#as always a fun fact for those reading the tags :
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#hey all#just wanted to remind you that this is a fun place to get writing ideas and i am literally just some rando on the internet#this means i am not always right and in fact am very often wrong#a lot of you are very kind and help me out when i get stuff wrong#i try to acknowledge those people and thank them for their help#however#if you choose to be rude or needlessly mean to me or a follower on a post and i see it i will block you#i have no time for negativity here (i get enough of that in my regular life)#shaming others for ignorance when they genuinely don't know something just makes you an enemy rather than a friend#no need to be judgy#this is a hobby blog by a public school teacher in some random city#not an international team of competant individuals#thank you for reading the tag rant! happy writing
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[id in alt]
More Terror in Dungeon AU drawing, with the Terror lieutenants this time
Hodgson is an Ogre, Irving a tall man and Little is a half-foot (and probably standing on a box to make it in the shot)
#the terror#george hodgson#john irving#edward little#terror in dungeon AU#<- new name for the au#as always a fun fact for those reading the tags :#not sure what their role will be exactly in the au but im sure Irving will be fine when someone in the crew develops a god complex (<- lie)
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hello jess beloved..... made a little thing for phantom pain bc i saw this pose reference and immediately i think of jiejie and dain hehe
jiejie's pov? ;D
.............rin?? (。_°)☆
KSNE39E3VKVNVKNVRIK RIN WHAT THE FCK I THOUGHT THIS WAS GOING TO BE ONE OF OUR USUAL INTERACTIONS HOLD UP WHY IS THERE AN IMAGE OH SHIT IT'S FAN ART RIN WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?? I LOVE IT SO MUCH BUT RIN?? RIN??!!
*clears throat* Thank you so much for your fan art of Phantom Pain!! I rlly appreciate it, and my comments are in the tags <3
#RIN GET OVER HERE BEFORE I LOVINGLY TACKLE YOU#you were right about the pose fitting dainsleif and lucille (my name for demon! reader). i love that it fits dain as a broken darling <3#his smile. his lil blush. his downward gaze. the way he fully leans into lucille's touch. the feathers all around him!!#i like the red tint you used for the feathers. details. and background gradient. smth smth color symbolism and yandere vibes <3#fun fact for those reading the tags:: rin told me the flowers are roses and cherry blossoms with a red/blue tint#god i just love how you colored it!! you did such a good job at balancing the reds + blues and now i'm curious if you associated red with#lucille?? bc if you did. it would add another layer to the fact that this fan art is mostly red :0#moving on. i adore the accessories for lucille!! i love details like that and i think it rlly adds to your interpretation of her character#in my imagination she always wears jewelry so i was nodding at the 'bracelets' on both wrists AND IS THAT A RING ON HER RIGHT HAND?? <3#i love the snake 'bracelet' mixed with the flowers. religious imagery lesgo!! oh no dain is falling for lucille's temptation--#but it's fine right?? i mean look at dainsleif now he's happy happy!! the same hands that brutally kill angels/sinners hold his#face with so much warmth and gentleness. so is it a sin for him to believe in his tragic fate??#fnfkfnkfrfnkfrnk once again thank you so much. this rlly made my night :'3#asks#feedback#fan art#meimeimeirin
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they werent lying that knuckles series barely has knuckles in it
#i pirated that shit Btw just so we're clear. also gonna talk about it a little bit in the tags#nothing too spoilery but also might not wanna read if you want to go in knowing absolutely nothing? idk#anyway he WAS a main character still he was present for a decent amount of the first couple episodes#but the amount of screentime he gets just starts dropping after that . hes barely there at all in the second half ???#and it feels like theres a lot of scenes mostly focusing on wade and his problems and not near as many for knuckles and his whole deal#overall it feels more like a wade show with knuckles in it than a knuckles show with wade in it. which sucks#and human characters having plot relevance isnt the problem here i dont mind human characters at all i think they can be really fun#its the fact that the human characters are taking over the story and spotlight when the show is called knuckles#and all the marketing makes it look like knuckles is the main focus#and i also would have preferred if they just went with a differnet character to be knuckles' human friend#because i dont particulraly care about wade. and the knuckles (and sonic and tails) i know would not be friends with cops </3#well at least the story wasnt knuckles training wade to be a better cop like a lot of people were expecting but thats like.the bare minimum#also aside from the issues relating to knuckles' screentime (or lack of screentime) i thought the ending was unsatisfying#regardless of all that though there WERE some parts i enjoyed or found kind of funny or whatever. because knuckles so cutesy as always#knuckles being a cute little guy is the most important part of the show actually#and i liked the parts with sonic tails and maddie even if they were only there for like 5 minutes#(i really wish those three had gotten more screentime. i feel like they could have easily worked in at least one more scene with them)#and its a minor thing but the opening sequence is cute. was honestly expecting just a title card or something#overall the show is just . kind of okay i guess. not the worst thing ive ever seen but still disappointing ? idk how to explain..#my expectations also werent very high in the first place#so maybe im being a bit more generous than i would have been otherwise. idk#and i definitely would not recommend this to anyone who already dislikes the sonic movies . youll probably hate this more#like people who thought the human characters got too much screentime in the second movie would lose their minds if they saw this
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2023 go bye bye
#999 spoilers#art summary#art summery 2023#my art#shoutout to all my monster high drawings that are still in the oven#I haven't posted them anywhere but! my friends made them pins and I've sold them on cons throughout the year :3#I only started drawing them as a request from a boothmate actually and they're such fun designs to draw!!!#I went to a lot of local conventions to participate in the artist's alley and made so many friends that way it was wonderful#I think the next thing I'll reblog will be the game I worked on!#found out the nda doesn't cover me simply saying 'hey I worked on this thing coming out in a few months!'#so I made artist and cosplayer friends selling my art on the beach and I got my first proper job#....then I proceeded to give me a shoulder inflammation because my setup was terrible and it had to catch up to me eventually#but! already managed to get a new tablet and desk for myself!! it's even a screen tablet so there'll be a learning curve but I'm excited#I'm hoping this display will make things easier I always had trouble sketching on digital#and I am more carefully taking breaks now also because turns out relying on hiperfocus is bad for you? never knew#I was going through some stuff in the middle of the year there though I had so many vent drawings of akane from may to october qwq#not featured here are the tons of utena and umineko wips I have accumulated those were my favorite new media I got to experience for sure#in fact I'm watching the adolescence movie rn!! what in tarnation is this last act lol whatever! go Anthy go!!! floor it queen#also not featured the tons of oc stuff I made :D I'm glad I feel like I can start properly working on them soon ^^#but yeah that's that I felt like writing a whole diary entry in these tags and you read it and that's what tumblrs all about ♡♥︎
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oh yeah i’ve got a bunch of loz aus that i haven’t really talked about. a few of them are listed and slightly explained in this poll and explanation reblog but i haven’t gone out of my way to actually list the aus i have and really explain them. so that’s what this post is for. here are some... decently simple explanations of my major aus and what they're generally about
i have two kinds of aus: original aus (loz aus that are set in their own kinds of worlds with their own stories and twists on character roles) and then crossover aus (we all know how this works i just mash loz and a thing i like together)
original aus: (many currently dont have actual titles, so the titles will often just be concept shorthand)
in the court of the crimson king/crimson king au: probably the most developed and closest to being written out. it's got one of the longer premises; set in a industrial-esque hyrule city, following linebeck as the main character, as the adoptive older brother of link and aryll, living with them and their grandmother as the only one able to reliably make money to pay for rent and food, leaving every other week to do jobs, but he moonlights as the 'demon of the gray moon', a masked persona he'd created as a child that had long since become a city-wide urban legend, anonymously taking unsavory jobs from whomever can contact him and offer pay, often working directly for bellum, a childhood friend, the one who enabled and trained him to become the demon, and one of five anonymous leaders of the city. linebeck effectively lives a double life, and tries to stay out of too much trouble to avoid drawing attention to himself or making his adoptive family worry, but he gets dragged into more and more danger as bellum becomes curious about the identities of the city's other leaders, and linebeck falls in love with a man named ganondorf, suspected to be one of those other city leaders. ive got a few posts related to it already: this one being another vague concept descriptor, this one being an actual scene i have written out.
'gimmick' au: i cannot explain the gimmick without spoiling the au. put simply, in this au, hyrule as a whole has been at war for ten years, every race and kingdom taking sides in a conflict that seems to be going nowhere. link joined the hylian army young, and has made his way up the ranks to become trusted by queen zelda herself, and things in the war take an interesting turn as he and zelda discover a new faction, unaligned with any particular kingdom and with unknown motives, and zelda decides to set out to the different parts of hyrule, link and a chosen group of trusted allies in tow, intending to try negotiation one more time before things take a turn for the worse.
sci-fi/space au: the fun one that probably would need to be done in a visual medium. it takes place in a solar system of a few planets, link growing up on the planet hyrule and occasionally traveling to the others as a knight specializing in investigating and taking down dangerous bounty hunters, working for zelda as a friend. he and zelda uncover a plot by the yiga clan to accumulate a number of highly dangerous research and weapons held by each species as they aim to resurrect a demon to wreck havoc on the solar system- the b plot being about the top bounty hunters in the solar system screwing around, eventually colliding with link and zelda's a plot as it begins to involve them.
murder mystery(?) au: one of the older ones, maybe one of the oldest that i still stick with. this might actually be one of the first ones i tried writing. the plot begins when zelda returns to hyrule city years after her father- the former mayor- was murdered, finding that he has been replaced by ganondorf and that while things seem fine enough on the surface, random and organized crime run the show, and she begins a private detective agency as 'sheik', a masked young man, and with the help of impa, and old friend and confidant, she moonlights as sheik and uses her daytime identity as zelda to help chip away at some of the city's biggest problems and finds herself drawn into a long string of murders that appear to be anything but random violence.
ruined hyrule 1: i have two au’s with the premise of hyrule being ruined. neither of them have more specific names yet. this one begins with the majority of greater hyrule's population having long since locked themselves in hyrule castle town in order to escape the increasingly dangerous wildlife. zelda, a young girl at the beginning, becomes curious about what lies beyond the city walls, and makes friends with many other children within this sheltered hyrule, and as they grow up together, aim to eventually venture out into the wilderness to see what may have caused the outside world to become so incredibly hostile.
ruined hyrule 2: the other ruined hyrule. set in a devastated hyrule, roughly ten years after the royal family was killed, link failing to save them or hyrule in the time since. he now resolves to set out and indiscriminately destroy every demon that plagues the ruined hyrule, meeting and bringing along various allies, each of which has been uniquely affected by and have different lived in this altered, dangerous shell of hyrule.
modern (school): i also have two modern aus. this one isn’t plot driven, just a concept i have, would work best as little vignettes or something. essentially just the idea of a group of loz characters hanging out together in a modern high school (or college?) setting.
modern: this is the one with an actual plot. follows the general idea of zelda characters living in a modern world only for the typical legends to begin resurfacing and heralding dark events. plot specifics are murky, but that's the general idea.
dark mage: this is the au that where the seas meet the sands takes place in. basically just ganondorf x linebeck shenanigans in this alternate hyrule while actual plot sneaks up on them. named 'dark mage' mostly because the initial idea behind this au was that linebeck would learn magic.
horror au: doesn't have the best name, and it's ended up just being a personal sandbox for me. constantly changing, with the cast and setting often altering if i find that something isn't working or sticking. it's an au i've considered (and even briefly tried) writing in the past, but it's still too fluid, and writing horror effectively is difficult. it's a fun au, though.
mecha au: spawned because i watched neon genesis evangelion. a lot of this au's basic concepts can be found here: x but the short version is that hyrule is being besiged by massive monsters, but each race has created their own mechs to combat them. link is just a farmer who happens to have a strange knack for being a mech user, so is brought in by zelda as a gamble to bolster their chances, and he is tasked with working with a new and less-than-trustworthy crew to help fight those monsters.
'amnesia link' au: an au that sprang up in about a day and hasn't gotten too far since. basic premise being that three years prior to the story, link and a group of allies has faced off against ganondorf and, despite their best efforts, lost, with link being presumed dead by their enemies. now, link has woken up from his coma, his memories gone and hyrule taken over, and, with guidance, must once again travel across hyrule, aiming to rediscover his allies and try to face ganondorf once more.
A quick list of crossovers: I won't explain these in length, since they can range from having their own plot to just being a fun mental concept. So, the things I have made crossover aus with are:
Warrior Cats
Batman
Jojo's Bizarre Adventure
Persona 5
Pokemon
(there are other, smaller ones, these are just the ones i consistently pay attention to)
So! These are the majority of my legend of zelda aus, some of which I may write, some of which just exist in my mind for fun, all of which I wouldn't mind talking more about if anyone is curious!
#i had to find an actual list i made to remember most of these tbh#salty talks#salty's loz aus#lmk if any of the colored text on here is hard to read i can change it#for some of the duplicate name aus the colors help me remember which is which but ill change it if it makes it hard to read#this took absolute ages to finish partially bc i dont have much physical evidence of these aus. they live in my mind and my mind only#my favorite little tidbit is that in the space au linebeck is a bounty hunter known for being a really skilled sniper#and i did not. in fact. be inspired by sniper tf2. this au predates my knowing about tf2. space au linebeck is inspired by fuckin#ttgl yoko littner and sao (gags) sinon. this will always be funny to me. space au linebeck is probably one of my favorite au linebecks#fun fact also. counting the crossover aus linebeck plays an antagonistic role at some point in 10 of these aus#also anyways worth reminding that a lot of this shit isnt actually very developed. the murder mystery au does not have a lot of actual plot#most of the developed plot stuff in these aus tends to be directly connected to linebecks role in the story bc a lot of these aus happen to#exist bc one day i was like hm what if linebeck was in (hyperspecific situation that led to the creation of one of these aus)#gimmick au is a really good example of how a linebeck in xyz situation thought can spawn a huge fucking story#but i cant get too specific abt that without spoiling the fucking gimmick and ive already said too much#'dark mage' au is also called that bc i think it was REALLY inspired by me thinking abt linebeck in the fe awakening male dark mage outfit#this has been sitting in my drafts for. so long. and then in two days i slammed all of those out and bam. here we are#the crossover aus list is also a list of 'media that also gave me brainworms and therefore got the honor of meshing with the Big Interest'#im not even a big time batman fan i just saw the 2022 movie and scrolled through an entire blog dedicated to harvey dent#i know so fucking much about harvey dent. why is dc so fucking bad about him#anyways welcome to the bottom of the tags. hope you enjoyed your stay. these r my weird loz aus#post-ph isnt here cuz i dont consider it an au. its something else between ‘au’ and ‘speculative canon’
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they make me so
#tm#the way she immediately goes along with him there's no hesitation and then she immediately puts them in the same boat i want to scream#because there's a way to read this that it's actually too much faith; she trusts him and his methods - weird though they usually are -#maybe too much - the 'one day i'm gonna get fired because of you; that's just how it is' route#(which is like that excellent tag i saw - that lisbon's 'a rebel with the trauma of having to be responsible' -#like she likes breaking the rules and jane breaks them in fun ways (usually) and his rule-breaking gets results#- the 'people might ask why you signed on with me in the first place' bit alsosheskindofinlovewithhimnbd)#but on the other hand there is a bit of 'such little faith' too because yes he gets results but she knows firsthand (and repeatedly)#that he runs the risk of hurting - himself; others; her - while he gets those results#and she's putting them in the same boat she's making them equally responsible for anything that happens#*unequally actually she'd take the brunt of any punishment/backlash as they both know#and you COULD (and i do) see that as her trying (maybe unconsciously) to temper him; to pull him back from going TOO far#whatever you're doing you're not doing alone; remember this is on me now too don't go too far#CAN'T YOU SEE THERE'S PEOPLE WHO CARE ABOUT YOU; WHO NEED YOU#and like does the tempering always work? no; obviously; for multiple reasons#but for her to - on whatever level - think that she would be enough FOR it to work? much to think about#(it's crazy how it's so clear that on some level they both know she's the most important person to him#but they're also just....tucking that fact away until a moment comes when they can actually think fully about what it means#(which would have to be post red john but also they're just avoidant bitches too afraid to look too close i love it)#anyway i'm back at work so i'm back to thinking too much about tv shows that ended 8 years ago it's so cool and stable#(also rigsby just going along with it too lkfasdj i just adore them)#FUCK THE END OF THE EPISODE BARK BARK I FEEL CRAZY#TERESA LISBON YOU'RE SO IMPORTANT TO ME LIKE SHIT
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what are ur thoughts on the winners room trope?
ooooo okay surface level analysis: i like winner’s room fics :)
etwas tieferes: i think it’s cool that it’s (afaik) unique to hockey fandom and i enjoy the way it integrates a lot of unspoken rules in hockey with desire/makes them a physical/tangible reality… also the narrative potentials/world-building it opens up can be fun because there’s not really a set of rules for the “winner’s room” trope. are there in-universe rules? who gets chosen? who’s exempt? who gets to pick? where’s it going down? is it the entire room or one guy? what if your (ex)boyfriend is on another team? does somebody need to be taught a lesson or do you need to remind someone who got traded you still love them? also, most important, winner’s room gives you the chance to put two random-ass guys you saw interact for 0.002 seconds and went “hmmm. interesting” about into a Situation and i love that
#yeah buddy!! i love answering questions!!! unironically i have so many opinions!!!!#refraining from putting this in the main text but had to go: yeah who doesn’t love a good g*ngb*ng#it also doesn’t just have to be a bunch of dudes fucking though per always: i think winner’s room fics can bring up interesting dialogues#about the idea of bodily autonomy and self-sacrifice or sacrifice in sports#every fic can utilize a trope their own way so you might have lighter versions or heavier versions and#tw: sa#dub-con/CNC elements which. given the truth of SA and abuse in hockey it’s valuable to have tools to explore and i feel like i need to#address that when i talk about this? obvi dead dove do not eat for some fics re:winner’s room but i think a lot of them do talk about#control and power to some extent if you were to do a deep literary analysis. which we don’t need to. sometimes it’s enough to read a fic one#time because you liked the main pairing and didn’t know SHIT about the flyers and then come back to it years later and absolutely lose your#goddamn mind about the fact that actually you DID know about travis konecny before you thought you did and at one point there were all these#guys that you now know and love who were just like. random fuckers in the sides of the fic. i tend to do that a lot bc i will read for#nearly everything (if i love u. i will read your works even if i don’t know anything about the fandom and also i am always willing to jump#on new ships) so also tangentially i think winner’s room fics are a lot of fun because you can see a lot of different interactions between a#lot of guys like not only is it this guy and this guy but also this guy and that guy and these two interacting around the sacrifice etc etc#tangled web many layers und so weiter. not sure if any of that makes sense but also i’m gonna tag for mentions of sa/wjc/hockey canada stuff#i don’t even really know if winner’s room functions as well even in other sports bc of the Team Identity in hockey & cultural context#liv in the replies#winner’s room can be layered with SO many other kinks and tropes and aus and also just like. i like it & that’s probably all i needed to say#also obvi re: rules for trope there aren’t ever any there’s just some popular variations and we can kinda see some of those forming#but i’m not even sure if winner’s room has its own tag on the archive? i’d have to check i know i have a few saved in my bookmarks at least#OH also if you made it this far. wasn’t sure if this was like a ‘do u got recs’ or a ‘what’s your moral stance’ or ‘hey is this something ur#into’ so. good faith good vibes y’all and if this wasn’t what u meant please elaborate the question i do love answering things#ty for the ask!!!!#for the record i do watch hockey like the leonardo dicaprio pointing meme finding milliseconds of interaction to go HAHA GAY NARRATIVE about
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“epiphany” | 21k
worst!logan howlett x f!reader
SUMMARY: Superheroes and mutants weren’t enough. No—the universe had to throw in soulmates who share scars. Fantastic, right? Except yours had vanished, only to mysteriously reappear with the arrival of a new face: the “Worst” Logan Howlett, fresh from another earth.
OR What happens when a hopeless romantic crosses paths with the ultimate soulmate skeptic?
WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ strangers to lovers. drinking. cursing. slow burn. angst. pining. mentions of alcohol. fluff. reflecting on the art of writing/poems/books. dual POV. takes place after the events of “deadpool & wolverine”. TW: multiple descriptions of scars. worst/variant!logan. implied age gap (reader’s in her late 20s). they’re both touch starved. wade’s everyone’s friend. miscommunication/misunderstandings. oral sex (f and m receiving). fingering, grinding. some slight hair pulling. unprotected p in v, creampie. sex with feelings.
A/N: HOPELESS ROMANTICS RISE! here we go again with another long ass fic. this is a soulmates AU in which you get your soulmate’s scars. if you feel triggered by this topic, please refrain from reading. i had a lot of fun writing this even though it took me a while to get it done. thanks to @lubdubology for being my beta and allowing me to share my work with you. and also thanks to @brushworth for giving me the chance to write this. having said this, enjoy the story! i’d love to know your thoughts on it <3
Love giveth and love taketh away.
To this day, it’s still hard for you to wrap your head around the fact that love is what humans both strive and die for.
If it weren’t for love, you wouldn’t be here. No one would, actually. Human beings are the result of billions of people who loved each other just enough—or at least long enough to bring life into the world.
But isn’t it in the name of love that people act in bad faith? Why would something so pure be used in vain?
You don’t get it, but as the years go by, you slowly come to terms with the idea that perhaps you never will. Not because there isn’t a reason, but because you’re in love with the idea of love.
How could you not be? It’s on the streets, on the bus, at work. Everywhere you go, every place you attempt to set foot in, there it is. Love is dressed up in an expensive silk robe, a ribbon tied neatly on top of it. You reach closer, trying to unravel it, though it's pointless. The moment love sees you—truly sees your longing for it—it flees, and you struggle to keep up.
Love runs faster than anyone, hiding within the bushes, counting the seconds until its next appearance.
It had always been a relentless race, your only worry being to catch it before time ran out. But with each day that passed, the finish line only stretched further and further away. Now, they all blur together, to the point where you live and breathe on autopilot.
In a Jane Austen novel, you’d be considered a lone woman. That character who’s nice, and kind, and loved by some, but not in the way she yearns for. Every time she’s mentioned, you go “Oh, the poor girl,” until the slow realization dawns.
In reality, she’s you, and it’s you who you feel sorry for, not a fictional character. You.
All in all, love giveth. And love also taketh away.
Love maketh you miserable.
Soulmates—a nine-letter word that holds so much meaning.
It’s one of those words that you learn early in your life, one you hear at home or on the TV. Your parents never fail to mention it if given the chance. The first time you’re introduced to the topic is at school when you're older, a bit more self-conscious, and no longer preoccupied with picking your nose.
“Everybody has a soulmate. And no,” your teacher had added after a pause, already anticipating the inevitable questions from any curious 10-year-old, “there isn’t such a thing as not having one. We all do. You just have to search for them.”
Back then, that had been your favorite game—always keeping an eye open, scanning the crowd more than once in new places. You knew for sure that more than one person probably thought you’d strained your neck from all the times you glanced over your shoulder.
It must be pretty obvious now, the fact that you’re—well, alone. Saying ‘without a companion’ sounds quite outdated. They can’t see through you, but something in the way you walk or speak must give it away.
Or is it the fact that you always ask for a table for one?
“Are you expecting someone else?” A waitress approaches you, her tone gentle as she makes sure you’re on your own. A small notebook dangles from her slender fingers, and your eyes catch the name stitched onto her apron: Emily.
The response you give her is on the verge of sounding automatic, robotic even, like one of those prerecorded messages busy people leave on their phones. “No. Just me.”
She nods, and you feel the sympathy in her gaze. You’ve mastered the art of recognizing that look—the one hovering between concern and pity.
Of course, people rarely voice it, but they’ll never know their eyes sometimes say more than they think.
As she jots down your order, you’re met with the ring on her left hand. Very pretty, very shiny. Very expensive as well. Your attention must linger on it a little too long, because she catches you staring, making you feel exposed.
Emily—you decide to call her that way from now on, because once you know her name, it feels odd to address her as the waitress—offers you a shy smile.
“I’m getting married next month,” she blurts out, happiness radiating from her pores. Her eyes glint like two lanterns in a starless night. She also looks younger than you, and the abrupt silence forces you to pinch your wrist, a reminder of the fact that this is a conversation, and not just something you're overhearing.
“Congratulations,” you manage to reply, returning the smile. If she saw how your expression faltered the second she walked away, you wonder if she’d still think you were so amiable.
Sometimes, your façade slips—you can’t help it. That’s what the ‘hopeless’ in ‘hopeless romantic’ stands for.
Some minutes later, she comes back with your coffee, and you catch another glimpse of the ring as it twinkles in front of you. Envy doesn’t suit you, so you shift your focus.
Taking out your laptop, you scroll through the latest headlines. This is your attempt at acting more like an adult and less like a girl in her mid-twenties who has no clue what she’s doing.
One article stands out from the rest: Hollywood Actress Divorces Loving Husband of 25 Years to Pursue Presumed Soulmate. “I saw his scars and knew he was the one.”
Interesting. You can’t help but feel sorry for the displaced husband, though.
“Good for you,” you mutter under your breath, clicking the link to read more. There’s a picture of the actress and her new boyfriend that makes you stop dead in your tracks: they’re smiling at each other, their faces close, noses almost touching, while they show off their matching scars—the unmistakable sign that they’re, in fact, soulmates.
Soulmates, superheroes, mutants. It all sounds like a whole lot, doesn’t it? Overwhelming, to say the least. One thing’s for sure—you’ll never get bored in this world.
But, hey! Don’t forget that there are multiple universes out there. Maybe in one of them, you’re not this pathetic.
Why are you being so hard on yourself? That’s not even the point. Shaking your head, you keep glancing at their scars—they’re identical, perfect mirrors of one another. The kind of scars that only two destined souls share.
Their happiness is evident, tangible. You can feel it by just eyeing the image. It’s a bitter sensation that metamorphoses into a warmth, which heavily spreads through your chest, filling up every empty space it finds.
To say you understand that feeling would be a downright lie. And you may be many things, but a pathological liar is not one of them.
As if on cue, you duck your head, rolling up the sleeves of your jacket. You do the same with your shirt, foolishly hoping to find something other than smooth, unmarked skin.
No scars. No marks. No sign of a soulmate, of a lover. In the world you inhabit—this universe full of the most inexplicable things—you’re alone.
Without a second thought, you pack your things, shoving them rapidly into your bag. The cafe feels too little and too large all at once, the walls closing on you.
The rest of the customers are looking at you. Fuck, they already noticed it—you can’t escape it.
Have they? Do you think they see you like you see yourself? The lone woman who writes poems for an addressee who will never read them?
In silence, you hand Emily the money for your coffee. You fear that if you open your mouth, a cry will come out, and that’s the last thing you need today. She gives you that look again—pity laced with sorrow, the one you despise. It burns.
At that moment, a man walks in, passing right by you. You see his face, his green eyes, and the way his lips curl into a grin as he greets Emily.
The scar on her forehead, which you'd missed before, mirrors the one on his.
They are soulmates.
It’s on the streets, on the bus, at work. Everywhere you go, every place you attempt to set foot in, there it is.
She wishes you a nice morning as you leave the cafe. Little does she know you’ll spend the rest of the day locked in your apartment, mourning someone you never even met.
Until the day you lost them, you wore your scars with pride.
They were scattered across your stomach, back, chest, and even your legs and arms. Some were shallow, others deep. It never occurred to you—the thought that they belonged in the shadows, hidden.
Everyone has them, you thought as you stood in front of the mirror, running your fingers along their jagged paths. I just seem to have more than most people.
Over the years, you might have changed your hairstyle or the way you dressed, but your scars never did—they’d always been there, and they were yours.
Partly yours, of course, since you knew they belonged to your soulmate as well.
The older you grew, the more you realized having a good memory was both a gift and a curse. You still remembered that moment so vividly—when you found out that somebody out there was meant for you and only you.
A point of no return, that’s what it’d been. From that day on, not a single one went by without you imagining the first encounter with your Prince Charming.
In the meantime, you dated. A few boyfriends came and went during and after high school, mostly as practice for the real thing, you’d told yourself.
God, you were determined to know everything. To be the best girlfriend ever, so that when you finally met him, he’d be over the moon.
At the age of seventeen, it sounded like a brilliant plan.
You never knew how, but your life became that meantime. All your friends began to find their soulmates: in the supermarket, while traveling, at the goddamn doctor’s office.
Everybody was fulfilling the purpose you’d been taught humans were made for—everyone but you.
The scars multiplied, yet he was nowhere to be seen, remaining out of reach. Your soulmate’s whereabouts were a mystery. What the hell does he do in his free time? was something you used to often ponder. Is he suffering? Does he need help?
“Be patient, give it some time. The less you seek, the more you’ll find,” your mother would say, trying to sound encouraging. Although she was trying to do her best, that phrase alone had the power to make you go nuts.
Be patient? Waiting was all you’d been doing. What was so wrong with you that he seemed to be hiding from you? You didn’t want to wait any longer, no—you wanted to find him. If it meant traveling to Italy like your cousin had to meet her husband, then so fucking be it.
Many nights, sleep eluded you. Lying wide awake, staring at the ceiling, you’d imagine what life with him would be like. What he would look like. You were certain that no matter his appearance, you’d think he was beautiful.
Wasn’t that the whole point of soulmates—that the bond you two shared transcended physical attraction?
Nevertheless, you secretly wished he’d have brown hair. He didn’t need to know, but you had a weakness for brunettes.
On the night of your twenty-second birthday, you were getting ready for the big event when every trace of your scars disappeared.
The bathroom mirror was fogged from the shower’s stream, and as you wiped it clean with the palm of your hand, the image you saw reflected on the glass made your stomach do a flip.
There were no scars. No marks. Nothing. At first, you thought your eyes were playing tricks on you—it couldn’t be. Scars didn’t just vanish. It was impossible.
But as you lowered your gaze, tracing your limbs again and again, the truth hit you. The marks you knew by heart, the ones that reminded you, He’s out there, somewhere, were gone.
You felt it deep in your chest, too. Every sound seemed louder and clearer: the blood rushing through your veins, each shaky breath you took. Where are they? Your fingers dug into your flesh, intending to ground yourself.
Is he… dead? It was the only reasonable explanation, the rule you’d known all along. You’d read it countless times, memorizing the principles about scars.
The scream that tore from your throat brought your mother running upstairs, and she entered the bathroom with a horrified expression on her face.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” she asked, but your mind was already far away. Your whole body shuddered in her arms, a sob slipping past your lips as you crumbled to the floor, desperately hoping it was all a nightmare. “It must be a mistake, honey. I’m sure he’s okay.”
But he’s not, you wanted to tell her. The words, however, never formed—only a broken whimper escaped your lips. Isn’t that what we were taught? Our scars belong to our soulmates; they bind us to them in a way that simple words can’t explain.
It goes deeper than the skin. It delves into our bodies, our minds, reaching into the very essence of who we are. What was once his is also mine, but they’re gone.
He’s gone. He must be, because otherwise, how would you explain this void?
When one’s soulmate passes away, that person will notice the disappearance of their scars. The physical marks that once symbolized their connection fade, leaving no trace. This absence is accompanied by a distinct, unsettling sensation—an awareness of loss that goes beyond the physical, signaling the end of the bond.
A part of you died with him that day.
The first time you exchanged words with Wade Wilson, you thought he was a total dick.
It wasn’t as if you didn’t know him—not when he was so infamous for that mouth of his. Deadpool: the self-proclaimed superhero with a vocabulary that was 90% profanity, who made cracking jokes while fighting the bad guys look easy.
Super funny? Sure. But not exactly your cup of tea when all you wanted was to crawl into bed and forget the world existed.
He was apparently long retired from superheroing. No one had seen that red, sex-toy-looking suit in ages, which was why you were only mildly surprised as you spotted him hauling boxes into your building on a Tuesday afternoon.
It was late, and you weren’t in the mood for small talk. He’d been there barely a week, yet somehow, he’d already managed to fuck things up.
You let out a deep sigh, rubbing the crease between your brows. “Look, Wally—”
“It’s pronounced Wade,” he corrected you, trying to edge his face further into the gap between the door and its frame, though you didn’t let your guard down. “You’re pretty rude, you know that?”
“I’ve been up for twenty-four hours, and I need to sleep,” you groaned, trying to push him away with one hand. Technically, he wasn’t even asking for something that complicated—he wanted to use your microwave to heat his dinner, since his had decided to stop working out of the blue.
The thing was that you’d had the kind of week that felt like a one-way trip to hell, an important detail he wasn’t aware of. “Go ask someone else. I can’t do charity tonight.”
“You’re the only one who answered,” he said, pressing his palms together in a pleading gesture, his lips curling into a heartbreaking pout. “Please, my lovely neighbor, whose name I don’t know. You wouldn’t want me to starve to death, would you?
“I thought you couldn’t die.” You raised an eyebrow, half-interested.
Wade’s arms dropped to his sides, his eyes drifting downward. “And I thought kindness wasn’t extinct, but here we are.” He spun on his heel, acting defeated and dragging his feet like a scolded puppy. “Can’t believe this is what the world’s come to. I’m sure the Bible says something about treating others how you’d want to be treated.”
Why. Just… why? Some cosmic, divine force from beyond might have been testing you that night.
“Wait,” you croaked just as he was about to step into his apartment—which was literally three meters from yours. His face lit up, expecting you to continue, and you moved aside slightly, signaling him in. “Five minutes and you’re out, okay? I really need to get some rest.”
The rest was history. Wade was just standing there, mesmerized by your microwave as if he’d never seen one before.
You could only hear the faint buzzing sound of the gadget, punctuated by the rhythmic drumming of his fingers on the counter. He was humming a tune while shaking his head to the beat.
You tried to focus, replaying the guided meditation you sometimes followed to sleep in your mind.
Allow yourself to feel the stillness of this moment. Notice your breath slowing as your body begins to calm. Be the observer of your breath, flowing in and out naturally, as your lungs—
Yeah, it wasn’t working.
“Please, stop it,” you eventually told Wade, whose gaze shifted from the microwave to you, brows furrowed.
“And why’s that?”
“They say it’s bad for your eyes,” you explained, recalling a half-forgotten news report you’d heard on the TV. Whether it was a myth or not, you’d never know. “I believe it’s because of the radiation exposure.”
Leaning back on the counter, he crossed his arms over his chest. “At this point, I think I’m safe. You, on the other hand… maybe not so much,” he nearly whispered that last part, and your desire to strangle him grew stronger.
Save me, mindfulness, you thought to yourself.
He jerked his thumb toward the pile of papers and books you had on your kitchen table. “So, you’re a writer?”
“Editor, in reality,” you snapped, your eyelids twitching as you watched him leaf through your stuff. “Wade, don’t touch my things.”
“Sorry, can’t help myself. I’m very curious.” Flashing you a quick grin, he opened your notebook, squinting his eyes as he went through the pages. “But you write too, huh? I’m discovering plenty of material here.”
The bastard. “Give. It. Back,” you snarled, lunging at him and trying to snatch the notebook from his hands, but he was faster, raising it out of reach. “I hope your food explodes in that microwave, asshole.”
“Oh, right. I forgot about it,” he snorted, tossing the notebook onto the couch and retrieving his dinner instead. You stared at him in disbelief, opening your mouth to scold him, but nothing came out. Then, there he was, standing in front of you with his plate and a fork.
Wait. Was that your fork?
“It’s hot, I’ll give you that.” He blew on his food to cool it down, and as he glanced up, he was met with your murderous glare. “Whoa. Want some? You could’ve just asked me. No need to get so angry.”
Calling it a desire to kill him would’ve been an understatement. And the worst part? He couldn’t die. “You’ve got what you needed. Now, can you leave?”
“How long’s it been since you talked to another human being?”
You blinked, feeling the sudden urge to look around, half expecting a hidden camera. “Why do you always answer with another question?”
“All I’m saying is I’ve been meaning to talk to you for days now, but you’re practically living the hermit life,” he said between bites of chicken, excusing himself briefly to chew. “That robe you’re wearing? It’s had the same stain on it since I moved in. Also, your doormat’s buried under a mountain of newspapers, so either you really love trees, or you’ve been avoiding any sort of social interaction.”
If he had been wrong, you would’ve felt much better. But he… wasn’t, and it sucked.
“I feel like I should be scared,” you mumbled after a long stretch of silence, your eyes going round.
Wade did no more than laugh at your troubled expression. “Scared of me? That’s cute. I’m a nice guy, sweet pea. Persistent, sure, but I’ve got a knack for getting under people’s skin,” he said, grinning through a mouthful of food—which, for the sake of your sanity, you chose to ignore.
After he had finished eating, he let the fork fall into the sink, the metal striking against the surface with a piercing echo, making you jump. He stretched his arms with a satisfied yawn, and he seemed determined to leave you alone. “Well, I’ve done my good deed for the day.”
“What do you mean?” you asked, following his movements as he ambled toward the door. “Are you telling me your microwave does work?”
“Oh, you’re a smart one, aren’t you?” Wade patted your head, ruffling your hair like you were a puppy who had just learned a new trick. “Good night, peanut.”
From that moment on, the two of you became inseparable. Your personalities clicked in a way you’d never experienced before with any other friend. Wade was loyal to a fault, and he treated you like the little sister he had never had.
Most importantly, he didn’t pity you—he saw you for who you were, not just someone marked by a lost soulmate. You never told him how much that meant to you, but deep down, you were grateful.
Which brings you to the present day. You’ve been friends with him for over a year, and he’s taken every chance to introduce you to his “weird but lovable” (his words, not yours) group of friends.
“Check your social anxiety at the door, thank you,” he’d tell you every time he hosted a get-together and you were invited.
Somehow, you had managed to bond with them—especially Althea, his elderly roommate, who occasionally forgets who you are despite living next door.
“Remind me of your name again, sweetie? All this disco dust must be affecting my memory,” she’d ask, leaning in close so you’d practically have to shout it into her ear. Then she’d nod, smirking knowingly. “Ah, yes. I thought so. Just making sure.”
She’s quite the character. A real sweetheart if you leave aside the number of times she’s offered you more types of drugs than you knew existed.
Tonight, you’re throwing Wade a surprise birthday party. Among all the party tasks, you’ve handled the decorations and the cake. The room’s a riot of color, with balloons floating lazily from the ceiling and a cascade of streamers draping over the furniture.
Guests start arriving, greeting you warmly, a feeling you once thought impossible. They’re Wade’s friends, sure, but on some level, you like to think they’re your friends now too: Vanessa, Dopinder, Buck, Shatterstar, Colossus, Negasonic Teenage Warhead, and Yukio.
As you hear footsteps approaching the door, Wade’s voice filters through the hallway. Panicking, you whirl around to the group. “He’s here! Everyone shut up!” you whisper urgently, turning off the lights and pressing your back flat against the wall next to the door.
Seconds later, the sound of keys jingling fills the air as both Wade and Peter step into the apartment.
You flip the lights back on just as Dopinder pops his much-anticipated party popper. “Surprise!” you all scream in unison, and Wade’s face splits into a grin, unsure of whom to hug first.
“You guys are lucky I’m not armed,” he quips, slinging an arm around Dopinder’s shoulders. “Six years ago, you’d all be dead!”
And you giggle, because… well, what else are you supposed to do?
As you expected, the night unfolds smoothly. You’re having fun, engaging in conversations despite yesterday’s emotional meltdown at the cafe. It’ll be okay—it always is. The food is amazing, the company even better. You remind yourself that romantic love isn’t the only kind that matters—that’s what friends are for, after all, to teach you that lesson.
The low hum of chatter fills the air, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the clinking of glasses, creating a lively symphony that wraps around you like a warm blanket. Yukio calls your name, waving her head in front of your eyes, trying to snap you out of your thoughts. “Everything okay?” she wonders, concern flickering in her voice.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, tightening your grip on your beer bottle. “Just thinking, that’s all.”
You all gather around the cake when Wade’s about to blow the candles. You know he’s preparing himself for a speech. “Another year of spinning around the moon, huh?”
“Sun, you dumbass,” Al corrects him, and you have to bite your lip to keep your laughter to yourself.
“Okay, flat-earther,” Wade shoots back, giving her a playful side-eye. “Anyway, where was I? Oh, right—I can’t thank you all enough for being here. These past few years have been... well, rough on me, to say the least,” he says, glancing down at the cake with a small, crooked smile. “But I’m happy now. We’ve got each other’s back, like a team!”
“Like The Avengers, you mean?” Dopinder pipes up, eyes sparkling with excitement. There’s a moment of silence in which you swear you’d be able to hear a hairpin drop.
It’s still a sensitive topic.
“Next time, give me a trigger warning before you mention them,” Wade mutters in a hushed tone, and Dopinder shrinks sheepishly. “I guess what I wanted to tell you was…” he trails off, his palm covering the place where his heart is, “that I'm glad you’re all here. Being surrounded by the people I love most is the best birthday gift ever.”
His words stir something inside you. Vanessa gently nudges his arm, smiling up at him. “Why don’t you make your wish?”
Wade dramatically drops to his knees in front of the cake, eyes fluttering shut before blowing out the candles, whistles and cheers erupting all around.
Just then, you hear the unmistakable sound of the doorbell ringing through the air. You exchange a curious glance with Wade, raising your eyebrows. “That’s weird. Want me to get it?”
“Nah, I got it,” he says, excusing himself to answer the door. He slips outside, shutting it behind him, and everything returns to normal. For a while, you assume he’s chatting with someone who dropped by to say hi—but that doesn’t really make sense.
“Don’t you think it’s weird that he’s been out there so long?” Vanessa inquires, her worry starting to creep in.
“I’ll go check on him,” you tell her, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze before heading to the door.
But when you open it, there’s no Wade in sight. Just… his toupee—or “hair system” as he insists on calling it, lying on the floor.
Kneeling down, you gingerly pick it up, a strange sensation settling in your chest.
Where the hell did he go?
After his existence went downhill, Logan turned to prayer.
Completely out of character, right? He thought so too. The number of times he'd stepped foot inside a church could be counted on one hand, so why would a man like him resort to religion?
In the past, he had been told he was part of God’s plan, but somewhere along the way, he felt like he had become God’s mistake.
After living a life plagued with loss and constantly in hiding, he wasn’t shocked that his self-worth was in the gutter.
Things only spiraled after letting everyone down, especially after that particular day when things took a turn for the worse. He had prayed, asking God to make him forget.
When that didn’t work, he just drank harder and smoked more. But not even drowning in alcohol and clouds of nicotine could put an end to his struggles—he was condemned to suffer.
In spite of everyone’s wishes, he’s still going strong, stuck with no defined purpose. It’s almost impossible not to fall into a routine that seeks to numb him, to put him under anesthesia—waking up after passing out who-knows-where, finding the nearest bar, sinking into whiskey and the haze of ashtrays.
Then he does it all over again, a never-ending cycle. His self-destructive habits don’t lead him to oblivion; instead, they intensify every sensation, making each memory and emotion painfully vivid.
Day after day, he convinces himself he’s got it under control. Logan may be tough as fuck, and he may heal faster than anyone else, but his pride is in pieces.
No amount of strength or supernatural abilities can stop the decay he feels inside, the slow rot creeping deeper within him the longer he remains trapped in this life.
He slams the empty glass onto the counter with a heavy thud, tapping two fingers against it. “Again,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.
The bartender looks at him like he's the reincarnation of all things vile. “I told you—you’re not welcome here. You’re not welcome anywhere. Now get the fuck out of my bar.”
Oh, yes. Music to his ears. If he had a nickel for every time he heard that, he’d be rich. “Just give me one more drink and then I’ll leave.”
“That’s not how it works,” the bartender replies, and Logan knows he’s screwed. Another public establishment he’s been banned from—fucking perfect.
Will there ever be a day where he’s not treated like garbage?
“It does now,” an unknown voice joins the conversation, and Logan glances to his side, arching a brow. The masked man doesn’t let his stare falter. “Leave the bottle.”
“Do I know you, bub?”
“You don’t, but I know you.”
This serves as evidence of how pliant he’s become. Years ago, he would’ve already wiped the floor with this guy. They didn’t call him Logan “short fuse” Howlett for nothing. But now? He just can’t bring himself to do it.
“Everybody does. I’m the—”
Here it comes, the reminder of his personal calvary.
“—Wolverine.” Once he finishes the sentence, his words taste bitter. Perhaps it’s the venom on his tongue, or maybe it’s just the alcohol from yesterday kicking him again. Either way, both hit hard.
“Yes, you are,” the stranger says, continuing to stare at him, as if Logan’s worth the effort. “And I’m going to need you to come with me. Right now.”
Logan holds his breath. The worst part of it all is that his day’s just getting started. He has no clue who this guy is or why he’s claiming to need him.
But he’s got the wrong man—Logan doesn’t know him, and he sure as hell doesn’t have anything good to offer.
Or so he believed five minutes ago. Life seems to have its own way of surprising him.
Knowing he’ll regret it later, he closes his fingers around the whiskey bottle, chugging the liquor until darkness takes over his senses.
Nighty-night, Logan.
I'm aware that you're not mine, and nor will you ever be.
I’ve spent sleepless nights trying to figure out
where this need to call you mine stems from.
You're like an antique, a rare piece displayed
in a crowded bazaar, drawing curious glances.
I’m aware that you're not mine
because I haven't bought you yet;
I hold no claim over you,
nor can I control who touches you and who doesn't.
I want you to be mine,
but no amount of money would buy your soul.
You're beyond reach—someone has already marked you.
I’m aware that you’re not mine,
and I guess maybe that’s how life is meant to be.
“Bullshit,” you mutter softly into the quiet of your apartment, where the only sound is the echo of your own voice.
Chewing the end of your pen, your eyes narrow as they skim over the poem you’d written over a month ago.
Since then, you’ve been working on refining the details, but something is missing—that you can feel. The flow is awkward, the choice of words stiff. It’s like a puzzle that doesn’t quite fit together.
You take a long sip from your coffee, tucking both knees up onto the chair you're sitting in. 7:30 a.m., and already, your mind is spinning, diving headfirst into a poem when countless other things are demanding your attention—like, a hundred things, really.
Right now, cracking this piece feels more important than any other task on your list.
Who do you write to? That part is easy—your soulmate. That deceased, probably buried, long-gone soulmate of yours.
It shouldn’t be funny, but there’s an absurdity to it.
Without warning, a memory slips into your thoughts—one girl you used to work with once advising you to change the subject of your writing.
“You should go for some self-love crap. People usually eat that up,” she said, not even bothering to look up from her nails, red polish smeared over the edges.
Her fingers were a mess, coated in that fiery hue, but she didn’t seem to care as she tapped your notebook with her lacquered index finger. “This is repetitive. Keep writing about the same thing, and people will get bored of you.”
“I haven’t published them yet,” you answered, your voice coming out more high-pitched than usual, betraying the doubt you intended to suppress. Her blue eyes flicked up, studying your face as you slid the now red-stained notebook back into your bag, away from her careless, messy fingers. “I thought… I thought we were supposed to write about what we feel passionate about.”
That managed to catch her attention. Passionate. She let out a laugh—sharp and cold, like something straight out of a villain’s script in a children’s movie. It grated against your ears.
“Sweetie, you call that passionate?” She waved her hand dismissively, standing up from the table.
Taller, older, and more secure—just the fact that she gave you her time should’ve made you feel grateful. “Not to be a bitch, but what you showed me is kind of depressing.”
Kind of depressing. From that moment on, you kind of hated her. Small victories, though—the agency fired her a year later. You like to think you kind of won that battle.
Still, she might’ve been right about one thing: your writing does fall into patterns. It’s predictable, to say the least—the rhythm, the themes. Even the metaphors you include can be found in several of your poems.
Are you… lazy? Has someone revealed the way to break out of it? If there is, you figure you're fine without it.
You don’t want to write the kind of articles she’d churn out about the latest trends or the five best positions to get pregnant faster. Nor do you want to pick apart celebrities' lives for a flashy headline.
What you do want is to write about love. Real love. Even if you are not the most qualified person to do it. Even if nobody wants to read the words from someone who has never experienced it in the flesh.
And you’ll get there—how? You’re still figuring that out.
As long as you live and breathe, love will remain in your thoughts, haunting you—especially with your muse being the fleeting dream of a soulmate you never got to meet in the first place.
But it’s time to start your day—the real one. The one where you have to step outside the safety of your four walls and deal with reality.
The to-do list assembles in your mind: groceries, that book you’ve been meaning to pick up, emails you need to answer.
You let your mind take over, guiding you through the motions without a second thought. As you head back to your room, you get rid of the comfortable robe you love so much.
Next, your shirt comes off, tossed carelessly onto the bed. Just as you're about to step out of your pajama pants, you notice them.
The scars.
They’re not the same, not the faded lines etched into your skin that you could see every night behind your eyelids. New marks glow against your flesh, each one a map of something you don’t yet understand, standing out like new brushstrokes on an old canvas.
You can’t help but freeze, your breath faltering for a moment, and you nearly trip over yourself. Kicking your pants to the side, you stare down at your hips, thighs, the hollow of your ribcage.
Tentatively, you press your fingers into the lines, expecting them to fade, to disappear under your touch like some peculiar illusion.
But they don’t. They remain. You can feel the raised edges, the subtle roughness, the heat beneath your touch.
These scars are different from the ones you had before. Under no circumstances are they the faint memories you once carried. No—these are fresh and vibrant. Marks that shouldn’t exist, the stories they’ve witnessed unfamiliar to you.
Within seconds, you’re sobbing, and you blink through the wetness clouding your vision, wiping your tears of disbelief (and maybe hope?) away with the back of your hand.
Nothing changes. They’re still there.
You've never heard of scars returning like this. It goes against everything in the manual on your shelf. Scars vanish when a soulmate dies, but they don’t come back. Not like this. And they certainly don’t change.
Barely able to stand without stumbling, you scramble to your phone. The first person you call is your mom, your fingers shaking as you press the buttons. She screams into the phone, and all you can do is laugh through the tears.
What doesn’t sit right with her is the change in the scars. She mentions something about reaching out to a specialist, insisting that your case is rare—one in a million.
Almost immediately, you think of Wade, knowing he’d want to hear this. God, he’d be ecstatic. Before you even realize it, you’re standing in front of his door, finger hovering over the bell.
That’s when the realization hits you: he’s been gone for nearly three days, off doing whatever it is he does.
Ringing the bell, a smile tugs at your lips. News like these are meant to be shared.
“Althea, it’s me!” you call out, hoping she’ll hear you. You press your forehead against the door, fidgeting with your fingers. “I have something to tell you.”
Logan has had better days. Days that didn’t involve escaping The Void, fighting a hundred Wades, or saving an earth that wasn’t even his to begin with.
You know, normal days—of being sneered at while drinking to forget and, fuck, how many hours has he been sober? It feels like an eternity.
When the adrenaline wears off and the heroism fades, he’s back to being just Logan again. If he had a watch, he’d probably tap the glass and fake impatience to Wade, pretending he’s got somewhere else to be.
He should leave. That’s his first impulse: to escape before it’s too late, but a question arises in his mind: does he truly want to?
Wade watches as Logan rises to his feet, planning to walk away. Pretty stupid, Logan thinks, considering he knows no one else in this universe—apart from the scarred man he’s become friends with against his will.
“Logan!” Wade yells his name, his voice light but firm enough to halt him in his tracks. Logan turns to face him, greeted by Wade’s familiar, infuriating smile.
It's a silent invitation to a new beginning.
Nothing’s holding him back, so why not accept it? The odds of being the target of hateful glares are lower here, and that’s reason enough for Logan to give a small tilt of his head and return to the bench where Wade remains seated.
“We’re gonna be roommates!” the latter exclaims, a wide grin stretching across his face as they head toward the building. “Can you imagine all the fun we’ll have?”
Logan presses his lips into a thin line. “Looking forward to it,” he murmurs, a small glimmer of sarcasm slipping into his tone, although Wade takes his words at face value.
“Me too, roomie. Me too.”
“Let’s not use that word.”
Wade holds the door open for Logan with an exaggerated bow. “Why not? It’s the truth. We can even share my bed if that’s—”
The sound of Logan’s claws succeeds in silencing him. Wade recoils and covers his crotch, no doubt remembering past close calls.
“You know what? You can have the bed. I’ll take the couch. No problem.”
Was moving in with Wade the worst idea he’s had in a while? Absolutely. The reason? Althea, the elderly woman he lives with, isn’t answering the door, and he doesn’t have his keys.
Logan covers his eyes with a hand, silently questioning all of his life choices. And it’s only been ten minutes.
“This doesn’t happen often,” Wade reassures him, rubbing his neck.
“Hard to believe,” Logan mutters, some unknown muscle in his jaw beginning to ache from how hard he’s gritting his teeth. “You just leave the house without your fucking keys?”
Wade huffs, jutting out a hip in mock offense. “Those TVA guys didn’t exactly send a ‘We’re here to ruin your day’ memo. I was ambushed, okay?” he retorts, keeping a finger glued to the doorbell, its shrill ring gnawing at Logan’s already thin patience. “Al, I swear to God, I’m replacing your blood pressure pills with laxatives if you don’t wake up!”
“How old is she?” Logan asks, searching for anything to keep him from snapping the other man’s neck. Peaceful thoughts.
“Compared to you, she’s basically a newborn,” Wade replies, rocking back and forth on his heels. He’s having the time of his life—meanwhile, Logan’s self-control is reaching its limit.
His claws twitch in his knuckles. He’s had enough, and with a jerk of his left hand, they gleam as they slide out, ready to break the damn door.
But then Wade jumps in front of him.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Easy there, buddy! I’m not letting you turn my door into a strainer.”
“Move,” Logan barks, not an ounce of friendliness in his tone. His stare is flat, unfazed.
“I’d rather not. You can’t just go around breaking people’s doors, man. Not cool,” Wade blurts quickly, placing both hands on Logan’s chest, pushing him away. “How about I ask my neighbor, huh? I gave her a spare set of keys for situations like these.”
“I thought you said this didn’t happen often.”
“Well, life’s full of disappointments.”
Before Logan can answer back, Wade rushes to the door next to his, slamming his fist on it like a madman, his finger hammering the doorbell simultaneously.
The devil’s orchestra—a symphony straight from hell.
Logan grabs Wade’s wrist before he can knock again, hissing: “Have some manners, will you?”
Wade tries to shake his arm free from Logan’s tight grip. “She’s in there. I know it,” he replies in the same tone, but now he uses his other hand to ring the doorbell with greater feeling.
After a pause, he stamps his foot on the floor, throwing his head back. “Come on! Is this how you treat me after being away? Shame on you, Missy!”
This neighbor must be very patient, Logan thinks, to keep up with a guy like Wade without often seeing red.
As the door finally swings open, his grip on Wade loosens, and his hand falls limply to his side.
“What… the fuck?”
The sound of your voice—soft, slightly groggy from sleep—pulls his attention away from the door incident. His gaze is fixed entirely on you—you look as if you’ve just rolled out of bed, which makes sense since it’s still early.
Back in The Void, Wade had rambled on about all his friends, you included. Logan recalls how he had described you: a book editor who lived on her own and loved reading. You were younger—but then again, who wasn’t younger than him?
The picture Wade had shown him, with you standing in the background, hadn’t done you justice. He had found you attractive then, but seeing you in person?
You’re… far more than he expected.
More beautiful, for starters.
Fuck. Why is he even thinking about that? He must’ve been staring at you for quite a while—you glance at him like a startled lamb, clearly feeling self-conscious under his unwavering stare.
“May I know,” you start, tightening your robe, “why you were banging on my door like that? I thought I was getting robbed for a minute.” You direct your question at Wade, avoiding Logan’s presence, which makes something tighten in his chest.
He finds the way you stifle a yawn endearing, though.
Okay, that’s enough, he tells his mind. Let it go.
Wade steps in first, dropping his mask on the nearest surface. “Hello, my dear. Oh, yes, I’m fine. Just a few scratches. No, I wasn’t partying—I was kidnapped. Thanks for asking.”
You draw in a long breath, rubbing your eyes to wake up once and for all, and then you proceed to gesture for Logan to enter. Even now, you find it difficult to maintain eye contact with him. “Do you—would you like to come in?”
Not only are you pretty, but also polite. He nods, muttering a gruff: “Yeah, thank you.”
As he walks past you, your shoulders brush briefly, sending an unexpected jolt through him. A tingling sensation on the verge of being electrifying that has him knitting his brows.
His gaze finds yours, searching your expression to see if you felt it too. But you look away, closing the door to go after Wade.
Great. You must think he’s a weirdo.
“I’m always up for company, but why so early?” you ask your friend, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. “And are you going to tell me what happened the other day? You left without saying anything.”
Wade hops onto a stool at the kitchen counter, swinging his legs like a child. “You know Al. When it comes to sleeping, she’s like a much older version of Sleeping Beauty,” he replies with a grin, snatching the mug you were about to use for your morning coffee. “Thanks, you’re such a doll.”
“That was—mine,” you sigh, hitting him in the thigh, and Wade winces with a fake whine. “I don’t think I’ve missed you that much. Go back to being missing in action,” you say, grabbing another mug and filling it before raising it toward Logan. “Coffee?”
Logan hesitates. You’re treating him like you’ve known him for years, not minutes. “I’m… good.”
“You sure? I made it fresh, just before you guys arrived.”
“Don’t worry, I’m—”
“I love the chemistry here,” Wade interrupts your conversation, drawing your attention back to him, “but you still got the keys I gave you, right?”
You roll your eyes, blowing on your steamy coffee before answering. “I do, but I want answers first. And I want them now.”
Twenty minutes and a rambling, half-coherent story later, your drink has gone cold, and Logan’s patience is wearing thin… again.
Will he survive sleeping under the same roof as Wade? Stay tuned for more.
“And then I told Paradox ‘He has risen, babygirl’—”
“I think you’re being too specific,” Logan interjects, noting how you’re staring into space with wide eyes. “She seems confused.”
“I am,” you admit, rubbing your temples. He doesn’t blame you: Wade’s a terrible storyteller. You offer him a weak smile as you turn to him. “So… you’re from another universe.”
“Last time I checked.” His back collapses against the couch, groaning softly. He sits beside you, and the way your eyes sweep over him, taking in his disheveled and sweaty appearance, doesn’t go unnoticed by him.
“And how is it? I mean, do you have—”
“I’m public enemy number one.”
Too harsh, idiot.
“Oh. That’s… good to know.”
Wade says your name, and you look to your right, lifting your brows. “Do you mind if I grab the keys myself? I need a shower. I’ve been marinating in sweat and blood for way too long.”
You grimace, pointing toward your room. “Top drawer of my nightstand.”
With that, he embarks on a quest to find them, leaving Logan alone with you. Silence stretches between you two.
He doesn’t know what to say, or if he should even say anything. Casual conversation isn’t his forte.
“You and Wade…?”
Letting out a giggle, you lean back on the couch. “God, no. We’re just friends,” you explain, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. For a fleeting moment, your eyes bore into his, and then you return to burning holes in the floor. “I’m single. Haven’t found my soulmate yet.”
It’s his turn to chuckle now—a dark, humorless sound rumbling in his chest. You chew on a cuticle, Logan’s gesture igniting a sense of curiosity in you.
“What?” you ask him, puzzled.
“Do you really believe in that? Soulmates who share scars?” If he were to think carefully, he’d watch his tone. It’s too late, anyway—you straighten your posture, your face contorting with each passing second. “I can tell you do.”
“And I can tell you don’t.”
“Why would I? Those are lies,” he retorts, the corners of his mouth turning upward.
His opinion is anything but objective, totally biased, given that every time he dove into love’s arms, he was met with the crude reality: not everyone’s meant to be loved, himself included.
The look you give him is enough to wipe the smirk off his face.
“Soulmates exist, Logan. We all have one.” There’s a certainty in your tone, marked by the subtle way in which you say his name, that he finds alluring. He shouldn’t, especially when you seem angry above all.
“And where is yours, then?”
He regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth. Your expression becomes inscrutable. You could be either disappointed, frustrated, or even exasperated—sad, perhaps?
Logan feels as though a weight has settled on his shoulders just from staring into your eyes.
You strike back with silence. Plain, pure, dreadful silence that has him wondering if he’s breathing properly.
At long last, Wade comes back from his expedition, keys dangling from his fingers. “It was quite the treasure hunt, you know? You’ve got a lot of garbage in there.” He sticks his face between Logan’s and yours when you don't answer him. “Guys, is there something wrong? Are you doing a staring contest? If so, can I join?”
“I need to start getting ready for work,” you announce, standing up from the couch. Logan mimics you, and you open the door, your fingers curling around the knob. “You should get going. And Wade,” you pause, acknowledging only him, “I need to talk to you later. In private.”
Without Logan. That’s what you wanted to say but didn’t.
“Sure, my queen. I live to serve,” Wade says in rejoinder, and he kisses your forehead briefly, which forces Logan to avert his gaze the whole time his lips are on you, feeling uncomfortable watching. “Take care, alright?”
You give Wade a small nod, waiting until he’s outside your apartment to glance at Logan.
“Goodbye,” you croak, and he knows he should say something, that he—
The door almost closes on his nose.
Had he been an asshole? He was merely expressing his thoughts. The idea of soulmates didn’t sit well with him.
Once settled into Wade’s apartment, Logan steps into the shower, water rinsing off his body. Yet he finds himself unable to stop thinking about you.
The disappointment in your eyes when he asked about your soulmate.
The coldness in your tone at the end, so different from the warmth you initially offered.
He feels drawn to you, as if some sort of invisible string is tying the two of you. Were it possible, he would use his own claws to cut it, but he can’t discern where it begins or ends. Instead, he prefers to blame his touch-starved state for this reaction.
He’s already hating this earth. So much for a man whose skin refuses to scar.
And where is yours, then?
His words shouldn’t have stung the way they did. All the charm—the gruff exterior, the mysterious personality—had vanished.
The guy from another universe, with the claws, the healing abilities, and the raspy voice, is a moron.
A ridiculously good-looking moron? Yes, but a moron nonetheless.
There is something about him you can’t quite place. A chill creeps down your spine as you replay the instant your eyes first locked. Your body had reacted in ways it never had before, drawn to him like metal to a magnet.
Why? You’d seen handsome men before, even been with some. Yet, you’ve never felt this—this gravitational pull, this inexplicable pull to invade someone’s personal space.
How would your soulmate feel if he saw you like this, lusting after another man?
You shudder at the thought. This isn’t like you. You pride yourself on loyalty—perhaps a little too much. You don’t read two books at the same time, and you’ve been buying the same brand of shampoo for the past five years.
So why now? Why him? It feels like a betrayal of your own mind, your conscience turned against you.
Let things stay as they are—it’s safer that way. You don’t want to know the reason behind this forceful need.
After all, being his grumpy and ill-tempered self, he’ll stay holed up in Wade’s apartment, avoiding any interaction with the real world. And you? You’ll forget about him. Easy-peasy.
That afternoon, as you take a nap on the couch, he invades your dreams. It’s not even a wet dream, but he’s there, staking a claim on a part of you he has no right to.
You wake up with your hand clutching your chest, a frustrated punch landing on the nearest cushion.
The next day, you drop by Wade’s place for a quick visit, your eyes darting around the room every few seconds, half-expecting Logan to appear out of nowhere.
“I told you, he’s sleeping. That guy’s got a fucked up sleep schedule,” Wade says, urging you to take a seat beside him at the table. “Why don’t you wanna see him?”
Because he’s messing with your sanity. Your brain cells are practically disintegrating at the mere thought of breathing the same air as him.
“I just—I need to tell you something.”
“Are you pregnant?”
“What? Wade, no! You’ve been gone for three days—pregnancies take months.”
“I’d make an amazing uncle, though.” He grabs your hand between his, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Babies are so adorable at that—”
“My scars are back,” you cut him off, putting an end to his nonsense. Pulling the neck of your sweater to the side, you show him the thin lines etched into your collarbone. “But they are different this time.”
“Different? You mean they changed?” His disbelief is clear as he reaches for your arm, frowning while he inspects more of your scars. Wade’s jaw slackens, color draining out of his face. “Fuck. Fuck!”
“Fuck?”
“Yeah, fuck!” His strong arms envelop you, and you lean into the embrace, resting your cheek against his shoulder. “Is this good news? Are we happy? Does this mean I have a shot at becoming an uncle after all?”
You laugh a little at his eagerness, rubbing gentle circles into his back. “I am happy. I just—I don’t know what these changes mean yet.”
Althea steps out of the bathroom, her cane tapping the floor in rhythmic beats. “I already told you what they mean.”
Wade pulls away from you, glaring at her. “You meddler! Haven’t we talked about not eavesdropping? Hasn’t life taught you anything after all these decades?”
“Upside of being blind: I’ve never seen this motherfucker in Crocs,” she says, pointing her cane at you, though you know her aim is Wade. “Downside of being blind: I hear everything in this apartment. And you, kid, have a new soulmate.”
“I know what we talked about the other day, but... it doesn’t make sense, Al. You only get one soulmate,” you protest, feeling the tension grow as you pace around the table. “Why can’t it just be simple? My friends are getting engaged, years are flying by, and I’m still out here chasing this… this idiot who no one can even find!”
That’s when Logan appears, emerging from his room, holding several empty beer cans. He rolls his eyes and walks straight into the kitchen. “Great. Who else is coming tonight?”
Wade smirks, clapping a hand on Logan’s shoulder as he looks at you. “Sweetie, Logan’s going through his second puberty at the ripe old age of two hundred. The pediatrician said it’s just hormones, nothing to worry about. Excuse his shitty attitude.”
With a low groan, Logan shrugs off Wade’s hand, scowling. If anything, the younger man’s grin just grows bigger. “Wolvie, I gotta admit that whole ‘Don’t fall in love with me or I’ll break your heart’ personality shouldn’t turn me on, but here we are.”
You decide to take that as your cue to leave. You grab your bag, muttering a quick goodbye to Althea as you head for the door.
But Logan calls after you. “Can we talk?”
You freeze, your back to him. “How much did you hear?” you ask, not daring—not being able—to meet his gaze.
“All of it,” he admits after a beat, and you curse under your breath. “But it doesn’t—Hey!” He follows you into the hallway. “I’m talking to you!”
“No, you’re not.” You fumble for your keys, fingers shaking as you try to unlock your door. “Leave me alone.”
“I won’t,” he mumbles behind you, his voice softer now. “Come on. Don’t be so harsh.”
“I can’t believe you,” you whisper, finally finding the right key and jiggling it into the lock. The door swings open, and you step into the safety of your apartment. But when you try to close it, Logan’s foot wedges into the gap, blocking it. “Get out.”
He doesn’t budge. “No.”
“Logan, I’m not in the mood.”
“Well, me neither. But I owe you an apology.”
You wonder if he realizes the hold he has on you. No matter how hard you try to mask it, the unbearable pounding of your heart betrays you.
Scanning his features, you trace the rugged contours of his face with your eyes, lingering on the lines on his forehead—the aftermath of what it looks like a life lived through bitterness and pain.
“Can I come in?” he insists, his tone on the verge of sounding pleading.
You hesitate. The sensible part of you screams to send him away. Thinking that avoiding him would be as easy as stealing candy from a baby is a long-forgotten idea now: you’d been naïve to even consider it possible.
He’s going to find a way to sneak into your space, your home—and you’ll let him in. You’ll grant him a chance to cross a boundary that should’ve been already drawn.
It feels like you’re fifteen again, infatuated with the guy you know you shouldn’t get close to. Paul from high school wasn’t your soulmate back then—Logan isn’t now.
The smart thing would be to take a step back, accept his apology, and ask him to leave. That’s how you preserve what little remains of your sanity and protect your heart, which is already hanging by a thread.
But God, it feels so good to be near him.
You step aside. He walks in. Something tells you this won’t be the last time.
“I’m waiting.” You stay near the counter, pressing your back against it, and keeping your distance. Logan sits awkwardly on the edge of your couch, unsure of where to begin.
“Look, about what I said yesterday…I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” He sounds sincere, earnest. “I didn’t know you believed in soulmates.”
“It’s not a matter of believing in them or not, Logan. My soulmate is out there—yours too.”
Your words coax a grin from him, and he shakes his head. “I guess we’ll never see eye to eye on that.” In a fluid motion, he crosses the room, and you find his unexpected proximity a bit exasperating. “Do you forgive me?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Give me a break, darlin’. I’m trying my best.”
“Well, you were an asshole.”
“Yes.”
“The first time we exchanged words.”
“Also yes.”
“And now you’re apologizing.”
“Positive. I just did.”
It’s not that you’re easy—it’s Logan’s persuasive allure that gets to you.
“What else can I do to win your forgiveness?” he wonders aloud, his syrupy voice making you tighten your grip on the counter.
An idea sparks in your mind. You move toward the pile of books next to the TV, eyeing the titles, until one catches your attention: your copy of Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë, one of the first novels you’d read when you were younger.
It’s adorned with colorful post-its, and the pages, sort of rough to the touch, are marked with handwritten notes in the margins.
“How do you feel about reading?”
“Not my strongest suit,” he answers, arching a brow as he takes in your enthusiasm. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
“You want me to believe you’re sorry for what you said? Then read this,” you say, wiggling the book in front of him, “and we can start over.”
“What is it about? Let me guess: love and soulmates. Did I get it right?” he asks, playfulness lacing his tone. His breath hitches as you press the book against his chest, silently urging him to take it. His pinky grazes your hand, feeling your skin and sending a jolt through you.
Logan watches you with half-lidded eyes, and it takes every ounce of willpower to tear yourself away from him and his maddening touch.
You clear your throat. “Open it to page one hundred fifty-three.”
“Do you—you remember specific pages?”
“And read what’s underlined in black,” you murmur, eyes fluttering closed for an instant. “Please.”
Logan must mutter something along the lines of ‘You’ve got to be kidding me’ before searching for it. It’s only then that he begins to recite the passage:
He is not to them what he is to me. He is not of their kind. I believe he is of mine; – I am sure he is – I feel akin to him – I understand the language of his countenance and movements; though rank and wealth sever us widely, I have something in my brain and heart, in my blood and nerves, that assimilates me mentally to him. Did I say, a few days since, that I had nothing to do with him but to receive my salary at his hands? Did I forbid myself to think of him in any other light than a paymaster? Blasphemy against nature! Every good, true, vigorous feeling I have gathers impulsively round him. I know I must conceal my sentiments: I must smother hope; I must remember that he cannot care much for me. For when I say that I am of his kind, I do not mean that I have his force to influence, and his spell to attract; I mean only that I have certain tastes and feelings in common with him. I must, then, repeat continually that we are for ever sundered: – and yet, while I breathe and think, I must love him.
You’ve chosen a damn good page.
Logan looks up from the book, his mouth slightly parted, as if he’s about to speak. You interject before he can find the words.
“You’ve got a week to read it.”
“How long is it again?”
“Four hundred pages.”
He surrenders, sighing in defeat. “You’re killing me here, y’know?”
“Write an opinion essay if possible.”
Right there, Logan offers you a mock laugh. “Haha. That’s so funny.”
“It is for me,” you talk back, unable to hide your smile from him, and soon he mirrors your expression.
As Logan steps toward the door, he hesitates and glances back. “We’re all good then?”
Leaning against the doorframe, you raise your chin defiantly. “We’ll be when you finish the book.”
What he says next has your stomach turning into knots. “You’re trouble.” His tone shifts—no longer teasing, but grounded in truth. Gone are the jokes; he seems to mean every word.
For the rest of the night, one line from the book doesn’t stop echoing in your mind—the line about soulmates: I have something in my brain and heart, in my blood and nerves, that assimilates me mentally to him.
You’re trouble for him, and he’s trouble for you. You hope he knows it too.
He thought that not seeing you for a week would snuff out his feelings. That by next Wednesday, every thought tied to your name, every urge to uncover the last of your secrets, would be extinguished.
That's what time usually did: it diminished dangerous desires that couldn't afford to be voiced, and buried those longings that had no place in the light of day.
Logan now figures he’s been underestimating the spell you cast on him with just a few glances and the intensity of your eyes. He’s seen you animated, angry—both defiant and vulnerable.
Each of your gestures feels like a memory he can’t quite place.
The way you laugh, the right corner of your mouth lifting just slightly higher than the left—he swears it isn’t the first time he's seen a smile brighter than the sun.
Still, he convinces himself it’s all in his head. He must be the one losing his mind, the years finally catching up to him. It’s the only reasonable explanation for the thoughts that consume his every waking moment.
He’s wrong—you’re right. He’s seeing things where there are none—you’re simply too kind.
Too kind. Too young. Too damn clever for your own good, with your books and that sharp mind of yours. He wonders how you see yourself.
Do you like the reflection in the mirror? Are you content with the way your life has turned out?
Do you, too, lie awake at night, the bed stretching endlessly, aching for a touch that never comes?
The walls in this place are paper-thin. When darkness falls, and the moon rises, the big, scary Wolverine can’t close his eyes.
Instead, he listens.
Some nights, you play the same movie on repeat—a romantic comedy that lasts exactly one hundred and twenty minutes. For two hours straight, he’s privy to your laughter, your commentary at the characters on the screen.
He hears you cry when the lead couple drifts apart after a terrible argument, but they always find their way back to each other, and you watch every second until the credits roll.
None of the other films you pick ever ends in heartbreak, he realizes. They all have happy endings—the kind you wish for yourself.
One way or another, there must be a way to get you out of his system. He knows, without a doubt, that you wouldn’t want him. He’s not your soulmate, and it’s clear that finding that person has become the center of your existence.
Logan can’t allow himself to be the moron who derails your purpose.
Sure, he’s done bad things, but he likes to believe that at least a part of him—some small fraction—hasn’t been lost yet. That there’s a piece of him that can be saved, which is the reason why he stayed here: to be a better man than the one he was in his universe.
But it’s hard. Harder still because it’s you who disrupts his quest for redemption. How is he supposed to go on with his life when every thought circles back to you? The idea of holding you, kissing you—sleeping beside you haunts him.
And so the images blur, new dreams twisting with his usual nightmares.
Which one is worse, he can no longer tell.
One afternoon, while deliberately steering clear of Jane Eyre, he reluctantly turns to Wade in search of answers. “Tell me more about her.”
Wade, lounging on the couch, stops scrolling on his phone and drops it onto his chest, drawing his eyebrows together.
“Her? Who do you mean?” His tone oozes with feigned innocence, barely containing a shit-eating grin when Logan grits out your name, his tone rough, almost pained. “Oh, Romeo. You’ve got it bad.”
Intending to maintain some semblance of control, Logan strides into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and the last bottle of whiskey. As he tips it, only a few drops fall into the glass.
“No, I don’t,” he says, extending his arm and holding the bottle up. “We’re out of whiskey.”
“You keep saying we, but you’re the only alcoholic in this apartment.” Wade kicks off his shoes, propping his feet on the coffee table. “So, why the sudden interest in the lady? She getting through that tough exterior of yours? I’ll give her points for that.”
“And you wonder why I don’t talk to you.”
“I saw the book,” the younger man replies, lacing his fingers behind his head, watching as Logan rummages through the fridge with increasing frustration. “You never told me you were into classics. If I’d known, I’d have gotten you a copy of Pride and Prejudice.”
“Shut your mouth.”
“I’m sorry, weren’t you the one who came to me, looking for the essential oil of truth?”
The silence that follows is thick and uncomfortable, mood-killing.
“See what I just did there?” he adds, and Logan feels forced to shake his head from side to side, appearing conflicted. Wade lets out a low huff. “That was Virginia Woolf. Add her to your reading list.”
“Has anyone ever told you how obnoxious you are?”
“More times than I can count. I’m just not everyone’s cup of coffee.”
“Tea, Wade. Not everyone’s cup of tea.”
“Whatever.” Wade simpers, as though Logan’s correction is the punchline to a joke only he gets. He sets his palms flat on the table, looming closer with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So, what would you like to know about my dear friend?”
Logan hesitates, the weight of his question heavy on his tongue. “What’s the deal with her scars?”
The air shifts. Wade’s playful expression fades and he tilts his head, his tone turning serious. “I don’t think it’s my story to tell,” he begins, gaze dropping to the floor. “But she lost them years ago. She was living a normal life, and one day, they were just—gone, like they were never there. It broke her. We didn’t know each other back then, but you’ve seen her.”
Wade’s eyes flick back up, while Logan stands there, tongue-tied. “You even know the kind of books she reads—nothing can shake that belief in real love, in soulmates being destined. Imagine how she must’ve felt when she found out her presumed soulmate was dead… without a single warning.”
From what he had heard, that sense of loss was impossible to put into words. Those who’d gone through it described the experience as if half of you—your body, your soul, your very essence—was being ripped away.
The pain was excruciating, and the only way to survive it was by means of tolerating it—no remedy, just the endurance to outlast the agony.
It wasn’t just a momentary hurt. It was the kind of torment that lingered, making you question who you were and what little remained of you.
You and Logan had more in common than he’s willing to admit.
“She’s a good person,” he mutters absent-mindedly, his thumb grazing the cover of the book. He had carried it everywhere for a week now, without even cracking it open.
“Oh, you dirty pig…” Wade whispers, his eyes lighting up as if a lightbulb suddenly went off in his mind. “Now I get it. You wanna know her. Like, really know her!”
“I don’t—”
“Your sex life is none of my business. I’m all up for you putting your mutant dick to work, otherwise it’s just wasted potential. But it’s my friend we’re talking about.”
Logan’s jaw tightens, and he snaps. “Drop the speech, alright? I’m not trying to get into her pants. I just want to be nice. That’s all.”
“Nice, huh? What’s your version of nice? Starting a two-person book club?” Wade stifles a laugh, pressing a finger to Logan’s chest. “Look, if you want to sleep with her, and the feeling’s mutual, then go for it. Just tell me this—how long’s it been since you visited Pussy Village? Was it before or after the Big Bang?”
Things are never truly serious with Wade Wilson. “I’m not answering that.”
Wade raises both hands in surrender, still chuckling. “Fine, fine. But if you’re really interested, just be clear about it. She doesn’t need a half-assed situationship.”
By now, it’s like a mantra he repeats again and again, hoping that eventually both Wade and he will start to believe it. “I don’t want to have sex with her.”
As he heads back to his (now Wade’s old) room, Wade adds, “I’m sure she’d appreciate it if you underlined some quotes you like.”
Much to his dismay, that’s exactly what Logan does.
His handwriting isn’t the most legible, but he tries his best, leaving notes in the margins of some pages, such as:
I hate this John kid.
Her aunt is a cunt.
This is too cheesy.
Mr. Rochester’s married?
St. John—what a prick.
He finishes the book at 7 a.m. A long-ass book—just for you. While getting ready for work, Wade calls him an unemployed fucker, and Logan knows nothing better than to shoot back a similar insult, stretching his arms as the first rays of sunlight creep through the curtains.
Wade was right about something, even if Logan himself doesn’t wish to admit it: he’s behaving like a teenager—staying up until dawn, practically chained to the bed without daring to go out. Falling for a girl he didn’t know a week ago.
Learning to control his impulses has been a hard task, especially with his temperament. Over the years, Logan thought he’d mastered the art of self-restraint, long past the point where his body moved without his mind’s permission.
As his feet carry him down the hall toward your apartment, he recognizes how wrong he is.
This is a terrible idea, he thinks. And yet, his fist knocks on the wood. Three times.
Fuck.
The door opens just a crack. You peek out, your face barely visible, eyes puffy from sleep. “Logan?”
His name isn’t a fancy one. It’s pretty normal, pretty standard. There must be a thousand other guys named like him—yet it’s only when you say it, your voice turning it into something rare and unique, that it feels different, like it’s only his.
The tone you use with him isn’t the one he’s used to: Logan, you’re a disappointment. Logan, how dare you turn your back on your friends? Logan, they’re all dead. Logan, it’s your fault.
Yours is inviting, and warm, and new. He likes new.
“I just finished it,” he answers, holding up the book, mindful not to grip it too tight as not to crumple the pages.
You scratch the back of your head, blinking at him. “You just finished it… at 7 a.m.?
Yeah, it sounds stupid now that you say it out loud, but it’s true. Hoping his reaction is enough to explain what he can’t put into words, he gives you a slow nod.
This time, you don’t wait for him to say more. “Come in?”
Yes, this is what he’s been looking forward all week. This moment, this interaction.
This Come in. This Yes, thank you. You’re so kind.
His quiet acceptance of your invitation, the unpronounced thought of I don’t deserve this, but I can’t back off now, because how could I ever say no to you?
He follows you into the kitchen as you move to make tea. “Want some?” you ask, but he declines the offer. If he were to drink anything right now, it would be something much stronger, not tea, despite the early hour. “You’re here to talk about the book?”
“Well, you told me I could come back after reading it.”
“I did,” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips as you hide it behind your mug. “I just wasn’t expecting you to be so punctual.”
You don’t need to know that he’s been counting down the seconds, marking each minute in his mind since the last time he saw you. That’s a detail he’ll keep to himself. “It’s a good story.”
“Tell me about it.” You smile even wider, and he takes a moment to absorb the details of your face—the crinkles by your eyes, the way your nose scrunches when you’re amused. “I lent you my most precious book. Fell in love with it years ago.”
“I can see why you liked it,” he explains, flipping through the pages to find the one he marked. “All the romance and the yearning—”
“Hey, it’s also good for other reasons,” you try to defend yourself, but any other argument dies on your lips when he finds the passage he was looking for and begins to read aloud.
“I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you, especially when you are near me, as now,” he recites, his voice lower, almost reverent, as he looks up from the page to meet your gaze. “It is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your frame.”
You seem startled by the sharp sound of him closing the book. He’s sort of breathless, and from where he stands, he can tell you are too. “That’s one of my favorite passages.”
“I can’t blame you for believing in soulmates if this is the kind of thing you read growing up,” he teases, handing the book back to you.
Though a part of him almost wishes he didn’t have to—so that it would still be a reason, a tether, pulling him back to you again and again.
Grinning, you take it, your eyes remaining trained on his. “I happen to notice it hasn’t changed your perspective on soulmates.”
“It’ll take more than a book.”
“This is, in my opinion, one of the best love stories ever written. How else will I convince you?”
“Why do you feel like you need to convince me?” He takes a step forward—you take a step back. “Why can’t it be the other way around? I might end up being the one who convinces you.”
“You could never,” you respond, clasping your hands behind your back. “It would be like convincing me the sky is green instead of blue.”
Logan retreats slightly. “Don’t you get tired?”
“Of what?”
“Of waiting. Of always being on the lookout.”
You don’t react badly to his question. You’re not even shaken, not fazed in the slightest. “When I meet him, I’ll know all the waiting was worth it.”
“And in the meantime?” Logan inquires, pressing himself further into your intimacy, edging closer as if testing the boundaries you’re willing to cross. His words are a subtle request for more, for answers. “What will you do until you find him?”
If you ever do, he thinks, but it’s left unsaid, lingering in his thoughts. He’s getting better at not saying the things that sit heavy in his chest without thinking.
“I think you misunderstand, Logan.” You study him through your lashes, and he feels he’s become the keeper of your most sacred secrets. “It’s not about waiting as if my life’s on pause. I’ve been with other people. But in the end, I want to choose him.”
That casual admission strikes him like a wave of cold water. A flicker of jealousy burns at the edges of his composure, though he tries to smother it.
I’ve been with other people, you say, your tone so nonchalant, and yet the mental images that flood his mind are anything but comfortable.
He imagines someone else standing in your kitchen. Perhaps in five minutes, there will be another man knocking on your door, here to discuss a book, and it won’t be him.
Perhaps this isn’t rare for you—all this come in, grab something to drink, let’s talk when you’re done reading.
Perhaps he’s not as important as you make him feel.
His thoughts spiral until your voice pulls him back from the brink.
“Don’t you understand how beautiful it is?” There’s a dazzling glint in your expression, a light in your eyes that makes him ache. “Outside of these four walls, there’s a person who’s waiting to meet me, in the same way I expect to meet him. I can’t grant myself the choice not to believe in something like this.”
Far from easing the martyr in his mind, this conversation only deepens his internal struggle. The questions overlap each other: what happens if you never find him? Would you ever consider settling for somebody else?
He rephrases that last one—would you ever consider being with him?
“He’s a lucky guy,” Logan murmurs, and just like that, he feels himself slipping deeper, falling into the rabbit hole with you guiding him through the madness.
For a moment, he can pretend—pretend that matching scars and bonds that defy the rules of his principles make sense.
Maybe, just for you, he’ll allow himself to believe it.
Your eyes soften with sudden emotion, glistening with the beginnings of tears. He feels the primal urge to reach out, to cup your cheek, to be there when the first tear falls. “You think so?” you ask, your voice fragile.
I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you, especially when you are near me, as now.
“Of course I do,” he replies, his tone quiet but laden with a strange, undeniable truth.
It is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your frame.
Whatever this is between you—it’s messed up. He’s messed up. And you… you’re just as tangled in this chaos for indulging it, for looking at him in that way that calls out to him.
The more time he spends with you, the less he feels like himself. Everything he’s done lately—reading that damn book, standing in your apartment at 7 a.m.—none of it feels like something he’d do.
It’s not just his mind you’re messing with: it’s his very sense of self.
Logan’s smart mouth had always been a liability, getting him into trouble either by saying too much or by choosing the wrong words. Bad things had always followed in the wake of his tongue.
Somehow, when it comes to you, he’s the most careful he’s ever been. He doesn’t want to upset you, nor does he want to be the cause of any sorrow that might affect your heart.
When the two of you stand at the threshold once more, just as you have other times before, you softly say: “I feel like I’m experiencing a déjà vu.”
He laughs, because it sounds ridiculous. “Care to explain why?”
“You come, we talk, you leave.” You lean against the wall, your hand ghosting over the handle. “But you never stay that long.”
There’s no mistaking the layered meaning in your words. You, who work with language and its peculiarities for a living, never speak by chance—every phrase, every pause, carries an assigned weight. The double meaning in your statement doesn’t escape either of you.
You’re a natural at this madness, diving headfirst into it. You must be losing it, too, because your actions don’t match what you said before.
Slowly, his fingers brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the perfect excuse to feel your skin, to close the distance without saying what he actually wants.
They say food and shelter are the basic human needs, but Logan chooses to believe they forgot to include the longing to reach out and just feel you.
“I can’t stay,” he finally responds to your earlier comment, his hand still lingering against your skin.
His strength—the only thing saving him from completely giving in—helps him pull himself away.
Before the impulse to kiss you becomes too overwhelming to resist, Logan leaves.
Some time later, you’re making lunch, music playing softly in the background at the same time the city’s distinct noise finds a way to break through your tranquility.
You rely greatly on the knowledge that you’re good at multitasking—now more than ever, with a book in one hand and the other stirring the pasta on the stove.
The warmth from the pot rises around you, but you trust yourself not to be careless. Not to be stupid enough to burn yourself with the boiling water.
This time, you miscalculate. Not only do you dip the wooden spoon into the pot, but your fingertips too.
Though it only lasts a second, and the voice in your head instantly screams Hot! Hot! Hot!, the shock makes you drop the book to the floor. You yank your hand back, racing to the sink to run it under cold water.
“Fuck,” you grumble, watching the skin redden in protest. “Lesson learned: no more multitasking.”
The funny thing is, just a door away, Logan’s watching a movie with Wade when he feels a sting in the tips of his fingers.
It’s barely there, practically faint, but he looks down, inspecting his hand like it doesn’t belong to his own body. His skin briefly flushes with irritation before returning to its normal state.
Wade notices his distraction. “Hey, you okay?”
Logan pays no mind to it. “Sure. Just felt something strange.”
Is it still called avoiding if you’re both doing it? You’d like to think so.
For the sake of clarity, let’s say you’ve been actively avoiding Logan, but truth be told—he’s been avoiding you too. That last encounter in your apartment didn’t help matters at all.
If anything, it made everything worse.
You’ve been down this road before, knowing men like him too well: they’re everywhere, until they’re not.
One day, they vanish without a trace, leaving you staring at the empty space they used to occupy, asking yourself ‘What happened to my Prince Charming in disguise?’
They disappear as though they never existed, and not even the best detective can track them down.
So far, your avoidance strategy has worked wonders. Maybe it’s for the best. He’s a distraction—an undeniably attractive one, the kind anyone would want to trip over.
Yet you miss him, which is dumb: why are you missing someone you were never supposed to care about in the first place?
You return home after a long trip to the grocery store, arms laden with bags. It’s the kind of errand that exhausts you, though you keep telling yourself it’s better than thinking about him.
As you struggle to get through the building's exit, you resign yourself to the fact that it’ll take several trips to bring everything up to your apartment.
Then the elevator doors slide open, and you drop everything to the floor.
You should’ve known better than to assume victory so soon. After days of successfully avoiding him, there he is.
And of course, it’s when you look your worst—tired from running around, weighed down by groceries, barely holding it together.
“Hey,” he greets you, standing just outside the elevator, like he’s not sure if he should step inside or stay where he is. He’s dressed in a red-and-black flannel shirt, layered over a white vest, a leather jacket tossed over his shoulders, and a pair of jeans that seem made for him.
He looks... ridiculously good.
“Hi,” you manage to answer after a beat, scrambling to collect the bags you’d dropped. “Just—give me a second.”
“Let me help you,” Logan says, ducking down to gather the groceries, but you pull them away.
“I’ve got it. Are you going out? On a date, maybe?” You nod toward his clothes, trying to keep things light, teasing even.
Glancing down at himself, a crease appears between his brows, and in one swoop, he gathers all the bags with a single hand. “I’m supposed to meet Wade at a bar, but he’ll survive without me.”
“Logan, you don’t—”
But he’s already moving, one hand tugging you out of the elevator, the other gesturing toward your apartment.
“Not up for debate,” he mutters. Then, without waiting for permission, he holds out his hand. “Keys.”
Sighing, you dig into your pocket and drop them into his open palm. He unlocks the door with practiced ease, stepping inside and placing the bags on your kitchen counter.
As he starts to unpack them, you stop him. “You really don’t need to do that.”
That seems to catch his attention. He pauses, turning toward you with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the counter.
His unrelenting stare sizes you up, and he cocks his head to the side. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
He thinks he’s so discreet, so smooth. “Well, I’ve been busy,” you explain, fiddling with the frayed edge of your sweater, tugging at it like it might unravel your nerves.
You hear him click his tongue. “Been busy too.” His words hang in the air, thickening the atmosphere. Your body tenses, and you stare at his shoes, until— “Sweetheart,” he calls you softly, and your eyes snap shut for a moment, your chin almost pressing against your chest. “My eyes are up here.”
A quick flutter of your lashes brings you back to him, and your chest tightens with the effort it takes to look into his eyes. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” you ask, praying he’ll let this go.
You watch as his mouth twitches with something halfway between a smile and a smirk. “You already want me to leave?”
“If you have plans, then yeah.”
He huffs out a laugh, inhaling a shallow breath like you’ve missed something obvious. “Wade can wait. He’ll be fine.” His expression shifts, and the playful tone in his voice falls away, replaced by something more raw. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
You can’t help but snort. “Oh, please. Like you haven’t been doing the same.” You walk over to the couch, feeling your legs wobble beneath you. You collapse into one corner, hoping the distance will help you breathe.
Like a shadow, Logan follows after you, sitting far too close. His legs splay wide, so wide they’re almost grazing yours.
“At least I have a reason for it. What about you?” His hand reaches out, fingers closing around yours in a grip that’s both firm and gentle, enhancing your anxiety. Your throat tightens, the room shrinking around you. “I need you to tell me I’m not crazy,” he says, his voice rough and low. “I need you to tell me you feel it too.”
Panic flares in your chest, and you scramble for time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter, but your voice cracks, the uncertainty leaking through the cracks in your bravado.
He doesn’t buy your acting. “You do. We can’t keep playing dumb. You’re gonna make me lose my fuckin’ mind one of these days.”
It’s not just his words—it’s the way he stands so close, heat radiating from his body, the roughness of his hand gripping yours like he’s terrified you’ll slip away.
The intensity of it all weighs on you in ways you can’t even begin to describe, leaving you breathless, caught between denial and desire.
“Logan, this isn’t—”
“What? Okay?” There’s a glimpse of mirthlessness in his tone as he speaks, his forehead furrowing. “I can’t stay away from you, don’t you see it? It feels too good to be wrong,” he utters, inching forward. You know you should take a step back, tell him to stop. Nothing good can come from this. “It takes two to feel these things. It can’t be just me.”
“That doesn’t mean we have to give in.” Blood pounds in your ears, your pulse racing as your heart hammers unpleasantly. Little shivers of ice run through your spine, and yet, your stomach burns with desire.
More than ever, you feel yourself slipping, your sanity at risk.
Logan runs his eyes up and down your face, agitated, almost going cross-eyed. “Earlier you asked if I was going on a date. Would you like that? Me being with other people? Kissing another woman?” His hot breath caresses your cheek, and you avert your gaze momentarily. “Answer me.”
Don’t do it. For the love of God, don’t. “I can’t—I don’t—”
“Come on, baby.”
“I don’t want you to be with other people,” you mumble, your lips almost grazing his, and that’s all he needs to grip your chin and pull you into a kiss.
His mouth moves hungrily over yours, pushing you back until the armrest digs into your lower back. A choked whimper gets lost in your throat, and you bring him closer by grabbing onto the lapels of his jacket, your chest pressing against his.
Logan bites down on your lip, soothing the sting with his tongue, and the moan you let out reverberates in the apartment.
“This is what you were hiding from me?” he rasps, his forehead bumping against yours. “These sweet sounds you make?”
You end up perched in his lap, your thighs bracketing his hips. He’s hard beneath you, and as you shift, your center makes contact with his erection through the layers of fabric.
Both of you sigh into each other’s mouths, your hips moving on their own accord, rocking slightly against his clothed cock. He hooks one of his arms around your waist, guiding your movements.
Everything seems to fall into place. Outside your window, birds chirp. The world feels lighter, like a better place. The beast inside you quiets, and for once, your mind is blissfully blank.
Logic? Error 404—not found.
You tug at his hair, and Logan growls, breaking the kiss. “Do that again.” He jerks under your touch, bucking up into you. Encouraged, you pull his hair again, fingers wrapping around a strand at the nape of his neck, and you’re rewarded with a deep groan.
He’s dizzy for it, but you’re no better, not when he trails his kisses down your neck, his mouth latching onto your skin, tasting the sweat and salt.
“I can’t control myself around you,” he murmurs, groping your tits, and you wail, the ache between your legs becoming intolerable. His hands slip under your sweater, caressing the scars on your back.
That’s when recognition settles over you.
What are you doing? And why are you doing it?
He ceases sucking your flesh when you go rigid on top of him. Pecking your lips once again, Logan’s hands cradle your face, his thumbs rubbing circles on your cheeks. “What’s wrong?”
You don’t understand how he does it, how he can remain so calm. Doesn’t he realize the gravity of this? “We have to stop.”
“Why?”
“Don’t ask me something you already know the answer to.”
His arms drop to his sides, releasing you from his hold. You push yourself off him, away from the couch, putting as much distance between you as you can.
Pressing your palms to your eyes, you shake your head. “God, I’m stupid. This is stupid.”
Your reaction seems to get on his nerves, his frustration somehow increasing. Logan stands, towering over you. “Was it stupid when you were dry humping me?”
“Fuck you, Logan.”
“I’m not the bad guy here. You kissed me back.” He doesn’t let up, trailing behind you as you try to escape. “You want me as much as I want you.”
“Will you stop saying that?” you bark, throwing your arms in the air. Your chest rises and falls with rapid breaths. “Yeah, we like each other. So? Does that make it right? How can you just ignore how wrong this is?”
His expression hardens, anger flashing in his eyes. “Forget your idea of what's good and bad. You're just upset you can't control what you feel.”
“He’s closer than ever.”
Logan gawks at you, his voice bitter as he goes on with his rambling. “That fucker again? Don’t you ever get tired of talking about someone who you don’t even know? Because you’re certainly wearing me out.”
“You wish you were him, don’t you?” You jab your finger into his chest, feeling his heartbeat, a flutter you choose to ignore. “You want to be my soulmate.”
“Damn right I do,” he practically spits his words, narrowing his eyes at you. “But I’m not him.”
“No. You’re not.”
Everything seems to fall out of place. Outside your window, birds don’t chirp—they scream for mercy. The world doesn’t feel lighter, but heavier. The beast inside you roars back to life, restless and louder than ever, while your mind spins in chaos.
“We shouldn’t see each other anymore.” Your voice pierces through the thick silence in the room, and you swallow down the lump forming in your throat.
“If that’s what you want,” he replies, his jaw clenched tight, irritation radiating off him in waves.
“It’s what we both need.”
“Speak for yourself. I don’t have a soulmate.” His tone is biting, but you don’t miss the undercurrent of longing in his words. “But if in any other universe I do, I hope it’s you.”
Your hand turns the knob, and then he’s halfway out the door, sparing you one last glance before he turns his back to you.
No more visits. No more books. No more bruising kisses that leave you questioning your mere existence.
Let things stay as they are—it’s safer that way. You don’t want to know the reason behind this forceful need.
After all, being his grumpy and ill-tempered self, he’ll stay holed up in Wade’s apartment, avoiding any interaction with the real world. And you? You’ll forget about him. Easy-peasy.
It didn’t go well in the end.
You remember your first heartbreak—seventeen, fresh out of high school. One of your hands clutched a million dreams, and the other, a pillow soaked with your tears.
Your mother remained by your side, caressing your back, attempting to soothe the sobs that racked your body. She murmured that it’d pass, that you wouldn’t feel like this forever. You believed her then, and trusted that things would eventually be okay.
Almost ten years later, another heartbreak shouldn’t come as a surprise. By now, you thought you would’ve developed the tools to survive it. You should be able to piece yourself back together by instinct.
But life, as it turns out, has a peculiar way of catching you off guard.
Whether it’s pent-up horniness, touch-starvation, or genuine affection—it doesn't change the fact that your pseudo-relationship with Logan fell apart.
Though you’re not the one who’s suffering the most. Neither is Logan.
Wade, the third party in this tangled mess, has somehow taken it the hardest.
“I feel like a child of divorce,” he says, his head resting on your lap, eyes distant as they fixate on the peeling wallpaper. “You need to do something about that.”
“I’ll take care of it next month.”
He’s supposed to be the one supporting you, but it feels like the roles are reversed—you’re comforting him, letting him vent.
“My two favorite people now can’t even be in the same room. What are we gonna do for Christmas? New Year's Eve?” Straightening up, he grabs the nearest cushion and buries his face into it to muffle a defeated scream. “Damn it, Cupid! You had one job!”
All in all, Wade’s emotionally unavailable at the moment, grieving your separation from Logan as if it were his own loss, too caught up in his melodrama to be of any real help.
Meanwhile, you fill your days with work, books, anything to keep your mind occupied.
You go to bed too late, you wake up too early. Sleep too little, cry too much.
One thing stays constant—you and Logan don’t talk. Stolen glances in the hallway, awkward elevator rides—those are the only remnants of whatever you once were. Back to being strangers again.
Well, not really. Strangers don’t know the route to your mouth the way he does.
The ache lingers every day. Missing him when you’re awake is a common occurrence. At night, as you toss and turn beneath the sheets, he stars in your dreams. You can’t recall the last time he wasn’t lodged in your thoughts.
Where there used to be ideas, creativity, and plots worth scribbling down, there’s now only Logan—a man destined to problematize your stay on earth.
That fucker again? Don’t you ever get tired of talking about someone who you don’t even know? Because you’re certainly wearing me out.
And yet, despite all of it, you continue to prioritize someone else. Someone who isn’t even here. Clung to the idea of a soulmate, you chose him over Logan.
What did he expect? For you to abandon your principles, your belief in destiny? It’s who you are. Nearly thirty years of life guided by one belief can’t just be discarded like trash.
You liked to separate things into categories: good and bad, right and wrong. A simple method to structure everything, to make sense of your world, and it has worked most of the time.
But now? The limits of those sacred categories look blurred. Your judgment feels unreliable, and you wonder if the choices you’ve made lately have been the correct ones.
Each of your decisions seems to be leading you further down a path you can’t recognize.
What’s the goal? Finding your soulmate, the voice in your head mockingly answers for the hundredth time, rolling its imaginary eyes. And where is he?
You’ve shut Logan out, a man who’s made it clear he has feelings for you, for this elusive person. Isn’t it time he steps into the light at long last?
This is what you fear the most: loneliness.
You don’t want to be the lone woman who sits by herself in a cafe, drawing pity from waitresses who discuss her solitude. By no means do you wish to be that friend who dispenses wise dating advice, but goes home to an empty bed. You refuse to become the godmother whose hand no one holds when her time comes.
No, this can’t be all fate has to offer to you. There must be more. If your life were a book, you’d be flipping through the pages to the last chapter, desperate to see how it ends.
Or, better yet, you’d grab a pen and rewrite it yourself. What kind of ending you’ll have—you’re not so sure about that.
It’s Sunday, one of those endless weekends where the only way to survive is by rearranging your entire apartment. You could manage it alone, but help would be nice—Wade’s help, to be more precise, would be perfect for this kind of task, and you find yourself knocking on his door.
No answer. Deciding to dial his number to see if he’s fallen asleep, you try calling him, waiting through the rings until he finally picks up. “Hey.”
Except it’s not Wade’s voice that answers. “I’m sorry, who is this?”
The door swings open, and Logan appears right behind it, holding Wade’s phone to his ear.
He narrows his eyes, leaning against the frame, a single eyebrow lifted in curiosity. “How sad. You don’t remember what I sound like.”
You feel foolish for still being on the call, so you lock your phone, ending it. “Where’s Wade?” you ask, frowning as you hold your breath, your voice sharper than intended.
“Out and about. Didn’t tell me where he was going,” Logan replies, glaring at you as he raises the phone to your face. “He left without this.”
Abort mission! Nodding in agreement, you begin to step back. “Great, I’ll look for him later.”
You’re close to being locked up once again in the safety of your apartment when you hear him: “You need anything?”
It’s the most he’s said to you in weeks. You hesitate, keeping your back turned. “I’m moving some heavy stuff around. Thought I could use the help.”
“I could do it.”
No. Not really. He’s doing that thing again—offering help when you know you shouldn’t accept it. You shake your head.
“It’s not necessary,” you say, forcing a casual tone.
“Doesn’t have to mean anything,” he retorts, his footsteps heavy and deliberate as they draw closer. With each passing second, your options shrink, leaving you no room for retreat. “Don’t worry. I won’t try to kiss you again if that’s what’s got you all worked up.”
“I’m not worked up,” you hiss, and he sidesteps you easily, his arm nudging yours.
The electricity is still there, undeniable, but neither of you has the courage to acknowledge it, acting as though it’s an ordinary occurrence.
His eyes roam the room, like he’s forgotten what your apartment looked like. He pauses by the bookshelf, his fingers gliding over the spine of Jane Eyre, and a low whistle escapes him as he slips it back into place.
You, frozen at the threshold, feel your irritation simmering just beneath the surface, and the urge to hide in your bedroom only becomes stronger.
After this, you’ll have to burn your favorite book. What a pity.
“What do you want me to do?” he asks, hooking his fingers into the loops of his jeans, his posture both confident and annoyingly relaxed.
There’s a challenge in his tone, and he acts as if you’re the one who pulled him into this situation—like he didn’t worm his way in here.
You gesture toward the couch. “Can you put it by the window?”
He sets to work, moving the smaller pieces of furniture aside to make space for the couch. Under no circumstances are you going to just stand there and watch him sweat.
Instead, you busy yourself with the long-forgotten glasses and cups gathering dust in one of the kitchen cabinets, each one glinting with past disappointments.
Wetting a towel, you start by wiping the rims. The air feels heavily charged with uneasiness, but you're relieved that for once, you can breathe without feeling like you’re on the brink of a heart attack.
You can already imagine Wade’s face when you tell him—
“So,” Logan’s voice cuts through the silence, startling you, “how’s the search going? Got any luck?”
His words have the desired effect on you, and the glass slips from your grasp, shattering against the floor in a crash that mirrors the jump of your heart. You curse under your breath, stepping back from the mess, taking in the shards sprawled around your shoes.
“Be careful,” he says from the other side of the room, still dragging the furniture into place, and you scrutinize him over your shoulder, your brows knitted.
“I don’t need your advice,” you murmur through gritted teeth as you crouch to pick up the larger shards. His attention returns to the couch, but you guess he’s not technically thinking how nice of a person you are.
As you kneel, your hands tremble slightly, and you wonder when that started. You fumble for a larger shard of glass, bracing your hand against the floor for balance, unaware of the smaller piece lying dangerously close to your fingers.
The sting comes fast, slicing through the skin of your pinky. You flinch, raising your hand, and Logan, hearing the faint wince, abandons his task and crosses the room to you.
"I don’t need your advice," he echoes, mocking your tone as he squats beside you, his hand closing around yours to inspect the wound. "You’re bleeding."
“Brilliant observation, Sherlock. I hadn’t noticed—” The words die in your throat, your eyes widening as you take a closer look at his hand. “Wait, why are you bleeding?”
He snorts, diverting his attention to his own hand. “What do you mean I’m—” Whatever it is he intended to shoot back remains unsaid as both of you stare down at the small cut in his pinky.
Driven by instinct, you place your hands side by side, your finger grazing his. The cuts are identical: same place, same width, same depth. The only difference is his vanishes within seconds, leaving only a few droplets of crimson blood as evidence.
Logan couldn’t have cut himself. He was nowhere near the glass. “Are you…?” You swallow thickly, trying to string together a coherent thought, dizziness making its triumphant appearance. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Yes.”
“And what is that—”
“I need a drink.”
“Can you stop acting like a dick for one second?” You peer into his glossy eyes, watching him try to avoid your gaze, though he can’t seem to resist. “Please, Logan. Look at me.”
When he does, his mouth parts as if to speak, then closes again. “I don’t understand. I thought I didn’t have a soulmate.” His gruff tone slows even further, like he's straining to push the words from his lungs. “I thought—I thought I was alone.”
It explains so much: how your scars had reappeared once he and Wade returned from The Void.
The instant attraction, the yearning to be near him.
The dread that washed over you each time he walked away.
The dreams that plagued your nights, and the tightness in your chest these past few weeks that made you wonder if you could ever coexist in the same space as him without breaking apart.
All those times you felt he was getting closer weren’t just a figment of your imagination—he was, in fact, right there.
But he wasn’t just anyone—it was him. Logan is your soulmate. You two are meant to be together. How long would it take for you to truly believe it? Until it no longer sounded like something too good to be true?
Without uttering a sound, Logan gazes at you, silently pleading to see them. To see your scars. You extend your arm, and with a gentle motion, he rolls up the sleeve of your shirt, revealing the marks etched into your skin.
He runs his fingers along the lines, trying to understand the bond you now share—both his and yours.
In a sense, you’re his. You carry his scars, the physical manifestation of the life he has lived. Even though he may not bear any of his own, you do, and that’s more than enough.
He belongs to you just as much as you belong to him.
“There are more,” you tell him. your voice barely above a whisper. He stands, offering you his hand, and you take it, rising to your feet. Logan inches closer, his mouth hovering just above yours, his large hand coming up to cup your cheek.
The look he gives you is one reserved for those he loves, a look filled with such warmth and affection that it almost feels dreamlike.
“Do you want me to see them?” he inquires, and all he needs is a nod from you to gently tug your shirt up your chest and over your head.
He lets out a dry chuckle when you attempt to tame your hair, the effort proving to be in vain. The clock on the wall seems to pause its ticking the moment his fingers begin to trail each of the scars that captures his gaze.
You can’t even begin to fathom what thoughts might be swirling in his mind, but if the flicker of lust and desire you catch in his expression is anything to go by, you’re not so worried.
Logan’s touch carries an unexpected softness, a tenderness you never imagined a man like him could possess.
Deep down, you wish he understood that these scars don’t hurt, that they never have. “I’m okay,” you reassure him, prompting him to explore more of your skin, to claim you as his.
“Do you… like them?” he asks without meeting your eyes.
Do you like my scars? is the real question hidden underneath.
Do you like me? is the one he can’t bring himself to pronounce.
“They’re yours. I could never not like them.”
Before you stands a man you once believed was meant to be your burden, your trial. Logan had been the earthquake sent to test your endurance, to see how much you could withstand before surrendering and waving the white flag.
The same fingers that once imprinted his mark on you now linger on the strap of your bra, waiting for you to decide whether to let him go further or stop.
Desire has a limit before it overwhelms. There’s only so much need a person can contain before it spills over, uncontrollable and raw.
This game, one you never learned how to play, feels as foreign to him as it does to you—neither of you knows the rules.
“Can I see more?” He’s still talking about the scars, still fumbling with the strap, and you nod, your eyelids growing droopier as you take his free hand and direct it to the front of your jeans.
He catches the hint, undoing the button with ease, allowing you to shed the last layers of restraint.
Bare, moments away from being completely naked, standing in stark contrast to Logan, who remains fully clothed, your stomach does a flip as he rubs his thumb along the sides of your underwear.
Leaning your forehead against his shoulder, you stifle a sigh when he splays his hand across your lower back, pulling you closer.
His rough grip tightens on your ass, testing the feel of you, while your breathing becomes shallow, erratic.
“What is it, honey?” He slides his fingers your stomach, just below your belly button, brushing a small scar in there. “Want me to touch you?”
“Yes,” you croak, the plea slipping out involuntarily, throwing your arms around his neck. He buries his face against your jaw, his lips parting against your skin, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck.
You tilt your head back, exposing more of your throat to him, breathless as you whisper: “I’ve waited so long.”
He moves toward the couch, and you follow, trying to anticipate what he’s got planned for you. “I know, baby. I know. You’ve waited long enough.” Guiding your body down, he has you lying horizontally on the sofa. He unhooks your bra, kneading your breasts with both hands, eliciting a ragged gasp from you. “But I’m here now. You don’t have to wait any longer,” he huffs by your ear, rolling your nipples between his fingers, his breath mingling with yours, each exhale warm and inviting. “Gonna let me make you feel good? Show you how much I’ve been thinkin’ about you?”
Instead of answering with real words, you surge forward, crashing your lips against with his, reveling in the way he cages you with his biceps, locking you up in a prison of desire from which you never wish to break free. He tries not to settle his full weight on top of you, attentive not to crush you.
As he nips at the column of your throat, you squirm beneath him, canting your hips up to seek the friction you crave.
He presses his knee against your center and you push back, grinding against him with an animalistic urgency.
You can’t recall ever feeling this desperate, this overwhelmed by a man. But then again, he’s unlike any other you’ve encountered in your array of momentary hookups.
His kisses grow even more insistent as breathy moans roll off to your tongue, merging with the occasional creak of the couch beneath your movements.
Logan spreads your thighs wider, sinking to his knees on the floor to tug your lower half forward until your ass is almost hanging in the air. He places your thighs on his shoulders, supporting you as he leans in to pepper your soft flesh with kisses.
One can be certain that he’s marking your inner thighs with a hickey or two, the scratch of his beard feeling magnificent against your sensitive skin, and you can hardly bring yourself to think about the potential burn he’ll leave behind. Logan inhales your scent, the tip of his nose dangerously close to your cunt, and you tangle a hand in his hair as he continues to test your patience.
“Eager?” he wonders aloud, looking at you through his lashes. While maintaining eye contact, he presses a kiss to your clit through the fabric of your panties.
He does it again, and you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, his fingers deftly pulling your underwear down your legs.
The first drag of his tongue along your folds has you scrunching your eyebrows in pleasure, tightening your grip on his hair. Logan moans against you, the sound muffled as he dips the tip of his tongue into your entrance, lapping at your arousal with an insatiable hunger.
The way you purr his name—a soft caress, a pat on his back that says Yeah, you’re doing fine—only spurs him on, infusing every one of his ministrations with fervor.
His longing for you radiates in the intensity of his touch, sending shivers through you, making you writhe because of his hands alone.
Your core throbs. Your skin prickles with electricity. Your legs quake on either side of his face. He’s hungry and you’re his feast. He’s parched and you’re the last bottle of water in an arid world.
Logan eats you out like this will be the only time he’ll have the privilege—each movement calculated, pushing all the right buttons, pulling out every trick he knows to make you think No, it doesn’t get any better than this. This is as much as one can get.
Then his fingers join the symphony of pleasure, pumping in and out of you as he keeps flicking your clit with expert precision, and your back arches from the couch, following his pace with your hips. He pushes back, you push forward—he pushes forward, you push back.
Who is enjoying this more: him or you?
His pointed tongue teases your bud, matched with the persistent hammering of his fingers plunged into your wet heat. The combination has you coming on his mouth, falling over the precipice while you struggle to keep yourself together.
Your walls flutter around his digits, and your cries fuse with his groans, both overshadowed by his insatiable desire to savor until the last drop of your release.
Shockwaves ripple through your body and you prop your weight on your arms to capture his lips in a fervent kiss, your eyes rolling rolling back in ecstasy as you taste yourself, a mix of sour and sweet.
In a frenzy, he sheds his clothes, practically tearing them away, and you wrap your hand around his length, stroking him in time with your kisses. Logan pulls back, panting against you, and you steal a glance at him.
Your gaze travels down to his hard cock, the tip a furious red, and he seizes your wrist.
“Why don’t you kiss it better?” he rasps, his voice dropping an octave. In this moment, you’re taken aback by his beauty, and the urge to express it rises within you.
“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur against his thigh, showering his skin with heated kisses. You stare in disbelief at the trail of hair leading to his girth, mouth watering at the sight.
A kiss on the tip, followed by a broad lick along a prominent vein—Logan’s grip on the armrest tightens, his knuckles turning white. “So perfect.”
“Shut up,” he retorts breathlessly, but you revel in the strangled noise that escapes him as you take him deeper, his head disappearing between your lips. His palm rests on your nape, anchoring you in place. “Goddammit. The fuckin’—mouth you have on you.”
You try to take him in further once you’re feeling more confident, while Logan fights with all his might against the need to thrust his hips up into your warmth. He can’t stay still, grunting and smothering you with lavish praise that heightens your arousal, slick pouring out of you in waves.
“Pretty thing you are. Don’t even know how to function around you. You got me all—fuck, actin’ all stupid.”
At one point, he tells you to stop, because he doesn’t want to come just yet. You know what comes next as he rubs his cock along your folds, blending your wetness with his precum.
It’s sloppy, and dirty, and messy—and God, do you love it.
He sinks into you and the world collides in a way you never expected. Everything you thought you knew falls apart, leaving you stranded in unfamiliar territory.
You can’t comprehend how you’ve spent so many years without him. Without this.
Your lips find his, and he swallows every sound he punches out of your lungs. His thrusts grow harder and faster as you adjust to his size, how big he feels inside you.
He digs his fingers into the globes of your ass, yanking you towards his shaft every time he fucks into you. You feel the brush of his balls against your skin, the way his muscles flex beneath your touch.
To this day, it’s still hard for you to wrap your head around the fact that love is what humans both strive and die for.
You come to understand it fully as his eyes flicker to yours, checking for any signs of discomfort in your features.
You understand why people write books and songs about love when he breathes your name in the shell of your ear, chanting how good you’re taking him, how tight and wet you are for him.
You understand the place love occupies in your life as the sound of your bodies slapping together creates a melody which has never been played before.
You understand why you’ve searched for this your entire life, lifting every carpet in hopes of uncovering the love you’ve pined for.
In the past, it had always felt like a race—finding your soulmate before the clock struck twelve. Now that you have him, you wonder what the future holds for you, how this connection will evolve.
For now, you can allow yourself the possibility of relishing the drag of his cock in your interior. His pace doesn’t falter for a second—something about mutants and their non-stop stamina, no doubt. He shoves a hand between your sweaty bodies, rubbing circles on your already swollen bud.
Each time he fills you to the brim, you have to ground yourself, resisting the pull of an altered reality.
“So full,” you blurt out, mewling with a specially hard thrust, a chocked sob lodged in your throat. “Please, stay.”
It could mean many things: Please, keep fucking me. Please, don’t leave after this. Please, remain by my side form this moment onward, because I don’t know how to go on with my life now that I’ve experienced this closeness.
Whatever meaning he ascribes to your words is of little importance. He tightens his arms around you, kissing you deeply, tongue and teeth clashing as they compete to see who wins the battle. “Never. I’m never lettin’ you go, y’hear me?”
Heat pools in your lower back, a coiling tension radiating through your limbs. “You’re mine, princess. Can’t afford to lose you now that I found you. Gonna remind you every day.”
His rambling pushes you over the edge, your dripping cunt spasming around him as you reach your climax, moaning his name against his shoulder. You cling to him, convulsing beneath his body, and he grinds his hips into yours, his chest rumbling as he growls.
“Inside,” you mumble, extending your hand to press it to his waist. “Need you inside me. Please, I want it so bad.”
Logan stutters against you, his forehead falling against your collarbone as he finishes with one powerful thrust, his cock pulsing warm ropes of come within your cunt. You clench around him, whining as he prolongs both your pleasure and his, milking the last drop of his seed. His voice is a constant murmur, filling every space in the room until he slumps against you.
Night has fallen. The cut on your pinky no longer stings. Your scars, after all, are still there, nestled against Logan’s unmarked skin. You caress his back, sighing contentedly as a wave of peace washes over you.
You’ve never felt this relaxed.
Logan grasps your chin and tilts it up, a subtle smirk tugging at his lips. “Hey,” he mutters, his gaze roaming all over your face.
You cup his cheek, his rough stubble grazing your palm. “Hey, stranger. Long time no see.”
A genuine laugh pierces through the silence. the kind he rarely allows himself. Crinkles form at the corners of his eyes, his brow furrowing as he glances at you with love.
Love—hadn’t you pondered its existence for so long? Your fuel for living, the muse behind your best poems, a recurring motif in your fantasies.
Love now has Logan’s name written in ink, no longer a blank canvas awaiting its unknown owner. No—it’s all his now.
You’d do it all over again if it meant ending up like this, tangled and intertwined, with the promise of a future together. He has many stories to share—about his past universe, about himself. You have secrets to unveil, too. There’s so much you both have yet to discover about each other.
But time isn’t up. This isn’t a race, you remind yourself: things are just getting started.
Everywhere you go, every place you attempt to set foot in, there it is. Love is dressed up in an expensive silk robe, a ribbon tied neatly on top of it. You reach closer, trying to unravel it, though it's pointless. The moment love sees you—truly sees your longing for it—it flees, and you struggle to keep up. Love runs faster than anyone, hiding within the bushes, counting the seconds until its next appearance.
Finally, you’ve wrapped love around your finger.
dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! <3
#logan howlett#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett x you#wolverine#wolverine x you#wolverine x reader#logan howlett x fem!reader#logan howlett xmen#logan howlett fic#logan howlett smut#logan howlett fanfiction#logan james howlett#james howlett#wolverine angst#wolverine fic#wolverine fanfiction#deadpool and wolverine#wade wilson#logan x reader#logan x you#logan xmen#wolverine xmen#wolverine x y/n#the worst logan x reader#the worst wolverine#worst wolverine#logan howlett x f!reader#james logan howlett#deadpool 3#the wolverine x reader
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Not much changed besides the fact that I actually have friends now lol (this is more how I see myself in my head bc dyed hair is VERY hard to keep when your a swimmer xd)
Anyways I summon @r3dnumb3rzzz and @clawedandcute to do this (if you want)
New picrew chain idea: yourself vs what you looked like as a kid
Free for anyone to join in
Link
#sorry I didn’t tag more people i just recognize you two off the top of my head#my hair was ALWAYS braided when I was little bc my mother LOVED braiding it (I wasn’t too horribly fond of it tho)#picrew chain#picrew#if anybody else want to do it be my guest <3#also fun fact ab me:#my family never used any weedkillers or chemicals on our lawn so we always had a TON of dandelions in our yard and I loved doing the whole#‘blow it out and make a wish’ thing and bc of that I always will have a love for those lovely yellow flowers#I know they’re technically weeds but you gotta admit they look pretty both when they’re flowers and puffballs#that may or may not be why I chose the flower instead of the book for child me#tho I did adore reading lol#I was the queen of readinf time during elementary 💀💀
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Figuring out I'm on the ace spectrum was so difficult because I have always been a horny bitch. I knew what sex was at a fairly young age, because I'd asked my mom and she's one of those good parents who'll answer questions like those, and as I grew older and would ask more complex questions, her answers would evolve along with my curiosity and understanding of the world. And I remember having fantasies as young as 9 or 10 years old, even if they were hella vague and nothing close to what sex actually is lol
So as I became a teenager, and all my friends' focus turned from playing with dolls to flirting with boys, I automatically thought I was attracted to boys. And I paid more attention to Cute Boys than I did to Cute Girls, because girls were just nice to look at while boys were People To Have Crushes On. Because of heteronormativity. Looking back on it now, I know there were girls I liked to stare at just as intently as boys, although less often because I wasn't trying to pay attention. And I certainly didn't fantasize about girls because I started reading romance novels in 5th grade, so I was fantasizing about male romantic partners because that was the fiction I was consuming. I didn't even realize fantasizing about girls was possible until I was 17, and I had a few "am I a lesbian" internal crises for years because of it.
So when I did start having sex, I had A LOT OF IT with SO MANY different guys, and eventually a couple of women once I started accepting that bisexuality was real. But it was never really fulfilling. Not like my fantasies were. Not like my books were. I was slutty because sex was fun, I was horny, there were plenty of options so I kept searching for that satisfaction I was craving.
Getting married was a relief (even though it turns out I'm aro-spec too lol) because I was tired of hunting, and even if sex with my husband was meh, at least I had someone around to scratch that itch if I had it, and he didn't mind if I occasionally took care of things on my own because I'd read an especially hot scene in a romance.
I learned about asexuality in my early 20s, but I brushed it off. Couldn't be me, I'm far too horny for that. But I think that comes from the fact that everything you hear about Aces is attached to sex-repulsion or sex-indifference. I wasn't either of those things. I was horny all the dang time. I was fantasizing about sex all the dang time. I figured actual sex was meh because my imagination was so vivid that real life could never match up. Which could be true to an extent, but I think not as much as popular opinion would have us believe. If fantasy was really that much better for everyone, then I think we'd have less incels and unplanned pregnancies than we do.
In my 30s I finally saw people talking about The Spectrum, and I started examining my past, and I figured out I wasn't really attracted to anyone I had sex with. I do occasionally find someone attractive; there are men and women and enbies who make my skin feel tight and give me a little wave of lightheadedness lol... but it's always always the fantasy that gets me really going. If given the opportunity I wouldn't have sex with any of those people. Thank you, but no thank you, I'd rather just imagine it than physically participate in the act with them.
(Ok I might go down on them, but that's less about wanting sex, and more about being able to add them to my Tally. Hell yeah I want to brag about making *insert hot person* have an orgasm. There's PRIDE in that kind of accomplishment lol)
I have a lot of respect for aces that are not horny. I understand it even if I don't share the sentiment. And I feel like most of them understand me even if they don't share the sentiment. There's a solidarity between us.
Until I go into a fandom tag for a character that the aces have glommed onto because they're canonically ace or headcanoned as ace. Good lord, the non-horny aces can turn into downright vicious bastards if a horny ace sexualizes their blorbo.
This post is for them.
Horny aces exist. Please look up "autochorissexual, lithosexual, and aegosexual."
Refer to those definitions in regards to romantic attraction as well as sexual attraction.
Some aces may not fall into one of those definitions, because asexuality is a spectrum, but they may still be horny.
Horny aces are not disrespecting you by enjoying being horny on main. We promise we'll wash the stickiness off our hands before we hold your hands in queer solidarity.
And most importantly: Your blorbo is fictional and does not need to be defended from icky sexuality. They exist in an infinite multiverse, so your blorbo and my blorbo are not the same, even if they appear to be on the surface.
AND:
This post is also for the people who are confused about themselves because they're horny but don't actually feel attraction. You're not crazy, you're not wishy washy, you're not "waiting for the right person to come along" (unless you are, in which case I hope you find them). You're just a thin strip of color on a massive rainbow that holds more unique shades than anyone can perceive at a glance.
You're valid. You're one of us too.
And don't be mean to the non-horny aces. Tag your smut so they can avoid it. (But actually so I can find it lol)
#ltleramblings#queer stuff#seriously the fandom fights are so exhausting#thank goodness for the block button#asexuality
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Facial ᯓᡣ𐭩.ᐟ ⊹
ᡣ𐭩 mdni! femreaderxroomatehee
ᡣ𐭩 wc: 3k
ᡣ𐭩 synopsis: heeseung as a roomate? he’s fine, as a friend? better. it’s just heeseung, just the dude who happens to watch you fold and put away your underwear, and happens to watch you change when the bathroom door is slightly cracked open. he’s just your roomate. so what if he plays would you rather with explicit options occasionally?
ᡣ𐭩 smut tags under the cut.
ᡣ𐭩 consume what you can handle
smut tags: heeseung is a creep, reader is clueless, throat fucking, bj’s, facial duh, dubcon?, mentions of panty stealing and masturbation, mentions of bodily fluids, cum, cum eating, nasty make out, uses of the word angel,
lmk if i missed anything 🫶
enjoy!!
“no, not in a million years.” is what you said in response to a slightly unconventional question. but then again there’s no such thing between the two of you.
his arms rose in mock surrender, tilting his head at the validity of your reaction. “guess that type of thing isn’t for everyone.”
and it's not , he had just hoped that maybe you’d say something different. something to get his little computer fried brain working, running off of more than just the thought of an iniquitous act but an actual idea that was based in reality. that thing you’d hypothetically be doing. it would’ve fulfilled his nightly one handed habit better than using his left one to scroll through porn. knowing you’d do it? or have done it? that’s all he needs.
although met with disappointment, in that moment as you put away your neatly folded garments, heeseung captures a look of distaste and curiosity on your face. one that reads a lack of experience, not a lack of will. your nose scrunched at the idea, but the subtle way your lips pressed in a straight line told him. ahh it makes sense now. maybe it’s not that you’ve never considered it, but rather you’ve never tried it.
at your inconvenience, he’s still sprawled out on your bed despite demanding him to keep off. at times like this, you wonder, maybe it was a bad idea to find your roommate online, because you grossly underestimated how particular you were when it came to cleanliness. it’s not that germs freak you out, it’s that you’re rooming with a man. a recluse of one at that. yeah, he didn’t go out a lot and it’s not like he was rolling in a pile of shit; but you swore he wore the same sweater for two weeks straight without washing it, and used a three in one body wash. in a small apartment with one bathroom? those exemplar instances only lead up to future disagreements.
with the ability to ignore these minor quirks, you’d say that despite your differences you managed to become quite comfortable with him. so much so, that you seemed to brush off the fact that he was always in your room when you put away your underwear, how it went unnoticed by you when he lingered a little too long in friendly hugs, and smelled your hair a little too strongly when he’d ask what shampoo you used. cause why would you? it’s just heeseung.
maybe one of the biggest things you ignored was his odd game of would you rather. which is how we’re led up to the very question the man himself finds so interesting. initially you weren’t shocked by the ask, as he was just poking fun at how extensive your skincare routine was minutes prior.
“would you rather, not put all that gunk on your face or… let a guy give you a facial?
it’s not as outlandish as some other questions he’s asked, or as scandalous as experiences you’ve told him about. you already figured that he was just socially inept and thought nothing more of it. after all, he was an acquired taste. so of course you replied, and of course you would never because it’s nasty? at least maybe you thought it would be, because you’ve never tried it.
after lingering in your room for a bit longer, still pressing on about the question, it leads into a minor dispute. “seriously? why do you need that much stuff for your skin?” the boy sighs as he stretches out on your bed. you smack his face with a nearby throw pillow, and reiterate the same things you always tell him. maybe stuff like that didn’t matter to him, but to you it does because well, it makes you feel pretty.
whenever you talked like this, he couldn’t help but let his mind drift. if he could, and it didn’t mess up the established bond between you two; he would’ve totally told you how beautiful were.
but the idea of being “just heeseung”, a friend and a roomate; it was like a free pass to act perversely.
leaving him to his own devices, you wash up ignoring that the door was slightly cracked open. yet another thing you overlook, heeseung is a man. you knew that from the way he kept himself groomed, but otherwise? not so much. he knows how to get what he wants by being sneaky, and knows when not to be. although he’s starting to doubt that it’s just his scheming nature that’s aiding his desires, it’s the fact that you overlook everything he does.
his room, located at the nice spot in front of the bathroom, let his imagination run wild. the small gap in the door you left was occasionally big enough that he’d get a glance of your boobs in the reflection of the foggy mirror. those were nice times, and when you asked him to get you a towel because you forgot? even better. he watched intently and waited as you got out and dressed yourself in those pretty lace panties he held himself back from stealing.
pushing open the door as you lathered different serums onto your face, he couldn’t help but notice a certain resemblance of your white night cream. only making him wonder what else looked pretty spewed on your features. were you absolutely just in a shirt and underwear? yes but then again, it’s just heeseung. in the midst of your therapeutic regime, he starts fiddling with a bottle, confused with its contents.
“is this like water? what is it?” he says while sloshing the liquid around.
you snatch it from his grasp and say “it’s a toner.”
he nods placing it back where it was, and you take note of his hand placement. his arms snaked behind your back onto the counter locking you between his form. it’s nothing that you're entirely fazed by, it’s the intent stare he’s giving you through the reflection of the mirror as you look at the glowyness of your face that makes your heart jump.
heeseungs eyes darken, and he leans close to your ear still staring at your reflection.
“you said all this makes you look pretty, but I know a couple of other things that’ll look much better…”
you feel your heart stutter at the wispyness of his melodic voice saying suggestive things into your ear. in that moment he draws back his hand, and laces it through your hair grabbing it into a ponytail. you try to look over at his gaze from the side, but he grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at your reflection.
“look at yourself angel, maybe it’s the face that counts, not what you put on it.”
as you watch through the glass, his lips tug at the corners, the sight of your hair fisted into a ball in his grasp not ever being something you thought you’d let anyone do. let alone have heeseung do it. his free hand grips your hip, and now is when you start to notice how underdressed you were before him. his hand travels down your lower half, groping your ass, then he plays with the band of your undergarment. he feels the slight raise in your skin, and a look of anticipation on your face tells him all.
he released your hair, and pressed his hips against your backside, trapping you in place. he smells your shampoo, and feels the softness of your skin. momentarily, you don’t know what to feel, the only thing you know is that the man before you has rendered you compliant.
you feel his hands grip your hips, as his roll into you. hard, and restrained, you feel his length through the thin material of your panties. taking your shaky hand, and feeling it, oh man. it’s hot, and heavy. heeseungs chest rises and his body flinches, he hisses at the feeling. grabbing you in a stern manner, he spins you to face him.
the way you comply, the way you just sit before him in fear and possibly regret, he takes his hand to caress your face. maybe he feels bad because tears are welling in your eyes waiting to fall, or because he hasn’t even touched you yet, your body is tense in his grasp, scared at the mercy of him. it’s something he doesn’t want to admit turns him on. not yet at least.
for a second you find yourself staring into his eyes, a weird feeling of fear and arousal course through you. heeseung, just heeseung. he weighs his hangs on your shoulders, pushing you to the floor in which you land on your knees. he backs up, locking the door behind him.
“hey what the fu-“
then, when you tried to rise to your feet, his hands hold you down at the top of your head as you wince. without much thought, he drops his pants.
maybe you’re the creep, but you’ve seen his cock once. passing by his room late at night to get water, he had it out as he stroked it with one hand. you’ve stored that memory in the back of your mind, thinking that you were the one being perverse. or maybe he wanted you to see that, maybe he saw as you watched and let you, hoping you’d come in to help him.
with that memory playing back, it’s much bigger than you remember. looking at his glistening tip, and veiny shaft, you just admired it. the hazy feeling this situation had you thinking “no way this is real.” wondering what’ll happen when you wake up from this wet dream. for a little longer you ponder whether you’ve ever actually thought of heeseung in any way like this. no, you haven’t, but will you pass on the opportunity?
his figure casts a shadow over you, he looks down at his dick, and back at you.
“are you going to do something about it?”
this isn’t a dream.
you inch closer to his hips, and take your shakey hands to hold his member. a little shudder down his spine and an encouraging nod paired with a low moan, you wrap your lips around the head of him. tasting the large amount of dripping precum as you swirl your tongue, he throws his head back, the sensitivity not only shocking you but himself as well.
so no, you won’t pass on the opportunity.
the sounds he elicits as you work your mouth on merely the very tip of his girth, it makes you think less of how you got here; but rather how you want to draw this experience out longer. your delicate fingers caress the remaining that hang out of your mouth, feeling the grooves and patterns.
it’s tantalizing the way you tease at his vulnerable state, him becoming a mess under your control. only, you can’t tell he is, you just keep going. the vicious mix of your saliva and the filth seeping from his cock were a display that he wanted to burn into his retinas. at this point, if you kept going he might—
then, in a second a small wave of delirious ecstasy wash over him as you take hold of his neglected balls, feeling them up as you lick the little slit on his tip.
knowing, and feeling a bit ashamed he wouldn’t last long if you kept going, he pulls away. leveling with you on your slightly reddened knees, the sappy liquid seeps from the corners of your mouth, and he pulls you in for a kiss.
all you can think is how crazy this is, how crazy you are for just… enjoying it more than you thought you would. him looking that attractive, moaning out little slews, and jumbled bits of your name while doing barely anything? oh yeah, you’re right to be on your knees. it had your panties clinging to the sticky uncared for mess brewing within you, that all you could do was hope he didn’t notice you grinding back on your heel. a kiss, a nasty one at that, tied with the mix of his secretions and yours as his tongue explored your mouth; it was like a porn like.
as he draws back, you see the little glistening string of spit, and he wipes away the residue forming on the corners of his mouth. as you tilt your head, like you didn’t almost rock his world; he fucking knows your enjoying this, and wants to shut you up before you start to get too cocky.
still hard and erect, he stood and you look up. the corner of your lips pull, and god heeseung knows he’s gonna have fun with you. he gives his length one small stroke before peering at your glassy eyes stare.
“think you can take this all of this in there?” he ask rasplily, as he brushing your lip with his thumb parting them.
with your mouth wide open, insistent you can; do you ever recall being so nasty? maybe there was a time, but really, did you ever think it would be with just heeseung? no.
a more than satisfied look casts on his face, as he lets the tip of his dick rest on your togue. the way you salvate in anticipation, and him enjoying it makes your cunt wetter, and throb more than any foreplay you’ve had.
it only makes you hope this isn’t all he’ll be doing.
sliding his member slowly into your mouth inch by inch, you wonder when it’ll stop. it’s to much, in girth and length. he’s maybe half way in when you feel the salty tears form in your eyes as his tip hits your throat. the garbled gag provoked by him, makes heeseungs jaw go slack in awe.
once you’ve adjusted to the monster, that is his manhood, you find it difficult to suck. with so much he had going on, you didn’t know what to do with all of it. yet with how slow each movement is, he seems to bask in it. the feeling of your mouth being stretched, and the feeling of your teeth grazing his shaft, all of it you enjoyed. letting out small hums as you lick, and suck.
“mm, so good at sucking cock,” he moans.
his hips press forward, shocking you a bit, causing tears to roll down your face.
“shh, shh. let me” he says before your life practically flashes before your eyes.
he starts to thrust into your mouth. it being obvious you can’t handle someone of his size, he takes the lead. you sit there, looking absolutely fucked as he ruts into you, you look up at his form.
it makes you so wet, you wonder how long he’s wanted to do this. how long it would’ve been till you thought about him like this. panted breaths draw from him, as he fucks your throat. all he could think as he moved is how pretty you were, how perfect you were.
thinking about how wet you are just watching him, knowing you have to be because he saw the discomfort in your panties. just that made him write. all these months he’s wondered why hasn’t he done this sooner, and wondering if your going to let him fuck you ever after this. he doesn’t know if that’ll happen, so he treats this like the last, even though it won’t be.
his thrusts become quicker, and your throat starts to hurt. his knees feeling like they’re going to buckle, he bites back a loud moan and you bask in his weakness. hoping he’ll be this way buried in your cunt, wanting to watch him as he falls apart trying to keep his composure.
heeseung feels the rise, and force course in his dick, aching for release. pulling it out of your mouth, and stoking it aggressively above your face he asks:
“youll let me cum all over your face right? just me?”
you nod, opening your mouth and closing you eyes wating for it.
he grunts, and strokes faster, the mix of saliva and precum keeping it lubricated. breathy pants are elicited from his dry throat, and his tip rages with a blushed red color.
“shit—“
he cums all over your face, it’s hot, and all that lands in your mouth gets swallowed. his chest rises and falls, and he looks like he’s just about done, but not before he fists your hair pulling you up from your weak knees.
he faces you towards the mirror, making sure you see yourself. your face painted white, all sticky with his semen, it arouses you, it's unexpected. it hurts how much this turns you on.
heeseung grabs your chin and playfully shakes your head.
“see, look how pretty” he smirks.
you want to roll your eyes and protest but you can’t. the brain fog you have because of how much your sopping cunt hurts has hindered you.
he continues to tease “hm, so not in a million years huh?”
you can’t think of anything else, and at this point your dignity is gone, but the need you have for him is carnal.
you pull him in close, and press his chest against yours. “i need you”
and just like that, heeseung knows this won’t be the last time this will be happening.
a/n: make sure to stream XO!! 😘
#enhypen#enhypen smut#enha#enha imagines#heeseung hard thoughts#lee heeseung#heeseung x reader#heeseung hard hours#heesung enhypen#enhypen heeseung#heeseung smut#enha heeseung#heeseung
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THE BOY NEXT DOOR
PAIRING: ENHYPEN's Park Jongseong x M!Reader
GENRE: Smut, Fluff, Angst
WARNING: i guess some intense smutty action ✨, not proof read
SUMMARY: Park Jongseong. The name is known widely as the infamous fuckboy of the 4th floor in your apartment building. He insisted he shares a room with you for the night as he is being stalked. What's the worst that could happen?
Another night where you had your headphones on for a couple of hours now, knowing that your nextdoor neighbor was at it, again. Fucking horny boys and girls in his apartment room. In fact, it seemed to happen too frequently that you pretty much caught onto his schedule when he would start having his fun that you even had your alarm for it on just in case you forget about all of it.
Damn, Park Jongseong was one horny guy.
After that, he would throw them out of his room and leave them there almost naked, giving zero shits whether they would get fucked again on their way back home. Besides, it was just a one time thing. Practically, fuck and go. No strings attached. What a heartless guy, I must say. After taking advantage of their heart, he just leaves them as though they were just toys for him to play with.
But, of course, those were only the stories you heard. You knew Jongseong more than anyone can think.
Your eyes travelled its way up to the digital clock you owned above your closet after staring at your phone, scrolling through your feed to pass time. You saw that it was already half past six in the evening and that's usually the time when Jongseong would always finish.
You wanted to make sure first that he was actually done, pulling on one side of your headphones. When you thought it was finally quiet, you slowly took it off and sighed to yourself. "Finally."
You got off your bed to move to the mini fridge you have where you stored all your bottled water, since you loved drinking cold water rather than lukewarm. Soon, there was a knock on your door which got you feeling confused since you weren't really expecting any visitor.
You heard another knock bringing you to your front door to open the door for the person outside of your room. "Who is..." You trailed off when you saw your next door neighbor standing in front of you. "Jongseong?" You heard a loud bark from beside him, later noticing his pet dog that made you coo at how the cute creature looked like.
She was wearing a pair of sunglasses which you knew Jongseong had put on her himself while she wore a very cute shirt with the tag 'I'M THE BEST DOG' written on the back of it. You kneeled down to match the height of it and started to pet her, Charlotte, as you remembered it, wagging her tail happily.
"Y/N, can you do me a favor?" You heard the taller male speak out, you looked up at him with a smile. Jongseong looked like he was hesitating to say what he had in his mind to you, judging by the way he would stumble through his words or how he would open his mouth to say something only to shut them close and repeat.
Without looking at him you give him a soft laugh, all the while giving Charlotte the best belly rub who was now lying on her back. "Speak up, Park," you said, with Jongseong hesitating for the nth time. You paused for a moment facing up towards the other male, your head tilted over to the side a little. "I can't read minds, you know," You joked in an attempt to lessen what Jongseong is feeling.
Jongseong sighed, blushing due to his embarrassment. Your words were all that he needed, pushing him to tell you the tiny favor he would like to ask of you. "Well, you see. It's er... can I and Charlotte crash at your place for the night?" Jongseong stuttered a little, trying to compromise, thinking of the right words to make it seem less inappropriate. "It's very important and I promise I won't do anything you don't want me to do," he quickly added.
You rolled your eyes at him, then standing back up knowing just how it had come to this. "Let me guess. Another stalker?" You asked him in a teasing manner, Jongseong immediately shaking his head in denial. You raised him a brow while crossing your arms.
Jongseong was still pressed on denying it, but the look on your face made him do otherwise. He could only sigh in defeat and hang his head low whilst nodding his head looking like a dejected dog, his shoulders slumped down. You gave him a pat on top of his head, practically on top of your toes.
You opened the door for him to enter, gesturing for him to get inside. "Come on in," you welcomed the male into your place, the blonde male replying with a muttered 'thank you' and a smile. Once he's settled inside, you close the door behind you. "Just don't use my apartment room as your new strip club."
Jongseong quickly snapped his head toward you and shook his head. "I promise you none of that will happen," Jongseong reassured you, while you took something out of your dresser's drawer. He hears a soft laugh from you, the taller male realizing that you were just teasing him, making him frown.
"I know. I trust you," you told him before you threw to him a spare key that you kept with you in case you lost the one you're currently using. You popped a loli into your mouth and sucked down the flavor of the sweets. "So, how'd you get in this situation? Again?" You asked him, walking towards your bed and sat on top of it.
Jongseong contemplates, before he looks back at you and your eyes stared back at him with full anticipation. He lets out a sigh. "Well, you see. Tonight, isn't that normal night," he answered, but you didn't completely understand what he meant to which you just stayed silent for, as a signal for the male to continue. "Believe it or not, I didn't bring anyone today because I'm having a test coming up tomorrow," he continued.
"That... still doesn't explain to me why you're getting stalked," you subtly persuade the male to tell you the leading cause of the unnecessary attention, but it didn't have to take any of that since Jongseong is willing to tell you everything. I mean, EVERYTHING.
He laughs softly at how impatient you are. "Just wait and listen," he mocks you in the most polite way possible, afraid that your attitude is brushing onto him. Though you don't meet often, you're the one who practically saves him from your lousy neighbors. So, it's starting to kinda reflect onto him.
You raised your arms and let the male do the speaking. "I asked to be recommended a tutor and found out one of the guys who applied is actually one of my past side flings. The same guy I told you about. The one who endlessly obsessed over me," Jongseong pointed out and you thought for a moment before you snapped your finger and points at Jongseong, your mouth agape in shock. "Yeap, yeah, exactly. I was shocked as well that he found any of my socials. It still got me thinking how he did it." Jongseong seeped air through his teeth, cocking his head to the side.
You got up from where you're sat and patted the male's back. "I may not be able to do anything about.. this. But, you'll be safe here inside," you stated out and went to pick up your towel from the rack to take a shower. "I'll only take a couple of minutes. I better not catch you peeking, Park,"
"Oh, god. Please." Jongseong scoffs at your cocky attitude, then he hears laughter from you before the door to your bathroom is shut closed. As soon as you got hidden inside of your bathroom, Jongseong hears the light taps of Charlotte's paw on the floor approaching him. She had something in here mouth. "Charlotte, don't go snooping around someone else's stuff," Jongseong gently told his pet dog who threw the item across the floor and let out a bark.
Jongseong looks at it confused. "What's this?" The male picks it up and draws it near to him. It looked like a pendant. Only it wasn't. He noticed the small crack around it, probably an opening and ran his finger over it, before it slowly opens and a music plays.
'Dear, don't fret. You are wonderful.'
It was a small holographic message. It looked too advanced, technologically speaking. Who could have made this? It's... brilliant. It feels like a memory locked in a device to help you remember. "This is... incredible. Don't you think so, too, Charlotte?" The female dog barks in reply and pants happily with her tongue out.
After a few more minutes, you stepped out of the bathroom with a fur robe on while you dried your hair with a towel. You catch the male staring, or admiring rather, at something and had a huge smile on his face. He looked very fascinated. "Whatcha got there, Jay?" The male didn't reply and continued to stare at the item. You chuckled.
You make your way towards him and only then that Jongseong is able to acknowledge your presence. "Oh, you're done? Sorry, I sorta got distracted by this. Whatever this is," Jongseong told you, the smile still etched onto his face. "It's so amazing," Jongseong makes a comment and your face splits into a smile.
You sat on the nearest chair beside the taller male and spoke up. "My dad made it for me," you shared to the male, whose mouth turned an 'o' shape in shock, turning his head to you. "He created it so I'd never feel homesick, but it only made it worse." You let out a light laugh, head hanging a little low, unable to look at Jongseong who found sympathy in you.
"You have a really great father, Y/N," Jongseong said with a soft smile. You lift your face up to look at the other male and decided that that was enough sentiment for the day and chose to tease Jongseong, again.
"And who told you to go snooping around my room?" You smirked, making Jongseong widen his eyes and point at his pet dog, who whimpers and lay flat on the floor while she covered her face with her paws, which you found incredibly cute as though she's able to understand your language. At this point, maybe she does. "I'm just kidding," you stood up from where you are sat and moved to your closet. You are about to get changed.
On instinct, Jongseong turns on his back and puts the pendant down on your table, but there is one thing he couldn't get off his mind. "I'm sorry. Y/N, just minutes ago, did you just call me 'J'?" Jongseong scrunched his face, not able to trust his ears. He might have misheard things.
As you threw on what you could see as cute in your closet, you replied with a hum. "Yeah, sorry. I should have thought first before I spoke. Does it bother you?" Your brows furrowed. You really had the the idea that you and Jongseong are already that close to be calling each other by nicknames.
Jongseong shakes his head in reply, but guessed you couldn't see. "No, not a even a bit," he answered. "It's just new to me, but I guess I'll get used to it eventually," he continued, before he heard the closet door close and the bed creak on your weight which could have only meant that you're done. "Are you finished?" He questioned for safety measures.
"Yeah. You can turn around now," you replied. Jongseong cautiously turns around, making you raise a brow. "So, you're scared of seeing a clothed body than a nude?" You scoffed.
"No, no. It's not like that. I mean you're a very close friend. And if I were to see you naked accidentally that would mean an awkward atmosphere around us," Jongseong full on explained and hearing that the male considered you as a close friend made your heart swell in happiness.
You propped yourself down on your bed with your hands. "Point taken," you told Jongseong. "By the way, if you didn't bring anyone with you tonight, then what was the noise in your room all about?" Your curiosity got the best of you as you looked over at Jongseong who had his lips pushed into a pout and a blush on his face.
Oh, it's those kind of days.
You breathed in air through your nose and tapped your feet on the floor. "Well, Jay. I have to stop by the convenience store. Anything you want?" You stood up to take out your wallet and fix a few things where your other important items are hidden.
The taller male lit up at the mention of having to go outside. "Can I come with you?" Jongseong asked, a little too excited. Almost like a kid who wants to go only for the car ride.
You turn to him, a big smile riding on his lips, before you return to securing your things. "Uhm, are you sure? Wouldn't that be a little dangerous?" You started to make your way to the clothing rack where some of your coats are hanging. "Considering you have a stalker that's on the loose," you stated to which made Jongseong knit his brows.
"Damn those pricks," Jongseong whispered under his breathe, still loud enough for you to hear though. He tried looking for excuses, but only found the shorts you are wearing. "And how about you? You can't possibly be going out with just that," he pointed out.
You looked down and faced him with an 'are you kidding me' look. "What about it? They're loose jersey shorts. You should be more concerned about yourself. You could catch a cold with what you're wearing. A tank top and thigh length shorts." you told him yet Jongseong was already on his way out with Charlotte. "What is up with this guy?"
In the end, even when you felt skeptical with other male, you still let him sleep over for the night. When you arrived, the male kept on insisting he stayed. The poor male looked shaken up by something you can't determine, so here you are in one bed with Jongseong who is barely in anything, but a boxer after you tried to resist him from sleeping on the floor and it made falling asleep hard for you.
It ain't helping either that you used to have a big fat crush on the older male when you first arrived here in this building. Keyword: USED. After you realized he had a fuckboy tendency and it just didn't seem quite right to you.
You let out a sigh and your eyes went over to the time on your clock. '2:31 A.M', it reads and all you could do is groan silently, your eyes clenched shut at your distress.
You opened the bedside lamp to at least illuminate a small portion of the room as you rubbed your stinging eyes. You feel so tired, but your thoughts are circling around your head endlessly like your own brain is trying to torture you, but you have no choice. You brought yourself onto this and now you have to pay.
You looked over to the other side to see Jongseong sleeping so soundly. Like a baby, safe in his mother's arms. At the sight, a small smile made its way up to your lips. "At least someone's able to get some sleep," you muttered out with a scoff, before you adjusted the blanket, so it covered him comfortably. He might be cold already considering that you put the temperature down a few degrees down, yet he still had the strength to get almost completely naked.
You watched him snore lightly. He looks so peaceful. Has he always looked this good in this light? You thought to yourself, as your gentle grin stayed on your face.
You gave a sigh and moved a few hair strands that got in the way of his face, but were immediately stopped by the older male who took ahold of your wrist which made you flinch. His grip was gentle.
You quickly averted your attention to his eyes which you felt started to bore holes into your skin. His face is dimly lit by the lamp on your table, but he still looked so ethereal. "Y/N, what are you doing to me?" His sudden question made you look at him confused.
He sat up from the bed, all the while the hem of the blanket falling to his waist which gave you a just right view of his structured abdominal muscles. "I... I don't understand," you replied to him, Jongseong sighing audibly loudly.
"Ever since you arrived in this building, nothing ever went well for me," Jongseong continued, that got you taken aback as you pulled your arm away from the male whose eyes lingered onto you.
You raised him a brow, feeling literally offended at what he had just said. After you let him spend the night at your apartment, this is the thanks you get from him? "Excuse me? Be at least grateful—"
"Let me finish," Jongseong cuts you off mid-sentence with a chuckle and you folded your arms on your chest and you gave him the stage, letting him hit the microphone with whatever he had to say. "See, this will sound weird, just giving you a heads up, but I just... I can't get it up," he stated.
You scoffed at him in disbelief. "And that's supposed to be MY fault?" For your entire existence you've never had a person blame you for their erectile dysfunction and hearing this from Jongseong—the male you only considered your friend right now—is blaming you that he couldn't get an erection because of you. That's just completely fucked up.
"Yes," Jongseong replied, rather more solemn than bluntly. Your jaw dropped at his reply and your instinct was to just kick him out of your apartment, but he looked like he had a lot of things going on inside his head. Before you could even reply, Jongseong faces you with a bittersweet smile riding on his lips. "Because I like you, Y/N. I've liked you since... I don't know, before we even started talking which was like almost two years ago. And I couldn't get you out of my head. I didn't want to make you feel sexualized or in any form, sexualize your image. I can't do that to you, Y/N," he said, ending with a tone that told you he is truly genuine and truly cared about you.
You could only look at him with furrowed brows, your mouth opened, but unable to make a noise. You were shocked, to say the least. In the middle of the night, all because Jongseong had a problem with his hormones, confessed to you out of nowhere. Who wouldn't be so surprised with that sudden news?
"Jay, I... uhm," you let out, hesitant.
"It's fine, Y/N. You really don't have to say anything if you don't feel like it. Besides, hearing a reply without much of any—" he is stopped the same way, but you've put a finger on his lips to make him go quiet.
"I don't need time to think about everything, Jay," you replied, a small smile on your lips. You trailed off, trying to find out how to start, but you thought giving it to him directly would be the best way. "I like you, Park Jongseong. Less than you think, though. Look, I don't know when it actually started, but it gave me the ick that you're actually a call boy, but I thought I would have done the same for a check," you laughed lightly.
"Uh, thanks?" Jongseong let out, one brow raised upward.
You sighed. "What I'm trying to say is that, I like you, Jay. I love your personality, I love the way you care for me, your dog, your family, or the way you'd always update me about—" Jongseong gave you no chance to finish what you're saying and spare you no time to adjust as he grabbed the back of your neck and planted his lips onto yours.
You were quick to process as you melted into the kiss, your eyes shutting closed while your hands instinctively found themselves in his soft bleached locks, your fingers entangled within it. Your heads and lips perfectly sync with each other, untamed thoughts circling around your head like a broken record. They were unruly, but it somehow made your heart feel full.
It's like on a winter night and you start the fireplace to warm the room. You don't even remember any sense dawning over you as you just let yourself in to the spur of the moment as though your whole life depended on it.
A few minutes in and Jongseong decides to deepen the kiss, as he slides one hand under the pit of your leg, rising ever so slowly as he lifted the bottom hem of the jersey shorts you wore, a soft moan moving past your mouth, the older male swallowing the sweet sound. You feel one side of his lips curve into a smirk, satisfied with the reaction he received from you.
You were probably gonna regret this later on; being treated like one of Jongseong's clients, but you wanted his touch. You NEEDED his touch. You craved everything he can give. You yearned for his warmth. You need him, in general.
It's like he's some kind of drug that made you suddenly feel addicted with one taste and you know for a fact that you'll never be able to get out of this sensation.
Jongseong nipped at your bottom lip, asking for permission. As a reply to his request, you slowly parted your lips for access. With not much time to lose, Jongseong (gently) delved into the depths of your wet cavern, cupping your cheeks as he started to search for your tongue.
Thinking the placement was uncomfortable, the blonde male repositions himself, so he's fully facing you, all the while never breaking contact. Your tongues danced together, both in different pace, but found a way to synchronize with each other, as though harmonizing.
Whilst your tongues played with each other, your hands went down to feel his biceps, which you found attractive with all the muscles surrounding it. Your fingers smoothly glided over the protruding skin of his arms, still too high on the kiss to even focus somewhere else other than the shape of his lips. It's like they were carved to fit yours perfectly.
For a breather, Jongseong was the first to pull away, breaking the kiss as you start to already miss the intimacy. Hearing a whimper unconsciously leave your throat, Jongseong chuckles. "In a second, angel. We still have to breathe, you know," he smirks. Right now, his sight of you just raised the gauge of his sex drive higher.
As everything had started to heat things up inside the room already, you could no longer wait. You're feeling hot and the way he looked so sexy just made you want him to just take you; make him claim you as his only possession.
While Jongseong tried to find a better position, you sunk down to become face to face with his clothed crotch. This went unnoticed by the male, not until he felt a shiver run down his spine when he felt your finger om the waistband of his boxers that he looks at you, while your eyes were already clouded with lust.
"Y/N, what are you—ah," he moans at the contact of his clothed member on your open palm, teasing him before you pulled down the only item that restricted you from its full glory, his cock coming in contact with the cold air of your room. "Shit.." The male let out when he felt your tongue line the underside of his cock.
"A-ah, Y/N. I didn't—ah," Jongseong sighed at the pure pleasure you were giving him. Out of pure desperation to aatosfy the taller male, you fit the tip of his thick rod in your mouth, which earned you a hiss from the blonde as a hand found its way on top of your hair. "Shit, Y/N, ah... stop teasing," He moaned, feeling your tongue swirl around his girth, the older male pushing his head back, feeling so much bliss.
Soon enough, your chest swelled with pride as you made a spur of the moment decision to take the whole male inside your mouth, while Jongseong hitched in place, an electrifying sensation running down his back. "FUCK!" He moaned out, unconsciously pulling at your hair.
You bobbed your head up and down, only then taking the few inches you could take inside your mouth (after a realization that he was too big to take whole) and jerked him off to compensate for it. Jongseong seeped air through his mouth, peering down at you only to see that your eyes was looking up at him as he had the perfect view of your lips perfectly curled around his cock.
He got more turned on by the sight of you and could no longer hold himself back anymore, raising his hands to hold onto the back of your head and forced his whole length inside your throat, which made you gag and choke, earning a satisfied whistle from Jongseong who chuckled and caressed your beautiful face. "I can see that you were trying, Y/N, but you weren't trying hard enough." The male smirked, then went on with his plan to assault your unaccustomed throat in a fast pace, tears forming in your eyes as they rolled themselves at the back of your head over the euphoria that Jongseong brought to you by constantly hitting the back of your throat.
"Shit, fuck," Jongseong cursed through gritted teeth, the vibrations of your moan only sending a satisfying sensation to his girthy dick, you knew immediately that he was feeling good. "So, you were waiting for this to happen all this time, huh?" He questioned you, not stopping with his erratic movements.
If you hadn't lost all your senses, you wouldn't have let yourself be treated like you're a thirsty slut, but the pleasure is unbearable and at any moment you felt like your mind will finally break.
Without thinking much about it, you nodded your head in reply and the smirk on Jongseong's face only grew wider. "Me too, babe," He said and continued on violating your mouth, resorting to a more inhuman speed and laughing darkly at how easily you submitted to him, liking the idea that if he ever felt pent he could easily just run to you and you'd just let him use you, but of course he wasn't a bad guy to take advantage of you. It's just an idea. An impossibly dream, if you must.
"Damn, angel. Didn't know your mouth could do so much wonder," Jongseong groaned, you holding onto his thighs for dear life, hoping your neck wouldn't break at how strong his thrusts were.
You knew how much Jongseong is capable of being rough with anyone, he literally goes down with any sex play—it's not eavesdropping, it's overhearing—but damn, you never knew him being this rough with you would be so fucking hot. Even having to experience it firsthand.
"Maybe we can do more than just this, Y/N. Weren't for us having to rest for our class tomorrow." It was nice of the male to think of your welfare, but it already reached this far and he'll let go with just a simple blowjob? You wished he's just joking.
Jongseong's pace went unbelievably animalistic, suddenly not caring about how you were now crying due to the pleasure, finding it fun how those tears stained your cheeks like they were the perfect decoration on your face, him abusing your throat with all the strength he had left until he started to convulse and buried his dick deep inside your throat and filled your mouth up with his cum, feeding you every last drop, not spilling anything as it ran down yoir throat.
He was a panting mess as he stared down at you, finding it adorable that you were so fucked up and was made a mess of by him.
He thrusts a few more time to ride out his high, before he caressed your cheeks softly, then pulling his now flaccid cock and puts a finger below your chin to lift your face up. "Not a single drop, darling. Open your mouth," He demanded of you, you complied as you opened your mouth with you tongue rolled out.
Jongseong, feeling satisfied, bent down to your height and kissed you on the forehead. "Well done, angel," he said, then fixed himself up and helped you up to your feet with a slight chuckle. "You're already weak to your knees? We still haven't even got to that part yet, Y/N," He teased you that immediately made you blush.
"Sh-shut up, Park," You told him, your voice a little hoarse, Jongseong being the reason why.
The next morning you woke up, with your eyes still feeling heavy and the memory of what happened im the middle of the night engraved in your head.
You soon realize that the bed was empty and the space beside you where Jongseong slept has now gone cold. It dawned over you like a bucket of cold water. "I should have known. I was just one of his clients," you mumbled to yourself.
"You're not a client, Y/N," a voice started from somewhere in the room, which startled you as you got up immediately and saw Jongseong by the window reading a book, in a bath robe.
Jongseong looks at you and you did as well. You were in different clothes. Did he get you changed? "I, uhm, I thought you left," you stumbled in your words. You didn't want to sound too desperate.
"I wouldn't. I would never," he replied, before he closes the book and approached you with I want to be your partner." Jongseong looks at you with his eyes full of sincerity and truthfulness. "If you're doubting my words, I'll prove to you by my actions. I will stop these vices," he stated out with determination in his voice.
"Jay... you weren't being stalked, were you?" You asked him which took the male aback. "You just wanted to spend time with me," you concluded that made him blush a deep red color. You found it cute at how he gets very flustered easily, before you threw your hands around him for a hug. "And I would have done the same if I were you," you said as the taller male, wrapped his arms around you to keep you close to him.
#male reader#x male reader#fanfiction#bxb#idol x male reader#bottom male reader#kpop#enhypen x male reader#kpop x male reader#enhypen jay x male reader#enhypen jay#enhypen park jongseong#enhypen park jongseong x male reader#jay x male reader smut#x male reader smut#male reader smut
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Meaningful Kiss 4
SUMMARY: Would they make Public Displays of Affection? If not, are they protective instead? And how do they show you how much they truly love you through their kisses? 💋
CHARACTERS: Cater, Trey, Floyd, Rook
TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Established Relationship, Kissing, Flirting, Slightly Suggestive
WORD COUNT: An average of 430 words per character.
COMMENTS: The last part of the Meaningful Kisses series. These were the four least voted characters, however, I had a lot of fun writing them.
I hope you enjoy reading it too. 😘
Meaningful Kiss (Riddle, Leona, Azul, Jamil, Vil, Idia, Malleus)
Meaningful Kiss 2 (Ace, Deuce, Jack, Epel, Sebek)
Meaningful Kiss 3 (Ruggie, Jade, Kalim, Silver, Lilia)
CONTEXT: This can be seen as if you were at the beginning of the relationship, or already in an established relationship.
Cater is into PDA for sure! He likes to be lovey-dovey and flirtatious. And especially enjoys showing it on his social media. EVERYONE knows about your relationship. You are "that" couple. Or at least that's what Cater's photos and PDA suggest.
Whenever you two are together, you are glued to each other. He will always have one or both arms around you. Especially if you are on a date. Of course, if you're not that into PDA yourself, he'll respect it, but in that case you'll have spoil him with cuddles in private, kay~?
However, this fact that Cater likes to show his feelings for you in public and on social media will end up bringing you some "hate". People saying he's only with you because your relationship is aesthetic pleasing. That you like to have coordinated clothes is just a facade for an exaggerated and false romanticism.
He gets a little sad and hurt when people say bad things about him in the relationship, like when they imply that he's just using you. But whenever an attack is directed at you, like when saying that a person like you doesn't deserve a boyfriend like him, the people pleaser side of him disappears. And he starts using his social and conversational skills to defend you, even if he has to insult the other person to do so. This is if it is IRL, which rarely happens. On social media, he just deletes the comment and blocks the person. Good vibes only.
But of course you also feel bad when you read or hear things like that. A lot of people criticize the fact that Cater only shows the good parts and that's why it's all fake. Of course he only shows the good things, that's what social media is for. He likes the popularity and all that, but, unlike certain influencers, he knows what limits are. He would never publish anything bad about you, much less humiliating like an argument or you crying. Mainly because at these times, if they happen, he will be more concerned with consulting you or making you feel better to the point of forgetting his cell phone somewhere.
This can lead to his most meaningful kisses. The ones he gives you when these things affect you, to prove that those things people say are lies and they don't know anything. When he is hugging you and saying cute and funny things to make you feel better. Everything he does in public he also does in private, including kissing your cheeks and lips. But this specific kiss is one that is exclusive to the private sector.
It's not extravagant like the ones he usually gives you, this one is soft, sensitive, and slow by his standards. Basically the opposite of what he usually shows himself to be. You feel that they are calm and that he is enjoying the moment.
Trey is not really into PDA. I mean, it's not like he's averse to it, but it's just not his thing. He is a simple man, he shows and knows how to see love in small things. That and he's not, shall we say, the flashy and extra type. Too much attention can embarrass him.
However, even though he's not much of a show-off, he thinks it's fun to mess with you in public without anyone seeing. Like kissing your cheek discreetly and casually when no one else is paying attention to you and surprising you in the process. Beside that, you continue to behave like good friends. Nothing very different from how he would treat any other friend.
In private, it often doesn't change much. Just like I said, he's a guy who likes his peace and quiet. So the two of you end up looking like a long-term couple even if you aren't yet. However, it is also in private that he feels most comfortable hugging and kissing you. He's more welcoming to you doing the same to him.
If there's one type of surprise he's a fan of, it's you hugging him from behind when he's cooking. Many of your cutest moments happen in the kitchen. He likes to have you as a tester to his food and sweets.
The problem is when he feels more naughty and takes advantage of your trust in him to use his signature spell to change the flavor of what you taste to play a trick on you. For example, you're expecting to taste the sweetness of strawberry cake, but instead you taste the saltiness of an oyster. He will laugh at your reaction and your sulky face.
Then he will apologize, without regret for what he did, and that won't be enough for you. By feeling comfortable being himself with you, you'll end up getting to know his cheekier side. He hugs you around the waist with his rare smug expression and his gaze fixed on you. He's "really sorry" but maybe he can redeem himself. He runs his thumb over your slice of cake to remove some of the icing and puts it on his own lips. Why don't you try it again? No tricks this time, he promises.
And this leads to his most meaningful kisses. Not the soft, sweet, affectionate ones he usually gives you in private, but the ones that show that sassy side of him that most people don't think exists.
It depends on Floyd’s mood, obviously. But as a general rule, he likes PDA, more giving than receiving. He likes to be in control of these things, he doesn't like to be the one being "squished", you know.
He does what he wants, if he wants to hug you, he will hug you, if he wants to kiss you, he will kiss you. And no one will even have the courage to look at him the wrong way. No one wants to get in trouble with an Octavinelle student, especially Floyd Leech. This ends up guaranteeing you instant security and a sense of immunity. Everyone will know that you are together, not in a gossip way, but more in a sense of warning other students of the danger of messing with you.
He will hug you and kiss you however he wants, whenever he is with you. This part doesn't differ much from public to private (with one or two exceptions of course, chill!) If anyone can be embarrassed by PDA here, it's you, because he's never embarrassed. If others have a problem with it, that's their problem, and if they upset him... well... let's just say it will be the first and last time.
His affection only fluctuates when he is in a bad mood, and he becomes even more unpredictable. You can never predict whether he's in an "I want to be alone" bad mood or an "I want to hug you like a stuffed animal" grumpy mood. Either way, you don't need to know because he'll tell you. When he's in a bad mood he's not one to make people guess what he wants, he'll tell them directly and specifically.
Floyd’s good-mood kisses range from casual and lazy kisses just because to passionate and cheeky kisses to mess with you. But surprisingly, his most meaningful kisses are when he's in a bad mood and wants to be with you.
Just like he secretly likes to entertain and cheer you up when you're in a bad mood, he loves that you can do the same for him. He can be very clingy when he's in "I want you to hug" grumpy mood. He likes that you let him hug and kiss you however he wants to make him feel better.
This may lead to him starting to kiss your cheeks, moving on to your neck and finally your lips. His kisses are like his mood, in this case, grumpy, but not for long. Kissing you is fun for him, so you'll start to feel the kiss change at the same time as his mood. His pout starting to change into a lazy smile. And if you're not “careful” and he ends up in a REALLY good mood...
If words of affection could be considered PDA, well, I think you know. Rook is a man of words and everyone knows it. Some even know it too well. Prepare to receive the same treatment as Vil.
Surprisingly, he's not much of a toucher. He’ll never think twice before greeting you with charming words and a tender kiss on the cheek, or on the back of your hand like a prince, but never on your lips. At least not initiated by him.
He won't take the initiative to hold your hand or hug you. He will only do so if you ask or in response to your initiative. In this case he will gently hold your hand and caress it with his thumb, or hug you gently as if you were a precious little thing.
And why? One of the reasons is because he likes it when you ask. There's something about the need for his touch that he enjoys. Luring you with words to deliberately make you fall into the “trap” of wanting his touch. And the more “difficult” you are, the more he loves it.
Another reason is that, when hunting, touching the prey is usually the last step, right after finally catching it. He's a hunter, not a pet owner. He uses words because they are his bait, physical touch is the prize. And he likes that each other's touch is as much a reward for you as it is for him. He wants to make you want him as much as he wants you.
And that's why true physical touch only happens in private. He likes to show through words how much he likes something or someone, but he is also a man of secrets, and how he enjoys the prize of having you in his arms is one of the secrets between the two of you. Especially because his touch manages to be as flattering and appreciative as his words.
He likes to run his hands over you like someone appreciating a work of art. Kiss your neck and lips like someone savoring an exquisite delicacy. And these are his most meaningful kisses. Kisses of appreciation, of care, of passion and at a certain point, of desire, for a prize that can slip out of his hands at any moment because you have your own free will and that is exciting.
If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX
#Twisted Wonderland#twst#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#twst imagines#Twisted Wonderland Fluff#Cater Diamond#Cater Diamond x Reader#Trey Clover#Trey Clover x Reader#Floyd Leech#Floyd Leech x Reader#Rook Hunt#Rook Hunt x Reader
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❝ I Reincarnated Into a Shitty Chirstmas Romance Movie and My Love Interest is a Yandere?! ❞
✎ featuring my creature, Ezra Valentine :3 this is just ezra being a weirdo, some lore for my game? idk blawg just read it and you'll find out
✎ special shoutout tags to these people @yandere-yearnings @forbidden-sunlight @moyazaika @bun3333s @yanderenightmare @cumtastiics @ozzgin
Your "childhood friend" is a bit of a weirdo, you think.
Staring at you for far too long, lingering touches that suggest that he's more than just a bit interested in you, and the weird random confessions about how he wants to get crushed under the heel of your right shoe...
It's just weird.
You've reincarnated into a shitty christmas romance movie. And your "childhood friend", aka the love interest, aka Ezra Valentine, has a crush on the main character, you. Obviously.
You don't even know why you watched this movie in the first place. Boredom, maybe? Yeah, probably was because you started dozing off after hour 1 of the movie. The movie was... 1 and a half hour long? It wasn't even rated that high. Like a... 6.9 at best.
And now you're stuck here all because you watched this shitty movie with an even shittier plot. Where the main character left the small town for a big city, came back home to celebrate christmas and meets childhood friend, decides to give up big city life because they both fall for one another.
Just like every other damn Mallhark movie. Predictable, boring, absolutely TRASH.
You don't even know why or how you got reincarnated into this damned movie in the first place! Did you fucking pass away in your sleep??? Actually just die from fucking boredom???
Well it's no use thinking about that now because you've been stuck in here for a while now. You think that you're maybe about halfway through the original plot, where Ezra and the old mc were supposed to have some bonding time together and shit. But that's not the case now, because you've changed the plot.
And you're realizing that this "childhood friend" of yours... Is acting a little bit differently.
You don't remember him being that much of a weirdo in the original movie. If you remember correctly,he was just like, a little bit of a shy loser boy who was infatuated with the MC and liked gaming. But now... Now he's, what, a masochist? Or did they just not add that fact into the movie? You couldn't have forgotten. If the love interest was openly a weirdo like he is to you, you wouldn't have dozed off in the first place. Just now, he literally asked to be crushed under your right shoe. Crushed. Under. Your. Shoe. How the hell is that boring? You'd be 101% AWAKE. You love freaks more than anything, damn!
Now that you think about it, he's more than just a bit of a weirdo.
He's been calling and acting like he's your boyfriend. Hell, he acts like a CLINGY boyfriend too. Asking where you're going, clinging to you, giving you those damned boba eyes everytime you talk to others, specifically dudes. Fun fact but you wish he'd stop abusing those eyes of his because fuck, how can you resist him when he's looking at you like that?
Worse of it all, you can't do anything. Not when your key out and helper, Ai, said to act cool and to not arouse any suspicion from him.
Ai's also another character in this movie by the way. His character trope: the hot side character that barely gets screentime and is also sentient. And right now, he's helping you find a way back to your world... Meanwhile you've been stuck in Ezra's apartment under the guise of a mandatory childhood bestie sleepover.
It's been days since you've actually last seen Ai in person because of how much Ezra, your "childhood friend", has been clinging to you. In just the past 3 days, he's made you watch the entire fnaf lore theory THRICE. And not once have you stepped outside his apartment. Not because you don't want to, but because he'd always find some bullshit excuse to keep you with him.
"O-oh but kitty you'd miss this very important scene... Where freddy goes hurhurhuhr"
"Kitty! Kitty you can't leave now! We have to watch it again! What? We watch it more times so it gets engrained into our brains! That's just common sense!"
"Keeping you h-hostage?! I'm not! All friend do this! It's just u-um, friend bonding time! We haven't been around each other in so long you know..."
It's weird. Just plain weird.
Thankfully you still have your phone so you could occassionally sneak a message or two to Ai, informing him of your current situation. As long as that black haired man baby doesn't see everything is fine...
y/n: currently watching a new video, thank gyatt for that
y/n: would actually jump if i have to watch more fnaf
y/n: erm... lowkey think this is worse though... its a video about danganronpa
Ai: don't worry, i'll be there to save you in a bit
Ai: i might have found a way to get you out of here
y/n: fr? ty for that silly goober :3 all while im chilling on the couch having some me time :333 ur so skibidi
"A-ahem! y/n who are you texting..?"
Shit. This damned guy! What does he think he's doing? Just popping up the second you finally have some alone time?! Wasn't he passed out from lunch just minutes ago???
"Erm... Just a friend?"
Ezra stares at you with wide round eyes, lps turning down into a frown before he sits uncomfortably close, pressing his long, lanky body against yours. Always the tall skinny guys that are the biggest weirdos man.
"Just a... friend?"
"Yeah, just a friend."
I mean, it wasn't wrong. Ai really was just a friend to you. Or at least that's what you think. To Ezra and his fucked up mind... Maybe you were abandoning him? And now he's jealous and might want to go batshit crazy on AI?
Haha! No way that would happen! Ezra, no matter how crazy he is, wouldn't go that far! He's just a loser who has an added interest in you now after all!
The look in his eyes say otherwise though.
"But I'm your friend, aren't I?"
Cold, dark, obsessive.
The way he stared at you sent literal chills down your spine. He had never looked at you in such a way before. Pathetic and needy, yes. But never this... Whatever the hell this was.
You back into the fabric of the seat, feeling a cold sweat line the skin of your forehead. All of a sudden, the room feels all too small and it's like you're trapped in his apartment with no way to escape.
It was suffocating.
"I'm the only friend you need. The only one you need, y/n."
You don't really recall a time where he's called you y/n so easily. It's always some stupid petname like kitty. And goddamn it, you wish he'd just say that instead. Hearing him call your name while he's staring into your very soul like this is making you feel like you're about to shit your pants.
"U-uh, okay dude chill out. You're my dearest friend, alright? Look let's jsut go back to watching that danganronpa analysis..."
And just like that, the terrifying aura IMMEDIATELY disappears and you're left with a sopping wet puppy of a man. You decide to make the first move, fiddling with the remote as you stand up and move close to the coffee table. Anythinng to gte away from this weird bipolar guy. How the hell did he develop this? A new character arc maybe?
In the midst of you trying to look anywhere but Ezra, you fail to realize that he had already taken your phone, leaving you with no way to contact Ai now.
"Now you'll never have another friend again..."
"What was that?"
"O-oh I said now you'll never be bored again! Haha!"
Right, totally what he said.
#yandere#tw yandere#yandere x reader#yandere drabbles#yandere scenarios#yandere imagines#yandere concepts#yandere childhood friend#yandere childhood friend x reader#suiana rambling#suiana brainrotting#ezra valentine#The Time I Got Reincarnated Into a Shitty Chirstmas Romance Movie and My Love Interest is a Yandere!
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miku.earth update: September 15
Hi all! This is a lil progress update for those interested. In a rush? Here's the cliff notes!
The map site at miku.earth is back: sorry for the delay in fixing it! Check it out: it has six hundred Mikus!
Including the hyuge ol' queue, we've collected over 3,100 mikus!
Representation is important! I've been using some fancy stats to avoid bias. To that end, please help make sure we have a Miku in every African country!
oh hey! you clicked 'keep reading!' well hi! here is your Miku Direct. . The map site, miku.earth, is back!
I ran into a kinda complex issue and it was a whole Thing. I was working on the site the whole time though! Sorry for the delay, and I hope you enjoy now it's back up and running.
This site has six hundred Mikus on the map, and more are added each week. It was recently rebuilt from scratch (fun fact! I am not a web developer) so I hope it is far zippier and less glitchy as before. A mobile-friendly version is coming soon too!
Also: check out the new search feature! In addition to the title, artist name and region(s), it can also search for the categories indigenous and historic!
cw: this video involves moving around a 2D map with some speed. on the site itself site, this only happens when you hit the Enter key.
We've reached more than 3,100 mikus!
Even at its Miku-per-hour speed, the queue will continue until 2025 at least! This is with thanks to an incredible number of contributions, including donations of literal thousands of links.
Thank you so much to @awnowimsad, @worldmikuposter @the-hatsune-miku-trend, @communist-hatsunemiku, @council-of-beetroot, L-A and a whole host of DMers and emailers for helping get this far.
Oh and by the way: over two thirds of the collection are tumblr posts! Given that this was originally a twitter trend… if you know any Twitter users who are into this trend, please reach out. Some napkin math tells me there are at least 10,000 works of art total out there, which is, by the way, surreal. Let's make sure not a single one is lost.
If you're super curious, the collection is public! I have some tools to auto-annotate (I do not want RSI), but be aware the backlog isn't vetted.
Representation is important!
Fun as this trend is, this project was always intended as a serious study into how people represent their own culture through artwork. I'm no anthropologist, but I feel it is important to make sure this collection is respectful and bias-free. If we're to represent the world, we have to avoid underrepresentation!
To that end I've used some fancy statistics to calculate a "representation value" for each country. Here's a table if you're into the stats of it! This info is handy to help me with the queue – especially with tweets as they're a lil more effort than a carefully-tagged reblog. Of course, Indigenous, hyperspecific and low-note Mikus get priority.
And, well, of course you can see on the site there are purple regions for countries still missing a Miku. In particular, please help me make sure every country in Africa is represented.
Thank you for reading!
Phew! That was a lot. If you're still curious, please check the behind-the-scenes and source code. I work in the open! Even if my code is probably messy.
And if you're a programmer, issues and pull requests are welcome! This is actually a static site, so it's purdy easy to develop.
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