#always curious what other's took away from books

[frost-queen]

String of fate (Reader x Merlin)

Requested by @sophia-winchester07 Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @alex–awesome–22, @ellie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve , @queen-of-books , @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown , @wildieflower , @meyocoko , @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23 , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr , @swampything07, @melsunshine , @panhoeofmanyfandoms , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 , @erikasurfer @slythetic , @p0nycurtis , @eliscannotdance

The river was rippling down the landslide. At the riverbank sat a girl. A curious boy watching from behind the trees. A mischievous smile on his lips. She was dropping pebbles into the water, watching them sink and get carried away with the stream. The boy stepped from behind the tree, coming up to her. Remaining as quiet as ever. Making sure to not step on any twigs.

He neared her, throwing his hands in front of her eyes. The girl gasped loud, panicking as she slapped the hands away. Eagerly she turned around only to meet up with a laughing boy. – “Merlin!” – you called out, shoving him off. He stumbled back, unable to control his laughter. – “You scared me.” – you told him crossing your arms. Merlin got back up, keeping his hand behind his back.

He then brought his hand to the front. Filled with flowers. It made you gasp loud in awe. – “For you.” – he said cheeky. Instead of reaching for the flowers, you grabbed for his shoulder. Pushing him aside to look behind his back. Looking curiously around. – “Where did you get these?” – you asked curious as Merlin kept chuckling. – “Magic.” – he whispered to you with a wink.

You sat back, arms crossing as you didn’t like him taunting you. – “Don’t you want the flowers then?” – Merlin proposed, already moving them away. You practically leaped for them. Making him fall backwards as you landed on top of him. Plucking the flowers from him. Getting back up, you stuck your tongue out to him. Merlin stuck his tongue back out to you. Merlin helped you up to your feet. He picked up a stick, swaying it around. Slapping at leaves that got in the way.

You glanced his way, laughing at his silliness. – “What?” – Merlin responded confused. – “You look funny.” – you told him. – “You don’t think I can be a knight?” – Merlin answered. You shook your head. Merlin puffed loud, running up to a rock. He came standing on it, stick in the ready. – “If I become a knight I can protect you Y/n.” – he said letting the stick twirl around. His hands slipped as the stick plunged up.

Hitting him in the head before dropping down. He rubbed his head with a pained expression as you could only snort loud. Merlin jumped off the rock, rubbing the back of his head. – “Maybe when you’re bigger.” – you told him. – “Maybe.” – Merlin repeated. You smiled up to him. – “Y/n!” – you heard call out. – “Oh my mommy is calling for me.” – you said out loud. – “See you tomorrow?” – you asked. Merlin nodded. – “Tomorrow.” – he shouted back, waving you goodbye.

“Merlin!” – His name got called out loud. Merlin’s eyes flashed open, suddenly aware of his surroundings. Groaning deeply, he pushed himself up. Having laid on his stomach somehow. Sitting on his bed, he drew his hand down his face. Wondering why he was dreaming of a girl from his childhood. A former friend from his village.

He hadn’t thought in years about you. Now it appeared his mind kept dreaming of lost memories of that time. Always catapulted back to the past when he was but a young boy. With little care in the world and no worries. – “Merlin!” – the voice roared out again.

Merlin grabbed for his booth, pulling it over his foot. He then putted on his other one. Running a hand through his hair, he walked out of his room. – “Finally boy. I was starting to wonder if you weren’t breathing anymore.” – Gaius chuckled out. – “HA. Ha.” – Merlin responded blandly before sitting down.

Gaius took a tentative eye at his ward. – “What?” – Merlin asked furrowing his brows at the way Gaius was observing him. Gaius came closer making Merlin lean back. – “Gaius!” – he called out, pushing him away. – “I wanted to know if you had been drinking.” – he spoke turning back to his breakfast.

“I didn’t go to the tavern.” – Merlin responded grumpily. – “Then why the bewildered gaze?” – Gaius asked pointing it out. Merlin scratched his head, shrugging his shoulder. – “Nothing…” – he responded. Surely dreaming of the past was nothing serious. He knew if he might tell Gaius about it, he would see it as an omen.

Something he wasn’t interested in hearing a full on lecture about. Merlin grabbed a few pieces of bread before running off. – “Where are you off too?” – Gaius called out. – “Arthur!” – Merlin shouted back before disappearing.

Merlin made his way higher up in the castle to Arthur’s chambers. Quickly stuffing the bread in his mouth on his way. He encountered Gwen on his way, smiling back at her with a stuffed face. It made Gwen snort loud before heading over to Morgana’s chambers. Merlin knocked on the door before entering. – “Arth…” – he began, looking over at the bed.

Only for Arthur to not be in his bed. – “Merlin!” – Arthur called out, drawing his attention away from the bed and more to the side of his chambers. There Arthur was already half dressed. – “You are up early.” – he mumbled to himself before closing the door behind him. He assisted Arthur in getting ready. Afterwards they joined everyone in the throne room.

Uther was talking to Arhtur by the throne as the heavy doors got pushed open. A panting person running inside. – “Help! Help! Our village is being run down.” – the man shouted loud in a panic. Uther and Arthur stared confused at the man. Some knights came in motion, moving closer to block his path if they needed too. – “Please help.” – the man breathed out before going out cold.

He dropped to the ground making Gwen gasp loud. Uther shielded Morgana’s eyes when there stuck a knife out of the man’s back. Arthur approached the man, pulling the knife out of his back. – “Ruffians.” – he called out letting the knife clatter to the ground. He had recognized the weapon. Arthur whistled loud, rallying his men up. Merlin started to run after him.

“Arthur… you don’t even know where this village is. It might be a trap.” – Merlin spoke, hasting after him. Arthur stopped making Merlin almost bump into him. – “I can’t let innocent people die. Certainly not my people.” – Arthur told him as a final. Merlin nodded, following him outside. The knights of the round table came joining him. Readying their horses to head out. Soon they rode out. Soon they noticed smoke in the air, making them hurry up.

The closer they got, the louder the screams became. A man jumped at them, screaming whilst he was on fire. Gwayne hopped off his horse, taking a blanket to pull it around the man. He fell down with the man in his embrace. Deafening out the flames. When he opened the blanket, the man had already passed due to the burns.

Arthur hurried his horse faster as he didn’t want to waste any time. The rest of the knights following him into battle. Arthur’s eyes widened upon the village. Several houses were on fire. People running around in terror being chased by ruffians. One ruffian pulled a woman back by her hair as her screams filled the air. Children were crying in hiding. A man got stabbed from both sides by two laughing ruffians.

Arthur jumped off his horse, drawing his sword. He called it out, running into to battle with the knights of the round table behind him. Merlin got off his horse as well, running over to some little kids hiding under a cart. – “Come, quickly.” – he said to them, hurrying them from under the cart. The kids crawled out, following Merlin further into the woods.

A woman came running with him as he ordered her to get them to safety. She nodded, taking them all under her wing, running deeper into the woods. Merlin turned back around frantically at how they were going to get this under control. He searched for Arthur amidst them, seeing him fight gallantly.

The door got kicked in as you ran inside. – “Hurry!” – you called out, opening your arms to two little kids. They ran up to you, shivering to the bone. You took each under your arm, leading them back outside. Trying to look for an escape. A ruffian came from your side, making you scream loud. You were defenceless, making yourself smaller to wait for impact.

Just as the ruffian was moving his axe down, it got blocked by a sword. – “Run girl!” – one of the knights called out, grunting loud at the axe still hinged with his sword. You nodded, taking the kids with you. – “Mommy…” – the little girl cried out. – “We’ll find her.” – you told her, looking around.

A man fell in front of your feet, making you close the children’s eyes. One of the ruffians had thrown him at your feet. Now his gaze was on you. Grunting loud as he cracked his neck. Gasping loud, you took a run for it. Dragging the children with you as fast as you could.

“Under the cart now!” – you ordered them so they could escape through the other side. They let go of your hands, crawling underneath it. You wanted to crawl under it with them till you felt a grip around your ankle. Dragging you back out. Screaming loud, you turned round, kicking and screaming your way out.

The screaming caught Merlin’s ears, making him turn his head. His eyes widening at what he was seeing or rather who he was seeing. – “Y/n?” – he whispered out in shock. You kept kicking your foot at the ruffian trying to get him off. The ruffian was grinning, grabbing on tight to your ankle. Merlin tensed his expression, eyes gleaming. Whispering out a spell.

You watched with wide eyes how the ruffian got flung back. Before you fully processed it, someone came diving to your side. – “Y/n!” – he said, taking your hand to help you get up. – “Merlin?” – you replied confused as he helped you up. – “How… how are you here…” – you asked as he shushed you.

He looked frantically around, keeping you behind his back. Perhaps his dreams were an omen. An omen that he would meet you again after all those years. Now that you have grown-up. You held on to his clothing for security. A ruffian made eye contact with Merlin, grunting loud.

Merlin breathed out loud, lowering his chin just that bit. His eyes glowing as he whispered out a spell. You gasped loud when the ruffian’s helmet got flung off his head by an object. The ruffian dropping to the ground knocked-out. You screamed out his name  when a ruffian came running over from the side.

Tugging at the back of his jacket. Merlin turned a bit, kicking the ruffian back with his foot. He stumbled back. Merlin moved his arms back so that he could feel you behind him. Slightly backing up as the ruffian got back up. Angrier than ever.

You yelped loud, holding on tight to Merlin. Tears in your eyes as you wanted it to be over. Merlin kept backing up with you, making sure you’d be as close to him as possible. – “Merlin.” – you cried out, face buried against his back. Merlin panted loud, flung back to the past for a moment.

Pulled back to the memory where he said he’d protect you. Merlin took a deep breath, finding a deep strength. He called it out, launching forwards to punch the ruffian on his cheek. You moved your hands with shock to your mouth when he got knocked down. Merlin backed up again wary if he would get back up. Before he could get back up, Arthur was there to finish the deed.

“Get out of here!” – he called out to his servant. Merlin nodded, grabbing you by the hand, pulling you away from the situation. He ran into the woods with you, waiting there for things to clear out. Soon the battle was over. Ruffians and civilians scattered around. Arthur and his knights still standing up straight. Worn out, they guided the survivors to their horses. Riding out with them to follow.

Merlin had climbed onto his own horse, holding his hand out to you. He helped you up, coming to sit behind him. Wrapping your arms around him, he followed the others. Guiding the survivors safely to the castle. – “Not quite a knight then.” – you said letting your chin rest on his shoulder.

“Not quite.” – Merlin chuckled out. It wasn’t difficult to see Merlin was not dressed like a knight. – “Yet to me you are.” – you whispered to him, leaving a sweet kiss against his cheek. Merlin stuttered out a cough, blushing from ear to ear.

It didn’t take you long to fall asleep against his back. Merlin telling you gently to wake up when you arrived at the castle. Gwayne helped you down from the horse. Merlin then quickly took you over from him once more. – “Are you alright Y/n?” – he asked taking you inside.

You nodded weakly. He guided you into the throne room where all survivors combined. Morgana and Gwen hurried around giving out water and tending to the wounded with Gaius. Merlin never leaving your side.

Gwayne nudged Arthur with a nod at Merlin. – “He’s being awfully close to that girl.” – he pointed out. Arthur looked his direction seeing how both of you were talking and laughing a bit. It made him quirk his eyebrow up.

Merlin smiled as you reached out to brush some hair aside. – “You’ve grown.” – you said. – “You too…” – he responded with a shy smile. Merlin held his hand behind his back. Revealing it with a single flower in his hand. It made your jaw drop pleasantly, giving him a shove. – “How do you keep doing that!” – you called out teasingly.

Merlin chuckling bashful. – “Magic.” – he whispered to you with a wink. You ignored the flower once more, throwing your arms around him. He nearly fell backwards from the impact. – “I’ve missed you so much.” – you told him. Merlin wrapped his arms around you, smiling. – “Me too…” – he whispered back.

Merlin moved making you let go of him. Staring curious into his eyes. A silly thought crossing his mind. He grabbed you by the chin, quick to leave a kiss on your lips. It caught you off guard. Merlin cackling up at how it took you by surprise.

Glaring at him, you took him by the scarf, pulling hard on it. Merlin nearly got choked by you as you lowered him. Leaving a quick kiss with him as well. Smiling teasingly afterwards. Merlin wrapped his arms around you. Relieved that he had found you for he was never letting you go anymore.

------------------------------

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[sharkneto]

I know people raved for The Song of Achilles but I don't get it. It was... Solidly fine. If the whole book could have been like the last 100 pages I'd Get It, but it was mostly Patroclus being the blandest, most passive man alive, passively in love with Achilles while Achilles was The Golden Boy. It wasn't until they got to Troy that Patroclus started to be his own character, and by that point it was too late for me to care all that much about him and their inevitable tragedy. So much potential left on the table, imo

[joelsgoldrush]

“epiphany” | 21k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

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

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

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

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

Love giveth and love taketh away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love maketh you miserable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They are soulmates. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A part of you died with him that day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, it wasn’t working.

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

“And why’s that?”

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

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

Save me, mindfulness, you thought to yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. Was that your fork?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s still a sensitive topic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where the hell did he go?

After his existence went downhill, Logan turned to prayer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do I know you, bub?” 

“You don’t, but I know you.”

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

“Everybody does. I’m the—”

Here it comes, the reminder of his personal calvary.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nighty-night, Logan.

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

I’ve spent sleepless nights trying to figure out

where this need to call you mine stems from. 

You're like an antique, a rare piece displayed

in a crowded bazaar, drawing curious glances.

I’m aware that you're not mine

because I haven't bought you yet;

I hold no claim over you,

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

I want you to be mine,

but no amount of money would buy your soul.

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

I’m aware that you’re not mine, 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The scars.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing changes. They’re still there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's a silent invitation to a new beginning.

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

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

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

“Me too, roomie. Me too.”

“Let’s not use that word.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then Wade jumps in front of him.

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

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

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

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

“Well, life’s full of disappointments.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What… the fuck?”

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

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

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

You’re… far more than he expected.

More beautiful, for starters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Great. You must think he’s a weirdo. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t worry, I’m—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And how is it? I mean, do you have—”

“I’m public enemy number one.”

Too harsh, idiot.

“Oh. That’s… good to know.”

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

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

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

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

“You and Wade…?”

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

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

“What?” you ask him, puzzled.

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

“And I can tell you don’t.”

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

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

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

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

“And where is yours, then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door almost closes on his nose.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And where is yours, then?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you pregnant?”

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

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

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

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

“Fuck?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t budge. “No.”

“Logan, I’m not in the mood.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll think about it.”

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

“Well, you were an asshole.”

“Yes.”

“The first time we exchanged words.”

“Also yes.”

“And now you’re apologizing.”

“Positive. I just did.”

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

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

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

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

“How do you feel about reading?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you—you remember specific pages?”

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

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

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

You’ve chosen a damn good page.

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

“You’ve got a week to read it.”

“How long is it again?”

“Four hundred pages.”

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

“Write an opinion essay if possible.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, he listens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which one is worse, he can no longer tell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut your mouth.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I hate this John kid.

Her aunt is a cunt.

This is too cheesy.

Mr. Rochester’s married?

St. John—what a prick.

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’ll take more than a book.”

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

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

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

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

“Of what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If anything, it made everything worse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks... ridiculously good.

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

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

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

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

“Logan, you don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If you have plans, then yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Logan, this isn’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Come on, baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logic? Error 404—not found.

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

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

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

That’s when recognition settles over you.

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

“Fuck you, Logan.”

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

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

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

“He’s closer than ever.”

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

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

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

“No. You’re not.”

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

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

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

“It’s what we both need.”

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

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

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

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

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

It didn’t go well in the end.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll take care of it next month.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is what you fear the most: loneliness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I could do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“And what is that—”

“I need a drink.”

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

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

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

The instant attraction, the yearning to be near him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who is enjoying this more: him or you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve never felt this relaxed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, you’ve wrapped love around your finger.

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

[flowerandblood]

Duty and desire (Oneshot)

[ canon • Aemond x niece • wife female ]

[ warnings: incest obviously, sex content, smut, angst, praise kink activated, lactation kink, fluff ]

[ description: An incident between her husband and their sons causes her uncle to completely break down. She decides to show him how deep her feelings are towards him and to comfort him. A heartbroken, vulnerable, infatuated Aemond in need of simple tenderness. ]

Author’s note: The events of this oneshot are part of the canon of The Fall from the Heavens series and feature the same characters. I couldn't sleep and that's how I mentally coped with what I saw in the second episode of the second season. You're welcome, lol. If you still didn't watch it, wait with reading it (if you don't like any kind of spoilers). It can be read as a standalone story.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

He had returned to their chamber earlier, tense and visibly frustrated despite the fact that he usually spent that part of the day sparring with their sons, training them in the wielding of the sword.

She smiled at him from above her book, watching as he involuntarily looked into the cradle where Visenya slept peacefully.

The birth of their first daughter was joyous news for the entire kingdom, including them.

"So early?" She asked, spreading out comfortably in her chair, curious about this change of plans. Her uncle only pursed his lips at her words, walking over to the table where she sat and reached for a cup, into which he poured himself a little wine.

He remained silent.

A bad sign.

"What's happened?" She asked immediately, seeing that hundreds of thoughts were currently running through his mind, which if they did not find an outlet would eventually explode in the form of his fury.

He took a few deep sips from his goblet without looking at her, setting it down with a loud clink of steel on the table.

"Viserys and Aegon have suggested that Ser Robert should be the one to train them today. They apparently want to become archers." He said with a sneer and anger that startled her. She swallowed hard, closing the book, understanding full well that his words were only the tip of what he was really thinking about.

"In your presence they always feel they have to prove themselves. They're afraid of being ridiculed in front of you. Maybe it's…"

"At their age I dreamt of my father doing for me what I do for them. This is our time together." He growled, looking out of the corner of his eye into the area where she sat, but not directly at her, immersed in his thoughts, memories and regrets.

"I know." She whispered and her words, something about the way she said them made his lip tremble, made him lower his head in shame and cover his face with his hand, drawing in air loudly.

"They are terrified at the sight of me. Both of them. They don't love me, they just fear me. Their own father." He mouthed, his quivering voice betraying that although he tried to control himself, something about the thought had broken him.

She stood up from her seat, shaking her head, coming up to him quickly, wanting to touch his arm with her hand, but he moved away and turned his head, not wanting her to see what was happening to him.

"If you could hear with what pride and admiration they speak of you when you are not there. They so desperately want to please you." She muttered in pain, feeling a squeeze in her heart at the thought that he might have believed he was a bad father, when they both knew how hard he tried.

"To please me? My sons, they live to please me? And if they don't then what will happen to them? Hm?" He asked and fell silent, looking at her at last, his eye red with grief and despair, his face simultaneously red and pale with emotion, his lips parted in a heavy breath.

He covered his eyes with his hand as he burst into silent sobs, as if he had not stifled the thought for a day or a month, but for years, ever since their first son had been born.

She looked at him in disbelief, stunned, at the same time hurt and saddened by his words, by the thought of how he judged and perceived himself.

"Looking into my eyes do you see anything other than love?" She asked, renewing her attempt, taking a step towards him, and this time he didn't pushed her away, looking at her uncertainly.

"– it's something else –" He whispered.

"– how can it be? – do you think I would love a man who is a bad father to my children? –" She asked further, and he swallowed hard, trying to calm his breathing, his cheeks red from tears.

"– stop it –" He said and turned away, wiping his face, walking to the other side of the room, embarrassed and ashamed of his weakness.

"– sit down on the bed, husband – I want to explain a few things to you –" She finally said.

He sighed heavily and did as she asked, making room beside himself, looking down at his hands, heartbroken. She, however, walked up to him and did not sit next to him, but on his lap, surprising him by taking his warm, red face in her hands, stroking his moist skin with her thumbs.

For a moment she simply looked at him, all helpless and vulnerable, feeling the heat in her chest.

"– you're defending our family – you're the rock that protects us – you have to show strength – be determined – and that's hard when you're king and father at the same time – the burden of the crown is great and you know it – you're trying to prepare them for it –" She whispered, with each successive word placing kisses on his red face: on his forehead, his temple, his eyebrows, his eyelid, his cheekbone, his lips, his jaw.

She felt his hands involuntarily rise to her waist, stroking her through the material of her gown.

"– so why don't they understand this? – why do they push me away? –" He muttered, focusing his gaze on her full, plump lips, his manhood hidden in his breeches pulsed softly in a natural reaction to her closeness.

"– because they are still children – children who need their father to love them no matter what – a father who will sometimes let them go their own way –" She said softly, in a gentle, light motion untying the black ribbon at the back of his head, making the front strands of his silver hair fall over his shoulders.

"– I just want to spend time with them like a father with his sons – I want them to need me –" He whispered, and she nodded, letting his broad hand move her hip closer, making her body press against his.

"– I know, my husband – my sweet, sweet husband –" She whispered and heard him draw in the air loudly, surprised, his erection pulsed hard between her thighs.

She licked her lips, wondering if he was aroused by what he was hearing.

"– my husband is so good to me –" She gasped softly, letting their lips join in hot, sticky, lazy kisses, making wonderful heat surge through her body. "– my sweet friend – my sweet boy –"

She shuddered as his fingers tightened on the material of her gown, his throat leaving a sound she had never heard before.

He moaned.

Not the way he usually did, low and deep, when it was on the verge of panting, but high, the way she did when he gave her sweet pleasure.

Their fingers tightened on their bodies, letting their mouths find each other in greedy, violent, deep kisses – his cock between her thighs swelled all over and pulsed, hot, betraying that he was now completely ready to possess her.

"– I love you – please –" He muttered, forcibly ripping her gown off her shoulders, exposing her naked breasts, all swollen with milk. Something like a sigh of delight and relief left his throat as he sank his face into her sternum, his thumbs stroking and teasing her nipples hard from the cold.

She moaned as she tilted her head back, untying the material of his breeches, feeling the wonderful, pleasurable wetness between her thighs, proving that she was ready to receive him deep inside her.

"– my sweet husband deserve to be soothed – doesn't he? – to feel his beloved wife – how warm she is – how wet she is –" She whispered, cupping his swollen, quivering erection in her palm, feeling how incredibly hard it was, its tip thick and smooth, dripping with his moisture.

"– yes –" He mumbled in shame, directing one of her breasts to his face, holding it in his hand, finding her nipple with his mouth, beginning to suck it loudly along with her milk as she guided the head of his cock against her pulsing slit.

"– ah – my husband is so hard for me – makes me feel so fucking good – so, so big –" She cooed, sinking slowly onto his manhood only to lift herself on it with a loud click of her wetness, opening her thirsty, fleshy cunt again and again on his long, throbbing erection.

"– f-fuck –" He exhaled, embarrassed, imposing a fast, aggressive pace on her at once, clearly aroused by what she was saying and how she was behaving, needing her affection, her acceptance, her closeness, everything he couldn't ask of anyone else outside the door of their chamber.

"– it's all yours, my dearest – I can ride you all night – you'll fill me with your seed as many times as I need, won't you? –" She gasped, and he groaned loudly into the skin of her breasts, clamping his hot hands on her hips, pounding into her like there was no tomorrow, panting and quivering along with her.

She wasn't sure she had ever experienced a similar orgasm, so overpowering, hot, soothing, delightful.

"– f-fuck – f-fuck, Aemond, yes –" She whimpered, throwing her head back as she felt his body convulse, his warm seed filling her womb wit his low moans of pleasure.

He released her nipple from his mouth, panting heavily, snuggling his cheek into her chest, letting her arms embrace him in a tight grip, her lips placing tender, hot kisses on his hair.

"– forgive me – I'm ashamed – I –"

"– you are my husband – let me give you relief when you need it –" She whispered, combing her fingers through his long hair.

"– but – it was –"

"– a husband can show tenderness and understanding to his wife, but a wife to her husband cannot? –" She asked in pain, and he swallowed hard, letting out a loud, shuddering breath.

"– it won't happen again –" He muttered, needing, apparently, for her to tell that lie so he could stop thinking about how weak he was, how he needed it, how pleasant it was.

That he would beg in his mind for more.

More of her tenderness.

More of her praise.

More of her love.

"– as you wish –"

[chatterbox-73]

Smut book 2024.

After hours.

Tenya Iida x fem!Reader.

This story is a smut story, I’ll more characters x reader one shots in the future and if you want to see a character please let me know.

You must be 18 years or older to read this...

🔞⚠️NO MINORS ALLOWED⚠️🔞

A/N: this is a request and I honestly love it… I’m a total sucker for Iida… I hope I did it justice.😅

@123344myah

Also I’ve changed the name of a certain phone app because firstly I kinda don’t think they’d have SC in the mha universe, secondly don’t think I should be using TM names and finally why the heck not…😁 Pictalk = SC. (I know real creative..😂)

Pictures is edited be me… it’s been sitting in my gallery for some time, waiting for the right chance to be used. (Original unedited manga panel from ‘tada no renai nanka de kikkonai’)

Summary: you sneak into Iida’s dorm room for some after hours funny and getting caught is the last thing on your mind.

Word count: 4.1k

CW: NSFW and adult content, oral (f!Receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk, sexting, sending nudes, rough sex, missionary and doggy, teasing, pet names, pleasure dom!Iida, spanking, slight degradation and swearing. (All characters are aged up)

You sat at the small floor table in the middle of your boyfriend’s dorm room, you watched intently as the man sitting across from you wrote large and seemingly unending paragraphs, while your own workbook remanded bare. The man looked up from his page to you with a curious look, “is something the matter?” He asked looking down at your book noticing it’s emptiness, while focused on your book you leant over and pressed a lingering kiss on his lips, “I just need to do that, I couldn’t focus until I got a taste” you smiled and licked your lips, the man looked at you with shock before sitting back and resting on his palm, “you know I’ll need payback now” Iida spoke as he look at you lips that had your lipstick smeared over them.

Tenya iida was such a reliable and caring boyfriend, he always took such good care of you and expected nothing in return, however he has always been quite prideful and this has resulted in him frequently trying to get even, it doesn’t matter how small the incident, he’s incredibly petty but you honestly love it about him, though you probably wouldn’t say it. Tenya often gets quite embarrassed by affection and will almost always shy away from it, but in small moments the man will soothe and comfort you.

You’re broken from your thoughts as you feel Iida’s callus thumb rub over your bottom lip, he wiped away the smudged lipstick before holding your chin and leaning in, however just before your lips had a chance to touch Iida’s dorm room door open suddenly, you both jumped away from each other and looked to the door, “now I’m certain there’s a ‘open door’ rule for when you’re studying with girls…” aizawa sighed as he looked at Iida with a tired expression. “Yes, I now remember that rule being mentioned, once or twice” Iida looked to you and all you could do was snicker, “yep, sounds about right” you cough out as you begin gathering your books and stationary from the table, you stood and quickly left the room with all your belongings, as you exited the room you heard Aizawa tell Iida it was lights out, before you could run off however the teacher stopped you, “straight to your dorm room… and no coming back here, study is over it’s lights out” he closed Iida’s door and turned to look at you, you nod “I haven’t had a chance to bathe, can I do that before I go to sleep?” You asked and the man sighs, it didn’t take a fortune teller to guess what you’d try and do, but Aizawa figured he should give you the benefit of the doubt, he should trust you, “fine… you can bathe, but no funny business… not tonight” he huffed and walked away muttering something about an argument between Midoriya and Bakugo.

You got back into your dorm room and packed away all your books and stationary before grabbing your bath bag, night clothes and towel, before making the trip to the bathroom. Getting into the bathroom you pulled out your phone and placed it on the side of the bathtub while you turned on the water waiting for the tub to fill, as you waited you undressed and began scrubbing your body at one of the washing stations, as you finished the bath water was full and you settled in.

You leaned your head back with your eyes closed for quite sometime before pulling out your phone and scrolling through it, watching random videos before a Pictalk notification popped in the top corner of your screen, clicking it a picture of a dark room with the caption that read

‘how much trouble did you get in?’

You smiled and snapped a picture of the steamy bathroom mirror and captioned it with.

‘None really… just a “don’t come back here, study is over >:(“‘

You chuckled and pulled yourself out of the water, sitting on the edge of the tub still allowing your legs to soak, another notification popped up and you clicked into it. It was of Iida’s neatly made bed.

‘Haha… you’re only bathing now?’

You smiled and shook your head, before taking a picture of your bare legs resting in the water.

‘Yeah, someone kept me busy with studying’

You watched the speech bubble in the messages pop up before disappearing and reappearing several times before finally you received a picture response, this picture was of Iida pulling a playful frown.

‘Are you trying to start something?’

You laughed at his expression before stepping out of the bath and emptying the water, as the bath drained you walked over to the mirror and wiped away a little of the steam, only leaving enough to cover below your hips, you stood in front of the mirror and covered a hand over your breasts before smiling and taking a picture, you send the picture with the caption.

‘start something? But I’m a good girl’

You waited patiently for Iida’s response while you dried yourself, then came in the next picture, Iida had also sent a picture of him standing in his mirror shirtless and one hand resting over his clothes crotch. The picture was captioned.

‘You’re testing my patience baby’

You smiled and wondered how far you could take this before one of you got impatient, though the way things are going anyone else would think Iida was moments away from giving in but that just wasn’t the case and the both of you knew it, you wipe down the rest of the mirror before sitting back on the ground and open your legs, you rubbed two fingers over your entrance before sliding them in, you took a picture of yourself through the mirror, with your best ‘O’ face and the caption.

‘So warm and wet…’

You waited and as you did your fingers worked in and out of you before moving to rubbed your clit, moaning you almost didn’t hear your phone chime, opening the picture you blushed and chuckled as you saw Iida’s long and thick member on the screen, he only have two fingers wrapped around the base, this time no caption was with the picture. However a voice note was sent moments later.

“I bet that pussy is nice and ready, you always are”

You heard the chuckle and groan in his voice and you knew exactly what he was doing while sending that voice note, you sent back a voice note.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours”

Iida knew exactly what you were asking but instead all you got back was nothing, no voice note, no picture, not even a message, you scrambled to get dressed in your night clothes and grabbed your belongings. You walk down to the laundry room and put your clothes and towel in the washing machine, and left your bath bag next to the machine you were using, after this you wasted no time going to Iida’s dorm room.

You opened the door and walked in, the room was dark and as you looked towards Iida’s bed you noticed he was laying back with his blanket over him, he was fully dress in his goofy pyjamas, he looked as though he wasn’t just sending you dirty messages, “Tenya… Tenya you need to be awake” you whispered and walked over to him, you knew he wasn’t asleep, you had seen him sleep plenty of times so you knew he was awake, “Tenya sit up and take care of me” you whined as you grabbed at his pyjama top, the man chuckled as he sat up and looked down at you, “you’re such a greedy girl… we were told lights out and yet you’re here because of a picture” Iida sighed and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, “I guess it can’t be helped… strip for me please” he smiled and you stood and moved to take off your shirt before stopping and looking to your boyfriend, “what about you?” You asked and Iida frowned “I said strip” he snapped and you quickly began removing your shirt, Iida nodded and looked at your breasts before he moved to sit on the edge of the bed, he motioned for you to step closer to him, so he could grab your arms and pressed them into your sides, your face became flushed as Iida trailed his tongue up your stomach to your sternum, he stopped and placed a kiss on your skin before moving to lick over your right nipping, you whined and pressed your legs together, before the man moved onto your other nipping this time suckling on it, “you’re sucking it like a baby” you breathlessly chuckled, Iida looked up at you with a hard stare before biting roughly on the side of your breast, you yelped and your boyfriend pulled you down slightly to capture your lips in an open mouth kiss, you gasped and cried out in surprise as Iida tongue took control over your mouth, the way he’s slurp and wriggle his tongue reminded you of all the times he’d eat you out.

Pulling away from you and loosing his grip, allowing his hand to slide down your arms and rest on your hips before he slowly pulled down your pants, leaving you in nothing but the pink girlish panties you’d normally never let Tenya see. “Aww how cute” he laughed as he kissed just above your waistband, “it’s not funny, I didn’t think when I grabbed them” you whined and felt Iida move you onto his bed to lay down on your back, “I think they’re cute… they’re so innocent and sweet” he smiled as he leaned in and whispered in your ear “reminds me of our first time… you were such a good girl, so patient” his voice was hushed and relaxed as he slowly pulled your panties to the side before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss over your entrance, “how badly do you want it greedy girl?” Iida asked, his hot breath brushing over your cunt, you whined and wiggled your hips “so badly… I need it” you moaned softly, trying to keep your voice down.

You cried out as you felt your boyfriend’s tongue lick slow strips up the length of your cunt, “more… Tenya, I need more…” you whimpered encouraging your boyfriend, Iida was a beast the way he’d devour you, you were certain given the chance Iida would eat you anywhere and anytime, he’d always put his all into eating you, he’d lick; suck and slurp, Iida was a shameless man when it came to having you on his tongue, he’d say the most vile and lewd things you’d ever heard from him, it was honestly pornography the things he’d come out with; and this time was no different.

“You taste like heaven… if men knew just how sweet you tasted, they’d be on their knees praying to you” he groaned as he licked between your folds, before wriggling his tongue inside you, “I’d lick your cunt raw if only you’d let me… I’d eat you every minute of the day and only take breaks to fuck you” he moaned into you before kissing up to your clit before wrapping his lips around it and suckling on it for dear life, you cried out loudly completely foregetting where you were, “tenya I’m… I’m…” you arched you back and wrapped your legs around Iida’s head as you grabbed roughly at his neatly groomed hair, “…oh god… yes tenya… yes…” you whimpered as your body seized up and you began coming undone on your boyfriend’s mouth, he groaned and moved back your entrance, sliding his tongue back into you as his fingers began rubbing quickly over your clit, “holy fuck… ten… oh tenya” you gasped as you started to and push Iida away, however he only continued. You took a sharp breath in, then took another and another, before suddenly losing the ability to breath, it took Iida only a few seconds to realise what was happening behind he moved up to you and brushed your hair from your face, “breath baby, breath out” he encouraged as his thumb rubbed soft circles on your jaw, you breathed out quickly before sucking in a deep breath, while Iida continued encouraging you.

Once fully calm your boyfriend chuckled and settled himself between your legs, “that was scary… you wanna continue?” He asked as he leant back down ready to pick up where he left off, “I wanna… but not like that… I wanna have you inside me” you hummed as you pulled off your underwear and opened your legs as wide as you could, “I want it all inside, to the base Tenya” you used your fingers to spread your folds apart as your laid back and waited for your boyfriend. Iida watched your cunt intensely as it squeezed around nothing, before he pulled off his shirt and pulled his throbbing cock from his pants, shifting the fabric down only enough for him to hang comfortably, the man pumped himself slowly and reached into his bedside table for a condom before rolling down his shaft and spitting on himself rubbing his saliva over his shaft, he than leant down and spat a large ball of saliva over your entrance, “hmmm… nice and wet… you’ll take it all in one now” he hummed as he prodded at your hole with his tip, pushing his saliva in and out, getting his tip wet.

Iida watched your cunt grip him tightly as he began to slowly slide in, once his cock was fully hilted inside you, you both moaned and Iida pressed his forehead against yours, “god fucking damn it… it feels good” he huffed out a string of cusses and rubbed your hips with his thumb as he waited for you to encourage him to move.

Iida had always been a giver, though he disguised it as petty payback… which it partly was… however with that being said Iida was always safe, he never acted reckless or overdid it, though this time was different.

Your hands grabbed Iida’s thick biceps as he gave you long and hard thrusts that caused the bed to thump into the wall, “Christ… you’re perfect” he moaned and grabbed a hold of your legs, he looked down at where the two of you met and smiled, watching the way your walls and opening clung to him so tightly, creating a delicious drag however because of this it was almost too hard for him to set an even pace, “please… more… I need it harder” you moaned as you dug your nails into he’s shoulders, Iida chuckled and began a strong pace. The man groaned and moaned as he held you down while he pushed into you a little bit harder and faster with every thrust, he’d moaned out obscenities while you simply took in the view, you’d finished several times already on his cock and looking down you could see a white ring form around the base of Iida’s cock, “Tenya… Tenya wait” you whine and place a hand on his chest to push him back, “what’s the matter? Is it starting to hurt? Should we stop?” He asked as he pulled out and grabbed the side of your cheek, you shook your head and leaned up “I’m fine, but I know you’ve been holding out for so long… so I want you to enjoy yourself a little” you hummed as you turn over and push your ass up into the air while pressing your face and chest into Iida’s mattress. Iida moved in and began looking over your wet folds, he rubbed his thumb over your cunt before using it to open you up for himself, “baby I’m always happy just giving you whatever you need, but this…” he groaned as he rubbed his tip over your clit, “you really want me to take what I need?” He questioned and you moaned, nodding your head and looking back at him, “I’m beyond satisfied, now I need to feel you cum” you whined as you reached back and grabbed a hold of the condom cover your boyfriend, before you began pulling it off him, the man moaned only to then quickly thrust into you once you pulled the condom completely off and discarded it on the floor, you grasped as Iida set into a brutal pace faster and harder then before, roughly holding your hips to stop your for jolting forward into the headboard, he’d roll his hips every so often and tried to get as deep as your body would allow him.

“I’m gonna cum so deep in you… I’m gonna use you up so no one else will want you” iida moaned as he threw his head back and grabbed at your ass cheeks, harshly smacking them every so often, “you dirty whore… you want that, don’t you?” Another harsh smack followed this and you responded with nothing but a whine. You can’t seem to form a coherent sentence, all that comes out of you is a jumble of words followed by moaning and whining, you were enjoying this, enjoying this more than maybe you should’ve been, “you’re squeezing so tightly…” Iida hummed as he further picked up his pace, he let out a laugh as he grabbed your waist and pulled you back into his thrusts, you could feel him twitching and pulsing with each thrust, “you sure you want it inside… cause if you don’t… I… I won’t” he moaned grinding his hips into you, “yes… god yes… inside please… Tenya please!” You cried loud before quickly having your face shoved into Iida’s pillows, “baby I love hearing your voice but shut the fuck up” he groaned as he held your head in place, while continuing his vicious assault on your cunt. Iida’s breaths become uneven and he lets go of your head and move his hand back to your ass, he grabbed at the flesh and watched as he began long quick, yet uneven thrusts. “Fuck baby, fuck…” he huffed as his hip’s faulted and snapped in towards you, you felt him shutter, soon an indescribable warmth filled your belly, your legs shook and your cunt squeezed uncontrollably, causing Iida to pulled out and begin fingering you, working you through your final orgasm of the night. “Shit… shit baby…” Iida sighed as he sat back on his bed, you crawled over to him weakly and climbed into his lap, “we fucked up… I shouldn’t have let you take it off… I should’ve kept the condom on” he huffed as he rested his head back against the wall, “it’s okay, I’m on the pill” you smiled however Iida did not return that smile, “it doesn’t matter… it was still so reckless of me… to allow you to seduce me into such dangerous play…” he hummed and hugged into you and pressed his face into your neck, “you make me a truly weak man” he sighed and began kissing your neck, “let’s not risk doing it raw again, I’m not a strong enough man for that just yet” he moaned and you couldn’t help but laugh, here was the overly serious and proper boyfriend you fell head over heels in love with, “we could always go one more round, I don’t feel full enough yet” you joked and felt Iida bite your neck before sitting up and frowning at you, “okay, I’ll stop… though it was nice” you hum and quickly stand up, walking into the toilet in the room, “I need a washcloth tenya” you call and heard the man stand from the bed before walking into the toilet with a wet washcloth, “do you need help darling?” Iida passed you the cloth and you nodded as you took it, “yeah it’s pretty deep in, I can’t possibly reach it” you said with a wide smirk, Iida sighed and knelt down “alright I’ll help you”.

_

You sat in class as All Might finished up giving his feedback on today class, he finally ended his little lecture and dismissed the class but before anyone could stand and leave for the dormitory Aizawa stopped everyone as if he had been waiting outside the classroom door just for All Might to finish, “Bakugo, Midoriya, Iida and L/n, all of you are to stay back” he spoke before letting everybody else leave, All might gave Midoriya a nervous look before leaving himself. All four of you sat facing Aizawa as he sat down on the stool that had been moved into the classroom after he’d lost his leg, “now Bakugo and Midoriya, you both know fighting at school outside of training is prohibited and to fight in the dormitory is next level irresponsible, both of you will have two weeks of after class detention… now get out of my site” he grumbled and both boy stood, beginning to leave, however Midoriya stop near Iida and in a not so quiet whisper “I’ll wait for you out in the hallway” he smiled and Aizawa quickly piped in, “absolutely not… get back to the dormitory” he scolded and this made Midoriya scramble out the door, closing it behind him.

“Now you two, you know why I have you here… don’t you?” Aizawa crossed his arms and looked between the both of you, Iida swallowed as you tried your hardest to keep a straight face. “I have some ideas” your eyes shifted to the side and you smiled nervously, “very funny L/n, but maybe next time you decide to give Iida a past curfew visit make sure I’ve actually finished my rounds…” his frown deepened and you could feel your face go red, “it was quite a surprise to be finished up then suddenly heard a woman’s cries though the boy’s half of the dormitory” Aizawa looked towards Iida and from the corner of your eye, you could see your boyfriend struggling to make eye contact with the teacher, “and then all the banging of what I presume was your bed frame… but hey maybe I’m wrong and you were decorating, and you were just cheering on all his hard work” Aizawa’s face still held a straightness despite his very obvious frustration, “look, you can’t be doing that kind of stuff so freely and openly, if the wrong person heard that or even if someone was able to get a picture or video of you two… because you know how driven some of your classmates are…” Aizawa sighed and uncrossed his arms “if something like that happened to get out to the media, it’d ruin your careers before they have a chance to actually begin…” Aizawa spoke so calmly it was unnerving, he then looked at you and continued on “L/n the public wouldn’t see you as some sweet little sister anymore, you’d be seen as some whore who seduced an honest and just man…” his expression softened and you looked down in shame before he moved onto Iida, “and Iida, the public would start saying your a weak willed man, if you’re lucky… or they’d treat you like a monster for defiling a precious young woman” he said and leant back in his chair with a sigh, Aizawa pinched is nose bridge “you both need to be more careful, I’m not saying you can’t do that you’re both adults and will be out of here in a few months, but you need to think about your image, so no doing that here and no going to love hotels, doing it at one of your homes where your privacy is respected… and you’ll be having two weeks of detention with Midoriya and Bakugo” he grumbled and stood ready to leave, “get out of here, now” he said as he pointed to the door, both you and Iida speedily left the room as you both exited you had Aizawa muttered under his breath questioning how he hadn’t gone grey yet.

“I think it was worth it…” you said walking along side Iida and after a moment of silence the man chuckled, “yeah it was, I’m disappointed in us… but it definitely was worth it” he added and shook his head in amusement, “worth it enough to do it again” you smiled and grabbed Iida’s hand, “its tempting, but no… I’m pissed about the idea of all those guys hearing you” he said and brought the back of your hand up to his lips kissing it before the both of you walked back to your dorm laughing about everything.

[rs-hawk]

do you have any tentacle stuff? im thinking maybe an ursula-style octopus merman bf

I don’t have anything tentacle like that but it does sound interesting so-

You always loved the beach so when you were able to book an Air BNB with a private beach, you were ecstatic. Finally you could relax on the sandy ground without anyone bothering you or worrying about having to move.

As you settled onto your towel with nothing on (because everyone hates tan lines, right?), you didn’t notice the curious eyes watching you from the deep waters. When you slipped a swimsuit on, just in case, and plunged into the cool waves, you didn’t realize that there was something just out of sight with his hungry gaze fixed on you. That would change the next day, however.

The next morning, you took off at dawn to the beach. You set everything up, eagerly waiting for the sun to finish rising. In awe, you watched the sunrise the same way that the creature that was creeping up from the depths was watching you. As soon as you’re in the water, tentacles were wrapping around your ankles, your waist. Puckers leaving soft pink marks all over your skin.

“Oh!” you squeak, lifting your legs to look what’s all over you. You gently touch the tentacle around your waist, confused but curious. “What’s this then?”

“Hello,” the octo-man said as he slowly broke the water’s surface. It seemed like he was nervous.

“Hello,” you echoed, looking at him with a tilted head.

He reached out to touch you, and a chill snaked down your back. His hand felt so squishy but also velvety. Kind of like the tentacles. In seconds, his lips were on yours, his tongue pushing into your mouth as if staking a claim.

Your body reacted on its own, curling into his, wrapping your arms around him. In seconds, he dragged you to a small partially underwater cave just a little ways off the shore. The merman set you on a shelf of the cave, leaving you only up to your knees in the water.

“My little trinket,” he muttered as he began to tease your cunt over your swimsuit bottom.

You whimpered softly, bucking your hips slightly against the sucker that was now attached to your clit with only the thin fabric between. He smirked at your obvious need. The tentacle itches away from you before another joined it to strip your bottoms. Your cunt was already getting slick, much to his excitement. His tentacles wrapped around your body, teasing you, prodding you.

Suckers found your sensitive nipples, and another found it’s way back to your clit, making you cry out in pleasure. Your cunt was throbbing, nearly dripping. “Fuck,” you moaned, arching more against his tentacles.

That was all it took for him. His largest tentacle began to push into your cunt, stretching you wide. You whimpered and moaned as he slowly stretched you out, your cunt gripping it as each inch pushed deeper and deeper into you. Another pushed into your mouth, down your throat. You gagged as you were stretched to what you thought was your limit. Then, your lover, his eyes half lidded as he groped and touched your soft human body, began to lift you slightly. His six other tentacles wrapped around you, helping lift you off the shelf. You didn’t think much of it, blissed out and on the edge of orgasm.

Just as suddenly as he lifted you, he unwound one of his tentacles from your waist, pushing it inside of your ass. You cried out against the tentacle in your mouth, but barely anything came out. He laid you down, unwinding another tentacle and shoving it into your already stretched cunt. Soon enough none where holding you as you were laid out on the shelf, your feet only in the water. A sucker was back on your clit, teasing you until you finally pulsed around the tentacles inside of you, drawing them in closer.

“There we go. That’s a good trinket,” he huffed, his sloppy kisses lining your neck.

He pushed his largest tentacle so deeply inside of you that you were certain it was in your womb. A bulge in your stomach seemed to confirm it. He panted as he came, the hot liquid a stark contrast to how cool he felt. Your eyes rolled back in your head, pathetic little whines pushing against the tentacle in your mouth.

The largest tentacle withdrew, dribbling a white liquid. However, the smaller one stayed inside, as if keeping you plugged. The tentacle in your mouth finally let you breath, withdrawing to lazily wrap around your chest. The only one actively thrusting into you now was the one in your ass, slowly and deliberately timing the thrusts to the sucking of the sucker still on your clit.

You don’t know how long you lay there, moaning and begging the merman to keep going, but by the time his cum is leaking out of you and multiple loads have been dumped into your little human womb, it’s sunrise again.

[siddyyyyyyyy]

Unhinged

Jason Todd x Reader

MDNI wc: 0.7K summary: your roommate finds your messages you send your friend about him. warnings: suggestive themes, no y/n used, actually kind of cringe a/n: my dear friend accidently gave me this idea while spamming me with delicious Red Hood edits (@dollyure), evidence will be shared at the end. enjoy!!

You never thought this could happen. You were so careful to leave your own thoughts to yourself and never let Jason see the things you tell your friend. But of course, nothing really goes your way for some reason.

It took one thing for you to end up in this situation. One thing. And that was leaving your phone unattented on the sofa for a minute. Unlocked.

It was a typical evening as any other, just getting to relax and wind down at the end of the week on your favourite spot at the couch with your roommate. Jason was always pretty quiet but respectful of the shared space, a good friend if you want to wind down together. You rarely get to see him in the evenings but on days like this, when he stays in, it feels like a small reward for you.

Of course he doesn‘t know about any of this. Doesn‘t know anything about what your silly texts between you and your friends. You keep it a secret pretty well, so he won‘t think you are a complete weirdo.

Well, until that evening. Setting your phone quickly aside to get to your boiling tea kettle, you forgot to lock it. Jason sits at the other end of the fluffy couch and watches how you scurry away to get the boiling water to a stop. With an amused grin he gets back to his book but keeps getting distracted by the bright phonescreen just a little away from him. Glancing over, he sees the outlines of text bubbles but he can‘t see what‘s written in there yet.

He isn‘t trying to pry or get into your privacy, but the way the other person spams you non-stop is making him more curious. Whatever this conversation is about, he wants to know if it‘s a conflict or some sort of gossip.

Jason checks if you are still in the kitchen and sees you preparing your tea and some sweets. He technically has enough time to snatch your phone while it‘s still open and gets to have a look over the texts. Who knows, maybe he will find out some interesting things on there. So, with these weak excuses, he grabs your phone and starts reading through them.

UNTIL YOUR TONGUE FADES COLOUR??? I mean every word I say. Wow. Just…

His brows furrow. What does this even mean? Are tongues even capable of fading colour? With a quick glance to the kitchen, he scrolls up, reading through the older messages.

From the couch, to the shower, to the bed, from the wall to the floor from missionary to cowgirl, straddled on top JUST LET ME HITTT

His jaw drops. Jason quickly composes himself and sits up, clearing his throat. He is sure he will need extra therapy after this. Ignoring the unfamiliar, warm feeling in his lower abdomen, he continues to read through them. Unsurprisingly, he finds a picture of himself in the chat. His profile picture, some random pictures he didn‘t even you had in the first place.

Until my throat memorises every vein.

That‘s the last message he sees from you before you appear in his sight again. Tea in hand, some cookies in the other. But most importantly, your flushed cheeks and regretful expression. His hand drops your phone and his cheeks also flush.

You can‘t look into his eyes anymore. This is the next worst thing that‘s ever happened to you so far. There is no way you can talk yourself out of this situation at all. He knows basically everything now. From the fact that you crush on him to the fact that you literally want to devour him whole.

Silently, he sets your phone back to its original spot and gets off the couch to stand up. Again, he clears his throat and speaks up first.

»I‘m gonna pretend I didn‘t see all this...«

And before you could apologise or say something to your defense, he is gone, retreating himself into his own room. Maybe even for the better, you can‘t imagine how awkward it would‘ve been if you were to sit next to him for the next few hours.

here is the so called evidence ( from my friends perspective)

and this was the final message that made me do this:

hope you enjoyed it somehow(★‿★)

part two

←MASTERLIST

[lightseoul]

So excited for this ask! #24 🥹💐💐

hello, lovely! thanks for playing <3 ik i said i'd write "short" drabbles, but this one kind of got away from me... nevertheless, i hope you enjoy it!

(this is lightseoul's 2k milestone event ft. bakugou katsuki! to play, view the numbered list of prompts here, then simply send an ask with your chosen number and i'll whip something up!)

24. "THERE YOU ARE." (1.5k)

you feel his commanding, unmissable presence before you even catch a glimpse of him.

yet despite yourself, you still startle at the sound of his booming voice when it inevitably comes.

“there you are.”

almost instantly, you cringe at the sheer volume. no doubt he’s caught the attention of at least three people in this particular area of the bookstore.

tightening your grip on the book you just spent the last ten minutes admiring from where it stood on the ‘newly released’ table, you, however, don’t look back to the source.

you know it’s stupid. but maybe—just maybe—if you didn’t see him, you could just pretend he didn’t exist.

which is ludicrous, because he’s literally your boyfr—

“oi.”

before you even get the chance to react, a hand grabs you by your left shoulder and spins you around, leaving you face-to-face with #6 hero pro-hero dynamight, decked out in his hero gear.

and he’s looking mighty pissed.

“did you fucking lie to me?”

he spits the blatant question—no, the accusation—so harshly that you can’t help but shrink into yourself ever so slightly.

when you don’t say anything, he only shakes his head. “i thought you said you had to work overtime and stay in the office?”

he pauses, as if to hear you out, but he continues before you can get a word in. “so you can only imagine my fucking confusion when i got there and that dickhead of a supervisor of yours said you went home on the dot.”

“i thought you agreed to cover for kiri tonight…” you mumble, more to yourself.

but bakugou, sharp as ever, barely catches it. “what?”

you look up from where you were staring at your feet, finally meeting his gaze. you try not to let the pained expression on his face chip away at your resolve. “what were you doing at my office? i thought you were working a double shift today.”

at that, he sneers. “oh, so we’re answering questions with questions now, hah?”

“no, i just—”

“i told eijirou last minute that i couldn’t ‘cuz i was planning to surprise you and spend the night together. happy?”

a wave of guilt courses through you at his admission. you shift to look at the stack of novels behind him instead, effectively ending your staredown.

“so you did lie to me,” he declares definitively, voice clipped. “can’t even look me in the fucking eye.”

not knowing what to say, you resort to scanning the relatively big area around you, clocking the curious faces attached to which are most definitely eavesdropping ears.

“people are staring, kats…”

the pro-hero doesn’t miss a beat. “i don’t give a single fuck.”

you heave a sigh as you wrack your brain for a way out of this. adjusting your grip on the book you’ve been cradling, you settle with: “it must’ve been a long day for you, you should go home and—”

“why are you avoiding me?”

you barely stop yourself from choking. “what?”

“you are. shit’s been going on for a while now—can’t believe it took me this long to put two and two together. you’re always working overtime, you always have errands to run on your own, you’ve been turning down my offers to—”

“excuse me, mr. dynamight, sir?”

the both of you whip to look at the source of the timid voice, only to find what has to be a six or seven-year-old child quaking in his notably orange and black hi-top sneakers.

“what?” comes bakugou’s curt response, obviously annoyed at having been interrupted. you, on the other hand, bask in the momentary reprieve the kid has unknowingly granted you.

you instinctively take a step back from the two.

“can i p-please have a p-picture with you?”

bakugou purses his lips in a tight line, “look, kid, i’m actually in the middle of some—”

“just do it, kats,” you cut him off, feeling empathy for the boy. the child looks at you in surprise, as if he just remembered you were standing there, before tossing you a grateful look.

at that, the man sighs, before beckoning the kid to come close next to him. the younger male beams in joy, hurriedly handing you his smartphone. bakugou crouches down on his knees so he’s more or less at the same height as the kid, an arm looped around the latter.

and as you say ‘cheese’, the two grin, one genuine and excited while the other comes off as a bit strained.

the kid jumps in glee and rushes off to you right after catching the hero off guard with a tight hug to his muscled leg.

looking up at you, he smiles. “thank you, miss!”

you ruffle his hair, “no problem, …?”

“eiro!” the child offers enthusiastically. “and you are?”

you’re about to say your name before you catch yourself in the nick of time.

“no one, really,” you chuckle, although it comes out a bit stilted. through your periphery, you can sense bakugou’s stare boring holes into the side of your face.

a look of perplexion crosses eiro’s innocent features. “really? for a second there i thought you were dynamight’s girlfriend, or something. you can’t be just no one.”

“i’m just a random bookworm,” you raise the book you’ve been holding and wiggle it to prove your point. “see?”

the child merely gives you an unconvinced hum before deciding he doesn’t really care enough to keep pressing. with one last look at his favorite hero, he lets out a squeal of delight, exclaiming thanks and dashing off to who-knows-where.

you take that as your cue to turn your back and make a start for the exit.

you can always just order this book that you’ve been waiting months for, anyway.

but you barely get to take a step forward when bakugou reaches for your wrist and pulls you unceremoniously close toward him, the distance between the two of you around only a foot apart.

your heart starts hammering—whether at the proximity or in anticipation of what’s about to come, if the tight grip on your appendage was any indication—you don’t know.

“the fuck was that?” he hiss-whispers.

at least he’s minding other people now. “i just felt for the kid. he just wanted to take a picture with you.”

“quit playing dumb with me, princess,” he growls. “why the fuck didn’t you just say your name?”

you gulp before you get to talk yourself out of it. bakugou notices, his eyes darting down to your throat and back up to your eyes, his crimson ones wordlessly demanding an answer.

when you don’t utter a single word, bakugou pushes. “you don’t want to go public about us, is that it?”

you almost gawk unabashedly at the man. you sometimes forget how perceptive he can be.

before you can even attempt to deny it, you get stopped in your tracks as you witness first-hand the palpable hurt that flashes across the pro-hero’s features.

and nothing could’ve prepared you for what tumbles out of his mouth next.

“…are you ashamed of being with me?”

“what?” you blurt out, an amalgamation of emotions washing over you in an instant. “no! why the hell would you think that?”

at that, bakugou frowns, “what else am i supposed to think, dumbass?”

“a million other things! like how villains might kidnap me to get back at you, or that your popularity and general ranking will drop, or that i’m not fucking good enough for you!”

the second you say the last thing, bakugou’s gaze turns indescribably stony.

“take that the fuck back.”

“no,” you say, trying to sound firm. “i’m being serious, katsuki.”

“no, you're being fucking ridiculous,” he spits, and if you were judging him just by his tone you wouldn’t believe he’s the one defending you right now.

“is that why you’ve been avoiding me, hah? because you don’t think you’re good enough for me?”

“don’t say it like that,” you grumble, shame now churning in your gut. “you’re making it sound stupid.”

“because you are being stupid, dumbass.” the man huffs, evidently frustrated but you’ve known him long enough to recognize the traces of relief etched on his face.

bakugou reaches for your shoulders, his big, firm hands encasing them as he gently squeezes the flesh. you finally bring your gaze up to look him in the eyes, and the sincerity in them would’ve made you stumble if it weren’t for his hold that’s keeping you in place.

“you’re fucking good enough for me, you got that?”

he says it so certainly that you can’t help but nod, even though you know the insecurities won’t vanish overnight.

“and don’t worry about my ranking—i want to reach number one with you by my side. as for those shit-faced villains, they won’t lay a finger on you as long as i’m alive. okay?”

“okay.”

seemingly pleased enough, bakugou releases his grip on you, pulling a few inches away.

“good. now be a good fucking girl and come home with me, alright? we're gonna talk this shit out.”

[starkwlkr]

the hamilton girls | lewis hamilton

based on dave grohl’s interviews about his daughters <33 he’s my favorite girl dad i can always trust dave grohl

Lewis Hamilton was many things. A Formula 1 driver, a seven time world champion, an idol, an inspiration to many young kids, but most of all, he was a husband and father to three girls. His family was everything to him. He enjoyed being a dad to his three precious girls.

Maeve was his oldest. She was born on a sunny day in 2013. Then came his second, Violet, born in 2017. Violet instantly became Maeve’s best friend. Lewis and Y/n were thankful that Maeve didn’t go through a jealous phase. Lastly, came their third girl, Gracie, born in early 2020.

The Hamilton girls would join their father in the paddock when they didn’t have school. Dressed in Mercedes merch, they walked hand in hand with their mother to the Mercedes garage. The entire team loved them, it was impossible not to.

“Dad! I really want lemonade!” Violet poked Lewis’ side until he payed attention to her.

“There’s no lemonade here. Have some water.” Lewis suggested, but Violet frowned. Lewis didn’t want his daughter to be upset so he directed the girls to Mercedes hospitality in hopes that someone could make the girls a lemonade. In the end, his three daughters ended up with their lemonade.

At one point, they even because Twitter famous whenever they were at the races. Violet had a habit of sleeping even before the race ended so when the camera showed Lewis celebrating his win, the camera panned over to Lewis’ family showing little Violet asleep with her mouth slightly open in her mom’s arms.

Maeve was half asleep, but she still made a heart with her hands. Gracie was with her grandma, but you were pretty sure she was asleep as well.

But when they weren’t attending races, the Hamilton girls were back in school. Whenever Lewis had time off, he would pick up the girls from school, giving you some time to yourself. He knew how the school pickup process was, what he didn’t know was how long it would take. When it was finally his time to park in front of the school, a teacher walked up making Lewis roll down the window.

The teacher was taken by surprise when she saw Lewis. “Um . . Who are you here to pick up, sir?”

“Maeve and Violet Hamilton.” He replied. Then the teacher nodded and walked back to the school. Seconds later, his two girls walked patiently towards their dad’s black Mercedes. Lewis could feel the other parents staring at him. It wasn’t everyday that Lewis Hamilton came to a children’s school.

Maeve opened the backseat door and climbed in along with Violet. They looked exhausted, probably from all the running they did during recess.

“How was school?” Lewis asked as he drove away.

“We went to the library today and I got a book. It’s about sports and your face is in it.” Violet said as she got the book out from her backpack.

“Really? What does it say?” Lewis questioned, curious as to what the book said. The girls weren’t really interested in formula 1, so he was confused as to why Violet even checked out the book.

“It says you won seven titles and then i stopped reading because I was bored. I only got it because I wanted to show you and mom that uncle Nico was in the book too.”

His girls always made him laugh. They could brighten up his day even if he was at his lowest. He was such a proud dad too, often bringing up his daughters during interviews and posting pictures of them on instagram. During his Jimmy Kimmel interview, he took any chance he got to talk about his family.

“And do your daughters understand that their dad is a seven time world champion?” Jimmy asked.

Lewis chuckled. “They don’t really care.” He said then the audience, along with Jimmy, laughed. “No, they know what I do for work, but when they were younger they thought I sold cars.”

“You sold cars? How did they come up with that?” Jimmy laughed.

“Their mum explained that I work with cars, that was all, so they assumed I sold cars because at home I have several. Then I think it was the Monaco Grand Prix where they finally got an understanding of what exactly I do. They watched the race and when it was over, I asked them what they thought of it and all I got was ‘I don’t know’ and that’s when my wife said that halfway through the race they asked her for her phone so they could watch their cartoons.” Lewis explained.

He remembers that day clearly. The girls weren’t interested in cars, they rather watch reruns of Gravity Falls. He wasn’t mad either, he was glad that they didn’t get frustrated and start causing chaos around the paddock.

Him mentioning his girls because a regular thing. During press conferences, he was often asked about his girls, more specifically if they would follow his footsteps into the world of F1.

“They don’t even care about the races.” Lewis said as the other drivers bursted out laughing. “My oldest, Maeve, she did have a phase where she liked cars, but she’s transitioned into learning about dinosaurs. She says she wants to be an paleontologist so I don’t have to worry about her.”

“Her birthday is coming up, no?” Max asked. “I’ll buy her one of those fossil kits. I think she’ll love it.”

“And what about your other daughter?”

“She falls asleep every time, I don’t think we will see her racing anytime soon. I’m telling you, they don’t care.” Lewis laughed.

“They don’t care about your world titles?” Charles asked smiling.

“They don’t care! To them, I’m just their dad. They’re like ‘daddy, I need my lemonade now’ it’s kinda funny actually. But I love my girls.”

The Hamilton girls loved their dad to death, it was clear, even if they didn’t care about his world titles or his reputation in F1. He was the best dad to them and that was all they cared about.

[daenysx]

I can't stop thinking about modern!aemond with his pregnant wife or with the baby, like him caressing her little bump, or massaging her when she feels tired

i wrote a little drabble for this, i hope it's okay <33

modern!aemond targaryen x pregnant fem!reader , fluff

you wrap your fingers around the cup of herbal tea aemond made for you minutes ago.

he's not sitting here with you, because he needs to make calls and work in his room. you told him it's okay, never liked keeping him away from his job. working is something he needs to do to keep his mind occupied, otherwise you think he'll be worried for you or the baby. it happened before.

your other hand draws absent-minded shapes on your belly. it's grown huge, to the point where you can't see your feet when you're standing up. it feels unbelievable sometimes, the fact that you'll be able to see your baby girl in such a short time. you will hold her in your arms, feed her and kiss her. it's gonna feel like a miracle, you're not familiar with miracles.

you are curious about the details, of course. not the giving birth part, you try to keep your mind away from it these days. but what will she look like? doctors are saying she's healthy and everything's okay. will she have aemond's hair? maybe your eyes? will she read lots of books when she's grown like her dad, or will she like obsessing over fictional characters from tv shows just like you did years ago? she'll be perfect, you know that much. a mix of aemond and you. perfect.

you can't wait to meet her for many reasons but it would also be nice to stop being pregnant and get rid of the aches in your body. it's not easy to carry a baby, no matter how excited you are, physical aspects cannot be ignored for too long. you feel swollen everywhere, it's hard to leave the bed or couch by yourself, and sometimes even your face doesn't feel like your own. you think it's normal to feel that way most times, but- not always. not today.

the couch beneath you is usually comfy, not now, though. it feels like something's digging up your spine, you tilt your head back to the pillows with a low groan. baby girl moves, she's a bit restless today. you want to move your legs, maybe walk a little to relieve the numbness in them. well, you can't leave the couch by yourself. tough luck.

your hero steps in, and you manage to take a nice breath. aemond comes to you, his face is unreadable. he tries not to let work bother him, especially when he needs to be okay for the three of you now, but you sense him feeling stressed over it. it looks like today will be a small disaster for each member of his little targaryen family.

"what's wrong?" aemond asks, the moment he sees your discomfort. "are you hurting anywhere?"

you hand him the tea cup, only took a few sips from it before. "can you help me up, please?"

"of course, my love." he softens immediately. it's time to be a good husband, he's not gonna sulk over business deals just now. "here, let me hold you." he says, supporting your body to lift you up.

it's nice to feel your legs again. you hold aemond's hand, his other arm supports your waist to give you something to lean back. you look up to him to get a kiss. it's needed desperately, and he's quick to give you what you want. your belly gets in the way a bit, but aemond is tall enough to still tower over you, your lips meet just right.

"do you wanna walk with me?" aemond asks. "let's go to kitchen and find something to eat for you."

"a walk would be nice." you say, accepting his lead. "she's moving too much today. it's feels like she's angry at me or something."

"she's just impatient." he defends his girl. "she'll be here soon."

"yes." you say happily, stepping into the kitchen. "we still need to decide a name, though."

you lean against the kitchen counter as aemond takes out some fruits from the fridge. he starts preparing a whole plate of them, pineapples and strawberries. just what you like.

"i mean, at least we have options." he says. "we just decide what feels right when we get to see her."

"mm, okay." you say, not having enough energy to discuss the name thing over again. it's hard to pick it, even harder to stop yourself from thinking another option and trying to decide which will be better.

aemond is done with the fruits, he washes his hands and gets a towel to dry them before reaching for you. "you look like you need to get some sleep." he says with a little smile on his face. he cups your cheeks to kiss your chin.

"but you just made me snacks." you tell him. snacks are important.

"they'll be here when you wake up." aemond reminds you. "i'm done with work today. we can go to bed and wake up at dinner time if you want."

normally it's a shock to hear these words from your husband, he doesn't like spending hours on sleeping during the day. after you started getting more tired though, he tries to stay with you as much as he can. you like having him in bed even when you can't cuddle properly, it's the way he makes you feel safe. also, quality time for your tiny family.

you nod, holding his hand again to go to bed. walking seems a bit harder now, you wrap your free hand around your belly. you're thankful for having aemond's clothes on you, nothing feels restraining at least. you sit on bed and try to find a nice position to lay down.

you don't like having covers on you but aemond still pulls the thin blanket on your legs. he lays down after, keeping his body as close to yours as he can. his hand finds its usual spot on your belly. he's gentle with the way he rubs your skin. you close your eyes, your poor muscles give up.

"why is my girl so restless today, hmm?" he asks softly, leaning to your baby as he talks to her. "you need to give your mommy a break, little love, i don't like seeing her so exhausted."

aemond kisses where your baby's head must be and you feel a sudden comfort spreading all over your body. "keep talking to her, please." you say. you love how he manages to calm both you and your baby.

"you'll be here soon." he says, his fingers meet with her as she moves. "we'll get to choose you a name, and you'll wear your tiny clothes. we need to pick up a teddy bear for you, and decide your favorite color to get you nice dresses. you need to be here to do all that, okay?"

you reach for aemond's hand when you feel sleep taking over you. he keeps talking to your baby, and she finally settles down. he doesn't sleep, he doesn't need to. he can only watch you and stay with you just in case you need anything when you wake up. he gives both of you occasional kisses to remind you of his presence.

[planetnini]

LOVE TO KEEP ME WARM !

࿔･ﾟ*࿐ for the first time ever satoru is left puzzled just by a simple question from tsumiki, but he knows just how to prove his love for you + gn!reader. fluff with some angst— use of nicknames (baby, sweetheart), found family trope <3, girl dad satoru agenda, he is a bit insecure but it gets resolved, cutest fucking declaration of love ever, surprises! snow shenanigans, mistletoe kiss, satoru is the best boyfie ever i love him (5.8k words)

notes. this is a gift!!!! so it will cater to the interests and personality of my person but everything else is very vague :) merry new years secret santa thing @scarameows-world !!!! very late by the time this gets published but whtever.. i'm the reindeer that's been up in your inbox <3 we had alot of good talks and i hope we can stay in touch after this :") now here's a cute little fic i made for you about the one and only gojo satoru. title is inspired by this song

gojo satoru is a man whose proficiency knows no bounds. he is a force to be reckoned with ushering a new era of powerful sorcerers and curses due to his possession of both the six eyes and limitless technique. he could do almost anything as one might expect and everything came naturally to him. he never had any doubts about himself, but then came along you. 

satoru was a natural when it came to flirting, but he was not accustomed to the rejection he faced in his early days when you would ‘let him down easy’– it was nothing short of disastrous, always ending in banter between you two. yet somehow you had your wicked ways of making him chase even though all you two did was flirt. after several attempts to woo you and you finally stepping up, one thing led to another now here you were, co-parenting two kids with the man you once swore you’d never be with. satoru was 100% sure that he would be yours for infinity, but it wavered on this particular day. 

satoru was on a little errand run with tsumiki whom he had entrusted with pushing the trolley around as he scanned the list you had made for tonight’s dinner and activity. she was a young and incredibly happy girl who was much friendlier than her brother, megumi. when satoru adopted the two, tsumiki had taken a liking to him immediately whilst megumi took a liking towards you so he had taken her on the trip. it had been going well, with them doing the final grocery run after spending what felt like hours picking out the perfect wreath for the front door, however tsumiki’s question stopped him right in his tracks.

“do you love y/n?” she asked, a little curious look decorating her features.

“that’s a silly question. of course i do!” he uttered, scanning the wreaths with his eyes picking out the perfect one because quite frankly, he didn’t know how to react. 

people naturally assume that growing up from a family who viewed him as an ornament and coddled him that he would be a closed book or lacking in social skills but his first few years at jujutsu tech proved everyone wrong: he was not just a pretty face who could get away with just that. in the end, his love for others was his weakness and tsumiki had brought up something that satoru had failed to anticipate. what did she see that satoru couldn’t and was that even possible?

she took the wreath from his hands and put it into the trolley bringing him back to the present, “how do you know you love y/n?” she paused, and tsumiki must be sadistic for making him suffer like this, “what does it feel like?” she asked, looking up at him.

satoru looked down at the child, surprised by her questions. he paused for a moment, considering how to articulate such an answer to a complex question. was it that hard to believe that gojo satoru was capable of loving someone?

while satoru would never admit it at the start, he needed megumi and tsumiki more than they needed him. after suguru’s defect, they especially reminded him that sometimes blood wasn’t all that important when it came to the people you loved. he loved them but in a completely different way than he loved you. a love so unequivocal that it was impossible for people not to know how truly and deeply in love satoru was with you, so he wasn’t sure where he went wrong but perhaps it wasn’t enough.

“well,” he began a thoughtful look on his face, “loving someone is different to everyone. i guess i can’t really explain it other than a warm, fuzzy feeling inside and it makes you feel like everything is right…” he replied, her eyes lighting up with understanding, “you care for their happiness the most, that you’d even share your favourite candy.” he chuckled with a playful glint in his eyes, trying not to sound too sentimental.

“so you feel warm and fuzzy when you see y/n?” she looked up curiously at satoru.

he chuckled, ruffling the child's hair, "yeah, exactly. now come on, let’s finish this quickly so we can go home. get something for yourself and your brother.” he winked to which tsumiki nodded eagerly, seemingly satisfied with his answer as she rushed down the aisle finding something to bring home.

the atmosphere between satoru and the girl was no longer tense but satoru’s mind was swirling. he was reflecting on the innocence of the question as he took control of the trolley now, finished with his chores for the day. he even went as far as buying you something too but tsumiki had inadvertently planted a seed of doubt in his mind and now satoru was spiralling. did he love you enough? was his warm and fuzzy feelings strong and genuine, or was it something he convinced himself of after everything that went down? the simplicity of her question left satoru questioning himself and for the first time in forever, he is unsure of his relationship with you.

“i thought i told you that they can’t stay up late.” you spoke while washing the dishes. satoru could only lightly chuckle as he rinsed the plate, putting it on the drying rack. he knew you only meant well but he enjoyed seeing you like this more than he had expected: seeing you so worried and being such a caring person towards them. it was not like he had forced you to take care of them, it was through your own volition that you practically raised them.

“come on…” he drawled a little pout on his lips, “they said they didn’t want to decorate the tree without you tomorrow.” he reasoned, knowing that the two children in the living room were your true weakness and that just as much as you do for them, they’d do for you too. the way a simple sentence morphed your furrowed brows into a look of gratitude proved his point.

“do they actually want to decorate the tree with me or is it only because you bought them sweets today?” you accused.

“they’re much older now,” he reassured with a tone you doubt has any good intentions, “besides, i think it’s fair if we stop their ban on sweets, don’t you?” he asked with a simple hip nudge and you roll your eyes at the gesture.

he was happy with this, with how things were going in your life right now, in fact he couldn’t get enough of it. his request was simple, but you wasted no time immediately retaliating, “you just want to freely eat your sweets and use them as an excuse.” 

“what little faith you have in me!” he gasped and you have to stifle a laugh, “plus, they’re kinda scary when they don't get their way.” he joked, leaning back on the counter with his arms crossed to get a better view of you who had just finished washing and drying your hands after dinner. 

“how the higher-ups trust someone like you on those missions, i have no idea. i wonder how they would react if they found out you can’t handle two children.” you said, flashing him a smile. mentioning the higher-ups in the conversation made satoru’s blood boil but it had been tamed when he caught that little shake of your head combined with your smile. he had been contemplating the nature and depth of his feelings for you but tonight had proved that it was all a fluke– just seeing you was enough to remind him that nothing about loving you could ever be doubted, because loving you was as natural as breathing.

satoru leaned down to meet your eyes as you turned to face him, “sweetheart, if you want me home instead of on missions, you could just say so.” he smirked– a signature gojo satoru look that you couldn’t tell if you loved or hated.

you narrowed your eyes at him, “i hope you get put on more missions.” 

“you wound me.” he grunted, a hand over his heart feigning hurt but you knew that he was joking.

“you can take it.” you hummed, eyebrows scrunching as he stared down at you lovingly with a smile etched across his face.

there have been so many moments between you, satoru and the kids that blossomed with joy– something that felt lost in a world rife of evil– but you forget that you’re both still fairly young, thwarted into roles of guardians. you loved satoru since you were teens and seeing that this was your first relationship ever, it is only normal to feel insecure, and normal that you have doubts that satoru could ever truly love you.

while staring at satoru your mind can’t help but swirl with thoughts and he catches on immediately, perceptive as ever due to his six eyes and well, being gojo satoru. he sees it in your contemplative sighs that he had been hearing throughout the week, in your crafted smile, the way your shoulders are tensed and your jaw clenched: he knows you’re feeling some way right now because even your eyes don’t have their usual spark. your name rolls off his tongue so naturally, as if he was born to say it, as he reaches up to brush his hand across your cheek.

“what’s on your mind?” he questioned with a tilt of his head, thumb caressing your cheek. to him, the signs are as clear as day that you were troubled with thoughts of something and he wouldn’t rest until he found out what was going on in that beautiful mind of yours.

that warm fuzzy feeling intensified, secret moments between the two of you that the young girl was unaware of. it’s times like this you’re grateful that satoru is so in touch with how you felt most times and you can’t help the relief that settles in your heart when you realise you were so lucky to have him in your life, “it’s nothing,” you shook your head with a smile plastered on your face, “just… thank you for everything you did the other day,” you said, genuinely appreciative of his contribution to megumi’s birthday dinner, “i know you don’t think that he likes you but he really does look up to you.” you admitted.

“my charms aren’t all that bad.” he hummed, a proud nod as you snorted at his holier-than-thou tone.

your eyes closed at the soft contact of his lips on the crown of your head, warmth spreading all throughout your body during the cold winter month. you crave him and his touch, and you’re lucky that he hasn’t been put on any missions, specifically requested (he threatened the higher-ups knowing his status) to stay home with you and the others for just a couple of weeks. a small sigh left his lips as he started moving his hands away from your face up over his blindfold, the loss of contact made you pout slightly. your hand came over his, stopping him with a simple action, “are you sure you want them off?” you whispered, your voice dripping with concern.

“i want to see you.” he said, without an ounce of hesitation in his response. 

“i don’t like the migraines it gives you when you have them off.” you retaliated as you shook your head resolutely. he wants to listen to you, seeing how much you cared for him and laid your heart out for him. the love you had for him was overflowing and he did not know how he got so lucky.

“i can take it,” he insisted, voice a mix of both amusement and affection, “besides, i’ll endure any and all amounts of pain just for you.”

“after that declaration, i better not hear a complaint out of you.” you said, smiling up at him as you begin to unwrap the blindfold yourself. your delicate fingers moved the bandages around his head, undoing the white bandages. the gesture made satoru relax in your touch as you pulled them away from his face. being able to let his guard down after suguru had been difficult but you were a rare (and lucky) case.

once the bandages are undone, you can see that he’s wincing and squinting, probably due to the oversensitivity. adjusting to his surroundings, you brush his cheek with your thumb and his eyes flutter open to have a look at you, “hi beautiful.” he breathes out, utterly captivated by you.

you mirrored his look, squinting as you leaned forward with a smile wanting nothing more than to kiss him until– 

“what’s taking so long?” tsumiki yelled, surprising you and making the two of you jump from your spot. if satoru was masking his pain before, he wasn’t doing so now as he screwed his eyes shut and you feel extra protective of satoru now that his blindfold was off. he was extra sensitive to loud surroundings so when she came in shouting the two of you with his guard fully down, you knew satoru probably was still adjusting to having his blindfold off with the kids.

“did your brother put you up to this?” you asked.

“we were just wondering where you two were.” she replied bashfully.

“i told you they were kissing.” megumi groaned from behind her and if you weren’t embarrassed before, you wanted to dig your grave now that he had said it out loud.

“actually, we were rudely interrupted.” satoru complained, narrowing his eyes at megumi. living with them, you know how much megumi truly looked up to satoru but moments like this question why they were always at each other’s neck

megumi rolled his eyes, “have some manners you two,” you ordered, making tsumiki chuckle a bit, “i’m sorry for making you guys wait so long.” you apologised and you see megumi nod slightly at you.

“are you two in cahoots?” satoru whispered in your ear but you pushed him away jokingly. megumi was first to leave the room and tsumiki followed suit, but before satoru joined the two, you reached out grabbing his hand, “i know you said no presents this year, but-” you said, handing him a wrapped rectangular box.

“you said no presents for christmas.” he blurted out, confusion taking over his features.

“well, i sometimes doubt if you ever listen to me,” you looked up at him and you would be right because satoru had bought and wrapped your gift already, “just think of it as a very belated birthday present then.” you smiled at him, anticipating his reaction to your gift.

he opened the box carefully and he could see an engraving on a case, and his heart sunk. he knew he was in love with you, but was it possible to love you even more than he already had? he picked up the case and took out the special glasses he wore when he went out instead of the usual blindfold.

“i remember you said you needed new ones after they broke.”

“correction, when megumi broke my other ones.” he corrected. you rolled your eyes at him, and give him a light peck on the cheek, “thank you.” he spoke before you could make your way to help the children. 

“don’t break them again, i’m not made of money satoru.” you warned and situated yourself on the floor, sitting cross legged as you peered over at what the two had been up to when you and satoru were in the kitchen. tsumiki was unboxing some tinsel and megumi was taking care of the ornaments. to be honest, you weren’t sure when you became one of those families who went full out for christmas. the only things you ever really did was presents or stockings and having dinner together. you were overlooking the process, not really helping, or rather not knowing how to as you had never really had a tree let alone decorate one. 

“you’re not going to help?” tsumiki questioned, with a tilt of her head as she began to decorate the tree.

all the attention is turned to you now as you shake your head untangling some of the lights for the tree, “i mean, i’ve never really celebrated christmas with a tree and it’s for you guys right?”

“that’s sick and twisted!” satoru gasped, slumping down right next to you with his new sunglasses, “so you mean you’ve never had a christmas tree?” he exclaimed, and quite frankly you don’t really see the big deal.

“i wasn’t blessed with being born into a family like yours.” you teased and he took serious offence to that, not because he was offended by your comment but more so your nonchalance. 

“well, anything you want to do for christmas?” megumi asked, putting some of the ornaments on the tree. he always had an artistic perspective and you were glad he was putting so much thought into where each one went.

“i’m not going to be home until late at night, but i guess i’ve always wanted it to snow big enough that i could build a snowman.” you shrugged, looking at the kids.

“that’s impossible.” megumi groaned.

“how are we going to get it to snow?” she exclaimed.

“exactly. it’s alright,” you reassured as you stood up from your spot, “as long as i’ve got you guys, that’s all i could ask for.” you winked at them as you helped them get to the higher spots of the tree. satoru sits there watching as you now start to help the two decorate the tree and decide to help out. you are too distracted to see that his mind is swirling with ideas– he is determined to make your christmas a little more special and he has some ideas up his sleeve that he can’t wait to use.

you feel the exhaustion of staying up late last night settle deep into your bones when you’re on your way home from the mission. it wasn’t like you didn’t get enough sleep, you got just the perfect amount but not being home today to celebrate with the kids and satoru kind of made your heart sink. it had always been the four of you the entire day and sometimes occasionally with the others but being away from home, away from them had taken a big toll on your heart.

you wiped at your eyes with a yawn as you began making your way down the path to your house. the cool winter night was in full swing, trees moving slightly in the small rush of wind that passed by along with the small sprinkles of snow.  you took a deep breath and rubbed over your arms as you looked up at the sky. you weren’t lying when you said you wanted snow, it had always been a dream of yours to see falling snow, and enough that it might be enough to build a snowman, it was just something that hadn’t happened in a long time. 

you reached the house but the eerily quietness and lack of light concerned you, were they watching a movie or something or did they go out and not tell you beforehand? you brushed off your worries, unlocking the door walking into an empty house. the whole room was dark, nothing could be heard and your heart was stuck in your chest, stopping at just the mere thought of not being completely alone right now. 

you could hear some whispers and instinctively your hand went up, charging up your cursed technique as you hear some shuffling until an array of fairy lights went off above you, decorated meticulously going up the stairs and some nice garlands all around, warm lighting and while you’re staring at the lights, you don’t notice the three standing right in front of you.

“welcome home.” they shouted, and you swear you had felt that much relief in your entire life.

“i could’ve hurt you guys!” you exclaimed, a hand over your heart. the soft vinyl record you distinctly remember shoko gifting you after seeing you eye it last christmas playing from the living room, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“well that defeats the whole point of a surprise if i told you, right guys?” he said, and it is only now you realise that he has a santa hat on with the other two in ugly sweaters. you know megumi would be less than happy to be dressed in this right now but you assume he did so for you and couldn’t help the way the corner of your lips curved up at the sight. this… this is what you loved about your little family, and you knew it was wrong to call it a family– the two kids aren’t yours, and you’re not married to satoru but this moment, combined with the cute late night you shared with them just the night prior confirmed that you were all closer than that and how much they loved you.

“you did not need to do this for me,” you sighed, a little overwhelmed by how well decorated everything was. you hadn’t even noticed the holly, the bells, candles, and a bunch of other festive decorations– they really went all out. you wonder just how they pulled it all together but then you remembered that satoru would stop at nothing when it came to his gestures, “and you definitely did not need to drag them into this.” you added, kneeling down in front of them so that you could hug tsumiki and as you stood up you looked at megumi and ruffled his hair despite how much you know he hated when satoru did it, when you did it, you weren’t met with the same grumpy huff.

satoru gasped, “hey, these two were asking if you’d like them and i pointed them in one direction okay?” he defended but as you looked down at the two they were shaking their heads as if to refute his words, “don’t listen to them. they did it because they love you just as much as i do.”

respectfully, you hated satoru but not in a way that was malicious but for always making you feel like the luckiest person on earth. for being friends with you back then when it seemed like the world wasn’t on your side, for allowing you to stay in his life after losing his friend, for letting you take care of two of the most beautiful children ever. he was one of the sweetest people you ever knew and you doubt any gift or gesture would be enough to make up for the man that he is. without realising you had tears stream down your face, and you bring your hand up over your face to cover it. you weren’t usually the type to cry over something so trivial but here you were.

“i can’t believe you made y/n cry on christmas.” megumi complained, trying to lighten the mood as tsumiki’s mouth dropped.

"y/n's fine!" satoru reassured and you can’t help but laugh as you wiped away some of the tears. before you could speak satoru went over to you, engulfing you in a hug, “you better not apologise for crying. there’s nothing you need to be sorry for.” he reassured, rubbing circles on your back. you nod profusely, trying to keep yourself calm in front of the others (not that they’d never seen you cry before) before pulling away from the hug. you stared into his cerulean eyes, out and free from their usual blindfold or glasses, “it’s nice to see you my love.” he whispered, meant only for your ears. 

you chuckled, pressing your lips into his cheek before turning around, “how about we open some gifts? how does that sound?” you smiled and their eyes lit up, brighter than the lights all inside the house and they scattered off like little mice to the living room where the tree was, with quite a few presents under the tree (courtesy of satoru’s money but joint in terms of thinking of what to get them) and you followed behind. satoru threw his arm over your shoulder as you took a seat on the couch as they got ready to unwrap their gifts.

“are you hungry?” he asked softly as they started unwrapping their gifts, the one in the penguin wrapping paper which satoru had wrapped up himself.

“i had something to eat on the way back.” you reassured and he nodded.

the two had spent quite a while opening satoru’s gifts. you noticed that the presents were some things the two children had mentioned once a very long time ago and were quite surprised that satoru had hand picked these gifts himself without asking you for help. you knew that he noticed every little detail about the people in his life but it made you wonder if he got you a gift after you said not to. you wouldn’t be mad if he didn’t get you one and vice versa.

“i got you that one.” you spoke, trying to contain your excitement as megumi picked up your gift, wrapped in some candy cane paper. you watched as he unwrapped it, revealing a digital camera and you hear tsumiki exclaim, excited for her gift now.

“a camera?”

you sat up, moving away from satoru as you leaned forward, “i know there aren’t that many pictures of you guys around the house so i got you that so we could start printing some out and putting them up.” 

megumi couldn’t hold in his gratitude any longer bringing you in for a hug, “thank you y/n.” he said, and you hugged him back, kissing him on the cheek. satoru was going to make a comment about how he also wanted a hug after all the gifts he gave but it was a special moment shared between the two of you and he was not going to ruin the moment.

as megumi was setting up his camera with satoru’s help, you turned to tsumiki and watched as she unwrapped her own gift, she looked up from the box to you with shock all over her face, “y/n…” she whispered, voice cracking, “i can’t take this.” she said, handing you back the box.

“hey.. it's okay,” you reassured, lightly pushing the box back in her direction, “it’s a gift tsumiki.” 

you watched her pull out the necklace, the stunning small heart shaped engraved with her initial on it but that wasn’t all you got her. after observing the necklace and helping her put it on, she opened a box that contained a letter, telling her of how much you adored her with special keepsakes from some memories you shared throughout the year. you have never seen her so happy and when she hugged you, you catch the stare that satoru is giving you– absolutely entranced by how much you loved them. a simple flash takes you off guard as megumi takes his first picture on the camera.

“how about you guys get your coats, i have something to give y/n.” satoru stated and they ran off with excitement in their bones at his plan. he had filled them in but they weren't convinced he could pull it off.

“talk about a successful night.” you chuckled, picking up the wrapping paper and throwing it in the bag that satoru was holding. 

“get changed.” he spoke, taking the bag from you and now it’s your turn to be surprised again.

“what? where are we going?”

after getting changed, suspicion arising from his sudden ask of getting changed. you walk out of your room seeing everyone in their coats, scarves, and you watch as the children begin to walk out first leaving the two of you alone. 

“what are you up to satoru?” you questioned, furrowing your brows. 

“since you thought you could cheat your way around buying me a gift,” he replied honestly, which took you off guard, “i thought it was only fair if i got you some things as well.” there was a small box in his hand, and you took it from his hand. you held your breath as you unwrapped the paper to see a box tied with a ribbon. you opened the box, revealing nothing but a sheet of paper.

you definitely weren’t the ungrateful type but you were expecting something else like maybe a ring, a necklace or something else but as you examined the paper you looked up at him with your mouth wide open. it was a receipt of something you had been eyeing for a couple months but nothing you could excuse spending money on. you had been an avid lover since you were young and it was always your dream to have one of these.

“satoru.” you said, honestly starstruck at his gift.

“you have been eyeing that for so long,” he reasoned with a simple nudge of the shoulder, "merry christmas."

“i can’t accept this.” you shook your head, giving it back to him but you know it is relentless to deny his gifts especially after you pulled your little secret gift on him the other day.

satoru gave you a stare and pursed his lip, “you are keeping it. end of discussion.” he smiled as he started to wrap a scarf around you. satoru had always looked good in winter clothing, a scarf tucked around his neck and due to his infinity, he was never cold but still dressed to the occasion with his designer brands. he was so handsome…

“and since you’re not saying anything i'm assuming you don't like it?” he taunted. you told your brain to make a coherent sentence or at least move so you don’t make a fool of yourself just looking at the gift. you stared up at him, you used your free hand to push the scarf down from the bottom half of your face, "you know i thought you weren't going to get me anything?"

satoru had never stopped at any words faster than he had those, "what?" he answered with a shaky voice.

you scoffed holding his hand in yours, looking anywhere but into his eyes, "i thought you might do a whole 'i'm your gift' thing," you admitted, a little ashamed you had such little faith in him, "i guess you do love me."

"y/n..." he uttered, "if i have ever made you doubt i love you then i have failed as your boyfriend," he spoke and you could feel your whole body warm at his words. "you are everything to me even if you and megumi are in cahoots and pray on my downfall." he said and you shoved him. he winced lightly at the push and smiled as he pulled you close to him once more, eyes moving down to your lips then back up to your eyes.

“that was really sweet of you.” you uttered, looking up at him.

“sweet enough for a kiss?”

“unless you make it snow, i’m not kissing you.” 

“i think i deserve just one…” he teased as he leaned closer to you.

a hand suddenly grabbed yours, tsumiki's gloved one, and once again stealing that moment between you and satoru, "y/n! didn't you hear me?" she gasped as you saw the wet snow on her coat go from crystal into a wet drop.

"what happened? is megumi okay? are you okay?" you asked, hand brushing over her face as if to check for any injuries.

"it's snowing!" she exclaimed as she made her way back out.

you looked over at satoru baffled but you could just see him smile at you mischievously and you run out and to your surprise, the snow is pouring down from the sky and you now know that your christmas wish has been satisfied. looking up at the sky, you put your hand out as the snow falls into your hand and you chuckle even though you are freezing your ass off.

the children began throwing snowballs at each other and one hits you at the back of the head and you turn to see all three of them standing there staring at you. they all point at gojo before you decide to pick up some snow for yourself throwing it at him back, thankful his infinity was still down.

you truly appreciate satoru doing his best to make you happy because it was all you ever wanted. he got a snowball in the face before falling down on the floor, and all of you chuckled at him landing on his back as he began to sit up, snow covering his whole back side and all in his hair.

you knelt in the snow and began to make the snowman you've always wanted to during christmas with the help of the two and when you're done you notice him standing at the front porch just staring as tsumiki started doing snow angels and megumi's two wolf shikigami joining him in the snow. you don't know when he let them out but you just smiled as you approached satoru, "what are you doing here?"

"just admiring you," he complimented and you shake your head, "did i do okay?"

you stare at him in bewilderment before moving to press a kiss to his cheek, "you did well satoru. more than that if possible."

he smiled cheekily and you move your hand to drag him back into the snow, "come on..." you hummed as you tried to pull him away from the front porch but he refused to move and you stare at him with a tilt of the head, "what's wrong?"

"you said you would kiss me if i made it snow.” he recalled, hand on his chin as he tried to refresh your memory.

“how the hell did you manage to make it snow?” you snickered but he didn’t look like he was joking. you don’t know how he managed, he would never say but you shook your head, “sorry babe, i don’t think you can control the weather… it is quite unpredictable.” you shrugged, giving him a fake guilty look.

“it’s a christmas miracle!” he yelped with his smile that you know and have grown to adore so much and you follow his gaze to the mistletoe above your head, "you know the rules." he seethed trying to seem nonchalant.

"you're an idiot," you laughed before holding his face in your hands, tiptoeing a bit before pressing your lips to his. you pulled away and brushed his lips with your thumb a little, "i love you satoru, always."

he could only pull you back in for another kiss, smiling as he did so as the kids exclaimed in disgust and horror at the sight. "i love you y/n. here's to many more years with you." he whispered when he pulled away. it was a christmas you will never forget and one that tsumiki and megumi will also never forget, dramatically reminding you that they were traumatised from your little kiss.

tags! @stsgluver @sukxma (thank you for hosting the event)

i hope you love this lynne, i apologise it's not my best work and i'm sorry it took so long. i love you, i hope you're doing well

[vanteguccir]

one where chris and matt go to las Vegas and while reader is helping matt doing his suitcase he asks her to give him her perfume and he sprays it all over his shirts "so that he can always feel like she's with him and other girls know not to even approach him" and reader is all giddy happy and in love with him

── ୨୧ !　a small blurb where Matt asks you to spray your perfume on his suitcase before Vegas

　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

Matt's room was a mess of half-folded clothes, scattered toiletries, and an open suitcase that seemed to mock his attempts at the organization. He stood in the center of the chaos, hands on his hips, a bewildered expression on his face.

"Baby, I need help. I have no idea what I'm doing."

Y/N, sitting cross-legged on the bed with a book in hands, laughed softly, her eyes meeting his momentarily.

"Matt, it's just packing. How hard can it be?"

"Easy for you to say." Matt grumbled, shooting her a playful glare. "You’re not the one trying to fit a weekend's worth of stuff into this tiny suitcase."

She shook her head, smiling at his exaggerated distress.

"Come on, hon, let's do this together." She hopped off the bed, putting her book aside before starting sorting through the clothes. "Okay, let's start with the essentials. How many shirts do you need?"

Matt scratched his head.

"Uh, I dunno. Five? One for each day?"

Y/N rolled her eyes affectionately, smiling to herself.

"Plus a couple of extras in case something happens. Trust me, you’ll need them."

As she began folding the shirts, Matt watched her, his heart swelling with gratitude and love. She was always there for him, no matter how small or big the task was.

He walked in short steps towards her, dodging some items thrown on the floor. His arms quickly found her body, encircling her waist lightly. He placed his own chest against her back, lowering his head and sealing her right shoulder with his lips for a few seconds.

"Thank you, sweetheart. I don't know what I'd do without you."

She released the t-shirt she was carefully folding, lifting her hands until she found his against her belly, squeezing his fingers.

"You'd be lost, obviously."

He laughed, the sound filling the room with warmth.

"Definitely."

Nick, who was in the kitchen eating some snack just seconds ago - taking a short break from packing his bag since he and Y/N were spending the night at Tara's -, appeared at the open bedroom door, leaning on the doorframe.

"You two are disgustingly cute, you know that?"

Matt tossed a balled-up sock at him, who dodged it with a chuckle.

"Shut up, Nick. At least I'm getting help."

Y/N joined in the laughter, her heart light. She loved these moments with Matt and his brothers, the easy interactions, and the affection that always filled the air.

Matt grinned after hearing her laughter, looking at her momentarily. As he reached for another shirt, he paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face.

"Hey, babe?"

She looked up, her eyes meeting his.

"Yeah?"

"Can you do me a favor?" His tone was serious, yet there was a hint of something else; something softer, more intimate.

"Of course." She replied, nodding while letting go of the boxers she was organizing, feeling curious. "What do you need?"

"Your perfume." He said quickly, his voice low and earnest. "I mean... I want to spray it on my clothes."

Y/N's eyes widened slightly, her heart skipping a beat, looking at him directly.

"Wha- Why?"

Matt shrugged, making it seem like it was nothing.

"So that I can always feel like you're with me at all times. And..." He added with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "So other girls know not to even approach me."

Y/N felt a rush of emotions that made her heart flutter. The request was so sweet and unexpected that it took her breath away. Her initial surprise quickly turned into a giddy, almost dizzying feeling of love and joy.

Her cheeks flushed a warm pink, and she felt a delightful shiver run down her spine. The idea that Matt wanted to carry her scent with him to Las Vegas as a way to feel close to her and to fend off any other girls made her heart swell with affection. It was such a tender, intimate gesture, one that spoke volumes about his feelings for her.

"You're amazing, you know that?"

He shrugged, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

"Just telling the truth."

Y/N retrieved her perfume from her dressing table, a strong and florar scent that Matt had always loved and made him lose his mind completely.

"Be careful not to end up with my perfume, Matt." Y/N asked softly, gripping the bottle in her hands for a few more seconds before handing it over after receiving an eye roll followed by a nod.

She couldn't help but smile, her lips curving into a broad, almost goofy grin that she couldn't suppress even if she wanted to.

As he started to spray it over his clothes, the room filled with the familiar fragrance, a tangible reminder of her presence. While observing him with her arms crossed and soft expression, Y/N felt a profound sense of security. Matt's request was a clear declaration of his commitment and love for her, and she felt even more comfortable with the thought of him going to another city without her by his side.

Suddenly, Chris poked his head into the room, raising an eyebrow at the sight, wrinkling his nose at the strong smell that seemed to hit him in the face.

"What are you doing, spraying yourself with flowers?"

Matt shot him a mock glare.

"Shut up, Chris. It's Y/N's perfume."

Chris laughed, shaking his head.

"Man, you're whipped."

Matt didn't mind the teasing. He was proud of his relationship with Y/N, and he didn't care who knew it.

He finished spraying the shirts, closing the small red bottle again and putting it above her dressing table. He looked at Y/N momentarily before pulling her into a tight hug, burying his face in her hair, exhaling the same scent he just put on his clothes.

Y/N melted into his embrace, feeling the solid warmth of his body against hers. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, resting her head against his chest, and took a deep breath, inhaling the mixed scent of his cologne and her perfume. It was intoxicating, a heady blend that made her feel safe and loved.

"I can't believe you thought of this." She murmured against his chest, her voice muffled by his clothed. "It's so sweet."

Matt pulled back slightly, cupping her face in his hands.

"You mean the world to me, Y/N. I want to carry a part of you with me, always."

"I love you so much." She said, her voice barely above a whisper but filled with all the emotion she felt.

Matt's eyes softened, and he leaned down to kiss her gently, his lips warm and tender against hers.

"I love you too, more than anything... You know, I'm going to miss you like crazy."

"You'll have fun." She reassured him, though she knew she'd miss him just as much. "And you'll have Chris and Justin to keep you company."

Matt sighed, his lips forming a small pout as he rested his forehead against hers, their noses touching lightly.

"Yeah, I suppose."

Y/N laughed, the sound light and melodious.

"It'll be something new, I'm sure you'll adore it."

He nodded, his expression softening as he looked at her.

"Yeah, it will. And I'll be back before you know it."

[autumnscribbles]

tutor girl | rc

pairing: frat!rafe x college!reader

summary: y/n and rafe were never on the same level, but after a party at his frat that forms an unlikely friendship, rafe asks for her help

request by anonymous

warnings: drinking? i think that’s all

wc: 2k

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘

You closed up your laptop and textbook as your professor said his final few words of the lecture. You were tutoring someone right after, and didn’t want to make them wait around in the library.

You gathered your things quickly and stood up, keeping your head down as you made your way out of the lecture hall.

“Bye tutor girl,” you heard a voice call behind you.

You turned to see Rafe Cameron, smug grin spread across his face as he waved at you. You rolled your eyes as you always did and started to make your way to the library.

“You know, tutor girl, it wouldn’t kill you to look up from a book and have fun every now and then,” he teased.

You didn’t know why he always had to speak to you and taunt you with his dumb nicknames. You had no friends in common, and ran in completely different circles, yet he relentlessly went out of his way to tease you.

You arrived at the library first, and sat down at your usual table. Leah, the girl you were tutoring, was starting to become almost a friend to you. You two usually spend the beginning of your sessions just chatting and catching up. You saw her red hair before you saw any other part of her as she breathlessly sat down in front of you.

“Sorry I’m late,” she breathed. “You know how Callahan can be.”

“Oh, do I ever,” you chuckled.

“You going to that party tonight?” she asked casually as she took out her notes for you guys to go over together.

You shook your head, not hearing about any party. Your Friday nights were usually spent binge watching shows or reading a book tucked under your blanket. You didn’t go out much, and you liked it that way. You enjoyed spending time with yourself.

“You have to come!” she exclaimed. “I thought Ella would have invited you already. It’s at that frat house, the red brick one, alpha something.”

You weren’t surprised Ella, your roommate and friend, didn’t mention it to you. She knew your answer would probably be no, so eventually she just stopped asking. You decided maybe tonight you’d step out of your comfort zone. For some reason, Rafe insinuating you didn’t know how to have fun was bothering you. You could have fun. What did he know?

Just for a few hours, you told yourself, so people don’t think you’re so boring anymore.

“I’ll be there,” you grinned.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“You look hot!” your roommate, Ella, screeched from behind you.

You blinked as you placed in your second contact lense, waiting for your vision to un-blur.

“Not as hot as you,” you told her. “I feel so weird.”

She reassured you that you looked great. You felt a little self conscious, but tried not to let it get to you. Tonight was about having fun. Letting loose, have a few drinks, talk to new people. It would be fine. The clothes you wore and how you looked were secondary.

You shoved your phone in your pocket as you and Ella made your way outside. The frat house was only about 5 minutes away on foot, an easy trek.

“Do you know anyone at this party?” you asked.

“A few,” she answered. She listed off a few names, all of which were unfamiliar to you except one.

Rafe.

“Rafe Cameron?” you asked, trying not to sound too curious.

She nodded affirmatively, making you let out a sigh. Just what you needed, Rafe teasing you about the way you looked, or about you being nerdy. Whatever. You just had to show him how to have a good time, that he didn’t know you like he thought he did.

You let Ella walk in first, suddenly feeling a rush of nerves overcome you. You hadn’t been to a frat party, and you had no idea what to expect. You just knew there would be a lot of booze, and a lot of idiot men.

The loud music pounded in your ears the second you walked through the door, and it was a lot…sweatier than you imagined. The temperature of the room rose from all the body heat. Girls in little clothing were grinding against boys who didn’t seem to even know their names. Red solo cups strewn on the floor that had a perpetual sticky feeling.

“Let’s get a drink!” Ella yelled into your ear over the music as you both made your way to the kitchen.

The counter was lined with alcohol bottles, various juices and mixers, and a big bowl of what appeared to be punch of some kind. You reached for a red cup from the pile, a hand interjecting you.

“Tutor girl!” Rafe cheered. “What are you doing here?”

Of course he found you immediately.

“It’s Friday night,” you shrugged nonchalantly.

“That it is, tutor girl, that it is,” he nodded. “Let me make you a drink.”

You grabbed the cup back from him, cocking your eyebrow.

“I can do it,” you told him. You didn’t trust any of these boys to make you a drink.

He raised his hands in defence, taking a step back to let you have free access to the contents in front of you. You mixed yourself a drink, feeling Rafe’s eyes burning into you. Ella had left your side, probably seeing someone she knew and running over to them.

You took a deep sip of your drink, knowing you needed some liquid courage to get you through the night. You heard Rafe say something, but couldn’t hear him over the music. You asked him what he said and he leaned toward you, his warm breath behind you ear.

“I said I like you better with the glasses,” he repeated.

You couldn’t help the blush from forming on your cheeks. You were used to people telling you they liked you better without them. You had always wondered if you should wear contacts every day. Your blush disappeared when you realized who you were talking to. He was being sarcastic, making fun of you.

“I’m gonna go find Ella,” you told him before turning on your heel and walking away.

She was standing by a table playing beer pong, excitedly waving you over. You weaved through overly sweaty bodies to stand next to her. She told you she needed a partner, and you reluctantly agreed.

You went first, bouncing the ping pong ball off the table, and landing it straight in the cup in the front.

“Drink up!” Ella cheered, as Topper chugged the cup in front of him.

You continued, landing almost every throw, everyone around the table cheering you on as you scored the winning shot.

“Who knew tutor girl could kill all of us at beer pong?” Rafe said from behind you.

He smirked at you, moving to the other side of the table.

“Let’s 1v1,” he challenged you, his bright blue eyes narrowing playfully.

“You’re on, Cameron,” you muttered.

“You’ll regret that, tutor girl.”

The beer coursed through you as Rafe landed his ping pong ball in your cup repeatedly. At this point, it was like you were just taking turns drinking then scoring. The room was slightly spinning around you, but you stayed focused. You were determined to win. You both had one cup left, and it was your turn.

“Don’t choke,” Rafe intimidated you from across the table. His gaze was locked on you, making you nervous.

“As if,” you scoffed, sending your ball straight into the cup.

Everyone cheered, jumping around you drunkenly. The other boys in the frat were teasing Rafe, who apparently almost never lost beer pong. You hadn’t even expected yourself to be good at it. A hidden talent, you smiled to yourself.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You stumbled up the stairs, looking for the bathroom you were told was up here to the left. The hallway spun as you walked in to the first room on the left. You realized quickly it wasn’t a bathroom, but a bedroom. You slumped on the floor, feeling tired from dancing for what felt like the last hour.

You couldn’t remember the last time you drank this much, and sometimes sitting on the floor was appealing. You’d get up in a second and find the bathroom. You shut your eyes a moment, you head spinning, before being scared by a sudden voice.

“Tutor girl,” he said. You could hear the smirk on his face without even needing to see him. “What are you doing in my room?”

“I was looking for the bathroom,” you slurred. “But I needed a rest and the floor seemed comfortable.”

“You were only a few feet short,” he chuckled.

You shrugged, laughing to yourself. He sat down beside you, making your body stiffen at his sudden presence so close to you. You were expecting him to kick you out of his room.

He held a bottle in his hand, passing it over to you to take a sip. You took a swig and instantly regretted it, your face grimacing in disgust. Rafe chuckled beside you as he took a swig himself.

“You know,” he started. “I underestimated you, tutor girl.”

There he goes again with that nickname. Will he ever call you by your name?

“Because I beat you at beer pong?” you asked.

“Nah I knew you’d be good at beer pong,” he answered. “You were probably doing some physics shit in your head or something.”

You let out a cackle, immediately covering your mouth with your hand. You hadn’t meant to laugh that hard.

“You have a great laugh, y/n,” he slurred, tilting his head back.

You stopped at the sound of your name leaving his mouth. You don’t think you ever heard it.

“Wow,” you sighed. “Not tutor girl?”

“Oh you’re still tutor girl,” he replied quickly. “But I meant I underestimated how cool you were. You’re fun.”

“You’re just drunk,” you said. “Tomorrow you’ll go back to ignoring me except to make fun of me.”

He stared at you blankly, not knowing what to say. For once, he didn’t have a witty comment. You didn’t know he did the opposite of ignore you. In fact, he was always paying attention to you. The way your eyebrows furrowed when you were typing your notes out, the way you leaned your chin on your hand when the professor was talking, the smoothness of your voice when you explained a concept to a student. He saw you.

“I’m not making fun, tutor girl,” he whispered. “You’re very intriguing.”

“There it is again,” you sighed. You stood up finally, your urge to pee stronger than ever. You snatched the bottle from Rafe and took one more swig before finally going to find the bathroom.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Monday morning, you sat in class, chin resting in your hand as the professor drawled on. You pushed your glasses up as they slid down your nose. You practically jumped out of your seat when the class was finished. You were starving.

“Tutor girl!” you heard a voice call from behind you. You turned to see none other than Rafe jogging towards you, backpack slung over his shoulder.

“What do you want, Rafe?” you asked, annoyed he was keeping you away from the sandwich you were about to buy.

“I have a proposition,” he started. “I need help with this class. My grades are slipping and I just can’t understand anything. Would you help me?”

You let out a laugh, stopping when you realized he was serious.

“Are you messing with me?” you asked.

He shook his head. “I seriously need help. And I thought who better to ask than…tutor girl!”

You rolled your eyes, as always. But you reluctantly agreed.

“Can we start now?” he pleaded, clutching his textbook in his hands.

“Rafe,” you sighed. “I’m starving, can we do another day?”

“I’ll buy you lunch!” he exclaimed. “Your prize for beating me at beer pong.”

“Fine,” you agreed. “But we aren’t friends just because we sat on the floor drunk together.”

“Whatever you say, tutor girl.”

You rolled your eyes once more, but couldn’t help but lift the corners of your mouth, knowing without having to look that he was smiling as he trailed behind you.

[kinascum]

LATER, BOY - M. STURNIOLO

SUMMARY: Nerd!Matt admires Popular!Reader from afar until he gathers the courage to approach her, sparking a journey of self-discovery and budding romance.

CONTENTS: NERD!Matt, POPULAR!reader, second hand embarrassment from Matt, Matt's a simp im sorry

WORDCOUNT: 745

next part (coming soon)

Matt's eyes remained glued to the screen of his phone, scrolling through the endless feed of social media updates. His thumb hovered over the heart button, contemplating whether to like or pass the latest post from Y/N, the vibrant girl who always had a smile for everyone. Her laughter echoed through the school halls, and her voice was a melody that filled every corner with warmth. He had heard it a hundred times, but had never dared to join the conversations she so effortlessly navigated.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to look up. Y/N was there, in the flesh, standing just a few feet away from him, surrounded by her usual gaggle of friends. Her eyes met his for a brief moment, and she offered a smile that seemed to be just for him. His heart stumbled in his chest, and he quickly returned to the safety of his screen, cheeks flaming. It was a daily dance, one he was too scared to break out of. But today was different. He felt a strange resolve coalescing within him, urging him to step out of his comfort zone.

With trembling hands, he shoved his phone into his pocket and approached her group. The air grew thick with anticipation as he got closer, each step feeling like a mile. "Hey, Y/N," he managed to croak out, his voice barely above a whisper. She looked over, her eyes lighting up with recognition. "Hi, Matt!" she exclaimed, her voice as cheerful as ever. The others in her group turned to look at him, and he felt the weight of their collective gaze. His heart was racing now, a wild stallion in his chest.

"I just wanted to tell you," he began, the words tumbling out faster than he could control, "that I think you're really amazing. Like, the most amazing person I've ever met." He felt the heat of his own embarrassment, but pushed through it, his eyes never leaving hers. The group had gone quiet, watching the unfolding scene with curious expressions. Y/N's smile grew softer, and she took a step closer to him. "That's really sweet, Matt," she said, her voice gentle. "Thank you."

For a moment, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. Then she reached out and placed a hand on his arm. "But, I uh... I have to go. I'm late for practice." And with that, she turned away, leaving him standing there, stunned. His heart sank, the brief spark of hope extinguished by the cold reality of his situation. He watched her retreating back, the words he had rehearsed a hundred times in his head now seeming so trivial. He had taken the plunge, and all he had to show for it was a simple thank you.

The conversation around him resumed, but he barely heard it. His mind was racing with thoughts of what he could have said, what he should have done differently. But as the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, he realized that he had done it. He had talked to her. And she had talked back. It was a small victory, but it was something. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for him after all. As he gathered his books and started walking to his next class, he couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope, a glimmer that grew stronger with each step he took away from the shadow of his shyness.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. His mind kept replaying their brief interaction, analyzing every word, every gesture. He couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed, that the invisible barrier that had separated them for so long had been breached. When the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, he found himself walking home with a slightly lighter step, his thoughts swirling with the possibility of what could come next.

The next day, as he made his way to his locker, he saw her again. She was talking to a group of friends, her laughter pealing through the hallway. His heart quickened, and he felt the same fear and excitement that had gripped him the day before. But this time, he didn't hesitate. He walked straight up to her, his books clutched tightly to his chest. "Hey, Y/N," he said, his voice a little steadier this time. She looked up, her eyes meeting his, and she gave him a smile that seemed to hold a hint of curiosity.

"Hi, Matt," she replied, her voice as bright as the sun. "How was your day?" He swallowed, trying to form a coherent response. "It was okay," he said, his voice sounding strange to his own ears. "I heard about the game tomorrow," she said, her eyes sparkling. "Are you going?" He nodded, his heart racing. "Yeah, I might go." It was a lie. He had no intention of going to the game, but the thought of seeing her there made his palms sweat. "Maybe I'll see you there," she said, and with a wave, she was off again, leaving him to stare after her, feeling like he had just been handed the world on a silver platter.

The days that followed were a series of small moments like this. They passed each other in the halls, exchanged brief hellos, and occasionally shared a smile. Each interaction was a tiny victory for Matt, each smile a beacon of hope that grew brighter with every passing second. He began to feel less like the invisible nerd and more like a boy with a chance. He started to pay more attention to his appearance, wearing clothes that made him feel confident, practicing his smile in the mirror until it didn't feel forced. The slow burn of their friendship was growing into something more, something he hadn't dared to dream of.

tags! @sturnstvs @gxldenlush @immattsslut @slut4chriss hope you liked!

[divinesolas]

Unsatisfied?

sum: requested by the lovelie; @aegonswife | You had thought your bedroom life with Jacaerys was great. But you overhear a conversation that makes you feel differently. With some help you decide you can make his wildest dreams come true.

w.c: 2k

c.w: sub!jace, choking kink, p in v, sub aegon agenda, miss kink?, porn with plot, not proofread

a.n: i had way too much fun with this 🤭🤭

masterlist

You clutch the book to your chest with a smile on your face. Thank the gods you had gone out when you did or you probably would have missed this. It was a book jacaerys had been talking about but he could not find it anywhere not even the extensive keep library did not contain it. After hearing him ramble about this book you decided you would set out in the morning as the sun rose and would spend all day looking for it if thats what it took.

It did take all day and you were exhausted but you couldn't help but be excited to see his reaction.

“Cmon jace just spit it out, i can stand to look at that pathetic look on your face.” aegon? jace never spends time with aegon. You are too curious to reveal yourself and lean against the wall. “It is humiliating.” “It cannot be anymore humiliating then when you wet your pants-” “Can you shut up!” Aemond? what was happening?

A long moment of silence befalls them before he lets out a loud sigh. “Whatever do you do when you feel unsatisfied with your marital… activities?” You feel faint and you clutch the book closely to your chest to try and keep yourself sane. “You are unsatisfied with your marriage?”

You are going to be sick.

“Of course not! that is a ridiculous thing to say. I love her very much.” You let out a sigh of relief. “Then what activities could you be referring to?”

“in bed.” you flush. For you, your bedroom life had always been more than pleasurable. You had not really ever considered he did not feel the same. “What her cunt too dry and loose?” “you are disgusting do not speak of her in a such a way.”

“then what is the issue?”

You await with eagerness and dread for his answer. You can barely even stand still.

“I have taken on the more, authoritative role in our bed, sure i enjoy myself very much but i,, i find myself wishing the roles were reversed.”

Aegon erupts in to a roar of laughter but you can barely hear it over the sounds of your rushing breath.

“You want her to dominate you in bed? jace if i knew we had so much in common i would not have teased you so much.” “You’re a pig.”

In your shock you drop the book in your hands and gasp, covering your mouth as the room goes silent. You rush to pick up the book as a chair scraps the on ground and run away. You swear you can hear a voice calling after you in the distance but you continue to run until you reach your room and shut the door, leaning against it and gasping for air.

You two begin to flat out ignore each other. You make sure to be ‘sleeping’ whenever he comes to bed, he always has to leave to do some ‘work’ whenever you happen to enter the same room as it. After about a week you get sick of this tip toeing around each other and decide to go to the one person you believe can help you.

“It is unusual you wish to speak to me. And invite me to tea non the less.” Aegon slides into the seat across from you and rests his head in his hands with a grin. “I need you help.”

“oh? and what could you need from little ol me?” You take a long drink from you cup, that is definitely tea and not wine, before you look at him with an eagerness in your eye. “If you were jacaerys what would you want me to do?” The devious grin on his face only grows at your words but he plays dumb and tilts his head, “Whatever do you mean?” “Do not play dumb with me.”

He leans closer to you, “Listen closely, he is probably a newbie to all this so i wont start you out with anything too adventurous.”

“First things first you’ll want to catch him off guard, none of that talking to each other nonsense. This will be much better than talking.”

Jacaerys head shoots up from his desk at the sound of his office door closing and the light metal chain shaking as you lock it.

“Wife. Good day.” He coughs into his fist as he begins it fiddle around with the stacks of papers on his desk. You say nothing and he simply stares at you with wide eyes as you make your way to him and around his desk to be standing at his side.

“y/n…?” He trails off, staring at you confused.

“He will question you assert your dominance immediately. Do not give in the opportunity to interject.”

You pull out his hair and sit yourself in his lap, he immediately grabs your hips and blinks at you. “Is something… wrong y/n?”

“Touching should be off limits. As well as him calling you by your name.” “Well what do you like your women to be called?” He pauses, looking away for a moment before he turns back to you, a light blush had fallen on his face, “He will not like what i like. Start out with something simple.”

You grab his hands and lift yourself up so you’re sitting on them and stare at him. “Its miss to you.” He lets a whine as he gulps at you, is this really what you’ve been missing out on? “If you're doing this because of what you heard please allow me to-” “Shut up.” You grab his neck, putting a little pressure. Not enough to even restrict that much air but it seems to please him as he throws his head back with a hum.

“Touch him merely but not his cock for now, if he liked you as much as he claims too simply your hands will be enough to rile him up.”

Your fingers unbutton his tunic slowly, using your free hand to rub at the skin that slowly begins to peak out. He lets out a couple shaky breaths as you open up his shirt and allow yourself to simply rub his burning hot skin.

“Do not rush, you’ll know when to move on to the next step, trust me.”

He begins to squirm beneath you as your hands trail down near his pants, sliding just the tips of your fingers just underneath his pants. A considerable amount of sweat has built up on his forehead as he shows you his puppy dog eyes. “Please.”

“Now you can finally touch him. Slowly, nothing too rough or tight. Tease him, you want him aching for you.”

you hands fully slide down his pants and slide your fingers gently down his cock, simply lightly grazing against him as he lets out a couple strained sounds. “miss.”

you fully grip onto his at his words and he jumps, letting out a soft moan, “miss what?” you bring your face close to his and let your lips gently brush against his. “miss please. Please touch me miss.”

“only reward him when you feel like he has done enough, this depends on person to person, you decide when you will give in.”

“beg me.”

you expect him to be a bit more reluctant about it. but he does not. “Please miss, ill do anything, miss please i need you miss, miss please ill be good.” you let out your own shaky breath at his words, you did not think you would be enjoying this as much as you are, but the aching feeling between your legs tells you all you need to know.

You stroke him slowly, and he presses his head against you, his mouth right next to your ear so you can let out every delicious moan he lets outs. He was never that vocal during your time together, he would always say he was more interested in hearing you. You cannot believe you had been robbed of this, hearing him whine and softly call out your name as he gets closer to his release.

“please, im almost there.”

“do not allow him to release just yet. Stop him, it will feel much better for him the more you deny him.”

At his words you take your hands away from him and merely watch as he whines and tries to pull his hands out, “no no no please.” you lightly knock his head, “shut up, i dont want you to so you won't.” he groans and pants against you as you wait for long enough for his orgasm to die down before you begin to touch him again. You repeat this cycle three more times to the point he had begun to cry, tears run down his face as you deny him once more.

“please miss, please ill do anything.”

“Now you can fuck him, go crazy, at this point you will not need any guidance, youll be so into it your heart will know each what to do.”

He whimpers as you stand his hands reaching out to grab you as he looks frantically with glossy eyes, “no no no m’ sorry please.”

He watches as you undress slowly, your eyes narrow as he tries to grab his own dick, “if you touch yourself i will not touch you for the rest of the month.” at this he quickly places his hands on his knees and grips them tightly as you stand before him naked.

You stares at you in amazement, no matter how many times he's seen you bare he seems to be just as stunned as he was the first time.

You approach and sit on his lap once more, he starts to whine as you begin to free him from his pants. “let me eat you.” you ignore him and pull down his pants letting his dick slap against his stomach. his hands try to grab yours weakly to stop you, “you haven't cum no no you can't, let me eat you please.” he slurs dreamily.

He has never once fucked you without making you cum on either his mouth or his fingers, usually both. Yet you slap his hands away and glare at him, lifting yourself up and alining yourself with him, “You’ll take what i give you don’t touch me.”

You don't even bother to listen to his reply as you slam down onto him and quickly begin to bounce up and down onto him. You quickly push your lips against his to swallow up his moans as his knuckles turn white as he grips against the chair.

“Jace.” “Miss oh fuck.” His lip dip to your neck and he begins to suck kiss lick bite at any of you exposed skin that he can leading you to throw your head back. “Touch me.”

He hands wrap around your waist as he presses his head against your chest, taking one of your nipples in his mouth and suckling at it.

“Im so close.” He mumbles around you and you shake your head, “Not yet.” He whimpers as he sucks on your tits harder, as he tried to contain himself.

He continues to beg you to allow him to cum but you continue to disregard his own words, seeking out your own release instead. He has to close his eyes tight as throw his head back, adams apple bobbing as he forces himself not to cum as he feels you release around him. “miss please.” You do not let up your pace despite your own release and he can barely contain himself anymore. “cum.”

At your words you feel him burst into you, his white webs lining your walls and he screams as he releases. You brush his hair away that had grown stuck onto his face and press a light kiss against his lips, “Did you like it?” He nods weakly, his eyes barely being able to stay open, “You are the best women in all the known world.” You smile and stroke his cheeks with your thumb, “and next time, just tell me, dont go ranting to aegon deal?” “deal.”

-- perm jace taglist <3

@tyronesien @itsbookworm987 @cruelworldlana @smurfelle @ireneispunk @hxtd @venmondiese @urmomsgirlfriend1 @jacesvelaryons

[yanderenightmare]

Mahito

TW: slight NSFW, degradation, dehumanization, Stockholm Syndrome, Mahito in and of himself, platonic to romantic yandere

fem reader

Mahito makes it a point to treat you like an animal – his human pet.

Ever since he first took you. The cage, the collar, the petting, and the treats. 

Most of the time, when he talks to you, he acts as though you’re incapable of understanding complex conversation, using only a few words and simple commands – a smile stretching his face, stroking your head when you do good. Other times, he acts as though he’s forgotten you can even speak at all. The worst part is – you don’t really know whether he’s faking or not. 

He takes you for walks and plays with you – letting you off the leash for a game of hide´n´seek in the forest where he chases you down barefoot – he doesn’t really care about the rules or that he’s breaking the basic premise of the game. He just laughs, liking the way you pant and wince against the mossy floor after he’s hunted and tackled you down for the umpteenth time, sweaty while you beg him to take you home with teary eyes and puffy cheeks. Home – being where he keeps you.

You used to refuse, you used to run away and fight him when he caught you – with scratching and clawing and biting and barking, but you soon learned to behave. He told you he had no use for rabid pets and threatened you with transfiguration, warning you not to bore him, and ultimately – after having seen him twist enough people into mockeries – you stopped doing much more than obey.

You’re constantly blue with bruises and stinging from scratches – but you wash in the hot springs when Mahito brings you along – soaking your aching muscles in the warmth while he cheats in playing Marco Polo, sneaking a peak and tagging you with a laugh – awfully resembling that of a child. You swear you often have to shake the feeling of mothering him out of your head before doing something regrettable.

Other times, he’ll take you to the beach. You asked him once how it was possible, but he’d just booped your nose with a smile and told you it was something you wouldn’t be able to wrap your little head around – and, looking towards the horizon of the never-ending sea, inside what you could have sworn was a concrete building, you couldn’t help but agree with him.

Sometimes you see his friends and hide behind him. He thinks it funny and excuses you, laughing out that you’re shy. And you suppose he’s right. 

You used to be shy around him, too. You don’t know when you accepted it – being his pet.

Lately, he’s been inviting you to sleep with him in his hammock instead of your cage. And everything except your left brain betrays you as you lie snug against his side, with his arm softly holding you around your midriff. He’s so warm, and your whole body feels cottony at the pleasantness of another’s embrace after having gone so long without it. Actually, you almost cry, resting your head atop the rise and fall of his chest, closing your eyes to the steady beat of his heart thumping just beneath your ear. In the moment, you even forget he isn’t human. It just feels nice. 

You don’t even mind when he dances his fingers up your arm in ticklish touches. Instead, you nuzzle into him with something so vulnerable as a moan leaving your lips. 

His eyes travel from reading the pages of his book to the blissful look on your face and the way your smaller hand grips his tunic – but he doesn’t make much of it aside from raising a brow.

He’s seen scenes like this at the theatre – sappy love stories Junpei used to cry his eyes out over – awkward teenagers in dark silent bedrooms and clothes on the floor, then kisses and hugs and naked flesh and sweat and heavy breaths and moaning. He can’t deny it makes him curious despite never having felt any personal need to truly understand any of it. It's a human thing after all.

Your warmth makes him wonder, though. He’s always enjoyed the soft feel of your skin on his fingertips, whether you’re trembling or not – it has an interesting texture – warm and doughy. He could imagine it would feel good pressed against his body, too.

Without a word, he tugs your shirt up your torso, pulling on it until you raise your arms and allow him to remove it entirely. You became a little tense then, hiding your naked chest from him by folding your arms. 

He takes off his tunic just as casually, and you don’t understand it, but suddenly you feel a little blushy. But you don’t say anything – almost as though you’ve forgotten you can speak just the way he pretends.

His skin’s ashen and pale – but his torso is just like a normal guy’s – toned with muscles, two nipples, and a belly button. Oh, and stitches. Like a patchwork.

He lifts his arm, and you take the cue, laying down again – now skin to skin. He’s even warmer now, you note – and something about the feel of bare skin makes your head hot. And you can't help how that heat spreads between your thighs – but you keep it to yourself.

He lifts his book and begins reading it again, turning the pages with the same hand he holds it up with. But his free hand travels from resting on your hip to your chest.

You suppress a shudder by biting your lip, and he cups your tit with absentminded curiosity – paying you not a glance while his eyes lazily skim the words in front of him, giving your breast a firm squeeze.

He keeps track of your small shufflings despite you trying to keep them to yourself – charting what touches elicit your reactions. Soon, he finds your nipple, feeling it stiffen with yearning beneath his thumb, pushing it like a button only for it to bud out again. You stifle a sound he hasn’t heard from you before.

He reads his book finished, then lets it drop flat on the floor beneath you. His statement is like a resolution. “Let’s play a new game.”

You peek up at him from the nook of his arm. “Game?” You ask, but he's already maneuvering your body despite it causing an unsteady swing in the hammock.

He ignores both it and your question. Giving you those very curt commands one would say to a trained pet. “Up on my lap.”

You follow. “Okay-”

You’re straddling him next. Bare-chested while he lifts both hands to cup each tit.

You’re fully flushed now, face steadily getting dewy from the heat as you look away – bowing your head off to the side with your teeth sunk into your lip.

He’s playing. Groping the pillows with fingers now swallowed in the fat before releasing again, twisting the perky nips with eyes feeling a little foggy at the sight. His mouth suddenly waters, thinking about how it looks as though they were made to be eaten – no, not eaten exactly, but something else, something similar...

Indulging the thought, he leans in and envelopes the sensitive things between his lips, sucking on them with his warm wet tongue circling and flicking the point.

Old instincts resurface at the pleasant feeling and you grind your hips down on his lap without thinking.

He falls victim to it, too – taking your hips in both hands while grinding whatever it is that’s gaining weight between his thighs up into that place between yours.

The feeling is more than nice, forcing his entire body to be both mellow and tense with a hunger for more all at the same time.

He presses his face entirely against your chest, nuzzling between the soft mounds there with his cheek. Hands slipping from your hips to pull you closer and grind you harder down on his lap, slithering his arms around the small of your back and hugging you hard.

And you don’t want to think about how fucked up it is when you need it so badly – rolling your hips down, riding that bump you feel nudged against your crotch – like it's the only source of comfort you've had for months. You think about its size – it feels big – you can’t help but picture it – long and pale, probably with a curve and a sharp spine – fuck, you need it – want it pounding your guts, want his pelvis slapping against your clit as his fat cock shoves against your womb – filling you up with thick and filthy warmth-

You still with a shudder when you climax, breaths heavy and shaky. In the blind chase, you’d caressed his head and held it to your chest like a lover would, hugging him close with your body pressed flat against him.

He’s also panting, hot and damp huffs dewy against your skin.

There's something sticky in his pants… and he could have sworn your souls had merged there for a moment...

He’s never felt that before.