#for those who are curious how i come with ideas

[blueblossomrose]

This special post is part of the Twisted Parents Series.

Content: Post-canon, FLUFFY, TOO MUCH FLUFFY 😭 my obsession with old Disney movies screaming, fem!afab!MC, family n children, MC having a dream of getting married, reference very slightly to Cinderella (1950) obviously, diasomnia boys having their happy ending.

Note(s): I AM SO SO SO SORRY ABOUT THIS HIATUS, GUYS 😭😭😭 My mind was so busy these last few months with all my works thinking about writing that fluffy fluffy special to make up for my days of writing block after going on vacation for Carnaval 👽 I hope you guys love it as much as I... that cried writing it 💀 and I hope this excuses this long inactivity ☠️

All gifs edited by me, but divider got from here.

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Comments and reblogs are very welcome ♡

A Wish Your Heart Makes

Have faith in your dreams and someday Your rainbow will come smiling through No matter how your heart is grieving If you keep on believing The dream that you wish will come true

“Are happy endings fairy tale's thing?”

Malleus couldn’t say. Human inventions had always been a mystery to him. He always had a distant and almost skeptical view of the happy endings that human stories so extol. To him, these narratives were like the light breeze of a summer night, pleasant and fleeting, but difficult to grasp and truly understand. As a fae, his nature made him see the world from a different perspective, and the idea of an ending — whether happy or tragic — was, to him, a human thing. He found it curious how humans always yearned for a definitive outcome, as if it were a vital necessity of their ephemeral existences. They sought in stories the hope that, in the end, everything would work out.

Malleus had never given much thought to his own dreams. Not in the others sense, at least. He understood dreams as manifestations of the mind, echoes of the subconscious, scattered fragments of reality shaped by desire or fear.

To him, dreams were almost tangible, an intrinsic element of his own magic — and yet he had never stopped to consider what it was that he, Malleus Draconia, truly desired.

Not that Briar Valley didn't have its own stories... but thinking about it that way, humans are far removed from theirs.

Happy endings… the concept was foreign to him. Fairy tales were — ironically — human stories, created to comfort fragile hearts, tales where love always prevailed and heroes were rewarded for their virtue.

Dragons like him, however, were supposed to be the obstacles that prevented such happiness. Beautiful and powerful beings... but lonely.

But then, there was [Name]. The magicless human who one day appeared in his life and in a few months, made his already apparently consolidated worldview turn upside down.

It was [Name] who taught him to dream.

She spoke of dreams as something beautiful and fragile. When they were still in school, he had heard her whisper to herself, with a twinkle in her eye, about how she wanted to marry one day. Because she wanted true love.

“A dream is a wish your heart makes,” she had said once, and it's been stuck in his head ever since.

Such a simple explanation for something that took him a long time to elaborate. Maybe that was the simplicity that comes with such a short life. He admired it, even back then.

The thought did not linger, however. No, he knew. He was in love. Happy endings...

The great hall of Briar Valley Castle glowed with enchanted candlelight, reflecting off the stained glass windows that adorned the ancient stone walls. The air was filled with the soft melody of a waltz as nobles and ambassadors watched with interest as the king and queen’s eldest daughter, Princess Aurora, danced with her suitor, as her pink gown swirled gracefully.

It was a grand celebration, the 16th birthday of the half-fae princess.

The old senators of the council, those whom Malleus deeply despised, were present, but they kept to themselves. Their accessibility was limited, limited by the changes Malleus and his human had brought about over the years. There was still resistance — whom Malleus called idiots and fools when he was particularly angry — but most of the councilors and palace staff had already surrendered to the strength of [Name]’s kindness, which contrasted with her husband's sometimes skittish temperament.

Aurora, the star of the night, twirled around the ballroom, she looked a beguiling sight, wearing the pink gown she had specially ordered for the occasion — certainly influenced by a certain bat fae she referred to as 'Grandpa Lilia' — along with the jewelry she received as a gift from her great-grandmother, Maleficia.

From where they stood, Malleus and [Name] watched in silence. His green eyes shone with something between pride and nostalgia.

“She’s beautiful,” [Name] murmured, a soft smile on her lips as her eyes followed her daughter’s every graceful movement.

Malleus watched her for a moment before answering. “Yes… but I confess I didn’t expect this day to come so quickly. I still remember when she had to climb on a chair to reach my stomach.”

[Name] chuckled softly. “I guess now she might just look at you.”

Malleus let out an amused sigh, but his gaze returned to his daughter with a touch of melancholy. “Humans grow up too fast...”

Before [Name] could respond, a movement beneath one of the large buffet tables caught her attention. She frowned as she noticed two small silhouettes sneaking stealthily between the legs of the furniture.

The six-year-old twins Magnus and Kyrval were under the table, trying to steal sweets from the silver trays. Their green eyes glinted with mischief as they reached out for honey cakes and candied fruit. But before they could escape with their stolen candies, two soldiers scared the two by pulling them out from under the table.

“My lords... you can't just crawl through the royal hall like that!” one of the soldiers scolded, the respectful but firm voice.

“But we're hungry!” Magnus protested, holding a piece of cheese as if it were a precious treasure.

“And small meals taste better!” Kyrval added, blinking innocently.

“Magnus! Kyrval!” she scolded them almost immediately as Malleus held back a laugh.

“They inherited Lilia’s mischievous spirit… and a little of yours, perhaps.”

[Name] gave him an indignant look. “Mine? Malleus, I don’t remember myself going around stealing sweets at royal balls!”

He chuckled softly, leaning toward her. “No… but I do remember a certain young lady who stole my heart many years ago.”

[Name] felt her cheeks flush, but she smiled sweetly almost automatically with the phrase. “... Do you regret that, your majesty?”

Malleus didn’t answer right away. His green eyes roamed the hall — his children, his wife, the castle lit up in celebration... faes, half-faes and even some humans... not alone.

Then he looked at [Name] again, his expression softening in a way only she could see. “Never.” He gently took her hand, bringing it to his lips.

He never imagined he would have something like this.

Everything changed when the girl from another world appeared. No fear. No hesitation. No one knows why the magic mirror brought [Name] to Twisted Wonderland... but honestly? Malleus was glad it did. She was the deepest desire within his heart. His dream.

Dragons aren't usually given happy endings. Maybe, just maybe... he was an exception to the rule.

He looked at [Name], his eyes meeting hers with a soft glow. And he’s happy with it.

To dream is to wish.

Lilia had been thinking about this idea for years. In his long life of over 700 years, he had experienced many misfortunes, losses, and sorrows — wars that devastated kingdoms, bitter goodbyes, and the feeling of carrying the weight of everthing on his shoulders.

But he had also been able to find happiness.

In raising Silver, in the tenderness of caring for Malleus, in the moments of pride in watching Sebek mature, even if in fits and starts.

He had never really dreamed of anything more than that. If he were honest with himself, his wish was simple: peace. How it would come, in what form, with whom — it didn’t matter.

But, as always, life had decided for him. With his children grown up, with their own homes, paths and families, he thought it might be time to explore the world. To wander. To be in distant cities. To sleep under the stars, free from worries. But that was not what happened.

A sweet wife from a distant world without magic and lively triplets had made his life much more noisy. And he wouldn’t change a thing.

The kitchen was scented with lavender and some sweet-smelling incense he had bought on a trip they took a year ago. He remembers getting a huge scolding from [Name] for buying so many, but he light them almost every day. Lilia, wearing an apron embroidered with small berries — a gift from the girls last Father's Day —, washed the dishes while humming softly.

“Dad, come see!” Aisha’s voice cut through the air with excitement. “I’m humiliating Arista at the Kart again!”

Lilia raised his eyebrows with a smile on his lips. With a light snap of his fingers, the utensils began to wash themselves, floating gently around the sink. He took off his apron, drying his hands with a cloth and headed to the living room.

“Humiliating me?” Arista replied with a joking frown. “All I saw was you losing it and pushing all the buttons!”

It was Lilia's first time raising girls, and it was in this chaotic and adorable process that he came to an inevitable conclusion: raising children would always be a constant learning experience — regardless of your experience in the subject.

“Battle tactics, you wouldn’t understand!” Aisha declared with exaggerated confidence, lunging forward as if that would speed up her character in the game.

“I win.” Arista said in a calm and satisfied tone, leaning back on the sofa like a queen on a throne, the controller resting gently on her lap.

"Whaaat?!" Aisha screamed, jumping from where she was sitting as if she had just been stabbed. Her wide eyes stared at the screen where the dots shone mercilessly: Arista - 1st place.

Lilia, who was watching the scene from the kitchen door, laughed softly.

"Wow, Arista..." Adela said softly, briefly looking away from her book to her older sister. She wasn't the most competitive, but she was always there to support her sisters, even with her shy and quiet personality. At the moment, she was gently stroking the silky fur of one of Lilia's bats, which was sleeping curled up in her lap like a fluffy, furry ball.

Count Fabulous — as [Name] gave him when she and Lilia were still studying at NRC — was the most spoiled of Lilia’s bats. Ever since Adela was a baby, he had followed her around, perching on nearby furniture or on her head as if he were her personal protector. Now, he dozed heavily, his ears fluttering slightly, lulled by the girl’s soft voice, but with Aisha and Arista moving on the couch, he ended up waking up and squeaking when he looked at the screen.

“Even Count is surprised,” Lilia murmured humorously, watching the bat stir fluttering the fabric of Adela's dress.

Adela smiled, stroking his back with a finger. “He bet on Aisha, I think.”

“Cute little traitor.” Arista said, smiling despite the line.

With the girls still vibrating with the echoes of the game’s contention, the front door opened with a soft creak, followed by the familiar sound of [Name]’s footsteps. Lilia looked up with a soft glow in his red eyes and smiled as he saw his wife’s figure crossing the threshold of the house.

Without saying a word, [Name] walked over to the couch where the triplets were spread out and, with a theatrical movement, threw herself gently on top of them, like a human blanket. She didn't press too hard, of course — just enough to cover them with her body and elicit immediate reactions.

"Mom!!," Aisha protested between laughs, trying to free herself.

"Rescue mission! Fabulous, save us!" Arista shouted, laughing, while Count Fabulous just opened one lazy eye on Adela's lap before settling back down, oblivious to the commotion.

"Mama, you're feel cold... stay a little longer..." Adela murmured, hugging her mother's arm affectionately.

"My days off are coming..." [Name] said, her voice muffled between her daughters' hair and the pillows. "I missed my noisy gang so so so much~"

Lilia approached the couch with his hands on his hips, his eyes half-closed and a mischievous smile curving his lips. “Can I join you?” he asked with false innocence.

Before any of the four could respond, the couch rocked gently, and then, with a soft green glow, it tilted forward as if it had a life of its own, gently dumping all of the girls onto the living room’s plush carpet. A bundle of giggles, messy hair, arms and legs all jumbled together, collapsed to the floor like a pile of animated pillows.

“AH! Dad!!” Aisha and Arista shouted in unison, Aisha louder than Arista, actually.

"I was comfortable, papa!" Adela grumbled, sitting down with Count Fabulous all ruffled on her lap, flapping his wings indignantly before landing again, huffing softly.

"I can't believe it, Lilia!" [Name] said, trying to look angry, but already with a smile on her lips and her eyes shining with laughter. Lilia approached slowly, as if he were going to seal a peace agreement with a kiss, and so he did — he leaned over, laughing softly, and kissed her forehead sweetly before lying down on top of everyone like [Name] did moments ago.

"Not agaaaain!" the three shouted in unison, between laughter and attempts to escape from their father's arms.

Still stretched out on the rug, the girls pointed to the ceiling, commenting excitedly on the floating ornaments — small enchanted lights that spun gently like fireflies caught in a whirlwind. They were souvenirs left by 'big bro' — Silver — on his last visit.

To some people, the idea of a house still full of young children might seem like the complete opposite of a peaceful retirement. And by traditional standards of rest, it was.

But to Lilia it didn't matter. It never mattered. Being with his family was what he dreamed of. It was all he wish for. “In dreams you lose your headaches, whoever you wish for, you keep.”

There was his rest. Not in the empty spaces, but in the constant presence. In the sound of clumsy footsteps in the mornings, in the voices calling "Dad!" throughout the house, in the tight hugs, in the fights over the last cookie, in the notes left on the table and the stories told under blankets.

Yes, he still traveled. He had his moments of adventure, exploring new places with the girls strapped to backpacks, [Name] with the map in hand. It was in family. It was messy. It was noisy.

This was Lilia’s rest. A rest in true Lilia style: full of voices, chaotic, but overflowing with love.

Silver knew dreaming well. It was what he had done for most of his life, and it was also an instinctive part of his own magic. Dreams were a sweet treat, a place where his worries melted away and all that was left was the best, most beautiful sky and peace.

“Have faith in your dreams and someday, your rainbow will come smiling through,” When he thought of this, what came to mind was his desire to serve Malleus, to be the knight that Lilia trained him to be. At the same time, he wanted to be with his family and friends, but he didn���t expect to fall in love.

It came subtly, with dreams. He saw her. A charming girl, who in his opinion was beautiful. She was there, in his deepest dreams, and he did not understand who she was… until he saw [Name] for the first time.

He was lying on the couch, his head resting on [Name's] lap. She was gently stroking his hair, her fingers running through it like a gentle wind. With the book on one of her hands, she was quietly reading an old story, pausing only to smile at the faces Silver made when his bangs fell into his eyes because of her caresses. He had returned from work tired, not with the same chronic drowsiness of his adolescence, but with the normal tiredness of someone who dutifully fulfills his duties. As one of the most trusted knights of the king, Silver carried great responsibility on his shoulders. But at home, with them, he could truly rest. The sound of pages turning mingled with the distant ticking of the wall clock and the rustling of leaves outside.

"Daddy!" Hana yelled happily, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor as she ran across the room. Without stopping, she threw herself at Silver with an enthusiastic hug, nearly knocking him off the couch. Her blond hair flew like gold threads in the wind, and her auroral eyes sparkled with joy. Silver jumped a little on the couch, a gasp escaping him at the impact—more from surprise than pain.

[Name] let out a light laugh, covering her mouth with her free hand as her gaze danced between her husband and daughter. Silver, even exhausted, gave a gentle smile, his half-closed eyes opening a little wider to look at his beautiful — literal — princess. And she loved being called that. Every time she heard the title come out of her father's calm voice, her little face lit up.

Hana wasn’t old enough to know exactly everything about her family, so Silver tried to tell her what was appropriate for a child to know, sometimes with the help of Lilia and [Name]. He had long realized that his daughter loved the concept of princesses. But not political princesses, more 'real' ones— she liked the ones who sang with the animals of the forest, the fairy tale ones. He would never forget the almost heavenly glow in her eyes the day Malleus bowed slightly, placed his crown on Hana’s little head, and said with a faint smile: "There, now the princess has a crown." Hana was ecstatic. She spent a whole week wearing tiaras made of flowers or paper.

“Daddy, you came home early today!” she said, her adorable little voice filling Silver’s ears like sweet music, while those little arms wrapped tightly and lovingly around his neck.

"I was able to be released early by order of General Zigvolt, my princess." Silver said softly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

[Name] laughed again. She gently tugged at a lock of Silver’s hair. “Sebek released you? Now that’s a surprise,” she said, raising an eyebrow humorously.

Silver couldn’t help but laugh at [Name’s] words. Sebek was adamant about schedules most of the time, and that was no secret to anyone. On the one hand, it was good. He kept everything in order, like a true general. On the other hand… well.

Hana, who was squirming between her parents with the energy that children normally have, rolled over with such excitement that she almost slipped off the couch, but Silver was faster. With a fluid movement he caught her with one strong hand, wrapping it around her waist and pulling her back safely.

“Careful, princess,” Silver said, his auroral eyes resting on her with tenderness and attention.

Hana lifted her chin proudly, her little hands on her hips and a glint in her eyes. “I knew Daddy would catch me, so I’m not afraid!”

Silver smiled once more. “I will always catch you, but take care of yourself too, my flower,” he said, his voice as serene as ever.

“Okay!” Hana smiled at her father, that innocent smile that lit up the soul, before stretching backwards like a little cat in the sun. As her arms stretched lazily, her voice filled the living room, chattering about her day. Silver listened to everything with full attention, his calm eyes fixed on her, and his hands always ready in case she slipped off the couch again.

In a moment of pause, Hana began to play absentmindedly with the wedding ring on her father's finger, slowly turning it with her small, delicate fingers. Without warning, Hana simply sleep. She slid softly onto Silver’s chest, her breathing even and calm, her golden eyelashes resting on her rosy cheeks. Silver felt her soft weight and had to suppress the urge to laugh. Hana was a thousand times more energetic than he had been in his childhood, — which, honestly, wasn’t much of a feat, considering his old constant sleeping habits — but when she got tired, there was no warning. She would simply pass out, as if someone had flipped a switch in her.

Silver rested her little head on his shoulder and wrapped his arms around her, his hand resting on her back. He felt his daughter's heart beating softly, and the warmth of her pressed against his chest was all he needed to know that he was at home.

For a moment, all was silence and peace—the kind that only existed within the purest dreams. When he thought about his life now, about everything he had experienced—he never, not in a million years, expected to be graced with such happiness. His rainbow had come. And now it slept softly on his chest, in a little flowery dress, with her little hand still holding his finger.

"Daydreaming again?" [Name] whispered to him as she noticed his gaze.

"Living a dream, actually." He replied.

Dream? What he had was not a dream. It was conviction. A solid goal, an unbreakable purpose. He would become a knight worthy of serving Malleus.

Sebek trained until his bones ached, endured thunderstorms —literally— and never took his eyes off the goal. The half-human blood he carried? An obstacle to be overcome with discipline and hard work. “No matter how your heart is grieving, If you keep on believing...”

If anyone, back then, dared to insinuate that he would marry — how awful — a human, he would scream so loudly in their ear that their eardrums would beg for mercy.

But as a wise old man once said — or perhaps it was Lilia in one of his absurd proverbs: "The earth doesn't turn, it capsizes with style."

And now, here he was — Sir Sebek Zigvolt, General, loyal knight to King Malleus Draconia... beside his lovely human wife and their two radiant children.

“Ivan!” Sebek called, his voice still naturally strong, but intentionally softened— an effort he made for only one person. “Don’t pull on the reins so hard! You’ll hurt the horse!”

Ivan, atop a sturdy horse with a grayish coat and a mane that shimmered faintly, turned calmly to his father. His eyes gleamed with amusement. “I know, father. I was just testing whether he responded well to my voice,” he replied, with that subtle teasing tone that only Sebek recognized as a direct inheritance from [Name].

Nearby, sitting under the shade of a cherry tree with their daughter, [Name] held back her laughter. The pent-up sound still escaped in joyful sighs. “Where did you get that horse again?” she asked, arching an eyebrow with an amused smile.

Sebek huffs, trying to maintain his composure. "For training, of course."

"Of course it is." [Name] held back a slight loving eye roll at Sebek's words, that kind of response so typical of him.

She then watched him approach Amelie with affection visible on his naturally stern face—a softness that only emerged in front of his daughter.

As quietly as his voice would allow, he knelt down at her level and said, “Are you enjoying the stroll, my lady?”

Amelie looked at him with shining eyes. A small, bright smile spread across her face. “Yes, Daddy!” she answered happily, and raised her short arms toward him, asking to be held.

Without hesitation, Sebek picked her up with the greatest care in the world. He positioned Amelie against his chest, shielding her ears from the loud tinkling sound.

Ivan, who was watching everything from the top of the horse, arched an eyebrow as if he was about to make a sharp comment. But when he saw his sister nestled against his father's chest, her little fingers playing with the brooch on Sebek's clothes, he simply got off his horse and approached in silence.

"General Zigvolt, you are breaking the knightly protocol again," Ivan said, his tone exaggeratedly serious, but his eyes barely concealed the amusement.

Sebek gave him a half-closed look. "When you turn a father, you will understand that there is no protocol more sacred than that of protecting your children." He adjusted Amelie better in his arms. "And put on those gloves properly, Ivan. A knight must always be ready."

Ivan sighed at the drama. Then, he knelt down beside his dad, leaning down slightly until he was at his sister’s level.

“Are you having fun, Lie?” he asked softly, touching her nose with a finger.

Amelie laughed softly. “Yes! Ivan looks beautiful in his armor!” he declared, as if it were the greatest truth in the universe. Ivan blushed slightly, and [Name] could barely contain another laugh.

Sebek would be lying if he said he’d never considered having children. Perhaps, in some distant future—if he reached the pinnacle of his career as a loyal and worthy knight—he might be granted the honor of marrying a pure-blooded fae. It was the kind of future he’d always been pictured as: respectable, honorable…

But now… now, when he looked at his little Amelie against his chest, or at Ivan laughing as he receives a sweet stroke of his hair from his mother— the image seemed absurd. Almost laughable.

All his life, he had been taught, indoctrinated, encouraged — partially? Completely — by his grandfather Baul, to hate a part of himself. To deny it. To hide it. To regard his human half as inferior, weak, inconvenient. To view his own father with disdain. And for a while… he believed it. He carried that hatred like a banner.

He wasn’t crucifying his grandfather, of course not. Old Baul had fought in a cruel war, with countless losses. He was a marked veteran —scarred, traumatized, and horrified.

But the truth was this: Sebek was happy. Happy that this human girl without magic, from another world, had stepped through the magic mirror and—clumsily—interfered in his life. And stayed.

[Name] had changed him. More than anything else, anyone else. Sure, Silver, and even his insufferable classmates at Night Raven College had their part in deconstructing his prejudices. But the real turning point came with her.

He remembered well the day of his first visit to his old home. [Name] squeezed his hand. And he remembered the look in his father’s eyes. The way Mr. Zigvolt — that loving, always clumsy, always smiling dentist — looked at him with so much love… and no hurt. Even after all the years of rejection. Sebek bowed. And apologized. He saw his father’s eyes fill with tears. And yes — of course he had always been that emotional fool, and Sebek used to get irritated by it. But now, no. Now, he understood. And it didn’t bother him anymore.

In the middle of his thoughts, Sebek heard soft voices breaking through.

“Grandpa and Grandma will definitely make that recipe when we visit them next weekend. I mean, I bet great-grandpa will be there too,” said Ivan, with the confidence of someone who had already foreseen the entire menu and the habitual discussion from his grandparents' house.

“Haha, great-grandpa is so funny!” replied Amelie, swinging her legs back and forth. “He always fights with grandpa to hold us back..."

Sebek sighed with a tiny smile. The sight of Baul arguing with Mr. Zigvolt over who would pick up Amelie first was, in fact, more frequent than he cared to admit.

Sebek helped Ivan mount again, adjusting the saddle with practiced precision. When Amelie asked to climb on too, he didn't hesitate - his arms lifted her as if she were a feather, carefully placing her in front of her brother. She held the reins with wide eyes of excitement, and Ivan guided her with the same care that their father showed her. It was beautiful to see. It was in these moments that Sebek realized that he was indeed an example.

[Name] watched everything with a growing warmth in her chest. She would never have imagined — ever — that this half-impossible dream would end like this. No. It wouldn't end. It had started like this. A home. A family.

“The dream that you wish, will come true.”

And the funniest part? Sebek said,with all the letters, that he would never be like his father. But there he was, discreetly pushing a small, colorful package of magic candy into his children's hands after successfully dodging the horse.

"Don't tell your mother," he murmured, with a half-smile on his lips. [Name] watched the scene in silence, holding back her laughter. She saw Ivan and Amelie exchange knowing looks, make the silence symbol with their fingers on their lips and smile mischievously.

And that was true for Sebek, too. When he saw himself with a smile on his face — sincere, wide, light —watching his children share the candy, laughing and whispering among themselves… He realized. This was more than a dream. It was a reality.

His wish to become a knight, which had once existed only for honor, glory, and pride, had transformed. It wasn’t just for Malleus, or even for himself.

To protect his home. His wife. His children. That human part of him that he had once despised… but now, finally, he loved.

[concretejunglefm]

Imagine Noah and reader having a baby girl who just started talking and saying “hi” to everyone she sees

You can write a quick one shot, but it’s fine if you don’t want to.

Anygay

I love you💕🎀

Anygay, that's me 🥰 I hope that you like this anon ily 💕

At some point, your bundle of joy, who once did little more than burp and gurgle in your arms, turned into a ball of sunshine, ready to take on the world and say ‘hi’ to every person she meets.

It’s become her new favourite word, right after Dada—even though you and Noah still argue over how it actually sounded.

“She’s not saying Dada,” you insist one night, huffy at the thought that your daughter would choose that word first over any for you.

“Are you sure about that?” Noah smirks. He’s been gloating ever since she uttered that first wobbly attempt, and he doesn’t even try to hide it.

Now it’s ‘hi’—not just to you or family or friends, but to complete strangers on the street. You barely make it a block with her toddling along beside you before she’s stopping in front of someone, grinning up at them with her whole face, and chirping, “Hi!”

No matter how many times you try to enforce ‘stranger danger,’ she just looks back at you with wide, curious eyes, blowing bubbles, clearly too young to understand, and completely indifferent unless your warning comes in the same honey-smooth voice as her Dada.

She also doesn’t care that just because her dad is behind a closed door, it means he’s working.

Now she sits outside the door to his home studio, stuffed animal in hand, peering up at it like it might magically open if she stares hard enough. It’s been hours since Noah slipped inside with the rest of the band to work on the upcoming album, and you’ve been trying everything to distract her.

“Come on, bug! Let’s go watch Peppa Pig!” you sing, upping your cadence to coax some excitement out of her.

Nothing. Just your baby girl sitting on the floor, pouting for her favourite person in the entire world.

With a sigh, you flop down beside her, only lifting your head when the door creaks open and Jolly’s deep chuckle fills the hallway, along with the sound of your name.

“Noah thought he heard you out here,” Jolly says, smiling as he towers over the both of you.

Your daughter stretches her arms up to him and lets her favourite word slip out. “Hi.”

Jolly gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Hi?! You’re talking now? No way!”

She tries to push up onto her legs, wobbles, and lands right back on her bum. Jolly chuckles and gently lifts her by the arms, placing her steady on her feet. That’s all it takes for her to stumble forward between his legs and waddle right into the studio.

From where you sit, you hear the chorus erupt, her enthusiastic ‘hi!’ met with laughter and echoing greetings from the guys inside.

It’s Folio who scoops her up next, her tiny hands grabbing his face as she giggles and repeats, “Hi.”

Folio makes a strangled noise, as if she’s just pierced his heart clean through. You know the feeling all too well, she’s a weapon of pure cuteness.

“She’s obsessed with attention,” Noah teases from somewhere inside.

“Gee, I wonder where she got that from,” you mutter, rolling your eyes as you push off the floor and step into the room.

Noah spins around in his chair, that boyish grin already spreading across his face. “No idea,” he says softly, reaching out for you like you’re gravity.

He looks at you the way your daughter looks at him—with something bigger than words could ever convey. He’s practically glowing, especially when Folio steps closer and your daughter spots her dad again. Her arms stretch toward him, and she sings, “Hi, Dada!” Noah doesn’t even try to act cool and you see the way he melts.

The second she says those words, he takes her back into his arms like it’s the only thing he ever wants to do. His heart is wide open, his smile pure and he looks between the two of you like he can’t believe this is real—like he’s never been happier in his life, and has no intention of hiding it.

[munv]

Cld i also request for diasomnia + ignihyde w raiden ei! like reader really love ur character! reader fics AKAJSJSHDH sorry if its too much </3

DIASOMNIA / IGNIHYDE X RAIDEN EI !READER

No because thank you SO much for requesting this. My inconsistency was coming back and I literally needed something that would make me work

MALLEUS

He notices you immediately. It's in the "thunder literally crackles around me too so I noticed yours from like 20 miles away" type of thing. Ancient fellow meets ancient fellow and it's one of those times where conversation isnt necessary. He realizes that you might also not be human after a while and he questions you about it.

He's a little scared that you might not take a liking to him anymore since he doesn't want to come off as brazen, yet he cant help but be curious.

Only to find out that you're a god of you're own country? He stares for a moment, slowly processing it and goes "is that so?". Not in the "I don't believe you and you're crazy way". It's in the "we now have a lot more in common" type of way.

He indulges in your oddly specific sweet tooth, bringing you little snacks and stuff to try together since you both have no idea what normal people eat.

LILIA

He laughs. In your face. First meeting.

Lilia is a good 700+ years old. So when he was face to face with someone who has been one for over 3000? He questioned for a moment if he would become that stoic (miserable) by the time he finishes 1000.

He pokes around your exterior, trying to see if he could possibly rile up a storm out of you. You dont strike him, so he takes that as a go ahead to keep it up. He teases you endlessly, noticing how you are exactly like malleus and way behind on trends and such. Although he isnt as shut in as the both of you, he is somewhat well versed in the latest things.

He doesn't find himself surprised when he gets you a phone and it ends up sparking up because you couldnt control your quiet excitement when you got it.

SILVER

He treats you gently, and he finds himself careful to not overstep any boundaries you have placed around yourself. Not because he finds himself scared, but because he genuinely respects you. He nods when you speak a few words, he opens doors for you, braids your hair under trees.

You're surprised when a bunch of animals follow him around, especially when he actually does a good job in braiding your hair. The flower additions into it? You love that too.

SEBEK

If you thought that silver was your no.1 admirer? you got another thing coming. Sebek basically explodes. Because at first? he sees you as a rival to Malleus, but over time? he grows to respect you if not, just as much. He begs you to train him and share your ever so "godly discipline". He constantly screams and yells about your noble aura and your gentle heart.

You've never met someone who could be so loud, yet loyal at the same time. Still, you give in and hand him a sword and just tell him "strike"

It's like that meme where its the avatar's saying "I can't help you bro, you jus gotta feel it". He never gives up though, and continues even if hes failing your training regimen, you've began to respect that about him, despite his outlandish tendencies to basically preach your praises on campus.

IDIA

He has a total meltdown. He hides, he panics, he screeches. "THATS A LEVEL10000 BOSS?? BRO WHY ARE THEY HERE?". Whenever he texts you, he realizes that you're one of those people who just give simple responses. "Yes." "No." "Thank you." “Why are you like this”

Idia thrives online but when he actually has to meet you face to face? he's a little nervous. Scratch a little— He basically screams bloody mary when you slightly lift your hand. Yet, he still enjoys your company. Despite him referencing you to his many different video game bosses and being chronically online with his odd slang? He finds comfort in your humble yet demanding ways.

"you're highkey scary but..lowkey chill?" You blink at him. "yes?"

He turns you inner realm into a video game setting.

ORTHO

Ortho finds himself doing extensive research on you. Your powers, your limitations, where you're from, If it's possible for you to overblot, all of the above.

He cheers and zooms around you in excitement whenever he sees you. Maybe he's just attracted to the lightning you emit, who knows. He likes hugging you and such.

If he wants more research? he goes to you, hands over some dango, and starts scanning you for 6 hours straight. Idia wonders how its possible for you to stay still for that long.

It comes with the meditation you do in your inner realm ever so often, you explain, and ortho is just scanning you casually without a care in the world.

He really likes the little zaps that you give him, he finds it ticklish, and he cute little giggles fuel you even more. “That tickled, again!” You blink, sigh, and zap him again, listening to him squeal in glee.

“Again!”

You smile at his childlike wonder

[nawoken]

(Mermay) Pearl Drop

5.C: Ơ w Ơ

In Twst, they have all kinds of fairy tale creatures, beastmen, merman, fae... Basically, it's not really a rare sign for them. In our world, we don't have that kind of luxury, but we have all those mythical stories or fairy tale stuff.

So, I have always wanted to write something about the idea of a mer! reader from another world. They are always told to be aware of humans by the elders, as they believe that eating merman meat will make them immortal. Or a rumor that a mermaid can cry out pearls, which is kinda true in this story.... etc :))

Warning: None... I guess?

Pairing: TWST x GN!Reader

(If you find anything that specifies Reader gender, please tell me so I can fix it.)

You don't hate humans. In fact, you find them somewhat fascinating, curious, and admiring of their world and how they create their quirky stuff. But, the story of the older mers holds you back, you're still scared, afraid that they will cut you up and devour you to get a hold of the immortal title.

It's better nowadays when you guys even have a whole network on the land for those mers who want to try, blending in with the human, as long as your identity remains a secret. You sign up for a spot among them, doing pretty well, the whole blending in and keeping a secret. Until...

Ơ w Ơ

After being transported to Twisted Wonderland, you still keep secret about your identity... or you just do not mention it.

Despite, merpeople are normal in this world, your species still has a few differences. Aside from you can change between forms without a transformation potion, you can cry pearls. Yes, a few mystics about your being is true, but no, eating mer's meat won't make anyone immortal.

Up until you can't anymore, you're not fully grown yet, far too young compared to the mer's age. So, your connection with your home ocean is stronger than that of a grown adult mer. Causing you to change uncontrollably when you're away from the water for too long.

You try to submerge yourself in Ramshakle's extremely small and uncomfortable bathtub, even adding sea salt to mimic the oceanic water. This can only delay the effect for a little more time.

Started from once a month to once a fortnight, a week, then recently, you have to soaking every single day to not turning into a fricking fish in front of everyone. You even sneak to Octaville once or twice, risking being caught by the twins.

But it feels wrong, this is not your home sea, you can feel it calling for you to come home... F***

~~~

You're running through the hall, almost bumping into a few students, but you manage to get past them by some miracle. You just finished your last exam, and due to being busy, studying for all of them, you've denied your need for a few days now.

Right now, you really need to have a long bath. No, you want to bathe yourself in the salty sea water of your home. But, you don't have much choice right now, do you?~

You turned around the corner, dodging a small familiar figure on the way while yelling out an apology. The Ramshackle feels so far away.

"PREFECT!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! ONE SHOULD NOT RUN THROUGH THE HALL, YOU MIGHT HURT YOURSELF AND OTHERS."

A sudden voice echo right behind you from the red head, well, it seems like today it's not your lucky day. Riddle is right after your tail right now. Command you to stop running.

You don't. You tried to yell back some apologies, and that you're in a hurry. But he won't let you, his friend, break some rule in front of this many students.

Part of you just wants to give up, turning into a fish and splashing them with your tail, releasing all your frustration in these recent days. But well, your more reasonable side holds you back, what a shame, really.

~~~

Now, almost every student in the school witnessed you running through the hallway while being chased down by Heartslabyul's Housewarden.

Which is a surprise since normally, the one who is being screamed at and chased down is Ace. And this definitely piques some people's interest.

It's gotten worse when you pass by Floyd, and he decides to join in, cause he thinks that you and Riddle are playing catching without inviting him :)

You can feel your skin, your throat, and your mouth getting drier as time passes by. It's not a pleasurable feeling if you have to be honest. It feels like you're lost in the middle of a desert without any water, helpless.

~~~***~~~

The consequence of not paying attention to your surroundings is that you bump into other people. Specifically, Sebek.

He successfully catches your forearm before your butt contact with the floor. But it didn't mean he won't scold you for running around, making the school ground a dangerous place for his waka-sama...

You can't even make sense of his words at this point, when your mind went blank, and your vision slowly blurred. You would have been sprawling on the ground if Sebek hadn’t caught you.

You can hear your friends rushing toward you, calling out your name. But the agony pain from being forced to transform is too much for you to do anything else.

The next thing you know, after the pain fades away, is the dumbfounded face of your friend and the itching of your scale from the lack of water.

Well, guess, this is your doom.

~~~***~~~

5.C: Eyo~

It's been quite a while since the last time I actually posted something about my idea or writing. I don't really have the motivation, even when I still have some drafts lying around and waiting for me. Sorry, guys, people, human... Ehe :3

Aside from motivation, I also have a hard time writing fic in English since this is not my mother language. And every time I try to type my thoughts down, it doesn't show them the way I picture them... If you understand what I mean :'D

Anw, bye-bye human!!!

P/s: I got both Jade's and Floyd's mer cards in Eng server!!! Hurayyy~

:3

[lucabyte]

In the personal bias section of your essay. You said you see the dude™ issue reflected in Siffrin. Can you say more about your view on that? I want to see where you're coming from.

(context: poast)

Re: this passage

PERSONAL BIAS NOTE: Not included in this analysis since this is more a Pet Theme of my own (usually kept quarantined to the realms of my OCs), but something else I see in Siffrin is a reflection of the Dude Issue(tm) of patriarchal irl society disincentivisng Dudes(tm) from ever fucking introspecting ever. I'm curious about nonbinary/trans characters who have no idea they’re nonbinary/trans because they’ve been disincentivised from thinking/doubting their identity due to societal power structures or simply tradition. I dig around the themes of “a lot of guys are trapped in a societal prison without ever knowing and it makes them miserable but they can’t escape because they don’t even see the cage” like, a lot, in my personal work. It intrigues me. So bleh, cards on the table there. That mode of interacting with nb/trans characters is one I'm inclined to. This kinda goes hand in hand with the watsonian vs doylist situation i took an aside to mention. But it is so far along the doylist side that I didn't want to include it, since it is a little too assumptive of the text for my comfort. I don't think the game necessarily has much commentary on this specific Societal Bind. But if it does, then hey, there's my thoughts on it.

This is worded rather short and tossed at the end as a disclaimer of sorts, but i also kept it short because it isn't *super* relevant to my conclusions from the piece. It's there to like, basically serve to check myself since I know it's a theme I Personally Like Exploring-- But I don't actually see as affecting this read much.

But, to elaborate anyway.

What do I mean by this?

So this like. presumably already has a name in feminist theory or something since i'm far from the first person to point it out, but it's a theme I write a lot with my own ocs. I have a spate of characters who are all like-- Mid 30s at the very least-- and are basically queer people who are not super in-tune with their own labels. Notably I have quite a number of "guy" characters who would be nonbinary if they knew what that was AND were emotionally intelligent enough to apply it to themselves.

This is like, distinctly something rooted in observing older, kind of repressed men, but in general is just this idea of emotionally intelligent introspection VERSUS it being societally disincentivised to do just that. It's kind of a dam-breaking effect, y'know? If you're marginalised in one way (gender, sexuality, neurotype, disability, class, *) you can often start spotting ways that related taboos are bullshit, and this may make you either deconstruct those too, or put walls up harder.

* (this is something where race is really complex though since it has to wrestle with how racial identity and masculinity interect, so, it's kind of its own thing here. It DOES factor in, just in a completely diff way thats more delicate)

So in the case of masculinity being something that is oft Actively Dangerous to undermine in your identity (threatens to strip you of rights and basic respect if you Break it), it's one of those things where it can be really, really hard to break into as one of the things to start introspecting about. Even IF you have other things, like sexuality, to set you on the path to maybe deconstructing it.

2. Why I think it DOESN'T apply much to ISAT

This is the watsonian vs doylist point I allude to. ISAT's gender politics (usually exemplified via Isabeau) are informed by the real world's, yes, as all art kind of has to be-- But it's very intentionally egalitarian of a setting. And the writing itself keeps this up spectacularly, with its female characters being well written and equal to their male/ish peers. It's clearly Not Really what the story is Super About. So, it's clearly not the correct lens to view ISAT's deconstructions of masculinity through, since it's more focused on a deconstruction-via-progressive-setting. So trying to read too hard into it is a bit of a fool's errand.

3. Where i think it DOES apply to ISAT

Despite this, there are a few looming spectres of masculinity-as-oppressive-force. Mostly The King choosing to fucking name himself that. It's an invocation of our real-world associations of kings as 1. a thing that requires you be a Man and 2. kings being despotic tyrants who enforce their will over others. This is something where it's less to do with ISAT's Watsonian Lore-based opinions on gender, and more to do with weaponising Our Real-World Doylist understandings of Ruling Masculinity As Opressor.

4. And Siffrin?

Like I say above, the situations wrt: masculinity as a "bad" thing in any way are entirely Doylist in ISAT-- Which means I only really see Siffrin's Repression-due-to-dude-ness as like, effectively an Out-Of-Universe thing? I don't think that, In Universe, Siffrin's hangups about being a guy are to do with his gendered upbringing-- I think they are more generalised hangups about being unable to desire change because that's Selfish and Scary.

ie. i would take the assumption here that Siffrin is taking their birth gender somewhat at face value because it's their birth gender and not because of which specific one it is. (Aside: this is one of the things that actually makes intersex siffrin work super well as an extrapolation of themes, btw. That idea of coerced assignment and feeling stuck with it-- but the lens I was working with in that essay is called 'Actual Intentionalism', which I don't think this read fits. HOWEVER. it works really fucking well well as a Reader-Response interpretation)

*But*, i feel that this Universe-Belief-Induced Disincentivization works extremely well when viewed as a Mirror or Parallel to the Real World Effects of masculinity being treated as an exclusive club* you have to be very careful to not lose the keys to-- or you will be punished socially.

It's less about me thinking this is What Siffrin Has Going On In-Universe, and more how I feel it parallels the IRL experience of Being Afraid To Ditch Masculinity For Fear Of Retribution

(* Exclusive and careful here, as in, trying to Gain (white) Masculinity (as say, a transmasc, intersex individual, or amab racial minority) is also counted as a transgression, as you are seen as stealing, but losing it is very, very easy. It's about power and control. It's also something where IRL, it's also very heavily tied into ideas of Modern 21st Century Whiteness, something ISAT does not really explore, opting instead to investigate the breath of fresh air that is focusing on immigrant diaspora identity as a struggle regardless of how 'welcoming' the culture you immigrated to is of you)

This is. Not super coherent so i apologise? But yeah. It's mostly a disclaimer about how I feel I have some biases towards exploring this theme so much (since I write a lot about characters who are either Literally In The Modern Real World or in settings that are the modern real world but with the absolute lightest coat of paint), but recognise that ISAT is intentionally going for something else-- While still being informed (as all art is) by our current and contemporary moment, so investigating it in a Total Vaccum is. also kind of silly. Lol

TL;DR:

THE STRUCTUAL CONCEPT OF (WHITE HEGEMONIC) MASCULINITY IN THE REAL WORLD IS A COMPLICATED THING, BUT TRYING TO STRAY FROM IT AS AN AMAB INDIVIDUAL IS HIGHLY DISINCENTIVISED. WHILE I DO NOT THINK ISAT IS MAKING MUCH OF A STATEMENT ABOUT THIS INTENTIONALLY, I THINK SIFFRIN'S FEAR OF CHANGE DUE TO ASSUMING THEY WILL BE 'PUNISHED' IN SOME WAY FOR DESIRING IT MAKES FOR A NICE METAPHOR/MIRROR TO THE TRANSFEMME OR AMAB GNC EXPERIENCE, BUT DOES NOT REALLY INFORM MY OVERALL ARGUMENT FOR AMAB NB SIFFRIN/TRANSFEMME LOOP.

but yeah uh. hope that helps. a lot of what im circling around is super tied up in modern idpol so. i will be honest this approaches the edge of depth on how much i can explain without just pointing you to like actual feminist and queer theory as well as literary analysis 101, bc at this point i am just regurgitating that in a less well written manner LOL. and no i dont even have any sources to hand because i AM a little hack fraud, sorry lmao. but yahoo. genderrrrr

[vunblr]

Hey! I've got one more question about Tangled. So remember how the reader asked the lady at the yarn shop why the cave was dangerous, and the lady said there's something inside, something inhuman. And those creatures walk among us and take wives and husbands and such. If she saw Bucky, would she be able to tell he's not human? Is the reader gonna introduce them? Even accidentally? Like walking around town, and they see the shop lady, and she comes over to talk. Or maybe she would be like "so I take it you went near the cave?" Or something. Just something I was curious about. I mean she knows way too much about his kind for someone who's never interacted with them before. Suss 🤔

Oooh the yarn lady! I have an idea for her but I don't know if I will ever write the one shot so:

She’s actually descended from merfolk -not cecaelia, but triton lineage- and her pa always told her to stay away from the cave. Apparently, he knew what was in there.

Tritons and cecaelia aren’t exactly besties -there’s old tension between the species- so when she sees Bucky in town? Yeah. She knows. The moment she gets close enough, she smells it on him. And Bucky smells it on her too. So when reader casually introduces them, it’s just this long, super awkward staring contest where both of them know exactly what the other is but pretend to play nice. Absolutely uncomfortable, totally suspicious, and the reader is just standing there like “…what the hell was that?”🤣

[corvusalbus93]

Happy to hear; I often worry I ramble on too long (the ADHD-mind is a restless mind XD) And thanks – I had a pretty good idea who that Tav was when I started, but I too continued to develop her, and get a better sense of who she is as a character as I played.

My Tav does actually when possible go out of her way to help; her parents were Eilistraee worshippers. To help people, especially those in need, would have been something she’d have learned early on, even though the goddess was canonically dead and said parents died when she was really young. Though Eilistraee has come back in recent years, Tav isn’t actively worshipper her (though I wouldn’t rule out she might eventually), but her views align quite well with her church. For now/in game she’s more concerned with defying Lolth and not being the stereotypical drow everyone expects her to be. In other words: When in doubt, what would Lolth not do?

Okay that’s funny, cause my second Tav (Tamiel) is also a wild magic sorcerer– but he’s a tiefling, multiclass bard. Basically, he tried to find a way he could use magic without the risk of blowing up and semi-succeeded, as long as it’s bard-specific. When things get serious that’s when he gets out his sorcerer spells and all bets are off. (Another I play a githyannki Hexblade, who spent a few too many years in the Shadowfell and now seeks to avenge a friend who’s ascended, after she found out what that actually means.)

I swear Minthara’s favourite spell is “Viscous Mockery” and she isn’t even a bard.

I was worried to, once I’d decided to go with him, so I honestly checked if his first invitation was Tav’s one and only chance to initiate the romance plot-line. When I learned there was a second I had Tav get out of the conversation with a maybe... before she presumably went to hide on the “beach” with Wyll 😅.

Oh gods, I have the exact same with my second Tav and Gale. Those two boys are so cute together, but I don’t feel as invested, even now as I enter Act 3. I’m curious how it’s going to be with my Hexblade and Karlach, because they are not far enough into the story yet.

Yeah, he kinda ended up being the number one vampire-hater in this game (besides the Gur maybe).

I think Astarion did want to ascend, at least to get the power and the safety it represented to him – not to mention getting some justice/payback for what he had to endure these past two centuries. All of this made the rite so enticing, so think at least part of him did want to. He’s a good example of “we don’t always want the things that are good/best for us”. But he was nonetheless conflicted (especially once he sees Sebastian and learns the real number of souls), and then was confronted with the true cost. Himself, or at least the person he’s shaped and grown into since his escape. He’s already lost himself once, when he became a spawn and he doesn’t want that again.

It’s kind of a pattern with him. He accepted becoming a spawn to save himself, only to learn the true cost. Then at the start of the game he favours the tadpoles and the power they offer, until we get the Astral Touched Tadpole and finds out that he would turn. He straight up says he’s not touching that thing, before telling you the horrors of his vampire transformation. And then in Act 3, he shifts to the rite, begins to obsess over it.

And I love that the game explicitly tells you in the dungeon that he’s blinded by fear. Fear and hunger, he’s intoxicated and not thinking clearly. Which is when you can get through and remind him that he won’t be freed by this power. And indeed AA, while no longer be plagued by his hunger for blood, now hungers for even more power, thus continuing the overreaching and self-destructive cycle all vampires fall into. While Spawn Astarion can really be anything.

(Side note: I really love how after getting back to his feet, standing next to Tav and addressing his sibling , talking about the opportunities they all now have, “I want to live” starts playing for a bit. That’s no accident!)

I think it is in one of the conversations he can have with Durge that he reveals he realized one can’t live ruled by fear – which feels so meaningful coming from him, considering the rite and what the insight check reveals (I would have to check when this conversation exactly happens, haven’t completed Durge yet either).

Yeah, a ruthless Tav would only reinforce his established worldview, and I don’t think it would be realistic for him to open up to them as it would be with a neutral or good Tav. When it comes to cruelty I think he enjoys the sense of being the one in control/power. Especially early on, when his worldview has not been challenged yet, he will expect dynamics, where one party exerts power over another - that’s the only way things can be and he knows which side he’d rather be on.

I think the approval becomes less useful the further we get into the game. Especially in Act 3, depending on your choices you can be his partner, his friend, you can hate each other, not to mention he can be Ascended or a Spawn. All of which would wildly affect his character. They couldn’t possibly account for all of that so I think the approvals/disapprovals are not necessarily an accurate reflections for one’s individual playthrough, and maybe represent more of a baseline for him.

Oh yes, Act 2 is the real starts. And the two possible confession scenes are both really touching. I was also happy to get a scene with my sorcerer-bard after Araj, during which he could affirm his friendship with Astarion (I like to think that Tav distracts people with song, while Astarion pick-pockets, so now they are no longer allowed to go out alone together).

Always happy to chat; hope I haven’t overdone it.

The Truth Behind the Mask

(1/? part of “Astarion: In Search of True Self” — [masterpost here])

Even before I played, I kept stumbling upon Astarion fanart and memes that made me assume he was just some overrated character who was only popular because of his flirty, sassy attitude (I’m so sorry Q^Q). That’s why I didn’t have the best first impression even before I started.

And even in-game, when you first meet him, Astarion seems like a shallow, selfish and flirty guy - someone who doesn’t really care what others think and just follows his whims.

Couldn’t be further from the truth!

From what I’ve seen in some discussions on social media, though, a lot of players still hold that first impression - even after completing his route. I’ve even seen people call him a red flag, label him evil or say they were disappointed in general.

Also, I feel like most guides (at least the ones I’ve come across) simplify his character too much - mainly focusing on which choices will gain his approval or disapproval. Maybe that’s to avoid spoilers, but still. There are definitely other players who see the deeper layers too - so this is just my way of sharing my personal journey of discovering the real Astarion.

So, how did that first impression start to unravel? When checking with the guide and watching his reactions and body language, I started thinking about why the approval/disapproval tips work.

How Approval Looks on the Surface

Let’s look at some general tips for gaining Astarion’s approval points: 

choosing evil replies/actions 

seeking power 

siding with evil characters 

deceiving your opponents  

supporting his desires  

being understanding and accepting towards him 

(bonus one, haven’t seen guides mention this) sarcastic replies  

And disapproval points: 

making pompous heroic statements (like “Worry not! I shall save everyone!”) 

helping the weak 

being open about your party's situation (tadpoles)

being judgmental or unsupportive towards him  

naive/goodie-two-shoes responses  

In most cases, it is explained by his natural inclination towards evil forces and power, making Astarion seem like a self-centred and power-hungry vampire who might, with Tav’s influence, turn to become a bit of a better person. Or not. 

But while it’s technically true that those actions affect his approval, there’s much more nuance to why Astarion reacts the way he does - especially in the early stages.

So what's really going on?

The first contradiction that made me feel confused about the reasons for Astarion’s reactions was how nice Tav is being to him (of course, if you chose good replies during their interactions) – a person who is mean to everyone else would be just as mean to Astarion. It didn’t make sense to me; a kind and understanding Tav would fit much better in the story.  

So what is going on there? Why does Astarion need a kind and gentle Tav who is cold and dismissive to the rest of the world?

Because he is terrified.  

When we first meet our pale elf, he has just escaped (as in been kidnapped) from 200 years of slavery, humiliation and torture where his wellbeing completely depended on Cazador’s whims and every mistake meant punishment. Of course he’s paranoid. Of course he’s always calculating risk. 

It’s not about Tav’s choices being good or evil, it’s about their possible consequences for Astarion. He doesn’t want Tav to be evil, he just wants to feel safe. That’s all.  

Let’s Look at That List Again

So let’s look at his approval/disapproval list again: 

refusing to help someone - approve! we don’t want to risk 

seeking power - yes, please! power means safety!

siding up with evil characters - they are strong, so why not use this to our benefit? 

deceiving your opponents - we didn’t even have to fight and got want we wanted? don’t see a problem  

supporting his desires - maybe this time, I won’t have to fight for what I want

being understanding and accepting towards him - finally someone doesn't treat me as a monster

sarcasm - humor is our everything, especially when there’s nothing else left 

On the other hand:

making pompous heroic statements - you are saying these cringe things with a straight face AND putting us in danger? hard nope! 

helping the weak - no one helped me, why should we bother 

disclosing truth about their situation - have you heard about caution?!  

being judgmental or unsupportive towards him - no thanks, had enough of that

naive/goodie-two-shoes responses - are we going to be fine with a leader like that?..  

What Kind of Tav Does He Need?

Astarion isn’t looking for an "evil" Tav - he’s looking for safety. Well, technically, he isn’t looking for anyone at all. But the kind of Tav he opens up to tends to be:

pragmatic, cautious and clever

emotionally intelligent

non-judgmental

strong enough to lead and survive

That’s why he feels comfortable with a Tav who might choose to be distant toward strangers but treats him with consistent care. In this context it’s not suspicious, it’s sensible. He doesn’t expect help from the world, and he respects those who understand that reality. In a hostile world, survival is more likely in a group, so he clings to the party and tries to secure his place using the only tools he knows: charm, wit and usefulness. And a part of that strategy, making sure the leader favors him and he won’t be cast aside, leads to his initial approaches for Tav. But we’ll get into that more in another post.

So if Tav shows kindness to him? That’s exactly what he’s aiming for. And it doesn’t even matter that much if they still go out of their way to help others - because if the care they show him feels real, that already shifts something deep inside. That already gives him a reason to start hoping that this might be real.

The Mask

So there’s the charm, the flirtation, the flair for drama. Some players may read that as shallow or even foolish. But it’s not. It’s a mask - one he’s worn so well and for so long that it feels real. It’s what kept him alive under Cazador for the last 200 years.

But if you keep going, if you give him time and space to feel safe, you start to see it slip. The closer Tav gets to him, the more glimpses we get of his real self - thoughtful and warm, wary and sharp, sometimes silly and awkward, and, beneath it all, deeply hurt. And if you stay with him through to the end, when he finally feels safe enough to stop performing, his whole demeanor changes. He’s calmer. More grounded. Still witty - but in a different way.

Still Astarion. Just more himself.

<next part>

<back to masterpost>

[autisticcole]

Heheheheheho I have gotten some of the Dragon Age books (🏴‍☠️) and this is gonna really let me dig into some stuff, especially my favorite guy Cole, cause now I can read his OG appearance, I want to see how much stuff Cole says, especially during his quest actually makes sense, and how much is in-universe "both sides are right"ing about not listening to what Cole wants to do.

I am mainly talking about Spirit!Cole thanking Inky for not making him change... Despite the fact that thoughout Cole's quest Solas ignores what Cole wants (Like being binded) & wants to do (Kill the guy who beat beyond beating a 12 (at most) year old (most likely, it isn't outright stated (to my memory) the Templar who fucked up the paperwork was also one of the ones who physically abused him, but I feel it's a pretty safe assumption) & got that child killed due to neglect & faced no consequences) but ultimately the choice that causes Cole to thank the player for not changing him is the one where you listen to Solas over Cole (Or well Varric, who also doesn't let Cole do what he wants but is closer to what Cole would have done if he had went alone for the confrontation) & in this route I would say Cole's character changes a lot more, especially as he forgets the original Cole, which... Rubs me wrong, but I'll save my more detailed thoughts for 1. After I fully read Asunder & 2. Either a full Cole analysis or a detailed post about my thoughts on his quest & routes (& maybe how I'd rewrite them, as a Autistic person & a ally to the aroace community)

Anyways my point is that I want to see how true it is characters rejected or wanted to change Cole, I want to see what leads him to feel that having two men argue & tell him who he is supposed to be & do only to have a third person decide out of those two's options for what he should do is remotely a situation where he's been accepted.

[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

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Summoning Failed Successfully

Imagine a warehouse. Imagine a bunch of cultists in dark robes with all the candles, daggers, ancient books, and chanting. Now add Danny.

Only not as the summoned being, no. As a sacrifice.

He is sitting down, tied to a chair, in the middle of the summoning circle, looking as bored and deadpan as he can possibly be. The cultists are chanting, and he frowns, listening to their chants for a moment.

"Hey, is that Latin?" He questions, but to no avail, "You know you're not actually using those words correctly, right?"

"Keep quiet, child!" One of the cultists snaps. Danny leans back in his chair and shrugs.

"I'm just saying, you ain't summoning shit with wrong grammar," he huffs, seemingly absolutely nonchalant about the whole thing. Oracle, who is watching the whole ordeal through the surveillance cameras, raises her eyebrows. Red Robin and Robin are already en route to the building the cultists chose for their extracurricular activities, but now she almost wants to watch this a bit longer.

Gothamites are pretty used to all kinds of shitshows, but this boy is from out of town. She checked him through facial recognition. Daniel Fenton, a transfer student from Amity Park, Illinois.

A few more cultists stop chanting and turn to Danny.

"Do you know Latin?" One of them asks, and the boy makes a half-nod, making a thoughtful face.

"Not fluently, but, like, it's a dead language, I felt kinda obligated to learn it. Just for the meme, you know?" He chuckles.

The cultists, judging by their confused silence, don't know. Barbara doesn't know what he's talking about, either. But she is almost curious now, so she taps Robin's and RR's comm lines:

"RR, Robin, when you arrive, don't jump into the scene," she asks.

"Understood," Tim answers immediately, but Damian, of course, demands explanations:

"Is there an obstacle?"

"Not really," Barbara humms, "The sacrifice is in the process of de-escalating the situation."

She can almost hear the questioning silence over the comm, but, thankfully, no one argues. Meanwhile, one of the cultists pipes up, voice full of doubt:

"So, you can... like, proofread our incantation?"

"Yeah, sure," Danny nods, apparently fine with being sacrificed, "Who you're trying to summon anyway?"

"Satan," that same cultist answers, and Danny laughs approvingly.

"Classic," he nods and smiles, "I'll give you this. The circle is mostly alright, so you don't need an incantation to summon the fucker, I have him on speed dial." And with that, he leans forward, screaming towards the floor: "Ey, Satan!"

Barbara must say the act was actually convincing, but he went a little overboard with it now. She reaches to tell both Robins to get in, but suddenly, a loud, booming voice reverberates through the building.

"The fuck do you want, kid?"

Cultists fall to their knees - it doesn't seem like an act of worship, more like their knees bucking. The whole circle dimly lights up in red, smoke raising from it.

"Do you see this shit, Oracle?" Red Robin questions, and she mhm's at him, not sure what else to say. If this is still an act or a trick, she must say it's a very good one. Although somehow she suspects it's not a trick. She's seen enough magic in her life to tell the difference.

"Do you want to come to Earth, be gay and do crimes?" Danny asks, almost mockingly.

"Fuck off."

The red light flickers and disappears, and Danny looks back up to cultists, grinning cheerfully.

"Welp, looks like he doesn't wanna," the kid concludes and stands up from his chair. Barbara hadn't seen when or how he got out of his bindings.

The cultists just watch him walk out of the circle in bewilderment.

"Pursue?" Robin's voice comes over the comms, and Barbara thinks for a moment.

"I get a feeling like that's a bad idea," Tim mutters over his line.

Barbara agrees.

[lovegasmic]

OO1  𖤐 KINTOBER ; CORRUPTION

 toji, sukuna, satoru x f!reader ꒰ tw. manipulation leaning to dub con, age gap ꒱ taglist in the comments.

 𖤐 Megumi’s cute little friend from college who has the hots for Toji, but she’s just too shy and inexperienced to make the first move.

“Megumi and I? no, we’re just friends” is what you had said hours ago, when you so cutely arrived at his doorstep, with bitten lips and a notebook Megumi apparently forgot back at the lecture hall.

and Toji is not dumb not to notice the looks you give him, but it’s not sex all you want, or else you would have jumped on him on the spot, no, you’re a lot more innocent and naive, tugging on your skirt to cover your legs while sitting on his couch.

“is that so? i thought you were a thing” Toji is a lot more loose now, coming to sit next to you, a bit too damn close, and a hand on your knee.

suddenly a cheap porn video starts playing on Toji’s mind, one way too similar to your current situation, you mumbling a weak “we shouldn’t be doing this” while his hand is already sliding underneath your skirt.

his already rock hard cock twitching at the sight of your flustered self, panting for a mere touch on your inner thigh? god, Toji is going to enjoy this so much.

“boys your age don’t treat you like this” a calloused thumb tugs at your bottom lip, all puffy from your teeth digging on it, “are you going to be good for me, doll?” but can you really refuse? with the way the man towers over you, having you laying on your back, all flustered, panting with a lustful yet shy look on your eyes, one that Toji wants to turn into sheer submission.

Megumi’s not usually home, and although this detail should annoy his father, right now, the older is much happy about it, grateful that his son does not have to witness the way your puffy pussy lips part to greet the sticky, condom covered bulbous head of his cock, teasing, poking against your hole as if to taunt you to whimper louder.

“Toji...” sounds so heavenly how you moan his name, with a weak hand pushing on his lower abdomen, “we... shouldn’t...” is a weak complaint.

yet he does not even respond, almost forcefully sliding his tip into your tight cunt, grumbling at the sensation of your soft walls welcoming every fat inch, “you’re taking it well, doll” he smirks down at you, brutishly brushing your damp hair back in an attempt to be kind for a second, instead of just ravaging your insides.

your trembles, sobs and mewls all go straight to his balls, taut and full, forcefully slapping against your pussy with each thrust, no showing any signs of mercy even through your hiccuping moans, you’re enjoying it, soaking his cock down the couch, pussy fluttering and sucking him deeper with those pleading eyes of yours, dumb, gone just from some good cock.

with Toji’s large, broad chest pressing you down, forcing your hips to tilt up slightly, no one can blame you for getting cockdrunk, barely managing to squeal through the tongue shoving down your throat, “that’s an obedient girl” he chuckles, enjoying how you finally stopped mumbling comments over how this was wrong, now just focusing on soaking Toji’s balls with your creamy cunt.

 𖤐 the new sorcerer from the outskirts of town, with sparkling eyes, hopes and a dream. truly pathetic to Sukuna, to be honest, all humans are pathetic and a waste or time. but why has he gone so quiet after getting a glimpse from inside Yuuji’s body.

obsessed is not a proper word, he’s not curious either, but there’s something about you that Sukuna wants to ruin so bad, he wants... needs to break your spirit and those sparkling eyes of yours.

it kind of fucks you up how the curse seem to stop talking when you’re around, Yuuji himself telling how how odd it was for Sukuna not to pester you too.

little did you know it was all part of a plan to lure you into his domain, not even giving you a second to process what was happening, having your defenses down and much easier to manipulate, such a terrible idea for a sorcerer.

“aren’t you so naive?” his hand squeezes your cheeks together, tone mocking right against your face, “did no one teach you not to let your guard down? useless human”

embarrassment, fear and awe all burn through your veins, what did you really wish to achieve? truth was that Sukuna’s lack of interest in you only made you... needier, needy for at least some reassurance.

the curse is not foreign to how your skin heats under his big fingers, how your eyes shine uncharacteristically, this situation was not what you expected, but it will do.

“say it again, loud and clear” a low and deep rumble against your ear, keeping your back tightly pressed against his chest with an arm around your neck, mercilessly sliding that thick cock in and out of your soaked pussy.

“t—haaah, thank... you, l-lord Sukuna...!” you’re a mess, an utter mess of saliva and tears rolling down your face to soak his arm where your nails dig into for support, almost dizzy from the lack of air and the way Sukuna’s cock presses just beautifully against the firm spot inside your cunt.

the man didn’t expect for you to be so willing, but those cute eyes of yours, begging to get fucked, got the best of him. with all his hands on you, groping, squeezing nipples and ass, all wherever he can touch and angle your soft hips to take more and more of his cock inside, almost making it impossible for you to breathe from how deep it hits, thankful that his whole strength is keeping you up, balanced on your tiptoes or else you would have fallen long ago, now all you had to do was to take whatever he has left in store for you.

 𖤐 you are not Satoru’s student, but that does not mean he can’t have some fun with you.

you’re a bit too naive, aren’t you? sulking in silence at a bad grade, you’re grown, among the oldest students at Tokyo’s jujutsu tech, yet you’re in your own world, not even realizing it’s Satoru fucking up your student score.

call him a dick, whatever, you will never find out. and instead, come to his arms with a pout, asking for help to raise your grades.

a threat to stop giving you missions, or worse, sending you back home was more than enough to make you desperate.

you are so pretty when asking for help, something Satoru knew was not common, but now, you just need someone’s help, or at least some advice, and the mere thought that the white haired was your first option makes his cock throb.

“no matter what I do, it’s never enough for Yaga!” you poor thing, thinking you’re not good enough for your teacher, but Yaga is way too slow with technology as to realize your grades are strangely lower than they should, maybe he should not trust Satoru with them.

but it does not matter, because you let him touch you, you let him place you up his desk with such care you feel your face burning, setting between your thighs with kind and reassuring words, “Yaga is an idiot for not realizing how talented you are” Satoru’s voice is so low it’s almost a whisper that brushes past your ears, the same way his knuckles brush through your jawline and down your collarbone.

but you’re a sucker for those compliments, “do you believe so?” so cute, so pliant, with eyes twinkling and all.

“of course, angel...” he gauges in your reaction first, getting just a tiny squirm in return with breath hitching, “you are perfect”

it should not be a surprise to find you, merely minutes later, with his tongue down your throat and two knuckles deep into your squelching cunt, with his remaining hand squeezing your thighs and ass as if trying to leave prints of his fingers on your skin, making you ache so you remember him later.

your initial idea of seeking for help from Satoru all got drowned with his good the tips of his fingers dragged up and down your soaked walls, taking with him copious amounts of slick that just added onto the lewd sound, making a mess on the wood desk that squeaked just barely.

he’s just too good, and you’re so eager to cum that there’s not a coherent thought behind those eyes, glossy, staring in love at his own blue eyes while gushing cum all over his digits and palm.

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓈 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

Ah, kinks—something all humans have, especially those who read fanfics. I mean, who doesn’t love them? Whether it’s the soft, the spicy, or the downright unhinged, there’s always something that hits just right.

Let’s be real: scrolling through AO3, Tumblr, or Wattpad at 3 AM, looking for that one specific trope that scratches the brain itch?

Yeah, we’ve all been there.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

I mixed a bit of canon and my headcanons for Crowe and Sol in this one—yep, once again! This time, I kept it focused on just four kinks to keep it short and sweet.

Hope you enjoy reading!

[ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ]

Starting, I’ve noticed that TKATB fans have their unique preferences when it comes to Sol or Crowe.

For example, fans who gravitate toward Sol tend to enjoy the idea of him being dominant—whether it’s being in control of him or just envisioning him taking charge. It’s that mix of power and intensity that gets people excited. You know who you are, you freaks!

On the other hand, fans of Crowe are drawn to his reliability, his deep understanding, and his caring nature. He’s willing to guide you through anything, offering both emotional support and strength. It’s comforting, isn’t it? And yes, I’m a freak too—I get it.

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

Naturally, I had to start with the man himself—Jericho, or Crowe, as he's known. Though the details are still unclear, he exudes a mysterious, almost savior-like presence. I WANNA KNOW SO BAD.

His style is effortlessly sharp, and his quiet confidence makes him instantly trustworthy. Reliable, steady, and composed, Crowe is the perfect support when life feels overwhelming. His charm is subtle, blending good looks with an alluring personality—irresistible, without ever being flashy. 

Now, let’s address the question: Can you see Crowe as kinky?

At first glance, no. Not. To a stranger, he’s too put together, with not even the faintest hint of anything unconventional beneath the surface. But as you get to know him, that answer begins to shift. Slowly, subtly, he reveals a side of himself that hints at complexity—an edge just beneath his polished exterior. However, don’t expect anything extreme or overtly wild.

What he does reveal is never too much but always just enough to leave you captivated—and maybe, just maybe, a little curious.

✑ Vanilla (Soft Dom…) 

For Crowe preferences!!

He's the ultimate soft, warm partner. Like, you just know he's all about the quiet, comforting vibes. No crazy power dynamics or rough kinks—he's all about that steady, affectionate love. It's Vanilla, but in the best way possible, full of layers. He’s not rushing anything, just enjoying the little things, taking his time, and making sure you feel heard and cherished. 

When you're with him, it's all slow and gentle—he’s not here for intense extremes. His love is patient, thoughtful, and wrapped in warmth. Every touch, every word, is like a soft caress, just so deliberate and tender. 

And honestly? There's no need for anything crazy. Crowe's happy to explore your connection, build that trust, and just savor the passion that grows naturally between you two. It's the kind of love that builds and lingers long after. 

Now… Crowe might be a soft dom—nah he IS A SOFT DOM.

Crowe’s not the type to push you past your limits just for the thrill of it. He’s not into playing mind games or testing how far he can take things. No, Crowe’s power is the quiet kind, the kind that makes you feel safe without even having to try. He knows the real strength is in taking care of someone, not in forcing them into anything they’re not ready for.  

When you’re with him, it’s like he’s always tuned into you, always listening, always aware of exactly what you need. He’s the guy who doesn’t take, but gives—gives you everything he can, with a level of care that’s almost overwhelming. And even though he’s gentle, don’t get it twisted—he’s still a tease. He’s the kind of man who’ll leave marks on your skin, a subtle reminder that you're his. But it's all in the way he leads, in that steady hand that takes yours, guiding you through every little moment.  

There’s nothing loud about Crowe—other than his moans and whining. I SWEAR he has pretty moans.

He doesn’t demand anything and doesn’t rush you, but he has this way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the room. When he touches you, it’s with a confidence that leaves you breathless but also comforted. He’ll press his forehead against yours, his hand guiding yours down to your stomach, just so you can feel his bulge inside you,how much he wants you, how much he’s thinking about you at that moment. 

There’s no need for words—just that connection, that intense eye contact that says everything.  

But yeah, he’ll also let you think you have the upper hand for a minute. Let you believe you’ve got him cornered, like you're finally taking control… only for him to flip the switch, regaining control without you even realizing.  

With Crowe, it’s not about begging or pleading for pleasure—it’s about your happiness, your satisfaction. His version of dominance is the kind that wraps around you like a warm blanket, soft and cozy. He just wants to see you smile, hear you laugh—moan, and whine under him, and know that every moment spent with him is full of happiness.  

So, if you're into a soft dom who values deep emotional connection, tenderness, and affection, Crowe’s your man! He just wants you to trust him, to let go and let him care for you. Let him be there for you in every single way, in every moment. 

And in that, he gives you all the security you’ll ever need.

✑ Praise (giving + receiving)

Crowe is all about Praise, and affection through words. Imagine him pulling you close, whispering in your ear while his fingers gently trace patterns along your skin. 

“You’re such a good girl for me, look at how well you take me, love. That’s my girl, always so ready for me, aren’t you?” His words make you feel safe, wanted, and cherished.

He doesn’t wait for you to ask for reassurance—he gives it freely, letting you know how much he appreciates having you around, and how much he loves seeing you smile. And when it comes to your body? He knows every inch of it like he’s got a personal map of your every curve and spot. He might even joke, “No one will ever know you like I do. I’ve ruined you for everyone else, haven’t I?”

Crowe has this vibe about him, like he’s always hungry to make sure you're feeling amazing, but don’t forget to show him some love, too. He thrives on hearing you praise him, especially when you whisper how much you need him, and how much he’s doing for you. The sound of your voice, the words you say—they get to him, melt him down until his heart's pounding.

Now and then, he’ll pull back, checking in on you, “You okay? Am I pushing you too far?” It’s not just about the rush for him. He wants you to be comfortable, to be in sync with him as he takes you through everything, slow and steady, giving you all that love. “That’s it, you're doing so well,” he’ll say, his voice smooth like syrup, making sure you know you're adored.

But here’s the thing: if you keep praising him, or if you’re the one in control, just wait. Crowe’s mouth? It’ll get filthy. AND I MEAN FILTHY. He can’t help it, don't be mean now...

I mean, you can. You giving him head? Taking his cock deep inside your throat, feeling he's about to cum, then you pulled back, teasing him. He'll say, "Please, my love, you were doing so good on my cock—please, please, keep going, I need that tongue of yours."

One of his favorite things is when you’re so into it that he can just forget what you say and speak directly to you, but in a way that’ll make your body react before your mind even catches up. Like, he’ll whisper, “God, you taste so damn good. Missed me, huh? Just wanna be filled up, don't you?”

His words drip against you, his eyes dark with heat, like he's speaking to your body, not even acknowledging your moans. “Such a good fucking pussy. Always making me feel so damn good. Want me to stuff you full, hm?”

And when it’s all done? Crowe doesn’t just drop it and move on. He’s got aftercare down to an art. He’ll guide you through it, keep you close, making sure you’re okay, settled, and cared for, getting ready to do it all again whenever you’re ready!

✑ Experimentalist

Crowe is the kind of man who never wants to leave any stone unturned, especially when it comes to experiences.

There was something about him that screamed experimentalist—like he needed to try everything, no matter how wild or unconventional. When it came to relationships, he was always up for anything, which meant he'd probably had more relationship experiences than most people you knew. 

His mind is open, impossibly so, and he had an insatiable curiosity that could never be satisfied. He’d never form an opinion on something without diving in and getting his first-hand taste. If there was something new to try, something out-of-the-box—Crowe was there, ready to explore. 

And honestly? He didn’t even need you to ask twice. If you suggested something wild, he’d be all in—his enthusiasm infectious, his curiosity never-ending.

However, he's pretty vanilla when it comes to experimenting, so don't expect him to go TOO hardcore. If there's a kink suited to his taste and he masters it? Oh, Babe, you'll feel it—so much in fact.

Take ropes, for example. Blindfolds? Handcuffs? Oh, he is intrigued. But, again, don’t expect anything brutal. He isn't the type to be into floggers or paddles; no, pain isn't needed for his skills. It is his anticipation. The slow burn of him carefully tying you up, not in a rush, but with the kind of patience that made every moment last longer. 

When his hands hovered over your skin, it wasn’t just touch—it was electric. He’d make sure to linger, let his fingers graze over every inch, just enough to make you shiver, your breath hitching in the air between you. It wasn’t about hurting you, not at all. No, it was all about the build-up—the moment when the ropes or restraints were placed just so, tightening the tension between you both until it was practically unbearable. 

And then? When you finally let go, it was a release so sweet and steady that it left you breathless. No rushing, no quick fixes—just a slow, fulfilling pleasure.

Adding on, Crowe loved the idea of restraint. Whether for fun, for art, or for that extra little spark of excitement, there was something about having you completely at his mercy. 

And if you ever flipped the script? If he was the one getting tied up? Like I said, Crowe will be just as filthy when he lets his guard down. 

✑ Dacryphillia

Okay, hear me out. I know what you’re thinking—"Crowe? He would never hurt me. Why would he want to see me cry?" And I get it, really. This is one of those wild ideas but just stick with me for a second.

You know how he’s all about emotions and deep connections, right? Get it?

He gets this deep fascination with what you feel and show, especially when it’s raw. Here’s where it gets interesting: Dacryphilia. Yeah, I’m talking about that thing where someone gets... well, aroused by tears, by the sound of you sobbing, the whole mess of emotions. 

So, let’s imagine this: You’re begging him, pleading for more. Your face is a mess of emotions, eyes watery, tears rolling down your cheeks. And yeah, he’s gonna ask if you’re okay because that’s the kind of man he is—always checking, always making sure. But if you keep begging for more? Oh, that’s when it gets dangerous. 

Each desperate plea of yours, each tremor in your voice, just fuels this fire inside him, an all-consuming fire. His eyes? They’re practically glowing, deep blue, and locked on you like he's drowning in you, in every little thing you’re feeling.

You can feel him there, so close you can almost taste his breath on your skin. His lips brush against your ear, a soft, teasing whisper sending shivers down your spine. "So desperate for me already, huh? We haven’t even gotten to the fun part yet..." His voice is low, and dangerous, like he’s savoring every second of this.

You know he’s enjoying this. Every inch of him is hooked, and once he has you like this, there’s no going back.

Crowe’s could be teasing you for what feels like hours, driving you wild with a mix of pleasure and frustration. He’s pulled every bit of sensation from you, your body trembling with each orgasm, each touch—until you’re left aching for more. You’ve come undone on his fingers, his tongue, but now, you’re desperate in a way that makes your chest ache.

You need him, inside of you, filling you up, but he’s holding back. Just barely, he brushes against you with his cock, grinning at the whine that slips from your lips.

His fingers tease your entrance, and you can’t stop yourself from begging, voice shaky, "Please... Please, please." You repeated. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision as they fall helplessly. The emptiness without him feels unbearable.

Crowe tilted his head, the smirk on his face practically dripping with playful mockery. “Just please?” He dragged the word out slowly, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Tell me what you want, love. What is it you’re begging for?” His hand slid up your stomach, hand pushing down lightly as if testing the waters. 

A soft moan released from your lips as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear, the playful glint in his eyes shifting into something darker, more calculating. “You want me to fill you up, don’t you?”

His soft gin stretched wider as you stumbled over your words, desperate and disordered, pleading for more. He could tell you were unraveling, and it only pushed him further, each whimper was like a small victory. 

“You’re falling apart, love,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you need... just say the word.” You could barely focus as the desperation built into your chest. His control over you was unnerving, yet exhilarating. The tears running down your cheeks were a mix of frustration and need, a silent scream for him. 

“I need you, Crowe. Please...” Your voice was broken, but he was the one who was in control, studying the way you reacted like a willing experiment.

Crowe’s hand lifts gently to your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears streaming down your face. He gives you a soft grin, his voice low and teasing. “Already crying for me, huh?” he murmurs, almost amused. His thumb slips past your lips, letting you taste the salty remnants of your emotions. "We’ve just started," he adds, a soft chuckle escaping him. 

Before you can respond, his hips jerk forward, pushing into you with one swift, forceful motion. The shock of it makes your breath catch, and Crowe can’t help but smirk, his eyes glinting with that dangerous, experimental gleam.

Every move, calculated and deliberate, is part of his twisted exploration. And you? You’re the willing subject.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

Sol is described as a “stinky basement-dwelling yandere”—ngl, this alone made me laugh. He’s a quiet kid, the one who lingered at the edges of every room, observing, never quite fitting in.

Beneath his reserved exterior was a complexity most couldn’t fathom. He’s incredibly smart, with a sharpness that slipped through his words when he spoke, though he rarely bothered to. His talents leaned toward the arts, paintings, and writings.

And yet, at the end of the day, Sol isn’t exactly smooth. He was hopelessly inexperienced when it came to relationships. He gets no bitches, and honestly, he probably doesn’t even try. But in his inexperience is a certain rawness, and once you did get to know him, he’ll flirt or charm you. But before, he just watched and wanted.  

Now, let’s address the question: Can you see Sol as kinky?

Yes, let’s not sugarcoat it—he is kinky asf. Of course, he is. There was no way someone as quiet and repressed as Sol didn’t have a horny side, one he tried to keep buried but couldn’t fully hide due to his love for you. 

✑ Switch (A Pervert…)

Now, about Sol’s... preferences. 

From reading his relationship information card and playing the game. He is a paradox, a Switch in every sense of the word. He didn’t neatly fit into the mold of “always dominant” or “forever submissive.” Oh no, that would be far too mundane for someone like him. He's not a standard yandere people.

Sol is a man of extremes, a “pervert” in the most endearing, shameless sense of the word. He believed in living freely, without the shackles of societal expectations or traditional constraints. Ethics, morality, conventional roles—he’d toss them aside without hesitation if they stood in the way of his desires.   

When he takes the reins as Dominant, Sol is the type to lean into theatrics, pushing boundaries with a devilish grin and that mischievous gleam in his eyes. He had a talent for making the experience unforgettable, for making you feel as though the entire world had melted away, leaving only the two of you. But when the tables turned, when Sol found himself in the more submissive role, he’d throw himself into it with equal fervor. 

He’d challenge you to prove your worth, tease and push until you stepped up to the plate, and then—when you finally did—he’d surrender so completely that it'll feel like a victory worth savoring.  

To Sol, sex and relationships weren’t just about power dynamics or tradition. They were a playground for exploration, a place where the only rule was to follow what felt right. With his “anything goes” mentality, Sol turned every interaction into a kaleidoscope of passion and unpredictability. 

As mentioned, Sol, can’t help himself when it comes to you.

Let’s say he has this thing—Voyeuristic Disorder, to be precise, a fancy word for being a pervert. Dosn't care to see anyone else naked. Only you he wishes to see. He was obsessed with watching you, whether you knew it or not. In public or private, it didn’t matter.

He just liked being there, lurking in the shadows, soaking in every moment. Watching you do the most intimate things, completely unaware that he was there. 

There was something so exhilarating about seeing you—your bare skin, the way you moved, the little things you did when you thought no one was watching. He couldn’t resist. The way your body reacted, the sounds you made when you didn’t know he was there—it was all he needed. 

Deadass, I’m shocked that the creator of the game never added a specific scene where you were taking care of yourself in bed—you freak, oblivious to him sneaking a peek from the window, his hand on his cock, jacking himself off, doing exactly what he does best. Watching. 

He didn’t let societal norms dictate how he expressed himself or who he loved. He was unapologetically himself—messy, chaotic, and a little too intense for most people’s taste. But for those brave enough to step into his world, you, well, if you picked him, that is.

Sol will offer an experience unlike any other: one filled with unrelenting honesty, unbridled passion, and a love that refuses to be anything less than extraordinary.  

✑ Praise (Receiving)

Sol isn't the type of man you’d peg as desperate for validation—at least, not at first glance. His sharp, confident exterior gave the impression of someone who had the world at his feet, who didn’t flinch under pressure or crack beneath judgmental stares. 

But peel back the layers of this supposed nonchalant and cool type of man, and you’d find a truth that was much more human, much more raw. Sol craved praise. Why? Perhaps it was the lack of it throughout his life. His track record for romance was, let’s say, less than impressive. Not because he lacked charm or good looks—he had both in spades—but because his overbearing aura and unapologetic eccentricities tended to drive most people away. 

They didn’t understand him, couldn’t see past the way he challenged conventions. He wore his "loser" title like armor. After all, who cared if he didn’t have admirers lined up at his door? He didn’t need anyone... right? Yet, when someone, such as you, did manage to offer him an honest compliment, something sincere, it was like watching a dam break. 

His confident smirk would falter for a second, his eyes softening, betraying the vulnerability he worked so hard to conceal. Sol wasn’t accustomed to receiving love—real, genuine love—and when it came, it hit him like a truck

✑ Masochist

The first time you noticed Sol’s tendency to endure pain, you’d thought it was just his stubborn nature. He’s always been the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve when it came to you—raw, unfiltered, and unapologetically vulnerable. But as time went on, you began to see something deeper beneath that tough, rebellious exterior. 

Sol wasn’t just someone who endured pain; he seemed to embrace it…? almost thrive on it, especially when it comes to you.

Sol is, without a doubt, a masochist. Not in the twisted, sadistic sense, but in an almost heartbreaking way. He’d do anything to please you, to earn your attention—even if it meant enduring the unendurable. 

He could never be a sadist. No, he loved you too much to ever inflict pain on you, physically or emotionally. The very thought of hurting you would make his stomach churn. Instead, he channeled all his devotion into being by your side, no matter the cost.

There were moments when his tendencies became painfully obvious. Like he gets into fights back to back, defending himself or you—for example, the movie theater bathroom or the Campus library (With or without.)

You hadn’t/have even been there to witness it—Sol hadn’t wanted you to see him like that, bruised and bloody. But when you found out later, he brushed it off with that crooked grin of his, the one that hid just how far he’d go for you. “It’s nothing,” he’d said, wiping the blood from his lip. “They deserved it for talking about you like that.”

Or that time with Crowe. It had been an innocent moment, just you laughing at something Crowe said, but to Sol, it might as well have been a dagger to his chest. He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white, nails digging into his palms until they drew blood. He didn’t want to feel that way—jealousy mixed with self-loathing—but he couldn’t help it. Watching you walk away with someone else, even for a moment, was unbearable. 

It wasn’t that he enjoyed the pain; it was just that he could handle it, even when it tore him apart inside.  

And in the quiet, intimate moments, Sol’s masochistic streak became something else entirely. If you picked him willingly, He’ll trust you, and loved you, enough to let down every last defense he had. He didn’t just endure pain; with you, he could find meaning in it. 

A sharp bite, nails dragging down his back—he shivered under your touch, his body responding in ways he didn’t fully understand but didn’t question. For him, it wasn’t just about the sensation; it was about the connection, the way it brought him closer to you.  

Masochism, for Sol, wasn’t about pain tolerance. It wasn’t about how much he could take. It was about the way he found a strange, twisted kind of comfort in it. The pain wasn’t the point; it was the context, the giver—you. Sol would never seek out pain for its own sake, but if it was for you, if it meant being close to you, he’d endure anything.  

Even in the game, he seemed to attract hardship like a magnet, always the one taking the hits—physically and emotionally. Whether it was the bullies who thought he was an easy target or the way he seemed to hurt himself just to prove his devotion to you, Sol carried it all with a quiet, unshakable resolve. Because, at the end of the day, it wasn’t about the pain. It was about you.  

And he’d never stop. For Sol, loving you wasn’t just a choice—it was a part of who he was. If being close to you meant enduring the worst the world could throw at him, he’d take it all with a smile. Because that’s who Sol is. A damn masochist.  

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.  

✑ Somnophillia 

It was inevitable, wasn’t it? Everyone could see this coming from a mile away—there was simply no other possibility. Sol, in all his twisted complexity, had long blurred the line between obsession and affection, his love taking on forms most would never dare to comprehend. 

Some might accuse him of holding darker urges, like necrophilia, drawn to the lifelessness of the dead. But no, that isn’t Sol. Despite his obsessions, there was a deep-rooted sentimentality within him—a refusal to let go, to lose. If anything, he had made it clear in his own hauntingly poetic way: he’d rather die with you than live without you. 

Yet, that didn’t mean his desires were any less unnerving. No, Sol’s particular brand of affection manifested in somnophilia, a fascination with the vulnerability of sleep, the beauty of your unconscious form. To him, those moments were sacred—your body relaxed, your mind adrift in dreams. It was when he felt closest to you, unguarded and free from the chaos of the waking world.  

Before your relationship, it started innocuously enough—or so it seemed. He’d find ways to end up at your apartment, invited by some pretense or perhaps even through sheer charisma. And then, ever so subtly, he’d lace your drink with something to make you drowsy, to keep you from suspecting as his fingers ghosted on you. 

You lay there, utterly still, utterly serene, your chest rising and falling with the kind of peaceful rhythm that seemed to still the chaos of the world around you.  

It was maddening, the way you looked so untouched by the noise that haunted him, your lips slightly parted, the barest whisper of breath escaping them. Every exhale was a siren call, soft and unassuming, but it gripped him like a vice.  

His gaze wandered, helplessly drawn down the curve of your cheek to your lips. They looked soft, and inviting in a way that felt almost cruel. He wanted to press his own to them, to taste whatever peace you’d found and see if he could borrow just a fraction of it for himself.  

But it wasn’t just your lips. His eyes traced lower, following the lines of your body, the way your clothes clung to you, hinting at the form beneath. He shouldn’t be thinking like this—he knew he shouldn’t. And yet the thought of you, warm and pliant beneath him, invaded his mind, unrelenting.  

He swallowed hard, trying to shake it off, but the more he fought, the more vivid the thoughts became. The sound of your soft sighs, the way you’d move under his touch, how you’d look at him—not like this, not sleepily and unaware, but awake, wanting.  

God, he was losing it.  

Sol leaned back, running a hand through his hair, forcing his gaze away from you for a moment. But it didn’t matter—your image was burned into his mind, and there was no escape. Watching you sleep was his guilty pleasure, though his guilt barely lasted long enough to stop him from pressing further. 

Once the two of you were together, the dynamics shifted, but only slightly.

Sol’s obsession deepened, and the lines of consent became more of a gray haze in his mind. To him, love was devotion—complete and all-encompassing. And if you loved him, shouldn’t you accept him entirely? Shouldn’t you trust him to care for you, even when you weren’t awake to see it? 

He was careful, always so careful with you, so don’t worry! 

His lips found their way to the sensitive curve of your inner thigh, his movements slow and deliberate as if savoring every second of this quiet moment. You stirred faintly, a sleepy whimper escaping your lips as the warmth of his mouth brushed against you, teasing and tender.

Sol’s hands gripped your hips gently but firmly; his fingers splayed across your skin to hold you in place. You tried to shift, your body instinctively responding to the soft, wet pressure of his tongue on your needy cunt, but his strength was unyielding.

“Shh,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly whisper in the stillness. One hand slid up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face, his thumb lingering for a moment as he marveled at the serene expression you wore, so unaware of the devotion he poured into every touch. “You’re even more beautiful like this,” he breathed, his words an intimate confession meant only for the dark.

To Sol, this meant everything. 

This was the essence of love itself—intimacy beyond words, a bond that transcended anything others could hope to understand. He wasn't like anyone else; he knew that, and perhaps that’s what made this feel so special.

So sacred.

There was a quiet possessiveness in the way he worshiped you, a deep yearning to etch himself into every corner of your being, to ensure no one else could ever touch the part of you that belonged to him.

And as you stirred again, a soft moan escaping your lips, Sol smirked against your skin, the faintest edge of smug satisfaction curling at the corner of his mouth. You might not fully wake, but you’d feel him—his touch, his adoration, eventually his cock. You’d know, even in sleep, that you were his world.

To be with him, you’d have to accept all of him. Even the shadowed obsession that came with it. 

[omid-1]

NOT YOUR TYPE? ✮⋆˙— LHS

Pairing: Popular college student! Heeseung x fem! college student!reader

Summary: Lee Heeseung is a well-known boy at your college from his reputation as a pick-up artist. What happens if your best friend Sora has been seeing him for a few weeks but he is apparently more interested in you?

Word Count: 6k

Genre: smut, a little angst, college au

Warnings: 18+,mdni, smut, cheating, semi public sex, creampie, doggy style, unresolved feelings,making out, Heeseung is kinda red flag, pet names (slut, good girl, baby, whore etc), dirty talking, fingering, hair pulling,handjob, unprotected sex (don’t do it!), dom!mean heeseung, sub!reader, YN is shitty friend, squirting, oral (both receiving), deepthroating, cursing, pussy eating, smoking (sorry if I missed sth)

PLAYLIST: Toxic by Britney Spears, Run for the hills by Tate McRae, I was never there by The Weekend, Guilty as sin? by Taylor Swift, Can’t remember to forget you by Shakira, Rihanna, Guilty conscience by Tate McRae

English is not my first language so sorry if there are any mistakes

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・.

,, I dont know what you all see in him, but he is not my type”

These are your words about one of the most popular guys on your collage Lee heeseung. He is mostly known for his reputation as a bad boy and a heartbreaker of girls.

Heeseung is by appearance the ideal of every girl. Tall, athletic and has that charm about him that is hard not to give in to.

You have often heard various rumors about him, that he always has to have a girl with him and it is a one-night stand. You don't think you've ever heard that he had a relationship with a girl for more than a few weeks.

He probably and rather certainly doesn’t like to have any permanent relationships. You didn't know him personally so you have no opinion about him, but you believe the rumors.

For a typical boy, he goes to frat parties usually with his two friends Jake and Jay. He doesn't have a lot of friends probably even just those two. He is so popular and doesn't have a lot of friends, a bit surprising, but on the other hand normal since he doesn't like to get attached to anyone.

By a certain point, everything had changed quite a bit. Your friend Sora confessed to you and your friends that she have been texting with a heeseung for few weeks and they have even been to several meetings.

Your friends were curious and happy for her. For you, frankly, there was something strange about it. You’ve heard a lot of things about heeseung. You really doubted that he would change his behavior and settle down with any girl.

He might break your friend's heart like any other girl but as long as she was happy with him then you were too.

You were sitting on your lunch break in the cafeteria at your university. You were sipping coffee and just listening to what your friends were saying about heeseung. When they asked you about your opinion of him they were puzzled.

How was Heeseung not your type?

One of your friends Suji has a very surprised face and she says "dear, I don't think you know what you are saying?"

You giggle quietly, raise an eyebrow and say firmly "Not that there is anything, but I have a feeling that there is something weird about him? Or maybe it's all because of the rumors I've heard about him."

You see that Sora looks at you with a soft smile and she speaks ''I understand YN that you are worried about me. If you want I can meet you with Heeseung cause his friend is holding a party and you can come too.''

You thought it was a good idea because you haven’t been to an party in a long time and secondly you were curious about Heeseung.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・.

It’s a Saturday night and you walk into the house of Jake, the boy who is organizing the party . You look amazing. You're wearing a short black dress that perfectly accentuates your body, a leather jacket and heeled boots. You also decided to put on delicate make up.

You go with your friends Sora,Suji and Nari to the kitchen for drinks. For a typical party, it's crowded and loud with conversation and music.

Nari pours you vodka and some liquor. You notice that jay and heeseung enter the kitchen. Sora, all in larks, approaches Heeseung with the biggest smile.

You sip your drink and keep more to the side of the conversation. You catch eye contact with heeseung and gently smile at him, but he doesn’t reciprocate the smile but looks the other way.

The whole evening passes you quite normally as for any party. You drink, dance and talk with friends. As for Heeseung, you have to admit that he is suspicious even very much.

Sora keeps sticking next to Heeseung all the night, talking to him, and you get the feeling that he is not interested in her at all. But what caught your attention is, you constantly feel and see Heeseung's gaze on you. It doesn't matter if you say something or just sit in silence.

His eyes are on you.

You feel a little uncomfortable with this but you try not to pay attention to it. What else has caught your attention is, when you say something in a circle of friends and heeseung is there he always interrupts you, changes the topic or just makes a comment.

It annoys you because you haven't even exchanged a word with him this evening or even in your entire life and he already looks like he has some problem to you that you don't know.

Jay suggested that you play a game of bottle. You sit in a circle on the ground in a room upstairs where it's quieter.

You start the game. At the beginning the bottle draws Jake. He chooses the dare. You are not too focused on what is happening in the game.

Not when there's a heeseung sitting in front of you. You think to yourself did he always look so good, or was it you who never noticed it?

You stare at him. Then the bottle draws you Nuri awakens you from your thoughts. She says loudly "YN Your turn! Truth or dare?"

You shake yourself off and panic. What if someone noticed you staring at him? You quickly answer "truth”

For a moment you look at your friend, but then heeseung speaks „Can I choose?"

Your heart beat faster when, for the first time that evening, Heeseung said something to you or rather proposed something.

You nod and you're already worried about what he wants to ask you ,,which boy in this group is most your type and which is least?"

Heeseung looks at you intensely and has a stupidly attractive grin. It intimidates you and you can't keep eye contact with him. You know how much you can screw up with your answer and you panic.

,,Most my type? Probably Jake and the least Heeseung”

You bite your lip nervously and your face is flushed. You quickly cast a glance at the heeseung and God. His smile is gone and he looks so serious now. It's as if he's pissed off for your answer. Somehow it makes him even more attractive.

But you don't regret your answer because, nevertheless, you knew how your friend is in love with him up to his ears (although you can see that he doesn’t reciprocate it) and even earlier you told your friends that he is not your.

Well, you told, most likely it has changed, right?

After the game is over, you go out to the backyard to take a breath of fresh air. You sit down on the terrace steps. You are already tired and you want to go home.

Suddenly you hear footsteps behind you. You turn around. You see heeseung who walks towards you. As he gets closer he asks "Can I sit here?"

You nod. He sits down keeping distance between you. You watch as he removes cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket.

He lights a cigarette and it's not hard to miss the way you stare at him. But who wouldn't when he looks so sexy?

The light from the terrace highlights his sharp facial features and strands of hair lie perfectly on his forehead. You wouldn't think smoking a cigarette could be such a hot sight.

Heeseung notices you staring and his smile widens. He lets the smoke slowly out of his mouth and he says „I thought Im not your type”

You look ahead and keep a stone face. You can't show him any emotion because, however, it would be unfair of you because he is your friend's love interest.

,,shouldn't you be with sora?” You don't answer his words but you speak coldly and raise an eyebrow.

He doesn’t hide his smile and shrugs his shoulders ,, she is probably very drunk and having a good time with girls or some other boy"

You roll your eyes and sigh. However, you weren’t wrong about heeseung. He is a typical boy who plays with girls' feelings

But why doesn't it repulse you? You only have the impression that when you look at him he is getting more and more handsome by the second?

Heeseung moves toward you. You sit so close that your knees touch. You look at him as he lets the smoke out of his mouth, and damn when he is so close to you you are literally intoxicated by his presence.

„you want?"

Heeseung offers you his cigarette and normally you would refuse, but now you can't think rationally so you agree. You are lost in the way your faces are close and the way he looks at you

„open your mouth, baby," he says, and you follow his command. He takes a drag on his cigarette and then slowly lifts your chin . He brings his lips closer to yours so that they meet.

He slowly releases the smoke into your mouth. All the while you look intensely once at his mouth and once at his eyes. You let the smoke out of your mouth and cough. His smile is teasing and full of satisfaction.

Your heart beat fast. You feel the wetness in your panties. you didn't think you would like it so much.

"so pretty" he whispers as he gently touches your lips and looks at them carefully.

You know that what you did is so wrong and you don't know how you will look into your friend's eyes the next day. But why when heeseung is close to you you feel so good?

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・.

When you return to the university after the weekend, you didn't think it would be so difficult. After the whole situation with heeseung you feel like collapsing to the ground and not talking to Sora .

You know perfectly well that you did wrong, but as much as you want to, you can't forget about the heeseung.

Since that incident with the cigarette, you think about him all the time about his lips that gently brushed yours and the way he looked at you.

Your fantasies about him are expanding all the time. You know that avoiding him will be difficult.

But no matter how much you want him you won't do anything with him because you don't want to lose your friend.

You are awakened from your thoughts by your friend Suji. She says loudly waving her hand in front of your face ,,helloooo!!?? land to YN!!!"

You shake yourself off, straighten up in your seat and ask „What happened?"

„ just what's going on that you're so thoughtful today?," your friend asks as she jots down some notes on her laptop

You sigh and shrug your shoulders "I don't know, I didn't get enough sleep I guess"

You are in a lecture and you totally can't concentrate because your brain is filled with thoughts. Specifically, thoughts of heeseung.

„Are you sure? You look as if something is bothering you. You know you can always talk to me," she says with a pleasant smile and looks at you warmly.

You know that Suji is always for you when you need her and you can talk to her in any situation. But you don't think you're ready to talk about heeseung.

„I know Suji, but really everything is fine," you assure her and reciprocate the smile.

You have one last lecture left. You're left to attend it alone because Suji went home faster because she has some errands to run.

You're looking through your phone when suddenly you see a heeseung enter the room. Your heart beat faster. You didn't know he was coming to the sociology lectures. But then you saw that Sora is with him.

You pray that they don't notice you because you really don't know how you're going to handle it. But it's different your friend waves to you and walks towards you with Heeseung.

You smile at her as genuinely as you can. She sits down next to you, with a heeseung beside her. You catch eye contact with him, but quickly break it off.

All the while you are talking to Sora or listening to what the lecturer is saying. The fact that the heeseung doesn't pay attention to you or even look at you drives you crazy.

He keeps his hand on your friend's thigh and listens to a lecture or checks something on his phone.

You hate to admit it but you really thought the small talk and the situation at the party meant something.

On the other hand, maybe it's better that it doesn't mean anything and you let it go.

Fifteen minutes before the end of the lecture, Sora has to leave because she said she has a doctor and can't be late.

As the girl leaves the room you look at the heeseung. His gaze is directed toward the lecturer.

Since Sora left the room neither of you is paying attention to each other, but you can sense the tension between you. You are separated by one seat.

Something inside you tells you to talk to him but your mind tells you to do nothing and ignore him.

After the lecture is over, you pack your things in your bag. You want to leave as soon as possible to avoid having any conversation with Heeseung.

As you leave the lecture, you are stopped by Heeseung. He puts his hand on your wrist and asks calmly ,, Are you in a hurry?”

You look in his direction and he already has that silly grin on his face. You want to be independent of him and get away from him as soon as possible

„Apparently yes" you answer without feeling

,,why are you always so mean to me?" He raises and makes a feigned sad face

You sigh and cross your arms. You can't believe him. Just a moment ago he was avoiding you, and now suddenly he wants your attention.

"I'm not mean, I just don't have time" you reply. You walk down the hallway and he follows you

„oh come on darling. Can't you find time for me?" he replies while maintaining eye contact and the smile on his face widens

You have to admit that the way he calls you darling induces butterflies in your stomach. You stop and look straight into his eyes. it's really hard not to succumb to his charms

,,what do you want Heeseung?” you ask and raise an eyebrow

A teasing smile appeared on his lips and a hint of mischief in his eyes

,, I want you YN”

At his words, warmth spread through your body. they had a profound effect on you

You feel the heeseung take your hand and lead you to equipment room. You let go of his hand and see him turn on the light. You don’t understand what he wants to do.

,,heeseung, what ar-?”

You feel his lips on yours. His hands tighten on your waist and he draws you as close to him as possible.

You moan into his mouth and, pull away from each other. Heeseung puts his forehead against yours. When you are so close to each other you can't think of anything else but him.

But in the back of your mind you have your friend all the time. You know how much she cares about heeseung. When he notices that you are thoughtful he gently lifts your chin

„don't think too much doll, we both know how much we want it”

You look directly into his eyes. his words and eyes show pure sincerity. It's as if Heeseung is the devil and you can't resist his temptation to sin.

You think fuck it. you will worry about the consequences later. You attract him closer to you.

Your lips meet violently. Your hands travel to the nape of his neck, gently weaving into his hair. Your chests are as close together as possible.

The kiss becomes deep and full of hunger. It is as if you are relieving all the tension between you. You feel that heeseung explores your lips with his tongue and you moan.

Time between the two of you ceased to exist. Every touch of your lips becomes more and more intense and greedy.

You pull away from each other and catch your breath. You look up at him and your hand lands on his clothed growing dick.

You have to admit that even when he is wearing boxers and pants you can feel that he is massive.

„ do you want to suck my cock like a good whore?" Heeseung smiles teasingly and says in a deep voice

He doesn't have to ask you twice because you immediately fall to your knees in front of him. Your pussy becomes wet just at the thought of giving him head.

Slowly and teasingly you unbutton his pants. Then you take off his boxers. Heeseung is impatient.

,,don’t tease doll”

A massive and thick heeseung cock appears in front of you. He has veins on his shaft and his tip is already all in pre cum.

You stare at his length. honestly you don't know if he will fit all the way down your throat let alone into your pussy.

„Baby, don't you know what to do? Should I show you?" He says with a hint of meanness and filter.

Heeseung holds your hair in a makeshift ponytail and pulls your face to his cock. You start licking his tip. All the while you hold eye contact with him.

You take more and more of his length into your mouth. what you can't take in you massage with your hand.

Heeseung continues to hold your hair in a ponytail and leans his head against the wall behind him. his face contorts with pleasure.

He wants to close his eyes and enjoy the pleasure you give him, but he doesn't want to miss a single moment of you sucking his cock.

You lick and suck his length from top to bottom. And with your other hand you massage his balls. Heeseung breathes hard and moans

,, take all my cook, slut” Heeseung begins to push your head more and his cock touches your throat.

You practically choke on it, but you try to breathe through your nose. You should be embarrassed by all that he's doing, but it's makes your panties all wet

,, f-uck, baby so good”

Heeseung starts moaning louder and louder as he pushes his cock down your throat. You, at the same time, lick and suck his length. you keep your hands on his thighs.

He feels like he's in heaven. Your lips surround his cock so perfectly. he knows that he’s close.

Tears fly from your eyes and you choke on his length, but all you want is to be used by him as he is doing now.

„Mmm my pretty little slut. What would Sora say if she saw how eager you are for me?"

Heeseung pushes into your mouth the last few times. You chuckle more and more.

,,fuck, I-m cummingg!!!!” heeseung pours his cum down your throat and you feel the salty taste.

"Swallow it all," he commands you as you keep eye contact.

Heeseung has ever gotten a better head. His orgasm was so intense. You swallow all his semen and then show him your tongue.

,, good girl” he praises you when he catches his breath and helps you up.

He puts on his pants and boxers and draws you in for a kiss, but you pull away and say

,,I should go”

„can't I at least repay you?" Heeseung walks over to you, gently touches your shoulders and looks at you calmly

,,no, you don’t have to” you assure him as you pick up your bag from the floor and leave the equipment room without a word.

Heeseung stands in a stupor. He can't believe that you just left like that. He himself doesn't know if it's because you didn't want it or if it's because of remorse.

But on the other hand heeseung knows that he has rather changed your opinion of him and you can no longer say that he is not your type.

No matter how much you avoid him he knows that you won't be able to handle it and will quickly return to him.

Before he was even seeing Sora he noticed you at the university. At first sight, he thought you were a pretty girl and had something about you that the others didn't have. He knew he wanted to have you.

When he started his relationship with your friend all was well. but he was bored. It was too normal and he doesn't like permanent relationships.

But when he found out that sora was your friend? He knew he couldn't leave her because he wanted to reach you somehow.

Always if he wanted something, he must have it.

When at the party you said that he is not your type he went crazy. Since then he wants you even more. He just wants to prove you wrong.

Heeseung just isn't sure of one thing whether he just wants a relationship with benefits or something more. But is it possible for him to change for you?

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・.

Since the last incident with Heeseung, you have been avoiding him like a fire. You have a big guilty conscience about betraying your friend. But you also regret that you left heeseung so abruptly in equipment room without a word.

Every day more and more you can't talk to sora normally because all you have in front of your eyes is heeseung and what you did with him.

You know that your feelings for him are only growing and you hate it. Even if you want to forget him it's impossible because Sora keeps talking about him and now heeseung is in the same group of friends as you.

And besides, he doesn't let you forget about him. Practically every day before you come to the lecture hall someone ( or more precisely you are convinced that it is heeseung) puts a coffee on your table and to it a leaf with some kind words or once anonymously someone sent you flowers to your dormitory.

These little gestures are very kind, and you wonder if he does it just for you or for every girl he wants to have.

But even if you want to find out you'd rather not keep in touch with Heeseung because it's better for everyone.

You sit in your typical cafeteria seat and wait for your friends. Sora approaches the table and you smile slightly at her.

She has bags under her eyes, looks sleep-deprived and sad. She smiles weakly at you

,,Hi YN”

She sits down next to you and looks like a human wreck. You become concerned and ask calmly

,,What happened Sora? You look tired and sad ”

She sighs,looks ahead and puts her hands on the table

,,Heeseung told me that our relationship is pointless and he doesn't want to get involved in it” she speaks weakly and you can see the pain on her face .

You almost choke on your coffee when you hear what says. You bite your lip slightly. Honestly expected that this is how this relationship could come out

,,I’m so sorry Sora” You respond by looking at her. you can see how broken she is.

,,You were right he is a typical fuck boy who will never find a girlfriend”

You listen to her and nod. You feel so stupid that you are sitting next to her and she knows nothing about your feelings for him. However, you prefer not to take any chances and say nothing about it.

,,Don't break down like that. you are amazing and pretty and I’m sure you will find a boyfriend a thousand times better than heeseung ” you smile and draw her into a hug

,, thanks YN, for always being for me when I need you” Sora smiles faintly and mumbles as you hug each other

,, always” you answer and feel guilty, but at least now you know that there is nothing between her and heeseung anymore.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・.

You are at the birthday party of one of your friends Sunghoon. You have known each other since high school and then by some chance you ended up at the same university.

You are alone at the party without your friends. They couldn't come because they have work or study. You have to rely on yourself tonight.

You walk into the kitchen to pour yourself a drink of some sort and see Jake. Your heart beat faster because probably heeseung is also here.

„hey YN! I didn't know you'd be here" when he notices you, he smiles.

,,I didn’t expect to see you here either” you reciprocate his smile and softly hug each other in greeting.

You talk with him for a while. Jake is a really fun guy. He's very easy to like and talk to. You are not surprised that he is one of the close friends of Heeseung.

Without being noticed by you Heeseung enters the kitchen. A shadow of frustration flashes in his eyes but he tries to control himself when he saw you with Jake.

Jake notices how Heeseung stares at you with hard and burning eyes.

,,I guess someone is jealous of you” Jake whispers in your ear and a little at first you don’t understand what he means.

You turn around and see Heeseung who is already looking at you intensely. You feel your heart beating harder. And damn you like how his attention is devoted only to you.

A wave of heat spreads through your body. you feel like making him even more jealous.

You stand closer to Jake as you listen to him say something. You don't notice but some girl walks up to Heeseung.

However, he doesn’t care at all about what the girl next to him is talking to him. His gaze is completely focused on you.

He feels a tightening in his stomach. He's frustrated with how close you stand to Jake and the fact that you're taking time for him.

He doesn't want anyone else to have you but him.

The girl who talks to him walks away from him when she sees that he is not interested in her. He takes a quick step toward you

„YN can we talk?" he says as calmly as he can although irritation and jealousy were visible in his eyes.

You nod. you feel that Heeseung grips your wrist tightly and pulls you outside .

„Heeseung, what the fuck are you doing?" You ask in frustration

You are facing each other. You see his eyes darken.

,, you even ask!? You’ve been avoiding me for a week and now you’re fucking my best with your eyes!” he replies with sarcasm and shakes his head in disbelief.

You cross your arms and can't believe that he is still going to tell you what to do and what not to do.

‚’Heeseung! Pull yourself together! you were the one who hit on my best friend and probably every girl in this university and now all of a sudden you care about me!” you raise your voice and look at him coldly

He laughs dryly and sarcastically. He is so annoyed but at the same time he wants you so much.

,,YN, the only person who should pull is you! Will you ever fucking understand that the only one I want is you!?” your faces are close together. When he said he only wants you, you breathe hard and look straight into his eyes.

’’no heeseung, I won’t, you probab-’’

He interrupts you in mid-sentence and pulls your body to the wall.

He closes the gap between you and starts kissing your lips. He puts his hands on your waist. You deepen the kiss by putting your hands behind his neck.

There is not an inch of space between you. You feel the heat beating from his body. From second to second the kiss is more and more passionate and impatient.

You couldn't satiate each other. You moan when you feel his lips that explore your lips.

You pull away slightly from each other and catch eye contact

„Should I prove to you even more that you are the only one I want?" He says in a deep sincere voice and raises an eyebrow

You turn your head and look at him with dark eyes. You already miss his touch.

When you enter heeseung's dormitory you lips immediately connect again. His hands are on you. He slid down to your neck. He stars sucking and licking your collarbone as he pulls you towards the door.

„mmm heeseung" you moan in pleasure as you close your eyes. You keep your hands in his hair.

While kissing, Heeseung leads you to his bedroom. He closes the door behind him. you lie down on the bed and he is over you.

You didn't look too closely at the surroundings, but his room is normal has desk, bed and closet. There's not even a mess here

You put your hands on his shoulders and look at him. He looks so hot. His hair is disheveled, his lips reddened and swollen from your earlier kiss

Heeseung smiles teasingly when he sees you looking at him.

”Hmm, didn’t you say something like I’m not your type?”

Heeseung slowly pulls down your dress. You mutter quietly. He sees that you are not wearing a bra. He curses

”fuck, look what a desperate slut you are”

You gasp and squirm under him as he purposely slowly removes your dress.

,,Hee pleas- don’t tease” you beg him when you keep your hands on his shoulders.

His smile widens. he looks at your body as if it were gold although to him it is just that. He touches your hips sensually and pulls your dress all the way down.

You are left in just skimpy panties. At the very sight of you heeseung gets hard. He has only the thought in his head to fuck you.

He removes your panties and lays down between your thighs. Your pussy is already wet and eager for him

,,such a pretty pussy. I’m sure it will taste so sweet” He starts drawing circles on your clit with two fingers. You squirm under him and want more

”pleaseee… I want more-ee”

Heeseung at your plea puts his lips to your pussy and licks your juices. You moan for him so pathetically. You are convinced that you won't last long when he eats you so well

He inserts two fingers into your pussy and his bluntness immediately increases. He hits every spots perfectly with his long fingers.

Heeseung speeds up licking your folds and you start riding his lips.

,,my goddd, heeseung it’s sooo goo-d” you mutter loudly. Your nails dug into his shoulders leaving marks.

Your eyes twisting backwards with delight. Heeseung has his eyes closed. He is focused on your lovely moans and on your pussy. He wants to bring you to the best orgasm you've ever had.

,, godd- I’m cummingg!!!” you scream with pleasure

Heeseung when he hears your moans speeds up sucking and kissing your clit. He adds a third finger to your pussy and quickly fingers you while hitting every perfect spot. You feel so full.

,,cum on my face baby, show me how good whore you are for me” he purrs. He doesn't stop abusing your pussy with his fingers and mouth

You cum on his fingers and lips while moaning his name loudly. You are dizzy from how intensely you have come.

You catch your breath and look at Heeseung. His mouth is all in your juices. He licks his fingers which are all in your semen.

It is such a hot sight and you are horny again. Heeseung puts his fingers to your lips and he says

”open your mouth”

At his request you open your mouth. You suck and taste yourself on his fingers.

”good girl”

Heeseung looks at you and thinks he's about to go crazy. You're so beautiful when you're lying underneath him and completely submitting to him.

„please heeseung, I want more” you beg as you draw him into a kiss. The kiss is passionate and you taste yourself on his tongue

Heeseung's cock is already so hard. You help him pull off his shirt and then he pulls down his pants and boxers. You look at his body.

When he notices this he smirks, raises an eyebrow and teases, "You like the view, don’t you?

You nod and run your hand over his muscular chest . By your touch he is even harder if possible.

”You are so impatient" he smiles as he touches your cheek and looks at your eyes. Something about this moment is intimate and real. Your hearts beat hard as you are warmed by each other's touch.

”Lie down on your stomach baby," he practically gives you an order. You lie down. You are already excited about what is to come.

Heeseung crouches behind you. He spanks your ass and you moan. You are already so horny. Heeseung runs his finger over your slit and mocks you

„you are so wet again and I haven’t done anything yet”

Heeseung thrusts into your pussy slowly. You feel your walls clench his cock perfectly. When he's buried all the way inside you. you moan and feel so full. You know you won't last long

„Your pussy receives me so good," he praises you as he begins to move inside you.

He holds your hair with one hand and the other on your neck. He begins to choke you. This is a new experience for you, but you enjoy it and moan even more.

„you like how I choke you, huh?" Heeseung asks as he pushes into you hard. All you can hear in the room are the lewd and pornographic sounds of him pounding into your pussy and your moans.

,,you are such a dirty girl for me"

Heeseung doesn't stop fucking you. You have the feeling that with each passing moment his cock is hitting deeper and deeper into your cervix.

,, heeseung!!! myyy go-ddd” You scream in pleasure. your mouth twists out of pleasure into an ,,o" shape. You feel that you are close.

„Will you cum on my cock slut?" he asks as he pulls you close tugging at your hair. You like it so much when he treats you so roughly

Your eyes twist and a wave of pleasure sweeps over your body. Your legs shake as you squirt on his cock. He thrusts into you hard one last time and paints your walls white.

You catch your breath as heeseung slowly removes his cock from your pussy. You have a mess between your legs from your sperm.

You feel sore. You know that you won't be able to walk the next day.

You lie down on his bed. Heeseung goes out to the bathroom to fetch a towel. You wonder what will happen next if what you did was a one-time thing or if it will happen again.

Somewhere inside you there are further fears and you feel as if you are betraying your friend. You know how she would hate you if she found out what you did with him. But on the other hand when you are with him you feel like the whole world doesn't exist.

You are awakened from your thoughts by a heeseung that begins to cleanse you. He asks calmly "What are you thinking about so much?"

You look at him and sigh , "probably about our relationship".

He nods and sets the towel down on the table. He draws you close and you lie in each other's arms.

„How do you want it to look now?" Heeseung asks as he gently combed through your hair.

You're not sure if Heeseung wants to involve you in your relationship and even if it does you're worried about your friendship with Sora

„I don't know Heeseung, but I know there is something between us and I don't want it to end," you answer and surprise yourself that you dared to say it. You think maybe it's time to be honest and put yourself and your needs first

Heeseung nods and a smile appears on his ,, so am I your type after all?” He teases

„shut up" you giggle and say jokingly

The future between you is uncertain because you both don't quite know what you want in your compiled relationship. But so far you are happy to have each other to some extent.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・.

Thank you for reading!

author note: sooo this is my third fanfic!!! I hope you like it! ❤︎ I wanted to give up several times while writing it lmaooo it was so exhausting hehe. Let me know in comments what you think about it ^^ <33

[shouyuus]

─── Ⅵ CHAPTER ONE: SHUT UP AND KISS ME

violet; 4,711 words; fluff, enemies to lovers, fake dating, hockey!vi, figure skater!reader, wlw, the gays can't communicate, college parties, toxic ex!cait, impulsive!reader, drama as all living fuck, no "y/n"

summary: in which you decide to go to yet another party vi's going to be at. consequences ensue.

a/n: i know its late but its still the 30th in cali!!! enjoy the ENEMIES part of enemies to lovers!!!! <3

< table of contents

─── Ⅵ IT TURNS OUT THAT Vi does, in fact, remember you. And, it also seems like she’s the type to hold a grudge.

Because three days later, when you’re running through a few off-ice warmups while the hockey team finishes up their morning practice, you distinctly hear her challenging one of her teammates to a race even as everyone else is clearing off the ice.

You groan, dropping back onto the bench and frowning as you start to lace up your skates.

“Great, now I’ve gotta skate on fucked up ice before the mid-day zamboni — really fucking great —”

“Got something you wanna say to my face, princess?”

Your eyes jerk up, and there’s Vi, standing not even a foot from you, her helmet tucked under one arm, her stick in the other, her hair a sweat-slicked mess that somehow still looks infuriatingly attractive. You narrow your eyes.

“Nope. Just… talking to myself.”

“I… don’t think so, sweetcheeks,” she says, taking a few steps forward even as you stand up. Like this, your eyes are barely level, your own skates giving you a solid few inches, but she still manages to look down at you as a smirk twists her lips.

You puff out a breath, feeling a wild thumping curling up your throat as you stare up at her, your fingertips going cold even as heat rushes into your cheeks.

“Fine,” you say, “you’re really that curious?”

Vi shrugs, “I mean, you seem to like dolling out unsolicited opinions so,” she pins you with a harsh look, “What’s another one to add to the collection, huh?”

You stiffen, and for a second, something breaks in Vi’s expression before it melds back into one of caustic curiosity. She looks like a beartrap sprung on a hair-pin trigger, her jaw clenched, her eyes hard.

“Huh, never thought you’d be such a glutton for punishment,” you say, the words dripping from you, slow as poison, and somewhere in the back of your mind, your fight or flight response is telling you that this is a bad, bad idea, but you can’t seem to stop yourself from taking half a step closer, even though Vi’s probably twice your size and can bench three times your body weight — “But then again, you did stay in a relationship with an emotionally manipulative bitch who swapped you out the second she could get her hands on someone better —”

“Shut the fuck up, you don’t know anything —!”

“Hey, hey!” A pair of large hands yanks Vi back just as she’s about to lunge towards you; another thinner pair of arms loops through yours, tugging you back a few steps.

“You stay the fuck out of this, Jayce!”

“Darling, what on earth is going on?” you turn to find Mel, her cheeks dusted in gold, her hands firm on your arms, as Jayce forcibly wrangles Vi back.

You swallow around the vitriol threatening your lips and shake your head, turning away from Vi.

“Nothing, just… I was annoyed that the hockey team always fucks up the ice after their practices —”

“Oh, you think we fuck up the ice?” Vi’s voice cracks like a gunshot in the vast rink, and several of the other girls from the hockey team have come jogging back, placing their hands on Vi’s shoulders to keep her from steamrollering into you. “You know how much precious practice time we’ve wasted filling up those massive holes you guys leave with your stupid little toe-pick jumps?”

You roll your eyes, anger flaring hot and high in the pit of your stomach.

“Oh, so sorry, didn’t know you guys could still see with the sustained brain damage you all must have from slamming into each other all the time.”

“Fuck you.”

You scoff, twisting back with a viperous smirk.

“In your wildest dreams, six.”

Vi’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh… didn’t know you knew my number, princess.”

“It’s written on your face — or have all your previous hookups been so stupid they can’t even read —”

“And what kind of tomfoolery is this?”

Everyone freezes at the sound of Amara’s voice. You bite down on your lips and take a step back as the small, gray-haired woman strides through, her hands behind her back, her chin held high.

“Sorry, Amara — it’s nothing,” Jayce says, jerking Vi behind him as she tries to open her mouth to speak.

“It doesn’t sound like nothing to me,” Amara says, her words smooth as a river in spring thaw, and nearly just as frigid.

Guilt creeps up your spine as she scans over the hockey team with marked distaste.

“Perhaps I ought to let Vander know that his girls are once again causing a —”

“Don’t, Amara. It was — it was my fault.” You shake off Mel’s hands and slot yourself between Jayce and Amara, ignoring the the disbelieving snort from Vi.

Amara’s eyes land on you, and for a second, they soften. Still, she tilts her head, eyes sharp as a hawks as you twist your fingers behind your back.

“Your fault, darling?”

You nod, “Yeah, I — I was annoyed that they were carving up the ice, so I — I picked a fight —”

Amara sighs, “Yes… well, I can’t blame you, but you know it’s not good rink etiquette.”

“I know,” you say, hanging your head.

Amara tuts, “As long as you know,” she reaches up to pat your cheek before marching off towards the rink-side boxes to set up the music. Behind you, Jayce releases Vi’s arms with a sigh.

“Martyr,” Vi coughs as she shoulders passed you, flanked by a few of the hockey girls, casting dirty looks over their shoulders before disappearing into the locker rooms.

You close your eyes, take three deep breaths, and then step onto the ice.

“It was an ass thing to say.”

“As long as you know —”

“But I feel like she took it way too seriously, y’know?”

Jayce sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he slumps down into the booth in the dining commons, shoving half an entire banana into his mouth as he pins you with a look.

“Or maybe, you can just apologize —”

You crinkle your nose, prodding at your yogurt bowl, toying with a spoonful of blueberry flavored granola.

“Can’t you just… like tell her I’m sorry or something?” you ask, pushing out your bottom lip in a signature pout. Jayce only swallows the rest of the banana before digging into a truly dauntingly sized ham and cheese sandwich.

“’m not doing your dirty work for you,” he says, his expression lighting up as Mel slides gracefully into the booth next to you, pressing a napkin into her lap.

“And what’s this about dirty work?” she asks, a teasing grin on her lips.

You sigh, “I’m asking very nicely —”

Jayce holds up a hand, “No, you’re trying to get me to apologize to Vi for you — which basically defeats the whole point of an apology.”

“No! It’s because I know you guys are like… platonic gym soulmates or — whatever —” you wave your hands through the air even as Mel laughs into her salad.

Jayce huffs, “Or,” he catches Mel’s eye, and you feel a distinct spate of unease work it’s way down your spine at the way Mel’s lips split into a devious grin.

“Or?” you prompt, setting down your spoon and sitting back, looking between the pair of them with mounting apprehension.

Mel gently places a hand on your arm, “You could just apologize to her yourself —”

“At the party this Saturday —”

“No — no way —” you put up both hands, “the last time I went to a party with you guys —”

“You got to make out with the hottest girl on the entire hockey team,” Mel soothes.

You bite your lips, eyes cutting down to your lap. You hadn’t told her. You hadn’t told anyone. So far as she and Jayce knew, the only slight against Vi you’d made is calling her ex a ‘manipulative bitch’, which — well.

“Right, and now she hates me.”

Mel sniffs, “You can’t be that bad at kissing. I refuse to believe it.”

Jayce snickers; Mel shoots him a glare. He reaches for the bag of free chips and pops it open with one hand.

“C’mon, what’s the worst that could happen? You offer her another kiss to make up for your little tantrum the other day?” Mel asks, flicking a thin, gold-laced braid over her shoulder.

You groan, sinking into your seat as you fold your arms over your chest, weighing the options.

You did feel bad for what you’d said. But you also tried to shield her from what you’re sure would’ve been much worse than what she’d gotten given Amara’s track record of tattling to Vander.

And then, unbidden, comes the memory of Vi’s sultry grin as she’d pinned you against the frat house door, her mouth inches from yours, the solid muscles of her torso pushing against yours as she’d leaned in and —

“— at a sorority house, so the space’ll be much nicer,” Mel promises, turning towards you again, her eyes expectant.

You blink, your mind catching up to her words a second later as you sigh.

“I — sure, fine — but I can’t stay too long. I’ve got Skate America in two weeks —”

Jayce ruffles your hair, “Yeah, so do we.”

You shove his massive arm off you with a half-hearted glare, “Yeah, but I’m not made like you guys. I can’t just literally skate into a podium. I actually have to practice.”

“Oh don’t get all shy now, little miss triple axel.”

“I’ve only landed it twice in practice, and I’m pretty sure one of them was underrotated —”

Mel shakes her head, “And there she goes again —”

“Always so humble —” Jayce adds.

You groan and bury your face in your arms, “Will you leave me alone?”

Mel laughs, “We will if you come to the party on Saturday,” she sing-songs, nudging you with her elbow.

Jayce slings an arm around your shoulders, shaking you slightly.

“And Vi’s for sure going.”

You peak up at him, “How… do you know?”

Jayce smirks, “Cause. Her ex is gonna be there.

You blink.

“Oh.”

Mel pillows her cheek on her palm, tapping her perfectly manicured nails along the table, a Cheshire-grin spread across her lips like warm butter.

“With her new girlfriend.”

You whip around towards her.

“Oh.”

This was a terrible idea, you think, as you step into the sorority house, tugging on the edge of your dress, the hem of which barely skims your mid-thigh, the modest, high-necked front contrasted with the plunging back line that settles in a graceful slope of material just above the curve of your ass.

“Quit fidgeting,” Mel says, slapping at your hand as you try once again to readjust the bottom of the dress.

“I can’t — I feel like I’m gonna flash the world — and it’s a tossup if it’s the front of the back!” you hiss, jerking the hemline of the dress down as it slowly starts to ride up your thigh again.

Mel tuts, “Please, as if this is anywhere near as short as the performance outfits that we have to wear —”

“That’s different!” you insist, reaching out to grab two cups of something and shoving one at Mel, “We’ve got tights on under those!”

Mel rolls her eyes, sniffing at the drink before making a face and dropping it off on a random surface. You take an absent sip of your own drink, gagging immediately at the taste.

“Eugh, oh god what do they put in those?” you ask, dropping your own solo cup on a table as Mel drags you through the shifting crowd.

The party’s already going in full swing, but she’d been right, the space is nicer — wider and less cramped, the ceilings high and the music less abrasive.

“Where’re we going?” you ask, even as Mel guides you towards the heart of the party and somehow manages to conjure up two glasses of what looks like champagne, handing one to you, and taking a sip of the other one herself.

“Finding Vi,” she says, to which you balk, shaking your head.

“Mel!”

She turns with an exasperated sigh, “What?”

“C-can’t we just —” you motion towards the party, “try to have a good time? I mean — maybe she’s not here — maybe she wanted to have a quiet night in —”

“Speak of the devil —” Mel’s face breaks into a grin as she spots someone over your shoulder and you whip around to see —

Caitlyn Kiramman, the veritable goddess of track and field, all dark hair and endless long legs, standing there with her new girlfriend Maddie Nolen, a cute, if slightly awkward girl, with strawberry blond hair cropped in a truly abominable bob-cut.

The room seems to part for them, Caitlyn tugging Maddie forward with their fingers laced, looking not so unlike the Queen of England, followed by her loyal procession of ginger-backed corgis.

You take a few steps back, watching them with raised brows, wondering what on earth Caitlyn might’ve seen in Maddie, given that she’d had Vi seemingly wrapped around her pinky finger just months before.

But then, you see Vi — her expression caught somewhere between hurt and barely scraped together bravado, her fists at her sides as Caitlyn also spots her, approaching with Maddie half a step behind.

“Fancy seeing you here, Violet,” Caitlyn says, her voice carrying over the crowd even as everyone tries to avert their gaze or pretend like they aren’t listening in.

Vi puffs out her chest, “Sure, yeah. Super fancy. What, d’you think I’d be banned from the sorority house or something?”

Caitlyn shrugs, “Something like that.”

Vi narrows her eyes, her knuckles going white, “Sorry cupcake, ‘fraid not even you can keep me from havin’ a good time.”

“So I see,” Caitlyn says. Maddie peers around her shoulder with wide eyes and a shy smile.

“Name’s Maddie, it’s nice to meet —”

“See you’ve already replaced me,” Vi says, folding her arms over her chest, her biceps bulging, the vein in her jaw ticking dangerously as she looks Maddie over.

Caitlyn smirks, “See you haven’t.”

Vi seems to deflate slightly at that, her arms coming loose, “Actually I —”

You find yourself moving before you can stop yourself, pushing through the gathering crowd till you can throw your arms around Vi’s neck, bowling into her with a simpering squeal of —

“Vi! There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

Vi’s expression morphs from one of shock to a momentary flash of suspicion as you meet her eyes and bat your lashes in what you hope is an inconspicuous way before turning towards Caitlyn and Maddie, a 100-watt smile hitched over your lips.

“Oh! And who’s this?”

Caitlyn narrows her eyes, looking you over with an imperialistic eye.

“Caitlyn — Kiramman… pleasure.”

“Oh wow! You’re the — the girl who’s really good at hurdles, right?” you say, even as Vi stifles a laugh at your side, her hand settling around your waist.

Caitlyn’s eyes harden as her lips thin into a pale line. Anyone who knows her would know that hurdles are her worst discipline, and that she’d dropped nearly every single one on her last major competition.

“And I’m Maddie… Nolen. So you must be —” Maddie reaches out, but not before Caitlyn takes your hand instead.

“The Ice Princess — our very own Olympic hopeful. Best of luck to you in the Grand Prix series this year. I heard you had something of a nasty fall early in your season last time… you oughtta be more careful this time around,” Caitlyn says, looking you up and down, even as you smile up at her, blissfully sweet and unbothered. Your cheeks are starting to hurt.

“Oh, don’t worry,” you flap your hand, crinkling your nose as you lean forward, using the motion to reach down and give Vi’s hand a soft squeeze, your eyes pinned on Caitlyn’s as you say —

“I never make the same mistake twice.”

And before she has the chance to respond, her jaw dropping open, you turn towards Vi with a bright grin, placing a palm against her chest, leaning right into her space.

“C’mon, let’s go get a drink, hm?”

“Y-yeah, princess — sure —”

You tug her away before the facade crumbles entirely, the pair of you dodging around curious eyes till you end up in the thankfully empty kitchen. Her hand pulls from yours the second you close the door behind you.

“What the hell —”

You hold up both your hands, falling back three steps to put some distance between you and her.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? It — it just looked like…” you shrug, casting your eyes around the kitchen even as Vi huffs, folding her arms across her chest to lean back against the door, “It looked like you could use a hand, that’s all.”

“I didn’t need anyone to rescue me,” she snipes, her voice hardening around the edges.

You nod, “Yeah, I know. But…”

“But what?”

You swallow, turning your back to Vi as you pace around the large, marble-tiled kitchen, “I — I felt bad for — for what I said last time… so…”

You turn around just in time to catch Vi’s incredulous expression, seconds before she breaks into a sharp bark of laughter.

“Wow, my hero — my very own white-knight. Really, who needs Prince Charming when you’ve got —”

“Okay! I get it — you didn’t need saving — holy shit you don’t have to rub it in.”

You sigh, leaning up against the kitchen island, glaring down at a half-empty bottle of vodka sitting in the sink before reaching out to grab it and rummaging around for two empty shot glasses.

Vi watches you with an amused grin twitching at her lips.

Finally, you manage to find a few shot glasses tucked into the far corner of a cupboard. You stand on your tiptoes, but your fingers don’t quite reach. And a second later, a body presses solid and warm to your back as Vi’s hand reaches in to pull two of the glasses out, placing them squarely on the counter.

She shoots you a lopsided grin as you watch her expertly pull two shots from the vodka bottle and slide one towards you.

“Mazel,” she smirks, tossing it back and smacking her lips.

You eye your own shot for a second longer before squeezing your eyes shut and tossing it back as well, immediately coughing, fighting to keep your gag reflex from taking over, pressing the back of your hand to your lips.

Vi’s laughter is loud, but not unkind as she reaches out to tug the shot glass from you, setting everything back into the sink.

“So. You’re felt bad, did you?”

You groan, dropping your head into your arms.

“I mean — yeah — it was —” you take a deep breath, bracing your palms against the kitchen island, eyes fixed on where your fingertips are slowly going white, “It was a shitty thing to say.”

“Mm. Which one? Mentioning my breakup right before I was about to kiss you? Or calling my ex a manipulative bitch?”

You wince, chewing on the inside of your cheek, though when you look up, it’s to find Vi smiling.

“Either? Both? Ugh… alcohol makes me —” you gesture at your head, wiggling your fingers as Vi watches, her smile sliding from amused into indulgent, “misplace the brain-mouth barrier a bit.”

“Yeah? And uh… do you skate drunk a lot? Or was that little exposition special just for me?”

You swallow, feeling the heat of the vodka creeping back up your throat as your cheeks prickle.

“That was…” you trail off, crinkling your nose as you cast about for a plausible response, but coming up empty, you sag against the kitchen counter, throwing up your hands, “I just — I’m not the best with impulsivity, okay?”

Vi chuckles, nodding, “So… I can see — I mean, even without the shouting match at the rink, that stunt you pulled back there with Cait —” she lets out a low whistle, shaking her head, “Gotta say, princess, I’m impressed. Pretending to be my new girlfriend in front of her new girlfriend? That’s… that’s ballsy.”

You let out another groan, sliding down the side of the kitchen island to sit on the floor, pulling your knees into your chest and glaring half-heartedly at the bottom of the fridge. A second later, Vi flops down to join you, an arm propped on her knee, her eyes caught on the shape of you, your pouty lips and the slope of your nose.

“Seriously though, when you made that hurdles comment — I almost lost it —”

You break into a bright peal of laughter, head thumping back against the cupboards as Vi allows herself a chuckle.

“Yes, yes — I’m kind of bitch. Point made,” you say, casting her a sidelong glance.

She shrugs, “Then I guess I’ve got a type, so…”

You bite down on your bottom lip, mulling over her words.

“So?” you ask.

She sighs, “So. What’s next?”

You frown, “Next?”

She fixes you with an incredulous look, “Yeah. Like — what comes after you so gallantly rescuing me from my oh-so-wicked ex by announcing that we’re dating in front of half our graduating class?”

You open your mouth, gaping at her.

A second passes. Then another.

Vi stares. Then, she bangs her head so loudly against the cupboards behind you you almost jump out of your skin.

“Come on! Are you kidding?! You’re telling me you did all this without any kind of plan?” She pushes to her feet seconds before you scramble up onto yours, frowning defensively in her direction.

“I told you! I’m — I’ve got an impulse problem and impulsivity doesn’t exactly lend itself to perfect foreplaning —”

But the pair of you break off as the unmistakable sounds of voices echoes down the hallway leading towards the kitchen. And in particular one voice — low and pitched and accented.

“Fuck —” Vi swears, looking suddenly stunned, her eyes wide, her whole body going rigid, “We’ve — we’ve gotta hide or something —”

You blink at her for a brief second before huffing out a breath and reaching up to jerk her down towards you. She barely catches herself against the counter, her hands braced on either side of your hips as you hiss against her lips —

“Oh c’mon — don’t be stupid —”

“What the hell are you —”

“Just shut up and kiss me —”

The door swings open behind you and laughter pours in, though it abruptly cuts off as Caitlyn freezes in the doorway, Maddie nearly smashing into her, and Mel behind her as everyone else jostles to try and see what the hold up is.

“Oh… whoops,” Maddie says, letting out an embarrassed chuckle as she tries to turn away from the sight of Vi and you caught in the throes of what looks like an intense make out session, Vi’s fingers digging divots into the skin of your hips, your fingers curling in her hair.

You let out a tiny whimper as Vi hoists you up onto the kitchen island, slotting herself between your legs, even as Caitlyn makes an affronted noise behind you, folding her arms.

“I see this room’s taken,” she says, voice flat and dangerous.

But Vi’s only response is to trail a hand up to your jaw, cupping it in her palm so she can slot her lips more comfortably against yours, letting out a satisfied hum at the way you soften into her as she sinks her teeth into you bottom lip.

Caitlyn scoffs, rolling her eyes even as Maddie tugs her back down the hallway. Everyone else jostles back into the main room as well, giggling and gossiping about this exciting new development.

Mel, though, clears her throat as she and Jayce share a look before closing the kitchen door behind them.

“Right, that’s enough you two —” she says, to very little avail.

Because somewhere between one breath and the next, you’d lost yourself to the feeling of Vi’s lips on yours, the heady, pulsing friction of her body as she cradles you against her, the way you can still taste the remnants of that vodka shot on her tongue as she licks into your mouth.

Faintly, you wonder if this might’ve turned out differently if you’d just kept quiet on that first night and let her kiss you in that dirty frat room.

But the thought is quickly dashed by a deep groan thrumming from Vi’s chest to yours as you lean back into the kiss, running your thumb down along her neck, pressing into the fluttering pulse point just below her jaw.

A whine curls up your throat as Vi’s fingers work beneath the hem of your little black dress, teasing at the skin of your thigh.

“Hey! Earth to horny lesbians!”

You pull back with a gasp, and Vi resurfaces as well, the both of you panting, your lips separating with a sound not unlike a plunger being released from a recently blocked sink. You feel your head spin, the room pressing in around you before expanding back out, even as Vi drags the back of her hand across her mouth, stumbling back a few steps.

“W-what?”

Jayce lets out a disbelieving laugh.

“Really? That’s what got you?”

Mel sighs, rolling her eyes, “I think it’s time you explain yourselves.”

You lick your lips, hopping off the kitchen island even as Vi runs a hand over her face, her eyes strangely fractured, her cheeks dusted high with color.

“Well you were the one that said I should offer her another kiss to make up for — Vi? Where are you going?”

But Vi’s already making for the door, her shoulders hunched, her fists clenched at her sides. You take a few steps towards her but stop dead as she runs a hand through her hair.

“Sorry — I — I gotta go —” her voice is hoarse, and the look on her face when she glances over her shoulders at you — that more than anything convinces you to let her go.

You like to think that you’d seen experienced a good number of human emotions on the broad spectrum. Skating forces you to tap into a lot of them — anger, excitement, joy, sorrow, jealousy, vindication, passion.

But you’d never seen someone look so utterly broken.

“Wait, Vi —” Jayce tries to stop her but Mel places a hand on his arm, and Vi brushes passed them both, disappearing into the darkness of the hallway beyond without another word.

You sag against the kitchen island as both Mel and Jayce turn their eyes back onto you.

“Right.” Mel rounds on you even as you shrink back against the fridge, chewing on your lips.

Jayce groans, looking between you and Mel before marching over to the table and pulling up a few chairs.

“Everyone sit. If we’re gonna talk about this, we might as well be comfortable.”

You eye the chairs for a few seconds before sliding over and dropping into one of them.

Mel perches on the edge of another as Jayce leans himself against the dining table, arms folded loosely across his chest.

“So?” Mel prods.

You take a deep breath.

“So… at that frat party… when me and Vi were… supposed to kiss? Yeah, well… we… kinda, sorta… didn’t.”

taglist: @traiitorjoe @rizzscary @wetcat020 @alex-thegiraffeboyy @nanasemo @saturnhas82moons @unear7hly @drsnowrose @grantaires-waistcoat @isab3lita @ally-all-around @starrysetup22 @lipsent @lewd_alien @jack-frost-2010 @starsfortaylor @onesockcat @lesbian-useless @armins-slvt @jbejbeubdh @ryescapades @kingkamk @princesssmars @chobssss @mybelovedvi @bouqette @noietta @brooks-lin @ally-all-around @bunnyrose01 @stumpystump @lia-winther @folklore13lover @sawaagyapong @sevikas-whore @sunflowerwinds @taurtel @tourmalinetyrone @oidloid @marcylated @krisziepowlet @vikaswife @pa-co @devotedlyelectronicartisan @aliluvszs @elliecoochieeater

[carnalcrows]

HOW TO STEAL A MAN (AND HIS GROCERY LIST)

pairing: gi-hun x top male reader

synopsis: When Gi-hun’s late-night cat-feeding routine attracts a stalker with a cart full of cat food and questionable social skills, chaos—and maybe romance—ensues.

content warnings: 18+, top male reader, stalking, blowjobs (reader receiving), missionary, unprotected sex, breeding, creampie, reader wants to get gi-hun pregnant asap, age gap (reader is in his 20s and gi-hun is in his 40s).

word count: 2.2k

A/N: ty anon for the request!! i had fun writing this one

Seong Gi-hun’s life wasn’t glamorous. Every evening, after whatever sorry excuse for a day he’d had, he stopped at the corner store, bought a packet of cheap cat food, and made his way to a run-down alley to feed a scruffy stray. It was the one bright spot in his life, and he looked forward to it more than he cared to admit.

What he didn’t know was that someone else looked forward to it too.

That someone was you.

You first noticed Gi-hun a few weeks ago while wandering through the neighborhood. At first, you thought he was just some random guy lingering in the alley, but then you saw him crouch down and pour food into a chipped saucer. His voice was soft as he spoke to the stray cat, coaxing it to eat.

It was... oddly endearing.

From then on, you couldn’t help yourself. You started following him—not in a creepy way (okay, maybe a little creepy)—but you were curious. Who was this man? Why did he care so much about a stray cat?

Your fascination grew, and soon, watching him feed the cat became part of your routine. But you wanted more than to just watch. You wanted to talk to him. To know him.

One evening, as you watched Gi-hun walk into the corner store, you got an idea. A foolproof, albeit slightly unhinged, plan. You hurried inside ahead of him, grabbed every single packet of cat food off the shelf, and went to pay, ignoring the cashier’s confused look.

When Gi-hun arrived at the pet aisle, you lingered near the exit, pretending to browse.

“What the…?” Gi-hun muttered, staring at the empty shelf. He rubbed the back of his neck, sighed, and turned to leave, only to almost bump into you.

You were standing there with a massive bag filled with cat food packets.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” you said, pretending to be startled.

His eyes narrowed. “You’re the reason the shelf is empty?”

“I feed a lot of strays,” you said innocently, though the amusement in your voice probably gave you away.

Gi-hun raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “You think I could buy one of those off you? There’s a stray I feed every night, and now I’m empty-handed.”

You pretended to think about it, then smiled. “I’ll give you one… if you let me come with you. I’d like to meet the cat.”

He hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line as he considered your request. Finally, he sighed. “Fine. But don’t scare it off, okay?”

That’s how it all started.

What was supposed to be a one-time thing turned into a routine. Every evening, you’d meet Gi-hun at the corner store, walk with him to the alley, and sit on the curb while the stray cat ate. Over time, you learned bits and pieces about him: his failed marriage, his gambling problems, and most importantly, his love for his daughter, Ga-yeong.

“She’s all I have left,” he admitted one night, his voice soft.

You nodded, unsure what to say. It was clear how much he cared for her, even if he didn’t always show it in the best ways.

As weeks passed, you also got to know Ga-yeong, who was surprisingly cool for a kid. She started teasing her dad about how much time he spent with you.

“Are you two dating yet?” she asked one evening, smirking as she watched you and Gi-hun prepare dinner.

Gi-hun spluttered. “W-what? No! We’re just friends.”

“Sure, Dad,” she said, winking at you.

You laughed, enjoying how flustered he got.

One rainy evening, you were at Gi-hun’s apartment again, helping him cook dinner. The kitchen was small and cramped, but it felt cozy with the two of you working side by side.

As you chopped vegetables, you glanced at him. “You know, you’re not half bad at this.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m just saying,” you teased. “You’re full of surprises.”

Gi-hun smiled, but when he noticed you staring, his brow furrowed. “What? Do I have sauce on my face or something?”

“Nothing,” you said, setting the knife down. “I just… I’ve been wanting to do something for a while now.”

Before he could ask what, you stepped closer, your heart racing. Gi-hun froze like a deer in headlights, his hand awkwardly holding a ladle full of stew.

“What are you—”

You cupped his face with both hands and kissed him.

At first, he didn’t move, his eyes wide with surprise. But as you pressed into him, his shoulders relaxed, and the ladle clattered to the counter. Slowly, tentatively, he kissed you back, his lips warm and soft against yours.

It started gentle, careful, like he was afraid to mess it up. But as the seconds ticked by, something shifted. He leaned into you, his hands nervously gripping your waist, pulling you closer. You smiled against his lips, enjoying how hesitant he was, even as his breathing grew heavier.

“Relax,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his. “You’re doing fine.”

“I—I don’t—” he stammered, but you cut him off with another kiss, this one deeper, more insistent.

Gi-hun let out a muffled sound of surprise, his hands fumbling as they slid up your back. His inexperience was endearing, and it only made you want to kiss him harder.

Somehow, the two of you ended up pressed against the counter, the dinner long forgotten. Gi-hun’s hair was an absolute mess from your hands running through it, and his cheeks were flushed a deep red.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered breathlessly, his forehead resting against yours.

“Good,” you said with a grin, leaning in to steal another kiss.

The smell of burning stew eventually snapped the two of you out of it, but not before you got one last, lingering kiss. As Gi-hun scrambled to salvage dinner, muttering curses under his breath, you leaned against the counter, watching him with a satisfied smirk.

“I like you,” you said casually, making him freeze mid-stir.

He turned to look at you, his expression somewhere between flustered and incredulous. “You think?”

“I know,” you corrected. “And I think you like me too.”

Gi-hun sighed, his lips quirking into a small, shy smile. “Yeah... maybe I do.”

You laughed, reaching out to tug him back toward you. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Your mouth found his once more, and you slowly lifted the man onto the countertop. He yelped in surprise, and you used the opportunity to slide your tongue, relishing in how he tasted.

His hands gripped onto your shoulders, while you held his waist, steadying him. You slowly trailed butterfly kisses from his jaw to his neck, stopping at his Adam’s apple before lightly nipping on his ear lobe.

Gi-hun was still quite unsure of what he was supposed to be doing, not having engaged in such…activities for far too long.

“You do want to do this right? We can stop the moment you tell me to,” you said to him, your tone soft. After a second of pondering, he gripped your shoulders with determination, and latched his mouth right onto yours.

You took it as a sign to continue, and slowly broke away the kiss to close the stew before continuing to have your way with him.

You slowly picked him up from the countertop and carried him to the couch, revelling in how surprised you were. Carrying those giant bags of cat food was worth it.

You laid him on the couch gently, its base creaking with the sudden weight. Gi-hun hastily pushed your pants down, tugging at the strap for a few seconds before it made way. Your cock sprang out, hard and leaking.

His eyes widened, and he looked up at you. Your eyes were soft, letting him know that this didn’t have to continue if he didn’t want it to.

Before you could say anything, he licks a stripe across your length, savouring the musk emitting from the base. You let out a groan, gripping onto his hair–but not too tight; not yet.

You let him experiment with your dick, leaving small kisses along the underside, while his hand moves up to clutch your balls, heavy with your seed. He wonders to himself on how your cum would feel inside him, and the thought makes his ears burn a bright red.

“Don’t take this long darlin’, wanna please you too,” you mumble, wanting him to speed up just a little bit.

He slowly wraps his pretty lips around the tip of your cock, making you let out a garbled moan. His mouth was just so, so warm.

“Breathe through your nose baby, that’s it,”you cooed, watching him struggle to take your length all the way.

He slowly bobbed his head up and down, savouring the precum hitting the back of his throat. Your moans were getting louder and louder, to the point where you had to muffle the noises with the back of your hand. The walls of his house were quite thin.

Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes as he struggled to swallow you whole. Your grip on his hair had gotten significantly tighter, as you push his head to take you all the way. His garbled mumbles did nothing but send vibrations straight up your dick, turning you on even more.

“So good f’me baby, I’m almost done,”you groan before releasing your grip on his hair and pulling out of his warm throat, before ejaculating all over his face. 

He looked up at you in shock, his face a mixture of tears, sweat and semen. It truly was a sight to see. Your dick stood right back up.

His eyes widened, but before he could say anything, you quickly turned him around on the couch, his ass up towards you.

You pulled his pants down, along with his boxers, to reveal his tight hole, clenching around the cold air. He hissed when he suddenly felt a finger at his hole, slick with lube (where did that come from).

“This might hurt a lil’ bit,” you said before slowly pressing your finger into his hole. His back arched with the intrusion, the pain mixed with the pleasure going straight to his cock, the tip red and weeping.

You slowly added another finger, watching as his ass practically swallowed them whole as you pumped them in and out.

After adding a third finger, you deemed that he was prepped enough to be fucked. He already looked out of it, that was a different thing altogether. His shoulders were slumped and his elbows were the only thing keeping him upright.

You positioned you cock at his entrance, and slowly slid in, groaning at how tight and inviting his hole was, as if it was made just for your dick.

Gi-hun let out a loud moan, it was almost pornographic. He had never felt this full in his life– your cock was almost ripping him in half!

You bottomed out all the way to the hilt, and you slowly started to move, whispering dirty nothings in the older man’s ear.

“How does it feel, getting fucked by a man half your age, hm?” Gi-hun could only blabber at this, his brain could no longer form coherent words as his mind was so focused on how your cock was hitting the right spot with every. single. thrust.

You felt his hole mould into the shape of your cock, and every time you hit his prostate, his moans got more high pitched. One of your hands caressed his stomach, and you were surprised to find his belly bulging with every thrust. He squealed when he felt it, his brain was feeling so empty. 

“Y’know Gi-hun, your daughter must be quite lonely, considering that she is an only child. Wanna give Ga-yeong a sibling?” you teased, to which he could only moan, his head filled with the thought of you making him pregnant with your seed. The thought didn’t seem too bad.

To this, you lifted him up and sat on the couch with him on your lap, his back to your chest. You lifted his legs up in such a way that every single time you lifted him up and dropped him back on your lap, your dick would hit places he didn’t even know existed.

He threw his head back, eyes rolling to the back of his head with the vigour of your thrusts, fucking into him like you were an animal in heat. At this point, it really felt like you were trying to get him pregnant. A man couldn’t biologically get pregnant, but all rational thought had flown out the window, and who said you couldn’t try?

As your thrusts started to stutter, you knew you were at a climax, so when Gi-hun came with a cry, painting his abdomen white, you pushed into him all the way to his imaginary womb before coming undone with a loud groan, painting his gummy walls a pearly white.

You kept your cock in him for a while, letting him relax. His hole clenched and unclenched around your dick, while only spurred you on even more.

Gi-hun turned around to face you lazily, but with surprise, as he felt your cock harden in him once again.

“We can’t stop yet love, I need to give you a baby after all,” you smirked before pushing Gi-hun back down onto the couch.

He was fucked.

And somewhere out there, a stray cat was probably wondering why its dinner was late.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time and I take genuine effort to do them.

[hoshigray]

𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇[𝐞𝐫]!! | t. fushiguro + s. ryōmen

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Next time, look around the area before you say you find a serial killer attractive. Because you’re about to see what mess your words will have you end up in — and your clothes all torn up.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: serial killers! Toji + Sukuna x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern au! - age gap (the reader is in their early 20s) - porn with plot - oral (f! + m! receiving) - threesome - double penetration; anal (first time) & vaginal - restricted movement (hands tied up) - face-sitting - cowgirl dp positions - gun + knife play - choking - spanking - unprotected sex - overstimulation - degradation (brat, broad, slut, whore) - pet names (baby, dollface, good girl, pet, princess) - blackmail/threats - the reader is in an established relationship w/ Nanami - mentions of blood, tears, spit, and drool.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.6k (told you, porn with plot, lol)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: uhhhh happy Friday the 13th, everybody???? blame @ramonathinks for this idea (jk, don't, she's so amazing, ty for pushing me into this, mona bear ♡ and tysm for beta reading; your thoughts mean the world). Haven't done a fic in two months sooooo go easy on me!! Not proofread, so I'll fix stuff l8rrrr

“No.”

“Oh, come on, Y/n! Just answer the question!”

“You’re so fucking sick, you know that!?” You glare at your friend, who slumps on the booth chair with a heavy sigh. 

A slight breeze tickles your skin through your comfortable sweatshirts as the leaves on the trees slowly change to autumnal colors, and Halloween decor is already adorning every house and every yard. It was a warm and sunny afternoon on this pleasant Friday. Usually, you’d be cozied up in your apartment enjoying yourself, probably catching up on some horror flicks you missed last year. 

But alas, that was not the case. Because you’re a college student. As October has finally rolled around, only one thing prevents you from enjoying this beautiful season — midterms. The thought of it is enough to pull you into a pool of dread. Every day has been one whirlwind after another. Yet, on the bright side, all you have now is one last exam to worry about, and you’ll finally be able to rest this weekend. So here you are, at the diner with your best friend, Shoko Ieiri, completing your papers while eating off your plates to satiate the stress. For the most part, things were going smoothly.

Until the news anchor on the television at the bar relays an announcement… 

“…Once again, everyone, please be on the lookout for these two killers on the loose. Three weeks ago, the two recently escaped from their cells, killed three guards, and are still at large. There have been accounts around the state that reported recent sightings of either or both criminals, the recent one being in this county 27 hours ago. So, please, stay safe. The killers are identified to be…”

And Shoko, being the curious person she is, asks you a question that stops your fingers from typing on your laptop: “Do you find those killers hot?” 

That’s how you two end up where you are now, groaning at the brunette’s persistence in getting your approval to find two criminals — murderers, even! — attractive. 

“Hey, Y/n, I know you hear me.” Shoko snaps their fingers at you while you try to get the assignment done. “Just answer the question: don’t you think those guys are hot.”

“We didn’t come all this way for you to talk about your hybristophilia fantasies.” Facing the Word document, you remind your friend why you’re here in the first place. “Just get back to writing; I wanna finish this and get home.” There’s nothing said afterward for a few seconds, thinking she has finally given up.

However, “First of all,” your eyes close to conceal them rolling behind the lids. “I’m not into hybristophilia; I just know a hot guy when I see one. Second, look at their mugshots. Like, damn, you’ve ever seen anyone so intimidatingly good-looking before? Come on, have a look!”

“You’re such a weirdo,” the click-clacking of your fingertips tapping your keyboard fills the rest of your answer. 

Still, she persists. “Y/n, look at the phoooone~”

No words, only tapping keys.

“Y/n?”

The keys become louder. 

“Pretty, pretty, pleaseeeee~?” 

Louder.

“Y/n!!”

A fist bangs on the booth table as the other closes the laptop shut, sending another glare to the person across from you who holds the phone up. You’ve had it at this point, so you say with a steady breath, “If I look at the dumb mugshots and answer your dumb question, will your dumbass leave me alone and finish your work?” The brunette only puts the phone on the table and slides it your way, giving you big doe eyes and whimpers like a hurt puppy. You sigh with your nostrils as you snatch the phone up, your gaze stationed on the images presented.

The image displayed two mugshots: on the left was a man with raven hair and a scar on the left of his lip. Intense, forest-green orbs contrast the black strands that cover his forehead. The mugshot letter board below him is labeled as "Toji Fushiguro." The one on the right is another man with spiky salmon-colored hair pushed upfront with prominent black tattoos decorating his nose, cheeks, and forehead. The board named him as “Sukuna Ryōmen.”

You look at the pictures intently, examining the men’s features at your discretion. It didn’t occur to you how long you were gawking at the mugshots until you peered from the phone to see Shoko give you the biggest shit-eating grin. Shaking your head, you chew the inside of your cheek before responding.

“….Well,” you cough. “…they’re not terrible looking at all. They are…..hot.”

“Told you!” Shoko slams the table with high enthusiasm, earning another sigh from you as she snatches the phone back. “Would you fuck them?”

You almost popped a vein. What the fuck—“is wrong with you!?” 

“It’s just a question, geez.” She holds her hands up defensively. “Or is that too lewd and raunchy to ask the partner of the trusting, charismatic “Golden Boy” SGA president, Kento Nanami?”

You choke on your spit before you can say anything, and your cheeks dial in warmth. “S-Shut up! Don’t bring my love life into whatever deviant horny thoughts you’re thinking!”

“I’m sorry, I’m boreeeeeeed. I don’t wanna do this paper, ugh.” The brunette whines and bangs their forehead on the table surface; your eyes roll for the fifteenth time in the past three hours. “…Maybe I should get some dick after this.”

“For fuck’s sake, I’m going to use the restroom.” 

You exit the dining booth when they give you a muffled response of anguish, straightening yourself and heading for the back of the diner. As you walked away, you noticed a pair of hooded figures sitting at the booth behind you. Realization kicks in, and you groan internally. Oh, God, they probably heard what we were talking about! But what caught your mind next was that one of them had a black mark on the bridge of their nose. Huh, what an odd tattoo…

After using the toilet, you wash your hands at the sink, but your mind is still fixated on that weird tattoo. Who would get such a thing on their face? Wouldn’t that hurt? I wonder if that’s the only tatt— And then It clicked, you quickly turn off the faucet and dry your hands, exit the rest restroom, and run to your booth. Shoko was begrudgingly typing away on their laptop until she saw you return in a hurry. 

“Hey, you okay?” She asks you, but you aren’t looking at them. Your face contoured to a confused expression as you stared at the booth behind the one you were sitting in, now empty. 

“Did…..The two people who sat behind us, did you see them?” 

“Hmm? No, I didn’t. Must’ve left while my head was on the table.”

“Uh huh…” you say nothing more as you slowly sit back in front of your laptop. Your mind is now clouded with confusing thoughts, questioning your experience up until now. It could be a coincidence, quite far out at that. Regardless, you could’ve sworn you saw that tattoo on the Sukuna guy that Shoko showed you. It was such an uncommon decor, especially since you just saw it on the face of a criminal. Not to mention, the news anchor earlier stated that those two killers were in this exact county…

Needless to say, you didn’t touch your keyboard for about twenty minutes. Your mind was too wrapped up elsewhere to think clearly about your school assignment, and your body harbored a disturbing chill worse than the soft autumn winds.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“…So, why are you researching about the loose killers again?”

“Hm? Oh,” you stop typing on the laptop to attend to the phone call you’re on. Exiting your bedroom, you walk to the living room. “No reason, I was just curious. I saw something about them on the news at the diner with Shoko.”

The person on the other side of the line hums. “You should be careful about stuff like that.”

“Yeah, I know, Kenty,” you open the sliding door to your balcony and close it behind you before taking a seat on the cream-colored swing chair.

“I’m very serious, Y/n.” It was none other than Kento Nanami who was speaking with you. The trustworthy “Golden Boy” of your class year, the circumspect president of the Student Government Association… your loving and attentive boyfriend.

"I know you are."

"And those guys aren't just any usual criminals. They're notorious killers who barge into people's homes at night to steal valuable things. Maybe even kill their victims in their sleep if they have the time. So, be very careful, okay? Can’t trust these streets at night, especially now with those guys on the run. So, don’t go anywhere alone, always have your pepper spray on you, and be sure everything is locked — doors, windows, everything.”

A deep sigh leaves your lips. “Yeah, I double-checked all the locks once I got inside.” 

No one says a word; the rustling of the trees and the beeping of cars from the traffic at the light substitute this awkward silence. Until Nanami says, “….You scared?”

You don’t answer immediately, your mind flashing back to the bewildering encounter at the diner earlier today. Those two hooded men, one with a black tattoo on his face. It felt too surreal to feel like a coincidence, yet it wasn’t too far out of your mind to think as such. The timing was strange, with the news reporter and your conversation with Shoko. The thought of two murderers nonchalantly being in the same space as you rub you off in the worst way imaginable. “…Kinda, yeah. A bit spooked.”

“You want me to come up there and spend the night?”

“No, no! You don’t have to do that,” you hurriedly decline his proposal. “I know you’re busy with homework and student government stuff. I wouldn’t want you moving around so much; I’d feel bad.”

You hear him chuckle on the other side of the phone, and your heart swoons at the sound. “Don’t feel bad; you could never be a burden to me, especially when your safety is my top priority.” Another skip of the beat; it’ll never fail to amaze you how sweet he is with his words.

“Thank you, Kenty. But still, I know you’ve got a lot on your hands. You don’t have to see me right this moment. Besides, isn’t Haibara supposedly dragging you to some party at Geto’s?” Nanami is silent for a few seconds before he groans; a smile creeps up on your face at his reaction.

“Unfortunately, yes. I have to leave to pick him up, and then we can go…But I can cancel and come o—“

“Absolutely not.” You’re quick to interject. “You’ve been so high and on edge with your exams. This is the first party after midterm week. And I can bet my left toe that Gojo — cause you know he’ll be there if Geto is — will be upset you couldn’t make it.”

“…….Which one?”

“Excuse me?”

“You have five toes on your left foot, so which one—“

“Kento.” He chuckles once more for your ears to hear at the use of his real name. “Have fun, okay?”

Nanami hums. “I’ll try. I’ll come by your place Sunday. Sounds good?”

“Perfect. Take some pics for me. Love you!”

Your boyfriend bids you farewell before ending the call, already missing his voice. A yawn creeps out from you, a sign that you are indeed fatigued and need rest. Leaving the balcony, you close the door and do a final check at your door. Confirmed that it’s locked and secured, you turn off the living room lights and head back to your bedroom to get some shut-eye. 

You shut off and close your laptop on your desk before turning off the lights. Then, you lift the comforter and finally enter the chilly embrace of your bedsheets.  Usually, you’d scroll on your phone for a little bit until you get drowsy enough to fall asleep. Yet — it could be because of the exam you were doing at the diner — you felt way more exhausted than usual and wanted to sleep right away. And you did just that: closed your eyes, listened to the calming rhythm of your breaths, and soon drifted into an anticipated slumber.

….Three Hours Later….

The next time you open your eyes, you’re not in the room you left yourself in — let alone the bed. 

Instead, you find yourself somewhere cold and dark. Your bed is nowhere in sight, just a lone chair facing you. There are no windows, no desks, just you and this chair with a sole overhead light that almost blinds you when you slowly get up. 

The change of scenery throws you off as one thought after another picks up the pace of confusion. Where am I? What is this place? This has to be a sick dream of mine…Wait a minute. You look down to find your pajamas are shriveled and torn up, pieces of the material scattered all over where you’re lying on the cold floor. Also, what the fuck!? You can’t seem to move your hands and feet, noticing that there’s some rope restricting your limbs from moving freely from one another. No matter how hard you try, squirming does little to no help, yet it confirms that this is not a dream.

What the absolute fuck is going on right now!? It was an appropriate question for this perplexing situation, not knowing where to pick up from to start picking clues as to why you’re here. Better yet, who brought you here?

“Ah, look who’s awake.”

You turn to the sound of a door opening and closing; the direction it came from makes it hard to register the distance of whoever was speaking to you. However, that doesn’t matter because you can hear footsteps approaching you and a figure stepping into the light. And when the face finally comes to your field of vision, your blood shifts into an immediate icy cold.

Standing to you by the chair was a man in a tight black shirt that exhibited his muscular arms and physique way too perfectly, harboring dark and baggy pants. But those weren’t the features that had your breath hitch. No, no. The man before you had raven hair with the length stopped to his ears and strands that covered his brows. They did not even try concealing the striking green eyes that looked straight at you. And the familiar scar at the right of his lip put everything together for you — the mugshot that Shoko showed me, the inmate that escaped prison…!

Toji Fushiguro, in the flesh, takes a seat on the chair with his legs spread while putting on black gloves. He notices your look of realization and smirks; you don’t like how his scar is rooted up with the motion. “Y’re a pretty heavy sleeper, ya know that. But I guess that made bringing you here a lil’ simple.” 

A tiny bit of confidence prompts you to speak with the man. “Whe–Where am I?”

“C’mon now, little girl,” your stomach churns when he scoffs at you. He brings up a hand to help him as he cracks his neck. God, why is he so jacked!!? “Y’re supposed to be smart, right? You know that’s the wrong question to ask me.” 

Okay then, think, Y/n, think… ”…Why did you kidnap me? Is it for money? Because I don’t have much—“ The palm of Toji’s hand faces you to halt you from speaking more, making your nervousness dwell even further. 

“For one, you should really consider locking your balcony door when y’re done using it.” There are not enough words to describe the mental facepalm you gave yourself. “If we wanted to run y’r pockets, we woulda done so earlier.” He casually admits to you. “But that’s not why we brought ya here, so he’ll explain it to ya.”

He? Wait, wait, we??

The other mugshot hits you like a flash before you hear the door open and close again. Of course, Toji isn’t the only one on the run right now. There was another guy with salmon-colored hair and tattoos. The other figure, now wearing a black tank tee and ripped black jeans, came from behind Toji. Your stomach drops to the floor when your eyes land on the prominent black tattoo on his nose — now seeing that he has way more on his face, shoulders, arms, and wrists. The scene from the diner replays until your brain can’t keep up. It was him, no doubt about it.

“Well, well. Did the sleeping beauty finally get their rest?” Sukuna Ryōmen, looks just as [if not more] dangerous as Toji. He stuffs his hand into the back of his jeans pocket. “Listen here, I’ll be asking you some questions, and I expect nothing but honest answers. Got that?” 

You don’t know what possessed you to ask the question. You being scared shitless right now should’ve prevented you from doing so. And yet, you ask, “And if I don’t?”

It happened way too fast; your eyes couldn’t even process it happening. But one moment, the salmon-haired criminal was standing in front of you beside Toji. The next, you feel someone crouched behind you with the cold feeling of something barely piercing your skin. Your eyes widen, and you don’t dare move a single hair. Toji shakes his head at you, the smirk on his face still present. Now you can guess who had fun cutting up your PJs.

“I don’t think you wanna know the answer to that question.” He says it so close to your ear that you could’ve nearly fainted. Sukuna then moves the knife to scrape the side of your neck. “And don’t you ever think you’re in a position to ask me questions. Use that college brain of yours, brat.” 

You gulp — a risky move when you have a sharp object to your neck — and nod. Satisfied, the pink-haired man removes the knife from your proximity and stands right up. “At least you follow things quickly.” He says while walking back to where he stood prior. “Now, question one: do you know a kid named Kento Nanami?” 

The mention of your boyfriend’s name hits you like whiplash. Kento? What do they want with him!?

“…Yes, I do.”

“Good. Next question,” You chew the inside of your lip before he asks you the following. “Where does he live?”

Your body almost shuts down when he says the final word. No. No, no, no! Absolutely not! “I can’t tell you that.”

“Tch, just when you were doin’ so good.” Sukuna sucks his teeth. “And why the hell not?”

“Because I don’t want you hurting him.”

He barks a laugh. “You don’t even know what we’ll do to him! Damn, talk about a loyal dog.” 

The insult sparked a flame in you. It was a small one, but a flame nonetheless. “Why the hell do you want to know anyway? It’s not like he knows you any—Hrckk!”

“What the hell did I say about you asking questions, huh.” A hurried hand meets your throat, black nails digging into your skin as his grip gets unbearably tight. You attempt to keep a stern face despite choking for some air, but you’d be lying that the pain wasn’t getting to your head.

“Alright, Kuna, let ‘em go.” You almost forgot about Toji sitting on the chair until he spoke up. With a displeased click of the tongue, Sukuna releases you and throws you to the cold, hard floor. “For your information, princess, that kid does know us.”

You’re coughing up a storm, but you still listen. Your eyes are watery, and your throat pulses. “Hic…Ack, what—What are you talking about?”

Toji continues. “That little friend of y’rs is the reason why we were behind bars for three years. Fuckin’ kid saw us break into a house in his neighborhood and called the cops on us. For the longest time, we’ve thought about getting out of those damn cells and coming back to rip that lil’ fucker limb from limb. Maybe ransack his whole home and then some.” 

“And now that we are out here,” Sukuna chimes in. “We plan on doing just that. We were sitting right behind you at the diner and heard the brown-haired chick say his name, meaning he had to be around this county. And when he heard that fucking square had a little girlfriend, who better to introduce ourselves and point us the way than you.” 

So much information hits you all at once that you’re not given enough time to process it properly. Nanami called the cops on these guys? Where was that piece of information on the phone call!!? Three years ago, it must’ve happened before the start of freshman year. And then there’s the matter of these murders trying to kill him — the love of your life! 

You immediately try to weigh your options: you could give them a fake address, but that would lead them back to you and have you killed instead. And Nanami doesn’t live at home right now; he’s on campus with you and everyone else. So, sharing these two his home address will just have his family killed in his place! Oh, you wouldn’t handle that guilt; you just couldn’t!!

“So, what’ll it be, little girl?” Toji’s voice snaps you from your rampant thoughts. “You can be a cute girlfriend and be loyal, and we’ll just kill you right here, right now. Or, you give us an address, we’ll put you back to sleep, and you’ll never see from us ever again.” 

Those two options were far from what you wanted to do. You would never want to jeopardize your poor boyfriend’s life and those around him for being a model citizen, especially for these assholes! There had to be a way, something you could do!

“Please, don’t hurt him!” The ropes on your hands and feet have you shuffle to look at the two men from the dirty ground. “He didn’t do anything wrong. Please just spare him!”

“No-can-do, brat.” Sukuna comes down to your level once more, yanking your shirt — or whatever’s left of it, your bra practically out for the whole world to see — to lift your upper body. “Nothing to ease a vengeful spirit than taking care of the problem, right? So do us a favor, will ya.” 

Tears are fighting your control to fall, your body trembling. You’re scared, so so frightened. But most of all, you’ll do what you can to make sure your “golden boy” stands tall for you. “Please, I’ll do anything! Anything you want, I’ll do it! So, please!!” 

Sukuna opens his mouth to bite back, but no words come out. Actually, his expression resorts back to a neutral tone. He then turns to Toji, who looks at him with a quirked brow. There’s nothing but silence between the two, a silent conversation between the two killers that you have no choice but to stay quiet for. And you jerk when the two focus back on you. Sukuna then finally says something.

“Anything, huh?” It’s the worst when he sneers at you. Such a devious man. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Tch. Fucking brat.” Sukuna sucks his teeth before he snatches your chin with a rough vigor, forcing your teary eyes to face him. And it doesn’t help that you now have a gun pointed at your temple. “This is your warning. You better do this right, or you’ll be the first to get a gift with your boyfriend’s head all minced up. Now, use that mouth. Properly.”

Never in your wildest dreams did you ever think you’d end up here. You stood on your knees and hands on the concrete floor, your mouth occupied with Sukuna’s cock, propelling your face to and fro to meet the base. Why the handgun to your head? According to the salmon-haired man, he said: “Try to fight, run, or bite our dicks off, then this whole mag is getting emptied.” So, you’re literally giving the fellatio of your life. And judging by the grunts coming from Sukuna, it seems you’re doing a decent job keeping him going. 

As for the other one, Toji, his hands grabbing onto your asscheeks from beneath should answer that. “C’mon, baby, sit on my face. I don’t bite…” you can tell he has the biggest grin on his face saying that, has you hesitant to follow orders. Regardless, you gently sway your ass down to sit on his face. But impatience gets the best of him before he pulls you down himself, his nose abruptly hitting your clitoris. You jolt despite his hands keeping you on him, forced to feel his tongue and mouth indulging on your wet folds.

So there you sit, bare and nude, for the men to use you as they see fit. Whatever piece of your clothes were torn off you to be fully exposed for them. This is what you choose to do for the sake of your boyfriend: giving yourself off for the night. 

Oh, if Shoko could see you now. Sucking off one of the exact murderers you two were talking about at the diner while the other eats you out? You know you’ll never hear the end of it from her if — by some miracle — she finds out! And you’ll hold onto that miracle for as long as you can. 

“…Fuuuck, hnngh! It’s been a minute since I had my dick on something tight,” Sukuna comments while putting his free hand on your head. His thrusts increase to have your tongue bathe the underside of his dick, and he sighs at you choking when the tip suddenly hits your uvula. “Heh, that’s right. Keep those tears coming, pet…You seem to be enjoying yourself there, Fushiguro. This broad taste that fucking good—Ohhh shit, fucking shit…”

You can feel Toji’s lips curve into a smile from down under, he gives your labia and clit a slow and antagonizing lick before responding to his partner in crime. “Mmmm, man. It’s been a while since I had to do this. Crazy how this princess got with a square like that kid. Wonder if he makes ‘em feel good like this.” And then he returns to your clit to give it a harsh suck. 

Your body continues to be used like a toy. Your jaw loosens to oblige Sukuna’s girth that’s currently hitting the back of your throat every time your lips meet the pubes of his pelvis. His ruts dial-up, and you ball your fists with the constant oral abuse on your face. Drool runs down your chin with every shove of his length, practically choking you with his dick. And the commotion between your leaking vulva and Toji doesn’t go unnoticed either; motherfuker’s tongue is relentless, making sure every crevice and part of your pussy is familiar with him. And the sounds of him slurping your essence are so lewd, so erotic for your ears that you think they’re bound to explode on you. 

“—Ahhh, damn, I’m gonna cum,” Oh, God. Your eyes open to look at Sukuna’s expression, nothing but pure enjoyment looking at your pitiful look. “You’re cute looking all pathetic taking my cock like this, whore—Mmmph!! Shiiiit, keep your head like that.” He grabs your head as his thrusts speed up to an irregular pace, your throat and face becoming numb. Your whimpers are muffled, and tears streak down your cheeks. His groans of pleasure fill the room, and before you know it, his load is released down to the depths of your throat. You’re stuck taking it, mewling on the shaft still in your mouth until he’s finished. 

He removes you when he is, his cock slathered in your saliva and still rock hard. You gawk at it, amazed that you could fit it in your mouth. And you hate to admit this, but it has you wondering what Toji’s is like. 

Speaking of, with a foggy mind, you peer down to see Toji finally done eating your cunt out. “Ya taste good, you know that.” He licks his lips provocately with a smile. You open your mouth to say something, but he cuts you off. “You ready fr’ me now?” He cocks his chin up, and you turn to see what he’s talking about, only to be met with the pinkish-red tip of his sprung erect cock. If you didn’t think you’d be able to have Sukuna’s in your mouth, you’re going to need a diety’s grace to see what you can do with Toji’s. “Heh, think I’m too big fr’ you? How the hell is Kento handling a piece like you?”

“S–Shut up, stop bringing him up!” You shout at him, tired of being reminded of the love of your life whom you’re betraying right now. All for his sake, but still…

He chuckles at your reaction. “Little girl got spark, huh. Fine then, be a doll and put it in yourself.” 

Cold sweat slides from your brow. Me? I’ve gotta put that shit in on my own!? But you have to. You know you do. So, with anxiousness pooling in your stomach, you bring your ass up and use your hand to align his cock to your wet cunt. 

It takes a lot of mental motivation for you to continue, but slowly and surely, you push the folds of your cunt onto his glans. The pain you experience makes it excruciating to bear, but with steady breaths, you push the tip in with every exhale. And when it finally enters your vulva, a gasp erupts from your puffy lips and a hiss from the man with the scarred lip. “Mmmm, slow down, baby, slow it down…” That was probably the only words he’s ever said that you could trust, so you anchor your ass down, taking in every inch of his length with his hands guiding your ass down. When you reach the base, you give yourself a few seconds to adjust to his girth within your velvety walls. “Fuck, ya feel so nice and tight, princess.”

“Is that so?” Sukuna walks from behind. “Can’t wait for me to have a go.” You couldn’t even comprehend the meaning of that sentence because the salmon-haired one kicked your back. You are now mounted on Toji completely, the two of you facing each other while Sukuna crouches behind your ass. “Get ready, I’m putting it in.”

“Huh?” Wait, both at the same time!? “Ho–Hold on, I’ve never done it in my ass bef—“

“Doesn’t sound like a problem to me; guess I’ll be the first then,” he shuts down your argument and then bends down to use his fingers and spit to ease your asshole. It feels so gross and repulsive that you could puke right now. Not that it would matter to Sukuna because he’s already set on doing it — his fore and middle finger pushing in and out of your anus. When he feels you’ve loosened up, he’ll remove his digits and substitute them with his cock. 

And he doesn’t warn you either, fucking bastard; he nudges his dick in his own countdown with no regard to how you’re feeling. Gripping onto the raven-haired man’s black shirt, Sukuna’s cock puts you through pain worth traumatizing, evoking screams that scratch your throat until he gets the whole thing in your ass. Nanami would never put you through this much pain. Never!

“Aww, y’re making the pretty girl cry,” Toji teases condescendingly, chuckling at the sight of you burying your head in his chest to shield the embarrassment. 

Sukuna hums while grinding his hips to your ass, a tiny bit of blood painting his shaft. “Hmph, good, makes my enjoyment worthwhile. Now,” you shriek with the sudden snap of his hips to your ass. “Let’s get this show started.”

When Sukuna moves, Toji follows right after, and you’re left to fend for yourself in this unsteady tempo from both your holes. You start seeing stars from the unusual stimulation, and your mind and vision become so blurry that it hurts to think. Hell, it hurts to try and concentrate on one dick at a time! One is currently scraping the wells of your walls in a way that your slit clenches around him, while the other churns your insides from the back that almost takes your breath away. More drool and tears seep into the black shirt you use to disguise yourself from them. This shit is already humiliating as is!

“C’mon now, baby. Show me that pretty face of y’rs.” Of course, Toji uses one hand to nudge your head to look at him. Your face is such a wet and hot mess, the sweat on your body making you sticky. The attempt to make sentences is beyond you, relying on moans and choked sobs to express your disorganized emotions. “There ya are. Good fuckin’ girl.”

Toji then takes your plump lips with his, his hand snaking to the back of your head to deepen the kiss. It was one thing letting them use your cunt and ass as they see fit; now, they dare to kiss you in a time like this. Oh, this is the absolute worst! How can you speak to Nanami ever again after this!? These lips are now sullied by the lips and cock of other men. You can’t ever go back and say that you were his, and it’s because of these assholes!!

…And what’s worse, you were starting to find enjoyment in what you were doing, sinking into Toji’s kiss and moaning into his scarred lips.

“Haahh…Mmmph…Damn, this slut is so fucking tight.” Sukuna watches your back glisten in the light while your ass quaked under his unstable momentum. He sneers before slapping your asscheek, resulting in a rushed moan and a twitch from your pussy. Toji breaks the kiss. “Hey, keep doing that. Think they like it.” 

With devilish glee, the tattooed other doesn’t hold back. He gives you another smack to the ass, and more loud purrs and shrieks fill the space between you three. Fast ruts to your soaping slit and ass coincide with the strikes to your butt, catching you off guard and leaving a stinging sensation every time. 

It’s apparent now that your hips start to move on their own, riding out your own high while preparing for your orgasm that’s climbing up. And the raven-haired man notices as he puts your hand on your aching buttcheeks. “Goin somewhere, dollface?” 

Oh, for fuck’s sake, let me come already!! “—Ahhnn, ooohhhh!! I’m about to cummm—I’m gonna break—Eeyahhh!!!

“That so?” You want to wipe that smirk off his stupid, dumb, handsome face. “Then go ahead and get dirty, princess. Ring us up.”

Your arousal staggers up when both of their thrusts fall into a unity, the tender spots of your gummy walls from your ass and cunt being hit and abused prompt more ecstatic moans and your head pounding with every jab. Almost there, almost! Please, please, I want it!! And you are finally given what you want; your release crashes into you in a hard swoop, the shocks crawling up your body while your holes contract around both men’s cocks. Your brain falls into an erotic trance; you only care about the euphoric sensations tingling around your body. Dizziness overtakes you, and your head descends back on Toji’s chest.

“Hmph, you really a pathetic pet.” Sukuna grinds his pelvis into your sensitive ass. The aftershocks from your release still make your body react to their movements. “Chasing for your own orgasm, huh. We outta fuck that selfishness right out of you, damn brat…”

You don’t say anything — more like you don’t have the energy to. Your ass and chasm are too stuffed to keep your mind active, and your eyelids feel too heavy to keep up. It probably was from all that crying and screaming. All you want to do is go back to sleep in your bed at your cozy apartment. But that must be asking for too much. Just please end this nightmare…

Kenty…Please forgive me, I’m so sorry….

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You can’t remember how sleep found you that night. But your eyes open to the ray of sunshine that peaks through the binds of your bedroom. Wait, my bedroom!?

You shoot up from your bed, the soft comforter and sheets peeling off your skin, and the cool air from the air conditioning welcomes you back to your personal space. Everything untouched, everything where it’s supposed to be — where you’re supposed to be.

A deep breath is the first thing you do when you wake up, following a long exhale. Was I dreaming? You would’ve accepted that delusion had you not looked down to realize that your figure was covered with one of your oversized shirts, remembering that your old pajamas were cut and torn up. Flashes of last night return to haunt you, and shivers travel down your spine from realizing what transpired at those ungodly hours. You quickly check your sheets for any stains — Thank God, none. Funny how a pair of serial killing assholes have the decency to clean up your body. 

And then a sudden feeling of dread crawls up after hearing your phone vibrating on your nightstand. You hurry to check the screen to find out it was a text message from Nanami. It’s a Saturday, 9 a.m. He’d usually be sleeping in until noon. Curious, you unlock your phone to check what your boyfriend is texting you about.

Recent Message from: ♡ my bby nanamiii ♡

Hey, Y/n. Hope you slept well and everything’s okay. I’m coming from Geto’s place after picking up Haibara, who is going through the worst hangover right now. He said he wants to see you and that you make the best meals for his hangovers. I don’t want to intrude if you’re not up for guests, so please tell me so I can take him somewhere else. But otherwise, we’ll be there at around 30-45 mins. Let’s just relax this weekend, okay?

Reading the text as you fall in love with him all over again. After what you’ve gone through, knowing that he’s safe and sound from any trouble, all you want right now is to be around him and hold him close. To be with him and forget about everything that’s happened. 

You send a heartwarming reply saying you’ll be waiting for the two of them. Then, you remove yourself from the bed and stretch out your fatigued muscles. Ugh, I should probably shower before Nananmi gets here…

However, before you lift your shirt and head for the bathroom, you notice a glass of water and a bag full of pills. Huh…I definitely didn’t have that there when I went to sleep before I was taken. And next to the glass was a folded piece of paper. Curiosity got the best of you this morning as you picked up the material to read its contents. 

And this is where you knew your life was changing, for better or worse. Your legs give out, making you fall to your knees with a shaky breath, the hairs of your body standing, and your heart on the verge of leaping out of your mouth. What you read crushed your whole being, leaving you cold in this world — worse than the autumn breeze.

Yo, thanks for the great time last night. Keep that up, and your pretty boytoy will keep standing. Here’s water and birth control, and keep that bag safe. Wouldn’t wanna end up losing it for the next time we fuck you dumb. See ya later, pet.

SR + TF

♱ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2023 – reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly <3 header art by rororgi mogera + dividers by the amazing @/cafekitsune!!