#i believe it exists but only because I have met people from there and it’s right beside AB. it’s on thin fuckin ice though.

[drdemonprince]

Gender liberation, in the end, is not a war between the good group and the bad. It is a collective struggle against the laws, cultural norms, social rules, and institutional policies that restrict all people, and uses rigid gendered categories to keep us so restricted. 

I think if we are going to be able to move forward in this fight, trans men must abandon the notion that other men are fundamentally the “bad” gender — and that we don’t belong to that category because of our transness. We must embrace manhood as a state of both strength and profound lostness, an immense liability as much as it is a source of gender euphoric joy, and see the frustrated wanderings of other marginalized masculine people as of a piece with our own. 

And so, in the interest of helping us all find our way to each other, here are some of the major struggles that trans men and cis men have in common: 

Gender Dysphoria 

Many people believe the experience of having gender dysphoria is something like having a phantom limb, or seeing the wrong image in the mirror, but that’s rarely true. 

For a lot of trans people, gender dysphoria feels more like a maddening insecurity about how we look and how we are being perceived that seems to know no satisfaction, a mental itching that wanders all across our bodies, our faces, down our throats, across our hairlines, and even all over our clothes. It’s the uncertain sense we are not being ourselves correctly, an out-of-placeness that makes our very being feel like it has no right to exist.

Gender dysphoria is not caused by having the “wrong” gendered brain for one’s body (the notion of “male” and “female” brains is a myth), nor is it a mental illness afflicting only trans people. Rather, gender dysphoria is a pretty sensible trauma response to society’s unrelenting and coercive gendering. All people are categorized as a gender, assigned rules, and threatened with becoming less of a person should they fail to measure up. This means that even cisgender people can experience the terror of feeling that they’ve failed to enact their gender correctly and make themselves socially acceptable— a sensation that often gets called “gender dysphoria.” 

I think I first realized that cis people could be gender dysphoric when the actress Amanda Bynes revealed she had tumbled into a major depressive episode after watching herself portray a male character in the comedy She’s the Man. The disturbance she felt from watching herself enact the “wrong” gender sounded exactly like how I felt back when I looked in the mirror at myself as a “woman.” 

In 2019, when Jason Derulo complained about his bulge being removed with CGI for his role in the film Cats, I was reminded once again that cis people can feel utterly, dysphorically wrong in their bodies or how they are perceived. Each year, millions of cis people spend thousands of dollars on breast augmentations, jaw implants, hair plugs, and leg-lengthening surgeries, at least in part for gender dysphoric reasons, and if you’ve worn both male and female clothing before, you’ve likely recognized how much of the tailoring of garments is done to deliberately accentuate or even manufacture the gendered features of a person’s shape. 

Cis people feel ill-at-ease in their bodies, and fail to measure up to gender normative standards too. That’s how artificially constructed and harshly enforced these standards really are.

In recent years, I’ve spent a good amount of time in gay male bathhouses. When I reveal this fact, even to other gay men, I’m sometimes met with confessions of deep bodily insecurity. The idea of being nude in a highly gendered sexual marketplace often causes people’s worst gendered fears to bubble up. 

“I could never go to a place like that,” one cis gay man in his forties confessed to me. “My dick is too small. Nobody would ever want to look at me.” 

“I wouldn’t fit in there,” said another cis man, a short, effeminate type with long flowing hair. “They might think I was a girl and kick me out or harass me.” 

These men knew, of course, that I don’t have a penis, and can be mistaken for a woman from some angles. And I had just told each of them I’d never had any problem visiting the sauna. Yet they couldn’t shake the sense that I was doing manhood correctly enough, and they were somehow doing it wrong. Despite ostensibly being “cis,” they weren’t quite sure that manhood as a category could hold them as they really were — not when they were nude and vulnerable, surrounded by their idea of the proper man. 

Of course, having been in these spaces frequently, I could have told them that nobody there is the “proper” kind of man at all. There’s just regular human beings in there — with sunken chests, stretch marks, amputated limbs, multi-layered bellies, rounded backs, tiny hands, and eye patches. 

Over the years, cis men have shared dozens of gender dysphoric insecurities with me, about everything from the width of their shoulders to the length of their eyelashes to the way they hold a can of beer. And in some of the sections below, we will explore more specific examples, because these sources of dysphoria mirror trans men’s almost exactly. But it’s important to establish first that the major commonality across both groups of men is our fear we’re not being men correctly at all. 

Every man, I believe, grapples with the disjoint between their actual, complex human selves and the strong, built, stoic, powerful, masculine image that has been pushed upon us. And we fear living up to that standard because the consequences of that failure can be so harsh — these norms are quite violently imposed. 

Failing to be a man, in some sense, is what being a man actually means. We are united in the precarity of our position, as powerful as it is. A man in a tank-top with a bald spot sitting beside a lush pond. Photo by Beth Macdonald on Unsplash

Hair Insecurities 

“I wish I could grow a full beard so that I could pass better,” says Topher, a trans guy with long hair in his mid-twenties. “But I’m realizing that cis men with long hair get misgendered often too.” 

Dunmer, a bisexual trans guy, echoes this experience. “In this one chemistry class a few years ago, both me and this cis guy got called ma’am by a professor. I’m a rather effeminate/androgynous dude, but I have prominent facial hair. And the other guy who got misgendered was pretty masculine, but had long hair and was clean shaven. We both just kinda looked at each other and shrugged after it happened.” 

I’ve found that numerous cis and trans men harbor deep insecurities about their hair — where it’s growing, where it doesn’t, how it looks on their bodies, and where they might be losing it. It may sound like a frivolous subject at first blush, but hair is integral to gendered perceptions, as well as how others view our sexual attractiveness, race, and age. 

Trans men worry frequently about potential hair loss on T for more aesthetic reasons. I’ve known numerous trans masculine people who have avoided starting hormones because they’ve feared eventually going bald and becoming “less attractive.” And in this we aren’t alone, as 52 billion dollars gets spent each year (by people of all genders) on hair loss prevention treatments. 

“It’s helped me to realize that cis men are also scared of going bald,” says Topher. “When I worry about something gender-wise, I ask myself if cis men deal with what I deal with, and it’s helped me settle into my identity more.” 

Cis and trans men also share complicated feelings about body hair. Though being covered in a dark blanket of fuzz certainly reads as “masculine,” male beauty standards for the last several decades have eschewed hairiness in favor of a the glistening, action-figure-y look. Trans and cis men alike often fear that hair sprouting on their backs will make them unattractive, or that growing a “neckbeard” will be seen as slovenly. And it’s no coincidence that hairiness has often been linked with fatness and being racialized in many people’s minds — the uncontrolled proliferation of hair is often cast as animalistic, unclean, disgusting, less than human. 

But some men have sought refuge from such punishing standards within the gay Bear community. 

“I have never felt more welcomed in my masculinity than I have around other bears,” says Kody, a trans male bear. “I’m literally growing in my manhood — getting bigger, hairier, louder, taking up more space. While being really soft and tender too.” 

I wrote about the many struggles that unite trans and cis men, and how a deep appreciation for our commonalities is essential to the fight for gender liberation. You can read the full piece for free, or have it narrated to you by the Substack app, at drdevonprice.substack.com.

[gguk-n]

What? How? (Max Verstappen x Reader)

Based off this request. I had put up a poll to decide the driver with a part 1 and thought this would be part 2 but I think that's like the preview/introduction and this is the main part!

Everyone grew up hearing about soulmate; from their family or friends or relatives. Most people looked forward to meeting their soulmate, some people wanted to defy fate and some people never got to meet their soulmate.

Max grew up believing that he wasn't deserving of love and thought he'd never meet his soulmate. But a small part of him hoped that, someone would come along and fall for him and be his person. He found himself dreaming of her. The mark on his wrist was a reminder of the soulmate he was yet to find. His sister had found her's and spoke in detail about what it was like to meet your soulmate. He would always end up talking to Victoria about the time she met her's and what it was like, something Max was embarrassed to admit.

In the time that Max had been at RedBull, he had never had issues with anyone. He did his best and gave the team the result he could. Him and his race engineer meshed well, bringing a lot of synergy to their collaboration until he got a new team mate, which some how also meant a new race engineer for said team mate. He saw Y/N for the first time at the start of his fourth year in Formula One. She was cheerful and bubbly and always wore a smile on her face. She spoke kindly to everyone and a part of Max would always gravitate towards her. He had silently hoped they would be friends since they were both perfectionist but it never happened. Y/N always kept to her work; she was assigned his team mate's garage.

It was in 2021, when Y/N got the bump up and became a race engineer for Sergio Perez, his new teammate. Max never knew he could argue with someone as much as he argued with Y/N. They were always at odds because somehow whatever she did was against him, it felt. The team could see daggers flying from across the hospitality at each race but let it go since they never did anything. Until those fights started escalating, from bickering to arguing to full on screaming matches in the hospitality, audible to anyone who could hear. Horner and Marko had tried to get them to resolve their issues but to no avail, it only made things worse.

Y/N thought she was a part of the soulmate less crew, "I'll register you with soulmatch" her mother told her. Soulmatch was an agency, a app or a website, which ever one you chose to help two soulmate less individuals get together and find companionship in each other. Her mother wanted her to start looking, Y/N couldn't careless since her job kept her busy and she was barely at home anyways. Y/N was a race engineer in Formula One; a job she worked tirelessly to achieve. It barely gave her any time to wonder where her soulmate was. She got to work with some of the most talented and smart people to make machinery that made the car go really fast. But now she was working with her driver, Sergio Perez to make sure the race went as smoothly as possible with the best result as possible; sometimes at the cost of the other driver. "Are you listening to me?" her mother's voice broke through her thoughts. "Yeah" she replied. "I'll let you know once you match with people" her mother stated before cutting the call.

Her parents were late bloomers themselves; having met each other in their late 20's and early 30's so she didn't understand the fuss her mother was making. She was in her prime and a soulmate would come along when he wanted to. Y/N travelled the world; if a soulmate existed, she would run into him eventually.

There were a lot of times you would wish someone was your soulmate and there were a lot of times you wished someone wasn't. For Y/N, it was Max Verstappen. She hated his guts; ever since she had become a race engineer, he had been a pain in the ass for as long as she could remember. He would start fights with her if she prioritised her driver, and honestly, who else would she prioritise. She had good strategies that would work in her driver's favour sometimes and he couldn't tolerate it. Starting fights and unnecessary arguments. The team was done with them, the paddock was done with them and the DTS crew always had so much fun.

At the start of 2022 season, the whole paddock and the world knew about Y/N and Max. The fans would laugh and joke about them being soulmates and the other drivers took the piss out of Max for having an engineer as an enemy. But, everyone knew about them. Everyone knew how much the pair hated each other and wouldn't even look at each other, if not to fight.

It was the Monaco weekend, the two of them had been at odds since FP1. Y/N tried to be calm and mature about it; she didn't want to cause issues for the team. Hence, she ignored any thing and everything he said. It was getting on his nerve; she was ignoring him and behaving extremely rudely to him. It all came to a head when the team finished P1 and P3 with Y/N's driver winning the race, street circuits were his thing and Y/N played to his advantage. You can already see the resentment and anger brewing as Max got out of the car. "Who does she think she is?" Max almost screamed at GP. "Calm down Max" GP tried to reason. But Max wasn't hearing anything.

During the post race interview, there were jabs being thrown but it was during On The Sofa; when Max said something, which he later realised he shouldn't have. But it was too late; Y/N was already there and a fight broke out. A lot of commotion, the media having a field day, Sergio and Carlos driver trying to get them to stop, their team trying to stop them and PR having a crisis. The crowd went silent as Y/N pulled her sleeve up to reveal her soulmate mark which matched Max's soulmate mark exactly; now visible due to the scuffle. A loud whisper broke out in the crowd, Y/N looking at him and then his mark as the pair tried to process what was happening. Over whelmed with emotions, Y/N stormed off, leaving the crowd but most of all her soulmate stunned.

Max walked out off the stage, shocked from the revelation. He found him self in his driver's room with no recollection of what had happened. He kept playing back to the moment when he saw Y/N's mark and wondered if things would be different. He wondered if she hated him because he was her soulmate. He wondered what it would be like to liked by his soulmate since the one he got hated his guts.

Y/N was reeling from the revelation; the man who was supposed to be her soulmate was also the man she hated the most, or did she dislike him? All of these thoughts and emotions swirled inside her as she wondered what just happened and how she had gone this long before finding out. Did he know? Did he hate her because he knew? What was going on and what was she supposed to do? She felt her world crash and her phone wouldn't stop ringing. She looked at the caller and it was her mum. "Congratulations darling" she bellowed. Y/N was confused, "I saw you found your soulmate" her mum said when she got no reply. "How did you find out?" she asked. "It's on the news, sweetheart" her mother stated. While Y/N was still reeling from the revelation, F1's social media accounts had already posted about the two sworn enemies actually being soulmates and how it was straight out of a fairytale. Y/N wanted to disappear. Why was this happening now? she wondered, exhausted from the events of the day.

Max was informed by his father that F1 had posted about the moment when Max and Y/N realised they were soulmates. Max was exasperated. He ran a hand through his hair, ready to rip a new one into the admin. As soon as he opened the door he found Y/N standing there. "Did you see?" she asked. Max just nodded shocked to see her. Y/N made her way into the room, trying to find a place to sit when Max gestured towards the sofa. Y/N sat down, "It's an invasion of privacy" she stated. Before Max could say anything, Horner burst into the room. "So happy to find the lovely pair" he bellowed and hugged Max. "You two will make the best couple" he smiled, clapping his hands. Y/N tried to get up to protest, "I've already asked the PR team to start on the media day and social media stuff. You two have to post and we'll start making new content" he stated. "No" Y/N objected. "I'm the one who pays your bills" Horner said before he turned around. "The PR team will email you two the schedule soon" he said exiting the room. Y/N's shoulder's slumped as she walked towards the door. "See you around" Max's voice came out, weakly.

The PR team had decided to make the two appear in pictures and tiktok challenges together, to show them being lovey dovey. The two of them treated it like a task, they would show up, film it and leave. Max could feel his heart ache, hoping Y/N would look at him with anything but disdain.

Y/N found herself questioning herself, if she even hated Max. She found herself staring at him during debriefs and interviews. She found herself learning his driving style. Max was going to win his second championship too and RedBull had planned for a huge spectacle. When Max won Suzuka; he got out of the car, happy even elated and ran to his team and GP. Y/N was stood there by RedBull's plan. Max hugged her first, he wrapped his arms around her and buried his head in her neck. Max felt tears prickle his eyes, he hadn't hugged her ever; her arms wrapped around him. When he pulled away, he saw tears in her eyes. "I like you Max. I'm so proud of you" she said. Max was shocked, this wasn't in the plan. "What?" he asked. "I like you Max Emilian Verstappen" she stated with tears streaming down her cheeks. "I...I like you too" he stated. "Let's talk after" he said pecking her cheek before being whisked away by their team.

After all the celebration, Max and Y/N were finally able to sit down and talk about the other day. "When?" Max asked. "I guess watching you" she muttered. "You?" she asked. "I don't think I ever didn't like you" Max stated. "I thought you hated me?" Y/N asked. "I didn't. I just thought you hated me" he replied, sheepishly. Y/N broke into a laugh. "We're so dumb" she continued laughing.

As time went on, the two of them grew closer with time. Max was able to stop RedBull from capitalising on their relationship. Y/N was still his team mate's Engineer and they still fought but Max would always kiss her to make everything better.

After the dominance in 2023, 2024 was tough on Max and Y/N too. They found them selves at an odd with the team, never themselves. Y/N would always reassure Max that he could do it, a fourth title was in his cards. "Schat, you are too optimistic" Max mumbled while cuddling her. "I'm realistic. I know Max Verstappen" she said. "Do you?" he smirked. She hummed tracing her fingers across his bare torso up to his chest, cupping his cheeks. "I'll marry you the day you win your fourth title" she said pressing their lips together. "No take backs" Max proposed pulling her on top of him. "Aren't you supposed to propose?" she giggled. "You wear the pants in this relationship" he said kissing her again.

As if Max got all the motivation he needed, he won his fourth title in Vegas. After the emotional team radio, "Y/N I hope you bought your dress because I'm marrying you in the next 2 hours" Y/N found herself smiling; there was chaos in the garage, their families were staring at her. "I told him I'd marry him the day he won his fourth title" she shrugged. Horner and Marko were trying to process the situation. But as soon as Max was done with all the formalities, Max staggered towards Y/N. "Never thought I'd marry you drunk" she laughed. "I'd marry you any way" he giggled.

They said their vows at a chapel in Las Vegas in front of their families and the other drivers. Y/N's parents were crying watching their daughter. Some how Max had planned it all, he had their family present, he flew her friends out; it was madness but in the best way possible.

At the end of the night, the two of them lay next to each other in their honeymoon suite. "I can't believe we got married in Vegas" Y/N said looking at Max. "I can't believe I married my enemy" he laughed. Y/N hit his chest playfully. "I love you Y/N" Max said now facing her. "I love you too Maxie" she replied. "You're stuck with me" he stated. "I've been stuck with you since I joined the team" she laughed.

Maybe the fact that your soulmate used to be your enemy doesn't seem so bad. Maybe enemies to lovers wasn't just reserved for YA novels. Maybe Y/N was happy, Max was her soulmate.

[ritualofcirice]

Could we get a letter of sup-port for our dear FrauGwinska? She's a wonderful person who needs to hear just how amazing she really is. She's been nothing but a positive example in the HH Fandom, and I know I'm not the only one who can attest to that fact.

Thank you so much for doing these, by the way. It's so lovely to see people lifting others up when hate has been all to prevalent lately.

🐑 ♡ Here's one letter fresh from Sup-port, addressed one delightful author ♡ 🐑

Dear @fraugwinska,

What an honour it is to be able to write a letter to you! From electrifying Vox smut, to the carefully constructed world of Gem, you're stories intrigue and capture the hearts of those that read them.

Not only that, but you've provided a space for other writers to feel seen. You have made a space where people can go to share with others and talk amongst friends.

That's why you've been nominated for a letter! We want to give back all the support you have given us. Inside and outside of the server, we all want you to know that it is just as much a place for you to be seen, appreciated, and loved. This goes for both you and all your heartful stories. Thank you for sharing them with us, and thank you for all that you have done for the fandom!

Wishing all the best, and sending all of our love,

The Sup-port Team xo

Let's see what other letters arrived for you!

From @hazelfoureyes ♡

Mein Frauchen, very often I read things that make me feel inadequate as a writer. Several times it was things you’ve written, you talented bitch (I love you). I know good art doesn’t always get the recognition it deserves, but I hope you truly believe me when I say you’re skilled in many areas and your efforts are always appreciated. The first time I read your work I almost got too intimidated to talk to you anymore haha but I did! Somehow! ♡ I’m unsure how to lift your spirits, but please know no matter how you choose to exist in our fandoms we all share together that we are better for your presence.

From @macabr3-barbi3 ♡

"Frau is one of the most genuine and heartfelt people I have ever met- she was one of the first people in the Hazbin fandom to welcome me, which was honestly wild because I was already a fan of Method to Madness and was just baffled that she was not only such an amazing writer, but an amazing person all around. When we started chatting after a frankly mortifying initial interaction on my part, I was so happy to find that we were so similar and that she was so fun to talk to and conspire with. So many of my ideas have come from the inspiration she brings me, as a fellow writer and as a friend. She is endlessly patient, empathetic to a degree I've never seen, and so so so supportive and encouraging of everyone that she interacts with in the servers we share. She is funny and charismatic and sweet, and I've grown closer to her faster than I've ever bonded with another person before. It hurts to know sometimes that she doesn't see herself the way that myself and so many others in the Hazbin community see her- an integral and important part of the fanfiction community and in all of our lives. It is one of my greatest privileges in life to not only be here to support her writing and her work but to call her one of my absolute best friends, and I can't wait to see how much further she grows."

From @kewpikayo ♡

Kindness. Warmth. Inspiration, A powerhouse of talent and a genuine soul. Those words, among countless more positive things, are but a taste of who Mama Frau is. I may have only known Frau since the latter part of 2024 but I can just tell she is the type of person who would travel oceans for people just to let them know she cares. She is so sweet, a motherly soul, and so very creatively inclined. To say I appreciate her is a complete understatement. She is a treasure, a precious “Gem”, and to know her is such a gift. The way she weaves her stories with intricate detail and just enough suspense to keep her audience’s intrigue is commendable and a remarkable skill. I am thankful beyond compare for you, Mama Frau. And I am so excited to get to know you even more as we walk further into 2025 and many years to come hugs

From @startissuu ♡

"Stop being so darn pretty before Chef is forced to travel to Germany and get down on one knee"

Tagging Backup:

@melodyonthewireless, @tarokitsu, @bapple117, @redvexillum, @redfoxwritesstuff, @minkdelovely, @hyuccubus, @reinthechaosdeer, @jurijyuu, @primsgirl89, @dewdropdinosaur, @xalygatorx, @6esiree, @lumikello24

Want To Write A Personal Letter?

Frau's official Sup-port tag is #fromsup-port2fraugwinska

♡ Is it your first time picking up mail at Sup-port? Find out what we're about here ♡

[magnusmodig]

ovo whispers menacingly abt his grandstanding .

[redstrewn]

Part of me is team "leander is like that to everyone" bc he also plans to recruit MC into his Bloodhounds in the future ("not yet"). Despite knowing the Bloodhounds for years he isn't close to them. Makes me think he ups the charm and seduction to anyone who may be of use to him to get them to pledge their allegiance.

[flowersforbucky]

i got it bad

logan howlett x reader (worst!logan x reader)

word count: 4.9k

summary/prompt: logan can't help that he has super hearing and overhears you - wade's seemingly sweet, shy neighbor - telling vanessa what you fantasize about doing to him. believing that you won't ever act on it, he takes matters into his own hands.

or - getting yourself off on logan's abs

warnings/tags: smut, 18+ only mdni, reader is afab, no use of y/n, logan's pov, porn with a little plot, male masturbation, teasing, nipple/breast play, some tit slaps, multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v, cream pie

Ever since Logan first met you, he hasn’t been able to get you out of his fucking head.

Which is really unfortunate for him, considering you seem indifferent to his existence.

Wade says that you're just an introvert, and that it takes you a while to get comfortable around new people, but after living across the hallway from you for the last few months, Logan is sure that you have no interest in him outside of simple, polite conversation whenever the two of you run into each other.

He first notices you from across the room when you enter Wade and Althea's apartment – his apartment now, too, he supposes. The small space is crowded, but you're impossible for him to overlook. He instantly recognizes you from the polaroid picture that Wade had showed him in the Void.

You’re greeted by Vanessa, who kisses you on the cheek and shoves a drink in your hand before dragging you over to where Logan is listening to Wade and Althea bicker about – what were they bickering about again? All he can focus on is the way your dress hugs your curves and the lipstick imprint that you’ve left on the champagne flute in your hand.

He needs to get out more. Go to a bar, get a job, maybe even try out one of those dating apps that Vanessa has suggested to him – something to get him out of this fucking apartment that he's stayed holed up in since arriving in this universe, because he should not be this flustered by a complete stranger.

“Earth to Peanut,” Wade snaps his fingers in front of Logan’s face. He barely processed anything Vanessa had said while she introduced you. Blah blah, neighbor, something something, lives down the hallway. “Jesus, did you get into the white powder under the floorboard? Your pupils are as big as saucers right now.”

“Oh, go easy on him, Wade,” Althea scolds. “It’s natural for pupils to dilate when looking at a pretty girl.”

The expression on your face matches how Logan feels – surprised, embarrassed, slightly mortified.

“You don't even know what she looks like. She could look like me for all you know,” Wade snorts.

“She brings me homemade cookies and she always smells good,” Al retorts. “I don't need to be able to see her to know that she's pretty.”

“Nice to meet you,” Logan finally speaks up with a forced smile. Leave it to his two roommates to make a simple introduction as awkward as possible. “And no, I am not high on cocaine,” he adds with a pointed glare at Wade.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Logan,” you return the sentiment with a chortle and shy smile. “And don’t worry, I never pay attention to anything Wade says.”

Yukio and her girlfriend with the long ass name that Logan has yet to memorize then walk up and gain your attention, leaving Logan wishing he could redo the entire interaction.

He spends the rest of the night hoping for an opportunity to talk to you again, and feeling disappointed when that doesn’t happen.

The next couple of months go similarly. He runs into you frequently – in the elevator, and the communal laundry room of the apartment complex, and when you’re both checking your mail at the same time.

You always greet him with a smile and ask the typical casual conversation questions – how he's liking his new job (he’s not, but he tells you it’s going fine), if Wade is staying out of trouble (no), and how Laura is doing (she’s doing great, actually), but it never progresses much past that.

As soon as the conversation starts to venture into more personal territory, you seem to shut down. You’ll make some excuse about having somewhere to be, wish him a good day, and then you’re gone.

He can’t help himself. He sees how carefree and talkative you can be with Vanessa and hell, even Wade – and he wants that. At least then he may feel a little less crazy for spending so much of his free time racking his brain for ways to get closer to you.

Maybe it’s because it has been so long since he’s had a crush on anyone, but sometimes he thinks he might be losing his mind with how often he thinks of you – your smile, your eyes, your scent, your voice, and the way that having a five minute conversation with you always leaves him feeling for the rest of the day.

That’s why when he’s walking to his apartment one evening, and hears his name come from inside your apartment, he stops dead in his fucking tracks.

God, he knows he shouldn’t listen. He knows he should keep walking, go into his apartment and close the door.

But it’s not like he has his ear pressed up against your door. It’s not his fault that he has super hearing and that the apartment building has paper thin walls.

His brain is yelling at his feet to move but they stay planted firm right where they are.

“He thinks you don’t like him, you know,” Vanessa says. Logan doesn’t need to be able to see to know that there’s a smirk on her face.

He’s tempted to cause some kind of commotion in the hallway and then dash into his apartment, just to stop Vanessa from saying whatever the hell she’s about to say.

“Logan?” You sound appalled. “Of course I like him.”

“I know that you like him,” Vanessa chuckles. “But I can see why he would think otherwise. You act like you can barely stand to be in the same room as the guy for five minutes.”

“That’s not true.” Your voice shoots up several octaves higher than normal.

Logan sends a silent prayer to whoever the fuck is listening that no one walks down this hallway in the next few minutes and sees him standing still as a statue next to your apartment door.

“It’s not that I simply can’t stand to be in the same room as him,” you continue, lowering your voice back down to its normal volume. “It’s that being in the same room as him makes me want to jump his adamantium bones.”

For a second, he really believes that his two hundred year old heart might stop beating.

“I’m fucking pathetic around him,” you huff. “Last week, I saw him pull his t-shirt off in the laundry room to put a clean one on, and ever since then I haven’t been able to stop thinking about grinding my pussy against his abs. Something is seriously wrong with me, Nes.”

But Logan doesn’t hear Vanessa’s response, because he speed walks away while she’s still cackling. By some miracle, Wade isn’t home, so Logan darts past Althea and locks himself in the bathroom.

What the fuck, Jesus Christ, and holy shit all play on a loop in his mind while he tries to ignore the bulge that has quickly formed in his jeans.

The last words he expected to hear anyone say today were jump his adamantium bones and grinding my pussy against his abs – but the fact that he heard those words come from your mouth in your sweet voice has his cock throbbing so hard that he can't think of anything other than you doing exactly what you’ve been fantasizing about.

Images of you straddling him with your bare, wet cunt rubbing against his happy trail, getting yourself off on his body as he plays with your pretty tits –

He let’s out an audible growl and rips the shower curtain open before turning on the water – straight to his normal hot temperature, too. He knows a cold shower isn't going to do him any good right now.

Standing beneath the hot stream, he thinks of what has transpired in the last five minutes and strokes himself in his hand until warm, white liquid follows the water down the drain.

When he finishes, he stills hears your voice in his mind and gets hard again within minutes.

••••••

Logan hasn’t seen you in three days. Three days might not seem like a long time to go without seeing your neighbor, but it feels like a long fucking time for him. In fact, it’s the longest he’s gone without casually running into you since he first met you months ago.

There’s a reason for this, though – he hasn’t checked his mail in days, hasn’t taken any of his laundry down to the basement in days, and has generally tried to avoid leaving his apartment as much as he can out of fear that he’ll see you. He even went as far as to pretend to be napping when you came by with some fresh baked brownies for Althea yesterday.

He wants to see you, of course. Goddamn, does he want to see you. But after overhearing your conversation with Vanessa earlier this week, he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to look you in the eye and pretend like he hasn't been making himself cum to the thought of you on top of him every time he takes a shower.

But after three days, he finds himself missing you too much to keep up his attempt at distancing himself from you.

What if he’s being ridiculous, staying cooped in this apartment to avoid you? What if you’re just down the hallway, thinking about him at the same time he’s thinking of you?

He's tidying up the kitchen when he sees the pink Tupperware container that you’d brought the brownies in yesterday sitting in the sink. The brownies were long gone – they’d all been eaten by him, Wade and Al within the same hour that you brought them over.

Taking the Tupperware back to you would be the nice, neighborly thing to do, right?

With Al already retired to her bedroom for the evening, and Wade out with Vanessa, he takes it upon himself to wash and dry the container.

It’s a Friday night, so he knows there’s a chance that you’ve got plans and might not even be home, but he still takes a few minutes to fix his hair and swipe some deodorant on before walking down the hallway towards your apartment.

As he approaches your door, he realizes that you are home. There’s light spilling from the crack at the bottom of the doorframe and he can hear low music playing inside. A mix of anxiety and anticipation sets in, but he clears his throat and knocks on your door before he can chicken out.

He hears your footsteps approaching and attempts to wipe any sign of nervousness from his face – he’s just returning your Tupperware, for Christ's sake.

“Logan,” you breathe as you open the door. “I haven’t seen you in a few days,” you greet him. He can’t help but relax at the smile that grows on your face when you realize it’s him. “What are you up to this evening?”

You lean against your doorframe, and Logan has to force himself to maintain eye contact. You’re wearing a matching pajama set – a cute pair of velvet shorts and tank top that shows more of your skin than he’s ever seen before.

“I – uh,” he stammers, holding out the Tupperware container to you. “I just thought I’d bring this back to you. They were great, by the way.”

Your smile spreads to your eyes at his compliment.

“Oh, thanks,” you beam. “I’m glad you got to have one. Wade told me that you were asleep when I came by yesterday so I figured he’d have them eaten by the time you woke up.”

“I’m sure he would have, but Al made him save one for me,” he laughs.

He tries to focus on the conversation at hand, but the fact that you look fresh out of the shower definitely isn’t fucking helping. Bare faced with the scent of your body wash and lotion on your skin, his thoughts begin to stray into dangerous territory fast.

“I don’t wanna interrupt your night, though. I’ll let you get back to—”

“You’re not,” you say quickly as he begins to step backwards. “You're not interrupting. Are you doing anything tonight? I just ordered a pizza and there’s plenty. I was gonna watch a movie, if you want…” You trail off, glancing back and forth between him and your apartment behind you.

He can't help but notice that your voice sounds hopeful.

The invitation excites him more than he cares to admit. Sure, the two of you have hung out plenty of times, but it's always been in a group setting – at one of Wade’s get togethers or movie nights, surrounded by other friends.

But never just the two of you – definitely never in your apartment.

He could never think of saying no to you. Especially not when this is what he's been hoping for since he first me you.

“Yeah. Yeah, I'd really like that.”

You hold the door open for him, letting him enter your apartment. Right away, he notices how different it is from the one that he lives in. Then again, there’s three people cramped into Althea’s – you're the only person who lives here, so you're able to make it entirely your own.

It’s cute, and cozy, he thinks. From your furniture adorned with throw pillows and blankets, to all of your shelves stocked with books, knick-knacks and candles, to the various plants occupying space throughout the living room, it feels endearing and welcoming right away.

“So, where’s Wade at tonight?” you ask as he ventures into the living room. He notes a large cardboard box with an untouched pizza in it on your coffee table. His stomach growls at the sight, and it hits him that he actually is fucking starving.

“He’s out with Vanessa. Fourth time this week,” he answers, turning to find you retrieving two plates from a cabinet in your kitchen. You're angled away from him, and when you raise your arms to grab the plates, your tank top lifts enough to give him a clear view of your midriff. He quickly averts his gaze, pretending to find something on your bookshelf particularly interesting.

“I’m just really glad that they’ve worked through things and seem to be happy now,” you sigh. “He wasn’t in a good place after their breakup. Barely ever left his apartment for the longest time.”

“They’ve got something special, that’s for sure,” Logan agrees.

You hand him a plate, walking past him to your couch. You toss some of the decorative throw pillows to your recliner, making room for him on the sofa. You pat the empty space beside you, an invitation for him to make himself at home.

“Who knows, maybe they'll even get their own place soon and I won’t have to share the living room with him anymore,” he says as he sits down beside you.

It’s a pretty small couch – really more like a loveseat – so it’s a snug fit for the two of you. The skin of your exposed kneecap brushes against the fabric of his jeans as you lean forward to grab yourself a slice of pizza.

“Sounds like you just want Blind Al and Mary Puppins all to yourself,” you tease. You hand him a piece of pizza and close the box before propping your feet up on the table. You lean back, looking at him with a smirk and raised brows.

“If he moves, that dog is going with him and you know it. There’s no way he’d leave her behind,” he shakes his head.

“There’s no way Althea would let him take her. She's grown to be as attached to her as Wade is. I think even you like her more than you care to admit.”

“What can I say? She has a way of weaseling herself into your heart,” Logan sighs.

“Oh, it’s definitely the tongue,” you shrug through a bite of pizza.

Logan grimaces as a vivid image of Mary Puppins French kissing Wade awake flashes through his mind, but he can't help but laugh.

You turn on some action-comedy that Logan has never heard of, and the two of you eat and take turns making comments about whatever is happening on the screen for the first half of the movie.

He tries to stay focused on the film, he really does, but every now and then you readjust your position on the couch, causing him to catch a whiff of your perfume or your thigh will brush against his and he'll have to force his attention back to the characters on the screen.

No matter how distracting he may find your mere presence beside him, he's enjoying himself. This is by far the longest the two of you have hung out together, without the additions of his roommates and other friends. He dreads the moment that the movie ends and he’s obligated to tell you goodnight before reluctantly going back to his own apartment.

During the second act of the movie, he wonders what you’re thinking - if you could possibly be feeling the same way as him – when you randomly sit forward, grab the box of the leftover pizza off of the table in front of you, and stand to take it to your refrigerator.

It's then that he picks up on an odor – not the light floral aroma of your perfume but something new. A scent that answers the question of exactly what you had been thinking about. It’s musky and pheromonal, and even though it’s been a while since Logan has been intimate enough with a woman to smell the scent of her arousal, he recognizes it right away.

When you sit back down beside him, the sweet smell washes over him again and he bites the inside of his lip so hard that he tastes blood. The wound disappears as quickly as it’s formed, but the same can’t be said for the erection that begins to strain against the confines of his boxers.

He eyes the pile of small, decorative pillows that you had tossed to the side and wishes that he could grab one to place over his lap.

The words that you’d said to Vanessa a few days ago begin replaying in his mind for the thousandth time since he’d first heard you say them, reminding him this isn’t one-sided. He may be sitting here attempting to conceal a raging hard-on by shifting his position and subtly adjusting his pants, but Logan’s heightened sense of smell tells him that your underwear are probably starting to feel as uncomfortable as his do at the moment.

Without turning his head, he risks a glance at you. Your eyes are on the movie, and your face is neutral, but your posture gives you away. Your arms are crossed over your chest, the tips of your fingernails digging tiny crescent shaped indentations into the flesh of your upper arm. You have one of your thighs crossed over the other, locked together tightly but that doesn’t stop him from being able to smell how fucking wet you are.

“You know, if my sense of smell is as good as my sense of hearing, then I think I have a pretty good idea of what you’re thinking about right now,” Logan starts, his voice low and gruff. He watches from his peripheral vision as you freeze, your form going rigid.

“But I’d really like to hear you say it.”

You turn to him, your eyebrows quirked but your face otherwise impassive.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about. What exactly is it that you’d like to hear me say?” you ask innocently. You give him doe eyes that make his cock finish filling with blood.

He huffs a laugh, picking up on the way that your heartrate accelerates when you look at him.

“I'd like to hear you say what you said to Vanessa a few days ago,” he hums. “I can’t remember exactly, but I think it had something to do with you rubbing your sweet little cunt on my abs. Does that sound familiar to you?”

“Hm,” you feign contemplation. “That doesn’t really sound like something I'd say.”

He knows you’re trying to play it cool, but there’s certain things that you just can’t hide from him – like the way your heart is beating a mile a minute and the way your nipples have pebbled beneath the thin material of your tank top.

“You’re right. It doesn't sound like something you’d say,” he snorts, and leans in so that your face is just a few inches from his. “So imagine my surprise when I walked by your apartment to hear you talking about jumping my adamantium bones.”

He doesn't miss the way your breath catches in your throat or how your eyes flicker to his lips.

“You gonna do it? Or you just gonna keep thinking about it while you're sitting beside me?”

For a second, you say nothing and Logan struggles to read your expression. Then, without taking your eyes off of him, you slowly stand in front of the couch. You reach for the hem of your tank top and pull it over your head, leaving you naked from the waist up.

Logan's mouth goes dry. Suddenly, he's all out of smart remarks.

You hook your thumbs into the waistband of your pajama shorts, pushing them down your thighs along with your panties, and let them both drop to your feet all while holding his gaze.

With you now stark naked before him, he leans forward, grasping you by the backs of your thighs and pulling you onto his lap. You straddle him, gently pushing him back against the sofa.

He tugs his own shirt over his head while you undo his belt buckle and pop open the top button of his jeans, your hands fumbling when he sheds his shirt.

Logan doesn’t typically think too much about his physical appearance. He knows he’s in good shape, and thinks he’s conventionally attractive enough. But he could see himself getting a bit of an ego, if he had someone looking at him the way you are right now on a regular basis.

You help him shimmy his jeans and boxers down far enough for his cock to spring free. You take him in your hand, using your thumb to smear the thick bead of pre-cum across the head.

“You should be careful listening to people’s conversations outside of their doors,” you hum as you pump him in one hand. You hunch over, lowering your mouth enough to spit down his shaft, lubricating the length. You smirk, glancing up at him from beneath your thick eyelashes. “Other people might not react as happily as me.”

Fuck, he knows it’s been a long time since he's even felt anyone’s hands on him, but he feels a little pathetic at the way his balls are already tightening and feeling so heavy just from the way you’re languidly stroking him.

And as much as he’d love for you to keep your hands on him, there’s time for him later. Right now, what he wants more than anything is the feeling of your pussy on him.

He pulls your hand off of him and then tugs you over his erection, trying his hardest to ignore the way the wetness between your legs glides against the tip of his cock, until you’re flat against the hard expanse of his lower stomach.

“This is what you wanted, yeah?” He grunts. You whimper in response, tightening your thighs around his sides and rocking back and forth with the smallest amount of friction. “Don’t be holding back, wanna feel you make a mess on me.”

His words seem to erase any remaining reservation that you may have had. You brace your hands on his chest and begin dragging your center across his lower stomach, your slick coating the thick trail of hair that goes from his belly button to his waistline. With every backstroke, the head of his cock juts against your ass.

You glide across him easily. Soft, wet, and warm, Logan thinks that if you feel this good on his fucking stomach then there’s no way he’ll be able to handle being inside you.

He leans his head forward, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth. You hold his head in your hands, tugging on his hair with your fingers as he teases your nipple with his tongue and teeth.

He pulls his mouth away from your breast with a wet pop. “You like this? Using me to get yourself off?”

“Mm-hmm,” you nod frantically, your answer coming out as a moan. He gives a quick, firm slap to your other breast. Judging by the sound it draws from you, you like it, so he does it again.

He'd pictured this exact scenario a shameful number of times in the last few days, but his thoughts hadn’t done you justice. Every little noise you make, every little whimper and moan as your clit brushes against the thick bulges of his muscles again and again, sounds sweeter than he could've dreamed.

He places his hands on the meat of your hips, guiding you forwards and backwards across his abdomen at a fast pace.

“Fuck,” you gasp, clenching your thighs around him as tight as you can. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum—”

“That’s right,” he coos. “Come on, cum on me.”

You dig your fingernails into his shoulders, drenching the hair on his stomach as you ride out your orgasm on him with a cry of his name.

You collapse against his chest, going still with your face in the crook of his neck as you steady your breathing.

“Look at me,” he whispers after a moment. It hits him that despite the fact that you just humped him until you came all over his abdomen, he somehow hasn’t even kissed you yet.

You pull away from his neck, looking down at him with a dazed expression. He brings your face to his mouth by the back of your neck. He wastes no more time, instantly slipping his tongue past your lips.

He holds you by the globes of your ass, which hovers just above his erection. You grind down, causing the tip of his cock to nudge against your entrance. He groans into your mouth, his cock past the point of feeling like it’s going to explode if he doesn’t fucking feel you.

“We can stop here,” he murmurs against your lips when he breaks the kiss, even though the thought kills him. He doesn’t want to stop kissing you, touching you, tasting you. It’s only been a few months, but it feels like he’s been waiting a lifetime for this and the last thing he wants is for it to come to an end. “Don’t have to go any further if you don’t—”

“No,” you exclaim with a breathy laugh. “No, I don’t want to stop. Do you want to stop?”

He grins up at you, taking his length in his hand and teasing it through your folds from below you. He coats the head in your juices before nudging it against your hole.

“Definitely don’t wanna stop, sweetheart.”

You sink down onto him at the same moment that he tilts his hips up enough to slip inside you, causing the entirety of his length to fill you at once.

You both go still, adjusting to the new sensation of each other. Your walls, velvet soft and so warm, constrict around him like a vice. He knows you’re likely tired from riding him through your first orgasm, so he begins thrusting his hips slowly, the tip of his cock nudging against your cervix.

“You’re big. So, so big,” you moan – something between a whine and a praise.

“I know, but you’re doing so good, honey,” he encourages as he eases himself in and out of you. “Don’t worry, I got you.”

You latch your lips to his again, and it’s hard for him to hold back. The feeling of your tight, perfect cunt around him and the taste of your tongue in his mouth is overwhelming. He wants to memorize every movement, every sound you make.

You snake your hand between your bodies, your fingertips finding your swollen clit and massaging languid circles. He feels you flutter around him as you start meeting his thrusts with movements of your own, and he knows you’re close.

“Not gonna last much longer, honey,” he grunts with a sharp thrust. “Feel too fucking good.”

“Cum with me,” you murmur against his mouth.

Your command causes something in him to snap. He releases a throaty growl, pistoning his hips upwards at a harsh pace as he fills you up from below. You constrict around him, crying his name into his ear as you ride out your climaxes together.

You collapse against his chest once more, his cock still nestled inside you. He loses track of how long the two of you stay like that, neither of you wanting to be the first to move.

“Remind me to eavesdrop on your conversations more often,” he huffs a laugh, still slightly out of breath.

You bring your lips to his, smiling as you give him a light kiss.

“I’ll know if you do. I have a doorbell camera. You didn’t notice that?”

thank you so much for reading <3 comments and reblogs are super appreciated. here are a few more of my favorite logan pieces that i've written ✨️

for always and ever is always for you - old man logan x healer reader

diet pepsi - old man logan x reader limousine sex

lavender and velvet - worst variant logan x neighbor reader

[masterhallmark]

Rant incoming

I feel like the problem with a lot of Disney's live action remakes (and arguably Wish) is they're trying to appeal to a crowd that no longer exists, namely the people who used to claim that the Disney Princesses were sexist.

All the interviews tend to include, "Well she's not chasing a MAN anymore" which...almost no one sees the princesses like that, anymore. Virtually NO ONE still believes the princesses are man-chasing sexist caricatures of women.

Cinderella is now hailed as an abuse victim who stayed strong long enough to get help to get out of her situation. Anyone who says she should have saved herself is basically regarded as a victim blamer. And it's very clear in the film she wasn't looking to marry the prince, she just wanted a night off. She was the only one who wasn't in line to meet him. She didn't find out she met the prince until he went looking for her!

Snow White is now hailed for her negotiation skills, ability to calm down after extreme stress (she had a moment of panic and had to cry for a bit, but who wouldn't after finding out The Queen hired someone to kill you?), and ability to take charge of a house of adult men. And again, she was an abuse victim, this time trying to escape ASSASSINATION ATTEMPTS. While she dreamed of her prince, it was secondary to her main goal of SURVIVAL. There are also entire video essays about how Snow White gave hope to people during The Great Depression.

Everyone acknowledges that Ariel wanted to be human BEFORE meeting Eric. We all know she was a nerd hyperfixating on humans, and also standing up to her prejudiced father.

We understand Sleeping Beauty wasn't the main character, the Three Good Fairies were, AND PHILLIP WOULD NEVER HAVE BEATEN MALEFICENT WITHOUT THEM! He literally depended on them! WOMEN SAVED THE DAY! But even then, is it really such a sin for a girl to fantasize about romance and fall for someone with corny pickup lines?

We all understand Jasmine just wanted someone to treat her LIKE A PERSON. She rejected every Prince before Aladdin because they treated her like a prize. So why did they need her to want to be Sultan? How did that make her more feminist when she already wanted to be treated like an equal and have a say in her future? Is it only empowering if you want a career in politics?

We admire that Belle, despite living in a judgemental village, was kind to everyone (even though she found the village life dull), and her story teaches girls that the guy everyone else loves isn't always a good guy. What's sexist about teaching girls about red flags? And she didn't start being nice to The Beast until he started treating her with respect and kindness.

Do I really NEED to defend Mulan or Tiana? I think they speak for themselves.

Rapunzel was yet another abuse victim who just needed a little help to get out of her bad situation. In this case, she also needed to learn that she was an abuse victim, and that what Mother Gothel did WASN'T normal, much like many victims of gaslighting.

And don't get me started on the non-princess animals.

Perdita had a healthy relationship with Pongo to the point she was open to express her pregnancy fears to him, and was ready to TEAR APART Cruella's goons for daring to touch her puppies as well as adopting the other puppies. Like, she was so ferocious the goons mistook her for a hyena! She's basically that "I AM THAT GIRL'S MOTHER!" scene from SpyXFamily if Yor were a dog. She and her husband were a TEAM.....but they made a Cruella live action to turn her into a girlboss?! The literal animal abuser!? THAT'S the woman you wanted to put on a pedestal when Perdita was RIGHT THERE!?

Duchess kept her kittens calm after they had been catnapped and was classy as heck. Nice to everyone regardless of social class during a time period where that was uncommon.

Lady stood up to Tramp when she believed he had abandoned her and didn't really care about her. She found out he was a heartbreaker and was like, "Nuh uh. No. You are not doing that to me! You put me through enough."

Miss Bianca from The Rescuers was IN CHARGE the whole movie, and was willing to risk life and limb to save an innocent child. THAT TINY MOUSE TOOK ON ALLIGATORS! And she picked Bernard to accompany her because he was the only one who wasn't ogling her. And then in the sequel SHE DID IT ALL AGAIN! I wish I were as brave as her.

Like, the public haven't accused these ladies of being sexist caricatures since 2014 (Actresses and actors don't count, they're out of touch like the rest of Hollywood) yet Disney is operating under the assumption that the public still thinks that way, hence all the "sHe'S nOt AfTeR a MaN iN ThIs VeRsIOn" talk.

The live action remakes are trying to attract an audience that doesn't really exist much, anymore, and back when it did exist, was comprised mainly of people who didn't actually watch the films. The Disney princesses are no longer seen as sexist, and feminine qualities are no longer seen as weak or undesirable.

[sukirichi]

WHEN I SEE YOU AGAIN | G. SATORU x READER

You’ve been pretending not to see ghosts your whole life in order to blend in perfectly, but you can’t ignore the cute ghost with a bright smile standing in front of your door.

cw. ghost! gojo. fem! reader. minimal fluff. graphic depictions of murder. angst. hurt no comfort. mentions of grief. mentions of being under the influence (alcohol and drugs.) characters with depression. unedited.

notes. wrote a lil something for gojo since it’s been a while since i wrote any jjk fics and i missed it :( also should i open requests again? i miss writing one shots lol

wc. 7k

You met him on the first night of winter.

Eager to get home after a long and tiring day at work, you blow hot air on your freezing palms to keep them warm before stuffing it deep in your coat pockets. The walk home was less than fifteen minutes, and you’ve always refused to buy a car because you enjoyed the journey and wanted to familiarize yourself more with the city. You previously lived in the outskirts, but after a phone call from the main department telling you you were promoted and had to transfer in the city, you found yourself packing up on the weekend and renting a cheap apartment.

Located in the middle of everything – convenience stores, medical facilities, popular bars, and a quaint looking flower shop with a cute florist – you thought your apartment was perfect. It was a little shabby, you had to admit. The plumbing didn’t work well and electricity got cut off at random times in the night that resulted in a headache because you couldn’t send that damn email, but the landlord offered an extremely cheap rent that you couldn’t refuse. Plus, it was only a few minutes walk from your office and your neighbors were peaceful.

Well, most of them anyway.

Your neighbors consisted of mostly old couples who were so silent and desolate that you often forgot they existed, your eyes widening whenever you saw an unfamiliar old lady walking and asking you how your day was before realizing, Oh, she’s Mrs. Oliver, I completely forgot. Save for the married couple who were always throwing pots and pans at each other because darn Ronald couldn’t put the toilet seat back down, your place was placid. The landlord was ecstatic when you saw her poster and inquired for a unit, muttering something about not getting enough tenants to keep the place going because of ‘a traumatic issue.’

You’d really rather not ask what it was.

Besides, you’ve never been curious enough of what the world has to offer, simply because you see things – or rather fragments of people – that you’d rather not see. Ever since you started seeing ghosts at a young age of four, people avoided you like the plague, calling you a ‘freak’ and whatnot. Your family soon moved away to a much smaller place in the city because they couldn’t handle seeing their child who often talked to ghosts and sat in corners alone while laughing by herself be criticized by others. They didn’t believe you, of course, often calling it a ‘lonely child’s imagination.’ They sent you to multiple therapists who always assured you that they would listen to whatever problems you were having to cause you to be this way.

Unfortunately for them, there wasn’t anything wrong with you. You weren’t lonely at all. You saw a dozen ghosts every day who were always ecstatic at finding out you could see them, and they were more than willing to interact. As a child, you always thought ghosts were more interesting than actual people because they had an unlimited amount of time to converse with you, and they have had so many experiences to share with you. 

When you grew older, however, you started to see yourself in other’s eyes, realization dawning on you that on social norms, you are, indeed, a freak.

Determined to fit in more and also sick of being faced with countless counselors who strongly believed you had a traumatic experience when your whole life has been nothing but bland and plain, you started ignoring them. It wasn’t easy at first, though. These ghosts have always kept you company while everyone gave you the side eye without knowing who you really were, and you admit you felt lonely in the beginning and a little guilty when they were convinced you couldn’t see them anymore.

You participated more in school activities and even joined a photography club in high school (you had to quit a month later because ghosts kept appearing on your photos, and you had to burn them in order not to freak anyone out) and with each baby step you took, you started to fit in more. The proud look your parents had on their faces when you had finally become ‘normal’ and even got an award for being an exemplary student was enough to keep you going on this journey, and you ignored the lonely spirits so hard that you eventually started seeing less and less of them.

Until now.

Standing in front of your door was a young man, his back awkwardly bent and long, beautiful fingers fiddling awkwardly with one another. He stood barefoot yet wore a comfy looking blue university hoodie and grey sweatpants, and his silver hair seemed shiny and healthy enough to  not consider him a homeless man who was lost and simply wandering. Tipping your head to the side, you rack your brain to remember if you had any neighbours like him. 

His head snaps in your direction. 

He is definitely not your neighbour. You would have remembered such a cute looking guy.

He had unnaturally ethereal futures, prominent cheekbones becoming more pronounced when you meet his eyes, and you blink to gain control over your body when you realize you’ve been staring too long than what would be considered acceptable. You don’t even deny you’ve been checking him out, although you do ignore the almost puppy-like way his eyes lit up at the sight of you, causing your heart to jump a little. Just a little. You also liked how his hair complimented perfectly with his pale skin – he seemed like an exact embodiment of winter. 

You walk forward, spinning your keys at the end of your pointer finger. Smiling at him politely, you paused in your tracks. He’d been blocking your door. “Hello, is there something I can help you with?”

No matter how cute he was, you wouldn’t hesitate to break his nose if he was a criminal.

His pretty hands come up to his face to cover his mouth falling open, and you take a step back when he does a little jump and starts laughing. “You can see me?”

“Uhm, yes,” you answer. “You’re blocking my door, so yeah, I can very much see you.”

As if realizing just now he stood in the way of you and your comfortable bed, who was calling out to you by now, he mutters a quick apology under his breath before stepping aside, a goofy grin remaining on his face and his childish behavior makes you scoff in amusement. He was still watching you even after you’ve unlocked your door, and you sigh at him. “Is there any reason you’re still standing outside my apartment, or should I call the police?”

Instead of looking worried like you expected him to, his smile only gets bigger. “Actually, I live here, well… I used to.”

You stare at him blankly with a slack expression on your face, watching as his features turn sheepish. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. Looking down on his bare feet, you mumble a curse under your breath when you realize he’s hovering. 

“Not again,” you say to yourself before placing a palm against your forehead. It’s been years since you last saw a ghost, why did you have to see them now out of all times? A new branch is opening up and your superiors have given you the project of making sure the launch goes well, and you didn’t really want a ghost bothering you with your biggest task of all time. You worked hard for this promotion, you didn’t want to take one step forward and two steps back. Glaring at the undeniably attractive ghost who still hovered in your doorway, you decided he wasn’t your problem. 

“Well, goodnight.”

You slam the door on him and trudge towards your bedroom, ignoring his “Wait!” as you unwrap the red scarf around your neck and plop on your bed almost lazily, moaning when your stiff muscles finally relax. The bed was so soft and warm because you’d left the heater on accidentally, and you’re about to be sent to dreamland when a voice beside you speaks up.

“You should take off your makeup before going to bed.”

Opening your eyes and coming face-to-face with the ghost who was resting his chin in both of his hands and laying on your bed, you grab a pillow and throw it at him, and he grins when the object goes past him completely. “Get out of my house, stop bothering me!”

“Technically, darling, this is still my house,” he tells you and starts sitting up before crossing his legs. “The unit was still named after me before you came.”

“Then why wasn’t I informed about that?”

“I was murdered here four years ago,” he deadpans, soft voice flitting into a murmur as he plays with his fingers again, refusing to look at you. “That’s why I never left. Judging from what you said earlier, you can see ghosts, and you know exactly why we’re still here.”

Swallowing a lump in your throat, you stumble over your words. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know and–”

“It’s quite alright,” he shrugs. 

Silence soon joins the two of you; the ghost playing with the ends of your blanket with a far-off look in his face while you study his features, and something tugs at your heart. The reason why ghosts remain here instead of passing on like they were supposed to was because it meant someone was still holding on to them and absolutely refused to let go, or if they had unfinished business that needed to be resolved before they could go in peace. You’ve met ghosts like him who were murdered, and all of them remained with a seething rage and insatiable need for revenge, unable to accept that there wasn’t much they could do in their state. 

As for the one sitting in your ghost, a small smile tugs at the end of his pink lips as he takes in your bedroom, amusement dancing in his eyes at the amount of stuffed animals you had and some framed photos of you as a child. 

“You decorate much better than me, and you’re a lot more organized, too. This place was such a mess back when I was still alive.”

There was an unmissable hint of sadness behind his voice, and you can’t help but ask his name. “I’m Satoru,” he grins, “and for the record, I’ve always been here, just floating through time and space, but not the afterworld yet. For some reason, ever since you arrived, I just appeared back where I left off.”

You nod and take in his words, noticing how he clears his throat and sends a sheepish look your way. “If it’s not too much of a bother, can I ask for your help?”

“What is it?”

He stands up and heads toward your desk, although you supposed it was his since the furniture had already been here before you came. You didn’t think too much about it back then and only felt grateful that you had one less piece of furniture to buy, especially since it was empty. Apparently not, because Satoru keeps digging around through your files with his tongue peeking out his lips, and you vaguely recall that ghosts are able to touch things after feeding off of energy from living beings.

Letting out an ‘aha!’ when his hand finally lands on what he’s looking for, he tenderly places a photo on your outstretched palm with a shy smile. Inside the photo was a beautiful man, probably in his mid twenties, his hair up in a messy bun as he grinned at the camera. Beside him, Satoru’s eyes are closed with his head thrown back in laughter, relishing the feeling of that warm sunny day, and you unconsciously frown at it.

“His name’s Suguru,” he began, his eyes turning glossy at the sight of the polaroid. “He was my best friend before I died.”

Pursing your lips and feeling the tension thicken the room, you ask him, “Why are you telling me this?”

“He’s the reason why I can’t go,” he admits, shoulders dropping while his eyes remain trained on her. “He blames himself for everything and refuses to accept that I’m gone, that’s why I’m still here.”

You remain silent and take a deep breath, your head pounding at the situation. It was a beautiful first night of winter, the perfect weather for you to do your work from home while nestling a cup of hot cocoa in your hands, yet it seems your plans changed and you have to help this ghost out. A part of you wants to reach out and embrace him in a hug, but you know you’ll only end up stumbling on your own feet and clearly, Satoru wants to move on to the next chapter of his journey.

“Can you please tell him I’m okay now?”

When he looks at you like that, shoulders hanging low and an almost shy smile decorating his innocent features, it’s hard to say no.

“I will.”

Through the past few weeks since you’ve met Satoru, your life seemed to light up like a Christmas tree without you noticing. He was a funny guy and often pulled pranks on you, like slamming the cabinets open and closed or leaving your window open in the middle of the night, laughing when you shout at him as your teeth chatter and you slam your windows shut. 

“I could have died from the cold, you idiot!”

He keeps laughing as if he didn’t nearly kill you with hypothermia, “Well, if you die, I guess we’ll be together then,” and even has the audacity to wiggle his eyebrows. You scowl at him and pull your jacket closer to your body, asking what he wants from you because he never goes this far to demand for your attention unless he wants something from you.

“What do you want this time?”

“I wanted to finish that series we were watching the other day,” he pouts rather childishly, “You always tell me not to watch it without you.”

On a particular weekend where you felt like your brains were about to explode from exhaustion due to your work piling up, you refused to wake up until noon, and you felt thankful Satoru knew how tired you were and let you have your much needed rest. When you woke up, a bowl of cereal was already waiting for you in your kitchen island, meaning the reason you felt tired even after that long slumber was because he fed off your energy to give you food.

Feeling thankful for the simple, sweet action, you munched on it happily. It wasn’t anything special and the corn flakes had gone too crusty for your liking, but Satoru’s happiness at you appreciating what he prepared was worth it. After breakfast, you dumped the bowl into the sink and planned to wash it later, opting to flick through Netflix for a good show. Satoru had excitedly pointed at one title that he said he’s always wanted to watch, and the two of you became hooked on it soon enough. Lunch and dinner were both forgotten as you two sat beside each other, your leg against his. Although you couldn’t exactly feel him, his presence was warm.

You and Satoru had been so immersed in the show and unexpected turn of events that time flew by and it was already half past three. He was the first to notice and he jumped from his seat, his hands waving worriedly in a comical manner. “I’m so sorry I made you skip your meals! Aren’t you hungry, you should have some pizza delivered or something.”

Glancing at the clock, you hummed when you realized it was indeed late. You weren’t feeling hungry since you were mostly abeyant, and nothing was open to deliver food around this time anyway. “It’s okay,” you shrug, “I’m not really hungry, and that show is addicting. Oh, and don’t watch it without me! I know you always go ahead when I’m not home!”

Satoru huffs and plops down next to you dramatically, rolling his eyes and taunting you. “Then don’t go to work, Little Miss Manager.”

You poke your finger with his forehead but it only passes through and he laughs, “I need money to survive, idiot.”

“Whatever,” he dismisses and points to your bedroom. “You’ve still got to edit your final draft, so you have to wake up early. Go to bed, don’t worry about the dish, I’ll handle it.”

“Liar, you’ll only feed from my energy so you can play video games!”

“Hey, you can’t blame me!” He counters back as he proceeds to your sink and pumps out soap to the sponge, “You were the one who bought me that console!”

“Only because you kept whining to me how much you wanted it,” you retorted before yawning, and his eyes softened at the sight of you. He rarely gets to see you dressed so comfortably in a loose shirt, cardigan and pajama pants since you were such a busy woman whose fashion sense monotonously consisted of pearl white button-up blouses and knee-length pencil skirts. Prudish and preppy, he thought, but it suits you just fine.  

“You should sleep now,” he reminds you with a nod of his head back to your bedroom, and you obey, simply because your eyes were sore and tired from binge watching. You’re in the process of cocooning yourself under the covers when he calls out in a sing-song voice, “Thank you for the console, by the way. I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

“Shut up!” You scream, and his rambunctious laugh was the last thing you heard before your body wholeheartedly welcomed sleep. 

You’ve been thinking about that day ever since, the moment replaying over and over again in your head, successfully distracting you from focusing on your work. Even your co-workers have noticed that you’re lusterlacking lately, but how could you focus on anything else when you had a charming yet lonely ghost who was waiting for you at home?

For days on end, you can only think about the cheerful and carefree sound of his laugh as if he had so much happiness in his lithe body that he couldn’t contain. Your heart always got tugged in its heartstrings whenever you had trouble falling asleep and he sat beside you in your bed, singing you lullabies and caressing your cheek. You started to feel him now – the gush of air in your skin meant he was pressing onto you, and the more you got attached to him, the more you got confused with your feelings.

He never told you how he was murdered and you never asked, figuring it would be too sensitive for him, and your hands balled into fists each time you remembered he was dead. Satoru is such a precious person who only has too much love to give, and it was completely unfair and outrageous that his life was taken away from him in a single flash. You’ve done your research at work, and only a few articles came up regarding his death. The case remains a mystery and still unsolved until it was completely closed due to lack of leads or suspects, but the police force highly suspected someone had broken in and committed homicide without theft, since not a single belonging of him got touched. They concluded that the murderer was drunk and lost, because he was a well-loved person in their campus, and they couldn’t find anyone who could possibly harbor abhorrence for the sweet boy.

But most of all, a part of you wants him to stay. He frequently asks you if you’ve talked to Suguru, and you always denied it, making up an excuse about how he was hard to find because he graduated years ago. ‘He’s hard to find,’ you would tell him one day, and ‘He doesn’t have social media,’ the next. Even though he told you he majored in Forensics, you couldn’t find anyone in the city. 

It’s a half lie. You never found Suguru, because you never looked for him in the first place.

You know it’s selfish of you to be this way, because you know Satoru wants to move on. He doesn’t say anything about it and keeps laughing instead, but sometimes when he thinks you’re too immersed in your work to notice him, you look at him. Being around you only reminds him of what he no longer has, and one look at him has you knowing he was someone who loved life. Satoru loved to travel with his friends, and he still had so many dreams left unfulfilled that made him feel empty yet desperate to be in the afterworld.

However, it is hard for you to let him go. 

No matter how much you try to fit in, deep inside, you know you will always be too different from the rest. You still struggled with socializing and didn’t have a single friend yet a hundred acquaintances, and you never realized how lonely you were until he came. His smile lit up the whole room and his laugh was melodious, and you don’t think you’ve ever met anyone who cared so much for you. He liked to play games and pull pranks on you quite often, but underneath all that lies a kind heart.

Satoru knows exactly when his jokes go too far and apologizes right away, promising not to do something to upset you again and always doing something entirely new to cheer you up. On nights where you’re feeling absolutely drained or you carried home your anger at your co-workers, you go to sleep without taking off your makeup. When you wake, there’s used wipes in the bin, the hovering boy in your apartment proud of his work. Sometimes you forget to cover yourself in blankets too, plopping on top of the sheets almost lifelessly. It’s in those times that he shows how much he cares for you, and you soon wake up feeling warm surrounded by heavy blankets and freshly cooked breakfast.

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were falling for him. It made interacting with him difficult, because you knew you had to let him go, yet you couldn’t.

He watches you carefully and gauges your reaction, waiting to see if you’ll finish the series with him or not. It’s a Wednesday night, or more accurately an early morning on Thursday and the launch happens in less than a week. Logically, it is much better to go back to sleep and refuse, but he is rocking his weight on his heels back and forth, and you realize perhaps he has been lonely since his death too.

“Fine,” you agree, and now he’s bouncing excitedly next to you on your couch as he keeps pressing buttons in your remote.

“You’re the best, you know that?” 

You only hum in response, and Satoru soon becomes lost in the show. Your eyes aren’t focused on the screen – on him rather. Placed on top of your fist lies your cheek as you study his side profile, trying to memorize the slope of his nose and the snow-white hair that keeps falling onto his eyes that makes him flip it to the side every now and then to watch the show. His right leg keeps bouncing up and down, a habit he had when he was anxiously anticipating something, and then stopping before his left leg went bouncing instead, meaning he didn’t like the situation.

Tearing your eyes away from him, you smile sadly when you realize his favorite character had been betrayed. “Did you see that? That freaking woman, he only loved her and she snitched him out like that?!”

Shrugging one shoulder and feeling your eyes become droopy, you reply, “Well, he’s a grave robber, Satoru, he was only nice to her because he liked her. She had every right to mislead him.”

“I don’t understand, but okay,” he relents and leans back, eyes closing before he intertwines his hands behind his neck and murmurs, “I hated the ending.”

“Not everyone gets happy endings,” you add grimly, watching the muscles underneath his hoodie flex at your comment. The two of you remain silent for a few minutes, and plucking up the courage, you breathe in sharply before slowly lowering yourself until your head is on his shoulder. 

You keep yourself still in order not to fall, and your eyes remain fixated on his hand, silently yearning to be able to touch him. If he was alive, would his skin be as warm as his presence? His hand flexes and trails from his lap until it’s beside yours, and you hear him swallow audibly before locking your fingers with his.

A tear falls down your face. You could feel him. 

Satoru hums a familiar tune, and you chuckle happily when you recognize it’s the song he always sings to you to make you sleep, his fingers rubbing soothing circles on your knuckles.

His other hand tilts your chin upwards until you’re looking directly at his eyes. You hold in your breath, his lips only a centimeter away from yours. If you lean forward, you could kiss him… but you don’t. 

“Why are you crying?”

Because I don’t want you to go.

“Nothing,” you lie and offer a forced smile which he notices, but doesn’t comment about it. “I just feel happy.”

He nods slowly before leaning forward, and he gets so close that you can faintly see his freckles that dot across his cheeks lovingly, and your eyes flutter shut when his lips press against yours. Satoru sighs as if he’s been waiting too long to do that, and he is pushing against you so softly, so tenderly, that it almost fits the same atmosphere your heart creates. He is soft in everything he does, from his innocent features and smile that puts the stars to shame, to how he holds you and caresses you. His hand trails from your neck to pull you closer, and you moan when his tongue peeks out and playfully coaxes yours out to play. Tears are streaming down your face when you kiss him back slowly, tongues moving in sync as they danced harmoniously instead of battling each other for dominance. Caressing your face that fits perfectly in his hand, he brushes away your tears with the pad of his thumbs. 

A moment passes before you two are breathing heavily with your foreheads pressed against each other, and the silence is broken when he speaks, his voice coming out raspy and out of breath. 

“Suguru… has been struggling long before I died.”

“What?”

“My best friend… he got into a rough patch. Had troubles with his parents, went down the wrong path, and met dangerous people. I’d heard rumors he was going around skipping class and talking to people I’ve never seen before, but I chose to ignore it. Suguru would’ve told me everything once he was ready. And I was stupid, you know? I saw it. I saw how he stopped smiling, how he’d lost weight. How his eyes no longer looked happy,” Satoru’s hands trembled, the blue of his eyes hauntingly dark. “One night, I overheard him talking to someone on the phone. I’ve never heard him that angry, and I got worried. I wanted to stop him from whatever he’ll end up doing so I invited him over but… Next thing I know, he came over here, drunk and high, and stabbed me until I bled to death.”

You gasp and shudder as you imagine the scene, Satoru lying on his bed as he waited anxiously for his friend. You see him smiling at Suguru excitedly because he’d actually come, but fear replaces it when his friend succumbs to the madness. The image of Satoru drowning in his own pool of blood made you clench your jaw.

“There had to be evidence left.”

Satoru smiles sadly as if to tell you it doesn’t bother him anymore, but you can’t shake it off. How can a man be so blinded in his own misery that he could take his own best friend’s life? “He was a forensics major; he knew how to cover up his crime.”

A pregnant pause fills the room as you furrow your brows, the sound of the cold wind tapping against your windows as you rack your head to make a decision. Now that you knew the truth, you had to tell the police about it, but how would they believe you if there was no evidence found? And if the case was cleared, and Suguru had finally moved on, that means...

“You can ask me to stay.”

“What?” You breathe out, looking at his eyes with sadness pooling in them. He’s smiling, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You pull away from him completely until he’s at an arm’s length away. He doesn’t look hurt by your action but he sighs, reaching out for you and pausing with his hand mid-air when you raise a palm to stop him.

He must’ve known you’re in love with him. Just as he also knows that once he leaves, you’ll be hurt, and he doesn’t want you to feel that.

You shake your head and stand up harshly. The tears now uncontrollable as you slam your bedroom door to his face. You’re slightly thankful he doesn’t come after you and leaves you alone instead. You needed time. Time to think, time to put his needs over yours - time to forget him. Rummaging through the documents on your desk, you keep looking for it until the polaroid is clutched between your fingers, and you silently place it in your handbag.

Tomorrow, you would set things straight.

Suguru Geto was a hard man to find. He’d fled from the spotlight as one of the  best students of his university after Satoru Gojo’s death. The image of his best friend, who was always in high spirits and laughed without a care in the world, covered in his own blood was a sight that scarred him for the rest of her life. 

But there was one more person who hadn’t moved on from that night.

Ieri Shoko, the woman who ran first at the hospital when Satoru’s parents were away for a business trip. She didn’t want to believe it at first. Satoru had always seemed so full of life, so in love with what the world had to offer. He’d been so young – it just couldn’t be. They had to be lying, right?

But when she finally saw her friend’s bloodied corpse on that cold hospital bed, she’d fallen apart.

She went to sleep crying to herself every night, regretting and blaming everything on herself. Her instinct told her it was Suguru who had done this to him. She barged into his dorm room, screaming and flailing, punching the taller man and effectively breaking his nose as she dragged him down by the collar. Suguru was already questioned by the police after Satoru’s murder, but his alibi of being in a bar was factual, and they had proven his innocence after checking surveillance cameras. He was only gone for a few minutes before he appeared on the dance floor all over again, and they believed him when he said he only disappeared to go to the restroom.

Presumably to wash the blood off his hands.

Shoko didn’t believe it. “Tell me you didn’t kill him, tell me!”

Suguru growls, frustrated at her for even accusing him of doing such a horrendous thing, and he feigns his innocence as he pries her hands away from his collar. “I didn’t do it, Ieri, I was at a bar!”

“Bullshit!” She screams, slamming a vase onto the floor and dropping down to the floor as sobs wrecked through her body. “I smelled your perfume the moment I walked in. I know it was you…”

His eyes widened, but he remained silent because she had always been smart and too observant for her own good. He shrugs his collar back into place and goes back to his bedroom, but not before darkly muttering, “I didn’t do it, I didn’t kill him…”

Four years later, and you’re sitting in front of Officer Kento, an intimidating man with empty eyes staring at you hardly, his face devoid of any emotion. He’d been the same officer who worked on Satoru’s case before it was closed. “And why should I believe you? Ghosts don’t exist.”

You snap your head up from your lap to him and scowl, “I just want to help you here, Officer.  You need to re-open this case.”

He abruptly stands up and slams his palm harshly against the desk, his eyes filled with rage as he stares down at you. “You don’t think I haven’t tried before?!”

“Well then, try harder!” You fumed, standing up. “If you don’t resolve this case, he’s going to remain here forever, lost and nowhere to go. Do you really want him to suffer even after his death?”

“How am I supposed to believe everything you say is true?”

Plucking out their polaroid from your bag and shoving it to his chest, you watch as he crumbles piece by piece. He holds the photo tentatively before cradling it to his chest, and what you presumed was a cold-hearted man was actually just a lost person.

“I don’t know why you closed that case, but it isn’t over. He’s still here, and he needs our help.”

You turn away from him to give him peace and wrap your fingers around the doorknob, “Suguru Geto is out there walking freely. You can still make a difference, Sir. It’s not too late.”

Happiness was a concept you believed to be fleeting.

One moment, you are giggling with the ghosts who tell you funny stories and whisper mischievously in your ear the correct answers in your pre-school days, and the next moment you are pressing a hand against your car windows, watching as the only people you considered friends are witnessing you leave without a goodbye.

That feeling comes back again and again, from little moments such as eating lunch with your high school friends and making empty promises to keep in touch after graduation, giggling when a cute boy comes by and asks for your number. But like any other moment in your life where you feel happy, that feeling dissipates as fast as it came.

The bell attached to the door chimes to signal a customer, and the cute florist you met on the first day you moved to this city, Choso, looks up from the pot he’s currently watering. Bowing politely, he sends a pleased smile upon the sight of you.

You tuck a stray hair behind your ear and return the smile back, his musky perfume blending in well with the sweet aroma of flowers as he stops in front of you. “Hi, I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize sheepishly, “Our latest branch just opened downtown, so I was a bit busy with that.”

“Oh, you work for that bookshop everyone’s been talking about non-stop?” You nod and laugh at his question, proud of yourself that the new opening had been successful. The state campus was only three bus rides away, and with the extensive amount of books your bookstore offered, along with its affordable prices, everyone’s been talking about it. “I’m proud of you, it was a success,” he commends, rubbing his dirties hands on his apron before opening the door for you. What can I get you?”

Personally, you thought Choso was a bit too rugged to be working in a floral shop. He always seemed to carry himself in such an awkward manner and had an authoritative yet welcoming aura to him, his shy smiles the highlights of your day. “I want to give it to my friend. Today’s their special day.”

“I see,” Choso’s eyes are already scanning the plethora of flowers he has in his shop, his brows pinching together in thought. “Can you tell me a little bit about them? It’d help to make their bouquet more personal.”

A smile makes its way to your face. “They’re… bright, carefree, innocent, and pure. They almost seem like an angel, if you ask me. I was also thinking about something that represents young love, and… new beginnings?”

You have absolutely no idea what you’re saying. The words coming out of your mouth are beyond your control. You’re sure you’re making a fool out of yourself, but Choso nods understandingly, frows burrowed before he snaps his fingers and turns to you. “White roses describe all of those, but if you want, I can whip up more flowers for you.”

He makes a move to get his scissors and starts listing off flowers with the same meanings, but you run up to him and not so accidentally wrap your hands around his to get him to stop. His eyes widen at your close proximity. You clear your throat and take a step backward, fighting the urge to smile when his cheeks are dusted a fine pink. “White roses itself are fine, thank you.”

He gulps and heads towards the back door, coming out later with a bouquet of white roses. You reach for your wallet before his arm wraps around your wris, his smile wobbly and hesitant. “It’s on the house. You can pay me back with a cup of coffee next time.”

Eyebrows rising at his smoothness, you gratefully accept the flowers and cradle it near to your chest. “A cup of coffee it is.”

Choso chuckles shyly and ducks his head, and you leave the shop with a wave of your hand before walking further and further. Your surroundings shift from the high-rise building and busy streets to a hill covered in trees sprawled out everywhere, flowers blooming and withering at every corner. Sitting down on the soil with your legs crossed, you place the bouquet in front of his headstone, his framed polaroid with Suguru standing in front of you. 

It’s been exactly seven days since you last saw Satoru.

After countless sleepless nights of phone calls from Officer Kento, he’d finally cracked the case with your help. Suguru Geto was found. He’d confessed to all his crimes, his handsome face weary yet relieved. It seemed he’d never once forgotten about that night when he betrayed his friend, and just before he was ushered behind bars, he turned to you. You wished you felt anger towards him for what he did, but there was only sadness. Only regret in his eyes. He looked so tired, so hopeless.

“Thank you,” he said softly, “Thank you for finding me.”

A nod was all you could give. Suguru felt so familiar, yet so strange. You’ve heard tons of stories about him from Satoru, all about their happiest moments together. He’d been his closest friend, the one he shared so many dreams with, and the one who knew him the most. Maybe he knew Satoru wouldn’t fight back once his demons consumed him. Maybe when Suguru was holding his friend’s bloodied hand in the night, he knew – Satoru was never mad at him. He only wanted to save his friend. Maybe he knew Satoru wasn’t completely dead yet, not when he lived in everyone’s heart, and most especially yours.

That night when you returned home, the apartment felt colder than ever. Normally, it would mean a ghost lingered. But there was no longer the sound of Satoru’s humming, and the dishes were left half-washed in your sink. And for the first time in your life, you hated your eyes and how it gave you the ability to see the traces he left behind. 

Because you wished you had enough time to say goodbye. You wish you had told him everything, but the thought of being another tether to the living realm weighed down on you. You couldn’t do that to him. He had to go. For Satoru to truly move into the next life, you had to close your heart and forget him. Just as Suguru’s forgiven himself, and just as Shoko’s accepted her friend’s death - you too had to say goodbye. 

Tears clouded your vision.

The white remnants of his soul sparkled in your apartment. For the last time, you watched as the blue of his hoodie finally disappeared, his hands scrubbing your dishes away fading into nothingness. The plate drops and breaks. Satoru stood, his legs vanishing bit by bit as he saw the running water through his hands. He’d wanted to return your apartment to the way it was before he’d met you, but he knew – his time was running out. He didn’t have energy left to turn everything off.

The water floods your apartment. The new series he’d dearly loved still plays on the TV. 

But he was here – hugged by the earth and decorated with flowers, smiling at you from far away even when you could no longer see him. Placing the bouquet of white roses down at his grave, you smiled at the photo they’d taken months before he died. He still looked just as beautiful – all wide smiles, kind eyes, and soft hands.

To you, he was still alive in your heart.

“I’ll see you around, Satoru.”

[byeoltoyuki]

DENIAL

↳ Pairing: San x reader

❧ Genre: enemies to lovers, enemies with benefits, fluff

❧ Words: +6k

❧ Warnings: blowjob, unprotected sex, pussy slapping, mention of orgasm denial and spanking and being tied.

❧Summary : You swore it was a one-time thing. Get him out of your system and never see him again. If only it was that simple.

❧ A/N: Surprise! I’m not dead! I’ve been barely active on tumblr for the past few months but I never stopped wishing to have time to write some more. Hope you enjoy it as much as I did while writing. Comments are always appreciated ♥  

“It’s the last time.” You swore against San’s lips, biting angrily, pushing him against the nearest wall, tearing his shirt off, as if it was entirely his fault. When really, it was mainly yours.

This thing, whatever it was, between the two of you, was supposed to be a one-time thing. You were supposed to get him out of your system, maybe also prove that he wasn’t worth your time, and preferably ignore his existence for the rest of your life. So how the hell did a one-time thing turned into two, then three, then ten?

Simple.

San was a walking sin. Handsome (sadly) face with a sharp jaw. Pretty eyes, pretty smile and devastatingly cute dimples. And his body. You shuddered just at the mere thought. Strong muscles that could crush you if he wanted to. Strong hands that often find its ways either around your throat or on your ass.

To sum up, San was a temptation you couldn’t ignore no matter how hard you tried.

“I believe you said the same thing the last two times.” He reminded you, a smug grin on his face. Oh how much you wished you could wipe this grin from his face – but you couldn’t. San held power over you. He knew exactly what to say, where to kiss, where to touch to turn you into an addicted mess, begging for more. Always making sure you would crawl back to him.

There had to be something wrong with you. There was no other explanation.

Annoyed with yourself and a little with him, you shut him up with another kiss, trying to win at least one battle – the only one you stood a chance. There was nothing sweet about the way you kissed. No, you poured both all your resentment and need into the kiss. You pressed yourself harder against him, pulling at his hair which made him chuckle against your lips, completely unfazed with your annoyance.

“Nice attempt, kitten.” San cooed at you, his hands slowly sliding down your body, stopping at your butt. He gave it a strong squeeze that made you bite on your lips to prevent a moan to escape. “But we both know I win again.”

You were dying to protest, to prove him wrong. But it would be lying. Because ever since you met, he kept winning against you.

Six months ago

The bar was crowded and loud. So many people had gathered there for different reasons in the middle of the week. You and your friend were one of them. It was supposed to be a good night. A night to celebrate another victory of yours, another success. And yet, you were far from celebrating. Quite the opposite.

You emptied your glass in one go and groaned. “I can’t believe she chose this Choi’s design.” You complained, still baffled that you had failed. You were one of the best in your field and you had spent endless hours working to satisfy a potential client. You were so confident in your design, convinced your client would adore the outcome. And she did. She did admit it. It was a tough decision and yet, you lost to a guy you had never met or heard before and it irked you to no end, hurt in your ego.

“As much as it pains me to admit, he’s good.” Yeji said and winced instantly as you gave her the stinky eye. She held up her hands in defense. “Don’t look at me like that. I warned you he’s good, you choose not to listen.”

Yes, you made a terrible mistake and you were perfectly aware of it. It wasn’t in your habits to underestimate an opponent whether it was their first time or not, but lost in your own little world, you did exactly that and now were paying the price.

“Fuck.” You buried your face in your hands. It wasn’t the end of your world and definitely not of your career but it still stung.

“Come on, I don’t think it’s a bad thing.” Yeji began, “This project would have taken a lot of your free time. Now you can concentrate on something else.”

“Guess so.” You agreed. “I’m gonna get another drink.” But before you could do that, a commotion behind you attracted your attention as a group of men entered the bar. You didn’t intend to stare (and you were definitely not the only one staring right now) but it was impossible not to. The four of them looked incredibly handsome in their suits and had a powerful aura around them.

Well shit. Your eyes followed them as they went for the only empty table in the back of the bar. You eyed them, one by one, your gaze stopping at the tallest of the group. You watched him, unable to take your eyes off him, as he took off his jacket and slowly rolled the sleeves of his white shirt, exposing strong and veiny arms.

Yeji coughed beside you, trying to attract your attention to no avail. For a short moment you felt like in a movie; the moment where everything and everyone stopped existing except for you and this stranger. It was a ridiculous reaction, you thought later, but there was something about him that had you completely bewitched. Maybe you had a kink for men in suits and you weren’t aware of it. Or maybe it was his aura along with the nice smile.

“YN,” Yeji’s voice sounded so far away despite her being so close. “You should probably stop looking.” She quickly added, sounding a little nervous which should have been a warning but you barely registered her words.

He, sensing probably your eyes on him, looked your way. He stared back, his gaze so intense you gulped. But then, he smiled, showing his cute dimples and you swore your heart missed a beat. Yeah, you somehow ended in a movie.

“You’re drooling.” Yeji mocked.

That got your attention and you quickly looked away. “I am not.”

Yeji burst into laughter. “That got your attention huh.” But quickly sobered as she glanced at the man who was still staring at you, curiously. “Just so you know, this man is Choi San.”

You were grateful your hands were empty because you would have dropped your glass. “What?” You looked back, eyes wide. This beautiful stranger, the man that made your heart skipped a beat couldn’t be the man who won against you. No way. You refused to believe your friend.

Until the said man winked your way, his smile turning into a knowing smirking as if he knew exactly what Yeji had told you. As if he knew, you just found out his identity and were not happy about it.

Fuck my life.

Back to present

San grabbed your hips and in a blink of an eye you found yourself crushed against the wall. He pressed his body hard against yours, letting you feel all of him. Letting you feel just how badly he was also craving you. You couldn’t help but arch and moan as you felt his hardness against you. He pushed his leg between your knees and forced them apart. Your body moved on its own, you grinded shamelessly against his thigh, trying to ease the ache between your legs.

He tsked. “So needy.” And yet he didn’t stop you. “So beautiful, love.” San dragged his lips from your lips, to your jaw, to your throat, leaving no inch of flesh untouched. “So responsive.” Biting, licking, marking you. No matter how many times you told him not to mark you, he still did as if he wanted the whole world to know exactly who you belonged to. As if he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t forget that no matter how much you tried to escape him, there was no way out.

Your whole body thrummed with need, with desire. You believed you could die if he didn’t touch you. It should be illegal to feel so much need for someone.

“Tell me, love. What do you want?” He asked as he bit on your tender flesh.

Desperate and on fire as you were, you were ready to accept anything he was willing to give. “Anything.”

He chuckled against your skin. “My lips?” And he sucked a spot. “My tongue?” And he licked. “My fingers?” You felt him slip his fingers right under your dress, toying with your flesh. “Mmmmh, no panties tonight, love? You knew how it would end.” For someone who behaved as if San was the bane of your existence, you certainly came prepared for this to happen. Hoping he would bring you to his place and ruin you.

“Please, please, please.” You begged, half delirious with need. His fingers were so close to your aching pussy. You just couldn’t wait any longer.

“Use your mouth, love.” He advised you. “You usually have no problem with using this pretty mouth of yours. Especially to tell me how much you hate me.” He pressed the palm of his hand to your cunt and hummed in satisfaction. “And yet look at you. So desperate.” And he slapped your pussy.

You arched your back as a loud moan escaped your lips. It was not enough. You couldn’t take it. “Just fuck me. Please.”

San hiked your legs around his waist, his grip on you strong, bruising, possessive. You loved every second of it. You buried your head into his neck, biting, leaving marks in return. For once, it wouldn’t be just scratches on his back that you would leave.

Holding you with one hand, he took out his cock with the other and nudged against your pussy. Despite his own need and wish to ravish you and make you scream his name, he couldn’t help but tease you.

You whined in response. “Bloody hell, San.”

“Admit that you don’t hate me and I’ll give it to you.” He challenged you.

And you couldn’t believe he would ask something like that. You could talk about your hatred (or lack of it) any other time but no, he chose this moment. The urge to kick him was strong but San pushed the tip of his hot and hard cock inside you and you lost the wish to fight right away.

Fuck it. You needed him to fill you up more. “I don’t hate you.”

The smile he gave you unsettled you. His smile was genuine and so happy, you forgot how to breath. But before you could dwell on it, San buried himself to the hilt.

“Fuck!” You threw your head back.

This.

Him inside you, hard and warm. So incredibly full. You just couldn’t get enough of it.

“Fuck.” He cursed under his breath. He was trying hard to control himself and not just pound into you. He wanted to tease you more, to watch you fall apart around his cock. But then, you clenched around him and he growled. “Don’t do that.” It came out more desperate than he intended, exposing just how affected he was. He could play the powerful man all he wanted, but once inside you, there was little control left.

“Fuck me, please.”

San closed his eyes and took a deep breath before, finally, unleashing the beast. His grip on your thighs tightened to the point, you knew it would leave marks later, and did not care. He fucked you against the wall, his every thrusts powerful, going deeper and deeper. Your nails dug into his shoulders, holding for your dear life as whimpers escaped your parted lips.

You took everything he gave you, mewling, arching, begging for more. “Please, don’t stop.” It was still not enough. You didn’t comprehend why you needed so much more from him, but there was no reasoning. Not when your whole body sang in response to his cock.

“No chance.” He reassured you with another sharp thrust. “This,” and another strong one. “is mine, kitten.” And he growled louder, his pace not slowing down. In fact, it turned harder. Punishing.

And it felt divine. Every inch of him just made you feel so alive. There was no stopping. Every stroke of his cock brought you closer to the edge. Your mind blanked. You could barely breath. Your body trembling. And you still wanted more. More pleasure. More of him.

And he could tell. “Come for me, love.”

How could you not obey when his voice sounded so sweet? So full with something you almost believed to be love. Electricity shot through your body and you cried out his name. Tears leaked from the corner of your eyes as your orgasm hit you in waves.

San fucked you through your orgasm, seeking his own release. San’s thrusts grew sloppier. He hissed between his teeth and finally he came with a deep groan. He pressed his forehead against yours.

None of you spoke. The only sound in the room was your pants and probably the roars of your hearts.

“I’m never letting you go.” He promised.

***

You woke up in the middle of the night, feeling all hot and squeezed tightly. It took you a moment to realize where you were and who was lying half on top of you. You weren’t supposed to be sleeping in his bed. In fact, you were supposed to be back at your place, in your bed. But you were drained after your late-night activity.

One round turned into two than three. You couldn’t have enough of him and San obliged. He fucked you in his bed, hands tied behind your back, at his mercy, ass red with all the spanking (who cared if you wouldn’t be able to sit straight for a day or two). He fucked you again in the shower because you couldn’t be a nice girl and keep your hands to yourself when he tried to clean you.

Get the hell out of here! A little, panicked voice ordered you. But as if sensing your attempt at fleeing, San’s grip on your body tightened to the point you couldn’t move your limbs at all. Even in his sleep, he was aware of your intentions. Even in his sleep, he wanted to keep you close and safe in his arms.

You tried a few times but failed every single time. Resigned, you turned in his arms so you could face his sleeping form. San looked so relaxed, his face so soft and the little pout unleashed the butterflies in the stomach.

Shit. I’m in trouble. Big trouble.

You didn’t want to feel so much for this man, but with every passing day it became harder and harder. Obviously, sex was great and addicting, but it wasn’t the only thing that made you come back for more.

Three months ago,

You sighed and cursed yourself for the hundredth time tonight.

They say ‘beauty requires sacrifice’ – you agreed but hated it nevertheless. Nothing was better than comfortable clothes. But tonight, and every time you had a party where you could spot potential clients, you did your best. And tonight, you looked particularly good. You had outdone yourself, whether it was with your dress or your shoes or your makeup. Everything was perfect. Not that you had any ulterior motives. No men you were trying to seduce. And especially not the diabolically handsome one who, and it hurt to admit, chose not to come tonight. It was unusual. San attended the same parties you did which made avoiding him quite difficult and not end in his bed even harder.

You shook your head. “Stop thinking about this asshole.” You scolded yourself and slowly walked towards the balcony, hoping it would be empty and you could take your shoes off for a moment. Heels were great, it made you look hot, but it was a pain in your ass. You regretted them a lot.

You met few people from the party on your way to the balcony; some were too lost in their conversation, some seemed to be lost in a seduction game and some smiled at you. You tried your best to ignore the pain and smile back.

But finally, you reached your destination. You sighed loudly in relief as you found the balcony empty. Just perfect. You leaned against the railing and slowly reached your feet and started rubbing. It soothed you but only for a moment. The wish to just take them off was strong but you couldn’t possibly walk back bare feet.

“What a sight.” A very familiar voice echoed not very far from you.

All your pain vanished instantly as you raised your head and found San leaning against the doorframe, watching you intensely. Your heart leaped in joy at the sight of him which should have appalled you but right in this moment, you barely cared. He looked dashing in his white cream suit. He could be a model and you wouldn’t be surprised.

San eyed you from head to toe, slowly, making sure to memorize the sight in front of him. “I’m surprised no men tried to approach you. You’re gorgeous, love.”

You weren’t waiting for someone’s approval, but his words along with the hunger in his eyes, pleased you more than you were willing to admit. Your words failed you, so instead of trying to say something, you simply stared back and enjoy the view.

A tiny smile grew on San’s face at your lack of reaction. Slowly, he moved toward you and only then you noticed what he was holding in his hand: a pair of flat shoes. Your shoes. You didn’t remember leaving a pair at his place which made you question how he got them in the first place.

“What – How?” You mumbled; eyes wide.

San didn’t answer right away. He stopped in front of you and then, slowly, his eyes locked with yours, got on his knees. You forgot how to breath for a second, unable to look away, unable to speak.

Your treacherous mind couldn’t help but imagine what he could do to you. Your treacherous body forgot all about the pain and instead tingled with desire.

You watched him as his hands found your ankles and a soft gasp escaped your lips. He rubbed your ankles gently, his warmth spreading through your body.

“San-“ Whatever you were about to say died on your tongue as he massaged your left ankle a little stronger – you moaned at the relief. Embarrassed with how easily he made you moan, you clasped your hand over your mouth. San, instead of teasing you like he usually would, only smiled.

“Hold on to me.”

You hold onto his shoulder, your knees feeling suddenly weak. Not because you couldn’t stand properly but having San on his knees, taking care of you and being so gentle? You were a mess and not the kind you were used to. You could probably melt into puddle if you let him be this sweat with you. And that was dangerous.

“I thought you weren’t coming.” You told him to distract yourself from some intrusive thoughts.

“I wasn’t planning to.” He admitted and helped you slip your foot in your so much more comfortable shoe. “But then I thought about missing you in this gorgeous dress.” And then he did the same with your other foot. “And I just couldn’t.”

For a moment you stayed like that. You watching him and wondering how he could be both so evil (at least in your opinion) and so sweet. And San with his hands on your body.

“Couldn’t let another man have you.” San ended up saying as he slowly stood up. His hands didn’t part with you. No, they travelled from your ankles to your legs, to your thighs, hiking your dress in the process causing goosebumps all over your body. “You know why?”

You did know why. Or at least, you could easily guess what he was about to say. You asked anyway, “Why?”

San’s smile went from gentle to wicked and you had no doubt you were in (kind of delicious) trouble. One hand possessively held your waist, the other reached for your hair. His hand tangled in your hair before pulling harshly – a desperate moan escaped your lips. “You’re mine.”

You expected a possessive and dominating kiss. You expected some teeth clashing and a fight for dominance. Instead, he pressed his lips against yours. Softly. Gently. His mouth melting against yours. And so did you. You went completely soft in his arms.

Boy was trouble and there was no escape for you.

Back to present

Despite your rocky beginning, San was probably one the sweetest human being you had ever met. It pained you to admit it but you could no longer hide your feelings behind your hostility. He was gentle and caring. Every little gesture, every little thing he did for you without you expecting him to do, made your walls crumble and your heart yearn for him.

Two months ago,

The advantage of creating your own company with your friend, meant you were the one to decide how to dress, without anyone criticizing. If you decided to come to work in your pajamas the only look you would get would be a shrug from your friend. Which exactly was your case today.

You were exhausted and your body ached. Everywhere. You had San to thank for that. And maybe also yourself. You weren’t planning to provoke him or be a brat, but the temptation was too strong, and you paid dearly for that.

You tried to shake off the image of you under him, sweaty, panting, trembling, begging for him to let you come, your hands tied to the bed with his belt, your skin red and covered with marks. His marks.

You tried to forget the image of him nestled between your legs, digging his fingers into your skin as he teased you. As he feasted on you. Endlessly. Mercilessly. He pushed you to the edge for what felt like hours but never letting you come. No matter how much you begged. How much you cried. Because San had learnt everything about your body. He knew how much you could take. And he showed you.

You groaned and slammed your head on your desk. How were you supposed to have any work done today if you couldn’t concentrate?

“Cute office.” As if summoned just by your mere thoughts, San commented.

Startled, you almost fell off your chair, letting out a little, and very unflattering, yelp. You gawked at him, completely taken off guard and embarrassed. “What the hell are you doing here?” You didn’t intend to sound so hostile, but your tired brain was not cooperating.

San only chuckled and walked inside your office confidently. It was unfair that you looked so not composed and tired while he looked so handsome and relaxed. There was no justice in this world. Or maybe he wasn’t a human (which, in your opinion, would explain a lot). “Plushies, really?”

You cleared your throat and tried to compose yourself. So what if you had a few plushies scattered all around your office? To some it seemed childish, but really, they were the best moral support you could ask for. Plus, they were cute. “Yes. They keep me company.”

“Aren’t you full of surprises.”

You chose not to comment. Instead, you watched him closely and finally noticed what he had brought you.

San followed your gaze and smiled. “I figured you’d need some coffee after the night you had.” And he looked too damn proud when he said those words.

You huffed but couldn’t ignore the smell of coffee as he got closer to your desk. Whatever embarrassment you had felt previously vanished as he set the cup on your desk.

You slowly reached for the cup, eyes not leaving him. “For your information, I feel perfectly fine.” You were not.

San laughed at your poor lie. He sat at the edge of your desk and hovered over you. “You’re a terrible liar, love.” He pointed at the lovely, red mark around your wrist.

You hurried to pull at your sleeve to cover the mark, but San grabbed gently your wrist and brought your hand closer to him. You thought he wanted to inspect and admire his work and probably tease you and remind you why you got tied in the first place (news alert: you couldn’t keep your hands off him when he specifically told you to be a good girl and not touch him). He did none of that.

San peppered your wrist with kisses, the warmth of his lips tickled your skin. At this gesture, butterflies erupted in your stomach. He had absolutely no right to be this gentle and sweat with you. You wanted to argue and tell him to stop but your mouth refused to cooperate. Your whole body (the little traitor) surrendered to him.

Whatever game the two of you were playing, you were now convinced, you wouldn’t come out unscathed.

Back to present

Gently you reached for his face and pushed back some strands that fell over his eyes. You realized, in that moment, that you had made your choice. You could stop running.

Because San was worth the risk.

***

San was no longer in the bed.

You stared blankly at the empty spot before slowly reaching for his side, patting the spot. It was still warm. You rolled to his side and pressed your face to his pillow, inhaling his addicting scent. You still couldn’t believe that you had stayed the night. But oddly enough, now that you had admitted to yourself that there was no avoiding San – it felt nice.

It felt right.

A tiny smile spread on your face. When was the last time you felt so satisfied? So in peace? So happy? You couldn’t remember and maybe because it had never happened before.

Lazily, you threw the blanket off your body and got out of bed. You grabbed San’s shirt from the nearest chair and put it over your body. It was tempting to just walk out of his room naked and tempt the devil, but your body ached in reminder. There was no way you could have another round.

The moment you stepped out of his room, you easily guessed where to find him. A delicious smell was spreading in the hall. San was making breakfast and your stomach grumbled in response and delight. You had the privilege of trying his food. Once. You smiled at the memory. He had promised to take care of you. And he did.

He always did.

One month ago,

You had been told many times that you were a stubborn woman. You would love to refute this statement but sadly, it was true. Today was just another example of your stubbornness. You were sick, coughing for your dear life and a little feverish. But did it stop you from working from home? Absolutely not. Bundled up in your fluffiest blanket, a cup of tea with honey on your table, you pushed your limits. Didn’t matter that you received at least ten messages from Yeji, threatening you if you didn’t get any rest. You laughed at her attempt, even when she threatened with sending you San to deal with you. You didn’t really think she would reach him. Could reach him.

That was your mistake.

Music in your headphones you weren’t paying attention to your surroundings. And why would you in the safety of your home? Why would you when you lived in a friendly neighborhood, without stories.

Until you felt strong arms around your body.

Until your heart missed a beat.

You screamed, as loud as your lungs allowed you to while being sick.

You fought for your life, kicking, and screaming as the intruder lifted you from the couch as if you weighed nothing. It was a sad way to go, you thought, alone, at home, looking like a mess in your damn pajamas. You could already imagine the headlines.

Or maybe you wouldn’t die. Maybe, whoever was holding you tightly against a very solid torso, wanted to kidnap you. It was better than death, right? Right?

“For someone supposedly sick, you have too much energy, love.”

Your body froze instantly at the warm and friendly voice.

You knew that voice.

You loved a little too much that voice.

You opened your eyes and gawked at a very amused San. He shook his head, smiling fondly; his dimples on full display - your hand hitched to poke his cheeks.

Realization dawned on you.

One, you should definitely not underestimate ever again Yeji’s threats.

And two, you were not going to die today. Except maybe of embarrassment. Your face heated up in embarrassment and you buried your head into his chest, trying to hide, trying to forget the very unlady scream that had left your mouth.

San laughed softly and pressed his lips against your forehead. “It’s okay. I promise not to tease you about this little incident.” Seemed too good to be true. San never forgot about your embarrassing moments. Never. “For the next few days at least.”

“Knew it. Asshole.” You cursed under your breath and slapped his chest for good measure. Not like it hurt him anyway but you felt a little better afterwards. You cleared your throat, “How about you put me down now?” Thought for a second and quickly added, “And maybe explain why and how the hell did you get inside my place?”

San huffed in response and pressed you a little tighter against him. “Why? Isn’t it nice? In my arms?”

“No. I hate it.” You lied through your teeth.

In fact, it was more than nice. Too fucking nice.

It felt right.

And safe.

San was warm. And gentle. And smelled too damn good. You forced your body to obey and not to move. You forced yourself not to rub your nose against his neck. It worried you a little how badly you wanted to do it. Your fever is the reason. That’s why.

San laughed heartily at your blatant lie. “Yeah sure. Whatever floats your boat, love.”

Your ego demanded that you defend yourself but any words you were about to say died on your tongue as San carried you straight to your room. It was his first time at your place and yet he looked like he belonged.  That was another worrisome thought.

“Wait-“ You protested at the sight of your bed. Your brain finally caught up with his intentions. “I’m not staying in my bed!” And you wriggled in his arms. You didn’t mind if he dropped you (what a little pain right?), but there was just no way you would go back to bed when you have lot to do.

“Yes, you are.” San threw you on your bed, making you squeal in the process.

You recovered quickly, glaring at him as angrily as you could manage, ready to jump out of the bed. San pushed you back with one hand. One, strong enough, push and you fell right back.

“Don’t even think about it.” He warned you. “I’m glad to know I’m not the only one you refuse to listen to.” There was no doubt he was referring to Yeji but you ignored his remark (and took note to curse your friend later for not minding her damn business).

“Yes. You’re not special.” You grumbled and pulled the blanket over your body. You refused to admit that being in your bed felt nice, your body instantly melting in your sheets.

“YN.” You winced at the use of your name. San almost never used your name. He loved using different pet names that most of the time pushed your buttons (and yet they grew on you). Hearing your name coming out of his mouth brought very unwanted feelings. “You’re a stubborn little thing, but it’s okay, I like it.” He hovered over you and brushed few strands of hair from your face. “Be a good girl and rest. I’m going to take care of you.”

Back to present

You thought you couldn’t take another round. Well that was your thought before finding San in the kitchen.

Fuck my life.

If you thought that San in a suit was hot, this San in grey sweatpants and shirtless and cooking was a sight you would never forget. Who cared about breakfast when you had such a sweet meal right in front of you? And who cared that your body was begging you not to jump on him?

To hell with food. You had a better idea.

Without making any noise, you approached him. You pressed your lips to his shoulder, then to his back, enjoying the taste of his skin on your lips. You expected to startle him but San only chuckled and glanced over his shoulder.

“Hello love.”

You only hummed in response, too busy peppering his back with kisses.

“Food is almost ready.” You bet San knew exactly what kind of meal you wanted and yet he played pretend.

You hummed again while your hands travelled from his shoulders to his arms, hands to settle then on his hips. Before you could explore further, San grabbed your hands and turned to face you, trying to look stern. Nice attempt, you thought. But his eyes betrayed him.

You batted your eyes innocently but refused to let go so easily.

“You won’t stop, will you?” He asked, resigned.

You licked your lips in response. San let go of your hands and you smirked in victory. Slowly you lowered yourself on your knees. You grabbed his pants along with his boxers and pulled, freeing his cock. Your mouth watered at the sight of your prize. Long and thick and begging for attention.

You grasped him with both hands and stroked. Slowly, gently, taking your time. You savored the feeling, the moment. The power you had over him. You loved letting him take control over you, but you also delighted in watching him come apart because of you. Because of your touches, your mouth, your tongue. There was just something so hot, so sexy, watching him throw his head back, his eyes closed, lost in his own pleasure.

You pressed your thighs a little tighter, feeling just how easily you got wet and you had barely touched him yet.

Slowly, you licked his cock. Up and down, savoring the taste of him. His hips bucks in response and you hid your smirk. It was game on.

You slid his length down your throat, moaning at the feel of him inside your mouth. San was thick and long and hard and you still weren’t fully used to him. But who cared? A little challenge was always welcoming. You took him as far as you could – your eyes watered.

“Fuck, kitten.” He groaned as his hands sank into your hair, grabbing tightly. You moaned around him in response, loving the slight sting of pain. “You’re so good to me.”

You usually weren’t but you didn’t correct him. You also didn’t tell him how much you wanted things to change between the two of you. But it was okay, you had lots of time before you. And right now, the most important thing for you was to please this beautiful man, this lovely and sweet human-being.

You bobbed your head and licked and sucked, confidently, eagerly. With every swirl of your tongue, his grip on your hair tightened. You bet he was trying hard not to let go and just fuck your mouth.

Every little groan, every pants only fueled your own desire. You were yourself so turned on you fought the urge to slip your hand between your legs and take care of your own needs. Not this time, come on.

“Just like that.” He encouraged you.

You moaned in response, eyes blurry with tears as you stared back at him. And what a sight. San chocked. He was barely holding on. You so eager, teary, your mouth full of him.

Your mouth and hands worked in tandem. You increased your pace, sensing he was so close to his release. And you wanted it. You wanted him to come down your throat. You wanted to show him you could be a perfect, little girl if given a chance.

“YN-“ He warned you and tried to push you off him.

You didn’t budge. You held stubbornly and let him explode with a roar inside your mouth. He watched you with bright eyes as you swallowed everything. He watched as you slowly released him and licked your lips, glowing in delight and satisfaction.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” But despite his words, he smiled. He grabbed your arms and lifted you from the floor. You barely had time to recover, his lips were already on yours. Sweet, gentle and yet also demanding. He parted your lips with his tongue and deepened the kiss, tasting himself on your tongue, moaning into the kiss.

You melted in his arms, into the kiss. This was the best morning ever and you wished you had done it sooner. How many mornings like this did you miss because of your own stubbornness? Because you refused to admit how you truly felt? It was ridiculous and you punched yourself mentally for that.

San pulled back. He held your face between his hands, staring more seriously at you. “You stayed.”

Oh. Maybe you were about to have the talk after all. “I did.”

If San was frustrated with your answer, he didn’t show it. Ever the patient man. He simply nodded and stroked your cheek. Slowly. Lovingly. His eyes never left yours. “You never did before. Why now?”

Your heart beat loud and strong inside your chest, you bet he could hear it too. “I-“ Why was it so hard to be honest? Why was it so hard to confess how you truly felt? It shouldn’t be. Not with him. And yet, you couldn’t formulate a proper answer.

Fortunately for you, San saw through your struggle. “Let me tell you this, YN. I want it all. I want you. Your heart, your body, your soul and everything you’re willing to give me.” And there, the dimples were back as he smiled at you. “I want your smiles and your lovely giggles. I want your anger and your tears. I want to spend my days and nights with you. And I want to wake up by your side every single day. Do you want it too?”

There was only one possible answer and as he finished his confession, you couldn’t help but give him the warmest smile you could muster. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“I want it very much.”

[baphometsss]

I don't wanna sit here and act like I'm a professional or anything, because I'm not, but as someone who has had to do a lot of work to overcome trauma and reconfigure my brain more or less from the ground up, there's a lot I have to say about Solas's mental state

We know that Solas was essentially used and abused by Mythal for millennia. Even if he wasn't under a geas, he was twisted from his purpose by being made to fight, and then created the Wolf's Fang which was used to make the Titans tranquil and started the Blights. He made those choices himself, but it's important to understand that no choice is ever made in a vacuum. She took advantage of his vulnerability when he was given a body after however long as a spirit semi-existing peacefully in the Fade, and moulded him into a weapon.

He is broken, because Mythal broke him. I'm not incapable of seeing why she did what she did because like I said, no one makes choices in a vacuum and I could write about her for a long time too (in a similar way to how I have had to do myself in my own life in understanding why others abused me). He was so traumatised by everything that happened and he was trauma bonded to Mythal pretty much from the minute he gained a body. Trauma bonds are not about love. He definitely interpreted it that way, as most people do, but that's the weapon abusers use to keep the victim under their control. Abuse abuse abuse show a scrap of love and then abuse some more. If I just take it, I'll get the love/attention I need. I will earn it, because love is suffering, and I have to suffer to earn getting my basic needs met from my family/friends. Mythal, as his creator, was the one who he would've attached to in a similar way to spirit Cole/human Cole.

Trauma bonds are pathological. Mythal made him believe that if he did as she asked, and kept supporting her, then eventually he would gain her favour and they would be able to free all the elves, and he'd be able to live according to his true nature, which is one where he doesn't have to fight. (Remember his personal quest in DAI? He actually kills the rebel mages for corrupting his friend--another Wisdom spirit--into Pride.) In reality, she was just using him. She always kept the bone just out of reach for her lapdog. The line from Rook where they say (paraphrasing here) 'you know, I was actually excited about getting your approval... That's how you do it, isn't it? Keep giving little scraps of approval to keep someone loyal, and then you turn around and betray them' is so telling too.

Where--or from whom--do you think he learned to do this?

It literally reeks of a pathological trauma bond and honestly, with how isolated, 'grim and fatalistic' Solas is, it is not a surprise that he's so broken.

Solas, essentially, is little more than a lap-dog to Mythal. He followed her like a lost puppy, because especially in his early days, that's kind of what he was. You have to remember that most of the insight we get about Mythal is from Solas's perspective, and he is not a reliable person when it comes to her after so long being repeatedly terrorised and twisted and manipulated. There are several instances where he describes being betrayed by her, and mentions some of the things she did, but he never quite holds her fully accountable and ends up directing his rage elsewhere. (The parallel between Mythal/Solas and the rebel mages/Wisdom is important here.)

This awesome post by @mythalism only reinforces this. He is so messed up in that scene, he is broken, he is holding the Wolf's Fang up, trying to give it to her because it symbolises the burden he has carried for thousands of years trying to avenge her death. He never wanted the Fang, like he never wanted a body. Mythal just stands over him, fully aware of what she did to him, and only getting him to stop because Rook petitioned her successfully, and the reunion with the more benevolent Mythal within Morrigan tempered her anger. She was a goddess, with the unequal power dynamic, right to the end.

As a side note, on the potential romance element between Mythal and Solas, I read an excellent breakdown of it on Reddit a while ago about how out of character it would've been for Solas to keep something like that from a romanced Lavellan, especially in Trespasser when he comes clean about his plan/past. I can't find it now because it was pre-Veilguard release, but it made a lot of sense to me. Solas and Lavellan never have a love scene in DAI because Solas didn't want to 'lay with them under false pretences'. Lying about who you are when sleeping with someone is nonconsensual. You can't consent to sleeping with someone if you don't know their true identity, and someone who knowingly lies about who they are to get into your pants is a sexual predator. For someone who led a slave rebellion (no doubt many of them being sex slaves), and a former spirit of Wisdom, Solas would've been well aware of this. In the unsent letter from Solas to Lavellan he says he came so close to breaking and desperately wanted to stay with them as Solas, with the implication being that that is where he planned to sleep with them once he'd come clean. But because he stops, because he's still unable to forgive himself or release himself from his trauma bond with Mythal, he breaks away, and they never have sex.

Bottom line: Solas would've been honest about it. Especially that. As the Inquisitor says, he can't lie about his heart.

And it's why the Solas/Lavellan romance is so powerful because quote, 'you change everything'. Solas thought he knew what love was, that love was loyalty, devotion, worship, etc. It's not just his plans or worldview that Lavellan changes. Lavellan sees him for who he is, without the mantle of Dread Wolf, and because of that he's able to express his true nature to her, even if he's not being totally honest in Inquisition. Lavellan got much closer to the real him than most, as he says, and changed his understanding of love completely. Unfortunately, he has unfinished business, an unresolved trauma bond, and his crushing sense of duty to the past is what keeps him from taking that final step towards letting go of it entirely. Trick also says Solas doesn't think he deserves love, which tbh is kind of a hallmark trait of people who have survived abuse.

And honestly? Call me a simp but I think he really was trying to get the Inquisitor to stop him. He saw himself being unable to let go because he was so broken and burdened by his guilt, and knew he couldn't save himself--was too proud to admit that he couldn't, because how pathetic does it make him look? And how could he stop now without rendering all the damage he'd wrought pointless? Yet here was someone who had changed him right down to his core, who understood him in a way few people ever had, whom he trusted, whom he loved in a way he hadn't loved anyone else before. It took him 'centuries' to build up rapport with the members of his rebellion. The man does not know how to form attachments without trauma, and suddenly he forms a strong one with someone who loves him completely and without condition. It's a jarring change.

Lavellan says that maybe they're being prideful themselves, refusing to see their own folly. But I think in admitting that they might be wrong, that it might be wishful thinking borne from misguided love to a truly terrible person, they've rendered the point moot. It shows self-awareness, which isn't folly.

If anyone can make Solas understand true love, it's Lavellan. Lavellan loved him when he was being his true self. Lavellan loved him after his betrayal was revealed. Lavellan loved him when his guilty conscience and terrible actions almost destroyed the world. Lavellan loved him because they knew the real him, and knew that his heart and spirit were broken, and knew that their love would endure, that their love would heal him.

And that's exactly where they end up. Healing the past, soothing the Blight, and loving one another completely.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Remember Me

It's finally here!!! I really did not expect this lil idea to blossom into 5.4k words but here it is. Enjoy!

Summary: The arcane gives you the second chance you never knew you were looking for

The last thing you remember is the swirling myriad of colours that is the arcane and suddenly you're in a world that's both familiar and not quite familiar at the same time. Zaun, or what you think it Zaun, looks…the same yet different, the colours are brighter than you remember, the air feels easier to breathe and the people look happier.

Confused, you poke around for information. It's surprisingly easy to gather everything you need to know, the people are more relaxed, their guard is down and their lips are loose. The only thing left now is to find a place to spend the night, and it's not hard to find a simple boarding room after swiping a couple of loose change from some wealthy merchants.

In your little rented room, you sit on the bed, revising the events of the day. Turns out this city really is Zaun — a Zaun that is independent and co-exists with Piltover. This Zaun came about because of Vander and Silco's efforts, you remember tearing up when you heard that, much to the concern of the civilian you were asking but you had waved their concern away, swallowing the emotions that threatened to choke you. Silco has become a councilor representing Zaun and is often away whilst Vander still runs The Last Drop, and you are tempted to run straight there but you hold yourself back. You can't rush this, there's still too much you don't know yet, and tampering with the events of what you believe is an alternate universe might just throw everything in jeopardy.

With a sigh, you flop onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Such comfort is a rare find in the Zaun you know, and no one is this easy to steal from. You wonder what caused this version of Silco and Vander to make up, wonder what went down differently, and if Silco is happier in this universe than your own.

You toy with the pendant that sits around your neck, the last thing you have to remember the man you love by, and feel a tear slide down your cheek. You miss him still, your heart aching for one last moment to spend with him but you know it will never happen. You had buried him in the river with Jinx, watching as his cold lifeless body sank into its murky depths, numbly sitting on the docks afterwards, curled up with your knees to your chest. Sevika had found you in that fetal position and brought you to Silco's office, awkwardly comforting you with her usual pats to the back that feels more like a slap.

That night, you fall asleep with thoughts of Silco filling your head. The bed feels cold without him by your side, but tiredness quickly wins and you slip into dreamland, dreaming of a future with him.

The next day, you slip into The Last Drop, unable to hold yourself back anymore. You order your usual drink, tugging at the hood around your head as Vander approaches, a glass in hand.

"You're new around here," he observes, setting the glass down in front of you.

"Just visiting," you say curtly, not wanting to let anything slip.

"Still, you look rather familiar. Have I seen you before?" He queries, looking you over.

"No," you say a little too quickly before clearing your throat, taking a sip of your drink. "Sorry, I don't believe we've met. I'm pretty sure I'd remember if I've met the Vander."

He laughs, a deep guffaw that you've missed dearly. "Flattery won't get you a discounted drink."

"But perhaps it will get me a free drink?" You smile, raising your now empty glass.

He chuckles, refilling your glass, "you've got to do better than that then."

Your chest fills with a warmth you haven't felt since…you've forgotten how long ago it was, it feels like eternity since you last heard Vander speak to you with gentleness. Your hand moves to rest on Vander's but fortunately you quickly catch yourself and pretend like you're reaching out for your glass. You grip your glass tightly, staring at the liquid inside and swallow the emotions that threaten to overwhelm you.

That's when something catches your eye — a tattoo you've never seen before on Vander's hand. VI is etched into his skin, reminiscent of a tattoo etched into another person's skin in your universe. Vi.

"That tattoo on your hand —" You blurt out, and then internally curse yourself for it. Vander turns around, raising the hand with the tattoo and smiles a sad smile.

"My daughter. Vi."

"Oh…sorry about that." You shift in your seat. So Vi was dead in this universe, that was news. Was Jinx alive? You'd heard snippets of Ekko, the boy genius, as you walked the streets, so you knew that he was alive here. Was Sevika alive?

"It's alright." Vander waves it off, causing something else to catch your eye — a dove tattoo on the inside of his wrist. A dove?

"And the dove?"

"A dear friend," Vander says softly. "Y/N."

Wait what?

You nearly choke on your drink, biting the glass hard. You were dead in this universe? How? When? Was Silco coping alright? Was Silco —

The sound of The Last Drop's doors swinging open snap you out of your thoughts. A familiar figure walks in, blue hair tied into twin buns with a streak of pink in one of them.

Jinx?

"Powder!" Vander calls, a huge smile on his face. Powder smiles back, running over to hug him. You take a sip of your drink, watching as the two embrace each other, then Powder goes to serve drinks to the customers, happily skipping away. She's nothing like Jinx, she doesn't have the same haunted eyes that your adoptive daughter does, but there's still a spark of pain and sorrow in her eyes.

She did lose her sister, after all.

You watch a little more, taking your time with your drink until your glass finally runs dry and you place the money on the table, slipping out of the bar, but not before catching a glimpse of someone else familiar.

Ekko.

The two of you walk past each other, gazes meeting for just a split second before you go your separate ways, you to your room and he to The Last Drop. The alcohol sits in your stomach, warm as you lie on the bed, your mind processing everything that had happened today.

Vander not only has the scar Silco gave him in the river, but a tattoo in memory of Vi decorates his hand, and Jinx is…Powder. You vaguely remember the name, suggested by Silco as he drunkenly rambled about his favourite things, annoyed that Vander was the only one who could suggest names for Felicia's child. To think she really did use that name, you never found out what she named Jinx and it made your tear up. Felicia never stopped thinking of Silco as a friend, even as the trio drifted apart, torn away from each other by their responsibilities and dreams, and chose to name her second child according to Silco's drunken suggestion. Most of all, you're dead. You.

You laugh, choking back the tears that are beginning to spring into your eyes. Was this universe's Silco mourning your death the same way you mourned your universe's Silco? Had he at least gotten the chance to propose to you, ask you out, go on a date with you, sit on the rooftop and dream about nothing as you both look over the city you call your home?

You sorely miss the past, when you knew you could look forward to meeting together at The Last Drop, the laughter that always rang in the empty bar, the music that filled the air, Felicia dancing the night away, sometimes dragging you into it, Vander ruffling your hair and flicking Silco in the forehead, Silco grumbling about the volume and his inability to concentrate on his work. All the while you sat there, basking in their presence, allowing yourself to be dragged into whatever mess they created that night.

Now all three of them are dead, and only you are left to carry on the memory, but you can barely remember the feeling of those times. The memories are clouded and you can only see bits and pieces of them. You buried them long ago, ever since you turned your back on Vander and chose to follow Silco but now they resurface, pulled upwards by the sight of a happy Vander and the name 'Powder'.

There's a knock on your door. Wiping your tears away, you go to answer it, unsurprised that Ekko is standing there but you didn't expect Heimerdinger to also be there. Then again you should have expected it, Ekko is a resourceful one and upon coming to this alternate universe he would have searched for allies — you, Heimerdinger and Jayce.

"May we come in?" The Yordle asks, looking up at you.

"Sure," you step aside, letting them in and close the door before going to sit on your bed. "So what's the occasion?"

"The fact that we're in what looks like an alternate reality?" Ekko snorts, taking a seat on the chair next to Heimerdinger.

You roll your eyes, "wow what a discovery, wanna tell me how you discovered that?"

"Now now, students. Don't fight," Heimerdinger waves his hands, jumping between the both of you. "Ekko here has an idea of how to return us to our universe, tell them my boy."

"Hold on, where's Jayce?" You frown. "Didn't he get transported into this universe as well?"

"We have been unable to find him, I'm afraid. I doubt he's in this universe, or I would have seen him in Piltover." Heimerdinger shakes his head.

"Anyways, the plan is we're going to recreate the explosion that brought us into this universe in the first place, and hopefully it brings us back instead of throwing us into yet another universe." Ekko sighs. "I managed to find a hextech crystal's pieces and pieced it back together. All that's left is to recreate the very explosion but that's taking a while."

"Oh is the task too much for the boy wonder?" Your sass is overflowing today for some reason.

"How about you try pulling your weight and help out?" Ekko snaps back and you laugh.

"Well sorry for only finding out about your plan now."

Heimerdinger only sighs and waits until the both of you decide it's enough sass for the day before taking his leave with Ekko. You tag along, curious about the progress the two have made so far and impressed that Ekko has a whole lab to himself, although you'll never admit it to his face.

Over the next few days, you help Heimerdinger and Ekko however you can while finding time to explore Zaun further. The people here are livelier and happier, the streets are brighter, filled with Zaunites and Piltovians alike. Children frolic about without worry, the air is filled with booming voices instead of hushed whispers. The Bridge of Progress is bustling with activity — vendors peddling their wares, friends leaning against the railing, chatting the day away, the crowd flows both ways, into Piltover and into Zaun. Food is plentiful here, and people have enough money to spend that they also treat themselves frequently, something you could only dream of.

It's nothing like the Zaun you call your home and a part of you misses its dark corners, the sinister purple glow of Shimmer, the darting gazes as people flicked in and out of sight. It was what you grew up around, after all, but there's another part of you that wishes your Zaun was like this universe's Zaun. It's beautiful, peaceful, just the way your Vander had envisioned Zaun to become. Your Silco would come to appreciate the serenity, you think, a reward after the hard fought battle for independence.

Ekko recruits Powder along the way and you try to not show up whenever she's around, afraid that she'll recognise you. If Vander and her were this close, who was to say this universe's you wasn't as well?

"I've noticed that you've been avoiding young Powder lately, may I ask why?" Heimerdinger comes over to you a few days later.

"You just did." You frown, still staring at the runes in front of you. He stares at you, unimpressed. Sighing, you finally look at him. "Turns out I'm dead in this universe, alright? I don't want to risk being recognised, and considering how close I was with Jinx, Powder will probably recognise me."

"I see. Hmm, it could possibly mess up this universe's timeline, perhaps it is safer indeed for you to avoid being recognised." The Yordle hums. "I'll let you know when the young lady drops by."

"Thanks." You smile slightly, a flickering flame of warmth sparking in your chest. Heimerdinger smiles back before strutting off to continue his work. Maybe forming new relationships isn't so bad, not if it can recreate that warmth you had with Silco and Jinx.

The Yordle remains true to his word, helping you find excuses to leave the room before Powder shows up, and if Ekko is supicious about your behaviour he says nothing. With the aid of an additional technological genius, Ekko not only almost recreates the event that sent you all here in the first place but also discovers a way to turn back time — albeit only for four seconds. Still, it's a breakthrough no one's ever dreamed of, and is a highly useful invention for a variety of things.

A few days later, you learn about a party for the Young Innovator's Competition that's coming up, held at The Last Drop and Heimerdinger encourages both you and Ekko to attend it.

"And what's the point of a device like this if you don't enjoy the time you have?" The Yordle meets yours and Ekko's gaze, removing his goggles when he sees the look of concern on your face.

"It's been a while since you've last allowed yourself to enjoy anything, seize the moment while you still can." He places a hand on your shoulder. "Leave all your worries behind just for tonight."

You sigh, but can't deny the truth in his words. Maybe it's alright to just let your hair down just for tonight, you haven't been able to do so ever since Silco died and Zaun fell apart. You're tired, and a respite no matter how brief is more than welcome.

On the night of the party, Ekko walks in the front door while you slip in via the back, a hood thrown over your head. You keep to the shadows, watching the others while taking sips from a glass you had taken from Vander who had recognised you from your previous visit. Nibbling on a pastry, you lean against the wall, gaze flicking over all those in attendance. You recognise some of them from their grown up selves, creating an aching yearning for your home in this strange world and you quickly look for Ekko, desperate to rid yourself of sadness on this celebratory night.

You find the boy wonder sitting at the bar counter, talking with Vander and Benzo when suddenly yet another familiar figure enters your view — Silco.

Your body moves forwards on its own, taking a step towards the face you've missed dearly, heart pounding in your chest. He's here, back from Piltover which you didn't have time to scour for a glimpse of him and you feel your emotions begin to clog up your throat. Swallowing, you stop yourself and turn back to your wall, this time facing it as you struggle to regain control. You feel a tear slip out anyways and sniff, biting your lip.

He says something and you feel butterflies flutter in your stomach as they always did before. You may not be watching their conversation but you'd recognise your lover's voice anywhere. Your fingernails dig into your skin and you will yourself to remain still, to ignore the urge that calls for you to go over to him, hold him, kiss him, say all the things you never got to say. You want nothing more than to wrap yourself around him, hold him tightly as you cry into his shoulder but you can't. This is not your Silco, and you are not his Y/N. Your Silco is gone forever, and so is his Y/N, that is the reality you both have to accept.

The man you love is gone. you've laid him in the river he loved so much with Jinx, that you know. You'll never be able to touch him again, feel his warmth, lace your fingers together with his, sleep with the last thing you see being his face and wake up seeing his face first thing in the morning, but it's hard not to think about what could have been when a version of him is standing right in front of you.

Inhaling a shaky breath, you pull your cloak around you tighter, willing away the chill that has worked its way into your heart. You can't do this, you can't bear to see him again and not cradle his face in your hands, not press your forehead against his, breathing in his cigar-laced scent. Gritting your teeth, you find another corner to disappear into, putting as much distance between this universe's Silco and you. Slumping against the wall, you slide downwards onto the floor, closing your eyes as you focus on your breathing.

You've got this. You can hold yourself together. You're stronger than this.

"Need a drink?" A voice asks. You nod, eyes still closed and feel a glass pressed into your palm. Your lips part, ready to thank the mysterious stranger but when your eyes open, the room has gone dark and the stranger is nowhere to be found. Balloons explode, causing streamers to fall from the ceiling and the floor goes wild. Music comes to life, the crowd parting for someone. You quickly get to your feet, careful not to spill any of your drink and shrink closer to the wall, gaze fixed on the one who has stolen everyone's attention.

Powder. Jinx.

Tugging your hood around your head tighter, you look away, hoping that she doesn't catch a glimpse of your face but it's fine, she only has eyes for one person tonight. You take another sip from your glass, feeling the liquid burn as it slides down your throat. You've been having one too many drinks tonight, and you blame this universe's Silco as well as Vander for that. Mostly Silco.

You let out a shaky sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. Maybe you should stop drinking for today, going back to the lab drunk is not a good idea. You turn your attention to the dance floor that's being taken over by couples swaying to the beat, smiles and laughter all around. Ekko's fixated on his dance with Powder and you smile slightly, happy that he's found something in this whole mess.

Good for him, you think to yourself. He needed that, a breath of fresh air, a moment to just…be a boy.

You set your now empty glass on the counter, finding yourself leaning against it like you always did back then and quickly stand upright. You're letting your guard down too much, probably because of the alcohol. Shaking your head, you take a deep breath to recenter yourself. Focus.

The party slowly turns into a daze, lights filling your vision and music filling your ears. Bodies spin across the dance floor, you've lost track of where everyone is and all you know is that this party is starting to feel like forever. It's not a particularly bad thing, moments like this are nice, but there's a nagging feeling in the back of your head that makes you antsy and this party isn't doing it any favours.

"May I have a dance?" A voice sounds from beside you. Glancing in the direction from which the voice came, a familiar silhouette enters your view.

Silco.

You stare at him, then stare at his outstretched hand, then back up at him. Your mind is spinning, your heart leaping to your throat and your chest tightens. He peers at you with his one good sea foam coloured eye and you notice the difference between this Silco and yours.

His dead eye isn't the menacing black and orange you've come to love, it's a pale colour, white and yellow perhaps and his scar is openly on display in public. The edges of his face are softer, and gone is the coldness in his gaze, replaced by a warmth that's different from the one he always reserved for you. Yet, there's a pain hidden behind it, the mark of loss that you've come to know so well.

"I —" Words finally unclog themselves from your throat. "I can't dance. I don't know how to."

"It's quite alright. I can lead, following shouldn't be too hard." He smiles gently at you, hand still outstretched. "Give yourself a chance, you may find that you quite enjoy it."

You gaze deep into his eye, hesitating. You shouldn't, revealing your identity may shake the very foundation of this universe and you've kept your interactions with those you know to a minimum for this very reason. Yet, yet something stirs within you, nudging your hand forward until it touches his and your resolve dissolves completely. You let him lead you onto the dance floor, feeling the warmth flood from his hand into yours, feeling your palms lock as though they were made for each other, feeling like you're back there again, when everything was alright because you knew you had Vander, Silco and Felicia to lean on. Tears spring to your eyes, blurring your vision but you let yourself go, let Silco lead, trust that he won't let you fall.

He spins you around, guiding your movements through little nudges with his feet and tugs on your hands. You feel your body glide across the floor, his touches leaving ghostly imprints on your skin. When he pulls you into his chest, you stumble, crashing into him but he continues like nothing happened, an arm around your waist. He smells less of cigars and more like perfume, the kind associated with rich Piltovian snobs but you suppose it's only fair since he is a politician. Only he's not a snob, knowing your Silco.

You bask in the moment, dancing with the man you love, the man you buried, capturing it all and saving every second of it in your mind. It feels surreal, the second chance you never anticipated, but you can only watch as it passes you by, unable to say all the things you never got to. There's so much you want to say, so much you want to do, but you know you can't. This is not your Silco, this is not your universe, your regrets cannot be undone, not truly at least. You have to live with them, that is the burden you carry amid many others.

When your feet tire, Silco guides you back to your usual spot at the bar counter and orders two drinks — scotch and your favourite. He looks at you, your fingers still intertwined and brings your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

"I know you," he says without missing a beat. "It's you, isn't it? Y/N."

"You're confusing me for someone else." You wave him off with a nervous chuckle, letting go of his hand to scratch the back of your neck.

"And that right there is a nervous habit of yours." Silco nods at Vander in thanks and slides your glass towards you. "That's your favourite drink, isn't it?"

"You — you're mistaken." You shake your head. "I'm not Y/N."

"You're right." He takes a sip from his own glass. "You're not. You're not the Y/N I know, the same yet different. Care to explain?"

You take a particularly huge gulp of your drink, and immediately regret it with the way it burns a path down your throat into your stomach. Coughing, you set the glass back down, gasping for breath. Silco's brow furrows and he reaches over, rubbing your back.

"Maybe you should lay off the alcohol for the rest of the day," he murmurs, concern lacing his voice.

"Don't got much left til the next day." You reach for the glass, fingertips just brushing it but a slender hand moves it out of your reach.

"Still, it's best not to." His voice is smooth, velvety, music to your ears, accompanied by his gentle touch and you feel yourself growing weak.

"Can we — can we talk somewhere private?" You whisper, throat clogging up again.

"Of course." He slips his hand into yours. "Lead the way."

Squeezing his hand tightly, you bring him to the rooftop of The Last Drop — the place you and Silco always went to for some peace and quiet. Silco's eye widens slightly when he realises where you're bringing him to, and then a sad smile forms on his face.

Every step towards the rooftop causes your heart to ache even more, memories of your time spent hopelessly in love flooding back into your head. All the times where the both of you just lay there doing nothing, simply enjoying each other's presence, the stolen kisses, the times where he tried coaxing you into dancing with him. You remember when he had carried you from the rooftop, drunk and rambling, all the way to the spare bed, tucked you in and spent the rest of the night at your side. You remember when he had held you in his arms right here, gently rubbing your back as you cried into his shoulder, mourning the death of your best friend. You remember the quiet whispers of promises made, hearts exchanged, lives forever intertwined. The ring that hangs around your neck was given here, under the false sky on a chilly wet night, cold metal sliding onto your ring finger, a warm kiss following suit.

"Here," you say, sitting at your usual spot. He automatically sits on your right as he always has, fingers still intertwined with yours. He says nothing, gaze still fixed on you but there's no trace of suspicion, nor of anger. Instead his eye is filled with curiosity, a hint of caution, but there's also sadness that's no longer hidden by warmth.

He's looking at the image of the lover he lost, the same as you, you realise. He's in the same position as you, confused, saddened, burdened with regrets, and yearning.

"Of course you'd notice. You know me best, you'd recognise me from miles away," you laugh, but it comes out more as a sob. You tug your hood down, revealing yourself and smile sadly. He stares at you, mouth slightly ajar then quickly composes himself.

"I'm Y/N, but not the Y/N you know. I…I come from an alternate universe where I'm, well, clearly not dead. You are though. In my universe. You're dead, I buried you with our daughter in the river where you fought with Vander and since then I — I —" You collapse in his arms, tears streaming down your face. Gripping onto his coat tightly, you wail, scream, let out everything you've been bottling up all this time. You can't stop, the dam has been broken but Silco holds onto you still, cradling your shaking body in his arms.

"I've missed you. I've missed you so bad. I need you, please, I'm lost without you, I don't know what to do, I don't know how to do what you do, I — I just…I just want you by my side again." You weakly cling to him, fingernails digging into his arms.

"I've missed you too." His voice is but a whisper in the wind, his breath warm in your ear. He buries his face into your hair, arms wrapped tightly around you until your tears run dry.

"I'm sorry." You wipe away your tears, pulling away from him. "I shouldn't have —"

"Don't leave just yet. Stay a while more, please." His voice wavers, a weakness you've never seen him display before. Your Silco always hid his weaknesses, only ever displaying them in private intimate moments with you, and even then he never let his voice betray his true feelings, instead putting them into his actions. He always put you first, doing all he could to be strong for you so that you could lean on him whenever you needed to. To see, no hear, him falter, it shattered your heart like never before.

"Just for tonight," you whisper, letting yourself lean into his chest. "We — I shouldn't be doing this."

"Just for tonight," he echoes, closing his eye as he rests his head on yours. You close your eyes, imagining that it's your Silco who's cradling you, your Silco whose arms are wrapped tightly around you.

"I couldn't keep my promise to you." His voice cuts through the silence that has befallen the both of you. "I let you die in my arms, it's because of me that you were never able to see the future we dreamed of. I let you down."

You silently remain curled up against his chest, staring out at the nation of Zaun. Something wet lands on your arm and when you look up, you realise what it is.

Tears. He's crying.

You reach up, gently wiping the tears away. He blinks, taken aback then grabs you by the wrist with one hand while the other lifts your chin. You look directly into his eye, heart thundering in your chest and let him guide you once more.

"You're not my Y/N," he murmurs, "but I —"

"You're not my Silco either, and I know I'll never get him back, but just for tonight, let's pretend like we're in a perfect world." You close the distance, pressing your lips against his. He kisses back, hungrily devouring every inch of you. Your fingers thread through his hair, pulling him closer and he rests a hand on the back of your head, supporting it as he kisses you fervently.

"I love you," he gasps as you both pull apart, his voice breaking. "I love you."

"I love you too." You press your forehead against his, slipping your hands into his. "I always will."

Taking a deep breath, you break away, taking one last look at him. You have to go, leave the past behind and not look back, no matter how painful it is. Reaching out, you run your thumb over his scar, swallowing the lump of grief in your throat.

"I will never forget you. Thank you, for everything, Silco."

He watches you leave, a heavy feeling in his heart as he plays with ring sitting on his ring finger. Still, he can't stop the smile from forming on his face. It really was you. You're as strong as ever, forging on ahead no matter how difficult the path is and he's proud, even if it's you from another universe. But he's not. He's never been like you, he's always looked back, letting the past fuel him so he chases after you.

One last glimpse, he tells himself. One last time, then he'll let finally let you go.

One last time, you think to yourself, taking in your surroundings. This is the last time you'll ever see this universe, you're going home now, to your friends, your people, to the place where you created so many memories both good and bad.

As the arcane swirls around you, Powder enters the lab, watching with both awe and sadness. Ekko meets her gaze and you can see the conflict but also the resolve in his eyes. He would make a fine leader of Zaun, you think, maybe it's time to sit back and let the next generation break the cycle.

"Y/N!" Your head snaps in the direction of the voice. Silco?

He mouths something but the arcane is making too much noise for you to hear him. Yet, somehow, you know what he's saying. Smiling, you meet his gaze, a weight lifting itself off your chest.

I will always, remember you.

[lost-romantique]

Ghostfuckers Massive Lore Dump & More...

I'm stuck at work doing the graveyard shift, so I decided to make a list of all the lore that we learned in Ghostfuckers. Plus some extra cuz my fave character is Blitz, and I love him...

It has been one month since the events of Apology Tour. Blitz and Stolas have been NO CONTACT for one whole month.

I.M.P is on the verge of bankruptcy due to Blitzø’s poor spending habits. Past Due Notices are pasted on the whiteboard. Millie confirms later on that Blitzø has not paid her in a month.

(Honestly same, I also cope by buying stupid shit, but sweetie you gotta pay your employees)

Confirmation that Blitzø (at least by the beginning of Ghostfuckers) has given up on pursuing a relationship with Stolas.

Millie confirmed that there is only Heaven or Hell, there is no such thing as Purgatory. And there is no such thing as Ghosts.

The fact that Millie had to stress it out several times, even to Blitz that ghosts don't exist... is insane.

Confirmation that Blitzø is still following M&M on their dates, and that once again... Blitz sees love and relationships as a transaction.

Blitzø’s illiteracy and possibly having dyslexia is the gift that keeps on giving.

(Fun fact: Brandon Rogers is confirmed dyslexic)

Confirmation that Blitzø has genuine fears of M&M getting hurt when they do go on missions.

Blitzø’s mom is confirmed to have died from the fire, just in case it wasn't obvious already.

Confirmation that Moxxie met Blitz before he met Millie, and by extension, Blitzø adopted Loona before he met Moxxie.

Further confirmation that Blitzø owning his own business as an imp makes him an outlier.

The fact that Blitzø has to stress to Millie that he does in fact own his own business, but she keeps denying the possibility that, that even exists is insane.

Confirmation that I.M.P began the moment Blitzø was in possession of the grimoire. Therefore, Blitzø had Millie, Moxxie, and Loona to provide for by the time he met Stolas

So much of Hell's Hierarchy and the suppression of imps in general, is ingrained into Millie that she genuinely believes that she isn't deserving to work in an old ass building located in the Pride Ring (where the sinners live)

Confirmation that imps (and by extension hellhounds) are expected to work for someone higher up, whether it be the Sins, the Ars Goetia, or even other sinners and hellborn

Confirmation once again that Blitzø is genuinely considered an outlier among imps. Him owning a business gives him a sense of prestige among others of his own kind.

Confirmation that Millie's entire life is all thanks to Blitzø: a husband, a career, a future, a best friend. ❤️

Further confirmation of the existance of Blitzø’s mask. (People were genuinely surprised when they realized that there was more to Blitzø than asshole)

Confirmation of the existance of infestor demons that are presumably from the Envy Ring.

Confirmation that Cash Fuckzo was an abusive piece of shit that not only manipulated his own child, but physically abused him when he had fresh burn marks on his wrist

Confirmation that Cash Fuckzo was the man that kept Blitzø and Fizz apart for so long, essentially the reason why these men hated each other for 15 years.

Confirmation that even seeing M&M happy and in love genuinely hurts him because (in his mind) he could never have what they have.

Confirmation that the events of Seeing Stars hurt Blitzø’s feelings and reignites that fear his daughter hates him.

The amount of remorse, guilt, and regret this man feels is so palpable that it can power an entire fucking city.

By the end of the episode Blitzø makes a promise to Millie to stop trying to become their "third". Millie is shocked by his answer and genuinely did not expect it.

Blitzø confirms to Millie that he does indeed have feelings for Stolas, but he's aware enough to know that he still fucked things up with him.

The character development that Blitzø showed this episode was actually insane, and I am so proud of him. He has a long way to go before he could forgive himself for the fire and hate himself less, but nonetheless I am so proud of him.

Also, in case you were wondering my favorite part of the episode was Millie's apology to Blitzø.

[euthymiya]

You believe in soulmates. Alhaitham does not. It’s not as though he loves you any less for his beliefs, but he certainly doesn’t entertain your baseless theories.

You’re determined to change his mind.

“What would you do if we never met?” You ask, staring up at him with your cheek pressed against his chest.

He glances down at you, sighing as he shakes his head. Here we go, he thinks silently. “I probably wouldn’t do anything, considering I wouldn’t know you existed.”

“You wouldn’t be sad?” You frown.

“How can I be sad about something that I don’t know exists?”

“Well, you could know of me,” you insist, “just because you don’t know me doesn’t mean you don’t know I exist.”

“In that case, I probably would not do anything,” he snorts. You don’t like that answer, glaring up at him as he adds, “I wouldn’t know what I’m missing if we never met.”

“You’re a real romantic, has anyone ever told you that?” You grumble. There’s a vibration of his chuckle through his chest, right under your cheek in a soft, rhythmic feeling that you’re so used to, you think it might be familiar from another life.

Over the course of the Akademiya’s years, there have been two prominent theories that have been debunked about soulmates:

1. The law of conservation of mass-energy states that matter and energy cannot be created or destroyed—but only transformed. When a person dies, their body decomposes, breaking down into atoms that return to the earth, air, and water. These atoms then get recycled by nature, eventually becoming part of other living organisms, thus reincarnating from their previous life forms. It is possible, then, that two individuals could fundamentally be linked to reincarnate together from the same set of atoms in every lifetime.

It was later debunked by a scholar named Lamiya. Atoms themselves don’t retain information about where they’ve been or what they’ve been part of. They are interchangeable at a fundamental level, which means there is no difference between an atom in a human and a rock.

2. The heart and brain generate electromagnetic fields that extend outward from the body, with the heart’s field reaching several feet. Studies suggest these fields may be sensed by others nearby, subtly shaping feelings of comfort, attraction, and connection. It is possible that certain individuals’ frequencies may naturally align, creating a sense of harmony between electromagnetic fields, thus indicating that two individuals are naturally connected and could be labeled soulmates.

This theory was later disproven by a scholar named Dharmakirti. While human bodies do generate electromagnetic fields, there is no evidence that these fields influence interpersonal attractions or emotional resonance. Fields produced by the heart and brain are exceptionally weak and rapidly diminish with distance, making it unlikely they could be sensed or create harmony between individuals in measurable ways.

They fascinate you enough that Alhaitham pulls strings to allow you access to the archived files, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by you how he scrunches his nose in distaste as he sifts through them himself.

Soulmates have no plausible evidence of existing, he argues.

Lots of things have no plausible evidence, yet they exist, you always argue back.

You like to think despite all the differences, you and Alhaitham are soulmates—that some form of you, outside of your physical bodies, exists for each other and each other alone.

You think it must be the case when your eyes seem to find his in a crowd without even trying. What are the odds that in a sea of people, they always happen to come across his by chance? And what other explanation would there be for the way he always seems to just know you’re staring at him while he sleeps every morning, waking up not too long after your eyes fall on his face in admiration? And how else would you rationalize the fact that you could tell his presence apart from anyone. You’re certain that if two bodies were standing behind you from a distance, your heart would know which one belonged to him.

Soulmates, you argue. That has to be the answer.

“I think we were always meant to meet,” you murmur quietly, tracing a finger along the pale skin of his chest. “Don’t you?”

“We’ve shared numerous classes together and have offices within within the same hall,” he states blandly, “I think the chances of not meeting would be rather improbable.”

“Or maybe,” you huff, “we were always meant to meet because we’re soulmates.”

“I think that theory has been sufficiently disproven—”

“You never know! We believe in the divine even if we’ve never seen them, haven’t we? Who’s to say Celestia aren’t fake—”

“The Archons have spoken of them multiple times, and The Gods, in fact, do exist for us to see, so I think we can trust—”

“Maybe Celestia decide soulmates,” you reason, raising a pointed brow at him, “how will you disprove that? There’s no evidence that they haven’t, and you can’t collect much evidence about them, so I think it’s safe to say that it’s possible.”

“But then it’s equally as safe to say it’s not possible by that logic, as well,” he says smugly.

“Fine,” you huff, glowering up at him through puffed cheeks, “I guess you’re just too stubborn to convince.”

“I’m not stubborn,” he argues (which he does quite stubbornly, you want to say), “I apply logic and reasoning to my theories. Which is why they are hardly disproven.”

“Do you at least think we’d be soulmates in another world if they did exist?” You ask hopefully.

He looks like he wants to argue about the likelihood of another world existing altogether—it irritates you enough that it pulls a frown on your face before you grumble a quiet forget it, shuffling out of his arms and turning away to face your back at him.

He chuckles, shaking his head. Something fond blooms in his chest, like a fresh padisarah in May.

“If,” he emphasizes as his arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you flush against his chest once more, “if in another world we existed where soulmates were real, then yes. I do think it would be you and I.”

“Really?” You ask quietly.

“Yes,” he whispers. Suddenly, he sounds rather sure about a theory he never even believed in the first place.

“I wonder what we’re doing in that other world,” you hum thoughtfully.

He sighs, bringing the blanket back up to cover both of your bodies and mumbles, “I would hope we’d be sleeping at a reasonable hour before a work day.”

—————

Stay tuned for them being soulmates after all in another world *wink wink* ;)

[willowsnook]

When Love is Left Unspoken

max verstappen x reader

she isn't you i'd be insane not to love you

request from @formulaal

Pt. 2 here

"Alright, one more question from the chat," you said into your mic, scanning for a good one. One caught your eye, and you began reading it aloud before realizing it would reveal something from your past. “Would you choose a guy over your best friend?”

Laughing humorlessly, you looked into the camera with a tight smile. “Anyone who’s been here for a while knows how relevant that question is to my life. But my answer hasn’t changed: if you’re choosing a romantic partner over your best friend, you can get fucked. Thanks for tuning in, everyone. See you around.”

Logging off, you grabbed your water bottle and headed to the kitchen to refill it. Checking your phone, you smiled at the stats from the stream—10k of your fans tuning in tonight was a big turnout. You’d gone viral on BookTok back in 2020, and now, your book podcast had a solid following. Normally, BookTok didn’t bring huge numbers, but thanks to your former best friend, your popularity had skyrocketed. As grateful as you were, his part in your success irritated you now.

Then a notification popped up on your screen, and you rolled your eyes.

MV: Nice stream.

You: Fuck off

MV: Glad I’m still living rent-free in your head.

You: Glad you got permission to text me.

You threw your phone down on the counter, boiling inside. Nobody got under your skin like he could, especially after 20 years of knowing exactly how to do it. Growing up, it hadn’t always been this way. At 10, you’d moved with your family to the Netherlands, right next door to the Verstappens. Max quickly became your best friend, your weekends spent watching him kart. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine things would end like this.

You met Kelly in 2018 at a race Max invited you to. Right away, you got weird vibes. She looked at Max like a toy she had to have. It was creepy, especially given the nine-year age gap. By 2019, they were dating, and she made it clear she didn’t like you, refusing to acknowledge your existence. That led to rocky times between you and Max; he always had excuses to avoid seeing you. When you were together, he seemed tense, as if being watched.

Everything fell apart in Australia 2021.

Flashback

Max invited you to the first race of the 2021 season, though you almost didn’t go. It felt obligatory, as if he invited you just because you’d never missed an opening race. You hadn’t seen him all winter, just exchanging quick holiday texts. Walking into the paddock, you felt a strange sense of finality, like this might be the last one.

Spotting Carmen outside Mercedes, you walked over and hugged her. As you stepped back, she looked worried.

“What’s up?”

She hesitated. “I thought you should know, Kelly’s been saying some nasty things about you around the paddock. No one believes her, but… I wanted you to know.”

“What is she saying?” you asked, heart sinking.

“She’s calling you pathetic, saying you’re still pining over your childhood crush and using Max to become an influencer,” she said softly, looking at you with sympathy.

“You’re joking,” you said, anger simmering. She shook her head.

“Can I be real with you?” She asked, and you nodded. “I love you and George loves you and honestly, everyone does. But I will accept not seeing you here anymore if you finally realize that Max is not being a good friend to you. And he hasn’t been for a long time.”

Eyes filling with tears, you let her words sink in. She was right, but admitting it was brutal. Maybe staying around him was just self-inflicted pain.

You found Max later, pulling him aside.

“I only have a few minutes, so make it quick,” he said, barely looking at you. Seeing him like this, you realized that the man in front of you wasn’t your best friend anymore.

“Your girlfriend’s telling people I’m a pathetic loser here to use you for fame,” you said, voice flat.

“I don’t believe that,” he mumbled, avoiding your eyes.

“Really?” you laughed bitterly. “You don’t believe that from your girlfriend��the one who’s disliked me since day one?”

“Seems like you have something to say, Y/N. Just say it,” he replied, finally looking at you.

“There was a time in my life where I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live without you. But now I’m living it. Have the past ten years been nothing to you? All it took was an older woman to bat her eyelashes at you and that was it?”

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off.

“I’m not going to stand here and tell you that we had a good run and that I wish you the best. Fuck you. Fuck you for choosing her over me and fuck you for even letting it have to be a choice. I hate you.”

End of Flashback

That was the last time you had spoken to him. There were no texts or calls after that; his life just went on like normal while you felt like you were dying inside. You had thrown yourself into your work after that and now had over a million followers and subscribers to your podcast. You’d stayed friends with Carmen but hadn’t returned to a race since that day. You had tried to block the memory of that day from your mind, but when you were low, one thing always resurfaced in your mind. Kelly was right about you pining after your childhood crush. You had been in love with Max back then. How could you not be?

Then Carmen invited you to the Austin GP, and after much persuasion, you finally agreed. Thanks to your online following, you flew down with her, officially a Mercedes guest. Wearing Mercedes colors felt like poetic justice.

When you entered the paddock, a wave of nostalgia and sadness hit you. But it disappeared as you saw familiar faces you’d missed over the years.

"Y/N!" Alex called, arms open. Hugging him, you sighed, realizing how much you’d missed everyone. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Me too,” you admitted before greeting Lily, who gushed over your podcast and joked about being a guest. As you laughed with her, you noticed Alex subtly trying to block your view. Looking over, you saw Max walking by. He did a double take, but you turned back to Lily, ignoring his stare.

Later, as you waited for a coffee, you overheard Checo’s wife and Fernando’s girlfriend chatting.

“I heard Max and Kelly broke up,” Melissa said.

“Oh yeah, it’s been a few months,” Carola replied, shrugging. “Apparently, he was in love with someone else the whole time.”

You smirked. So Kelly finally experienced what it felt like to be second choice.

The race came and went, and you successfully avoided Max the entire weekend. You didn’t even think about the possibility of running into him when you accepted Carmen’s invitation to go out that night. George had actually wanted to go out, so you found yourself at a little country bar that night with what seemed to be the whole grid. You felt Max’s gaze the second you walked in, and you were doing a hell of a job ignoring him. Charles was trying to talk to him, looking confused between the two of you, but you didn’t care.

Ordering another gin and tonic you felt him come up next to you and you refused to look over.

“Put hers on mine,” Max said, handing over his card. You tried to leave, but he held out an arm to stop you.

“No ‘thank you’?” he teased, eyes intense.

You glared. “You can have it, then.”

“Stop being difficult,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You look good.”

“Can’t say the same about you,” you shot back, and his expression darkened.

He sighed. “Can we talk?”

“I said everything I needed to say three years ago. Have a good night.”

This time he let you go and you made your way back to Carmen who was looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

“You okay?” She asked, and you nodded.

A little while later, you were sitting at a table talking with Charles with Max hovering close by.

“Max, come sit down,” Charles slurred, and at this point, you were too tipsy to put up a fight about it. “Max is my best friend, ya know?”

“Ah yeah?” You asked head tilting. “Those words don’t mean much coming from him.”

Charles giggled, too drunk to understand what you meant and Max clenched his jaw looking at you.

“Insult me all you want schatje, as long as you’re talking to me I’ll take it,” he said and you didn’t say anything, just stared at him trying to figure out his angle.

“Is this the girl Kelly broke up with you over?” Charles asked and Max whipped his head towards him. “You always had a thing for her, so I told Alex that was my guess.”

Max’s face fell, and you froze. Shock turned into anger as you got up and stormed out. You felt Max following and soon he was in front of you, blocking your path.

“Come on,” he urged, leading you to a nearby park.

“Max, I don’t want to talk,” you said firmly, pulling away.

“I don’t care,” he replied, frustrated. “Tell me what I need to do to fix this.”

You laughed bitterly. “Crawling back because you got dumped? It’s too late.”

“It’s not like that.”

“You made your choice three years ago. Now live with it.”

“You want to know why we broke up?”

“I don’t really give a fuck,” you replied before turning to walk away.

“She isn’t you!” He yelled. Your legs stopped moving as your mind reeled.

Whirling on him you got into his face, “You don’t get to fucking say that to me. Not after all this time. Not after what you put me through. Not after you chose her over me. I was there the whole time Max. Me! I was there! It’s not my fault you didn’t realize that till I was gone.” 

“I realized it long before then,” he said softly, and you took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm yourself. Tears were starting to fall, and you looked everywhere but him. 

“Then why?” You whispered, voice cracking. 

“Because I wasn’t good enough for you,” he said laughing sadly to himself. “The pressure was starting to cave in back then and I didn’t want you to see that. I didn’t want to burden you.”

“You were my best friend Max,” you said exasperated. “I would have done anything for you.” 

“It’s easy to see that now,” he said. “But then you were so full of life and starting your little videos that I didn’t want to disappoint you. She understood what I was going through, but I never stopped loving you.” 

“Then why did you still push me away?” 

“I had to do that so that I could try and move on. She knew and she hated that there wasn’t anything she could do to change how I felt about you. I knew what she was saying about you in the paddock, and I knew why she was saying it.” 

His words hit you like a ton of bricks, and it felt like heartbreak all over again. “You knew and you let it happen. You are the worst person I’ve ever known Max Verstappen.”

He was crying now too and the two of you stood staring at one another not saying anything. 

“I would be insane not to love you,” he said softly and it made you cry harder. “So I will do whatever it takes for however long to make up for what I did.” 

He let you go again and you left him there, crying silently as you walked back to the hotel. So many emotions going through your mind paired with confusing feelings. 

Happiness for your 15-year-old self that has wanted to hear those words for so long. 

Sadness for your 21-year-old self reliving those memories. 

And anger at your 24-year-old self for considering letting him make it up to you. 

[jamesmcalover]

Dreamwalking

First Class!Charles Xavier x Mutant!Reader

Warnings: a bit spicy i guess? but no actual smut. idk what happened here... not proof read

Summary: the reader has the ability to enter people's dreams and stumbles across the one of Charles Xavier

Until finding out that mutants existed, you've never thought of your ability as a mutation, it was more of a spiritual skill to you, maybe even a blessing.

"Dreamwalking" is it what you called it. The ability to visit someone's dream, appear in their unconscious mind, manipulate it, or your favourite activity – fuck with them. Since dreaming is such a mystery to the world, you can easily go unnoticed when entering someone's dream and creating loops, for example. One time, you trapped a person in a recurring loop, where they experienced the same scenario over and over again, believing they've woken up only to find themselves still in the dream. Of course you have never done this with cruel intentions, it was purely for your personal entertainment.

It was almost like a routine for you, that's what you had always done. Until the night you stumbled into Charles Xavier's dream by accident.

You weren’t looking for anyone in particular – just wandering through the usual sea of minds as you often did, seeking out a little mischief to keep yourself entertained. But then, out of nowhere, you found yourself in a dream unlike any you’d ever encountered. You were expecting to find the usual chaos of unconscious thoughts and memories. But what you encountered was something entirely different. A fortress of mental defenses, meticulously constructed, each layer more intricate than the last. It was structured, orderly, almost as if someone had consciously crafted it. Curiosity got the better of you, and you pushed further, expecting to uncover the secrets of some overly disciplined mind. Instead, you walked right into the mental landscape of Charles Xavier. The moment you realized whose dream you were in, a chill ran down your spine.

The infamous Professor X was no stranger to you. A man who could read minds and bend the will of others with a mere thought. You had encountered him a few times before in a bar that you regularly visited, spoke a few times with him, but nothing ever really happened between the two of you. Even if there was no doubt of attraction from both sides. The Professor had a certain charm to him, that was definitely no secret, you've watched him flirt many times.

You figured that toying with his mind would be your greatest challenge yet, the ultimate test of your abilities.

But it almost seemed as if Charles had been expecting you, waiting for you to make your move. You had no idea how you’d ended up there, but one thing was clear – this was no ordinary dream, and you were no longer the one in control.

His mind didn’t seem very unconscious; it was as if he were awake, fully aware of your presence. That shouldn't have been possible – you weren’t supposed to be able to enter the mind of someone who was awake. Yet here you were, standing in the middle of his dreamscape, feeling an eerie sensation creeping through your body. The dream was too lucid, too controlled, as if he were orchestrating every detail with precision. The air felt thick with anticipation, and the familiar sense of power you usually had in others’ dreams was absent, replaced by a gnawing unease.

You were the intruder, but it felt like he was the one who had allowed you in, as if he had opened the door to his mind on purpose. That realization made you shiver, because if he was aware of you, it meant he could see you, could sense you. And if he could sense you, he could stop you. For the first time, you wondered if maybe you’d wandered too far, if perhaps you’d finally met someone who could turn your favorite game against you.

As the unsettling realization dawned on you, the dreamscape around you shifted subtly, the edges sharpening as if the world itself was honing in on your presence. Then, out of the silence, a calm yet commanding voice resonated through the space, wrapping around you like a vise.

"I’ve been expecting you."

The voice was unmistakable – Charles Xavier’s, clear and deliberate, with a weight that made your heart skip a beat. His words weren’t a question but a statement, as though he had known you would find your way into his mind eventually.

"You’re talented, I’ll give you that," he continued, his tone measured and controlled, "but did you really think you could wander through my thoughts unnoticed? This isn’t a playground, and you’ve ventured into dangerous territory."

The dreamscape solidified further, and you felt the weight of his gaze even before you saw him. When he finally appeared before you, his expression was serene, but his eyes held a depth of understanding that made it clear – you have lost every last ounce of control you might still have had left in that moment.

As Charles appeared before you, his presence dominating the dreamscape, the environment around you began to shift, reacting to his will rather than yours. The walls of the dream narrowed, the colors dimming until everything seemed to fade into a muted gray. The ground beneath you felt unstable, like it could collapse at any moment, but Charles remained steady, his gaze unwavering.

"You're not here by accident," he said, stepping closer, his voice resonating with a calm authority. "Something drew you to me, whether you intended it or not."

You tried to push back, to exert some control over the dream, but it was like pressing against a brick wall. Your powers, usually so reliable, felt sluggish, ineffective under the weight of his mind. For the first time, you felt truly vulnerable, as if you were the one being manipulated.

Charles tilted his head slightly, as if considering his next words carefully. "You have potential, but your actions show a lack of direction, a misunderstanding of the responsibility that comes with your power."

Before you could respond, the dreamscape shifted again, this time to a familiar place—a room from your past, one you hadn’t thought of in years. The memories attached to it were private, intimate, yet here they were, laid bare before him.

Charles's gaze lingered on you as the dreamscape transformed into that intimate room from your past. The walls seemed to pulse with the echoes of your old memories, shadows flickering like half-remembered dreams. He stepped closer, the air charged with a tension that seemed to crackle with each movement.

"You're not just a curiosity to me," he said, his voice now soft, almost seductive. "There's something intriguing about you. Something that's far more than just your powers."

You felt a mix of frustration and an unexpected flutter of excitement.

This wasn't how you'd expected the encounter to go. The dream, once a playground for your mischief, now felt like a stage set for something far more intense. Charles's eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of you in this charged space.

"Do you really think you can understand me, just by manipulating me?" you challenged, your voice carrying a note of defiance. But even as you spoke, you could feel the heat between you growing, his presence so overwhelming it was almost tangible.

Charles's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. "I'm not trying to control you. I'm trying to understand what drives you. And I think," he said, his tone dropping to a whisper, "that you might be more complicated than you let on."

He reached out, brushing his fingers lightly against your arm. The touch was electric, sending a shiver up your spine.

The warmth of his skin against yours was almost too real, and you could feel the pull of attraction despite the situation's inherent strangeness.

"Maybe we should explore this connection further," he suggested, his voice low and enticing. "There's a lot more to discover about your power."

Before you could respond, Charles closed the distance between you. His lips found yours in a kiss that was as intense as it was unexpected. The kiss was both a challenge and an invitation, a way to bridge the gap between the fierce intellect and raw attraction that had been building between you.

You hesitated for a heartbeat, caught off guard by the intensity of the moment. But then, giving in to the magnetic pull between you, you deepened the kiss, your hands finding their way to his hair, pulling him closer. The dreamscape around you seemed to blur as the kiss consumed you both, transforming the scene into a private cocoon of desire and exploration.

Charles's hands roamed over your back, drawing you into his embrace, the kiss growing more fervent, more urgent.

You responded in kind, matching his passion with your own, every touch and caress revealing a layer of the complex emotions that had been simmering beneath the surface.

"Tell me," Charles said softly, his voice almost gentle now, "what is it you truly seek? Power? Control? Or is there something else you’re running from?"

"I'm not running", you said confidently as you leaned back a little to look at him properly. His fingers were still dancing over your back and your body responded with goosebumps.

"Are you not?", he asked, his accent almost thicker as it usually was, "why are you doing this then? Manipulating so many dreams?"

You weren't sure what the answer to his question was. Why did you do it? Maybe you did seek a little power from time to time...

You shrugged your shoulders, tired of talking about your powers when there was a handsome man right in front of you to kiss. Your fingers toyed with the hair in his neck as he mustered you intensely. Then he kissed you again, this time, more forcefully. He grabbed your hips pulling you forward to meet his own hips. A moan escaped your mouth and Charles grunted. If it hadn't already been a dream, you would have thought it was one.

In this shared dream, the boundaries between control and surrender, power and vulnerability dissolved into a shared, heated connection. What began as a struggle for dominance had become a dance of passion and desire, where every touch, every whisper, spoke of a deeper, unspoken bond between you

[kachowden]

Gonna start calling these late night drabbles or something at this point.

You know those ASMR videos, where it’s two people, and one of them has like different fluffy brushes and oils and stuff that they rub on the person laying down? Like a massage? Visual ASMR?

I’m thinking about a yandere asmrtist who brought you in for one those videos. Maybe you won a giveaway or something, but realistically I think you were originally a fan. So he didn’t know you at all.

But then of course, you showed up at his studio. Stunning. Gorgeous. Irresistible. The whole package really. And he felt something deep in his stomach. Maybe butterflies. Maybe indigestion. Regardless, despite having done this before, he’s nervous. Off the bat it’s awkward.

But he’s a professional. So he powers through. A few moments of idle chat, and various prep work goes by, before you’re lying on the cot, surrounded by herbal candles and oils that already send you into a deep state of relaxation.

He starts the video as he always does, jumping right into it. Brushing your hair back, smoothing down the skin on your shoulders. Tracing your features with a soft fluffy stick thingy. Goes the whole nine yards. And the entire time he is sweating buckets from how aroused he is.

At some point through the session he starts to wonder if his heavy breathing is as visible as he thinks it is. If you can feel the sweat dripping down his arms and forehead. And his composure starts to wane. The way your breathing slows, the way your muscles relax. It’s driving him a little crazy. You’re so…comfortable. Because of him. He made you comfortable.

That means something doesn’t it? I mean you were a fan of his anyway. So obviously you liked him. He liked you too of course. It made him have a new thankfulness for his career. How would he have met you otherwise? His soulmate. No. He wanted to believe no matter what you two would have found each other. This feeling in his chest was so deep and passionate. Surely you guys were past lovers too right? You would’ve found each other.

And since you’ve loved each other before…it should be easy to love again? It’d be natural. Perfect. So when he hands start to squeeze a little more sensually, and his eyes began to lower. He doesn’t feel particularly guilty anymore. Your skin is familiar to his deluded mind. The way his fingers began to dig and mold into your soft skin and flesh, sliding up and down, the fabric of your shirt getting pushed lower…and lower..it’s all familiar. Yes he’s sure of it. You’ve both done this before. Your bodies have collapsed together dozens of times. That’s the only explanation, so there’s no room for guilt.

riiiiiiinnnnngg

And he jumps back, ripped away from his hazey day dream: your eyes fluttering open with a slightly exaggerated yawn that hopefully mutes the sound of his racing heart.

“Wow…” you laugh, and he would’ve taken a moment to appreciate it more if not for his own existing panic. “I totally fell asleep…sorry if that ruined the take.”

He pauses, swallowing thickly as his gaze quickly switches to the green light that beeps atop the camera. Right. He had been recording. He’d have to edit that later.

“No..no it was perfect. I’m sure it’ll make the viewers feel the same ease you were feeling…” his voice is as silky and gentle as always, oozing with the honey that enraptured his audience.

You smiled and hummed with a nod, groggily lifting yourself from the cot you had laid on, and grabbing your things form the chair you had set them on, you lift your hand in a wave. “Well, this was really nice! I totally needed it, and it was super cool meeting you in person! Thanks again-“

“Wait!” He jolted, a blush burning his cheeks at his own over eager behavior. “You did a really good job today, so..I was hoping we could keep in contact if the video does well..”

“Oh..sure thing!”

God you were a total blessing.