#i dont like some of what's in there but there's something of an unspoken rule that we dont interfere with other part's posts and reblogs

[nexus-nebulae]

i feel like half of my posts are just hidden from other people's dashes bc like 80% of what i post is just not seen by anyone

[labradorite-princess]

My therapist said I need to start thinking about what I want and not what everyone else wants. Why is this so hard? Everything I want is the opposite of what everyone else wants.

[wildflower-rain]

ive actually in some minor way noticed a good few switches today i think which is interesting. some of it has been stuff i normally notice but then realised like, thats because of a switch, thats most likely because we switched. and noticing that is cool because i start to notice the other things that also changed since then without me realising. like yeah all of a sudden it's clear that we've switched at whatever point, all these little aspects of myself are different to what they were however many moments ago. idk man. had some clarity on some switches today.

[fandomhopped]

first love/late spring

pairing: fwb!logan howlett x fem!reader; 2nd person pov

summary: logan and reader have been sleeping together for a while with an unspoken rule to keep it casual, but that goes to hell when logan catches feelings. however, reader is an independent boss bitch and hates men<3

warnings: heavy swearing, hella mentions of sexual situations, substance abuse, brief sexual content(nothing serious fr), creepy guy in a bar, blood, bar fight, mentions of sex trafficking and resulting trauma, daddy issues, fluff, angst asf, lowkey scott slander (i dont mean it i love him)

word count: 9.1k

a/n: reader has light manipulation abilities but theyre not mentioned that often lol, also reader takes a lotta shots at jean just cuz she pisses me off. side note: idk the true meaning of the song i used as the title, there are many different interpretations. i found the song after i had alr written the story and the lyrics resonated pls don’t jump down my throat if it doesn’t align <3

there’s not a millimeter of space between you and logan as he holds you against his body. you’re sleeping soundly, and he watches you breathe all night, not bothering to even think about sleep for himself. the sun came up three hours ago, he felt it on his back.

when you drink, you always wake up early the next morning. you two drank a lot together last night. and like every time you drink with logan, you ended up in his bed.

he tries to block the sun from your face with his body so it won’t wake you up. he knows when you finally do, this little illusion that you're his will all be over. everything you said last night won’t matter. you’ll go back to your room. he’ll stay in bed. you’ll both go back to acting like it never happened.

you always leave him swiftly. you always go downstairs and drink coffee from the same mug and act like nothing happened. without a stutter, it’s a routine.

since he moved into the mansion, he wasn’t ignorant to the fact that the female teachers were attractive. and, of course, he was first drawn to jean. he won’t deny that he still harbored some feelings for her when you came to his room all those months ago, but she made it abundantly clear that she loves scott.

then one night, you slipped a bottle of whiskey into the mansion and invited him to join you in drinking it. you said some things that made him sit closer to you. that was just the beginning. he woke up the next morning to an empty bed but distinctly remembers you falling asleep next to him, so he assumed you woke up and left.

logan is a pro at acting like some things never happen, but he wasn’t expecting you to act the same. he dismissed it as a one-off, drunken night.

then it happened again… and again and again, and you continued to act like it never happened.

which, he was fine with. this wouldn’t be the first time he’s had a with-benefits situation, but there’s something different about you. you’re badass. you’re beautiful. he really respects you. you fit him perfectly.

and you’re mean. you don’t smile all that much, really only when you’re drinking is what logan soon found out. you’re not always outright mean to people, it’s usually deserved. you don’t take anybody’s shit. you’ll let people know when they’re in the wrong or they’re pissing you off. you’re sarcastic and rudely witty.

that was just another thing that attracted him to you. but, God, were you the meanest in the mornings, especially when you’re hungover.

unfortunately for logan, he has developed a small, tiny, itty bitty, barely-there crush on you. just catching a scent of your perfume has him rolling his eyes in the back of his head and white-knuckling whatever is directly in front of him.

the thoughts of you under him, on top of him, in front of him, on your knees for him plague his mind all. day. long. then last night, you had him rock solid from just a few drunken words.

“you’ve ruined all men for me,” you said as he kissed down your neck.

“hmm?” he hummed as his hands roamed your body under your shirt.

“nobody could ever fuck me like you do,” you told him, pulling at his hair roughly. he lets out a deep groan at the feeling.

he’s never picked up his pace of getting someone’s clothes off so quickly. he ripped your favorite pair of pj shorts in the process, mumbling that he’ll buy you a new pair.

with him deeply inside you, one hand wrapped around your throat and the other sending you over the edge with his mouth leaving marks all over your chest, you say breathily, “fuck, you’re perfect for me.”

the moment hasn’t left his mind since.

“i’m hot,” you mutter, pushing the sheets from your legs. “you’re hot.”

“oh, yeah?” he whispers in your ear, his lips turned up.

“i’m about to have a heat stroke,” you return, squirming around and shoving his arms from around you.

he lets go of you and gives you some space, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. a deep sigh leaves him.

“i’m gonna throw up,” you tell him, groaning and curling up into the fetal position.

“are you serious? don’t puke in my bed,” he says, leaning up to look at you.

you roll your eyes. “no, i’m not serious,” you snap at him.

“‘you wanna take a shower?” he asks, his lip curling up at the thought of you ruining his sheets (and not in the way he usually prefers).

“i feel like shit right now, logan. i don’t want to fuck you in the shower,” you tell him roughly, sitting up and glaring over at him.

he watches you stand up out of his bed and put yout shirt on. “‘s not what i meant,” he grumbles, looking away from her. he throws the sheets off his body and grabs his jeans from the night before.

he runs his hands down his face and then looks up only to see the door closing behind you as you leave him. again.

“whew, late night?” ororo asks you as soon as you walk into the kitchen, changed into some presentable clothes rather than the ripped shorts and oversized tshirt you walked back to your room in.

you ignore the woman as you open the cabinet to grab your mug. the same one you use every morning.

but it’s not there.

“where’s my mug?” you ask, glancing around the kitchen to see it’s not just ororo but also jean and scott there.

“is this yours?” scott asks, holding up the mug in his hand.

your gaze darkens. “yes,” she grits out, tightening her jaw.

“that’s my bad. i didn’t know this was yours,” he says, standing up and walking over to the sink. “i’ll wash it and you can use it.”

you feel your skin crawl as he turns on the hot water. “stop,” you say lowly, walking to him and turning off the water. “you can’t—.” you stop yourself as you breathe heavily. you rip the cup from his hands.

“hey, it’s just a mug,” ororo says to you, “what’s up?”

“it’s not—,” you cut yourself off again and take a deep breath, shaking your head. you turn on the cold water from the sink and carefully wash the mug.

“seriously, what’s going on with you?” jean asks as scott rejoins her side.

you roll your neck. “i’ve been here for years, and you don’t know which one is my mug?” you ask scott, not looking anywhere but your mug until you’re sure it’s clean.

“i never noticed before, ‘sorry,” he says then turns to jean with a shrug.

the light beaming in through the window shines a little brighter as you continue to shake your head, muttering things under your breath that the others can’t make out.

“it really is just a mug,” ororo says carefully, looking over your figure in concern.

“except it’s not,” you retort, attentively drying off the ceramic with a towel. you then pour some coffee into the mug and hold it close to your chest, turning back to the other mutants.

“what—,” jean begins but logan walks into the kitchen just as she starts and she stops herself.

her surveys everyone’s demeanor then looks at you. “what’s wrong with you?” he asks, walking to the cabinet and grabbing whichever cup is closest to his hand when he reaches in. he pours himself some coffee and turns back to them expectantly.

“scott was using my mug,” you tell him, leaning against the counter.

“why?” he asks scott, eyeing the man.

“to drink coffee. why does it matter?” he asks in return, scoffing.

“it’s hers,” logan returns, his stare hardens and he looks at scott like he’s an idiot.

ororo laughs humorlessly. “what does that mean? it’s just a mug,” she asks, looking between you.

you glare at her. “it was my father’s and now it’s mine.”

“the same father that sold you?” jean asks, her face contorting. you shift your weight uncomfortably. “why would you want that?”

“why don’t you just back the fuck off, bitch?” you snap at her, stepping toward her.

“woah, girl, calm down,” ororo intervenes, holding her hand toward you like you’re a wild animal. you scoff. “we get it. it’s special to you. that’s all you had to say.”

you roll your eyes at them. you leave the group and return to your room. logan watches you go then turns back to the others with his eyebrows raised. “did you say sold her?” he asks jean.

“when he found out she was a mutant—,” she begins.

“jean,” ororo interrupts her, shaking her head at the girl.

jean continues, “—her father sold her into a mutant sex trafficking ring,” she reveals, looking only at logan, “that’s where we found her and then brought her here.”

his face contorts, and he looks down into his coffee. “shit,” he comments.

“she doesn’t talk about it to anybody, and, out of respect, we don’t talk about it either,” ororo says pointedly at the telepath.

logan is seething all day over the new information. he hates to think you went through that for God knows how long.

after the incident, logan doesn’t see you for a while. he doesn’t know how. you’re a teacher and you live down the hall from him, yet he still doesn’t even catch a whiff of your perfume.

“logan, meet me in my office,” he hears charles’ voice in his head. he obeys and within a minute, he’s standing before the professor. “you should leave her alone for a bit.”

her brow furrows. “come again?”

charles says your name and logan clenches his jaw. “she’s destructive right now. you should let her be.”

“is she okay?” the wolverine asks, concern growing in his stomach, and it makes him feel sick.

“she’ll be just fine. this happens from time to time,” he tells him, pressing his lips into a thin line. “you know of her circumstances.”

“her circumstances?” logan growls, scowling down at the old man, “you knew what she went through and didn’t think to tell me? you know what’s going on between us and didn’t think maybe i needed to know that? what if she had a breakdown when we were together? i wouldn’t have known what was happening.”

charles’ lips turn down into a small frown. “that’s not my information to tell.”

logan storms off in a huff, muttering under his breath.

that friday, he’s smoking a cigar in his bed, looking out the window at the moon, which is shining rather bright tonight. he hears a few quiet knocks on his door. he opens the door, expecting it to be a student.

“hey,” you say, waving a bottle of jack in his face before pushing past him into the room. “'hope you don’t mind, i got started without you.”

“you always do,” he comments, closing the door, putting out the cigar, and following you to sit on his bed. “listen —.”

“i think i like that vodka more than this. this one makes my mouth taste weird,” you tell him, taking another sip out of the bottle before handing it to him.

he holds it and sighs. “look, we should—.”

“—take our clothes off?” you finish his sentence, smiling darkly at him. “i mean, it’s a little early, but i agree.”

“that’s not what i—.”

“—was going to say?” you guess his words, cutting him off again. “look at us finishing each other’s…” you trail off, looking at him expectantly. he sends you a deadpanned glance. “this is the part where you say ‘sentences.’ i think i’m better at this game than you are.”

he takes a long sip from the bottle before he looks at you. “can you be serious for a second?” he asks.

you scoff and take the bottle from his hands. “i don’t come to you like this to be serious, logan,” you say, putting the whiskey to your lips again.

“why do you come to me at all?” he asks quietly and gruffly.

you take another sip and place the bottle on the floor, scooting closer to him. “because you’re hot,” you say in a sultry voice, putting a hand on his thigh and slowly dragging it up, “and you call me ‘princess’ and ‘darling’,” you continue, reaching for his belt buckle. he doesn’t do anything to stop you, “and your hands.” you push the buckle out the way and unbutton his pants, dragging down the zipper slowly. “and your tongue.” you reach your hand into his pants. “and this.”

he breathes heavily, completely lost in the euphoria that is you.

he forces himself to snap out of him and shakes his head. he pushes your hand away and stands up, taking a few steps away.

“what’s wrong?” you ask him, grabbing the bottle and standing also. “do you need some more?” you ask, holding the drink out for him, confusion written all over your face.

he holds his hands out in front of him as if to deny the offer. “it’s…,” he trails off, pushing a deep breath through his nose.

your shoulders drop along your face. you tilt your head in disbelief. “oh, my fuck. they told you,” you conclude. you turn around and sit back down on the bed. he stays silent, just looking at you. “okay, so what now? you don’t want me anymore ‘cause i’m used up?” you ask, slurring your words a little.

“no,” he denies without hesitation.

your sober personality is back even though you’re still drinking the whiskey like you’ve been in the dry desert for weeks without water.

“then what is it, logan? you don’t wanna do this ‘cause my hair isn’t blood red?” you ask next, raising your brow and looking at him expectantly.

his face contorts. “what’re you talking about?” he asks gruffly.

you chuckle at him. “i’m not a fucking idiot, old man. i know you want jean so bad, but she doesn’t want you so i'm second choice” you say, then you shrug with one shoulder. “i’d’a gone with ororo, to be honest. have you seen her? i’d show her a good time,” you add.

“that’s not what this is,” he tells you, taking a step forward but not within arm's length of you.

“then what is it? just fucking tell me,” you say loudly, the room lights up as the moon shines brighter. “d’you want me to tell you ‘bout how i was a good, little daddy’s girl until i almost blinded my brother when i first got my powers? how about how my dad gave me away like he didn’t love me? d’you want me to cry in your arms about how i was passed around by mean men like a blunt when i was 14? why do you think i can only let you fuck me when i’m drunk?” you ask him sarcastically, but your voice breaks on your last words. you let out an unsteady breath. logan watches you cautiously, unsure of what to do. “is that what you want, logan?! you wanna be the big, strong man here?!” you ask him, crying now as you yell at the man in front of you.

your body slumps forward as you let the tears drop from your eyes, and you grip the bottle in your hands like a lifeline. you feel the bed dip beside you and the bottle pulled from your hands. you move your hands to your face, trying to pull yourself together.

you feel his big arms envelope you and pull you into his chest. that’s when the waterworks really break out.

logan’s never been to best with tears. he hasn’t had to deal with them too much, but his first instinct was to hold you as close as you would let him. he hates to see you like this. in all honesty, he wants to hunt down every man that ever put a finger on you and rip them to shreds. but, for now, he’ll hold you. as long as you would let him.

you wake up with araging headache. you’re hot, burning up, actually. you kick the blankets from your legs and turn over in the arms of the incredibly attractive man in bed next to you. you look at his sleeping face and sigh.

this is the part where you leave, but this time, you just snuggle into his chest and fall back asleep.

logan wakes up later than he usually does after nights like the last one. it’s normally the sound of the door closing wakes him up. but, this time, he sees your cute face smushed against his pec. he doesn’t fight the smile on his face.

you stir quickly after he wakes up. you rub your eyes and look around the room, then to logan. “i’m gonna puke,” you tell him, the remnants of the smile fall from his face. you pull away from him as your face blanches. “seriously,” you add and sit up quickly.

he reaches for the trash can beside his bed and holds it in front of you just in time. he holds your hair back with a look of absolute disgust while you clutch the bin close to your face and your body jerks with each gag.

once you're done, you wipe your mouth with the bottom of your shirt. you groan loudly and stand up from the bed. “i’m gonna take this with me,” you tell him, holding the can in your arms and moving toward the door.

“keep it,” he remarks, his lip curled up.

monday morning rolls around quicker than anybody wants. you walk into the kitchen and grab your mug, pouring coffee and looking around at others in the kitchen.

they’re talking amongst themselves, mentions of grading papers and some stupid answer a kid put as their answer on an assignment.

you just listen and sip your coffee peacefully. that is, until logan walks in. you move from in front of the coffee pot for him to get some. he nods in thanks as he joins your side.

“this coffee is awful,” you comment, pouring it out in the sink next to you. he chuckles at your comment but doesn’t say anything. “scott, did you make the coffee this morning?” you ask him. the three look over to you, almost as if they didn’t see you come in.

“yeah,” he answers.

“don’t do it again,” you tell him, filling the mug with water and leaving the kitchen.

as you watch a group of students take a test, you see logan walk back in his jacket he usually only wears when leaving campus.

“hey,” you call out. all the students look up at you. “keep taking your tests. i’m going to the hallway for a second,” you tell them and move into the hallway. “logan,” you call and he turns around, walking back toward you. “where are you going?”

“to pick up some more cigars,” he answers, gesturing over his shoulder.

“will you pick me up a pack of cigarettes?” you ask him, reaching into your pocket for some money.

his brow furrows. “you smoke?” he asks.

“sometimes, yeah,” you reply, handing him $20.

he shakes his head. “i’ll cover it,” he answers.

“thanks,” you reply, placing a hand on his forearm before returning to your classroom.

he looks down to his arm and blinks. that’s new.

“brad, i know you’re not talking during a test. are you begging for a failing grade?” he hears you say before he turns back toward the front door of the mansion.

logan returns a while later, after the school day is over and the students are training. he finds you in your classroom, grading papers.

“hey,” he greets. you look up at him.

“hey,” you return, eyes dancing all over his body.

“these are for you,” he says, holding out the page of cigarettes.

“right, thanks,” you say and reach for them, your fingers brushing his as you grab them.

“‘you need any help?” he asks, looking at the papers before you.

“do you know anything about math?” you ask him, pursing your lips.

“uh, no,” he answers, shaking his head. “don’t you have an answer key or something?”

“i have to check their work to make sure they didn’t just get the answer from the person beside them,” you reply, looking back down to the papers. “some of these kids are dumbasses.”

he chuckles. “no kid wants to do math,” he comments.

“how would you know? weren’t you born before there were schools?” you ask him without looking up. there’s a beat of silence before you eventually glance up at him. “was that insensitive?” you ask instead.

he just shrugs. “i’m not that old,” he says, sitting in the desk in front of yours.

“sure,” you respond and go back to grading.

the two of you sit in without a word as you grade, and he watches you in complete admiration. after a while, he stands up and walks toward the door.

“you’re leaving?” you question.

“‘didn’t think you wanted your room smelling like cigars,” he replies.

“i’ll join you,” you say, grabbing the pack he bought you and putting the tests in a drawer. he doesn’t object and you two walk outside, to a bench in the gardens, away from the students.

the two of you sit in silence as you inhale smoke and slowly release it from your lungs.

“i’ve never seen you smoke before,” he comments after a while.

“i only smoke when i give up drinking, i only drink when i give up smoking,” you answer, tossing the burnt cigarette onto the ground and stepping on it, then picking another one from the pack.

you pick up your lighter and flick it a few times but it won’t light. you put your head and lighter inside your shirt to block the wind, trying again and failing again.

“motherfucker,” you mutter as you try to cover the lighter.

“here,” he offers his lighter with the fire shining brightly above it. with the cigarette between your lips, lean toward the lighter, looking up into his eyes as you do. he meets your eyes and clears his throat, closing the flame into the top of the lighter and shifting his eyes to the cigar between his fingers. you let a small smile rest on your face afterward.

“so you’re not drinking anymore?” he asks you.

“figured i should go on a sobriety cleanse for a bit,” you reply, “‘t’s probably for the best.”

“probably,” he adds and silence takes over again.

he glances over at her for a second and he sees you bite at the skin of your bottom lip the way you always do when you’re thinking, contemplating. he’s tempted to ask what’s on your mind but before he can break the silence, you let out a hard sigh.

“i don’t apologize for things,” you begin and pause, biting at your lip again.

“okay…?”

“i don’t apologize for my actions or words because i stand by every decision i make,” you continue and pause again. he’s looking at you and you’re looking directly ahead of you. “i’m not good at apologizing,” you sigh again, “but i’m…sorry for some of the things i said the other night. there’s no excuse. i apologize. take that how you will.”

“you don’t have to apologize,” he replies.

you huff. “so i just said all that for nothing? you could at least accept the damn apology,” she snaps at him then rubs the crease between her eyebrows out.

“you called me an old man. i don’t know if i want to accept your apology,” he teases with a crooked smile. you send him a look that turns into a hint of a smile before turning your head away.

“i need to get back to grading those tests. i’ll see you later, logan.” you stomp out another cigarette and stand up from the bench.

“see ya, sweetheart,” he says lowly but you still hear it.

as you look over tests, ororo enters your classroom. “ooh, what’s got you all smiley?” she asks as she strolls in.

the previous smile you didn’t even realize you were wearing falls when you look up at the mutant. “huh?”

“don’t try to deny it. i saw that smile,” she says teasingly. you just roll your eyes lightheartedly. ororo’s brow furrows as she sniffs the air. “are you smoking again?”

“yeah, i quit drinking,” you answer, “what’s up?”

“i was coming in here to ask you if you wanted to go out with the rest of us friday night. we’re planning on going that bar we always go to,” she says, “but if you’re not drinking, i don’t wanna make you go.”

“yeah, no. that’s okay,” you decline the offer.

“alright, if you change your mind, you’re welcome to join us. sober or not,” she adds before leaving out.

the week drags on painfully slow. it’s a week of tests and starting new units in all your classes and you really just want to bang your head against a wall and tell the kids class is canceled.

by the end of it, you actually do want to join your colleagues in going out to that bar in town that they love so much. you offer to be the designated driver, not trusting anyone but yourself to drive you anywhere.

“are you going with us to the bar?” you ask logan as he rummages around the cabinets for something to eat.

“no,” he answers, opening the fridge, “are you?”

“yeah, i’m driving,” you tell him. there’s a beat of silence before you add, “you should come.”

he turns toward you at your words with a crooked smile. “oh yeah?” he questions, “why? ‘you want me there?”

you scoff with no heat behind it. “i was just trying to be nice,” you say.

“you? nice?” he asks, raising his eyebrows in disbelief.

“what? you don’t think i’m nice?” you ask him defensively, crossing your arms.

“no,” he replies, not skipping a beat.

“i’m very nice,” you counter.

“no, you’re not,” he denies again, also crossing his arms.

in his white beater, crossing his arms makes his arms flex and you can’t help but let your eyes wander to the veins of his biceps.

“you have nice hair. there, nice,” you compliment, then add right after, “you’re not balding or anything, which is quite common for men your age.”

“you’re not good at this,” he tells you, looking at your plate to see what you're eating.

“do you want some?” you ask him. you hold your plate across the counter for him to pick off of. he grabs one of your chips and eats it.

“thanks,” he mutters.

“look at me being nice,” you comment and he chuckles deeply.

“shut up,” he returns playfully.

the five of you go to the bar that night, logan joining at your request. he sits at the bar, ordering drink after drink and scanning the bar every so often to make sure you’re alright.

you spend most of your time at ororo’s side. before long, you’re accompanied by a couple of men. you and ororo share side-eyes as they continue to tell stupid jokes. ororo excuses the both of you to go to the bathroom only to move next to logan at the bar.

“having fun?” he asks sarcastically, looking at you then glancing to ororo.

“they could’ve at least been funny, but they weren’t. there terribly unfunny,” you tell him, sitting next to him on a barstool and ororo laughs.

“yeah, that was awful,” she comments and sips her drink. “oh, i see jean and scott. i’ll be back later.” she leaves the two of you. you order a club soda and turn to logan, who is hunched over his drink.

“you have really bad posture,” you tell him as the bartender hands you your drink. he just shrugs and refills his glass with the bottle the bartender left in front of him. you dig your finger into his spine and he straightens up, looking at you wildly.

“why?” is all he asks.

“it’ll help you look more presentable. you’re not looking for anybody tonight?” you ask and glance around the bar for women.

“no, i’m not,” he answers and slumps back down. you dig your finger into his back again and he looks down at you. “stop,” he says seriously.

“oh, what’re you gonna do? stab me?” she asks him challengingly. he looks back down to his drink and shakes his head dismissively. “oh, come on. you’re good-looking, you’re good in bed, you’ve got this hot, animalistic thing going on. why not look for somebody?”

“‘cause i don’t want anybody,” he answers. “did you say i’m good in bed?”

“well, yeah,” you confirm with a one-shouldered shrug.

he stares at you for a beat. this is the first time you’ve ever mentioned it before. you don’t talk about the things you two have done. ever.

“i would know,” you add after he stays quiet.

“you would know what?” ororo asks as she rejoins you, along with scott and jean. they all stand directly behind the man, looking at you expectantly. logan’s waiting for you to make up a lie.

“that logan’s good in bed,” you answer, gesturing to the man next to you. his eyebrows raise and he looks directly in front of him, a smirk playing on his lips as he drinks down all of what’s left in his glass and refills it again. you surprise him more and more every day.

“he’s what?” ororo questions, shock written all over her.

you roll your eyes. “you don’t have to do the clueless bit. jean reads minds and i know she’s told you two,” you state, pointing between ororo and scott.

“what? i haven’t—i didn’t—,” jean stutters over her words, laughing through them.

“liar,” you clock it in a high-pitched tone, sipping your drink. “i’ve heard you talk about it before. i’m just surprised you haven’t mentioned it yet.”

the three of them exchange glances. “okay, yeah, we knew. we thought you would deny it anyway so we didn’t bring it up,” ororo admits.

logan stays silent, drinking like he’s been thirsting for days. why are you doing this? “so…you two are…,” scott trails off. you shrug as your answer. “hmm.”

“hey, sweetheart, you never came back,” the guy from early comes up behind you and wraps an around your shoulders. you tense up at the feeling.

you remove his hand from you. “don’t touch me, and don’t call me sweetheart,” you tell him. he laughs and looks at your colleagues.

“why not? looks like everybody’s got a matchup here but you. let me help you fix that,” he says and runs the knuckles of his finger across your collarbone. he points at scott and jean, then logan and ororo. “i can make you feel good,” he whispers in your ear.

“seriously, don’t touch me,” you tell him firmly, pushing his hand off your shoulder and shifting your seat away from him.

logan doesn’t watch the encounter but he’s squeezing the glass in his hand so hard it’s about to shatter. he feels the red-hot rage crawl up his neck as he does every time he encounters some asshole in a bar.

“don’t be like that, sweetheart,” the man continues and reaches for the strap over your shoulder. chills cover your arms and legs and a shiver runs down your spine. you grab his hand roughly and shove it away from you.

“touch me again and i’m gonna break your fucking nose,” you tell him.

“ooh, i got a feisty one,” he comments to the rest of your group, laughing. “i like that.”

scott takes a step forward. “you need to lay off, man,” he tells him, trying to keep this civil and contained.

the man only laughs harder. “what are you gonna do, glasses?” he asks him and slings his arm over your shoulders. “come on, baby, let’s get out of here. i got a real nice spot for you in my bed.”

“she already told you not to touch her, bub,” logan chimes in, still looking straight ahead and not sparing the boy a glance. there’s a tightness in his shoulders as he uses all his self control to stay in his seat.

“woah, tell your bodyguards to stand down,” he says to you but your only response is to rear back and deck him directly in the nose.

he stumbles back, holding his nose as blood drips into his hand. “you dumb bitch—,” he lunges toward you but logan whips around and grabs him by the front of his shirt, shoving him up against a wall.

“what’d you say?” the mutant asks him lowly, a growl deep in his throat.

“hey, take it outside!” the bartender yells at the man.

“why don’t we do that? you wanna take it outside?” logan asks the scared man in his grasp, shoving him harder into the wall.

“logan, let’s go,” ororo tells him as she walks with you toward the door. he doesn’t move. “logan!”

he drops his hold on the man and turns his back to him. he doesn’t even take a step before the dumbass says, “yeah, listen to your bitch.”

logan turns back around and absolutely socks him in the jaw. the man falls to the ground. logan walks after his friends, rolling his shoulders.

when logan gets out to the car, he sees you in the driver's seat, holding your hand closely to his body. he sits in the passenger seat and looks at you.

“are you okay?” he asks you carefully.

“did you kill him?” you ask him flatly without meeting his gaze, and he shakes his head. “you should’ve,” you say coldly and start the engine, driving out of the parking lot and back to the mansion as quickly as possible.

when you arrive, logan accompanies you to the lab for jean to look at your hand. he wasn’t going to say anything but watching you cradle your hand makes him change his mind. “are you alright?” he asks you.

“fine,” you reply sharply, clenching your jaw tightly. he watches you bite at your lip.

“speak your mind,” he tells you, just outside the hidden elevator. you just shake your head at him. “if you don’t, you’ll take it out on jean.”

“why can’t i just do that?” you ask lowly.

“‘cause she doesn’t deserve it,” he reasons.

you take a deep, frustrated breath. “what happened tonight was stupid,” you say, “dumb fucking men thinking they can get whatever they want whenever they want. now my hand might be broken because i couldn’t—,” you cut yourself off and take another deep breath to steady yourself. “i’m done talking about this,” you say and open the door to the hidden elevator.

he blocks your path. “no, you’re not,” he says and waits for you to continue. that’s when the dam really breaks and you last out at him.

“it’s stupid. all of this is fucking stupid. i could’ve handled myself back there. i didn’t need you to step up and be my big, strong savior,” you tell him angrily, voice rising.

“i know,” he returns.

you’re shouting now, “then why couldn’t you just let me do it? i could’ve stopped him. i’m stronger now. i know how to fight now. i don’t need anybody to save me. i can save myself. i don’t need you. i don’t need any of you.” your voice cracks as the anger starts to shift into the feelings you hate to feel. “i’m not gonna let anyone take advantage of me ever again. and i’ll break every bone in my body before i let some drunk narcissistic man ever put his hands on me again,” you say your peace and breathe heavily and unsteadily.

there’s a long pause, the weight of your words hanging between you. logan doesn’t interrupt, giving you the floor to get it all out.

“i know,” he repeats himself deeply, “but you shouldn't have to.”

you feel that familiar ache in the back of your throat as tears threaten to spill out. you squeeze your eyes shut tightly, pushing all the emotions back down. “my hand really hurts,” you tell him quietly, not trusting your voice. he puts his hand gently on your back and leads you into the elevator then into the lab.

by the time you’re in front of jean, you’ve pulled yourself together and let her examine your hand. you did break your hand. she wraps it up for you and sends you to your room with some pain meds.

logan doesn’t leave your side until you’re at your bedroom door. “i don’t want you to come inside,” you tell him quietly. he stays silent. “it’s just that you’ve never seen my room before and this is mostly where i use my abilities and it’s messy right now and—.”

“‘t’s fine,” he interrupts your rambling. “i don’t have to come inside.”

“right,” you mumble, hand gripping the doorknob. “good night.”

“‘night.” he doesn’t make his way to his room until you slip into yours, locking the door behind you.

the next mid-morning, logan walks into the kitchen to see jean scolding you like a child. he’s surprised you’re just sitting there and taking it without a word.

“i’m serious,” jean says, finishing her tongue lashing.

“i know,” you mumble before jean offers logan a soft ‘good morning’ as she leaves.

“what was that about?” he asks you, moving over to the table where you sit with paper spread in front of you.

“i need to grade these papers but my hand is broken and dr grey told me it would only cause more damage,” you explain, sighing heavily and holding the pen in your healthy hand.

“let me help,” he says, snatching the pen from your fingers and the paper from in front of you. the numbers on the sheet are all greek to him. he doesn’t know what the hell he’s looking at.

“you can’t,” you tell him, pulling the paper from his hands. “you don’t know how to do it.”

“then tell me,” he offers, moving his chair next to yours. “tell me what’s wrong and i’ll write it down.”

you shake your head a few times before giving in. “fine,” you cave and look over the student’s work. you place the page in front of the man and point a certain part of a problem. “okay, so he should’ve foil’d here but he didn’t so the rest of the work is wrong. put a line through it and write ‘foil’,” you instruct him and he follows your orders.

“like that?” he asks, showing you. you nod in approval.

“your handwriting actually isn’t that bad. i was expecting a lot worse,” you comment, leaning into him as you look over the next problem. “that one’s right, so put a check,” you tell him and he follows.

the process continues on. every time there’s a gap of silence as you examine the math that he would never even try to understand, he watches you in complete admiration. there are practically hearts in his eyes while the gears turn in your brain.

as the next few days progress, you and logan spend more time together than you ever have. whether he’s in your classroom during your free period or you watch whatever movie’s on tv together on the couch, if someone’s looking for logan, you’re right beside him and vice versa.

of course, the others have taken notice of it. it’s new and after you confirmed you had been sleeping together, they draw their own conclusions about the two of you.

“‘y’know what i would like to see?” you prompt logan as you watch a show with a lumberjack in it.

“what’s that, darlin’?” he asks, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“you chop wood,” you tell him, looking up at him from your spot under his arm.

“chop wood?” he questions.

“yeah, like, axe, wood, outside, shirtless, sweaty, and muscly, chopping wood,” you tell him, “lumberjack style.”

“lumberj—.”

“with the cigar,” you add excitedly, cutting him off. “maybe add in a little dehydration too.”

“i think you’re drooling a little bit,” he tells you, pointing at your mouth as a lazy smile rests on his face.

“probably, that’s hot,” you tell him, looking back at the screen.

as the credits roll, logan looks down to see you sound asleep with your head resting on his chest. he carefully picks you up in his arms and carries you to your room.

he opens the door and pauses his movements, eyes dancing across your room. there are no personal touches on the walls or shelves. it looks exactly like his did when he first got to the mansion. well, except for one obvious difference.

your room looks completely dilapidated, like an abandoned home that the sun and time have destroyed. the dark color of the wooden floors and furniture has faded, every surface dry and brittle. in some parts, mostly near the window, the wood is completely bleached of its color.

he lays you in your bed and covers you up, taking in the room once more before he leaves.

“why don’t you have another name like everyone else?” he asks as you sit next to him on the bench where you now regularly take your smoke breaks on.

“like a last name? i do have one,” you answer, flicking the butt of your cigarette onto the pavement.

“scott has cyclops, marie’s got rogue,” he elaborates, glancing over at you. you’re sitting right beside him, his arm thrown over the back of the bench in a way that your head rests on it.

“i don’t know. i guess i never understood why i have to change my name just because i’m a mutant. i am who i am, human or mutant,” you answer, messing with a loose thread on your pants. “plus, seeing the way you made fun of the others when you first got here for their names—i’d never even try to think of one now,” you tell him, making him chuckle. you smile proudly at making him laugh. “you looked so cute when you first got here.”

“are you saying i’m not cute anymore?” he asks in mock offense, looking at you sideways.

“i mean, when i first saw you, you had that big jacket on and you were so clueless. a little less muscle too,” you recount, poking his toned stomach to which he curls to the side. your jaw drops. “are you ticklish?” you ask him, a smile growing on your face.

“no,” he replies sharply and gruffly, straightening his posture.

“oh, my fuck. you so are ticklish,” you accuse and dig your fingers into his ribs, attempting to tickle him.

a deep laugh leaves him, and he grabs your hand in his, his facial expression dropping quickly. “stop,” he tells you in warning. you just laugh in his face, reaching toward him with your other hand, cigarette still between your fingers. he grabs your other hand before you touch him, cigar between his fingers. “no,” he denies you.

you look toward the mansion and see the sun reflecting off a window. you bend the light so it’s shining directly in his eyes, almost burning them. he shuts his eyes tightly and brings one of his hands up to his face. as quickly as you can, you reach back into his side.

he quickly stands up and looks down at you. “enough,” he says and points a finger in your face.

you stand up also, but you’re shorter than him so he’s still looking down at you. you decide to stand on the bench, now a little taller than he is. you don’t say anything, just look down on him with a straight face.

logan can’t help the smile that breaks his scowl. “you’re an idiot,” he tells you, raising his eyebrows at you.

you mimic his gesture then flick the cigarette butt onto the ground. “you are cute, wolvie,” you say and ruffle his hair. “i get the whole towering over people know. this is a power trip for sure,” you comment.

“oh, really?” he questions and puts the cigar between his lips. he grabs you around your waist and throws you over his shoulder like you’re as light as a feather.

you let out a surprised squeal as he walks away from your bench with you in his hold. “put me down. bad boy, bad dog,” you chastise him hitting his lower back. he doesn’t listen so you just hang over his shoulder as he drags you into the mansion.

you grab his ass abruptly and he stops in his tracks. he places you on the floor and tilts his head as he looks into your eyes, taking the cigar from his mouth. “‘bad dog’?”

“yeah, wolverine,” you say, gesturing to him.

“a wolverine’s not a dog,” he tells you, smiling down at you.

your brow furrows. “yeah, it’s like a small wolf, right?” you wonder and feel like an idiot when he laughs at you.

“no,” he answers, shaking his head.

“liar,” you accuse.

he tells you, “go to the zoo. there’s some there.”

you look up at him in disbelief. “you’re fucking with me,” she states and he shakes his head in complete amusement. “if you’re lying to me, i’ll—.”

“what? try to blind me again?” he asks, cutting you off.

“maybe i will,” you challenge, crossing your arms.

he pauses for a moment, considering. “maybe i want you to,” he says and his tone drops, like, two octaves when he says it.

you’re suddenly aware of how close the two of you are, how his hands gripped your waist just a moment before, how effortlessly he carried you. the playful atmosphere shifts and you feel heat creep up your neck and across your cheeks. you don’t blush, especially not around him.

“logan,” is all you say softly. he notices the change in tone. he notices everything about you, every detail, every flaw, every perfection.

for a moment, neither of you speak. the air between you is charged. your eyes travel all over his face. he really is such an attractive guy. and when you peel back the tough guy layer, he’s a sweetheart.

“thanks for the ride,” you say lightly, trying to break the tension.

he nods, gaze still locked on you. “anytime,” he remarks, his voice rougher than it was a moment before.

you both stand there for a few more seconds, not really sure where to go from here. his eyes shift from yours to your lip as you chew on it. his jaw tightens and he looks away from you, taking a step back to give you some space.

your heart pounds against your chest unfamiliarly. everything about this feels so new to you.

“see you around, pup,” you say, your voice back to its teasing tone.

“yeah,” he adds, watching as you turn away and walk back toward the mansion.

more days pass and you spend more time with logan. he notices that you make fun of him more, teasing him for small stuff.

it’s only when he’s in the laundry room that ororo catches him alone. “hey, logan,” she greets. he mumbles something of the same. “so…you look pretty cozy with a certain mutant.”

“huh?”

“you know what i’m talking about,” she says, leaning against a washing machine.

“it’s nothing,” he tells her, starting the machine he threw his clothes into haphazardly.

“‘doesn’t look like nothing,” she returns.

“leave it alone,” he grumbles, turning to leave the room.

ororo steps in front of him, placing a hand on his chest. “please, don’t hurt her, logan,” she requests.

“she doesn’t want me the way you think,” he tells her.

“you can’t seriously believe that,” she says, looking back and forth between his eyes.

at that very moment, you turn the corner and your eyes widen. you ignore the sting in your chest as you let out a loud “woah.” ororo quickly turns around and takes a step away from logan. “i didn’t mean to interrupt,” you tell them with your hands up in surrender, but that was exactly your intention when you spoke up.

“you weren’t interrupting anything,” logan tells you, watching you move past him to grab a laundry basket.

“i’m not judging,” you reply, walking back to the door. you turn back last second and look at ororo. ���hey, if he asks you to wear a red wig, say no,” you tell her with a wink before leaving.

“i never—,” logan cuts himself off, shutting his eyes and shaking his head. “i never did that,” he says to her.

“God, i hope not. what the hell,” she remarks, shoving his arm. “she was jealous. you need to go tell her nothing happened.” he sighs deeply and takes a step forward. “‘you really still think she doesn’t want you?”

he doesn’t reply and follows after you. you’re walking as quickly as you can up the stairs when he catches up to you. “hey,” he calls after you.

“don’t worry, buddy. secret’s safe with me,” you tell him, picking up your pace as you reach the top of the stairs but he keeps in step with you.

“there’s not a secret. we were just talking,” he says.

you place a hand on your bedroom doorknob. “really, you don’t have to defend yourself to me,” you say and open your door, slipping inside. before you can shut it, logan stops the door with his hand. you look at him through the crack in the door, pushing your lips into a thin line. “uhm…”

“there’s nothing going on between me and storm,” he tells you.

“i’m not gonna tell anybody,” you return, frustration rising in your tone. you push against the door but your strength is in no way comparable to his.

“i’m serious,” he tries again, almost pleading. “i don’t want her, i want—.”

“jean? look at that, finishing each other’s sentences again,” you cut him off with a false laugh.

“come on, darlin‘,” he says, tilting his head to the side.

you groan. “i just thought—,” you stop yourself, sighing. “it doesn’t matter what i thought.”

“it does matter,” he tells you, pushing the door a little wider. you move into the space between the doorway and the door, trying to block his view into the room. “tell me,” he encourages, getting closer to you.

“i thought you weren’t a whore,” you retort, giving him a hardened look.

“that’s not what you were gonna say,” he states lowly, looking deeply into your eyes. “what was it?” you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, biting into the skin. he reaches his hand to your jaw, his thumb pulling the lip from between your teeth. “don’t do that. you know it drives me crazy.”

“i thought maybe you wanted me for more than sex,” you admit, feeling embarrassed as the words slip out. you clench your jaw, preparing for the rejection. a smirk slide onto his face and you drop your head. “okay, bye.”

you move back and push against the door again, but this time he pushes the door all the way open. your eyes widen as he takes a long stride toward you and pulls you back to him by the back of your neck. he presses his lips against yours feverishly to which you obviously reciprocate.

he pulls away and rests his forehead against yourself, breathing heavily. “i want you in every way possible, sweetheart,” he says.

you swallow thickly, putting a hand on his chest and pushing him away. “you don’t want me,” you tell him. he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you back into him, your chest pushing against his.

“i do,” he counters.

“you don’t,” you respond.

there’s a beat of silence. “i do,” he says again. you just look up into his eyes. “i want you. i’m not the best person for you, i know that. i’m older and unhappy and i probably can’t be there for you emotionally,” he lists then shakes his head at you, looking at you like you make the world go round. “but i want you, i want every part of you—the good, the bad, the hot and sexy, and the rude and snappy. everything.”

you’re quiet. you don’t know what to say, what is there to even say? in your head, he’s always wanted jean and you were just a place filler. you’ve been under the impression that you caught feelings and he didn’t reciprocate them at all. maybe you’re wrong just this once.

“i want you too,” you tell him in a whisper. he watches your brow furrow as you look away from his eyes. his face falls. “but—.”

“no ‘but.’ don’t say ‘but’,” he begs, loosening his grip on your waist.

“logan, i can live with you not being there for me emotionally, but i don’t know if you can live with me not being for you sexually,” you tell him. dread takes over your body. this beautiful, morally grey, perfect-for-you man is in the palm of your hand and you’re letting him slip through your fingers.

her visible confusion deepens. “you’ve been perfect for the past few months,” he tells you, misinterpreting your words as insecurity.

you shake your head. “i meant it when i said i can’t fuck you sober,” you tell him slowly, avoiding his gaze completely. you feel his hands move from his loosened grip to a hover over your hips. you can’t read his mind like you usually can. logan wears his thoughts on his face, perfectly readable when he’s mad or happy or just his normal grumpy. but now, it’s like trying to read a book in a language you didn’t know existed. “i’m sorry,” you add when his silence becomes too much.

“i don’t care,” he tells you as soon as you finish the last syllable.

“you know i don’t apologize for shit and you don’t care that i’m sorry?” you ask him. you go to push him off again but he pulls you back in, this time wrapping his around your neck, smothering your face in his burly chest.

“i don’t care about sex,” he tells you as he rests his head atop yours. you return the embrace and hold him around his ribs. “i don’t care if you never touch me again. i love you.” your eyes widen and he feels your body tense up. he chuckles, pulling away and smiling at you. “too soon?”

“a little,” you tell him, nodding. you then smile back at him.

———

a/n: i haven’t written in a long time . pls don’t rip me up if u hate this🙏

[ancientgoddessofegypt]

Astrology Observations Pt.4

Long time no see everyone :) i have a few astro observations i wanna share so lets get to it

Lilith/Mars individuals carry an unspoken confidence that ignites a fire in the eyes of other people and can make others fall in love with them. Their self expression comes in through the form of bravery and letting the world see their raw truth unfiltered, not giving a damn about what others think. This makes for strong attraction and they have a hard time getting people off of them, and i mean this in two ways: one way being that others have 'feelings' for them 'down there' *wink wink* causing them to show a deep sexual attraction to them whether they are uncomfortable with it or not. their unconscious thoughts will be shown to the lilith mars person with seemingly lil to no effort. they wont know why they just know it feels good (or embarasing/harboring a lot of guilt) however these lilith babes are about exploring parts of ourselves that we mask and no judgement zones are a necessity when in their spaces. the other way is others will be triggered by them due to the octrasized lililith/mars person embracing their freedom and living their truth no matter what. all in all, both fall under secret (or not so secret) admiration.

Lilith/Pluto are the powerhouses of being who they are and when they want to be it. Literally octrasize by people all their lives and wen through lots of trauma. the way they express their power is through their traumas and taking back what was stolen. People have a hard time looking to them as real people because of their auras they possess. their sexuality/sensual energy is unmatched and is hard to tame. at some point they know when to let go and let this energy in them grow. if it makes people go crazy then so be it. naturally hypnotizing i cannot tell you how bad this cause you could definitely give away something to them and all they did was look you in the eye with a smile. Their natural aroma scares others but also perplexes them. its like damn are you a witch? maybe, maybe not. its just so much deeper than that. a personal message for them is being aware of yourself and the world around you is gift. People that dont know themselves will look up to you in the long run, you are the underdogs of your generations and you're healing a lot of wounds that most people will never face because they do not like what they see in the dark. You like your freedom and do not care what others think, you make your own rules because thats what we're meant to do. Be humans who create our own paths for ourselves and move to the beat of our own drum. Dont take what people say too close to the heart, youre mirroring back the shadows they hate in themselves.

Venus/Mercury has a gift of gab. Highly inspirational and their words connect you to the divine. The heart space opens up when they express their truth through the power of words, the use of their hands and the beauty of their minds. A rare placement since its only in conjunction and sextile. Not too many people have this one. Venus/Mercury babes channel from a source that connects them to the power of love, and when you speak you touch people and we fall in love with you all over again. If you have a voice please sing, speak, share with us your gift of light. Thats what you're called to do. If you are a writer share your stories with the world, your creative mind takes us back to the inner child. Enjoy it while its here!

Mars in Saggitarius. Go. GETTERS!!! When they want something they will not stop to get it. Their fire burns to achieve something bigger than themselves and with the right amount of optimism they will make it if they put the work in. One of the signs that mars works wonders in, because they can achieve their dreams quickly because of the excessive amount of fire in this house. Saggitarius only grows, never limits itself. The more they work hard the more good fortune comes their way. Others can get nervous around their because of their boastful confidence. Its too big.. its too wide. its too strong.. it wont fit or whatever beyonce said LMAOO thats yall. Very big egos and for a good reason. Yall get what you want when you want it. Nothing can stop them from getting what they need and mars sag babes wanting more in life is whats going to keep them moving.

Pisces Ascendant babes are the muses, the stars, the messengers, the oracle, the originators. These dreamers are capable of seeing the beyond even when the world doesnt see it yet. The world could doubt them but if they believe in themselves more they will prove to the world that all dreams are possible. Their reality is formed through subconscious thinking, so they must pay attention to what goes on in the inside of their minds because thats what controls their day to day reality the most. Shapeshifters who naturally move with the beat of the universe, their new look can be formed not just from an idea but because something new is changing in the world, and they are normally the first to get this information first. This is why some of them are trendsetters in fashion. Everything happens in spirit before it is physical, however for them the spirit and the psychical will always meet. And with their transformations it can sometimes be a message from the divine. Before anyone says its not that deep, i wanna tell you that anything with pisces is going to be that deep LMAO no other way to spin that. Their connected to the cosmos and their pineal glands connects them to other worlds we just havent tapped into yet. Its a gift. So a lot of times when they change, something in the environment changed too. All in all, pisces asc are good at picking up on other peoples energy. they can absorb others vibrations and anything around them and this can be a problem for them. Pisces asc will consistently have to connect to nature and cleanse more often than most because they can feel that sense of foggy-ness around them due to picking up on energy that is not their own. They will have to strengthen their discernment skills, level up with shields for the body and wearing certain garments/jewelery for protection because their auric fields naturally take in more than what they can handle.

5th House Plutonians are strong powerhouses in the form of creation. Their dark power is spilled out into the world of arts, giving them the nutrients they need in healing traumas or any dark thoughts thats been held in themselves for so long. Outlets that form a stage for these individuals makes for incredible perfomances that nobody will ever forget due to the way they make others feel. In this life time, they will learn to accept this power with grace because even if the way they feel performing for others makes them feel uncomfortable, someone is being triggered to feel those raw emotions that we hide in us. If they cant find an outlet for their creative expression, they will start to 'go crazy' and be more into psychotic behaviors that will make them lose touch of reality. This raw power that they have must be fed to others as we need to feel the deepness of our own bodies so that we can grow into the beings we are meant to be. Pluto in the 5th house can create an influencer who is just being themselves and the world around them is either inspired by or deeply maddens them. The gift of being yourself is their strongest attribute to society, and can be one of the ways for them to have power and establish some sort of wealth. If they never use this gift to soar into any artistic expression, the world would be missing a fine piece to the puzzle: Raw Truth. I hope this helps!

i hope yall enjoy!

[honeytonedhottie]

dealing with the unfavorable⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🍭

a lot of people strain themselves to not check the 3D for evidence of their manifestation, which is great and all cuz u shouldn't be checking the 3D ever anyways. but the concept of it can be distorted so i just wanna clear up some misconceptions about the unspoken "dont check the 3D rule" in manifesting.

the point is not to completely go out of ur way and ur daily routine to try and look for ways that ur 3D is being inconsistent with you. that puts the 3D on the pedestal instead of you, which is not hot ✨

what you need to learn to do when ur in the process of manifesting something is to learn indifference to the 3D. checking the 3D means that ur looking for validation in the 3D when the only validation that u do need is in the 4D.

being indifferent to the 3D looks like, when ur manifestation materializes your response would be "omg my manifestation materialized...ofc it, did im literally god." or if ur manifestation hasn't materialized you'd just check the 4D instead of the 3D.

the 4D equals the 3D, NOT the other way around. so in order for u to experience a change in ur 3D, u must first make that change in the 4D, this is where persistence and discipline play a huge part in manifestation.

if you absolutely MUST check the 3D you must do so in a way of indifference. not giving power to the 3D means that ur keeping the power to yourself which is what we wanna be doing.

the best way in my opinion to react to the 3D with indifference is to remember that you are always in total control and u can control ur thoughts and in turn ur reality. reverting to self concept is the best thing that u can do to react to the 3D with indifference.

my personal belief is that when ur manifestation materializes then u won't even have to look for it bcuz it'll be so blatantly obvious and in-your-face so u dont have to go out and look for it

[dollyhoon]

# 𝖥𝗈𝗋𝖻𝗂𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 ⋅ ˚₊ ‧ ୨ 𝑁.𝑟𝑘

War. - Kissing,est.relationship ˚⊹♡ ִֶָ𓂃 wc: 750 ♡ afab!reader !! 🌸 ── angst,drabble && oneshot ARCHiVE 𓈃 ★

• The air felt thick with tension as you stood as you stood outside the old theater,its decaying exterior crumbling like the resolve you promised you'd maintain. It was late—too late for anyone to be here. Yet,you couldn't help but be drawn back to this place,the only place you could see him.

"Y/N",a voice called out,soft and careful,as if afraid to disturb the silence that hung between you two. Riki stepped forward,his face illuminated by the dim glow of the streetlamp. His dark brown eyes met yours,filled with the same intensity they always had whenever he saw you.

Your heart quickened at the sight of him. Riki looked the same as ever. Perfect—impossibly perfect. His dark hair fell loosley around his face,his expression a mixture of yearning and caution. It wasn't supposed to be like this,this was never supposed to happen.

"You came." He whispered,he whispered,taking a step closer,his hand reaching out to touch your arm,the warmth of his skin instantly setting your skin on fire.

You nodded,swallowing hard. "I shouldn't have riki."

"I know Y/N," he murmered,his voice full of regret and something deeper–something that mirrored the conflict in your own heart. "But you did,and so did I."

For a moment,neither of you spoke. The sound of the city seemed distant,drowned out by the pounding in your chest. Every nerve in your body was on high alert,aware of the thin line you were walking on. You weren't supposed to be here. You weren't supposed to be meeting like this.

Your family had made it clear: Riki was off-limits. There were boundaries—unspoken rules–and you had been raised to respect them. His family and yours were tangled in a history that neither of you could change,a web of old rivalries and broken promises that had kept you apart for years. Seeing him,being with him—it was dangerous. But that never seemed to matter. Not when he looked at you like the way he is now,like your the only girl in the world.

"I can't keep doing this." You whispered,though the words felt hollow,as of you were trying to convince yourself more than him. Riki's hand tightened around yours,his thumb brushing gently against your skin. "Neither can I."

He pulled you closer,his breath ghosting over your ear as he spoke, "But i can't stay away from you either."

You closed your eyes,trying to shut out the reality if it all,but it was no use. His presence was overwhelming,intoxicating,and all you could think about was how it felt so wrong for something so right to be forbbiden.

"What if they find out?" You asked,your voice barely a whisper.

"They won't," he replied quickly,but the uncertainty was there. He couldn't promise that. Neither of you could.

Still,the chemistry between you was undeniable,it was as if some invisible force kept dragging you back to eachother despite the danger,despite the consequences. The thrill of it,the secrecy,only made it more intense,but it also made ot harder.

Your eyes met his,and for a brief moment,everything seemed to melt away. The weight of your families,the expectaions,the whispered warnings—it all disspeared when he looked at you like that,like you were the only thing that mattered.

Riki cupped you face with his hands,his touch gentle,reverent. "I don't care what they say,i dont care what they want,they cant take this away from us."

"But they will." You breathed,your voice trembling, "Eventually,they will..."

His eyes darkened,filled with definance, "Then we'll fight it. We'll run,we'll hide—anything we have to do."

A soft laugh escaped your lips,although it was mixed with a tinge of sadness. "You make it sound so easy."

"It could be," he whispered,his lips against your forehead. "If you let."

You closed your eyes,savouring the feeling of being so close to him,wishing it could last forever. But you both knew it couldn't. Reality had a way of creeping in,reminding you that this love—this forbidden love—couldn't last.

"I love you." Riki murmured,his words so quiet that you almost thought you'd imgained them. But the way he said it,with so much raw emotion,left no room for doubt.

Your heart ached at his confession. You loved him too,more than you could ever put into words,but it didn't change anything. The world that you lived in wasn't made for a love like this.

"I love you too." You whispered,your voice breaking.

He leaned down,his lips hovering just above yours. "Then stay. Stay with me."

The temptation was overwheling,but you knew better. You pulled back,your heart shattering with the movement. "I can't. Not like this."

Riki's expression crumbled,his hands dropping to his sides as the weight of reality finally settled in.

And in that moment you both knew—no matter how much you loved eacother,somethings were never meant to be.

★ - @icyy-hoon , @yuvany , @cupidriki , @jakesangel , @zvouyage

[baby--b4t]

Could I request a mini fic of Ghost with a toddler regressor who, when in little headspace, has trouble pronouncing certain letters and sounds and has a lisp? And no matter how hard anyone else in 141 tries, they can’t understand the little one. Ghost, however, can.

ghost actually has a superpower and its understanding the most incoherent speech anyone has ever heard B) hes just that cool /j /silly

anyways i hope this is actually coherent enough to read TuT

There were a million more interesting things to do rather than watching the morning news with Price. You wished you could be watching cartoons or a movie, but Price always watched the news at six am sharp. That was like an unspoken rule in the 141.

Gaz walked out from his room and went towards the small kitchen area. Price and Gaz exchanged their “Mornin’”s and went back to what they were focused on. You, however, watched Gaz as he grabbed one of the yogurts from the mini fridge.

“‘Nack?” You mumbled, glancing at Price. Your stomach was starting to feel a bit empty after thinking about the snacks you could have.

“Hm? Nack? I dont know what that is, bud.” The Captain responded, turning back to face the Tv. You huffed and got up, going to the kitchen to ask Gaz instead.

“‘Nack? P’ease?” You asked once more. Gaz stared at you like you had just spoken to him in some foreign language.

“I dont know if its because its early or youre speaking gibberish, but I cant understand you.” He replied, shaking his head slightly before eating a spoonful of his yogurt. The fact that nobody seemed to understand you was starting to get on your nerves.

“‘Nack!” You said again, pointing angrily at the fridge. Youd think pointing at what you wanted would help them understand, but that was the furthest from the truth. Gaz and Price were still confused about what you wanted.

It was around then that an angel came down the hall, his eyes still as sharp and tired as they normally were. Ghost entered the scene, not really acknowledging anyone as he poured himself some coffee. He didnt pay much mind to you talking to Gaz until he heard you getting irritated.

“Whats the matter?” Ghost asked, turning his body to face you. You repeated your question again and he nodded. “Sure, just no sugary things.”

Gaz and Price just stared at him in awe.

“You understand him?” Price asked from the couch, amusement clear in his tone.

“You cant? He was just sayin’ ‘Snack’. Whats hard to understand about that?” Ghost replied with his normal biting attitude. Gaz had just given up at that point, shaking his head and walking off. He felt like he was still half asleep trying to figure out how somehow Ghost understood you.

Ghost went to turn his attention back to his coffee. He let out a sigh, trying to rub the sleepiness out of his eyes. His head quickly turned back around as he heard you getting into the box of cookies.

“Oi.” Ghost glared at you slightly, warning you. “What did I say? Put ‘em back ‘n find something healthier.” You slowly slid the box back into the cabinet and shuffled over to the bananas in the bowl on top of the mini fridge.

“Is ‘nana?” You asked, holding up one of the bananas to Ghost. The Lieutenant nodded, turning back to stir his coffee. His smile was hidden by his mask.

“Cheeky thing…”

[deathbxnny]

yanqing and jing yuan angst time :D

yanqing’s younger!twin getting kidnapped by sanctus medicus,but they dont realize this much later,they realize this when they get sent a voicemail with the reader crying and begging it to stop as they experiment on them

by the time they arrive to rescue the reader, they are strapped to an operating table,injuries and syringe marks all over their body,completely unconsicous because the experiments took a huge toll on them, thankfully they are alive and not mara-struck either, but in a comatose state, sadly no one can predict when (or if they are ever gonna) wake up

-----

A/N: First of all, who hurt you, Anon? And second of all, I apologize for this taking 5 years to finally be written. My HSR burn out is no joke. But anyways, thank you for the request and I hope you'll like it!<33 Content: Some descriptions of medical abuse/experimentation!, heavy angst, Hurt/no real comfort, Reader is Yanqing's twin (no physical description added), injuries, blood, mentions of death, just more suffering for Yanqing and Jing Yuan really Reader has no set pronouns! ((Not proofread!))

It wasn't uncommon for you to be out later than you should be.

Often times you'd come home late into the night with a wide grin, slightly beat up from your long training hours, uttering a new, outlandish excuse everytime. Jing Yuan had gotten used to it over the years he had raised you and Yanqing, but when you didn't return home one night... he felt restless. He paced back and forth in his lavish home, still dressed in his uniform, whilst his ears drowned out the voices of his servants asking him to just rest for the night. You were a troublesome child, who often forgot the rules he had set for you. What difference did it make today?

But there was something different about it. Something that made Jing Yuan want to go out and look for you himself. Yanqing had already tried his luck, yet had found you nowhere. You weren't in the Estate. You weren't on your usual training grounds, not even on those only you two knew about. And you weren't in the sword market you often frequented either. You were just... gone. And that alone began to raise some warning bells for your brother too, who felt just as uneasy as his master.

He tried to reason however, that you might've just forgotten the time again. That maybe you've been held up by a friend or saw something in a nearby shop you liked. But the sun had disappeared a long time ago and there was no trace of you anywhere. Worse things were yet to come however, when a near out of breath Fu Xuan called in an emergency meeting with Jing Yuan and the young swordsmaster.

The air was tense, when they all gathered around the table, an unplayed voice recording shown on screen. Yanqing pulled on the collar of his shirt, his breathing a little laboured in fear of what he might just hear. He knew it was about you. It was unspoken, no one had even mentioned your name yet. But he knew it was true. No one moved to press the play button, until Jing Yuan moved his hand and did so. There was a small tremor in his hand, one that made even the blonde boy shiver.

Your voice made everyone flinch. Horrified pleas and cries filled everyone's ears and Yanqing swore he could've vomited from the sounds of it alone. It was mind breaking to hear you like that. He never thought you could scream like that, cry like that. It sounded distorted, like the cries of an injured animal more than that of a humans. Perhaps you were simply screaming out of instinct at that point, mind too far gone to process a thing beyond the pain.

And yet, you still cried out for Yanqing, then for Jing Yuan. You apologised for ever staying out late, swore you'd never do it again, swore you'd be good and obedient, never a minute off from curfew. You promised it to any god that would hear you, just for it all too end. Yanqing felt blood drip from his palm, where his nails digged into his skin. There was a low, evil laugh, a teasing hum following it. They recognised the voice as one of the leaders of Sanctus Medicus. Ofcourse they were behind such cruelty and yet Yanqing couldn't comprehend it.

The voice message ended abruptly and the silence after was deafening. Jing Yuan had not reacted once to any of it, his face calm and unreadable, when he glanced down at Yanqing. The boy gagged, his bloodied hand slapping over his mouth as he stumbled back and was stopped by a couple cloud knights that steadied them. Fu Xuan just stood there in silence, her eyes meeting his in a knowing way.

It was time to bring you back home.

--

Finding you was easy.

Mainly due to the fact, that your captors just simply gave them the address of the hell they've created for you. They were provoking them for their failures and their victory of swiping their most praised child from right under their noses. And it truly only set in, when they arrived and opened the door to the basement you were kept in. Yanqing had rushed in first, ignoring all warnings and only stopping when he heard the blood dripping off the table where your near unrecognisable form laid.

His hand swiped away the blood over your closed eyes, his over hand resting on your bruised chest, over your heart. He could feel it faintly rising and falling, a small moment of relief, even when he knew that the damage was most likely irreversible. His eyes shouldn't have continued to wander over your body and yet they did as a form of self punishment. He took in every bruise, every gash, every mark a syringe left behind. He gulped weakly, his throat so painfully dry. He felt ashamed, at how he couldn't mentally recognise you as his twin anymore.

Medics soon arrived on scene afterwards, quick to determine that you hadn't thankfully been Mara-struck, before they brought you to the hospital for emergency treatment. It took long, gruelling hours to stabilise you, that felt like eons for Yanqing and Jing Yuan, who had yet to give much of an reaction to the entire situation. He had to stay strong for the both of you at least. But it was hard to do that, when he saw you lay there in many bandages and countless devices hooked to you. Your heart was beating and yet he didn't allow himself to feel any relief. It was selfish, when there was no gurantee you would ever even wake up again.

The days blurred into weeks and then months.

But Yanqing never left your bedside, secretly hoping that if you did die, that he'd die in his sleep next to you as well.

-----

A/N: Alrightt... this was alot darker than I anticipated it to be, but I also have some rare couple hours of freetime, so there is that. I hope you guys liked it and thank you again for the request!

[snobgoblin]

ok I've been sitting on this theory for a while because of a few factors, and also I was afraid that the whole fandom has this unspoken rule that you're not supposed to spoil this thing but Thun said it should be fine if I include a warning. SO CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED. massive Arcana spoilers ahead. if I'm right. which I'm not gonna make you think I'm right but *I* very much do think I'm right and this was fun to come up with

I'm gonna apologize in advance, I really wish I could articulate this better but it's ultimately just gonna sound like the ramblings of a madman because I've been so in my own head, so please forgive me 😭

anyway. the takeaway: Lucio was never The Devil. he is The Fool. the PLAYER was actually The Devil all along. and the reason Scout still exists despite the player having the body of The Fool is because... that body is Lucios.

now this is the part where I show you some evidence out of order

⭐️evidence for Lucio being The Fool:

first of all he doesn't even share that many traits of The Devil. not any more than the demons anyway- obsession? well, the demons are all obsessed with something, that's kind of their whole thing, and we know they have different associated patrons. material wealth? well, Nadia is wealthy and she's not associated with The Devil. not to mention Lucio wasn't even always wealthy, he grew up in the mountains. you know what Lucio does embody though? recklessness. adventure. inexperience. traits of The Fool

another evidence is like, the whole ritual. I only mapped out those seats we know FOR SURE are occupied and by who (but it's easy to assume that they are seated in numerical order based on this. I left out the speculation for the sake of clarity here and besides the ritual is a theory for another day) ANYWAY. anyway. wouldn't you know it but the sectioning on the table corresponds with the phases of The Fool's Journey (we know for sure that The Devil is sitting at the head of the table, with Morga taking up the other head. to the Devil's side are the Apprentice and Volta, and so on) (I know there's a whole bunch of people not present at the table but again a theory for another day)

AND THATS KIND OF WHAT STARTED THIS THEORY IN THE FIRST PLACE, why isn't Lucio in The Devil's seat. he's in The Fool's seat! he says he was right next to Asra which is where the player would have been sitting and we know the Devil was THERE during the first ritual because he was overseeing it and people bargained with him. he wouldn't be able to sit anywhere but the Devil's seat. Lucio was sitting in The Fool's seat

also, just, some design aspects, such as the colors of the eyes and everything and also, in one if the concept art, Lucio is almost wearing a tunic (like the Rider-Waite card) and also has a feather in his hat that PERFECTLY matches the one on that card (I don't know if I'm allowed to show you that or I would)

this point is a little looser because this isn't something exclusive to Lucio, but people call him a fool a lot. specifically in Dawn of the Grub he says this

also this one's a little bit of a reach but the way the Fool card doesn't have an animal on it and Lucio, when he was a kid, struggled with his identity in relation to animals, like he didn't wanna be associated with beetles but he didn't know what else he was

also I think Asra says that basically Lucio just thought The Devil looked cool and that's why he latched onto him. it's really not much deeper than that. Lucio only THINKS he's tied to the Devil. but Lucio isn't to be trusted especially when it comes to magic. hell, when he visits the Devil's realm his first thought is "I'll have to remember these decorations for the palace" he just has a fascination with The Devil. which is actually part of The Fool's journey

AND I THINK. MOST IMPORTANTLY. Lucios association with dogs. i dont think its a coincidence that hes so aggressively a dog person and I believe that Mercedes and Melchior are representative of the two different interpretations of The Fool's Dog (some guiding, some hurting) because Mercedes is definitely more violent (bit off Melchiors ear) and I won't bother explaining their personalities you probably already know. also Lucios masquerade mask is a dog and also in one ask Nadia compares him to a yapping purse dog

not to mention, Lucios favorite flower is a white rose which is present on the rider-waite card and he also has this thing where he wants to be a hero, which is something the Fool represents (main characters/heroes)

also the devs stated Lucios favorite pokemon is Houndoom. how interesting, a dog with horns... surely that couldn't be symbolic 😉

also this interaction just in general

and like in my first playthrough of Lucios route I kinda just assumed "Lucio switched patron Arcana because the Apprentice used blood magic on him" when people referred to Lucio as The Fool at the end but that doesn't make sense in hindsight, I don't think it's that he switched at all it's just, that's always who he was

⭐️ evidence for the Apprentice being The Devil:

first of all, their power. the power to break chains, the power to break binds. it's said that this is a power unique to them, but why would they have the power to break the Devil's chains if they were not associated with The Devil? that card can mean "escaping entrapment" and the entrapment is sometimes represented by chains. it makes sense that, being The Devil's beneficiary, they would share his power. like Nadias intuition

also, The Devil almost STATES that you have a connection to him

also, this one's more silly but Natiqa says this.........

also, I don't have a screenshot but I remember the Devil might have said something during the ritual like "you're all in your proper seats... and MC, well, I suppose one Fool is as good as any other" <- implying that they are not a good fit and are only there because of their fools body

⭐️ evidence for the body of The Fool being Lucios

ok so Scout is The Fool yeah? that much is obvious I think. even in the concept art book, Scout is pictured next to that card. so then... how does the Apprentice have that body

Muriel says that the ritual was Asras idea

I believe that what happened was Asra wanted to use the ritual to force Lucio out of his body so he could revive the player with it

and I think that Lucio wasn't even murdered, he was just separated from his body, and that the ashes in the bed are not his remains. he did not "die" in bed, he "died" in the ritual room. why would there be ashes there? well, the courtiers are trying to frame Julian, of course they'd plant evidence. and Voltas footprints are in the ashes... it was all a set up

there's also that whole thing of Lucio calling the player a body stealing thief, and the fact that the player had to relearn to walk when they obtained this body but Lucio seems to function with it just fine. because it's his! he's used to it

-----------------

GOD I *know* I had so many more points to make but I think that's plenty. I'll add on in a rb if I think of any more but it's really hard to remember... I hope that makes sense enough because at this point this theory has seeped into the very bones of this game for me and I see evidence of all of this every time I play it. it's so fun to look for BSBFNDBDB and I really just have. a ridiculous amount of analysis based on this but that's for another time BDBFBDND does this make sense? God I hope it does

ALSO ALSO PS please understand this doesn't like, say anything about their morality or anything to me. this doesn't automatically mean "Lucio is good and the Apprentice is bad" I think they're both nuanced, just like the cards

[lexa-griffins]

I need alpha Clarke and omega Lexa being more toxic with each other. Maybe some jealousy so the sex will be nastier and filthier

Since they have the same friend group I can see a big event coming about: a big birthday, an engagement party, something casual but that brings newer people into the social gathering.

Clarke is just a naturally charming alpha, omegas, betas and even other alphas easily feel the pull towards her. In their friend group there's this unspoken rule that you dont flirt with Clarke or you'll have to face Lexa but these people don't know that so they are attracted to Clarke like a magnet.

Lexa is absolutely seething seeing these omegas throw themselves at Clarke. Clarke - and her knot - is *hers*, no matter how much Clarke acts like she wants nothing to do with her in that sense.

And Clarke... oh Clarke enjoys seeing Lexa that way. Rilled up and nearly growling as yet another beta approaches Clarke with a drink and a flirty smile. The same way she knows it turns her on. It's like it makes Lexa want to show Clarke where her knot and her cock belong, even if Clarke refuses to knot her.

It doesn't take long, an omega's hand brushing against Clarke's crotch with a giggle is all it takes for Lexa to approach Clarke with an all business expression, telling her about 'a situation' they must attend to.

Clarke barely registers the way Lexa throws her in her car and drives towards her apartment, her senses completely overwhelmed with the scent of Lexa's slick mixed with jealousy.

Her car is still at their friends house, alongside her keys and phone which means Lexa has essentially kidnapped her for as long as she sees fit.

Not that any of thst crosses Clarke's mind as Lexa grinds against her crotch, teeth dragging along Clarke's neck, barely heard angry whispers about how Clarke's knot belong to her cunt and not in any of those other whores, how Clarke is fucking mistaken if she thinks she's going to let Clarke knot someone else, that she'd rather Clarke die with blue balls than have her knot another when she wont knot Lexa.

Trails of spit and cum from Clark's cock to Lexa's lips, hand massaging her knot to show her exactly who can take better care of her and her alphahood, between whispers of how Clarke will never find anyone better than her, how she can try and keep denying herself of it but Lexa is the best she can ever find and she knows Clarke knows this.

Lexa has the upper hand up until Clarke decides its time she shows Lexa how she is the one who has her in the palm of her hand and how Lexa is the one who will forever be chasing the knot she can have because she knows Clarke is the best *she* will ever find.

Pressing Lexa's face against the pillow, her hips up in the air, presenting herself to Clarke like a bitch in heat, presenting her dripping cunt like an gift to a goddess. And Clarke will fuck her until her brain fucking breaks, pressing her knot against her opening, making sure Lexa can feel the pressure and the fullness before pulling back, giving her a small taste of what it would feel like but never making it inside, leaving Lexa a mess of moans, cries and angry curses, tell Clarke to go to hell and how she's a useless alpha, quickly changing to begging and pleading for her knot, foul and dirty words about how her cunt wants her knot, how obsessed she is with her cock, with all of Clarke, to confessing desires and feelings Clarke will pretend not to have heard and Lexa will deny ever saying.

All for Clarke to pull out and bury herself inside Lexa's ass, the start of the swelling of her knot plugging the hole just enough that nothing spills out, turning Lexa into a shaking, crying, babbling mess underneath her.

[soft-persephone]

Not a Accident

Nick Miller x Black!Female!Reader

WC: 2.2k // Mature: MDNI // Warning: Smut, Light cockwarming, // Slight angst, sad relationship talks // a lil cringy dialog (but we move!) // masterlist

I wrote this with black women in mind, but everyone is welcome to read it!!!

AN: And remember what Amine’ said IN CAROLINE for his tiny desk concert! Look it up if you don’t know what I’m talking about! You’ll love it! ☺️

And no, I didn’t focus on my new girl fic because Doug Renetti broke my heart in Minx….

Nick walked in the door and sighed

He was beyond tired.

He worked three back to back shifts and all he wanted to do was get back to you before—

“In what world do you get a girl like that?”

“I’m not doing this today, Schmidt.” Nick wants to scream. He wants to yell, or at least do something loudly in some frustrated manner. . But he was too tired.

So he’ll have to settle on just showing his displeasure with his face.

“I worked too hard for too long. I just want to have one simple moment with my girlfriend before she has to leave for the day with her friends.”

“That!” Schmidt dramatically pointed, “is precisely the problem Nick. You just go around working and doing whatever else, when you should be with her.

Schmidt’s voice shifted and his eyes got watery in a way Nick did not feel comfortable with.

“I’m just so proud of you man. You’ve been taking moderately good care of yourself and putting your best foot forward and somehow she’s still here . . . But also, YOU DONT DESERVE HER!”

Nick frowned and pushed past Schmidt to get to his room.

“Have a nice day at work.” He grumbled.

Asshole.

Opening the door of his room, he smiled.

Every ounce of frustration and anger he had rumbling around in him no longer mattered.

You were face down in his bed, sheets crumpled in various directions, half covering your body. You had one hand dangling over the edge while one was tucked underneath the pillow you had your face buried in. A cute purple bonnet covered your hair while you only wore one of his shirts.

He grabbed a few things and cleaned him self up before climbing in alongside you.

He gently grabbed you by the hips and pulled you into his chest so you could both lay side by side. You sleeply cried out but adjusted into the position easily, letting him move you every which way until you were both comfortable against each other.

God, did he really love you.

He inwardly sighed in relief when you didn’t wake up.

He wanted, no he needed, this moment with you.

All he thought about was you being here when he got back from work. How he wanted to hold you tight and bask in your presence, your touch, and your smell, just before you were ripped apart again, and he’d have to wait hours upon hours again before you could both spend some quality time together.

He was being a little dramatic, and he kind of hated it. . . . But maybe he has a right to be. You live on the other side of the country! He has to wait for you to come to LA before you can both act like the distance doesn’t bother either of you!

Truth be told it was killing him.

But you don’t talk about it. He doesn’t talk about it. It was an unspoken rule he was sure you both appreciated.

However, whenever you were together, he forgets about all the problems between you two, and he thinks for you it’s quite the same. Being together was just so, easy.

He moved his face to settle on to yours so you were both cheek to cheek. Your perfume radiated off of you in waves. You always smelled of something sweet.

It was sweet but complex and sophisticated and amazing and beautiful. It smelled like you.

You were always so pretty, but when you were sleeping it was something special.

He didn’t have to worry about what other people might think in moments like these or how he looked so stupid or how stupid his thoughts were.

It was only you and him, and that was all that mattered.

But he was also a man.

A very simple one at that.

And he had a very long and tired shift at work. He had done his job with you on his mind during every hour that crawled by, and now you were in front of him.

Every dip and curve of your body was pressed against him, he could run his hand along your soft skin, caress the very warm brown thighs that held the power of his image destruction.

He couldn’t help the furling desire that grew inside of him. The thought of you leaving at some point made him even more desperate.

He looked at the clock and watched as 7:00am crawled closer and closer.

He needed to do something now before you were gone.

You asked him to wake you up at that time, so you’d be able to get ready for an early brunch with your friends. You all flew in together and split a hotel room, but here you were now, in his bed.

There was something about the way you looked in your sleep.

Cuddled on your side, covers pulled up over your nose and the pillows fanned around your face, protecting you against everything in the day had in store for you. Your eyelashes soft and feathery didn’t move an inch as you slept. The sun was starting to cast a warm new throughout the room, dawning you in a dazzling glow.

Nick’s chest swelled with emotion.

Fuck!

He wanted to be close to you. He wanted to spend the rest of the day with you. It’s not like you were here everyday. You fly halfway across the country when you can just to be here, and he can’t help but to accept whatever time you spare to be with him. Hell if this trip wasn’t so sudden he might have taken off work just to be with you.

You just smelled so good.

No matter what type of scent you wore, it was always a sweet one. But your favorite, which was also becoming his favorite, was vanilla. It somehow wedged its way into everything you wore. If was flowery or sexy or spicy or whatever the fuck it was, vanilla was always there.

“Mmh.” Nicks face was pressed against yours. His body was now covering yours too. His knees folded under yours, legs interlocking together, his arms holding you as if you were an oversized teddy bear.

“You smell good.”

“You too.” You hummed back. “…..hate it.”

Nick’s chuckle vibrated in his chest, tickling at your back. “Why? If anything I thought you’d appreciate me taking a shower before I get into bed.”

“Like it better when you smell like cheep beer and whiskey.”

Nick laughed again, his breath tickled your ear.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He moved your leg over his, not even saying anything slick or suggestive or smooth. Just a sudden movement, no start of sweet nothings or jokes or conversation of any kind.

He grinded his hips against yours in a slow stroke.

Your mouth opened in a silent moan. You were still a bit sleepy, but that didn’t stop the throb between your legs.

“Later.” You softly moaned into the pillow. “I gotta get ready.”

“No,” he moved your sleep shorts to the side and sucked at your throat in the way you liked, “now.” He gruffly pouted.

He pulled his sweatpants down and groaned as his cock bobbed out of his sweats. The head already leaking.

Fuck. You brought your hand to your mouth and bit your finger hard.

Nick was always thick, but fuck was he stretching you out. Barely past his head was inside of you but it was already too much.

“No one in New York been fuckin’ you.”

“Mhmm.” You slurred. “Just you…only here.”

“That’s a long time with no dick.”

“S’allright before ah metyou , i'll b’ sallright after.” You horsesed softly. Your voice was still raspy with sleep, but breathy from the way he was slowly stretching you out. Inch by excruciatingly pleasant inch

When Nick was all the way inside of you he craned his neck past your face to give you a kiss. It was firm, but littered with a sleepy edge. As all consuming and desperate as one could manage in such a state. He eventually brought his hand up your chest. Dragging his knuckles from under your shirt to your neck, grabbing firm but softly at your neck to keep you in place.

Your chest burned.

You grew equally desperate for a breath of air as you were for his mouth to stay on yours. From the way he was taking your breath away, to the way he felt so full inside of you, it was too much.

You moaned in his mouth.

Nick wanted to tease you, but fuck… he could only take so much. The feeling of you moaning in his mouth made him twitch inside of you, and you responded with a gush.

You were so warm and wet, and he felt so comfortable.

He didn’t want to move.

“Nick I need to go.” You whined after he finally broke the kiss.

He ignored you, mouthing at your neck, biting down as hard as he could on your collar before nipping at your jaw.

“No.” He mumbled into your skin.

“Niiiick.”

-

“You fucked him.”

“Leave me alone.” You deadpanned.

“Your really did fuck him,” Natalie squealed!”

“Yayyy! You fucked him!” Reesha clapped and giggled.

“You two play, too fucking much.” You muttered. But you still held a smile on your face.

“So what’s the plan on this whole, long distance thing?”

“How come your always flying to him and he never flys to see you?”

“Is he really that broke?”

“Oh my god girl! You ain’t tell me you were fucking a broke nigga!”

“Will you two quit it out already!” You rolled your eyes. Besides, you added with a pout, “I thought we were doing a fun brunch thing!”

“Your fun brunch privileges get revoked when you have them in the same city as the guy you're willing to fly out to for sex.” Natalie gave you a pointed look.

Natalie was your Best friend throughout undergrad, and Reesha was a friend through her husband which you worked with at a Law Firm.

“Well, better him than my husband. You two were getting a little too chummy.”

“Reesha, you know good and well nobody wants your man! They’ve been friends since law school! That’s old news!”

“By the way, Xavier misses you.” Caresia raised an eyebrow at you before taking a sip of her mimosa.

“We’ve all been missing you.” Natalie added.

“I know I know.”

We’re you really spending that much time in LA?

“I want to say I’ve been trying to make it work?”

Your friends sighed over exaggeratedly.

“Girl, you mean you’ve been hopping on all these flights without thinking about it?”

“Oh you must love this guy for real for real…”

“I don’t really like the way you said that, Reesha.” You scoffed half jokingly.

“You shouldnt! We came here not only to have a good time, but to have a real talk with you.”

“Does this guy have a real job?” If you two are serious enough to be long-distance this long, it’s time you start thinking about the facts.”

“He’s a bartender.” You crossed your arms and bit the inside of your cheek to keep a neutral expression.

“Like a regular one or one that’s actually making some money.”

“She ain’t tell you?” Reesha scoffed before chuckling and sipping her mimosa.

“Tell me what?” Natalie turned to look at you.

You didn’t respond, opting to look into your glass and take a long sip through the little straw.

Nick’s made you a better one. And annoyingly won’t tell you how he made it, so you'll suffer through mediocre mimosa’s for the rest of your life if he’s not there.

“Don’t you make that face. What were you supposed to tell me.”

“He has three roommates.”

“Three?!?”

“Told you!”

“Is the dick really that good?” Natalie shook her head and sighed.

“Look, I’m a big girl and I know what I’m getting myself into.”

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t want another guy like Derik.”

“But Derik might have been an asshole, but at least he was on your level? If you kept setting him straight and puting him in his place each time he stepped out of line, you could have trained yourself up the perfect man! He can actually provide you the life you want. You two could have built a future together!” Reesha pleaded.

“Derik is a grown ass man!” You huffed, “I’m not tryna be a second mother to some nigga! I want to be happy, and Nick makes me happy!” You sighed, but gave them a real look, doing your best to make sure your friends could at least see how you felt if your words weren’t enough.

“I don’t know how or if this is going to end, but I know that right now this is what I want. This is it for me.”

“If you say so,” Natalie relented.

“We just want you to know we’re here for you no matter how this turns out.” Reesha added.

“I know,” you sighed, “I know.”

[artfightdramaconfessions]

I really do not get why people think it’s weird to comment on an attack before the recipient does.

It doesn’t take the attack or attention away from the recipient. I dont care. I’m gonna comment on my friends’ cool art regardless of what the recipient thinks! I’m not insulting their oc or something!!! I literally do not understand how this takes away from the attack for some people.

Unspoken arbitrary social rules like this are so stupid and I’ve literally never heard about this being “weird” until I saw people complaining about it on here. I just do what I do on other art sites and comment on art I think is cool! Fuck!!!!

Jul 8

[minnie--verse]

Pen Pals -- A Park Sunghoon Fic

!!PART 3!!

(link to pt. 1) // (link to pt. 2)

Summary: You, Ren, are a college student, taking what you thought would be a normal composition class—until you’re assigned a pen pal with your professor’s second class. What happens when you fall for someone you know… but dont?

pairing: sunghoon x f!reader(ren)

genre: strangers to lovers, non idol au, crack, mostly fluff, later chapters to include possible angst//comfort, slow burn.

general warnings: college students!mc, slow burn, love square, swearing, possible adult content in future chapters.

word count: ~6.7k

!!this is not proof read!!

thank u for reading<3

— — —

Sunny,

It’s nice to hear back from you. I have to admit, your letters have become something I look forward to—they’re a break from the routine, a small moment of connection in an otherwise hectic day.

I read your letter about your art final and your friend. It made me think about how different our paths are, yet how they somehow align in these letters. You’re creating things, bringing art to life, while I’m more the type to observe and analyze. My days are mostly filled with reading, writing, and, if I’m lucky, a bit of quiet in between.

You mentioned how your friend keeps you grounded. I get that. My roommate does the same for me. He’s always trying to push me out of my comfort zone, to see the world from a different angle. I guess you could say he keeps things interesting, even if his methods are a bit... unorthodox. 

It’s strange, isn’t it? How we’re connected by these letters, yet know so little about each other. But I think that’s part of what makes this interesting. It’s like we’re sharing pieces of ourselves in a way that we might not with people we see every day.

The snowy night I wrote about—there’s something about snow that makes the world feel quiet, almost like it’s pausing to let you catch your breath. I imagine your art might capture that feeling in some way, the way you described working on your final project. There’s beauty in those moments of stillness, don’t you think?

I’d like to hear more about your art and how you see the world through your creations. And of course, anything else you feel like sharing. It’s nice to have someone to write to, even if we’re just pen pals.

Talk to you later, Snow

— — —

You sit in the corner of the bustling cafeteria, the sounds of chatter and clinking cutlery filling the air around you. It’s lunchtime, but the food on your tray remains untouched as you unfold Snow’s letter, your eyes scanning the familiar handwriting. The cafeteria feels miles away as you begin to read.

His words pull you in, and before you know it, you’ve read the letter twice, maybe three times. There’s something about the way he writes, the way he shares these little slices of his life with you, that makes you feel like you’re getting to know him in a way that’s deeper than just surface-level.

You find yourself lingering on the part about his roommate, imagining what this nameless person might be like. From what Snow described, it sounds like he’s the opposite of Snow—more outgoing, maybe a bit of a troublemaker, but someone who’s trying to bring Snow out of his shell. The dynamic feels familiar in a way, reminding you of your own friendship with Callie.

You take a sip of your drink, mulling over the growing interest you have in these exchanges. It’s not just the content of his letters, but the person behind them—someone thoughtful, introspective, and maybe even a little lonely. You can’t help but wonder what he’s like in person, though you know that’s not something you can just ask. There’s an unspoken rule in these letters, a line neither of you has crossed yet.

As you reread his letter, you feel a warmth spread through you, a comfort in knowing that someone out there is taking the time to write to you, to share a part of themselves. It’s something you hadn’t expected when the assignment started, but now, you find yourself looking forward to each new letter, wondering what Snow will say next.

The cafeteria continues to buzz around you, but for a moment, it’s just you and Snow’s words, connecting across a space that feels more like a bridge than a gap. You feel a strange mix of anticipation and contentment as you fold the letter back into its envelope, carefully tucking it away in your bag.

As you finish your lunch, your thoughts drift to what you’ll write in return. There’s a sense of wanting to share more, to keep this connection going, even if it’s just through ink and paper. Snow’s right—there’s something beautiful about the stillness he described, something you might try to capture in your art.

But there’s also something more you want to share, something lighter, maybe even a bit playful. After all, Snow’s letters have become a small, unexpected joy in your life, and you want to reflect that back to him.

You’re lost in your thoughts, Snow’s letter still lingering in your mind as you take a sip of your drink, when you hear a familiar voice—smooth, quiet, and unmistakably him.

“Ren.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you look up, startled. Standing there, just a few feet from your table, is Sunghoon. His dark hair falls slightly into his eyes, and there’s that usual unreadable expression on his face. For a moment, you just blink at him, caught off guard by his sudden appearance.

“Sunghoon,” you manage to say, trying to keep your voice steady as you process the fact that he’s here, in the cafeteria, talking to you. You weren’t expecting to see him again so soon after your library encounter, and definitely not here, now, while you’re still thinking about Snow.

He looks down at the seat across from you, a silent question in his eyes. You nod, and he sits down, placing his tray on the table. He glances at your untouched food, then back at you, his expression still difficult to read.

“You looked… deep in thought,” he says, his voice low and calm. “Something on your mind?”

You feel a slight blush creep up your cheeks as you realize how absorbed you must’ve looked. “Just… a letter,” you say, trying to downplay the significance of it. “I was rereading it.”

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow slightly, his gaze briefly flicking to your bag where you’ve tucked the letter away. “From a friend?”

You glance at the letter, then back at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It’s… an assignment for Composition class?”

His eyes widen slightly in recognition, and you can see the wheels turning in his head. “Wait, you’re taking that too? We must be in the opposite classes.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued by the coincidence, “Oh really? I didn’t think much of it at first, but it’s actually been kind of nice. How about you?”

Sunghoon nods, taking a bite of his lunch before responding. “Same here. I thought it was just a pointless assignment, but it’s not bad.”

You chuckle, shaking your head as you remember how skeptical you’d been at the start. “Yeah, I was pretty skeptical too. It seemed like just another thing to do for class. But once I started, it was... different. More personal than I thought.”

He smiles, and you can tell he’s on the same page. “Yeah—it’s easier to talk to someone without the physical interaction.”

“There’s definitely something strange about it,” you agree, your thoughts drifting back to Snow’s letter. “Like, you’re sharing these little pieces of yourself with a complete stranger, and it makes you think about things in a different way.”

Sunghoon nods, looking like he’s considering your words. “Yeah. I guess it’s a nice change. I enjoy being anonymous, and waiting to see what she says.”

You find yourself smiling more, feeling a warmth in the conversation. “Exactly. It’s like a little surprise each time. I’ve started looking forward to it, even if it’s just for the sake of curiosity.”

His eyes briefly flicker to the envelope again, but he quickly looks away, not wanting to pry too much. “So, how’s your pen pal’s writing? Do you find it interesting?”

You think about Snow’s eloquent words and how much they’ve resonated with you. “Yeah, it’s actually quite nice. They’ve been really expressive about their thoughts and experiences. It’s refreshing to read.”

He nods, seeming to understand completely. “Mine’s been pretty good too. I think the anonymity of it makes it easier to open up in a way.”

You both share a moment of silent agreement, appreciating the irony of discussing your pen pals while keeping your own identities hidden. The conversation shifts to more mundane topics—classes, weekend plans, and the usual college life chatter—but there’s a subtle undercurrent of something more meaningful beneath it all.

Sunghoon’s gaze drifts around the bustling cafeteria, “People watching? That seems like a fancy way of saying you’re nosy.”

You roll your eyes, “If you wanna be negative about it then yeah, sure. Nosy. I just like to see what people are up to, you know? Decipher their story.”

Sunghoon looks around the room, scanning the diverse crowd. “Okay, let’s start with that group of friends over by the window.”

You follow his gaze and start to analyze the scene. “Yeah, they look like they’re having a great time. The girl in the red sweater is laughing so hard her glasses are slipping down her nose. She’s clearly the life of the party. The guy next to her in the black hoodie seems to be trying to make a joke, but it’s not landing as well—he’s got that ‘awkward but trying’ look.”

Sunghoon chuckles, clearly enjoying the insight. “How about the couple over by the food counter?”

You glance over and see the couple in question. “Oh, them? The guy seems a bit impatient, like he’s waiting for his food to come faster. Meanwhile, the girl is chatting animatedly with the server, probably trying to make a connection or get a special order. It’s like they’re in their own little world, and he’s just trying to keep up.”

Sunghoon nods, clearly impressed with your detailed observations. “That’s pretty spot-on. What about them, huddled around a laptop?”

You look over and analyze the situation. “They’re working on a group project, I’d say. The girl in the blue scarf seems to be the one taking charge, pointing at the screen with a lot of enthusiasm. The guy next to her is nodding along, but he looks a bit overwhelmed. He’s probably trying to keep up with all the ideas being thrown around

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the process. “I didn’t realize how much you could pick up from just observing. It’s like you’re seeing a whole story unfold without them even knowing you.”

You smile, enjoying the shared activity. “Exactly. It’s fascinating to see how people interact and what little details tell you about their mood or situation. It’s almost like creating a narrative from real life.”

Sunghoon looks at you with an impressed smirk, “You’re an expert at being nosy then, huh?.”

You nod in agreement, feeling a sense of satisfaction in sharing this part of yourself. “Yeah, it’s a bit like that. It’s also nice to share it with someone who’s genuinely interested. Makes it even more enjoyable

Sunghoon’s eyes wander around the room again, clearly more engaged in the activity now. “So, do you usually come to the cafeteria to people-watch, or is this a special occasion?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Oh, it’s a regular thing for me. The cafeteria is one of the best spots for it. Lots of different people and interactions to observe.”

You find yourself lingering on Sunghoon’s face for a moment longer than you intend. There’s something about the way he quietly observes the room, his dark eyes taking everything in with a calm, almost unreadable expression. He’s hard to read, but there’s a depth to him that intrigues you. 

You quickly glance back down at your finished plate, hoping he didn’t notice you staring. But as the silence stretches, you feel his eyes on you. Sunghoon clears his throat, his voice a little hesitant. “So, uh… what do you see when you look at me? I mean, you’re good at this observing thing, right?”

You freeze, your heart skipping a beat at his question. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks as you try to gather your thoughts, suddenly aware of how close you two are sitting. “Oh, um… well, I guess…”

You look up at him, meeting his gaze, and the words tumble out before you can stop them. “Your eyes… they’re really… intense. But not in a scary way. More like… there’s a lot going on behind them, but you don’t really let it show. It’s like… you’re watching the world, but keeping your thoughts to yourself. It’s… I don’t know, they have some kind of mysterious pull to them.”

Sunghoon blinks, clearly caught off guard by your answer. His expression softens, and for a moment, he looks almost vulnerable. “Mysterious, huh? I’ve never thought of myself that way.”

You fumble for words—that was fucking weird, Ren—you think, scrambling to fix your words. “I-I mean, not in a bad way! It’s just… you have this kind of… stoic presence, but your eyes say a lot more than you let on. It’s like there’s a whole other side to you that most people don’t see.”

Sunghoon looks down, a faint smile playing on his lips, his cheeks tinged with a slight flush. 

You nod, feeling the awkwardness of your own words but also a strange sense of connection. “Sorry that wasn’t what you meant and I am… fucking weird now, huh?”

He looks back at you, his gaze softening. “No, no, no—“ He laughs gently and shakes his head, “It’s… actually kind of nice. I appreciate it, Ren.”

As you both settle in Sunghoon’s apartment, the storm still raging outside, Sunghoon suddenly looks at you with a mix of nervousness and determination. “You know, I’ve been meaning to tell you why I couldn’t say anything when we bumped into each other at the park. I was just… kind of enthralled by how pretty you were.”

He shakes his head, a slight flush still coloring his cheeks. “I know that sounds a bit stupid, but it’s the truth. I was too caught off guard to say anything, so I probably just looked broody.”

You feel your face heat up at his confession, but you can’t help but laugh a little, shaking your head. “Honestly, I just thought you were kind of an asshole. Like, you just bumped into me and then stared me down. I had no idea you were, you know… stunned or whatever.”

Sunghoon’s eyes widen, and he looks immediately embarrassed, running a hand through his hair awkwardly. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to come off that way. I really wasn’t trying to be a jerk. I just… didn’t know how to react.”

You laugh again, but this time more warmly, seeing how flustered he is. “It’s okay, really. I guess we both misread the situation. I’m glad we got that cleared up.”

Sunghoon nods, still looking a bit embarrassed, but he manages a sheepish smile. “Yeah, me too. I guess I need to work on my reactions a bit. Sorry again for giving off the wrong vibe.”

You wave it off, feeling the tension ease as you smile at him. “No harm done. It’s kind of funny, actually, now that we’re talking about it.”

Sunghoon chuckles, the embarrassment starting to fade. “Yeah, I guess it is. I’m really glad we’re getting to know each other better now, though.”

“Well, now that we’ve both embarrassed ourselves—“ You laugh before a sigh escapes you and you lean back against the booth seat you were in. 

Callie was right—which was something you didn’t like to admit very often—but maybe Sunghoon was something you could chase after. 

— — —

Snow,

Your last letter caught me off guard—in a good way. It’s not every day someone asks about my life outside of school or my perspective on the world as an artist. It made me realize how rare it is to have someone actually care about those things. So, thank you for that.

Where do I start? Outside of school, I guess I’m pretty much the same person. Art isn’t just something I study—it’s how I see the world. I know that might sound cliché, but it’s true. When I walk through campus, or sit in a coffee shop, or even just people-watch from a bench, I’m always noticing the little details that others might overlook. The way the light hits someone’s hair, the shadows that play on the ground, the fleeting expressions on people’s faces as they pass by. It’s like everything is a potential piece of art, even the most mundane moments. I think that’s why I love being an artist so much. It’s like I have this secret lens that lets me see the beauty in everything, even when the world feels overwhelming.

But that’s not to say it’s always easy. There are days when I feel like I’m carrying the weight of everything I see. It’s like I’m constantly trying to capture moments, to hold onto them before they slip away, but sometimes it’s exhausting. There’s so much emotion in the world, and it can be overwhelming to try and process it all. I guess that’s why I retreat into my art. It’s my way of making sense of everything, of turning the chaos into something tangible.

Outside of that, I’m just a normal college student, trying to navigate life and figure out who I am. I have my close friends, like Callie, who keep me grounded. She’s the type of person who can make me laugh even when I’m stressed out of my mind, which is more often than I’d like to admit. We balance each other out, I think. She’s practical and a bit of a realist, while I’m the one with my head in the clouds, always dreaming and creating. It’s a good dynamic, and I’m grateful to have her in my life.

But enough about me—how about you? You’ve been so thoughtful in your letters, but I feel like I don’t know much about you yet. What do you see when you look at the world? What’s your perspective on life? I’d love to hear more about what makes you, well… you.

Talk to you later—Sunny

— — — 

Your days have settled into a comfortable rhythm, a mix of classes, painting, and the occasional coffee break with Callie. Mornings start with you groggily pulling yourself out of bed, the faint light of dawn filtering through your curtains as you get ready for another day of classes. You make sure to grab breakfast, a habit Callie has drilled into you after too many mornings of skipped meals. Then it's off to campus, where you navigate the familiar paths with a sense of routine, waving to acquaintances and exchanging quick hellos with classmates.

Your classes keep you busy—lectures, assignments, and the constant pressure of upcoming exams. But amidst the academic grind, there's a part of your day you look forward to the most: those moments you spend in the library. It started with that first meeting, an accidental collision of schedules and a shared space, but now it’s become something more intentional.

You’ve found yourself meeting Sunghoon regularly in the library, often in that same reserved room where you first actually talked. It’s a quiet, tucked-away corner of campus where you both can focus on your work but also where conversation flows easily between the two of you. At first, it was just studying side by side, exchanging the occasional word or glance, but soon you started talking more—about classes, about life, about the things that matter to you both.

There’s a comfort in his presence, a steadiness that you hadn’t expected from someone who seemed so closed off at first. He listens when you speak, really listens, and when he shares something about himself, it feels like he’s letting you into a part of his world that few others see. The more time you spend together, the more you realize how much you enjoy his company, how much you’ve come to look forward to these meetings.

He’s still a man of few words, but when he does speak, there’s a thoughtfulness to it that you’ve come to appreciate. Sometimes, you catch yourself smiling at something he says, or at the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention. And sometimes, when he’s focused on his work, you let yourself wonder what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling. It’s a strange kind of closeness that’s developed between you two, one that feels both new and familiar at the same time.

And then there are the little things—the way he’ll bring you a coffee if he knows you’ve had a rough day, or the way you’ve started sharing music recommendations, discovering you have more in common than you initially thought. There’s a warmth to your interactions now, a quiet understanding that seems to have grown naturally out of these moments spent together.

You can’t quite put your finger on when it happened, but somewhere along the way, Sunghoon became more than just someone you ran into on campus. He became someone you genuinely care about, someone whose presence you crave more often when you had to wait for another letter. And as you sit across from him in that familiar library room, you find yourself wondering what this connection means, where it might lead, and how much closer the two of you might become.

— — —

Sunny,

I have to admit, after reading your last letter, I found myself looking at the world a little differently. It’s like your words opened up something in me, made me see the beauty in the details that I usually overlook. I guess I never realized how much there is to notice when you really pay attention.

Like yesterday, I was walking through campus, and I saw the way the sunlight filtered through the trees, casting these long, golden shadows on the ground. The leaves were swaying just enough to make the light dance. It reminded me of the sunny day you talked about in your first letter and then I thought, ‘Sunny would probably paint this,’ Or the way the raindrops gather on the window after a storm, reflecting the outside world in those tiny little beads of water. It’s like the whole world is contained in those drops, you know? I don’t think I’ve ever noticed those things before, not really. But now, it’s all I can see.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, your perspective has kind of... consumed my thoughts. I find myself thinking about what you’d make of the things I see every day—how you’d capture the way a moment feels, or how you’d turn something simple into something profound. It’s like you’ve given me a new lens to look through, and I’m really grateful for that.

Honestly, I’m finding it hard not to think about you every day now. It’s strange, isn’t it? We’ve never even met, but I feel like you’re everywhere. Like, every time I notice something beautiful, you’re the first person I want to tell about it. I’m not sure what that means, but I thought you should know.

Anyway, I hope you’re doing well. I’d love to hear more about what you’ve been painting lately—if you’re comfortable sharing, that is. And if there’s anything else on your mind, I’m all ears.

Talk to you later—Snow

— — —

Over the past few weeks, Sunghoon had found himself thinking about Ren more and more. It wasn’t just the time they spent together in the library that lingered in his mind, but the little details of her that had started to etch themselves into his memory. The way her eyes would light up when she talked about something she was passionate about, or how her lips would curl into a soft, almost shy smile whenever he complimented her. He had memorized the way she absentmindedly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear while she studied, or how her eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she worked on her assignments. And then there was her laugh—so genuine and infectious that it never failed to make him smile, even on his worst days.

Sunghoon didn’t know when it happened, but Ren had become someone he looked forward to seeing, someone who made him feel understood in a way that was rare for him. There was an ease to their connection that he hadn’t experienced before, a natural rhythm that made their time together feel effortless and comforting. She was someone who could bring out a side of him that he usually kept hidden, and he found himself wanting to share more and more of himself with her.

But then there was Sunny.

Sunny, the anonymous pen pal who had captured his thoughts and inspired his imagination in ways he hadn’t anticipated. Their letters had started off as just another assignment, something he hadn’t expected to matter. But now, every letter from Sunny was something he eagerly awaited. Her words painted vivid pictures in his mind, and he found himself longing to know more about the person behind them. What did she look like when she painted? What emotions played across her face as she captured the world on her canvas? What other poetic visions would she impart next?

The more he read her letters, the more he felt like he was getting a glimpse into her soul, and it was intoxicating. He wanted to know everything about her—her thoughts, her dreams, the way she saw the world. He had even begun to wonder if she might be someone he already knew, someone who had been right in front of him all along. But then, there was Ren, and that complicated things. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being unfair to both of them—this girl he was growing closer to in person, and this mystery pen pal who occupied his thoughts.

Sunghoon found himself caught between two worlds: the real, tangible connection he had with Ren, and the deep, almost ethereal bond he felt with Sunny. And with each passing day, the desire to bridge that gap, to know who Sunny really was, grew stronger. He wanted to understand the person behind the letters, to see if the connection he felt with her words could translate into something real. But as much as he longed to uncover Sunny’s identity, he also feared what that might mean—for him, for Ren, and for whatever delicate balance he had somehow found between the two.

— — —

Snow,

Your last letter made me smile. It’s funny how we’ve never met, yet I feel like you somehow understand how I see the world. When you described the sunlight filtering through the trees and the raindrops on the window, it was like you were speaking my language. It’s incredible how something so simple can become so beautiful when you take the time to notice it, don’t you think?

I’ve been painting a lot lately. After reading your letter about the snowy night, I couldn’t get the image out of my head. There was something so vivid in the way you described it—the quiet, the stillness, the way the world seemed to pause under that blanket of snow. It was like I could feel the cold air on my skin and hear the crunch of the snow beneath my feet, even though I wasn’t there. So, I decided to paint it. I wanted to capture that moment, the way you saw it, and try to put that feeling on canvas.

It wasn’t easy. I think I’ve repainted the sky about a dozen times, trying to get the right shade of twilight, that moment just before the night fully takes over. I wanted the snow to look soft, almost like a memory, with just enough light to see your breath in the air. And the trees... I think they were the hardest part. I wanted them to look both strong and delicate, like they were standing guard over this perfect, fleeting moment in time. I don’t know if I got it exactly right, but I hope it comes close to what you saw that night.

It’s strange, but painting your snow night made me feel closer to you, like I was sharing in that moment with you even though we’re miles apart. It made me realize how much I look forward to your letters, how much they make me think and feel. I’ve found myself wondering what you’re doing at random times during the day, or how you’d describe the things I see. It’s like your words have found a way into my thoughts, and I’m not sure how to explain it, but it’s kind of wonderful.

I’m curious, though—do you ever feel that way about my letters? I mean, do you find yourself thinking about what I’ve written or imagining what I might say next? I guess I’m just wondering if this connection is as real for you as it feels for me.

I’d love to hear more about what you’ve been seeing lately, what moments have caught your eye. Maybe they’ll inspire my next painting. And if there’s anything you’re curious about, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m more than happy to share my world with you, piece by piece.

Talk to you later—Sunny.

— — —

You and Sunghoon are sprawled out on the floor of his apartment, the room echoing with your laughter and playful banter. You’re in the middle of a mock wrestling match, both of you grinning like fools as you try to outmaneuver each other. Sunghoon manages to pin you down for a moment, and you let out a loud, exaggerated laugh of defeat.

As the laughter dies down, you both lie there catching your breath, the playful energy giving way to a more relaxed atmosphere. You looked up at him as he held your arms down, his roommate Jake giving the dramatic announcement of Sunghoon’s pin as if it was WWE. Your chest rose and fell with a stagnant smile on your faces, Sunghoon still chuckling softly as he looked down at you. For a brief moment, the world seems to slow down, and you find yourself watching him with a sense of wonder.

His dark hair is a bit tousled from all the antics, and there’s a light sheen of sweat on his forehead that makes him look somehow more... real. The way the light from the lamp casts a soft glow on his face, and the way his lips curve into a relaxed smile—it’s all strikingly attractive. You hadn’t really noticed before, but now, it’s as if you’re seeing him for the first time, in a way that makes your heart skip a beat.

You shift your gaze slightly, trying to process what you’re feeling. This isn’t just about appreciating his looks; it’s something deeper, a fluttering sensation in your chest that you can’t quite ignore. You think about the way he listens to you, the way he makes you laugh, and how easy it feels to be around him. There’s a warmth and familiarity that you didn’t expect, but that you’ve come to cherish.

And then, like an unwelcome intrusion, your thoughts drift to Snow. The mysterious pen pal who had captured your imagination with his poetic letters. You remember his descriptions of snowy nights and the way he made you see the world through his eyes. It’s been a constant presence in your mind, a subtle, persistent reminder of another connection that feels just as intense, albeit in a different way.

The contrast between the two is jarring. Sunghoon’s presence is immediate and real, filled with tangible moments and shared laughter. Snow’s presence is ethereal and distant, yet equally compelling, with each letter adding another layer to the intrigue. The two are starting to feel like they’re vying for space in your thoughts and emotions.

You find yourself torn, caught between the easy, tangible connection you’re building with Sunghoon and the poetic, almost dreamlike allure of Snow. It’s confusing, trying to reconcile these two parts of your life and figure out what you truly want. As you look back at Sunghoon, you realize how much you enjoy his company, how much you’re drawn to him, yet Snow’s influence remains a significant part of your emotional landscape.

You let out a soft sigh, trying to clear the fog of conflicting feelings from your mind. Sunghoon lifts a brow and catches your gaze, giving you a curious look.

“You alright, Ren?” he asks, his voice warm and genuine.

You offer him a small, distracted smile, trying to hide the whirlwind of emotions inside. “Yeah, yeah. Just thinking.”

Sunghoon nods, giving you a reassuring smile. “Well, if you need to talk, I’m here.”

You nod, appreciating the offer. “Thanks, Hoon… I appreciate it.”

As the evening continues, you try to focus on the present, enjoying the time with Sunghoon while grappling with the complexities of your feelings for both him and Snow. It’s a balancing act you’re not entirely sure how to manage, but for now, you’re determined to savor the moments you have with Sunghoon and let the rest sort itself out in time.

— — — 

Sunny,

Your letter brought a smile to my face and warmth to my heart. I was genuinely touched to hear that my description of the snowy night inspired your painting. It’s incredible to think that my words could be transformed into something so beautiful and tangible. I can almost see the scene through your eyes, and it makes me feel as though I’ve been there with you, experiencing it all over again. I hope to see it one day.

I’ve found myself constantly thinking about you and your letters. It’s a strange but wonderful feeling, knowing that someone out there is visualizing the world through such a creative and thoughtful lens. It’s like your perspective has woven itself into my daily thoughts, and I can’t help but wonder about the details of your life, the moments that inspire you to create. Your words have become a significant part of my routine, and I often catch myself daydreaming about what you might describe next.

There’s a warmth in knowing that our correspondence has become such a meaningful part of our lives. I’m always eager to read what you’ve written, to find out what new insights or observations you’ll share. It’s almost as if your letters have a way of drawing me in, making me feel connected to you in a way that’s both surprising and comforting.

I have to admit, there’s something more profound than just admiration growing within me. I’ve started to realize how deeply I’m falling for your words, for the way you express yourself so beautifully and thoughtfully. It’s as though each letter reveals another layer of who you are, and I’m captivated by the depth and sincerity of your reflections.

I’m curious to know more about you—your inspirations, your dreams, and the things that move you. If you’re comfortable sharing, I’d love to hear about what drives you to paint, or about the moments that make you pause and reflect. Your letters have become a source of light in my life, and I fall harder with every word you share.

Talk to you later—Snow

— — — 

You’re pacing back and forth in the living room, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. You’ve been wrestling with your feelings for both Sunghoon and Snow, and it’s starting to drive you a bit mad. You finally collapse onto the couch next to Callie, who is lounging with a stack of notes from Snow spread out in front of her.

"Callie, I need help," you say, your voice tinged with frustration. You’re sprawled out on the couch in your apartment, the remnants of Snow’s letters scattered around you like a chaotic love confetti. Callie is sitting next to you, munching on a snack bowl of pretzels and clearly enjoying the show as you have a mini-meltdown over your feelings for both Snow and Sunghoon.

“Snow’s words are like this beautiful, poetic storm that’s taking over my mind, and then there’s Sunghoon, who’s right here, making me feel seen and loved in a completely different way. How am I supposed to choose between these two worlds?” You bury your face in you’re hands and groan.

Callie raises an eyebrow and picks up one of Snow’s letters, glancing at it with a smirk. “Okay, let’s break this down. So, Snow is basically a walking, talking poem who understands your soul from a distance, and Sunghoon is a real-life guy who makes you laugh and look at you like you’re the only person in the room. Got it.”

“Exactly!” you say, waving your hands around dramatically. “Snow’s letters are this perfect mix of art and mystery. I mean, he’s on campus somewhere, and I don’t even know what he looks like! And then Sunghoon... he’s here, being all cute and attentive, and it’s like I’m falling for him just as much. It’s a mess!”

Callie chuckles and picks up another letter, reading it with exaggerated enthusiasm. “‘Your letters have become a source of light in my life, and I fall harder with every word you share.’ Ugh, Snow, you charmer. And here’s Sunghoon, who knows the way you take your coffee and gives you his coat when you’re cold like a rom-com.”

You groan and flop back against the couch cushions. “I know, right? It’s just that Snow’s letters make me feel like I’m part of this beautiful, poetic world, while Sunghoon’s presence makes everything feel so real and tangible. How do I even begin to balance that?”

Callie puts down the letter and gives you a sympathetic look. “Listen, you don’t have to choose right this second. Snow’s words are wonderful, but they’re just a glimpse into a world that’s still shrouded in mystery. Sunghoon is right here, making you laugh and enjoy life. Maybe the real answer is that you need both worlds for now.”

You sit up, considering her words. “That’s... not the worst idea. But it feels so complicated.”

Callie leans back with a grin. “Complicated is just a fancy word for ‘interesting.’ If you’re enjoying both, then why stress? Snow’s poetry isn’t going anywhere, and Sunghoon’s not going to vanish. Take your time to figure it out.”

— — — 

Dear Snow,

I was so touched by your last letter, and I felt compelled to write back and share something with you. I’ve been thinking a lot about how you expressed your feelings, and I realized something incredibly beautiful. Even though you’ve never seen any of my paintings, you seem to understand them so well, as if you’ve seen them in your own way. It’s like you’ve been looking at the same world through my eyes.

Your words have a way of making me feel like you truly see me, and it’s more than just knowing my thoughts or my feelings—it’s as if you’ve grasped the essence of what I try to capture on canvas. When I painted my vision of your snowy night, it wasn’t just about recreating the scene you described. It was about expressing how your words made me feel, how they painted a picture in my mind that felt so vivid and real.

Falling for you, Snow, has been like discovering a new color in my palette—one that resonates deeply with my own heart. The way you describe things, the way you make me think about the world in new ways, it’s all become a part of me. You’ve made me realize that sometimes the connection we build through words can be even more profound than anything we could see or touch.

I can’t wait to continue exploring this journey with you, sharing more of our worlds through our letters, and discovering where this connection takes us. You’ve made me feel seen and understood in a way I didn’t think was possible. Thank you for being such an important part of my life, even from afar.

Talk to you later— Love, Sunny

— — —

Sunghoon burst through the door of his apartment, his face flushed with excitement. He had just received Sunny’s latest letter, and the warmth of her words had him practically skipping with joy. His thoughts were a whirlwind of how perfectly their feelings seemed to align, and he was eager to share his enthusiasm with Jake.

As he walked into his room, he noticed something lying on his bed. It was the jacket Ren had borrowed from him. Sunghoon’s heart skipped a beat. He remembered that Ren had returned it today and briefly wondered if there was anything inside the pockets.

He reached into one of the coat pockets and felt a small, folded piece of paper. Curiosity piqued, he pulled it out and unfolded it, revealing a neatly written note in neat… purple… ink.

— — —

Thank you for the jacket.

—Ren

— — —

ending note —

hehehe!! promised part three!! I’m really enjoying this prompt so I’m literally pumping these out as fast as I can bc even I’m excited for what happens next.

I love you and thank you for reading my little corner of tumblr<3

[lumineescente]

seungjin drabble (slowtober)

hii im doing a thing called slowtober (made by @/oeildesaturne on instagram, french speaking folks check it out!! although be aware of tw mental health and eds talks) and i'm posting on twitter a seungjin au per word

for the third word of this slowtober we got "mixture"

For this word i just HAD TO (no but yes) make a little hogwarts au... I genuinely tried to think about anything else but my dear hogwarts au it got longer than expected and TO BE HONEST I COULD GO ON!!!!!! i could write all this!! hogwarts au are my favorite

not betaed this is just for fun <3

and if you want to read a seungjin hogwarts au from me you can check this already posted fic!

AND if you enjoyed this challenge who is now over you can vote on this form for your favorite that I’ll be writing into a full fic on ao3! (“soumettre” is “submit” btw)

if you want to check all the drabbles you can go here

"Did it work?" Seungmin pouts staring at the potion in front of him.

The mixture's liquid looks decent, the forms of the steam above it looks like the kind of description their teacher made during class earlier, but something is off. He looks back to the recipe, knowing very well he has not missed a step because he is always very diligent with his work and also because Hyunjin was checking after him, but still. He checks.

"I think it did," Hyunjin answers after getting close to the potion. His cheeks coloured in pink. Seungmin does not notice.

"You think or you're sure? Those are two different things." 

Seungmin smells the potion. This is what is wrong with it. It smells nothing. And the smell is surely the most important thing about this potion. It has to smell like things the person smelling loves. Seungmin expected to smell old books, something homey, maybe that pie Hogwarts serves during Halloween. But all he can smell is Hyunjin's perfume because the latter is so close to him right now, hovering over his shoulder. And to be honest they've spent so much time together lately, Seungmin feels like the perfume has penetrated his own skin.

One thing to know about Seungmin is that he hates not understanding. He will ask questions, make the researches, works the extra time if he has to. But he will get it. Whatever it might be. Usually it is school works, because ever since he has entered Hogwarts it had been his priority (obsession some might said). In exchange he keeps on being the best student, one of them at least, except in potions. Which makes no sense because potions surely is one of the most rational subject they have. Follow the instructions. Choose the right ingredients. Dont miss a step. And follow again the instructions.

The things Seungmin should be the best at! Not that he does not succeed. He just does not succeed enough. And Seungmin really wants to be a healer at St Mungo, he does not need to be good at potions. He needs to be excellent.

Except he is not and apparently books could only tell as much as they can - the disappointment he had felt upon noticing that is still indescribable - so he had gone to the only option left. Ask for help. Slytherin this year were no exception to the unspoken rule of them being the best in potions, in the person of Hwang Hyunjin who was mostly knows for his quidditch skills (Seungmin had had many opportunities to admire... notice those skills through the years).

Another thing about Seungmin is that he definitely lacks people skills, and because Ravenclaw do not share their potion class with Slytherin, he had no reason to ask Hyunjin for help. He knew from other shared times that Hyunjin is a very nice and approachable person, only has the looks of the mean cliché Slytherin but he's heard one day one of his friends telling him he could have been sorted at Hufflepuff and he agrees. Because when Seungmin suddenly showed up and ask for help to that boy he has barely talked to all their years, the boy smiled and said of course.

All that happened last year. When they were studying for their O.W.L.S and Seungmin wanted to make sure he got a O. And he got it because Hyunjin was a very good teacher, very patient, nice and funny. Even if he would often stumble on his words, somehow always made his point very clear. Plus he knew Hyunjin made space for him in his schedule which was already busy with quidditch practices, so for that Seungmin was grateful.

By the end of the year Seungmin knew he had made a friend. Which had not been the case since his first year. This plus the O.W.L.s results, his fifth year was a success. He really thought it would be the end of their lessons but it was Hyunjin who came back to him and asked him if he wanted to continue. He said yes because he genuinely enjoyed it and, if he was being honest with himself, he was scared he would have no reason to hang out with Hyunjin if not. And he really liked hanging out with Hyunjin.

This is how they ended up making amortentia from scratch on a Tuesday evening, because Seugmin completely failed making the mixture during his class in the morning.

"I'm sure it worked," Hyunjin insists, "everything seems fine."

"I cant smell anything," Seungmin tells him.

Hyunjin frowns, "get closer."

Seungmin does so, even if it is useless. He takes a deep breath it but once again all he can smell is Hyunjin's perfume. Floral, probably with lavender undertones, and a bit overwhelming at first but comforting. He shakes his head.

"Do you smell anything?" He asks his surrogate teacher.

This time he does notice the blush on Hyunjin's face.

"I do," he mutters.

Seungmin's never been a really into gossiping, he hates personal question about himself so he does not pry.

"Well, that does not make any sense," he mumbles almost to himself, "go away for a bit, please."

"What?" Hyunjin chokes up.

"I didnt mean it like that... just can you go to the other side of the room so I can focus."

If the request is odd to Hyunjin he does not protest it and do as told. Seungmin stares at the pretty forms the steam makes above the pearly mixture for a moment, deep into focusing on his senses. He closes his eyes to make sure of it. Hyunjin is not in his personal space anymore so there is no reason for his perfume to linger that much, at least he hopes so. He gets closer and closer to the potion but his nose only picks up the same scent over and over. When he opens his eyes back he is frustrated and it probably shows.

"What's going on?" Hyunjin asks him, worry in his voice tone.

"Its just all I can smell is your perfume and I dont get..."

He stops his sentence when he sees the look on Hyunjin's face, the way his blush expanded and his eyes were round. There is a moment of silence during which Seungmin is not really sure what switches in the air what kind of tension gets itself comfortable between them, nor why does it mean. Things in their relationship have always been very easy, even with Seungmin struggling in social interactions, even during the very first lesson Hyunjin had easily broken the glass between them and made Seungmin very comfortable. There is no overthinking when he is with him. It is so relaxing, so freeing.

"Seungmin," Hyunjin eventually says and it is obvious he is trying to suppress a smile on his lips, "you're the smartest person I know... but..."

Seungmin opens his mouth to protest whatever is coming after the "but".

Hyunjin shakes his head and comes back to his previous place, close, very close to Seungmin. It shuts him up because suddenly everything is different.

He sees the look in Hyunjin's eyes, the way their hands could brush against each other if they decided to, and Seungmin is paralyzed.

"I think the potion works very well because I can smell the scent of old books in the library and sugar quills."

This time Seungmin feels himself blushing. Hyunjin always buys for him sugar quills if he goes to honeydukes without him, because Seungmin likes them so much. They are basically just sugar but the way they taste and feel are very calming somehow. He has never really thought a lot about Hyunjin's actions, just categorized him as the nice kind of persons who care a lot about everything and remember little stuff. He never thought it was something special. Just something endearing about Hyunjin like so many things.

"Uh.." he clears his throat. He never is at loss of words, he knows so many words!

Hyunjin smirks and Seungmin tries to look away but Hyunjin is too close and he is everywhere in his personal space and field of vision. It is overwhelming but he does not not like it. He just does not know how to respond to it. And he is still not sure he understands it. While Hyunjin seems to understand everything. That is embarrassing.

"I really thought I was obvious and that you were acting like it was nothing because you were being polite and you didnt want to embarrass me..."

Hyunjin is slightly taller than him, he has noticed, just a few centimeters really nothing in their day to day life but right now as Hyunjin very carefully moves his head closer to Seungmin's, he feels so tiny.

"But you were just very oblivious !" Hyunjin concludes with a smile, "because you are so smart, I never thought it could be that."

"Book smart and emotions smart are different things," he breathes out.

Hyunjin laughs and it makes Seungmin's heart race. He always seems to manage to make Hyunjin laughs so brightly like that, when he has never been known to be a particularly funny person.

"That's right," Hyunjin tells him, "so I'm going to ask you then. Seungmin, do you, perhaps, like me more than just a friend?"

Seungmin knows very well that his entire face is red by now, "I never.. thought about it," he confesses.

Hyunjin smiles very gently, "I did. I actually thought about it so much I lost sleep over it because all I could think about was you and how much I like you."

Seungmin's ears are ringing and he can only hear the loud beating of his own heart, "you did..."

Hyunjin once again looks at him with those doe beautiful gentle eyes and smiles softly and Seungmin feels like he is both melting and burning.

"This might be a bit overwhelming, so..." Hyunjin says and his voice is a little less confident than before, "maybe you can think about it and I can take you out on a date this Saturday at hogsmeade... and if you dont like me then I'll never bother you again with my feelings."

"That's.... thats a very good idea."

The face Hyunjin makes is better than any academic success, Seungmin thinks.

[samila4life]

Sam x Mila ~ Pink Meets Black

Mila.

She was like a constant pink blur in his otherwise gray and black world. A bubblegum explosion of frills and lace, with a smile so wide and sparkly it practically screamed fake. Her long blonde hair was always perfectly curled, her nails were always painted the most obnoxious shades of pastel, and her high-pitched giggle grated on his nerves every time she saw him.

Sam didn't know what he had done to deserve her undying affection, but for some reason, she loved him. She'd pop up when he least expected it, bouncing into his personal space like an overzealous puppy, trying to break down the walls he’d spent years building.

It was infuriating.

"Sammy!" A familiar voice chirped from behind him. He froze, already knowing who it was without turning around.

He felt her small hands tugging on the sleeve of his black leather jacket. "Sammyyy!" she repeated, drawing out his name in that sugary tone that made his skin crawl. He sighed deeply, clenching his fists in his pockets before slowly turning to face her.

There she was, wearing a pink miniskirt that barely covered her thighs and a matching crop top with the word "CUTIE" bedazzled across her chest. Her heart-shaped sunglasses perched on her head, and she was holding a glittery purse shaped like a cupcake. Everything about her was wrong, from her obnoxiously happy aura to the way she always smelled like cotton candy.

"What do you want, Mila?" Sam growled, his voice low and rough.

Mila giggled, oblivious to the venom in his tone. "I was looking for you, silly! We were supposed to meet up, remember?"

Sam frowned. He did not remember making any such plans. But then again, Mila had a tendency to create plans in her own mind and assume he’d agreed to them.

"I never said I'd—"

"Anywayyy!" she interrupted, clapping her hands together excitedly. "I was thinking we could go shopping today! You know, maybe get you some clothes that aren't all black? It’ll be so fun!"

Sam stared at her, utterly bewildered by her persistence. "I don’t do shopping," he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to put more space between them.

Mila pouted, her glossy lips forming a perfect little frown of disappointment. But within seconds, the pout was replaced by a blinding smile. "That's okay! We dont need to buy you things! You can just carry my bags! Pleeease?"

For some inexplicable reason, the word "no" stuck in Sam’s throat. He wanted to say it. He wanted to tell her to leave him alone and stop pestering him with her endless enthusiasm. But something about the way she looked at him, with those wide, hopeful eyes, made him feel... guilty? No, not guilty. He didn't care about her feelings. Or at least, that's what he told himself.

Before he could respond, Mila grabbed his hand and tugged him forward, dragging him toward the shopping district. Sam resisted at first, but Mila was surprisingly strong for someone so small and, well... pink.

"Fine," he grumbled under his breath. "But don’t expect me to enjoy this."

Mila squealed with delight, completely ignoring his reluctance. "Yay! This is going to be the best day ever, Sammy! I promise!"

As they walked through the crowded streets, Sam couldn’t help but feel like a dark cloud trailing behind a ray of sunshine. Every step he took beside her felt wrong, like he was breaking some unspoken rule about who he was supposed to be. Mila represented everything he hated: happiness, brightness, optimism. But no matter how hard he tried to shake her off, she kept finding her way back into his life — and maybe, just maybe, into his heart.

PT. 1