#but hes grinning/smirking all the time with a mischievous glint in his eyes

[axeeglitter]

One way trip to Caracas

The flight from Paris to Caracas was long, but every second felt like a victory for Julien. At 32 years old, this was his first solo trip abroad, the culmination of years of hard work and saving every spare euro. His coworkers had teased him, saying it was too dangerous to travel to Venezuela alone, but Julien had brushed off their concerns. For him, this was not just a holiday; it was a statement of independence. No more predictable vacations with his family. No more dreaming of adventure while flipping through travel magazines. This was his time.

The sweltering heat hit him the moment he stepped out of the airport. Caracas was unlike anything he had ever seen. The towering buildings cast long shadows over streets bustling with life. Food vendors called out to passersby, the scent of arepas and empanadas mingling with the tropical humidity. The colors overwhelmed him: bright murals on crumbling walls, vibrant clothing, and the endless blue sky above.

Julien, with his average build and confident demeanor, stood out among the locals. His fair skin and European features marked him as a tourist immediately, but he didn’t mind. He had always prided himself on being adaptable, confident, and able to handle himself in any situation. After all, he’d spent years in the gym maintaining a body he was proud of. He wasn’t particularly muscular, but he was fit, a point of pride for someone who considered himself just an ordinary guy.

He had planned his trip meticulously. Days of hiking in the Andes, visits to Angel Falls, and, today, exploring the city and getting lost in its streets and markets.

The marketplace was everything Julien had hoped for and more. It was a chaotic symphony of sights and sounds: merchants shouting over each other, music blaring from hidden speakers, the clinking of coins exchanged for fresh produce, handmade crafts, and colorful trinkets. Julien wandered through the labyrinth of stalls, enchanted by the vibrant fabrics, carved wooden figurines, and the aroma of spices he couldn’t quite identify.

He stopped at a table displaying intricate jewelry. Bracelets made of woven leather, necklaces adorned with tiny beads, and rings of all shapes and sizes were laid out like treasures waiting to be discovered. The seller, an older woman with silver-streaked hair, smiled at him and began explaining each piece in rapid Spanish. Julien’s knowledge of the language was limited, but her enthusiasm was infectious.

As he examined a particularly striking silver bracelet, a group of teenagers loitered nearby, watching him. There were five of them, all around 18 to early 20s years old, dressed in a mix of modern streetwear and local flair. They whispered among themselves, smirking and occasionally glancing in his direction. Julien noticed them but didn’t think much of it. He assumed they were just curious about the foreigner in their midst.

“¿Cu��nto cuesta?” Julien asked the vendor, pointing at the bracelet.

Before the woman could answer, one of the teenagers, probably the leader of the group,  stepped forward. He was tall and wiry, with a mischievous glint in his dark eyes. “Señor, let me help you,” the boy said in heavily accented English, grinning. “You don’t want that. It’s too expensive for you.”

Julien raised an eyebrow, more amused than annoyed. “Thanks, but I can handle myself.”

The boy’s grin widened. “Of course. Just saying. You should look around more. Better deals everywhere.” He gestured vaguely at the surrounding stalls.

The other teenagers laughed softly, their eyes gleaming with mischief. Julien turned back to the vendor, brushing off the interaction. He had no idea that, while he was distracted, another member of the group had slipped close behind him.

As Julien continued haggling over the bracelet, a smaller boy with a quick, practiced motion slid something into the pocket of Julien’s cargo shorts. The boy rejoined his friends, who stifled their laughter as they watched the oblivious tourist.

Julien eventually purchased the bracelet from the lady while small talking with her a bit and then moved on, unaware of the extra weight in his pocket. He spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the market, sampling local snacks and taking photos. The teenagers followed him at a distance, always staying just out of sight, their laughter echoing faintly as Julien admired a stand of colorful ceramic bowls.

By the time Julien returned to his modest hotel room that evening, the events of the day had left him exhilarated and exhausted. He dumped his shopping bag on the bed and emptied his pockets, pulling out his phone, wallet, and… a ring? Frowning, he examined it. The metal was cold and oddly heavy, the symbols on its surface almost seeming to shift under the dim light of the room.

“Weird,” he muttered, setting it aside. He assumed he must have accidentally picked it up at the market, maybe it had fallen into his bag or pocket while the young men were talking to him. Julien tried the ring on his finger and it fit perfectly, it was hugging his skin without compressing him and it was a perfect touch that he could keep as a memory of his travel. Being happy to find this ring by accident and seeing how well fitted it felt, Julien got ready to go to bed, forgetting completely to take the ring off as he fell asleep on his bed.

The morning sun streamed through the thin curtains of Julien’s hotel room, casting a golden glow on the sparse furnishings. He groaned softly, his body heavy with the lingering fatigue of the previous day. Stretching, he rubbed his face, only to pause when his hand brushed against his jawline. The stubble he had carefully groomed just yesterday felt... thinner. Softer, almost.

He sat up, dismissing the thought as morning grogginess, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. As he stood, he felt an odd looseness in his pajama shorts. They slid slightly down his hips, which felt narrower than usual. Julien tugged them back up, frowning but attributing it to weight loss from the heat and all the walking he’d done.

In the bathroom, he splashed his face with cold water and glanced into the mirror. For a moment, he didn’t recognize the reflection staring back at him. His skin, usually a pale European tone, had darkened slightly, as if the last days sun he took finally put a tan on his pale skin. His features looked subtly different, his nose a touch broader, his cheekbones sharper. It wasn’t drastic, but it was enough to make him pause and watch with attention how just a tan can make such a difference on his face and body.

“Must be the sun,” he muttered, running a hand through his short-cropped hair to style them after what he got himself ready for another hot day to explore Caracas and its streets.

But as the day wore on, Julien’s discomfort grew. Walking through the city streets, he noticed his stride felt different, as though his legs were subtly reshaping themselves. His calves felt leaner, his thighs slightly more muscular, but not in the way he was used to. There was a new tautness to his skin, a feeling he couldn’t quite place. His shirt clung awkwardly to his torso, which seemed slimmer than it had been in the morning.

By the afternoon, Julien’s reflection in shop windows was unmistakably altered. His once broad shoulders had softened slightly, tapering down to an athletic but less imposing frame. His arms, too, seemed leaner, the veins that usually stood out on his forearms now subdued beneath smoother, slightly darker skin.

The changes, at first painless, began to take on a strange intensity. As evening approached, Julien found himself stumbling as a sharp ache flared in his joints. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it was persistent, like his body was being stretched and compressed at the same time. His face felt hot, as though feverish, and when he caught his reflection in a storefront window, he barely recognized himself. His jawline had softened, his lips fuller, and his eyes, a deep brown now instead of their usual golden hazel, stared back at him with an unfamiliar intensity.

Julien panicked seeing that he didn’t recognize himself anymore in his reflection. This was not the sun; this was something else. He needed help. Julien ran back at the hotel, paced the room, his heart pounding. He started to think and walk in his bed, trying to find an explication on the internet while looking for the emergency number; but now that he was alone with his thought and changing body, the feeling was growing stronger and stronger. Julien could feel his bones grinding each other as the transformation was not done yet. His skin tightening around his shrinking muscles, his vision blurring and coming back to normal, his body getting itchy. As he sat in the corner of the room, Julien felt a sharp painful sensation around his fingers, he tilted his head only to realize the ring he put on yesterday was still on, and worst, it was shining a faint golden hue. The ring. It had to be the ring. He grabbed it from his finger and tugged on it, trying to take it off. But it was not moving at all. Worst it felt like he was tearing off his own finger. It was stuck in place. As he was about to try once again going to the bathroom to put soap and water, he felt a jolt of energy course his body and coming from his finger. Julien screamed in pain as his voice felt rougher and higher at the same time. The wave of energy was running through his body and then it stopped and centralized around his feet. Julien turned his head and watched in horror as his feet started to compress and shrink right in front of his eyes. The symbols etched into the surface of the ring seemed to shimmer and shift, almost as if alive. Desperate, he tried to pull it off once again, only to find that it wouldn’t budge. The metal felt warm against his skin, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. Julien screamed in panic once again as he felt the ring starting to warm once again, like if it was ready to release a new wave. Julien was terrified and just like he thought, the sensation of invasion in his body came back once again, only this time it went in the direction of his head. The last thing Julien saw before his vision blurred and was taken by darkness was the night falling in his dark room as a golden light was emitted from his left hand.

As night fell and Julien was still fainted on his bed, the transformation accelerated. Julien’s once well-groomed chest and arms were now smooth, devoid of the hair he had always taken pride in. Yet, paradoxically, his armpits and thighs had grown thick with dark, curly hair, the contrast both alarming and surreal. His body continued to slim down, shedding years as it reshaped itself into that of a teenager. His abdomen, while still toned, looked less defined, the muscle structure softer and more natural.

The pain became unbearable by midnight. Julien curled up on the bed, clutching his stomach as spasms wracked his unconscious body. His bones felt like they were grinding against each other, his muscles tightening and releasing in unnatural patterns as tears streamed down his fainted face.

By dawn, the transformation was nearly complete. Julien’s once angular features were now softer, more youthful, with a golden-brown complexion that glowed in the bright morning light. Julien opened his eyes and turned his head around, taking the light in his warm brown eyes as his pupils contracted to accommodate to it. He turned his head to the left to look at the clock, forgetting what happened yesterday, but as he saw his tanned hand in front of him, everything came back to him. The ring, the changes, his body. Julien jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom, his body, lean and athletic, moved with an ease and agility he hadn’t felt in years. There, in the mirror reflection, Julien saw his face and body. He looked like a local Venezuelan teenager, no older than 18. The realization hit him like a blow. Julien gasped in surprise and fear only to hear his deep voice being way higher and younger than what he was used to.

He couldn’t be stuck like this; he had a flight back in 2 days. How could he take the plane, his passport wasn’t even looking like himself anymore! As he kept on walking around the room, trying to find a solution, the light of the morning sun shine through his curtain and fell on his ringed finger, which illuminated his mirror reflection in golden hue. “The market!” he thought “I have to find the lady in the market, that’s her ring, I’m sure she’ll be able to help me out!” He grabbed a pair of flip flops, the only things that his feet were able to put on without loosing them, put on a pair of shorts and a shirt that was way too big for his body and then ran to the market with hope in his chocolate eyes. 

By the time Julien reached the bustling market, the sun was high in the sky, its heat beating down relentlessly and little to no sweat dripping down from his forehead. He maneuvered through the crowded streets, his heart thudding in his chest and the ring. Everything about the market felt more chaotic than it had the day before, the colors, the sounds, the voices speaking in rapid Spanish that he inexplicably understood with greater clarity now. He tugged at the sleeves of his loose shirt; his movements awkward as he tried to mask the unfamiliar changes in his body.

He reached the vendor’s stall from the day before and froze. The elderly woman wasn’t there. Her table was empty, the trinkets and jewelry nowhere in sight. His stomach churned as he turned in circles, scanning the crowd for her hunched figure. “She must be somewhere, she has to! I don’t know wha…”

“Señor turista!” interrupted a young men’s voice.

It made Julien’s blood run cold. He turned slowly, not knowing who to to expect or even if it was for him.

There, standing in front of him with a smirk on his face, a familiar young man with other ones stood a few meters away from him, their cocky smiles and sharp eyes fixed on him. The leader, a tall, wiry boy with dark, calculating eyes, stepped forward, his head tilting with mock curiosity.

“You look like you need help. You lost or something?” the leader asked kindly, switching easily between Spanish and English, his grin widening. “Come with me, we’ll help you find her. It’s not the first time this bruja does something like that.”

Julien’s breath quickened, but he forced himself to stand his ground. “Can you? That would be awesome. I’m terrified, I don’t even recognize myself, and everything feels so vivid and different.” he said, his voice trembling despite his attempt to sound firm. “Do you know where she is? I have to turn back. I don’t want … this” he said pointing at his regressed body.

The leader’s grin didn’t falter. If anything, it sharpened. “Sure, don’t worry. That’s why I tried to help you the other day when you bought this bracelet. But you didn’t listen. It’s ok, we can help you don’t worry. Just follow us, her shop is a few streets away.” Julien felt like a weight was lifted from his shoulders and he laughed a bit out of anxiety. He’ll be able to go back home. As Julien followed the men and his group outside of the market, he didn’t realize the streets were getting less crowded. The houses getting closer from each other and the sun was having trouble piercing through the closed roofs surrounding them. “So, not to be uneducated or anything, but how long do you think we’ll have to walk? You said it was close and we’ve been walking for almost 25 minutes. I’m just wondering if… Hey! Stop that!” Julien was interrupted in his sentence. Two of the men he was following grabbed him by the arms. He tried to break free but they were way too strong for him to do anything in this twink body he was now inhabiting. In a quick move, Julien’s feet were not touching the ground anymore and as he kept on screaming for help, a door opened behind them, leading in a poorly decorated house with only a well-used black leather couch. They threw Julien on the couch and his head punched the wall behind him, making him dizzy for a minute. When his ideas were cleared, he jumped back on his feet only to realize the whole gang was surrounding him and he had nowhere to escape.

“Let me through,” he said, his voice louder now, his nerves beginning to fray.

“Why would we do that?” one of the boys sneered. “You’re not going anywhere.”

The leader stepped closer, his gaze locking on Julien’s terrified face. “You still don’t understand, don’t you? There is no escape for you, not anymore.”

Julien instinctively covered his hand, but the leader’s smirk deepened. “It’s too late to hide it now,” he said. “You’re already marked.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Julien said, though his voice betrayed his growing panic. He tried to push past them, but hands grabbed his arms, his shoulders, his shirt, forcing him backward against the couch.

“You don’t get it, do you?” the leader said, leaning in close. “The lady is not the problem. She was just someone selling her craft trying to get money. She won’t help you, or turn you back!” “But you said…” Julien answered with tears in his throat. “I say a lot of things Julien. Here, it’s either eat or be eaten. And I won’t get eaten by society, not today, not tomorrow. See we needed someone like you. And you are perfect I have to say, or rather were. Your innocent face, your pale skin, your basic body. Yea you really were perfect. And you were alone, Jackpot!” continued the men as al his friends were still blocking Julien from running away. “Now listen, from now on, you work for me. And if you try to say anything out of character, well, let’s say you won’t be saying anything else.” “I’m sorry. I have money, I can pay you. Just turn me back and I’ll give you whatever you want. Please.” Answered Julien with tears rolling down his tanned cheeks. “What did I just say? Nothing out of character. Looks like you broke the first rule, isn’t that right Mateo?” said the men with a cocky smile creeping on his lips.

Julien froze. “Mateo?” he echoed, confused.

The leader laughed darkly. “I told you, Mateo. I won’t accept any side steps from my men.”

“Please I’m sorry. I…,” Julien hissed, trying to wrench free, but the gang’s grabbed him back as he tried to get up from the couch only to be pushed back and forced to sit. Julien froze as he was forced there on the couch. The leader took a step in his direction and then looked at his friends next to him. He smiled and then Julien saw the two men laughing and smirking as they approached his paralyzed body. Soon, the men grabbed Julien’s clothes until he was star naked. His new athletic tanned and musky body sitting there for everybody to look at him. Julien felt humiliated and hated every second of it, but he couldn’t escape from their grip, he was trapped. “I’ll pay you, just let me go. I won’t talk to anyone. Please!” said one more time Julien, trying to argue with the leader standing in front of him.

The leader didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed the ring and pulled. Julien gasped as a sharp, burning sensation shot through his finger, as though the ring had fused to his skin. For a moment, it resisted, but then it slipped free, leaving behind a faint red mark on his tanned finger. Julien screamed as felt a part of himself getting ripped with the ring. His head started to spin as everything was starting to merge together before being broken and reformed again. Sweat started to poor down from his skin, his armpits sweating abundantly. Tears of sweat were rolling down his forehead and blurred his vision as he felt like his head was about to explode. He then felt an alien sensation invading his cock. It was like it was burning and itching t the same time. Julien opened his brown eyes only to realize in his blurred vision that his cock was now changing to something totally different. It started to shrink and compress on itself. Veins popping on the lengths as sensitivity started to grow higher and higher. Then burning appeared at the base, Julien’s mouth opened, trying to ask for mercy, as he felt a new forest of curly dark pubes starting to grow. Then his new smaller but thicker dick started to beat with the rhythm of his younger heart, his body getting overdosed by hormones as he couldn’t control himself, his hips wanted to move, to thrust, but the men were still holding him down. Without being able to control himself, a thick pearl of precum was ejected from his new tanner cock head, the first of many. Then all of a sudden, everything stopped. Julien opened his eyes again and everything was calmed, the men still in front of him was smirking with the ring in his hand, shining in a heartbeat rhythm before shutting off in a faint glow that soon stopped too.

“¿Qué me están haciendo? ¿Qué está pasando?”

The gang burst into laughter, their mocking voices echoing off the alley walls. Julien’s panic spiked as he realized he couldn’t remember how to speak English. Worse, his own name felt foreign to him, slipping from his mind entirely.

“As I said, your name is Mateo now,” the leader said, his grin cruel. “And you’re mine.”

“No... no puede ser,” Julien, no, Mateo whispered, his younger voice trembling.

The leader crouched down in front of him, his expression softening into something almost sympathetic. “You going to bring me a lot of money” he said. “My clients will adore you, that’s for sure.”

Julien shook his head, tears streaming down his face. “Esto no está bien,” he murmured, but the conviction in his voice was fading, drowned out by the growing fog in his mind.

The gang’s laughter grew louder as they released their grips on him. Julien’s resistance ebbed, his will crumbling under the weight of the changes overtaking him. As he tried to get up begging one last time for help, the leader snapped his fingers. Julien’s head spanned and he started to blink in confusion, his erected dick starting to spasm and eject more and more precum. In front of him, the leader called one of his loyal friend and gave him the bronze ring. As Julien looked at him, his vision blurred by pleasure and confusion, he saw the young men putting the ring on and in a couple of second, he saw his old reflection standing naked in front of him. His old body standing there at attention and waiting for the leader’s orders. ��Que …. No es…” Julien managed to say as his cock was spasming more and more, pleasure invading his young naked sweaty and musky body. The leader just turned his head and smirked. “Cum par mi, puta!” Julien felt the orgasm rising as he couldn’t control himself anymore and suddenly cum fired out of his cock. It felt like he finally could breath again. Julien closed his eyes and when he opened them again, a smirk appeared on his younger face. “Bienvenido, Mateo” said the leader with a smile on his face as he threw a grey used jockstrap to Mateo. “Hola Boss!” answered Mateo as Julien was gone for good, drying on the cement floor.

______________________________________________________________ Hey guys!

Here is the story I wrote for @misctf. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

As always, my DMs are open, so feel free to send me a message if you have any ideas you'd like me to write about.

Also, we're getting close to 1,000, so be ready, I’m planning a special event for you once we reach that milestone!

Thank you so much, guys! See you soon!

[insidekatmind]

Bar~Kwon Jae-Sung

Request: yes!

The dim light of the bar cast a warm glow over the polished wood of the tables. You and Kwon stepped inside, weaving through the small crowd to find a quiet spot in the corner. You slid into the booth, feeling the weight of the day pressing on you.

Kwon, ever the charmer, dropped down beside you with a casual grin. You noticed his presence was commanding, confident, yet maddeningly laid-back a combination you both admired and resented at times.

Your gaze drifted across the room, and there he was. Robby. Your boyfriend or, at least, he was before things got complicated. He was sitting at the bar, his fingers drumming idly on his glass, his expression unreadable. The sight of him made your chest tighten.

Kwon followed your gaze, his smile curving into something more mischievous. His arm found its way around your shoulders, and you stiffened at the gesture. Before you could pull away, he leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear.

"Is your boyfriend better at kissing than he is at fighting?" he teased, his voice low and taunting.

You scoffed, a sharp exhale of disbelief, and shoved his arm off your shoulders. "Stop doing that," you snapped, glaring at him.

Kwon chuckled softly, the sound light and teasing. "What? I’m just being friendly," he muttered, raising his hands in mock surrender, though the glint in his eye betrayed his amusement.

Your eyes darted back to Robby. He hadn’t looked your way, but you could tell he’d noticed. His jaw was set, his gaze fixed on the bar as though it were the most interesting thing in the world.

Your heart sank. You didn’t know if it was guilt, frustration, or something else entirely that made you want to call out to him, to explain. But the truth was, things between you and Robby had been a mess lately too much history, too many unspoken words.

Kwon shifted beside you, his tone softening slightly. "You sure you’re okay? You seem... distracted," he said, his teasing demeanor slipping away for a moment.

You glanced at him, the sincerity in his question catching you off guard."I’m fine," you replied, though the words felt hollow.But as you looked back at Robby, your mind raced with everything unsaid, and you couldn’t help but wonder if "fine" was a lie you’d been telling yourself for too long.

Kwon's attention was suddenly fixated on a lock of your hair, his fingers toying with it gently. There was an almost tender touch to the action, his smile warm and a bit more genuine than his usual teasing smirk. The movement sent a small shiver down your spine, your heart rate quickening despite yourself."You know," he muttered, his gaze still on the lock of your hair between his fingers, "it's a shame you're with that guy over there. He doesn't appreciate the real you."

His words hung in the air, each syllable sending a little flutter through your chest. It was strange, hearing something like that from Kwon, of all people.You couldn't tear your eyes away from Robby at the bar, your mind racing with conflicting thoughts and feelings. But Kwon's touch demanded attention, his fingers leaving your hair but trailing down the side of your face, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

You break your gaze from Robby and look at Kwon. The sight of him so close is a bit startling, his face mere inches from yours. The touch of his fingers on your face had an electric effect on your senses, sending shivers of heat through your body.

His gaze is locked onto yours, a smug smile playing on his lips. He leans in even closer, his breath warm against your skin, "You're not thinking of that guy anymore, are you, sweetheart?"

You sigh as you look at him. “What game are you playing?” There's a flicker in Kwon's eyes at your question, a subtle change, and his smile becomes just a touch more crooked.

His fingers continue their trail down your jaw, his touch still gentle, almost tender. His reply is a soft murmur, "No game here, sweetheart. Just enjoying the view."He moves his hand to your chin, tilting it up slightly so that your face is angled towards his, "And right now, the view is pretty damn good."

You blush at his words and a smile breaks out. The sight of you blushing sends a new wave of satisfaction through Kwon's veins. It's a reaction he relishes, a hint of vulnerability that he can't help but tease. His fingers lightly trace the contour of your chin as he speaks, "Ah, look who's blushing now. It suits you, you know, all flustered and cute."

There's a pause, his gaze fixed on yours, a silent moment pregnant with meaning as his fingers linger on your chin. It's as though he's caught in the moment, savoring the sight of your flushed face, the way your composure falters just a bit.Then, with a subtle movement, he brings his lips to your ear, his voice dropping to a whisper, "You know, I've been dying to taste that blush on your lips..."

Hearing his words let out a small gasp as I breathed more heavily. Kwon smirks. He notices the slight gasp and the change in your breathing. It's a subtle shift, but one he doesn't miss. Your response is like fuel to the fire, fanning the flames of his growing desire.He moves his lips even closer to your ear, speaking in a seductive murmur. "Ah, that's it. Your little gasps are like music to my ears. Makes me wonder what other sounds you can make..."

His fingers slide to the back of your neck, the touch firm and possessive. Kwon's lips brush against the sensitive skin behind your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. He whispers, "You're so responsive. It's driving me crazy."You can feel his breath, hot against your skin, and his touch is electric, igniting a slow fire within you. A fire that you don't entirely want to resist.

“Kwon,” you whispered softly as your mind clouded at his closeness. Kwon hums, pleased by the sound of his name on your lips. The way you whisper it, breathless and soft, is like a drug to him. He can feel the effect he's having on you, and it fuels his desire even further.

His lips trace a path from behind your ear down to your exposed neck, leaving a trail of tingling heat. He murmurs against your skin, "Say it again, sweetheart." Your breath hitches, a response to the combination of his warm breath against your skin and his teasing words. Something inside you is struggling to surface, fighting against the logical part of your brain.

Kwon's hands are still roaming your body, his fingers trailing over your collarbone, your shoulders, every touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. And his lips, his lips keep moving against your neck, his kiss turning into a gentle bite.

He mutters against your skin, his voice hoarse with need, "You taste even better than I imagined. I can't get enough of you."Kwon moves his hands to your hips, pulling you closer until your body is flush against his. The contact causes a jolt of electricity to shoot through you, sending a rush of heat straight to your core.

You gasp softly. “Kwon we are in a bar full of people” you whisper. Kwon smirks against your neck. Your words about the public setting only seem to excite him further. He tightens his grip on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer.

"So? Let them watch," he whispers back, his voice laced with a hint of challenge. "I don't care who sees us, as long as you keep making those little gasps." His teeth graze your skin again, the sensation mixing with his words to create a potent combination that makes your head spin. Your body responds to him, betraying your attempts at resistance, and you can't deny the growing desire that pulses through you.

But there's that nagging voice in the back of your mind, reminding you of Robby sitting just a few meters away. You try to regain composure. “I can't,” you whisper.

Kwon can sense the struggle in your voice. Your attempt to regain control, a struggle against the pull of desire that he instigates within you.He lets out a small, frustrated sigh against your neck. "Why not? You're so tense... let go, sweetheart. You know you want to."

His hands are still on your hips, holding you in a firm grip as he trails his lips back up towards your ear, his voice dropping to a low whisper, "Just give in to me. Just for one night."

You moan at his words closing your eyes feeling your mind clouded by his presence, his voice, his touch. The sound of your moan sends a rush of heat through Kwon. It's a confirmation of your surrender, a sign that he's winning this game. He knows he's got you now, caught in his web of desire and need.

His lips find their way back to your neck, nibbling and sucking at the sensitive skin. His breath is hot against your ear, his words coming out in a low drawl as he whispers, "That's it, sweetheart. Stop thinking. Just feel."

You moan softly leaning into him. “Let's go back to the hotel,” you whisper. Kwon grins against your neck, his hands still firm on your hips. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, the smirk on his face wider now.

"Impatient, aren't you? I like that," he murmurs, his voice laced with playful satisfaction. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's get out of here."

He takes your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours, and leads you out of the bar. The sound of the door closing behind you feels like a threshold being crossed, leaving behind the familiar for an uncharted territory. The cool night air hits your skin, a stark contrast to the heated atmosphere of the bar. But even outside, the tension between you and Kwon remains charged, the air practically humming with need and anticipation.

Kwon's fingers tighten around yours, the touch firm and possessive. He leads you towards the hotel, each step bringing you closer to what you know is about to happen.

"Now you're mine and you won't run away from me" he whispers, dragging you into his room

[scoupsakakitty]

Hoshi x 14th member please like a very slowburn and members are tired of seeing hoshi like that until they make hoshi confess to her, and he likes her like from the very start in their trainee days, but the members found out he likes her that much after years so yeah, maybe she is the same age as him, he's just a few months older so most of all the members calls her noona noona hehehe

Timing is Everything | idol!hoshi x 14thMember | fluff

Hoshi had always liked her.

Not in the casual, fleeting way people develop crushes during their trainee days no, this was different. It was the kind of quiet affection that settled deep in his chest, growing roots with every passing year. It started with the way she tied her hair in messy buns during late-night practices, the determination in her eyes when the trainers pushed them too hard, and the way she laughed at his dumb jokes even when she was exhausted.

But he never said anything.

Years passed. They debuted. They became family. The feelings stayed.

And the members noticed.

It wasn’t the obvious things Hoshi was careful about that. No lingering stares or unnecessary compliments. But it was the small things: how he always saved her favorite snacks without thinking, how his mood shifted whenever she was upset, how his jokes were always just a little funnier when she laughed.

One day, after another painfully obvious moment where Hoshi practically short-circuited because she called him cute in passing.

“Hyung,” Seungkwan groaned, flopping dramatically onto the couch. “I can’t do this anymore. Just tell her you like her.”

Hoshi’s head shot up, eyes wide. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, please,” Mingyu chimed in, rolling his eyes. “We’ve known since what? 2016? Honestly, it’s impressive how long you’ve managed to suffer in silence.”

“I’m not suffering.” Hoshi’s voice was high-pitched. Betrayed.

Jeonghan smirked from his spot near the window.

The room burst into laughter, but Hoshi’s face was burning.

“I don’t like her like that,” he muttered, crossing his arms.

Seungcheol snorted. “Yeah, sure. And Minghao doesn’t like painting.”

Before Hoshi could come up with a weak defense, the door creaked open. Y/N walked in, wiping sweat from her forehead, a water bottle in hand.

The room instantly shifted. The teasing died down, but the mischievous glint in Dino’s eyes said it all.

“Noona,” Dino called out casually, stretching his arms over his head. “Serious question.”

She glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “What now, Chan?”

“If you had to date one of us hypothetically, of course who do you think would be the best boyfriend?”

The room erupted in laughter again. Hoshi’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest.

“Yah, what kind of question is that?” Seungkwan groaned, but the grin on his face showed he was loving every second of it.

She smirked, clearly amused, and pretended to think about it as she walked further into the room. “Hmm… tough one.”

Hoshi stared at the floor, trying to act indifferent, but his ears were turning red.

“Well,” she began, her eyes scanning the room, “Seungcheol would be too bossy. Jeonghan’s too sneaky I’d never know if he’s being serious. Mingyu’s way too clumsy. Vernon? I’d have to compete with his music.”

Everyone laughed, and even Hoshi managed a weak smile, though his chest felt tight.

Then, for just a brief second, her eyes met his.

“I’d probably pick someone who makes me laugh,” she said casually looking at Hoshi. “Someone kind… someone reliable.”

Hoshi swallowed hard. His heart was racing.

“But I’m not naming names,” she added playfully, tossing her towel over her shoulder and heading to grab her bag.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Seungkwan leaned in, whispering through gritted teeth, “She was totally talking about you.”

Mingyu nodded. “If you don’t confess soon, I might do it for you.”

Hoshi didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. His heart was still somewhere on the practice room floor.————————————————————————————-The days after that conversation felt unbearable.

Hoshi couldn’t stop thinking about it her words, the way her gaze lingered just a little too long, the teasing smirks from the members every time she walked into a room. It was like they were all in on some secret that he wasn’t brave enough to face.

But nothing compared to her.

The way she laughed during late-night rehearsals. The casual way she’d nudge his shoulder when he made a joke. The way his heart raced every time their hands brushed, even if it was just by accident.

It was getting harder to pretend.————————————————————————————-A Week Later

She was sitting on the floor, stretching, while Hoshi absentmindedly fiddled with his water bottle, debating with himself.

Just say it. What’s the worst that could happen?

But the words stayed trapped in his throat.

“You’ve been acting weird lately,” she suddenly said, breaking the silence.

Hoshi’s heart nearly stopped.

“Weird? Me? No, I’m totally normal,” he stammered, laughing nervously.

She gave him a look one of those looks that saw right through him. “Come on, you’ve been zoning out, avoiding eye contact, and you’re quieter than usual. What’s up?”

Hoshi opened his mouth, then closed it again. His chest felt tight. He could hear Seungkwan’s voice in his head: ‘She obviously likes you too. Just confess.’

But fear held him back. What if it ruined everything?

“I’m just… tired,” he muttered, looking away.

She didn’t press further, but the tension hung in the air, thick and heavy.————————————————————————————-The Next Day

“Okay, that’s it,” Seungcheol declared, slamming his palm on the table during lunch. “We’re staging an intervention.”

Hoshi blinked. “What?”

Jeonghan leaned in with a wicked grin. “You’re confessing today. No more excuses.”

Mingyu nodded, his mouth full of rice. “Yep. We’re tired of watching you suffer.”

“I’m not suffering—”

“Oh, please,” Seungkwan cut in. “You looked like you were about to faint yesterday when she asked if you were okay.”

Before Hoshi could protest, the door swung open, and Y/N walked in.

Perfect timing.

Seungcheol didn’t miss a beat. “Hey, Y/N. Hoshi has something to tell you.”

Hoshi’s eyes widened in horror. “Hyung!”

She paused, looking between them, clearly confused. “Uh… what is it?”

The room went silent. All eyes on Hoshi.

His heart was racing. His hands were clammy. But then she smiled just a small, curious smile and something in him snapped.

Hoshi stood up so quickly he nearly knocked over his chair. “I—I like you!” he blurted out, voice louder than intended.

Silence.

The words echoed in the room.

Her eyes widened slightly, clearly surprised. Hoshi felt like he was going to pass out.

“I’ve liked you for a long time,” he added, his voice softer now, but more steady. “Since our trainee days. I just… I was scared to tell you because I didn’t want to ruin what we have. But I can’t keep pretending anymore.”

The room was dead silent for a beat then Seungkwan dramatically covered his face like he was watching a drama unfold.

Y/N didn’t say anything at first. She just stared at him, and Hoshi felt like the ground might swallow him whole.

But then she smiled. A real, soft smile.

“I was wondering when you’d finally say it,” she said quietly, her eyes warm.

Hoshi blinked. “Wait… what?”

She stepped closer, her smile widening. “I like you too, idiot.”

The room exploded with noise cheering, laughter, Seungcheol shaking Hoshi by the shoulders like a proud dad.

Hoshi just stood there, stunned, until Y/N gently reached for his hand. That’s when it hit him.

She likes him back.

All those years of quiet longing, small glances, unsaid words it was all worth it.

And the members?

They claimed victory like it was their confession.————————————————————————————-It’s the same night and Y/N couldn’t sleep.

Her heart had been racing since Hoshi’s confession. The words kept replaying in her mind like a song she couldn’t turn off.

“I’ve liked you for a long time.”

She had waited for so long to hear those words. But now that she had, it felt like something inside her had snapped a tension she didn’t even realize she’d been holding. She needed more than words. She needed him.

Without overthinking, she quietly slipped out of her room, her footsteps soft against the wooden floor. The hallway was dim, shadows dancing along the walls. She paused briefly in front of Hoshi’s door, her heart pounding like a drum.

Just do it.

She knocked softly, barely giving herself time to reconsider.

The door creaked open, revealing Hoshi in a simple t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair slightly messy from sleep. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw her standing there.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft and slightly raspy from sleep.

But she didn’t answer.

Without a word, she stepped into his room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

Hoshi barely had time to process before she crossed the space between them in quick, determined steps. She reached up, cupping his face with both hands, and pulled him down into a kiss.

It wasn’t hesitant. It wasn’t shy. It was everything she’d been holding back weeks, months, years of quiet longing poured into a single, desperate moment.

At first, Hoshi froze, his eyes wide with shock. But then something in him melted.

His hands found her hips instinctively, pulling her closer, erasing the space between them. His lips moved with hers, gentle at first, then deeper, more certain. Like he was making up for all the time they’d wasted.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathless, Hoshi’s eyes searched hers, his heart racing wildly.

“W-What was that for?” he whispered, his voice barely steady.

Y/N smiled softly, her forehead resting lightly against his.

“I’ve been holding back for too long,” she whispered, her fingers still gently cradling his face. “You finally said how you feel… so now I can finally say it too.”

She leaned back just enough to look into his eyes, her gaze sincere.

“I love you, Hoshi.”

The words hit him harder than he expected. His heart felt like it might burst.

A slow smile spread across his face, soft and full of warmth. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his thumb lingering gently against her cheek.

“I love you too,” he whispered back, his voice filled with so much emotion it made her chest tighten.

He kissed her again softer this time, slower, like he had all the time in the world. And for the first time, they did.

No more hiding.

No more holding back.

Just them.————————————————————————————-

[arcadia-smith]

Part 1 ; Part 2 ; Part 3.

TW: Brief mention of sexual assault, injuries and torture.

Simon Riley x Reader.

The interpreter's Prayer

Part 4

***

The crackling bonfire cast flickering shadows across the clearing as you approached, its warmth pulling you in like a gentle embrace. Simon's voice, low and unmistakable, drifted through the air as you took your place beside him, the scent of smoke and pine mingling with the cool night breeze.

"No, we're not talking about that," he said, his tone firm.

A playful smile teased the corners of your lips as you settled into the circle of friends. "Not talking about what?" you asked, your curiosity piqued.

Johnny, always quick to jump into the fray, grinned as his fingers absently twirled strands of Jessica’s hair. "First times," he said with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

"First times as in…" you paused, letting the words hang in the air before breaking into laughter. "When I first shot someone or when I first had sex?"

The group chuckled, the sound mingling with the crackle of the fire. These were the nights you cherished—nights where the weight of duty and danger melted away, leaving only camaraderie and shared laughter. It was rare, this peace, but all the more precious because of it. Though the job often demanded sacrifices, it had also given you this strange, wonderful family.

Jessica tilted her head, her eyes glinting with curiosity as she looked at you. "Wait, have you ever actually shot someone? I thought your job didn’t involve carrying a gun."

You shrugged, reaching over to snag Simon's beer, your fingers brushing his for the briefest moment. "Just training dummies," you admitted with a grin. "And Simon, once. By accident. During training."

The memory bubbled up, and you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and carefree. Simon’s gaze flicked to you then, his expression unreadable, though the firelight danced in his eyes as if it had been caught there by fate.

Before anyone could comment, Johnny leaned forward, his grin widening. "And what about first times in the bedroom?"

Simon shot him a withering glare, and if he’d had something in hand, you were sure it would’ve been thrown in Johnny’s direction.

You rolled your eyes, bringing the beer bottle to your lips. "My first time is way too embarrassing to talk about," you said, your voice tinged with mock horror. But as you glanced at Simon from the corner of your eye, your lips curved into a teasing smirk. "Though I think he was more scared than I was."

The group erupted into laughter, the sound ringing out into the night, mingling with the fire’s crackle and the rustling of trees in the wind.

You smiled to yourself, the warmth of the moment sinking deep into your bones.

"And for the record," you hummed "he's been my only one. And I intend to keep it that way." You smirked at Simon, handing back the bottle and resting your chin on his shoulder.

He was the first and only one to touch you like you were something sacred.

And every time you thought about it, you swore to yourself—and to whatever power might be listening— as long as you lived, that he’d be your first, your last, your only one.

Johnny raised his eyebrow "And what if you guys divorce?" He questioned, then quickly added "You'd be living in some kind of celibacy or what?"

"He's not gonna divorce me," you stated seriously "He'd end up dead faster than he could even spell the word 'divorce'."

The fire crackled, but the tension that followed your words crackled even louder. Johnny let out a low whistle, shaking his head with an amused chuckle.

"Remind me never to get on your bad side," he mused, sipping from his own bottle.

Jessica laughed, nudging Simon. "Well? You gonna say something, or are you just gonna let her claim ownership like that?"

Simon exhaled sharply through his nose, his lips quirking just slightly at the corners. He shifted just enough to bump his shoulder against yours, his voice as dry as ever. "Not much point arguing when she's right."

That sent another ripple of laughter through the group, though Johnny still looked intrigued, his mischievous streak refusing to let the topic go. "Okay, but for real," he said, leaning forward. "You’re saying if—hypothetically—things went south, you’d just swear off everyone else? Forever?"

You tilted your head, considering it for half a second before shrugging. "Yeah. Probably."

Jessica made a sympathetic sound. "That’s kind of… romantic. In a really intense way."

You smiled, glancing at Simon again. His fingers tapped absently against his knee, a quiet, thoughtful rhythm. It was rare for him to engage in these kinds of conversations, but you could tell he was listening—really listening.

Johnny, however, wasn’t done. "Man, that’s crazy. No offense, Simon, but what if you—"

"Don't," Simon cut in flatly.

That one word shut Johnny up fast. The easygoing smirk dropped from his face, and for a beat, silence settled over the group, thick and heavy.

Simon didn’t look at anyone in particular, but his posture had shifted—less relaxed, more certain. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his voice quiet but firm. "There’s no ‘what if.’"

It wasn’t a grand declaration. It wasn’t a poetic promise. But it was final. Certain.

Jessica exhaled, breaking the tension with a small smile. "Well, damn," she murmured. "That’s gotta be the most Simon way to say ‘I love you’ I’ve ever heard."

The fire crackled. Someone chuckled. Johnny shook his head with a grin, finally relenting.

***

When you finally pried your eyes open, the sterile glow of hospital monitors greeted you, casting eerie shadows along the walls. The sharp scent of antiseptic filled your lungs—so different from the cold, unforgiving concrete where you'd last been. Instead of icy ground beneath you, there was the unfamiliar embrace of a soft mattress, the weight of blankets cocooning you. Someone had even dressed you—not in your own clothes, but a thin hospital gown. Still, it was something.

A dull ache radiated through your limbs as you shifted, every muscle screaming in protest. The simple act of lifting your head sent a wave of pain rolling through you, pulling a sharp groan from your lips. The sound stirred the figure slumped beside your bed. You hadn’t even noticed him until now.

Simon.

His head snapped up at the noise, sleep still clinging to the edges of his tired eyes. “Love,” he murmured, voice rough and low, as if afraid speaking too loudly would shatter you. He reached out, fingers desperate to find yours—but before you could think, before you could even understand why, you recoiled.

His hand stilled midair.

The flicker of hurt in his gaze was brief, but you saw it—felt it. If he had been wearing his mask, it would have spared him the shame of letting you see. But here he was, exposed, and you had pulled away like he was something to fear.

The silence stretched between you, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of the monitors. Then, without another word, Simon rose to his feet. “I’ll get the doctor,” he said, voice measured, carefully controlled. “Let her know you’re awake.”

You watched his broad frame disappear through the doorway, a hollowness settling in your chest.

What was wrong with you?

Simon was your husband—your anchor, the one person you trusted beyond all doubt. And yet… you’d flinched. Like he was a stranger. Like he was—

Your stomach twisted.

Your hands trembled as you pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, as if its warmth could replace the one you had just turned away. You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing the heels of your palms against them, trying to force away the chaos swirling inside your mind.

Minutes later, Simon stepped back into the room, the steady rhythm of his footsteps shadowed by the softer ones of Dr. Brooks.

She offered you a gentle, almost apologetic smile. "Good to see you awake, Miss Riley." Her words floated in the air like fragile glass, her presence measured as she moved to the bedside. She checked the monitors first, but when her gaze finally met yours, there was something else there—something deeper.

"We've given you some pain medication, but it may be wearing off soon. If you need anything, just ask." Her voice was careful, too careful, wrapped in a kind of tenderness that felt suffocating. There was pity in her tone, an unspoken understanding that made your skin crawl. She was speaking to you like you were made of porcelain, like the wrong word might shatter you into pieces.

"You should stay in bed for a few weeks—let your body rest, heal. You have a few broken ribs, and there was some internal bleeding, but we managed to control it quickly. And as for—"

She hesitated, but you already knew what was coming. And you couldn’t bear for Simon to hear it.

"Simon... could you leave us?" The words left you hollow, your voice distant, barely your own. You didn't even look at him.

You knew what Dr. Brooks was about to say. And you knew that, deep down, Simon had already pieced it together the moment he saw you. But somehow, it felt like if he didn’t hear the words out loud, it might hurt just a little less.

For a moment, silence filled the room, thick and heavy, pressing against your ribs more than the bandages ever could. You could feel Simon’s hesitation, the weight of his presence lingering like an unfinished sentence.

“Love…” His voice was quiet, cautious, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze.

“Please.” The single word escaped you in a whisper, barely holding together.

A beat passed. Then another. Finally, with a sigh that carried more than just air, Simon turned and walked out. The soft click of the door closing behind him felt like the final note in a song you never wanted to hear.

Dr. Brooks exhaled, her professional mask faltering for just a second before she continued.

“As for the other injuries…” she hesitated, choosing her words with precision, like she was afraid of how they would land. “There was damage. Some bruising, some tearing… We treated what we could, but the healing will take time.”

Time. That word felt hollow, meaningless. Time wouldn’t undo what had been done. It wouldn’t erase the weight pressing down on your chest or the way your skin felt foreign, tainted.

"You need to talk to someone. You can’t go through this alone." Her words continued, but they became muffled, distant, as if the space between you and her was stretching further by the second. "Your husband hasn’t left your side since the moment you were brought in..."

But the moment she spoke, your mind drifted elsewhere, retreating into a place too dark to name. Her voice faded into the background, replaced by the pounding of your own heart, the rush of thoughts you couldn’t control.

You wanted to believe that the damage done to you was only skin deep, that it could be patched up, hidden, forgotten. But the truth sat in your chest, heavy and suffocating. It clawed at you, impossible to ignore.

What did you even feel anymore? Anger? Hurt? A mixture of everything, swirling and crashing together in a storm you couldn’t escape?

Disgust.

The word came unbidden, rising in your throat like bile. Disgust at what had been done to you, but more than that—disgust at yourself.

Your hands trembled as you pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes, desperate to stop the flood of tears that had started to spill over, uninvited and relentless. You couldn't stop them. They rolled down your cheeks, burning in their rawness. But it wasn’t just the pain of your body—it was the pain of something deeper, something you couldn't look at yet.

You wanted to scream, to tear away from it all, but you couldn't move. So you stayed frozen, letting the tears fall, hating the weakness, hating the feeling of being so... broken.

The days blurred together, each one spent curled up in the sterile confines of your hospital bed, barely moving, barely breathing. Shadows stretched long across the walls as time crawled by, indifferent to your suffering.

Simon rarely left your side. He sat in the heavy silence, shoulders weighed down by words he couldn’t say. He brought flowers—delicate things that wilted too quickly—and crayon drawings from Mia, vibrant splashes of color against the stark white of the room. He spoke softly, telling you how she was, how much she missed you, but his voice always carried something else. Something he tried to hide.

Your mother visited when Simon had to return home to your daughter, filling the room with quiet reassurances that never quite reached you. Even Johnny and Jessica came by, their presence another reminder of the life waiting beyond these walls.

You were never alone, and part of you clung to their presence, to the warmth of their concern. But another part—a darker, more restless part—wanted nothing more than to be left alone. To not endure the careful whispers and the sidelong glances filled with pity. To not feel like something fragile, something broken.

Then, after weeks trapped in that limbo, the hospital doors finally released you.

Crossing the threshold of your home, you steadied yourself, the air thick with a silence that shouldn’t have been there. You almost heard the echo of Mia’s small feet pattering against the hardwood, her excited squeals as she ran into your arms. But the house remained still.

Your legs felt unsteady as you made your way to the living room, sinking into the couch, exhaustion pulling at you like an anchor. Simon lingered nearby, his gaze settling on you, unreadable.

"Where’s Mia?" Your voice barely rose above a whisper.

Simon hesitated before answering, choosing his words carefully. "She went to London with your mum." He moved toward you, slow and deliberate, stopping at the armchair instead of beside you. There was distance between you now. A space that hadn’t always been there. "Figured you wouldn’t want her to see you like this."

A sharp silence fell between you.

You swallowed hard, his words settling deep, somewhere raw and exposed. Of course, you had seen yourself in the mirror. The bruises, the swollen reminders of what had been done to you. The stranger staring back from the glass.

"See me like what?" The words came out sharper than you intended. Before he could respond, the dam broke. "I feel it, Simon. The way you look at me—like I’m something ruined. That pity in your eyes—"

"No, stop." His voice was urgent, pleading. "That’s not it at all, Love, please." He reached for you, fingers hovering, hesitant.

His face flickered with something—pain, frustration, something deeper. But it wasn’t enough to stop the words from tumbling from your lips, raw and unfiltered.

"And I see the disgust when you look at me." The bitterness in your voice cut through the air, sharp and unforgiving. "And you won’t even touch me!" The dam broke, and the tears came hot and fast, spilling down your cheeks. The pain tore through your chest, twisting, burning—you couldn’t even tell if it was the ache of your bruised ribs or the weight of something deeper, something raw and unseen.

Simon flinched. Then, suddenly, the restraint in his voice snapped. "I don’t touch you because you won’t let me!" The words came fast, almost a plea, not laced with anger but something worse—hurt. A deep, aching wound in his voice, in his eyes, in the way his fingers curled into fists against his thighs. You had never seen him like this before.

Silence. Heavy. Unbearable.

And in that silence, the distance between you grew wider.

[msklassickilla]

Prada You Chapter 20

Summary:

In the summer of 1998, sparks fly between Nyeya and Jey.

Nyeya is an 18-year-old around the way girl. Jey is older, paid, and fine. He is also the leader of the infamous Prada Bois alongside his twin brother Jimmy.  The two have chemistry. However, Nyeya has plans outside of her attraction. With a birthday around the corner and dreams of living a good life, Nyeya sets her sights on enjoying the perks of Jey's money and hood celebrity.

But baby girl has no clue what it takes to really be down. Nyeya is about to learn some hard life lessons at the expense of her 'Prada' priced dreams.

Pairing: Jey Uso x Nyeya (Nye) Green (OC)

Author’s Note: This story is happening in an alternative universe. It features the current and original Bloodline members along with other WWE stars. So, the characters are themselves, but some things are switched around for the stories sake. This was originally written with all original characters, but I think it could work better this way. Hope you guys enjoy it and I actually finish it...

Warning: Please be advised that this chapter contains harsh/foul language, mentions of underage drinking, age gap relationships.

Disclaimer: This work of art is fictional in nature including the original characters created by me. I do not own any of the existing characters or lyrics from songs referenced in this story (if any). All rights belong to their respective owners with the exception of my original characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to cause harm.

Chapter 19: Truth & Lies

August 4th 1998

The sun was blazing down, the humid summer air making the basketball court shimmer like a mirage. I sat at the picnic table under the patchy shade of a scraggly oak tree, fanning myself with a folded flyer someone had left behind. Kiyah and Natasha were across from me, chattering away, their voices weaving through the sound of kids shouting and sneakers squeaking against the blacktop.

Kiyah’s face lit up as she leaned forward, dropping her chin into her hands. "Okay, so let me tell y’all about Big Daddy Jacob."

"Ooh, spill!" Natasha said, her eyes glinting with excitement. "Y’all getting serious, or is he still just a good time?"

Kiyah grinned, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Girl, I like him a lot. Like, for real. And that lil’ night we spent together. Let’s just say… I did what needed to be done."

I let out a laugh, shaking my head as Natasha clapped her hands together, squealing. "You’re too much, Kiyah."

"Oh, it gets better," Kiyah said, leaning back with a satisfied smirk. "I’ll be moving into his pockets shortly. I need them probation fees paid a.s.a.p."

The three of us burst out laughing, the sound carrying across the court. For a moment, everything felt light and carefree, like the weight of the past few weeks had lifted just enough for us to breathe.

"Alright, Nye," Natasha said, turning her attention to me. "Enough about Kiyah’s sugah daddy adventures. What’s up with your party? You ready?"

I shrugged, though a small smile tugged at my lips. "I’m getting there. Jey’s handling most of it. He already rented out a nightclub downtown and took care of the decorations, food, and music. Like I didn’t have to do none of that. All I gotta do is find an outfit."

"A whole nightclub?" Kiyah’s eyes widened. "Damn. That shit gon’ be nice as fuck. Girl, you better show out. That’s gonna be a night to remember."

Natasha nodded enthusiastically. "For real. This is big. I just know everybody gone be there."

"That’s exactly what I was thinking. Party gon’ be full as hell especially with all the boys being there," I replied, my smile faltering slightly. Outwardly, I was as excited as they were, but deep down, something wasn’t sitting right. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was coming, like a storm I couldn’t see but could feel in the air.

I pushed the thought aside, forcing myself to focus on the present. "It’ll be fun," I said, my voice firmer this time. "We just gotta make sure our outfits is on point."

The girls squealed; their excitement infectious. Kiyah reached over to slap my arm. "Don’t even stress it. We all gon’ look bomb. That’s our night to shut shit down."

---

August 5th 1998

The next day, I was standing at the sink, up to my elbows in soapy water, when I heard the front door open. Mama’s voice floated in, tired but warm. "Nyeya, finish those dishes and come talk to me."

"Okay, Mama," I called back, rinsing off the last plate and setting it in the drying rack. Wiping my hands on a towel, I made my way to the living room, where she was sitting on the couch, her shoes kicked off and her hair tied up in a scarf. She patted the cushion beside her, and I sat down, the heaviness in her gaze immediately putting me on edge.

She reached out, gently caressing my face. "You been alright?"

"Yeah, Mama. Why?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. My stomach churned, sensing that whatever was coming wasn’t going to be easy. The scratch on my face had begun to fade but I still felt uneasy under her watchful gaze.

Mama’s lips pressed into a thin line. "Nat told me she heard you and Kiyah was fighting at the arcade Saturday night."

My heart dropped. Nat had been a family friend for as long as I could remember, but I hadn’t expected her to run back to Mama with what she’d heard. How did that even get back to her to know that? Michael was right, eyes were everywhere.

"It wasn’t that serious," I said quickly, hoping to downplay the situation. "Just some girls running their mouths."

Mama’s eyes narrowed slightly. "And who’s this guy friend you’ve been running around with, the one you were supposed to be with?"

I froze, my mind racing. "He’s… he’s just a guy I’ve been seeing from around the way," I said vaguely, avoiding her gaze.

"Just a guy?" Mama’s voice was calm but firm, the kind of tone that demanded the truth. "How old is this guy, Nyeya?"

I hesitated, my hands twisting in my lap. "He’s… he’s 29."

Mama’s eyebrows shot up. "29? Nyeya, that’s a grown man."

"I know," I said quickly. "But he’s… he’s good to me. Jey don’t mean me no harm. Like he not using me like other guys would be, Mama."

Her expression softened slightly, but her eyes remained serious. "Is Jey the one you’ve been spending the night with? You should’ve known it was going to get back to me eventually."

She knew more than I thought. I swallowed hard, realizing there was no point in lying now. "Yes," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. I couldn’t believe all my bones was falling out the closet like this.

Mama sighed, leaning back against the couch. "Nyeya, I was your age once. I know how easy it is to get caught up, especially with a man who makes you feel like the world is yours. But you have to be careful. You have to be smart."

"I am," I said, tears stinging my eyes. "Mama, I… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I didn’t want you to be mad at me."

I hated disappointing my mama. She did so much for us. I knew who Jey was and if she knew the whole story, she’d definitely have good reason to be.

She reached out, pulling me into a hug. "I’m not mad, baby. I just want you to be honest with me. Lies don’t make things easier, they make them harder. And more than that, I want you to be careful. I’ve seen what this life can do. I’ve lived it. Your daddy… he was just like this man you’re seeing. And look where he ended up."

The mention of my father hit me like a punch to the gut. Mama rarely talked about him, but when she did, it was always a reminder of the risks that came with the life he chose. Slim had been the love of her life until a drug sting when I was two snatched him away. She had moved on, but the scars of that time still lingered.

"I know," I whispered, my voice shaky. "I promise I’ll be careful. And if it gets to be too much… I’ll leave."

Mama pulled back, her hands resting on my shoulders. "I just want you to be happy, Nyeya. Don’t let no man dim your light. Don’t give him that type of power. You’ve got a bright future ahead of you, and I’m not gonna let anyone take that from you. You shouldn’t either."

I nodded, tears slipping down my cheeks. "I promise, Mama. You taught me to want better, to expect better. I won’t let you down."

She smiled softly, brushing a thumb over my cheek. "Good. Now, when am I gonna meet this Jey? Time for you to stop hiding him."

The question caught me off guard, but I managed a small smile. "Soon," I said. "I’ll talk to him about it."

Mama sighed, her tone softening even more. "Nyeya, I’m serious. If he’s the man you’re giving your time to, I need to know who he is and what he's all about. I don’t want you caught up in something you can’t get out of."

The conversation ended better than expected, but as I went back to my room, a heaviness settled over me. Mama’s words lingered in my mind, a reminder of the fine line I was walking. Jey had made it clear—ain’t no leaving. And deep down, I wasn’t sure I wanted to. But I couldn’t ignore the growing sense that this life, as thrilling as it was, came at a price I wasn’t ready to pay.

August 7th 1998

Friday night rolled around, and the air buzzed with the vibrant energy of summer. The Prada Bois’ car show was in full swing, taking over a sprawling parking lot at the park by the lake. The hum of car engines mixed with music blasting from the speakers that surrounded the DJ, and the scent of grilled meats and fresh panipopo hung in the humid air. Kids shrieked with laughter as they jumped in bounce houses, while groups of men hovered around their tricked-out cars, showing off gleaming paint jobs and customized interiors.

I arrived with Kiyah, Natasha, and Nataya. The twins had borrowed their mother’s car for the night under the guise of them going to some youth night at church, and Kiyah had wasted no time calling shotgun. I had squeezed into the back seat with Nataya, the four of us hyped for the night ahead. I wore my red bandeau top and favorite Tommy Hilfiger overalls, my gold bracelet from Jey gleaming on my wrist like a mark of loyalty—or ownership. A reminder that it always held more weight than it probably should have.

The scene was alive when we stepped out of the car. Bright headlights from parked cars cast long shadows, and the glow of string lights wrapped around tents gave the whole place a festive feel. Kiyah spotted Jacob leaning casually against a shiny black Impala, his Prada Boi chain glinting under the streetlights. She shot me a grin before making a beeline for him. Natasha, always drawn to the music, drifted towards the DJ, her hips already swaying to the beat.

That left me with Nataya, who didn’t even glance back as she marched straight to the food tables.

“Girl, you must be hungry?” I teased, catching up to her.

She shot me a grin over her shoulder. “You already know. Don’t act like you don’t be eating too.”

I laughed, shaking my head. By the time I caught up, Nataya was piling her plate high with barbecue ribs, potato salad, baked beans, and a generous helping of sapasui. Then she grabbed another plate and added grilled chicken, panipopo, and fresh taro.

“Two plates?” I asked, raising an eyebrow as we found a spot at one of the picnic tables. She was really taking advantage of the free food.

Nataya plopped down, balancing the plates with ease. “Baby, yes. Jimmy put me on to the island food. I gotta taste everything,” she said with a wink before digging in.

I sat across from her, my appetite gone as I watched her eat with enthusiasm. My gaze lingered on her oversized shirt and shorts, a far cry from Natasha’s mini dress. Her face seemed fuller; her movements slower. Something felt different.

“Nye, you okay?” Nataya asked, noticing my stare. “Why you not eating? You don’t like it?”

I hesitated, the words slipping out before I could stop them. “You on your period?”

I didn’t mean to say it out loud but the thoughts tumbling in mind had me curious. I needed some answers.

Her fork paused mid-air. “What? Why?”

“You just… seem different,” I said, trying to sound casual. “And you’re eating like you ain’t had food all day.”

Nataya laughed, shaking her head. “Girl, I always eat like this. You know that.”

That much was true, but something about her felt… off. I decided not to push it. If she had something to tell me, she would, eventually. But for her sake, I hope it wasn’t what I thought it was.

After we finished eating, I let the party pull me in. The music was too good to ignore, and I found myself bouncing in the inflatable castle with some of the kids, laughing like I didn’t have a care in the world. When the DJ switched to a 90s R&B mix, Natasha dragged me to the makeshift dance floor. I let the rhythm take over, swaying and spinning, losing myself in the moment.

Then I felt it—a heavy, piercing gaze. My eyes scanned the crowd and landed on Damian. He sat near a lineup of cars, one woman perched on his lap and another leaning into him, her hand grazing his arm. But his eyes were locked on me, dark and unreadable.

A chill ran down my spine. I turned away, focusing on the music and Natasha’s carefree moves. Loyalty, I reminded myself. My loyalty was to Jey. Damian was just… history.

Kiyah joined us not long after, her hand clasped in Jacob’s. She leaned in close, her voice low. “Taya’s not drinking. She wouldn’t take a shot with me. That ain’t like her ass.”

“But she’s eating though,” I replied, glancing over at where Nataya was now chatting with a group of women. My only suspicion deepened.

Kiyah and I exchanged a knowing look. “Her ass bet not be pregnant,” Kiyah muttered. “You know they mama, Ms. Deedria, don’t play like that.”

“It’s looking like she is,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “And if she is… that’s crazy. I thought it would be yo’ ass to have baby first.”

Before Kiyah could respond, the growl of engines turned our attention to the lot’s entrance. Jey and Jimmy had arrived, their cars gleaming under the lights. For once, Jey wasn’t intoxicated. He looked calm, clear-headed, and… grounded as he exited his car. His eyes found mine immediately, and he motioned for me to come over.

I nodded to the others before sliding his way. My heart fluttered as I approached him. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me close. He kissed me, his lips warm and familiar. “You look good,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth.

“Thank you,” I said, smiling up at him.

We lingered in our own little world for a moment before he led me to a quieter spot. As he ate, he brought up something that made my chest tighten.

“When am I meeting moms?” he asked casually.

I had told him the day before that my mama knew who he was and that we were dating. I didn’t expect him to be so eager to meet her though. I still wasn’t sure if I wanted him to meet her. 

“Soon,” I said. “Probably on my birthday. She always does something special for me.” We would normally celebrate along with my granny, Bernice, and some of my other family.

Jey nodded, his expression thoughtful. “That works. But I’ve been thinking. After your birthday, you should move in with me. Ain’t no point in you staying at your mama’s place no more.”

The words hit me like a brick. “Move in?” I repeated, my voice shaky. “Jey, that’s… that’s a lot. And a bit fast.” Jey was talking crazy.

He frowned, his brows knitting together. “How is it a lot? You already spending nights with me. Got some of yo’ clothes there as well. What’s the difference?”

“The difference is my mama and Michael,” I said. “I can’t just leave them. Michael’s heading to high school. And I be there when Ma work overnight to make sure he good.”

I did other stuff to make my mama life easier. She worked full-time and also did hair on the side. I couldn’t just leave her especially for Jey who I only knew for two months. I loved Jey but that was too much of a commitment too soon.

Jey’s jaw tightened, frustration flickering in his eyes. “Michael’s damn near grown. He can take care of himself. You gotta let him be a man. And I’m sure ya mama will be good.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “I’ve been thinking about enrolling in community college this fall,” I said. “And maybe getting a part-time job. Just to have stuff to fill my time with.”

I had plans before I met Jey and I wasn’t trying to change them just because I was his girl now.

Jey’s hand brushed over the bracelet on my wrist, his touch both possessive and tender. “You can go to school, but you don’t need to work. I’ll take care of you, Nye. You know that. I need you with me though. I got us.”

His words should’ve reassured me, but they didn’t. I forced a nod, my mind swirling with doubts. We had been doing good. So, I choose not to argue.

As I glanced around the party, my thoughts wandered. The other Prada Boi wives and girlfriends seemed happy, but were they really? I watched Solo dancing with his girlfriend, Bronson laughing with his wife and kids, and Nataya sitting in Jimmy’s lap as he rubbed her stomach.

Was this truly the life I wanted? The question lingered, heavy and unanswered, as the party carried on around me.

---

The moon hung high in the sky, casting a soft glow over the parking lot as the streetlights flickered to life. The sounds of laughter and music filled the air, and the occasional rev of a car engine reminded everyone of the reason for the gathering. I leaned against a picnic table looking at nothing in particular, trying to shake the uneasy feeling that had been growing in my chest since Jey’s earlier suggestion.

"Nye," Jey’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. I looked up to see him standing a few feet away, his hand extended toward me. "Come here. Stop thinking so much. Go have some fun, baby."

I hesitated, then let him pull me into a hug. His arms were warm and firm, but they didn’t ease the tension inside me. I wanted to believe in him, in us, but doubts still lingered. I told myself to let it go, at least for tonight. The party was winding down, and I didn’t want to ruin the moment.

Jey kissed the top of my head before pulling away. He glanced toward the lineup of cars and nodded. "I’ll be over there with Damian. Come find me if you need anything."

I watched him stroll away, his confident stride unmistakable even in the dim light. He stopped by the hood of a sleek black car where Damian was already perched, a bottle of beer in his hand. My stomach twisted as I watched them exchange words. Their conversation looked serious, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Curiosity burned inside me, but I stayed rooted to my spot—until Jey’s eyes caught mine.

“Nye, come here,” he called out, his voice loud enough to rise above the chatter.

My heart raced. I told myself there was no reason to be nervous. Damian wouldn’t say anything. He wouldn’t dare. His ass bet not. That shit happened a long time ago. Forcing a smile, I walked over to them, my sandals clicking softly against the pavement. As I approached, Jey reached out and pulled me into his lap.

“Not you being anti-social, girl,” he teased, wrapping an arm around my waist. His tone was light, but I could feel Damian’s eyes on me.

Damian’s expression was unreadable. He took a slow sip of his beer before speaking. “Nyeya. Good to see you again.”

“You too,” I replied, keeping my tone polite. My guard was up, though, and I could feel the tension bubbling just beneath the surface. Don’t start no shit, won’t be no shit, sir.

Jey didn’t seem to notice. He leaned back against the car, completely at ease as he spoke to Damian about something— a deal, maybe, or plans for the weekend. I wasn’t paying attention. My focus was split between the warmth of Jey’s embrace and the cool detachment in Damian’s eyes. The moment felt like a game of chess, every word and gesture a calculated move.

Then she appeared. The woman from Tama’s pool party—the one who had been in Damian’s lap. She sidled up to him in a barely there dress, her hand resting possessively on his shoulder. Damian’s lips curled into a smirk as he introduced her.

“This is Dulce,” he said casually. “Dulce, this is Nyeya. Jey’s girl.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, forcing a polite smile. Dulce nodded, her attention quickly returning to Damian, who didn’t seem to mind.

Jey’s grip on my waist tightened slightly as if reminding me where I belonged. The conversation shifted to lighter topics as a few other Prada Bois wandered over, including Sami and Tama. They were laughing about something when Jey’s voice cut through the noise.

“By the way,” he said, his tone casual but loud enough for everyone to hear, “Nyeya’s gonna be moving in with me soon. My baby coming home for good.”

The group’s reaction was immediate. Cheers and congratulations erupted around us, with Tama slapping Jey on the back and Sami grinning broadly. “That’s what’s up, man,” one of them said.

I froze. My heart thudded painfully in my chest as I forced a smile. Jey hadn’t discussed this with me— not really. He’d brought it up earlier, but I hadn’t agreed to anything. I mean I nodded but that wasn’t agreeance that was a ‘okay, whatever’ type of thing. And now here his ass was announcing it like it was a done deal. I couldn’t believe it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Damian’s reaction. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and the tension in his jaw was impossible to miss. When our eyes met, it felt like the air had been knocked out of me. There was an unspoken conversation happening between us, one that no one else could hear. I looked away quickly, feeling queasy.

Jey tilted his head to look at me. “You good, baby?”

I nodded, plastering the smile back on my face. “Yeah. I’m good.”

The party carried on around us, the laughter and music ringing hollow in my ears. As Jey chatted with the others, I leaned into his chest, letting his presence ground me. But my thoughts were a tangled mess. Damian’s warnings echoed in my mind, and for the first time, I wondered if I was in over my head. Even if I was, Jey wasn’t letting me go.

----

Want to read from the beginning? Click Here

If you wanna join the taglist for this story, just let me know! Taglist: @theusotwinzcom @nbanenefrmdao @queeny23 @punksyeet @partypoison00 @justazzi

[hlxtn]

I will make it my life mission to find a cocky smirking manipulative toxic jock atsumu fic and share it with everyone

If its the last thing i do, research starts after work

[transvampireboyfriend]

but i DO always enjoy Eddie's freeze response to Steve coming out. like their entire relationship flashes before his eyes. all the pet names and the touching and the teasing bc he thought Steve was sooooo oblivious and it turns out !! !! Steve has always known exactly what was happening.

[gojosprettyprincess]

SATORU'S FAVORITE TYPE OF DAY-STARTER!!

Morning sex, prone bone, creampie, degradation n praise. Not proofread

☼₊˚· ७

The morning ray of warm sunlight slowly filters through the curtains, casting a golden glow—gently filling the room. It was early in the morning but also timely enough for the sweet melodic chirps of the morning birds to be heard outside. You and your boyfriend Satoru had the day off from your sorcerer jobs so everything was so comforting and peaceful...

Except for the nasty, lewd sounds of your rippling ass slapping against his pelvis—indicating just how deep he was diving his cock into your slippery pussy with ease, drenching the white sheets below, where the two of you were connected.

He was straddling your thighs from behind as his passionate thrusts echoed throughout the room.

Each deep, rhythmic stroke caused waves of pleasure to cascade through every inch of your being. His snowy-white huffs of pubic hair brushing tenderly against your sensitive folds and swollen clit in a dance of ecstasy.

His hands gripping your waist firmly as he delved deeper into your warm, inviting core.

“Fuck you're such a horny little slut, Sweetheart. Didn't I already fucked you good last night? But that just wasn't enough, was it? Always desperate for some cock“ he snickers mockingly, as he taunts you with a smirk. Blindfolded eyes infatuated with the cadency of his flushed cock disappearing into your warm, plushy walls every other second, following the rhythm of his thrusts.

You whimpered pathetically to his degrading commentary, the sound of your distress from his bullying blending with the rustling of the sheets beneath you as you gripped it for dear life.

“Mmm, Satoru! soo gooddd, y-you’re soo d-eep fuck!” you cried out, feeling nothing but pleasure consuming you as drool steeps out of your mouth—damping the soft pillow beneath. His angry, mushroom head jabs your g-spot over and over making you arch your back uncontrollably. His thick cock already stretching your pussy open in the mere crack of dawn.

“Yeah? My cock making you feel good sweetheart?” he chuckles, playfully swatting your cheeks, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he lets out a toothy grin watching how it bounces back against him when he sinks his swollen cock into you. “Shit—yesyesyes, Sat-toruuu rub my clit, please! Fuckk” you cried out, your urgent plea driving him wild as you grind your hips back into him hastily, your twitching little pussy tainting his cock with your runny slick as you see stars.

He grins, moving his fingers down to pinch and rub teasing circles on the sensitive bud, “Seriously? Your pussy is gonna cream on me already? What a filthy whore” he chuckles, heading falling back lazily as the sunlight illuminates his flawless skin. “Was expecting a little more than that but I know how fucking crazy this hungry pussy gets when I'm balls deep, stuffing it full”, he jests with a hint of satisfaction, his laughter echoing around you.

He pressed a hand firmly against your lower back, pressing it down—restricting all your movements as he readjusts the position. His tall figure now looming over you, both hands on each of your sides of your body, trapping you in as you moaned out like dumb slut. Each forceful thrust pushes his rigid length to the brink, feeling his cock ramming deeper and deeper inside your gushing cunt, to the point where his angry tip is nudging against your cervix—making your eyes roll back, one thing about Satoru was that he’s a literal beast when it comes to fucking you, he does it like his whole life depended on it.

You were on the verge of reaching climax and all it took was to hear your boyfriend’s hot, guttural moan—one that ignited your already frenzied lust, the loudest one since you two began fucking to have your greedy, stretched cunt to pulsate and spasm uncontrollably, releasing all over his pretty, flushed cock. Your moans melded with the fabric of the pillow as your fingers clenched the headboard in a desperate attempt to anchor yourself as you felt your cum dribbling out of your cunt and down your thighs—it was so messy.

“Ohhh fuck yeah, that’s it, baby, thattt’s it” he groans out with a smirk, feeling your sticky cream coating his length. His eyes dancing mischievously as he observed the wet patch forming on the pillow beneath your head from your drooling.

You cried out, eyes peering open as he kept fucking your soppy pussy.

Rings, and rings of glistening cum decorating the base of his cock sinfully. A loud whimper escaped your lips as you felt the relentless stimulation of your pussy used by him even after your orgasm. He laughs at your sudden reaction. “Aww sweetheart, you didn’t think you'll get to cum but I won’t, did you? Such a greedy whore, only thinking about yourself and this greedy, fucking pussy” he’s so amused by you, his bullying cock abusing your poor used cunt, his balls strucking your clit with vigor, making it so much more intense. “Oh, my—fuckk!” You hiccuped, feeling your soul levitating from your body as his eager cock molds your pussy to shape his cock.

“This pussy is so fucking good, God you’re so perfect” he smiles widely from the pure pleasure of your wet pussy, and a warm flutter settled in his stomach as you took his pounding. His rigged breath made you so dizzy as his thick veins dragged along the insides of your cunt. “You like me stuffing this pussy baby?, like getting your brains fucked out by my cock?” He babbles out, on the verge of losing his mind as he chases his release.

“Yes! Yes! Ohmygoddd” you screamed, both of your legs flailing behind you as he was drilling impossibly fucking deep inside of you, he was so loud, moaning just inches from your ears, making your pussy flutter over and over hearing your boyfriend making such lewd unabashed noises. One thing about Satoru was that he was never embarrassed or cared when it came to being vocal in bed—sometimes he’s even louder than you. You could feel the veins of his cock twitching against your walls as he fucks your cervix like a feral beast.

“Fuckohfuck!” his head falls back as he takes a deep breath. “Gon-na cum, fuck! Gonna creampie this little pussy and stuff it for with my seed” he bites his lip, thrusting himself into you relentlessly as his hips stuttered and abs flexed against you.

His jaw fell open in a silent scream while his eyes rolled back as he emptied his essence inside of you, groaning loudly, feeling your pussy sucking the warm cum greedily out of his shaft. His body collapses onto yours, making you mewl in pain as you adjust to his heavyweight. He wrapped both of his arms around your neck to lift your head up as he moved closer to your face—he lazily licked a stripe of your jawline as his eyes fluttered to stay open.

“Good morninggg, Beautiful” his deep voice mumbled to you with a fucked out smile.

[d1stalker]

Origin [Logan Howlett]

Summary: Two people, one shared past, and decades apart.

Warnings: fem!reader, angst, fluff, longing, things get bad before they get better! WC: 14k - MASTERLIST

A/N: there are plot points that are inspired by Logan's origin story (thank u marvelwiki), but they are so non-canon compliant its funny so don't call me out tyyy 😙

----

Before he was known as Logan, or as Wolverine, he was James. 

Your James. 

—

It’s quiet in the Howlett estate, the kind of stillness that only comes when everyone has long retired for the night. But while the rest of the mansion sleeps, you remain wide awake. Dressed in your nightgown and nestled under the blankets, you glance at the small, brass pocketwatch resting on your bedside table. The hands read 10:22 PM. Any minute now, you think to yourself. 

Then, like clockwork, you hear it—a faint knock on your door. Three slow, deliberate taps, followed by two quick ones. The secret signal never fails to make you smile. You spring from the bed, feet softly padding across the floor as you hurry to the door. You open it as quietly as possible, your grin widening the moment you see who’s waiting on the other side.

James.

He stands there, dark tousled hair and that familiar mischievous smile that always manages to light up the dim hallway. You’ve known him your entire life, growing up together under the roof of the Howlett estate. Your parents, both loyal servants to the Howlett family, were fortunate enough to be granted permission raise you alongside their son.

From the moment you could walk, you and James were inseparable, sharing countless adventures in the woods, running across the estate’s gardens, and whispering secrets to one another under moonlit skies.

"About time," you whisper, teasing him with a playful glint in your eyes. "You really know how to keep a lady waiting, don’t you?"

A soft snort escapes his lips as he grabs your hand, pulling you gently into the hallway. "My deepest apologies, M’lady," he replies with mock formality, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. "I had to... attend to urgent business in the necessary."

You snicker, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "Ah, I see. Was it a fulfilling experience, sir Howlett?"

He glances over his shoulder, rolling his eyes with exaggerated exasperation, though you catch the small smirk tugging at his lips. He doesn’t respond, but his silence confirms everything. It was.

The rest of the trip is quiet, the two of you moving stealthily through the darkened corridors, careful not to disturb anyone or draw unwanted attention. After all, your mother would certainly disapprove of such late-night rendezvous. It is improper, she would say.

But what choice did you have? The day offered no time for moments like this. You were busy training to take over as the next chief maid, learning the endless routines of the household, while James spent his time with his family or other highborn friends. It was only after hours, when the mansion finally settled, that the two of you could steal away for these secret meetings.

Finally, you reach the gardens. The crisp night air greets you as you slip away from any prying eyes. There’s a familiar sense of peace here, among the fragrant flowers and the towering trees that shield you from the world. James leads you to your usual spot, a stone bench tucked beneath the shadow of the hedges. Wordlessly, he slips off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders before taking a dramatic bow.

"To keep you warm, M’lady," he says softly.

"Hush, James," you laugh, finding his antics endearing. 

You’re grateful, especially as the cool night air nips at your exposed skin. The nightgown, while comfortable, offers little protection against the chill. You pull his jacket tighter around yourself, then pat the empty spot next to you, gesturing to him to sit, to which he does.

“How was your day?" you prompt.

James sighs, leaning back on the bench, his hand casually resting behind you as he stares up at the sky. "Same old, same old," he starts, a familiar twinge of annoyance creeping into his voice. "You know how it is. Dinners with my parents, listenin’ to old men talk about businesses I'll never care about, trying not to fall asleep while they drone on about investments or land expansions. It’s all so posh."

You stifle a giggle, nudging him playfully with your elbow. "Posh? You sound like you're living the dream."

He rolls his eyes dramatically. "If by 'dream,' you mean sitting there pretending to care while wonderin’ how quickly I can escape to see you, then yeah, it's an absolute dream," he quips sarcastically.

Sniggering, you bring your hand up to your forehead, acting distressed. "Oh, how tragic. The poor Lord James Howlett, trapped in a world of lavish dinners and fancy wine. Whatever will you do?"

"Mock me all you want, but it’s unbearable," he groans, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I hate it. All the stuffy clothes, the fake smiles, the way everyone acts like they're better than everyone else." He pauses for a moment, then glances sideways at you. "You're the only real thing here."

The sincerity in his words makes your heart flutter, and you’re suddenly grateful for the darkness hiding the faint blush creeping up your cheeks. Looking away, you try to play it off. "Well, if that’s the case, I guess I should charge you for my company," you tease coyly.

He lets out a huff of amusement, shaking his head. "I'll pay whatever price you want.”

There's a pause as you both sit in comfortable silence. Just then, a soft breeze sweeps through the garden, catching the edges of your nightgown and fanning it up slightly. Before you can even react, he swiftly moves his jacket from your shoulders to your lap, covering your legs. His hand lingers, making sure you're covered before he hastily wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you close against him.

The warmth from his body contrasts with the cool air, and you can't help but laugh softly at his sudden behaviour. "Wow, you really are a gentleman, James."

He tenses slightly, his grip on your shoulder loosening as he looks away, clearly flustered. "I—I just didn’t want you to get cold," he mumbles, his usual confidence faltering.

You smile at how shy he suddenly seems, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Thank you. It’s sweet."

For a brief second, he says nothing, but you can feel the way his heartbeat picks up just a little. Then, almost too quietly, he mutters, "I’d do anythin’ for you."

Your breath catches in your throat, and you tilt your head to look up at him. But you can’t respond, because he clears his throat, looking down at you with a small, sheepish smile. "What about you? Any exciting adventures in the life of a future chief maid?"

Grinning, you recognize his attempt to shift the conversation, and decide to let it go for now. "Oh, you know, the usual. A thrilling day of dusting, folding linens, and trying not to spill tea on your mother’s favourite rug."

He chuckles, pulling you a little closer. "Sounds way more exciting than my day."

You hum in acknowledgement, letting the moment linger. Neither of you speak for a bit, just relishing being in each other’s presence. 

"So, do tell," you say after a while, breaking the silence, "if you could get away from all the fancy dinners and boring conversations, what would you do?"

He smiles slightly, his gaze still fixed on the star-filled sky. "I’d leave. Go far away from here, maybe somewhere quiet. Live in the countryside, where no one cares about wealth or titles." His eyes drop to meet yours. "Maybe you’d come with me."

You laugh gently. "And who would take care of your family if we both ran off?"

Shrugging, his expression grows more serious. "They don’t need me. They need someone who’ll do what they want—someone to follow in their footsteps. That’s never been me."

There’s a weight in his words, and you feel a pang of sympathy for him. You’re about to respond, to tell him you understand more than he realizes, when—

BANG.

Your body stiffens instantly, heart beginning to pound in your chest as you straighten up, eyes wide.

"What the hell was that?" James asks sharply. He turns to you, his face mirroring the confusion and unease you're feeling.

Shaking your head, you swallow the lump that’s forming in your throat. "It sounded like a gunshot."

The two of you stare at each other for a beat, then, right when you’re going to speak again, you hear it—his mother’s scream. It’s high-pitched, panicked, and it sends a jolt of fear through you both.

"Help!" she shrieks from inside the mansion. "James, help!"

Without a word, you bolt to your feet, the peaceful night forgotten as you rush back inside. Your heart is racing as your bare feet fly across the grass, nightgown fluttering behind you. James is ahead of you, moving fast, his expression shifting from confusion to pure fear.

As you reach the back entrance, your mind races with possibilities, none of them good. You burst through the door into the hallway, your breathing laboured from the sudden sprint. Something is terribly wrong.

"Mother!" He calls, his voice sharp with panic as he leads the way toward the main staircase. You follow close behind, anxiety coiling tight in your chest.

Once you get to the bottom of the stairs, you hear footsteps—heavy, hurried—and then you see her. Mrs. Howlett, wide-eyed and pale, comes hurrying down from the upper floor, clutching the banister for support. Her hands are trembling.

"James!" she cries. "Your father—he’s been shot!"

The boy beside you freezes, face going white. "What?" he breathes, disbelief etched into every syllable.

"He—he was in his study, and I—I heard the gunfire. I—I don’t know what happened. I don’t know who—" Her voice breaks, and tears stream down her face as she struggles to speak. "We need to get help!"

He doesn’t waste another second, taking off up the stairs, his long strides making quick work of the distance. You trail after him. How could this happen? Who could’ve done this?

When you reach the second floor, you see the study door slightly ajar, light spilling out into the dark hallway. James' hand wavers over the doorknob for only a moment before pushing the it open wide.

Inside, the scene is worse than you imagined.

There, slumped over his desk, is Mr. Howlett. His once pristine office now looks chaotic—papers scattered, a window broken, and blood, so much blood. A crimson stain is spreading across his shirt.

"Father," James chokes out, rushing to his side, his hands shaking as he reaches for him.

You stand paralyzed for a moment, the sight rendering you speechless, but then the adrenaline kicks in, and you move further into the room. Your mind is screaming at you to do something, anything, but all you can do is watch as James desperately tries to wake his father, calling his name again and again.

Trying to make sense of the horrific scene, your attention is dragged away by the sound of footsteps shuffling behind you. Thomas Logan, the groundskeeper, stumbles in, his movements clumsy, his face twisted with drunkenness. His bloodshot eyes are manic, and in his trembling hand, he’s clutching a gun—the same one that must have been used to end Mr. Howlett’s life.

"Thomas!" Mrs. Howlett yelps. "What are you doing?"

James turns sharply, still kneeling beside his father’s body, his expression hardening immediately. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Thomas lets out a low, slurred laugh, staggering further into the room. His eyes flick between you, James, and Mrs. Howlett, but his focus remains hazy. "I’ve had enough of this, enough of all of it," he mutters, waving the gun in the air. "Your precious mother thought she could keep the truth from you. But it’s time you knew the truth, boy."

"What truth?" The younger man demands harshly.

Swaying on his feet, he points the gun directly at James, his finger twitching dangerously on the trigger. "I’m not just the groundskeeper, you idiot," he snarls venomously, "I’m your damn father."

It’s as if the room has been put on pause. You feel the air leave your lungs, your mind scrambling to make sense of what you just heard. Glancing at your friend, you see the disbelief wash over his features, his eyes widening with shock, denial.

"No," he whispers, shaking his head, backing away slightly. "You're lying. You’re drunk."

But the older man just laughs, the sound hollow and bitter. "You think John Howlett was your father? That man never wanted you! He raised you because he had to, not because you were his. You’re mine, boy. My flesh and blood,” he jerks his head in the direction of Mrs. Howlett. “Go ahead, ask your mama."

You hear Mrs. Howlett begin to blubber in the background at the accusation, but your attention is solely on the boy in front of you.

Betrayal is written all over his face.

His breath quickens, and his hands clench into fists at his sides. You want to reach out to him, concern puling you forward, but then he lets out a scream—a sound so full of pain that you stop in your tracks.

"James!" you cry, but he doesn’t seem to hear you. His eyes squeeze shut, and his body convulses, as though something inside him is tearing him apart from the inside out.

The sickening sound of skin breaking fills your ears, and bone claws shoot out from his knuckles. They gleam in the dim light of the room, sharp and lethal. The sight of them is nauseating, but you’re unable to look away as James blinks, gazing down at his hands, dumbfounded.

"What—" he rasps, his chest heaving. "What’s happening to me?"

“What the hell is this?” Thomas sneers in disgust.  He stumbles, reaching for the wall to steady himself. “Figures... Of course my son’s a freak.”

“You were always a fuck-up,” he continues in his drunken rage. “Useless, soft... a disappointment from the start. Just like your mother. Look at you now, boy.”

“I’m not your boy,” James snarls through gritted teeth, rage building inside him. His eyes flash dangerously. It’s as if something inside him has snapped, some deep, instinctual part of him that has been lying dormant, waiting for this very moment.

“You’re right. You’re no son of mine. Just a goddamn mistake. Should’ve left you in the dirt with your—"

Before he can finish, a roar rips from James’s throat. So raw, so animalistic, you get goosebumps. His entire body tenses, muscles coiled, and then, with terrifying speed, he lunges.

In an instant, his claws sink deep into Thomas’s chest with a thunk. The force of the blow sends the older man crashing back, disbelief and agony seizing his face as blood sprays across the room, spattering the walls and floor. His body thrashes, his hands weakly grasping at his son’s wrists, but there’s no strength left in him. 

A gurgling gasp bubbles from his throat, and then it's over. He collapses to the ground, lifeless, as James stands over him, claws retreating back into his skin. 

"James!" Mrs. Howlett screams, her voice piercing. "What have you done?!"

You don’t know how to react. You can’t process it, can’t breathe. All you know is that you need to get out of here—get James out of here, away from this nightmare before it consumes him. Without thinking, you rush to his side, grabbing his bloodied hand.

"We have to go!" you say urgently.

His eyes dart to you, frantic and unfocused but he doesn’t resist as you pull him toward the door. His mother's cries echo behind you, but you can’t stop, can’t look back.

You run—both of you—through the hallways, out the back door, and into the dark of night. The wind whips around you, stinging your face, but you don’t stop. You run until your legs burn, until you’ve entered the surrounding forest, and the Howlett estate is nothing but a distant shadow behind you. 

All the while, James’s hand stays locked in yours.

Branches scratch everywhere, at your arms, your face, and the underbrush tugs at your clothes as if trying to hold you back, but you push on. Only after the first light of dawn begins to creep in, does the exhaustion hit. Bodies aching and bruised, the two of you collapse beside a small stream. 

You’re on your back, catching you breath, when you tilt to your head to look over at your friend. He’s sitting down, with his hands out in front of him, leering at them. He struggles for air, his breaths coming in short, panicked bursts, and his clothes are torn, stained with blood—his father’s blood, Thomas’ blood. 

His claws are long retracted, but the scars of where they came out of his skin are there, fresh. 

"James," you whisper, but he doesn’t respond. Slowly, you crawl over to his side, pain flaring with each movement. When you reach him, you sit on your knees, looking up at him, trying to meet his gaze. You repeat his name, more firmly this time.

He finally looks at you, but he’s broken. His lips tremble as he opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a choked, almost inaudible, "What did I do?"

Your heart aches for him. Reaching out, you gently take one of his bloodied hands in yours, and as soon as your skin touches his, he flinches, pulling back slightly. "I killed him." he whispers, more to himself than anything. “I—I didn’t mean to, I swear I didn’t mean to!"

"Hey, listen to me," you say. "You didn’t know. You couldn’t have known this would happen."

"I killed him," he repeats. "I killed Thomas. I—" He glances down at his hands, at the scars along his knuckles, and his expression crumples completely. “He was my father.”

You don’t know what to say, don’t know how to fix this, but you know you have to try, so you wrap your arms around him. At first, he stiffens, but then he collapses to the ground, pulling you down with him. You land on top, your chest pressed against his as the weight of your bodies crashes into the soft earth. He squeezes you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded, his face buried in your shoulder as his breath comes in short, broken sobs.

"I didn’t mean to do it," he repeats, the words muffled against your skin. "Something just changed inside me. What am I? What am I turning into?"

“Hush," you whisper, moving one of your hands to brush his hair. "Look at me. Just breathe, okay? You’re not alone in this. We’ll figure it out together, I promise."

His arms tighten around you, pulling you even closer. It’s overwhelming, but you don’t push him away. Instead, you let him hold you as tightly as he needs, your fingers gently stroking the back of his head, trying to console him in any way you can.

"I’m a monster," he whimpers. "What if I hurt you, too?"

"You won’t," you affirm, lips brushing against his ear as you whisper. "You’re not a monster. This… this thing that happened, it doesn’t change who you are. You’re still you."

Beneath you, his body shakes, overcome by emotion he holds onto you. Your forehead is pressed to against his, your breath mingling with his while you continue to whisper reassurances, telling him over and over that it’s going to be okay, that he’s not alone.

Minutes pass, maybe longer—you lose track of time as you lie there together. Gradually, his cries begin to quiet, his breathing slowing as the storm inside him starts to subside. His grip on you loosens slightly, but he doesn’t let go fully, still cradling you in his arms.

Shifting, you raise your head to look at him. His eyes are red, his face pale, but he’s calmer. You start to pull yourself off of him, but as you're standing up, he grasps your hand again, and he looks at you with a tired, grateful expression, squeezing it gently as if to say everything he can’t put into words yet.

Then, you continue. Hand in hand, you move deeper into the forest. And finally, after a few more hours, you notice something in the distance. Through the trees, there are rooftops, small and clustered together, their chimneys trailing thin lines of smoke into the evening sky.

“A town,” you whisper, the first word you’ve spoken in hours.

He follows your gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the sight of the small mining town nestled in the valley.

In it, the people’s faces are etched with lines of hard labour and even harder lives, but still, you know you’ll be safe there. 

—

Initially, it’s difficult—this new life you and James have carved out is a far cry from the comforts of the Howlett estate. The town you’ve settled in is rough and unpolished. You both share a modest shack on the outskirts, a place that feels foreign and strange, but over time, it starts to become home.

He finds work in the mines almost immediately. The foreman takes one look at him, his broad shoulders and strong arms, and practically shoves a shovel in his hand without asking any questions. The job is tough, but it suits him. 

Every evening, he comes back to you covered in soot and dirt, his hands rough and calloused, his face lined with exhaustion. You can see the toll the work takes on him, how his body aches, but there’s something else too—a measure of peace that wasn’t there before. It’s as if he’s found a way to silence the chaos inside him, at least for a little while.

It’s not long before everyone in town begins to call him Logan, a name he offers with indifference when asked.

A new identity. 

Logan is a man who works hard, who keeps to himself, who doesn’t ask for anything more than a paycheck at the end of the week. 

Logan is a man who doesn’t need anyone, who can survive on his own. 

To you, he’s still James. 

In the quiet moments, when it’s just the two of you, he lets down the walls, lets you see through the façade. And when you whisper his name—James—he closes his eyes as if that one word alone soothes something deep in his soul.

After weeks of watching him silently carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, you offer him a rag to wipe his face as he sits down at the small table you’ve cobbled together from scraps. He takes it without a word, rubbing at the grime on his skin.

“You don’t have to do this forever, you know,” you say softly, leaning against the table as he tosses the rag aside. "There’s more to life than breaking your back underground."

He glances at you. "It’s all I’m good for now."

"You’re good for more than that," you reply walking up to him, reaching for his hand. He lets you take it, like he always does. "You can’t let what happened define you."

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he gives your hand a small squeeze, his eyes drifting to the floor as he mumbles, "What’s inside me… it’s different. You don’t know what it’s like."

You don’t argue. How could you?

The changes in him, the way his strength has grown, how his senses have sharpened, it all impacts him. He can hear things no one else can, smell the rain long before it falls, and even in complete darkness, he sees as clearly as if it were day. His powers are evolving, changing him.

But you know, deep down, that the man sitting in front of you is your friend—your James—no matter what he’s become.

You’ve seen him wrestle with the fear of what he might turn into, the fear of losing control, but you also see the man who leans into your touch, who lets you bandage his hands after long days in the mines, who presses his forehead to yours when the nights grow too heavy with silence.

And as your time together in the town goes by, there is a shift.

It starts with small things—a lingering glance, a brush of your fingers as you pass each other in the kitchen, the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

Then, it moves to bigger gestures. When you’d pack him his lunch fo the day, you slip in a small piece of parchment with a heart hastily drawn on it, or at night time, instead of falling asleep backs turned toward each other, awkwardly trying to ignore whatever tension is brewing, you fall asleep in his arms, and wake up the same way.

It gets to a point where you can neither of you can deny it. 

You’ve fallen in love.

—

It’s late, and you’re sitting by the fire outside the small cabin, waiting for him to return from one of his now-frequent disappearances into the woods. You used to worry about where he went, afraid he was distancing himself from you, so one night you followed him. What you found took your breath away—him, sitting out on a ledge, with some wild animals surrounding him. There was something in him that they must have recognized, a mutual respect that seemed to transcend anything human.

Since then, you’ve let him go without asking questions, trusting that those nights in the woods bring him the peace he can’t find anywhere else. But tonight, when he returns, he’s different. He doesn’t just brush past you to head inside. Instead, he sits beside you by the fire.

You turn to him, about to ask if everything’s alright, but the words catch in your throat when his hand cups your jaw. His grip is gentle, hesitant, as if he’s afraid to break the moment, but in his eyes, you find a longing, a yearning, that mirrors your own. 

His thumb brushes over your cheek, and for the first time in a long time, there’s no hesitation in his movements. Your heart stutters, and when he pulls you closer, you let him. His lips meet yours, careful at first, but as you kiss him back, you feel the stress drain from his body. 

The kiss deepens, slow, tender, and everything you’ve ever wanted.

—

The next few years are a kind of peaceful bliss you never expected. With each passing day, you and Logan seem to fall deeper into each other, the bond you share growing stronger, more intimate, like you’ve finally found the rhythm of the life you were always meant to have together.

Mornings are your favourite. He always wakes up first, moving quietly so as not to wake you, and he’s gotten into the habit of making you breakfast. You always sneak out of bed and snake your arms around him from behind, pressing your face into his back as he grumbles about you not getting enough sleep. “You’re always up too early,” he’d say. 

“I like being up with you,” you’d mumble in response, and he’ll turn around, his hands coming up to cradle your face, his eyes soft and full of that quiet, steady love he’s never really put into words. And then he’d kiss you like he has all the time in the world, even if he has to head over to the mines. 

On your days off from your job at the pub, you’ll spend hours together, finding little ways to enjoy the simplicity of your life. He will sometimes take you out to the woods behind the house, where you’d walk the trails together. He points out the different wildlife, the plants you don’t recognize, and you tease him about being a mountain man. He’d smirk, giving you that low, raspy chuckle that never fails to make your heart seize in your chest, and tug you closer to his side.

In the evenings, oftentimes, you sit together while you knit, something that started as a hobby but quickly became one of your preferred pastimes. He always pretends to be uninterested, but he’ll watch you anyway. “You’re getting good at that,” he’d say gruffly. 

“Want me to make you a sweater?” You smirk, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he’d grumble, but you can tell he’s secretly pleased at the idea.

The town itself becomes part of your life together, too. You’ve made friends with the locals, joining a small knitting club. If he has time, Logan drops by the pub on your shifts just to check in, sitting at the bar with a beer and watching you work. When your gazes connect very now and then, he gives you that look—the one that says he’s proud of you, that he’s content.

“We’ve got a good thing here,” he murmurs one night, holding you close. 

“Yeah,” you agree softly, kissing his cheek. “We really do.”

But, all good things must come to an end. 

The mining town, though small and isolated, isn’t immune to the tensions that fester beneath the surface. Harsh conditions, grueling work, and the endless grind wear people down, turning frustration into anger, and anger into violence. Fights break out often, especially in the saloon after a long day when men try to drown their sorrows in whiskey. You both have learned to keep your distance from such skirmishes, knowing nothing good ever comes from getting involved.

Still, one night, as you return home from your evening shift at the pub, you hear the unmistakable sounds of a brawl breaking out in the middle of the street. Shouts reverberate through the cold air, followed by the crash of breaking glass. Your heart races as you recognize the deep, guttural growl cutting through the noise—a sound you know all too well.

On impulse, you rush toward the commotion, dread pooling in your stomach. You know this won’t end well. Not here. Not for him.

When you reach the scene, your worst fears are confirmed. He stands in the centre of the chaos, fists clenched at his sides. Two men circle him, their faces twisted with drunken aggression, goading him. The small crowd that’s gathered seems almost entertained, too caught up in the spectacle to understand the true danger festering.

“James!” you shout, trying to get his attention, but to no avail.

One of the men—a burly miner you’ve seen around town a few times, always looking for trouble—lunges forward, his fist swinging. The punch connects with your man’s jaw, hard enough to stagger him back, but instead of falling, you see something shift in Logan’s expression. His eyes darken, his jaw tightens. Then, his claws slowly begin sliding out of his knuckles.

The crowd gasps, and the laughter dies immediately.

“Don’t come any closer,” he growls, his voice low and full of warning. His chest heaves as he struggles to keep control, but you can see the fire burning behind his eyes. He’s on the edge, teetering dangerously close to losing himself.

But the miner, too drunk and furious to notice or care, spits on the ground. “Freak!” he slurs, venom lacing every word. “You think you scare me?”

He charges at Logan again, fists swinging recklessly. Your heart leaps into your throat, and you scream for him to stop. But it’s too late. Logan tries to pull back, to stop what’s about to happen, but the man is too close, too fast.

Everything slows down, the world moving in fractured seconds. Claws slice through the air, meeting flesh with a sickening thud. The miner gasps, his eyes widening in shock as he stumbles, clutching at his chest where the claws have sunk deep. Blood blooms around his hands, staining the dirt beneath his feet.

And suddenly, you’re thrust back into the past. You see James as he was all those years ago, his claws dripping with blood after killing Thomas. The memory crashes into you—the look of fear on his face, the horror in his eyes, the way he stumbled back, realizing what he’d done.

Just like now.

Logan’s eyes go wide, his expression mirroring that same devastation. He steps back, staring at the miner who crumples to the ground, gasping for breath. What follows is a deafening silence, the air thick with shock and disbelief. The townspeople that had been so eager for a show now stand frozen, eyes wide, faces pale.

The man gasps one last breath, then goes still.

Logan stares at the body at his feet, his claws still extended, still dripping with the man’s blood. His chest heaves, his breath shallow, and he mutters under his breath, barely audible, "Oh god… Not again."

You rush to his side, grabbing his arm in desperation. "Come on, let’s go home."

He doesn’t move. He’s locked in place, staring at the man he’s just killed. His hands tremble, the claws still out, and you can see the raw pain in his eyes as the reality of what’s just happened sinks in.

"I didn’t mean to," he whispers again, his voice cracking. "I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…"

—

That night, while you're sleeping, Logan makes his decision.

And when you wake up the next day, the space beside you is cold.

The shack feels too quiet, too still. 

All you can do is stare at the empty spot in your bed. You tell yourself that maybe he’s outside, chopping wood or he’s already left for work. But deep down, you know. 

Throwing on your boots, you don’t bother to change out of your nightclothes, and rush outside. His name is the first thing out of your mouth, sharp and desperate. "James! Logan!" Your voice barrels through the small yard, bouncing off the trees and fading into the cool morning air. 

There’s no answer.

Panic grips you as you search the familiar places—around the shack, the small trail he likes to take into the woods, by the creek where he often spends time when he needs to clear his head. There’s no sign of him.

No footprints, no lingering scent. Nothing.

The townspeople stare as you move through the streets. They know what happened. They saw the claws, the blood. And now, they see you—a reminder of the violence that tore through their quiet lives. But you don’t care about their judgment right now. You’re too focused looking for him, too frantic to worry about the whispers that follow in your wake.

"Have you seen him?" you ask one of the miners who had once shared a drink with him, but he shakes his head and pulls away from you, muttering something under his breath. Everybody keeps their distance, their faces closed off, avoiding your gaze. 

By the time the sun climbs higher in the sky, the truth settles in your chest like a heavy stone. He left. You wander the streets a little longer, until exhaustion finally forces you back to the shack.

He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t even leave a note. The man who you shared your life with, who you fell in love with, is gone—and he isn’t coming back.

In the days that follow, everything changes. The people who once greeted you with a nod or a smile now avert their eyes when you walk by. They speak in hushed tones, voices thick with suspicion and disdain. 

Nobody cares that you had nothing to do with what happened in the street that night. To them, you’re guilty by association.

It starts slowly, but the gossip spreads like wildfire. Saying thinks like: you knew what Logan was all along, that you hid his secret, allowed him to kill their men. Their anger turns to you, and before long, you become the pariah—cut off, unwelcome, the person responsible for the death of one of their own.

The day they decide to exile you is gray and heavy, the sky thick with the promise of rain. No one has the decency to say it to your face. Instead, you wake to a note slipped under your door, the word leave scrawled across it in angry, uneven letters.

You pack what little belongings you have—a few clothes, some keepsakes from the life you left behind at the Howlett estate—and sling a small bag over your shoulder. Then, you walk away without looking back.

Stretching out before you is a desolate, abandoned looking road. Your legs ache with every step, your feet blistering inside your boots, but you don’t stop. The memories of Logan, the town, the life you tried to build together swirl in your mind.

The sound of a a horse whinnying pulls you from your thoughts, and you turn to see a carriage approaching. The coachman—a man with kind eyes and a weathered face—slows as he pulls alongside you. His voice soft and cautious as he asks, "Need a ride?"

Nodding, you’re too exhausted to respond with words, and climb into the passenger seat. He doesn’t ask many questions, sensing perhaps that you’re a soul in need of silence more than conversation. He drives in quiet companionship, the horses' feet against the dirt the only sound breaking the stillness.

He takes you to the nearest town, dropping you off with a quiet wish for better days ahead. You thank him and give him a few coins. You’re standing on the edge of a new beginning, unsure of where to go next but knowing, with painful certainty, that the past is behind you now.

—

In this new place, you slowly begin to rebuild what you’ve lost. It isn’t easy—there are nights when the loneliness threatens to swallow you whole and days when the weight of losing your best friend feels too much to bear. Still, you find work at a small shop, rent a modest room in the quieter part of town, and painstakingly, you carve out a new existence. 

Though no matter how hard you try to move forward, he’s always there. A shadow, lingering in the corners of your mind. You can’t forget him—the way he looked at you with those intense, searching eyes, the way he held you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world, the way he left without a word. Your entire childhood, your early adulthood, revolved around him. He was the best part of your life. Every moment spent with him was cherished, imprinted in your memory like a brand you can’t erase.

Nights are the hardest. When the world is quiet, and it’s just you and your thoughts, that’s when the ache becomes unbearable. Each night, your mind drifts back to him. You tell yourself it wasn’t his fault—he must have believed he was protecting you by leaving. 

Maybe he thought you would hate him for killing another man with his claws, for unleashing the violence he tried so hard to contain. Maybe he thought you could never forgive him.

But the more you think about it, the more you realize: if he truly believed that, then he didn’t know you at all.

And that hurts. A lot.

You start to feel like him in some ways, burdened by secrets and anger with nowhere to go. More often than not, you slip out of the town in your nightgown and into the nearby forest, hoping the solitude will offer some kind of peace. It doesn’t, not really, but it’s better than suffocating in your room, choking on memories of what was and what could have been.

—

A year passes since the night he left, and you find yourself standing among the trees once again, lost in thought. It’s not fair—none of it is. You lost everything, and for what? Because you loved him? Because you could look past his mutation?

All of the emotions you’ve done a decent job at managing bubble to the surface, a torrent of grief and rage with nowhere to go. Mindlessly, you draw back your fist and slam it into the trunk of a nearby tree. The impact shoots a sharp pain through your arm, but it’s fleeting, drowned out by the rush of anger. You pull back to punch the tree again, harder this time, desperate for some kind of release.

But the tree doesn’t just splinter. It explodes. 

The force of your punch obliterates the trunk, sending shards of wood flying in all directions. You stagger back, staring at the destruction, stunned. What was just a tall, beautiful arbor is now reduced to nothing but rubble, the strength of your blow far beyond anything a normal person could achieve.

Your breath hitches when it dawns on you. You’re standing in the middle of the forest, surrounded by the evidence of your newfound power. You aren’t just grieving the loss of Logan anymore; you’re discovering that you are, just like him, a mutant.

Except, unlike him, you’re alone.

He’s not here to hold you, to help you make sense of what’s happening. He’s not here to run away with you like you once ran away with him. You have no one to share this terrifying revelation with. You have only yourself.

Looking down at your trembling hands, the faint ache in your knuckles nothing compared to the pain in your chest. It’s as if your heart is breaking all over again.

If you had known—if you had discovered this power when he was still with you—would things have been different? Would he have taken you with him? Would you still be together?

You can’t stop the questions, can’t silence the what-ifs that plague you.

Finally, the dam breaks, and you cry.

Pressing your fists against your eyes, you try to stifle the sobs, but it’s no use. The grief crashes over you in waves as the life you tried to build together all plays out in your mind like some twisted, unending loop.

—

The days bleed into one another.

Each is marked by the slow, steady march of time. You continue to live, to survive, but the discovery of your mutant powers changes everything, setting you on a path you had never imagined.

You learn that you can channel energy through your body, whether that be your emotions, or external, and then amplify it for your own gain. It’s a power that protects you, that makes you feel invincible, but the more you use it, the more distant you become from the life you once knew. 

And then there’s the other side of your mutation—the ability to heal others by absorbing their injuries. 

The first time you did it, it was an accident. 

You were closing up shop, and as you walked along the cobblestone roads, you saw a man lying face down. Instinctively, you quickened your pace, and crouched down beside him. Was he drunk? Dead? Gently, almost hesitantly, you reached out, placing your hand on his back with the faint hope that he was simply unconscious. Your intention was simple—just to check if he was breathing, to see if he would stir at your touch.

But the moment your fingers brushed his coat, a violent surge of pain exploded in your mind, like a thunderclap within your skull. The agony was so sudden, so sharp, that it nearly knocked you off your feet. 

It was more than pain—it was as though the man’s suffering had become yours, pulling you into his darkness. Your vision blurred, and for an instant, you could feel it. Blood. Hot and sticky, trickling down your forehead in a slow, steady stream. You raised a trembling hand to wipe it away, expecting to feel the warmth of it on your fingertips.

But there was nothing. No blood. No wound.

Just the phantom sensation of pain that wasn’t your own.

Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the pain vanished. You blinked, gasping for air, trying to steady yourself. When you looked down at the man again, he was stirring, groaning softly. His eyes fluttered open, and he sat up, as if waking from a long sleep. He looked up at you, confused but grateful, oblivious to the power you had just unleashed.

It feels like a curse, the pain of others transferring to you in ways that leave you gasping for breath. But over time, you learn to control it, to take on only as much as you can handle, and to let the rest fade away.

You never stay too long in one place. Town after town, you move, always careful to keep your powers hidden. The people you encounter are kind enough, but you never allow yourself to get close. You can’t afford to—not when the memory of him still haunts you, his absence a constant ache in your heart. 

What if they leave you too?

Every now and then, there are some nights of passion with a stranger, but you never find another lover, never allow yourself to even consider it. 

As the years slip by, and you move through life like a ghost, always on the fringes, never fully there. In the beginning, you don’t notice it—time is something you stopped paying attention to long ago. But then, one day, nearly ten years after he left, you catch sight of yourself in a mirror.

Your reflection stares back at you, unchanged, unmarked by the years that have passed. It’s as if time has forgotten you, leaving you suspended in a state of perpetual youth. This knowledge—that you could live indefinitely—fills you with a sense of purpose you haven’t felt in years.

So, when the First World War breaks out, you volunteer as a nurse, determined to use your abilities to save as many lives as you can. The troops who come to you are broken, their bodies ravaged by the horrors of war. You take their pain into yourself, healing them with a touch, until there is nothing left but faint scars—a reminder of what they have survived.

It’s during the Second World War that you first hear the rumours. Injured men speak in hushed tones of a man they saw—a soldier who seemed invincible, fighting with a ferocity that borders on the inhuman. They talk of claws—long, sharp claws that can cut through anything, and a healing ability that allows him to shrug off injuries that would kill anyone else.

Could it be him? Could he still be out there, after all these years?

You dismiss the thought almost as quickly as it comes. It can’t be. He would be dead by now, just like everyone else from your past. 

He is gone, and you are alone—that’s the truth you’ve come to accept.

—

Somewhere along the way, you meet Charles Xavier. You don’t know how, but he knows you. He knows you’re a mutant—how you helped in the war. And he wants you to join his team.

You’ve spent so long on your own, relying on your powers to survive, that the idea of joining a team feels foreign, almost impossible. But there’s something in his eyes, something in the way he speaks of his vision for the future, that resonates with you. This isn’t just about survival—it’s about making a difference, about using your powers to protect those who can’t protect themselves. 

And, perhaps, it’s also about finding closure.

Maybe you can help mutants who struggle with their identity, like he did. Maybe this time, you can stop them from running away from themselves, the way you wish you could have stopped him.

So you agree.

And when you arrive at the mansion, you’re introduced to the others who will become your teammates—Jean Grey, Scott Summers, Hank McCoy, and Ororo Munroe.

The early days are challenging. Learning to work as a team, to trust one another, isn’t easy, especially for you, after so many years of solitude. But a camaraderie that develops between all of you, and it feels right. You’re no longer just a group of shunned mutants—you’re a family, united by a common goal.

—

This mission is supposed to be simple—investigate a remote facility rumoured to have ties to illegal mutant experimentation. Charles had briefed the team before sending you out, warning that there might be danger but nothing you couldn’t handle as a group. You’ve faced threats before, so when you arrive at the facility, it’s with the usual caution but no real alarm.

The structure looks forsaken at first glance, the exterior covered in years of grime, windows cracked and dark. But as you all approach, something feels wrong. There’s an energy in the air, a hum of activity beneath the surface. You can sense it, and by the looks of the others, they feel it too.

“We should be careful,” Scott mutters lowly as his hand hovers near his visor.

Jean furrows her brows. “I’m sensing...something. There are people here. This place isn’t empty”

Your stomach twists, and once the team cautiously makes its way deeper into the facility, you start to hear it—the muffled sounds of machinery, the low hum of voices, and then...a scream.

You freeze.

You’ve heard that scream before, in the dead of night, in memories you’ve tried to bury.

James.

Without thinking, you push forward, your body moving on instinct as you race toward the source of the sound. The others call after you, but their voices fade into the background as panic claws at your chest.

The scream grows louder, more desperate, until you burst into a large chamber. And there, in the center of the room, suspended in a tank of bubbling liquid, he is.

His body is thrashing against the restraints that bind him, wires and tubes connected to his skin. Machines whir around him, injecting something into his body—something molten, silvery. 

A team of scientists in lab coats and armed guards surround the tank, all of them focused on the cruel procedure unfolding before your eyes.

You can barely breathe. The sight of him, after all these years—being tortured like this is too much. Pain and rage surge through you, and before you realize what’s happening, you’re moving again.

“What the hell are you doing?!” you scream.

The guards whirl toward you, but you’re already on them. The first one goes down with a single blow, your fist connecting with his chest and sending him flying into the wall. You barely register his body crumpling to the floor before you move on to the next. 

Behind you, Jean and Scott rush in, their powers flashing as they help subdue the remaining guards, but your focus is on the man in the tank, whose eyes are squeezed shut in pain, body convulsing. You can’t think straight—you can only feel the overwhelming need to make this stop, to save him before the experiment finishes. 

But it’s too late.

In a roar of destruction, he breaks free from the tank, glass and metal exploding outward in every direction. His eyes are wild, erratic, his mind lost to the pain and the transformation—he’s a force of nature now. A whirlwind of violence and fury.

You try to reach him, but Jean steps forward, her eyes glowing as she raises a hand. “I’m sorry,” she strains. Her telekinetic force slams into him, knocking him off his feet, and his body crumples to the ground, unconscious, the rage finally quieted.

Standing there, panting, your hands are shaking as you stare at his still form. You’re overwhelmed—by the sight of him after so many years, by the pain of seeing him like this, by the fear that you might lose him before you even got him back.

Scott places a hand on your shoulder, his voice gentle. “We need to get him out of here.”

You nod, unable to speak, and together, the team lifts Logan’s unconscious body and carries him out of the facility. The entire time, you keep your eyes on him, terrified that if you look away for even a second, he’ll disappear. When you finally make it back to the jet, Jean lays him on a stretcher, her powers keeping him sedated for the trip back to the X-Mansion. You sit beside him, your hand hovering just above his, too afraid to touch, too afraid to hope.

The jet lifts off, and your mind races with a thousand questions. 

How did he end up here? Why did they do this to him? 

But above all, one thought consumes you: He’s alive.

After all these years, after all the heartache and loss, Logan—James—is still here.

—

He remains unconscious for three days, his body healing from the horrific procedure he endured. You barely leave his side, watching over him as if your presence alone could somehow anchor him back to himself. His breathing is steady, but his face—it’s both exactly the same and entirely foreign to you. He looks like the man you’ve known and loved, but it’s what is on the inside that worries you.

You swallow hard, your gaze tracing the familiar lines on his skin. Where are you, James? you think. Are you still in there?

Jean had done a body scan soon after you brought him back to the mansion, and the results confirmed your worst fears: they’ve bound adamantium to his bones and buried his personality underneath the most powerful brainwashing you’ve ever heard of.

It’s devastating. Whatever relief you’d felt—if any at all—at finding him alive is now eclipsed by the crushing reality of what he’s become.

The day he is scheduled to wake, Charles calls a meeting. The team gathers in the briefing room, and you sit quietly in your chair, replaying everything that led up to this moment.

Following a seemingly endless stretch of silence from you, Charles clears his throat. “If you’re ready, perhaps you could tell us more about your history with him. It might help us understand what we’re dealing with.”

A deep breath fills your lungs as your hands clutch the table’s edge tightly. Talking about him, about everything you’ve been through together, feels like peeling at old wounds that never really healed. But you know it’s necessary. If anyone is going to help him, they need to know the truth.

“I met Logan—James, as I used to call him—over a hundred years ago, when I was very young” you begin, and you can see the surprise ripple through the room at the admission of your age. “We grew up together. My parents were servants at the Howlett estate, and I spent most of my childhood by his side. He was my best friend… and eventually, he became so much more.” Your voice cracks, and you pause for a moment, collecting yourself.

“After a tragedy involving his family, we ran away together. We lived in a small mining town for years, trying to find some semblance of a life, but things fell apart. He left, and I—I spent years trying to forget him, but I never could. He was—is—everything to me."

Jean leans forward. “I can’t imagine how hard this has been for you,” she says softly. “But you need to prepare yourself for the possibility that when he wakes up… he may not be the man you remember, and not just because of how much time passed.”

You look up at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

She hesitates, exchanging a glance with Charles before continuing. “The brainwashing they used on him wasn’t just designed to make him forget. It was meant to strip away his sense of self entirely. His mind was… broken down, piece by piece. What you saw back at the facility—his rage, his lack of control—that’s what’s left of him right now.”

Hank speaks next. “We’ll do everything we can to help him, but Jean’s right. You need to be ready for the possibility that he won’t recognize you. He might not even recognize himself.”

Nodding slowly, your heart sinks further and further with each word. 

“We have tools, ways to work through the brainwashing,” he continues, “but it will take time. And patience.”

“Time,” you echo quietly. “I’ve already waited so long.”

Ororo reaches across the table, her hand hovering near yours. “I know this is overwhelming. But you don’t have to do this alone. We’re here to help.”

“I need to see him,” you whisper, your voice firmer than before. “When he wakes up, I need to be there.”

Charles nods gently. “Of course.”

—

When he finally stirs, it’s not a gentle awakening. His whole body jerks, his head whipping around in wild confusion. His breaths come in sharp, uneven gasps, and his eyes dart frantically across the room, taking in his unfamiliar surroundings, and just as his eyes finally land on you, he freezes.

And for a long moment, neither of you speak.

There’s a lump in your throat, and you wait with a bated breath for some flicker of recognition in his eyes, some sign that he remembers you—that he knows you.

But it never comes.

Instead, his gaze narrows, studying you. “Where the hell am I?” he grunts. “And who are you?”

It hurts more than you expected. You knew this might happen—Jean and Charles had warned you—and you thought you had prepared yourself, but it doesn’t make hearing it any easier. 

He doesn’t remember you. 

“Just take it easy,” you manage to say softly. “You’ve been through a lot, James.”

His eyes flicker with confusion as he shifts in the bed, wincing at the movement. "James?" he questions.

You quickly correct yourself. "Logan."

His hand instinctively goes to his chest, fingers brushing against his side as if testing for wounds that aren’t there anymore. “What is this place?” he asks again. 

“You’re at the X-Mansion,” you explain. “You were... rescued. We brought you here to heal.”

“Rescued.” he repeats dryly. “From what?”

You hesitate, unsure how much to tell him. How do you explain everything—the horrors of Weapon X, the brutal experiments, the torture that nearly destroyed him? You can’t even bring yourself to speak the full truth, not yet. 

“You were taken,” you say carefully. “By people who wanted to use you for something terrible. But we got to you before they could. You’re safe now.”

Logan lets out a short, bitter laugh, though there’s no humour in it. “Safe,” he mutters, his voice low and sarcastic. “Right.” He rubs a hand across his face.

“Why do I feel like I’m missing somethin’?” he mutters, his irritation growing. “Like... like there’s something important I should remember.”

Swallowing hard, your heart twists at his words. He is missing something. But you won’t tell him that now. He’s already grappling with so much, and the last thing he needs is the weight of your shared past thrust upon him before he’s ready.

“Don’t worry about it.” Your voice is gentle, coaxing. “It’s... normal to feel confused right now.”

Frowning, he runs a hand through his hair. “Like I’m supposed to believe that.”

“I know it’s hard to understand,” you say softly. “But it’ll get better. You’ll remember in time.”

He doesn’t respond right away, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling as if he’s searching for answers that aren’t there. After a moment, he sighs, his eyes returning to yours. “Alright. Who are you, really?” he asks. “Why do I feel like I should know you?”

Because we grew up together. 

Because we were everything to each other. 

Because you were the one person I never stopped loving. 

“Just focus on resting,” you say, forcing a soft smile. 

He studies you briefly, as if trying to figure out whether or not to trust you. Then finally, he nods, thought you can tell he’s still wary “Yeah... okay.”

The awkward silence returns. 

“I should go,” you murmur, standing abruptly. The chair scrapes against the floor, the sound jarring in the quiet room. “You need rest.”

He doesn’t stop you, doesn’t ask you to stay. He just watches as you turn toward the door, and leave.

Your chest tightens painfully as you walk out of the room, the familiar ache of loss settling in once more. It’s worse this time, though—worse because he’s alive, and yet, in every way that matters, he’s gone.

You leave the room in a daze, your mind swirling with a storm of emotions. Your feet carry you down the hall, and before you realize what’s happening, you find yourself in the washroom. 

The moment the door clicks shut, your stomach lurches. You barely make it a toilet before you’re retching. Tears sting your eyes, and you brace yourself against the cold porcelain, gasping for breath as your body shakes with sobs.

Standing up and flushing, you walk over to the sink, and press your forehead against the mirror. How did it come to this? You found him, after all these years, but the person in that bed isn’t the Logan—it isn’t the James—you once knew. 

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you close your eyes, taking a deep breath as you try to pull yourself together. It's not the time to breakdown, you think, and after splashing some water on your face, you turn toward the exit.

Pushing open the door, you’re met with the familiar gaze of Ororo. She stands in the hallway, her white hair cascading down her shoulders, her eyes filled with something that feels like both understanding and pity.

Your eyes widen, caught off guard, not expecting to see anyone, least of all her.

“I saw you come in here,” she whispers empathetically, “but thought you might need a moment.”

You pause, trying to blink away the redness in your eyes, trying to pretend you’re stronger than you feel. But she sees through it. She always has.

“I’m fine,” you say, the words slipping out automatically.

Stepping closer, her gaze softens as she studies your face. “No,” she disagrees, “you’re not.”

The vulnerability you’ve been trying to keep at bay rushes forward again, threatening to swallow you whole. You open your mouth to argue, to brush it off, but the moment you meet her eyes, the words die in your throat. The pity, the compassion—it’s too much.

Silently, she reaches out, her hand resting lightly on your arm. It’s a small gesture, but it feels grounding.

“I saw him,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “He doesn’t remember me.”

“I know,” she says quietly. “I’m so sorry.” 

—

The next few days are a blur. You keep yourself busy—too busy—hoping that constant movement will keep the gnawing ache at bay. If you let yourself stop, if you let yourself think about what’s happened, the hurt would consume you, so you don’t stop.

Most of your time is spent in your room or the garden, taking refuge in the places where you can hide from everything, everyone.

Sometimes, you train, pushing your body past its limits in a desperate attempt to silence your thoughts. Every hit you land, every punch you throw, never feels like enough.

It’s easier this way, you tell yourself. Easier to avoid him, to pretend he never came back into your life. Because the alternative—watching him live here, knowing he doesn’t remember you, doesn’t understand what you once shared—that’s too painful.

You’d rather pretend he’s still a memory than face the reality that the man you love is here, but not really.

When you walk through the mansion, you see him from afar. You can’t help but notice how he’s begun to soften around the others, how the confused man who woke up in that bed is slowly adjusting to life at the mansion. He has daily appointments with Charles, who you imagine is sifting through his mind, doing his very best to retrieve something, anything.

While there is still a distance in his eyes, still a guarded edge to him, but you can see the small shifts—the way he listens when someone speaks, the faintest hint of a smile when Hank tries to crack a joke.

And sometimes, your eyes meet.

From across the room, you’ll catch him watching you. In those moments, your heart skips a beat, wondering if there’s a reason why he’s zeroed in on you specifically, but then he looks away, and it passes. You never approach him, never ask him how he’s feeling or if he’s starting to remember anything. You’re too afraid of the answer.

One night, you sit in the garden, letting the soft breeze play with your hair, eyes closed. 

“Mind if I sit here?”

The voice startles you, pulling you from your thoughts. Your eyelids flutter, and as you turn, your heart jolts upon seeing Logan standing at above you. And momentarily, it’s like you’re teenagers again—sneaking out at night into the gardens to talk. 

“Sure,” you nod, gently patting the space beside you, as you always did. 

He steps closer and sits down, though not without leaving a small space between the two of you. “I’ve been seeing you around,” he says after a beat.. He doesn’t look at you, his gaze focused on the flowers in front of him. “But... you’ve been avoidin’ me, haven’t you?”

A small laugh escapes you, bitter and self-deprecating. “You noticed, huh?”

“Yeah, not much gets past me. Even that one guy’s attempts at being a leader.”

Despite yourself, you snort. “Scott?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “He’s too easy. Guy looks like a human stoplight with those stupid glasses.”

You bite back a snicker, feeling like a teenager again. The banter, the lighthearted teasing—it makes it seem like maybe, just maybe, there’s still something left of the man you knew.

He turns his head slightly, his expression growing more serious. “You know, I’ve been trying to figure it out,” he says, quieter now. “Why it feels like something’s missing. Every time I see you... I know you’re related to it.”

Shifting a little to look at him, you take in the way his facial hair is a little bit more kempt, how he still has his hair tufts. You miss him, and he’s right here with you. 

“I... thought it would be easier,” you admit, staring down at your hands. “For both of us. If I kept my distance. I didn’t want to add to your stress.”

Frowning, his brows furrow as he processes your words. “Add to it? How?”

“Because you don’t remember me,” you say softly. “And I didn’t want to be a reminder of something you can’t recall.”

He stares at you for a long moment. Then, “you’re right. I don’t remember everything,” he says slowly, “but I know there’s something about you.”

You nod, your throat tight, but you don’t push him. You know it’s only a matter of time before the pieces fall into place. “You’ll remember,” you whisper. “I know it.”

He grunts. “I don’t want you to keep your distance.”

“I won’t. Not anymore.” The idea of him wanting to spend more time with you, fills you with joy.

—

For the next few weeks, it becomes a quiet routine—the nightly conversations in the garden. It’s like slipping into an old rhythm, the two of you always finding a way to gravitate toward each other once the sun goes down. You talk about small things, but it's never too heavy. Sometimes he teases you, and you tease him back, exchanging sarcastic quips. Nothing and everything has changed at the same time.

You’ve started training together too, spending more and more time together each day. It’s almost as if there’s a magnet between you that not even time could weaken.

This night, you’re in the gym together on the sparring mat. It’s the usual scenario playing out—dodging, blocking, throwing punches. He’s fast and strong. And it means a lot to see you see him finally embrace his mutant powers and use them, rather than try to hide and run. 

You’re both breathing hard, the exertion pushing your bodies to their limits. You land a solid kick to his side, and he grunts, stepping back for a moment. Without warning, his claws extend, and your gaze locks in on them.

Of course you know about the adamantium, but seeing it like this, so up close, it’s different. 

“What?” Logan asks, noticing your sudden stillness. His brow furrows, and he glances down at his claws, as if he’s only just realizing they’re out. “What are you staring at?”

“Does it hurt?” you question, clearing your throat. “When they come out?”

He tilts his head, his gaze flicking between you and his claws. “Everytime” he sighs. “But not as much as the old ones.”

Your eyes snap up from his claws to meet his. “... What?” you ask. The old ones?

“They were bone,” he continues, “Hurt like a bitch.”

Your heart starts pounding in your chest. Could this be it? Could he be remembering?

Stepping closer, your voice trembles slightly as you push for more. “What else do you remember?”

His eyes widen, and then he blinks, his stare glazing over for a second, like he’s trying to chase down a memory that’s just out of reach.

“I… I don’t know,” he admits with a bit of frustration. His claws retract, his hand flexing unconsciously as he stares at the empty space where the blades once were. “It’s all bits and pieces. I get these flashes, but nothing sticks. Charles said... he said the barriers in my mind are comin’ down, but it’s slow. Like finding a damn needle in a haystack.”

But the fact that he remembers even a sliver, is enough to fill you with hope.

—

This continues, the small fragments of memories coming back to him. They come unexpectedly, at random times in the day. It’s never anything big, never the full flood of memories you’re hoping for, but each time it happens, it feels like another piece of the puzzle falling into place.

You suggest a walk one afternoon. The mansion has felt a little too closed in lately, and you think maybe the fresh air might help clear his mind. Together, you wander along a little pathway that connects the mansion to a nearby river, the sound of the water in the distance a soothing backdrop as you walk side by side. He’s quiet, more so than usual, and as you glance at him, you notice his expression has grown distant.

“Logan?” you ask softly, nudging his arm. “What’s on your mind?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. His brow is furrowed, like he’s trying to fit together pieces of a puzzle, his thoughts distant, swirling. “I remember…” he starts, his voice quiet, as if he’s speaking more to himself than to you.

Your fingers begin to twitch at your side. Every time he remembers something, it feels like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to see if he’ll fall into the past, if this will be the moment he remembers it all.

“A cabin,” he says finally, his voice rough but certain. “There was a shack. In a small town. I used to stay there.”

You nod, urging him to continue, anticipated building within your chest. “Go on.”

“It was small. Cold most of the time. But I don’t think I cared.” He lets a chuckle. “I liked it. Felt... peaceful.”

You can’t help but smile a little at the memories he’s bringing up. His steps falter, and he stops in the middle of the path, turning to look at you. “Mining,” he mutters, as if the word itself is triggering something. “I remember mining.”

“That’s good,” you say. ‘I’m happy for you.”

—

The memories keep coming.

You’re in the mansion, passing through one of the long hallways together on your way to eat, when he suddenly stops, his hand reaching out to steady himself against the wall. You turn, concern flooding through you. “Are you okay? What is it?”

He frowns, his eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to force something into focus. “There was a girl.”

“A girl?” you repeat, not wanting to push him but unable to stop the question from spilling out.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “In a big house—like a mansion, I think. We'd play together. She was... she was always following me around. Always gettin’ into trouble.”

You know exactly who he’s talking about.

“Do you remember her name?” 

Shaking his head, you can see the frustration etched onto his face. “No. But she must have been important, I can feel it.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you try to hold yourself together. It was me, you want to say. That little girl was me.

“It’s okay,” you say instead, your hand reaching out to touch his arm. “You’ll remember. You’re already so close.”

He looks at you then, his eyes searching yours for something—answers, reassurance. Once a few seconds pass, he sighs and shakes his head.

“I don’t know how you put up with this,” he grumbles lowly. “With me.”

“Because I know you,” you whisper back. 

To have a chance at another lifetime with him, you’d put up with anything. 

—

He’s busy with Jean and Charles this morning, the duo having started to work together last week, trying to finally break down the wall stopping Logan from recovering his memories. With nothing else to occupy you, you’ve retreated to the mansion’s library, seeking solace in the endless rows of books. The familiar smell of paper and ink is comforting, and for a while, you manage to lose yourself in the words on the page. 

You’re curled up in one of the oversized armchairs, a book resting in your lap, when your ears pick up the sound of heavy footsteps—fast, purposeful, ringing out through the mansion’s quiet halls.

Concern rises in your chest. Those footsteps aren’t casual; someone is rushing, and you’ve been around long enough to know that in here, that usually means something’s wrong.

Setting the book down on the small table beside you, you stand and head toward the entrance of the library. The sound grows louder, the footsteps coming closer, and just as you reach the doorway, you collide with a solid wall of muscle.

"Ho—holy sh—" you gasp, stumbling back, startled. Your hands fly to steady yourself, and you look up, wide-eyed, to see Logan standing there. "Logan, you scared m—"

“James.”

You still. 

"What?" you whisper, your mind racing as you stare at him. His face is different—not just the usual irritated-by-himself expression he’s been wearing lately, but something else. There’s a certainty in his eyes, relief and maybe even—

“My name is James,” he repeats. “I was born in Alberta. We grew up together. I... I killed my father.” His voice falters slightly at that, but he pushes through, his gaze locked on yours, unwavering. “You were the little girl in the mansion. You’ve always been there. And I—” His eyes brim with emotion. “I love you.”

The words slam into you, leaving you breathless. You can feel the blood drain from your face, your heart jumping so hard it feels like it might burst. “You... you remember?” You’re barely able to get the words out.

Logan—James—stares at you. “I remember everything.”

A sob escapes your throat, and you throw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as the floodgates open. His arms come around you immediately, holding you tight, his chin resting on the top of your head.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m so damn sorry. I should have never left. I should have gone back to find you.”

You shake your head, tears soaking into his shirt. “It doesn’t matter,” your voice breaks. “None of that matters anymore. We’re together now. That’s all I care about.”

He pulls back slightly, just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that won’t stop falling. There’s so much love—so much everything—in his eyes, your knees nearly buckle. All you do is hold on to him, as tightly as you can, afraid that if you let go, this moment will slip away.

But it won’t, because he’s really here, he remembers, and he still loves you.

For what feels like hours, you stand there in the hallway, wrapped in each other’s arms. Eventually, you take a small step back, unwrapping your arms and instead grabbing his hands, squeezing them. “We have a lot to talk about.”

He squeezes your hands back in return. “Yeah, we do.”

—

You sniffle, wiping away the last of your tears as you lie in bed with him, pressed so close it feels like you’re trying to merge into one person. His warmth surrounds you, his arm wrapped protectively around your waist, hands drawing small circles. It’s like all the years apart never happened, like you’re finally back where you’re meant to be.

“So, what made it all come back to you?” you ask softly, your voice a bit hoarsefrom all the crying you’ve done in the last hour.

James takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly. “I guess having two strong telepaths diggin’ around in your mind will do the trick,” he responds. “Shit was brutal, but... worth it.”

Tilting his head down, he presses a small kiss to your temple. If even possible, you nestle yourself further into his hold. 

“I thought I’d lost you forever,” you whisper. “All those years... I never thought I’d see you again.”

“Same for me. Thought I lost you too,” James murmurs, his hand running gently up and down your back. “After I left the cabin, I tried to forget. Tried to convince myself you were better off without me, but...” He trails off. “I was wrong—a coward. I shouldn’t have been runnin’ away. Especially from you.”

You look up at him, your eyes searching his. “What did you do all those years? Where did you go?”

He lets out a heavy sigh, closing his eyes. “I wandered. For a long time, I didn’t stay in one place. Fought when I had to, drank when I couldn’t forget. Got into a lot of trouble.” He grimaces slightly. 

You frown. “What kind of trouble?”

“The kind where people like me aren’t supposed to be walking free,” he remarks bitterly. “I gave into the monster I thought I was.”

His words sink in, and you can feel the toll those years took on him, the way they left him scarred, not just physically, but emotionally. “It must have been so hard,” you whisper, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. “Living like that, without... anyone.”

Leaning into your touch, “Yeah,” he admits. “It was. But... I didn’t know how to live any other way. Not after everything that happened.”

There’s a long pause, the two of you lying there, bodies tangled together as you both process the weight of what’s been lost and what’s been found. Then, he kisses the inside of your hand, looking at you with a faint, curious smile.

“What about you?” he asks softly, tugging you closer. “When did you... ya know, find out you were a mutant?”

The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. You’ve never really talked about that part of your life to anyone, at least not in detail. 

“I didn’t know for about a year,” you begin. “After you left, I was... lost. And then one day... I punched a tree.”

James raises an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that. “A tree?”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the seriousness of the memory. “Yeah. I was angry—angry at everything. And when I punched it... the damn thing exploded.”

He stares at you for a moment, processing your words. Then, a slow, amused grin spreads across his face. “Exploded, huh? Guess that’s one way to find out you’re not normal.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Yeah, it wasn’t exactly subtle.”

His smile fades slightly. “What did you do after that?”

Taking a deep breath, you let the memories of those early days as a mutant flood back. “I tried to keep it hidden for a while. Didn’t really know what to do with it. But then... the wars started.”

Eyes narrowing, his expression changes instantly. “The wars?”

Nodding, you continue. “Yeah, the First and Second. I volunteered as a nurse. I figured if I could use my powers to help people, then maybe I could make up for everything I lost. I moved station to station, healing soldiers. I couldn’t save everyone, but I tried.”

He’s momentarily quiet, gaze never leaving yours, even as he processes what you’re telling him. Then, slowly, his features shift into disbelief.

“You were on the frontlines?” His voice low, almost incredulous. He reaches out to brush a few strands of hair out of your face. 

“Yeah. I wanted to make a difference.”

Letting out a sharp breath, James sits up slightly in bed as he stares at you. “Holy shit,” he mutters. “I fought in those wars, too. In the trenches.”

You’re speechless, and the realization washes over you slowly. The whisperings you’d heard from the troops, the rumours you’d chalked up to be nothing more than drunken tales, suddenly come flooding back. A man who couldn’t be killed, who healed from every injury, who fought with claws that could tear through anything.

It was him.

It was always him.

“Oh my god,” you breathe. “So it was true…all those rumours about the man who couldn’t die... that was you.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Guess it was.”

All those years, all those battles... and you were both there, so close, yet so far apart. 

“We were so close,” you say, moving forward in to give him a kiss. “And we didn’t even know it.”

He kisses you back, his grip on you tightening. Then, when you pull away, he sighs, leaning back against the headboard. “It’s all so different now,” he begins gruffly. “You’re not the little maid in training anymore, runnin’ around that mansion, worried about getting caught”

You smile faintly at the memories of your younger selves, the girl you used to be, and the boy who was so much more to you than just a young lord. 

“And you’re not sir James Howlett or whatever—Lord—anymore” you tease. “You’ve come a long way from the boy who used to sulk in the garden because he had to attend another dinner party.”

He lets out a noise that sounds like a mix between a huff and a laugh “Yeah,” he agrees. “That feels like a lifetime ago. And in a way, I guess it was.”

While neither of you are the same people you once were, in this moment, you can feel that connection—the one that has always been there.

“I’ve thought about you every day,” he speaks up again. “All those years.”

“James…”

“I love you,” he confesses. “And I’ve loved you my whole life. Before we ran away, after I left, even after I thought you were gone... I couldn’t forget. Didn’t want to.” He sucks in a harsh breath, grabbing your hand once more. “I shouldn’t have left. I should have stayed. We could’ve figured it out together, but I was so... so damn scared. I thought if I stayed, I’d only hurt you.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes again. “You did what you thought was right,” you whisper, intertwining your fingers. “You were scared, and so was I.”

“I wish I could take it all back,” he says, regret bleeding into his tone. “I wish I could’ve been there for you... We could’ve had so many more years together.”

“We have time now,” you say softly, assuring him. “We have all the time in the world to make up for it.”

He doesn’t respond verbally, but rather he edges forward, brushing his lips softly against yours. “I love you,” he murmurs before closing the gap completely, kissing you passionately.

You smile against his lips, because while he may be known as logan, or Wolverine, he’s still James.

Your James. 

----

A/N: I'm going to have to either write some crazy smut or excessive fluff now because this took it out of me LOL also I hope none of you got confused with the name switching! Thank you so much for reading <3

[lowkeyren]

reverse dating tropes w hsr men!

in which — what the title suggests / those classic fanfic tropes but with a twist

featuring — boothill, jing yuan, blade (separately) x gn!reader

✧.* — wc: total 1.5k, used up half my brain for this (the other half is for pt2 w aven sunday geppie!!), lovesick boothill + clingy jy + jealous blade fr, anyway pls enjoy! reblogs r appreciated <3

gepard aven sunday vers here!

boothill ꩜ .ᐟ

love at many sights with boothill whose memory card was tinkered with, and every time you meet, he thinks he's seeing you for the first time, so he falls for you over and over again. 

when boothill returned from a dangerous mission, it was evident that he had endured significant damage. his once sleek and polished exterior was now marred by dents and scratches, and his mechanical limbs were either partially missing or severely damaged. the exposed wiring, usually neatly tucked away beneath scraps of metals, now hung in tangled strands, sparking occasionally with residual energy.

he looked barely salvageable. it's safe to say that the mechanics had a hell of a time fixing him.

though they were skilled enough to piece him back together, his memory card wasn’t as lucky. a tinkering in his system left him incapable of recalling or retaining information in his synthetic brain, temporarily —leaving the mechanics scrambling to find a solution.

weeks later, you find yourself walking down the familiar corridors of the laboratory where your favourite cyborg is being held for reparation.

boothill’s eyes immediately land on yours when you enter the lab. “well ain’t this a surprise! haven’t seen ya in a good long while.” boothill drawls, tipping his hat your way, his voice carrying a metallic twang. 

"i heard you took a bit of a tumble, figured someone should come make sure you didn’t lose all your screws." you shrug nonchalantly, a smirk playing on your lips.

boothill's eyes flicker for a moment, taking in the curve forming on your lips. he thinks you’re adorable with that infectious smile of yours. 

“heh, nothin’ bad, just had a r-r-run in with some cuties" he says, failing to hide the glitch that caused his voice to stutter. (and that damn synesthesia beacon! he swears he’ll get it fixed this time around…)

“guess you took more than a tumble huh...” you lean casually against the workbench, the sterile scent of machinery and the hum of various devices filled the air; your gaze sweeps over the freshly repaired parts of boothill's metallic frame, “anyway, glad to see that you’re mostly fine now." 

“aww! do ya care ‘bout me?” he teases, his grin widening, revealing his pointy teeth peeking out mischievously. you don’t reply, your eyes glinting with the faintest hint of amusement dancing in them.

"boothill, we go through this every time, your memory card's still damaged. you forget things sometimes, so for the 5th time this week, yes i do care about you.”

boothill's expression shifts, a mixture of realization and sheepishness crossing his features. "right, right," he murmurs, scratching the back of his head with his metallic hand. "sorry 'bout that, sugar. guess i just keep forgettin'."

you chuckle and shake your head, finding the situation amusing. he feels like he might overheat from the sheer warmth radiating from your smile.

“you’re beautiful, date me.” (he didn’t mean to blurt that outloud)

you raise your eyebrows at the sudden compliment, “why thank you,” a surprised laugh escapes your lips.

“—and we’re already dating, silly.”

a shower of sparks erupts from his circuits, you can particularly hear the fans inside him sputter and whir. you rush to his side, concern etched on your face.

“wh- are you okay?! you’re short circuiting again!”

and this happens every time his memory lapses. you offer an apology to the mechanic on the next shift for the extra work required to fix yet another damaged wire after your visits. perhaps they should ban you from getting too close to boothill, lest he completely breaks down again like that one time where you told him, yes you actually kissed before.

jing yuan ୭ ˚.

"secret relationship" with jing yuan but he is completely unaware of how his public displays of affection towards you keep revealing the supposed secrecy of your relationship.

on the rare case that the general is found in his office, you are there too, beside him.

“pleeeease? just one kiss, really really miss you, darling”

“no jing yuan, not now…”

he wraps his arms around you as he leans in, caging you from the back. he rests his chin on your shoulder, “then how about a kiss on the cheeks?” he murmurs in your ear. you try to push him away, but he just chuckles softly against your neck, his arms still secure around you.

“no, and get off me before someone sees!” you protest, feeling your face flush from the close proximity, and the tightening of his arms suggests that he has no intention of releasing you just yet.

this stubborn man… you swear you’re gonna burst a blood vessel someday.

as if to echo your exasperation; he nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, peppering it with nibbles and gentle kisses. jing yuan certainly knows how to test your limits, yet his affectionate gestures never fail to chip away at your resolve.

suddenly, a series of loud knocks come from the door, you freeze, and immediately attempt to wiggle your way out of his grasp. but he remains unfazed, his hold on you firm, and seemingly unbothered by the interruption.

the door bursts open, “general! there’s a situation at starskiff ha—ven...”  yanqing trails off as his eyes widen at your position. the room falls into a momentary silence as yanqing's gaze shifts between you and his general, his expression reflecting a blend of shock and embarrassment.

clearing his throat awkwardly, yanqing stammers, "i-im sorry for interrupting... i’ll t-take my leave now!” with a hurried nod, he practically sprints out of the room.

oh bless that kid’s poor eyes… 

you shoot a glare at jing yuan from the corner of your eyes, you just know that he has a shit eating grin on his face right now. nowadays, it’s probably common knowledge that the general’s most treasured person is you, evidently shown by how he latches himself onto you every time you’re within his vicinity. you wouldn’t be surprised if the entirety of xianzhou knows about your supposed “secret” relationship.

“so… can i have my kiss now?” 

aeons, he’s insufferable. (you love him tho!!!!!)

blade ؛ ଓ

"fake dating" with blade but you are actually dating —somehow everyone is convinced you aren't.

“blink twice if you need help.” march whispers-shout; dan heng leans against the doorway, blocking the way into your room, nods in agreement.

“this is absurd… i’m alright guys, really!” you try to reassure your friends, frustration edging into your voice. though no matter how many times you insist that no blade isn't holding you hostage and that you are indeed in a relationship with him, they seem convinced otherwise, somehow deducing that you're not able to speak freely.

you sigh in resignation, knowing that they aren’t going to relent anytime soon, and with blade idling in your room, you can't afford to keep him waiting any longer. “dan heng please, let me through, he’s been waiting for me for the past 10 minutes now…”

“good, let him wait.” dan heng responds curtly. (what a guy)

march takes hold of your hands, “do you owe the stellaron hunters something, and him out of everyone?! he looks scary…and totally not your type!” 

“not their type?” a low voice rings out from behind dan heng, the three of you turn immediately and see blade looming at your doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. 

“stellaron hunter. stay back.” dan heng furrows his eyebrows, his stance defensive as he pulls out his weapon, positioning himself to block you and march. sensing the growing tension, you step forward, reaching out to gently grasp at dan heng’s shoulder. 

(blade’s expression darkens at your hand resting on him)

“it’s okay dan heng, he means no harm.” dan heng hesitates, his grip on his weapon remains tight, but he doesn't move to strike. so you slowly move between him and blade, “see? i’m fine… he’s not gonna hurt me.” you smile reassuringly at your friends. 

just then, as if to further aggravate dan heng, blade settles his hand on your waist. dan heng’s hand is visibly twitching now. “what? can’t i touch what’s mine?”

dan heng’s eyes narrow, “...we still don’t believe you, leave now. before it’s too late.”

before you can interject, blade grabs your chin, silencing any words of protest with a sudden kiss. caught off guard, your eyes widen as the unexpected gesture leaves you momentarily stunned. but you soon reciprocate his kiss, his intensity drawing you in.

(march quickly covers her eyes with her hands)

“there. now leave us alone.” and with that, he pulls you into your room, slamming the door shut behind, pinning you against it. 

it’s just the both of you now, finally.

“did you really have to touch him.” his voice tinged with possessiveness. “blade, he would’ve hurt you, i didn’t mean—” he shuts you up with another kiss, more desperate this time, welp guess you’re stuck with him for the night.

though your friends might not believe that a person like you would “be in cahoots” with someone as dangerous as him; convincing them otherwise is a task for another time. tonight, he wants your attention focused solely on him, and him only.

✧.*

masterlist gepard aven sunday vers here!

[orphicmusings]

giving a sleepy, overworked viktor head late in the lab..? and because hes so tired he's just dumb and needy....???? (ig somno if you squint)

18+ ᴍᴅɴɪ

“what do i have to do to pull you away from that?” you sighed, practically hanging off the back of your lover’s chair. you took a quick glance at the clock in the corner of the room, soon to approach midnight. viktor answered you with a simple, deflective hum and you rolled your eyes. if he didn’t complain about the exhaustion making his chronic pain flare up, you would have pulled him away from that desk with your bare hands and throw him on the nearest plush surface. you sighed again, a little louder this time, a little pointed.

“am i boring you, love?” he rasped, exhaustion heavily coating his voice and thickening his accent.

“you really can’t take your eyes off that thing for just a second?” you leant down over his shoulder, exasperatedly nodding toward his project. “not. one. second.” he answered, not even raising his eyes to meet yours, focused entirely on scribbling down what looked to be an equation.

oh. you took that as a challenge.

wordlessly, you gently nudged the wheels of his chair away from its place flush against his desk. he barely noticed, only giving you a slight furrow of his thick brows. you rounded the chair in front of him and slowly sank to your knees. “not one second?” you tilted your head coquettishly. at your words, he allowed himself to spare a glance at you, kneeling before him, under his desk. his breath hitched in his throat, trapping his response in his chest. a glance was all he could afford if he wanted to focus. even in the dim lamplight, you could see the faintest brush of pink across his cheeks. smirking triumphantly, you carefully reach up for the zipper of his pants. he loudly clears his throat when he feels your fingers so close.

“darling.” he called as a warning, stopping short in his work but still refusing to tear his eyes off of it.

“you want me to stop?” you asked earnestly, though you were sure you already knew the answer. he fixed you with a look. a permissive look, but a firm look, like an ‘i can’t resist this but i also won’t endorse it’ kind of look. you bit down on your grinning lip and pulled his pants down entirely. you could feel him tensing his muscles under your hands, willing himself to keep his focus on his work. you slowly pulled his cock from his constraints, giving it a single kiss on the head.

a soft groan rumbled in his throat, one hand dropping his pen and moving to cover his mouth. he could not look at you. he could not look at you. if he looked at you, he’d be done for the night, his brain would be absolutely fried and, oh, goddammit. your cheeks are hollowed, pretty plump lips wrapped around him, mischievous eyes glinting up at him. “fuck.” he groans again, closing his eyes and letting them open in your direction, finally. you braced your hands on his thighs, making sure to dig your nails into the pillowy flesh of his good leg. you finally got those pretty whines to come out. “evil…” his chest rises and falls heavily with each labored breath, becoming more and more ragged the more you fill your mouth with him. “evil woman.”

you giggle as much as you can with him on your tongue and it vibrates oh so good around him, causing him to toss his head back and whimper, “please…” one hand blindly reaches for your hair, gently tangling his long fingers in your locks, guiding you. oh, you’ve got him now. “oh, god, please don’t stop…” you will yourself to take him as deep as you can, and he hisses as he feels his cock hit the back of your throat. he opens his eyes to check on you, pulling you off for a moment. he takes the brief respite to tilt your chin up and give you a few quick kisses, babbling things like sweet girl and i love you so much and i’m sorry for neglecting my poor little darling and i could never say no to that pretty face in between. you can’t help but giggle at his sleepy verbage, more mushy than usual.

“that’s cute.” you take his hand off your chin, threading your own fingers through his. looking at his achingly hard cock. “i wasn’t done, though.”

he gives you one of his cocky, lopsided smiles and pats his lap. “no, no you weren’t.”

[s0dium]

Douchebag

A/n: This is honestly the BEST fic I've ever written! I took a lot from prompts I found on this site and the smut scene is inspired from a book called "The Kiss Quotient." (It was just so damn good). This fanfic is also inspired by my original fanfic, "Douchebag" Tengen x Reader. ALSO, I AM WORKING ON YUTA FICS, SO DON'T WORRY! Word count: 3.5k

Synopsis: Gojo Satrou was a man of many things. It would be hard to find anyone in the jujutsu world who hadn’t heard of his name before, whether that be through his many wins in battle or his reputation as an A-class player. Some describe him as eccentric, and others (mostly girls) describe him as irresistible. You? Well, you on the other hand would describe him as nothing else than an utter, complete,  douchebag. Warnings: Enemies to lovers,  teasing, fingering, intense kissing for a sec, squirting, use of pet names, belly bulge, cervix fucking, breeding kink, virgin!reader, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, choking ~

You scoffed, watching through the classroom window as a clearly frustrated old man stormed out of the building, no doubt a higher up. No doubt the work of Gojo Satoru. "God I hate him." You hissed, turning to face a dozing-off Shoko and your other friend Haibara. The classroom you sat in was almost empty, bathed in the soft light of midday filtering through large windows. Sparse shadows stretch across the well-worn wooden floor. Rows of desks, mostly unoccupied, face a dusty chalkboard at the front. "Who Satoru?" Shoko yawned, leaning into the palm of her hand to face you. Haibara lets out a loud chuckle. "Why? Because he's an ass to higher-ups?" He nods to the window and you click your tongue against the rough of your mouth. "No, it's because he is an ass in general. His whole 'holier than thou' attitude, and don't get me started on the way he treats girls." You practically shiver as you remember the time you saw some poor girl from Kyoto Jujutsu High profess her love to the white hair man, only to run away sobbing. "I swear to god it's like he expects us to kiss the floor that he walks on, he's.... infuriating" "Who's infuriating?" Oh god, you knew that stupidly deep voice anywhere. You whipped around to find yourself face to face with the very tall white-haired man you were talking about; a shit-eating grin spread across his infuriatingly handsome face.

“You couldn't be talking about me, could you?” Satoru's voice dripped faux shock and you rolled your eyes.

“Well you know what they say, speak of the devil and he shall appear.” You spat.

“That must be why you love using that pretty mouth of yours to talk about me so much.” Satoru lowered himself to close the provoking height difference between the two of you until your noses were inches away from touching. “Cause ya love having me around  doncha.”

In that moment you have to conjure up every ounce of self-restraint to not spit in his face there and then, and luckily your friends catch the drift. "Hey Satoru! What are you doing here?" Perked up Haibara who reached out his hand to dap Gojo up. "Well, Suguru and I are heading for a night out today, small club, and I thought, out of the kindness of my heart," You scoff and Gojo merely grins and continues, "I'd invite you all. Drink on me of course." As Satrou's invitation lingered in the air, you noticed Shoko's ears perk up. Her curiosity was piqued, a subtle lift of her eyebrows betraying her interest. You bit your tongue, the taste of reluctance sharp against your teeth. The idea of going anywhere with Satrou was far from appealing, but knowing your friends might join made it harder to outright refuse.

You crossed your arms defensively, leaning back slightly as you fixed Satrou with a skeptical look. "And why would you want me there?"

Satrou's lips curled into a half-smirk, his eyes lighting up with a mischievous glint."You're annoying, I'll give you that," He took a casual step closer, and leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, "but I never said you weren't fun."

His words, intended to irk you, did their job well. You glared at him sharply, the frustration evident in your furrowed brows and the hard set of your jaw.

Satrou chuckled.

“Great, I’ll take that as a yes then, I'll text you guys the details.” He turns around to walk out of the classroom. “See you guys there!”

There was a silence as you all watched Satrou walk away before Haibara turns to look at you. “So are you going to go y/n? Come on it will be so much fun!”

“Yeah no way in hell.”

~ You were a liar. You were a liar because here you were, leaning over the counter of a bar in a club that was far from "small." The nightclub was a pulsing, chaotic hive of activity. Neon lights flashed in syncopation with the deafening throb of electronic dance music that shook the very air. The club was jam-packed with bodies moving rhythmically, the heat from the mass of humanity palpable as the scent of sweat and sweet perfumes mingled. The bar surface was sticky under your arms, and the occasional spill from a too-hastily poured drink added to the chaos of sounds and smells around you. You lazily stirred the thin red straw into your drink, trying to politely ignore the creep who wouldn't stop talking to you.

Somehow, in the maze of gyrating bodies and blinding strobe lights, you had lost both Shoko and Haibara, leaving you stranded at the mercy of this clueless conversationalist. Despite the roar of bass and the chatter of dozens of conversations, his words seemed to bore into your ears, relentless and unyielding. He leaned in closer than necessary, trying to make himself heard over the club's cacophony, not realizing or perhaps not caring, that you were more interested in plotting an escape than in anything he had to say. "And might I say you look gorgeous tonight." It took everything you had not to scoff at this creep's words, but before you should shut the man down, you felt an arm wrap around you. "Everything alright love?" Oh god. You knew that voice anywhere. As you turned, you were met by Satrou's piercing blue eyes, their color vivid even behind stylish rectangular sunglasses. The multicolor flashing lights overhead caught in the threads of Satrou’s light blue button-up, making it shimmer subtly, and the fabric clung just right to his broad shoulders and tapered waist, hinting at the well-defined physique beneath. You hated the fact that your brain immediately noted how damn good he looked. His arm was wrapped around your waist drawing you close and you had to bite your tongue from frowning at the pet name he had given you As he leaned in, his voice was low, a soft murmur over the noise of the club, "This guy bothering you baby?" His tone was teasing, and you could detect the challenge in it, as if daring you to admit that his closeness and pet names affected you just as much as he knew it did. "Of course I'm fine baby!" You smile brightly and for a second you think Satrou looked a bit taken aback. If playing along got you out of this situation so be it. "This guy, I'm sorry, what's your name?" You glance back at the creep who had turned bright red. "I'm sorry, excuse me." You watched as the man disappeared into the throng of the bustling crowd, your attention fixed until he was well out of sight. Only then did you turn back to Satrou, the false warmth on your face instantly transforming into a cold, hard glare.

"Thanks for that, but you can get your hand off me now," you said, your voice icy as you tried to wriggle out of his hold. Despite your efforts, Satrou’s grip on your waist remained firm, unyielding.

"And why should I? I think we made a fantastic couple," Satrou cooed, a teasing lilt in his voice. His eyes sparkled with amusement, clearly enjoying the moment far more than you.

You rolled your eyes, exasperation seeping through. "You really think I would fall for something like that?"

"Why? Did you?" he probed further, his smile widening, eyes searching yours for any sign of genuine affect. Anger started to boil up inside you as your attempts to escape his grasp remained futile.

"I don't think you understand the dynamic here very well, Satoru," you began, your voice low and deliberate, each word punctuated for emphasis. You stepped closer, invading his space as much as he had invaded yours, your eyes never leaving his. "Let me make this crystal clear, I'm not someone you can just fucking conquer, and I'm certainly not one of those girls who's gonna kiss the ground you walk on with your whole 'I'm the strongest' act," you seethed.

Your face was mere inches from his now, your breath mingling, the tension palpable. "Because I know what you really are, Satrou," you hissed, the anger in your voice barely contained. "You're a fucking douche bag." "Oh? Is that so."

Satrou's expression shifted subtly, the amusement fading into something more measured, more cautious. He studied you for a moment and you took the chance to wiggle out of his grasp and make your way through the crowd on the dance floor toward the door. The beat of the music pounds in your ears and throughout your body making your synapses jump like beans in a tin can. You can barely see the floor, only flashes of bodies you frantically tried to push past. Before you can make it to the back door, a hand grips your wrist tightly enough to halt your forward rush. Above the din of the pulsating music and amidst the strobe-lit shadows of dancing figures, Satoru's face comes into view. You feel your breath catch in your throat. God his is beautiful. Strobe lights catch and accent every one of his sharp features alighting them in a multicolor color hue. He pulls your wrist to him so you're close, too close. You can smell the old spice shampoo from his hair mixed in with some sort of sweet cologne. It's a smell that makes you want to bury your nose into him over and over again. "Jesus fucking Christ y/n" he breathed his eyes searching yours. "How long are we going to keep this thing of ours going?" You furrowed your eyebrows. “Our thing? What thing?”

“The thing where we act like we hate each other but actually want to fuck the brains out of each other.” Your eyes widen and you feel your face grow deathly hot. You try to step back, get some space, some room to breathe, but the hand on your wrist keeps you from doing so

“I-fuck you” the words come out of your mouth more soft and meager than you intended to, and you find yourself locked into his blue gaze.

“Believe me, I've thought about it.” His voice is low, and his face isn't painted with a shit-eating grin like it so usually is, he's serious and his eyes are soft. Fuck it. You can no longer hear the lyrics to whatever song was playing, only a soft dull hum of the beat in your ears. Immediately your lips are on his. The kiss is frantic, hot, messy. The club's pulse thrummed through you like a second heartbeat, the noise and chaos all but forgotten in the singular focus of his presence. You could feel one of his large hands on the small of your back, drawing you in until there was no space left between the both of you. Your mouths clashed against each other as if you were both seeking something vital, something long-denied. Satoru's lips were insistent against yours, moving with a fervor that matched the pounding bass surrounding you. You whined as his tongue slipped into your mouth, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the firm press of his chest against yours. The scent of his cologne mixed with the smoky air around us, intoxicating and heady.

Your mouths separated with a soft pop, and Satoru is grinning while you're left dazed, breath heavy and chests rising and falling after it. "How bout you say we get out of here Princess."Gojo's voice was a low murmur, his breath warm against your ear as you broke from the intense kiss.

Before you could even respond, a dizzying rush enveloped you. The loud club vanished in an instant, replaced by the quiet, dimly lit ambiance of his bedroom. You were suddenly on his bed, the soft duvet beneath you a stark contrast to the hard dance floor we'd just left. Right, he can teleport. You forgot about that. Wait was he... where are you going to... Before you can get a word in, he’s once again engulfing your lips with his and pulling you into a feverish kiss in which the two of you can’t seem to get enough of each other. The moment one pulls away to breathe, the other is immediately searching for their lips again; intertwining tongues and teeth clashing together recklessly.

Your hot, everything is hot, your body is burning up by the second and there’s a sickly sweet feeling in your stomach that keeps on expanding as time passes. You whine into his mouth when you feel a hand slip under your skirt and lightly trace the outline of your slit with his index finger. You're painfully wet; your arousal has made a large spot on your underwear translucent. “Just touch me,’ you whined, arching impatiently against his hand. He couldn’t make either of you wait any longer. Slowly, he brought his middle finger down and slid it gently over her folds. You threw your head back. "Ahhhh, more please." He did it again, this time his fingertip slipping between and gathering your wetness. He parted you with two fingers. You let out a gasp when he hit your clit and started to rub it in small circles. You tried to say something, anything to explain how hot you were feeling right now, but your words were lost against his soft lips. The taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of him so close against you, skin to skin. Time and space had no meaning anymore. There was only you and Satrou.

“You feeling good baby? Satrou speaks slowly, breath on your neck and voice in your ear making you shiver. You bite your lip and nod like any words that came from you would ruin it. You almost wince when you feel two fingers slip into your tight hole. "Jesus, fuck. You gotta relax princesses." He chuckled, knowing far to well that the tightness was going to feel delicious around him. Two fingers worked into you, and your eyes rolled back into your head. He began a steady rhythm as his tongue nipped and sucked the tender skin of your neck. You couldn’t prevent her hips from rising to meet his thrusts. Oh God, you were riding his hand. That had to be bad. You told herself to stop. You couldn’t. Somehow, you found your hands tangled in his short white hair. Your body was coiled tighter, grasping at his fingers, so wet now you could hear the slippery sounds every time he drove back into you. "Hnghhh.... so good." You squeezed your eyes type, becoming focused on the tightening feeling of your core and the blossoming warm pleasure. Your legs started to tremble under the unbearable pleasure and your back arched against the bed as if your body was trying to escape the euphoric feeling that coursed through your skin. "That’s it, fuck, beautiful girl... such a natural submissive...." You want to tell him he's wrong, all this pleasure wasn't because of his egotistic ass, but it'd be a lie. And as if on command, all feelings come to a heightened crescendo; explosions of euphoria clouding your brain causing your toes to curl from pleasure and your body to shake like a leaf.

It takes a couple seconds after you calmed down to realize you squirted all over Satoru's hand and all blood rushes to your face turning you a bright red.

“Oh my god in so sorry I didn’t-”

Your voice dies out as you watch Satrou pull off his shirt, revealing his extremely built body and toned muscles, to wipe the liquid off his hand. You don’t even notice that he had pulled out his dick until you feel something pressing against your entrance, making you look down and your eyes widen as you do so. Your stomach inwardly twisted,  filled with the sickly excitement and your breathing started to quicken. "Shhhhh baby," Satoru cups your cheek and kisses your forehead. It was a sweet gesture despite everything happening right now, a gesture that made your heart swell and your mind yearn for Satoru. The stretch of his dick spreading your walls is insane. No amount of preparation could've prepared you for the length of Satoru's dick. You feel it heavy inside you and Satrou pushes into you until he can't push anymore, until his hips are flush against you and the tip of his length is smushed against your cervix. The pleasure of that alone felt numb, unbearable, you needed friction, you needed him to move. You practically faint when he first thrusts into you in earnest. It's euphoric; the curvature of his dick digging itself against your g-spot, scraping against your vaginal walls every time he backed his hips up. His cock pulsed inside of your silky walls, stretching you to the fullest capacity as he bottomed out again and again. "Oh fuck." Satrou groaned. He was no longer grinning, Satoru's playful resolves vanished and his smile quickly dropped. He knew you'd feel good, but he didn't expect how good you'd feel. The feeling of his hand he had fucked himself to the thought of you for so many nights was nothing compared to the real thing. It was too much, the feeling of your wet soft walls gripping him so tightly. How was he able to live without your pussy in the first place? The pleasure built rapidly, too potent, too insistent. He kneeled over you, a groan escaping his lips—a raw, primal sound that vibrated through the charged air between you. Satorus thrust your quick and hard, a clear display of strength and endurance he had gained from years of jujutsu training. "Been thinking about this, so long, bet you have to have ya~"

As Satrou's long, deliberate fingers encircle your neck, a thrilling chill races down your spine. He applies pressure gently at first, then with a firmer, insistent grip that gradually restricts your airflow, sending a wave of exhilaration through your senses. The world around you narrows, focusing intently on the point where his skin contacts yours, heightening every other sensation that courses through you. His other hand slips under your bra bra to grab and massage your breast, his thumb flicking over your nipples.

"Satoru..! Ahhhh..! I..I, fuckkkkk can't handle this.." You had no strength to answer him, only offering wanton moans in retort as he continued to wreck your body with his completely brutal thrusts. The pain of him hitting the tip of your cervix nearly every time mixed with his hand squeezing your throat it was just all too much.

Satoru. Satoru. Satoru

"Slow down.. please im gonna ahhhh~" Drool slipped passed your lips and you writhed and squirmed at the feeling of hot euphoria passed over your body in flesh arrow. "Gonna cum? Fuck baby, let's... let's come together m'kay?" Satrou almost stuttered. His body had kicked into autopilot, and a deep primal need for you settled in as he thrust in and out, creating a methodical rhythm that echoed in your ears. Your ankles lock around his lower back and you cry out when the head of his cock kisses your womb, your legs shaking as you feel yourself start to be thrown into an intense orgasm. You want to say something about the weird feeling in your stomach, how your skin is buzzing but it's all too much, and before you know it your tumbling toward the edge. It feels like your whole body was shot with electricity and color dances in your eyes as you float in ecstasy.

"Sh-Shit, shit, fuuuuck~" He chuckles into your ear, choking over his words as his hips sputter inside of you, hot cum fills you as much as you can hold inside of your stuffed cunny. Satoru doesn't pull out as you both come down from your high, instead watching you intently as you ride through the aftershocks of your orgasm. "Wanna do this again?" He chuckles.

"Fuck, yes, please."

[aliyahwritings]

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST

Summary: Coming back from a theater night with your friends only made Rafe hornier for some reason

Warnings: smut, eating out, fingering, p in v.

Word Count: 3.3k

Aliyah's Notes: this is kind of all over the place but wtv. it's a cute little extra that i thought was fun

You: "Where the fuck are you?" You: "This is why you’ve never had a girlfriend." You: "I hope you guys tripped and fell into a river." You: "I’m serious, Rafe. Are you okay? I’m starting to worry."

You stood outside the cinema with Kiara and Sarah, arms crossed as the chilly New York breeze bit at your skin. Despite the gray hoodie you’d stolen from Rafe draped over your white crop top, you still felt cold, silently cursing Sarah for convincing you to wear such a thin outfit. Sure, it looked great, but it definitely wasn’t warm enough for a night like this.

The three of you had been waiting for what felt like forever while the guys—Rafe, JJ, and John B—vanished into the snack counter abyss. You hadn’t even decided on a movie yet, and deep down, you knew that when Rafe showed up, a heated argument about which movie to watch was inevitable.

It was almost tradition at this point: the two of you bickering over the movie choice while everyone else groaned in frustration. But like always, you were confident you’d win. You always did. Rafe would put up a fight for the sake of it, but in the end, he’d cave, and you’d get your way.

Kiara sighed loudly, tugging you out of your thoughts. "What’s taking them so long? Are they buying snacks or building them from scratch?"

“With the time they’re taking, I’m starting to think they’ve decided to move in back there," you muttered, shoving your hands into the hoodie pockets.

Kiara snorted, throwing her hands in the air. “Seriously, what’s their deal? Did they forget we exist?”

“Knowing JJ and John B? Probably. They’re probably debating over candy, and Rafe’s just stuck there, pretending to care," Sarah chimed in, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“And he’ll come out looking all innocent,” you added, smirking. “Like, ‘What? It wasn’t me.’”

Kiara grinned, brushing her hair out of her face. “Meanwhile, JJ’s going to show up with enough snacks to feed a small country.”

Sarah laughed. “Honestly, we should’ve started a timer on them. This is ridiculous.”

"Or a betting pool," Kiara added with a mischievous glint.

You chuckled, glancing at the glowing movie posters plastered on the walls. Your gaze lingered on the title of the movie you’d been determined to watch all week. It was calling your name, and nothing—not even Rafe’s inevitable stubbornness—was going to stop you from seeing it tonight.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the guys emerged, balancing an obscene amount of snacks between them. JJ led the charge with a sheepish grin, precariously balancing a tray stacked with popcorn, nachos, and candy.

“We’re back, ladies!” JJ called, panting as he reached you. He flashed Kiara a grin and casually slung an arm around her shoulder. “Took a little longer than expected.”

Sarah raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “A little? We were about to send a search party.”

JJ waved her off, popping a kernel of popcorn into his mouth. “You just don’t appreciate the art of snack selection. It’s a process, Sarah. You can’t rush greatness.”

“Greatness, huh?” Kiara deadpanned, staring at the tray in his hands.

“Absolutely.” JJ puffed out his chest but immediately backed down at Kiara’s withering look.

As John B mumbled an apology and tried to lighten the mood, Rafe sauntered up, his gaze locked on you. His blue eyes seemed to search yours, scanning your face for any sign of annoyance—or maybe forgiveness. Without a word, he slid his arm around your waist, pulling you close in one smooth motion.

"Are you mad?" he asked quietly, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

You tilted your head, pretending to think. "Hmm, let me see... You disappeared for ages, left me out here in the freezing cold, and probably picked the most ridiculous snacks. What do you think?"

Rafe's lips twitched, fighting a smirk. "So... that's a yes?"

"Obviously,” you crossed your arms, feigning a pout, though the warmth of his arm around your waist made it hard to stay committed to the act.

“C’mon, baby, it wasn’t that bad,” he teased, leaning closer. “You had Sarah and Kie to keep you company. I bet they were super entertaining.”

“Much better company than you,” you sassed, though the corner of your mouth twitched in betrayal.

Rafe’s smirk grew, and he leaned in even closer, so close you could feel his breath fan against your cheek. “How about I make it up to you?”

You quirked an eyebrow, your heart skipping a beat despite yourself. “Oh? And how exactly are you planning to do that?”

“I’ll let you pick the movie,” he said, as if it was a monumental sacrifice.

You blinked, staring at him. “You were going to let me pick the movie anyway.”

“Yeah, but now I’m offering,” he countered, his grin widening.

Kiara’s voice broke through the moment, her tone dripping with mock exasperation. “God, will you two just kiss already so we can pick a seat? It’s freezing out here.”

Sarah snorted. “Seriously, you guys are worse than an old married couple.”

Your cheeks burned, but before you could respond, Rafe turned his head toward the girls, his expression smug. “Jealous much?”

“Of what? Your inability to tell time?” Kiara shot back, unimpressed.

Rafe chuckled, then turned back to you, ignoring their comments. “So, are we good?”

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your smile. “Fine. But you’re holding all the snacks, Cameron.”

“Deal.” He winked, stealing a quick kiss on your temple.

As the credits rolled and the theater lights slowly came on, you stretched your arms above your head, trying to shake off the stiffness from sitting for two hours. The group shuffled out of their seats, JJ loudly debating with John B about the "most iconic moment" in the movie while Sarah and Kiara chimed in with their own opinions.

You weren’t paying much attention, though. Your focus was on Rafe, who’d been surprisingly quiet during the movie, his hand casually resting on your thigh for most of it. Every now and then, you’d caught him glancing at you instead of the screen, though he played it off whenever you turned to meet his gaze.

The cool night air greeted you as you stepped out of the theater, the city alive with its usual buzz. You pulled Rafe’s hoodie tighter around you, already feeling the chill sink in.

“You cold?” Rafe asked, stepping closer.

“A little,” you admitted, rubbing your hands together for warmth.

Without another word, he slid his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. The gesture was so natural, so un-Rafe in its quiet thoughtfulness, that you almost didn’t know how to react.

“You’re lucky I let you pick the movie,” he teased, his voice low and warm against your ear.

“You didn’t let me do anything,” you countered, glancing up at him. “I just won, like I always do.”

“Debatable,” he shot back, though his grin betrayed his amusement.

The group paused near the sidewalk, debating where to go next. JJ was rallying for a late-night diner run, while Sarah and Kiara wanted to head home. You stood back with Rafe, content to let them figure it out.

Rafe nudged you lightly. “What’d you think of the movie?”

You smirked. “I loved it, obviously. It’s called having good taste. You should try it sometime.”

“Careful,” he warned, his tone playful. “Or I might change my mind about letting you pick next time.”

“Yeah, right,” you scoffed. “We both know you’ll cave again.”

Rafe stared at you for a moment, his smirk softening into something gentler. His arm slipped from your shoulders, and before you could protest, he reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours.

“Okay, I’ll admit it,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You were right. It was a good pick.”

You blinked up at him, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity. “Is this your way of saying I have good taste?”

“Don’t push it,” he said, though his grin gave him away.

Before you could respond, JJ called out, breaking the moment. “Ayo, Rafe! Quit making googly eyes with your wife and help me convince them to hit the diner!”

Rafe groaned, rolling his eyes. “This guy…”

You laughed, tugging on his hand. “C’mon, we should at least hear him out. You do owe me for taking so long earlier.”

His eyes lit up. “You’re not letting that go, are you?”

“Never,” you said with a grin, leading him toward the group.

As the group finally parted ways—JJ still grumbling about the lack of a diner stop—you and Rafe headed back to his car. The ride was quiet, the city lights casting soft glows through the windows as the hum of the engine filled the space.

Rafe rested one hand on the steering wheel, his other hand perched casually on your thigh, a touch he hadn’t bothered to remove since the movie started. You glanced at him, his profile sharp under the streetlights, and felt your thighs rub against each other. You hated how effortlessly sexy he looked, even when he was doing something as mundane as driving.

When he pulled into the parking garage of his building, you expected him to make a teasing comment about how you’d owe him for letting you win the movie argument. Instead, he turned off the engine, sat back, and looked at you, his blue eyes flickering with something unreadable.

“What?” you asked, feigning nonchalance, though your voice betrayed the way your heart had started to race.

“Nothing,” he said, though the way his lips curled into a slow, dangerous smirk told a different story. “Just thinking about how much I want to fuck you right now.”

Your breath hitched, but you rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool. “Is that your way of saying you’re admitting defeat? Again?”

“Defeat?” he repeated, his voice dropping an octave as he leaned closer, his hand still warm and steady on your thigh. “Baby, you have no idea who’s about to win.”

Before you could reply, he closed the distance, his lips crashing onto yours with a mix of urgency and purpose. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours in a way that made your head spin.

You barely registered the sound of the car door closing behind you or the way he guided you toward the elevator, his lips never leaving yours. By the time the elevator doors slid open to his penthouse, you were breathless, his hands gripping your waist as he walked you backward into the living room.

“Rafe,” you murmured against his lips, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“What, baby?” he hummed, his lips moving to trail kisses along your jawline and down your neck.

“We—” Your words dissolved into a gasp as he nipped at the sensitive spot just below your ear. “We’re home,” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Exactly,” he muttered against your skin, his hands sliding down to grip your hips and pull you flush against him. “And no one’s here to interrupt us.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but Rafe silenced you with another searing kiss, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of the hoodie you were wearing—his hoodie. The warmth of his touch against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, and any coherent thought you had vanished entirely.

His hands on your body were all you were thinking about. It was so addictive. 

He was laying you down on the couch, taking your—his—hoodie off your body, then your crop-top. “You’re so fucking pretty. My wife,” his thumb ran over your hard nipples as he rapidly took your black bra off, throwing it god-knows-where in the living room. “Mine to fuck,” he bit down on your nipple. “Mine to ruin.”

His hand slid lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants, fingertips teasing the edge of your soaked panties. A shiver raced through you as his touch lingered, deliberate and torturously slow. By now, you couldn’t bring yourself to care how desperate, how utterly undone you sounded. Each broken moan and shaky breath betrayed how much you craved him, how badly you needed him. Nothing else mattered but this moment.

“Please, Rafe… please…”

“What, baby? What do you want?

Before you could even muster a response, his hand was already slipping beneath your panties. His fingers found your sensitive bud effortlessly, stroking it with deliberate, teasing motions that sent jolts of pleasure coursing through you. A soft moan escaped your lips, your body instinctively arching into his touch as if it was second nature—a dance the two of you had performed countless times before.

He watched you intently, his eyes dark and smoldering, drinking in every gasp, every shiver you gave him. Slowly, he brought his glistening fingers to his lips, tasting you with a deliberate flick of his tongue. 

“Fuck! I could taste you for a thousand years and still be so obsessed after all those years,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, his gaze never leaving yours as he savored every bit of you like it was a privilege. “You got no idea how fucking obsessed I am with you, baby.”

He didn’t waste a single moment, his hands working to tug your pants down before tearing through the delicate lace of your panties with a sharp rip.

“Rafe!” you exclaimed, a mix of frustration and disbelief in your tone. “Those were expensive!”

He only smirked, his eyes glinting with mischief as he let the ruined fabric fall to the floor. “I’ll buy you a dozen more,” he promised, his voice dark and dripping with desire.

Without hesitation, Rafe’s tongue found your swollen folds, his movements deliberate yet desperate, as if savoring every tremor of your oversensitive body. The sharp gasp that escaped your lips was like music to him, fueling his obsession with every intoxicating second of pleasuring you.

“God, Rafe!” you cried out, your voice trembling as the tension inside you threatened to snap. “I-I’m so close… gonna explode!”

He groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core as his tongue flattened, dragging languidly across your slick heat. His rhythm was unhurried, teasing yet relentless, each stroke chasing away the weight of the outside world, grounding him in this moment with you. “You taste so good, babe,” he murmured, his lips brushing your sensitive skin.

“You like that, huh?” he rasped, his voice heavy with need as he nipped at you softly, savoring your helpless writhing. “You like riding my face, don’t you, sweetheart? Taking what you need like this?”

Your hips bucked involuntarily, and a broken moan escaped you. “Y-yes! Fuck, yes!”

A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest as he held you tighter, his grip possessive. “This is all I could think of while we were watching the movie,” his hand tracing a path down your chest, he brushed over your nipples, a deliberate pinch causing a sharp gasp to escape you. “The sound of your moans, the way your pussy tastes, imagining myself between your legs... I couldn't stop thinking about it.”

Your body was writhing beneath him, every subtle arch and tremble betraying just how close you were. The way your breath hitched, your cries growing sharper and more desperate, told Rafe everything he needed to know—you were teetering on the edge. His voice dropped into a low, coaxing growl, his lips brushing against your ear.

"That's it, baby," he murmured, his tone both commanding and soothing, a mix of rough encouragement and deep affection. "Let go for me. Cum for me, beautiful."

And just like that, hot pleasure ran through you like lightning, body trembling as you came all over your husband’s pretty face. As the blood roaring in your ears bates, and you blink back your vision, the first thing you see are those familiar blue eyes gazing up at you. Holding you steady, lips brushing gentle kisses along your inner thighs. 

You must have done something right in your past life to have him as your partner.

He pulled back, his lips glistening with the evidence of what he’d just done, and gazed up at you with that trademark smirk—the one that made your heart race and your blood boil in equal measure. As you struggled to catch your breath, he chuckled low in his throat, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

"The only time you stop running that smart mouth of yours," he drawled, his eyes dark and playful, "is when I’m buried between your thighs. Not so sassy now, huh, baby?"

Your chest heaved as you processed his words, heat flooding your cheeks. Rolling your eyes, you shoved at his shoulder with your foot, a laugh bubbling past your lips despite your best efforts to stay annoyed.

"I hate you," you shot back, though the corners of your mouth betrayed you, curving into a smile.

He shook his head slowly, the smirk softening into something dangerously close to fondness as he leaned in. Pressing a trail of lazy kisses along your body, working his way from your navel to the hollow of your throat, he murmured against your skin.

"Sure you do..."

You’re catching your breath, trying to steady yourself, when Rafe begins to undress. His gaze doesn’t waver from you as he pulls off his clothes, revealing his sculpted muscles and toned physique. Every inch of him is perfect, his body chiseled and taut, like something crafted from stone. Even the sight of his cock, already leaking with arousal, makes your breath catch in your throat. He’s so hard, it almost feels wrong—like you should apologize for how badly he wants you.

With ease, he spreads your thighs apart, his hands firm yet gentle. "Missionary, so we can keep arguing?" he repeats, teasing you about something you’d said earlier on social media. The words echo in your ears, and a blush rises to your cheeks.

His body leans down toward yours, and his hand grips your hips, holding you in place as the other strokes your cheek with tenderness that contrasts the raw hunger in his eyes. Slowly, deliberately, he sinks into you, inch by inch, a steady rhythm that makes your heart race. You’ve been with him enough times to know the feeling, but each time is different—he stretches you just right, filling you completely, making you gasp.

Perhaps it was because he knew exactly how to touch you, how to make every moment feel electric, or maybe it was the deeper connection you felt with him that stirred something inside you. The way your feelings for him took root and grew, so intense. It was as if he wasn’t just a man you were with—he overwhelmed you, consumed you completely, leaving no room for anything else.

“Shit, Rafe! It’s too much,” you whined, nails raking down his back. 

Rafe’s pace slowed just enough for you to feel every thrust in excruciating detail, and you couldn't help but moan at the feeling. But then, as if on cue, he smirked. "You know," he started, his voice low and teasing, "this whole ‘too much’ thing? Kinda sounds like you’re not enjoying it."

You rolled your eyes, trying to bite back a grin despite the rising heat between you. "Are you seriously talking about this right now?" you shot back, the words almost slipping from your lips in frustration. "You’re the one who—"

"Who what?" He cut you off, his thrusts picking up again, harder, deeper, forcing the words to die in your throat. "Who made you this wet?" He grinned at your flustered expression. "I think you’re enjoying it just fine."

“Y-you’re so… ah… full of yourself," you muttered, though the words come out weaker than you intended.

Rafe chuckled darkly, brushing his thumb over your lower lip. "You love it," he said with that same smug smirk. "You can’t get enough of me, can you?"

"Shut up, Cameron," you snapped, trying to push past the wave of pleasure that clouds your thoughts. "You think you’re so perfect, but—"

"Perfect, huh?" He suddenly stopped, his eyes narrowing playfully. "You really want to keep arguing while I’m literally inside you?"

The tone of his voice shifted, becoming possessive, and you felt his grip on your waist tighten as he pulled you closer, forcing you to feel every inch of him. "I’m not—fuck—perfect, but I know what you want."

You exhaled sharply, trying to suppress a moan. "You’re annoying," you bit out, though there’s no real malice in your words.

Rafe laughed, his lips brushing your ear. "I know." He gave you one more slow, deep thrust, and you couldn’t help but gasp. "But you love it." 

You glared at him, your body still trembling from his movements. 

[flwrstqr]

✦ ENHYPEN WHEN YOU LEAVE LIPSTICK STAINS

PREC𝓲S ✦ enha x f!reader warnings skinship, petnames && 789wc 𓈃 ♡ fluff, head canons, one shot ─── ˖ 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄 ୨୧

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 (이희승)

heeseung chuckles, catching your mischievous smile as he sees the bright lipstick stain on his cheek in the mirror. “baby, you’re marking me up,” he teases, looking over his shoulder with that familiar glint in his eyes, clearly enjoying it more than he’d admit. you just grin and lean closer, brushing your lips across his jaw again, leaving another soft mark. “what? you don’t like my little reminders?” you ask, wrapping your arms around his waist. heeseung pulls you in, his hands warm as they rest on your hips, whispering, “you know i do. now everyone else will know i’m all yours.” he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, mumbling, “but maybe i should leave a few on you too, just to be fair.”

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐀𝐘 (박종성)

jay laughs softly, feeling your lips press against his cheek, leaving a rosy mark he catches in the mirror. “princess, you’re making a mess,” he murmurs, voice full of adoration as he turns to pull you closer, his hands settling gently on your waist. you just giggle, trailing another kiss across his jaw, clearly not stopping anytime soon. “so? you don’t like my little touches?” you tease, and he sighs, shaking his head with a smile that’s all love. “you know i do,” he whispers, thumb brushing your cheek softly as if you’re made of glass. “i’d wear a hundred of these if it means everyone knows i’m yours.” and with that, he leans down, pressing his lips to your forehead like you’re the only thing that matters.

𝐒𝐈𝐌 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 (심재윤)

jake grins as he catches sight of the faint lipstick stain on his jaw, courtesy of your latest shower of kisses. “babe, you’re leaving lipstick stains,” he teases, tilting his head down to look at you, his eyes full of mischief. you just laugh, planting another playful kiss on his cheek. “oops… guess i can’t help myself,” you say with a wink, hands resting on his chest as you pull him closer. he smirks, letting his fingers trail along your waist. “oh, i don’t mind,” he murmurs, voice dropping as he leans down, “but if you keep this up, i’ll have to return the favor.” you gasp, pretending to pull away, but he’s already cupping your face, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “yeah, not getting away that easily, pretty girl.”

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍 (박성훈)

"baby, look what you did to me," sunghoon murmurs, a teasing smile spreading as he tilts his head, showing off the faint pink smudge at the corner of his mouth. your cheeks warm as he leans closer, his fingers gently tracing your chin. "that was supposed to stay on you, you know," you mumble, trying to wipe it off, but he just chuckles, catching your hand. "nah, i kinda like it," he says, eyes glinting as he pulls you even closer, his hand slipping around your waist. "you mark me up as much as you want, love." he presses a kiss to your temple, leaving a soft whisper against your skin. "now, go on—leave another one. maybe right here?" sunghoon points to his jaw, grinning, "can’t have anyone thinking i’m not completely taken."

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐎𝐎 (김선우)

“yah, are you trying to make me your canvas or something?” sunoo laughs, his hand instinctively reaching up to touch the faint pink stain you left just under his jaw. he gives you a playful glare, but the way he leans closer says otherwise. “don't act like you don’t like it,” you tease, smoothing down the collar of his shirt as you press another kiss right where his cheek curves. he blushes, but his lips curl up, eyes shining. “you’re right… but don’t blame me if people start asking why i’m covered in your lipstick.” he tilts his head, looking down at you with a soft smirk. “i could get used to this, y’know? maybe next time, a little higher up?”

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐎𝐍 (양정원)

"you’re getting lipstick everywhere, you know that, right?" jungwon murmurs, but there's a softness in his eyes that betrays any real protest. his hand rests on your waist, pulling you in closer as you leave another kiss on his cheek, a faint pink mark blooming under your lips. “mm, and you don’t mind one bit, do you, baby?” you tease, your fingers brushing his hair back gently. he chuckles, barely shaking his head, eyes half-closed as he leans into each kiss like he’s savoring them. "never," he whispers, his voice tender. "you can cover me in as many as you want.” his hands find your face, holding you still just so he can press a lingering kiss on your forehead, his smile full of warmth. “as long as they're from you, i’ll wear them all day.”

𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐈 (西村力)

“wow, really going all out, huh?” riki laughs, his fingers brushing over the bright pink lipstick mark you just left on his cheek. he tilts his head, flashing you a playful smirk. “you trying to claim me or something, princess?” he teases, tapping his cheek with a grin, daring you to leave another. you roll your eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at your lips as you lean in, pressing another kiss, this time right near his jaw. “maybe i am,” you say, raising an eyebrow. “any complaints?” he scoffs, pulling you in by the waist, eyes sparkling. “yeah, one big complaint… you’re not putting them everywhere else,” he whispers, leaning down so you’re practically nose-to-nose.

[omgeto]

☆ WHEN YOU HAVE SEX WITH YOUR EX — GOJO, GETO, TOJI

summary: you have sex with your ex. thats it.

cw: afab!reader, smutty smut smut so mdni. unprotected sex with all of them (since I forget that condoms exist) you sit on geto face, kinda finger fucking & mild hate fucking with toji but its fun, and gojo is just lovely.

an: i was meant to post this last night but I fell asleep writing geto's part so slay. anyways I hope you enjoy lmk what you think!! not proofread so ignore any mistakes please.

☆ GOJO

“this doesn’t mean we’re back together y’know,” you remind gojo, panting as he thrusts into you.

“you’re really saying that with my dick deep in your cunt,” he taunts, admiring the deep arch of your back, the way your ass ripples every time his hips drive into you. “i’ve missed this.”

“f-fuck keep going,” you moan out, as his dick hits your spot – just how you like it.

“so you don’t miss me?” he pesters, and you roll your eyes, as although you couldn’t see him, you just knew he had a pout on his face. “you really don’t miss me?” he continues his thumb making way to your clit, swiftly flicking at it.

“i don’t miss you.”

gojo pulls out of you almost defiantly, pushing you down – turning you around your back. he stares at you with something you couldn’t quite place, and re enters you just as quickly. he smirks at the way your mouth gapes as his hands roughly grab at your tits, pinching and pulling on your nipples.

“s-someone’s mad,” you egg on, loving the way that his strokes become harder.

“y’know the reason i always loved fucking you this way when we were together?” he asks with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“what’s with the trip down memory lane?,” you complain, your arms come around his neck as you take him in deeper, “i called you to fuck me, not for whatever you’re tryna do here.”

“because i always got to see all the faces you make,” he continues, completely ignoring your comment, his tongue drags up the side of your jaw, before pressing a quick kiss just under your ear. “and the face your making right now, tells me, that you're lying.”

you scoff, but didn’t say anything because you knew he was right. you did miss the way he’d plough into you, the way he knew the ins and outs of your body – how to please you. “im gonna cum,” you whine out, “satoru please i need yo–”

“you can cum when you admit the truth babe,” he teases, his strokes purposefully shift speed, still keeping you writhing underneath him but just not quite enough to get you there. “just say you miss me.”

“fine,” you force out, exasperated, “i m-miss you i do.”

“see wasn’t so hard, was it?” he kisses you deeply, driving deep into you, and you cum with a cry, you did miss being this close with your ex boyfriend. gojo is quick to finish after you, filling you up with all his cum.

he eventually pulls out of you, collapsing down on the bed next to you pulling you into his hold. you, against your better judgement, relaxing into his arms – which goes against all the rules of sleeping with your ex. “this still doesn’t mean we’re back together,” you add, knowing there was very little truth to that.

“yeah, yeah, whatever you say babe,” he smirks, his lips coming down to your forehead, placing a soft kiss, “so what did you miss about me?”

☆ TOJI

“i thought you didn’t spin the block, princess,” toji asks with a shit-eating grin, as his fingers slip inside of you “what happened to, ‘once an ex always an ex huh?” 

“i’ve always hated that nickname,” you mumble, hissing at the contact of toji’s fingers toying with your pussy, “and there are some exceptions to my rule.”

“so you’re little boyfriends not hitting it right then,” toji grins, pleased at hearing that he was the ‘exception,’ “if you’re here, slutting yourself out on my fingers.” 

“no he’s hitting it greatly,” you smirk, not rising to toji’s comments since you know what he was trying to get at, “i just missed you, that's all.”

“oh so you really have a boyfriend then?” he snapped, his fingers curling up in you.

“no i don't,” a smug smile appears on your face as you see toji’s smirk drop, “but it’s cute that you care though. are you jealous, toji?”

“shut up,” he says moodily, swiftly removing his fingers out of you, pulling you onto his lap.

you straddle him, your face inches from his, “aww are you mad toji?” you taunt with a mock pout. you’ve always loved getting a rise out of toji, you know your ex boyfriend very well, the more pissed off he was, the harder he fucked.

“sit on it,” he commands, the ‘it’ in question being his hard dick that he was furiously stroking at the sight of you. there was something about you that got on toji’s nerves – hence why you didn’t last long as a couple – but that special something was good for times like this. where you could both unleash any pent up energy you have, on eachother.

you welcome his dick eagerly, practically jumping on it, the wetness of your pussy was inviting. his dick slotted in perfectly, making you both curse at the contact. “fuck, you always feel so good,” he praises, loving the feeling of you clenching around his dick whilst you ride him.

there was a forcefulness coming from the both of you, as you were fucking each other as if you had something to prove, as if there was some unspoken competition to see who could get the other to cum first.

“f-fuck,” you mutter, the feeling of toji’s dick pistoning into you becoming too much.

“whats that princess?” toji mocks, grinning seeing your eyes gloss over, he could tell that your dick-stuffed cunt was about to release all over him, “y’gonna cum for me?”

you ignore him, continuing your mission to get toji to fold first. you manoeuvre your lips to his neck, kissing and sucking on his exposed flesh, and he takes a sharp inhale – bingo. you knew toji’s body as well as he knew yours, and he was always was weak for the way you’d nibble and bite on his neck as he fucked you dumb.

“are you gonna cum for me?” you mock mirroring his question, his strokes was getting sloppier, you could tell he was close. but you were not far behind, squirming in his lap about to reach your climax.there were no words that needed to be spoken as you and toji both cum together, your cunt too overloaded with both of your cum, making it drip out all over his dick.

“we should do this again sometime princess,” toji suggests, as you eventually hop off his dick and start putting back on your clothes, “you always know to fuck me right.”

“i’ll think about it,” you conclude, knowing that you’ll probably be back in less than a week, “and stop calling me that fucking nick name,” you say as you leave the room, the only response you hear being toji’s howling laughter.

☆ GETO

if there was one thing that you couldn’t deny your ex boyfriend had, it was his head skills. everytime without fail, he could have you sprawled out on any surface as his tongue laps your pussy. 

“s-shit, you’ve always been way too good at this,” 

“only, to please you,” he hums, pressing a soft kiss to your thigh, before going back to sucking on your clit. your hands knot his hair, pulling and tugging as he works on your folds. he loves it when you play in his hair, showing that he’s getting what he’s aiming for – giving you pleasure. 

your moans only encourage him to toy with your pussy harder, nipping and biting as your thighs clench around his head. he’s been at this for ages, tonguing your cunt for as long as possible, as if to see how long he’d be able to go. 

“sugu ‘m gonna cum,” you cry, pressure building up inside of you, “please let me cum.”

but he doesn't. ignoring your request completely, geto removes his mouth off of you. his lips were practically shining, coated in all the juices from your pussy.  “you know there was one thing we never got to do when we were together,” he starts to say, eyeing with a mischievous smile,

“which is…” you prompt, slightly upset at the lack of stimulation you were getting at your, now throbbing, pussy.

“you never sat on my face,” he utters just above a whisper, licking his lips at the thought of it. 

“but what if I—“

“don’t worry about any of that,” he murmurs, pushing himself further back on the bed, his eyes still focused on you, “come sit.”

you slowly work your way up his body, the mischief in his eyes making you feel excited. you pause, straddling his chest, your hands rest on his shoulders, “are you sure about this?”

“girl if you don’t–” he starts to say, but the rest of his sentence is muffled as he pulls you onto his face, his mouth enveloping your pussy. your hands immediately grip onto the headboard in front of you, as his tongue gives long strokes to your wet pussy, lapping up all the juices spilling from you. 

you were riding his face, your hips moving back and forth against his mouth with his head sandwiched between your thighs. “f-fuck sugu, it’s too much,” you moan out, throwing your head back. 

he grins in response, his hands gripping your ass pushing you onto his mouth deeper. he couldn’t get enough of you, the way you taste, the sweet scent of your pussy that he practically inhales, burying his nose in it.

“s-shit,” you curse, as your cunt explodes onto your ex’s face. you pause, catching your breath, still feeling the pleasurable high he just gave you. he still had his mouth on your pussy, eating up all the cum that was dripping out of you.

“hey suguru, wanna go and–” you turn to see gojo burst into the room, “oh shit, yn? are you two back together?” you scramble off of geto’s face, giving gojo the hardest glare for interrupting. 

“satoru, can’t you see that im busy,” geto chuckles, his mouth still covered with your cum, “im eating here.”

“right…” gojo nods, “i’ll leave you two too it,” but just before he leaves the room you here him yell, “im gonna tell everyone you’re back together.” you both chuckle at your friends antics, and geto pulls you back into him.

“get back on,” he smirks, “who said i was done?”

AN: so there we go. I love geto's part so much but maybe im biased idk. but yeahhh hope you enjoy the thoughts that I had at like 7 am. DIVIDERS BY @/CAFEKITSUNE

[servicpop]

kinktober extra — mutual masturbation adrien ( deliquent oc ) x bttm m reader

ⓘ dick piercing , kind of short / rushed T T

▸ wanna skip class tdy? read 12:21 PM

The text message was ludicrous, did he seriously ask the student president to skip class? You peered at your phone from underneath the table with a small scowl before shutting it off, turning your attention back to the lesson.

▸ need to show you something ▸ if ur not skipping I'll just come over to urs ;) read 12:25 PM

More buzzes come from your phone and you finally decide to turn off your notifications and silence your phone — it didn't matter if Adrien asked, he would just come over anyways.

But his message plagued your mind; Adrien didn't usually tell you he needed to show you something without telling you what it actually was. A surprise? A present? The thoughts swirled in your mind like a whirlpool, coming up with a multitude of possibilities that Adrien could show. What if it was tickets to a week long vacation? Or maybe a coupon he found off the side of the road.

You would have to see when you got home

The walk back home was nothing short of furrowed eyebrows and confusion. You slide your phone out from your pocket and glance at your lockscreen to see no new notifications from the deliquent. By now Adrien would've popped up from nowhere to escort you back home but there was no sign of him. You braced yourself while turning every corner, expecting Adrien to jump out and scare you like he always did — he's memorised your exact route to get home.

But he wasn't there.

The moment you reach your house, you push open the front door and step in quietly, slipping your shoes off and heading straight to your room. As you turn the doorknob you hear one of your drawers slam close and the moment the door creaks open you're met with a slightly flustered Adrien.

“What were you doing?” You ask him suspectingly, narrowing your eyes at him before glancing around your room to see everything is still intact.

“Just— um, organising your stuff,” He plays it off with an awkward whistle, stepping aside so you could walk into your room. He watches you place your bag down on the floor and grab some comfortable clothes to change into.

A small, proud smirk makes its way to his face when you don't even ask him to turn around, changing on the spot with your back facing him. He's realised how comfortable you've gotten with him and he can't help but feel a warm flutter in his chest.

“So, what's the suprize?” You wriggle your shirt on, tugging on the flimsy fabric a few times before turning to face Adrien again.

“Mm... I think we need to sit on the bed for this one,” He grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. You feel almost uneasy, hesitant as you slowly take a seat on your sheets. The way he worded the sentence sent a queasy feeling in the pit of your stomach, but in all truth you weren't sure whether you were expecting something bad or not.

As if sensing your uncomfort, Adrien sits beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight as he spreads his legs, letting his elbows rest on his knees.

“You're sitting with straight posture prez,” he snorts, leaning over to pull your legs up from the floor, onto the bed and tangled with his.

You're both in a weird pretzel shaped pose, your legs over his, his legs under yours, pulling you closer so your chests would only be a few inches apart.

“Loosen up,” he chuckles in a lower, hushed tone, gripping your shoulder a tad bit tighter before smoothing out the fabric of your shirt. His hands move down to pull off his belt and you instinctively lean away, shielding your eyes with the palm of your hand.

“Adrien what the hell?”

From the cracks of your fingers you can see Adrien glance up at you briefly with a sly smirk, successfully slinking off his belt. You hear the faint pops of his pant buttons followed by the sound of the zipper being pulled down. You groan and try to turn your head away before Adrien grips your wrist, peeling your hand from your eyes.

“Just look baby,” His laughs were light, airy and soft like a fur blanket encasing you in warmth. But that small flutter in your chest died down the moment your gaze was pulled to the metal piercing.

A prince albert piercing.

You don't know whether to look away, ask if it hurt, or ask if you could touch it. The piercing looked painful and you felt an ache within your groin — whether that was a feeling from the thought of your own being pierced or something entirely different. It seems fully healed with only a slight dust of red circling the metal; Adrien would've gotten it awhile ago but waited until it was healed to show you.

“Quit starin' so hard prez, you're making me insecure,” Adrien moves his hand from your shoulder to rest behind him on the bed, leaning back so you could fully take it in.

After a bit of silence you choose option b: ask if it hurt.

“Does it— hurt?” Your words are more shaky and quiet than you would've liked it to come out like. You would look at Adrien right now but your eyes seem trained on the metal ball on the underside of Adrien's tip. It suits him, which is the worst part of it all.

Your eyes finally manage to peel away from the piercing, slowly meeting Adrien's gaze. He gives you a small nod in the downwards direction, raising his eyebrows before giving you a freakishly sweet smile. He's inviting you to feel it for yourself. Your fingers twitch as you slowly reach out for his cock, delicately wrapping your fingers around the length but letting your thumb press gently on the piercing stud.

Adrien leans his head back slightly and a groan slips from his lips.

“It hurt for a bit when I got it— fuck, but now it's just overly sensitive.” His smirk was wiped off his face, replaced by the furrow of his dark eyebrows and the small bite on his bottom lip. In your peripherals you can see his fingers dig into your sheets, curling the fabric up into his fists as you gently rub the metal.

“Wanna try something, prince?” He chuckles through clenched teeth.

Adrien leans back up, pulling you closer as he undoes the buttons of your trousers, unzipping them and pushing them down to your thighs. He takes a second to untangle your legs before gently pulling off your pants, discarding them in a random corner of your room.

Adrien hooks his fingers under the elastic of your waistband, tugging it down enough for your dick to spring out. Grabbing your ankles, Adrien pulls you even closer to him, making sure that your bodies and flushed together in a messy knot.

“C'mon, put your hand over like this,” His voice seems breathless as he guides your hand to wrap around your own and his tip. “Hold it a bit tighter, just trust me.”

Adrien's hands move to the base, stretching his fingers to press the underside of your cock against his. The metal presses right against the underside of your tip, the cold feeling of the piercing against your heated skin makes you squirm but its undeniably a good feeling.

You clench your hand harder, rocking your hips up against Adrien, chasing friction. The feeling of the piercing dragging up and down your dick sends waves of shiver through your body, forcing small whimpers out your lips. Your palm shifts to brush over the very tip, slipping your fingers through the slits which earns a throaty groan from the both if you.

“You're such a damn tease” Adrien bites his tongue as he pumps his hand, jerking the both of you off.

Skin to skin, all you feel his Adrien's heat and the small break of cold everytime his piercing rubs against you. Pre-cum is seeping out from your urethra, creating a sticky mess that rubs off on Adrien.

“You're really liking this huh, prez?”

“Shut up.”

You yelp slightly when Adrien pushes you onto your back, climbing ontop of you as he angles himself so he can properly rut into you. He still holds your dick against his, making a circle with his hands as he thrusts against his palm, grunting everytime you throbbed against him.

“Fuck yes,” He exhales, pushing himself to meet the flesh of your fingers brushing against his tip.

The slick sound of both of your arousal fills the room and the sticky liquid starts to accumulate on your fingers. Your free hand is resting on Adrien's shoulder, sinking your nails down everytime he rolled his hips against you.

“Adrien... I'm gonna cum,” you whine, pushing your hips up to meet his thrusts. All you can think about is the cold metal trace along your veins.

“Go ahead.” Adrien stopped thrusting and leans down to press a light kiss to your collarbone, letting his hand push you both over the edge.

With a shaky groan, Adrien spurts white all over your hand and you follow shortly with a whiny moan.

You're both heavily breathing with Adrien hovering ontop of you. He keeps his head down before he lifts it to look down at you.

“So... what are your thoughts on my new piercing?”