause I'm so hungry, that's probably why I passed out. My manager has me on this really strict diet and I never had breakfast-”.

You quickly stopped yourself, realizing that this definitely wasn't helping the situation.

“I wasn't supposed to tell you that, please just forget everything you heard”. But looking around the room, you knew they wouldn't be able to. How could they, when someone as precious as you was forced to suffer, even just for a minute. It broke their hearts to think about. 

The sound of a door slamming open quickly drew your attention towards it, and you could see Baby running out of the room in a hurry. 

Did you do something to upset him? 

“He's just going to do something real quick, he'll be back,” Abby says, and you nod, still a bit confused. 

You felt a wave of awkwardness enter the room, so you quickly changed the subject. “So, how did you guys find the tour? Are you thinking of joining?” You were very curious to know, praying that they’d at least consider it. Because of their explosive popularity, you knew they'd be treated like gods if they were here.

Jinu spoke up, still looking frustrated. “It was alright, I mean people did keep sucking up to us. Although, Romance and Abby had no complaints about that”. You let out another giggle, yeah, that definitely sounded like them. 

The sweet sound that came out of you had put the boys in a temporary trance. To them, everything you did was adorable.

They didn't bother asking what you thought of the company, already knowing how mistreated you were. It was something Mystery had picked up on from looking at hours of behind-the-scenes footage of you. He’d picked up on your changing behaviour, quick weight loss, and awkward chemistry between your members. 

So after piecing together all the footage, he figured mistreatment was definitely plausible. But still, hearing it from you, seeing you try to hide it. It sickened, not just him, but all of them. 

It was also suspicious the way your ‘leader’, Jina, wasn't too pleased about the idea of helping you. She was confident someone would come find you, but from your screams, they could tell no one had come for hours. How could they just walk away from you? Plus, you seemed a little too attached to Abby’s chest, even refusing to let go once you reached the infirmary. 

Suddenly, the door burst open, revealing Baby holding several kinds of unhealthy-looking junk food. He plopped them down on your lap and looked away nonchalantly, “For you”.

You looked down at the pile, mouth watering at the sight of the buffet of calories. You couldn't remember the last time you had a burger, or even instant noodles. It was definitely too much for you to handle, but you appreciated his efforts. 

“Thank you so much”, you beamed. You were so grateful, not just to Baby, but to all of them. Never in your life had you felt so loved and cared for. 

As if possessed, you began digging into whatever random food you picked up from the pile. You scarfed down one burger for the next, and honestly, you didn't feel ashamed.  It would’ve been rude if you didn't eat the food Baby bought for you, that's the only reason you were eating it, you thought. 

Due to the speed of your consumption, you forgot to chew and ended up choking. You started coughing and looking around the room, in search of a drink. A hand touched your shoulder, and you look up to see Mystery, holding a bottle of water. 

Quickly, you took the drink and gulped it down. Once you were done you exhaled in relief, “You saved me”, you laughed, looking up at Mystery with gratitude. “I've not eaten this much in so long, I must've gotten a bit too excited”.

You turned to Baby, who was on his phone, and asked, “How much was all this? I'll pay you back”. He turned, looking bored, before returning to his phone. 

“The staff gave it to me for free”.

Honestly, you found that hard to believe, but maybe it was because of how famous Baby was. Perhaps they wanted to give a good impression of the company, so they didn’t want him paying. 

The others let out a small smirk, knowing what had really happened out there. He most likely sucked out the souls of some of the staff and took the food for himself. But he wouldn't tell you that. 

The sweet moment was eventually ruined by the sounds of agitated screaming coming from behind the door. “She ruined everything, Manager! I tried to stop them, but they wouldn't listen”.

Everyone, including you, cringed at the sounds of complaint. You prepared for the whirlpool of trouble you were about to receive. 

The door burst open, revealing a pissed, middle-aged man. His gaze locked on you, his mouth wide open, ready to scream at you. That was until he saw the five boys surrounding you, each looking at the manager with a look that could kill. 

Hojin quickly put on a rehearsed smile and came up to ask how you were. You knew it was just an act, something to look better in front of the boys but you still went along with it; you’d done enough to damage his reputation already.

Behind him, you could see your fellow members, glaring at you from the door, but once their eyes made contact with the Saja Boys, they quickly switched up, putting on a perfect smile and even fixing up their hair. The boys responded with a snarl.

“So, boys, I take it you enjoyed the tour,” Hojin remarked, not wanting to focus on you any longer. To him, the Saja Boys were a prize, and he needed to win it. Harmoness had clearly run its course, so maybe he'd have better luck with the Saja boys, he thought. 

None of the boys wanted to answer, especially not to someone like him. All they wanted to do was go back to watching you. Watch you smile. Hear you giggle. And feel the warmth your heart gave out. But they couldn't, not when there were others around.

Jinu, being the leader, was forced to speak up. “It was good, definitely needs some improvements though”.

“Oh, any suggestions?” Hojin questioned, eager to please in any way he could. 

“The dance studio needs to be closer to other people,” he sneered coldly, still not over how you’d been trapped for so long. His heart ached with the thought of you being scared and alone in there.

Hojin laughed awkwardly, not knowing what to say in response. Jina spoke up, coming closer to Jinu, “I'm assuming you're planning on joining our company, I'd love to see you more,” she flirts, getting closer and closer to him. 

During the tour, she was so focused on the members that they barely got anywhere. She also had a nasty habit of showing off whenever she could. Being the most popular member of Harmoness really gave her an ego.

“We'll let you know at the Idol Awards,” Jinu said, backing away from Jina. 

Your head shot up and turned towards Jinu, “You're going to be at the Idol Awards too?” Jinu's eyes went back to yours and immediately softened, feeling you were much easier to be around than these other pesky humans. 

You could see Abby about to respond, but was cut off by Soo-ah. “Doesn't she know anything? They announced this weeks ago”. Each of the boys turned to glare at the maknae, but her attention was too focused on you for her to take notice. 

Abby ignored her and spoke, leaning closer to you. “We'll be at the Idol Awards performing our new song, will you be there for us, love?”

Hojin and the girls looked at each other in confusion. How could you have gotten so close to them already? Jina was especially jealous, wondering how the spotlight was taken by someone as insignificant as you. 

The nickname sent you blushing, and you nodded. “We're also going to perform a new song there, we've been working really hard on it!”

“We can't wait to hear it, darling, but unfortunately, we have to leave now,” Jinu says, and you couldn't help the frown forming on your lips. You felt like you had just met them and wanted to spend more time with them. This is the best moment you've had in years. 

“Don't look too sad, princess, we'll meet again soon,” Romance smirked, and you perked up slightly at the thought. You were glad they wanted to see you, just as much as you wanted to see them. 

“And don't even think about paying me back for the snacks, they're all yours,” Baby chimes, his face showing a ghost of a smirk on it. 

Mystery gave you a shy wave and left along with the others. You were going to miss them. The Idol Awards weren’t that far away, but you had no idea how you were going to recover once they were gone. The mark they left on you stained layers deep. 

Although it definitely motivated you to practice even harder, knowing they were going to be there watching.

Jinu was the last to leave, but not before asking Hojin and the girls to come outside with him, leaving you alone. Thank goodness, you did not want another lecture from anyone right now. 

You started putting the pile of food on the nightstand, but something had caught your eye. On one of the crisp packets, you saw a Post-it note. 

xx-xxxx-xxxx  call me don't text I want to hear your voice ❤ - Baby 

Out of all the things you expected the note to say, it wasn't that. Despite his adorable, nonchalant on-stage persona, Baby was anything but. In person, he often kept to himself, hardly speaking and allowing his looks to do the talking for him. But online, he was the complete opposite. With his appearance hidden, he could speak his mind freely. It’s why Baby is so attached to using his phone.

It had been the reason why he was acting so bored when he was with you. On the outside, it looked as though he hardly cared for you, but on the inside, his heart was blooming with emotions just for you.

You really had no idea just how much these boys loved you. In your mind, you assumed the boys just wanted to be your friend.

What you didn't realize was that the boys weren't interested in being just friends, but so much more. 

But you were going to find that out soon. 

Very soon. 

────────────────────────────

a/n - thank you @jellyjellyghost for letting me know how to format korean phone numbers :D

@ryujinxzyy @mazzk1ng @katzline @faerie-soirxx @satansdaughter123 @tediouslyboredoflife @dixonsbugaboo @ffcfffr @thesimppotato11 @gremlinartstudio @strayharmony943 @thirsty4fandoms @valeriele3 @confusedparticle @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @the-sweet-psycho @yandereaficionado @vvyeislazzy @reallysparklychaos @chugjugg @junebuggz @anonymousewrites @unadulteratedzombiechaos @coolnekochan9961 @celestnlav @totired0-0 @venommie @lyladoesart @yuichi-cat @sunoosmainchick @ateezswonderland @certifiedhater1235 @chucklefucksworld @sparky2020sworld @cumsluut @lilymoonwolf2 @wtfgiyuu23 @etherjen @metztli-07 @luluprincess230lp @rosapops2666 @genyas-husband @daiyanomochi @emberswithers @iv-vee @soukoku63 @auriuswolve @mimiu3usoft @randomfan218-blog @minkyungseokie

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@crustypatatos @i-l0ve-luci @poptrim @rauvolfioideae @kisseiuv @chirikoheina @lighthouseraven34 @sunnywrites101 @day-gone @gl00muraaii @julianne1024 @sashagaming1012 @himikoquack @reiofsuns2001 @the141bandicoot

[lucenra]

The Favorite

𝓟airing ↳ Saja Boys X Manager!F!Reader

𝓘𝓷 𝔀𝓱𝓲𝓬𝓱 .. you’re their favorite human. (HEADCANNONS)

𝓦arnings .. no warnings !

𝓐uthor's note .. Hello i love da saja boys 🤤🤤

— You were in their dressing room, writing stuff down on your clipboard as they were getting touch ups.

“Urgh– N/N, can you help me please?” You heard Baby struggle. You subtly rolled your eyes and walked over to him. He was tugging at his collar like it was choking him, fidgeting with the top button. You waited patiently until he stopped, then reached out and unbuttoned it for him. He then smiled at you and said thank you. You just gave him a look and walked away.

— Another time was when they were at their building late at night. They had just gone on break, so they were taking every opportunity they could get.

Mystery decided to cook ramen noodles as an offering to you—since you were always the one offering to cook for them. He didn’t realize how hot the pot was and ended up touching the outside of it. He hissed in pain and quickly called you over. You sighed and inspected his hands, trying to find the burn. You literally didn’t see anything, but he pointed to where it hurt, so you kissed it and gently rubbed the spot.

“Is that better?”

He stopped pouting and smiled. “Thank you, N/N.”

All the other members were jealous that he basically got kissed by you. Romance then walked over to the pot and pretended to burn his finger too, hoping for a kiss as well. But you knew exactly what he was doing, so you just went back to the couch to finish your movie.

— They loved teasing you. Especially Romance. He knew how good he can flirt with all the girls, so he takes advantage of it and tries to make you fold. ( Spoiler alert, you never give in. )

— Jinu might just be the most normal one in the group. He’s quiet, charming, nice to you sometimes, and he acts like a real human.

— They might annoy you all the time, but they’re quick to defend or protect you.

One time, they were on VLive when someone left a comment about you, calling you a “pick me” and saying you needed to quit.

Mind you, the VLive was being managed from your phone– because none of the boys knew how a phone actually worked, or even had one anymore, since they kept managing to break theirs.

As soon as they saw the comment, they jumped to your defense. Mystery shot a dirty look at the camera after reading it. “What even is a pick me? Whatever it is, you’re probably one,” Abby said. “Yeah, don’t come into our live just to talk shit about our perfect manager,” Baby added. “Who was talking shit about our manager?” Romance asked, snapping back to reality. “Stop with these negative comments. That’s not nice,” Jinu chimed in.

You had to quickly end the live and remind them that they can’t curse, it could cause a scandal.

They ended up apologizing afterward.

— They hated how their group was portrayed, they were demons for fucks sake, why were they singing about a drink and doing ‘aeygo’?

“What are these bright colors?”

“Aegyo? What’s that?”

“I can’t learn this dance.”

“What are these stage names? Wha– mine is Baby?!”

“You’re telling me I have to do cute poses..”

“Yeah, I'm not doing that.”

[joelsgoldrush]

“guilty pleasure” | 8.6k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

SUMMARY: After saving Earth-10005 from impending disaster, Wade convinces Logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. He’s convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. Suddenly, sticking around doesn’t seem so bad after all.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. grumpy!logan x sunshine!reader. reader is really kind but cracks a lot of jokes. age gap (25 vs 200 - they’re basically the same age). oral sex (f receiving). fingering. finger sucking. soft dom!logan. wade being the funniest asshole. logan calls reader "kiddo/kid”.

A/N: HI! first of all, i'd like to thank you for all the support you showed me on my recent post. let me just tell you that i’m LOVING writing for logan. but none of this would be possible without YOU, so yeah, i fucking love y’all.

** regarding this story, i was planning on making it even longer, but writing these two has been so much fun, and i didn’t want it to end just like that (i have attachment issues as you may infer from this note). therefore, i’ve made the decision to write a second part to this fic, which will contain fluff and other stuff (you already know the drill). i don’t know when i’ll be posting it, but i’m sure it won’t take me that long.

*** i’m also working on other one shots (purely fluff/domesticity because i want this man to cradle me in his arms). anyway, i don’t know if anyone’s going to read this, but still, all I have to say is THANK YOU FOR READING MY WORKS! i hope you really like this silly story i made up :)

**** english is not my first language so if you come across any mistakes don’t hesitate to tell me :)

special recognition to @zloshy who allowed me to rant about my own fic 😭 the sweetest human ever

The bar is far from packed, but then again, it never truly is.

Studying your regulars has become your favorite hobby. Soon you end up knowing their names, the drinks they like, and what time they come through the door. It’s what happens when standing on your own two feet and refilling glasses lose all their charm. A part of you thinks you also do it to make them feel safe. No matter how much you try to deny it, you truly care about their well-being.

Is this your dream job? Nope. Definitely not. You’re pretty sure that holding some stranger’s hair while they empty their insides wasn’t on your bingo card for this year. But sadly money doesn’t grow on trees, and university isn’t going to pay itself. Plus, this was the only job in which your resume was not immediately rejected. It should also be stressed that the drunks happen to love you. 

Perhaps this isn’t the life you had always imagined for yourself, but you were getting closer to it. You’d often talk to Adam, a retired psychologist in his seventies. He was without a doubt one of the most loyal clients you’d ever encountered. In the past, he’d even given you free advice on some of your failed hookups. You once told him that in less than two years, you’d be just like him when you got your degree in Psychology. To your surprise, he replied: “You’ll be much better than me, doll. I’m a mess, can’t you see it? You don’t wanna be like me,” his voice was hardly above a whisper as he continued. “I should be at my daughter’s birthday right now, but I didn’t get an invitation this year. Believe me, you don’t want to end up like this old man.” 

Like Adam, most of the men who frequented the bar day-to-day saw it as an opportunity to hide within the shadows. In comparison to the other pubs in the area, the one you work at doesn’t receive that much attention from the general public. A dimly lit place where only music from the 80s is allowed. You’re certain that if a health inspector ever came down here, you’d be in serious problems. But hey, you know what they say: do not worry about tomorrow; instead, live in the now.

The atmosphere of the bar shifts dramatically as the main door slams shut with a resounding thud, pulling you abruptly out of your daydreaming. You turn to see who’s arrived, but as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re compelled to look away. Nevertheless, the brief glance you catch of the stranger’s features is enough for you to unlock your phone and send a quick text to your best friend. 

You:

cutie patootie alert

there’s this really handsome guy at the bar

i don’t think i’ve ever seen him before

i think i’m in love with him

my night just got a 100% better

Allison:

age

what does he look like

is he bald?

You:

he looks like he could be in his early fifties??? it’s hard to tell UGH i wish you were here

brown hair, beard, 6’2 if i’m not wrong 

i didn’t stare at him for too long

otherwise that would’ve been very weird

and no he’s not fucking bald

that happened only once and i was not aware of that gentleman’s lack of hair 

Allison:

so you’re dating retired now

get it grandma!

You:

oh fuck you allison 

Allison: 

it’s okay girl we all have our flaws

just make sure it’s nobody’s father

wait it’s not mine right?

You:

nah your dad’s way hotter don’t you worry about it

Allison:

bitch 

Even with the music blasting through the speakers that are attached to the ceiling, you can still hear the low murmur and the whispers. The mysterious stranger seems to have attracted the attention of the other patrons, some of whom have even raised their phones to take photos. Your eyebrows draw together. Why would they do something like this, approaching the man as if he were a celebrity? Since curiosity never fails to kill the cat, you decide to get involved.

“Do I have somethin’ on my face?” you hear him ask the crowd, his raspy voice making your knees wobbly. He sounds enraged. You step on your tiptoes, trying to see what all the fuss is about, albeit it’s pretty hard considering how these men are caging him with their bodies.

The glow of a phone’s flashlight catches your attention, and suddenly, a chair is dragged without much elegance. “Enough of that, y’hear me?”

Enter you now. “Okay, gentlemen, I’m sorry. I’m gonna need you to make some space for me, alright?” you mumble as you gently push them aside. “Thank you, thank you. Y’all can be real sweethearts when you put your minds to it.”

Then you spot him, and it becomes clear why everyone is making such a fuss. 

Gary, your worst client ever, steps forward. His nasty breath clouds your senses as he rests one of his sweaty hands on your shoulder. “Doll, it’s the fucking Wolverine. Don’t ask him for a picture, though. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for that.”

The last thing you needed to see today was a fight (despite your knowledge of who would be the winner). You locate yourself amidst them, shaking your head like a disappointed mother, so as to add a tiny bit of drama to the situation.

“Guys, what you’re doing here is completely inappropriate. I thought I’d taught you better. Imagine if I were to pull this crap on you. You wouldn’t have it.”

Adam presses his lips together, flushing a bit. “She does have a point.” 

“Thank you, peanut. You’re still my favorite,” you flash him an honest smile. Scrutinizing the rest of the men, you continue with your speech. “You can still make up for it and fill my tip jar all the way to the top. Deal?” they all scoff, barking their disagreement. “Oh, you don’t like the sound of that? Then leave him alone, okay? Class dismissed! Back to your places,” you clap your hands repeatedly, signaling them to go away. “Chop chop. All this alcohol won’t be drinking itself.”

Just like that, everything goes back to normal in the blink of an eye. Wolverine sits back down in his chair, leaning closer to the table and resting both elbows on it. He examines you, lifting his chin while his brown eyes take in every inch of you.

“Thank you,” he utters, his eyes still trained on your features. 

“No need to. It’s what I’m here for,” you point to your work clothes, which consist of an antiqued apron and a silly sticker that has your name written on it. “Can I get you anything to drink? It’s also Burger Night. You can get one for half the usual price.”

(No. It’s not fucking Burger Night. You just happen to find yourself deeply attracted to him.)

He doesn’t seem too eager to hear you talk. “Not hungry at the moment. But I could use some whiskey.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, kid. Very sure.” Well, now he does look annoyed.

“Great. I’ll be back in a minute,” you move as if you were in a race, returning to him after a hot minute. Setting his glass down on the table, you fill it with some old whiskey you don’t even know the name of. Still, he omits that detail, gulping down two-fingers of whiskey as if it were water. “I see you’re thirsty.”

“Could you leave the bottle here?” those brown puppy eyes are begging you to do as he says, and although you’d be happy to oblige, rules are rules. 

“Actually, I can’t. The bottle stays on the counter. But you can always join me at the front,” your proposal doesn’t appear to have the desired effect on him. “I won’t talk to you if that’s what you want.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he rubs his neck, drawing a long breath as he stands up. 

You can feel many pairs of eyes searing into your soul. The others ask you for more drinks and you pour them, pricking up your ears when you hear them talking about him.

“What a weirdo. Didn’t you see it on TV? He’s not even from this universe,” Gary explains, looking for accomplices to hate on Wolverine. “Let me tell y’all something: he shouldn’t even be here. He’s fucking dead on this earth.”

Yeah… that you knew.

It had been all over the news for weeks. Some would even swear that he was back from the dead, but that was until the representatives from the TVA spoke their truth. If someone would’ve told you a month ago that multiple universes were a thing, you would’ve laughed in their face.

As if that weren’t already difficult to process, your mind does the job of reminding you that there’s a man with metal claws sitting a few meters away from you. Despite that, you can’t seem to be scared of him. There’s something magnetic about his personality and that don’t-come-near-me-or-there-will-be-consequences expression that he has. Why had you promised not to speak to him? Dammit.

“I can hear your thoughts,” a muscle in his jaw twitches after knocking back another glass of whiskey. He squeezes his eyes shut before tapping the table with two fingers, silently asking for a refill.

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk,” you raise one of your eyebrows, and you behold how the corners of his mouth turn up for an instant. “I can assure you your liver hates you.”

“Alcohol won’t kill me, so don’t be afraid. Keep ‘em coming.”

For nearly twenty minutes, he does nothing but drink. He attempts to light a cigar at some point, and you stop him. “You can’t smoke in here.”

“No special treatment?” he inquires, placing the cigar between his parted lips and tilting his head back. He’s so… dreamy. He has to know it.

“I saved your ass today. The least you can do is not cause me any trouble.”

His eyes widen at your words, blinking owlishly. “You saved my what?”

“Your goddamn ass. You were about to start a fight.”

“Blame the idiots you have for clients,” he says, jerking his thumb toward your direction. “I was just mindin’ my own business. They came for me, not the other way around.”

“Look, Wolvie. I–”

“Wolvie?” giving a bitter laugh, he rams a hand through his hair. “That’s the worst nickname I’ve heard in a long time,” he looks at you through his lashes, getting rid of his leather jacket. “It’s Logan.”

“Wow. Your name is very boybandish.”

You succeed in making him laugh once again. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to observe his face without feeling like you were just about to get caught. He has deep creases and worry lines etched between his eyebrows, a brown beard that perfectly frames his jaw, and a few white hairs scattered in his sideburns. Pearly teeth that go hand in hand with one of the most impeccable smiles you’ve ever seen, and a pair of brown eyes that make you feel weak in the knees. You know for a fact that he’s a lot older than you; his exact age remains a mystery, but his appearance is enough for you to start fantasizing.

Shit, you want him. You should feel sickened by the mere thought of being with him. He was born God knows when, has lived hundreds of years. Still, the idea of tracing his cheekbones with your fingers while lying on his chest doesn’t leave you. This is fucked up. You are fucked up. A fucked up Psychology student. The joke is pretty much self-explanatory.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding, you preening slut. Can’t even bother to answer my calls now?”

The tension between you shatters like a glass dropped onto the floor. He doesn’t dare to look in the direction of the owner of that voice, not even as the seat next to him gets taken. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Wade, what the hell are you doin’ here?”

“It hasn’t been exactly easy, raising our kid on my own. I don’t even have money to hire a babysitter, Lo. I spent nine months carrying your child, and for what? You end up going after a bartender,” the masked man turns to you, giving a sly wink. “No offense, baby. You must be a real sweetheart. In fact, do you want my number? The name’s Wade, but you can call me whatever you like.”

“You dumb fuck. Are you flirtin’ with her?”

“No shit, smartass. You’re the future of this country.”

A soft giggle escapes you despite your attempt to hold it back. You take a step back, admiring the two men. “Well, aren’t you two a beautiful couple?”

“You should see our little munchkin. He’s got my eyes and Logan’s hair. His first word was gubernatorial.”

“Would you like to have a drink while you’re here?”

“A beer would be great. Thank you, sugarbear. You’re the cutest,” Wade sinks back into his chair, resting his chin on his palm. He jerks his head in Logan’s direction, bumping his shoulder. “She’s the cutest. Are you two together?”

Logan rubs his forehead, speaking through gritted teeth. “How did you find me?”

“It's the power of love, baby. I had It’s All Coming Back To Me Now on repeat for hours. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Handing Wade a cold beer, your eyes scan Logan’s face. “I didn’t know patience was your strongest suit.”

“Me neither.”

“Enough of that! I can’t stand not being included in a conversation,” Wade throws his hands in the air, and you look at him. “There you are. So, what about you? Are you even allowed to be here? Did bars change their policies?”

You can’t help but snort. “I’m 25.”

Wade looms closer, lowering his voice. “Now that I think about it, you could totally be Logan’s caretaker. He’s been having some issues recently, given his age. Do you… know anything about adult diapers?”

But then Logan’s face contorts, turning crimson. He rises from his seat, grabbing Wade’s arm. “That’s it. We’re leavin’,” his eyes lock on you for a moment. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

The things you’re willing to do for a man, right? You should be ashamed of yourself.

(But you aren’t.)

His mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Kiddo, are you–”

“Completely sure,” you finish his sentence for him, bowing your head and clasping your arms behind your body. A tight-lipped smile takes over you. “Just don’t tell my boss.”

Wade shifts his gaze back and forth between Logan and you. “I usually don’t mind third-wheeling, but I sort of feel left out.”

“I’m gonna sew your mouth shut, Wade.”

“Oh, come on! I was just making small talk,” the masked man tries to excuse himself while Logan pushes him towards the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sunshine. I’m free on Thursdays. Hit me up if his whiskey dick fails to impress you! Mine’s way more agile and young!”

As you watch them leave the bar, you remain frozen in your place amidst the clamor of ongoing chatter and clinking glasses.

What the fuck had just happened?

“Patrick’s normally the first one to get wasted during weekends,” you explain to the blonde woman sitting in front of you, and she writes that information down in her notebook. “He can usually handle himself, but at some point, he’ll try to call his ex-wife, and that’s when you know you need to stop serving him.”

She clicks her tongue, the color draining out of her face. “This is… definitely a lot to remember. I think I already forgot half of what you said.”

You shake your head, shoving your hands in your pockets. “You’ll get used to it, believe me. I’ll be with you at all times, so if you have any doubts, just ask me.”

After a whole year of working solo at the bar, you finally get to have a coworker: Gwen, a mother of two teenagers in her forties. You had met her at the grocery store, and in the process of helping her find a specific brand of cookies, you found out that she had recently lost her job. One thing led to another, and now she’s your trainee.

Your savior complex strikes again!

It has been four days since your first encounter with Logan. The thought that he could show up at any moment makes your heart race and your hands sweat. Allison had received countless voice messages where you narrated the entire experience in full detail. 

Touching your arm softly, Gwen’s face lights up. “Another man came in. Is he a regular? I don’t think you told me about him.”

Fuck, it’s him. Manifesting does work wonders. He locks eyes with you and raises a hand in greeting.

“Leave this one to me,” you tell her as your feet take you to where Logan’s sitting, contemplating the way in which his leather jacket hugs his wide frame. “Long time no see.”

“Hey, kid,” he grins. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Nobody has puked yet, so that’s a good thing,” you crinkle your nose, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Whiskey?”

“You know me so well,” a smirk takes place in his lips, and he smiles cockily. “Though this time, I won’t be leavin’ without payin’.”

“We’ll see about that,” you go back to your usual spot behind the counter, looking for a glass. Your cheeks kind of hurt from smiling so hard. Next to you, Gwen studies your reaction to seeing Logan. “Is that your boyfriend?”

You almost drop the whiskey bottle. “God, no. He’s not my boyfriend. Barely know the guy.”

“It’s funny,” she says, raising her eyebrows with a knowing look, as if she knows something you don’t. “He hasn’t stopped looking at you since he arrived.”

“It’s probably because of this,” you reply, lifting the bottle in her direction before pouring a small amount into a glass. Just as you’re about to walk over to him, a girl slides into the sit beside him, her long blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She’s wearing a stunning red dress and black heels. You wonder if she’s a model, because she certainly looks like one.

Her hand creeps up his arm, fingernails scraping against the worn leather. Although Logan’s expression is hard to read, he doesn’t even flinch.

“You know what? Here’s his drink– You take care of it. I’ll stay here,” you don’t give Gwen a chance to talk back, instead staying behind the bar, engaging in small talk with other clients. 

“Doll, are you okay?” Adam asks you after noticing you struggling to open a beer bottle. He takes it from your hands and opens it with ease. “There you go.”

“Thank you, Adam. I’m fine, never been better. Why you ask?

“You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

“You mixed up our drinks,” he explains in his most psychologist-like voice. “This never happens to you. Michael has my wine, and I’ve got his martini.”

“Fuck! I’m so sorry. I just— I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you chew on your bottom lip, rubbing your temples. “I feel stupid.”

“Oh, please. Don’t say that. You’re far from being stupid,” he sits up straight, reaching for your fingers and giving them an apologetic squeeze. “If you ask me, I think you’ve got your mind on someone else,” he must notice how you visibly get tense because he adds: “Remember: I know when you’re lying. You didn’t charge him the other day, which means that you must really like him,” taking a tentative sip of the martini he didn’t even ordered, Adam shrugs. “I’m a great observer. That’s all.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the blonde girl from before returning to where her friends are chatting. Logan is left alone, and you watch him grab his glass and head towards the counter.

“As I said, your mind’s somewhere else,” Adam sighs, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. “Go get your man. I’ll survive.”

“Not my man. But thanks, older-and-wiser-version-of-cupid.”

Pretending not to have seen Logan, you continue with your work. He remains silent for some minutes before finally saying: “Hi.”

Hi? It sounds so out of character for him.

“Hey, claws,” you force a smile, still avoiding to meet his gaze. “Do you need anything?”

Logan points to his empty glass, like a toddler asking for more cereal. “I also wanted to talk to you.”

“I thought you were busy over there,” you say, surprisingly managing to sound nonchalant, despite the jealousy bubbling underneath your friendly tone. “Did you get her number?”

“What? No.”

“Why not? She’s cute.”

Yeah, maybe you don’t sound as collected as you think.

Whether Logan notices it or not, he chooses not to mention it. He folds his arms over his chest, fixing his brown eyes on you. “I’m not interested.”

“And what is it that interests you, champ?” your question elicits a low chuckle from him. Just as he opens his mouth to seemingly reply, Gwen appears out of nowhere to ask you about the price of a certain drink. Your gaze shifts between her and Logan, who remains focused on you while sipping his drink.

After that, Gwen leaves. The man in front of you goes poker-faced, pursing his lips, and his abrupt change in demeanor alarms you. “Wade wants to have dinner tomorrow at his apartment– well, our apartment. I live with him now. It’s complicated,” he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand, and you laugh. “Anyway, he asked me to tell you that you’re invited. I know we don’t know each other that much, but… he said you seem like someone worth havin’ around,” he mumbles awkwardly, eyes downcast. “I think the same as well.”

You could die at peace.

“You’re a lucky fucker because I don’t work on Sundays,” you quip, smiling. “I’d be more than happy to attend your feast.”

“Great. I thought you would turn down the invitation.”

“Now why would you think that?”

“‘Cause you barely know me– us,” he corrects himself rapidly. “Plus, Wade’s annoying as hell when he puts his mind to it. You’ll see.”

“Marital problems?” he actually in response. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Oh, I’ll bring the dessert.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I do want to,” you tilt your head in an effort to hide your longing for him.

“Just want to get under my skin, huh? I can see why Wade likes you,” Logan beams, reaching out to tuck a $100 bill into the pocket of your apron. “The tip’s included.”

“I don’t know how things work in your universe, but you’re giving me way more money than you’re supposed to. I can't accept this.”

“Oh, but you will,” his gravelly voice fucks your system up, and you’re glad he can’t see how you squeeze your legs together behind the bar.

He writes down Wade’s address on a random napkin, holding his breath as he stands up. “I should get goin’. See you tomorrow then.”

Before he walks out the door, you stop him. “Logan? You didn’t answer my other question.”

His back shakes momentarily with laughter. Turning around to face you, his stare leaves you even more confused. “Good night, doll.”

This is becoming a habit: every time he goes away, you feel as though you’ve just run a marathon with no water available. Your mouth is completely dry, your fingers are numb and there’s a knot in your stomach that’s becoming all too familiar.

“Would you mind telling me where you got him?” Gwen’s voice makes you almost jump out of your skin.

“He’s not from around here. I think he’s Canadian.”

You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You’ve got this.

Knocking softly on Wade’s door, you step back, the container holding the tiramisu cold to your touch. It’s your first time trying out this recipe, so you’re expecting it to at least not taste like shit.

Wade answers the apartment door, acting surprised when you remain silent. “Well, look what the wind blew in: if it isn’t my husband’s lover. How dare you? We’re still going to couples therapy.”

You show him the container, and he squints at it. “Tiramisu. You want it or not?”

“I hate twenty-somethings,” he says with a defeated sigh, stepping aside to let you into the apartment. 

Leaving your purse on the nearest surface, you scan the living room, wondering where Logan might be. There’s a small mirror beneath the couch, and you check yourself for the hundredth time tonight. “Don’t get too excited. He’s still showering,” Wade’s voice rings in your ears, and you turn to look at him, your eyebrows knitted. “Yeah. I noticed. You’re already drooling over that big piece of metal between his legs.”

“Keep quiet!” you cover his mouth with your palm, noticing the scarred state of his skin up close. “Wade, you fucking dog. Are you licking my hand?”

“Couldn’t help it. You taste like mascarpone cheese and espresso.”

Then Logan emerges from the bathroom, with only a white towel draped around his waist. Droplets of water fall from his wet hair, tracing the muscle of his abs, ending somewhere beneath his happy trail. Your eyes keep flickering between him and his torso until he clears his throat. “I thought you were comin’ later.”

“Me too, but I…,” you trail off, your brain struggling to catch up, “I didn’t know what else to do at my place.”

“It’s fine. Just– let me put on some clothes.”

“Please don’t,” Wade murmurs next to you, but Logan only scoffs. “I was just being honest. Communication is key.”

When Wade and you are alone again, he lets out a harsh breath. “That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My pants are really tight right now.”

“Thin walls, buddy!” Logan shouts from his bedroom, earning a laugh from you. 

Like A Prayer starts playing. Wade moves his hips to the beat, getting lost in the melody. “Is that your phone?”

“Yeah, but I always take a few seconds to dance to it. Such a banger!” he says, then picks up his phone, accepting the call. “Hey, Ness! What´s up?” Wade covers the speaker before telling you: “It’s Vanessa. My ex-girlfriend. We fuck once a week, sometimes even twice.”

From behind, Logan nudges your arm with his, looking at you. ”Hey, kid.”

“No, I’m not busy at all,” Wade exclaims, grabbing his crotch and thrusting into the air. “I’ll be there in ten, cupcake. See you,” he spreads his arms wide and whistles. “Someone’s getting laid tonight!”

“You made me come all the way here… and now you’re leaving?”

“What? My friend Wolverine wanted to invite you over. I just had to provide the apartment,” in one quick movement, he presses a kiss to your cheek, then does the same to Logan. “Shave yourself, will you?”

“Go fuck yourself, will you?”

“Love you too, honey. Hope you two lovebirds have a good night, because I know I will!”

Wade throws a wink over his shoulder before heading out, the apartment going dead silent. Logan and you stand frozen, staring at each other, although he quickly drops his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact. A giggle threatens to escape you: he wanted to see you. Could he possibly enjoy your company as much as you enjoy his?

Logan watches the spot where Wave had just been. The absence of his chaotic energy makes the room feel strangely empty now. He coughs lightly, the sound awkwardly loud in the quiet room.

“So... I, uh, bought pizza,” he says, his voice a little too casual, as if trying to cover up his nervousness. Averting his eyes, he focuses on the pizza boxes on the table.

You catch the hesitation in his tone, your curiosity piqued by his discomfort. Tilting your head, a teasing smile forms on your lips. “Pizza, huh? You sure know how to impress a girl.”

Logan chuckles, the sound strained, as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I figured it was a safe choice. Didn’t want to ruin it, y’know?”

You move closer to the table, the warmth from the pizza boxes radiating against your hands as you open one of them. The rich smell of melted cheese and pepperoni fills the air, a comforting scent that makes your stomach growl softly. “Thank you. I’m a big fan of pizza.”

He sits in the chair across from you, taking a bite of his slice. You watch him quietly, your own thoughts churning. The truth of his origins had been a shock at first, but now, it just made you want to know more about the man. What was his life like in the other universe? Did he miss it? Was he happier here, or was he longing to return?

“Logan…,” you begin, your tone gentle but probing, “Can I ask you something?”

He glances up at you, eyes widening. There’s something in your eyes –an understanding, maybe– that makes him feel like you could see right through him. 

“Sure,” he replies, trying to sound more at ease than he really feels. “Ask away.”

You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to push too hard. “I was wondering... would it be okay if I asked you some questions? About, you know, your life. Where you're from.”

The bite of pizza suddenly feels heavy in his mouth. He hadn’t talked much about his world, not even with Wade. Partly because it was too painful, and partly because he wasn’t sure how to explain how things turned out for him. He nods slowly, setting his slice down. “Yeah, it's okay. I’ll answer what I can.”

“I just... I want to understand you better.”

“Well, first and foremost, I’m no hero. You should know that by now.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Kid, I’m the worst Logan. A complete failure. Of all the variants out there, Wade just had to pick the one despised by every living soul on his earth,” Logan looks away, his voice low and heavy. You’re wondering if doing this was a good idea. “I need a drink.”

He gets up and you follow him into the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge, in search of a cold beer. Meanwhile, you attempt to find the right words. “I don’t think–”

With a sharp flick of his wrist, three metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. A gasp catches in your throat as he uses his claws to pierce the beer can, drinking from the punctured holes. Once he’s done, he goes back to staring at you. Your gaze, on the other hand, is still glued to the now-empty beer can. “What?” he asks, exhaling slowly.

“That was completely unnecessary,” you mutter, and he lets out a bitter chuckle, tossing the can into the trash. “But, back to what you said before– I don’t think you’re the worst Logan.”

“You didn’t know me back then, darlin’. I fucked it up,” he leans against the counter, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “Like the Logan from this universe, I once belonged to the X-Men too. I remember that Scott used to beg me to wear my suit. So did Jean, Storm, Beast– All of them,” his gaze grows more distant, and you can tell that memories are flooding his mind. “Wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t do it. Told them they looked fucking ridiculous.”

The pizza’s long forgotten. You take the risk and get a bit closer to him, your eyes never leaving his. 

Logan’s silence stretches for a moment before he speaks again. “One day, while I was off on my own, the humans came. They went mutant hunting.”

Your heart clenches at the pain in his voice. He still remembers everything as if it had happened yesterday. “I can guess the rest. You don’t have to–”

But he cuts you off. “No, let me say it. I need to say it,” he takes a deep breath, lowering his head. “By the time I stumbled home, shit-faced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead. They called after me and I walked away.”

Reaching out, your hand gently brushes against his. He doesn’t pull away, but instead searches for your eyes. “My suit's all I've got to remind me of who they were. What I did. I found them and they were… dead. I started killing, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I turned the whole world against the X-Men.”

You tighten your grip on his hand, knowing there’s nothing you can do to change how he feels. “You’re not a bad person, Logan,” he shakes his head, mumbling something you can’t quite catch. “I mean it. What happened back then doesn’t define you. You took the blame for their deaths upon yourself. I can tell you loved them deeply, and I’ll never fully understand the pain you feel. I wish I could. I wish I could take it away, make you forget somehow, but I can’t. That’s not how life works. But you got your second chance: you saved this world. My world,” gently cupping his face in your hands, you allow your fingers to caress his cheeks. He leans into your touch, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “You’re my hero. I’m your biggest fan– after Wade, obviously, which is a lot to say.”

He grins, letting out a laugh. “Easy there, bub.”

“Should I give you some space?”

That’s the last thing he wants from you right now. You already know that as he looks you up and down, placing his hands on the small of your back, his thumbs drawing small circles on your skin. There’s no turning back– The warmth between you feels almost like a fever dream. “For a long time, all I wanted was to disappear. I couldn’t stand waking up every morning, knowing that another day awaited me.”

“And what happened?” your breath mingles with his, his closeness becoming nearly intoxicating. “What changed?”

“I met a pretty girl at a pub, that’s what happened,” he murmurs, his dilated pupils flicking up to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Do all your kisses come with a warning?”

“God, do you ever shut up?”

You don’t have time to respond because he kisses you there and then. His stubble scrapes your skin as your mouths meet again and again, needy hands that hold you as if you were prone to breaking. Logan licks into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and swallowing every one of your whimpers.

“So this is what it takes to shut you up, huh?” he murmurs against your lips. You can feel him smiling, and it makes your heart skip a beat. 

“Keep talking and you won’t get a single bite of my tiramisu,” you tease him, kissing him again, the taste of beer numbing your senses. “I really like kissing you.”

“The feeling’s mutual, but now that you’ve mentioned that tiramisu…”

“Am I that easily replaced?”

“No. You’re just a pain in the ass.”

Jokes aside, you’re as happy as a clam.

Since that night you and Logan kissed, you’ve been living your best life. Like a freaking schoolgirl with a crush. Some things never seem to change.

He hasn’t been to the bar in three days. Yes, you’re counting them. No, you haven’t lost your mind. You want to see him, but there’s something about making the first move that gives you the chills. What would his reaction be if you showed outside of apartment?

It’s been a long time since you’ve been with anybody. On top of that, all the guys you’ve dated were your age. Being with someone that older than you certainly wasn’t no your plans. You’d be lying if you said that the mere idea of being with him in that way didn’t excite you.

Oh boy, you miss him. You miss his scruffy voice, his gorgeous hair. And you two aren’t even official yet. To be honest, you don’t even know what he wants from you. Is he even the type to be in a relationship?

“Nighty night, gentlemen,” you say to Gary and his friends as you find yourself in front of them, smoothing your apron. Gwen had called in sick tonight, so it’s just you at the bar babysitting a bunch of grown-men.

“What’s up, doll? You’ve forgotten about us. We miss you coming in here to chat,” Gary’s eating his burger at the same time he speaks, something you find repulsive, but you’ve seen worse. “Y’know, I’d love to take you out someday. I have a place you’d like.”

The other men laugh and punch him in the back, just boosting his ego. Pathetic. 

“I’ll let you know when I’m free,” you reply with the most polite smile you can offer, intending to go on. “What are you having tonight?”

“You always pull that shit, baby. I don’t think you’re so busy that you can’t accept a date.”

You hate the way he’s looking at you, as if you were wrong for not being interested. As if you didn’t know any better.

“You’re reading minds now? Shocking, Gary.”

“Oh, doll. That attitude of yours shows you’ve never been with a real man like me, that’s all,” he leans back in his chair, resting one of his arms on the table and the other one near his crotch, manspreading. “It’s alright. I like you bratty.”

“I’ll be back when you finally have something to order,” you attempt to turn around but he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. Your eyes lock, and he seems to enjoy this: being in control. Like a predator hunting his prey. “Come on, Gary. I don’t want to have to kick you out.”

“It’s not that you don't like me, right? You’ve already got your mouth full.”

“Careful.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re not fucking that useless mutant. I see you like ‘em older. Pretty little things like you drive me wild.”

You laugh in his face, showing him your teeth. “It was never about your age, Gary. You’re right: I do like them older. I’m just not into bald, vertically-challenged pricks.”

His entourage of idiots goes silent after that. He looks up at you, eyes burning with hatred. His grip on your wrist tightens, probably leaving a mark. “Fucking bitch.”

“Get your hands off her.”

Logan’s voice forces the two of you to look in his direction. It seems that he’s just arrived at the pub, his jacket still on. 

“You joining us? We’re just getting started here, big boy.”

“Did you not hear me?” Logan lunges forward, his nose almost touching Gary’s. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Easy there, cowboy. I’m just having a chat with your girl. She’s one of the good ones, I’ll give you that,” arching a sly brow, his forehead puckers. “You don’t like sharing? We can even take turns.”

Logan clenches his jaw, lips set in a grim line. “Say one more word, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I’ll give you a full sentence instead: can you even get it up?” 

The tension in the air is thick, every second stretching out as Logan's anger simmers dangerously close to the surface. Gary’s smug grin only makes it worse, pushing him to the edge. Before you can react, Logan’s fist swings forward, connecting with Gary’s jaw with a sickening crack. Gary staggers back, realising your wrist. Blood seeps from his nose, his white shirt becoming stained with it. “You fucker! You broke my nose!”

“We’re just getting started here, big boy,” Logan mocks him, repeating his previous words.

“Stop!” you shout, moving quickly to grab his arm, trying to pull him back. But he’s beyond hearing, his rage blinding him to everything else. He shakes you off, and with a fierce growl, drives another punch into Gary’s stomach. The latter doubles over, gasping for air, the wind knocked out of him. He then falls to the floor, curling into a ball. People start to gather around you, and soon your beloved bar becomes a box ring.

“That’s enough, Logan! He’s barely conscious,” you murmur under your breath, stepping between them, hands up in a desperate attempt to create some space. Logan pauses, chest heaving, fists still clenched, as he finally looks at you. The wildness in his eyes starts to fade, replaced by a dawning realization of what he’s done.

“He deserved it,” he nods vigorously to himself, as if trying to explain his point. “He was hurting you.”

“If you keep that up, you’re going to kill him. My bar is not a fucking cemetery,” your voice trembles a little bit, expecting to talk some sense into him. “I won’t let you do this.”

The room is quiet now, the only sound being Logan’s heavy breathing as he stands there, still tense, still processing. You turn to Gary’s friends, cold fury in your eyes. “Get him out of here,” you watch as they haul him up, practically dragging him to the door. The other clients continue to stare at Logan, their mouths hanging open. “Everybody out, right now! Go home. We’re closing earlier tonight.”

Adam is the last person to leave, slamming the door behind him. You rush to the counter, searching for a mop to clean the fresh blood off the floor. Still agitated, the images of Logan hitting Gary flash in your mind. He approaches you from behind, his fingers circling your forearm. “Bub–”

“Don’t. Now is not the time.”

“I was protecting you.”

“I told you to stop, and you didn’t. You just shook me off,” you snap, glancing at his knuckles which are not even bruised. Slamming your eyes shut, you get to your feet and wash your hands in the sink, the remaining water becoming reddish for a moment.

Logan moves closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. He wraps his arms lazily around your middle section. ”I’m sorry.”

You turn in his arms, your back flushed against the sink and your nose in the air. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“But– Jesus, Logan. You could’ve come sooner. I thought you regretted what happened the other day,” you say and the muscles in his face twitch, his body stiffening at your words. “Thought you no longer wanted me.”

“No, bub. I– I still want you. I want all of you, trust me,” he murmurs, and you allow him to press his body against yours, the scent of the cigar he must have smoked recently enveloping your senses. “I just… don’t know how to do this. I have a habit of ruining things, and I’m trying to figure out the best way to be with you without hurting you.”

“Pushing me away also hurts,” your eyes flick up to meet his gaze again, and he whispers under his breath. “I can’t read your mind. You need to tell me what’s going on in that ancient skull of yours.”

His face falters, flashing you a mischievous look. His hand creeps under the fabric of your shirt, fingernails scrapping against your spine. “I’m sorry, princess. I truly am.”

“You can’t just say ‘sorry’ with that voice and expect me to–”

You’re cut off by his lips crashing down onto yours. You melt into the kiss, unable to deny what your body has been craving for the past days. 

“I thought your kisses came with a warning,” you say, detaching your mouth from his, a smile spreading uncontrollably in your face as you see his toothy grin.

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?”

In a clash of tongues and teeth, your mouths meet once again. Tugging the hair at his nape, you feel him growl against your lips. His strong hands trace every curve of your body, kneading the flesh of your hips and undoing the knot at the back of your apron. You’re becoming one with the sink, but in a moment like this, you couldn’t care less. Logan’s hard on nudges your lower stomach, and he ruts against you like an animal.

“You said you wanted to know what’s on my mind, right?” his teeth nibble on the skin of your neck, syrupy voice going straight to your core. “Well, I’d love nothing more than to touch you right now.”

“Right here? On the counter?”

“Yeah, on the fucking counter,” he grabs you by your thighs, hosting you up and placing your body on top of the cold bar. He nudges your knees apart, his bulge meeting your clothed cunt deliciously. “Will you let me, baby? Can I make you come in here?”

“Please. I’m glad we have such a low budget. Camera installment is t–too expensive these days.”

“Do you always talk this much?” he slowly unbuttons your pants, and you help him to remove them.

“Yes. Next question,” your breath hitches in your throat as you feel the pad of his thumb circling your clit through your panties. Your eyelids drop, your head lolling back. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Logan hums, mesmerized with the way your hips roll into his hand, your whimpers sounding like music to his ears. “You have any idea how I felt when I saw him touching you? Wanted to rip his hands off you,” his eyes drift to your chest, how it rises and falls with impatience. “But it’s me who gets to have you like this. He can fantasize about you all he wants: I’m the only one who touches you, ain’t I right?” you sigh with content as his fingers graze your slit, aimlessly bucking your hips. He doesn’t go any further, and you tug at the collar of his flannel, needing more of his callousand hands on you. “Nuh-uh. You want something, you gotta use your words. Got it?”

“I w–want your fingers inside me,” you don’t even recognize your own voice at this point. The few guys you had slept with had never been very talkative during sex. But Logan isn’t like them. This is just the beginning and you’re already starting to realize that he has a dirty mouth, that expectant look on his face as he waits to see your reaction to his words. “Please, Logan. I want you so bad.”

“Oh, I know, bub. There’s something about me I don’t think you know,” he inserts one of his fingers in your cunt, your slick coating the palm of his hand. “These claws I have… they didn’t come on their own. Let’s just say my sense of smell is… pretty good,” Logan can almost see the gears turning in your head as you try to think coherently. He moves his middle finger in and out of you, stretching your walls. “And you… have been wet ever since the first time you saw me. Always nice to everybody, making sure they feel at ease,” you feel like you’re being stretched even further, another one of his fingers sinking into your warm pussy. “But you’re so needy, too. How long has it been since someone touched you like this?”

“Too long, f–fuck. Too long,” you’re squirming, a totally whiny mess. He retratcs his wet fingers and instead goes back to flicking your clit, this time with much less delicacy. His left hand squeezes your tits, and you hate the fact that you’re still wearing clothes. “Shit, Logan. I need you to fuck me. Please. Need your cock.”

His face comes to rest at your neck, and you feel lingering kisses and bites that keep you grounded to earth. “Not here. I need a bed to fuck you properly. You’re only getting my fingers now,” he positions them inches away from your entrance, testing your patience. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”

“L-logan–”

“Tell me and I’ll make you come,” his husky voice is making you dizzy, tears shimmering in your eyes. “Come on. Know you want it as much as I do.”

You succumb to the tentation, like divinity turned to sin. He kisses you roughly, and you struggle to find the correct words. “It’s you, Logan. You own my pussy. It’s f-fucking yours.”

With that, he goes back to nudging that spot that makes you see starts, that filthy squelching sound getting mixed up with your moans. The knot in your belly keeps growing tighter the more he pumps his fingers in and out of you. 

“I said you were only getting my fingers for now, but fuck… I need to gest a taste of this sweet cunt.”

He’s on his knees in an instant, urging your legs apart to make room for his body. Your thighs tighten around his face as he licks a hot stripe up your folds, tracing a heated path on your cunt, not wishing to waste a single second. Pleasure builds quickly, your breath hitching as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer when your body begins to tremble. 

“I’m close,” you pant, breathing hard, grinding your hips against his face. “I’m so close.”

“That’s it. Come in my mouth like the good girl you are.”

Who had given him a damn script for this?

The release is explosive. Like the peak of a roller coaster: you go up up up, ascending higher. You think you almost see Jesus, but at some point, you also have to crash down with force. Your shoulders slump, your entire body cramping up; yet he doesn’t let you go that easily, his fingers still working, scissoring within you while you ride out the final waves of your high, drawing out every last moment of ecstasy.

Once you finally manage to open your eyes, there he is, staring down at you. He taps your lower lip with his fingers, and then mutters: “Open.”

And you do, because you’re just as messed up as he is. Your mouth parts, and he slides his fingers between your lips, dragging them smoothly across your tongue. His knuckles brush the back of your throat, and you gag around the intrusion, tasting yourself. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, clearly satisfied with the way you’ve cleaned them off.

“I think we should really pay a visit to your apartment,” he suggests, groaning in defeat, and you feel his bulge poking your hip. He must be painfully hard. “I meant what I said earlier. I need a bed if we’re going to fuck. My back’s hurting.”

You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into a smirk. “Why not go to yours?”

“Wade’s in there. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.”

You can’t help but laugh, pausing a moment to collect your thoughts, heat rising to your cheeks. “So we’re going rodeo?”

Aiming to silence up, Logan kisses you, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Only if you can handle it.”

part 2: “GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE”

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)