#everybody's catching feelings around here!

[h0efor2ho]

Hi, how are you?

May I request something about reader being best friends with The8 and secretly fucking/seeing Hoshi (his roommate) The8 catches reader riding him in their living room and instead of walking away The8 jerks off to them having sex

If you decide to write thank you and even if you don’t thank you for your work 💕

I'm so happy someone other then me is enjoying my work lol so thank you<3

2) I can not tell you how excited I got thinking about this!!

I started writing it at work in a email to myself I couldn't wait lol

I hope you enjoy!!

WC : 1.6K

TW : Voyeurism, Secret Boyfriend! Hoshi, Best Friend! Minghao, Jerking off, Unprotected sex ( wrap it up everybody ) Cream pie.

"We only have a hour" Hoshi moans into your mouth as he pulls you down onto his lap. You straddle him, your pretty sundress bunching up around your thighs as you settle again the bulge straining against his sweat pants. "He left 15 minutes ago" He says pulling back to pull off his shirt exposing his chiseled body to you. 

You can't help your hands from roaming over the plains of his defined muscles. "I hate sneaking around and lying to him" you say meeting Hoshi's eyes as you grip the bottom of your dress and pull it up over your head. "I know babe" He says with softness in his eyes. "But you know how he is. I don't know how he'll take it when we tell him we're dating. God look at you didn't even put panties on"  "There could be worse things" you say lifting up on your knees allowing Hoshi to slide his pants down around his ankles. "Yea there could be" He says gripping your hips "Like you not sitting your pretty pussy on my cock right now" He tugs you down gently. You grab his cock and guide him to your wet entrance. Coating his tip in your juices before slowly sliding down onto him till your completely full of him.

"F-Fuck" Hoshi moans out as you adjust to his length. It's not long before your bouncing up and down on his dick. The room filled with the wet sounds of your body meeting, your moans and his grunts. Your so lost in the moment you don't hear the front door open and close. You don't hear the sound of keys hitting the entry table, or the foot steps coming down the hall. 

"So this is the stuff you had to do that you couldn't come to the gym with me?" 

Your blood runs cold. You hault your movements, eyes going wide as you look at Hoshi, Who is already wrapping his arms around your back pulling you to his chest to shield you from view. You tilt your head and look over your shoulder and there stands your secret boyfriends roommate, your best friend Minghao. His eyes dark and his brows drawn together. 

"Geez man you scared me" Hoshi says looking over your shoulder. "I forgot my airpods and well I'm not the one fucking my best friend, who i told you was off limits I might add, in the middle of our living room" "Hao'" you softly say, his eyes looking at you "Don't Y/N. I told both of you that friends were off limits as fuck buddies. It gets messy and I don't want to have to chose" "but it's not like that" you say looking at Hoshi. "How is it not, your stuffed full of his cock right now I literally see it with my own eyes" Hoshi gives you a devilish smile. "It's different because we're actually dating" He says, looking past you to Minghao. You wish you could see the look on his face as he just gives you a "huh" you peel yourself from Hoshis chest, turning to face Minghao more. "It's true Hao. We've been together for 3 months now. I'm sorry we didn't know how to tell you"

You expect him to get mad, to yell at you guys for lying. What you don't expect is for him to walk over and sit on the couch next to you and Hoshi. "Well don't stop on my account." he says. "what?" you as, eyes going bit wide. They both look up at you. You feel both sets of eyes racking over your exposed body. Minghao looks at Hoshi than back to you. "Hao' here, well he likes to watch, as you can see" Hoshi says, you follow his gaze down to your best friends lap where his basketball shorts are currently being tented by his hard cock. Your eyes shoot back up to the wall behind the couch. "Ohhh" your boyfriend says "Don't you like that babe?" His hand coming up to grip your chin tilting it down to look at him.

"She most definitely clenched around my cock" he gives Minghao a sideways glance before looking back at you "You like that idea? Minghao watching as I fuck you?" Your walls again involuntary squeeze Hoshis dick. You can't deny the idea pools heat in your stomach. "Yea she does" before you know it he's pulling you down into a needy kiss. His hands sliding down to your hips, gripping them as he gently starts to rock you back and forth. Hoshi pulls away slightly. "What do you say pretty. Can Hao' watch as I make you cum? I know you like the idea of being watched. I can feel how wet you're getting" You glance down at your best friend, who is now trying to subtly rub his cock through his shorts. You cant hold back any more "Yes" you moan out, rocking your hips in rhythm with Hoshi's hands. 

Before you know it Hoshi was you spun around, your back pressed to his chest and he rams his cock up into you. Across from you Minghao has his cock in his hand. You cant help but look at his hand pumping up and down his long cock. Pre cum oozing from the pretty pink tip. He's moving his hand in time with Hoshi's thrust's up into you. You watch as his slender fingers grip his shaft on the down ward tug. How he's trying not to thrust his hips up into his hand. How he's biting his bottom lip to keep from moaning to. You watch as his pumps pick up speed, becoming a bit erratic. Just at that moment Hoshi's hand snacks across your stomach to dip and find your clit. Rubbing tight circles on your nerve. "Come on and show Hao' what it looks like when you cum baby" he says into your shoulder. 

Your hips start to meet his thrusts, just as Minghao's reserve breaks and he starts to thrust up into his hand. His head falling back as he lets out a groan. "Fuck" he says. His eyes coming back to look at where you and Hoshi's body meets. "You take his cock so well" The coil in your stomach becoming tighter and tighter as you watch your best friend jerk off to you and your boyfrind fucking. Your walls begin to tighten, Hoshi knows you're close, angling his thrusts he hits the spot inside you that has you seeing stars. "fu-fuck" you cry out as you tighten around his cock. 

Your thrust over the edge, your release running down his cock as he begins to slam into you. His thrusts determined. You watch as Minghaos eyes are glued to your cunt. "Shit" he moans right before his abs tighten and streams of hot cum shoot from the tip of his cock coating his hand and abs. Hoshi slams into you one more time before he still. "Fuck fuck!" he shouts as his cock twitches inside you, coating your walls in hot sticky cum. You close your eyes, trying to regulate your breathing. Hoshi's arms wrapped around you, his face nuzzled into your neck. When you open your eyes, Minghao is gone. 

You start to panic for a moment, afraid you just ruined your friend ship between not only you and him, but him and Hoshi as well. A moment later you hear his footsteps as he rounds the corner. A warm wet rag in his hand. He makes his way over handing it to Hoshi, who slowly pulls out of you and onto his lap. Using the rag he helps clean you up. Minghao takes a seat back on the couch, looking at the both of you. A smile warms his lips. Silence settles over the room, heavy but not uncomfortable. The air still hums with the remnants of what just happened, an unspoken understanding hanging between the three of you. Hoshi presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder before moving to clean himself off, while Minghao watches, his smile lingering but unreadable.

"Well," Minghao says again, tilting his head as if processing the moment. His gaze flickers between you and Hoshi before he leans back into the couch, one leg crossing over the other. "That was... unexpected." You swallow hard, still catching your breath. Your mind races with a thousand thoughts—Was he upset? Was this a mistake? Had you just ruined something you didn’t even realize needed protecting? Hoshi, still warm against you, chuckles softly, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin. "You’re acting like you didn’t enjoy it." Minghao huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "I didn’t say that." He pauses, his gaze settling on you. "Are you okay?"

The sincerity in his voice sends a strange warmth through your chest. You nod slowly, adjusting your position against Hoshi, who holds you a little closer. "Yeah," you murmur. "I’m okay." Minghao studies you for a moment longer before nodding, seemingly satisfied with your answer. Then, he shifts, stretching his arms above his head before letting out a breath. "Well, now that we’ve crossed that line… what happens next?" The question hangs between the three of you, heavy with meaning. You glance at Hoshi, who meets your eyes with a knowing look, before turning your gaze back to Minghao. "I guess that depends," you say softly.

Minghao smirks, the sharpness of it softened by the warmth in his expression. "Depends on what?" You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment. "On what we want this to be." The room falls into silence again, but this time, it's not uncertainty that lingers, it's anticipation.

** If you enjoyed, please reblog **

[mrsnishimuraaa]

jealousy

slytherin riki x griffindor reader!

note: this was req! i begcut me slack i have never watched hp movie in my life and this is a tinsy bit rushed but besides that i hope you enjoy though this is not the best of works i apologise 😭😭

m.list

things could get hectic sometimes around the school, but there’s always a way around it so here you find yourself sitting next to one of the new students deciding to make him feel a little more welcome to the sometimes not so welcoming environment, but your sweet and caring nature is something that he took in well, he noticed the way that your smile flashed when you were talking to him, helping him with his work, finding his way around hogwarts and making potions here and there. but the one student that had always sat at the back of the classroom was riki. though everyone takes him for the kind of mean and come off cold kind of person but you always believe that deep down everybody has some sort of soft spot.

but the parts that you didn’t take in was how he would look at you helping other male students around with their work, inching just a little bit too close to them, the way your skirt would ride up your thighs. although you weren’t his nor has he really ever spoken to you, he wants to find a way to make you his and he’ll make sure that it will happen . and by that he means he will go to any extent to have you under by his charms or underneath him.

The classes where you would be helping other male students riki would always be eyeing holes through them from the back of the room, the way that your hands would accidentally touch when passing things to eachother , the way that they lean in when you’re speaking to them because they couldn’t hear you well enough, the jealousy that boiled inside him grew day by day until he finally decided that he had enough, starting to try and grow closer to you. occasionally bumping into you in the hallways, exchanging notes or sometimes small greetings with each other.

But the day that he saw you talking to that one guy that you always are with, having you pressed up against your locker was the day that he just couldn’t take it any more. He trailed towards the two of you slowly but he walked as if he was on a mission, really trying to see how it would play out. you catch a glimpse of him marching towards the two of you from the corner of your eye thinking that maybe he’s just coming up to you for a few answers, but oh your so wrong

“what the fuck do you think your doing?” riki’s voice echos through the hallway. the boy steps away from you “i-it’s not what it looks like” his hands raise slightly in defence. but he is almost thrown out of the way as riki shoves his shoulder. “don’t ever speak to her again” his voice thick with intention. “what are you doing?” even through this eventful situation your voice remains calm and sweet, looking at the significantly taller boy with almost loving eyes.

“playing innocent hm? like he wasn’t about to take you right then and there huh doll? fuck do you know what you do to me?” his voice barley above a whisper as his eyes briefly scan the hall “what?” the tone of his words being an affect on you “come with me” he grabs your wrist, you hesitate for a moment, you can’t just run off to your rivals dormitory, but you follow his lead anyway.

“what is this all about? what’s your problem” you search for answers as you follow him through what seems like a maze, “you drive me crazy Y/N, always so close to all those other boys” he turns to look down at you briefly “so your jealous” you scoff slightly. “ don’t fucking test me” he opens the door to his dorm, ushering you inside before slamming it shut, and slamming his lips straight into yours. your taken back slightly but soon give into the warm feeling of his mouth.

he slowly guides the two of you backward, lips never leaving yours as you crash down onto his couch. breaking the kiss as he kisses slowly down your body , sucking on your neck as his hands rub your waist. “you drive me mad” he mumbles against your skin, sliding to his knees infront of the couch, leaving him looking straight up your skirt, shyness of course takes over you and he pickes it up. “don’t play innocent with me baby” his thumb runs over your clothed pussy as you whimper slightly. “take em off” he raises his eyebrows at you, watching as you shyly yet willingly drop your panties to your ankles.

“good girl, so wet f’me already hm, wanna see what you do to me?” the tease in his tone drove you mad, nodding as he pulls his pants and boxers down, his dick springs free and your mouth falls agape slightly. “ like what you see huh? “ his large hands find your thighs, spreading them apart as he rubs the tip of his dick against your folds. “please” the word left your lips almost silently, but your breath is brutally taken from your lungs as he slams his length in all at once. a sharp gasp is torn from you “ shit- i bet he would never fuck you like this” he grunts out, leaving you no time to adjust as his pace already grows ruthless. moans and whines leaving your mouth as he plows into your pussy.

“fuck, this is what you wanted isn’t it? hm? someone to fuck you so good” god he’s so cocky, but you can’t act like it isn’t turning you on. “always being so provocative, with your tiny fucking skirts” his hand snakes to your neck, applying a small amount of pressure. “fuck please please please!” you whine out as you throw your head back, immense pleasure taking over you as he absolutely destroys your insides. “yeah you wanna cum?” he taunts you as you nod quickly. “be a good girl and cum for me, bet he could never make you cum like this huh” his thrusts deepen even more, feeling like there’s a meaning to each thrust.

and before you know it your walls are pulsating around him as you squirt, liquid covering his pelvis and the top of your skirt “ah! shit”he slams himself even deeper this time with a grunt, emptying his balls almost straight into your womb. “never speak to that fucking guy again, got it?” his eyebrow raises , you nod hesitantly at his almost harsh words. “

good girl, maybe come sit with me in the back of class, find out how good you are at staying quiet hm?”



[bigbrotherboyf]

All of your big brother’s friends have agreed to help him teach you a lesson after you told him you fucked someone else for the first time. “I have something waiting for you in my room” he says, and you don’t worry because big bro would never hurt you. 

You open the door and see all his friends sitting around, 8 or 9 of them, and you grab your big brother’s hand, “hi” you say. Big bro pulls your hand into the room, forcing you to go on in front of him, “come on, you’ve met them before, don’t be shy”. Of course you obey him, because you’re a good little brother. There’s no space for you to sit, except one, but it doesn’t matter because you’re quickly distracted by the sudden sound of everybody unbuckling their belts. You look at your brother who’s locking the door behind him. “You want to fuck everyone else so bad, so I thought I’d help you out��� he says as he sits down at the one remaining seat which is by his desk.

His friends have all pulled their cocks out, and you can’t help but look. “Wh- what is this?” you ask nervously. “Start at the beginning and make your way down, but you’re only allowed a couple of bounces on each” he replies, unzipping his trousers but leaving his hard dick in his underwear. “No- No, I can’t” you stutter, covering your eyes with your hands, feeling your throat tighten and ache, you can’t cry now. “It’s okay, don’t be scared, you want this, remember?” your brother whispers, he’s beside you now, one hand at the back of your neck. With your eyes still covered he leads you over to his friend, “look” says your big brother, squeezing the back of your neck. You move your hands and what catches your eyes is his friend’s hard, pulsating cock. The hand on your neck is gone, and with one swift movement you feel your trousers being pulled down, “you can’t get out of this, just do as I say, little bro”.  You’re shocked by the sudden exposure, but you also notice how hard and soaked you are. As you finally release the built up tears, you realize there is no way out. Embarassed and teary eyed, you slowly pull down your wet underwear, dropping it down to your feet, ready to take the first cock. “Only a few bounces on each” he repeats, “I don’t want you to cum on them”. You nod and turn around to present your hole to his friend, and his much bigger hands, which are now holding your waist, lead you down on his dick. His head pushes on your hole, you feel it stretch and hurt, and before you know it you’ve swallowed him. Moans come from behind you, and you try your best to sob quietly while your big brother’s friends have their way with you. You bounce once or thrice on his cock, and move on to the next one, each one making you harder and more needy. It gets increasingly difficult to stop bouncing, it feels so good to be filled and you need to cum after the first two cocks, but in fear of dissapointing, you try your best not to. Your head is all fuzzy now, drunk from cock, and the final one slides in with ease. He slams you down, once and then twice. You’re done, you’ve had all his friends inside you. Looking around, you notice that everyone has been jerking off while you’ve been thrown around. The thought almost makes you cum. “Well done” your brother praises, “And you didn’t even cum, I thought you would”. Feeling light headed and used, you make your way over to your brother, needing somewhere to sit down. “Come here”, he takes you into his arms to sit you on his lap. He grabs your face, and forces you to look into the room, “none of them have cum yet”. The only sound you’re able to produce is a whimper, which makes your big brother’s cock twitch. You feel it poking at your naked skin. “Tell me what big bro does when he needs to get off and you’re not there” he demands, still holding your face. You whimper again, unable to form thoughts or words. “He watches something, right?” he says. As you realize what is about to happen, you get pushed off his lap.  You’ve taken your big brother many times, but this is different. All his friends are watching, waiting to cum to you getting fucked. Your big brother grabs your hips and forces your ass towards his cock. You’re wet and leaking and rock hard, all you want to do is cum all over your brother. As you drool and whine he rubs his head on you before pushing himself in with one hard thrust, “you’re gonna learn really quickly that your brother’s cock is the only one you need”. He lifts you a little off the floor as he fucks your used hole. They all moan and groan and stroke their cocks to the scene in front of them. Your head was fuzzy before, but you’re completely gone now, all you feel is the pulsating dick going in and out of you. You cum over and over, squeezing his cock, making him fuck you harder. “Fuck- I’m gonna- fuck”, each thrust gets slower and slower, and suddently you’re not only filled with dick, but also thick, warm cum. All his friends groan and cum all over as your brother pulls out and shows them his work. 

[joelsgoldrush]

“epiphany” | 21k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

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

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

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

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

Love giveth and love taketh away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love maketh you miserable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They are soulmates. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A part of you died with him that day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, it wasn’t working.

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

“And why’s that?”

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

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

Save me, mindfulness, you thought to yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. Was that your fork?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s still a sensitive topic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where the hell did he go?

After his existence went downhill, Logan turned to prayer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do I know you, bub?” 

“You don’t, but I know you.”

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

“Everybody does. I’m the—”

Here it comes, the reminder of his personal calvary.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nighty-night, Logan.

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

I’ve spent sleepless nights trying to figure out

where this need to call you mine stems from. 

You're like an antique, a rare piece displayed

in a crowded bazaar, drawing curious glances.

I’m aware that you're not mine

because I haven't bought you yet;

I hold no claim over you,

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

I want you to be mine,

but no amount of money would buy your soul.

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

I’m aware that you’re not mine, 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The scars.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing changes. They’re still there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's a silent invitation to a new beginning.

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

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

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

“Me too, roomie. Me too.”

“Let’s not use that word.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then Wade jumps in front of him.

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

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

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

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

“Well, life’s full of disappointments.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What… the fuck?”

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

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

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

You’re… far more than he expected.

More beautiful, for starters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Great. You must think he’s a weirdo. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t worry, I’m—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And how is it? I mean, do you have—”

“I’m public enemy number one.”

Too harsh, idiot.

“Oh. That’s… good to know.”

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

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

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

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

“You and Wade…?”

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

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

“What?” you ask him, puzzled.

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

“And I can tell you don’t.”

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

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

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

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

“And where is yours, then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door almost closes on his nose.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And where is yours, then?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you pregnant?”

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

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

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

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

“Fuck?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t budge. “No.”

“Logan, I’m not in the mood.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll think about it.”

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

“Well, you were an asshole.”

“Yes.”

“The first time we exchanged words.”

“Also yes.”

“And now you’re apologizing.”

“Positive. I just did.”

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

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

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

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

“How do you feel about reading?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you—you remember specific pages?”

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

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

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

You’ve chosen a damn good page.

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

“You’ve got a week to read it.”

“How long is it again?”

“Four hundred pages.”

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

“Write an opinion essay if possible.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, he listens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which one is worse, he can no longer tell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut your mouth.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I hate this John kid.

Her aunt is a cunt.

This is too cheesy.

Mr. Rochester’s married?

St. John—what a prick.

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’ll take more than a book.”

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

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

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

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

“Of what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If anything, it made everything worse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks... ridiculously good.

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

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

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

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

“Logan, you don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If you have plans, then yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Logan, this isn’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Come on, baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logic? Error 404—not found.

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

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

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

That’s when recognition settles over you.

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

“Fuck you, Logan.”

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

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

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

“He’s closer than ever.”

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

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

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

“No. You’re not.”

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

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

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

“It’s what we both need.”

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

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

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

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

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

It didn’t go well in the end.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll take care of it next month.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is what you fear the most: loneliness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I could do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“And what is that—”

“I need a drink.”

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

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

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

The instant attraction, the yearning to be near him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who is enjoying this more: him or you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve never felt this relaxed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, you’ve wrapped love around your finger.

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

[trianglegoddess]

I'm Still Standing

The League felt like they had a strong sense of Phantom’s power. After all, they wouldn’t have asked him to join the team, otherwise. He’s strong, he can fly, and due to his supernatural nature, he’s amazing on recon and stealth missions. He’s also incredibly reliable, and smarter than most people give him credit for. He’s a natural hero, a more snarky Captain Marvel, some news outlets have been saying. Always saving people with just the right words to say, with a humble smile on his face. 

Phantom, with all of his power, seemed untouchable in every definition of the word. 

And then they got invaded by Darkseid. 

It wasn’t the first time Darkseid had invaded Earth, but it was the first time bringing armies so large, the first time he’s attacked all over the world to spread the League thin. It is single handedly the worst alien invasion Earth has ever had. 

Batman, bleeding out on the sidewalk, Wonder Woman knocked unconscious and restrained by a nearly egregious amount of henchmen, Superman, weak from the kryptonite Darkseid had shot him with. Thankfully it had missed all the important bits, but with that bullet inside of him, Superman was also down for the count, as well as dozens of other League members. 

If it hadn’t been for Phantom, they would have lost. 

Phantom, who’s never been seen without a smile on his face until now. Phantom, who’s never had so much as a scratch on him, until now. Phantom, who has only ever been known to be kind and compassionate, even to his villains, until now. 

Usually there’s this sort of warm, comforting feeling that radiates from Phantom. It feels like a nice breeze on a warm summer’s day, a nice cup of hot cocoa, your favorite song. It’s a feeling of safety, as if everything will be alright just because he’s there. 

Here, though, something else, something much stronger, is radiating from him. It practically rolls off of him in huge waves, making those conscious around him more aggravated, more on edge.

Phantom pulls himself off of the ground. His suit is torn, and his green blood splattered on himself and the ground. He spits a glob of it out, along with a tooth. 

“Still, you stand,” Darkseid says, as if tired. “Do you not tire in the face of your own demise?”

“As long as I’m still standing, you won’t ever win,” Phantom says. His voice is low and threatening, reverberating eerily off of the broken infrastructure that surrounds them. It sends a chill down everybody’s spines, though if Darkseid is affected, he doesn’t show it. 

“Your comrades have fallen, your militaries have failed, and you have no other help arriving. Pray tell how one singular human will be able to take me down!” 

Phantom doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he walks forward so that his friends are behind him, and braces himself. Darkseid, unable to contain his own hubris, lets Phantom come closer. 

Phantom takes in a deep breath, as if he’s about to speak.  

Instead he wails. 

Any remaining glass shatters, raining down upon them as green sound waves push back the offending forces. 

And it’s loud, of course. The ears of Darkseid’s minions are bleeding, and many of them are either dying because it’s too much for them to bear, or they’re killing themselves to give themselves some modicum of relief. But it’s also more than that, more than noise. 

It’s mourning. 

The first feeling that overwhelms everyone is anger. Phantom’s anger at Darkseid, at the destruction, at the fact that he just can’t catch a fucking break and it’s not fair. The second, is the sadness. It weighs down upon their shoulders, suffocating them like smog. It invades every part of their being-their lungs, their joints, their very hearts-and it presses and presses and presses until there’s very nearly nothing left. 

Phantom still pushes on. He is nothing if not persistent, driven to fight, driven to protect his people, his team, his friends, his family. No mortal being could ever hope to have a lung capacity like this, but Phantom is no normal mortal, and Darkseid is finally starting to come to terms with that. 

The last wave of overwhelming emotion is more of an idea than it is an actual feeling. It’s not a threat, per se, but a promise. A promise to do everything in his power to destroy Darkseid and his forces permanently and with prejudice. A promise that no matter how hard Darkseid fights, he will not win. 

A promise that, if knocked down, Phantom will stand back up, and he will not lose. 

Eventually, after what feels like eternity, the wail dies down. There isn’t a single member of Darkseid’s army that’s still on their feet or in the air. Phantom collapses down to one knee, and bright, white rings flicker around his person for just a moment, before he wills them away and stands back up. 

It’s less walking towards Darkseid, and more stalking. They are not on equal footing. Phantom is the predator in every sense of the word, his anger and grief still radiating off of his body in ways that Darkseid is unable to comprehend. 

“Do you yield?” Phantom asks. His eyes are blazing green, burning into Darkseid’s very soul. It is a sort of animalistic, primal instinct deep within him that tells him, run, run as fast as you can. Darkseid’s hubris, however, remains unmatched. 

Even as he stares Death in the eye. 

“I do not,” Darkseid says. He tries to get to his feet, but his body won’t listen, still weighed down by the effects of Phantom’s wail. 

“Then as Phantom, King of the Dead, I hereby condemn you for the rest of your afterlife.”

“Don’t count your eggs yet, boy,” Darkseid spits. “I’m still alive.”

“No,” Phantom says, in a tone adjacent to someone who’s giving their condolences, “You’re not.”

Phantom gestures beside them, and Darkseid spares a glance and sees…Himself. 

His corpse is splayed on the ground, blood spurting out of his ears, nose, and eyes. He stares lifelessly up at the sky. The blood is still leaking down the sides of his face. 

“You’re dead now, Darkseid, and therefore under my jurisdiction. Due to your extensive list of crimes you will not receive a hearing, just your eternal damnation for the sins you’ve committed.”

Phantom waves his hand, and green chains and manacles appear on Darkseid’s wrists and ankles before he’s dusted out of existence, sent to his eternal punishment in another dimension. 

As soon as he’s gone, Phantom collapses to his knees. 

He’s not sure how long he’s there, sitting in the blood of those he’s killed, before Wonder Woman comes over. She’s covered in gashes and bruises and blood that isn’t hers, but she still stands tall and proud. A battle won is a reason for celebration, after all. 

He glances behind her, sees Superman taking Batman into his arms and flying off. 

Diana doesn’t ask him questions about how he’s feeling. A victory is a victory, sure, but not without its price. 

Instead, she holds out her hand. Danny grasps it, and allows her to help him to his feet. 

“As long as you can stand, you can win,” Diana says. “I think I’ll have to use that for my next big speech.”

“By all means,” Phantom tells her. “Just be sure to credit me.”

“Deal.”

[krosiefics]

is that a bet? • stray kids ot8 x reader

M D N I 18+

Synopsis: at some point of playing ‘never have I ever’, you make a bet that you could make all eight of your best friends cum within 10-15 minutes…and well, you did.

WC: 3.7k (I have issues)

Tags: PURE SMUT, afab!reader, softdom!chan, dom!minho, dom!changbin, softdom!hyunjin, sub!jisung, sub!felix, dom!seungmin, switch!jeongin, switch!reader, piv, unprotected sex (wrap the eggplant yall), same hole double penetration, ass smacking, squirting, begging, overstimulation, hair pulling, spitting, oral (f. receiving), lwk gangbang, praise (pretty, good girl), degradation (slut, whore), light dacryphilia, breeding kink, creampie, biting(?), grinding, pet names (baby, babe, princess, hun, darling, kitten, bun, etc), marking/hickey, probably forgetting some…sorry :P

a/n: this is so smutty i am so sorry…but yw 🫠

You don’t remember how exactly you ended up in this position…something about a bet, yet here you are, half-naked spread out on the floor with eight pairs of eyes burning into your body.

8 minutes earlier

“Never have I ever,” Minho pauses in thought, “nutted before my partner.”

“What the actual fuck Minho.” Seungmin grimaces, though he takes a swig of soju. “What?!” Minho shrugs defensively, “It makes the game more interesting.”

“That’s a fucking lie though.” Jisung snorts as he also takes a shot of soju. “And how would you know that?” You ask with a sly smirk.

“I’ve seen him watch porn,” He deadpans, which sends everyone into a fit of laughter.

“You wanna bet Ji?” Minho challenges.

“Y’all seriously aren’t about to jerk off right here…right?” Chan looks at them in disgust and then at the white shag carpet underneath them, “Why, you wanna join?” Minho pokes.

“I bet none of y’all virgins can stop yourselves from cumming as soon as someone touches you.”

“You wanna make that bet.” Changbin chimes in. You groan at them which catches their attention, “Do you have something to say princess?” Jisung raised his brows teasingly. You groan yet again at the nickname before saying, “I bet I could make all y’all cum in fifteen, maybe ten minutes.”

“You really wanna do this?” Hyunjin lifts your chin with his finger. “Hmm,” you hum, “if you guys cum before I do, a hundred…from each of you.”

“That’s eight hundred bucks!” Jeongin blurts out, you nod slyly. “And if we win?” Felix tilts his head. “Y’all can decide on that.” you state.

You move to get up, dragging your hoodie over your body and exposing your oversized shirt underneath. You turn around looking at the eight boys. “Are we doing this or not?”

Everyone unanimously agrees. It went so fast, the soju from the previous rounds probably getting to everybody’s heads and letting you carelessly make these decisions.

“Oh and rules-“ “RULES?!” Minho, Seungmin and Jisung cried out. “Guys it’s her body, she can make rules.” Felix interrupts their protests. “Thanks Lix,” You smile before continuing, “no touching…well to be more clear no touching me or yourselves…but I can touch you.”

“What?!” They all exclaimed in disappointment.

“It makes the game more interesting.” You shrug, spewing Minho’s previous words at them, the said boy shoots you a playful glare.

You glanced over at the digital clock that hung from the wall. 12:48.

Present

And well, that’s how you ended up here.

Your hand trails down your body stopping at your soaked panties before circling over your clit, toes curling at the feeling.

You stare up at the eight boys, their eyes dazed on your leaking cunt that stains your panties. You let out a moan as you hook your fingers around the material and slip it down your legs, exposing your now bare glistening cunt. You let a finger plunge into your heat, biting your lip. You lock eyes with Changbin, his knuckles gripping at his sweatpants, the outline of his cock bulging through the material. You bite your lip as you stare at his bulge.

The sound of a small whine prompts you to look over at another flustered and painfully hard boy. Jisung looks at you, his eyebrows furrowed and his lower lip is caught between his teeth. “Please, Y/N.”

“Well since you asked so nicely.” You coo, pulling your fingers out of your cunt and crawling ever so slowly towards the round cheeked boy. As you settle by his side, you purposefully arch your back and push your ass out so that the guys sitting criss crossed on the floor behind me have a nice view. You trail your fingers up his knee and towards his thigh

He shivered under your touch as you made your fingers dance along his inner thigh. A desperate whimper left his mouth as you pulled back teasingly and went back to your original spot on the shag carpet.

“Fuck,” Hyunjin breathed out, “you’re ethereal.” His usually perfectly sculpted face contoured into a needy look- yet through his desperation he still looked as beautiful as ever. You moan softly as his praise. “Oh, does our little slut like to be praised?” Minho said to your right, you turned to him and bit your lip, your legs instinctively closing as his degradation surged throughout your body. “Fuck and degration too.” Seungmin hums as your eyes trail to him.

The hot touch of a hand on your lower hips snapped you out of the trace that Seungmin had basically pulled you into. You look towards your right, and there Minho is, smirking as his hand squeezes at the curve of your ass. “Hey!” You slapped his hand away, “No touching!”

“You never said what would happen if we did though, kitten.” The stupid pet name had you squeezing your legs together even more, “Aw, such a filthy slut for us.”

“Shit he’s right,” Felix breathed out, “what happens if we do touch you?” Shit, you didn’t think this far ahead- fuck you don’t even remember what the prize of the bet was…or if there even was one. Why are you guys even doing this again? “Fuck,” Chan groans gently, “does this pretty little cunt of yours want to be filled, love?” You feel his rough hands cup your bare cunt, jerking at the sudden touch. “Y/N?” Jeongin’s soft voice cracked as he whined out your name. You hummed in response as you fought the urge to grind against Chan’s large hand. “Can we touch you now? Please.”

“Oh God,” You throw your head back with a moan as Chan teasingly slips a finger inside your glistening pussy, “fuck yes! Please Innie!”

With that Jeongin springs up to his feet and quickly makes his way towards you. At the corner of your eye, you see the other five move from their spot to get closer to you. “Fuck,” you moan, feeling Changbin’s hands run under your tshirt, lightly teasing your pebbled nipples, “why did we do this again?” A small chuckle resonated from Seungmin’s sweet lips, “Because you wanted to win a bet, right pup?”

You bite down on your lower lip, Jisung’s lips attaching themselves to your clit next to where Chan’s fingers are plummeted inside. Felix helps you out of your shirt as Hyunjin and Changbin each take one of your breasts into their mouth. It all happened so quickly and at the same time, you feel your climax nearing faster than ever. And just like that your release is stolen from you as the four boys pull away from your body. You whine out desperately, “I swear to fucking God if y’all do that again I’m leaving and finishing by myself!” You threaten, sitting up onto your knees.

“Okay, okay princess.” Jisung purrs as he tilts your head up by hooking his knuckle under your chin.

You whimper as he nears your face, “This okay?” you gulp and nod quickly and to that he just clicks his tongue, pulling back slightly. “Words babe.”

“Yes.” you sigh breathlessly, Jisung attaches his lips to yours ever so roughly, a pair of soft hands grab at your hips, placing you down onto their lap. Your legs slotted against your chest being held by the man whom you’re laying on, while the said man leaves butterfly kisses along the nape of your neck.

Chan slipped his fingers out of your cunt prompting you to whine but the feeling of something warm and wet poking at your clit causes the whine to turn into a gasp, Jisung takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

Your thighs instinctively clench around the head that’s propped between them.

“So sweet.”

Jeongin muttered against your folds before slotting his tongue alongside it yet again. “Holy fuck Innie!” you throw your head back, lips detaching from Jisung’s, with an erotic moan, your head now resting on the shoulder of the man behind you. At this angle you catch a glimpse at the the man- fucking hell.

He sinks his teeth into your neck, though the action seems so rough he doesn’t bite down to the point where it hurts. “Fuck, keep her making those faces.” Felix bites his lip, his hand rubbing himself through his shorts. You whine, shutting your eyes as Jeongin continues to assault your throbbing cunt as Changbin moves into massage your breasts. “Look at you,” Minho purred into your ear as he started grinding his hardened cock against your ass, “being so obedient and submissive for everyone, just like the little slut you are.” You moan out at the overwhelming mixture of sensations; Hyunjin nibbling at your nipple, Jeongin’s tongue running up and down your folds, and Minho breathing dirty words into your ear while peppering your shoulder with kisses and love bites.

The cat eyed boy sneakily brings his hand to your cunt and smacks it slightly, not too hard but enough that it stung a little. “Fuck you,” you groan out as Minho massages your core, his fingers dipping further down towards where Jeongin’s face is buried. “No,” Minho tsked, “I’ll do the fucking.”

“Don’t be too rough on her Min.” Chan spoke, you glance over to him and he had his hand shoved down his pants. “She likes it.” Seungmin said confidently, “Right, whore?” You do nothing but whimper at his words meanwhile your body starts to shake slightly. “Answer with words pup.”

“God, fuck yes! I love it- please don’t stop.” You can feel Jeongin smirk against your heat.

Your eyes wandered to the boy next to Seungmin, his eyes stuck on mine as his pretty face scrunched up, his shorts rustling while his hand too was shoved inside, and his freckled cheeks flushed so very red. “Lix,” you gesture for him to move closer, almost immediately the freckled boy quickly rushed down from his spot on the couch and next to you on the floor. He looks at you with pleading eyes, “take it off.”

You grab at the hem of his shirt, he swiftly pulls it over his head awaiting your next instruction. You were about to ask him something but the feeling of a harsh bite on your inner thigh caused you to squeak out instead. Your head whips down to see Hyunjin licking at the skin he just bit. They’re moving so quickly you can barely keep up with who’s doing what.

“Can we fuck you already?” A voice said from your left, your head instinctively turning towards the source. Seungmin stared at you with prying eyes. “Kim Seungmin!” Chan lightly smacked his shoulder, “Let her choose, remember?” The oldest shakes his head at the younger. “Min,” You whimper from the stimulation. “Yeah?” Both Seungmin and Minho responded. “Lee.” Seungmin pouted as Minho leaned in closer, hooking his chin on your shoulder.

Though your senses are so overloaded, you snake your hands down the space between your bodies, shifting your hips up to grab at his hardened cock. Minho’s brows furrow as you stroke his clothed dick. “Desperate are we?” He smirks, “You want all eight of us tonight? Or just a few?” Chan questions, he’s so thoughtful and that makes your heart hammer in your chest. “All.”

”Fuck.” Each boy’s voice sounds throughout the room, they all stare at you with lust-filled eyes.

Your hand that’s still wrapped around Minho’s cock, begins pumping it. Minho hisses at the feeling, precum leaking from the tip. You tease his slit before shifting your hips in his lap. Lifting your hips, you grind down on his cock, your arousal coating his shaft.

“Oh, fucking hell.” Minho throws his head back erratically as his tip pokes at your clit, he could feel as you throbbed against him. He wanted nothing more than to slip inside you already. Unbeknownst to Minho, you gesture with your head for Hyunjin to move closer.

The taller boy obeys, moving into your space, sealing your lips against his. Hyunjin’s hands moved to your hips, gently- yet quickly- pushing you down onto Minho’s cock. Both you and Minho moan out as you clench around his girth.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing me so well, yeah slut.” Minho grunts before he slams his hips into you roughly, not even allowing you to adjust. “Min, not too rough.” Chan warned as you dug your nails into Hyunjin’s shoulder as he continued kissing you.

“Yeah, she’s still got all of us!” Jeongin whined from Chan’s left. You clench at Jeongin’s words, the thought of you having all eight of them tonight makes you spiral towards your climax. “Not yet kitten. Hold it off.” Minho snarled into your ear, his cock continuously hitting your gspot.

“Hyune.” You whined, reaching down to pump his cock, jerking him towards your pussy that is getting pounded into by Minho. “Shit, you want me too darling?” Hyunjin smirked, his eyes gazing down towards where you and Minho are connected, where you’re pulling him towards.

You hastily nod, nothing but whimpers and moans spilling out from your mouth. Hyunjin shoots Minho a look over your shoulder, the latter smirks at him, taking your thighs and pushing them farther back to give space to Hyunjin.

Hyunjin’s tip pokes at your entrance before he pushes in. The stretch didn’t hurt too bad, but it was enough for tears to prickle in your eyes. As Hyunjin and Minho fucked into you, tears finally fell, cascading down your cheeks from the mixture pleasure and pain.

“Aw, don’t cry bun.” You hear Changbin coo. The built man moving over to you, kissing the tear stains on your cheeks. “They making you feel that good?” He gives a sly raise of his brow, his bottom lips jutting out. “F-Fuck Binnie.” You moan, you can feel both Minho and Hyunjin twitching inside you.

A harsh slap stings on your ass as Minho rubs at the now red spot. “I’m so close princess, can I fill you up?” Hyunjin grunts against your neck. “Yes, God, please, Hyune.” Your body begins to shake as Hyunjin spills into you, Minho following close after at the feeling of your clenching and Hyunjin’s cum coating his cock.

Jisung pushes Changbin out of his way before helping you up off of Minho and Hyunjin’s sweaty bodies, greedily taking you towards the sofa, sitting down and playing you on his lap. Jisung’s cock slips in with ease after being stretched out by Minho and Hyunjin.

You melt into Jisung touch as his hands guide you to roll your hips. His hands make their way towards your ass, spreading your cheeks apart revealing your swollen cunt to the boys behind you.

“Fuck you’re so warm baby.” Jisung groans into your ear. Suddenly another pair of hands are on you, massaging at your hips before rutting his cock between your ass. “Can I have a turn hun?” You hear Felix hum behind you.

You turn your head and give him a weak smile as a go ahead. With that Felix slips his cock alongside Jisung’s, both boys moaning at the feeling. Having almost orgasmed earlier, you feel it build up quicker than last time. Your thighs began quaking as Jisung bucked his hips and Felix thrusted into you.

Your hands shoot up to Felix’s blonde hair, tugging at it when the two boys hit your gspot directly. Felix released a low whimper, “Darling please, I won’t- last long if you do that.” He stumbled over his words, his freckled cheeks a deep pink hue.

You decide to tease the boy, clenching down on his (and Jisung’s) cock, pulling at his hair. You feel as he twitched inside of you before unexpectedly releasing. The freckled boy’s face scrunched up in pleasure as he leaned his forehead against yours as Jisung thrusted into you a few more times before emptying himself into you as well.

“Holy shit.” Felix shook, biting his lower lip before slowing his thrusts, robbing you from your orgasm again. “Save it for me, yeah love?” You heard Chan chuckle to your right. You turn to look at him, flinching when Felix and Jisung ease out of your clenching cunt.

Jeongin helps you off of the other’s bodies. He holds you up when your legs threaten to give out on you. Holding you by the waist, his pretty brown eyes flicker down to your lips, hesitant to lean in. You chuckle before cupping his cheeks and pulling his lips towards yours.

Jeongin groans into the kiss as he grinds his clothed erection into your hips. He pulls away, an embarrassed flush taking over his cheeks. You chuckle before setting him on the sofa like the other had been previously positioned.

Throwing your legs around his lap, you straddled the flustered boy under you. “This okay Innie?” You asked, even though you’ve already crossed that friendship line with him having already eaten you out, you still wanted to make sure he was okay with this.

“Oh fuck yeah I’m okay.” Jeongin grinned, his hands immediately roaming your breasts, squeezing and massaging at the flesh. You hastily undo the zipper of his jeans before tugging his cock out of the slacks. Jeongin hissed at your touch.

Suddenly a hot sting spread through your ass. You whimpered at the slight pain, turning over to see Seungmin glaring down at you. “Bend.” Jeongin stared up at the elder and you in a daze. You leaned as much as you could onto Jeongin before another slap landed on your ass.

A moan echoing from your mouth. With you moaning into his ear, Jeongin grew impatient, grabbing his cock before pressing inside of you. The mixture of the slaps and Jeongin’s cock filling you up made your back arch.

Before you could even begin to process what was happening, Seungmin rammed his cock inside your sopping cunt. You practically scream from the sudden intrusion, nails digging into Jeongin’s shoulders.

The two youngest boys out of your friends absolutely railed you, both stopping whenever your moans would pitch and you would start squeezing their cocks uncontrollably. “Minnie, Innie- let me please, I’m so close.” You cried, that knot in your stomach so tight that it almost hurt.

“You think you deserve it, after driving us all into this stupid bet, you whore?” Seungmin snarled, grabbing your hair and pulling your head backwards, “Open.” You oblige, parting your lips, lolling your tongue out as you understood what the man was hinting at. Seungmin let a drop of saliva fall from his mouth and into yours before harshly pushing your head back towards Jeongin’s neck.

The two boys continued using your cunt until they were spurting out warm ropes into you. Yet again you were robbed from your orgasm as the two roughly filled up your cunt.

“Fuck, you did so well pup.” Seungmin panted against the nape of your neck, leaving a small kiss there before slipping out of your pussy. When you pulled away from Jeongin’s sweaty body, he stared up at you with a wide grin and a dazed look, he looked absolutely fucked out.

Changbin helps you off the boys before pushing Jeongin off the couch and getting comfortable in that same spot, pulling you onto his lap. “You wanna take a breather?” Chan asked, crouching down to your seated level. “No…just…please, I’m so close.”

Changbin chuckled from behind you, guiding you to straddle him in reverse. You sink onto Changbin’s thick cock, the built man’s hands flying to your tits, holding and squeezing them as they bounce with your movements.

You peer through your eyelashes, raising your brow at Chan, insinuating for him to hurry up and fuck you. The oldest of the eight chuckles before slipping his cock out of his pants. “Gonna fill you up so good, yeah baby?” He says before sliding right inside your stretched out pussy.

“Holy mother of fuck!” You cursed, the stretch of Changbin was already overwhelming- but now adding on Chan’s way above average length…you don’t think you’ll be able to walk tomorrow.

Changbin thrusted harshly from underneath you, roughly pinching at your nipples. “Fuck bun, your squeezing us so much, might just bust right now.”

You loll your head back into his shoulder, “Bin…fuck- Binnie please.” You beg, your arms moving to tug at his wavy hair.

“Shit,” he huffed, his cock twitching inside you as he fastened his speed. Chan just watched as Changbin rammed into your cunt alongside his. The intense feeling of Changbin railing into you from underneath had you reeling, though the sudden circling of your clit made your orgasm finally hit you.

Liquid squirting out of you as you cried out, before Changbin released inside of you, Chan now picking up his pace, edging towards his climax.

“I know love, I’m sorry…just a few more.” Chan cooed as you whimpered from the overstimulation, he continued railing into you, not stopping when Changbin had pulled out of you.

Chan nuzzled his face into your neck, leaving kisses and sucking at the skin there. “Almost there love, gonna fill you up so good, yeah. You’ve been such a good girl for us.” His praise had you crying out, squeezing around his cock. At that Chan finally came, filling you up with his warm release.

Chan slowly eased out of you before gently moving you to lay on the less dirty part of the couch.

“Imma go get the towels.” A voice you’re not even sure who’s said. “I’ll get her some water.” Another stated.

Sometime later, Felix returned with some damp warm towels. As he wiped your lower region, you flinched at the sensitivity. “I’m sorry darling, almost done.”

A sudden hand gently raised your head from the back, supporting you to sit up. “You okay? We didn’t go too rough on you, right?” Seungmin asked as Minho handed you a glass of water. You took the glass with an appreciative smile.

“You guys were fine- oh.”

“Oh?” Hyunjin smiled in confusion. “The time.” You said pointing at the digital clock. 1:03. Exactly fifteen minutes.

“I win.” Some of the boys groaned while some chuckled, a bet is a bet after all.

taglist: @katsukis1wife

[leaderwonim]

❀ DEFINITELY NOT MY CROWD.

pairing. frat!jungwon x shy!fem!reader

genre. romcom, american college au, strangers to enemies to lovers (bye??), angst, fluff, mature

synopsis. when your friend drags you out to a frat party a week before the holidays, you didn’t expect to fall into the graces of yang jungwon, one of the fraternity boys at your university. One accidental kiss with Yang Jungwon and a viral post later, you wake up to a text from your sister: “Bring your new boyfriend to Christmas dinner!” Now, you’ve got one week to turn this chaos into a holiday miracle—or a romcom disaster.

“Hey, wake up.”

Madeleine taps on your shoulder, and when you only respond with a mhmm, she takes both shoulders and shakes you violently.

“What the hell Mads!” You say, getting up in a hurry. “What can you possibly need now?”

“Oh shut up, you’re making it sound like you despise me.” She throws an arm around your shoulder. “Will you come with me to Luca’s party?”

“You know I don’t do frat parties.” You say, already brushing off her suggestion. “They’re just loud and people make out in every corner.”

“But you never go out!” Madeleine slumps her body against yours, practically trapping you on your own bed. “Please.”

“Mads I love you, but no.”

Except here you were, in front of Alpha Delta something—was it Alpha Delta Pi? You didn’t know.

All you knew was that the music was way too loud for it not to have a noise complaint from the neighboring houses, and that there were too many drunk college students stumbling everywhere on the grass out front.

“I’m soooo glad we decided to do this!” Madeleine swings her arms around your shoulder, leading you inside the gigantic frat house.

“Madeleine!” A guy comes up to the two of you, his cheeky smile never leaving his face. “And who’s this?”

“Y/N, my roommate I told you about!” Madeleine smiles at you, “you remember Will right? From Econ?”

Will. Will. You’re trying so hard to remember him, until you realize he’s the blonde in front of you, his hockey gear always taking up half of the space.

“This is my girlfriend, Kallie!” Will puts his arm around the girl next to him. “Well it’s nice seeing you Madeleine and Y/N, have a good night!”

Even though he was notoriously loud in class, he was a bit of a sweetheart, and it made you feel a bit better about being here.

“See, that wasn’t so bad right?”

You nod, letting her guide you throughout the house to the kitchen.

“Do you want Pink Whitney or Tequila?”

You decided on Pink Whitney.

“Oh shit—I’m so sorry.” The guy who bumps into you turns around, his pupils dilated and red. He’s clearly very drunk.

“It’s fine.”

“I’m Jungwon!” He smiles at you brightly, dimples showing ever so proudly.

It seemed like everybody at this party was all about smiling tonight.

“Oh Won! You’re here!” Madeleine slides you your shot, and you down it in one go, silently cursing yourself for not taking a chaser beforehand.

“Yep, kinda have to because this is my frat.”

Now that he’s not stumbling over his own foot, you come to realize he’s actually pretty cute. His brown hair is messy and he’s wearing some plain navy blue hoodie that makes him look more attractive than he actually should be.

“This is Y/N, my roommate!”

Jungwon slips his hand into yours, shaking it in a hurry. “Nice to meet you Y/N, wish it was under better circumstances.”

His joke earns a playful shove from Madeleine, who raises her eyebrows at you, already hinting that you should talk to the boy.

“Well I gotta go talk to Luca, catch you two later!”

You don’t have time to pull Madeleine back because she’s already gone, leaving you alone with Jungwon.

“Hey.” He says, now suddenly closer to you. “Wanna kiss?”

It’s a straightforward almost humorous ask, one that a stranger who’s just known you for five minutes shouldn’t ask. But because the alcohol already entered your system and you have nothing better to do; you nod.

Jungwon leaves no time for you to take a breath before sweeping in, closing the gap between yours and his mouth. You can hear hoots from his frat brothers as the kiss grows more intense.

You’re sure you’ve become the very same people that you used to make fun of—the ones who would make out at the corner of parties and act like they had no decency or self respect.

But who cares, right? This was the one time you were out, and finals had been stressing you like a pounding headache, why would a kiss from some random frat guy affect you after the party?

You were clearly very wrong.

-

The next day, you’re awaken to your annoying alarm clock, groaning as you tap aggressively on the snooze button.

“Oh shit,” you say, feeling lightheaded when you try to get up. “What time is it?”

From the corner of your eye, you can see Madeleine’s blonde hair spread out on every part of her bed, her limbs tangled in her blankets.

You try to rub your eyes as you reach for your phone, and when your vision clears, the first thing you do is let out a shrilling scream.

“WHAT THE FUCK?”

“What? What’s wrong?” Madeleine’s head pops up, her hair messy and all over her face.

Madeleine stares at you groggily as you toss your phone at her. She fumbles to catch it, squinting at the screen before her eyes widen.

She slaps a hand over her mouth, though the giggles that escape are anything but subtle.

"Why is there a video of me kissing Jungwon everywhere?!" You groan, flopping back on your bed as the stress headache from finals makes a sudden comeback.

"It's not just a video," Madeleine says, scrolling furiously. "You and Jungwon are, like, the new talk of the frat. You know how frat boys are like. The sorority girls might even be jealous."

"I'm going to die," you mutter into your pillow.

"You are not going to die, Y/N."

You groan, yanking the pillow off your face just as your phone vibrates again. Madeleine hands it back to you, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

You don't even have to check the screen to know who's texted you. You sigh and unlock it.

[annoying older sis]: Bring your new boyfriend to Christmas dinner. I’m serious. Mom’s already setting the table for him.

You sit up so fast you almost get whiplash.

"No. Nope. No way. This cannot be happening." You turn to Madeleine, holding your phone out like it’s cursed. "My family thinks Jungwon’s my boyfriend. What am I supposed to do now?!"

"Bring him!" Madeleine chirps, far too enthusiastic for this godforsaken situation.

"Are you insane? I barely know him! He’s probably already forgotten who I am."

As if the universe is mocking you, your phone buzzes again.

[Unknown Number]: Hey, it’s Jungwon. Can we talk?

You stare at the screen, heat rushing to your face.

"Is that him?" Madeleine practically screeches, leaning over to read the text. "Oh my god, Y/N, he’s texting you first. This is fate!"

"Shut up!" you hiss, pushing her away as you type back:

Sure. Where?

The response is almost instant.

[Jungwon]: Can you meet me at the campus café in an hour?

Madeleine screeches in excitement yet again.

-

An hour later, you’re already regretting your life choices as you walk into the café, spotting Jungwon sitting at a table near the window. His hoodie from last night is gone, replaced with a clean black sweater that somehow makes him look even more attractive.

When he sees you, he grins, those stupid dimples making your stomach flip for reasons you refuse to acknowledge.

"Hey," he says as you sit down across from him, awkwardly tucking your hair behind your ear.

"Hey," you reply, wondering if it’s possible to combust from secondhand embarrassment.

"So, uh…" Jungwon rubs the back of his neck, looking almost as nervous as you feel. "About last night…"

You brace yourself for him to tell you he doesn’t want anything to do with you, that the kiss was a mistake, and you should forget it ever happened.

But then he says: "I wanted to apologize. I don’t usually, like, kiss random strangers at parties. I was kinda drunk, and I just… yeah, sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

You blink, caught off guard by how genuine he sounds. "Oh, um, it’s okay. I mean, it wasn’t terrible or anything."

Jungwon raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he’s trying not to laugh. "Wow. 'Not terrible.' High praise."

You groan, covering your face with your hands. "Sorry. I’m awkward and shy and bad at this."

"I noticed," he says with a chuckle.

When you peek through your fingers, you find him smiling softly at you, his eyes warm and kind.

"Anyway," you say quickly, dropping your hands. "I’m sure you’ve seen the video by now."

"Yeah," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck again. "That’s actually why I wanted to talk to you. People are, uh, kinda freaking out about it. And my fraternity brothers keep calling you my girlfriend."

"Funny you should mention that," you say with a dry laugh. "My family thinks you’re my boyfriend too. My sister wants me to bring you to Christmas dinner."

His eyes widen. "Wait, seriously?"

"Yeah. And I don’t know how to tell them the truth without ruining Christmas, so I was thinking…"

"You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend?" he finishes, tilting his head.

"Just for a week!" you say quickly, holding up your hands. "We get through Christmas, and then we go our separate ways. No one has to know it wasn’t real."

Jungwon looks at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

Finally, he says, "Okay. I’ll do it."

You blink. "Wait, really?"

"Sure," he says with a shrug. "It sounds kinda fun. And honestly…" He leans forward, his voice dropping to a soft, almost teasing tone. "I need to get out of my frat house. They have yet to let me live down this moment."

Your face flushes, and you look away, muttering, "Frat guys are ridiculous."

"Maybe," he says, grinning.

This was going to be a disaster. You could already feel it.

-

The rest of the week feels like a blur of planning. Between texting Jungwon to coordinate your "backstory" and surviving Madeleine’s endless teasing, you barely have time to process what’s happening.

"How do we even explain how we met?" you ask Jungwon during one of your brainstorming sessions at the campus library.

"We could just tell the truth," he says, leaning back in his chair. "That we kissed at a party."

You give him a look. "Do you want my family to hate you?"

"Fair point," he laughs. "Okay, how about we say we met through Madeleine and just… hit it off?"

"Sounds fake but okay."

You decide to meet again the next day after class to properly establish some backstory for your "relationship." Jungwon shows up late, looking like he just rolled out of bed.

"Nice of you to show up," you say sarcastically, already in a foul mood from a pop quiz from your professor.

"Sorry, I was busy," he says, completely unbothered.

"Doing what? Beer pong practice?"

"Actually, yes," he says, grinning. "Gotta keep the skills sharp."

You groan. "Unbelievable. How am I supposed to convince my family you’re my boyfriend when you’re this… this frat boy?"

"Hey, being a frat boy isn’t a personality flaw," he says, feigning offense. "Besides, you’re the one who dragged me into this. If you wanted someone polished, you should’ve asked that guy from your bio class—what’s his name? Eric?"

"First of all, Eric has a girlfriend," you retort. "Second, I didn’t drag you into this. Madeleine did."

"Same difference," he says with a shrug.

You glare at him, but he just smiles, annoyingly relaxed.

This was going to be a long week.

-

You figure a visit to the Christmas market downtown might help you get some convincing couple photos. But of course, Jungwon treats the whole thing like a joke.

"Hold still," you say, holding up your phone.

Jungwon drapes an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer than necessary. "Come on, you gotta sell it, Y/N. Look like you’re in love with me."

You shove his arm off. "I can’t do that when you’re being this insufferable."

"Insufferable?" he repeats, feigning offense. "You wound me."

"You’ll live," you mutter, snapping a photo.

He peers over your shoulder at the screen. "That’s terrible. Here, let me."

Before you can protest, he takes your phone, tilts his head toward yours, and snaps a selfie. To your annoyance, it actually looks good.

"There," he says, handing the phone back to you. "You’re welcome."

You stare at the photo, trying not to notice how natural the two of you look together. "You’re so annoying."

"And yet, here we are," he says with a grin.

“Whatever.”

-

"Why do we need so much food?" Jungwon complains, trailing behind you as you push a cart through the grocery store.

"Because my family eats a lot," you say, scanning the shelves for the specific brand of cranberry sauce your mom insists on.

He picks up a box of gingerbread cookies and examines it. "Why don’t we just bring these? No one’s gonna care."

"Are you serious?" you ask, snatching the box out of his hands. "We’re not showing up with store-bought cookies. My mom would have a heart attack."

"Wow," he says, leaning against the cart. "You’re really committed to this whole 'perfect daughter' thing, huh?"

You glare at him. "Unlike you, I actually care what my family thinks."

"Touché," he says, holding up his hands in surrender. "But for the record, I think your mom would survive."

You ignore him and toss the cookies back on the shelf.

Later that night, after spending hours wrapping presents, you find Jungwon lounging on the couch in your apartment, scrolling through his phone.

"Do you ever do anything productive?" you ask, flopping down next to him.

"Define 'productive,'" he says without looking up.

"I don’t know. Something that doesn’t involve your phone or beer pong."

He smirks. "You’re obsessed with beer pong. Did someone beat you at it once or something?"

"No," you say defensively. "I just think it’s a ridiculous way to spend your time."

"Noted," he says, finally putting his phone down. "So what do you do for fun, Miss Holier-Than-Thou?"

"I read. I bake. I actually contribute to society," you say with a smug smile.

"Wow. Thrilling," he says, but there’s a teasing glint in his eye.

You roll your eyes, but before you can respond, he leans his head back against the couch and lets out a deep sigh.

"Okay, seriously, though," he says. "Are you nervous about tomorrow?"

"A little," you admit. "My family can be… a lot."

"I’ll survive," he says, turning to look at you. "But what about you? Are you gonna be okay?"

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. For once, he’s not teasing or joking. He’s just… Jungwon.

"Yeah," you say softly. "I think so."

"Good," he says, smiling at you. "Because no matter how terrible this dinner is, I’ve got your back."

And just like that, the walls you’ve been trying so hard to keep up start to crack.

-

By the time Christmas Eve rolls around, you’re a ball of nerves. Jungwon picks you up in his car, looking annoyingly calm and way too good in a dark green sweater and tailored coat.

"You ready?" he asks as you slide into the passenger seat.

"Absolutely not," you reply, clutching the tin of cookies you baked as a distraction the night before.

"You’ll be fine," he says, flashing you that same dimpled smile that’s starting to become your undoing.

The moment you walk through your parents’ front door, you’re greeted by your sister, Addison.

"There she is!" Addison exclaims, pulling you into a tight hug that feels more like a performance for whoever might be watching. "And this must be Jungwon!"

Jungwon smiles politely, shaking her hand. "Nice to meet you."

Addison looks him up and down, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against her champagne glass. "Wow. Y/N really outdid herself this time."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Your older sister has always had a way of making everything about her, even when it’s not supposed to be.

"Where’s Mom?" you ask, desperate to change the subject.

"In the kitchen,"s she says, waving a dismissive hand. "But don’t worry about that. We need to get a picture of the happy couple for Instagram."

Before you can protest, Addison drags you and Jungwon to the living room, posing you in front of the tree like a pair of dolls.

"Smile!" she says, her phone already snapping away.

Jungwon leans in closer, his arm sliding around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You stiffen for a moment before forcing a smile, trying not to think about how warm he feels.

"Perfect," Addison says, scrolling through the photos with a self-satisfied smirk.

Dinner is somehow both better and worse than you expected.

Your mom keeps asking Jungwon about his family, his major, and his plans after graduation, while your dad mostly nods approvingly between bites of turkey.

Your sister, however, spends the entire meal subtly (and not-so-subtly) comparing everything you’ve ever done to her own achievements.

"Oh, you’re studying business, Jungwon? That’s cute. My fiancé, Ryan, just got promoted to VP at his firm," she says with a laugh that grates on your nerves.

"That’s impressive," Jungwon says politely, but you can tell he’s unimpressed.

"And Y/N," Addison continues, turning her attention to you. "It’s so nice to see you with someone. I was starting to think you’d be single forever."

The table goes silent. Your mom tries to awkwardly steer the conversation elsewhere, but the damage is done. You feel your cheeks burn, and you suddenly lose your appetite.

After dinner, you excuse yourself, slipping out onto the back porch to get some air. The cold bites at your skin, but you don’t care. You just need a moment to breathe.

You’re staring at the snow-covered yard when the door creaks open behind you.

"Hey," Jungwon says softly, stepping outside. He shrugs off his coat and drapes it over your shoulders before you can protest.

"Thanks," you mumble, pulling the coat tighter around you.

"You okay?" he asks, leaning against the railing beside you.

"I’m fine," you lie, though your voice cracks on the last word.

Jungwon gives you a look, the kind that makes you feel like he can see right through you.

"She always does this," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "Addison. The perfect sister who has to be better at everything."

"You’re not supposed to do that, you know," he says lightly, gesturing towards your cigarette.

You roll your eyes and lean against the railing, lighting it with a practiced flick of your lighter. "I don’t. I barely smoke. But, you know, desperate times…"

Jungwon chuckles, his breath fogging in the cold air. "I get it."

You exhale, the smoke curls around you, rising into the frosty night. "She just knows how to get under my skin. It’s like she’s made a career out of it."

Jungwon leans next to you, resting his elbows on the railing. "I don’t know. Sounds like she’s just jealous."

You laugh humorlessly. "Of what?"

"Of you," he says simply.

You blink at him, caught off guard. "Are you serious?"

"Completely." He reaches over and plucks the cigarette from your fingers, taking an awkward, experimental puff before immediately coughing.

You burst out laughing as he doubles over, waving a hand in front of his face. "What—what are you doing?"

"Trying to figure out what the big deal is," he says between coughs, his cheeks turning pink—though whether it’s from the cold or his failed attempt at smoking, you’re not sure.

"You don’t have to join me, you know," you tease, taking it back from him.

He straightens up, giving you a sheepish grin. "I just wanted to see what you like about it."

"It’s not about liking it," you admit, tapping the ash against the railing. "It’s more—I don’t know. It gives me something to do when I feel like falling apart."

Jungwon is quiet for a moment, watching the snow-covered yard below. Then he says, "You don’t need this."

You glance at him, surprised by the softness in his tone.

"You could just… talk to me instead,” he says, his eyes meeting yours.

Your heart does that annoying flip thing again, and you quickly look away. "Talking doesn’t solve everything, you know."

"No, but it helps." He pauses, then adds with a teasing smile, "And it’s probably better for your lungs."

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. "Fine. Next time, I’ll talk to you."

"Good."

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the kind that feels rare and precious. The cigarette burns down to a stub, and you flick it into the snow, watching the ember fade out.

His presence is warm and steady, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel so overwhelmed.

"Thanks." You say softly. "For agreeing to this. I don't even know what I was thinking suggesting it. Addison just texted me and I freaked. I guess there was always a part of me that wanted to impress her."

Jungwon hesitates for a moment, then says, "You know, you don’t give yourself enough credit."

You glance at him, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"I mean—you let people like Addison make you feel small, but you’re not. You’re kind, and funny, and you care about people. That’s more than most people can say."

You stare at him, your throat tightening. "Why are you saying this?"

"Because it’s true," he says, his voice soft but certain.

You shake your head, looking down at your hands. "You don’t even know me that well."

"I know enough," he says.

There’s a long pause, and then, almost too quietly to hear, he adds, "I love you."

Your head snaps up, your heart pounding in your chest. "What?"

"I love you," he repeats, looking right at you.

"You’re insane." You say, voice barely above a whisper. "You’ve known me for a week. I'm awkward and I wouldn't make a good girlfriend. You'd be ashamed of me, you know."

"I love you, Y/N."

You're not too sure what to say, not expecting him to stand his ground so firmly.

"I didn’t expect this to happen. I thought this would just be some silly, fake thing. I don’t care if you think you’re awkward or shy or anything else. I love you exactly the way you are."

You take a shaky breath, your chest tight with emotions you don’t know how to name.

"I don’t know what to say," you admit.

"You don’t have to say anything," he says gently.

You nod, your heart still racing as he steps back inside, leaving you alone with the snow and the stars and the weight of his words.

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him, his cheeks pink from the cold, his eyes full of warmth and sincerity.

And then, before you can overthink it, you rise on your tiptoes and kiss him.

This time, it’s not for show. It’s not for anyone else.

It’s just for you.

[beanietopia]

read part 1 here

the next morning, you woke up a bit later than usual. all too eager to play with choso in a few hours, you decided to have a little playtime of your own in the twilight hours of the morning. after about 20 minutes of unsuccessfully attempting to make yourself cum, you ended up falling asleep as the slightest peak of sunrise came up over the horizon. by the time you lifted your head from your pillow and checked the time, you saw you had missed one notification from choso.

‘are you awake?’ was all it read. shit, what if he was busy now? you already couldn’t make yourself cum earlier, what if you missed your chance today? you had scrambled to unlock your phone, texting out a quick apology and explaining that you were asleep. you silently cursed yourself for not being conscious of the time, your clit already throbbing from the failed orgasm of this morning. just when you were about to throw your head into your pillow and mope for the rest of the day, your phone buzzed with the familiar x notification.

‘i’m ready now whenever you are.’ you practically jumped upright on the bed, halfway through sending a quick reply before a picture came in. fuck, was that him? in the photo, choso was fully erect, holding his dick at the base so you could see it all in its veiny glory. he was clean shaven, maybe even waxed, and his pink tip leaked pre down his shaft. you felt your breath catch in your throat at the sight, already feeling your panties dampen with your arousal. how did you get so lucky?

he had already begun sending videos to you, sharing his fantasies of fucking you in as many places as he could. the car, the public bathroom, the beach, even the park, just to name a few. the slippery sounds of the lube coating his shaft echoed off the walls as he imagined filling you with his cum. you were hardly responding at this point, working yourself open with your fingers while reading choso’s lewd desires. 

‘fuck, i want to see you so bad. are you playing with yourself too?’

with trembling hands, you opened your camera and hastily found an angle where your face was not visible. there you were, spread out on your sheets wantonly fucking yourself with your dildo. your breathy moans could be heard while the toy covered in your arousal pumped in and out of you, begging for the faceless man to ‘keep fucking you right there’.  your eyes squeezed shut as you found yourself getting close, those hours of pent up frustration having caught up to you. your walls clenched around the toy for a moment and you gasped aloud, whimpering as your sensed your orgasm about to rip through you. you desperately rubbed circles on your clit to bring yourself to cum, the pressure pushing out the toy and soiling the sheets underneath. ‘shit..’ 

you halfway forgot that this video was supposed to be for choso, and you were met with his messages begging for you to come back, he was so close, to your amusement. sending the video you just made for him, you took the time to change your sheets when you got another notification.

‘fuck, that was so good..’ followed by a video of him finishing on himself as well.

you were so grateful for your little arrangement.

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

@my-anime-garden @kabukipookie @frosch-thefrog @pimento-mori @takumasimp @cuntphoric @valicalliali @gojoscinnamonroll @webism @xixflower @voidnz

part 2 is here EVERYBODY CHEERED!!!! i'm a lil sick rn so this was ROUGH to finish but i hope you all enjoy xoxoxoxo beanie out

[dollyichi]

IN-STORE EXCLUSIVE

katsuki bakugou x f ! reader ᯓ★ 1.7k words. fluff / both are pro-heroes / maybe a little ooc but idc / no established relationship, he likes you though / hints on mutual feelings / not proofread

you catch him buying your merch during a morning patrol.

katsuki’s currently getting ready for the day. it’s his day off and could’ve chosen stayed in as usual, but he had an agenda. he’s already thinking of it while he’s tying his shoes, how he could approach it the best he can. well, maybe a bit too seriously.

he thinks it’s stupid but he’s been wanting to visit this new merch store in the city that opened the other day. he missed the big opening, which was fine—better not to get ‘caught’ and bring any attention to him, especially not when midoriya’s the main guest for the opening promotions. he doesn’t want midoriya to run his mouth in front of everybody.

it’s still early morning, and he hopes not a lot of people were in the area, assuming most of them are busy or on the way to work, so their routes should be different from the one he’ll take. he even made sure to check who’s patrolling. it’s just todoroki today, so he didn’t mind. it’s a secluded area, having to pass an alley to enter the store’s street no one should be there anymore since most exclusives for the grand opening should be sold out.

with a huff, he locks the front door and makes his way to the shop. pushing down his cap further. kids were able to recognize him though, giving him a wave while their parents apologized. “i’m on a secret mission kid.” he says as a joke and they nod in enthusiasm, happy to see a hero at work. “pfft.” he laughs to himself when the kid salutes him and goes back to his mother.

once he gets to the store, he’s scanning the area, only a few people were inside. it’s pretty big, seeing how there were also other merch aside from the heroes section.

the staff greets him a good morning from the counter and he gives him a nod. he checks his face if he remembered to put his face mask on. he sighs in relief feeling the cloth on his mouth and goes to the heroes aisle—he looks like a creep the staff doing rounds almost wanted to kick him out.

“lots of me in here.” he mumbles to himself.

he thinks it’s crazy how high the prices were for a figurine of him (the manufacturers usually gives it to him for free). he looks around, cringing when he sees midoriya and todoroki’s section. “shit’s not even worth the damn thing.” he thinks, but then again, he’s a dumb hypocrite.

it’s already a pain to even get to the store. he could’ve ordered anything he wanted to online but this line of collectibles were in-store exclusive and it just happened to be in this store which was a relief. he really would’ve drove to a different city just for it—though, it was also dangerous if someone catches him. he could’ve asked anyone to buy for him too, even thought of todoroki to purchase for him but that man doesn’t have the same shame he would have if he gets seen. plus he didn’t like the idea of a dating rumor of you and todoroki if he’s seen with the merchandise.

he was only supposed to buy one figurine, but ends up buying a few more, pin buttons and one big plushie that he finds really cute of you. he chuckles to himself when it got that ‘same dumb smile’ you always have on your face—the one that causes his heart to skip a beat, even when he didn’t want it to.

this all started when midoriya found out about his little crush when katsuki got into an accident with a victim they saved. it was a big mission where several individuals in the area went missing, turns out a whole gang was using them for blackmail and ransom. every hero in the area, including you, were tracking every villain involved in this case.

a little girl in hostage activated her ‘truth quirk’ when she clung onto the blonde. midoriya was asking him what he’s thinking of—he meant what to do with the villains—instead, katsuki said, “i think y/n’s really pretty tonight.” and he slaps his mouth, he didn’t mean to say that.

apparently the kid’s quirk manages to bring out the deep inner thoughts of the person they used their ability on. “t-that’s n-nice kac- dynamight but i’m asking about the villain… hehe.”

the quirk lasted the whole night and he made sure to keep him mouth shut, having midoriya talk for him instead for their initial report. because when he answered another question from the green haired hero the only thing that ever left his mouth was about you. how he wished he was doing this mission with you instead, or about how many people you saved that night.

eventually midoriya gives him a TCG of you and while he wanted to act like he didn’t want it, it sent shivers down his spine thinking midoriya would have a photo of you, so he takes it (keeps it in his wallet too).

then he got even more invested when he saw collectors online, showing off their ‘rare y/n merchandise’ which got him seething too. he’s not gonna lose, not at all.

which brings him here.

he heads over to the counter with his head down. the staff notices the pink hue on the tips of his fingers and laughs (pissed katsuki real bad). “you like her too huh? i think she could definitely be a top 5 hero soon.” they say. katsuki doesn’t respond instead waits for his total and pays with his card. “fucking nerd shouldn’t talk about her at all.” he thinks. in fact, he thinks your ‘weird fans’ shouldn’t even breathe the same air as you. treating you like some idol, it’s fucking gross.

“have a great day sir!” he takes a breather when he gets out the store. a paper bag in one hand, and the plushie around his arm. he thinks he looks pathetic right now but it’s not like anyone would notice him if he gets home quick, right?

he walks fast but not too much to get him any unwanted attention. taking the same route home quietly and fast.

though he stops in his tracks before even exiting the alley, seeing todoroki waving to him. “you have y/n’s merch?”

katsuki takes off his mask, “mind your business half n’ half bastard.” and walks away flipping him off. it’s fine, it didn’t bother him too much if todoroki were to see anyway.

however, the icy-hot hero was just about to warn him what’s up ahead but it was too late, katsuki’s already gone.

he could’ve hit a perfect home run until he’s stopped on the sidewalk by someone he definitely didn’t want to see right now.

“katsuki?” he internally panics when he hears you. too in shock he looks up from the ground, flashing you his eyes. he blinks and immediately ignores you by walking away, tucking the plushie in his jacket. yet you follow him, already floating to his side with a curious smile. “just what is it with this area suddenly?” he’s mentally screaming right now.

you knew those pair of eyes anywhere no matter how much he tried to cover it. “you’re on patrol right now, huh?” he says with a low voice.

“yup with shou! did you see him? he went first before i did.” you chirp, “didn’t think i’d see you today with…” you look down to see a bag full of your own merch and your newest plushie’s head peeking out of his jacket, “me?”

katsuki’s face turns red. if it was even possible, smoke would be coming out of his ears since he’s been caught by the worst person—fate is really messing with him today. “i’m buying this for that dumb izuku!” he lies, hoping you’d buy it, but you could only giggle. “really? i don’t think you’d do that for him though?” katsuki curses under his breath.

“look kats i’m real flattered. could i take a picture of you like this?” you clap, floating around him.

“fuck off! don’t push your luck. besides, shouldn’t you be on fucking patrol?” he shakes his head and tries to loose you again, unfortunately for him, you’re quicker.

“mhm! you’re right.” you say, “but i only have a few minutes left before i switch shifts.” he’s not even looking at you. “besides i went extra early for today.” you take a quick glance at what’s inside the bag. “it’s a really good thing i did! real great!” you giggle. katsuki’s really flustered, hoping you’d just go away soon and you’d forget about this in an hour. to add more to his rapidly beating heart, you look so good in your hero costume. the fan in him wanted you to sign the toys he just got—well, as if he’d do that at all, he really planned to take this ‘secret’ to the grave (it’s okay to shoot your shot katsuki!)

he seemed lost in thought, and it was the perfect opportunity for you take your phone out and get a quick picture of him before you fly off. katsuki flinches when he hears the ‘click’ but you’re already so up high, laughing away and he’s screaming a string of curses at you.

he didn’t know who to blame, but he knew he fucked up even more when he gave you that stupid excuse. “what the fuck…” he says through his teeth, rubbing his temples with one hand as he walks back home.

katsuki never feels shame, but there’s always that stupid thing you do to him to feel things he’s never bothered to before—right now it’s embarrassment.

tomorrow was supposed to be his shift to patrol with you. he doesn’t even know how to face you after that. when he gets home he immediately sets it up and lays down on his couch.

after a few hours he gets a text from you. ‘i got one of yours after my shift!’ is what it read and it was a small chibi doll of him. you’re so adorable holding the mini version of him close to your face while you’re in your costume, he couldn’t help but save it.

he thinks, “wait, what does that mean?” does it mean you like him too? what’s even the point of you doing all that for his sake?

he then gets another message from you. a picture of him walking out the alley with a smile, clutching the plushie while todoroki’s looking from behind him. sometimes he really hates your flying abilities even when he thinks it’s the coolest.

“ha… you knew all this. well two can play that game.” as if he could even try to embarrass you after that.

oh whatever. he never loses, right?

do not copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost my works

note : i feel like i keep embarrassing reader in front of kats so it’s payback time :p i didn’t mean for this to be so long omg. MINORS AND AGLESS BLOGS DO NOT FOLLOW ME!

[queeniewithabeanie]

The Nappers

Dpxdc Prompt #10

Danny was really excited to spend the summer with his second cousin(?) he didn't really remember, but apparently Jack Fenton's cousin was Gotham billionaire Bruce Wayne, a serial adopter.

Jazz had discovered the connection and gave him a call to see if he'd mind Danny staying over for summer because Danny decided he was going to tell his parents at the end of summer about his ghost problem, and Jazz wanted him to have a safety net.

He didn't really have a big family at home, with his parents being largely... absent and Jazz moving to Gotham for college. It would be great to be in a house that wasn't empty again.

Now if only his newly discovered family could stay awake long enough for Danny to talk to them.

"So how's living with our cousins?" Jazz asked him through his Fenton-phone. He flopped onto his bed and groaned.

"They're all seem nice but I haven't really seen enough of them to know yet."

"Danny, you've already been there a week, shouldn't you know them at least a little bit? You usually warm up to people quickly, as long as they aren't trying to kill you."

"Man I kinda wish they were out to get me, then I'd probably see more of them than I have already."

"..."

"..."

"Okay Danny walk me through our family, and what you know so far about them."

"Well first there's Dick, he apparently lives in Bludhaven and supposedly comes back to Gotham to visit fairly often, haven't seen any of him yet though."

"Then there's Jason, I've seen him come over after dinner a couple of times, but he's seemed in a really bad mood and I'm getting weird vibes from him so I haven't talked to him much yet either."

"Cass, Steph, Tim, Damian, and Bruce are the ones that actually live here at the manor and outside of when I first arrived I haven't actually seen them awake enough to talk to me. Anytime I've caught a glimpse of them they're taking naps and I'd feel bad waking them up, Tim especially (he looks like he needs the rest)."

"What are they, nocturnal or something?

"That's what I thought too! But the Manor is even more dead during the night than the day. If I had wanted to live with a bunch of zombies I'd have spent summer in the zone, not come all the way here."

"The only people that have stayed awake long enough for me to actually get to know them are Duke and Alfred! Duke's great, but he seems to have a day job so I only see him for breakfast and dinner and any time I can catch him before he sleeps after. Alfred's amazing, but he already has so much to do around the Manor, I feel bad bothering him."

"It is only the first week you're there, and there was a huge Arkham breakout your first day so everybody around Gotham is a bit tense while the Bats are trying to recatch everyone. Could you give it another week for me? See if it'll be an option for if our parents react badly?"

"For you, Jazz, I'll give it another week, but I can't just trade one empty house for another."

"Thanks, little brother."

"Love you, Jazz, bye."

Danny hung up the phone and sighed, he new there was something off with his cousins, but he couldn't quite place it. Constantly napping, disappearing during the nights, but always on guard when they were awake.

He had a week to figure it out, but if he didn't there'd be no real lost love. He'd come up with some excuse, stay with Jazz for the summer or something. If his parents reacted badly and he didn't have this safety net, it'd be difficult sure, but Danny and Jazz would figure it out.

Danny thought it would be nice to have some other family that had his back for once, but hey, maybe he just had shitty luck when it came to blood relations.

[starlightsearches]

All Yours

"I'm going to fucking ruin you." / "I won't apologize for marking you up, everyone should know you're taken." / "I don't want anyone else. No one can make me feel like you do."

@somethingvicked tagging you because I accidentally deleted the original ask 😬 just wanted to say thanks for the request and a big, fat SORRY for taking so long. i was scrolling through my drafts the other day and saw this was like a year old and the shame managed to motivate me enough to finish this. Ooops again and I hope you enjoy!! Comments, likes, and reblogs are always cherished 💖

Eddie Munson x F! Reader

AN: 18+ only!!!!!!, car sex, partially-clothed sex, piv, semi-public, titty worship, humping, dacryphilia, unwarranted jealousy, porn with a little plot, eddie's self-depricating at the beginning but he fucks like a god, very possesive! eddie, multiple orgasms, one (1) mention of pregnancy but it's off-hand and mostly unrelated to the sex, unprotected sex, I took the spirit of the prompts more than the literal wording, this is very different for me and maybe rushed? idk you tell me 🙃

Eddie always jokes that you're his second love.

His van—with its stained upholstery, rattling frame and the battery on its last leg—was here first, he says. And despite everything previously mentioned, he treats that car like his baby.

So when he slams his door hard enough to rattle the glass in the window, it wouldn’t take a genius to know something is up.

Eddie sits silently in the half-light, gripping at the steering wheel with both hands and gnawing at his bottom lip until the skin turns white.

"Everything okay?"

He won't even look at you when he shoves the key in the ignition.

"Sure," Eddie says, but there's a bite to his voice, quiet over the roaring grind of the starter, "why wouldn't it be?"

The car does start—despite his abuse to the engine—and you prop your feet up on the dash, raising your brows as he tears out onto the empty street.

"Ohhh-kay. Is this about—"

You don't even get a chance to take a guess.

"It's not about Steve."

Eddie spits Steve's name at the window and the passing trees, their leaves blurring into inky smudges. You watch his jaw tick, eyes flashing from the road to the rear-view mirror, but never to you.

His resolve falters with the press of your hand against his on the gearshift.

"Really? ‘Cause I was going to ask if this was about Patrick Swayze?”

The speedometer ticks up for a quick beat, and then drops, and Eddie squirms in his seat.

He steers off to the right, and the van shakes as the tires bump off the smooth pavement to the gravel edge of the road, little twigs snapping off on the trees outside against the fading paint.

"Fuck," Eddie grumbles, quiet, like he's having a conversation with himself. His fingers catch in his curls when he takes the other hand from the steering wheel. It's dark out here, away from the street lights, but you still catch the shine glazing his lower lashes, the way he blinks to keep any tears from pooling there.

"I mean, it's no big deal," you tell him, petting over his knuckles with your thumb, "I just wish you would have said something."

You're not sure what lies were spread to make sure the goofy little pre-teens didn't show up for movie night and try to break down Steve's door. You just knew that—for once—everybody piled on the couch in the living room was of legal age.

It seemed like an exciting prospect when the night started, but everything was pretty much the same: just more beer, and fewer voices shouting about whatever movie you were gonna watch.

Nancy and Robin were a united front when they pulled out Dirty Dancing, and you joined them, mostly to annoy Steve when he pretended he wasn't interested.

Eddie grumbled about the choice, arm slung around your shoulder, but he came around, eventually. Nobody can resist the allure of Johnny Castle.

However many beers you had may have been one too many, though, because as soon as the credits started rolling, Steve had yanked you from Eddie's grasp and onto your feet as Nancy and Robin were cheering jump jump jump and you ran, stumbling into Steve's arms with a surprisingly powerful leap. Then you were floating, high above the living room with a bird's eye view of the crushed beer cans and Hostess wrappers littered over the carpet for one glorious second.

Until you landed in a giggling heap with Steve groaning beneath you, the room shaking with laughter to the point of tears, until Robin threatened to pee her pants.

Now that you've sobered up a little, you recognize that Eddie hadn't been laughing along.

He lets his head fall back against the headrest, eyes big as saucers, pathetic like a little dog who's about to get yelled at for pissing on the couch, and he twists the hand that's resting beneath yours until your fingers intertwine, gives you a squeeze—a move you recognize as an apology before he's got the words for what he's feeling.

"You know I'm not interested in Steve, right?" you ask, squeezing back.

Eddie nods, but his eyes tell a different story. He carries this thing with him—a kind of self-conscious bewilderment each time you reach for him in a crowd, press your lips to his, call him your boyfriend when there are people around to hear it.

It's kind of funny how much it doesn't make sense to you, how you assumed that, deep down, Eddie knew that you loved him, but also how badly you wanted him. That it wasn't some kind of fluke or coincidence or apathy that kept you here.

Eddie's breath catches in his chest, like he's trying not to cry, and you know you were wrong. You're not doing nearly good enough a job at making Eddie feel half as loved as he is.

You slip your hand from his, resting it just above his knee—an innocent start for your more illicit plans—scooting in your chair until you're almost nose to nose, lower your voice into a whisper.

"I'm serious, honey. You've got nothing to worry about."

Your plan is working already. Eddie swallows hard enough you can see his adam's apple jump in his throat, and his gaze keeps flickering from your eyes to the hand you've got on his thigh, climbing higher with each soothing stroke.

"Yeah, I-I know, baby, it's just—" his breath hitches, but he's fighting to get the words out, wet lips parting with a heavy breath as your fingers travel higher, thumb in the crease between his thigh and his crotch, "it's Steve Harrington."

His voice jumps an octave on Steve’s name, and your quiet laughter comes out in little breaths.

“I don't want to talk about Steve Harrington."

Your words hit his mouth in a puff of hot air, and Eddie gasps into the kiss that follows, moaning a little when your palm meets the zipper of his jeans and his swelling cock beneath. The tip of his nose digs into your cheek, one of his big hands finding your waist, trying to pull you closer, or as close as he can with the center console in the way.

"God, baby. Need you- need you so bad," he huffs, but you’re already breaking from the kiss, lifting your hips from the seat as you crawl into the space between Eddie’s warm chest and the steering wheel.

“Then you can have me,” you tell him, settling your weight in his lap, grasping around for the lever that’ll give you a little extra space. The seat rattles back until it stops with a heavy clunk, and Eddie has to dig his teeth into his bottom lip to keep quiet when your body lurches into his.

He won’t meet your eyes, looking out the blackened windows, checking the car like somebody’s gonna pop out from the back seat.

“What? Uh, I mean—like, here?”

You take Eddie’s face in both your hands, relishing the scratch of the sparse stubble peppering his jaw. Out of habit, his hands come to rest on your thighs, and you hum in approval.

“Whenever–“ you whisper, shifting your hips back just to bring them forward again, the crotch of your jeans meeting the bulge in his, rattling the chains hooked to his belt loops. Eddie’s neck goes taut, head pressed back against the seat.

“Wherever– “ you place your lips at the delicate skin he’s revealed, just brushing along the column of his throat. When you meet his eyes again, Eddie’s pupils are blown wide.

“And however you want me, Eddie. I’m all yours.”

“You’re all mine,” he repeats back to you, and his hands echo the sentiment, his confidence growing as he moves around to grip at your ass cheeks, pulling you more fully against him until he can grind up on you, his lips at your neck now, planting messy kisses at the edge of your throat that have you digging your fingers into his hair just to keep him there.

Your boyfriend's got a big dick—fucking hung like a horse, although he doesn't seem to know it, and he's already throbbing and heavy in his jeans, bucking his hips into you like he's trying to get you pregnant before he’s even inside you.

"Eddie," you sigh his name, just to admire the feeling of it, and he lets out a groan that has you dripping, the damp fabric of your panties sticking to your cunt and dragging over your clit with each shift of his hips.

"Yeah, baby?" he asks, and you hardly notice his hands at the zipper on your jacket, trailing it down, down, down until he can slip it from your shoulders, gripping at your tits through your tank top.

"You feel so—fuck," he's cut you off mid-sentence, pulling the neckline of your top down until your breasts are free, nipples already pebbling in the cool air. Eddie pinches one of them in between two fingers, the metal of his rings biting at the other until you gasp.

"Yeah?" he repeats, harder this time, the word mumbled into your tits. Eddie's smothering himself, licking and kissing and teething his way as he moves to replace one of his hands with his mouth over the dark, stiff peak.

He sucks the bud between his lips, glides his tongue over the sensitive skin there. The sound of your moans fills the car, and suddenly the pressure of his cock isn't enough when there's so much fabric between you. You can't pull away, though, not with how his free arm has circled your waist, forcing the sway of your hips.

"Eddie," you call out again, but he just grunts, onto the other breast now, fucking devouring you in a way only he can.

He's not stopping, teeth scraping at your skin and his lips pursed, sucking the life out of you while his other hand pinches and flicks the other stiff bud, still damp with his spit.

It's almost frightening how close he's gotten you, and just from this—the movement of his hips and his worshiping mouth.

"Eddie."

There must be something different in the way you say it this time, because he listens, finally, snaking his hand down between your bodies, slipping the button on your jeans and shoving his fingers inside until they reach the apex of your aching cunt. Your vision goes foggy, on the verge of tears from the relief of something solid pressed right up against your clit.

And his mouth doesn't stray from your tits, single-minded in a way only somebody like Eddie could be, sucking at your nipples until they both shine.

His fingers curl, perfect, sitting right where you need them as you grind and grind and grind your hips, brain turning to jelly with the way he's making you feel.

You feel Eddie's teeth bite a perfect circle on the inside of your breast, and that's what pulls you under.

You're practically screaming, and Eddie still won't stop, letting you ride out the perfect feeling of him, maybe hoping you'll remember this moment the next time Steve sees you. Just the idea of meeting up with your friends again after this has you flushing so deep you think you might combust right here.

The sparks fade slowly, your pussy still shaking and empty, wet enough you're sure you've soaked Eddie's fingers and he finally relents, his plump, pink lips tracing your collar bones, stopping at the edge of your jaw. He takes the delicate skin their between his teeth and sucks, hard.

That jolts you from your stupor. You press his head back, one hand on his forehead so you can make him look you in the eyes.

"Hey—that's gonna bruise."

You're scolding has no effect; Eddie's on a different plane now, cocky from making you cum so easily and still a little peeved from earlier, pressing past your hold on him until he can reattach himself to your neck.

"Not sorry," he tells you, marking you up between staccato shifts of his hips, "wanna make sure everybody knows you're mine."

It's impenetrable logic—you couldn't argue with him if you wanted to, and you really, really don't want to when he makes his way to your mouth, kissing you, his tongue against yours and his hot, heavy breaths, one hand balled in the fabric of your tank top at the middle of your back.

"Turn around," he tells you, guiding you into compliance with his hands at your waist, and it makes you dizzy, feeling like you'd end up on the ceiling if Eddie didn't keep his grip on you, pulling you tight against him until your back meets his chest.

It’s like he's touching you everywhere, hands on your hips and your tits and pushing your hair up off your neck—looking for more skin that he hasn't painted yet—so you're not prepared when the chair falls back, left breathless and unmoored, staring at the stained upholstery on the roof of Eddie's van.

"You good?" Eddie asks in response to the gasp you let out, urging your hips into the air as he tugs your jeans and your underwear down around your thighs.

You just nod, too desperate for any explanation, to say anything at all. Eddie's turned you stupid, has you whining into his neck when you lean your head back on his shoulder, looking up at his jaw with wild, tear-filled eyes.

"Gonna ruin you for anybody else, sweetheart," he tells you over the sound of his jangling belt, his hot cock pressed against your back. "Gonna make sure you never leave me."

You nod, fucking rabid when he shifts and you can finally feel the fat tip of his dick at your entrance, smearing the first taste of his cum over your lips.

"Nobody else, Eddie," you promise him, "just you."

Eddie takes his cock in his hand, teasing it over your pussy, nudging it against your clit until you jump in his arms. He grips tighter at your waist, holding you just under your tits to keep you still.

"Promise?" he asks.

The tears that slip down your cheeks and onto his neck must be answer enough, because Eddie slides inside you, just the tip, and the relief at even this small feeling of fullness has you crying out.

Eddie's thrusts are methodical and relentless, slow at first, but they build quickly, his hips slamming into you, his grunts from exertion and from pleasure low in your ear. And you're moaning, too, like putty against him, totally enraptured as you watch the muscles in his jaw flex, beads of sweat collecting at his hairline.

He keeps hitting this spot inside you, has you full to the brim, and you're so wet you half-wonder if your pussy juice is soaking into the seat.

It feels like the van is rocking with the force of his thrusts, steam collecting around the edges of the windows from your shared breaths. It’s obscene how in to this you are, how loud it sounds, the wet squelch of your poor cunt echoing around the interior of his van.

"You're gonna cum for me, baby," he tells you, "wanna feel you squeezing my cock."

Four of his fingers meet at the top of your thighs, rubbing steady circles over your clit. You think you might be screaming.

Eddie has you cumming like you're being raptured, twitching in his lap, tits bouncing as he fucks into you, deeper than before until your vision blacks out and you can't see or feel or think of anything but perfect Eddie Munson and his perfect fucking cock.

It's dark when you come to. Maybe he fucked you blind.

Your vision returns, though, just in time. Eddie's chest heaves beneath you, and he pulls out with a grunt, his cum and yours dripping down your thighs in a sight so lurid it's got you flushing down to your neck.

That's definitely going to stain the upholstery.

Eddie doesn't seem to care, stroking his heavy hands over your thighs, pulling your clothes back into place—gentle where they had been rough, his mouth dotting soft kisses against the back of your spine.

Eddie shifts you around in his lap, let's his big eyes find yours. Your fingers twine with his, and he laughs a little when you kiss at his knuckles.

"You know," Eddie says, cheeks pink and a stupid smile on his face, "now that I think about it, Dirty Dancing might be my new favorite movie. I mean, who doesn’t love Patrick Swayze?"

[nezuscribe]

as somebody who was raised differently, there were certain things your sisters got than you. sure they had better tutors and trainers, but they always had the best of the best. the best dresses, shoes, friends, the best attention.

and they always got complimented. you would listen and observe, wondering if you looked or acted so inherently different from them that caused people to totally brush past you. for a while you felt like a ghost, wandering around life as people ignored you. your sisters were the light of everybody’s life, and you were just there. always in the back.

but with arranged!gojo, it’s so different.

he always finds a way to say something good about you, things you never considered before. sure he compliments your baking (a part of you wonders if it’s only because he wants more), but he tells you that your horsemanship is stellar or that your penmanship is amazing. it slips out to, as if he actually meant it.

you’ve spent your entire life believing that you weren’t remarkable. you spent years trying to mimic the way your sisters talked or acted, hoping that maybe if you were like them people would notice you. but with gojo it seems like the more you you are, the more he enjoys your company.

one day when you’re trying on some new gowns, courtesy of him of course, he happens to find you in your shared bedroom, having a little break in between his counsel meetings and training.

your eyes meet his in the mirror, widening as you turn around with a bright smile.

“satoru! you’re here! how’d you get here?” you ask, happy to have seen him in between his busy schedule. the tension in his body melts upon seeing and hearing you, eyes softening at your genuine excitement.

“i had some time to spare, decided to drop on by,” he answers nonchalantly, but you can tell with the slight blush on his cheeks that he intently came here, knowing you’d be trying on your new garments because you told him that last night.

you roll your eyes, looking back to the mirror as you survey the gown, pursing your lips. you feel him coming closer, close enough until his hands wrap around your waist and he’s staring at you staring at yourself.

“i liked those ones,” you point to the pile of gowns on the bed, “but i think i look ridiculous in those,” you point to the ones on the chair. alina offered to help you, but you promised you’d be fine. bedsides, this was something you preferred doing in your own.

“ridiculous? nonsense,” gojo snorted, his fingers tracing the beaded work on your stomach.

you lean back into his chest a little, silently looking at yourself in the mirror.

“i don’t think i look pretty in this,” you mutter, tugging at the sleeves.

“what?” gojo frowns, looking down as you and the clothing your staring heavily at, “i think it looks gorgeous on you.”

you huff, chewing on your cheek.

“i don’t know,” you murmur quietly, feeling embarrassed, “my fathers wife always said i looked worst in red.”

gojo feels his brows furrow even more.

“the old hag?” he tries to tease but there’s an underlying bite in his voice.

he’s watched you for a while now, silently. though you talk about your old life here and there, there are some things that have weighed in on you that you never voice.

he’s aware of how your fathers wife and sisters treated you. he knows you were just the spare, an extra part of the family they never liked to include. you told him once how your excludes from the family portrait that hangs tall in the foyer, or how you’ve been erased from the will. he can’t do anything but listen. and he knows he’ll never understand just how badly they treated you there, but every passing day he seems to find out more and more.

“i think you’re very pretty,” he whispers softly, kissing the side of your head as his hands squeeze your waist, his eyes catching yours in the mirror, “and i think you look beautiful in red.”

your gaze wavers from his and to the table, not used to this.

gojo sees the way you fidget with your fingers and the way your breathing hitches. he can only imagine how many times you’ve been told otherwise, forced to think the opposite.

because he wasn’t just saying it to say it. gojo truly believed you were the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. he knew it from the moment you met when you were teenagers, and he knew it now. there’s a certain beauty that you possess that everybody else lacks.

“thank you,” you say, swallowing thickly as you smile a little at him, “i think you’re very pretty too.”

gojo feels his heart clench at the quietness in your voice, the unassuming way you thanked him, not filling believing his words. and sure he’s been called all sorts of good things under the sun, but to hear the genuine kindness laced in your tone, it made him want to bottle you up and keep you everywhere he went.

his hands squeeze your wait tighter, pressing more kisses to your neck as your squirm, smiling widely at the feeling.

“you are always pretty,” he says as he turns you around, leaning your back on the drawer, “always.”

his hands rest on your hips, blue eyes searing through yours.

you duck your head a little bit, heat biting at your cheeks.

“really?” you ask, looking up at him as he sees a shine in your eyes, trying your best not to shed those tears.

gojo feels his hands tighten on your dress, the fabric snagging under him as he breathes deeply through his nose.

he wonders if this is the first time anybody’s ever told you that. he doesn’t want to know if that’s true.

“really,” he repeats, his voice caught in the back of his throat. sometimes, you find a way to reduce him down to a few words. this man who’s been trained to sway others with his speeches, and he can barely speak around you.

you smile again, bashfully, your eyes creasing and cheeks full. gojo chases after your smiles, your happiness.

because though people might’ve whispered nice things when they know you couldn’t hear, those words never reached your ears. they never drowned out the waves of things you heard around your old house or from your family. and perhaps you spent a while thinking that you were just okay, never pretty or smart or funny enough, just okay.

but gojo says it all, and he says it loud. and you lived in the quite for so long that loud is strange. but it’s new, and you think you like it.

you look down at the gown, admiring the bead and needle work. it truly was a beautiful gown.

“i think i’ll keep it,” you say after a beat, and gojo smiles, a happy smile that he only shares with you.

he leans down, pressing a soft and sweet kiss to your lips, feeling the way you melt into him, holding him close to your chest. you hope he can’t feel the sting of tears at the corners of your eyes, or hear the way your heart beats erratically.

“good,” he murmurs as he pulls away for a second, “good.”

you smile.

“good,” you say, tilting your head a bit to find his lips again.

[a-hazbin-reader]

Not me back on my BS 👀

Imagine being Alastor's wife in life and thinking you had the perfect husband even if he was a little distant most of the time. Then he goes missing, and you spend your entire life searching for him despite everyone around you wanting you to move on

When you die and become an angel you just assume that you'll see beloved Alastor again only to be confused that you can't find him. So you spend your afterlife roaming heaven in search of your husband.

It never crossed your mind that Alastor wasn't in heaven.

Until you find out about Adam and his exorcist army going to hell every year, and then you're stuck with the uncomfortable idea that your husband might be a demon. So you find a way to sneak down into hell during the extermination.

You almost regret the decision once you see the carnage and horror happening around you but you're determined to find Alastor. You don't even care that you're stranded in hell once the extermination is over, you had to know if he was down here.

You're easy prey for demons, so you have to do your best to be discreet about your true nature while you try to get information about Alastor. Only to find yourself surprised and confused when people talk about The Radio Demon instead.

"That couldn't be my husband..."

Your husband was kind, gentle, and warm with you while this Radio Demon sounded cruel, manipulative, and cold-hearted. The idea of these two Alastors being one and the same was baffling to you.

But despite your denial, all the facts lead to back to this overlord, a princess and a hotel... so for the sake of your sanity, you decide to find this hotel and put your fears to rest. You hide your angelic features as best you can and head out with your heart in your throat.

The hotel is beautiful and grand yet a bit creepy feeling, it's also rather empty despite it's large size. You feel swallowed up by it as you step inside, looking around for any sign of your Alastor but finding none.

You're just about to turn around and leave, satisfied that this lead was a dead end when suddenly a tall blonde demon woman in a red suit stops you, all smiles and giddiness. Somewhere in between excited squeals and being dragged around by your arm you manage to catch her name.

"You're Charlie..? As in-"

"OH! Don't let that silly title intimidate you! I'm here to help!"

She starts showing you around the hotel and introducing you to the staff and other guests, obviously assuming you're there to stay.

"Ah, I'm sorry, but I'm not here to be a guest... I'm looking for my husband and heard he might be here."

"You're husband? Well, I'm sorry but you've already met everybody here except for Alastor-"

"What about me~?"

You immediately recognize the voice behind the static, turning to see your husband-The Radio Demon-your Alastor-

He takes you in slowly, his smile faltering every so slightly-more of a twitch really- and his eyes widening in surprise once he realizes you're standing in front of him

"Y/N? What are you doing here?"

You're already walking towards him quickly, drawn to him like a magnet and forgetting all about pretending to be a sinner, wrapping your arms around him as you try not to cry with happiness.

"I've missed you so much, Alastor....I never stopped looking for you-this has to be a mistake why weren't you in heaven? I thought I'd see you again after I died but then you weren't there either and-I had to find you!"

He's stiff and awkward at first, hyper aware of your audience and baffled by your angelic appearance. How did you even get down here?? You didn't belong here-why did you try to find him?

Alastor grabs your arms and makes to push you away but one look at your watery eyes and he melts just like when you two were alive. He suddenly pulls you in tighter instead and refuses to look anybody in the eyes, instead focusing on you.

His wife, his innocent wife who had forced her way into his heart back when he was alive was here in his arms. She left heaven to come find a man who had only married her for the sake of keeping up appearances and stayed with her because she made him feel...something close to love...(it was love) (was not) (was too)

You had no business being in hell, not when there were so many ways you could get hurt down here. So many different ways he could hurt you... So Alastor nuzzled his head into your hair, breathed in your scent and pulled away from you.

Sharp claws scraped against your chin as he forced you to look into eyes that were once so familiar to you, his grip loosened slightly as you cupped his cheek. Even now that his true nature was revealed to you, you were unafraid and enamored with him.

"You should've stayed in heaven, my dear. As much as I have missed you as well... you don't belong down here-"

"I belong with you, I'm not leaving when I only just found you again!"

Your stubbornness when it came to him was always something he had liked about you, he was glad to see you still had it. At a loss for how to send you home and some part of him missing your company, Alastor decided to make a selfish decision.

"Alright my dear, you can stay down here and rot with the rest of us if you wish~ But I must warn you~"

Your relief is cut short when he suddenly pulls you in close by your waist, sharp teeth snarling at you in a twisted evil smile as you stare up at him with wide eyes.

"Warn me about what..?"

Alastor pulls you in a bit closer, lips nearly touching yours when suddenly he drops you and you barely manage to catch yourself. He's chuckling and walking away from you, a mean side to him that you've never seen before.

"You're going to have to deal with the real me now, I do so hope you can handle it~"

Spoiler alert: Wifey can match his freak just fine once she gets the hang of how things work 😏 but he's gotta try not to fall for her~

Ugh had this idea in my head for awhile where wifey is an angel who sneaks into hell to find Alastor but has to come to terms with the fact that he's MEAN 😡 and Alastor has to keep up the mean persona because all he wants is to spoil and coddle wifey but HES NOT IN LOVE HE SWEARS HE WAS ONLY USING HER AND ALL THESE FEELING AND URGES ARE JUST SECOND NATURE FROM MANIPULATING HER FEELINGS

Then maybe a part 2 where wifey realizes that a lot of their relationship is one-sided and she left eternal paradise to be with this jerk but oops- Alastor realizes how whipped he is for her and that he actually loves her

☺️

[tender-rosiey]

maybe jelly — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: gojo getting jealous? 👁️👁️

you arrive at jujutsu high, as you prepare for your guest lecture. you’ve given these talks before, but this time, something feels a little different—satoru is acting strange.

not that he’s ever normal, but today he seems extra…dramatic.

“you’re going to kill it, babe,” satoru says, draping his arm over your shoulders as you walk toward the classroom. his blindfold hides his eyes, but you can feel the intensity of his gaze, more focused than usual.

“you okay?” you ask, glancing at him with a teasing grin. “you seem a little... off.”

“me? off? never,” he replies, lips pulling into his trademark smirk. “just making sure no one gets too cozy with my brilliant wife. gotta make sure these kids remember you’re taken.”

you roll your eyes playfully, “I think everybody and their mother know that, satoru.”

time passes by, and now, you stand at the front of the lecture hall at jujutsu high, wrapping up your talk.

the students seem genuinely engaged, and one in particular, a young sorcerer named ren, is practically bouncing with enthusiasm, asking follow-up questions.

“and how did you manage to seal that curse without any physical confrontation?” ren asks, his voice brimming with admiration and curiosity.

before you could respond, satoru appears at your side with his usual confidence, his presence instantly commanding attention, “well, she is the wife of the gojo satoru. kinda comes with the territory,” he interjects, flashing his signature grin.

you shoot him an exasperated look, “I’m pretty sure my skills had something to do with it.”

satoru leans in close, nuzzling against your cheek affectionately before pulling back slightly. “oh, of course, sweetheart. you’re amazing, but it doesn’t hurt to be married to the strongest sorcerer around, right?”

ren blinks, clearly caught off guard by the interaction.

he glances between you and satoru, his expression a mix of confusion and awe. “I wasn’t aware you were married,” he mutters, his gaze flickering between you and satoru as if trying to process this new information.

you smile and give satoru a jab into his ribs that he takes like a champ, “yeah, he likes to remind people. it’s kind of his thing.”

satoru, never one to miss an opportunity to make a grand statement, leans down and places a soft kiss on the top of your head.

his arm slips casually around your waist, “just keeping things clear. y'know, in case anyone forgets that I get the honor of calling you mine.”

ren tries to steer the conversation back to his question, “so, about the sealing technique…”

satoru cuts him off again, stepping slightly in front of you with a playful yet firm stance.

“hey, hey, let’s not bombard her with too many questions now. she’s been on her feet alllll day, talking about all the cool stuff she’s done and showing everybody just how badass she is.”

you roll your eyes but can’t suppress a small smile. stepping around him to face ren again, you continue, “ignore him. the technique I used requires focusing on—”

satoru clears his throat dramatically, pulling you back to his side and wrapping his arm around your shoulders, eyes boring into the poor boy even through his blindfold.

“you know what I think? I think my lovely wife deserves a break. maybe some alone time with her handsome, strong, and incredibly talented husband?”

you raise an eyebrow at him, your tone teasing. “handsome and humble, I see.”

satoru’s grin widens, and he leans down to whisper in your ear, “I can be both when it comes to you.”

you are about to retort back, but then you remember that ren is still here.

you turn to the boy with a smile and assure him, “anyway, ren, if you want to chat more about techniques, we can catch up later. after my husband gets over himself,” you hiss at the man who raises his hands in surrender.

ren, now visibly flustered and unsure, mumbled, “uh, I’ll… catch up with you later then. thanks for the talk!”

ren dashes out the room, slamming the door behind him. you tap your feet against the ground for a few minutes, before you elbow satoru again.

he stays standing up, chest puffed out and a big grin plastered on his face. you deadpan as you stare at your husband, “you really couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

satoru shrugs nonchalantly, still holding you close. he hums, giving you a kiss on the forehead, “what can I say? I don’t like sharing. besides, you are the wife of the strongest sorcerer; it’s important to make sure that’s clear.”

you roll your eyes, but you can’t help but smile helplessly at your husband. your fingers find their way through his hair making him instantly melt. you giggle at your puddle of a husband, “you’re so lucky I love you.”

he tilts his head slightly, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “I love you more, soooooooooooo—”

“oh my god, I get it,” you laugh as you try to push him off. he resists with a whine as he nuzzles his face into your shoulder. you yield and let the silence fill the room.

he hums softly as you both sway mindlessly.

“but y’know,” you pull back slightly, smiling up at him, “you really do like to make an impression.”

he chuckles, his eyes twinkling with a mix of pride and mischief, “just doing my part to ensure everyone knows how lucky I am and how lucky they should feel to be in the presence of my extraordinary wife.”

he intertwines your left hands together and raises them slightly, showing off the rings. the sun makes them shine quite brightly, and it makes you sigh with a smile and satoru let out a huff of laughter.

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize

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[luveline]

if you are looking for spencer and bombshell requests, what about the first time a girl flirts with spencer after they start dating, but bombshell is fully secure because she knows her worth and understands that he’s a catch? if you need more ideas i can squeeze my brain really hard

love ur brain pls keep squeezing it <3 fem!reader

You’re the cheesy girlfriend no one expects you to be. You change your phone contact for Spencer to ‘My Sweet Boyfriend’ with a heart, you hold his hand in stupid places (though you’d done that before, sometimes), you bring him coffee, you fluster when he kisses your cheek no matter your disposition —you're overwhelmed in the honeymoon phase, and everybody’s surprised. 

“That’s not very cool of you,” Morgan says, having noticed your ducked head, your smile dripping with a private pleasure and your cheek still shining with Spencer’s quick kiss. He’s gone to find plastic cutlery. 

“I’m not that cool when it comes to Spencer,” you say. 

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.” 

Morgan is as pleased for you both finally getting together as anyone, even if he finds it foreign. It is weird to suddenly be openly in love with each other, and likely stranger for the team to see you in anything that isn’t total calm collection. 

“He’s so lovely.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Morgan says, more earnest now as he slaps a rolled sandwich down in front of you. “He’s a catch. I asked for no mayonnaise, was I supposed to do that?” 

Emily tucks her seat in next to yours. “He’s totally trapped by that secretary again, I hate to tell you.” 

You turn around. 

“Why would you tell her that?” Morgan asks. 

“What?” 

You peer out of the office door, where Spencer’s being chatted to by a stunningly attractive secretary. She has dark skin and darker hair, alluring almond eyes that light her sweetheart face with a bright charm. “Oh, she’s getting prettier,” you say. 

You’ve got Spencer Reid locked in. Nothing in you doubts that he’s currently infatuated with you. You don’t even care when he laughs at her joke, or when she dips her head bashfully toward him. 

“You better go and get your man,” Morgan says. 

“What for?” 

“She’s flirting hard,” JJ says. She’s only just looked up from her phone. “He’s gonna start blushing.” 

As if. You turn back to the table, unwrapping the paper from your sandwich with a happy sigh. Spencer looks so cute when he blushes, his cheeks turn pink and he smiles like he’s being tickled, it’s adorable. If that pretty secretary wants to do the hard work for you, it’s her prerogative. He’s your boyfriend. 

“I don’t need to do anything, he’s fine,” you say. 

You’re cutting your sandwich in half when you feel a presence behind your back. A familiar hand closes around your shoulder, a voice in your ear, “Thanks for nothing.” 

You giggle at his embarrassed tone, turning your face up to his, immediately delighted by his pink-tinged cheeks and neck. “You looked like you were having fun!” 

“You’re not gonna pretend to be mad?” he asks, leaning over you to open your sandwich. He pulls out a sad looking tomato and a similarly wilted slice of lettuce and closes it again. “Did you want a drink? I can’t believe you.” 

“Spencer, did you want me to come and get you?” you tease. 

“It would’ve been nice of you. Drink?” 

You laugh again, tugging him down by the wrist. “No, Spencer, I don’t want a drink, just sit down. What was I supposed to do? I’m not gonna pull her off of you.” 

“But why?” he asks, nearly not quite pouting. “She asked me if it was too hot in here for me.” He sits in the chair beside you, his hand dropping to the soft inside of your thigh as he leans in imploringly. “If you cared about me at all–”

Everybody laughs, including yourself. He’s clearly joking, and for once nobody on the team mistakes it for ineptitude, which seems to cheer him up. He gives your leg a rather bold squeeze considering who he is and where you are, and again when you gesture for him to lift his face to plant a kiss on the ridge of his jaw. “I do care about you, Spencer. Sorry I wasn’t jealous. Should we try again?” 

He turns your face away from your coworkers, eye to eye. “You’re making fun of me.” 

His hand trails to your elbow. “No,” you say, your skin tingling under his touch. 

“I don’t believe you. And I know you need a drink, they didn’t send your bottle of water. I didn’t manage to find those forks, either.” 

He gets up again. He hasn’t so much as glanced at his own food, patting your back in a promise that he’ll return before he edges out of the office and into the station’s bullpen. You take a smug bite of your sandwich. You can’t hide it.

“Told you,” you say once you’ve swallowed. You hadn’t needed to do anything, and you really aren’t worried about other women. “He likes me a lot.” 

“Understatement of the year.” 

You send Morgan a loving smile. When you glance over your shoulder, Spencer’s taking the long way through the office to the water cooler.

[iid-smile]

sunrise and sunset , nanami kento

x fem!clingy!reader ! nanami calls the reader "love" and "darling". the reader cuddles with nanami!!! the reader also loses sleep because of his love because thats cute.

author's note: nanami is so yellow but there's no option for it so he has to be orange </3 tell me why i was actually swooning while i was thinking about these scenarios in my head? especially the second one???? i think everybody agrees that nanami is a listener 100%

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sunrise.

nanami always wakes up before you. he used to get up as soon as his eyes opened, but nowadays, he has a little something holding him down.

it seems like you never fall asleep on your side. that's partly his fault, since he's always beckoning you to come closer to him. but even then, in the morning, he feels himself teetering off the edge of the bed, with two arms wrapped around his neck, and his now asleep arm still wrapped around your waist. slightly dangerous for him, but as long as you feel comfortable, then nothing else matters. seeing your pretty face first thing every day was a blessing.

"kento..." there it is. your tiny mumbles of you waking up.

nanami's lips immediately curl upwards at the sound of your voice. as gently as he can, he sits up more against the headboard, keeping your head laid on his chest. "i hear you." he responds.

the bedroom is quiet and tranquil. he specifically bought black out curtains for your sake, but considering the price, they really weren't doing the best job. mornings in summer were relentless, taking into the account how early the sun rises, and it would wake you up in the middle of your sleep with how bright it was outside. no worries though, since he has plans to replace them very soon.

you mumble again, lips grazing against his shirt. "why aren't you up yet?"

"i don't have work today." obviously a lie. you may be a bit dumb, but you're well aware it's a weekday today, and nanami isn't the best liar.

you lift your head, gaze shooting up to meet with his. "yes, you do! it's a wednesday." you whisper-yell. "you should be up 'nd getting ready..."

"my day doesn't start until yours does." you feel his hand on top of your head, coaxing you to lay it back down. "if i'm late for work, that's fine. you're more important to me." his touch moves up to your upper arm, and his thumb rubs in lazy circles. "go back to sleep, love. you're tired."

"you're too sappy 'n sweet... gonna make me swoon every time you open your mouth, i swear." you grumble.

"then i'll catch you every time."

"stop!"

sunset.

nanami always reads a book before bed. it's usually historical genres, he's not a big fan of sci-fi or comedy. but sometimes, he'll let himself indulge in the odd romance book here and there. why? they're your favourite genre, the books you read. he memorises each different author that he spots you reading, often gifting you another one of their works if he knows you're not having a good day.

finally, you emerge from the bathroom door, a few folded clothes ready to be put away in the laundry hamper. when you turn to him, you watch his eyes intently as they follow the words on the pages. "that's..?"

"i saw you enjoying it this afternoon." he flips a page. you move closer to the bed, crawling on top of the mattress and inviting yourself into the blankets. "you looked particularly thrilled during it. what do you like about this story?"

you pause, thinking over the entire plot. "it reminds me of us."

nanami can only smile, and he doesn't miss the one on your face. closing the book, he places it on the bedside table, and scoops his other arm underneath you. naturally, you rest your head on his shoulder, and hook one of your legs over his. the small distance between the two of you felt that much more intimate that you felt the need to lower your voice. "are you going to sleep?"

"no." the hand wrapped around your waist moves up to your head, just placing it on top of your scalp. "i want you to talk. you seem eager to talk about it."

you giggle inwardly, snuggling impossibly closer to him. "i'm so in love with you." you whisper.

"i love you too, darling. more than words can express." he whispers back.

no wonder you always wake up so late. it's because nanami always has your heart beating too fast before you go to sleep.

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