#and more making her lies work against her

[willowwithaheart]

Angst to the max with Arlecchino x reader. Please make it established relationship. I would like the situation for reader to die after they had an argument

|| Death rattle.

|| pairing; Arlecchino x gn! Reader

|| summary; Arlecchino had helped you recover from a devastating attack on your family that forced you to leave Mondstadt. But one day, you find out that she's one of the reasons you had to run in the first place...

|| cw; ANGST, major character death, dark themes, unhealthy relationships, descriptions of people dying,

|| wc; 1.8k

|| note; DAMN anon. I was gobsmacked when I read this ask. You sure do love angst…

How long had she been lying to you?

Parading around, acting like she wasn't the whole reason hundreds of people were killed. Lying to your face.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You sneered, face sticky with long-dried tears. “Why didn't you tell me?”

Arlecchino stood stiffly before you, cold gaze not wavering once. That was what you loved about her, originally. She had a good head on her shoulders and didn't let her emotions get to her. But now? Now, you knew–she was just a lying bastard good at keeping up a poker face.

“It was to protect you,” she spoke up, taking a single step towards you. Her footprints barely left a dent in the thick snow surrounding you, and you found yourself shuddering against your will. “Come inside, [Name]. It's cold.”

“No,” you answered, tugging your thin shirt closer to your body. Fuck this, you thought, I'd rather freeze than go with her.

“You're a harbinger,” you swallowed, and you weren't sure if you were shaking because of the cold or because of the sheer emotion coursing through every vein in your body. The cold nipped at your exposed skin, but somehow, it hurt less than the idea of your lover being the reason you had to run away from Mondstadt in the first place.

Arlecchino stayed silent.

“I told you- I told you everything that happened. I told you I hate the fatui for everything they've done. And you didn't think to tell me? What the fuck? What else have you been hiding?” You accused, jabbing a finger in her direction. It was so cold. Freezing, even. But for some reason, it felt better than being with her.

“You know I love you,” she started, slowly taking another step towards you, “and I only did this to keep you safe. If you knew, how would you have reacted?”

Oh, you found yourself thinking, what the fuck? So she decided to pin it on you? How on earth did she even hide it? Why didn't she answer your fucking question?

“I'm done. We're done. I can't fucking do this,” you muttered, taking a few steps backwards. She wasn't even reacting. How did you keep up with her for so long? How did you not notice your relationship had been built on lies?

“[Name], stop acting like this. I can explain everything. I really do love you, I promise,” Arlecchino insisted, and you would've thought she was begging if you didn't know any better. She was ordering you. Like a fucking dog.

“No. No, I'm sorry. I need to leave. I need a break.”

Again, she didn't react. At least, you didn't think she did. You could barely see through the tears clouding your vision, hot against the crisp winter air. Snowflakes slowly descended from the sky, and you wished you could have stopped to appreciate the scenery more before walking away.

Arlecchino didn't follow. She stayed still, almost rigid in place, watching you leave but unable to do or say anything.

Part of her was almost shocked. Another was disappointed. And something deep inside her was screaming: “I knew this would happen.”

You'd come back. Surely, you'd come back. This would be just like all the other arguments you'd have in the past. You'd storm off, have some time to yourself, and then the two of you would make it up to each other. That was how it always worked.

And yet, something told her this time was different.

–

The cold wrapped around you like claws ensnaring you in a dangerous trap.

Your breath came out as puffs of steam against the harsh winter air. You hadn't quite adjusted to the climate of Snezhnaya, and for once, you realised–you were all alone.

All these years, you had entirely relied on Arlecchino. Well, you didn't have anything, now did you?

After you were forced to flee Mondstadt, leaving your family and belongings behind, you had nothing. No money, no food, barely any clothes, no one to trust.

And then she found you.

Her, with her harsh, commanding gaze and deadly authority that made a shiver run up your spine when she met your gaze. “Are you alone?” She would ask, “do you have somewhere to stay?”

And you, being the foolish, desperate person you were–you answered.

“T-The Fatui–” you gasped, grasping onto the material of her thick coat. She didn't push you away. “They…they took everything. I had to run. I-I don't…”

You didn't know what kind of expression you had on your face. All you could remember was the feeling of hot tears spilling over, and how terrifying it was to realise–your family was gone. Everything was gone.

And Arlecchino–who was a woman of very few words, but you liked to think she had a soft spot for you–helped you back up to your feet. She did so much more than that. She gave you a home, a steady income, something to live for.

But now? Now you knew she was one of the reasons you were at rock bottom in the first place. And it fucking hurt.

The cold didn't seem nearly as bad as that realisation. Nor did the hunger, or the exhaustion dragging you down as you ran and ran and ran until you couldn't remember why you were running in the first place.

You could barely even think straight. The air was nipping at your exposed skin, and each desperate drag of breath felt like it was cutting up the insides of your lungs. Tears stung at the corners of your eyes.

You loved Arlecchino. The snow crunched beneath your boots. You could feel the cold seeping through your clothes. You didn’t know where you were.

You loved her, you really did. Was that a cave in the distance? Maybe you could stay there for a while. Just for a little while. You were so tired…and sore…and cold.

With your whole being, really. You dragged a hand against the jagged rocks of the cave, covered in a thin layer of snow. It made you shudder.

She saved you, in a way. It was dry inside the cave. It was still cold, but really, did you care? Did you have anything to lose?

But she also cursed you. You circled around the cave, pacing back and forth. You couldn’t feel your legs.

Love was one hell of a curse.

You paused, pressing your lips into a thin line. Your gaze stayed stuck to the ground, as if you’d see her if you looked up.

“It’s okay, baby, it really is,” a voice rang in your head. One you tried so hard to forget. One that purged your dreams and haunted your waking thoughts, always creeping in the back of your mind.

Behind your eyelids, you saw the splatter of blood on a once pristine wooden wall. You heard a gasp—a death rattle. A haunting sound consisted of someone’s last breath, all the air being pushed out of their lungs as they fought for their life.

Death rattle. Like a snake, you thought. A sound that shook you to your very core, that sent a jolt of fear down your spine which urged you to run. But what were you running from? You’d been running for so long. You’d been cold for so long.

You were on the floor. Since when were you on the floor? Why were you so dizzy?

Why did your head hurt?

But oh. Oh, it was warm. It was lovely, feeling the warmth ooze from your head and spread to the rest of your body. You felt a dull throb. Was that warmth?

You found yourself calling out to your mother. But she was gone, wasn’t she? She felt so close. Just out of reach. Just like the day you lost her, the day you saw the light leave her eyes and heard her take her last, shuddering breath.

How did she die? You couldn’t remember.

You remembered the fatui had something to do with it.

Something like…an argument. A heartbreak. Someone was running until they could barely breathe. Why did you know all of this?

Oh. You remembered now.

Something caved her skull in.

No…wait. Was that her?

Was that her or…was it you?

You couldn’t make sense of anything. Were you dying? Were you already dead?

You felt so safe. So warm. So peaceful. If you died right now, would you really mind? You were happy here. At least…at least it was you.

A faint memory played in the back of your mind. Was it a memory? You weren’t sure. A small child was laughing.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, a big, goofy grin on his face, showing all of his missing teeth and the joy only a child could have. He hadn’t yet learned to hate his smile. He hadn’t yet learned that the world really was a terrible place.

His hands were warm in your own. He sounded so happy, warm eyes gazing up at you as he regarded you with a nickname only he used.

You couldn’t remember his name. You couldn’t remember who he was, but oh, how you loved him. You loved him like your own child. You remembered being oh-so proud of him.

But…what happened? You couldn’t remember. But you were sad.

So, so sad. It was like a pit had opened up in your chest, caving in on itself and eating up the peace you felt so strongly until now. Something was wrong.

He must be alive. You couldn’t remember his death.

So, then…were you sad because…of your own death? But it was so peaceful. So quiet. You were so glad it wasn’t him.

Maybe you were just confused. Maybe you were just tired. If you closed your eyes, you’d probably wake up right next to him. Yeah. You’d wake up. Of course you would.

You closed your eyes.

—

White hair was ruffled by the wind. It was cold, seeping into her very scalp.

But it was so much better than the sight before her, even if her face betrayed her true feelings.

Blood seeped into the expensive leather of her boots. She didn’t care. It was yours, after all. All yours.

Her fingers twitched at her sides. You didn’t move. How could you? You were likely long gone.

Long gone. The thought made something stir in her chest. You were gone.

What if she’d gotten there sooner? What if she didn’t let you leave in the first place? You’d be upset, but you’d still be here. You’d still be in front of her. Your blood wouldn’t be soaked into her boots.

Oh, but…you were smiling.

You were happy. Peaceful. At least, she hoped. She hoped you’d spent your last moments not in fear or anger but in peace. It was all you deserved, especially for putting up with her for so long.

Arlecchino turned away, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. She knew you’d hate her for it, but she didn’t let herself cry.

You were happy. You had to be.

After all, you had a smile on your face.

|| note; fun fact! A death rattle is a very real thing. Reader did, in fact, hear their mother make a death rattle. But that only happens when someone is choked to death. The blood splatter on the wall was the kids. Reader was very confused in their moment of death, and since they didn’t see the kids death first hand, they assumed it didn’t happen. Don’t worry, they reunite in the afterlife :)

|| disclaimer; please don’t copy, translate or repost my work without credit.

[possessiveandobsessive]

Another Lucanis Obsessed Post

It's only a problem if we call it that...

**Spoilers for late game events in Dragon Age: The Veilguard. If you havent finished and care about being spoiled, stay away!**

Something I think about a lot is Lucanis's reaction to Rook being pulled into the fade after they kill Ghilan'nain. This kind of scene is definitely making it into my current work, but I need to get it out of my brain.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Lucanis is riding a magnificent high for all of a minute. He just killed one of his two targets. A GOD. Finally, he completed the contract that slipped through his fingers so narrowly last time. He has this blissful, thrill of adrenaline singing through his veins. And then, it's all gone in an instant.

The hot blood that had been rushing through his limbs following his vistory turns to ice at once when he realizes: she is gone. The woman who had believed in him from the start. The one person who never once had looked at him with disgust or fear. The woman who had only just broken through the last of his walls and now held his heart. Lucanis can see her smile, can see her head thrown back in laughter at some silly comment he made. And then he watches as all that fades out of his view. She was GONE, and she took his heart, his soul with her. He never got the chance to tell her...

Lucanis can faintly hear a raw, primal, and broken wail. It sounds distant at first, before he realizes it's coming from him. The agonized scream tears from his chest violently without him even realizing. An enraged chant fills his mind and blinds him to his surroundings. His vision fills with only a blinding purple light and all he can hear, all he can think is, "GONE. TAKEN. GONE. LOST. OURS. OUR ROOK IS GONE. MUST GET HER, MUST SAVE HER, MUST HAVE HIS BLOOD. GONE. GONE...."

The chanting, screaming really, continues over and over. Each word caused pain anew to cut through him like a blade. He had already lost everything, become a monster, and now he was losing the one thing that kept him tethered to this reality. She was the one thing that made him feel human. Rook trusted him even when he couldn't yet trust himself. And the elven god of lies and betrayal had just stolen her from him.

Lucanis was dimly aware of shouts directed at him and hands pulling at his arms and shoulders. The team must be trying to stop him from completely destroying, leveling, everything in his immediate vicinity. All he knew now was this pain fueled rampage. Their pain fueled rampage. Spite and he are currently of one mind. They always are when it comes to Rook.

Suddenly, he feels a wave of magic wash over his body. Lucanis shudders as his bones seem to turn to liquid and his body begins to feel as of it weighed thousands of pounds. His eyes were closing against his will, and he could hear Spite's screams grow more desperate as they both were pulled under into a deep nothing. The last conscious thought Lucanis had was of her face, terrified and screaming his name as she disappeared in a flash of light.

I will find you Rook, NOTHING CAN KEEP YOU FROM US....

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

You're welcome for the devastation! If it lives in my head rent free then it also gets to live in yours 🥲 Look forward to a more fleshed out version of this scene later in my current work in process: The Spirit of Determination.

[divinegrey]

𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 / 𝐜𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐲𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

hi folks! it's good to be back and stretching my writing legs again. starting off with a caitlyn prompt! this could be read as a stand-alone or as a continuation of another caitlyn fic, broken pillars.

prompt: heyya! i'm absolutely in love with caitlyn AND your writing, so i was hoping we could combine the two :DD maybe something along the lines of cait x reader, a continuation of "broken pillars"? reader was injured in the blast, and Cait helps them/her (whatever you prefer) recover. maybe reader sees how much ambessa is manipulating her, and they end up getting into a fight over what's right?

words: 1162

warnings: mentions of violence, light angst, happy ending

“Caitlyn, this crusade is only going to end in more violence. You can’t possibly not see that!”

The Kiramman library has become something more of a battleground, in recent days. You were finally discharged from the hospital after extensive care to the leg you lost in what has been dubbed one of the worst terrorist incidents of Piltover’s history. And in those days since you’ve been home, you’ve become privy to every single thing that happened, everything that Caitlyn went through in her attempt to find Silco. 

Now Silco’s dead, and the whole of Zaun is in disarray. It only took one woman stepping in at the right time for Piltover to begin mobilizing; Ambessa Medarda. 

“It will be necessary for the safety of Piltover, our safety that we find Jinx and put her into Stillwater. She cannot be allowed to remain free for what she did to you,” Caitlyn says, standing at all too far a distance from you. She’s unreachable, has felt utterly unreachable ever since the explosion. Between tending to you, you know the gaps of time when she wasn’t at the hospital was spent sitting beside the famed warlord of Noxus. 

You’ve seen the change happen before your very eyes. It makes you scared. 

Pushing your hands on the wheels of your chair closer, you try again. “Cait, please, just listen to yourself. You’re suggesting arming an entire battalion of Enforcers and leading them into Zaun will fix the problem. You tried the strike team, it didn’t work the way you wanted it to, but that doesn’t mean—” 

“Until Jinx is behind bars, we are not safe.” Caitlyn’s stare is steely, but therein lies the exhaustion found in the bags of her eyes. Neither of you have been sleeping all too well; she comes into bed late at night when you’ve tired yourself out trying to stay up, and she rises before you have a chance to kiss her good morning. Caitlyn turns, hands on her hips. “You are not safe. I cannot stand for it.” 

“So, what? You slap a gun into every willing hand and shoot every Zaunite that gets in the way?” You sigh, leaning back against the cushion with a sigh. “And you’re fine with that? I know you, you’re smarter than this.” You wheel yourself closer to her side, taking her hand. “I know that this has left you distraught. Your mother in a coma, me in a wheelchair, but we are both still here, Caitlyn. An eye for an eye. You took Silco out, the Undercity is in chaos. People down there are scared. The Caitlyn I know and love wouldn’t be putting together weapons; she would be putting together aid, a plan to unite Zaun peacefully as possible.” 

Caitlyn doesn’t look at you. Rather, the fire that burns in the library hearth, the flames reflected and dancing in her eyes. She squeezes your hand, the callouses from shooting for so many years evident on her fingertips. Her throat bobs with a swallow. 

“It makes me scared, Cait. To know that Ambessa is saying these things into your ear and it feels like I can’t even get through to you,” you start, rubbing your thumb over her knuckles. “I’ve been friends with Mel long enough to get a sense of what her mother is like, I’ve studied enough politics to know what Noxus prioritizes. Strength and power. They see that in Hextech. That is all they want. They don’t care if they have to start a war to get it, because that is what they’re good at.” 

Caitlyn blinks, and for the first time in days, you see a tear fall from her eyes. Her chest rises with a heavy breath. “I failed to keep you safe. I had an opportunity to pull the trigger on Jinx. Vi, she— she weakened me. I wanted so badly to believe there was a way to end all of this with everyone alive, and the cost of believing that was nearly losing you and my mother.” A small scoff. “If my mother will ever wake up.” 

“Look at me.” You tug on her arm, and only then does she turn to you. You make a gesture for her to sit down on an armchair and she follows, slumping with an exhaustion you both feel in your bones. You take your hands and hold them tightly. “You can’t burden yourself with every ounce of responsibility, Caitlyn. You are one of the strongest people I know, but even you will crack under that pressure. Please, just give yourself some more time, give Mel and I some more time to try and put together a plan. The Council is angry. Ambessa has power enough as it is, but what she sees in you is someone to exploit. Grief is a powerful motivator; all I ask is that you don’t let it motivate you into something you’ll regret.” 

If it weren’t for you holding her hands, you might not have noticed the shake in her fingers. You know your girlfriend well enough to understand that the shaking only comes when the stress has built up so much that it reaches her hands; a sharpshooter can’t risk shaking hands when they need to take the shot. With something of a forlorn smile, you bend your head, trying to catch her eyes. 

“Love, I promise, you didn’t fail me. Nor your mother. I’m still here, and I still love you so, very deeply with everything I have in my heart. So please, if there is any guilt or grief you carry about me, drop it. Because I am with you, until the end of time,” you say, pouring every ounce of devotion that you possibly can into your words. What you see in turn is the exterior of Caitlyn’s armor cracking, the tears falling, and you cup her face within your hands, bringing her eyes to yours. “I love you, Caitlyn Kiramman.” 

Her hands hold your wrists tight; it’ll take time for her to lay down her guilt, and you’re happy to stand beside her in the meantime. You kiss her, soft and tender, the salt from her tears on your lips but you couldn’t care less. You survived death and lost a leg, a grief that will settle, but you count your blessings where you can find them. Your family is still alive, Caitlyn is still alive, and her parents are still alive. 

It will have to be enough. 

“I love you,” Caitlyn whispers into your mouth. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Your heart is safe with me, and mine with yours. There is a light at the end of this tunnel; we need only find it, okay?” You stroke her cheekbone with your thumb, wiping away the tears as they come. She nods, resting her forehead against yours. 

Only time will tell of what happens to Piltover and Zaun, but you breathe easier, knowing you have your partner at your side. 

~~~~~

A/N: thank you for reading! anon, i hope this was what you wanted!

[ganggangscenarios]

Bound by desire( Part 2/2)

Part 1

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: Romance, comedy, dark, angst

Warnings: Dark Magic, mentions of sex

The days felt heavier without Jimin.

You tried to convince yourself you didn’t care—that his disappearance didn’t matter. But every time you glanced at the empty corner of your apartment where he used to linger, or when you passed a mirror and half-expected to see his teasing smirk over your shoulder, the ache in your chest deepened.

Had he given up on you?

The thought stung more than it should have. After all, he was a demon, wasn’t he? A creature of desire, not devotion. Maybe you’d been foolish to think there was something deeper beneath the surface.

Still, his absence left an undeniable void.

By the third day, Maddie noticed the shift in you.

“You okay?” she asked as you absently stirred your coffee, barely touching it.

“Yeah,” you lied, offering a faint smile.

She didn’t buy it but didn’t push. Instead, she patted your hand and said, “Whatever it is, it’ll work out. You just have to trust.”

You didn’t have much faith in trust right now, but her words stuck with you.

Far from the city, Jimin stood at the edge of a dirt path leading to a small cottage nestled in a field of wildflowers. The countryside was quiet, the kind of stillness he’d never known in his existence.

He hesitated before knocking on the door, half-hoping no one would answer. But after a moment, it swung open, revealing a man with dark hair and sharp eyes, his expression softening the moment he recognized Jimin.

“Well, if it isn’t my old partner in crime,” Yoongi said, leaning casually against the doorframe. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Jimin smirked faintly, though his heart wasn’t in it. “Can I come in?”

Yoongi nodded, stepping aside. “Sure, but fair warning—if you tracked any demonic nonsense into my house, my wife will kill you.”

Jimin chuckled despite himself, stepping into the cozy interior. The air smelled faintly of lavender and something freshly baked. A life Jimin had never imagined for someone like Yoongi.

They settled into the living room, Yoongi pouring tea as Jimin sank into an armchair.

“So,” Yoongi began, passing him a mug, “what brings you here? It’s been… what? Two centuries since I left?”

Jimin nodded, staring into his tea. “Yeah. And you’re still here. Still mortal.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t exactly planning to go back. Why?”

Jimin hesitated, his fingers tightening around the mug. “How did you do it? Become mortal.”

Yoongi’s gaze sharpened. “Why are you asking?”

“There’s someone,” Jimin admitted, his voice quieter than usual. “And I—” He paused, struggling to find the words. “I don’t want to be what I am anymore. Not if it means I can’t… really be with her.”

For a long moment, Yoongi didn’t say anything, just studied Jimin with an expression that was equal parts amused and sympathetic.

“Well,” Yoongi said, leaning back in his chair, “it’s not something you can cheat your way into. No rituals, no bargains, no shortcuts.”

“Then how?”

“Love,” Yoongi said simply. “Real love.”

Jimin frowned. “That’s it? That’s all it takes?”

Yoongi chuckled, shaking his head. “You make it sound easy. It’s not. She has to love you just as much as you love her. And it can’t just be words or promises—it has to be real. And when it is… well, if you’re truly ready to give up your powers, your immortality, everything… then, yeah. It works.”

Jimin stared at him, a mix of hope and doubt flickering in his eyes. “And… sex?”

Yoongi shrugged. “It seals the deal. But it’s not about the act itself. It’s about the trust, the vulnerability, the connection. If it’s true love, then yeah, it’ll make you mortal.”

Jimin leaned back, exhaling slowly. It sounded so simple, but he knew better. Love was messy, unpredictable. And the thought of you not feeling the same way—that maybe what you felt was just his aura, not him—was almost unbearable.

“Why are you hesitating?” Yoongi asked, watching him closely.

“Because I don’t know if it’s real,” Jimin admitted. “What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if it’s just… my powers making her want me?”

Yoongi smiled faintly. “You’ll know. Trust me, you’ll know.”

As Jimin made his way back to the city, the fields and trees blurring past him, he thought of you—your smile, your laugh, the way your presence softened the edges of his world.

If Yoongi was right, he needed to let you choose. To let you see him—not the incubus, not the demon, but just Jimin.

And for the first time in his long, immortal life, he felt fear. Fear of hope. Fear of love. Fear of losing you.

The sound of a soft whoosh broke the silence in your living room, followed by a familiar figure materializing out of thin air. You jumped, nearly toppling off the couch as tissues scattered around you like fallen petals.

Jimin stood there, his usual confident smirk absent for once. Instead, his expression was careful, his smoky eyes scanning your face.

“You’re back,” you said, your voice sharp but edged with something fragile.

“I—yeah,” he replied, his words uncharacteristically slow.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. His gaze flicked to the mess of tissues around you, his jaw tightening slightly. Something in his chest twisted. Had he done this to you?

“Where the hell have you been?” you demanded, breaking the silence. Your voice wavered, betraying the hurt you’d tried to bury. “You just… disappeared. No explanation, no nothing. I thought—”

You stopped yourself, swallowing hard.

Jimin shifted on his feet, his usual grace faltering. He was quiet for a moment before finally saying, “I had… something I needed to figure out.”

“Figure out what?” you shot back, standing now, the anger bubbling to the surface. “Whether you should even bother coming back? Whether I’m worth it?”

His heart sank at your words, at the raw vulnerability in your tone. The truth was far more complicated than that, but he didn’t know how to explain it—not without confessing everything.

“You could’ve said something,” you continued, pacing now. “Instead of leaving me here wondering if you’d just given up. If your mission wasn’t worth it because I haven’t—”

You paused, turning to him, your cheeks flushing. “Because we haven’t… done anything yet.”

The weight of your words hung in the air, and Jimin felt his chest tighten.

“I didn’t leave because of that,” he said, his voice soft but firm. He took a cautious step closer, his hands at his sides. “And I haven’t given up.”

“Then why?” you demanded, your voice rising. “Why disappear? Why not just tell me what’s going on?”

Jimin hesitated, his throat tightening. How could he explain that he was terrified? That every second he spent with you made him question his purpose, his very existence? That he’d left not to run away but to figure out how to give you the choice you deserved?

“Because I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I was afraid I already had.”

You blinked at him, your anger faltering for a moment. “Hurt me?”

Jimin took another step closer, his eyes meeting yours. “I didn’t want you to feel like… like you didn’t have a choice. Like I was using you.”

You stared at him, your mind racing. The Jimin you knew was cocky, charming, and always quick with a flirtatious quip. But this Jimin—this quiet, uncertain version of him—felt different.

“Why would you think that?” you asked, your voice softer now.

“Because of what I am,” he admitted, his eyes dropping to the floor. “It’s what I’m made to do. To pull people in, to make them want me. But with you… I don’t want it to be like that. I don’t want it to feel like it’s not real.”

Your breath hitched, the sincerity in his voice cutting through your confusion and anger. “Jimin…”

He looked up at you then, and for the first time, you saw something vulnerable in his gaze—something human.

“I just needed time,” he continued. “To figure out what I really want. And to make sure you have a choice. Because if this isn’t real—if you don’t really want me—I’d rather leave than take that from you.”

You felt your heart twist at his words, your frustration melting into something warmer, more complicated. You took a step closer, closing the distance between you.

“And did you figure it out?” you asked quietly.

He nodded, his gaze steady now. “Yeah. I did.”

“And?”

For a moment, the room was silent, the tension between you thick but charged with something unspoken. Then you reached out, your fingers brushing his.

The air in your living room shifted abruptly, plunging into an unnatural chill. Before you could react, a thick cloud of black smoke coiled into existence, filling the space with a suffocating weight. The sharp tang of sulfur hit your nose as a figure materialized within the fog.

The man who emerged was tall and imposing, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. His sharp suit seemed almost too modern for the otherworldly aura that radiated from him, and the way he sneered made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

“Ah, Jimin,” the figure drawled, his voice smooth but laced with venom. “Still playing house with mortals, are we?”

Jimin stiffened, his body instinctively shifting to stand between you and the intruder. His relaxed charm was gone, replaced by a rigid tension you’d never seen before.

“Seongmin,” Jimin said tightly, his voice devoid of his usual playfulness.

Seongmin’s eyes flicked to you, a slow, deliberate grin spreading across his face. “Is this the reason for your… delay?” He gestured toward you with a mocking flourish. “I have to admit, she’s not what I expected. But then again, you always did like to stray from the script.”

You bristled at his tone, but before you could speak, Jimin stepped forward. “Leave her out of this.”

“Leave her out of this?” Seongmin repeated with a laugh, the sound cold and biting. “Jimin, she’s the whole reason you’re here. Or are you so distracted by playing mortal that you’ve forgotten your purpose?”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Jimin snapped, his voice low but laced with anger.

“Really? Because it seems to me like you’re stalling,” Seongmin said, his grin turning predatory. He took a step closer, his gaze narrowing. “You’ve been on Earth for weeks now. Weeks! And yet here you are, still in her living room, still… waiting.”

Jimin’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond.

“Ah,” Seongmin said, his eyes gleaming with mock realization. “So it’s true. You went to see him, didn’t you?”

Your confusion must have shown on your face because Seongmin turned to you with a sly smirk. “Oh, didn’t he tell you? Your precious Jimin paid a little visit to an old flame—a traitor, really. Yoongi, was it?”

You blinked, glancing at Jimin, whose face was set in a stony mask.

“You think you can pull off what Yoongi did?” Seongmin continued, his voice dripping with scorn. “You think you can abandon your nature, your duty, all for… what? Love?” He spat the word as if it were poison.

Jimin’s fists clenched at his sides. “Yoongi found a way. And if he can do it, so can I.”

Seongmin laughed again, the sound echoing unnaturally through the room. “You really think this little… infatuation is strong enough to break centuries of demonic bonds? That she’ll even choose you, knowing what you are?”

Jimin’s silence spoke volumes, and Seongmin’s grin widened.

“You’re a fool,” Seongmin sneered. “And worse, you’re wasting our time. Do you think the higher powers are going to sit around while you moon over some mortal? You have an ultimatum, Jimin. Fulfil your mission, or face the consequences.”

He stepped closer, his presence looming as the air grew heavier. “You have three days,” he said, his tone deadly serious. “Three days to finish what you started. If you fail, I’ll drag you back to the depths myself. And trust me, you won’t like what’s waiting for you.”

With that, Seongmin turned on his heel, the smoke swirling around him once more. But before he vanished completely, he glanced back at Jimin, his expression cold.

“Love,” he muttered, almost to himself. “What a pathetic excuse for failure.”

And then he was gone, the oppressive air lifting with his departure.

The silence that followed was deafening. You turned to Jimin, your heart pounding. “What… was that?”

But Jimin didn’t answer. He just stood there, his head bowed, his shoulders tense. For the first time, you saw something in him you never thought you would: fear.

The silence between you and Jimin was thick, his shoulders still tense from Seongmin’s visit. You stood there, searching his face for answers as your emotions warred within you—relief that he was here, fear of what had just happened, and something deeper, something vulnerable and raw.

Finally, you broke the silence. “Jimin… do you love me?”

He froze, his eyes snapping up to meet yours. For a moment, he said nothing, his lips parting slightly as if the words were caught in his throat. The weight of your question pressed down on both of you.

“I…” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. His hesitation made your chest tighten, but then he took a step closer, his smoky gaze steady. “Yes. I do.”

Your breath hitched, the room spinning slightly as the weight of his confession settled over you.

“But,” you started, your voice trembling, “how do I know it’s real? How do I know it’s not just… you?”

His brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

You took a shaky step back, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Your powers,” you clarified, your voice growing firmer. “You’re an incubus. You said it yourself—you make people want you. How do I know that what I’m feeling is real? How do I know I love you and not just… whatever it is you do?”

Jimin’s expression softened, and he took another step forward, his presence warm and grounding. “My powers,” he said carefully, “don’t create love. They never could. Lust? Yes. Desire? Absolutely. But love?” He shook his head. “That’s not something I can control. Everything you’re feeling, everything you’ve felt… that’s all you.”

Your lips parted, his words washing over you like a tide. “So… everything I’ve felt—how much I care about you, how much I want you to be happy—that’s real?”

“It’s real,” he said softly, his eyes searching yours. “I promise.”

For a moment, the tension dissolved, replaced by a lightness you hadn’t realized you’d been craving. A small, elated smile broke across your face, and you reached for him, your fingers brushing against his. “Then I love you,” you whispered. “I really love you.”

Jimin’s breath hitched, his smoky eyes glimmering with emotion. He reached up to cup your face gently, his touch warm and steady. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to hear that.”

“But,” you said quickly, your tone shifting, “Seongmin, the ultimatum—how do we keep you safe? How do I keep you with me?”

Jimin’s gaze flickered with something you couldn’t quite place—hope, maybe, or fear. “There’s one way,” he admitted, his voice low.

“Tell me,” you urged, gripping his hand tightly. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

He hesitated for a moment, as if weighing the enormity of his next words. “If I become mortal,” he said finally, his voice steady, “they won’t have power over me anymore. I’ll be free. And I’ll be able to love you the way you deserve.”

Your heart raced. “How?”

His eyes locked onto yours, his expression serious. “It’s love,” he said simply. “True love. If you truly love me and we…” He hesitated, his cheeks coloring faintly in a way that made him seem more human than ever. “If we’re together—physically—it will bind me to this world. It’ll make me mortal.”

Your lips parted in surprise, your mind racing. “You mean… if we…”

Jimin nodded, his grip on your hand tightening. “But only if you’re sure,” he said firmly. “I don’t want you to feel pressured. This has to be your choice—completely, without any doubts.”

You took a deep breath, your emotions swirling. Love, fear, excitement, and determination all clashed within you. But when you looked at Jimin, when you saw the sincerity in his eyes, the answer became clear.

“I’m sure,” you said, your voice steady. “I want to do this. I want to be with you. And if it means keeping you here, safe and free, then I’ll do whatever it takes.”

For the first time since he’d arrived, Jimin smiled—a real, genuine smile that lit up his entire face. He pulled you into his arms, holding you close, and for a moment, everything else fell away.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve everything,” you murmured, holding him just as tightly.

You leaned up, your heart hammering as you closed the distance between you and Jimin. For a moment, he looked at you as if he couldn’t believe what was happening, his smoky purple-grey eyes wide and vulnerable. Then, you kissed him.

It started soft, tentative, as if testing the waters of something unspoken but deeply felt. His lips were warm, and he tasted faintly of something dark and sweet, like honeyed wine. Jimin froze for just a second before his hands slid up to cup your face, pulling you closer. The kiss deepened, his mouth moving against yours with an urgency that made your knees weak.

His thumb brushed over your cheek, his touch impossibly gentle, as though you were something precious and breakable. He kissed you like you were the only thing that mattered, as if time itself had slowed to a halt.

When you finally pulled back, your breath mingling in the inches of space between you, Jimin’s eyes were searching, desperate, as though he was trying to memorize every detail of this moment.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

You smiled, your fingers brushing against the nape of his neck. “You don’t have to wait anymore.”

Jimin let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, his forehead resting against yours. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered, his voice laced with both awe and yearning.

“I think I’m starting to,” you replied with a soft smile, your heart swelling with emotion.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Jimin wasn’t the confident, flirtatious demon you’d met weeks ago. He was something more—someone who felt, who longed, who loved. And in that moment, you knew he wasn’t the only one who had changed. You had, too.

“I love you,” you whispered, and his breath hitched, his eyes glimmering with something raw and unguarded.

“I love you, too,” he replied, his voice breaking slightly as he pulled you back into his arms, holding you as though he never wanted to let go.

You lean forward to kiss him passionately, he sits up to meet your lips, his back resting on the headboard. He slips his fingers under your shorts and rubs your slit, coaxing moans from you. You grind into his hand and detach from his lips to kiss his neck. Feeling his fingers becoming wet with your arousal, he slowly dips a finger into you and you gently bite his neck. He grabs the back of your neck with his other hand and makes you look him in the eye.

“Does it feel good like this? Or can you be a good girl and take one more?” His hand travels into your hair, pulling at a few strands.

You had never seen him like this before, he was always so…nice.

You stare at him with your mouth open.

“Is my princess too slow to understand the question?” He pistons his finger faster into you.

You shake your head.

“I-I can but I want you to fuck me. I want you to be mine. I want to be yours forever .” You whine, sweat forming around your hairline.

Jimin tuts.

“Tsk tsk. “ he adds another finger into your sopping hole.

He curls his fingers up, making you fold in on yourself. Your head falls into his neck, breath hitting his skin.

You pull away from him, gaining the sudden confidence to take control. Pushing back onto the bed, you straddle him. Fingers eagerly reaching for his belt. But the nerves make your hands shake, he takes your hands in his.

The room was quiet except for the sound of your breathing, heavy and uneven as Jimin hovered over you. His smoky eyes, those deep shades of purple and grey, held an intensity you’d never seen before. This wasn’t the usual teasing glint he carried, the smirk that promised trouble. This was… raw. Vulnerable.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice a soft rasp, almost unsure.

You nodded, your hand reaching up to brush against his jawline. “I’m sure. But…”

His brow furrowed as he caught the hesitation in your tone. “But?”

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the fluttering in your chest. “I just— I don’t want this to feel like… your job.”

Jimin froze, his gaze flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. Then, to your surprise, he laughed softly, the sound low and warm. “Trust me,” he murmured, leaning closer until his lips brushed against your temple, “this doesn’t feel anything like my job.”

You searched his face for any hint of deception, but all you found was a strange sort of tenderness. The usual cocky incubus facade was stripped away, leaving only Jimin, bare and genuine.

His fingers trailed lightly over your collarbone, and you shivered under his touch. “You’re nervous,” he noted, his voice soothing.

“A little,” you admitted.

“I can feel it,” he said with a small smirk, though there was no malice in it. “But I can also feel something else.” His hand found yours, fingers intertwining. “I want this to be perfect for you. For us.”

It struck you, then, just how far removed this moment was from his demonic nature. There was no overwhelming aura, no compulsion pulling you toward him. Just a connection—a human one, real and tangible.

When his lips found yours, the kiss was slow, unhurried. It wasn’t the fiery, lust-fueled encounter you might have expected from an incubus. It was soft, exploratory, as if he was savoring every second.

His hands wandered, but never too far, always checking for your permission. You responded in kind, your own touches tentative at first but growing bolder with each passing moment.

“Jimin,” you whispered, his name barely audible against his lips.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “What is it?”

“Why are you holding back?”

His smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of guilt. “Because I don’t want to ruin this,” he admitted, his voice quieter than before. “I’ve done this a thousand times before, but never like this. Never because I wanted to, not like this.”

You reached up, cradling his face in your hands. “I want you, Jimin. Not the incubus. Just… you.”

He exhaled, his body visibly relaxing at your words. And then he kissed you again, deeper this time, pouring everything he couldn’t say into that one moment.

Your fingers hesitated as they reached for his belt, trembling slightly as you fumbled with the buckle. Jimin tilted his head i, an amused

smile playing on his lips as he watched your concentration.

"Need a hand?" he teased, his voice a low purr that sent shivers down your spine.

"I've got it," you muttered, though the stubborn belt seemed determined to prove you wrong.

Jimin chuckled softly, leaning in so his smoky breath brushed against your ear. "I could make this a lot easier, you know. Just say the word."

You paused, glancing up at him with narrowed eyes. "What do you mean?"

His grin widened, that mischievous glint sparking in his gaze. "Permission to use my powers?"

Before you could answer, his hand hovered near yours, his fingers grazing your skin. The room suddenly shifted-an almost imperceptible flicker of energy-and in the blink of an eye, the air grew warmer, your clothes pooling around you on the bed.

Your gasp was immediate, eyes darting down to find both of you completely undressed, the sheer intimacy of the moment making your cheeks burn. "Jimin!"

He leaned back slightly, his smirk widening as he shamelessly drank in the sight of you.

"What? You said I could."

"I didn't say anything!" you shot back, though the laugh bubbling up from your chest betrayed your indignation.

"Well," he murmured, leaning closer, his lips grazing your temple, "your silence said everything."

You shook your head, unable to suppress your smile as you pulled him down to you, your laughter dissolving into a kiss. His lips were soft but demanding, carrying the kind of heat that left you dizzy, and you found yourself melting into him completely.

"Show-off," you mumbled against his mouth, your words swallowed by his next kiss.

"Only for you," he whispered, his voice so low it was almost a hum, before letting the rest of the world fade away.

Your hand drifted downward, fingertips brushing over the growing heat between his thighs. You found him already half-hard, your touch drawing a sharp inhale from him. With deliberate pressure, you teased him, coaxing quiet, guttural sounds from deep within his chest.

"That feels so good," he breathed, his lips hovering just above yours. He pressed into you again, his kiss urgent, igniting a fire that had smoldered for far too long.

His hand rose to cup your breast, his thumb tracing slow circles over your hardening nipple. You moaned softly into his mouth, the sound swallowed by his kisses.

You had waited for this-longed for it. And now that it was finally happening, every touch felt like a spark igniting something primal and unrestrained. His lips trailed from the corner of your mouth, down your neck, lingering at the sensitive curve of your shoulder as he tugged one strap of your dress aside. His kisses were warm, his lips soft but firm, and his hands roamed your body like they'd been made to hold you.

One large hand slid to your thigh, his fingertips brushing the delicate skin. His touch lingered just below where you craved it most, his nails lightly grazing the scalloped edge of your underwear. He shifted, spreading your legs wider, his dark gaze locking with yours. The silent question was clear.

You nodded, breathless.

His fingers glided up your thighs, hooking into the edge of your panties. He tugged them down with practiced ease, the damp fabric clinging to your skin before slipping away. A soft shudder ran through you as the cool air kissed your exposed flesh. His hand returned, hovering over your heat before a single finger traced the length of your slit, the touch featherlight but electrifying.

"I bet you could just slide in," you whispered, your lips brushing his ear as your teeth grazed his lobe. "I'm so wet."

He groaned low in his throat, his breath warm against your skin. "Let me feel you."

The sun breaks through the curtains, painting soft golden lines across the bed. You stirred first, your body sluggish but warm, the comforter tangled around your legs. The events of the previous night replayed in a hazy loop in your mind: Jimin’s confession, his touch, his kiss, the overwhelming way he held you like you were the center of his universe.

But as your eyes fluttered open, the other half of the bed was empty.

A pang of worry tightened your chest. Did he leave? you wondered. Then you remembered: Jimin didn’t need sleep. He likely hadn’t even tried.

You found him sitting on the windowsill, gazing out into the quiet street below. His shirt hung loosely off his shoulders, the morning light catching the soft purple undertones of his hair.

“You don’t sleep, do you?” you asked softly, your voice still rough from sleep.

He glanced over his shoulder, a small smile tugging at his lips. “No,” he said simply. “Never had to.”

You pulled the comforter tighter around you and sat up. “But you’re still here.”

“I told you I’d be here,” he replied, standing and walking toward you. The mattress dipped as he sat at the edge of the bed, his eyes scanning your face. “I didn’t want to miss this—waking up with you, even if it’s just me watching.”

You sit comfortably in silence until you could hold in your curiosity no longer.

“Do you feel… different?”

Jimin’s expression shifted, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered your words. He stretched, flexing his fingers, his lips pressing into a faint frown. “Not really,” he admitted, his tone uncertain. “I still feel… like me.”

Your heart sank a little at his response, and you tried to mask your disappointment. “Oh. Maybe it just… takes time?”

“Maybe,” he replied, though the disheartened note in his voice betrayed his own doubts.

The two of you lingered in bed for a while longer, silent but sharing the same heavy thoughts. Eventually, you suggested going for a walk to clear your minds.

As you stepped outside together, the crisp morning air nipping at your cheeks, your neighbor, Mrs. Kim, called out from across the street.

“Oh, good morning!” she said with a warm smile. “And who’s this?”

Jimin froze mid-step, his eyes widening slightly as he turned to you. You blinked at her, startled.

“Uh, this is…” you began, gesturing toward Jimin.

“Jimin,” he supplied quickly, his voice uncertain. “Nice to meet you.”

Mrs. Kim gave him a polite nod before continuing on her way, leaving the two of you standing there in stunned silence.

“Did you…” you started, turning to him. “Did you want her to see you?”

Jimin’s brows furrowed as he shook his head slowly. “No,” he said, his voice low. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t even think about it.”

Your heart started to pound, a spark of hope igniting in your chest. “Wait,” you said, stepping closer to him. “Try teleporting. Just… see if you can.”

He gave you a doubtful look but closed his eyes, concentrating. A few moments passed, and when he opened them again, he was still standing in the same spot.

“I can’t,” he said, his voice laced with disbelief.

The realization hit both of you at the same time.

“It worked,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

“I’m…” Jimin began, his expression shifting from confusion to awe. “I’m mortal.”

A breathless laugh escaped your lips, and before you could stop yourself, you threw your arms around him, holding him tight. He laughed too, a genuine, carefree sound that you realized you’d never heard from him before.

The walk back to your apartment was filled with an unspoken joy that neither of you could fully put into words. As soon as you stepped inside, Jimin went straight to the coffee table, where the spell book still sat. He picked it up, flipping through the pages for a moment before snapping it shut.

“What are you doing?” you asked, watching him with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

Jimin looked at you, his smoky eyes now warm and bright. “Getting rid of this,” he said simply. He walked to the trash can, tossing the book inside without hesitation.

“But—” you started to protest, only for him to turn back to you with a playful smirk.

“If you want to learn Latin, I’ll teach you,” he said, stepping closer. “But no more summoning demons. Agreed?”

You laughed, feeling lighter than you had in weeks. “Agreed.”

Jimin reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. “Thank you,” he said softly. “For everything.”

“No,” you replied, taking his hand in yours. “Thank you.”

For the first time, Jimin’s life stretched before him, limitless and free. And for the first time, he was truly alive—with you.

[dannypuro]

how was the show yesterday! Did you see anything from the cheap seat?

Les Misérables at Le Théâtre du Châtelet was great! And yeah, I could see pretty much the whole stage (when I was leaning up against the railing) so I was happy with it! I'd only seen the musical once and it was over ten years ago, so I really loved getting to see this version. A couple of things I really enjoyed, in no particular order:

-Fantine was played by a replacement cast member that day, Myriana Hatchi. I haven't seen the show with the regular Fantine, Claire Pérot, but I absolutely loved Myriana's performance. She was the real highlight of the show for me. I believe she normally plays one of the nuns, but her interpretation of Fantine was so emotional and well performed. Her Fantine was heartbreakingly believable. At times I take issue with some Fantine's performances in the musical, but she brought so much spirit and personality to the role. I hope she gets the chance to play the role more often. No diss at all to Claire Pérot--again, I haven't seen her in the role, and I'm sure she is amazing as well! But I was pleasantly surprised to see Myriana's interpretation.

-More nuns: when Valjean is in the hospital hiding from Javert in act I, one of the nuns takes Javert's rifle and hides it in a patient's bed, while she's still lying in it. A funny little staging decision that I loved. Very Sister Simplice-y.

-Assorted amis: Grantaire (played by Ryan Malcolm) was a refreshingly suave, stylish, yet undeniably Grantaire-y Grantaire. I loved him in the part. Fashionable Grantaire representation. Enjolras (Stanley Kassa) was also a brilliantly convincing Enjolras--inspiring, beautiful, makes you want to sacrifice your life for a just cause .

-On a related note, Grantaire, Enjolras, and Gavroche: Enjolras picks Gavroche up on his shoulders, carries him, and then passes him off to Grantaire, who carries him on his shoulders. Gavroche has two gay dads.

-THEN, when Gavroche is shot, Grantaire mourns for him so emotionally. Everyone knows to let Grantaire hold his body, and he won't let anyone else touch him. Enjolras takes his hat. He lies next to his corpse for much of the latter half of the barricade, which I thought was a great call-back to the brick (where Grantaire is asleep for much of it) and yet much more sympathetic to his character.

-Among les amis was a waiter from the Musain, who (from what I could interpret) begins the work as a waiter who is friendly with les amis, and then becomes engaged in the cause. I thought it was a lovely decision to show the engagement of the people. We see him and his wife/lover (?) throughout, who is also there at the barricades, and when Enjolras sends the women and children home, the wife is the one to convince him to stay. I was thoroughly charmed. Don't know who played either of them, would love to find out.

-At Cosette and Marius's wedding, the actors who play the wedding guests are the same ones who play les amis, including the parts of Enjolras and Grantaire. Obviously the characters themselves do not attend (being dead) but the fact that they are so recognizable made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It's like what should have been, if everything hadn't gone wrong. We see the waiter and his wife dancing together as well.

-Javert (Sébastien Duchange) played his role very, very well. I like a Javert that's got a bit of mean dog in him, and this Javert was very believable as a frightening, dangerous figure, who also delivered on the more reflective moments, like in "Sous les étoiles."

Anyways, that is only a short list, but those are the the things that stood out to me the most, and that I can think of off the top of my head. Very strong performances all around, and great staging! If anyone has any other questions, I'd be happy to answer them! (Or if anyone has seen it and wants to scream about it a bit with me lmao)

[loneliness-of-spring]

If you were a magic girl, what would your transformation be like? Also, would you rather fight against your darling Jade or fight with~

Either way, what bliss for him, really🫶

CERUUUUUUU YOUUUUUUUUUUU. YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU 🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵 DON’T YOU DARE PRETEND I DON’T SEE YOU BEING DOWN BAD ABOUT CATER. BLISSFULLY IN LOVE. POT CALLING THE KETTLE BLACK!!!!!

I don’t have a magical girl transformation myself, and I’m ass at drawing one, but I would think it’d be very flowery, specifically full of periwinkles!

I would fight with Jade, hands down. I would not win against a fight with him I am a pure panic button masher (evident in any game I play really) while he is calculated, meticulous and precise. I fear having him as an enemy 💀 If he were real I would NOT wanna get on his bad side he would obliterate me EASILY

However >_> Li Xue IS a magical girl in canon >_>

I ramble more about it under the cut

Pretend I didn’t forget her hairpin in the doodles in the third photo

Okay!!! So Li Xue has been around for quite a while (a year? Or two?), going through MULTIPLE design changes, and only now am I more capable of drawing her the way I want to. Essentially, she’s part of my own PMMM x TWST concept back when I noticed the multiple similarities between their magic systems (and possibly plot ahem timeloop theory ahem).

So far I’ve changed a LOT about her that she’s pretty different from her previous designs, while keeping the staples:

1. periwinkle theming

2. sword as her magical girl weapon

3. Traditional chinese clothing and aesthetics (mainly hanfu)

And I’ve also doodled some interactions she would have with Jade in that third photo above! Non-canon to my concept, because in canon she’s hiding the fact that she has magic in the first place. But if she were to have revealed herself as a magical girl before book 3, I think Jade would be slightly intrigued, which gradually rises during the fight underwater when she makes use of her ice magic to give him an annoying time. Would definitely treat her like a lab specimen and poke and prod at her relentlessly just to find out about her abilities and weak spots. Her magic is different, how does it work? Can she only use just ice magic? Is it her equivalent of their world’s unique magic? So many questions awaiting their answers.

In book 4 is when they start to work together, albeit only a truce formed out of necessity. She still isn’t fond of the Octavinelle trio and their roundabout manipulative tactics, but what choice does she have when stuck with an equally conniving perpetrator? She gains more insight on the inner workings of Jade’s and Azul’s minds and machinations when working with them to form a plan. When it comes to combat styles, Li Xue is definitely close-combat focused, so Jade takes on a supporting role by covering her with long-range attacks. If these two practiced together more, they’d definitely be able to come up with a whole lot more coordinated attacks, too.

It’s 5am and I don’t know how to end it off uh. Yay!

[starlooove]

Do ppl genuinely think jinx blew up the council for the liberation of zaun

[lisbonsteresa]

i'm going to SCREAM

[gibbearish]

btw similar to the whole "if you try adderall at a party and it calms you down, get an adhd test" thing, if at some point in your life you try microdosing shrooms with a friend and end up feeling like a functional person for the first time in your life, get tested for depression. like yeah hallucinogens come with elation so youre probably gonna have some "this is the best ive ever felt in my life" vibes regardless, but like. if that in and of itself feels like finally breathing in for the first time in years, thats for sure a sign that something is up with your ability to process serotonin most of the time. feeling better than ever before should be a nice bonus, not a crushing weight off your chest

[kraviolis]

i fucking love the bbmc so much

[seospicybin]

THE FUCKBOY NEXT DOOR.

PART I

Bangchan x reader. (s,a)

Chapters: Part II / Part III

Synopsis: Having issues to break up with your boyfriend, you seek help from the boy next door and the number one fuckboy in the area, Chan. (10k words)

Author's note: I went through a nasty break up a few weeks ago and this is basically just me trying to cope by being delulu about having a fuckboy Chan as a neighbor. Enjoy x

It becomes a habit now that Chan doesn't know where he is when he wakes up in the morning.

The first thing that he'll do is retrace everything to last night. He was DJ-ing at a club, had a few drinks in between, met a girl who was eyeing him the whole night, had a few more drinks, there was a little touching and a quick makeout session in the dark alley and people can guess what happens after that

So this is where he is right now, the girl's bedroom and he can recall everything that happened last night except the girl's name.

"Fuck!" Chan mutters under his breath.

Judging from how bright the sun is outside, he knows he only has a little window to make his escape so he quickly gets off the bed as calmly as possible. He then tiptoes around to gather his clothes and put them on without making any noise.

However, he fails at it as the head from his belt hits the bed frame and the clanging of metal meets metal echoing in the room.

The girl steers on her sleep and rolls over to the side, she brushes her hair away from her face, catching Chan putting his belt on.

The plan to make a quick getaway has come to a failure but he keeps his cool, continuing to buckle his belt and then plants his hands on each side of his waist.

"Morning," He awkwardly says with a forced smile.

"Morning," the girl replies with a smile then props an elbow against the mattress, sending the duvet sliding down her body and exposing her bare chest to him.

Chan might have been a little drunk when he met her but damn, his fuckboy radar works well even under the influence of alcohol.

"You're leaving already?" She asks, flipping her hair to the back to expose more of those beautiful mounds to him.

Chan has to tell his pervy brain to focus actively, he looks away and picks up his jacket from the floor.

"I promised a friend to help him move out today," He lies, then pretends to check the time on his phone, "And I'm kind of late."

The girl nods then twirls her hair around her finger, "Well then... when can I see you again?"

"I hope soon," Chan says with his charming grin that disguises the insincerity in his answer.

The girl smiles at that which confirms that the grin works, "But seriously, I can't wait to see you again," she says.

"I'll call you," he says because that's what he can promise her at the moment but whether he'll do it or not is uncertain.

"But you don't have my numbers yet," she says with her eyebrows wrinkled in suspicion.

"No, I'm sure you already did," he says, convincing her by scrolling the contacts on his phone.

"Yup. I have your numbers already," he lies again, showing her a random contact on his phone for a quick second.

"But my name is Thalia," she says, cleverly catching the name on the contact.

"Yes, of course, you're Thalia," he says with utmost confidence and his ultimate weapon of a dimpled smile.

The girl seems alarmed though. She sits up on the bed and clutches the duvet close to her chest, "We're going to see each other again, right Chris?"

"Yes," he answers without a beat, and at this point, lying is as easy as breathing to him.

"Can I get a kiss before you leave?"

"Sure," he says, coming around the bed to give her a quick peck on the lips.

The girl smiles when he lets go and watches as he walks to the doorway, "I'll call you, Tanya."

"It's Thalia," she corrects him with an apparent displeasure on her face.

Chan shoves his phone into the pocket of his jeans and takes the time to properly bid her goodbye. Nothing a girl likes more than a sweet mouth and a little assurance, he'll give her exactly that.

"I'll see you soon, Thalia," Chan says with a smile.

"See you soon, Chris," and the girl naively believes him, if only she knew that this will be the last time they're seeing each other.

Yet again, Chan makes another successful getaway.

-

The warm weather of spring makes it a pleasant walk from the bus stop to his apartment building. He wants to stop somewhere for breakfast but his head feels heavy from the hangover, he just wants to go home as soon as possible, have a bowl of cereal then take an aspirin for the pounding headache.

In the lobby, he makes a quick stop to collect his mail and takes a quick check at it, sorting them out on the spot so he knows which ones he should bring upstairs.

From the corner of his eyes, Chan catches his neighbor, you with your boyfriend chatting by the elevator. He notices the gestures, the expression, and the whole interaction, it doesn't take a genius to know that something is going on there that the naked eyes can't see.

Chan throws the unnecessary mail into the trash bin nearby and walks to the elevator, hearing the little conversation going on between you and your boyfriend.

"...the waffles were delicious. We should have breakfast there again," the boyfriend says as he looks at you, "What do you think?"

"Yeah," you meekly answer while looking at the little screen that shows the floor the elevator is stopping in.

Chan tries to remain invisible but his eyes accidentally make contact with your boyfriend so he may as well make his presence known.

"Hi, neighbor," he greets, he knows your name but you seem to prefer to be called that way.

You do what you always do whenever you meet each other in the building, give him a quick judging look and a courteous smile.

"And hi neighbor's boyfriend," he greets your boyfriend next.

"Hi," your boyfriend greets back, "Chris, isn't it?"

"Yes and you are Lee," Chan responds.

"Right. So how was your Friday night?" Lee initiates a small talk.

"I believe it wasn't as good as yours," Chan playfully answers.

"Oh, we just stayed in and watched a movie, right baby?" Lee says, putting his arm around your shoulder.

All of a sudden, you take a step forward and say, "It's here."

The elevator doesn't chime until a moment later but you seem to be more than eager to get in. You turn around to give your boyfriend a quick hug.

"I'll try to leave early so we can have dinner together," Lee says with a quick kiss on the cheek.

"It's okay. Take your time," you say with a faint smile.

Chan quietly gets into the elevator and holds the door open for you, he tries not to look at what's happening in front of him not out of politeness but it's just painful to watch.

"I'll call you," Lee adds, catching your hand as you enter the elevator and kissing it.

"Okay," you say then wave your hand at him.

To help you get out of it, Chan releases his finger off the buttons and sends the doors sliding shut.

"Bye, baby," Lee says for the last time before the doors completely close.

It's just another awkward elevator ride with you and he'll usually try to endure it but after watching all that and trying not to say anything is hard, he can't help but impose.

He glances at you to check whether you're ready to hear about what he has to say but you always have the same stoic expression. Then it occurs to him that he has never seen you smile impolitely or out of joy, or even hear your laugh, but maybe after you hear what he's about to say, he'll get to see a different facial expression on you.

"Oh, man! That was painful to watch," he sighs as he keeps looking straight ahead at his reflection in the shiny furnace of the elevator.

There's no one else in the elevator so you're fully aware that he's talking to you but you don't respond until a while later.

There you go, with your judging look and stoic expression, looking at him as you say, "Excuse me?"

Chan doesn't want to sound rude but beating around the bush isn't his thing, he prefers to be straightforward. He knows it's all based on assumptions but he's pretty sure his judgements are pretty accurate.

He's going to just do it and lay out the facts, he turns to the side, then leans his back against the cold surface of the elevator.

"Your shoulder tightens when he called you baby and the fact you lied about the breakfast tells me that you didn't actually like his choice of restaurant," he pauses to let out a cynical chuckle, "the waffles weren't that good, I guess?"

When he wants to see a different facial expression on you, he doesn't mean seeing your angry one, but oh well, the damage has been done.

"Because I'm a good girlfriend that's why I let him choose the restaurant," you become defensive all of a sudden but that's an unconvincing answer.

"No, you let him choose out of pity," he simply remarks, "And just now, your nostrils flared when I pointed it out."

With all of these signs combined with his personal experiences, Chan narrows it out to one conclusion. He looks at you in the eyes and says, "You're about to break up with him, don't you?"

It looks like you've been slapped right on the face except that the slap doesn't come from someone, it's from the truth that comes out of Chan's unfiltered mouth and he instantly regrets it for meddling in in someone else's business.

"I'm sorry, but why are we having this conversation?" You ask, crossing your arms together in front of you.

"It's not like you're any better. You slept around, you're scared of commitment and now, sticking your nose at my business. You are the kind of person that I deeply despise!" You angrily say with your chest heaving.

It seems like you're saying all of those things about him out of anger because he sees right through you but now he knows why you always give him that judging look. He's the one who started it so yeah, okay, maybe he deserves that but that doesn't change the truth. The problem is what he said and your response, they're heading in the opposite direction.

"I think someone has her panties in a twist," Chan coyly responds.

"Look, there's nothing wrong with wanting to break up. That doesn't make you a bad person," he adds and decides to end the talk right there.

It gets quiet in this enclosed space and it's already suffocating as it is but how lucky that he has to patiently wait for the elevator to ride through three more floors to get out of here.

When the elevator finally dings open, Chan lets out a breath he doesn't know he's been holding but he's not the one in a hurry to exit both this space and the situation. He stays where he is and lets you out first.

When he thinks you don't have anything else to say, you stop right outside the elevator and look at him with a piercing gaze.

"Don't, for one second, think that you had any effect whatsoever on my panties!" You emphasize every word in anger, then storm off.

Know what? Maybe Chan should skip the bowl of cereal and take two aspirin instead. As for you, maybe you need to chill the fuck out.

-

Just because you've been neighbors with Chan for the past three years doesn't mean that you know each other on a personal level.

All you know about him is that he's a DJ which explains why there's always music playing in his apartment, he always wears a sleeveless top to showcase his muscles, and he always has a stupid grin on to show off the stupid dimples on his stupid face, an annoying Australian accent and from how many times you caught different girls taking a walk of shame out of his apartment, it's safe to say that he's the number one fuckboy in the area

So how dare he say all of that stuff in the elevator when he doesn't know anything about you at all? Moreover, what does a fuckboy like him know about relationships?

It shouldn't be hard to ignore because it's something you usually do but gosh, the memory of the conversation still vexed you a few days later.

Then it hits you that it bothers you so much because deep down, you know what he said is true. You've been wanting to break up with your boyfriend and hearing that comes from someone outside that relationship only solidified that thought.

There's nothing wrong with your boyfriend, Lee is nice, too nice even, and when you think about it, maybe that is the problem, he is too nice and that leads you to another problem, you don't know how to break up with him without hurting his feelings.

But you know who can help you with that? Someone who has a lot of experience in breaking up with people.

Oh, what a joy that you find the answer right across your door!

Before you get to ask for his help though, you're fully aware that there's another thing to do and there's no other way to do it but walk up to his apartment, knock on his door, and apologize.

As you're standing there in front of his apartment door, you're dreading it. All sorts of thoughts crossed your head like why did you have to be so riled up that time in the elevator? Why did you have to say that thing about the panties? Just why? Ugh!

Let's just get it over with, you mutter inside your head.

With hesitant hand, you knock on his door and then hold the urge to turn around and run back to your apartment. You let yourself take a step back as you wait for him to come for the door.

Do not open the door, do not open the door, you chant inside your head while tapping your foot against the floor. However, things are not always going the way you want.

The door swings inward and a second later, Chan appears with disheveled hair and he only has one arm in the sleeve of his t-shirt, then you spot a girl's shoes next to his feet.

Oh no, please don't say you're coming at the wrong time.

You reflexively take another step back but he grabs your forearm and then opens the door wider, showing you that there's a girl there.

"It's my neighbor, she's here to remind me about the tenant meeting," he says to her.

The girl looks at you rather suspiciously and crosses her arms together in front of her as she glares at Chan.

"No. Don't you dare try to get out of this, Chris!"

"But it's true. We have to leave now," Chan says, then gives you a look that tells you to lie along with him, "Right?"

Running a quick assessment of the situation, you're certain that Chan is trying to get himself out of it to avoid having a difficult conversation with the beautiful lady. You hate to be the accessory to his crime but if this means that it would help you earn his forgiveness...

"The pigeons!" You make up a lie on the spot.

"The pigeons are ruining our rooftop garden so we held this urgent tenant meeting," you add with what you hope is a convincing smile.

"Oh, those damn pigeons!" Chan heavily sighs with a phony expression.

The lie makes your throat dry and your cheeks hurt from forcing a smile, you have to keep it going as the lady considers whether to believe that the tenant meeting is true or not.

Chan grabs his jacket from the clothes hook and puts it on, "We'll continue this later, okay?" He says to her.

Without waiting for her answer, he gets out of the door and drags you with him to go to your apartment. Once both of you get inside, he immediately closes the door behind him and lets out a long sigh.

"Oh, wow!" He exclaims once he realizes that he's inside your apartment.

He allows himself further inside and leisurely walks around your apartment, checking your kitchen, trailing his fingers on your book collection on the shelf, and observing the potted plants lining up on the window sill.

He walks back to the middle of the room and takes another 360-degree look around the apartment, then nods in approval.

"So, this is what the inside of your apartment looks like," he says in a cryptic tone.

Not sure if he wants you to respond to that or if should respond at all. You choose to remain silent and only respond when his intentions are intelligible.

Chan then sits on the sofa, making himself comfortable, and looks at you, then at what you're holding in both hands.

"Is that for me?"

The jar of cookies you've been unknowingly holding in your hands is a token of apology and it is for him.

"Yes, it is for you," you say, handing it to him with both hands.

"I'm sorry about the other day," you sincerely apologize, but you know you have to let him know what you're apologizing for, "for what I've said to you. I'm terribly sorry."

"Well, since you're helping me with the uh... situation," he coyly says as he scratches his eyebrow, "consider us even."

See? That wasn't so hard. You feel bad for lying to the girl but at least, you've been forgiven.

"Thank you," you add with a smile.

Chan doesn't say anything else but opens the lid and takes a cookie out of the jar. He gets comfortable on the sofa, sitting slumped with his legs spreading wide, and then he takes a big bite of the cookie.

It doesn't take long for him to notice that you have something else to say to him other than an apology.

Before he gets to it, you force yourself to start speaking.

"So, Chris..." you call, then abruptly stop talking. You suddenly have a second thought about asking for his help.

"What's up?" He asks while chewing on his cookie.

It's at the tip of your tongue but your mouth feels like they're sewn shut. You clasp your hands together and muster up the courage to just blurt it out.

"Do you want something to have with the cookies?"

You swear you plan on asking for his help but somehow, your mouth saying a different thing.

"Milk would be nice," he answers.

"Milk. Yes, I have milk," you awkwardly say, slowly making your way to the kitchen like a walking dead.

You take a carton of milk from the fridge and while pouring it into a glass, you're scolding yourself for being so cowardly.

After taking a moment to take a deep breath and muster up the courage to ask, you walk back to the sofa with the glass of milk in hand. With a smile, you hand it to him.

"Thank you," he says, his eyes catching something in your eyes.

You immediately break the eye contact and take another step back, standing and watching him finish his third cookie then wash it down with a sip of milk.

"I hope you don't mind that I'm going to stay here until the girl leaves my apartment," he informs.

"Oh?" You meekly gasp.

"But I can leave if you're uncomfortable," he says as he sits straight on the sofa.

"No, it's fine," you shortly reply, "Take your time."

"Okay, thanks," he says, reclining back on the sofa and continues munching on the cookies.

You can't decide if he stays longer than you expected is a good thing or not. You use the opportunity to reconsider it and walk to the kitchen to get out of his sight.

"Do you need help or not?" You quietly ask yourself as you pour yourself a glass of water.

Why is it so hard? He's right there. All you need is to go and ask for his help.

The water sloshes out of the glass as you fill it too full and you reflexively back away to avoid getting water all over the front of your dress.

"Everything good there?" Chan asks in a slight panic.

That's it! Enough time has passed from overthinking it! You walk up to him and just do it.

"You're right," you blurt out, "I've been wanting to break up with my boyfriend."

Sensing that it turns serious, Chan slows down his chewing and puts away the cookie jar. You expect the I-told-you-so grin on his face but no, he looks saddened instead.

"Things aren't working out," you openly share with a sad sigh.

You take a seat on the ottoman facing the sofa and sadly sigh, "I've been wanting to break up with him for a week now but I just don't know how."

"How long you've been dating each other?"

"Three years," you answer.

"Wow," Chan lowly gasps in awe.

Three years is not a short time, he understands why you hesitate to break up and it isn't an easy decision either.

"I need your help," you hopelessly say, unintentionally becoming vulnerable in front of him.

"My help?"

"Help me how to break up with him," you further explain.

"Of all people, why me?" He asks in utter confusion.

It's hard to answer that without being rude, you decide to let him process the question until it leads him to the answer. After a while, he lets out a dry chuckle and nods, "Okay, yeah. Make sense."

Chan takes another minute to accept the fact that his help is needed because he knows how to break up with someone without feeling awful about it afterward.

"I guess you want to let him down gently?"

"Yes," you answer.

"Well..." he inflates his cheeks then lets the air out through his pursed lips, "You can break up with him through a text."

Which part of 'let him down gently' did he not understand? How is it a good idea to break up through a text? But okay, it's just one suggestion, you give him the benefit of the doubt for now. Who knows he'll come up with better suggestions.

"I'm sorry. No, I can't do that," you kindly refuse his suggestion.

"You can send it when he's sleeping," he adds.

Oh, God! He gives you an even worse suggestion instead of better ones. You know what? This is a bad idea and you regret asking for his help.

"I don't—" You stop yourself from talking and get up from your seat.

"I'll just check if the lady is still..." Your words trail off as you walk towards the door and check through the peephole first, then you get out of the door to check his apartment next.

"Hello? Excuse me?" You shout from the doorway but no one is answering you.

You take it the lady has left and walk back to your apartment to deliver the news to the rightful owner of the apartment.

"She already left," you tell him.

Chan lets out a sigh and closes the cookie jar, he finishes the milk to its last drop and then gets up from the sofa.

"Thank you for the cookies and the milk," he says with his signature grin.

"No worries," you reply, trying so hard to hide the disappointment in your voice.

Chan holds the cookie jar in one arm and takes a step closer to you, "if you need help on how to write breakup texts, I'm just across the hall," he says.

You don't respond to that but keep a smile on for him as to seem polite.

"And good luck!" He says with gentle pats on your shoulder.

The second he walks out the door, you collapse onto the sofa and dread it even more than before. Turns out, asking for his help is not helping at all.

The next day, you meet him as you collect your mail in the lobby and it's hard to ignore him when his mailbox is next to yours.

"G'day!" Chan greets you as he leans the side of his body against the wall while sorting his mail.

"Good day!" You respond and hurriedly walk toward the elevator. You push the button to summon it to the lobby and hope it comes soon enough for you to avoid talking to Chan.

Of course, things don't go as you want it. He comes just in time for the elevator about to arrive, he crumples a few letters in his hand into a ball and then tosses it into the trash bin.

"How did it go?" He asks.

"Pardon?" You nonchalantly respond.

Good thing that the elevator chimes open and you can pretend to forget about what he asked you a while ago. You get inside while clutching your mails in hands in front of you but it's not safe yet as you have to share the elevator ride with him.

"So... the break-up texts? Did you do it?" He asks again, going to the corner of the elevator and leaning his back against it.

"Chris, I think you can't just end a three-year relationship with a text," you put it as nicely as you can.

"Yeah, I reckon," he innocently answers.

It seems like Chan can't tell the difference between what is easy and what is right. It isn't a good idea in the first place to ask for help from someone like him who doesn't consider other people's feelings except his own.

"What are you going to do then?" He asks, shifting his weight on one leg.

Since his help is not helping at all, you have no answer to that yet. This should be something you have to figure out on your own in the first place.

"I'll figure it out," you not-very-convincingly answer.

Chan crosses his arms in front of him, making the muscles and veins on his arms more evident under the fluorescent light of the elevator.

"Lee seems like a nice guy," he remarks with a deep inhale of air.

Well, if you have to compare your boyfriend to Chan, then yes, Lee is a really nice guy. Lee excels in a lot of things, including how to treat a person with feelings.

"Yes," you settle with a simple answer.

"A drawn-out break up is only going to end in a big scene," he says, "Just saying."

Chan has a point. It's worse to prolong the pain for both you and Lee, you can't keep pretending that the relationship works and it's unfair that you keep Lee oblivious about all this.

"We can practice, you know," he offers.

"Practice?"

"On how you're going to break up with him," he explains.

He comes up with a better suggestion this time and is almost endearing even but again, he wouldn't know how a person with real feelings reacts to a break-up which makes you unsure if the practice would be any help.

The elevator is about to arrive anyway so you decide to skip on responding to his offer. Once it chimes, the doors part open and you take the first turn to get out with Chan getting off after you. You turn to the left to your apartment while he turns right. You take the key out of your pocket to unlock the door and push your way in while clutching your mail close to your chest.

"You know where to find me if you need help," Chan says just before you close the door to your apartment.

Hard pass, you answer in your head but you put on a smile for his kind offer, then close the door

-

Okay, you admit it. You were too haste when you said that you didn't need his help. You were doing fine for these past few days, you've been avoiding meeting your boyfriend to give you some more time to think of the best way to break the news to him until he calls you.

The phone rings and you just stare at it, considering whether to pick it up or not. If you pick it up, that means you have to lie to him and if you don't, it'll alert him that things are, in fact, not okay.

The latter seems like a better idea so you pick it up after taking a long, deep breath.

"Hi, baby. Am I calling you at the wrong time?"

Not entirely wrong but it would be nice if he didn't call you, you answer in your head.

"Yeah, sorry, I was in the bathroom," you lie.

"Coconut shrimp for dinner. What do you think?" he asks out of the blue.

"That sounds nice," you easily respond.

"I know you'll like it but, babe, do you mind getting us a bottle of wine on the way?

"I'm sorry?" You ask in confusion.

"For our dinner, remember?" he answers, "I'll cook tonight we'll be having dinner at mine."

You hardly paid attention to him because your mind was always elsewhere, you couldn't remember saying yes to the dinner but you did and it must be out of pity.

"No, of course, I remember, I'm just..." you rake your brain to think of something to say.

"I thought it was next week," you lie again with an awkward chuckle.

"You silly!" Lee says, "Aren't you glad that I called, huh?"

"So glad," you lie, again and again.

"I should start prepping the ingredients so they'll be ready when you get here," he says, his voice exuding enthusiasm.

"Okay."

"Don't forget the wine!"

"I won't."

"I can't wait to see you, baby," he sweetly says.

The lies are piling up so may as well add another one to the pile, "Me too."

"I love you, bye."

Don't think you can lie your answer to that, you gulp air, "Bye," you say to the phone, then quickly hang up.

Desperate times call for desperate measures and you don't know your desperate measure means knocking on your neighbor's door. Probably because you hate to admit that you need his help.

Not long after, Chan opens the door and his head pops out from the gap, "What's up?"

"My boyfriend just called and tonight, we'll be having dinner in his place," you blabber in panic.

It takes a second for him to process it then his face turns a little surprised, "What are we going to do then?" He asks in confusion.

You may be in dread but you catch the error in his question, "We? Now, you got your panties in a twist," you tell him.

"Shame on you!" He responds with a sly grin then opens the door wider and shows himself dressed in nothing but a white towel hanging low around his hips.

He puts one arm against the doorframe and leans close to you as he says, "Cause I'm not wearing any panties right now."

You should have noticed it from his wet hair and the beads of water rolling down his neck, and now that you're seeing the whole of it, your eyes immediately following where the beads of water going, they're going down the outline of his abs and eventually, to where they're all gathered as his pelvic bones leading down to one way: down south.

However, your instinctive reaction goes against what you're actually feeling inside.

"Ugh!" You groan and turn to the side, "Put some clothes on and I'll see you at my place!"

Without waiting for his answer, you rush back to your apartment and close the door behind you as fast as possible, then you rest your back against it.

The images of his naked body flashing through your head, his glistening wet pale skin, and how some parts of his body are blotchy red around the neck and chest. You get flustered all of a sudden, you immediately press the back of your hand to your cheek and you can feel them heating.

"Get it together!" You scold yourself.

After waiting for almost fifteen minutes, Chan finally comes knocking on your door like it's a musical instrument.

"Are you dressed?" You ask with your hand on the doorknob.

"Hardly," he jokes.

You peek through the peephole and see that he's already dressed to what you can say is his usual attire of dark short pants with a matching sleeveless top, showing off his bulging biceps. You open the door to let him in and he coyly walks in, treating your place like it's his own, sitting on your sofa with his legs spreading wide.

"Okay, so, why am I here?"

You stand in front of him with your hands clasped in front of you, "I've been lying to him the whole phone call and honestly, I've been doing it since the moment I decided that I want to break up with him, and I... I don't think I can lie to him again."

It's easy to admit your mistakes to him because he barely knows you and his opinions about you won't matter that much to you.

"I need to do it tonight," you hopelessly say.

"I take it you need my help to practice your break-up speech?"

You hate that he guesses it right but it's also convenient that you don't have to beat around the bush to ask for it. But first, you try to explain the situation as much as possible so he has ideas on what you're facing here.

"Lee is a man of many emotions and I'm not exaggerating when I say he'll likely cry," you inform.

Chan's forehead wrinkles as he processes this piece of information then stifles a nod. It seems like he still has no idea what you want him to do about it.

"I think it's less painful if you acknowledge the dumpee feelings," you blatantly explain.

"Okay, I got you. Let's practice!' He says, sitting up straighter on the sofa and then putting his hands on his knees.

It's just a practice but your anxiety takes over you not just mentally but also physically as your palms get sweaty. You wipe them down your jeans and take a breath.

"Lee," you call him by your boyfriend's name, and even though it's weird that you're roleplaying, you continue, "I want to break up with you."

Chan looks at you and gets quiet for a moment, "Wow. I'm in utter shock and it makes me very sad to hear that," he says with a rather serious tone.

Not the kind of reaction Lee would likely pull off but that will do if you decide to continue with it.

"I'm fully aware that this is so sudden but I've been thinking hard about it for some time and I think this is a decision that I should take," you say and you know it's a practice but you feel something caught in your throat.

"I'm sad and I need time to process it, but I'll be okay," he calmly says.

Chan gets the tone right but you believe breaking up wouldn't be this easy in real life, especially when there are real feelings to protect. To be honest, you're not ready to face the truth that you may hurt those feelings tonight.

"I think that went very well," Chan says, returning to his default settings.

"Yeah, I think that's it," you meekly say.

The worries and sadness are drawn on your face that Chan can easily see through your veiled expression, "If Lee is as nice as you said he is, then you shouldn't worry much," he says.

He waits until your eyes meet his to continue, "He may get surprised or shocked even, but he'll come around and respect your decision."

You can't believe that those words are coming out of his mouth or that he even tries to comfort you, but you appreciate it. Maybe his heart is still there, he just doesn't let it control him most of the time.

He gets up from the sofa and walks up to you, he takes your hands, ignoring how cold and sweaty they feel in his, "You got this," he assures you.

"Thank you, Chris," you sincerely say with a sad smile.

It is time to stop torturing both you and Lee with lies and forcing yourself to believe that the love is still there. It's time to accept the truth that if you can fall in love, you can also fall out of love.

-

It's a surprise that Chan worries about things that aren't his business. He's been playing some music to distract him from his head but he keeps the volume low because he doesn't want to miss hearing the sound of the elevator that will tell him any signs that you're back from the dinner.

Eventually, he tires himself out from worrying and falls asleep on the sofa. He startles always close to midnight after hearing the knocking on his doors.

Half disoriented, he trudges his way to open the door and finds you there, surprisingly, looking nice in a white cotton dress and your eyes dry.

But from the way you let yourself into his apartment, forgetting your impeccable manners and walking with shoulders slumped and carrying your shoes in your hands, he takes it that you did it.

"So... how did it go?" He carefully asks, following you as you're making your way to the sofa and then sitting on it.

You let a heavy sigh and your shoulders slumped even more, "At least, there's no crying," you answer with a sad smile.

Chan is unsure of how to react to that, is that a good thing or a bad thing? He just stands there with his arms crossed on his chest, thinking out loud.

"And even though it was ending... it was incredibly meaningful to me and I'm going to miss him," you say with your lips trembling.

Oh, no, Chan knows when a girl is about to cry, he quickly finds a remedy to it, one that he knows always works wonders for him. He runs to the kitchen and brings a bottle out of his alcohol stash, then hands it to you.

"Let's have a drink!" He says, realizing that he forgot the glass.

"Wait another second, I'll get the glass," he says, sprinting to retrieve two glasses from his kitchen cabinet.

When he returns, he sees that you're chugging the alcohol straight from the bottle. You gasp and then wince from the bitter aftertaste of it.

"Okay, straight from the bottle it is," he says, popping onto the sofa next to you.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and then hand the bottle to him in which he wastes not another second to take a sip of it.

"The thing is... I really care about him but he wanted to get married, and I'm just not ready for that," you share with your eyes blank and looking at the void.

You take a deep breath but it seems like it only sends your heart sinking deeper and deeper, and making it harder for you to breathe.

"And if I'm not ready with a guy as great as him then what if I'm never ready?" You say, turning your head his way with your eyes glassy, pooling with tears.

"What if that was it..." you lift your shoulders then drop them as you let out a low sigh, "my one chance at love?"

The tears start streaming down your face like a bursting dam and Chan knows he can't do anything about it but let them out.

Hearing your words makes him think about what his idea of love is. He used to think that it was something he could get whenever he wanted it but now he knows that he's wrong, because that's just a short-lived infatuation, just some sort of meaningless connection.

From you, he learns that love is a privilege that not everyone can experience.

"What if I never get a second chance?" You ask him the question that he doesn't know the answer to.

"I don't know. I'm just sad," your voice cracks, then you break into tears.

Chan is quick to catch you into his arms and offers you his embrace. He knows he can't do anything about this sadness but he can try to soothe the pain, he's placing gentle rubs on your back as you cry into his chest.

The cry is resounding in this space, echoing the sadness back to you and it makes him inexplicably sad too, and he gets the urge to make it stop.

"It's going to be alright," he murmurs at the top of your head.

You look up with your eyes wet and red with tears caught in your lashes, "Is it?" You croak.

He doesn't know when but he knows for sure that time heals everything.

"It will be," he answers with a gentle caress of his knuckle on your wet cheek, "eventually."

Your eyes tell some more assurance for him and he doesn't know what drives him to do it, but he leans in, then kisses you.

To his surprise, you kiss him back and he knows you're doing it because you seek his comfort and he wants to give you exactly that. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, giving you that closeness you seek. He kisses you ever so softly because he knows he's kissing a broken heart and he wants to mend it. He can taste your sadness and the bitterness of it, and also the relief underlying all of it. As he kisses you, he lets his heart open just enough to take some of that sadness away from yours.

As the kiss deepens, the sadness withers, and something else emerges. Chan loses in it for a bit until he realizes what you're trying to do with your hand that reaches for the front of his jeans.

He abruptly detaches his lips from yours and shakes his head, "No, we can't do this," he says.

As much as he fancies you enough to have sex with you, he knows better not to do it when you're not in your right mind and your judgments are clouded with sadness. The last thing he wants is you waking up in the morning full of regrets.

"I want this, Chris," you croak.

"No, we can't," he adamantly says and takes your hand away from him.

"You're sad. You do want this," he says in an effort to put some sense into you.

You roughly crumple the front of his t-shirt and pull him close, "I want– No, I need this, Chris," you say to him with your eyes dark like two bottomless pits.

"Please?" You plead as a tear rolls down from the corner of your eye.

This is the most hopeless he ever heard of you and it breaks his heart. You said it yourself, you need this and he knows what you mean by that. You need the distraction, you need him to take this pain away even just for a fleeting moment, moreover, he can't break what's already broken.

He takes your hand off of his clothes and puts it in his, he leans in until his forehead is pressed against yours.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He asks once again.

"Yes," you answer without a beat.

That's all Chan needed to hear, he inhales air and puts an inch between your faces. He then tenderly holds your face with both hands and looks at you, unsure where to start but maybe, he can start by making those tears coming out of your eyes.

Chan dabs the tears pooling in the corner of your eyes with his knuckle and without the slightest of hesitancy, he places a gentle kiss on each of your closed eyelids and before you can open them, he captures your lips in a kiss.

Sex is not something new to him but Chan knows that this time is not about physical fulfillment, but a way to offer comfort and hopefully, to also mend your broken heart.

He takes his time to strip away every piece of clothing on you until you're bare, lying on the bed with nothing but sadness that fills your heart.

He touches you with utmost gentleness, using just his fingertips to feel the softness of your skin and you're so pliant, sensitive to his touch.

To make it fair, Chan takes his clothes off as well before joining you on the bed, caging you in between his arms and hovering only inches away above you.

"Touch me," he says to you, taking your hand and placing it on his shoulder.

He then glides your hand down his neck and chest, he makes you feel every inch of his pale skin with him. However, when he looks at you, your eyes remain on his.

"You feel so warm, Chris," you lowly mutter.

He brings your hand close to his mouth and kisses it, then crashes his lips on yours.

The gap between your bodies becomes non-existent as you keep pulling him close, he relents by lowering himself on top of you and props an elbow against the mattress to not put his whole weight on you.

Lips locked, hands around each other, bodies pressed together and the temperature keeps on rising in the room. Chan makes you feel every part of his lips brushing and gliding over yours. He skillfully parts your mouth open with his tongue so he can kiss you deep and hard, yet slow until you run out of breath.

At the same time, his hand makes its way down until his fingers land on your delicate flesh. He touches it tenderly, running his fingers between the folds, and drags them upward to rub on your bundle of nerves.

"Ah..." you moan against his lips as you curve your hand around his neck and pull him incredibly closer.

Judging from it, he knows he's doing it right and he should continue, he applies gentle pressures on your clit, making you drenched and that way, he can slowly put a digit inside of you.

You let go of his kiss to let out a moan and your head falls onto the pillow as he puts another digit into you, two fingers pumping in and out of you.

Chan intently watches as your face contorted along to the pleasure, how your jaws slack open and breathless moans keep spilling out of your parted mouth.

The way you clench around his fingers makes him impatient to feel you and how tight you feel around him, and the noises you make oh, they're his new favorite tune that he wants to keep listening to until his eardrums burst.

He glances down as he pulls his fingers out of you and finds them thickly coated with your essence, it doesn't stop him from shoving them into his mouth and lick them clean.

Chan holds you by the chin to keep you still as he kisses you, "Give me a second to get a condom, yeah?" He says to you and you nod in answer.

He makes his to the bathroom and pulls the drawer open to take a condom. To save time, he decides to put it on right away, he tears through the foil packet with his teeth and rolls the rubber down his hard length.

On the way out, he catches his reflection in the mirror and gets reminded that this is not about him. Tonight, it's all about you.

He returns to the bedroom, finding you still lying in bed naked and hugging yourself. He climbs onto the bed and lowers himself on you, letting you absorb his body heat to warm you.

Craving for another taste of it, he goes down and plants his mouth on your cunt next, tasting you right on his tongue.

You're squirming as his tongue laps over your wetness, drinking in on your essence and then using it to circle on your clit.

He's not the only one getting impatient and asking more of it, you both want it and there's no wasting time anymore. Just before he takes it to the next part, he places a long, tender kiss on your clit and immediately brings his mouth to yours again so you can taste yourself on him.

"I'm going in, mmh?" He says as he endearingly brushes your hair away from your face.

You hold on to his shoulder as he settles himself between your legs, aligning his cock with your entrance but before that, he rubs his length between your folds, lubricating it with your essence.

Your hands fly to your chest, hugging yourself again as you lowly moan to his hard length rubbing over your clit and then, pushing its way into you.

"Goodness fu—" he can't even finish his sentence without breaking into a satisfied groan.

It's just the tip but he can already feel how tight you are around him, he's scared yet excited to push more of him into you. He reorganizes his breathing and rests his hand on your abdomen to do it.

Chan looks down to check and he still has a little more of him that needs to be inside you, he sharply inhales air through his nostrils and pushes the remaining length in one quick push.

"Oh..." you breathlessly moan as you're squeezing on your breasts.

Chan allows himself to take a moment to adjust himself to being inside you and you seem to also need time to adjust to his size because you feel so incredibly tight around him. It makes him wonder how this little thing can take him so well.

He takes your hands away from your chest and puts them around his shoulders, that way he can put his body on top of you, lips locked with yours again in no time as you wrap your legs around his waist, sending him deeper inside you.

As he takes a breath in between kisses, you hold his face and look at him with a different kind of sadness in your eyes which only reminds him that his initial plan is to make it go away.

He starts thrusting into you, wanting to fuck this sadness out of you. He wants to make you think of nothing but how his cock fills you full and how good he is fucking you right now, and soon, he's going to make you feel nothing but immense pleasure.

"Ah... ah... ah..." you moan for every thrust going into you and the skin-slapping sounds echo along with it in the room.

Chan plants his mouth on your breasts to contain his grunts and groans while keeping the steady motion of his hips pulsating against you.

A hand reaches for his chin and forces him to look at you, instantly engaged in eye contact with you. He continues thrusting into you with eyes looking deep into you, they're no longer looking like bottomless pits, they look like deep oases that he wants to dive into.

The next thing he knows, Chan finds himself deep in you, not just physically but also connected with you in a way that he's never experienced with anyone else until now. He feels barer than he already is and instead of shutting himself off, he embraces it and lets you in.

Soon enough, he finds himself lost in it and fully connects himself to you in a way that lets him know how it feels to love without fears or insecurities holding him back, without worrying if it's being reciprocated or not, to love wholly and completely.

"Oh," you let out a broken moan and that's when he notices that you break into tears again.

Chan abruptly stops moving, afraid that something he does is hurting you without realizing it.

"No, keep going, keep going," you tell him with your voice hoarse.

He needs to make sure to continue, he cups your jaw and asks, "Are you okay?"

"Yes, please, keep going, please," You repeatedly nod and plead with your teary eyes.

He wants you to stop crying, he wants you to stop thinking about what hurts you and start to see him as he tries to take this pain away from you. His body picks up the pace, going impossibly fast and also taking himself close to his high.

Your eyes are screwed shut, your breath is ragged and your hands are gripping onto his shoulders, overwhelmed by the pleasure that he brought on you.

The moment he's sure that you already come to your climax, he allows himself to let go and uses all of his strength to give you a few more thrusts until there's nothing left in him but waves of pleasure that wash over him.

"Chris..." you softly call and then pull him for a chaste kiss on his lips, "Thank you."

Chan's face hovers only inches above you as he softly gazes into your eyes, you look so fragile and open like a wound and he's just glad that he can make your heartache gone even just for a while.

"Shh..." he stops you from talking by running his thumb over your lips and then kisses you with his heart wide open. He lets this beautiful feeling pour out of him and into you.

"No, thank you," he mutters his gratitude between kisses.

Thanks to you, he experiences something he's never felt before with someone else, something new, something pure and real, something that feels a lot like love.

When he wakes up in the morning and finds you're not there, it hits him that maybe it is love but Chan is not ready to admit it yet.

-

A week passes and Chan hasn't seen you ever since that night.

He can't tell if you're avoiding him or needing the space and time to piece yourself back from the break-up, he hopes it's the latter. Gosh! Let him be right.

Regardless of what happened, he can live with the fact that you despise him but it would be sad to know if you choose to go down the path of believing that you're not going to find love again.

Chan just needs to know if you're doing okay, that's what matters for now.

Fortunately, the two of you have been neighbors for quite a long time to learn your routine and knockabouts. He knows what you like to do on a Saturday morning, he goes to the lobby and chats with the concierge as he waits.

At the first sight of you entering the apartment building, his heart palpation, and in all honesty, he's just so happy to finally see you after a while.

Are you not seeing him there? Or you're just pretending which only confirms his initial thought that you've been, in fact, avoiding him.

You're walking through the lobby carrying a bag of groceries in your arm, you skip checking on the mailbox and go straight to the elevator. It just happens that the elevator is vacant and the doors slide open after you push the button.

Chan decides to take the risk, sprinting to get into the elevator before the doors close. You already despise him so a little more hate shouldn't be a problem to him.

"Morning, sunshine," He greets you with his dimpled grin.

"Good morning," you politely reply without looking at him.

Things are going back to normal and he should be glad, right? At least, you're back to your usual settings of looking stoic and acting polite, and the best thing about it is you're still talking to him.

"I should learn to avoid people from you. You're good at it," he pushes it a bit just to see if he can crack through this facade.

"Excuse me?" Your head turns his way and with your eyes widen, "I have not been avoiding anyone."

Chan holds the urge to smile for successfully getting your attention and rests his back against the cold, metal furnace of the elevator, "Are you sure?"

"Well, we're seeing each other now," you tell him.

"That's because I know you like to go to the farmer's market every Saturday morning," he says at the same time, admitting that he knows about your routine.

You slowly turn your body facing him and squint your eyes at him, "You've been keeping tabs on me?"

"It's my favorite pastime activity," he shamelessly answers then pokes his cheek with his tongue.

"It's better than watching porn," he playfully adds, something that he knows will annoy you the right way.

"Ugh!" You groan as you look straight ahead.

Oddly enough, that's what he misses the most about it, interacting with you and seeing your reaction to his antics, but you, especially.

"Don't be so uptight," he coyly says.

He takes a step closer to you and puts his hand on the handlebar, "it's not like we haven't slept together or anything."

You let out a scoff and hoist the strap of your grocery bag higher on your shoulder, "I'm shocked you even remember," you say.

You turn your head next and your eyes immediately lock in a gaze with him, "I figure I'm just a low notch on a very long bedpost," you add.

"Are you calling me a man whore?" Chan says, feeling offended.

You take a step closer to him and daringly stare back into his eyes, "I didn't call you a man," you answer with a sly smirk.

There's a few seconds of silence until Chan realizes what you just said to him but you know what? He's going to give it to you, for now.

He looks at you and smiles, "Touche!"

You both look at each other and at the same time, burst into laughter, and it keeps going until the hilarity subsides with each passing second.

Is this real? Did you just poke fun at him with a beautiful smile on your face? Did you really laugh and the sound of not only echoing in this enclosed space but also in the back of his mind? Did he just see a different facial expression on you? Either way, he likes it and he likes how it makes him feel.

The elevator chimes open and soon, the doors part open. He lets you get off first and then takes his turn after, he gets a little disappointed as you both are going in the opposite direction.

"Hey, Chris," you call as he's only a couple of steps away from the door of his apartment.

His heart palpation again but he keeps his calm and then slowly, turns on his feet to face you, "Yes?"

"I'm cooking curry for dinner and I know it'll be not as good as the one you always ordered but you can come and..." your hand is fiddling with the strap of your grocery bag as you speak but your eyes remain steady on him, "see if it suits your taste."

And did you just invite him for dinner? Him, the neighbor you despise so much?

Chan acts coy and scratches the back of his head, he holds the urge to answer right away. He has a reputation to uphold and he reckons, you have to at least wait a minute for his answer.

"Yeah, okay, let's see," he nonchalantly answers but his smile tells otherwise.

You crack a laugh and nod, walking to your door with the keys jangling as you're unlocking it.

Chan thinks that's the end of it until you call his name again, his heart leaps this time and he almost flies his way to you.

"Yeah?"

"Don't worry, I'm not going to ask you what are we," you say with a smile then get inside of your apartment.

That's funny because, after that night, he was hoping that you would ask him that as most girls do but that's where he is wrong, you're not most girls, you are his neighbor whom Chan is secretly in love with.

-

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[truth4ourfreedom]

THINGS NOT IN THE NEWS ANYMORE. VERSION 6.0

Things not in the news anymore….

(Version 6)

-Maui wildfires. -East Palestine, Ohio -Joe Biden classified documents as a Senator. -Fauci working with China to create a bioweapon. -Pete Buttigieg’s best friend in prison for child porn. -Cocaine in the White House. (TWICE NOW) -The BLM and Antifa riots during 2020 causing BILLIONS of dollars of damage. -The data collected from the Chinese spy balloons. -Ukraine intelligence documents released that showed they were suffering massive losses and the American taxpayer was being lied to. -Nancy Pelosi’s “documentary” film crew on J6. -Veterans being kicked out of shelters to make room for illegals. -Pizzagate “debunker” jailed for possession of child pornography. -Gay porn film in Senate hearing room. -Veterans Affairs prioritizing healthcare of illegals over Veterans. -THE SOUTHERN BORDER CRISIS. -Afghanistan drawdown and 13 service members killed in an attack on Kabul International Airport, that they hid the severity of it. -Obama droning an American citizen in the Middle East. -George Bush’s false WMDs. -3 service members killed in Jordan. -Hunter Biden making over $1M for “paintings”. -J6 political prisoners that are still in jail. -85,000 missing children at the southern border. -Epstein’s clients. -Obama coordinating with John Brennan and 4 other countries (5 eyes) to spy on the 2016 Trump campaign. -Mail-in ballots were the cause of the stolen 2020 election. -Jeffrey Epstein mentioning that Bill Clinton liked his girls “really young”. -The (NOW TWO) airline whistleblowers that mysteriously died. -Benghazi (I won’t mention anything more about this because I care about my life.) -Nancy Pelosi’s daughter stating that January 6th wasn’t an insurrection. -The January 6th committee destroying encrypted evidence before the GOP took over the House. -Nancy Pelosi admitting that J6 was “her responsibility”. -House Speaker Mike Johnson claiming there wouldn’t be foreign aid without border security in the bill, which was a lie. -The recent riots from illegal criminal aliens at the southern border and the border in general. -Hunter Biden not complying with a Congressional subpoena and deemed untouchable. Democrat privilege. -Vaccine side effects. -“Lab leak” out of China -The Secret Service having to basically guide Joe Biden everywhere he goes. -Who leaked (Sotomayor) the SCOTUS Alito decision. -Federal instigators inside the Capitol including pipe bomb evidence against them. -Obama’s chef “passing away”. -HRC’s chef “passing away”. -The Sheriff that happened to be in Las Vegas (during the mass shooting) AND the wildfires in Hawaii. -P Diddy sex-trafficking allegations. Where’s Diddy? -Gonzalo Lira (an American journalist) that was killed in Ukraine -Congress approving warrantless spying violating American’s 4th amendment rights while they are exempt. -Americans that were left in foreign countries (Haiti, Palestine, Afghanistan). -The billions of dollars of weaponry left in Afghanistan and the Taliban receiving $40M a week in “humanitarian assistance”. -Biolabs found in California. -Joe Biden’s impeachment. -The scum in the UNITED STATES HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES waving the Ukrainian flag. -The over 300k ballot images that could not be found in Fulton County, Georgia; the same county Donald Trump on trial for “election interference”. -Democrats defunding the police causing massive rises in crime. -Kamala Harris’s record as DA in California. -The Transifesto from the school shooting. -Many U.S. Representatives and Congress receiving FTX funds. -They’re already working hard to bury Donald Trump’s àssassination attempt but we won’t let them bury that story. July 13th is never going away.

The distractions are out of control.

Share to show that legacy media is dead and that WE are the media now.

Please like,share and reblog to keep people aware!

[joelsgoldrush]

“you can use my skin to bury secrets in” | 6.8k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his brain. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?” OR Logan had always known your generosity would get him in trouble. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. pining. mentions of alcohol. dirty talk. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). logan’s POV. angst/self-deprecation (he just needs a little loving). religious imagery. feelings. petnames. chauffeur!logan. oral sex (m receiving, tiny bit of f receiving). sort of dom!logan. doggy style. unprotected p in v. creampie. A/N: i could say i'm sorry for this, but i'm not. love love love this old man (#needthat). heavily inspired by the song "i know" by fiona apple. @lubdubology my partner in crime who keeps putting up with me, tysm!!! hope you all enjoy it <3

The line between being a good and bad person is thin. So thin, in fact, that Logan finds himself stepping back and forth across it constantly.

Rescuing a kitten from a tree? Good.

Punching a guy at a bar because he didn’t feel like being acknowledged? Bad.

Saving countless lives from mass destruction? Good—heroic, even.

But killing others to do it? Bad—condemnable, scum of the earth.

Where does that leave him? Which side has laid claim to his soul? He’s long accepted he’ll never see the pearly gates.

When the day comes that his body can no longer take it, and he only grows wearier, he’s pretty sure there’s a special place in hell with his name on it, etched in some grave awaiting to be filled.

Maybe Satan’s already counting down the days until he shows up at his door, who knows?

Yet, the more time passes by, the less afraid he is of what lies beneath the surface. He’s learned to coexist with the darkness, with the kind of pain and loneliness that would crush most men.

He doesn’t know how, but he survives it—the agony, the memories, the solitude that hits him from time to time.

And still, he doesn't lose himself entirely. He’s tempted, of course, to linger in the past—it’s always easier to drown there.

If he could go back, he knows he wouldn’t be alone in choosing that path. Some days, it feels like the only option.

But there’s no you in his past.

Logan inhales sharply when your tongue teases his slit, lapping at the precum pooling there. You hum at the taste, your hand resting on his bare thigh, fingers pressing into his skin. Your other hand lazily strokes the length of him, working the inches your mouth can’t take.

It’s clear you’re enjoying this. He can tell from the way your lashes flutter each time he thrusts a little deeper into your slick warmth. A win-win situation.

Letting a girl like you do this to him? That’s bad. Very bad. Red flags all around.

He meets you when he least expects it.

It’s a night like any other. He’s been driving for God knows how long. His joints ache from being in the same position for hours, and a part of his left knee he didn’t even know could hurt begins to throb.

It takes everything in him not to call it quits for the night, not to turn around and head home like a coward.

When exactly his life fell into this monotonous cycle, he’s not entirely sure, but it happened somewhere along the way. Now, it’s all the same: taking care of Charles during the day, catching an hour or two of sleep, then gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, driving through endless stretches of road, resisting any attempts at small talk from the passengers he chauffeurs around.

They all try—every single one of them. They think if they can crack his harsh and bitter exterior, he’ll open up, reveal something, anything to make their eyes go wide.

But why? Why do they insist on breaking through his shell? What do they hope to discover?

No one really cares what’s going on in his mind. They just want to feel good about themselves—like they’ve been kind, amiable, empaths intending to fill some empty and obscure corner of their own lives.

Logan refuses to be the person who grants them that satisfaction.

You slip into the backseat of his limo, closing the door with a soft click. The night clings to you, the scent of the bar still lingering on your clothes. The music is loud enough for him to hear from outside, and he sees the people lined up at the door, willing to cause a fight if it means securing a good time.

There's a slight frown tugging at your features, your lips pulled downward, though your voice is still polite when you blurt out your address.

Five minutes into the drive and you haven’t said a word. Internally, he’s savoring the silence, so happy he could jump on one foot.

This kind of peace is rare. He’d grown unaccustomed to it. The tension in his shoulders eases as the city lights blur past.

But, all good things come to an end, because—

“How’s your night going?” you ask, fiddling with the seatbelt to have something between your fingers. Logan glances at you through the mirror, his eyes catching yours just for a moment, long enough to see the faint, apologetic smile you offer him. He allows himself a heartbeat more to take you in before focusing back on the road.

You click your tongue, a soft sound of disapproval ringing in his ears. “Well, thank you.”

He lets out a quiet huff, grinding his teeth together. “I’d prefer if we stayed like we were before,” he mutters, his voice rough and gravelly. His attention flickers between the passing cars and the occasional glimpses of you that startle him every time he searches for the mirror. Cars. You. Cars. You. You. You. “Y’know, not talking.”

“But that’s no fun at all,” you retort, sliding more to your left, nearly positioning yourself in the middle of the backseat. It gives him a better view of you—whether intentional or not, he can’t say.

The lipstick on your lips is still flawless. A sparkly necklace glints just above the neckline of your dress, and matching earrings dangle from your ears. Wrapped in a leather jacket, you look effortlessly alluring.

This entire sequence is enough to confirm that by no means is he going to heaven. Straight to hell, he thinks, allowing his gaze to trace over each detail of your frame. Straight to hell.

You don’t give up. “Your aura is off.”

That prompts a crooked smirk from him, a shake of his head as he mumbles under his breath: “M’sorry, my what’s off?”

“Your aura,” you clarify, motioning toward him with a light jingle from the many bracelets adorning your wrist. “It’s the energy that surrounds you.”

Logan snorts, amused for a brief second. “Well, you weren’t exactly a beacon of life when you got in either.”

You chuckle softly, leaning back against the seat and looking out the window. “I’m much better now.” A pause before you continue, your tone shifting, losing strength. “My date stood me up. Last-minute cancellation.”

It’s not anger, nor is it disappointment, that laces your words. You seem more resigned than anything else. He’d have expected you to sound at least a bit more conflicted.

“I should’ve seen it coming. He’d been asking to move it forward for a while.”

Does he look like the type of driver who doubles as a therapist? He wishes he could understand why you're telling him all this.

“That sucks,” he still responds, because even though he hasn’t gone out with a woman in what feels like centuries, he understands that sensation all too well. “First time meeting him?”

Listen up, everyone—he’s genuinely engaging in conversation with another soul. This doesn’t happen often.

He hears you hum, eyes still trained on the outside world. You sigh, crossing your arms over your torso. “Would you mind rolling your window up? I’m kind of freezing here.”

“I’d mind that very much,” he says, his voice carrying its usual gruff edge. He fights the urge to grin, but then you unbuckle your seatbelt, leaning in closer to him. Your body is wedged between his seat and the passenger’s, and he perceives your stare boring into his side profile. “Put your seatbelt back on.” 

“You’re fucking with me.” Your finger taps his shoulder once, twice. “First, I get all dolled up for an idiot who bails on me, and now you have the nerve to make fun of me? Give me a break.”

Your eyes stay on him, a smile plastered on your face, anticipating any possible answer.

Crack, crack, crack—you intend to break through his shell, watching him from the front row, waiting for the moment it gives way.

Before you can say more, he cuts you off. “Seatbelt.”

It’s a command, an instruction, and you comply without hesitation.

Warmth pools and stirs low in his gut as he notes how quickly you obey him. 

Would you still look at him like that if you knew the blood he’s scrubbed off his hands? The flesh that his claws have shredded? The names of the lives he’s taken?

Would your warm gaze turn cold, filled with dread instead of curiosity?

Maybe this is hell. Are you the Devil in disguise, tempting him to cross a line he won’t be able to come back from?

A few minutes later, he pulls up to your building. A really nice one, he notes. You announce you live on the sixth floor. He doesn’t need to know that, does he? Why would you tell him that? Why give that piece of information to a complete stranger?

You linger in the backseat, as though you’re expecting him to turn and look at you. And he does, though not for the reason you might expect. “You got everything?”

Eager and full of life, you nod, clutching your purse to your chest. You avert your gaze to read his ID tag, the one that contains his personal details. “James?”

“Glad you can read,” he utters, pulling out a small bottle of liquor from under the seat. He drains it all in one go, savoring the fleeting burn as it slides down his throat, which is enough to keep him going. “C’mon, kid. I already charged you.”

“You drink while you drive?”

“Keeps me entertained,” he says dryly. It’s the only thing he knows how to do. Raising the empty bottle in your direction, he arches a brow. “Goodnight, darlin’. Leave me a good review on your way out.”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.” 

For a couple of days, you don’t bother him again. Bother—notice the implication of the verb in question.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think of you after that drive. Each time his phone buzzes, a small, restless part of him hopes it’s you, asking for his services, wanting him to be the one you seek out.

And it happens. The best things seem to occur when the moon hangs high and bright.

You: Hi.

He stares at the message, recognition washing over him. He knows it’s you; he can see the other texts you exchanged that night he took you home.

You: Are you working tonight?

You’ve got to be kidding him.

Logan: Why are you texting me?

He types the words with frustration, his thumb hovering over the screen longer than usual. 

You: Why are you answering me?

Oh, you’re smart. 

Logan: Take my advice. Talk to a guy your own age.

You: Damn. Already jumping to conclusions. I was just going to ask you if you wanted to have a drink with me.

Logan: I’m busy.

You: Well, what time do you get off?

Logan: I work all night.

You: Can’t even make a quick stop? I swear it won’t take you more than twenty minutes.

An impulse to throw his phone out the window surges within him, but he manages to restrain himself.

Then, as if on cue, the device vibrates again—of course, it’s you.

You: The drinks are on me. Let me know if you change your mind.

Do you think he’s going to let you pay for him? Absolutely not. 

What surprises him more than the message is how easily he remembers your address. It appears to be ingrained in his mind.

He cancels his next trip, scheduled for ten minutes from now, his new destination being your building.

Once he pulls up, he does what feels most natural: he honks. Multiple times. Maybe he’s lucky and you’ll tell him to fuck off.

But you don’t. You’re laughing as you make your way over to the limo, sliding into the backseat in the same way you did a week ago. Your plan had succeeded—you had him exactly where you wanted.

Far from hiding it, you make it evident, obvious. Your heartbeat thrums in the air, and Logan can hear it loud and clear, like the bass in one of those funky songs he likes.

There’s no room for mistakes. He won’t deny it. Even if the feeling is mutual, he can’t shake the idea that he’s doing something wrong.

In his eyes, you’re the forbidden fruit—irresistible, the ultimate temptation known to humankind, camouflaged in the fur of a pretty woman.

You, his paradise on earth, could only lead to one thing: a longing for a chance with you, which he should never be granted in the first place.

He’s diving headfirst into disgrace, and the more he realizes it, the worse it feels. If he were to be scolded like a child, maybe he’d feel relieved, but he’s no kid. He’s a grown-ass man who should be able to resist.

Yet, self-restraint is like sand slipping through his fingers—never lasting long enough.

“You came.” Astonishment. Uncertainty. Amusement. Blinking your eyes at him, you sit very upright, and you don't even bother fastening your seatbelt. “Honestly? I thought you were going to block me.”

I can’t, he thinks. I wouldn’t be able to. I’m not that strong.

“What happened this time? Another failed date?” he inquires, still not starting the car. A look of perplexity appears on your features, puzzled about why he’s not moving. “Ain’t you forgetting something?” He tugs on his own seatbelt for emphasis, the fabric snapping back into place against his coat.

Once again, you follow his lead. “I don’t need to get stood up to want to see you,” you say, placing your hand on his shoulder for balance—or so he tells himself. It takes him all his willpower not to collapse right then and there. “Besides, I’m not bad company. I’ve been told I can be pretty funny.” 

“I see…” he trails off, catching your gaze through the rearview mirror, not shocked in the slightest to find you waiting for him to look back. “Where to?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you should. You invited me.”

How easy it is to make your chest rumble with laughter, the genuine sound bubbling up, pure and unrestrained. He feels like some amateur comedian who has just realized his real passion is to cause this type of response in others.

Except, it’s not just anyone’s laughter he insists on provoking—it’s yours, and yours alone.

An unsettling sensation envelops him the second you retrieve your hand, not before squeezing his shoulder in a friendly manner. “There’s a bar I go to with my friends sometimes,” you suggest after a beat, shoving your phone in the pocket of your jacket. “We could try that one.”

The moment he steps inside, regret washes over him. Why is everyone here under forty? He feels ancient, like fucking Fred Flintstone.

A fossil out of place, meant to dwell in the shadows, not in a scene like this.

When he freezes in the middle of the bar, your fingers intertwine with his, tugging him along, and he follows after you like a lost puppy. The only thing he’s missing is the leash.

You’re met with his quirked eyebrows as you peer into his eyes over your shoulder, a toothy grin threatening to shake the floor beneath his feet. “You know, people usually sit down before they start getting shit-faced.”

“I’m not getting drunk tonight.” Logan exhales a deep breath, trying to hide his discomfort, his eyes scanning the room. “And neither are you,” he practically yells in your ear trying to make himself heard above the pounding music and incessant chatter. He wonders if you even hear him at all.

The two of you eventually settle at the counter, drinking in silence. Logan half-expects one of your comments to pierce through the quiet, but you delight in proving him wrong.

Instead, your head sways gently to the rhythm of the song playing in the background, and you take a trial sip of your beer.

He’s acutely aware of the stares from the rest of the patrons. He can pretend to be oblivious, but the weight of several pairs of eyes burning holes into the back of his neck doesn’t go unnoticed.

Being watched has never been his favorite pastime, and somehow, it feels even more uncomfortable with you by his side.

He knows what those looks imply, can nearly taste the hidden implications behind each fleeting glance.

What’s a girl like you doing with a man like him? A question that makes no sense.

Does he have money? A well-endowed reputation? Did he recently inherit any properties?

Are you truly that desperate for human contact?

Is your bed so cold that you decide to go for the first guy who can string ten words together?

Logan doubts whether this whole experiment is part of the community service you must be doing. Maybe he should look up your name online to see if any criminal records come to the surface.

Now that he takes a moment to ponder it, you certainly fit the mold of the criminal type. The kind who gets what she wants when she wants it, leaving a trail of intrigue on her wake.

His fingers circle the glass so tightly he fears it might shatter into a million shards. You notice his tension, nudging his arm with yours, aiming to meet his eyes.

When you do (because, as he said, criminals have their own ways), you smile, and he internalizes that gesture as something familiar, something he feels he’s grown used to. Something rankled in his memory.

It’s as if he’s known you for a lifetime.

“Thank you for coming,” you say softly, and he may be going down the path of hallucinations,  but your attention remains a little too long on his lips. Then, just as quickly, it flickers back to the rest of his face, and you lean back to drink from your beer once more.

Straight to hell, he thinks, tasting the remnants of whiskey on his tongue, for ever daring to believe himself worthy of even a moment of your precious time.

You’re probably the first person to have his full, undivided attention. And that’s… well, that’s saying something.

Most days, you’re pretty talkative, a steady stream of conversation, your words pouring out in an endless flow.

You tell him about your family, your career, that pet of yours that died when you were six years old. You mention a friend you no longer speak to, and the events that led to the downfall of your friendship.

There’s also that dish from your all-time favorite restaurant, the one you buy at least once a week because it never fails to comfort you.

Nonstop, you talk and talk, and Logan doesn’t mind one bit. Soon, he finds himself becoming an active listener—asking follow-up questions, chuckling at your jokes, even when they’re not funny at all.

He sincerely cares about what you have to say.

This whole situation with you is beyond his comprehension. Before he realizes it, you start wanting to spend more time with him.

Sometimes, you ride along in the passenger seat while he drives aimlessly through the city.

Sometimes, you invite him over, cook a meal, and he always takes the leftovers with him, as if a part of you goes with him when he leaves.

Sometimes, you come over to his place, and the roles reverse—you’re the one with the mic, asking the questions, fully aware that you’re treading on holy ground. 

Logan’s got a sign on his forehead that reads ‘Stop: do not enter.’ It’s rough around the edges, hardened by the years, all capital letters in stark blank ink. But in the end, you just take the sign and set it aside.

He never goes into too much detail. Not because he doesn’t trust you—it’s just that there’s too much to unpack, and you don’t need to know all of it. You’ll be better off not carrying the garbage he does.

Yet, you’ve got him by the throat, encouraging him to cough up disjoined pieces of his life, bits of his day, his thoughts, his feelings. It sounds stupid to him, but you make him feel alive. 

You never judge him, never flinch when he brings up stories from his past. As he sits at your table one afternoon, you look at his hands, his claws fully extended, and you don’t shy away. You rub the pad of your thumb across the rough skin of his knuckles, right where the adamantium tears through his flesh.

You don’t care that he’s a mutant, that he’s killed people. You don’t try to deny who he is or what he’s done. Oddly enough, you just wish to be by his side, staring off into the void with him. 

“But why?” he asks, partly flattered, partly frustrated. This could be compared to learning a new sport from scratch—he can’t figure you out, can’t understand why you haven’t run the other way yet.

He likes your company, though he’s always bracing himself for the inevitable day you find a better hobby and leave.

Your reasoning defies logic, and he’s afraid that at any moment, you’ll grasp the gravity of your choices.

Almost as if you could feel the turmoil brewing in his mind, you simply say: “You’re nice to be around.”

Nice. Nice. Nice. He’d cackle if he were alone. That word reverberates through him. When was the last time someone called him nice?

Bad-tempered, sure.

A pain in the ass? Definitely.

But nice? Not a term people employed to describe him.

It’s a quality reserved for you, with your endless charisma and kind heart, but not for a man of his kind.

He’s nothing more than a chauffeur, a driver, someone who does and says what’s necessary to survive. Does that make him nice? 

When he tells you he’s probably going to hell, you don’t try to make him feel better. Anyone else in your position might try to soothe him, to offer some hollow reassurance.

Your intention isn’t to change him, for him to pretend to be something he’s not. “Then I’ll meet you there,” you mutter, your shiny eyes searing into his. Under the table, your hand finds his, tender fingers grazing over his knuckles, and for once, he doesn’t pull away.

Could it be that an afterlife catching fire doesn’t sound so bad after all?

As much as he likes to admit how easily you can shift his mood, today is not one of those days.

He’s had a nightmare—nothing new, but this one had been… different. The empty bottle on the nightstand hadn’t been of any help; it never does when they visit him in his sleep.

The ghosts of those who used to be his friends, his family, tiptoe around his dreams in the form of shadows.

Blood. Screams. Shouts of his name. He can’t save them all. Walking through the wreckage, he dodges the bodies of those he couldn’t protect, the knot in his throat tightening with every step, not allowing him to breathe.

Wherever he turns, there’s death, destruction. Sadness. Did he save them all?

It’s always the same routine. He wakes up, screaming, chest aching from the effort. His lungs burn, and he has to remind himself that the limbs attached to him are his own and not the remnants of an immobile corpse.

Sweat clings to his skin, pooling at his temples and nape. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, rubbing at the soreness in his neck.

His phone rings somewhere in the distance, pulling him from his dizzy state. He scrambles to his feet, accepting the call just before it hits voicemail.

It's you. Despite it being late, he swears he feels the gentle kiss of the sun over his brow. Your sweet voice chases away the lingering shadows of his dreams, replacing the bitter taste in his mouth with something real—a reason to get up, to start moving.

He holds onto every second of the brief call, replaying those thirty seconds in his head as he steps into the shower. When the cold water shocks his system, it pulls him fully back to consciousness. He has to get ready.

Even though you insist on getting a taxi, he refuses. He doesn’t mind the drive. His gas tank does, his wallet maybe, but Logan? He just doesn’t.

At the end of the day, he’s protective by nature, and who knows what kind of men are roaming the streets at night?

God forbid they’re anything like him—eager to prompt a smile from you, trying too hard to impress you. He arrives at the conclusion that he’d rather lose fuel and money if it means orbiting around you for longer.

You make him feel better, and tonight, he needs it more than ever. He needs you.

(Now he’s driving. He honks five times when he pulls up to your building. You get on the limo, giggling as you say: “My neighbors must hate you.” He grins. You kiss him on the cheek. Subtle. Not the first time. Still, it doesn’t get old. He feels the faint residue of lip gloss on his skin. He doesn’t wipe it off.)

Not in the mood to cook, you declare as you step into his place. The mouth-watering aroma of the Chinese food you bought fills the air, but when he reaches for the bags, you insist that he sit and relax.

Sure, he can take a seat. But to expect him to relax with you around, playing this intricate game? That’s simply impossible. You’re asking for too much. He’s a player at heart, drawn to the thrill of the chase, and he will play along.

What seems inconceivable is the expectation that he can act as if nothing is happening between these four walls.

His attempts to focus on you are futile, as his mind betrays him tonight. All he hears spilling from your lips is pure and plain gibberish. Your very presence is no longer enough to anchor him.

Already immune to your charm, Logan eats his noodles, occasionally nodding when your voice rises at the end of a sentence, indicating a question.

But he nearly chokes on his drink the moment he registers your serious expression, having never witnessed you like this before.

“Are you even here?” you ask, shoving your food aside with a swift motion of your wrist.

What should he answer? What is it that you want to hear? Of course! I’m here, listening to you. It’s a delightful night. Should I start by telling you about my most recent nightmare? Quite the entertainment!

There’s a shake of his head as he lowers his gaze, escaping your concerned expression. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.” You tug your chair forward, claiming a piece of his personal space. You know he doesn’t mind. “Want to talk about it? Did something happen?”

“My brain is just… off today.”

“Many thoughts at the same time.” Not a question. Have you completely figured him out?

“Yeah.”

He remains still, dragging his plastic fork across the now-cold steamed veggies, which have lost their appeal.

How amusing—your knees bump against his, drawing his attention. “Can I help you?” It’s new, the breathy tone you’re using, a whisper of agitation weaving through your calm demeanor. 

“Can you erase my memory?” he shoots back, attempting to smirk through the wave of memories that flash behind his eyelids. When he looks into your eyes, the siren in his head blares.

Your pupils are dilated, blown wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. Sweaty palms that you wipe on your jeans. Tongue darting out to lick your lips. Your heartbeat accelerates, drumming wildly like the fluttering of a hummingbird’s wings.

He hasn’t been with a woman in ages, but he knows how they react when they see something they like—or, in this case, someone.

“Logan.” His name rolls off your tongue once more, tinged with an unmistakable need. The thought of checking his temperature dances through his mind, but the heaviness in his limbs roots him in place. He feels feverish. “I want to help you.”

Oh, no. No, no, no, no—

“What—what are you on, sweetheart?” Get up. Find your keys. Drive her home. “You don’t even know what you’re sayin’.”

Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his head. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?”

He’s no longer in control of his actions. His right hand crawls up your knee, palming the fabric of your pants. It’s numbing: a lapful of you, your rich smell, your quickened pulse.

Tempting. So fucking tempted to take you right now, just like this, without the need for words. Your bodies can communicate in a language of their own, one that transcends spoken phrases. 

I want you, he lets you know through the way he gropes your breasts over your shirt, squeezing them together. He’s always been good with his hands. But what the hell am I supposed to do with a sweet thing like you?

His patience teeters on the edge of a precipice. “Tell me what you want.”

“I asked you first.”

“You’re gonna pretend you don’t know the answer?” He thrusts into the air, grinding against your clothed core, and you close your eyes. He’s rock hard beneath you, the bulge in his jeans shockingly obscene, bordering on grotesque. “We both know what I want, but I’m no telepath, baby. Need you to speak up.”

Twisting the locks of hair at his nape, you press your lips to his neck. “I want to make you forget, to focus on this moment. I want you to live in the present, Logan.” A bite on his earlobe sends shivers down his spine, and he grips your hips with a primal growl. “I can do whatever you want. Just tell me. Tell me, and I’ll do it, please.”

Please? He’s spiraling. Please? That’s it—he’s doing it. He’ll grant you your plea, which aligns perfectly with his own desires.

Once his back meets the mattress in his room, you get to work. With delicate precision, you pull down his pants, sliding his boxers off until only his thick thighs and the crown of short curls adorning his cock remain in sight. Your fingers tremble slightly before you wrap them loosely around his length, and it springs to life in your grasp.

Your gaze pierces into his, mirroring the intensity of his own. But something holds you back, prompting you to reach for his hand.

At that moment, it all clicks into place. Logan urges your head down onto him, and he’s welcomed by the slick warmth you provide.

Indeed, he’s very much alive.

“That’s it. That’s—fuck. There you go.” 

His fingers dig into the mattress, clutching the cotton sheets, stopping himself from thrusting into your mouth. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—God, he does—but tonight, he’s on his best behavior.

He wipes the trail of drool from your chin, smearing it gently across your cheek, his thumb lingering as he watches your nostrils flare with a strained, muffled gasp.

Bringing his thumb to his mouth, he tastes the wetness on it the same way you’re sucking him: greedily, without any trace of mercy.

This proves I’m going to hell, he thinks, enraptured by the sight of his cock disappearing between your parted lips. Straight to hell.

You draw him back to the present, nuzzling your face against his thigh, your humid breath teasing his thick shaft, pulling him from a deep reverie. Your glossy eyes roam, exploring until they find his, and you gift him an authentic smile. Wrecked and blissed out, it’s as if the lights are on, but no one’s truly home.

He would’ve never guessed how much you reveled in sucking cock, radiating enthusiasm with each of your movements.

“Am I doing it okay?” you wonder aloud, hovering over the tip, swirling your tongue around the velvety head. He’s no fool, and neither are you; deep down, you know you’re doing more than just okay. Actually, you’re giving him the best blowjob of his long, long life.

Each panting, airy praise he huffs fuels your eagerness, making you even more receptive to his desires as the words slip past his lips.

“Fuckin’ amazing, honey. Got me so hard, y’see?” His tone is heavily charged with carnality, gripping himself and smacking the tip against your mouth, the wet sound echoing like music to his ears.

He pulses against your tongue, and you seize the opportunity to trace the thin veins scattered along his length. Gulping, with his gaze fixed on you, Logan notices how you’re still wearing your clothes, wiggling your hips against the mattress, rubbing your thighs together to get something in return. “Are you wet?”

Humming against him, you suck in shaky breath. 

“Words.”

“I’m—I’m wet,” you rasp, voice hoarse. You try to guide him into your mouth and fail miserably, because his grip only tightens, stroking himself instead. “Logan,” you keen, stretching your neck in a silent plea, “don’t be mean.”

“Not mean. Just enjoyin’ myself,” he replies, pulling the foreskin back to expose the head, arching his eyebrows. His fingers curl around your chin, drawing your face nearer to his girth, fascinated by how your eyes flutter shut the more you surrender to the pleasure. “C’mon. Be polite.”

Blame him for it—he believes he’ll never get tired of this game.

“Please.” You whisper, returning to your begging while tenderly rolling his balls, staring at him through your lashes. And then you say it again: “Please.”

Your gaze burns a hole through his crumpled heart. He lets you have it, eager to give whatever you may ask him for. You dive back into it, engulfing his length and bobbing your head up and down with fervor. Hushed whines escape your lips, savoring another bead of his precum.

Logan almost loses it as you hollow your cheeks, instinctively cradling the back of your head. “Easy, baby. M’not going anywhere. Take your time.”

Whenever he feels himself approaching that long-awaited release, he forces his mind to conjure thoughts that will stall his impending orgasm.

The water stains from flooding on the walls.

The supermarket list.

The rising price of gas.

The—

“Fuck. Slow down,” he groans, utterly captivated by the way you point your tongue to draw imaginary patterns along his cock, seemingly memorizing every detail. “Don’t go too hard on me, remember?”

You mumble something under your breath, and at first, he can’t quite make it out. “What is it?”

“I said I want you to fuck me.”

Under no circumstances is he surviving this night.

“Really, doll?” Logan seeks the reassurance he desperately needs, fearing that this is all a dream from which he’ll awaken the moment he properly touches you. “You sure you want this old man to fuck you?”

You’re a rambling mess, murmuring Yes, Logan, please, until he maneuvers you to lie on his chest, his glistening cock sliding against your clothes, leaving a trail of dark spots. A whimper dies on your tongue as you brush your lips together, your hot breath enveloping him. “Give me a kiss at least.”

Tilting your head up, he connects his mouth to yours, growling as he detects the dull, sour tang of what must be him. He sucks your bottom lip, hardly aware of what his hands are doing until he shifts your positions, pinning you down.

Logan tugs at your clothes, peeling them away with urgency, his fingers dancing over your nipples until you’re grinding against his thigh, quivering beneath him. With a nip at your damp skin, his eyes flutter open as he studies your expression, casting you a glance that seeks your permission.

A ripple of desire courses through him when you dutifully turn over beneath him, pressing your face further into the pillow. He runs his knuckles along the curve of your ass, his throat going dry as you follow after his touch, arching your body in response.

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he licks a long, slow stripe up your wet folds, keeping his tongue flat against your clit for a brief moment. Your arms give out and you stumble forward, stuttering as you mewl his name, fully consumed by the feeling.

So he does it again, and again, and again, flicking the sensitive bud, even though you’re already beyond soaked. It’s a pleasure he indulges in simply because he can.

Straight to hell, he thinks, coating his length with your arousal, teasing your entrance while pushing in only the tip. That motion alone is enough to make him draw a trembling breath before he continues, gradually feeding you his cock, inch by inch.

Straight to hell, the voice in his head utters as he buries himself to the hilt deep within your body, his heavy balls resting against your ass.

Like an intruder in your territory, he’s free to do as he pleases, and you let him have his way with you.

If only this moment could stretch into infinity—he longs for time to relent and never draw to a close. 

What will happen after? Will you spend the night? Does he—

“L-Logan,” you mumble, having adjusted to his size. You rock back into him, impaling yourself even more on his cock. “Please, move.”

The pace he establishes is brutal. Your warm, inner walls exquisitely massage him, and the earth as he knows it stops spinning. Fire pools low in his abdomen, his hands holding you by the flesh of your hips to keep you anchored, each thrust driving you closer to the headboard with an intoxicating urgency. 

“You wanted it from the very start, didn’t you?” He doesn’t know if a response will ever come, but these kinds of thoughts are impossible to contain. He’s just a simple man, powerless against the allure of a tight cunt. “Just got in my car and knew it would end like this?”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.” 

His next thrust punches a whine out of your lungs. Even as you clench around him, stuffed and filled to the brim, you beg for him to fuck you harder. He would’ve laughed at you were he able to catch his breath.

With a more deliberate rhythm, he rolls his hips, jackhammering your most sensitive spot, pulling you closer as he wraps an arm around you. When his fingers find your clit, drawing slippery circles, a cry escapes you, and your body merges with the mattress under you.

Your release takes him by surprise, urging him to continue as you reach back, encouraging him to chase his own climax. He knows all too well the struggle of bringing you to this point without succumbing to his pleasure too soon. Your nails graze along his thigh, leaving delicate marks in their wake, and somehow, the passion and bliss he’s been nurturing ignites into a fiery crescendo.

Shortly after, he goes completely rigid inside you, pressing his forehead against your back as he bites down on your shoulder to muffle his groans. His hand squeezes your breast tightly, riding out his high, blood buzzing in his ears, continuing to spill into you. You spam around him, milking him until the last drop of his seed, his release painting your insides with his warmth.

Logan tucks you under his chin as his vision returns to clarity. You nose his jaw, your fingers softly tracing the contours of his beard. He pulls you closer into his chest, gliding his hands up and down your back.

Half a minute of dreadful silence, then: “Can I stay?”

Oh, yes—pillow talk. He’s not great at this either. Despite that, his eyes soften, snapping to your face.

Logan pauses for a moment. “Sure,” he retorts, dragging his fingers along your shoulder blades. He’s a one-word kind of guy. Just perfect.

Tell her you like her. Tell her you don’t want this to be a casual fling. Tell her it’s more than just sex for you.

Or maybe don’t. Get ahold of yourself, will you?

“Logan?” you ask, resting your palm against his heart.

“What is it?”

“I know.”

You do?

Try as he might, he can’t deny it. He might care about you more than he ever realized.

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

[suguann]

LOVE IT WHEN YOU CALL ME LOVER—JJK MEN.

✎. jjk men showing you how much they love you. | wc. 2k+

tags. fem!reader, window sex, possessive behavior, mirror sex, oral sex, public sex, pregnancy, fingering, praise kink, size kink

featuring. gojo, nanami, geto

masterlist

↬ GOJO

He doesn’t think you’ve looked more breath-taking than you do right then, humming softly to the music on the radio while painting your toenails, the last stretch of daylight kissing your exposed knees through the window. You’re so lost in your own little world that you don’t notice him watching you.

The important emails on his phone go unanswered, saved for another day when you’re not there to distract him. You stretch your smooth legs to inspect your work and glance across the living room to give him one of those soft smiles that sends warmth through his middle.

“What do you think?” you ask, little sunflower yellow toes flexing on the coffee table. 

“They’re pretty, baby.”

Another smile stretches across your face, that full lower lip caught between your teeth. “You think so?”

“Positive.” His phone lies forgotten on the cushion beside him, and he leans back to make room for you. “Come here.”

His eyes make a lazy trail up from your delicate ankle bone to the soft slope of your collarbone that peeks out from one of his t-shirts as you walk towards him, getting his fill until his fingers itch to touch and retrace the invisible path. 

Gojo can’t help it. He’s struck by the sight of you.

He wishes he could trap the shocked and delighted sound you make when he pulls you into his lap, keep it tucked away in the untainted nooks and crannies for him to return to later. A little melody on repeat for the days he feels undeserving of such sweet things, how he treads the fine line of corrupting that wide-eyed innocence you have of the world.

Still. Still, the truth is, he’s a little greedy, and he doesn’t really care how bad of a person that makes him.

Everyone looks up to him in some way. Nobody ever called him a saint. 

Gojo works out more of those soft sounds—pressing you against the chilly, tall windows in the living room, fist in your hair, and his mouth attached to the long column of your throat—that make his mouth go dry. Your back arches to ease the way he fucks up into you, tits brushing up against the glass, and he loves how the distant city lights below shimmer around you like a halo.

A high-pitched whimper, sharp breaths fogging over the window. “‘Toru people can see.”

He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of how your soft and silky little cunt sucks him in—wrapped up all warm and wet around his cock—cursing under his breath when he tells you he doesn’t care. You’re his, anyway. 

“Let them see,” he grunts into your neck, teeth catching along your skin before licking at the vulnerable spot above your pulse. “Let them see how I fuck you because they can’t have you.”

Gojo can barely control himself at the mere idea that anyone would ever think they could. He’ll be the last and only one to know how you turn into a fucking vice when he hits particularly deep—how you shake like a leaf, legs coltish, after he makes you cum hard. 

↬ GETO

It feels like the epitome of terrible days: from the tomato stain on your skirt to your boss forcing deadlines down your throat and surprising Suguru at work only to find a pretty, willowy brunette sitting on the corner of his desk, her hand resting on a stack of graded papers, and fluttering her long lashes at him. 

The final nail in the coffin (a stupid nail, but a hammered-down nail nonetheless) is how she laughs and touches his arm, and Suguru doesn’t brush her off. He actually laughs back, all perfectly straight teeth on display and eyes crinkling at the corners. One of those heart-stopping smiles stretching across his face that you foolishly thought were all yours. 

Suddenly, you wonder if it was out of obligation that made him compliment you that morning in your dress—look at you, a kiss to your cheek, I’m going to fucking ruin you—a perfunctory greeting after being together so long (like making coffee or picking out paint), to make you feel better, or if he meant it—

A tap with sticky fingers to your cheek. “C’mon, watch.” 

You feel like you’re looking from the outside in, a spectator with a front-row seat that has your breath catching in your throat at the sight of his spit-slick chin and cheeks resting against the crease where thigh meets hip. He gives you a syrupy grin that tightens something in your stomach like a screw. 

“Not me,” he says, words laced with amusement. 

Hesitantly, your gaze trails up from his to the floor-length mirror perched in front of the bed, and what you see has your fingers sinking into the sheets. 

You can hardly pull your eyes away from how your leg looks draped across his broad, muscular back, making you look so small even though you sit above him. And it’s like Suguru knows what you’re seeing because his grin grows wider. 

“See, look how perfect you are. That woman in the mirror is so fucking pretty, I can’t believe I get to tell everyone she’s mine.” His thumb parts you open for his mouth. “Why would you think you look otherwise, huh?”

“I…don’t know,” you whisper, head a fuzzy mess of weak excuses that evaporate before they even have a chance to make it onto your tongue.

“Hm, that’s not a good enough answer.” 

Your hips twitch when he noses at your clit. 

“Awe, I bet that feels good, huh? I’m gonna show you what happens when you talk bad about my pretty baby,” then he sucks it into his mouth, making you squeal.

He can’t blame you for squeezing your eyes shut at the slick, hot pressure dragging through your folds—shaky fingers tightening in Suguru’s long, dark hair. It feels equally like everything and not nearly enough until he suddenly pulls away, taking that jittery feeling in your belly with him.

“Why’d you—”

“If you look away, I stop.” He chuckles lightly at the little pout you give him before his lips suck at the tender spot near the crease of your thigh, “so watch.”

↬ NANAMI

After lunch, he drags you across the street where there’s a park for him to set up a picnic blanket under a tree. Kento rests his head on your lap, slipping an arm around your waist and rubbing the sore spot in your lower back from being on your feet for too long. 

It’s all very innocent: him kissing your round pregnant belly, you running your fingers through his soft hair and talking about the latest work gossip. 

You hum when you feel his fingers crawl up your thigh, slowly at first and with no destination, just soft, aimless circles here and there, until the calloused pad of his thumb skirts over the front of your underwear, making you jerk with a small squeak.

“Kento,” you giggle, fingers tightening in his hair. 

He smiles at the scandalized look spreading across your face and leans forward to press another kiss against your stomach.

"Do you trust me?" he asks, hand pushing up your dress. 

You glance around the park to see if anyone is paying attention to the two of you—an elderly couple feeding the ducks frozen peas by the pond, a mother and father playing with their giggling daughter in the grass, college kids throwing a frisbee, all far enough away to be out of earshot (but that’s not the real problem here)—before you look back at your husband. 

“W-what?” you sputter, wide-eyed realization taking over.

He presses another open-mouthed kiss to your thigh. “Do you trust me?”

A soft whine slips past your teeth, the hand not in his hair curling into the blanket. “But everyone will notice because I’m—I’m—”

(A beached whale. An air balloon. A carnival-sized melon. You get the gist.)

“Gorgeous.” He smooths a hand over your bump, open-fondness radiating across his features, the subtle hint of possessiveness there making you shiver. “You look so fucking gorgeous with my baby growing inside you. Let me take care of you.”

“B-but—”

Everything else melts away to the pulsing heat between your legs and your husband groaning from the wetness he finds there. Your shaky thighs fall open wider when his fingers hook under the edge of your underwear (unflattering things worn for comfort over sexual appeal), pulling them aside to run his fingers through your slick seam. 

Pregnancy brain clouds your judgment, and before you can think twice about your actions, how you definitely shouldn’t let Kento eat you out in the middle of a public park, you nod your head. 

His lips ghost over the tender flesh of your upper thigh. "I need to hear you say it."

It’s a low and shaky yes that has his fingers finally sinking into you to the third knuckle, steadily pumping in and out of you. You buck down onto his hand, trying to bite back the moan threatening to alert everyone in the park of the head under your skirt.

“You’re going to cum for me, just like this,” Kento tells you, voice muffled by a layer of powder blue cotton. “Alright, darling?” 

[timmydraker]

Tim accidently referring to the Joker as Dad but those who know about Joker Jr aren’t present and so everyone is left with the ‘realisation’ that Tim is the son of the biggest nightmare to their family.

It’s probably Jason and Steph, her there to bother Tim but Jason went to the manor for food and the two naturally started arguing. Maybe Jason tells Tim to stop costing on his case and prove a point be made against blonde, but Tim just offhandedly goes, “Later, I think my dad broke out of Arkham again but the guards aren’t doing anything. Maybe they’re in on it…”

The two present naturally look at each other with confusion and for the first time stop bickering to peak over his shoulder and see what his case is because, holy shit Tim had a villain for a dad and didn’t tell us? Only to see numerous photos of the Joker in his cell and many reports over the last week of how he’s been behaving and Jason…

Steph pushes the man out of the room when she sees his face go from frozen fear to anger, thinking it’s towards Tim and his secrecy and, while she totally gets that, now isn’t the time.

Though when they get into the Jason starts a rant about how Bruce and Dick should have told him that the monster had a child, even if that child wasn’t Tim! Jason protects kids! Did they think he’d hurt him just because of who his father is?

No!

If anything, he’d become the kids full time body guard to stop that mad man from making Tim into another version of himself!

The two naturally go to tell the others, pulling Damian, Cass and Duke into a mostly unused room and telling them what they discovered, all while Tim stays in the library working on his case.

Cass is beyond worried but also confused because he doesn’t seem to have any physical characteristics of the Joker or Harley, but maybe the mother is different? Perhaps it’s still Janet and either she had a fling with the Joker or something far worse, which makes the young girl enraged on the woman’s behalf.

Damian makes a comment about him killing Tim, not in a serious manner but more as an option, but Duke shuts it down, saying that having a villain for a parent doesn’t mean anything about who you will be. He points out those in the family of that nature and other heroes like Superboy.

When asked why they didn’t get Dick or Babs involved, Jason says they defiantly know and lied about it.

It’s only after another three hours of working that Tim catches himself referring to the Joker as dad and shuts his laptop, making his way to Bruce’s room to hide under the older man’s bed like he usually does when that happens, only to overhear what his siblings are saying.

Tim presses his ear against the door to hear better.

“If that maniac had a kid, surely he’d have told everyone he had an heir or something.” That’s Steph’s voice, filled with worry that only he and Cass could detect as she hides it under a whiney tone.

Jason is next to respond, “maybe he doesn’t know? I mean, did Tim ever even interacted with him before he became Robin?”

It doesn’t take much more than that for Tim to realise that he must have been talking aloud again or absently answered someone earlier and misspoke in front of them.

Panic fills him as he avoids telling Bruce when he gets bad, even if it’s just a small thing, because the older man will start of being a concerned parent then go into Batman mode and only just stop himself from putting Tim in the confinement cell. Sure Tim came up with the idea of the cell so he wouldn’t hurt anyone if his conditioning got too bad, but he’s learnt the signs. He’s not a mindless drone, he still knows who he is and doesn’t hear someone talking to him or anything like that.

He just… sometimes forgets the Joker hurt him.

It’s not Tim’s fault that memories of watching TV with him and Harley, tucked between them with a big bowl of ice cream felt better than most memories of his real parents.

But he knows it’s wrong, always comes back to calling the Joker his enemy.

Bruce just doesn’t get that.

Tim hears them talk a bit more, theories about who his mother might be, if Tim is safe at the manor, if Joker knows he has a son…

Opening the door, Tim stands there and stares at them as all eyes snap to him in alarm.

He doesn’t let anybody speak, cutting them all off quickly, “He’s not my dad. Go the cave and search for file number 26557933301-JJ and put in the code AGELAST, all caps.”

With that he turns and leaves, walking at first before running to Bruce’s room to hide.

He goes to family dinner and pretends not to notice the quietness or how Jason is still there, eating his food quietly and waiting for the ball to drop.

Naturally, Damian is the one to say what he wants first, “So why is okay that Tim shot the joker but I got in trouble for stabbing Bane?”

Everyone groans.

[ch-4-eri]

Slut — Abby Anderson.

Best friend!Abby X fem!Reader.

I need help, perhaps. Smut under the cut.

You and your best friend Abby were having a girls night of some sort, she often came by because her dorm is packed and she’d say it’s uncomfortable or whatever.

Accepting any excuse she had you’d allow her to stay over, sharing the bed with her almost every night.

You liked having her around, she was fun and your friendship was the most invasive one there is, at least in your own opinion, you both knew too much about each other.

But would never judge the other.

Especially with Abby being on top of you as you got so needy one night, her fingers pumping in and out of you, your moans echoing in the bedroom, you’d begged her to relieve the tension between your legs.

It’s always when you’re ovulating, it gets bad enough you’re humping every pillow, your fingers, but nothing was ever enough.

And as Abby came over that night, desperate for a place to sleep where it’s comfortable, you were too busy in your own head to just let this one go, her hands were perfect, you couldn’t stop looking at them as you were finally honest about your feelings, desperately wanting something to feed the hunger inside of you.

Abby fucking loved it, she’s always thought you were beautiful, sure she’s straight but it wouldn’t hurt to help a best friend out.

Her fingers deliciously massaged your g spot as you were seeing stars, your mouth hung open as moans escaped your throat without you trying to help it, it’s Abby after all. “Oh sweetheart..” Abby chuckled, allowing you to ride her fingers out, circling your needy hole with her thick fingers, your legs spread against your mattress.

Abby dragged multiple orgasms out of you that night, she refused to stop unless you wanted her to, she went all the way with your time of need, knowing you were too damn shy to go out on a date and get a guy to rearrange your guts, but allowing your girl best friend to do so.

You didn’t get enough, you still wanted so much more and Abby could never be able to say no to you, her mouth was enveloping your cunt as she ate you out, riding her face as her nose hit that one spot that had you screaming and cumming down on her tongue.

Still was not enough, Abby was surprised you could take so much. She always assumed you’d get tired from one go, but oh boy was she wrong.

You’d ride her thigh, her hands on your hips guiding you through the fifth orgasm for the night, your crying and whining was like music to her ears, surely best friends wouldn’t act this way but your friendship was else. And Abby is way too busy shoving her knee into your cunt as you rode her out once again to think about it, your moans were louder than ever.

“Jesus, bunny.. you fucking slut.” Abby mocked you, laughing into your neck breathlessly as your hips rolled once again to fuck into her thigh.

She grabbed the back of your neck to look into your eyes. “Can’t get enough huh? Makes me wish I had a dick so I can go all the way.” She mumbled, kissing the side of your neck as it turned you into a puddle of cum. “Abby..” you moaned, your cunt dragging up and down her toned thigh.

“Sit on my face huh?” Abby suggested, the thought of her tongue inside of you again was blinding and you nodded eagerly. “Yes please, oh god please.” You whined, your whimpers were turning her on so bad, she came twice just by pleasuring you.

Abby lied down on your bed, quickly crawling to sit on her face, the feeling of her nose was too good, you were a shuddering mess, finally feeling that sensitivity that would get you to stop and take a breath, but one last time, you needed this, needed her.

Her tongue was working wonders on your sensitive bundle of nerves, making your moans more strained, closing your thighs in on her head. “Fuck.. Abby..” you cried, rolling your hips to ride her face. “Fuck uh..” you moaned again as Abby flicked her tongue against your clit and it made you grab her hair and ride her face harder. Soft uh uh uh uh’s echoing in the bedroom.

Gushing all you had down Abby’s face, your cum dripping down her cheeks and her nose, as soon as you pulled away from her face Abby just laughed, mostly surprised her best friend was that much of a freak.

She knew certain stuff about you, but never like this, and getting proof? Abby was ecstatic, she’s never going to live this one down.

You finally caught your breath and looked at her next to you, she was wiping her face with her hands, licking what’s left off her lips. “Stop laughing.” You warned, closing your legs as the amount of friction was catching up in no time.

“My goodness you’re a freak!” Abby laughed some more, copying the way you were moaning as you smacked her arm. “Stop!”

“Who fucking knew! Bunny, I never imagined you’re that loud.” Abby laughed some more, standing up, fixing her trousers, she was definitely affected by this but oh how she loves teasing you, now she has a better reason.

You sat up on your elbow and huffed. “I was pent up okay?” You said defensively. “For a year?” Abby jokes, letting out another hearty laugh.

“Oh fuck you.” You say and smack her with a pillow, her face a little shiny from your cum, the reality of what just happened was making you a bit shy but again it was Abby, so much history and stuff worse than cumming on her face occurring.

She helped you clean up as you both laughed at what just happened, your friendship is indeed else.