#sorry for adding a touch of angst

[joelsgoldrush]

“epiphany” | 21k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

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

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

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

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

Love giveth and love taketh away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love maketh you miserable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They are soulmates. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A part of you died with him that day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, it wasn’t working.

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

“And why’s that?”

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

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

Save me, mindfulness, you thought to yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. Was that your fork?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s still a sensitive topic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where the hell did he go?

After his existence went downhill, Logan turned to prayer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do I know you, bub?” 

“You don’t, but I know you.”

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

“Everybody does. I’m the—”

Here it comes, the reminder of his personal calvary.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nighty-night, Logan.

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

I’ve spent sleepless nights trying to figure out

where this need to call you mine stems from. 

You're like an antique, a rare piece displayed

in a crowded bazaar, drawing curious glances.

I’m aware that you're not mine

because I haven't bought you yet;

I hold no claim over you,

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

I want you to be mine,

but no amount of money would buy your soul.

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

I’m aware that you’re not mine, 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The scars.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing changes. They’re still there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's a silent invitation to a new beginning.

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

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

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

“Me too, roomie. Me too.”

“Let’s not use that word.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then Wade jumps in front of him.

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

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

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

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

“Well, life’s full of disappointments.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What… the fuck?”

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

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

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

You’re… far more than he expected.

More beautiful, for starters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Great. You must think he’s a weirdo. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t worry, I’m—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And how is it? I mean, do you have—”

“I’m public enemy number one.”

Too harsh, idiot.

“Oh. That’s… good to know.”

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

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

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

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

“You and Wade…?”

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

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

“What?” you ask him, puzzled.

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

“And I can tell you don’t.”

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

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

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

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

“And where is yours, then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door almost closes on his nose.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And where is yours, then?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you pregnant?”

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

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

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

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

“Fuck?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t budge. “No.”

“Logan, I’m not in the mood.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll think about it.”

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

“Well, you were an asshole.”

“Yes.”

“The first time we exchanged words.”

“Also yes.”

“And now you’re apologizing.”

“Positive. I just did.”

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

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

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

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

“How do you feel about reading?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you—you remember specific pages?”

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

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

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

You’ve chosen a damn good page.

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

“You’ve got a week to read it.”

“How long is it again?”

“Four hundred pages.”

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

“Write an opinion essay if possible.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, he listens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which one is worse, he can no longer tell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut your mouth.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I hate this John kid.

Her aunt is a cunt.

This is too cheesy.

Mr. Rochester’s married?

St. John—what a prick.

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’ll take more than a book.”

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

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

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

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

“Of what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If anything, it made everything worse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks... ridiculously good.

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

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

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

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

“Logan, you don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If you have plans, then yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Logan, this isn’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Come on, baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logic? Error 404—not found.

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

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

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

That’s when recognition settles over you.

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

“Fuck you, Logan.”

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

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

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

“He’s closer than ever.”

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

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

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

“No. You’re not.”

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

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

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

“It’s what we both need.”

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

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

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

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

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

It didn’t go well in the end.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll take care of it next month.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is what you fear the most: loneliness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I could do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“And what is that—”

“I need a drink.”

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

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

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

The instant attraction, the yearning to be near him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who is enjoying this more: him or you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve never felt this relaxed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, you’ve wrapped love around your finger.

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

[wonryllis]

watermelon sugar (m) | sim jaeyun.

﹙ 🎬 ﹚ ぃ ────𝗶𝗳 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗺𝗲𝗹𝗼𝗻 𝘀𝘂𝗴𝗮𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗼𝗼 𝘀𝘄𝗲𝗲𝘁?

preview. he’s the sweetest to you, one might confuse him for your boyfriend, but he’s not, he just your fuckboy of a roommate who treats you like a delicate candy, always looking out for you and never at you; or so you think.

or where, jake can't seem to get you off his mind no matter how hard he tries.

meet the cast. simp sim jaeyun(jake) with his obsession fem!reader

genre. and they were roommates trope, fuckboy soft for his girl trope, SMUT MDNI!!!, lots of toothrooting fluff, tiny speck of angst but not proper angst, drunk confessions?, only one who can control him/her trope, happy happy ending, crack/humor, domestic scenes(newly added) college fuckboy athelete roommate!jake with his candy!roommate girl. computer science & programming major!reader, exercise physiology major!jake, nonidol!au, soccer player!jake.

word count. 13,488 unedited! it's word vomit.

warnings. fingering, dry humping, dirty talkkk lots and lots of it, nasty freak jake with innocent(seems to be) girlie, experienced x inexperienced(virgin but has idea), pussy slapping, somewhat drunk sex but there's consent consent, oral (m rec.) different scenes, p in v (unprotected! but pls pls pls do not do this ever use protection!!!!!) multiple orgasms (f.rec), overstimuation(f.rec) and somewhat (m.rec), spitting? slight nipple play, jake is rough and filthy, with heavyyyyy corruption kink it's all throughout the story, strength kink, size difference “i worship the ground you walk on” energy but still dominant jake, jake has soooo many dirty inner thoughts about you it's innumerable. he's a simp for you so you're a slut for him— i guess that's them?

theme song. animals by maroon 5 (jake pov), into you by ariana grande (yn pov)

﹙★﹚ ࣪DRABBLES (find them here)

` author notes. im sorry for making you guys wait three extra weeks I hope y'all still want to read this,, what do i say it was so horrible before the revamp, thankfully it's so much better now and the smut god, it was so hard to write it i hope it's good enough. REBLOGS AND FEEDBACKS ARE HIGHLY ENCOURAGED AND APPRECIATED!!

“i don’t mind this feeling.”

YOU DONT KNOW WHAT TO CALL IT, WHATEVER IS HAPPENING BETWEEN YOU BOTH, BUT YOU LIKE IT. IT FEELS SILLY AND FRAGILE AND GOOD. perhaps a little too good.

god forbid what you had done in your past life to get a roommate like jake, a complete package; a concoction of all classic kinds of roommate one could possibly expect. you aren’t complaining though he takes care of you in every way he possibly could. making you feel like his entire world revolves around you, from his time home to the hours he spends on the field. one would ask anything of him and his answer would surely include you in one way or another, everyone knew it, everyone could see it, the way he feels.

he makes you breakfast, he helps with the cleaning- you both actually have it planned to have a cleaning day every week to polish the apartment. he cooks for you and he does the dishes more often than not, the only exception being the time when you insist deathly on doing it yourself because come on you gotta do at least some thing around the house.

to add to the perfect mixture of god gifted man, he video games in his room with the door shut so that the sound of him shouting at the screen doesn’t disturb you. does the laundry- even your bras and underwear, he’s just too used to those clothings to give a care to get embarrassed (outwardly). he would never admit the way they get him all hot and bothered when he thinks of all the places those fabrics have touched. how wild his imagination runs and all the things he wishes he could do to you. all the sounds he could get, out of you and all the things you'd taste of.

you are his candy (well not exactly ‘his’ but according to him this nickname of yours is only and I repeat only reserved for him) literally because you are all over sweets all the damn time and figureratively because he’d die to have a taste of you; the forbidden fruit of his life, too innocent for a person like him to ruin. but lord would he give up everything to land a chance to lay his hands on you not so innocently.

this man does not give a fuck about who is not you, and maybe occasionally spare a care for his two best friends who so far have only been blessed enough to know your name because jake has made it clear that you're off-limits and if they ever dare to do anything given the opportunity he'd rip off their balls and feed it to ducks (he's serious he swears)

getting to the real point of your dynamic: the only drawback— jake sim is a renowned fuckboy on campus, the heartbreak prince and you, his miss americana as they all like to call it. it is a daily routine, having to find a new girl in the house and ofttimes hearing them even with your door closed and your hands pressed on your ears. at first it felt disgusting, then you got used to it, and now very recently you’ve been feeling weirdly dejected. a certain kind of hatred towards the girls, something you can’t pin point exactly to why and what it is.

“candy, my laptop broke down again!” jake's raspy voice dances through the little cracks of the bathroom door as you prepare for a quick shower. you sigh, tightening the towel wrapped around you before stepping out. a short knock at his batman poster door left ajar, and he's whipping his head to have a look at you as if he knew you'd be in the middle of washing up. a little secret, yes he knew because everytime ahead of bathtime you make sure to have a sip of your watermelon slush stack from the fridge and the sound of it's door reaches his room just right to let him know.

he remains seated on his bed, a sheepish smile on his face. your eyes fall at his desk to see his laptop closed, he tricked you, and like always you fell for it,“maybe if you used your school laptop to study instead of playing games on it, this wouldn't happen all the time. but i assume you probably did it to get me here, it’s not gonna work everytime yun,” you click your tongue in feigned annoyance making him grin wider,“well it does work everytime though,” he knows how to have you on his tail just like you know how to have him wrapped around your finger. it only seems fair, you both know what gets the other going and you use it to your advantage.

“what is it?” asking in a sing song tone, you plop down on his desk chair. spinning in rounds with your legs out swinging, hands gripping onto the arms of the chair while looking up at the phosphorescent glow-in-the-dark stickers you had forcefully put up on the ceiling of his room. a funny memory of jake trying to stop you because it would defeat the whole image of his room only to fold when you gave him the puppy doe eyes, baby talking that you really wanted to do it. it doesn't take much to have jake cave in, just one look from you and the boy is a flatline. fuckboy? he is that to everyone but to you he's practically whatever you want him to be, though you have never really had a talk about it.

“actually eunsang, she-” there is a hesitation is his tone you are well aware of, having almost a clear idea of what he's about to say,“i told- no warned you not to get involved with her for a second time, didn’t i?” you scold, feeling that little twinge of hurt knowing he probably will keep on being involved with girls like this no matter what you say. it's the one thing where you don't have him under your spell. or that's you think, i mean you you have no idea do you of how much he wants you. just like how you have no idea how much you want him.

“yes but it happened and now she’s after me all the time, she even showed up to my soccer practice yesterday! please just this one time, please help me get rid of her,” clamping together his hands in a plea, jake pouts as best as he can, giving you his puppy eyes. but when you don’t show a reaction of any sort he resorts to the next best guaranteed thing: bribery,“i’ll buy you tons of watermelon lollipops! from your favorite brand that too!” eyes sparkling with hope and expections of having you fall for it, like you do every single time, he waits. albeit patterns break, in everything and everyone.

“no, i’m on a diet. i gave up on sweets, what if i get diabetes? will you,” you point at him dramatically,“take responsibility?” to which his stance morphs into one of stunned. he would gladly take responsibility for you at any given chance, but it's one of more gravity and significance than diabetes. and he's sure he's not one you should be in care of as more than anything that you are right now. he's too corrupted and you are too naive.

“yes of course i’ll help you take your meds and-” he mumbles in a quick, hurried note aware that you’ll not let him answer if he’s not fast enough. you still beat him to it though, speaking loud over and above his voice, to drown out his words despite hearing them quite clearly,“will you? NO you will not! so let me just shower peacefully before i get the urge to lock you in the bathroom when you’re in there later,” with a silence after, one that has jake grinning again at your cuteness, you take it as a que to rush out swiftly. trying to make it to the bathroom before he decides to use his strength against you and hold you down wherever he wants. which though hasn't been often, has always left you breathless and flustered to a point you refuse to admit.

training to become an athlete, a buff center forward in comparison to you who barely puts effort into doing even a little bit of yoga once a month. it’s obvious he’ll have you give in if he wants but he’s too sweet to force you. and of course it's obvious, the tension of the strength kink that looms over in the room.

it comes as a shock to you when the next day, the first thing you see waking up in the morning and walking into the living room: is eunsang standing by the kitchen counter. and important point: clad in one of jake’s dress shirts that you recognize from doing his laundry occasionally, pouring herself a glass of water. oh you had to see this coming, this is jake we're talking about will be really ever like ever not bring over girls? no matter if they're clingy or not. the answer is ambiguous and definitely not to your favor.

she’s shares a small smile upon noticing you, a friendly smile which you know is obviously fake. she’s doing it just to look good and polite in jake’s eyes. just to show that she's not bothered by you, because as said everyone knows if they don't like you then they automatically are on jake sim's blacklist. and being the star player of the team, his acquaintance is more or less influential to a large extent, so note to be taken be nice to candy to not be on the cross out list.

however as sad as it is to say it’s of no use. she’s not even there in his eyes to begin with. the moment the jake comes out of his room, his field of vision doesn’t include her. passing by her very visible figure like she’s a microscopic bug to ruffle your hair in a dotting manner, his morning voice coming out in an adoring essence,“good morning, candy,” he smiles and scrunches up his nose when he notices the baby cat you both adopted last month, curled up in the corner of the couch,“and mei,” he acknowledges your pet kitty but not the girl he brought home, that should speak volumes to you, jake thinks. treating you like candy of his world you are, shouldn't that be the ultimate giveaway of his feelings? like even his hookups can see how down bad he is for you why is it that you're the only one who can't? he wants you to know but at the same time he feels he's not right for you, a dilemma he handles by fucking up over and over again.

wishing him morning in response you give him a look which silently delivers your question of what is going on. you did hear them last night (more like her), but you didn’t know it was her her. you weren’t even expecting her to be the one. after the conversation with jake yesterday, she was the last person you would have ever assumed. he sends you a flying look that he’ll explain everything later, shushing you off before you speak out loud.

“yunie,” your ears perk up at her voice, eyes narrowing in a deadly stare at the nickname you exclusively call him with, leaving her crusty mouth. certainly, like jake you blossom a definite possession over names too. perhaps it's the effect of living with him 24/7 but you seem to have picked up a lot of his antics.

jake’s eyes shift to look at you for a moment and then he’s running a hand through his hair, dropping his sweet conduct to get back into his usual cold fuckboy self. he absolutely does not like the way your brows turn down and the pretty smile you were previously adorning for him falling off your pretty lips. he can tolerate anything but seeing you bothered in any way. “you’re still here? it's better if you leave soon, candy doesn’t like all this,” walking around her to the other side of the counter and into the kitchen to open the upper cabinets, jake ignores her like a plague as if he wasn't showing her heaven last night. but alas, nothing comes above you, she should have known that.

“what do you want for breakfast candy? should i make you some toast? or do you want your usual dose of sugar?” his palms rest on the granite countertop, leaning against it slightly while turning to fix his gaze on you. it makes eunsang rage with anger, throwing you a demeaning look before she disappears into jake's room.

the moment his bedroom door closes, you feel the unfamiliar weight on your shoulders relax a tad bit,“my watermelon slush please,” finding your cozy spot on the kitchen counter, you give him your most adorable pout feeling like you had to gain back his warmth after the hookup. your legs dangle over the height between, toes softly brushing against jake's calves every two seconds. watching him prepare your drink, you decide to voice out the thing that had been disturbing since the moment you walked out your room,”did you like make a friends with benefit kind of arrangement or something?” it comes out in a low whisper, afraid if you said it too loud it'd come true. the thought of it disturbs you for some reason, it’s not new for you to see random girls in your apartment; or to hear them while they’re at it. yet it still gives you a sort of uneasy feeling, something you do not like feeling.

“it was a last time kind of deal actually,” he stops briefly to give you a quilty smile. finishing your sweet slushy just as eunsang hastily steps out, wearing what you assume her clothes from the previous night. she slows down to observe as jake hands you the cup, repulsively watching you take a sip,“is it good?” hearing him speak in a tone way different than the one she’s acquainted with him using with her has stomp her way out in a grumpy fit.

looking up from the edge of your cup with hopes to give her a sly stare, your eyes follow her figure, flinching silently when she bangs the door close harshly,“bitch,” you comment, hooded orbs shifting back to jake who scowls in disapproval,”language candy,” he reminds, knowing very well it does nothing to stop you.

“sorry yunie but she's so agressive, and for what?” you whine.

“from what i’ve seen, you’re way more aggressive,” jake laughs softly, index finger coming to poke at your cheek tenderly.

with full cheeks, you grin like a cheshire cat and jake feels his heart rate speeding up, who gave you the permission to be the cutest person he's ever known? the urge to kiss you just keeps growing with each passing day and with with each little sneaky smile and doe eyes you give him.

“we need to get the groceries this week, i have after classes soccer practice for the next four days and we're not gonna last that long,” the thought of spending the next four evenings alone in the unit is gloomier than the half assed ham and cheese toast jake makes for himself. if only you said yes to some proper breakfast, his taste buds and stomach wouldn't be suffering so much.

you nod as if he has eyes on his back, knowing well he's gonna want you with him but not force you, if you'd say no. whatever you want, is whatever he does.

“‘m gonna go take a shower first then,” hopping down, you place your empty mug in the sink, and skip to your room to take your bath supplies.

“let’s shower together,” jake's friskiness thrives in the way he shouts with an undertone of mischief. watching you with a teasing gaze as you step out the threshold of your bedroom door. a tiny smirk spreading onto his lips when you scrunch your nose in a grimace. cute, he mouths thinking you wouldn't notice but god you do. he's clearly joking but you can’t help feeling flustered internally. keeping up with his flirty and touchy stunts and tricks should have made it easier for you by now, but over a year in and you're yet to find yourself getting used to it. he’s too attractive and hot to get used to; at least that’s what excuse your brain gives you, which honestly is true to some extent. his looks score a lot of points and you can't deny that.

“and if we get locked in there, who’s gonna get us out? you know the door lock has problems,” you complain in a soft groan which, in his eyes is more adorable with the little annoyance you show. if you think you could ever intimidate him, you probably will because he'll melt right away to even think of a counter back.

his stance straightens at that, a fleeting look of flabbergast clouding his face before he’s breaking out in a taunt of smile, eyes closing in on you in a brazen look,“so does that mean if the lock was fine you’d actually shower together with me,” he feels this triumph of emotions, a sudden rush of sugar at the realization that'd probably maybe perhaps someday let him get in the shower together with you. the sheer excitement he experiences through his veins is over the roof, just the possibility of something so intimate with you is a bite of golden spoon for him.

he purposely stops all he’s doing to stare at you, moving his eyebrows cheekily, trying to provoke you,“i never said that,” you stick your tongue out at him, closing the door in a soft slam and crying out a ‘you’re sick in the head!’

“only for you!” jake yells back, chuckling to himself as he leaves the room.

two hours later you’re both strolling through the isles of shelving, bright florescent lighting, end displays of popular products, sale signs, banners with store mottoes, isle signs with product locations, rows and rows of household products and everything you'd always spend lots of time looking through until jake has to drag you back home.

he pushes the cart while you look around for items to throw in and cross out one by one from your checklist. the way you both discuss and bicker over what to keep in the cart and what not to every two minutes will lead any sane person to conclude you as a couple. you both would also admit it feels as such. how he insists on taking what you like while you argue that you’re on a diet and need to cut down on the consumption and desires of your sweet tooth. it feels sweet, he feels sweet. and you make him want to coddle you so bad, like what do you mean you're on a diet? you're perfect already. too perfect for him.

“i’m taking the pop tarts!” you hear him shout from two or probably three Isles away while you look through some new make up launches,”…okay fine!” capturing the attention of an old couple who glance at your way and mutter something you don’t quite catch but you assume it’s probably about how annoying you both are, shouting at the mart.

“yunie look these are so pretty,” you point at the line of lipgloss as jake comes over with cart. he hums in agreement, watching you scan through the shades in an animated mood, mumbling over the names and speaking of how it'd look good for an everyday look or with summer dress you recently got. oh how smitten he feels, observing the way you seem so pumped up simply over gloss.

“there's no mirror— “

“try it on me,” oh he's bewitched under your spell.

jake stands still as you apply the mauve on him, staring at you through hooded eyes,”oh, this one’s really pretty on you!” you beam, looking up at him as if he could see it too.

“it'd look prettier on you,” he's hardly able to whisper out, gaze trained on the way you part your lips while you wipe it off his and apply another. if he didn't have a strong self control, by now he would have shoved his tongue down your throat in the dirtiest and messiest kiss you'd ever known. knocking your breath out, as well as his. he's already on the verge of losing it with every little touch you leave on his lips, wetting your own as a habit.

“which one should i take?” you ask something cutely, jake almost feels guilty for the thoughts swimming in his head.

“i’ll buy all of it for you, we can do something like a chapstick challenge you know. the one where you kiss and guess the flavor,” he teases loving the tiny exasperated glare you throw him. “yunn, be serious! which one?”

“these two?” he points to ones you commented were pretty feeling impatient at the conjured up image of you wearing the colors on with you tiny, sexy little sundresses you got hidden in your closet. please feel guilty man he thinks.

in the end jake (successfully) convinces you to continue your diet later over the summer break offering to help you with it. and grabs a bunch of packets of your favorite snacks, your favorite brand’s watermelon lollipops and not to forget the fruit itself. checking all out he insists on carrying everything himself, only handing you the little bag that held your lollies in case you'd want one on the way back.

the subway is more crowded than usual, scarcely any seat left. it takes you a whole minute to scan around for an empty one, immediately encouraging jake to take it. a silly game of rock paper scissors to decide who stands, insisting firmly that he sit when you end up winning. the grocery bags rest by his foot and you stand between his legs, holding onto the bar wobbling every now and then. it’s just one stop left when jake suddenly pulls you onto his lap, adjusting you comfortably on his thighs and placing his hands on your legs possessively. you turn to look at him, lashes brushing against his skin and lips parting in the slightest at the adrenaline you feel pumping into your fast beating heart. the muscles in his chest feel firm at the faint touch of your back against him, the thumping of his own heart similar to that of yours.

he leans closer to whisper in your ear,“that creep right there kept staring you up and down,” pointing with a discreet move of his eyes as he drills holes through his stern gaze fixed on the said guy. you on the other hand, grow hot with irritation, perhaps just as hot and bothered you are feeling jake pressed so close. an abrupt and sharp impulse of anger.

“i’ll show him the fuck he was staring at," you mutter out, teeth gritted, and hands almost forming into fists, expression as innocent as always. jake seems to catch on to what you’re about to do and before you can get up from lap, his hold on you gets tighter,"okay, i know you hate this candy, but i don’t want you getting hurt in any way, if he does anything i’ll make sure to set him right, for now i think he got it that he’s not gonna stare at you however he wants,” hand grabing yours in gentle caresses along the expanse of your arm. delicate and slow like a soothing rub. his touch just as enticing and stimulating it is, is also calming, knowing exactly how to pacify your hot headedness. jake finds that really hot about you, the way you look like you couldn't harm a bug but he's seen you throw kicks and punches (for the right reasons) ‘looks like a cinnamon roll, could kill you’ he never knew that's his type. sometimes and really only some rare times he wonders if you're not as innocent as he thinks you are, getting rock hard at the thought of it, dick twitching multiple times imagining you saying and doing things that an angel like you shouldn't be.

for the rest of the ride he manages to lull you back to your sweet candy mode, making you laugh at his lame pick up lines, and occasionally tickling your sides. head falling back into his shoulder in cute giggles and hips rolling on him, damn only he knows how bad he's holding back. as shameless as he is he'd probably jump your bones right infront of everyone to see. thankfully you bring the decency in your relationship.

when your stop comes, he intertwines his fingers you as you walk out the compartment, just in case you decide to give the dude a slap before leaving.

“'m gonna flatten out all your abs today, you'll need to gym again,” jake chuckles, feeling you roll over his body like mei’s lint roller as he lays on your favorite fluffy kuromi rug typing away on his laptop an essay deadlined for tomorrow. the weight of your body on and off and the touch of your hot skin he feels funsies,“you do this all the time, candy and my abs have never left. how can i let them? knowing how much you love it,” reaching behind to hold you still on his back. you are glad he can't see the way your cheeks warm up at that, a bashful look on your face remembering all the times he's caught you ogling at his body.

“why are you sulking?” he asks when you don't respond with a whine like you usually do. aware that you behave this way either when you’re over the top bathing in happiness or dissatisfied with something.

“’m gonna gain weight now because of you, i’ll see all the snacks and sweets in the pantry and not be able to resist binge eating,” you lightly punch at the curve of his shoulders, dropping your head into the crook of his neck in a pout. jake turns around swiftly to hold you in a hug, wanting nothing more than to cheer you up,“i love your belly anyhow, whether it’s visible or not,” giving the plump flesh of your stomach a zephyr-like pinch. you wince playfully drawing back inches to tease him only to drop down into his arms to hug him back seconds later,“yeah whatever,” his words make you feel butterflies, a turmoil of frenzy and fuzzy feelings, cheeks growing warm once again, and the warmth spreading all over your mind this time. why does he have to be so sweet to you?

you both stay like that for a while breathing slowly, and taking in the comfort of a hug, the room saturated with a restful and serene silence. you’re the first to pull away,“you should finish that essay, i have to prepare for my test next week,” jake groans at the loss of your touch, wailing out with his hands as you leave the room.

”i’m joining you as soon as i finish this!”

four days later on the weekend, you sit on the couch alone, wrapped in the thin lilac charmeuse blanket jake got for you (he said it the softness of it, reminded him of you.) waiting for your him to join you. eight in the morning with ‘tangled’ running on the tv, it's not something jake would ever want to do, but he gives in because you like it; bonus sometimes when you get a little sleepy, he grabs the chance to cuddle you as close as he can, leaving a few fluttering kisses on your temple and cheeks. he's grateful you never say anything about it and just let him be.

“yunie, can you pass me the watermelon in the fridge? the one from yesterday,” you spare a quick glance towards jake as he walks out his room. his headset rests loosely around his neck, half naked, wearing only a pair of sweatpants and his black hair all dishevelled: looking even more messier due to the perm he got last week. “yeah sure,” the rasp in his voice as he mumbles out softly gives away the fact that he probably stayed up all night again.

taking the half a piece of watermelon out and grabbing a spoon, jake scoops out a small little portion. going up to your slouched figure on the couch, and extending it out for you to eat,“here you go, candy,” he does it quite often, infact he loves to feed you. seeing your cheeks full and your eyes sparkling makes him feel fond as much as it turns him on. picturing you the same way on your knees between his legs with his dick stuffed in your mouth. choking and gagging on him, tears dropping down your pretty eyes while you stare up at him with this same doe look. it'd be heaven. even more so if he would have to teach you how to do it right, further fueling the massive corruption kink he seems to have harboured after meeting you.

he passes you melon after you take the bite, sitting beside you with his legs crossed. eyes trained on the way you fill in more in your mouth than you can handle, face all round and full,”eat slowly,” he flicks at your forehead.

“do you want to go buy a new sofa at ikea tomorrow? this one’s pretty small,” he adds a minute later, raising his brows subtly.

“well, first of all i didn’t plan to have a roommate and secon- i swear if it’s for your hook-ups i’m kicking you out!” it comes out in a yell, voice raising with every syllable before you spit a seed at him. one that due to your bad aiming skills instead of landing on his face, falls and sticks to the skin of his chest. damn those muscles they get you feelings things you probably shouldn't be.

putting away the watermelon on your tea table, you pick up mei and settle her on your lap, pulling back your blanket which had slipped off in a crackle of laughter,“this is public space have some decency before you have such thoughts!”

“stop making me appear like a horndog!” he laughs along, whinning at your false accusations in giggles and a look of faux disbelief.

“well that is exactly what you are!” you throw the closest cushion at his face. grinning with your signature cutesy doe eyes and jake is a goner. he always is.

“no don't do this me,”

“change the sheets then, it's your turn this week,” turning away from him, you fix your eyes on rapunzel climbing down the tower. trying to avoid the way he stares at you with betrayal, immediately scooting over to tickle you.

“you cheeky liar it's your turn,” his hands glossing over your ticklish areas.

“i love you,” in a fit of uncontrolled giggles, you shout. pushing against him to escape only to have your wrists pulled away, held together in a tight grasp and pinned above your head. “candy! i love you is not gonna get you out of chores come on i'll help you. we'll watch tangled later. together, i promise,” his laughter dies down with every word he utters, whispering out the last part as he becomes aware of the proximity between you two. so close you both think, breaths slowing down and heartbeats picking up the pace with each passing second.

“we're doing this okay?” jake whispers again, albeit, his tone a tad bit more heavy and bothered. an ambiguous daze clouding over, as if he is talking about something entirely different than just changing sheets. a twinge of lust bubbling inside. having you under him like this makes him realize just how desperately he wants you, and how bad his strength kink blooms for you. to have you whimpering and moaning, gaze all hazy as you let him do whatever he wants with you. damn he feels his dick twitch at that, gulping nervously hoping you wouldn't notice.

“you look like eugene,” you mumble out suddenly and jake feels his thirst rise off the roof, because the size difference between the characters? he wouldn't deny he thought of you the first time he saw the animation. wanting you have you in his arms the same way.

“then you must be my rapunzel,” you feel even more flustered if that's possible, your stomach twisting and twirling at his words until,”now come on we gotta keep the house clean for mother gothel,” jake let's his grip on you loosen, taking a moment to get off you.

“yunie!”

“i'll make you some sweet soy-glazed potatoes too later,” he voice drowns out as he enters you bedroom first.

“well i guess it's okay then,” you giggle following after him.

“candy that's not how you tuck in the corners,” jake scolds you for nth time, running after you to fix the edges you mess up deliberately time and again. “hey! candy! get down!” you make it a chaos for him, jumping onto the unmade bed and messing up the sheets all the way.

“oops,” there's a devilish grin on your face as jake pauses to watch you have your sugar rush episode.

“if you wanna wrestle again and end up under me, just say so,” he teases, inching closer and grabbing you by the waist. you both laugh again as if you weren't dripping with need for each other just moments ago. he picks you up and walks to the door putting you down by the sill,”i seriously need to get this done, you go and peel the potatoes for me,” you can't cook for the sake of god and letting you use knives is like a deathwish, jake can only hope peeling will keep you busy and safe enough to not end up with cuts anywhere.

the doorbell rings just as you step into the kitchen, walking back to the front in a sluggish sigh. feeling utter regret for answering the door, the instant you notice the figure outside. not wanting to reveal the presence to jake, you shut the door behind.

he peeps out your room at the sound of it, shrugging it off as nothing because you’ve done it lot many times: when your friends show up because you simply don’t want them to fall under his radar as prey.

you spare an indifferent glance at the way eunsang stands tall; hands folded with a cocky look on her rather gorgeous face. she's a beauty and you hate to admit that, a vibe so opposite of you it makes you insecure considering jake's hooked up with her more than a few times. “i’m here to see jake,” she states, tilting her head to point over at the closed door, all the sugary honeyed act she keeps up around him nowhere to be seen.

“and he doesn’t want to see you, didn’t he tell you it was the last time,” you counterattack, folding your arms and straightening up to look intimidating. your stare is one of taunt, carrying a gaze of boredom in hopes to establish that you're one to reckon with.

“are you jake? i said i want to talk to jake not you,” her heels click in impatience and underlying disgust in the tone she uses with you gets on your nerves.

you close your eyes for a moment trying to calm the annoyance in you before it turns into anger, tongue poking at the side of your cheek, “and are you deaf? i said he does not want to talk to you,” assert dominance, assert dominance you repeat over and over in your head.

but what she says next makes you lose your temper.

jake, the very epicenter of it all, on the other hand has no idea of what's going on outside until there's a scream that sounds too much like you, one turning into many more. it's frantic and inhumane, the speed at which he runs out. dropping everything and anything. there in broad daylight he finds you and eunsang trying to rip each other's hair out in the thankfully empty hallway. he doesn't know if he should be worried more about your scalp hurting or your throat tearing from how loudly you scream over eunsang. his hands flail as he contemplates on breaking the fight or letting you calm down, which you probably won't as he knows. he grabs onto eunsang's hands on your head trying to loosen her grip on your hair, concerned over the pain you must be feeling while you're there now trying to kick her between her legs. she's shocked to say the least, watching him latch you off her in a swift motion and throw you over his shoulder. he takes you back inside quickly, groaning at your fists pounding against his back in a protest,”fucking let go of me! i’m gonna give her a good piece of my mind!”

“candy language!” putting you down by the kitchen softly, he grasps the side of your arms and forces you to look into his eyes,“stop fighting all the time, stay here i’ll talk to her, okay?” he speaks slowly as an attempt to calm you. when you wiggle off in a scornful shrug, he asks again, this time moving to cup your face, a tender look in his eyes,“okay?” you nod in a defeated sigh and he's out the door before you can say anything else. you're upset, really upset, you know what you did outside was not decent yet you can't get over the fact that he left you in here to go back to talk to her. he was on your tail last week trying to beg you to help him get rid of her and even shooed her out the unit harshly, what more is there to talk about?

truth to be told, this was how he first met you, or should he say saw you. it was the move in day, he had all the necessities for the week packed in a travel suitcase, with the other stuff to be brought in later on. he was waiting for the elevator in the lobby, more tense and anxious than ever to meet the girl he was going to be living with a good four years of his college life. hoping she'd not treat him like some stranger, or be someone impossible to get close to hash live with. along with little bits of curiosity and hopes again, that she'd be a pretty and sweet girl maybe someone help could form some kind of benefits with.

however never in a million years did he ever expect it to be the cute yet fierce girl in the elevator. to say he was flabbergasted would be an understatement, he was literally blown off his feet, scared or impressed, his confusion was massive. when the doors of the elevator had opened he had found you slapping a middle aged man,”fun? you think groping my butt ‘s fun, you sicko,” kicking him in the balls next. hard. jake had gulped at that, hard. heart on a pause. the look of feigned innocence on your face as you did all that. damn jake swears it was that moment he fell. maybe not romantically but you definitely got his dick hard.

you looked super cute, and you knew how to fight, jake thought he hit the jackpot when you turned out to be his roommate. pretty you were, definitely, and sweet wasn't even a question; you were sweet to him and you are a lot of sweet. the only thing that remains a mystery till now is if you'd taste as sweet. jake hopes he can find that out.

he returns a few minutes later, lips pursed in a small smile as he shuts the front door. it grows even wider when his eyes find you,“so your soy glazed potatoes,” he chuckles walking over to the kitchen and getting other things out.

“she called me a slut for living with a guy like you and i was in the midst of giving her a lecture on actually how good of a person you are-” you bang on the counter with a thud and turn around to face him,“and you dragged me in!” whinning in a pout that looked as upset as your furrowed brows.

jake glances over in amusement, halting to give you another grin as he boops your nose gently,“my darling candy, i’m only good to you,” the glare you throw his way only makes him snicker with adoration. the little flicker of bashfulness you feel making you break out in a smile which (thankfully, for you) jake doesn't notice.

“whatever, i’m gonna take a long shower. do not disturb me!” you leave in a rush afraid if you stay too long he'd see it all on your face.

ten minutes later, as you tiptoe to get your favorite shower gel from the shelf above the mirror, luck decides to remind you why you shouldn't ever stay away from jake sim. feet slipping on the wet floor, body colliding against the cold tiles in a thud loud enough to have jake come running.

“candy, you're okay? what happened? should i open the door? ‘m coming in,” his voice is laced with worry, snapping open the door to find you laying flat down, though to his relief not unconscious. he picks you carefully, bringing you to your room and seating you on the edge of the bed to check for any injuries. hands delicately caressing all over and asking if it hurts any where,”you're so clumsy, always getting me worried like shit,”

“language,” you giggle, trying to make him laugh and it works.

“sorry, just please be careful, okay?” his fingers brush back your hair as you give him a small nod,“do you feel pain anywhere?” another nod, and this one ticks his alarms.

“where!” your fingers reach out to press against the brooding crease between his brows, attempting to remove the frown from his face. and jake melts at that, feeling his heart flutter at your cuteness, god he loves this side of you so much.

“you little demon, look what happens if you don't shower with me,” laughing out together, oh how he wishes it were like this forever. and jake sim has never thought of a forever ever before.

a month passes by in the blink of an eye, your routines and relationship staying the same as always, classes, his soccer practice and your weekly cleaning day. but what seems to have changed is his routine of bringing over girls, the number alarmingly cutting down day by day (which currently sits at zero) and what you haven’t noticed- his display of affection towards you growing more and more. yet you think nothing special of it, assuming that perhaps now he got a grip over himself. which is partially true. jake thought of you as deserving someone better, so it was only right that he became better. and what better way than to start with quitting the position of campus’ resident fuckboy.

after an all nighter the previous day, coming back from your classes you get straight to bed. changing you clothes and getting tucked under the blanket from around eight in the evening. jake returns from his soccer practice later, unaware of the fact that you're already passed out. opening your door to let you know of his night out plans,“candy, i’m gonna go out with jay and sunghoon! make sure to have your dinne- oh you were sleeping? i didn’t know i’m so sorry candy,” he mumbles out in a soft whisper towards the end, supressing a smile watching your sleepy figure under the covers. trying to rub out the drowsiness from your eyes; heavy blinking and a small pout, his cute girl.

“it’s okay no need to get up, go back to sleep, i’ll be back in the morning,” approaching the bed as you lay back down, he pats your head in a 'sleep well’ before leaving.

it's probably past midnight when you wake up to constant ringing of calls. fumbling around for your phone in a daze only to find a dozen calls from an unknown number and a bunch of texts from the same. it's jay, asking you to get jake from the bar they're at. saying the guy's refusing to go back with anyone that's not you: whining for your presence and making it hard for his two friends.

'where is my candy?’ jay and sunghoon are sick and tired of hearing it all night.

by the time you get him back to the apartment, it's three and your bones hurt from the weight of his body leaning all over you. it doesn't help that all he does is giggle and throw himself over you. there's been a lot of times you have seen him drunk, probably more than a dozen, but he's never looked as wasted as today. sunghoon told you it's because he drank way more than usual, and unbeknownst to you that you are the sole reason, you wonder of the things that plague his mind to the extent of drinking so much.

dragging him into his room you have him sit on his bed, going through his closet and getting him a pair of sweatpants and the first shirt you can grab. “come on yunie, get changed,” you hand him the clothes, turning away when he takes everything off nonchalantly. even though he likely would rather want you to look, from the many times he's said it before ‘why’re you looking away, candy it's all for you,’ his exact words. the bane of your existence.

after he's changed, you wipe the sweat off his body with a wet towel as much as you can. giving him a glass of water before leaving for your room when he grabs your wrist and stops you with his puppy eyes.

in the morning, around noon jake is the first one to wake up and having no memory of the previous night besides the fact that he was drunk. he sits at his desk chair, hands in his hair, watching you sleep on the other side of his bed, clad in his shirt. it’s like he feels everything is over and done from here. he did what he swore never to do, this was the very first thing he pinned on his mind as an important note: not using you even if he has very obvious feelings for you. he tugs on his hair in frustration, angry at himself for not staying in his lane when drunk. with his head hung in guilt, he doesn't notice you stirring awake, sitting up at the sight of his hunched figure.

“yun? are you okay? is the hangover severe? should i make you something for it?” startled at your soft voice, he flinches visibly. a thousand scenarios running through his mind and not one ends up good.

“you don’t even know any hangover recipes,” jake mumbles almost inaudibly.

“i can just search on the internet and try my best, it’s not like i’ll give you anything inedible,” you teaee, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere you feel in the air.

it takes him a moment to speak again, sounding as miserable as he has never before,“candy i’m,” he halts, gulping to hold back the lump in his throat,“i’m sorry, i really didn’t mean to, i don’t why i, it's all my fault,” he stops again, leaving you confused and dumbfounded,“what are you saying? what apology?” it is when his eyes shift to stare at what you’re clad in, staying there for a hard minute when you get a rough idea of what he could be thinking of. your cheeks grow hot at the realization, shaking your head when unholy images pop up in your subconscious.

but the butterflies fly away just as fast as they came as his words dawn uppn you. even if it didn’t happen the fact that he wouldn’t mean it, want it, regret it has something in you twisting in pain, are you so bad? or that he actually really thinks of you as his little sister? that you read his affections wrong, assumed his feelings differently? your heart breaks more than a little at that.

“why? is it because i’m not like the others you have been with? because i’m not like eunsang? or because i’m not her? the one you were smiling so hard after talking to? are you dating he-”

“that’s the problem! you’re not like her! you’re not like anyone i've known before! you’re special and i’m afraid i’ll lose you, things will change and just i’ll have to get over you without even getting a chance,” it's the first time he's ever raised his voice at you, and the first time ever he's sounded so desperate, weak and dejected. so vulnerable.

the split moment of sadness dissipates with every word that sinks in. the revelation of a(n after)drunk confession. the fact that you're a different kind of special to him, that he would want a chance to be with you, that he's afraid to lose you. you supres the urge to laugh when it all settles into your understanding. having a better grasp over the bigger picture. your steps are slow and calculated as you walk over to him, sitting across his lap and cupping his cheeks in a fleeting breath of courage. his eyes almost bulge out when you brush your lips lightly against his, mumbling softly,“nothing happened, but if you still want i can give you a chance, it’s going to be hard though tolerating me, think wisely,” you giggle and jake malfunctions for an instant before grabbing you in a tight hug, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“of course, of course i do want it, i’ve always wanted it,” chanting out in a trance.

“your lips tasted like watermelon,” he mutters out some time after, eyes locking with yours in an intense pull. still in a daze that out of all the bad things that could've happened it was none. literally none plus you perhaps wanting him just as much as he wants you.

“i had some in the morning before you woke up, anyhow yours taste like alcohol and your breath is horrible, go and freshen up,” you push at his shoulder, getting off him to leave the room to cook something. probably (as you said) a recipe searched up on the web, hopefully edible enough for a hungover person.

when he comes out later, all showered and back to the jake you know: the one who likes his hair slightly messy and almost never in a shirt. “why were- are you wearing my shirt then?”

“you practically begged me to last night while sobbing for i don’t know what reason,” he's a bit flustered at that, but hey, it's what got him here, you gotta do what you gotta do.

“candy, you wanna go out tonight? jay and sunghoon wanted to hang out but i don't wanna leave you so i said i’d bring you along,” jake asks, knocking at your door.

it takes you a little over a minute to open up but jake's does not mind it at all for obvious reasons, his jaw comically falling to the floor when you walk out in your tiny little blue sundress and the shade of lipgloss he was dying to see you in. you're unreal.

“yes! i heard you on call earlier,”

“oh my god candy, gimme a princess twirl,” the amount of desire he feels for you right now is unfathomable. biting his lips at the sight of your lace panties underneath that faintly flash him in the mini twirl you do. can you get any hotter?

“just fifteen minutes and i'll be ready,” he got ten minutes to do something about the boner he just popped, and it's more than enough to have him rub one out with what he just saw. maybe add a little hint of imagination and wondering what you'd sound like if he were to touch you down there. especially given the fact that the likelihood of it happening were through the roof now. you almost kissed last week, anything could happen at this point. and jake's dick gets impossibly sensitive at the odds of it.

at the restaurant, jay and sunghoon sit in an awkward silence, watching you both be all over each other. when they agreed for jake to bring his girl along, they didn't expect it to be so bad.

“um jake talks a lot about you,” sunghoon says trying to start a conversation that he knows probably wouldn't go anywhere.

“he does? that's so sweet,” you smile, giggling over something jake whispers in your ear, his hand palming over the plush of your exposed thighs,”what do you wanna eat?” sunghoon nerves feel boiled at the way jake completely skips over his attempt to talk to you. while jay sips at wine, agonizingly slow knowing this is how it's gonna be from now on. their friend is a changed man.

“i have this picture of jake from middle school, you'd love to see it i promise,” a little tipsy, sunghoon's persistence to put himself in the equation albeit admirable, annoys the fuck out of jake, scowling at the other well of aware of the so called picture he wants to share.

“jay man, take care of him. candy and i are going home,” jake gives them a tight lipped smile, holding your rather drunk self (it's just wine you had said)

“see you later ca- y/n,” at first jay leans in for a friendly hug but— nevermind. the way jake stares at him is scarily weird.

jake makes sure to have you sit on the couch before he leaves to get you water but you're sprawled out on the floor when he comes back. mumbling something about how cool the tiles feel against your skin,”come on you should drink some water,” jake pulls you up on your ass, sitting cross legged on the floor beside you. his hand softly holds the back of your head as he brings the glass to your mouth.

“alright say, what did you wanna say?”

“i wanna kiss you,” if jake thinks the pout on your lips is the cutest thing ever then the words you say must have to be the hottest thing ever. how can a simple word like kiss make his heart flutter so bad? and it's not even lust at this point.

he fulfils your wish without a thought, leaning in to capture your lips in a gentle kiss. sucking on your bottom lip a second long before he pulls away and boops your nose. no tongue and no other intentions. the after taste of your gloss lingering in his mouth.

“let me tell you a secret,” you whisper out, moving over to his lap, knees on the floor each side.

“i knew you stole my kuromi panties,” he's shocked you know about it, he made sure to be extra careful with it, though his nasty ass was internally hoping you'd catch him.

“mhm, i do have it with me but it's not really wearable now,” he did not see this becoming something sexual but the moment you brought up the panties, you might as well have brought up his dick. man practically re-lived every single time he used it to jerk off, all those orgasms coming to life at once.

“you need to punished!” you whine,

“what do you wanna do?” and jake feels his dick get harder at that.

“can we kiss again?” oh my god, you make him feel so fuzzy and horny at the same time, it's unbelievable. in the guide of jake sim: to make him horny is relatively easy, to get him all fuzzy is once in a lifetime and to get him both at the same time is impossible. yet you do it so effortlessly.

jake answers you with his lips against yours again, relishing in the feeling of them on his own. all those times he wondered of how it'd feel like to kiss you seemed so lame now that he actually did. no imagination could ever come close to way he feels right now. his hand comes up to cup the side of your neck, his grip firm as he pulls away for a moment,”i wanna love you so much and take you on cute little dates and buy you all the food you want and fuck you so hard you only remember my name,”he mumbles against your lips in a bit whisper, letting you take a breath before he dives right back in. this time he lets his tongue slide in, rubbing against your own for a short while only to pull back and go for another trying to keep your lips pressed together for as long as he could. finally pulling away when he feels you push against him a little too roughly, a crawl of shudders all over his skin at the roll of your hips against his bulge.

“wan’ you to fuck me too,” you whine, this time desperately.

“fuck candy, you're drunk we shouldn't be doing this,” he reminds, failing miserably to hold himself back. his hands keep twitching to just grab your hips and grind you down on his dick until you're both cumming together.

“i’m not, i swear. i just drank a little because i couldn't have done this all sober,” even through the layers of clothes, jake can feel your neediness dropping with the way you roll your hips harder against him. speeding up when you think he's pushing you away, but he's just grabbing you closer by the waist. he can't deny how wanted he feels right now, feeling like he'd explode any second. the fuck were you so horny for him?

“are you sure this is okay?” he asks again. no matter how bad he's dying to fuck you, he'll never do it if you don't to.

“‘s okay, please yunie,” you feel his hands slide along your thighs and in between your legs. fingers faintly brushing over the wet patch on your panties in a sharp inhale. he grazes two fingers against your clit, testing the waters. rubbing harder when he feels your breathing pick up it's pace, switching to spank your clit impossibly fast having lost control at the sound of your wanton whimpers.

“don’t move and take it baby,” jake growls, pushing you flush against his chest, making your back arch more and more into him. tits bouncing right up in his face as he bends down to nibble as the exposed skin between them.

he stops for a moment only to push your panties to the side and touch you raw. rubbing rougher and so intense, your legs feel number from pleasure,”has anyone touched you like before?” his jaw clenches hard, eyes dark with want as they remain fixated at the sight of his hands on your pussy. fuck he finally knows what touching you feels like.

“ngh— no, fuck!” and it boosts jake's ego through the roof, he doesn't think he's ever felt as horny as he feels right now. the thought of being the first to touch you in your princess parts, the first you have seen you putty like this, the first to be the one to get you like this. fuck, fuck, fuck! he feels so turned on it's literally inhumane. precum oozing out his tip with every twitch of his dick.

“mm, gonna put my fingers in you,” you feel one of jake's fingers press into you, sliding inside easily with how dripping wet you are. the pornographic moan you let out when he slowly slips in another and curves up has his dick twitch so damn hard he thinks he just came untouched. you sound so cute yet so fucking hot, his mind is in a spiral of everything he wants to do to have you moan like that again and again until you're so drunk on pleasure, you only want him all the time.

“shit you're so tight and warm, can't imagine how good you'd feel around my cock,” his eyes keenly hooked on the way you raise your hips to meet the thrusts halfway,”y-yun, ‘s feels too g-good ah,”

“fuck you're so hot and so perfect for me,” his words travel straight to your core having you clench tight around his fingers and all of a sudden you find your oragasm hitting you as violently as jake continues to run you through it, fast and painfully pleasurable. enamoured and obsessed with the way your doe eyes struggle to stay open, mouth parting in a loud whine, back arching and hips shooting up. god you're a piece of art and jake doesn't think he's ever gonna want anyone other than you.

he immediately stands up with you in his arms, walking over to the kitchen counter and placing you gently on the cold marble. his fingers run through your hair in a soft caress, tucking in the messy strands behind your ears,”you sure you want this? we can stop here if you want. just say the word and i’ll stop,”

“wan’ yun to be my first,” you whimper wearily, jake feels his heart skip a couple of beats. your first, he wants to be your last too and you to be his last.

”gonna make you cum so much harder on my cock,” he places his hands on your thighs in a tight grip and forces them apart fervently. he so damn wants to eat you out but he also wants to feel you cum around his cock, it's a hard choice to make but his cock feels so angry and heavy slick from all the precum he shot out each time you whimpered or moaned or whined, if he'd wait to get his dick wet he'd probably actually come untouched from your sounds and reactions alone. and only god knows(jay too oops) how bad jake sim wants the first time he cums with you to be deep inside you. so much so that he might develop a kink of getting you knocked up (nope you're too young for that!)

he takes his pants off in a snap, practically ripping his boxers along with it, grabbing his rock hard dick, throbbing and red at the tip and trusting into his fist a couple of times. breathing heavy at the way you watch him with your lips between your teeth. he wonders how good it'd feel to watch you touch yourself while he does the same, cumming together with your eyes locked. but he probably doesn't have that kind of self control to just watch you touch yourself, when he can do it himself?

he taps his tip against your clit for a hot minute sliding it along your folds in a strained groan. you're so embarrassing wet, it's like jake could shove himself inside immediately and your you'd hardly feel pain for a while. however, holding back his desires, he pushes into you slowly, holding your body close and stroking your back soothingly,”let me know when i can move,” a tender kiss at your forehead, trying to make sure you know you have the say it in.

jake groans as you give him the go seconds later,”mhmmm candy⁠— baby,” moaning soft and lustful as he pulls out till the tip and thrusts all the way in. your insides feel so warm and gummy, walls clenching around him crazy tight. he thinks he'll lose his mind and end up cumming embarrassingly fast like a teen getting pussy for the first time. the way he feels the pleasure throb in his veins so intense all over his body, it's almost numbing.

your hands loop around his neck, fingers scratching at his back as he pounds into you rough, his pace hard and fast pushing all his body weight against you.

“don't think i can ever get enough of you,”

the sight of the thin straps of your dress slipped to the sides, tits almost spilling out of the front gets jake going, fueling him to grab at you anywhere and everywhere his hands can possibly go,”tell me im dreaming fuckkk— i've wanted you for so long, can't count the number of times i've jerked off to the thought of having you like this, so pretty and dumb under me,” all those evenings when you roamed around the unit in the shortest shorts and the smallest crops, driving him mad shit insane, having to sneak off into the bathroom multiple times. fisting his cock hard, groaning and biting back his moans as he got off to the thought of you, while you sat all unaware and innocent on the other side of the wall.

he stops abruptly, pulling out in a frenzy and turning you around on your heels and pushing you by the back of your neck to lay against the cool granite. one hand going down to grab at your thigh and hook it up on the counter, drooling at the way your pussy glistens from the angle. he shoves his dick back in without a warning, feeling your ass collide against him harsh yet fervid.

you both pant in rasps when his cock hits a sensitive spot inside you. he shifts to angle himself just right to repeatedly brush against that spot and you mewl out loud at that, so loud your neighbours probably know what you're up to.

“fuck i can't stand not seeing your cute face,” jake bends over to grab you by your throat, pulling you up and flush against him, head resting back at his shoulders as he forces to look at him, fingers gripping your jaw softly,”eyes on me, okay baby?” grunting from deep within his chest, a wild grin on his face as he watches you get lost in ecstasy,”i’ll get you addicted to my cock,” just like how addicted he already is with your pussy and everything about you.

his other hand reaches up to tug the front of your dress down, groping up one of your tits, a silk touch to see your reaction. loving the way it's so obvious how sensitive you are there. mouth parting open with you in sensuous gasps as he twists your nipple harshly, rubbing the tip with his thumb. your walls clench a little too hard and your back arches off as you push your hips back into him, the tell tale signs of you getting close,”my baby's gonna cum for me?”

holding your jaw to have your eyes trained on him, he unexpectedly inserts his thumb in your mouth pressing against your wet tongue, your red swollen lips too tempting to resist,“fuck yes, show me how pretty you cum,” you mumble out a series of incoherent words in hazy chant.

the hand on your breast slips down to your lower abdomen pressing rashly against his bulge, feeling faint movement of his cock deep inside you. fuck you're so small and delicate. his hold on you tightening as his calloused fingers find your neglected bud, rolling it in quick, tight circles. it's so painful yet you feel so good, tears wailing down your cheeks as your orgasm crashes hard, overwhelming and violent, thighs trembling and pussy clenching uncontrollably. jake's continues to rub your clit, helping you ride out your high. eyes fluttering shut, and swallowing thickly at the sensation of you creaking over his sensitive length, cock throbbing impossibly hard.

jake refuses to stop even after you have come down,”one more candy, i know you can do one more for me,” hips hammering into you at full force, and lips finding yours in ragged breaths. and it dawns on you what exactly you have gotten yourself into when you feel the two of his fingers protruding at your entrance, trying to push in beside his cock,“if you try to close your legs i'm gonna punish you,” he warns making you whine into his mouth.

in a flash he turns your body to face his, quickly shoving his cock and fingers back into you. his other hand spanking the skin of your ass and kneading it a soft caress after. he eyes hypnotized at the view of you taking him in, a white ring of your cum adorning the base of his cock. he spits at your clit, once again toying with the engorged bud, pinching and flicking,”“gonna make you cum until you pass out, fuck i really wanna do that⁠—” your hand darts out to grip at jake's wrist, feeling too overwhelmed with hypersensitivity. wanting to shy away but the pleasure’s so good you can't bring yourself to push him away.

“but it's your first time,” jake mumbles between hoarse grunts.

before you can even realize it yourself your third orgasm courses through you vehemently. body jerking and twitching, almost falling over if not for jake's hold. jets of cum gushing out as you moan loud.

feeling you spill down his cock, all warm and tight, his brutal rhythm falters,”fuck- ‘m gonna cum,” eyes locking with yours as he thrusts once, twice and then stills, burying himself deep, streams of cum shooting out. hot spurt after spurt, swollen cock twitching against your walls. goosebumps all over, his legs quiver from how hard he came.

he stays quiet and motionless for a while, his arms wrapped around your shaking body. breathing in the scent of your shampoo, trying to calm his pounding heart and cock.

“you good candy? i’m sorry, i think i went a little rough on you,” you nuzzle into him in quiet,’its okay’ as he strokes your head, leaving fluttering kisses over your face. picking you up by the thighs he brings you to your bed, laying you down and gently pulling out. groaning at the way all your mixed cum oozes out, pretty little hole clenching around nothing.

exhausted, you let your mind drift, feeling the drowsiness kick in while jake bends between your legs with a wet towel. whining wearily, when his lips wrap around your nub in a suck, the wet sensation of his tongue against your clit like a shot of electricity,”sorry, baby just had to do that once,” he knew he didn't just call you candy for nothing and he was right. grining sheepishly as he wipes the rest of the cum off, cleaning you all up.

“you're nasty,” you manage to whisper out.

“only for you,” the touch of his body is hot and comforting, arms around your waist cuddling closely(and half naked).

“let's shower together in the morning, wanna eat you out so-”

“jake!”

“what? it's the truth!”

the following around four in the afternoon before jake has to leave for his soccer practice, you approach him on the couch, as always re-watching an episode of vincenzo. you haven't talked much about labels, but it's known to everyone that you're sorta together. more like jake is taken by you. his friends weren't too surprised to know about you both, it was obvious jake had the hots for you and from the little hangout at the restaurant they figured it all worked out for him.

“incoming, pocky!” you sit beside him with a banana flavored pocky stick between your teeth, leaning in teasingly.

“oh you want me so bad,” he plays along inch closer and biting it off in a snap, lips barely brushing against yours.

pulling you onto his lap with your back pressed into his chest, he locks you in place, chuckling at the way you attempt to escape. his fingers twirling the ends of your hair as you surrender in seconds, switching to watching the show absent-mindedly,”my parents wanted to meet you,” he drops the bomb, tracing random letters on your skin to distract of the fact that he just mention a meeting with parents.

“as my roommate, actually,” quickly adding the important point, fingers poking at your cheeks like jello.

“so suddenly though?” you think back on all the things you have ever done to him, for them to want to see you. perhaps they think of you as a snobby girl who’s indulging their son’s already unpleasant habits.

“they’ve actually been wanting to meet you for the past three months, i was putting it off but now summer break is starting next week and i have no more excuses to give,” hugging you, he rests his head on the curve of your neck, breathing in the smell of watermelon that surrounds you after you had basically devoured a whole at lunch. “if you don’t want to then you don’t have to, i’ll talk to them,” he assures, not wanting you to feel obligated to agree, or force yourself despite being uncomfortable.

“no it’s okay, we can go meet them. how long will the drive be?” fumbling with his red knuckles, your mind wanders off to when he fingered you, growing hot and embarrassed all of a sudden. hardly listening in on his answers.

when jake leaves for his soccer practice, you find time to complete the trivial chores around the house. watering the plants with a pout, missing jake more than ever. you have completely different majors and you are not in any clubs either to stay after classes. the only time you spend together being the one at the apartment which is also cut down by his frequent practice sessions, sometimes in the morning during weekends and normally most evenings on weekdays. it makes you ponder on whether you should try out for any club, after all these years doing something else besides studying. but you have no idea what you should consider, having no knowledge on which clubs you could be eligible to join.

it takes you two whole weeks and a bunch of outfit checks to find yourself on your way to meet jake's parents. feeling almost weird and exhilarating at how his parents and his older brother welcome you. treating you so well even though they recognize you as nothing more than just his college apartment roommate who helps fix his laptop and tolerates the boy knowing the kind of womanizer he is. appearing more as a meeting with in-laws when you jake and you are not even official yet, more so they have no idea of what's going between you two.

they try their best to make you feel at home. during the lunch as jake had told them beforehand, his mother had a few sweet dishes prepared for you, coddling you just as jake does back at your unit. they talk to you about casual things including your likes and dislikes, what major you are in, whether jake treats you well, if you have any complaints regarding his behavior. it doesn’t feel as awkward as you as thought it would and you didn't have to put on any act as you prepared yourself to do.

in the beginning of your roommate journey, his accent, his voice was the first thing to attract you but slowly as you explored his personality you came to like him for more than just what attracted you to him. now you as you spend time with people closest to him, you understand where he got it all from. the sweet person he is, which you never expected a fuckboy to be, you didn’t even have an ounce of hope that he’ll acknowledge your presence in the apartment when you got to know about his playing around conduct. yet he turned out to be the sweetest boy you’ve ever come around in your life ( and the nastiest perhaps, )

when you are sitting alone with his brother, while jake is away downstairs to bring you something sugary to eat, his brother takes it as a chance to share his thoughts,“you know until i heard him call you candy a while ago, i was under the impression that 'candy’,” he quotes it specially with a movement of his fingers,“is supposedly a cheerleader fling of his after i saw the contact name showing up when he got a call the last time he was here,” giving you a sly look as he catches sight of jake approaching,“turns out it’s you, i never knew he is the type to give such sweet, unique petnames,”

before you leave in the evening, jake makes sure to let them know that you’re toegther, and that he’s not playing around this time. he’s willing to give effort into it and change his usual ways of living, to be better for himself and as well as for you.

on your way there you had thought of a lot things, had a lot of assumptions and expectations. even prepared yourself to hear things that’ll stick to you not so positively. but what stays in your mind now is completely unexpected and opposite of what you had internally composed yourself for. it’s all you can think of in the car and after you’re back in the comfort of your familiar apartment.

cheerleader, not a bad idea—

“oh my god candy, you're gonna be the death of me!” jake pulls you away, dragging you to the back of the bleachers, his cock already rock hard and throbbing with need.

“don't you like it? i thought cheerleaders dressed like this,” you pout at him, fiddling with the ends of the literally shortest skirt of your closet.

“i love it baby, but you can't just show up to practice like that, how am i gonna be able to concentrate when all i can think of you is fucking you,” he groans scanning over your figure again and again, it's like you brought out a hidden desire he didn't even know he had. he'd win every game for you if you were to cheer by the stands like this, the adrenaline of getting to ruin your perfect outfit and your perfect makeup after, putting him on a winning streak.

“teach me to suck you off,” jake loses his mind when you get down on your knees, pushing your hair out of the way and looking up at him through your lashes, doe eyes driving him crazy.

“shit baby, i will,” oh he's so going to corrupt you.

[jaylaxies]

TEASER: ONLY IF YOU SAY YES (please say yes)

pairing: heeseung x fem!reader

genre: enemies to lovers, smut, fluff, angst.

word count: estimated 15k words. (currently 8k)

teaser wc: 748 words!

synopsis: having your enemy in your friend group was tiring enough, but having him shift into your apartment at the same time all your roomie friends had their club’s exchange program? that was your final straw.

warning: the fic will contain 18+ content, minors dni.

a/n: hihi loves <3 sorry for the delay but the fic is getting longer than intended! so i’ll just leave a little teaser as something to compensate while i finish writing. also, the given teaser is unedited, changes might be included in the fic <3

taglist is open! comment/send an ask to be added <3 (make sure to have your age visible on your blog! blank blogs will not be added to the tl)

With tiredness still evident in your eyes, you worked the stove on, grabbing a pot to heat up water, standing still as you took the support of the marble countertop, your palms lay flat on it as you stared at the packet of mint chocolate that was in the shelf in front of you, something that Sunoo possibly had forgotten to take with him.

“Not sleepy?” A husky voice made you gasp and turn around, caging you right in between the counter and Heeseung.

“Fuck! You scared me,” you gasped at his shirtless figure, “why the fuck are you awake and why are you not clothed?” You asked, distressed.

“I heard noises from the kitchen so I obviously had to come over and check,” he said, tilting his head innocently right after, “I have to make sure the princess is safe, right?”

“I can very well take care of myself, thanks,” you huffed, waiting for him to move, which did not happen.

“Okay, then try pushing me away,” Heeseung said, a slight close-lipped smirk present on his face.

You simply made use of the little space to pour the hot water into the cup noodles, covering it with its lid.

“You love these games too much, don’t you?” You said, finally looking up to see his body right in front of your face.

With thick yet lean muscles, he stood tall, his clavicles visible in an attractive fashion as the dim lights of the room only enhanced the slight traces of his abs, making it evident that Heeseung included working out in his daily routines.

You gulped unknowingly, closing your eyes for a second before meeting him, only for his eyes to fall on your lips for a slight enough, just enough for you to miss it.

“Not gonna push me?” He asked, still playful, but with a gentle rasp in his voice.

“You’re not appropriately clothed for me to touch you, Heeseung,” you said, trying to muster a bored, unimpressed expression, as if your ears weren’t burning warm.

“Why? Does skin to skin contact scare you now?” He challenged, “one touch is all it takes, babe.”

“Oh lord,” you groaned, stretching your neck back, only to find Heeseung’s gaze more intense than ever, “fine, move.”

You placed your cold hand on his warm torso, right above his heart, and you could have sworn it was beating a tad bit faster than how a normal heart should be beating.

Pushing him was practically impossible, especially when he bit his lip and chuckled, not moving an inch despite your efforts. The room felt warm as you scoffed and retrieved your hand.

“Can’t move?” He teased.

“I’m just tired, move.”

“Or, you’re just weak.”

“That’s all you can do Heeseung, challenge a tired girl who’s trying to eat.” You pushed him again.

“I’m strong, princess. Don’t you see?” He pointed at his body, and you closed your eyes yet again, trying to convert your feelings into anger.

“Your body might be strong but your fucking ego is weak.” You said finally shoving him enough for you to move.

“Now, now. That’s wrong, princess.” He said, grabbing your cup noodles and testing your patience yet again.

Messing with you was one thing.

Messing with you while you were sleepy was another thing.

But messing with you while you were sleepy and hungry, that was war.

“Give me the noodles back you small dicked asshole!” You chased after him.

He stopped you easily with a hand, twirling you around and pulling you back, his bare chest pressed against your back.

“Small dick, hm?” He mumbled, keeping the noodles on the counter beside you, dragging his warm fingers across your bare tummy, stopping right on your belly button, “it would go up to here, yeah,” he caressed the area before letting go of you.

You stood there, breathing hard as your cheeks burned with the implication of his cock in your cunt.

“How do you even get women, all talk and no action?” You asked, walking back to your room with the noodles in your hands, avoiding the fact that you were completely flustered.

“Oh I’ll show you all the action you need to see, princess,” he winked as you turned to look at him, his hands stuffed in the pocket of his sweatpants, “g’night, darling,” he smirked, walking away as you spent the night punching your pillow, eating your now soggy noodles.

Lee Heeseung was going to be the end of you.

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[yanderefarm]

fucking DAN FENG's previous previous incarnation so good the memories latch with every incarnation ever and they're all so head over heels in love for reader like damn.

Reader is basically their mate as if they all know by instinct that he's THE ONE that fucked them SO GOOD.

It's like that with dan feng too, the moment he saw you he just went feral with instinct and need, the unfamiliar yet familiar sensations rushed through him and he acted on impulse, pulling you to his chamber and kissed you hard and rough like all the previous incarnation did before.

It's the same now with dan heng too.

The moment he saw you, next to jing yuan at the devine commission, he had to squeeze his thighs to hold in a whimper

who are you really? dan feng/dan heng

cw;; angst, nsft, tail pulling, blood mention

im sorry for being a whore for the sads. i was thinking about this quest in canon about a vidyadhara and a xianzhou native where this guy falls in love with her in every life but for her it's just losing the person she loves over and over again. i think a relationship between a vidyadhara and a xianzhou native is inherently pretty sad like that but I think adding the fact that dan feng is the xianzhou's biggest fuck up to the mix makes it even more. that's why I wrote it with y/n being kind of distant because like... how many times has he loved this man so much and so deeply only to be forgotten and treated like a stranger?

who are you? dan feng asks himself a thousand times. he knows technically who you are, you're an attendant for general jingliu. he doesn't know why his thighs squeeze around nothing when he's near you, he doesn't know why when you touch him his body grows so hot it's hard to think, he doesn't know why your voice makes him want to fall to his knees. he can surmise you know but he never has the chance to get you alone, he only ever sees you when you're with the general.

then one day you're running an errand for her that brings you to his estate. your errand doesn't matter because the vidyadhara high elder has ordered you to his bed chamber. he was just going to interrogate you. he needed to finally know who you were.

that plan fell apart when you casually entered his room. you were standing there, a knowing smile on your face and your head cocked to the side. dan feng may have lacked the memories of his former lives but his body didn't. with a practiced ease he slipped his robes over his shoulders, his eyes asking if you liked what you saw.

"you're insatiable as always, high elder. I've not yet had a full conversation with you but you're here exposing yourself to me." you stepped forward until your legs reached the bed.

"you know me...?" it wasn't really a question considering you both clearly knew the answer.

you laughed at him. choosing to respond with your hand coming up and gently pushing his robe further off his body. his skin met the cold air and his soft pink nipples immediately hardened earning another warm laugh from you. he felt like you were mocking him but he couldn't bring himself to be offended, instead his heart felt warm.

you traced your fingers down his thin chest until they met where his robes were tied around his waist. "you can stop me whenever you want, high elder."

"dan feng." he said softly, almost embarrassed by himself.

"hm?" you tilted your head at him.

"my name, it's dan feng." that earned him another laugh.

"ahh sorry, dan feng. i've never known any of you to like being called your title." your tone was smug and oh so knowing.

your hand pulled at the knot around his waist finally undoing it and exposing his naked front to your leering eyes. dan feng found himself unable to form words as his cock twitched and swelled with desire that wasn't entirely his. he expected you to mock him, to laugh at his pathetic state that he couldn't even explain. yet you didn't, your arrogant smirk had even disappeared from your lips as you focused your gaze on his body. your head was so close to his that the young dragon could smell your hair but you weren't even looking at him instead your face had an odd expression as you stared at his body. he opened his mouth to speak as your eyes came back up to stare into his, your eyes took his breath away. he'd never seen you this close before but now you were right in front of him so close he could touch you and your beautiful eyes were looking at him with an emotion he couldn't decipher.

"i can help you take care of this, dan feng." your voice sounded odd, lacking the arrogance of before.

dan feng reached up and grabbed your arms with a desperation he'd never felt before. "you know that my body is yours."

a heavy smile crossed your face. "i wouldn't dare lay claim to your body, dan feng."

"... is my appearance not to your liking?" he felt like he'd done something wrong to you and that was the only reason you didn't have him shoved into his bed right now.

you blinked at him before your arrogant smile returned to your face. "you're beautiful."

"then ravish me." he pushed aside the odd feeling in his chest and took up a commanding tone.

you didn't waste any time immediately your mouth was on his, like a man dying of thirst as your tongue pressed to his lips. dan feng who had never known these things in this life felt his body reacting on instinct and pulled you down over top of him. your hands explored him like they had done so a thousand times, effortlessly finding weak spots that he didn't even know existed. one of your larger hands pinched his perky nipple drawing out a loud moan that let you slide your tongue in his mouth. your other hand hiked his thigh onto your hip allowing you easy access to roll your clothed hips against him. dan feng was moaning and squirming under your large body, his hands struggling against the overwhelming pleasure to get your clothes off.

it was only once his cock was red and leaking that you finally eased off of him. your hands were fumbling to quickly pull your clothes off as you took in heavy breaths. despite dan feng's own incompetence when it came to touching you it seemed like you were also aroused. his eyes watched transfixed as you undid your belt, your thumbs hooking into your pants and dragging them down. his eyes immediately fixed on the large bulge in your underwear, his mouth starting to water with desire.

you laughed at his pathetic state. "patience, dear."

your hand came over to rub your thumb over his kiss swollen lips, the slightest brush against his bottom lip had his mouth opening and taking your thumb on his tongue. on instinct he sucked on your thumb, his tongue swirling around the digit with precision he shouldn't have possessed. you moaned, sliding your thumb deeper into his mouth until your whole digit was coated in his spit.

"that feels nice doesn't it, dan feng? i know it feels so good to let your head empty for me." your thumb began to pull out of his mouth slowly but he scraped his teeth against the top of it in a minor attempt to stop you.

"mm such a good boy." your voice was so warm and calming as your thumb pushed back into his mouth.

"its ok, lose yourself. the only thing that matters is pleasing me." you pulled your thumb free from his mouth as his eyes finally grew hazy and distant.

"what do I do...?" dan feng could feel his head grow fuzzy as his body got hotter.

"wanna see you with your tail in the air pretty boy."

all it took was your words and dan feng found himself face down in his bed, his tail held high in the air. you ran your fingers from the base of his tail up drawing an absolutely sinful moan from the high elder. when your fingers finally began to push at his hole they slid in easily like his body had already molded to your shape. his body greeted you like an old friend; his hole already loose and ready for you, your every touch drawing little moans and shivers from him. it didn't take long for him to be a drooling and ready mess against his silk sheets.

your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, they always have. your thick cock fills the pretty dragon beneath you until his stomach is bulging but he doesn't whine in pain. his tail fits so perfectly in your hand and acts like such a good handle so you can jack hammer deep inside him. his pretty pink swollen lips hang open with drool dripping down his chin between his cock drunk babbling. he cums first in his pathetic state, cock spilling all over the sheets before he feels his legs try to give. you don't let him fall, hands keeping his hips in the air when he no longer has the strength to do it himself.

you were planning to make him cum and stop but your body craved him just as much as he craved you. you buried your face into his hair, pressing your chest down against his back, trying to memorize as much of him as possible. you should have completely memorized him by now but every time things like his soft scent and pretty voice were the first things to fade. your nails dug into his hips enough to draw blood but dan feng didn't do anything but moan and whine in reaction. your pretty dragon didn't know that you were currently struggling to ingrain him into your mind, all he knew was that his mate was fucking him like a wild animal.

you mouthed slurred praise against his neck; telling him he was so good for you, so pretty, took him so well, such a good slut. it was hard to tell if it was the hickey you left in his skin or the excess praise that caused him to cum again. his hole tightened so much around you that you lost yourself, finally pumping ropes of cum in his tight ass. his pretty thighs were trembling and he babbled his thank yous clearly believing that was the end of your mating. you only gave yourself a moment to rest before you continued your jackhammer pace.

the pretty high elder was an absolute mess when you finished with him; bruises, bite marks, scratches, cum stains, hand prints. he was so fucked out you had to gingerly move him into place in your arms, you held him like you'd held him a thousand times. his pretty eyes blinked at you as he fought to stay conscious but your hand gently rubbing his back certainly made it difficult.

"mate..." he whined so softly his voice raw from the hours of use.

you pressed a kiss into his hair. "so good for me."

---

from then dan feng didn't receive any answers, you actively tried to avoid his question. but despite the look you would get occasionally you always remained by his side. you felt like you were at a distance but you gave him everything he asked for so how could he be angry? you wish that back then you had let yourself love him properly, you should have indulged yourself in the lovey dovey actions of his past lives. you didn't realize that he would be gone for good.

all at once you lost everything in your life because of your mate's foolishness but you didn't even get the right to be angry at him. you remember when jing yuan stepped up as general and asked you to assist him the same way you had his mentor. at the time you had only asked that you be exempt from attending the high elder's trial, you wanted your last memory of him to be anything but him in chains. if you could have you would remove the last memory of jingliu being covered in your friend's blood from your brain too. but even while the xianzhou recovered you were left to remember the past.

it was the longest 500 years of your infinitely long life. you could tell that several times jing yuan thought he would lose you to the mara but you persisted. you remained a loyal attendant to the general even as the ambrosial arbor looked to tear the ship apart. when you have nothing but time of course everything will eventually recover.

"you don't need to attend." jing yuan sounded thoughtful while you poured his tea.

"i would find it rude to run away from the people who saved our home." your face was emotionless and empty like it had been for a long time. you caught the general giving you a pitying look before he enjoyed his tea.

you couldn't have guessed why he would look at you like that. you couldn't have guessed that tricky bastard wouldn't have just told you. the visitors from the astral express were standing there looking at you, a background employee who had just dropped and smashed a 300 year old tea set all over the divination commission floor. your eyes were fixed on the black haired man, the one who was unmistakably looked just like dan feng. his eyes met yours and the slightest of blushes crossed his cheeks like it had in a thousand life times before.

"i apologize for-" jing yuan was cut off by that soft voice.

"who are you..?"

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Meeting Up With Ken After He's Moved Back To Japan

Ken Sato X FemReader

Rating: G

Warnings: Reader has a slight panic attack, touch of angst, fluff

Word Count: 1.9k

(A/N:) I have never watched Ultraman in my life and I never planned on it honestly. But dang I saw the trailer ad for Ultraman Rising and they barely give you a glimpse of Ken but it was enough. I watched it. I loved it. And now I'm obsessed with Ken Sato. End of story. I have lots in my drafts I want to write for him so keep an eye out! But until next time happy reading! ~Countess

The day that Ken Sato had moved out of your life had been the saddest one you could remember. Being kids, the adults didn't see it as such a big deal but between the two of you, it seemed like the world had ended. You both kept in touch but it still didn't make the distance seem any shorter. Years passed by and video calls turned into phone calls. Phone calls turned into missed calls. Missed calls turned into text messages and even then that didn't last long. As you grew older you let the thought of seeing Kenji again go and then the pain finally eased. You never felt that ache again, until you watched the news.

Super star player Ken Sato returns to his home country and that is the day your little world stopped spinning. Your phone rang off the hook as your friends tried to call you.

"Did you hear," your friend screamed making you grimace, "Kenji is back!"

"Yep," you sighed. "It's all over the news. Hard to ignore it."

"You don't sound excited! I thought he was your best friend when you were kids?!"

"He was, but that was a long time ago and now he's this superstar baseball player. Why would he remember me when he's made it so big?"

"Don't make that excuse, you need to go see him. You'll see that he'll be just as happy to see you as you are of him."

Despite your better judgement and a long sleepless night, you found yourself at the Giant's stadium. You had tried Ken's house only for him to be gone. And despite feeling like a stalker you tried both day and night. When that didn't work you tried looking at the restaurant you both loved as kids, no luck there either. You knew the stadium would be your best bet but you didn't want to get carted off for trespassing or embarrass Ken by your being there. Maybe you were using those as excuses. Or maybe you were terrified by the face that he probably wouldn't remember you or he'd laugh in your face that you came crawling back. Your heart slammed against your chest and your breathing turned into panicked gasps. This was impossible, you didn't know why you even bothered.

Reporters began to exit the building, pushing you along as you tried to calm yourself. The chatter of the group was too much for you at the moment. You stepped away towards a quieter part of the stadium, not noticing that you were entering in a restricted part for players and managers only. The quiet helped calm you and now you finally realized where you were at.

"Miss are you lost," a man wearing a security uniformed approached you and your panic starting to rear it's ugly head once more.

"I'm sorry I got lost," you eased back, clinging tightly to your bag's strap.

"It happens," he said politely. "May I escort you back to the main entrance?"

"Yes please."

You deflated as you followed the security guard. It didn't seem like you were ever going to see your best friend ever again. Your heart broke and you refused to let yourself cry until you got home. You almost made it back to the hall where you got lost in the flood of reporters when a voice calling your name had you freezing. He couldn't possibly know it was you? After all this time did he really remember you so well?

"Kenji?"

"I thought it was you," he grinned.

You sucked in a breath at the sight of the boy you once knew. You could tell he was handsome on the TV screen but you weren't prepared for the sight in real life. Even as a kid you had a crush on him, you just didn't realize it until later. Your mom thought it had been cute but now you just felt embarrassment. With longer sleek black hair and eyes that were so dark they sucked you in. You stopped breathing for a second when he finally stood in front of you. His eyebrow raised, he bent over waving a hand in your face. Lean and tall, it was no wonder he was an amazing athlete.

"Hello," Ken stared leaning over. "You still with me?"

"It's so good to see you," you stumbled stepping back at the proximity. "I didn't know you were coming back so soon."

He grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. "It wasn't planned honestly. Losing mom and dad needing me."

You gasped grabbing his arm, "Kenji I'm so sorry."

You glanced to your hand and you quickly let him go, cheeks flushing brightly.

"It's okay," his smile wavered. "Have to grow up sometime."

"But," you started feeling horrible.

"It was good seeing you again," Ken replied turning away. Though this was the first time you'd seen him in so long, he still had that same way of showing his true emotions. The slightly hunched shoulders and it felt like all the warmth suddenly left the room.

"Kenji wait," you yelled.

He turned keeping his hands in his pockets. The sorrow in his eyes had you blinking back tears and you knew it was time to be brave. He remembered you and though he wasn't the same person when he left, he was still your friend. Yeah a little taller, a little more selfish, a lot of ego (you couldn't deny he earned the right), and a lot more handsome, but Kenji Sato all the same.

"Wanna go get something to eat? Our old haunt is still open and I would love to treat you. I've," you paused. "I've missed you a lot actually."

Though it didn't quite reach his eyes Ken smiled, nodding in agreement, "I'd like that. But I'm buying, no arguments."

"Fine Mr. Super Baseball Man."

He laughed, "You haven't changed at all."

That was a little disappointing. You were hoping he'd at least see how much you've grown, while he was away.

The restaurant was busy, a line forming outside but you both didn't mind waiting. Kenji hadn't eaten here in years and if you were honest, you hadn't either. You tried once after he left and though the food always tasted delicious, it wasn't the same without him. You both were ushered in a little bit after arriving and after all this time the owners remembered you both. Ordering the same thing as you both did all those years ago, it didn't take long for contentment to ease between you both. Ken's foot tapped beneath the table and you could tell he was struggling.

"You don't have to talk if you don't want to," you spoke up. Not wanting him to feel like he had to do anything to make you comfortable. Though you still felt awkward, especially when fans made their way to him for pictures and autographs, you couldn't deny that it was still easy being around him.

"It's not that I don't want to," he groaned, now drumming his fingers on the table. "It's been forever. I should have so many things to tell you and I do! I just...I don't know where to begin."

"Start with baseball that seems to be going well," you grinned.

"Ha! You could say it is going decent," he nodded. "It was different in America, I'm curious to see how it's going to go being back home."

"I imagine so. Not going to lie though, home wasn't the same either when you left. It felt like I had to start all over, it was kind of terrifying."

"I'm sorry."

You touched his hand, "It's not your fault. We were both kids. Life changes, gets in the way, separates us from loved ones. We had no control over it, like we don't have much control over anything now. I'm glad you were able to find your way Kenji. I'm glad you made a life for yourself and I'm glad you got to follow your dream. I can tell how much baseball means to you."

Ken nodded a small smile pulling at his lips again, "It does. But I think this moment right here with you means more to me than baseball right now."

You flushed brightly. You weren't expecting a reply like that but it made you feel warm inside. You opened your mouth to reply, though unsure of what you could possibly say when your orders were set down before you. Saying thanks for the food and the chime of you both breaking chopsticks apart. Another peaceful silence stayed between you both as you both slurped noodles. True to his word Ken paid for the meal and you both left with full stomachs. Your heart felt lighter and you could have sworn you were walking on air. Glancing up at Ken, you caught him watching you intently.

"Something on your mind there Mr. Sato?"

Ken shook his head giving you a look like he'd tasted something bitter, "Please don't ever call me that again. Making me feel like my father over here."

You could tell things weren't good between Ken and his dad so you didn't pry. "Okay Kenji," you crooned making him shiver.

You didn't realize how you made him feel. When Ken saw you lost in the stadium, following that security guard his heart had skipped a beat. You two had always been close as children and even though you had stopped communicating for years, what he felt for you never waned. Having you here by his side, so close and yet still so far away, it felt like a dream. One he never wanted to wake from. With a soft touch, his fingers trailed down your arm leaving goosebumps in it's wake. You stared up at him, soft eyes taking in every bit of him. He never felt so naked or alive. He didn't stop until he found the back of your hand and still he slipped further, pointer stroking against your digits. Then he bit the bullet, taking your hand into his. He almost laughed at how much smaller your hand was compared to his, but he didn't want to ruin the moment. He squeezed tighter, careful not to hurt you in anyway. You stiffened at first, shocked at him being so bold. But you had to remember he was used to getting what he wanted.

"Would it be possible that we could do this again," he asked. "Maybe somewhere more formal?"

You nodded unable to speak. He kissed the back of your hand and you could have melted right then.

"I would like that very much Ken," your voice wobbled but you didn't let it keep you from speaking.

The answering smile had you in a puddle, the only thing keeping you upright was Kenji himself as you both started reminiscing. And now that some things had been brought out in the open, you both found yourselves talking a lot easier as the past few years passed by with every verbal exchange. You never felt so happy and all it took was for the game of baseball to bring back your best friend and you were ready to see what the future held in store.

[creamflix]

IF I WAS A BAD BITCH, I'D WANNA F★CK ME TOO! ( PART 2 )  ၄၃ gojo satoru x female reader x (female?!) gojo satoru 

18+ content, minors and blank blogs do not interact. established relationship. threesome featuring m & f gojo. dom! gojo(s), sub reader. bisexual reader. lots of crack. slight hurt & angst with comfort, existential crisis. somewhat rapid scene change. making out. implied quickie. mentions and use of sex toys (suction vibrator). overstimulation. fingering (f. recieving). slight voyuerism & cucking. cum play/eating. (guided) hand job. face sitting (go lesbians!!). p in v (missionary). somewhat marathon sex.

thank you all so much for the love on the previous fic :") i'm so glad you all see my vision, which is why i find much happiness in letting you know we're making this a series - nothing too serious or story driven, just a bunch of porn with plot oneshots for your reading plesure. :D i wrote female gojo with @owwllly's version in mind, so please show them your love xx

dedicated as always to my pookie daph aka @curtins , my fav bi icon @sugoroo & my lovely taglist. now if you'll excuse me, i'm going to take a veeryyy long nap. ૮ ◞ ﻌ ◟ ა

— general masterlist ☆ read on ao3 ☆ series masterlist

morning, if you could even call it that, felt like stepping into the twilight zone. 

the sunlight creeping through the windows was annoyingly cheerful considering the depraved antics of the night before, and you were dead sure your neighbors were contemplating a noise complaint.

yet, here you were, trying to make sense of the utter chaos that came with two versions of your boyfriend.

it started with a groping. a teasing squeeze to your ass that you didn’t even flinch at — classic satoru. 

except, when you turned to glare at him, ready to smack that stupid smirk off his face, you were met with her instead, casually twirling her white hair around her fingers.

“oh, was that not me? so sorry,” fem-toru (you had to call her something) said with the most shit-eating grin known to mankind.

“what the hell, woman?!” gojo bellowed from across the room, instantly at your side and scooping you up like you were a damsel in distress. “she doesn’t get to touch what’s mine!”

“what are you gonna do, sue me?” she teased, leaning against the counter with a smug tilt to her head.

gojo growled, the real one — or, male one? whatever — already dragging you off toward the bathroom. “don’t wait up,” he called over his shoulder.

“ew, like i’d wanna hear that,” she called back, although her smirk said otherwise.

and that was just the beginning.

when you finally emerged from round… whatever that was, the war for coffee mugs was already in full swing.

“that’s my mug!” you groaned, snatching at the familiar blue ceramic, only for it to be pulled just out of reach by fem-toru.

“finders keepers, babe,” she quipped, taking a long sip with a completely unapologetic look.

“you’re not even supposed to be here!” you hissed, trying to snatch it back.

“it’s my house too,” male gojo chimed in unhelpfully, hogging the last clean mug himself.

“not your house —” you paused, narrowing your eyes at the two of them.

“i’m going to need so much therapy after this.”

“probably,” they both said in perfect unison, which was both creepy and infuriating.

and then there was the final straw.

“you don’t need to borrow my bras,” you snapped at fem-toru, watching in horror as she rooted through your drawer, holding up one of your lacy favorites.

“but they’re so cuuuteee!” she whined, shamelessly sliding the straps over her shoulders to model it. “plus, i don’t have anything in my size. talk to him about that,” she added, jerking her thumb toward her male counterpart.

“don’t drag me into this!” gojo groaned, holding his head as though he were already plagued by a migraine.

“both of you, out!” you barked, finally snapping under the weight of their collective nonsense.

but as you flopped back onto the bed after shoving both of them out of the room, you couldn’t help but smile. the chaos, the absurdity — it felt oddly right, like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

...even if you had to figure out how to hide your lingerie from a certain someone.

⋆˙⟡ —

you could practically feel the ground begging to swallow you whole as your elderly neighbor — a sweet lady who baked cookies and fed stray cats — stood at your doorstep with an expression that bordered on scandalized and horrified.

"dear, i just wanted to make sure everything was... alright last night," she began, her voice trembling slightly, but it was hard to tell if it was from age or pure shock. "i thought maybe something had fallen. or —" she paused, wringing her hands, "someone had fallen... repeatedly."

before you could stammer out a half-baked apology, both gojos emerged from behind you like twin specters of your shame, looking every bit as debauched as you felt.

gojo, with his signature grin, leaned lazily against the doorframe, his messy hair and unbuttoned shirt doing absolutely nothing to help the situation. "oh, don’t worry, ma’am. just some, uh, vigorous... exercise," he chirped, flashing a dazzling smile that could melt glaciers but definitely not the horror etched into her face.

fem gojo popped her head out next, her wolf-cut disheveled and a hickey darkening her collarbone. "he means cardio," she added helpfully, as if that made it any better.

"cardio?" your neighbor echoed, clutching her chest as her eyes darted between the three of you.

"yeah! it's important to stay fit, ya know," fem gojo continued, placing a hand on your shoulder as if you needed moral support through this ordeal.

"and loud," male gojo added with a smirk.

you wanted to die.

"i-i see," your neighbor stammered, her gaze now firmly fixed on the floor as she shuffled back a step. "well, um, maybe next time you could... exercise a little quieter?"

"we’ll keep it down, promise!" fem gojo called after her as the door gently shut in your neighbor's retreating wake.

as soon as it clicked shut, you whirled around, smacking both gojos on their respective arms. 

"are you kidding me? cardio?!"

"what?" male gojo grinned, rubbing his arm. "it’s technically not a lie."

"and honestly," fem-toru added with a wink, "for our age, we're doing amazing."

"you’re not even old," you hissed, burying your face in your hands.

"exactly," male gojo quipped, draping an arm around you. "so no excuses for round two."

fem-toru smirked, leaning in with a sultry whisper. "or round twelve. you’re practically a pro now."

you groaned. this was your life now.

⋆˙⟡ —

you were about two seconds away from flinging the carton of eggs in your hand when you felt her — fem gojo, femtoru, whatever her name was — sidling up behind you like a heat-seeking missile.

“what the — ?!” you whipped around, heart hammering in your chest, only for her to give you that infuriating, all-too-familiar smirk.

"miss me?" she purred, leaning in close enough that her outrageously large rack brushed against your shoulder.

"how the hell did you even get here?!" you hissed, glancing around the aisle nervously as a mom with two toddlers gave you a raised eyebrow before continuing down the cereal section.

she pouted dramatically, looping an arm around your waist as if you weren’t about to die of embarrassment. "what, you thought a lil’ lock and key could keep me away? puh-lease, babe. i invented escapism."

"you’re kidding me," you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"oh, and don’t worry about satoru," she added, resting her chin on your shoulder as if you weren’t vibrating with anxiety. "i tied him up real good before leaving. pretty sure he's still trying to figure out how to untangle his legs."

"you did what?!" your voice cracked, drawing the attention of an elderly man perusing the soup cans nearby.

"relax," she whispered, nuzzling her nose into your neck. "he’ll be here any second. y’know how he is — doesn’t like to be left out."

as if on cue, a loud crash came from the store's automatic doors, and there he was — your boyfriend, his hair still a mess, shirt misbuttoned, and his expression a cocktail of irritation and smug determination.

"sweetheart!" he called, jogging down the aisles with zero regard for the stares he was attracting. "fem-me tied me up with my own blindfold. again. can you believe that?"

"i absolutely can," you snapped, trying to suppress the migraine threatening to bloom.

"soooo clingy, aren’t we?" femtoru teased, pressing even closer to your back. "you couldn’t even let me have ten minutes alone with her, could you?"

"ten minutes alone, my ass!" he barked, glaring at his female counterpart. "you kidnapped her! again!"

“‘s not kidnappin’ when she enjoys my company,” she quipped, smirking as she leaned over to inspect the snack shelf, her cleavage doing things you’d rather not admit out loud.

"you are literally me," your boyfriend shot back, clearly nearing the end of his patience.

“and that’s why she likes me better,” fem gojo said sweetly, tossing a bag of chips into your cart with an infuriating wink.

“both of you need to shut up,” you hissed, grabbing the cart and storming toward the checkout. “and stop dragging me into your circus act every time i try to do something normal — like buying goddamn groceries!”

but, of course, they followed, bickering like siblings the entire time. and you? you contemplated whether life in a hermitage was really that bad.

⋆˙⟡ —

the moment you placed your items on the conveyor belt, you prayed for a quick, smooth transaction. but, of course, with them around, that was wishful thinking.

“hey, y/n,” jess greeted with her usual cheery smile, scanning your items. she was sweet — always polite, never overly invasive, but you could see the curiosity bubbling just beneath the surface as her gaze flicked between you and the two absolute menaces standing behind you.

“hey, jess,” you muttered, trying to focus on the beep of the scanner rather than the chaos looming behind you.

your boyfriend was already muttering to himself, his black glasses perched low on his nose as he glared daggers at his female counterpart. 

“goddamn wolfcut copycat... walking around like she owns the place... like i don’t have patents on being hot and annoying —”

“what was that, lover boy?” fem gojo teased, scratching at the nape of her neck, her perfectly styled wolfcut catching the overhead lights just right. her bright blue eyes were unhidden, and they sparkled with amusement as she leaned against the counter like she belonged there.

“lover boy?” satoru spat, his tone dripping with disdain. “you’ve got some nerve calling me that when you’re standing there looking like a discount version of me with tits.”

“discount?!” femtoru gasped, clutching her chest in mock outrage. “excuse me, but these,” she motioned to her ample figure, “are luxury items, thank you very much. unlike your scrawny pecs.”

you buried your face in your hands as jess froze mid-scan, clearly fighting the urge to either laugh or run for her life.

“so, uh…” jess began cautiously, trying to salvage the small talk. “doing anything fun later today?”

you opened your mouth to respond, but fem gojo beat you to it.

“oh, just a casual threesome,” she said with a wicked grin, winking at the poor cashier.

you choked. satoru groaned. jess went so red you thought she might pass out.

“shut up,” satoru hissed, grabbing fem gojo by the collar and dragging her back. “don’t you dare embarrass her in public.”

“oh, ‘m sorry,” femtoru drawled, clearly not sorry at all. “did i strike a nerve, lover boy?”

“that’s it. when we get home, i’m locking you in the closet.”

“aww, das kinda freaky —”

“not like that!”

jess handed you your receipt with trembling hands, her polite smile firmly in place despite her obvious confusion. “have a nice day,” she said, her voice a little too high-pitched.

“yeah, thanks,” you muttered, grabbing your bags and speed-walking out of the store, your two walking headaches trailing behind you, still arguing like children.

as the automatic doors closed behind you, satoru grumbled, “this is why i don’t let you out in public.”

“oh, please,” fem gojo shot back, tossing her hair. “if anything, i made it better.”

you didn’t dignify that with a response. you just kept walking, silently wondering if there was a refund policy for boyfriends — and their alternate versions.

the walk back home was a blur of bickering, your thighs still trembling from the "little assistance" fem gojo had oh-so-graciously offered during your "quick trip" back home. satoru — male satoru, your actual boyfriend, not the ridiculous female menace still trailing after you — was muttering something about how he should’ve strangled her then and there between the bread aisle and frozen foods.

you, meanwhile, were trying to stay upright and hold onto the groceries without collapsing from sheer embarrassment and, well... exhaustion.

⋆˙⟡ —

it wasn’t uncommon for fem gojo to be her usual chaotic self — hell, the woman was a walking hurricane of snark, gropes, and unnecessary comments. she introduced herself as “your lady” to strangers whenever your boyfriend wasn’t around, thoroughly enjoying the chaos that title caused. it was all part of the act, the cocky smirk, the teasing eyes — but you were no fool. 

you’d caught the cracks in her facade more than once.

like the way her gaze lingered when you and gojo were tangled together, not in lust but something softer, more intimate. she’d watch the two of you from the corner of the room, her smile dimming for just a second before snapping back into place.

or how she’d stand in front of the mirror when she thought no one was looking. her bright blue eyes would trace her reflection, not with admiration but with a quiet, unspoken question. who am i now?

it tugged at something deep in your chest. for all her antics, you couldn’t ignore the truth — this strange predicament had to be hitting her harder than either of you could imagine.

so, when she sauntered into your room one evening, catching you brushing your hair, you weren’t entirely surprised when she leaned against the doorframe, watching you silently.

“need something?” you asked, keeping your tone light.

“just admirin’ the view,” she said with a sly grin, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

you rolled your eyes but didn’t press her, focusing back on your reflection. she stepped closer, and before you knew it, her hands were on your shoulders, her breath warm against your ear.

“y’know,” she murmured, her voice softer than usual, “i think you’re wastin’ all that sweetness on him.”

“listen, if you’re about to ask for a kiss —”

she didn’t even let you finish before pressing her lips against yours, hands cradling your face as if her life depended on it. it was messy, desperate, and entirely uncalled for.

you pulled back just enough to catch your breath, staring at her wide-eyed. “okay, what was that?”

her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but no words came out. she looked at you, then down at her hands as if she were trying to piece something together. finally, she sighed, leaning her forehead against yours.

“you and him,” she started, her voice barely above a whisper, “you make it look so easy. being... someone.”

you blinked, caught off guard by the sudden vulnerability. “‘toru...”

“don’t — don’t make this a thing,” she interrupted, laughing weakly. “’m not good at this. i just — wanna say thanks. for, y’know, not treatin’ me like some freak.”

her words hung heavy in the air, but before you could respond, she kissed you again. this time slower, deeper, her hands tangling in your hair as if trying to pour everything she couldn’t say into the kiss.

it was... a lot. but as her lips moved against yours, you decided to let her have this moment. 

maybe it was what she needed — a way to feel grounded, even if just for a little while.

before you could even process what was happening, she had swept you off your feet — literally. in one fluid motion, her strong arms cradled you, and the next thing you knew, she was laying you down gently on the bed.

but this wasn’t like the usual antics you’d grown accustomed to. there was no teasing smirk, no biting sarcasm. her eyes, usually so sharp with mischief, were soft, almost glassy, her lips trembling like she was struggling to find the right words.

“please,” she whispered, voice breaking as she knelt beside you, hands hovering as if afraid to touch you too much. “lemme... lemme take care of you. just this once.”

it was so unlike her — so raw, so vulnerable — that it physically hurt to see her like this. this wasn’t the same brazen, overconfident fem gojo who pushed your buttons. 

this was satoru, stripped bare of all the bravado.

your heart clenched as you reached for her, pulling her into a kiss, softer this time. you tangled your fingers in her snowy white hair, feeling her shudder against you.

“satoru,” you murmured, her name rolling off your tongue as naturally as breathing.

hearing her name — her name — from you seemed to break her entirely. she melted into you, her body caging yours as she kissed you like you were the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.

and maybe, for that moment, you were.

normally, she’d be cocky about this — the teasing smirks, the knowing winks, the flirty little comments about how lucky you were to have her. but now, as she pulls back from your lips, her face hidden in the crook of your neck, it hits you like a truck: she’s not about to kiss you again, or nip at your skin.

she’s crying.

satoru gojo, the strongest sorcerer alive — gender be damned — is crying.

you freeze for a moment, unsure of what to do, until you feel her body tremble against yours. 

then the sound comes — soft, stuttering sobs that claw at your heart.

“satoru,” you whisper, threading your fingers gently through her wolfcut, your nails grazing her scalp in soothing motions. “hey, it’s okay. ’s okay.”

her arms tighten around you, her weight completely draped over you as though she’s trying to bury herself in you, seeking solace in the only safe haven she knows.

“’m sorry,” she chokes out, voice muffled and shaking. “i’m... ion even know what’s happenin’ to me.”

“you don’t have to apologize,” you murmur, pressing your lips softly to her temple. “you don’t always have to be strong, you know. not with me.”

her sobs grow heavier, and you hold her closer, shushing her gently.

“you’re okay, satoru,” you reassure her, even as your own throat tightens with emotion. “i’ve got you.”

she clings to you, her tears soaking into your skin as you run your fingers through her hair, murmuring soft words of comfort. for once, there’s no strongest, no cocky remarks, no facade. just satoru, raw and vulnerable, seeking the comfort she so rarely lets herself need.

⋆˙⟡ —

gojo was already halfway through the door, his trademark bravado in full force as he prepared to yell and drag his female counterpart off you. he was ready to reprimand her for trying to get into his girlfriend’s pants — again.

but then he froze.

the sight before him should’ve sent him into a fit of rage: her large frame draped over yours, her hands clutching you tightly, your fingers stroking her hair. it was intimate, far too intimate. but it wasn’t the position that stopped him. it was the sound.

soft, stuttering cries filled the room, muffled against your neck.

his jaw tightened as his eyes flicked to hers — those same brilliant blue orbs he saw every day in the mirror. but this time, they weren’t filled with mischief or lust. 

they were red, puffy, glistening with tears. the same look he’s seen reflected back at himself during the rare moments he allowed himself to break.

it hit him like a punch to the gut.

for all her cocky remarks, her sly smirks, her shameless antics, he recognized what she was feeling. he knew it too well.

and when her tear-streaked face turned to meet his gaze, it wasn’t with her usual defiance or teasing. it was raw, filled with an unspoken plea he understood without words.

gojo swallowed thickly, his fists clenching at his sides. for a moment, he hated seeing himself like that — so exposed, so... human.

“you’re just like me,” he murmured under his breath, his voice barely audible as his heart twisted in his chest.

and for the first time, he didn’t barge in, didn’t yell or tease. instead, he stood there, watching as you cradled the part of him he didn’t let anyone else see.

gojo stood there for a beat too long, debating whether to leave or join. he knew what fem-gojo was feeling — hell, it was his feelings, wasn’t it? — but addressing them? with words? that wasn’t exactly his strong suit.

he cleared his throat awkwardly, and both you and satoru turned your heads toward him.

"uh, hey," he started, scratching the back of his neck. "so, uh... group hug or what?"

you snorted, shaking your head. "get in here, you idiot."

“don’t call me that in front of her,” he grumbled, pointing at his counterpart, though he quickly shuffled over. fem-gojo raised her head slightly, glaring through her tears.

“you mean me? the better you?” she snarked, though her voice cracked halfway through.

gojo rolled his eyes but crawled onto the bed, situating himself next to the two of you. "yeah, better at crying, maybe."

"oh, like you don’t cry," she shot back, sniffing.

“never. not once. you’re a glitch in the matrix or sumn',” he said, pulling a face that immediately earned him a smack on the arm from you.

“satoru,” you warned.

“fine, fine.” he let out a long sigh, glancing at fem-gojo before finally reaching out, hesitantly patting her on the back. “there, there, uh... me?”

you burst out laughing despite yourself, covering your mouth with a hand as satoru shot you an exasperated look.

“don’t laugh! it's weird!” he protested, his hand still awkwardly rubbing her back in tiny, unsure circles.

fem-gojo let out a watery laugh through her sniffles, leaning her head back on your shoulder. "god, you’re pathetic."

“pathetic?! i’m not the one crying into someone else’s neck right now!”

“you’re literally crying on the inside right now,” she countered.

gojo froze, his hand stopping mid-pat. "...you shut up."

you rolled your eyes, tugging gojo closer so that he was sitting flush against fem-gojo. "look, you both are disasters. but you’re the same disaster, so maybe... i don’t know, figure it out together?"

satoru frowned, glancing at her again. his fingers twitched. "look, uh... you don’t have to... like, cry or whatever. i mean, i get it. i do."

“wow, deep,” she said, though her voice was softer.

he huffed, crossing his arms. "hey, it is deep! do you know how hard it is for me to open up like this?!”

“you call this opening up?” she muttered, but there was a flicker of a smile on her lips now.

“oh, don’t you start —”

you silenced him with a gentle nudge, smiling as you reached over to intertwine your fingers with his. "you’re doing great, babe."

he narrowed his eyes at you but eventually sighed, letting his head drop back against the headboard. "look, just... we’re the strongest, okay? we’ll get through... whatever this is. together. and maybe with mochi. lots of mochi."

fem-gojo finally let out a real laugh, her tears drying up as she wiped at her eyes. "god, you really are a loser."

“yeah, well, you’re stuck with me. literally.”

you couldn’t help but grin as you looked between them, the two most chaotic, emotionally constipated people in your life finally finding some common ground. even if it was over their mutual awkwardness.

"so... mochi, then?" you teased.

"go get some," they said in unison, both turning to you with the same expectant look.

"oh, you’ve got to be kidding me."

⋆˙⟡ —

you shuffled into the kitchen, grabbing a bag of daifuku mochi — the fancy ones he insisted on buying in bulk from that one upscale japanese market downtown. because of course he had to have the best mochi.

as you made your way back to the bedroom, tired and a little cranky, the sound of gojo’s voice drifted out into the hallway. at first, you thought nothing of it — probably just him and fem-gojo bickering again — but then the words registered.

“oh, and this one — this bad boy’s a classic,” gojo was saying, his tone tinged with nostalgia. “the first time we used it, she couldn’t walk for, like, two days.”

you stopped in your tracks.

“are you serious? that’s what you chose to bring up?” fem-gojo’s voice replied, though it sounded more amused than judgmental.

“hey, don’t knock it till you try it,” he shot back, and you heard a muffled sound, presumably the toy being held up for emphasis.

you slowly pushed the door open, and sure enough, there was gojo, sitting cross-legged on the bed with the most ridiculous grin plastered on his face. in one hand, he held your trusty pink wand vibrator, and in the other, a butt plug with a gem on the end — both of which he displayed like prized trophies.

fem-gojo was lying on her stomach, propped up on her elbows, watching him with thinly veiled amusement. “so what’s that one?” she asked, pointing at the silicone dildo beside him.

“oh, that? that’s the one we used during her birthday last year,” he said with a wistful sigh, holding it up like it was some kind of holy relic. “man, what a night. she screamed so loud that the neighbors banged on the wall.”

your face burned as you stumbled into the room, nearly dropping the bag of mochi. "what the hell are you two doing?!"

both heads turned toward you in unison, blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

“oh, hey, babe,” gojo said, waving the butt plug at you like it was a greeting. “we were just reminiscing.”

“yeah,” fem-gojo chimed in, smirking. “your man here is really sentimental, huh? ’s kinda cute.”

“sentimental?” you repeated, glaring at your boyfriend.

he shrugged, completely unfazed. “what? these are like, milestones in our relationship. you can’t just throw these memories away.”

“memories? memories?!” you groaned, setting the mochi down on the nightstand. “‘toru, do you hear yourself? you sound like a pervert!”

“oh, c’mooon, don’t be like that,” he pouted, leaning forward to grab the bag of mochi. “besides, you love me. and her, apparently.”

“barely,” you muttered, though the heat in your face betrayed you.

“aw, don’t be shy, babe,” fem-gojo teased, rolling onto her back and stretching languidly. “you know you’re lucky to have two of us.”

“lucky? my back says otherwise.”

the two of them burst into laughter, and you buried your face in your hands, wondering for the millionth time how you’d ended up in this situation.

and as if they could read your mind, gojo leaned over, patting the space next to him. “c’mere, don’t be mad. let’s eat some mochi and talk about that other toy we’ve been meaning to try.”

you groaned, flopping onto the bed in defeat. “i hate both of you.”

“lies,” they chorused, and you couldn’t help but laugh despite yourself.

⋆˙⟡ —

you were trying — really trying — to enjoy the packet of daifuku mochi as it made its way around the bed. the sweet bean paste was supposed to be a distraction, a way to ground yourself after everything that had transpired over the last 24 hours. 

but no, peace wasn’t an option.

"ya know," gojo said through a mouthful of mochi, holding up the wand vibrator like it was a microphone, "this one’s underrated. it looks basic, but the power, babe. remember how —"

"we get it, ‘toru," you cut him off, your voice strained as you grabbed another mochi to shove into your mouth. maybe if you kept chewing, you wouldn’t have to participate in this conversation.

fem-gojo snickered, popping a mochi into her own mouth before leaning closer to you. “you’re bein’ shy, huh? don’t worry, sweetheart, we know how much you looovve this one.” she waggled her eyebrows, motioning at the very wand vibrator in question.

you could feel your face heating up to a level that could rival the sun. “can you two not talk about this right in front of me?”

“but why not?” gojo teased, sliding closer until his thigh was pressed against yours. “’s not like you’re embarrassed, are you? you’ve used all of these.”

"i will throw this entire bag of mochi at your head," you muttered, holding the packet threateningly.

“aw, don’t be like that, doll,” fem-gojo cooed, her voice sugary sweet, though the mischievous glint in her eyes said otherwise. “we’re just reminiscing. plus, you’re blushin’, which means you’re totally into it.”

you glared at her, cheeks practically burning. “i’m blushing because you two won’t shut up.”

but the truth? the truth was much worse. as much as you hated to admit it, their teasing was doing things to you. the way their voices dropped an octave when they reminisced, the heat in their gazes, the proximity — all of it made your thighs clench involuntarily.

and you prayed to every deity you could think of that they couldn’t tell.

unfortunately, subtlety wasn’t your strong suit, and these two were anything but oblivious.

fem-gojo leaned in, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, “what’s wrong, sweetheart? ya squirmin’ a lot.”

you froze, eyes darting to gojo, who was already smirking. "you’re awfully quiet now," he remarked, his hand casually resting on your thigh. "something on your mind?"

"nothing," you squeaked, clenching the mochi packet in your hands like it was a lifeline.

"reaallly?" fem-gojo purred, her hand trailing dangerously close to the hem of your shorts. "’cuz babe, we can feel how worked up you are."

your breath hitched, and you cursed your body for betraying you. “you two are insufferable.”

gojo laughed, his hand sliding up your thigh to join his female counterpart. “nah, we’re just really good at reading you. isn’t that right, satoru?”

fem-gojo grinned wickedly, her fingers grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “totally. we’re a team, after all.”

you groaned, burying your face in your hands as the heat pooling in your stomach became impossible to ignore.

“look at that,” gojo said, his voice dropping to a teasing murmur. “our girl’s shy, but she’s soaked.”

“think we should help her out?” fem-gojo added, her tone faux-innocent as her hand slipped higher.

you had shitty luck. definitely shitty luck. and as much as you hated to admit it, you weren’t about to stop them. not when their touch felt this good.

⋆˙⟡ —

you've always thought the saying keep your friends close, but your enemies closer was a decent piece of advice. practical, even. 

apparently, the two white-haired nuisances misheard it as keep your girlfriend close, but her sex toys closer, because right now, they were parading around the room with the entire collection of your toys like salesmen at a bizarrely personal convention.

“this one,” fem gojo started, holding up the suction vibrator with a devious grin, “‘s a classic. compact, effective, and i know someone here loves how quick it can get her to cum.”

“oh, but this —” gojo’s voice cut in as she brandished the glass dildo, twirling it like a baton. “this is art. sleek, sexy, and cold in all the right ways. remember that night when —”

“nope!” you interrupted, your face heating up as you snatched a nearby pillow to throw at him. “we are not going there.”

“oh, babe, we’re just gettin’ started,” fem-gojo teased. “don’t forget this bad boy.” she held up the dual-ended strap-on, dangling it in front of you like it was a prized possession.

you groaned, sinking deeper into the mattress as your face burned hotter. “why do you even have that?”

fem-gojo grinned, plopping down next to you with the butt plug in hand. “because you’re adventurous. and we love that about you.”

"and let's not forget," gojo added, leaning over to waggle the remote-controlled egg vibrator like it was a trophy. "this one. great for public and private use. remember that restaurant trip?"

"i will actually scream," you muttered, dragging the blanket over your head as if it could shield you from their antics.

"awwww, don’t hide, sweetheart," fem-gojo cooed, tugging the blanket away. “we’re just brainstormin’ here. picking out what’ll make the day extra fun.”

“yeah,” gojo agreed, dropping the pile of toys onto the bed before climbing on top of you. “but honestly, we’ll probably just use all of them. right, satoru?”

fem-gojo smirked, crawling up beside you. “absolutely. variety’s the spice of life, after all.”

you opened your mouth to protest, but before you could get a word out, your boyfriend had flipped you onto your stomach, his weight pressing you into the mattress as his hands pinned yours above your head.

“we’ll let you pick,” he murmured against your ear, his voice dripping with faux kindness.

“for, like, two seconds,” fem-gojo chimed in, her hands already tracing down your sides.

“and then we’ll do whatever we want,” they said in unison, their voices harmonizing in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

you were doomed. delightfully, utterly doomed.

you barely had a second to process what was happening. one minute, you were watching them bicker like overgrown children, and the next, the suction vibrator was pressed firmly against you, its unrelenting rhythm leaving your mind blank except for one resounding thought:

fuck! fuck! fuck!

your pleas — if you could even call them that — were an unintelligible mess. and to make things worse? they weren’t even listening.

“please — ah! — don’t stop!” you cried, your body trembling as the sensations overwhelmed you.

“oh, don’t worry, sweetheart,” gojo drawled from his spot beside you, his grin sharp as ever. “we don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.”

“yeah,” fem-gojo chimed in, her tone equally as sadistic as she pressed the toy down harder, watching your body jerk with morbid fascination. “you’re s’cute when you’re beggin’, though. keep going.”

you gasped, your back arching involuntarily as another orgasm crashed over you. your legs twitched, trying to close around the relentless toy, but fem-gojo tutted, holding you open with ease.

and then you noticed it — she wasn’t even paying full attention anymore.

“are you — are you seriously eating right now?” you managed to choke out between gasps, your glazed eyes flicking to her free hand, which was holding a piece of mochi.

“hm?” fem-gojo looked up mid-bite, her bright eyes wide with mock innocence. “what? girl’s gotta keep her energy up. besides, ya got him —” she nodded toward your boyfriend, who was leaning over you with the smuggest, most shit-eating grin ever — “to keep ya entertained.”

“you’ve got to be kidding me,” you whimpered, squirming as gojo replaced the suction vibrator with his fingers, curling them just right to draw out another cry from your lips.

“hey, i’m working here,” your boyfriend said, his tone dripping with faux exasperation as if he were the one being put through the wringer. “she’s just freeloading.”

“excuse me?” fem-gojo huffed, swallowing her bite dramatically. “i set this whole thing up. i’m the mastermind here!”

“yeah, yeah,” gojo muttered, his attention fully on you now as he leaned down to nip at your ear. “she’s not the one ruining you right now, though, is she?”

“as if you could do this without me,” fem-gojo shot back, shoving another piece of mochi into her mouth as she casually flicked the suction vibrator back on, earning a loud, desperate moan from you.

your head spun, torn between pleasure and sheer disbelief. and as another wave of a telltale orgasm built in your stomach, you realized with absolute certainty that surviving these two was going to take a miracle — or at least a lot more snacks to keep one of them distracted.

⋆˙⟡ —

you’d lost track of time, of everything really, as the relentless assault on your body continued. 

it had only been — what? three orgasms ago? — when you thought you’d truly reached your limit, but nope. the suction vibrator was living up to its reputation, wringing every last shred of coherence out of you like a goddamn champion.

you whimpered, your thighs trembling uncontrollably as the toy finally stopped. for a brief, blissful second, you thought they were giving you a break.

but no, that hope was short-lived.

“geez, so sensitive,” fem-gojo cooed, tugging the vibrator out of you with an audible pop!, ignoring your weak whines and the way your hips tried to jerk away from her.

“don’t tell me you’re done already,” gojo added from his spot beside you, that familiar shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

you didn’t even have the energy to retort, your body trembling like a leaf. but what had you blinking back into reality was when fem-gojo — your filthy, depraved, down-bad excuse of a…girlfriend? partner? — brought the vibrator to her lips.

and licked it.

“oh my god,” you croaked, your voice hoarse as you stared in abject horror — and, god help you, a bit of arousal — as she practically drooled over the damn thing.

“what?” she said nonchalantly, swirling her tongue over the toy as if it were nothing. “gotta clean it, right?”

“clean it?” you echoed, your face flushing hotter by the second. “you’re — you’re disgusting!”

“am i?” she mused, licking a slow stripe along the edge before popping it out of her mouth with a smug grin. “taste just like mochi. sweet ‘n soft and sticky. good stuff.”

“oh, for fuck’s sake,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands as your boyfriend outright cackled beside you.

“she’s got a point,” gojo chimed in, leaning over to smirk at you. “you do have that ‘irresistible dessert’ vibe. maybe we should start calling you ‘mochi.’”

“don’t you dare,” you snapped, your voice muffled against your hands.

“mochi it is,” fem-gojo declared with an exaggeratedly serious tone, popping another piece of actual mochi into her mouth as if to punctuate her statement.

you peeked through your fingers to glare at them both, but the effect was ruined by the way your body was still trembling, and the flush across your skin wasn’t helping either.

“geez,” fem-gojo muttered, her tone too casual for comfort as she gestured toward you with the vibrator. “she even jiggles like mochi. see?”

your jaw dropped, and the absolute audacity of her words was almost enough to jolt you upright — if your body wasn’t completely boneless from the onslaught.

“you’re both insane,” you muttered weakly, your voice lacking any real conviction.

“and yet, here you are,” gojo teased, ruffling your hair like you weren’t on the verge of combusting from sheer embarrassment.

you barely had time to process the chaos unfolding before you — your mind still reeling, your body trembling, and your dignity somewhere in the corner, curled up and crying. fem-gojo, that snarky, insufferable piece of shit, was clearly having the time of her life.

“oh, don’t look so done, mochi baby,” she crooned, her wolfish grin flashing as she grabbed your wrist. “i’ve got a brilliant idea. let’s multitask.”

“what the —” you started, but your words were cut off by the smug gleam in her eyes.

she brought your hand up, guiding it to where your boyfriend sat, already hard and clearly ready for round...what even was it? five? six? you lost track.

“i’m doing what now?” you squawked, but your protest was weak, your voice cracking as she maneuvered your trembling fingers to wrap around his throbbing dick.

“helping your man out,” she quipped, her tone all too chipper as if this was the most normal thing in the world. “don’t tell me you’re too tired to give him a hand, literally.”

“‘toru—” you started to snap, but she cut you off, her free hand sliding down to your already overstimulated cunt, drawing a shocked gasp out of you.

“don’t mind me,” she purred, her lips brushing against your ear as her fingers moved with deliberate precision. “i’ll keep you occupied while you help him out. teamwork makes the dream work, right?”

you shot a desperate look at your boyfriend, who was leaning back, looking far too amused by the situation.

“don’t look at me like that, babe,” he said with a smirk, his blue eyes practically twinkling. “you heard her. teamwork.”

“you’re both the worst,” you groaned, your hand trembling as you tried to follow fem-gojo’s guidance.

your efforts were valiant — or at least you thought so — but your trembling hands weren’t exactly cooperating. and judging by the way your boyfriend’s brows furrowed and his smirk turned into a frown, he wasn’t impressed.

“really, baby?” he muttered, his voice low and edged with irritation. “‘s is the best you can do?”

you opened your mouth to retort, but before you could get a word out, he grabbed your hand, his much larger one wrapping around yours.

“here,” he muttered, his tone dripping with exasperation as he moved both your hands together. “lemme show you how it’s done.”

“oh, wooww, would ya look at that,” fem-gojo chimed in, her grin downright evil as her fingers continued their sinful work on you. “teamwork really does make the dream work.”

your brain was short-circuiting, overwhelmed by the dual sensations of your boyfriend guiding your hand and fem-gojo absolutely finger fucking the living soul out of you. the three of you moving together in this absurdly depraved display of coordination was — god, you didn’t even know anymore.

“you’re — insane,” you managed to gasp out, your voice breaking as you felt your body quiver under fem-gojo’s relentless ministrations.

“baby please, you love it,” she shot back, her voice smug as she nipped at your thigh.

your boyfriend groaned, his hand tightening around yours as he picked up the pace. “focus, babe,” he muttered, his tone commanding.

as if you had any focus left to give.

“therrre we go,” fem-gojo hummed, her voice dripping with amusement as she watched the scene unfold. “’s more like it. look at us, a well-oiled machine.”

you wanted to retort, to say something snarky in return, but all that came out was a broken moan as your boyfriend cums on your hand, his low moan filling the room as the two of you worked together to finish him off.

“teamwork,” fem-gojo teased again, her grin widening as she finally let up on you.

“you’re both awful,” you muttered weakly, collapsing onto the bed.

“and yet, here you are,” your boyfriend quipped, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“mochi baby,” fem-gojo added, and you groaned, throwing a pillow at her face.

⋆˙⟡ —

"wow, six times already, huh?" fem-gojo’s voice broke through the haze of post-orgasm bliss you were floating in, her tone laced with mockery as she leaned against the headboard, arms crossed over her chest. her blue eyes glinted, flicking between you and your boyfriend with the kind of irritation that only her oversized ego could muster.

"must be nice," she drawled, running a hand through her wolfcut in exaggerated frustration. "lover boy here gets to finish, you’re over there makin’ sounds like a damn opera singer, and me? nothing."

"don’t start," you groaned, flopping back onto the bed like a rag doll. your limbs felt like jelly, your body spent, and you were dangerously close to tapping out for the rest of the day.

“oh, don’t start?” she shot back, her eyebrow twitching. “you’re really gonna sit there, lookin’ all fucked out, and say that to me? after all my hard work, this is the thanks i get?”

your boyfriend chuckled, clearly enjoying her theatrics as he tucked himself back into his boxers. "yeah, babe, ’s kinda rude. i mean, she’s got a point."

"oh, shut up!" you snapped, glaring at him. "this is all your fault, you —"

but before you could finish, fem-gojo had already swung a leg over your waist, straddling you with the kind of confidence that only she could pull off.

"what — wait, hold on —" you stammered, wide-eyed as she leaned down, her face far too close to yours.

“nah, sweetheart," she interrupted, smirking as her fingers trailed down your tits. "you don’t get to say ‘hold on.’ not when you’ve been holdin’ out on me."

“what the hell does that even mean?” you hissed, your face heating up as her hands roamed.

“it means,” she purred, leaning closer until her lips brushed against your ear, “i’m gonna sit on your face now.”

“excuse me?!”

your boyfriend burst out laughing, his whole body shaking as he clutched his stomach. "oh my god, this is amazing. please, don’t stop. this is the best thing i’ve seen all day."

“you’re not helping!” you yelled at him, though your voice was quivering as fem-gojo settled herself further down on top of you.

"what’s the matter?" she teased, her grin widening as she reached to tilt your chin up. “don’t tell me you can’t take it. because after everythin’ i’ve seen today, i know for a fact that my pretty girl right here’s a champ.”

“satoru —”

“yeah?” they both replied in unison, and you wanted to scream.

“this is ridiculous," you muttered, though your resolve was already crumbling under her piercing gaze and the way her hands played over your skin.

“ridiculously sexy,” fem-gojo corrected, her smirk turning wicked.

and before you could argue, she shifted her weight, her thighs caging your head, and all you could think was, yea, this is how i die.

your boyfriend leaned back against the pillows, grinning like an idiot as he watched the scene unfold. “yeah, six times is definitely the charm. but hey, babe, looks like you’ve got a seventh in ya after all.”

it was like watching synchronized chaos — if that was even a thing. as if a switch flipped simultaneously in their shared, cursed braincell, both gojos moved in perfect unison, practically tearing at fem-gojo’s top like it offended their very existence. “c’mon, comrade,” your boyfriend cheered, his stupid grin widening as he yanked her shirt up and over her head. “it’s for the greater good.”

“greater good my ass, you’re just horny,” fem-gojo shot back, though she didn’t stop him. in fact, she raised her arms to make it easier, her ridiculously large tits out in the open in all its glory.

“damn right i am,” he quipped, and in the blink of an eye, he was stripped down to nothing but his insufferable confidence.

meanwhile, you were desperately trying to focus on your task. a monumental task. a task fit for a girlboss, because you were a determined woman.

and that task? eating out your insanely hot girlfriend slash partner.

you flattened your tongue against her cunt, trying to ignore the heat flooding your face as her thighs quivered around your head. her hips bucked slightly, and she let out a strangled moan that quickly turned into a string of curses.

“fuck — shit — holy hell, that’s — oh, goddamn it!” fem-gojo gasped, one hand fisting the sheets while the other tangled in your hair. “what the fuck, how — how are you even doing that — fuck — oh my god!”

her cussing was relentless, sharp, and varied enough to make a sailor blush. “shit — fuck me sideways — you’re gonna kill me, holy tits!”

“holy tits?” your boyfriend snorted.

“shut the fuck up, sator — aah! ” fem-gojo snapped, though her voice cracked as another moan escaped her lips.

but you couldn’t even laugh, because you were the one fighting for your life. with gojo gripping your hips like a lifeline, and his cock buried so deep inside you that your vision blurred, outright bruising your insides, it was nearly impossible to concentrate.

"fuck, babe," gojo groaned, his voice low and breathless in your ear. "you’re squeezin’ me so tight — feels so fuckin' good."

and as much as you hated to admit it, tears were streaming down your face, soaking fem-gojo’s thighs as your tongue continued its shaky assault.

“shit — babe, you cryin’?” gojo asked, though his smirk was audible even through the haze of his pleasure. “s that good?”

you wanted to slap him, but all you could do was moan as another thrust hit that sweet spot inside you, making your whole body shudder.

“don’t stop,” fem-gojo whimpered above you, her thighs trembling around your head. “holy fuck, don’t stop — don’t fucking stop — oh m’god, ‘m gonna — fuck!”

and before you could even process her loud, breathy cry, your own orgasm hit like a tidal wave, your walls clenching hard around gojo’s length as you squirted against him.

“oh, fucckkk yeah,” he groaned, his pace stuttering as he chased his own release.

you barely registered anything else, your body shaking with the aftershocks as fem-gojo slumped against the pillows, completely blissed out.

"looks like i win this round," gojo panted, his voice smug as he finally pulled out and collapsed next to you.

"win? win?" you croaked, your voice hoarse and shaky. "satoru, i am literally dying."

and fem-gojo, still catching her breath, managed a weak chuckle. “honestly, me too.”

your boyfriend, the absolute menace, is standing there like he’s giving the keynote address at some unhinged sex expo. with a dramatic sweep of his arm, he gestures to the array of sex toys — sorry, “tools of pleasure” — that he had haphazardly, or as he put it, “meticulously,” arranged while you weren’t looking.

“ladies,” he begins, the same devilish grin on his face that could charm or terrify depending on his mood. “i present to you the greatest hits of our collection: the deluxe rotating dildo 3000 — absolute game changer, might i add — this double-ended masterpiece that got us through valentine’s day last year, and this little number,” he wiggles the suction vibrator like it’s a winning lottery ticket, “for when you need to set a new personal record.”

“oh my god, satoru, shut the fuck up,” you hiss, face burning as you try to hide your mortification behind a pillow.

but fem gojo? oh, she’s eating this shit upp. literally. her blue eyes light up with the kind of crazed glee you’d associate with a sugar-high kid who just got the biggest lollipop at a carnival. it’s neuron activation at its finest, and suddenly you feel a chill crawl up your spine.

“i like this one,” she says, grabbing the double-ended toy with a smirk, spinning it in her hands like she’s about to challenge you to a duel.

“a woman of culture,” your boyfriend says approvingly, holding up a fist for her to bump.

she does, and it’s the single most terrifying moment of your life.

“guys, can we not —” you try to protest, but it’s too late.

“you know what,” fem gojo hums, her voice sultry as she tosses the toy aside, leaning in with a dangerous glint in her eyes. “i was gonna let you off easy after earlier, but…” her gaze flicks to your boyfriend, and the two exchange a look that screams trouble.

“but now,” she continues, her smirk widening, “i’m all charged up. and since my dear clone here is such a team player,”

“we gotta keep the momentum going,” gojo finishes, cracking his knuckles like he’s about to play a round of volleyball.

“no, you really don’t,” you argue, trying to scramble away, but fem gojo’s already got her strong arms around your waist, pulling you back into the fray.

“oh, sweetheart,” she purrs, her lips brushing against your ear, “we’re not stopping until we turn you into a puddle.”

and with that, your fate is sealed.

again.

produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡ banners by cafekitsune

[ssahotchnerr]

Hello! How are you doing?

I don't have anything extremely specific (sorry, I'm just leaving work and haven't really thought about this).

But if you want to, how about jealous Aaron who has the, very rare, opportunity to go pick up the reader from her job and see her all smiles with another coworker? In this case I was thinking that there might be a age gap between them and the male coworker is more of her age? So a bit of jealous and insecure Hotch?

If you feel comfortable with this of course!

Have a good day 😊

in comparison

cw; fem!reader, age gap, insecure :( and jealous!aaron, some angst, small suggestiveness, fluff <3 wc; 1.2k

You were exiting the building with a few of your colleagues, partaking in what appeared to be an entertaining conversation from Aaron's line of sight. The liveliness on your face was vivid, undoubtedly enjoying whatever the whole of you were collectively discussing.

You looked comfortable, relaxed, happy. You molded into the group well. One of your male colleagues in particular was inching a bit too close, a near awestruck expression on his face as a laugh escaped you. If he took one step to his right, his shoulder would be touching yours. While you were clueless, he was enamored.

Aaron felt his eyes harden involuntarily, a jealous heat swarming through his body; he wanted to march over there and assert his role as yours. However, the feeling wasn't long lasting. A profound sadness climbed up his spine, as he gained a different perspective.

It wasn't that you didn't fit into his life. On the complete contrary: you were the perfect addition.

But something about seeing you with others, with someone closer to your age, was daunting. Intimidating. It sickened him how natural the visual appeared. Reality has smacked him in the face numerous times over the years, he wouldn't be surprised if it happened again. That somehow, someway, you would prefer the latter. The one that had nothing to do with him.

As you walked towards Aaron's car, you glanced back at your coworkers, offering a wave and a smile as they jointly headed to the parking lot. His window was opened a crack, and he heard you call back towards them, "Have fun tonight!"

Aaron exhaled a breath.

"Hey." You chirped as you slid into the passenger seat, leaning over the center console to place a kiss on Aaron's cheek. He was rather stiff as you did so, causing you to lightly scrunch your nose in confusion, pulling away slowly. Something was up.

"Hey," He echoed, greeting you with an almost forced smile. The abruptness of his thoughts had unsettled him deeply - he couldn't shake them. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be." You responded hesitantly, searching his face as you buckled your seatbelt. You added after a moment, happy to be in his company and the emotion overtaking your heart. "I missed you today."

But your words went unnoticed, as he had already reentered the void that was his unwelcome thoughts.

In result the car ride home was silent, Aaron's pout unfaltering. His mind was plagued by the image of your coworker being in his place, driving you home, or the two of you huddled together amongst a night out with friends. It caused an uncomfortable, sad pit in his stomach.

"You missed a turn."

"What?"

Your statement jolted him back to earth. No he didn't... did he? His eyebrows furrowed in a line, reassessing the current surroundings. Nothing out of the ordinary, all familiar street signs. When he confirmed he, in fact, did not miss a turn, he turned to you, only to find a knowing smirk plastered on your face.

His eyebrows quirked softly, obstructing the line drawn above his eyes. "What was that about?"

"To get your mind off whatever you're stewing about."

A smile threatened his lips, due to your witty expression and observation, "I'm not." His tone found a slightly lighter note - amusingly guilty. Anything but convincing.

"Aaron, darling, you're gonna break some teeth if that," Your playful demeanor dropped for a moment, your eyes tracing back and forth, as if you were in a trance. "Jaw of yours tightens anymore."

Your brief distraction eased a notion of his jealousy, he still had that effect on you, thankfully. He readjusted his grip on the steering wheel, his stare forward.

"So what is it?" You asked, "Did you have a bad day?"

He shook his head.

"Bad bout of cases?"

Aaron grimaced, his knuckles letting up only to secure his fingers over the wheel again, "They're always bad."

"Something I did?"

He opened his mouth to respond, but only silence came out. His hesitation caused your face to fall, your shoulders dropping and posture succumbing to the back of your seat.

"No honey, no you didn't do anything." He was quick to reassure, feeling entirely worse. "I can assure you."

Your eyes met his, needing more.

He sighed defeatedly, surprisingly not afraid to bluntly admit, "I'm jealous."

"Jealous?" You froze, but then it clicked. You gestured behind, as if your colleagues were somehow tailing the two of you. "Of...?"

Aaron bit his lip, nodding slowly.

Your expression lightened, a soft and genuine wonder in your eyes, "Why?"

"Are you okay with this?" Confusion arose on your face once more, so he clarified. "This. Us. You signed up for a lot, quickly at that."

Truth be told, the two of you had progressed at a rate neither of you expected, due to the sheer infatuation you possessed for one another. That, too, had been natural.

"I'm divorced, widowed, a father - I come with baggage. My 'going-out' are days long gone. I don't want you missing out."

"Aaron." In a way, you could laugh. It tore your heart into pieces he was thinking this way, doubting himself but he was clueless in an adorably, idiotic way. In summary, he simply never gave himself the credit he deserved. "What could I possibly be missing out on?"

"You could be spending your weekends out, socializing, with people closer in age. And yet, you're..." He came up with an example. "Making pillow forts. These are supposed to be the best years of your life. I'm terribly boring in comparison."

"Hey, I make a mean pillow fort."

He gave you a look.

Your hand grabbed his bicep affectionately, clinging onto it as if you were knocking some sense into him. "I chose this. I chose you. Jack is the addition to my life I never knew I needed. And I don't want to be out galavanting bar to night club to bar. I jump at the opportunity to deny a night out to spend it in. With you. When have you ever seen me wanting to go out and party?"

An expression of distaste flashed across your face at the concept, and Aaron's head tilted to the side as he considered your point.Yeah, that was true.

"I'm a homebody. And if there's anything I've realized over the course of the past months, you're my home. You."

Aaron let out the breath he didn't know he was holding.

"I know what I'm in for. And I embrace it with open arms. I want it." Your face was content, even more so than when you were talking with your colleagues. "I love you. And I love the life we're creating. It's so special, beyond my wildest dreams."

"Really?" A boyish, hopeful expression graced his face.

"Really. I wouldn't want it any other way. I can promise you. This- you're everything I could ever want."

Aaron's hand found your thigh, giving it a gentle, loving squeeze. "I love you too, sweetheart."

You beamed in response - you'd never get tired of the words leaving his lips.

"That one guy though," Aaron raised his eyebrows, taking a quick glance at you. Envy began creeping back, "He seemed interested. Wasn't a fan of that."

You scoffed, unbothered. "I'm into men, not boys. Which again, you are the utmost depiction of." Your delightful smirk resurfaced, admirably looking him over. "Believe me, I couldn't be more satisfied."

He wanted to play into your suggestive remarks, but he needed further confirmation. Once more. "You sure?"

"Oh, I'm positive."

Finally satisfied himself, he surrendered, "Okay."

"In fact, I can think of a few ways to show you just how much later."

[taesanrot]

[from the start] taesan x f!reader | 4.0k words college au, classmates to lovers, making out, alc consumption ++ terrible drunk decisions lmao, angst kinda, misunderstanding, mutual pining, fear of physical touch at first, everyone is just a little confused note. sorry this took literally so long to finish, i kept changing my mind on how i wanted it to go. fun fact the original idea for this fic was based on my real life situationship. hope u guys enjoy <3

you shouldn't be here. you should be sleeping off the alcohol flowing through you in your own bed, at your place. you shouldn't be here, pressed against taesan's chest, your mouth molded against his.

up until a few hours ago, han taesan was nothing but a fleeting memory. just someone your friends brought up once in a while to watch the way your cheeks flared up in embarrassment. he was part of the past, an unfortunate moment during your freshman year in university. your friends didn't know about the guilt that ate away at you every time the boy's name crossed your mind.

the two of you had met in english, deskmates who bonded over the frustrations that came with your shitty professor and endless essays. complaining about class turned into hushed whispers while the professor wasn't looking, adding each other on socials and snapping silly pictures back and forth, walking back to the dorms together. because... why not? taesan was cute and you couldn't help but chase the feeling that came with every interaction you two shared.

you never thought it would turn into anything, until your friends pointed out the obvious: he liked you. taesan liked you. the way your hair flowed so prettily, the way you smiled at all of his stupid pictures and the way your eyebrows furrowed at the professors nasally voice.

the two of you had an undeniable connection, and it ended with the two of you sitting on his bed watching a movie together on his roommate, sungho's, tv.

flirty glances and brushing hands turned into his hands running up your arms, breath hot on your neck as you tangled your fingers in his dark hair. having him like this should've felt like heaven, but instead your chest tightened and your body tensed, to the point where taesan pulled away from you, looking into your eyes and softly asking if this was okay, if you were okay.

you should've told him the truth, you were just scared. you hadn't done this before, not with someone who you felt so deeply for. you just wanted to slow down a bit. but instead you faked a smile and just said that you remembered something your friend had asked you to do, ignoring the stab in your chest as his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. you pulled away uncomfortably quick and left without another word. that was months ago.

the last you'd heard from him was hours after you left; he'd apologized profusely, saying he'd misread things and you tried and tried to reassure him that he did nothing wrong. you wished he could read your mind so you didn't have to face the fact that you were a coward and you'd hurt him in the process.

taesan thought that night would be the last time he'd see you. he could tell something was wrong, and he'd figured that you'd never want to see him again. but for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to blame you, hate you, nothing.

...

"seriously? you're not mad.... at all?" sungho sat up in his bed, staring at his roommate in disbelief. "dude, she literally led you on and ghosted you." jaehyun chimed in, shaking his head at the younger boy. taesan shrugged and went back to tuning his guitar, covering up the sounds of his friends' scoffs with the vibrations of the strings he plucked. they thought he was hopeless, and secretly, he agreed.

...

after months of radio silence, it was safe to say that taesan was not expecting his phone to ping with a message from you.

you tried to move on from things with the music major, joking away your pain with your friends and going on dates with other guys. it worked for a few months, but eventually thoughts of han taesan caught up to you. they plagued your mind for days on end.

late at night, lying in your bed and staring at the ceiling, you wondered how things could've been different if you'd just told taesan the truth. you thought it was easier to just run away and pretend nothing happened between the two of you, that you'd be at peace if you just went back to before you knew he liked you, before you knew you liked him too. in the end, it just left you feeling empty.

you hadn’t ever met anyone like him, something you hadn’t ever admitted out loud. you couldn't go back to the way things were before, he'd left an imprint on your mind like no one else.

the thoughts you tried to smother finally came up to surface on a breezy saturday night as you were celebrating your friend, yunjin's, 21st birthday party at her apartment. after more than a few shots and the truly you split with yeri, you felt like you were on another planet. you stumbled over to the living room, falling onto the couch and leaning your head back and closing your eyes.

after a few minutes of sitting with your intoxicated state, you lazily unlocked your phone, scrolling through your instagram timeline, attention focusing in and out. that was until you came across a certain set of pictures. you squinted, reading the caption.

tae23san take my tears @psungho @myungj4e

pictured was none other than taesan, sitting on top of a car with his head tilted back to look at the sky.

sitting up slightly, you carefully scrolled through the dump of photos taesan had posted: him posing in the booth of a recording studio, he, sungho, and jaehyun in a photobooth, a candid of him playing the guitar, a mirror selfie with sungho, and a solo shot of him.

the last picture almost took your breath away; he posed with a hand ruffling his own hair as he pouted his lips.

all at once, you felt every emotion you fought so hard to drown explode in your heart. you missed him. so much. your head spun with sadness, guilt, and longing. you wanted to- no, you needed to see him.

it wasn't long before the thoughts popped in your head.

why don't i just text him?

whats the worst that could happen?

it was bad idea, a terrible idea truly. but you couldn't help yourself, you opened your contacts and found your chat with him faster than you could blink. you fumbled with the screen, trying to type out a cohesive message to the boy you so desperately wanted to see.

[1:53 a.m.]

y/n: taesnjsnnnnn

y/n: i miss you

y/n: i'm soryry

y/n: can i swee yuo? please

...

taesan was hoping to have a peaceful smoke with his friends. he, sungho, and jaehyun had spent the day working on a project for their advanced music production class, and were now sitting on the couch passing a blunt around, some rnb songs floating softly through the air.

taesan breathed in slowly, sucking in the laced smoke and exhaling it softly, humming at the warm feeling in his limbs. he felt his phone buzz in his pocket, laughing at the feeling of the vibrations against his thigh.

"this is done for." jaehyun mumbled before flicking off the ash and placing the end on the side table. taesan watched him with hooded eyes as he stood up to stretch out his limbs, making sungho and taesan giggle.

"i'm going to my room." sungho stood as well, murmuring a similar quip before meandering over to his door. "don't forget to turn off the lights, san."

taesan groaned in acknowledgement, letting his head fall back onto the couch. not really wanting to sleep, he wondered if he should watch a movie or make some food.

the boy sighed in boredom, pulling his phone out of his pocket languidly and swiping through his notifications.

his already blown out pupils grew even bigger at the sight of your name in his notifications. he'd never gotten around to deleting your number -- he figured there was no point.

his eyes focused on the words next to your name. 4 unopened messages. he rubbed his eyes slowly.

was he really that high right now? or did you really message him. taesan's gaze jumped over to the timestamp.

10 minutes ago.

he hurriedly clicked the notification, tapping his thigh with his fingers as the screen expanded to display your texts. you were clearly a bit out of it, taesan smiled at your typos. his vision seemed to laser focus on the one text you didn't misspell.

i miss you.

taesan couldn't say he didn't feel the same way. despite sungho and jaehyun's relentless nags, he thought about you more often than he'd like to admit.

somehow, he knew something was up the fateful night the two of you had hung out. that wasn't you, he just knew it. or so he told himself. he didn't want to be mad at you, he didn't want to hate you. he had hoped for this day so many times. the day you'd tell him you didn't mean it.

taesan's fingers moved across the screen slowly.

[2:08 a.m.]

han taesan: hey

han taesan: where are you?

...

from the moment you hit send, you had suddenly been more alert, thoughts racing a million miles a minute.

what do i do if he responds? is he even awake? he just posted, he has to be. god, i hope this works.

you'd taken the leap, there wasn't any going back.

you begrudgingly lifted yourself from the couch you were sitting on, looking for your friends so you could take your mind off of the messages you'd just sent.

walking over to the fridge, you grabbed a water bottle to help you sober up a bit.

eunchae and chaewon did a great job at keeping you from checking your phone every thirty seconds. you laughed at their horrific job at playing pictionary against two guys yunjin knew, anton and sohee.

your two friends were losing bad, and you smiled watching anton and chaewon bicker, anton giggled at chaewon's reddened face. you hoped you'd remember to tease her about it later.

your phone buzzed twice in your pocket and you held your breath as you fished it out and tapped the screen. face to face with taesan's messages, nearly shrieking, you quickly typed a response.

you paused for a second, calculating your next move. you really wanted to see him, praying to god that he was free and willing.

[2:09 a.m.]

y/n: yunjins place. in source complex

taesan: oh

taesan: what room

y/n: 204

taesan: im 3 floors up

taesan: in 511

y/n: can i come up

taesan: yeah of course

while you were definitely a little more sober than 15 minutes ago, you still fought to not squeal into your hand. looking around, you searched for yunjin so you could bid her goodbye.

...

mellow music still floating in the air of the living room, taesan dropped his phone in his lap. he let out a shaky sigh.

whether it was the weed or the fact that he was about to see you after what felt like forever, taesan was suddenly very nervous, wiping his hands on his pants and slowly standing from the couch.

rubbing his arms, he looked around the apartment, unsure of what to do until you got there. he assumed you'd take a bit to leave your friends apartment and make your way up to his. taesan hoped you'd make it okay; he wanted to come get you but was honestly way too fucking high to leave his apartment.

"i guess i'll go brush my teeth or something." the boy mumbled to himself, walking over to the bathroom to fix his hair and make sure he smelled okay.

...

stepping into the elevator, you looked at your reflection as the doors closed, almost forgetting to hit the button for the fifth floor in the midst of smoothing your hair down and fixing your slightly smeared eyeliner with your thumb.

closing your eyes, you lightly rubbed your temples in a sore attempt to bring yourself back to reality, and to emotionally prepare yourself.

you were seeing taesan again, finally.

you hid your blush from literally no one and smiled slightly into your hand as the elevator doors opened.

...

standing in front of the boy's door, the weight of the situation at hand truly hit you.

what exactly did you want from this?

what did you want from him?

if you ended up hurting him again you wouldn't be able to forgive yourself. huffing slightly, you brought a hand up to your neck to fiddle with your necklace and think.

your dazed yet racing thoughts were interrupted by the opening of the front door to taesan's apartment, door swinging back to reveal none other than the music major himself.

"hi" you smiled and spoke quietly.

even though he knew you were coming, the boy somehow still couldn't believe the sight in front of him. it was really you.

you looked as breathtaking as ever in his eyes, your hair a bit shorter than the last time he saw you. taesan caught himself and chuckled slightly, moving out of the way to make room for you.

"come in."

you blushed as you stepped into the apartment awkwardly, not sure what to do with yourself. the alcohol was still making your head spin, eyes adjusting slowly to the sight of taesan's living space. you slipped your shoes off quietly and followed the boy as he walked into the kitchen.

"do you want some water? or snacks? we have chips and fruit, unless sungho ate them all. i think we have some juice too...." taesan's high had clearly not worn off in the slightest, and the boy winced after realizing he rambled on about the contents of his pantry for a full 30 seconds.

you couldn't have cared less, eyes focused on how pretty his hair looked brushed down in his face. making eye contact with him, you noticed the red tint to them, giggling quietly.

"we also have -- are you even listening?" taesan smiled at your starry eyes as you shook your head and laughed.

"god y/n- okay let's just go sit down." he watched you eagerly turn around and nearly skip towards his living room couch, settling right in the middle of the sofa.

the couch cushions were soft as they rubbed slightly against the exposed skin of your legs. shivering slightly, you wished you'd worn a bit more than just a crop top and denim shorts.

your gaze traced the lines of the wood on his coffee table, thoughts lost and scattered. you were just as blown away at the sight of him as he was of you. you recalled the sight of his larger hands shoved in the pockets of his zip up, wondering what it would feel like to have them wrapped around your own.

you wriggled your socked toes to a beat only you could hear, trying to take your mind off of the nervousness flowing through your veins.

"here." you looked up quickly to see taesan standing in front of you, about an arms length away. "i brought you some water."

taesan bit his lip to keep himself from smiling at the sight of you on the sofa. he looked around awkwardly for a second, not sure where to sit -- you were in the middle of the couch and choosing either side of the sofa would leave him sitting directly next to you.

"why are you still standing? come sit." you tilted your head at him and patted the spot to your right softly, smiling up at the nervous boy.

sighing out in relief, taesan plopped down next to you and settled into the corner of the sofa. you turned slightly so you could face him as he spoke, glass of water abandoned on the coffee table.

"do you wanna watch a movie?" he asked.

"is it okay to turn on the tv this late?" you shyly responded

taesan's ears turned slightly red in embarrassment. he 100% forgot about his two other roommates sleeping soundly in their own rooms.

while they probably wouldn't mind the noise, taesan didn't want to have to explain why you of all people were in their living room at this very moment.

"if you're okay with it, we can watch something in my room, i can play it on my laptop." taesan spoke.

your cheeks burned slightly at the idea of seeing the boy's room but you hummed in agreement, standing up quickly. the sudden movement caused you to stumble a bit. taesan stood up after you, wrapping a hand around your arm in an attempt to steady you.

"are you okay?" he turned you to face him fully, hands resting lightly on your shoulders as he looked at you worriedly.

your breath hitched at the mere inches of space between the two of you. taesan's gaze left you speechless, and your eyes searched his face before landing on his lips.

for every minute that had passed since you sent that first fateful text message, the anticipation had been eating you alive. deciding you couldn't take it anymore, you pulled yourself up by the collar of the boy's hoodie and pressed your lips against his.

his mouth was plush and unmoving against yours and you let yourself close your eyes and savor the feeling for a moment before lowering yourself back onto your heels.

opening your eyes, you mentally geared yourself for the awkward conversation you feared was about to ensue. taesan, on the other hand, barely gave you a moment to breathe, chasing your lips the second they detached from his. slipping a hand behind your neck, he tilted his face down and sealed his lips over yours once again.

taesan's mind raced as he bit your bottom lip, wondering what this was going to lead to and if he'd regret it. he decided he couldn't care less when he felt you tilt your head to the side and push your tongue in his mouth.

you craned your face upward and grabbed the sides of his sweatshirt tightly, like he might disappear if you let go of him. you needed more of him.

you broke your lips from his for a split second to ask where his room was. taesan mumbled something you couldn't hear before pulling you by your shoulders. the boy's mouth didn't leave yours for a second, only pulling away to push his door open.

you opened your eyes slowly, looking up to meet the taller boy's hooded gaze. you turned around and took in the sight in front of you. taesan's bed was in the corner of the room, posters hung above a small desk. you smiled at the tangles of wires on the floor, leading to a small speaker system and bass guitar.

"gonna go turn off the lights and check the door." taesan's voice rasped. you hummed in acknowledgement and stepped forward into the room slowly.

you walked over and climbed onto the boy's bed, bringing your legs up so you could hug your knees. staring at your socked feet, your mind was completely blank. when taesan came back you were absentmindedly fixing your hair and shirt, not even noticing the boy's return.

"are you okay?" taesan asked softly.

you looked up to see his eyes on you, smiling at the way hands were politely tucked behind his back. he was nervous, hoping he didn't overstep or make you uncomfortable. taesan didn't think he could handle watching you run out his door a second time.

"okay?" you tilted your head in confusion.

"with this... being here with me." your heart panged with sadness, feeling so guilty for how you made him feel before. you wanted to make it up to him.

"i am. i want this. i promise, taesan." you watched taesan slowly process your words though his wavering high, smile forming on his face. his hands came up to push your legs down, and you scooted towards him, giggling and wrapping your legs are his standing figure.

taesan had abandoned his hoodie in the living room, now in a loose t-shirt. your hands scrunched the fabric of the graphic tee as you pulled the boy towards you again. taesan complied without a word, bending down to meet your awaiting lips. you moved your lips against his languidly, savoring each swipe of his tongue against yours.

taesan pushed your body backwards so he could climb on the bed with you. you scooted back until you were pressed against the headboard, only staying there for a second before taesan pulled you onto his lap.

his lips went to your neck, pressing soft kisses and grazing his teeth against the sensitive skin. with each kiss, bite, and swipe of his tongue against you, taesan could feel you practically melting into his lap. eyes screwed shut, your head leaned back to further expose your neck and your fingers tugged at the boy's hair.

you slightly pulled taesan's face away from you, bringing your hands to gingerly cup his face. his eyes were slightly glossed over as you placed a wet kiss on his lips.

the last traces of your sobriety were thrown out the window, both of you drunk off each other. taesan thought you looked like an angel, bringing a hand up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. your eyes formed crescents as you smiled at the boy, and he swore he almost stopped breathing.

your hand came up to rest over his that was still cupping your face, intertwining your fingers. bringing them closer to your face, you opened taesan's and placed a featherlight kiss in the center of his palm.

"what was that for?" taesan mumbled in between giggles as he watched you continue to play with his fingers.

"thank you." your voice wavered slightly, eyes looking up to meet his nervously. you laughed at the puzzled look on his face before continuing.

"for giving me a second chance and letting me come over." you sighed shakily under taesan's gaze. "i missed you, a lot."

"probably not as much as i missed you." taesan replied softly, squeezing your hands and tilting your chin up to meet your wide eyes.

the moment that passed between the two of you was long and drawn out, you savored the feeling of weight being lifted off your chest. trapped in his eyes and tucked in his arms, you couldn't fathom missing the chance to have han taesan like this.

as the thick silence dissolved and taesan's aching lips found yours again, the two of you knew staying away from each other was ill-fated from the start.

[bonus — 10:54 AM]

blinking the sleep from your eyes, you lazily searched taesan's fridge for a water bottle. as you shut the door, a loud crash abruptly pulled you out of your sleepy daze. coming face to face with myung jaehyun, you let out a yelp of surprise.

"no fucking way." he spoke. a bowl of dry cereal lay at his feet, contents now strewn across the kitchen tiles.

ears turning red, you realized how insane you must look: your hair was untied and messily brushed down and you were wearing nothing but an old tshirt and some boxers taesan had given you.

"what happe- oh god." taesan said from behind jaehyun, having rushed over to the kitchen to check on you. it was safe to say the last thing he expected was to see you and his roommate staring open mouthed at each other. flustered, taesan opened his mouth to explain, but jaehyun interrupted him with a loud sigh.

"fuck you tae, now i owe woonhak 20 bucks."

...

taglist: @iweirdthingsblog @yjwkisser @sulkygyu @enhyven

[halfwayhearted]

omg i love ur account soo bad, i would rlly like to read about Spencer being jealous of Derek, for the reader to comfort him and try to help with his insecurities, lowk sad ik but pleaseee 🙇🏻‍♀️

Do You Realize? — Spencer Reid.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

Summary: After the constant small, friendly touches between you and Derek, Spencer can't help but feel a pang of jealousy, wondering if there was something between the two of you.

Word Count: 615+

Disclaimer/s — Slight angst—not really, comfort (?), mutual pining, and teasing from Derek because hello.

A/N: HI. HI. HI. ALSO, I LOVE YOU SOOO, THANK YOU??? :3 I also struggled a little (a lot) and I’m aware that your request wasn’t done much justice, I’m sorry, but I hope you like, hey…

Spencer hated the sight before him. He did, a lot.

It was of you and Derek messing around—like always. Nothing new. His hand lifted to grab your arm so you could reciprocate his handshake after he had blatantly insulted you, making you drop it. But with one glance at his playful grin, you knew you couldn’t actually be upset with him, so you took his hand in yours, holding it for a second longer as you started to speak. Your voice stern.

“I better not hear a word from you,” you warned, “Like, seriously. If I find out, Derek, I’ll get Garcia.”

His grin widened, “Not a peep from me, lover.”

That was when you dropped his hand, your eyes narrowing in feigned annoyance as you turned and walked away. You stopped when you caught the gaze of Spencer. “No paperwork, I assume?”

He stiffened at the sound of your voice. You had caught him. Clearing his throat, he shook his head. “I, uh, I finished early. What about you?”

“Handed them in earlier. Are you heading home?”

Offering you a tight-lipped smile, the brunette nods his head, the only thing he can actually manage right now. He then grabs his leather messenger bag and slings it over his shoulder.

“Me too,” a short pause, adding, “Walk with me?”

‘Walk with me?’ Walk with you? Well, of course!

He nods again and walks up to you. You grab your own bag and make your way toward the elevators. The silence between the two of you was… quiet—quiet, but comfortable. At least, that’s what you had thought. Could Spencer say the same?

No. No, he couldn’t.

No, to Spencer, it was absolutely torturous. He was too busy over-analyzing things that probably weren’t even real problems.

It was just… he didn’t know. “You and Morgan seem close. Just last week, you were arguing.”

Your eyebrows pinched together. “Arguing? No, we weren’t arguing. It was more like... I don’t know, but it wasn’t arguing, I can assure you of that.” You trail off. “Did it really seem that way?”

“Well—no, not really. It didn’t seem that way. You guys just weren’t as touchy then. That’s all.”

That was when you became extremely confused. Since when did he, Spencer Reid, care about you being touchy with someone? Especially Morgan, for that matter. It was simply a friendly bond.

“It’s nothing,” you tell him. “If he needs a hug, I’ll give him one. A handshake? Sure. I’m sure he’d do the same; he would for anyone else on the team.”

Letting out a small hum, his grip on his satchel tightens. So, you decide to speak some more.

“Spencer, what’s on your mind? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m fine. Just thinking is all.” He replies, voice uncharacteristically stoic.

That’s when Morgan’s words from before come into play. He had basically insulted you, calling you dense for not seeing how the man beside you looked at you. How you looked at him the same way, yet you wouldn’t act on it for some reason.

It’s not like he would act on it either it seems.

Should matters be taken into your own hands?

You thought they should be.

When the elevator doors opened and you knew you’d be heading in opposite directions, you stepped out and turned to him, “Hey, Spencer?”

Meeting your gaze, he furrowed his brows and took his bottom lip between his teeth.

“You have nothing to worry about.” And with that, you simply walked away, too soon to notice the flush of his cheeks rising by the second.

Realizing he had yet to exit, he cast you one last glance before hastily making his way out.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated ^_^.

DT(s) — @planetpedri ! ౨ৎ

[scorpiondancing]

My favorite Wangxian fics:

Check the tags! I like all Wangxian dynamics 🖤 (I know it's not everyone's cup of tea)

(some of my favs sadly were hidden but these are the ones still up and ready to read)

Lan Never Kiss and Tell by FeelsForBreakfast

Explicit • Modern au

Wei Ying discovers Lan Zhan has kissed everyone in their friend group and decides he needs to remedy that IMMEDIATELY (more than kissing ensues)

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

we don't need to talk about it by: vesna (mrsronweasley)

Explicit • Modern au (fake dating)

In order to get an apartment they pretend to be a couple and they just keep pretending even when they are alone.. and eventually fall in love for real

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

Midnight, The Stars, And You by: Carrie25

Explicit • Modern au (coffee shop)

Lan Zhan works at a cafe while going to college and his new coworker Wei Ying turns his life into a bit of chaos. Only a lil bit of angst (like barely)

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

your problem as a mountain. by: cupofwater

Explicit • Canon Divergence (no war)

Nie Huaisang and Wei Wuxian send each other letters about their desires and fantasies. Nie Huaisang's brother unknowingly sends off the ones he labeled "Lan Wangji" to the man himself

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

solstice: 那夏天的我们 by: auberjing

Explicit • canon divergence (cloud recesses arc, no war)

Wei Ying decides he needs to teach Lan Zhan how to please himself... as a good friend. It all spirals out of his control

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

The Sculptor by: Eleanor_Fenyx

Mature • Modern au (1970s)

Lan Zhan and Wen Qing are in a lavender marriage and when he sees an ad to be a model, he for some reason takes it. Who would've thought that the artist was just his type

(Such good pining + lil misunderstanding)

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

Punchline by: jiangnan

General Audience • Humor

“Sorry guys, I’ll only know love it if hits me in the face!” Wei Wuxian laughed....

And then Lan Wangji punches him

(It's so silly, I laughed so hard. Truly adore this one)

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

i'm gonna drown when you wake up by: teenjiism

Explicit • Modern au

Neurodivergent Wangxian, getting together, slow burn, banter, PINING. It's just so good and I relate way too hard to adhd demisexual Wei Ying

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

in the blossom season (in the pouring rain) by: varnes

Mature • Modern with magic

Local florist, Wei Ying, seems to have a "magic touch" when it comes to plants. Lan Yuan meets someone he calls "Doctor Flowers" and Lan Zhan's apartment rooftop garden suddenly grows exponentially.

(I adore fics with A-yuan 😭)

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

the soft animal of your body by: sysrae

Teen Audience • Modern with cultivation

BIG WHUMP WEI YING 😭 but it has a happy ending

Lan Huan needs a sitter for his newly acquired rabbit... and Wei Ying was in need of a warm bed and a shower.

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

Going on charmingly by: scribbet

Teen Audience • Canon Divergence

Cloud recesses arc but Wei Wuxian was a disciple of Baoshan Sanren and he is better of for it.

Lan Wangji is a lil sassy in this one

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

breaking in soft fires and wildflowers by AhoyTheShipOfDreams

Explicit • canon divergence (set during sunshot campaign)

Lan Wangji gets cursed and he must have physical contact at all times or he will be in immense pain and eventually die. Thankfully Wei Wuxian is there to help

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

Meet Me Friday At Seven by: craftyTrickster

Explicit • Modern au

Wei Ying and Lan Zhan meet when they both have a blind date with other people and decide to keep meeting before and after each date to commiserate.. it's slow burn but they work it out, lots of oblivious pining bc of miscommunication

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

Traveling in shadows, chasing your light by: MusicMe_tc

Mature • Canon divergence (getting together)

Lan Zhan gets hurt protecting Wei Ying at Nightless City. He gets taken to the Burial Mounds where Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen both learn they may have misjudged the Yiling Patriarch while they all heal Lan Zhan

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

A Haunting Love by: omegas_m, Selenay

Explicit • Modern with cultivation

Lan Zhan moves into a house that seems to be haunted by a very talkative ghost.

This one is full of mystery, suspense, romance, ANGST but a very happy end

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

paint smears on sunny days by: SnowshadowAO3

Explicit • Modern au (getting together)

Lan Zhan is running late to pick up his son but thankfully his son's art teacher watches him. And Lan Zhan may or may not fall in love at first sight.

I love the softness and cute little A-Yuan.

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

it's a long road but we're not alone by: Stratisphyre

Mature • Canon Divergence

Jiang Yanli and Jin Ling "disappear" along with the Yiling Patriarch.

16 years later Lan Jingyi is on a night hunt and meets some rogue cultivators who remind Lan Wangji of a certain someone.

(Wangxian get together in the end)

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

A More Practical Approach by: Elhana

Teen Audience • post canon

The Lan elders want to stop wangxian from doing it all the time so they make Wei Ying a teacher. He finds a way to teach the students with elaborate arrays and mazes in order to buy him and his husband some alone time

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

Yearning for Miles by Murahi

Mature • Canon Divergence

Wei Ying finds an artifact in his dorm room at the Cloud Recesses. When him and Jiang Cheng test it out, they can see the future. With the help of Nie Huaisang they plan to change everything.

THIS IS THE BEST LONG FIC 🛐 I cried

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

The Light That Fails to Dim by: glowingreverie

Teen Audience • Canon Divergence

Wei Ying gets taken in by the Nie sect but still is able to learn the sword and not the sabre.

Really underestimated how angsty it would get but such a good happy end with brothers nhs and wwx along the way

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

inevitable everything by: isablightwood

Explicit • Canon Divergence

Wei Ying is Baoshan Sanren's adoptive grandson and still learns demon cultivation but differently. He offers his help with the Sunshot campaign but only if he can marry Lan Zhan

This one is angsty with unexpected twists + happy end

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

Adventures in babysitting (or attempts at romance) by: Morgana_avalon

Mature • post canon

Wei Ying and Lan Zhan get turned into 5 year olds and Lan Xichen needs Jiang Chengs help

This might not be everyone's fav but I love baby Wangxian and secretly love the VERY rare pair. Unexpectedly fell in love with them (read the tags)

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

The Golden Cutsleeve by: syrus_jones

Explicit • Canon divergence (Cloud Recesses arc)

Wei Ying saves a girl from being spiritually attached to an adult toy by attaching it to himself. Unfortunately he gets caught "just testing it out to make sure it's really attached to me" and in a dumb moment he gives it to Lan Wangji thinking he wouldn't actually use it right?

(Embarrassing but so funny, I love this one)

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

A new found family by: MusicMe_tc

General Audience • Canon divergence (Cloud Recesses arc)

Lan Zhan gets turned into a baby and Lan Qiren has to take care of him while keeping it a secret. Unfortunately Wei Ying misses his buddy and sneaks into the Jingshi and finds a familiar looking child. He is given permission to help out and Lan Qiren gets a soft spot for the boy.

(Wangxian get together)

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

The Simplest Way Forward by harriet_vane

Explicit • Modern au (accidental baby acquisition)

Wei Ying wakes up and finds a child in his apartment with a note from his cousin and no clear idea on how long this kid is gonna stay. Suddenly becoming a dad while in college is a lot. So he misses music rehearsal. Thankfully Lan Zhan comes over to check in on his classmate and ends up staying to help him out.

Acquaintances to lovers with a kid to speed things up

｡₍ ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ♡ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ ₎｡

[yunniverse]

Warmth

౨ৎ PAIRING— choi san x reader

౨ৎ GENRE— fluff, established relationship, fem!reader

౨ৎ WARNINGS— mostly fluff, slight angst

౨ৎ WORD COUNT— 1.0k

౨ৎ SUMMARY— san can’t sleep and you help him.

౨ৎ A/N— i hope you like it! feedback is appreciated and thanks for reading, lovelies! <3

You wake up slowly, your eyes adjusting to the light, as you instinctively reach toward your side, your hand coming in contact with the cold sheet.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you lift a hand to your face, rubbing your eyes as you yawn, trying to wake up. “San?” you mumble, checking the clock to your right, which reads 3:23 a.m.

With a small groan, you force yourself to sit up, shivering slightly when your barefeet touch the cool wood floor. “Sweetheart?” you question, wrapping your arms around yourself, starting to wish you’d chosen something more than shorts and a tank top to sleep in.

Walking down the hall, you start to wonder where your husband could be. This isn’t the first time he’s woken up in the middle of the night, but it worries you nonetheless.

“San?” you ask, peeking your head around the corner that leads to the balcony, which overlooks the ocean at the vacation house your staying in. A small smile grows on your face when you see San sitting in one of the chairs, wearing sweatpants and a white button up shirt, though none of the buttons are buttoned. He’s staring at the waves as they brush against the shore.

“Honey,” you call to him, stepping closer to gently place your hands on his broad shoulders, sliding them down to rest against his chest. “What’s wrong?”

San sighs, “Nothing, baby. Did I wake you?”

“You didn’t,” you respond softly. “But the empty bed did.”

“I’m sorry,” he replies, turning his head to press a kiss to the inside of your wrist. Even after being with him for so long, he still gives you butterflies everyday. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

“I figured,” you respond, resting your cheek against the top of his head, releasing a sigh. “Something on your mind?”

“I don’t know,” San frowns, shaking his head. “My mind just wouldn’t go to sleep.”

You nod against him, involuntarily shivering when a cool breeze blows across the beach. “Cold?” San asks, turning his head to look at you, as you nod, moving closer to him, basking in the small amount of warmth he provides. “You should go back to bed, baby.”

“Without you?” you pout, playing with one of the buttons on his shirt. “It’s cold in there too, especially without you.”

“I’ll only be out here for a little while longer,” San tells you, but you know he’ll probably sit out here until morning if he has his way.

“Sannie,” you slide your hands down a little further, leaning down to rest your chin against his shoulder. “You need rest. We didn’t come to this island so you could get even more exhausted.”

“I promise I’ll get some sleep,” he responds, gently tugging you around to the front of the chair, making you shiver at the lack of warmth.

He offers you a soft smile, his dimples showing, as he pulls you to stand between his legs, reaching up to cup your cheek with his hand, gently brushing his thumb across your skin.

“You don’t have to worry so much,” he whispers, making you sigh, shaking your head down at him.

“You know I will either way, San,” you respond, watching as he gives you a knowing smile. “Please come back to bed? Your thoughts can wait ‘til morning.”

“Tell my thoughts that, please,” San groans, frowning.

“Come on, sweetheart,” you coax, gently pulling him, even though you know you can’t get him up unless he wants to get up. “I know you don’t want to sit out here all night.”

“Alright,” San nods, giving in. “But only because I really am exhausted.”

“Whatever the reason, I’m just happy you’re agreeing,” you laugh as San quirks an eyebrow at you, his signature judging look on his face.

“Are you sure you don’t just want me there so you’ll be warm?” he questions, making you laugh, shaking your head at him.

“Of course not, honey,” you respond. “That’s just an added bonus.” San rolls his eyes playfully as you reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “I really do hope you can rest tonight, Sannie.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he responds, flashing you a tired, but reassuring, smile as he closes the door to the balcony behind both of you.

“Like I said, I’ll worry either way,” you reply, gently pulling him along with you back to the bedroom.

“I really don’t think I’ll be able to get to sleep,” San tells you with a sigh as he slips off the button-up shirt. You watch him as he climbs into the bed beside you, his side dipping with his weight as you settle down next to him, rolling slightly to rest your hand against his chest, your hand moving to settle against his toned abs.

He hides his grin as you brush your thumb across his skin absentmindedly, probably not even realizing you’re doing it.

You’re tucked comfortable into his side as he wraps an arm around you, pulling the sheet up over the both of you. “I love you, San,” you whisper, resting your chin against his chest to look up at him.

“I love you too,” he responds with a wink, making you giggle, shaking your head at his silliness. Leaning toward him, you press a kiss to his lips, one he returns, kissing you softly. It never ceases to amaze you how gentle San’s kisses can be even if he’s in a bad mood.

“Goodnight, San,” you whisper, moving back to your original position, but not before pressing a soft kiss to San’s chest as well, making him hold you just a little bit tighter.

 “Goodnight, love,” he responds softly as you sigh contentedly, hoping San will be able to fall asleep once you do.

With the sound of the waves outside and the gentle, rhythmic thumping of San’s heartbeat, it’s not long before you find yourself drifting to sleep, but not before you make sure to keep brushing your thumb across San’s abs, hoping it’ll comfort him enough to get to sleep.

About fifteen minutes of fighting off sleep later, you dare to lift your head slightly, glancing at San’s face, pleasantly surprised to find his eyes closed peacefully, his breathing steady. Maybe you’d finally figured out what he needed to get to sleep. With a content sigh, you settle back into San’s side, happy his mind finally let him rest.

Moving just a little closer to San, you snuggle into his warmth, letting his heartbeat and the waves lull you to sleep.

[blockedbykei]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 (𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇)

🏐 — tsukishima kei x f!reader

— synopsis: something about the stars has always intrigued tsukishima, how even in the dusk of the night, the brighest star would light up the world and burn itself in the process. he also didn't know what to do when that star had turned into the person who seemed to make his days just a little bit better.

— warnings: nothing much, except angst. just soft yet also mean tsukishima who doesn't know what to do with those feelings of his. maybe he's a little ooc. based on "andromeda" by weyes blood.

stars, so miniscule, so far away from his touch, so beautiful even with the stygian waters that it swims on.

every night, after practice, tsukishima would walk his lethargic body home with his headphones in his ears, his neck bent backwards it could snap. but he didn't care, he wanted to watch the stars move and follow him.

he wanted to watch all the dead stars who shined the brightest, the stars that had turned into supernovas, the stars that are created. and he felt at peace— the soft rhythm and reverb of the song humming in his ears, and the stars that lead him home.

and occasionally, adding to his visual and auditory senses, a sweet drink on the palate of his tongue made his evenings better.

tonight was no different.

he had just bid his goodbye to his teammates, although timidly and without masking that annoyance he'd always bore against the little tangerine boy who always had a little too much energy.

tsukishima begins his journey, using the stars as his map, putting his hands in his pockets. yamaguchi hadn't joined him for tonight. actually, he hasn't joined him in a while, always walking yachi home, using her "safety" as an excuse (it really was the reason, but obviously there was another one).

still, he didn't mind the absence of his friend.

anri's soft doo-wop brings pleasantries in his ears as the song begins. his fingers tap inside the pocket of his gym shorts. he looks up at the night sky and connects his own constellations. tsukishima wonders if those stars ever know that they're being admired by millions of people in this planet, even if they'd died billions of years ago.

as a child, he used to think that the stars were the meteors that had killed his beloved dinosaurs. and every night, he would refuse to look up. but then akiteru, despite finding humor in his little brother's childish belief, had decided to tell him the difference between meteors and stars. and then added more information about those stars.

so now tsukishima loved three things: dinosaurs, strawberry shortcake, and stars.

his feet patter softly on the cobblestone that serves as a pathway to his home, the cool air drying the sweat off his temples and cooling his back, which reminds him to wipe his sweat when he gets home before he showers to avoid getting sick.

and then he suddenly comes in contact with a small body.

just outside of sakanoshita market, tsukishima's chest bursts in sudden (but light) pain from the person's elbow. and that person had emit a small noise of surprise and pain, stumbling backwards.

tsukishima was just about to snap, tell the person to look where they had been going and call them an idiot when his eyes met yours.

they're wide, irises darkened from the night's haze, and you're clutching your elbow, headphones askew. you rub the soft skin, a small pout on your lips and tsukishima wonders how painful was it for you to pout like this.

then you look at him and he feels the air stuck in his throat.

pretty.

"oh! sorry. i didn't mean to bump into you." you bow in front of him, hands pliant at your sides. tsukishima's at lost for words, lips only parted and looking at you. he still hasn't said anything when you bring yourself back up again.

"it's- it's okay." he finally stammers out, pausing his music and moving his headphones off from one ear. "sorry for not looking either." tsukishima bows slightly, just tilting the top half of his body.

you smile lightly at him, hanging your own headphones around your neck, scanning his figure. he suddenly feels shy under your curious gaze, watching as you read the print on the left side of his chest.

"karasuno...? ka-karasuno! i go there," you laugh lightly, like that discovery was the greatest news you'd ever heard. "i don't think i've seen you around. well, maybe because i'm new. i'm such a dumbass."

though the last sentence being a whisper, tsukishima contradicts: "n-no. i haven't seen you around either." he takes one step forward towards you, didn't expect himself to be nearer than he'd planned. "tsukishima kei."

you tell him yours in a polite manner, with a smile so bright you'd beat the stars that hover both of your bodies. "you're part of the volleyball club, aren't you?"

he hopes you don't see his wavering blush in the dim lights. "yes."

"cool! what position?"

"middle blocker."

"that's so cool," you face him, neck bent upwards to meet his eyes, hands forming into excited fists in front of you, like how hinata would get enthusiastic about something. "you're really tall. i bet, i mean if you could, you'd hit the streetlights when you jump."

that theory piques his curiosity. his eyebrows raise. "i haven't given it a thought. i will try it soon though." tsukishima finally removes his headphones and leaves them around his neck. he points to the bag in her hands. "what'd you buy?"

"chocolate milk. ukai-chan is your coach, right?"

"how'd you know?"

"i see him enter the gym everyday after classes. he owns this store," your head motions behind you. "can you tell him his mom is a little mean? i actually preferred it when he was watching over the store."

tsukishima smiles a little. "can't. he's our coach. he might actually drop us for his store."

your laugh may be brighter than anything else in existence.

"okay, well, see you around tsukishima-san." you smile at him, the pearls of your teeth glinting in the moonlight, the whiskers of your eyes denote the glee you've obtained from him and tsukishima softens just a little. you wave at him and walk past him.

he turns around, and even though your back was to him, his hand lifts and waves at you.

tsukishima walks home happier than he expected, a small smile lingering on his face.

🏐 —

"who you looking for, tsukki?"

yamaguchi serves his friend a teasing smile, holding the tray carefully in his hands. tsukishima looks down at his friend and deadpans:

"shut up, yamaguchi."

"sorry tsukki."

they sit down on the table hinata and kageyama sit on, the two bantering quite loudly on which flavored milk was the best and is advisable to increase their energy. kageyama says: "banana, you dumbass."

hinata argues that: "it's chocolate! it makes people hyper for a reason. could you watch your language?!"

tsukishima and yamaguchi sit beside each other, their backs to the window of the cafeteria, which meant that tsukishima has a view of the entire room, his height being an advantage despite the large crowds.

he blindly brings his bento out of his box, his eyes never leaving the heedless crowd. yamaguchi, ever the curious, most specifically the friend who always wondered what it is that ran through tsukishima's mind, asked again: "seriously, tsukki, who are you looking for?"

tsukishima huffs. "just sawamura-san. i need a-advice. on my blocks." the lie slips easily off his tongue that yamaguchi can't decide between believing him or forcing the truth out of him.

but tsukishima is slightly disappointed that even after five minutes, he still can't see the color of your hair amidst the throng of students. though his face might say otherwise (rbf), he can't help but feel a little sad.

maybe the star isn't shining so bright today.

he pokes and prods at the vegetables placed on top of his rice, stabbing the carrot and shoving it in his frowning mouth. he doesn't notice that hinata has been observing– no, looking at him. because hinata was never the type of person who could be discreet.

"stingyshima, you look sad," he doesn't know if it's a tease or not, but maybe it is. "is he looking for someone, yamaguchi?"

"i don't know," he shrugs. "he says he's looking for sawamura-san."

"he's right there," kageyama jabs his finger behind him, seeing daichi in line for the cafeteria food. "your blocks haven't been good? figured."

"sorry if i haven't lived up to your standards, king." tsukishima sneers. yamaguchi and hinata laugh, kageyama burning in his seat.

eating his lunch ended quite faster than he thought it would, and soon he finds himself walking along the hallway of the school building waiting for the remaining free time to end. so his boredom drags his feet towards the nearest vending machine.

the device on his ears blocked out all the haze and noise of the world, which left him in his own environment. it eased the nerves that trickled along his veins, rubbed the tension off his shoulders. in his own milieu, he could think whatever and say whatever and do whatever.

just like how stars form themselves however they please, explode and die whenever they want to. tsukishima didn't have better knowledge of stars than he knew of dinosaurs, but it was his own thought and he had the freedom to think whatever it is (although of course, with just a little bit of accuracy and validity).

tsukishima's eyes scan the plastic divisions for the sight of any strawberry drinks. when they land on one, he types the number and slips the cash in. the conveyor belts begin to twist.

but much to his dismay, when the drink was pushed, it never fell.

he tuts in frustration, his head falling backwards to release a tired, irritated sigh.

and then you pop up beside him.

tsukishima jumps lightly when he sees you put your head out and smile at him, clutching his heaving chest. somehow, your laugh had managed to drown out the song in his ears; he doesn't mind though. he thinks your smile was the most beautiful orchestra ever conducted.

he puts his headphones around his neck. "they're incredibly annoying, aren't they?" you smile up at him. "here, i'll help you."

suddenly, you begin to violently shake the vending machine. tsukishima almost feels embarrassed for you, but the lack of audience has rid that feeling. you, with your height, looked like a child angrily throwing a tantrum and had transferred your anger towards an object.

nonetheless, adorable.

finally, the strawberry drink fell down, and you squat to pick it up from the port to give it to him. tsukishima takes it from you and says: "thank you."

"no problem!" you beam at him. "i was actually looking for you earlier. i couldn't see you. did you eat at your classroom?"

tsukishima removes the plastic of his straw. "no. i was at the cafeteria." he doesn't want to admit he's looking for you too, but he hopes you can see it in his eyes.

(you don't. to you, he looked uninterested and entertained at the same time. very hard to read)

"aw, alright. well, i was just wondering if you'd like to, uh, switch emails?" you're shy and he finds it amusing. "not switch like i use yours and you use mine, but switch like i take yours and you take mine... so we could text each other..."

he wants to say that he knows, he's not dumb. but you– your eager eyes of softness look up at him and he forgets how to be so cruel and cold. like you were the kind of fire to melt the falling snowflakes. tsukishima nods.

"sure." he pulls his phone out with one hand from his pocket and hands it to you. you take it and give your phone to him, and it felt smaller in his hands.

when you exchange phones again, there's shyness written across your face. tsukishima can't help but blush with the way the sun kisses your skin the way it would to tainted windows– radiating colors so beautiful he can't help but simply be at awe towards you.

a star is created somewhere far away. tsukishima's heart skips a beat.

"i was actually looking for you, too. earlier." he admits, putting his phone back in his pocket. "i couldn't see you. sorry."

"don't be sorry!" there goes that smile again, always making his heart flip. "we both struggled anyway."

"do you want anything?" he points to the vending machine. "chocolate? banana? strawberry?"

"can i try yours first?"

tsukishima pauses, the straw in his mouth just finishing his sip. there's innocence in your eyes that riles him up the wall in ludicrous ways. he slowly takes the straw out between his lips and hands it to you, with you greedily taking it from him before his hand met you halfway.

he swears he could've been redder than any other person in the world when you so shamelessly put his straw in your mouth.

should i be worried about the germs or the fact that we kind of just kissed but not really?

when you sip, you swallow and he can see your brain ponder on what decision you were going to make. you hand it back to him and say: "yeah, i like that one, too."

how could you act like you didn't just drink from his straw?

tsukishima gets you one, this time without shaking the vending machine and hands it to you.

"thank you." you say, your smile adding to your gratitude.

though it seems as if time has reached its end and a familiar sound rings across the hallway that reminds the both of you that the free time was over. tsukishima sees your pout but you don't directly show it to him.

"well, see you around, tsukishima!" you wave goodbye to him, walking away.

tsukishima stands still, staying at his place. his drink was no longer cold, the condensation dripping down his fingers.

somehow, the colors are brighter, the drink was sweeter, the tension from his body had disappeared, and everything else felt lighter. and even if you were no longer standing in his proximity, that luster you left behind etched itself to him.

you were now his new environment.

🏐 —

you. hi tsukishima! 3:13pm

when his phone dings, he places his waterbottle to his side, tuning out the sound of squeaking shoes and bouncing balls. he sees your name on the screen. he doesn't hesitate to text back.

tsukishima. Hi. 3:13pm

his palms sweat from simply typing that greeting. but his heart seems to beat faster and his chest feels light. he didn't expect that you'd text right away. nevertheless, he feels elated to see you text him.

you. didnt see u at the gates earlier during dismissal, do u have training today? 3:15pm

tsukishima. Yes. 3:15pm

you. oh really? until what time? 3:18pm

tsukishima. 7. 3:18pm

you. okay! thats kind of tiring haha. 3:20pm

tsukishima. It is. 3:20pm

he winces at the possible tone he may deliver, so he adds:

tsukishima. Haha. 3:20pm

"bruh, you text so lame."

it seems that tanaka had been peaking over his shoulder as the conversation ensued. tsukishima hugs his phone to his chest and glares at him. "that's invasion of privacy."

"and that's how to lose a girl," he points at his phone. "you text like you're so uninterested."

yamaguchi looks at the two. "who's tsukki texting?"

"some girl named, uh,–"

"no one." tsukishima snaps. "no one."

"oh, it must be the one tsukishima was looking for earlier," hinata runs– or skips towards them. "stingyshima flirting? i wonder how you look like. i'm smart, but i won't tell you that i'm a smartass because i wanna impress you with my blocking skills. i'm so cool and so tall."

tsukishima hates how hinata mimics him. he bites back. "oh, i'm hinata. i'm so small."

much to his dismay, even sugawara had joined in. "you could tell her that, you know, i'm so tired. but i'm drinking water so that's good enough for me already."

he responds with respect, though dripping his annoyance. "sugawara-san, please don't mimic me."

his phone vibrates again, and everyone else leans in to look. tsukishima snarls and moves away from them, clutching his dear phone to his chest.

you. any chance we could drink later? 3:27pm

you. not alcohol, of course. just milk or juice, or a shake, even yogurt. although, we can't drink yogurt... 3:27pm

tsukishima feels yamaguchi peer over his shoulder, and he knows its him because of that distinct smell of his. he doesn't hide the phone away even when yamaguchi says: "she's asking you out! go!"

"calm down, yamaguchi."

he shakily types his response.

tsukishima. Sure. By the store again? 3:27pm

three dots, he's awaiting for your response.

you. okay! see you there :) 3:28pm

🏐 —

his practice ends at 7 on the dot. tsukishima has never left faster in his life.

though he was always the first to leave, bidding them goodbye before walking his way home. this was different– his goodbye bore that sense of urgency with a twinge of excitement as he clumsily slipped his regular shoes on, walking as fast as he could away from the school campus.

coach ukai had actually offered that they go back to the store together, but tsukishima was in a rush.

it was an eight minute walk to the store. he got there in five.

you were no longer wearing your school uniform. you had your hands at your sides, rocking back in forth from the heels of your feet, your headphones bobbing along with your head as you listened to your song. tsukishima wonders how he would approach you.

a tap on the shoulder? yell your name? appear in front of you? should he turn you around violently and smile awkwardly? should he–

"tsukishima-san!"

he didn't realize that he had spaced out, blinking. you approach tsukishima as you discard your headphones to hang them around your neck, stopping just a few friendly feet from him.

"how was practice?" you pip. "you look exhausted."

tsukishima reddens. "i'm alright. same practice anyway," he rubs the back of his neck. "should we go inside? i'm thirsty."

he hopes he doesn't sound too demanding. but you reacted normally, gave him a pretty smile, and led your way towards the store.

coach ukai's mother sat behind the counter, sporting the same cigarette in her mouth, a garbled greeting escaping her without bothering to look up as she read her newspaper. you and tsukishima find your way to the back where the drinks are.

he opens the door for you, the appliance bulb casting a white glow over your face as you bent and searched for what drink made your veins twitch with excitement.

"by the way, you know yachi hitoka?" you balance your hands on your knees, looking up at him. "she's your manager right? i'm in her class!"

"really?" he queries, swallowing thickly. "you're really smart, then. it's one of the higher classes."

"i try," you shrug shyly, looking back at the selection of drinks. "anyway, i asked her about you. she said that you were a middle blocker, 6 foot something, and that she liked your friend yamaguchi? i don't know, she said it then she denied it."

"oh, she likes him alright," he chuckles. "he walks her home every night."

"really?!" you pick up two cans of coke and clutch them to your chest, standing upwards. tsukishima shyly reaches for another strawberry drink. "i'm mad at her for not telling me that."

you make your way to the front with tsukishima following behind you. you place the contents on the counter, the woman behind muttering something you can't discern as she scanned your orders.

"are you allowed to stay out a little longer?" you ask him, the soft beeps of the drinks grazing his ears. he shrugs again, reaching for his wallet.

"yeah, sure. do you want to do something?" he places the payment on the counter before you were able to take your own cash out. you pout.

"i was going to pay for mine."

"it's alright. it wasn't that expensive, anyway." he smiles a little at you. and it was the first time tsukishima had ever smiled kindly at anyone, except yamaguchi, his mom, and akiteru. "you were saying?"

you pop open your can. "i found this really nice spot where you can stargaze. and, honestly, i'm bored and tomorrow's the weekend. i would have invited you to do this tomorrow, but we're here now!"

he laughs through his nose. "i'm free anytime."

when you both approach the exit, coach ukai and the team stand by the open doors. tsukishima stops on his tracks, his mouth parted the slighest as you tip your head back to drink your soda. when your head comes back in place, your eyes settle on the crowd upon you.

"oh, hello ukai-san!"

tsukishima looks at you through his peripherals before darting his eyes back front. they all snicker, eyes widened at the sight in front of them— cold, narcissistic, mean tsukishima kei, with probably the nicest girl in all of karasuno. yachi waves at you.

"is that why you were rushing to get out, tsukishima?" ukai teases, a cigarette hanging loosely off his lips. "i see you've met my number 1 customer."

he blushes when he's exposed, and he ignores the way you give him a surprised glance.

"so you must be the girl he was texting earlier," tanaka approaches you, offers his hand. "forgive him. he sounds lame when he texts, but trust me if you saw his face he looked like–"

"tanaka-san." tsukishima almost pleads.

while shaking his hand, yachi approaches you with yamaguchi behind her. "this is why you asked me about him!"

"shut up, yachi."

tsukishima could die right then and there. melt into a puddle of sweat and embarrassment. there were words exchanged between you and his ever loving team, the heat on his face becoming hotter and hotter at every second.

he wishes he could leave now.

by the time hinata begins to ask you a question about tsukishima's attitude, he sighs loudly. "excuse us, but we have to head out now."

you look at him again. "we do?"

"yes, we do," he looks down at you. "you told me, remember?"

you smile at him, recollecting your invitation. "oh, yes! we should get going."

you offer your goodbyes to the curious group. tsukishima wallows in discomfort, walking away with his shoulders slightly slumped and a hand in his pocket.

"i like them," you tell him, drinking your coke. "they're nice."

"they're really not," he takes a sip of his drink. "if you hung out with them, you'd be just as annoyed as i was."

his "joke" makes you laugh. first he thinks what could be so funny about his comment, then he realizes you don't actually know that he wasn't joking. the thought makes him swoon just a little.

"so why stargazing?" his and your feet are synchronized, stepping on the uneven cobblestone to the destination that tsukishima still doesn't know. your shoulder is closed to his when you walk; he resists the urge to put his hand out so that they'd graze your fingers, feeling the heat rub on his calloused skin.

"yesterday, when you walked home, i looked back and saw you look up at the sky," you reply. "and i realized that "oh, he stargazes too!" so i decided to bring you to my spot."

"your spot?" you hum in agreement. "why?"

"because it's nice to share the feeling of looking up at beautiful stars." you throw your now empty can onto a nearby bin, opening your second one. "i figured maybe you might feel the same way i do."

if it was admiration then yes, he felt the same way you did.

🏐 —

tsukishima realizes the walk was 10 minutes away from his home. now you're both standing at a hill where you can see all the houses nearby and karasuno at the other side.

you sit down on the ground, he copies you. his bottom sits on the soft soil, his fingers prickled by the grass, and the cold smell of the meadow enters his nostrils.

he thinks that everything is happening a little too fast – he had only met you yesterday, exchanged emails earlier, went out to buy drinks, and now you're both sitting at a hill stargazing like it's a date. your optimism and kindness shakes him a little, leaving him with an unknown thought of what he could possibly do as of this moment.

yet he's still here, watching you gaze at the stars, the sheer glow of the moon kissing your cheeks, the stars reflecting off the mosaic of your eyes. you're radiating this cordial heat that wraps around his right arm that rests just millimeters away from you.

"told you it's pretty," you beam, lips parted, never sparing him a glance. "you see that? that's cassiopea right there."

you point to the sky and squint, and it's only then tsukishima takes his eyes off you and follow the direction of your fingerprint.

you trace the invisible strings that connect each star to one another. blearily, his imagination turns those strings into silver. tsukishima draws nearer towards you, his shoulder now bumping yours, his pinkie grazing the skin of your finger.

"andromeda isn't here yet. but it's the one i've been waiting for the most," you turn your head to look at him.

tsukishima's breath hitches when he realizes that he may have underestimated how close the proximity he had created was, your breath fanning his face. he senses your surprise, the way the bottom of your eyes twitch lightly and your nose scrunches a little.

"i figure maybe they arive in a few weeks," he murmurs. he can sense your surprise and says: "you're not the only one who knows about stars."

"yeah? figured you were more into dinosaurs."

"that's true," he sniffles, you giggle. "when i was a kid i thought that the stars were the ones who killed the dinosaurs. so every night, when i see them, i would always cry 'cause i thought that they might fall here and kill us all."

"pessimist, huh?" when your head tilts up, your chin bumps his shoulder. "anything else i should know about you?"

"there's one thing i want to tell you but i've been making it plainly obvious."

"you have a knack for strawberries."

"yes," he smiles a little, the whites of his teeth appearing between his thin lips. "i like music."

"so do i."

"yeah? what genre?"

"...anri..."

"really?" tsukishima's eyes brighten, maybe even brighter than the stars. "i like her music."

"i thought you were kind of a japanese rock kind of guy."

"i can be many things," you look back up to the sky, your eyes darting between each individual star like you're tracing another constellation. tsukishima's tracing the features of your face like it was his constellation.

"yachi says you're mean, but in a way that brings up the team's drive to play harder," you say into the wind. "please don't be mean to me. i cry easily."

tsukishima wonders if he can even smile more than he is now. "i'll try my best. you're giving me a lot of reasons to be mean right now."

"but you're not being mean to me right now," you poke his glasses and shove them to his face, hurting the bridge of his nose. albeit tsukishima doesn't mutter a single complaint. "you're just being dorky."

"i am not!" he balances his body with one hand behind him, the other tugging on the end of your hair.

"now you're just being childish!"

your laugh beats out all the songs he had to search for to complete every single of his playlists. it was as soft as silk, as dulcet as violins; it was something he'd play on repeat when it played on his headphones. and your sweet laughed matched the way your face became even more beautiful.

tsukishima feels his heart beat a little bit faster.

a star explodes. supernova.

he no longer feels wearied from practice, his body languid from comfort in your presence. and just like last night, he was happy his day ended with something that lacked the usual bothersome feeling in his chest, but something that decompressed every constraint muscle in his body and think of something else that made the corner of his lips smile and his heart elated.

that's why when he went back home, when his mother and akiteru (who was visiting) were dead asleep, he silently descended to his room with a smile on his face, brushed his teeth with the sound of your laugh echoing in his ears, changed his clothes with your scent somehow lingering, and went to be thinking about you.

🏐 —

the past few weeks were more eventful than the days he had to train for the inter-high preliminaries.

the more he saw you, the more he felt himself unwinding like a diurnal motion, every trust and rigor travelling through his veins whenever your aura touched his opalescent skin.

you were the succor to his weary bones. you were the happiness that he never truly found in others. you were the light brighter than the stars could ever give him in the dark.

secrets were passed the way notes would in classes.

you got a sweet tooth? what dessert do you like?

strawberry shortcake, tsukishima said. no regrets, no embarrassment. pure adoration.

did you know that velociraptors aren't actually that big?

yeah? how'd you know that, tsukishima?

it's called reading, he'd roll his eyes. you're in the highest class and you don't read?

his retorts were never used to add insult to injury. that's what he liked about you– you knew when he was serious and when he wasn't despite the fact that tsukishima believed that he was hard to read. it seemed like you were able to read him better than yamaguchi has.

his heart aches at the thought. the ache, painful but so good, but something that he could not discern the true intention.

but he could never let you in him. never in his life.

you. saw a frog and it looked like you. loser. 12:51pm

you and tsukishima had exchanged countless of texts that contained topics that he never expected himself to be indulging in. that familiar ding! of his phone reminded him of you already, because you'd been the only one who constantly texted him more than yamaguchi has.

(also because, well, he set up a different tone for you.)

tsukishima sees your name pop up in a rectangular notification on his screen. he opens it with sweaty hands and a towel over his head, his thumbs typing out a snarky reply.

tsukishima. How could a frog look like me, (y/n)? That's dumb. 12:51pm

he ruffles his towel over his damp curls, the sweat on his temples being sucked into the cloth. he watches the three bubbles appear on your side and you say:

you. because i said so. look! 12:52pm

the attached image looked far from what tsukishima looks like. it was a regular frog, beside a pond, with no thoughts. he rolls his eyes.

tsukishima. I don't see it. 12:53pm

you. thats because youre not LOOKING. do u see his eyes? literally you. i think its the mouth, haha 12:54pm

he laughs either way despite not having seen any similarities. but laughing seemed to be a mistake, as he forgot where he was at the moment.

"quit laughing, tsukishima. you'll slack off," kageyama taunts from afar, face etched into an arrogant smirk. yamaguchi approaches him, peeking over tsukishima's shoulder to snoop on the conversation.

"are you worried i'll ruin your game, king?" tsukishima rubs the back of his neck, tilting his chin upwards. "my apologies."

you send him another text: omw there to see u :p 12:59pm

the latter's growl was overpowered by yamaguchi's hum of interest. "tsukki, that frog does look like you."

"yamaguchi, how nosy are you?"

"nosy enough to ask when will you tell her that you like her?"

tsukishima's eyebrows furrow. he did not like you. during those weeks, the both of you did more than just exchange texts in any time of day– often you'd meet after classes and buy a drink when he didn't have practice; sometimes you'd wait for him until seven in the evening so you'd both go up the hill again and talk mindlessly about things that tickled your brains.

in those few weeks, he had learned more about himself than he ever had with anyone else.

and he feels, though never actually given any attention to, that his days ended with a smile on his face rather than feeling boredom creeping up his shoulder like a grim reaper would on a dying soul.

instead, it felt like he was resurrected; tsukishima felt like a shooting star falling through evening, the fire pulsing through his veins as he fell. with you, he felt like everything else had color, that everything else made sense.

his life became brighter that it seemed like hinata's hair was actually on fire from the bright orange hues.

so no, he did not like you.

"i don't like her." he wipes the sweat that dripped onto his glasses. "don't be ridiculous."

"yesterday, when you were eating, you kept talking about how this (y/n) girl told you how the dinosaurs from jurassic park were created. and all of us were talking about one piece."

"so? it's way more interesting."

"but not her?"

"yamaguchi," he bemoans. "nothing is interesting about her."

that lie. that sickeningly, macabre, heartbreaking lie that it even hurt him to say it. tsukishima also doesn't understand why yamaguchi has a horrified face plastered on him, but he realizes he wasn't looking at his friend, and was looking behind him.

he whips his head around.

the tips of your shoes had mud on them from the dampened soil. your umbrella hung loosely around your wrist and dripped on the ground. your fingers clasped around a small contained with what seemed to be strawberry shortcaked that looked delectable enough to make his stomach hurt. and your chest heaved from what he assumed was the aftermath of rapid walking.

despite the sight that had made his head spin, the affliction that twitched from your frowning lips and the gloss that made your eyes shine from dejection had turned the situation into something so monotone he feels like his soul had just left life.

a star dies in the middle of the galaxy.

tsukishima thinks the regret plastered on his face may be seen. he hopes that it is.

the sound of squeaking shoes and ricocheting balls continue, but the ringing of his ears are louder. you swallow thickly, shuffling on your feet, and approach him hesitantly like he'd burn you if you were near him.

"i brought you this because you looked so pale yesterday after you practiced," you say softly, though he could hear the pain in your tone. tsukishima takes the container from your reaching hand, and swears he sees your breath hitch when his fingers graze yours.

"thank you–"

"see you around, tsukishima," you bow, before you hurriedly leave the gymnasium.

it felt like the room was shrinking rapidly on him, his muscles pressing in on his body in a suffocating manner. yamaguchi puts his hand on tsukishima's shoulder, leaning down to check in on his distraught friend.

"tsukki," his eyebrows are raised in concern, voice loud enough to snap tsukishima out of his pity daze but low enough that everybody else remained distracted. "hey..."

"i'm fine," he looks up at him. "it's nothing. i'm- i'm fine. let's just go back to practice."

his fists clench when he shoves the cake into his bag and walks back into the court. his blocks are futile when he thinks of your eyes. his serves hit the net when he thinks of the frown pasted on your lips. and he feels himself at the bottom of the game when another star dies.

he just doesn't know if it was his or yours. could a heart break two times?

🏐 –

tsukishima had a crisp trepidation towards the true veneer of love.

he believes he was too young for that, that he was in a stage where he would have this deep passion for things that were alive albeit something that he can't touch nor interconnect with– hense is unfathomable love for dinosaurs, stars, and strawberry shortcake.

so whatever it is that he was feeling for you – he doesn't know if it's love. tsukishima feels like he could die if he didn't see you for a single day; his feet and his body restless up until you both meet after practice.

tsukishima is even more restless now.

there wasn't a single text from you since 12:59 in the afternoon.

there was almost a hundred texts from tsukishima since 3:00pm, the time he had excused himself early from his practice.

he lays on his bed, his headphones on but no music. he wasn't in the mood to put himself up in brighter spirits. his back rests uncomfortably on the thick mattress, his curls splayed across his pillow, a hand on his chest and a hand holding a fork, his feet spread apart.

and the strawberry shortcake you gave him rests on his chest, half eaten, his mouth chewing sadly on the sweet delicacy.

"do you think stars have thoughts?" you asked. tsukishima found this beguiling and preposterous simultaneously, however the curiosity that happened to lift his lips into a dazed smile made him release a teasing retort:

"you certainly don't."

you threw a grape at him. he caught it with an open mouth. the sun was about to set, but the warmth was enough to prevent the both of you from shivering idiotically on the hill at the cold breeze. "i'm approaching an epiphany, asshole."

your vulgarity made him smile more. "celestial bodies, more specifically stars, do not have thoughts. but they're alive, and they function into a cycle."

"unorthodox minds like mine go out of the box," you rolled your eyes. "sorry, i'll put it in simpler terms so you could understand. i have a very creative mind."

"oh yeah?" tsukishima tilted his head sideways to present his interest. "and what'd you mean by that?"

"you know how stars die and create themselves?" you queried. "it's like how phoenixes rise from the ashes as they're reborn. but when a star resurrects, they're called "zombie stars," right?"

"yeah."

"and i'm not saying that they have a mind of their own, but if you were to input your own thoughts into a star, then yeah, it's like they resurrect themselves to live on with life over and over again, and don't you think that's exhausting? they're like dead stars, and they still shine brightly, and it's ironic, right? because something that has been dead billions of years ago still shine. it has a meaning into it that people just... completely ignore."

"so an analogy?" his eyebrow raised.

"yeah, something like that," you licked your lips. "when you see a bright star, and you don't know if it's a dead star. but imagine stargazing and finding love in something that has been dead long ago."

tsukishima's body softened. "uhuh."

"but what if you keep loving that star? and that star just receives so much of that love that they're able to resurrect themselves. well, obviously loving a star isn't actually gonna bring it back to life because there's a separate scientific explanation for that, but i'm saying that– that if you love something, or someone, hard enough that you're able to bring light into their lives, then that's possible.

and they take all that love for the benefit of their life and... they burst into something beautiful called supernovas."

tsukishima stared at you, his gaze ever so adoringly. "and what's the point of this epiphany of yours?"

"that loving someone that has been gone inside their body is possible to save them and bring them back to life to turn them into someone even more beautiful."

tsukishima sits back up, a whiplash from the quick commotion.

it was already night when his thin curtains were tainted black from the dark glow of the evening.

he pushes himself off his bed, slip his way out of his home and clumsily puts his shoes on to find you.

and he knows exactly where you are.

so it's no surprise when he sees you all alone, laying down on the meadow of the hill, blooming flowers grazing your cheeks in any way the wind blows. tsukishima stands and stares at you longingly, his fingers twitching beside him.

"(y/n)."

he says your name like an oath to the stars. you sit up, hearing his voice, cheeks dry with tears melting onto your skin. tsukishima's heart breaks the slightest when he brings himself up the hill.

"what are you doing here?" you ask him, voice so small he'd think you were whispering.

to his surprise, tsukishima falls onto his knees in front of you. he finds it endearing that despite the reduce of his height, you still look up at him. then he takes your hands into his, his thumbs tracing every ridge of your knuckles, looking deep into your eyes.

"i didn't mean what i said." he declares like he was under jurisdiction of the judge. "you are–... the most interesting woman in the world. the most beguiling, the most entrusting, the most beautiful."

your eyebrows furrow, hands shaking in his grasp. "what are you saying?"

"that i'm an asshole." he admits. "you are so interesting that every epiphany of yours pulls me back on the ground and into you. that epiphany you had about dead stars that resurrect themselves from getting so much love? shit, (y/n), that may be me."

you let out a tiny gasp, maybe a breath of reliefz his face is so close to yours, his knees in between your legs, bumping the side of your thighs. "what?"

"i–... i don't know if you love me. you don't have to. but you've made my days brighter and gave my life meaning that i felt like i was resurrected. like all the pieces in me were brought back together. and everything else just felt... alive."

finally, you smile. just a little, but it was enough to make the grass greener and the color of your shirt turn pastel, your eyes vibrant in the night. "yeah?"

"yeah," he laughs, idiotically he may add. "i like you. i like you so much. i like you more than i like dinosaurs."

you guffaw, throwing your head back, hands never letting go.

a star resurrects. a supernova explodes.

"i like you more," you say, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

it was enough for him to jump on you to press his lips on your awaiting mouth, gently pressing you down on the grass, his hand on the back of your head to soften the blow as he settles himself in between your legs.

his mouth, sweet with strawberries and ardor, his hair soft like flowers when your fingers tangle on the golden locks, his glasses pressing against the space between your eyebrows and the bridge of your nose, his tongue that hovers respectfully on top of your bottom lip.

innocent, lips full of solicitude, he kisses you deeper and with care, his head tilting to open his mouth the slightest so that he could get closer to you. the small sound that emits from your mouth makes him pull back and smile shyly.

his eyes had the galaxies reflected off his eyes that it made space seem like they were golden from his irises. you take his glasses off, placing them beside you, and let your hands rest on his face; tucking his hair behind his ear as you do so.

and above your intertwined bodies, andromeda swims across the stygian night sky, traced by invisible strings. just as tsukishima predicted.

tsukishima could stare at you for the rest of his life.

tsukishima loved four things: dinosaurs, strawberry shortcake, stars, and most especially:

you.

reblogs and feedback are appreciated!

[yanderefarm]

yandere vampire's pet

cw;; dehumanization?, blood, vampires, humans as pets, yandere, angst, suggestive

this is the last named and drawn oc i have ready. i still have two more concepts in my drafts but they're not finished yet.

this might not show his yandere tendencies as well as characters like ares or emil but he's more of a self destructive type. he's more likely to hurt himself for doing something wrong than he is likely to hurt someone for touching you.

also i had to include the vampire guilt and angst im only human (human with a guilt kink)

you're a vampire lord in a world run by vampires with a yandere human pet who you found in a run down human farm after he basically threw himself at you. who clung to your leg and insisted he tasted so sweet you wouldn't regret taking in. who you took pity on seeing his scarred neck and decided to take him with you home.

you fed him and brought him to full health in a year. on the anniversary he begged on his knees for you to make him your pet. you complied. you didn't expect the preservation procedure that would allow him to stay with you forever to mess up his brain. or maybe this was always his personality.

he begged you every day to feed on him. he would sneak into your bed chamber and cut his neck to wake you up. he would sit himself in your lap around noon and undo his shirt buttons to give you easy access. if you dared to refuse him he would cry and beg so pathetically.

you made him this way why didn't you want him? he would often cry until you feel guilty for destroying his humanity. you always gave into him. he always got clingier. he tried not to get in your way during work but one day you let him lay his head on your lap and sit in your office quietly all day. so you had to let him again the next day.

if he really pushed too far you would lock him in an old attic room. oh how he sobbed. you would open the door the next day to be met with his bloodshot eyes that held no light. he would kiss your shoes and cling to your legs while he spoke hoarse apologies. you always forgave him and carried him in your arms to eat breakfast.

on the occasions that you two went to a party held by your fellow vampire lords he would always try to show off. you'd buy him new clothes and a new ribbon to hide his old scars. he liked being the most beautiful arm candy for you. it wasn't unusual for high quality pets to get passed around at these parties. at the end of the night he would often find himself in a strange bed, dizzy from being bled and pathetically crying for you.

your dear pet had spent the whole night being ravaged while you were doing business. his naked and used body laying in the unfamiliar bed, barely conscious. you sighed as you sunk onto the bed, your added weight causing him to shift slightly but he made no noise. usually by now he would be sobbing and reaching wildly for you, those degenerates must have really worked him hard.

you reached out and played with a piece of his hair. "I'm sorry, you poor pathetic creature."

your cold lifeless hands gently brush against his warm cheek. his body finally shifts a little, instinctively pulling away from the cold. you can't help the sad smile that falls on your lips seeing that. you forget how cold you are with how he clings to you at every opportunity. you can smell his blood right now and the tug of your instincts tells you to feed. you forget that you're a monster with how he treats you with such adoration and reverence.

"your life would have been better if you never met me." you push his hair away from his neck, revealing the old scars with fresh wounds scattered among them. your fingers brush against his pulse and he gasps.

you watch his olive eyes blink open slowly, they look almost too heavy to open. you want to gently close them like one would a corpse but the wide smile that spreads across his face stops you. if your heart could still beat you're sure it would have skipped.

"good morning." you said softly.

he used all his remaining strength to wrap around your waist. "y/n..."

his voice is so hoarse and he sounds so exhausted but there's the undeniable happiness. you guide his head to your lap, cold fingers twirling around his hair again.

"was i good...?" his eyes blinked slow again.

"yes. you were so amazing again tonight." you felt the weight of guilt pressing against your chest.

"reward m'...~" you knew he was asking you to indulge in him as so many others had tonight so you just ignored him.

you gently gathered him up in your arms, the top sheet draping over his body. you grabbed his discarded ribbon off the bed before you began carrying him out. the ribbon was sat on his stomach and his weak hands fiddled with it idly. he seemed to be too deep in thought to let sleep overtake him again.

"master... 'm glad you made me...." he nuzzled his head against your chest.

"your father made you." you corrected as you approached your carriage.

"no... y'... made m' y'r pathetic creature." his eyes finally started to close. "so glad m' life is master's.."

[peanutpinet]

You Are Loved - Sylus x Insecure Fem Reader

Prompt: “I’m going to prove everyone who made you feel like you don’t deserve love that they’ve been so, so fucking wrong. And I’m going to make you understand that you deserve so much more than you realise.”

Prompt is from: @dumplingsjinson

Blurb: When you thought that you were not worthy of love and are always worried that you would get hurt in the process, Sylus proves you wrong

Trope: I don't really believe in love girl x let me show you what love is guy

Warnings: Light angst, insecurity, soft and loving Sylus, reassurance

Disclaimer: I do not own the images nor the characters or you (the MC). All images were taken from Pinterest and credits go to the images' respective owners.

“You’re dozing off again, is something wrong, sweetie?” Sylus pointed out as the two of you had dinner together

You immediately snapped out and looked at Sylus, reassuring him. “No, no. Just work…yeah” you went back to look at your food and started to pick at it which didn’t go unnoticed by Sylus

Sylus let out a sigh and used his hands to stop you from picking at your food. Instead, he interlaced his fingers with you, rubbing your knuckles. “Hey, tell me. What’s wrong? What’s in that pretty head of yours, hmm?”

You honestly didn’t want to admit what you were thinking. It was silly and you were being insecure because Sylus was your first-ever boyfriend. Sure, you were aware with love, the idea of dating from the books you read, movies you watched but when you’re the one who’s actually going on a date with your boyfriend, it just feels off.

“Hey…” Sylus called out to you again, rubbing your knuckles and getting your attention

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to doze off again. Umm, what were you saying?” I asked, trying to get into the conversation

“Something is on your mind. What’s wrong, sweetie?” Sylus asked, gripping my smaller hand tenderly but firmly at the same time while you tried to avoid his gaze because you knew that if you did, you would actually give in and admit what was wrong

“Sweetie?” Sylus called you again, his grip a bit tighter but not too much that it would hurt you. “Tell me, why are you picking on your food, avoiding eye contact with me? Did I do something wrong?” Sylus asked as you immediately shook your head

“Then? What is it, sweetie? Do I really need to use my aether core and look into your mind? You know that I can do it but I’m not out of respect for your boundaries” Sylus added on, getting a little frustrated on why you wouldn’t tell him what was going on

“Sometimes I just wonder…” you started, trying to unscramble the words to create a concrete sentence while Sylus rubbed your knuckles with his thumb, reassuring you that he’s not going to judge you. “Go on, sweetie. What do you often wonder, hmm?”

You took another deep breath, not wanting to meet Sylus’ eyes as you spoke. “I just wonder…what made you pursue me and to keep going until now? You know I’ve never been in a relationship and I’m not someone who seems to be capable for long-term because of trust issues and all”

Hearing your reply, Sylus gripped your hand a bit more comforting instead of tight and rough. “Sweetie, look at me”

You still tried to avoid Sylus’ gaze until you felt his large hands creep under your chin and gently turn your head so that you were facing him. Instead of looking annoyed or angry like he normally does when he’s out, his eyes showed a softer, more vulnerable side of him. One that you almost never saw.

“Is there truly a need for a reason to pursue you other than the fact that I adore you?” Sylus asked, his hand on your chin rubbing your face gently and lovingly to the point you almost leaned into his touch but held back and shook your head. “It’s just weird. You’re practically the most powerful man in the N109 zone, you’re wealthy, and handsome might I add. Why pursue me when you can have many other gorgeous and much more successful girls?”

Sylus felt his heart swell when he heard you put out all the compliments to him. “You really think I’m that handsome?” Sylus smirked as you scoffed, trying to pull your hand but Sylus being Sylus, he wasn’t going to let you go that easily

“Seriously? That’s the only thing you caught when I talk?” Sylus chuckled at your sudden outburst, finding it cute. “I assure you, sweetie, it’s not. But it’s not everyday you call me handsome though I know you thought about it. But for real sweetie, what does all my trait have to do with wanting to pursue you? Why should I pursue other girls when there’s you”

“That’s the thing, Sy. I’m just me. I’m no one special. I’m not even that pretty, not that smart, not a business owner or anything outstanding” you argued back

“But you see, I don’t care about you being someone famous, special, or outstanding. I adore you because you’re you. You’re special to me whether you see yourself as special or not. I adore the way you ramble on about the little things of life. I adore how kind, gentle, and caring you are. I adore how raw and real you are with me. You don’t try to hide your bad side or be fake. You’re always yourself with me and that’s what I adore. You” Sylus reassured you, bringing your hand closer to his face as he kissed each of your knuckles before rubbing them again.

“Sylus…people will talk. Well, people already talk…” you mentioned but didn’t get to continue as Sylus immediately cuts you off

“Let them talk. I don’t give a damn what they say. They can think, assume, or judge the hell they want. But I’m going to prove to everyone who made you feel like you don’t deserve love that they’ve been so, so fucking wrong. And I’m going to make you understand that you deserve so much more than you realise”

“You should know very well that I adore you. There is no love purer than mine” Sylus kissed your knuckles, making sure his lips linger on your skin a bit longer

And somehow, the gentleness of Sylus’ touch and the raw feelings he poured out today brought a sense of relief and reassurance. Bringing a new feeling for you that maybe, for once in your life, it’s okay to be selfish and allow yourself to be loved.

A/N: I hope that you all are well, here is the fic I promised where you, the girl, doesn't really believe in love and Sylus reassures you by asking you to trust him and show you what love truly is :3 xoxo, peanutpinet

[squoxle]

🕸️KINKTOBER 🕷️ 2024🕸️

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: This is all fiction. AKA not an accurate portrayal of the members. If certain themes are triggering for you, please avoid them AT ALL COST!!! You must be 18 or older to engage in the content below. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!! Happy Reading :)

ᅟᅟᅟ⌕ | 𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐬 & 𝐆𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐬 𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 | ⁀➴

STRAY KIDS: 「 Bangchan — Felix 」

ENHYPEN: 「 Heeseung — Jungwon 」

TOMORROW BY TOGETHER: 「 Yeonjun — Huening Kai 」

ATEEZ: 「 Yunho — Mingi 」

CANCELED RIIZE: 「 Shotaro — Anton 」

ᅟᅟᅟ⌕ | 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | ⁀➴ link to main mlist

DAYS 1 THROUGH 8… Established Relationship AU

[1] • CRAZY OVER YOU, BABY enhypen ot7 ↳ Clingy Girlfriend (anon) GENRE: fluff, suggestive, smut

[2] • MATCH MY FREAK riize ot7 ↳ RIIZE BF as Kinks GENRE: smut

[3] • TAP OUT txt ot5 ↳ Edging GENRE: smut

[4] • IMU starring Heeseung ↳ Dirty Talking GENRE: smut

[5] • CHOKEHOLD starring Changbin ↳ Asphyxiation + Rough Sex GENRE: smut

[6] • F*#@ ME LIKE YOU MAD AT ME, BABY starring Jake ↳ Impact Play + Rough Sex (anon) GENRE: smut

[7] • TRUST ME starring Yeosang ↳ Blindfold + Sensory Deprivation GENRE: smut

[8] • QUICK FUCK starring Jake and Heeseung ↳ Car Sex (anon) GENRE: smut

DAYS 9 THROUGH 15… Friends/Strangers/Enemies to Lovers

[9] • WHY DO YOU HATE ME? starring Huening Kai ↳ Dacryphilia + Bullying GENRE: smut, crack, angst

[10] • GOOD BOY starring Felix ↳ Sadism + Masochism GENRE: smut

[11] • YOU'RE MINE starring Hongjoong ↳ Biting + Marking + Babytrap GENRE: smut

[12] • FUCK ME LIKE THIS starring Beomgyu ↳ Virgin + Body Worship GENRE: smut

[13] • TIMEOUT!! starring Hyunjin ↳ Bullying + Rough Sex + Secret Relationship GENRE: smut

[14] • CAN'T HELP MYSELF starring Jake ↳ Voyeurism + Somnophilia + Babytrap (anon) GENRE: smut

[15] • ZIP IT UP starring Heeseung ↳ Stimulation (anon) GENRE: smut

DAYS 15 THROUGH 21… Taboo

[16] • BF X BSF starring Felix and Bangchan (reblog) ↳ Cuckholding + Double Penetration + Voyeurism GENRE: smut

[17] • LOOK, DON'T TOUCH starring Sungchan, Shotaro, Sohee ↳ Voyeurism (members will be edited) GENRE: smut

[18] • SLEEP ON IT starring Seonghwa ↳ Somnophilia + Spectrophilia GENRE: smut, incubus, black magic

[19] • LESSON ONE starring Lee Know ↳ Corruption + Professor GENRE: smut

[20] • SUCK IT starring Sunghoon ↳ Tobusexual + CNC + Blood Play GENRE: smut

[21] • TWO FOR ONE starring San and Mingi ↳ Double Penetration + Toys + Drunk Sex GENRE: smut

[22] • PUSSY PLAY starring Yeonjun ↳ Role Play + Kitty + Oral GENRE: smut

[23] • SPIN CYCLE starring Jay and Jake ↳ Exhibitionist GENRE: smut

DAYS 22 THROUGH 31… Heavy Hitters

[24] • DIE FOR YOU starring Yunho ↳ Psycho Lover + Profession Taboo + Manipulation GENRE: smut, angst, gore (@mimikittysblog - alternative ending)

[25] • FLOWER GIRL starring Jake ↳ Yandere GENRE: smut, angst, dark themes

[26] • SHOW ME HOW TO LOVE YOU starring Han ↳ Friends with Benefits GENRE: smut, angst

[27] • PAINT ME RED starring Sunghoon ↳ Yandere + Stalker (anon) GENRE: smut, angst, gore

[28] • MAKE A WISH starring Niki ↳ Friends with Benefits GENRE: suggestive, angst

[29] • TRUTH HURTS starring ??? ↳ Friends with Benefits (anon) GENRE: smut, angst

[30] • WHEN THE WORLD FALLS APART starring Jake ↳ Purge (anon) GENRE: smut, angst

[31] • I'M SORRY, DADDY enhypen ot6 ↳ Orgy + Creampie + Squirting + Toys + Multi Penetration GENRE: smut

Drop a comment letting me know if you want to be added to the taglist for the upcoming fics 🖤

@chlorinecake

@wonbinisbabygurl

@nishiimuranights

@wildflowermooon

@heeseungshim

@ramyeonzprincess

@bangchans-gf5

@wand3rlustm3

@heeseunghee7

@norihoyeon

@gacktsa

@d-dilemma

TXT ONLY:

@hyunj00

[sciencebecameouraddiction]

title: just a hug?

author: sciencebecameouraddiction

fandom: hazbin hotel

rating: G

genre: Could be read as platonic or romantic. Angst with fluff

pairing: Alastor x reader

summary: You were warned on the first night at the hotel, Alastor has a bubble. A space bubble and it was best you respect that. What happens when Alastor wants you to invade his space?

this is a request from lovely anon:

When you arrived to the hotel, on the very first night, Charlie warned you that while everyone was friendly, Alastor definitely respected his space and wanted others to do the same. Vaggie had added on that Alastor doesn’t respect others space though and warned you. You understood though and promised them both that you would respect his boundary, as you really didn’t mind physical touch, really. It was just a bit jarring, nothing you couldn’t deal with!

The whole hotel came to realize that you were extremely touch starved, so even casual touches ended with you flinching or freezing, almost like you had no idea how to react to a kind gentle touch at first. The first time Angel came up to you and put his arm around you, you physically jumped off your seat and ended up on the floor. Angel had apologized and you explained it just shocked you. You weren’t used to those casual touches, but you liked them, they were fine. As you got to know the patrons and considered them friends you weren’t as touch adverse.

Finally after a few months, Charlie would run up and hug you in greeting, you squeezing her back so tightly. Angel and you often sat next to each other, his legs draped on your lap or vice versa. Or for movie night, one of you was cuddled into the other, laughing at the funny moments or you hiding in Angel’s chest if it was a scary movie. You even would hug Vaggie, and she would awkwardly pat your back. Even Husk had gotten used to your casual touches, like when you would thank him by patting his arm, or when the loan sharks showed up for Mimzy and you grabbed on to his bicep in fear. Just casual little touches that no one noticed or thought about, except Alastor. Alastor noticed it all.

He saw how you interacted with each of the patrons but how when he was around and would even just go to pat your head, you reacted as if you had been burned. It angered him to no end. He thought it was funny at first, how you were seemingly scared of him. Jumping and avoiding him. But now seeing how you were around everyone else? What had he done?

Was this on purpose? Did you hate him? More importantly, why did he care? Alastor realized sitting in his radio tower that was why he was so affected by this. He cared. He growled at the realization, disgusted. He cared that you, a sinner, wasn’t giving him… a hug? He was disappointed in himself. Ridiculous. Bury it. Bury it. Bury it.

———————————————

This lasted for two days. And Alastor’s final breaking point was when the whole group had been told they had to participate in a trust fall exercise. While you were up there, he prepared himself. He would be the one to catch you. Couldn’t escape then, not like he cared of course. And he did, catch you. You landed straight in his arms securely and he looked down at you with a softer smile than he had given anyone in Hell.

And then you yiped like a dog and some how jumped out of his arms. He was too shocked to even react. Angel caught you and Alastor watched as you stayed in Angel’s arms for a bit and then casually got down, going up to him and murmuring that you were ‘so so sorry’.

“It’s… fine, my dear.” He said as he walked away seething. Charlie called after him saying they weren’t done but Alastor ignored them all as he rounded the corner and disappeared. You looked after him concerned and quickly excused yourself, trying to follow him.

“Where could he have gone?” You ask yourself, going toward the only logical place which was his room and radio room. You knocked on his room door and waited. He opened it and looked down, a foul expression casting over his face as he saw you, the smile never leaving though.

“Yes?” He asks, no pleasantries added. He wanted-needed you gone.

“I just wanted to check on you. Make sure you were okay. And apologize again. I swear I wasn’t aiming for you when we did the trust falls.” You explained, sincerely thinking he was upset because you had broken the one rule you were told about your first night.

“Check on me? I’m fine.” He ground out and turned around going deeper into his room. You took this as an invitation, following him and he shut the door behind you, thinking you were gone.

“Are you sure because you don’t look fine?” You asked and he spun around.

“Who let you in?” He asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“Um, you walked away, which I thought was inviting me in so we could hash this out?” You said, a bit confused.

“Hash this out?” He narrowed his eyes at you.

“Yeah, like work this out?” You said.

“There’s nothing to work out.” Alastor shot back. “You may go.”

“No, you’re upset. And I know it’s because of me and I want to help fix it.” You said adamantly.

“You don’t even want to be near me. Why do you care?” He snarled, getting into your face. You jump a bit back shocked at the sudden movement.

“What? Alastor, you’re the one who doesn’t want to be touched. I was told that the first night I came here. It’s why I’ve kept my distance so that you weren’t uncomfortable. I tend to be a bit clingy.” You explained, a bit angry at how he was reacting. And then suddenly, everything clicked into place. How he was more frequently trying to create those casual touches. Even today, you knew he was at the far back of the group for trust falls and he still had caught you. Meaning he made his way to the front to specifically catch you. And each time he tried to do that you freaked out, shied away, ran away… when you were so affectionate with the others. “Oh.” You said quietly and Alastor just looked at you. Anger still in his eyes but there was something else.

“Do you want a hug?” You ask.

“What?” Alastor said, bewildered.

“A hug. I would like to hug you. Can I hug you?” You ask crossing over to him and opening your arms slightly.

“If that’s what you want.” He said still trying to save his reputation. You smile and wrap your arms around his middle drawing him to you, your head resting on his lower chest. He blinked slowly and wrapped his arms around you. Leaning down and resting his head on top of yours. You both stayed there like that for a bit, you hugging until Alastor pulled away. His cheeks were red and his ears were back and you couldn’t help but smile. Your hand going up to his cheek and bringing him down closer to you so you could gently kiss his other cheek.

“I apologize, I didn’t realize that you wouldn’t have a conniption if I touched you. Just let me know next time, hmmm?” You ask as he blinks at you. You smile and then head to the door. “I’m going back down stairs, but thank you for letting me know how you feel Alastor. I’ll be sure to be as clingy with you as I am with everyone else.” You joke a bit and he smiles.

“Thank you, darling.” He murmurs quietly.

“Of course!” You say immediately and shut his door behind you. You walk down the hall a bit and stop off at room and wash your face with some cold water trying to get the blush that you had been fighting off your cheeks.