#sorry this took a bit longer than i thought it would! but here you go I hope you like it! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joelsgoldrush · 3 months ago

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“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

4K notes · View notes

chuluoyi · 5 months ago

Text

𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄

- sylus x reader

more than friends with benefits, definitely lovers. your relationship is one filled with banters, steamy nights, and secret strings attached... but when someone shows an interest in you, sylus won't hesitate to stake his claim for everyone to see

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—jealousy, crack, fluff, smut, a dash of comfort, assassin!reader (not l&ds mc)

note: loosely a sequel to strictly (un)professional. how this snowballed into 3.8k... i don't really know :')

“Missus, please spare us!”

You shot an unamused look at the twins before you, who clasped their hands together, pleading for you to let them go.

“Why is it so difficult for both of you to say?” you hissed, crossing your arms together. “I’m not asking for much—just a recount of what happened!”

“Boss will have our tongues for this!” Kieran looked up at you, quivering. “No way, I want to live!”

“He’s terrifying…” Luke shuddered in fear, hugging himself. “You don’t know how frightening he is!”

You were holding both Luke and Kieran hostage, the tender preys, all because Sylus refused to reveal what you had been wanting to know these past few weeks.

“So you’re afraid of Sylus…” You fixed them with a steely glare. “But have you ever thought that if you don’t spill it now, I will be the one taking both your tongues?”

“—?! Missus, please!”

“Why are you bullying the twins?” A deep voice cut through the twins’ pitiful laments, and you let out an exasperated huff as your chance slipped away once more.

Speak of the devil, and Sylus shall appear. He looked at the scene before him as if you were all a bunch of kindergarteners.

Luke and Kieran immediately flocked to him. “Boss! Save us! She’s scary!”

And now you were suddenly the scary one. You rolled your eyes. "Your henchmen are useless."

Sylus glanced at you with a half smile, knowing what information you were squeezing the twins for. "Sweetie, just give it up. You'll find peace faster that way."

Was it wrong to be curious about what Sylus had been up to during the three weeks you were unconscious after the attack that literally took your life? Why was he being so secretive about it anyway?

“I know, you were so worried sick you didn’t even eat or sleep,” you taunted your lover with a wicked smile. “That’s why you won’t tell me about it.”

Sylus laughed outright. “Pftt. You’ve got quite the imagination. Good to know.”

Nothing much changed after that night of his confession—if you could call it that—to you. You were indeed no longer strictly his bedwarmer, but your banters stayed the same, if not even more sarcastic now.

“Chop chop, we have an auction to go to, sweetie.” Sylus placed his big hand on your head, amused. “Stop being a hissy kitten towards the poor twins and get ready, hmm?”

“I’ll definitely uncover it,” you shot him a resentful glare. “Just you wait and see.”

Such were your days with your true kindred-spirits lover. He would tease you during the day and turn you into a hot mess at night, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

In tonight's auction, you had one target: the broker for a new rising star firearms dealer. Sylus had been eyeing him, deducing his goods could be a nice addition to his armory.

And so, you went up to him. However...

“...Are you single, miss?”

Here we go again.

You forced a tight smile. “Sir, I’d appreciate it if we can stick to subject at hand.”

The man blinked, then quickly plastered on a wide grin to mask his surprise. “Oh yes! Yes, I-I’m sorry, I got distracted— well, I’d say this is a pretty solid MoU... but I’ll need to contact my boss first.”

This weirdo... you thought with boredom, is so transparent.

This wasn’t the first time you’d dealt with a situation like this. Granted, you were pretty and you knew it, but usually, more distinguished men would be a bit more subtle about it.

“Take all the time you need,” you encouraged smoothly, your eyes crinkling in an attempt to look friendly. “As you can see, Mr. Sylus has proposed the perfect bargain for this kind of dealings.”

“I wouldn’t argue with that. I assure you we’ll certainly try to accommodate his request.” The man nodded and gave you a meaningful look, before coughing awkwardly. “Uh, sorry, what was your name again, miss?”

Your faux smile remained perfectly still as you replied, “Mephisto.”

The man’s eyes roved over you, and he grinned roguishly. “Right. Still, I never expected Mr. Sylus’ secretary to be as beautiful as you, Miss Mephisto...”

This was tedious. Your patience was tested with every leering look he gave you. Sylus must know this already, and he's somewhere laughing at the sight of you dealing with this creep.

“You flatter me too much, I’m average.”

“No, no! I mean it!”

He knows... yet he wouldn't do anything about it. Not that you would expect Sylus to barge in like a man blinded by envy, but still, he was insufferable for not coming to you just like he had for Miss Hunter back then.

The man kept droning on and on about himself and everything else that had nothing to do with the business deal, and you were this close to dropping him and using your Evol to shut him up when—

He then turned to you expectantly. “Oh, there is a dance! Miss, would you mind if I have your first dance?”

“Oh...”

And it occurred to you... why not spice things up a little?

Sylus’ dark crimson eyes narrowed silently as he watched both of you from the island table while savoring his glass of wine, before he let out a loud snort.

That vermin doesn’t have a clue he is playing with fire.

For most of your interaction, the firearms dealer’s broker kept giving you suggestive looks, and occasionally brushing his hand against yours on purpose. He wasn't even trying to hide it, and it was amusing to see how aggravated you looked the entire time.

Adorable. Sylus found you incredibly endearing these days, from your pouts to your glazed eyes whenever he thrusted into you—

You were oh so delectable… at least until he saw you holding that lesser man's arm, as he led you to the dance floor.

A deep frown immediately formed in his forehead.

“What are you scheming now?” Sylus scowled, half exasperated and half in disbelief. “You naughty cat.”

He was even more irked when he saw how casually you wrapped your arms around that vermin, twirling and pressing yourself against him in a waltz. Seeing him trying to hit on you was one thing, but for you to reciprocate was just plain unacceptable.

—and to his ire, your audacity continued throughout the night.

. . .

“Miss Mephisto, do you play pool?”

“I do.”

“Then, will you play with me?”

Sylus was now burning with tendrils of anger, watching you from a closer corner. He had seen the broker put his hands on you so many times that he had lost count—during the dance, mingling with other guests, and while sharing hearty laughs. All in all, you were acting as if you had forgotten he was even here.

You were threading on a very thin ice and whether you realized it or not... you didn't seem to care.

"Ah, I think your stance is a bit off..." And to make it worse, the broker was definitely seizing every chance he could, as there was nothing wrong with your form—you often accompanied Sylus playing pool, so you were a pro—and yet he still got behind you, trying to drape his arms around your body.

That was the last straw. Enough is enough.

Before Sylus realized what he was doing, he stormed over to where you were, yanked your arm forcefully, and effectively separated you from him. He didn’t give a damn about the horrified shout from the broker or the judging looks from other partygoers as he dragged you by the hand out of the ballroom.

“Sylus!” you nearly shrieked when he kicked open a door to a meeting room and locked it with his black-red mist. He pinned you against the wall, and crashed his lips against yours in a searing kiss.

“Mmph!” You tried pushing him back, but he was stronger and held you in place, his tongue forcing your lips open as he pressed the back of your head toward him. His other hand slipped inside your dress—between your legs— two fingers in—

“—!” you couldn't even squeal as he devoured your mouth and the shock set in, feeling yourself getting aroused by the minute when his fingers did that scissoring thing and edged you further.

After he was done with your mouth, his hot lips trailed down to your neck and shoulder blades, sucking hard on several spots, making you gasp and moan.

"Hah... this... is the price to pay for testing me, sweetie," your lover growled his nickname for you with satisfaction as he noticed you trembling body, nibbling on your shoulder. "You want to get punished so badly, huh?"

"Ahh..." you threw your head back, clinging to him, grinding yourself against his fingers.

"Is it funny to you? Watching me see him touch you?" Sylus' unforgiving ruby eyes stared down at you like a lion eyeing its prey. "What an insolent little kitten you are..."

His fingers kept moving and thrusting inside you in an alarming speed, mercilessly hitting that one spot that could make you cry. He was seriously teaching you a lesson by forcing you to come undone right then and there.

"I-I...!" you tried to refute, but then you felt the knot inside you burst, and in the next second, you could feel yourself coming all over his fingers, shuddering, your breaths coming in pants.

Feeling faint, relief washed you when he pulled out his fingers. You leaned and clung onto him, pulling him closer, and Sylus finally saw what a mess he had turned you into.

Your glassy eyes focused solely on him, seemingly pleading—and those swollen lips, as well as the sizzling heat creeping up your cheeks—

“Ha,” he let out a low chuckle, a wicked grin curling his lips. “If I can still make you look like this, then I suppose I can forgive you.”

“You’re a meanie,” you mumbled breathlessly.

“You’re the mean one,” Sylus tutted with narrowed eyes, starting to pull away from you.

But then you pulled him close again and pressed your lips to his, this time with a gentleness that surprised him.

There was no malice or burning desire in your kiss. Strangely, it felt far more intimate. You pulled away, the heart-stopping swirls of his red eyes captivating you as you pressed your foreheads together.

“Needy, aren’t you, sweetie?” Sylus whispered, holding your gaze, his breath hot against your skin.

But right now, all of a sudden, you looked so vulnerable to him, as if any wrong word from his lips would shatter you. It made him almost feel guilty for manhandling you so roughly.

You didn’t respond, just wanting this closeness with him. Behind your snarky words and little schemes, this was what you wanted more than the release you just got. Sometimes, you still worried—did he want this too?

“What is it?” Sylus asked with a frown, seemingly concerned. “Talk. Tell me.”

“Nothing…” you replied in a small voice.

“Do you feel sick? Want to go back?”

You shook your head.

You weren’t usually this quiet. Sylus couldn’t help being restless at your sudden change. It felt awkward for him to do what he was about to do next, but instinctively, he figured it would comfort you a bit.

You felt a pang in your heart when he pulled away, but in the next instant, a wave of warmth enveloped you as he pressed you to him, burying your head against his sturdy chest.

For someone who deals with blood and gore, your body felt too soft and fragile, yet still fit perfectly in his arms. Though he had held you and made love to you many times before, it was only now that he truly noticed how small you were.

“You’re warm…” you murmured, your voice carrying a hint of a whine.

So needy and pliant… for him.

“My woman is such an enduring mystery.” Sylus mused, sounding almost as if he were lamenting. “Sometimes she’s a brazen kitten without a shred of shame, but then she pulls stunts like this.”

Your heart picked up the pace. You are... his. That was right. You were his woman in every sense of the word now, and he wasn't shying away from it.

But to cover your embarrassment, you could only come up with, “Can you not refer to me as cat...?”

He shot you an irked glance. “No.”

“He calls me by your bird’s name.”

“...”

“Sylus, you can’t murder him. Your deal will go down the drain.”

“Tch.” Sylus blew out an annoyed sigh, glaring at you. “By the time I get back here, you’re going back with me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, yes.”

Honestly you were exhausted, and you wanted to nothing more than a good sleep. But you couldn't just leave the broker without preamble because this deal depended on him, and Sylus too had some loose ends he had to tie before the two of you left.

Strangely, all eyes were on you when you returned to the ballroom. You wondered why as you navigated the crowd until you met the broker you had fooled in so many ways.

“Oh, Miss Mephisto, you’re back!” he was visibly and utterly drunk, and you cringed at the strong smell of alcohol on his breath. But then you noticed his eyes seemed to be fixated on your—

Neck. You realized in horror.

“Oh... hic, t-that... I-I see,” he blabbered, coughing awkwardly as he stared at the marks on your neck. “Miss... so that man is... y-your lover...?”

“Uh...” It was a wonder he didn’t recognize Sylus at first glance. Perhaps it was because he was so infamous, but it astounded you how this person couldn’t even tell that it was him.

"I-I thought... w-we..." he hiccupped again heartbrokenly, before snatching a glass on the table. "Oh, I need more drink!"

You observed him, half cringing. "Sir, I just want to remind you that once the documents are signed—"

"Yeah, yeah! It will be done by the end of the week!" he yelled at you. "Miss, how about you have a drink too!?"

Suddenly, a glass of gin was shoved into your hand, and you let out an irritated sigh. Yeah, he might be right. A glass of alcohol would help you sleep better tonight, you figured, so you chugged it down.

"Huh...?" And it didn’t take you long to realize something was amiss. The dizzying sensation set in far too quickly, you felt so hot, and you had to lean on the table next to you to keep from falling.

“Are you okay...?” a waitress asked you with concern, but the only sound you could hear was your own violent heartbeat. Before you knew it, the glass in your hand slipped from your grasp and crashed into the floor.

"Oh, miss! Are you okay?!" the broker suddenly got a hold over your body. "Oh! It seems you aren't feeling well! Let me escort you to you room!"

Room? You barely discerned what happened when he led you out of the crowd. Your head spun terribly, and then suddenly throbbed, making you clutch it and cry out in pain, "Ah!"

It didn't make sense, no matter how you saw it. You had a pretty good tolerance, so for you to get hungover from a gin was just—

“Oh, does it hurt much?” he suddenly asked in your ear, making you shiver. “Don’t worry... it'll be bearable soon enough... I’ll make sure you will feel good…”

It's him! You realized. He spiked your drink!

His arms were now locking yours, steering you to go into the elevator. You took a deep breath before directing your speech manipulation evol on him— "Let go!"

He was immediately jerked away from you, but as a result, you almost crumpled, your vision swimming and your head pounding intensely. The pain made you feel close to passing out, and yet you managed to trek forward, leaning on the wall for support.

You had to get away from him before he could catch up to you. Panic set in, and when strong arms caught you, you convulsed, thinking he had grabbed you—

“Stop thrashing!”

“S-Sylus...?” You looked up, trying to focus on his face, but everything was so blurry.

“I’m here.” His voice was ragged, and you’d recognize it anywhere. “What happened to you? Are you hurt?”

“M-my head...” Your voice came out as a broken whimper, clutching at your throbbing head. “Hurts...”

You were feverish, trembling against his hold, and you reeked of alcohol. Sylus instantly realized something was seriously wrong and pressed your head into his chest to provide comfort. “Just a little bit longer—” his deep voice carried a subtle hint of alarm as he hoisted you up to his arms. “Hang on, alright?”

But just as he was about to bring you back, he caught the sight of a fleeing silhouette in the corner, and realizing who it was, his right eye blazed, black and red mist swirled in the air and restrained the broker, engulfing his screams.

“S-spare me! P-please!” the man pleaded tearfully, pinned on the ground, and Sylus approached him silently, looking down at him with so much spite in his eyes.

“A roach that doesn’t seem to know his place…” The corners of his lips twisted into a sadistic smile. “Whether you survive or not depends on you. Best hope you’ll last.”

Despite his pleas, he paid it no mind as he walked away with you in his arms.

When you awakened, your head was no longer pounding.

It took you a moment to realize there was a cool compress on your forehead, you were now in a clean oversized sweater, and someone was holding your hand.

Sylus. You looked up to find him asleep, sitting with his back against the headboard beside you. It was rare to catch him sleeping. In this moment, he looked defenseless, yet a faint frown lingered on his handsome face.

Has he been waiting for you like this, holding your hand all night...?

You tried to get a better look at him, but the rustle seemed to wake him up instead, as his eyes cracked open.

“You awake?” he asked, voice so sultry it woke all your senses up. “I was just shutting my eyes.”

“Aren’t you uncomfortable sleeping like that?” you asked.

Sylus turned toward you, his eyes still hazy from sleep. “What about you? Feeling better?”

“Mm-hmm.”

He placed a hand on your head, ruffling your hair gently.

“Really, you...” His stare was so withering it made question marks appear in your head. “I took my eyes off you for one minute, and you ended up with alcohol poisoning?”

“—? I didn’t know! But wait, what happened to that bozo?”

Sylus gave you a deadpan look, and you gasped. “You… didn’t kill him and have his body secretly disposed of, did you?”

“Just who do you think I am?”

“…a kingpin of an illegal syndicate?”

Your lover’s scowl deepened further at your response. “Nah, he got lucky. I only returned him with a broken jaw, broken hips, and two missing teeth.”

“Sylus!”

If he looked sleepy before, now he definitely looked wide awake. Sylus always sleeps at dawn, and you wanted him to rest more than anything, but now you were itching to ask him...

“Say... were you waiting for me while sitting like this too when I wasn’t conscious for three weeks?” You avoided his gaze, the question burning on your lips. Sylus had never given you a straight answer whenever you asked him about this.

This time too, he grumbled, “Why do you keep asking that?”

“Because I can’t ask Luke and Kieran, they look as if you’d set them on fire.”

Sylus went silent, not giving you any affirmation at all, and you huffed and unclasped his hand, pursing your lips together. “I see. You don’t care about me at all. Noted.”

You heard him sigh, before his red eyes squarely landed on you.

“When I was shot, you worried about me even when you know I’m going to be alright,” he suddenly posed the question on you. “Didn’t you?”

You nodded, and he tousled your hair again—the action alone somehow made you feel warm.

“Whatever you felt that day, that’s the same to what I went through during those three weeks. Multiply it by ten.”

“Huh!?” you rose up from the sheets in surprise, facing him.

Sylus then turned away from you, crossing his arms and shutting his eyes. “That’s it, sweetie. I’m going back to sleep now.”

“Wait!”

You scrambled into his lap, clinging to his shoulder. Sylus begrudgingly opened his eyes again, a look of irritation on his face. “What?”

Multiply it by ten…? Heh. At this moment, you felt light and giddy, knowing that the two of you were now true lovers in every way that mattered even when you were faced with his sourness.

“Don't scowl too much!” you giggled merrily. You placed your fingers on the corners of his lips, gently lifting them to force a smile. “Honesty suits you much better, Sylus. It’s recommended.”

This cheeky woman... Sylus never thought the day would come for him to experience these myriad of emotions, much less for them to be incited by you.

He pulled you close, one arm around your hips and the other around the back of your head. Your lips met his in a passionate kiss that left no room for further conversation, only parting when you both needed to catch your breath.

“If you want me to, then don’t make me relive those nights,” he said with a sly smile, his crimson eyes glinting in the light and his voice like silk against your ears. “Can you?”

His tone softened your gaze, a warm sensation spreading through your chest. You responded with a playful snort, wrapping your arms around his neck and giving him another peck on the lips.

After your innocent make-out session, you nestled closer to him with a contented sigh, savoring the reassuring warmth of his embrace as you both drifted off again into the morning.

Epilogue

"Do you hear anything?"

"No, nothing..."

Luke and Kieran whispered amongst themselves as they tried to hear anything of importance beyond Sylus' bedroom. After their boss went back home with you passed out in his arms last night, they had totally expected the worst.

“Seems like she’s alright then…” Kieran concluded, stepping away from the door. “We should just go. If Boss catches us, we’re dead.”

The twins backed away from the door and went back to the living room, sighing in relief.

"But honestly, Boss has changed lately, hasn't he? He looks kinder, somehow."

"Are you sure, Luke? Maybe it's just when he looks at the missus. With us, meh."

“I still get chills thinking about when he destroyed the Protofield to dust after he found her following the explosion,” Luke gazed off in wonder. “It was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen, but it was also heartbreaking—especially when he tried to wake her and realized she was beyond help because the steel had pierced her heart…”

Luke and Kieran went quiet at the memory.

“Anyhow!” Kieran suddenly exclaimed. “All’s well that ends well! To be honest, I totally saw it coming that they'd end up together!”

“Ooh, you're right! They did a bad job of hiding it too, no less! I mean, one time, the missus came out of his room while—”

As the twins gossiped about their master and mistress, they were unaware that Mephisto the crow, perched nearby, was dutifully recording their conversation and would report it all to his master later.

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obsesssedblerd · 6 months ago

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"Who's your new teacher?"

Synopsis: Toji meets Megumi's new preschool teacher and immediately develops a crush.

Pairings: single dad! toji x f! reader

Wc: 2.3K

Contains: plenty of fluff, crack, a tiny bit of angst, megumi is four, tsumiki is seven, toji is still toji (but like he's soft for his kids and he takes care of them), reader is a preschool teacher, reader and toji are around the same age, toji being soft, mentions of shiu, shiu and toji work together, shiu being an idiot (lol sorry he'll get love in another fic) , everyone is happy bc I said so

a/n: omg, first fic, we made it! barely proofread, sorry for mistakes. also, tysm for 1,000 followers here! the other two fics that were on that poll will be coming soon!

update: pt 2 here

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

Toji’s Fushiguro’s muscles ache. The job he took was harder than he anticipated, and it took way longer than it was supposed to. After confirming that the payment from the job is in his account, he calls Shiu Kong so he could check in on the kids. “About damn time,” Shiu scoffs when the line connects. “I was beginning to think I wouldn’t hear from you until sunrise.”

“Job’s done,” Toji says as he gets into his car, settling into the drivers’ seat with an exhausted sigh. “I hear the TV in the background. Better be cartoons or something age-appropriate.”

Shiu laughs. “Of course, what else? ‘M not getting cussed out by you. Anyway, you comin’ back with Megumi? Can’t believe you took him on the job with you. Once you’re back, I can get out of here.”

Toji’s heart nearly stops. He sits up in his seat, gripping the phone so hard that the screen nearly cracks from his strength. “The fuck did you just say?”

“Huh?”

“Megumi isn’t with you?!” Toji’s voice booms in the car. On the other line, he hears Shiu gulp. “I… I thought he was with you.”

“You idiot! I asked you to pick him up from preschool around the same time you pick up Tsumiki from her school because I knew this would take a while!”

“You did?!” Shiu asks, and then it goes quiet; him more than likely flipping through his messages to double check. “...Shit,” he breathes out.

Toji inhales sharply, then exhales shakily in an attempt to calm the rage, and even the fear that pools in his gut. “If anything has happened to my fucking son, Kong, I will murder you and make your death look like an accident. Keep an eye on Tsumiki.”

“Fushiguro, I swear, I-” Toji hangs up before Shiu can explain himself further, then he starts the car.

He grips the steering wheel hard, and his breathing picks up as his mind spins with every horrific scenario possible. The preschool closes at six thirty. It was close to nine. He didn’t see any missed calls from them. On a normal day, he’d be done before work with plenty of time to pick up his four year-old son, but today’s job was far more difficult and required more time.

The car speeds down the street leading to his destination. He’s half-expecting to see Megumi sitting outside with his backpack, clinging to his dog plushie and crying. Or worse, he’s not there at all; because this world is full of terrible people, and they won’t hesitate to steal a small, unsupervised boy. His heart aches at the thought, and he shoves it away before he feels the need to throw up. He’ll be okay, he thinks to himself. Everything is going to be fine.

—

When Toji arrives at the preschool, he rushedly parks lopsidedly in the lot, then exits the car. His eyes scan the steps leading up to the front, and when he doesn’t see Megumi outside, he rushes to the door.

He sees a security guard in a booth, and before Toji can even ask any questions, the guard gives him a small smile and nod, pressing a button that unlocks the door to the preschool with a click. Toji’s shoulders slump in relief. They were expecting him. That meant Megumi is still here and safe.

Toji nods back at the guard in thanks, and rushes down the dimly-lit hallway. He sees a light coming from a classroom that still has its door open, and he slows his steps when he hears a child giggling. His child.

Then it’s followed up by a beautiful, melodic laugh that makes him stop in his tracks. It’s a lovely sound; one that his heart skips to, and one that gently rings in his ears even plenty of seconds after it stops.

Toji peeks into the classroom to see Megumi comfortably resting in a pillow fort, and you, kneeling beside a lamp and using your hands to make shadow puppets on the wall to entertain him. “Alright,” you say softly as you rearrange your hands and fingers. “What’s this one?”

You smile as you watch Megumi hum thoughtfully, and Toji is transfixed by you. Who are you? Where did you come from? Since when did Megumi get a new teacher? Why is your smile so bright and so beautiful that the sun would envy? Why is his heart beating wildly in his chest at the sight of you? Fuck, why is he staring?

“Ooh!” Megumi gasps as he figures out the animal you made with your hands. “Rabbit!”

“Correct, great job!” You reach forward and give him a high-five. “I think you’ll really like this next one,” you say, and Megumi giggles again as he sits up, completely focused and ready to guess. “Ready?” You ask, and the boy nods.

Toji crosses his arms, quietly leans against the door of the classroom, and watches, unaware of the soft smile that creeps onto his face. When you put your hands in front of the light, and the shape of the animal displays in front of Megumi, he squeals excitedly and stands up. “Doggy!” He shouts with a wide grin and pulls up his favorite dog plushie that he takes with him everywhere, imitating the sounds a dog would make. You break out into laughter, and Toji nearly stops breathing so he can fully take in the sound of it again.

Beautiful, he thinks. You’re so fucking beautiful.

Megumi’s eyes flicker towards the door, and he gasps before running as fast as he can towards Toji. “Papa!”

“Hey, Megs.” Toji kneels down, hugs the small boy against his chest before picking him up in his strong arms, sighing in relief as he runs a hand through his dark hair. He’s okay, and he doesn’t look too upset that he was here for this long. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Are you alright?”

“Yeah!” Megumi pulls away, then gestures towards you, who watched the tender reunion with a sweet smile. “Ms. [Y/L/N] played so many fun games with me!”

“Aw, I’m so happy you had fun, Megumi.” You take a step closer so you’re standing in front of Toji, slightly lifting your head upward to meet his eyes due to his height. “We tried calling you, but your phone went straight to voicemail. Megumi said that it does that sometimes. He took a nap earlier, but I’m sure he’ll be sleepy soon after all of those games. I also gave him dinner earlier.”

“That’s… I just-” Toji struggles to find words, especially when you slightly tilt your head to the side and blink slowly. He exhales, then snaps himself out of his daze. “Thank you so much,” he says. “Are you new? I swear, I’m not usually this late.” Great. Megumi’s pretty teacher might think I’m just the worst parent on this damn planet.

You nod. “Yes, I’m new. Today was my first day with this angel,” You use a finger to gently boop Megumi’s nose, and he smiles, shyly burying his face into Toji’s shoulder, “and the other kids. I figured you might’ve been held up at work or something. It’s okay. Things happen. Besides, he’s such a well-behaved kid. I didn’t mind spending this much time with him.”

Toji places Megumi on the ground, then gently taps his shoulder. “Let’s grab your stuff, okay?” As he helps Megumi pack his backpack, Toji bites back a smile when he sees you watching him out of the corner of his eye. He notes the way you fiddle with your hands and avert your gaze after catching yourself.

You walk over to your desk and open a drawer, pulling out three suckers from a sealed jar. Once Megumi had all of his things packed, you kneel before him, handing him the suckers one by one. “Here you go. One for you, one for your sister, and one for your dad. I can tell he works really, really hard.”

Toji doesn’t hide his smile this time; it was impossible, especially when Megumi accepts them excitedly. “Candy! Thank you!” He hugs you gently, and you return it, rubbing your hand up and down his back. “You’re so welcome. Thanks for being so sweet today. You made my first day so fun.”

A muffled gasp coming from outside has the three of you looking towards the window. Toji sees Tsumiki’s face squished against the glass with her usual, excited smile, and Shiu Kong standing beside her, looking relieved when he sees Megumi safe and sound. He purposely avoids Toji’s glare.

The sound of Megumi’s small yawn gets his attention, and Toji’s gaze softens when the boy rubs his tired eyes. “Aw, ‘m sorry. It’s past your bedtime. Let’s get you home.” He leans down to pick him up again, and once you have your belongings, the two of you leave the building together.

When you three make it outside, you face Toji and Megumi. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Megumi,” you say quietly to him, who is slowly beginning to drift off. Then you look up at Toji, who is softly smiling at you. “And I’ll see you tomorrow, too, right?” You ask.

“Yeah, you will.”

You wave goodbye, and Toji makes sure you get into your car safely. “Hey, Megs,” Toji gently shakes Megumi as he watches you drive out of the parking lot. “Do you know her name?”

“Ms. [Y/L/N]”

He chuckles. “No, kid, her first name.”

“I dunno,” Megumi mumbles before closing his eyes and resting his cheek on Toji’s shoulder. “Sleepy, papa.”

“Ah, there they are!” Shiu exclaims, and Toji would’ve thrown a punch if his son wasn’t in his arms, and if his seven year-old daughter wasn’t happily skipping towards him. “Hi, papa!”

“Hi, sweets, how was school today?”

“Good,” Tsumiki says, then grins mischievously as she points to the spot where your car was just a minute ago. “You like her!” She teases. “You wanna hug her and kiss her and give her chocolates!”

“Alright, you.” Toji rolls his eyes and laughs softly as he uses his free arm to lift up a giggly Tsumiki, then presses a kiss to her forehead. “Both of you should be in bed. Let’s get home.”

“Aw, okay.” Tsumiki then leans forward to gently kiss her sleeping baby brother’s cheek. “Night, Gumi.”

Toji secures both Tsumiki and Megumi in his car, and then faces Shiu, who is smiling nervously. “Well, look at that. Megumi’s doing great and you even developed a crush. How cute. All’s well that ends well.”

“Very cute, but guess what?”

“What?”

Toji finally throws a swift punch at Shiu’s jaw, greatly holding back his strength so it wouldn’t break. Shiu stumbles, then groans, cupping his face with his hands. “Okay, fine, I deserved that.”

“Damn right,” Toji says as he opens the door to the driver’s seat. “See you later.”

—

Toji almost never stresses about his appearance in the mornings. After all, it was just dropping off the kids. But this morning, he frets over which shirt would look better with the jeans he picked out, if he should wear a different type of cologne, or if he should slick his hair back.

All because he’s seeing you again.

He decides to skip the new cologne and go for his usual, simple one, dresses in a dark shirt to match the jeans, and also ditches the idea of slicking his hair. Once the kids are ready for the day, he leaves early and goes to a coffee shop to pick up a medium cup of coffee. First, he drops Tsumiki off at school, then he takes Megumi to preschool.

Toji spots you almost immediately. You were out in the front amongst the other preschool teachers, parents and their kids, wearing a gorgeous yellow top and simple blue jeans. When you see Toji and Megumi approaching, you pause your conversation with your coworker and walk over to them. Toji decides that he likes that, and that he loves the way you kneel in front of Megumi to meet his eye level, telling him good morning and asking if he was excited for the day.

You raise to your feet, Toji hands you the cup of coffee he purchased earlier. “For you,” he says, “As a thank you for everything yesterday.”

“Aw.” Your eyes light up as you accept the cup. “Mr. Fushiguro, this—”

“Toji,” he corrects softly, and he ignores the way his heart stutters when your smile grows.

“Well, Toji, this is lovely. Thank you so much.”

“I never caught your name last night.”

You tell him your name, and Toji tests it once. From the way you shyly avert your gaze, he can tell you that like the way it sounds in his voice. Megumi clears his throat, and Toji looks down to see him staring up at him, his brow raised in suspicion. “You never stay this long. Don’t you have to go to work?”

Damn, kid. Thought we were on the same team.

You laugh as Toji rolls his eyes and sticks his tongue out at Megumi—a gesture that the four year-old returns immediately. “Well, he’s right, gotta get going,” Toji says, looking back up at you. “I’ll see you later?”

“Yes.” You nod, then point to the warm cup in your hands. “Thanks again for the coffee. Have a great day at work.”

“You too.” Toji then gently ruffles Megumi’s hair. “Be good.”

He doesn’t realize how big he’s smiling until he’s back in the car, and he sighs as he remembers Shiu’s words from the night before. A crush. That word seems so silly. He’s not a teen in high school. Toji looks up just in time to watch you take Megumi’s hand and lead him inside the building with the other children, and he chuckles to himself as he starts the car up.

Maybe “silly” was okay when you’re this pretty.

#i love soft toji #toji fushiguro #toji fushigro x reader #toji x reader #jjk #jjk fluff #toji fluff #posts by rey <3 #written by rey <3 #jujutsu kaisen

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simpjaes · 7 months ago

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DAY-SHIFT. (p. sh)

― part one here! After finding out that your boss has seen, heard, and instructed you through some pleasurable nights while parading around as a faceless cam-boy, you decide that your best course of action is to: call out sick. use vacation days. avoid Park Sunghoon at all costs. Unfortunately, ten days doesn’t appear to be nearly enough time to erase what’s happened, and Sunghoon refuses to be avoided. or the one where sunghoon pretends that he isn’t an anxious mess over accidentally exposing himself and you just so happen to have a lot of fucking empathy.

minors dni

PAIRING ― boss / cam boy!sunghoon x afab reader

WORDCOUNT― 14.5k

CONTENT― forbidden office romance kind of, smidge of angst if ur sensitive, mentions of predatory behavior from sunghoon, he is more desperate than he is dominant, just the way we like it.

NOTE ― bro im so sorry this took way too long to write, it also is way longer than it's supposed to be. but yknow. i had to do him right lmfao. NOT PROOF READ.

nsfw tags under cut

nsfw tags― perverted sunghoon, heavy petting, making out, foreplay on a chair lol, desk sex, very intimate shit ok? ok., pussy eating, jerking off, finger fucking, fingers-in-mouth antics, gagging, implications of something more than just an office fling, unprotected sex, he fills you UP!!! YIPEE!!!

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Avoidance.

That is the only way you know out of any awkward or unsavory situation. Avoid, avoid, avoid. Find a new job, change your name, dye your hair– question all of your life choices up to this point.

It’s the fact that never in your life have you had an interest in live sex cams. It was always just a porn video or a nice erotic novel for you. Sometimes curiosity gets the best of you though, like it does all people, and it’s not like you thought anyone would ever know who you are or catch you in the act of feeding into your curiosities.

The one time you ever navigated to the live camera feed on your favorite porn site did shift your sexual appetite a little bit. A whole new world of seeing exactly what you want without needing to search for far too long for that perfect video…for a cost, of course.

You made good money already, and it’s not like you weren’t going for that promotion at the time either. You thought, why not? Why not pay a pretty, faceless man for some anonymous jerking off and move on with your life?

The one time you found something to satiate the late night body-cravings, the point of pleasure ended up being…your boss?

Small world? Miniscule, fucking tiny little world.

For days you wondered if Sunghoon’s text to you was just a coincidence. After all, the faceless man on screen didn’t say a word to you after you uttered the name of your boss. Even if he directly said your name. Even if Park Sunghoon uttered your false name at work.

Consistent back and forth in your head. From, “No, how could that even be possible? No way is it him.” to “but Mr.Park started being weird after the first call, he used both names, he played off of the boss/employee dynamic.”

You’re going crazy as you send another email to your department, apologizing for taking so many days off but not truly apologetic. It’s been ten days now and Sunghoon has yet to text you again.

That little “Can we talk?” can be heard in your head in his voice. Only now recognizing how clear and unique it truly is when he does speak. You try not to realize how similar the cam-boy sounded to him. Only connecting the dots when they force you to do it, really. You still try to convince yourself that the text was about firing you, given his actions at work that very same day.

Maybe he was avoiding you because he felt awful about needing to fire you?

Maybe he sent that text message to start the process of pushing you out?

After all, it’s still very difficult to imagine Park Sunghoon having a cock that nice, or cum in that amount. Given, it’s not like you ever thought about him jerking off or anything, it’s just–

You don’t fucking know. Your brain is a mess of shaking anxiety and echoes of sexual frustrations and moans.

You were refunded your money. He texted after the session. He said your name. It’s him, isn’t it?

You refuse to fucking find out.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

From:...[ [email protected] ]

CC:...[ [email protected] ]

BCC:...

Subject: Time off Request: Rejected. Insufficient PTO.

[insert your name here],

The time you have requested from the 27th to the 3rd has been rejected due to insufficient hours. As of last Thursday, you are no longer meeting the minimum hour requirement as a full-time employee. Your PTO is at 0 hours and 00 minutes and you now have three unexcused absences. Please return tomorrow with a signed order or note that exempts you from work. If you move forward without returning to the building, this will be grounds for termination. Please review the company handbook and job abandonment guidelines.

Additionally, COO Lee, myself, and Division manager Park will be scheduling a meeting with you in the upcoming days, failure to appear will result in immediate termination.

Thank you,

Well, fuck. You knew the time to avoid this would dry up, and this ten day hideaway to fake your death didn’t quite pan out.

Devastating, truly, that you have to walk through those doors with the same legs your boss may or may not have seen spread open for him through a grainy webcam image. Horrifying, that you have to look him in the eye and explain that you really were sick for the past ten days, that you definitely were not hiding the shame of your sexual desires.

The worst part about all of this? Not just the embarrassment but the fact that…you liked it. On that night, had he admitted it was him, you may not have ended the call yourself. It felt like it added some danger to your arousal at the time. Which, naturally, makes you more embarrassed now. Mostly because, at worst if that was Mr.Park, it was predatory. At best though? You very well may have consented.

But the what ifs don’t matter now. The only thing that matters is forcing yourself through the awkwardness of being at work after avoiding it for so long already.

Fortunately for you though, work is…weirdly normal. In fact, no one acts like you’ve missed ten days at all. You are greeted by the usual co-workers, you sit down at your desk and can log in as usual, and there are no warning emails or invitations for what would be considered a meeting of termination either.

The day goes by just fine, suspiciously so. Sunghoon, though you’re avoiding him at the moment, doesn’t appear to be too out of character either. At one point, you were forced to drop corrected paper work off in his office, and he gave you the same usual and small “Thank you” before you stepped out with your legs threatening to buckle.

Then again, his “casual” appreciation could just be your mind playing positive little tricks on you. Maybe it wasn’t casual at all. Maybe that little uncharacteristic breath afterwards isn’t just in your head. You didn’t make eye contact with him during that brief moment, and you did rush out quite quickly so you wouldn’t really know. However, in the deepest part of your brain his voice really does match the one who said all those dirty things to you.

Maybe you’re still overreacting.

Or maybe you dreamed all of this up.

You choose to remain unaware of the awkwardness around you solely because everything else is normal. Deep, deep down, you know. But you’re not giving that truth a chance to thrive or run your brain anymore.

And just as the day comes to an end, you’re actually feeling better. Anxiety is draining out of you, fear and embarrassment sit dormant in some hidden part of your brain over the small possibility of virtually fucking your boss. It seems you’ve let this work day clear up all of that fear in your head.

You were wrong, right? It wasn’t him, right? He’d have tried to defend himself by now. What boss wouldn’t be absolutely terrified that you’d report him, anyway? After all of that?

You actually feel a little dumb at the possibility of Mr. Park ever wanting you sexually, or ever even wanting to speak to you in that way. Asking to see your pussy? Telling you how to touch it? No, that’s definitely not him. Couldn’t be him.

And your eyes do stray after a little while. Just to steal glimpses into his office, feeling relieved and weightless now that it appears your fears are over and finally understood. Doesn’t change the fact that now when you look at him, you might be wildly fucking attracted to him. Because fuck, imagine if that was him. You’re kind of forced to put his image to the faceless cam-boy now, not that you want to do that or anything. It just…you can’t really blame yourself for it.

You lend yourself a little laugh. As happy as you are that you’re able to convince yourself that it’s not Sunghoon’s cock you’ve yearned for, you really wouldn’t mind sleeping with someone as handsome as him.

Crazy how the lack of anxiety lets you think those types of things though, isn’t it? When your brain is no longer fogged by fear or embarrassment, it’s like the clarity can sometimes be scarier simply because you don’t know how true certain statements are. Even through all of that fear, maybe a part of you wished it was him.

Even with the weight on your shoulders lifted, in hindsight, maybe you’re even a little disappointed that it wasn’t.

And, just as you’re preparing to clock out and head home with a big secret crush and a little pep in your step, you hear the familiar notification of an email. No problem, probably just a daily report or something.

From:...[ [email protected] ]

CC:...

BCC:...

Subject: Mandatory Advising

[insert your name here],

Please come to my office before you leave for the day to discuss your conduct as of late.

Thank you,

Park Sunghoon

Division Manager

000-000-0000 ext. 000

Well, double fuck. To think everything was fine despite you being well aware of that shit HR said to you previously?

You barely recognize how the email is sent directly to you from Mr. Park, not including HR or COO Lee. In fact, the anxiety wells up inside of you so quickly that you nearly have to dry heave a few times before taking a deep breath.

In your head, it’s not even about the web-cam session with a faceless man anymore. Your anxiety about that died the moment you successfully lied to yourself enough, now you’re genuinely just afraid you’ll lose your job or that beloved promotion you worked so hard to be qualified for. You just had to let your anxiety run your life for the past ten days, didn’t you? After all, skipping work to such an extent? Everyone had to have known that it was a lie eventually.

So, you stand to your feet, brush off your thighs, and attempt to keep your heart from pounding as you make your way to Mr. Park’s office expecting to see HR, COO Lee, and a severance package on the desk waiting for your signature.

Instead, you walk in to just find your boss. He’s looking at you as he normally would, eyes focused on his screen before glancing at you for a moment and nodding his head to one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“Mr. Park–” You start, nearly wincing at the way you say it because, well, you haven’t said it since the night you had your pussy out on display. It’s only natural to physically react, right?

“One moment.” He says in a small voice, clicking a few times with the mouse as you watch the monitor light shine across his cheeks with each window he minimizes.

It’s silent for a few moments as you awkwardly look around an office you’ve been in countless times. His lights are always dimmed, the temperature is always comfortable. You’re gonna miss this office, though it’s not your own. It was a nice, brief escape before all of this if you’re being honest.

“How was work for you today?” He turns his attention to you, finally adjusting and rolling his chair to center himself in front of you behind his desk

You pause at the question, unintentionally tilting your head at it like a puppy. “Good? Normal, I guess?”

You watch as he nods with a tight-lipped expression, eyes falling to his desk as he takes in a deep and disappointed sounding breath.

“Well, that’s one of us.” He huffs out, causing you to feel a bit confused with his tone. Is he being…passive aggressive? And when he snaps his eyes from his desk straight to your own confused gaze, you can almost sense a bit of something else in them compared to usual.

Not anger. Not disappointment.

He looks worried.

“Eleven days–” Sunghoon drones on with an exhausted tone, cutting himself off with another breath that shows you were right to assume his current displayed emotion. “You have ignored my text messages for eleven days.”

You’re shocked by that because as far as you’re concerned, he has not texted you.

“What are you–” You furrow your brows at him, frantically pulling out your phone. “You haven’t texted me. See? The last one I got was–” You take a second as you pull up his texts and remember the exact time he texted you. So late into the night, right after…that. Naturally, you silence yourself, afraid to say it out loud.

“On the contrary,” Sunghoon denies your proof. “I texted from my personal phone.”

You hesitate again, looking down and noting the notifications under the tab of “message requests.” To be fucking fair though, you didn’t even know that existed so you never really paid attention to it. Especially as you practically avoided your phone out of fear that he’d be texting you again.

You were thankful he didn’t. That comforted you. Now though? Your comfort is replaced yet again with anxiety because, well, he texted you consistently after that night.

“Oh–” You say quietly, seeing a glimpse of “Please, let me call y–” in one of the messages.

“I didn’t see those.” Quickly, you turn your screen off and shove your phone back into your pocket, nervously clasping your hands in front of you and looking to the floor.

“I will reiterate then.”

You can hear the leather on his chair squeak against his expensive suit when he leans forward, both hands splayed out on his desk in a wide and intimidating stance in front of you.

“Wait–” You look around the office now. “If you’re going to fire me– shouldn’t the others be here too?”

Sunghoon pulls back at that, narrowing his eyes before lending a very small and even more nervous chuckle.

“I’m not firing you. I told them I’d take care of your sudden and, quite frankly, unhelpful vacation.”

You look to the floor again, feeling scolded for your actions but having a genuine reason. If Sunghoon truly is aware of that reason for your absence, he understands too, right?

“I have been beyond inappropriate with you.” He blurts now, that same leather squeaking as he leans back again and looks away from you the moment you snap your head up. “I have reason to believe you’ve not yet reported me, and I’d like to ask for the opportunity to explain myself before you do.”

You feel a chill wash over your whole body, cold sweat peaking right at your temples as you stare forward. He’s being so professional about this, and that lie you’ve convinced yourself of is showing it’s face as just that, a fucking lie.

So this is it?

So there it is? A semi-admittance that it was him? That little feeling in the back of your head that wishes it was diminishes within an instant. In fact, you narrow your eyes at him, your nose crinkles, and you feel frustration bubble up in your gut.

“So you admit that it was you?” You ask, needing a full confirmation.

“Yes.” Sunghoon sighs, leaning back somehow further, creating as much distance from you as possible before unintentionally rolling his eyes. Mostly due to the fact that he was stupid enough to let this happen, mostly to shame himself. “What I did was inappropriate and unacceptable. I didn’t intend for this to ever happen.”

Now you feel a bit…pissed off.

Like? Oh, he didn’t intend for this to happen? What? You mean he didn’t intend to let you fucking find out! Well, as good as he is at playing the part of a slutty man on the internet, he’s not so good at acting in real life, now is he? Saying your false fucking name at work, saying your real name with his cock out?

What in the fuck are you supposed to do about this? Why is he giving you the ability to report him? He’s the one with the power here. He could fire you now and bury the information if he so pleased. After all, He’s besties with COO Lee, right? That bitch in HR has an obsession with him too. Hell, everyone here loves the guy.

You’re just a bottom of the barrel employee trying to work your way up. If you got him fired, surely he’d make damn sure you never work for a decent company like this one again. Additionally, you don’t even want to report him.

Yeah, it was fucking weird that he just knew it was you and kept going. Super strange that he had to have known after the first call, only to ask to see you in the second one. Why does that turn you on in the midst of this anxiety induced spiral? Why the fuck is the idea of Park Sunghoon apologizing for masturbating to and for you so alluring?!

Sure, maybe it’s kind of nice knowing that someone of his status would ever find an interest in you, but it doesn’t quite wash the frustration away. You have every right to question, and every right to be pissed off about it.

Still, in this quiet room, Sunghoon is stoic and all you can think about when you look at him is the way he said “if I were your boss i’d–” and the way he fucked his palm while saying it, implying he wanted it to be you while simultaneously knowing it was you watching.

Since fucking when did Mr. Park ever show a sexual interest in you? And if he did, why the fuck couldn’t he have just been normal about it?

“That was really fucked up, you know that?” You argue immediately, voice shaking at the speed of which your emotions shift. Your resolve isn’t quite as clear as it probably should be. Perhaps you should report him, or maybe you already should have. But, it’s not like you accepted the truth until he demanded it of you.

You would have let it slide. Both of you could have pretended it never happened. You could’ve gone home and continued working, never paying a cam-boy again had Sunghoon not called you into this stupid, comfortable ass office.

“In my defense, I was just doing my job. Though it’s my own fault for not telling you, my job here was at risk if you had found out.”

“You made me talk about you.” You roll your eyes at him now, gaining the power and control over the conversation. “And you thought I wouldn’t find out?! What? Did that get you off or something?”

“I–” Sunghoon stops himself from answering that question truthfully. He quickly tries to explain away the stutter instead. Never has he been scolded by an employee, but you’re well within your rights to do so. “I wasn’t in my right mind. I never get called by name during these sessions and I apologize for having you say it.”

“And you want me to report you?” You raise a brow at him. “Want me to just storm right into HR and tell her how you’re a fucking pervert? Want me to tell her how you told me to repeat your name? To thank you for it? Is that really what you want?”

Are you enjoying yourself a little too much? Maybe.

Sunghoon doesn’t respond though, instead, he runs his hand through his hair and sighs from the stress welling up inside of him. He can only act calm and collected for so long, and it’s been eleven days already. He hates how hearing you say those words goes straight to his cock at a time like this, he hates even more how all of this could have been avoided if he had simply declined your second call.

But you’re not wrong. He is a pervert, and he did tell you to thank him for the pleasure you were getting from his voice and half image alone. At the time, he was so turned on he really just couldn’t help himself. You fed his sexual appetite unknowingly and now this is the consequence of his action. Being a known pervert.

Is it what he wants though? To be reported? Humiliated?

Fuck.

Arguably, just having you humiliate him like this is enough. Drives him crazy, really. Whether it be from arousal or guilt, or both.

And for the first time since you started working here, you see him for what he truly is. A strong man to an extent, but he’s crumbling under his own mistake and it makes you wonder just how far he would’ve taken it had you not found out.

“And what if I didn’t realize who I was fucking myself for?” You glare. “Would you have asked for more? Avoided me here even more? Would you have declined my application for the assistant position because you can’t come to terms with the fact that you’re a fucking pervert?!”

Sunghoon raises his hands in defense.

“Please–” His voice sounds panicked. “Please, keep your voice down.”

“Answer the question, then. Just fucking own it at this point.” You throw your arms up now, letting them fall back down in a slap to your thighs. “Would you have made my work-life miserable just so you could watch me get off to you? Knowing the whole time? Would you have kept on with that boss slash employee shit just so it felt more real for you?”

Staring forward at him, you watch him accept that everything you’re saying is likely exactly what would have happened. Maybe he really will try to own it. Which would be… a good thing if you decide to let your own resolve falter.

So fucking secretive, huh? An actual, real life degenerate? And it’s Sunghoon of all people?

“Maybe…” Sunghoon trails off, making himself seem much smaller than he usually is on a day-to-day basis. “I mean, No–I,”

Oh, he’s actually stuttering.

“And you want me to tell on you? You want me to fuck your life up?” You raise a brow. “As if I didn’t pay you to do it?”

In all honesty, aside from the anxiety and awkwardness, and despite never once thinking of Sunghoon too sexually, things have changed. Drastically. Especially after being confronted with this situation and he’s not intimidating you or using his power to control you. No, he’s giving you the power and quite frankly, you don’t know what to do with it.

Are you basking in it? Absolutely. Is it nice to see him cower in front of you? In that big plush chair that costs more than your monthly income? Hell yeah.

But goddamn, had he approached you before all of this and asked for a date, or showed interest, you would have gladly partaken in a secret romance with him. He’s intelligent, attractive, clean, and has money. It’s not like you ever expected the guy to go home and fuck himself on camera.

You never thought he was the type to be so lonely either. Or so desperate, judging by how he acted during those two sessions. Arguably, you always wondered why there was never a ring on those pristine fingers.

And while you were definitely the victim in this situation, you feel more embarrassed than you do violated. Many nights you thought of how he spoke, how he said how badly he wanted you. It’s embarrassing because you’re starting to love the idea of who those words really came from. The Park Sunghoon, so untouchable in the business world. So untouchable by women and men solely because he appears to be too expensive, too pristine.

But you…

You’ve seen him dirty.

Part of you wishes you didn’t pay to be humiliated like this. The rest of you wishes you didn’t fucking like it as much as you do.

“It’s only fair.” Sunghoon explains with a short breath. “I feel awful for what I’ve done, and I should have told you the moment I recognized her as, well–” He pauses with a pained face, as if he hates hearing himself say it. “You.”

“Then, why didn’t you?” You raise your brow again, nearly forgetting you’re at work, solely focused on the conversation at hand and feeling relieved at the way it’s going.

Sunghoon shifts in discomfort, looking away from you.

“Do you want honesty?” He asks in a quiet voice, leaning forward on his desk but refusing eye contact. He keeps his gaze lowered the entire time, his voice small and shaky.

There’s still people in the office, though his door is closed and it’s unlikely he can be heard.

You nod to him with an even smaller “Go on then.”

“I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t you.” He says, shifting his hands and picking at his cuticles.

Man, he really knows how to act sorry, doesn’t he?

“I avoided you after that first call, solely because I think I wanted her to be you. Which is…incredibly inappropriate.”

He looks up at you now, searching for a reaction and only seeing you nod at him. His eyes shift right back down as he continues.

“My avoiding you led you to– um– more services.” He explains quieter, admitting in full the situation he’s allowed to take place, seeming more and more insecure with his words than he ever has before. “I can admit that I have fantasies and needs.”

Silence.

“After that first call, I couldn’t help but be entirely attracted to you. The idea of–”

You suddenly find yourself thinking back to all of those things he said to you again, parading as if he wasn’t your boss, telling you what he'd do if he were. He seems to have accidentally found a sexual interest in the dynamic…and he fucking dragged you into it with him.

“Mr. Par– Sunghoon.” You cut him off, actually feeling a bit of pity now at his admittance.

His words make you feel like maybe he’s not entirely just a pervert who was intending to make you get off to him from the start. If anything, he probably felt uncomfortable at first knowing who was on the other end of the call. It’s the fact that his real life job was at risk if you found out, and still he indulged despite that. He accepted that second call, he asked for more, he acted like he really does want you.

To the extent that losing his job was in the front of his mind and he still did it. He ignored the danger of it and prioritized getting off…with you. You find yourself wondering if this would have happened to any other employee under him if they happened to stumble across his stream too.

Part of you wants to pretend he wouldn’t, because the idea that all of this is happening solely because it was you? It hits a little too hard, a little too deep.

“Okay, okay. Stop,” You say, keeping your eyes on him and willing him to look up at you. “You don’t have to keep explaining, I get it.”

“No.” He does meet your eye this time, stopping your brain of all thoughts at how differently you see him now versus all the times before. “I do.”

He’s so honest. Probably too honest for his own good. Maybe that’s why he’s so good at his job, maybe that’s why everyone loves him. Maybe a bit of lying would help him in this situation if it were anyone else, but for you?

You kind of enjoy the way he’s telling the truth. Admitting that he was desperate, apologizing for wanting you even if just for a brief moment.

“I asked you to turn on your camera for selfish reasons. I asked you to say my name, then I made the mistake of exposing myself because I–” He hesitates, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply through his nose. “I struggled to pretend it wasn’t me, and that she wasn’t you. I very well knew what I was doing, and at the time, I wished that you did too.”

More silence as you stare at him, stunned, slightly in awe.

“But I knew you wouldn’t have reciprocated. What I’ve done is criminal, and I am encouraging you to report me for it if that’s what you deem necessary.”

“And if I don’t?” You don’t leave any more room for silence now, feeling desired and validated.

You can’t pretend that you’re mad, though you were previously. You simply can’t pretend that, now at least, you wouldn’t reciprocate. If anything, you’re more interested now than you think you ever would have been before.

“We can forget any of this ever happened. I’ll stop streaming and accepting private calls, and we can hopefully move forward without any ill-feelings of one another.” He blinks at you, near pleading with his eyes. “I’ll push your application through– That is, if you still want the position.”

Sunghoon does wince at the bribe, considering he’s never done such a thing let alone commit acts of sexual harassment, or perhaps even non consensual foreplay with someone. It really really wasn’t entirely intentional, and he’s disgusted with himself. If you report him, he’d take the hit to his reputation and career, but if you don’t…what then?

Ill-feelings, he says? If anything, you might feel more ill parading around like you wouldn’t want him to do all of those things he said previously, with free-will to say as he pleased without the fear of you knowing who the words were coming from.

“Can you please stop with the professional talk?” You hum out with an exhausted eye roll. “I don’t want the promotion if you’re just offering it so I don’t rat you out.” You narrow your eyes now and lean yourself forward. “You hope to forget this ever happened? Really?”

Carefully, the two of you watch each other for a while longer. Sunghoon looking like he’s about to catch himself on fire, and you, looking annoyed and amused. Still, the thick air in the room starts to feel suffocating under the pressure of the “issue” at hand as you scold him further.

“What you did was predatory. But– I don’t want to ruin your life over this.”

You watch as Sunghoon listens, his posture opening up a bit more as you speak, showing that he’s being relieved of his stress through your words alone.

“Are you trying to hold a promotion over my head over this?”

Before he gets the chance to curl in on himself again, you answer for him.

“Maybe.”

You continue too, not letting him speak for the time being. Or, rather, giving him a chance to breathe.

“Should you change your username and continue doing what you want behind closed doors because it’s no one else’s business?” You really watch him this time. “Yes.”

He blinks at you, raising a brow in slight confusion.

“Did you take advantage of me?”

He nods before you whisper out another “yes” yourself.

“Would I let you do it again…?”

Oh, for Sunghoon, it’s hard to breathe right now as he anticipates what you’ll say. Is it going to be a ‘no’ this time? Are you going to stand up and change your mind? Despite just stating you don’t want to ruin his life?

God, hasn’t he already let you?

“Yes.”

Pause.

“I’m sorry?” Sunghoon responds in disbelief, shifting his eyes to his hands and then back to you. “Come again?”

“Sunghoon.” You make it a point to call him by his name now, ignoring the etiquette of a proper boss and employee dynamic. “I am humiliated by all of this but I can see that you are too. You’ve admitted your guilt and even go as far as encouraging that I report you.” You pause again, knowing that this isn’t where the conversation should be going for any, uh, normal person, you suppose.

“If you had just told me. If you had said anything about wanting to, like, fuck me, I would have done it with or without the promotion on the line.”

Does that make you sound a little desperate? Yeah. But it’s not like he doesn’t know how badly you need to be fucked. After all, you know, the cam sessions and stuff. You were literally paying a stranger to get you off.

Shouldn’t he, of all people, know that you were bad-off enough to get laid?

Sunghoon’s issue though, is that he never looks at his employees sexually. No matter how pretty, no matter how much they flaunt themselves at him. He never has, and probably never will again. If it hadn’t been for that single first session with you, all would be well. But now? He’s too attracted to you.

He wants you so badly.

“If you tell me right now that you want me, in the same way you did on that call–” You stop yourself to really look at him. With the way he swallows, the way his lips slightly part, the way his hands show signs of eleven days worth of nervous habit cuticle picking. “If you do all of those things you said you’d do ‘if you were my boss’...”

“Wait, wait–” Sunghoon stands in a rush, causing you to jump slightly at the sudden sound echoing off of the walls in the office. “Do you understand the consequences of what you’re implying right now?”

“If I fuck my boss, we could both be fired?” You smile, feeling the confidence raise within you. Watching the way he reacts to your lewd words face to face rather than through a microphone.

“That would be…correct.” He raises a brow.

“Well, technically, you’ve already been fucking me.” You look away from him, feeling a bit shy even with the confidence, but never having spoken to a man so bluntly before like this? It’s a bit scary. “Would it really make anything worse if, you know, I do reciprocate?”

Goddamn. Sunghoon might be a bit smitten. This situation could have gone a thousand different ways, and you offer the one that includes your legs spread across this fucking desk and his face buried between them?

Oh. Never has he been so willingly turned on at work.

“Is this what you want?” He asks in a breath, shifting his eyes to the door and walking towards it, immediately reaching for the lock but not quite turning it.

“Is that what you want?” You counter, turning and staring at the lock.

Sunghoon hides his nod, wanting you to be the one to answer first. After all, hasn’t he been self-indulgent enough?

“Do you want me to fuck you?” He finally breaks and says it, blatantly, not sugar coated, yet still sweet when the words hit your ears. “After all this, you still want it?”

You nod, dipping your head a bit against your shoulder.

Click.

“I guess I should have known.” Sunghoon plays with his words now, hand dropping from the now locked door and eyes entirely on you. “Do you want me to fuck you, or would you prefer–”

“You.” You smile, feeling your skin prickle at the electricity that enters the room through breath and words alone. It’s the way he already shifted. Like all of that anxiety melted out of him within an instant.

“No, no.” He stalks towards you now, the nervous Sunghoon is no longer in sight as he makes himself seem bigger, taller, far more intimidating. Just like he was on camera. “The me you saw on screen is not the same as what you’re seeing right now.” He tries to explain.

“Oh?” You tilt your head, and he only finds that cute.

Far too cute.

“You’d do as I ask, right?” His voice shifts to a raspy whisper as he centers himself in front of you, both hands reaching the arms of your chair as he hovers above you. “I’m far more tame online.”

Tame?! That’s what he calls tame?!

You stare up at him, keeping your jaw from falling slack as you physically see him shift from being your boss into being a man with a need. Not just any need either. A need for you.

Part of you wonders if he ever truly felt bad in the first place about all of this, because the shift from just moments ago is so dramatic it’s almost scary.

“So, tell me.” He leans down, inches from your face as his eyes start to fall to a half-lidded stare at you. “You’ll do as I say? You’d let me do it all for you, and not ask me to stop until I feel it best, yes?”

You swallow and slowly nod. Oh god, it really, really, is him.

“And while at work, you’ll behave?” He continues, lips now ghosting over yours to the point you can almost feel them press down. He’s implying that if you don’t tell, that this won’t be the only time too? Shit. He’s entirely aware of why this shouldn’t be happening, but still making it happen.

“No matter what I do to you, where or how I do it, you’ll behave?”

You can’t help it when you lift your chin, just a bit to rest your lips against his words, eyes falling closed and hands hesitant to reach out for his perfectly ironed shirt.

You feel his smile against your lips, with that sharp-toothed grin he rarely offers.

“Ah, so it’s true.” He murmurs against you, his hand reaching for yours and guiding it for you, straight to his belt. “Dirty, dirty girl.”

A small, pleased, sound leaves your throat when he does kiss you, adding his own pleased hum alongside yours as his hands still hold yours in place over his belt, not quite letting you do anything just yet.

”Gonna be quiet–” He whispers into your mouth, just against your tongue before licking out and against it. “Even when I tell you to moan my name?”

You really shouldn’t be surprised, but you still are. You like this Sunghoon better than the one who stutters and picks his cuticles. He’s owning it, and in a way, so are you.

After all, it wasn’t until today that you truly learned what Sunghoon is like when he’s aroused. Not that you ever should have known in the first place. The fact that you do know, the fact that he’s showing you? It just makes this all the more arousing, in your opinion.

All he needed was a green light and within seconds it seems, Sunghoon became the need you’ve been chasing for months now through porn sites and erotic novels.

You nod to his words, trying to drop your hand just a bit to feel what you’ve already seen. Just to feel how warm he is, how—

“Is that so?” Sunghoon whispers in an amused tone, guiding your hand right back to his belt, only to drop his other hand straight between your legs. “You’re supposed to do as I say. If I tell you to moan my name, you do it.”

Oh, the sexual confusion of what to do and which Sunghoon to obey. All you can do is continue to nod for him, hanging your head with a breath at the way he cups his hand over the entirety of your core. You wore pants today in order to hide your shame, to try and feel invisible based on previous circumstances. You’re not so happy about that now, as you try to feel his touch through the thick fabric only to shamelessly thrust your hips up and against his palm.

He moves his lips to the top of your head now, hovering over you in a perfect stance of power, hand gently rubbing up and and down despite your hips asking for a harsher touch. If anything, it makes him feel better knowing how you react to this.

In actuality, his relief is sending his arousal through the roof. Not only are you not going to rat him out but…you want more of it? More of him, in particular? Not the facade of him online?

At this point, if he gets caught, you’re both going down in flames. So, why not enjoy the ride?

Truly, it’s laughable in the way he’s just as amused as he is turned on, relishing in the fact that he wants you and you’re letting him have you despite his past actions. You’re messy too, he’s seen it, and now he gets to feel it.

“Mhm,” Sunghoon hums against the top of your head, now pressing his own hips forward against your hand. “Feel that?”

The electricity? How hard he is? How needy you are?

”Yeah…” You sigh absentmindedly, bumping his chin with your head when you try to look up at him. You only blink twice before he coos out with a sad little sound.

He doesn’t say a word after as he removes his hand and instead, grabs both of your hands and places them on his shirt.

“Go on.” He smiles, waiting to see you to start fumbling against his buttons.

And fumble, you do. Touching him, for some reason, feels so dangerous. Knowing you’re the one removing his shirt, watching his skin be revealed as it begins to fall open by your own doing? It’s electrifying. Enough to lose your train of thought as you study how toned and smooth his skin is. Just like how you had seen on camera, so clear in front of you now. You’re aching for him by this point, being able to feel his body heat, touch him, feel his eyes on you.

If you had really known back then who it was you were talking to, you very well may have pretended to not know as well, judging by the way your entire body catches fire for him.

And as his shirt falls completely open, he’s satisfied with the way you do it. Complacent and docile beneath him, nervous fingers shaking much like he did for the past eleven days. With those pretty eyes looking at him, like there’s nothing in your head at all.

He chuckles at you, grabbing your hands again and placing them right on his chest, helping your hesitant touch to massage and caress each bump and toned muscle. He intentionally flexes the further down your hands go, all the way back to his belt.

There, he looks down at where you touch, then back at you with a quirked brow. You stare up at him, blinking, face feeling hot, and it’s like you move your hands on instinct. The sound of his buckle being unclasped echoes in the room, and his eyes only darken with the sound.

The sound of it slipping from the loops when he takes it upon himself to remove it completely for you, the sound of his breathing, the sound of that zipper, the button, the shuffling of his pants being skewed down just enough to fit your hand inside.

He moans at the image alone, loving the way your smaller hand looks slipping down his pants, the way your breathing is somehow even as if you’re trying to keep yourself calm. So calm, so pretty, but he knows how needy you are. He shouldn’t, but he does, and he uses it to his advantage.

You’re the one who moans this time upon feeling that little twitch of his cock urging you to grab. And he helps you too, with the way he guides your hand under the front of his pants further, forcing your fingers to grab and grope the thick of his cock, uncomfortable and pressing between his briefs and undone zipper.

“Still, you’re just looking.” Sunghoon comments, pressing his hips forward slowly and gently. “I’m right here.” He continues to explain the situation to you, as if you’re not experiencing it. “You need me to show you how to touch me too?”

You hesitate with a groan caught in your throat. You’re still processing the size difference that you feel now versus what you saw. Bigger. Thicker. Heavier than you would have expected against your palm. Honestly, you were so focused on the fact that Sunghoon’s cock is currently fucking forward against you that you almost forgot how to jerk a man off by yourself.

His hand had been doing all the work for you, and you’re quick to take over.

Sunghoon lends a very small gasp at the way you try to grasp, and instantly both of his arms shoot to the chair behind your head. He grips it, dropping his chin to the top of your head before thrusting a bit harsher into the grip you try to hold on him.

“Harder.” He exhales, his cock twitching in your weak hold. “Grab me harder.”

You do, squeezing the bulge before intentionally adjusting it for him, allowing the head of his bulbous cock to peek from the top of his briefs.

His relieved sigh is enough, you can’t help it. With his chin sat atop your head like this, you have no choice but to watch the way he moves his hips. Just like he did on camera. His abs flex with each movement, his arms grip behind you on the chair tighter, and you couldn’t pull your eyes away from his desperate body even if you wanted to.

You thrust up too, as if your body craves what you’re already touching. And you do crave it, so much so that your clit aches against the denim you’re rubbing up against. Unfortunate that you wore these fucking jeans, honestly.

“Mr. Park–” You let out a small and frustrated cry, using your other hand to try and fail at unbuttoning your own pants.

He hides his smile at the way you’ve reverted back to his professional title, but pays no mind to it because that’s what he wanted to hear in your voice that night. A desperate sound of his name, a plea, a cry. He can’t help but cling to it and bury that pretty voice into the darkest parts of his brain. A memory he’ll revisit time and time again after this. That sound, those pretty lips, this weak grasp you have. For the time being, it’s his. You belong to him right now.

“Hm?” He hums out, fucking his hips forward while tilting his head back to look at you. “What is it, baby?”

Oh. You lost your train of thought.

Thankfully, he seems to do the thinking for you as he shifts his eyes down and watches you try to both please him and remove your own pants. A cute sight to him, really. Someone who was just scolding him for wanting this, fumbling for more?

So cute.

He chuckles, pulling his hips back from your hand and grabbing it, unbothered by the loss of your touch. Instantly he intertwines his fingers with yours, and grasps your other hand from your pants to do the same. Both your arms raise by his guidance to the back of the chair before he releases them.

You watch with a slack jaw and half-lidded eyes as he lowers himself, right onto his knees before he unbuttons your pants for you and very politely pulls them from your legs.

“This what you want?” He smiles, lying his cheek right against your exposed thigh and taking a deep inhale. It’s taking everything in him not to fawn over the woman who had him in his thoughts for the past however long, truly.

Then again, he’s weak. He doesn’t even look up at you through his words and, instead, nuzzles his nose right up and against the seat of your panties before inhaling with a pleasant hum. “To have me finally touching this pretty pussy for you?”

God damn, if you didn’t already know it was him on that camera, you do now. He speaks the same type of words, with the same confidence, the same sultry tone…

You can barely comprehend the way he slowly takes his own pants off because you’re too focused on the way he runs his lips across your skin with dirty thoughts spilling from them. Fingers tucked under either side of your panties in preparation before he eventually pulls them off of you.

“Did you wear those pants to hide yourself from me?” He comments now with an amused tone. “Knowing you wanted me to take them off of you anyway?”

You shake your head at him, holding your breath. You did wear them to hide, but you never would have expected this situation to go in a direction involving his mouth anywhere near where you need it. Sure, you assumed he would have rejected you, you assumed that if it was him– he’d have been so disgusted with himself that he’d only gag at your presence.

But no. You were bold in your words, and he seems to feed into that.

“No?” He furrows his brows and lifts his head. Now lowering your panties much like he did for your pants. He’s quick with his next action, seemingly hiding his own desperation through playful comments at you. “Why not?” He adds, instantly pressing his thumb against your clit and fucking shining his eyes up at you with a semi-pouted mouth.

You roll your eyes back at the sudden pressure, relaxing your shoulders and slouching down in the chair. Your legs spread further on instinct, granting him a full view of your sticky cunt parting open for him.

His eyes glance down, peering into the heat you offered once before ever knowing it was him looking. Clicking his tongue, he can’t help but bite his lower lip to hold himself back. He hopes you don’t notice the way his hand finds its way to his own cock, he really, really hopes you don’t see him act so pathetic over this.

But you do. The moment your eyes roll back into place and get a look at him. One of his shoulders is moving, but the action is hidden by not only the chair, but his fucking face. He’s got his lips parted and he’s licking his lower lip. Slicking it up with his own saliva before–

“So quiet,” He hums with glistening lips, lending himself a light hold with his cock and pretending it’s you doing it for him. “You have nothing to say for yourself?” He adds now, inhaling once more the scent of your slick dripping for him as he leans in just a bit more.

“Oh–!” You yelp slightly at the feeling of his teeth digging into the flesh just to the side of your core. He bites down harder and harder, licking the flesh between his teeth before sucking hard against it. The sweat and scent of your full-day at work does nothing to calm his raging cock. He loves it and it only grows his appetite for you. Licking, sucking, nibbling at the skin until he’s sure he’ll leave a nice, painful swell to rub against your panties later. Only then does he release your skin from his still-tasting mouth.

The relief when he releases your thigh is short lived because he offers not even a full two seconds before you feel his mouth circle your clit. Like he can’t help himself, like he can’t tease you right now even if he wanted to.

A flick of his tongue sends a shiver down your spine straight to your toes and you can’t stop your legs from immediately wrapping around his head. You hear his muffled “mmf” when you do that, but he keeps you from apologizing for it because his free hand goes straight under your ass and scoots you even closer to his tongue.

And if you didn’t already think Sunghoon knew how to use that mouth for more than just being a professional business man, you do now. With the way that same tongue that used to taste the morning coffee you’d bring him now tastes you. Deeply.

He licks, flicks, and sucks every fold. Slurping up any dripping heat that slips out of you before pressing his tongue in and nuzzling his nose against your clit. He’s not quiet about it either. He moans with each lick, hums every time your legs squeeze around his neck, slurps and loudly sucks.

It’s pornographic, it’s sexy, it’s–

Suddenly, you feel a sharp jolt shoot through you, having not even noticed his hand moving from your ass to your front, moving straight up under your shirt. His fingers immediately find your nipple and pinches hard. So hard that your previous moan only becomes prolonged. Grows louder, breathier.

He pinches and massages your nipple with the intent to keep you loud for him. Office setting or not, he could give less of a shit about that right now. He ignores the strain on his wrist from your bra, he uses his other hand to grip himself harder, and you can’t help but squeeze him tighter between your thighs until you’re, quite literally, shaking.

Your hips are sliding against his face with each jolt of pleasure, practically riding him, and his cock is now entirely neglected because you can’t help but want more. You need more. And he gives it, by now releasing himself and keeping both hands on you. One holding the outside of your thigh, almost pushing you to squeeze tighter, the other incessantly abusing your nipple.

He chokes out a moan through his messy movements, never quite knowing where to put his hands solely because he wants to touch all of you. His cock is just fine being neglected, he thinks, as he realizes just how much pleasure he gets from feeling you wrap yourself around him like this.

It feels better than jerking himself off.

“Mr. P–” You sigh out, still not quite used to actually calling him his name, but the sound of it reminds you time and time again how wrong this situation is supposed to be.

You’re sitting on this soft chair, pussy being spread apart by a tongue none other than the man who signs your paychecks. And just this morning you were terrified of him ever even getting a glimpse of you without pants on? God, how stupid could you be? You should’ve been chasing this man’s touch since the day you looked at him for the first time.

“Fuck–” You moan out for him, brain spitting thoughts at you as each second passes. The danger of this, the fact that he genuinely got off to you before you knew it was him. The secrecy of his perverted thoughts and actions…it’s all so… “So, you’re so – hot.”

You feel him laugh, kissing the pulsing hole of your pussy when he pulls his tongue back to swallow. And for just a few moments, he turns his head, gripping your thigh with his teeth once again before speaking back to you, muffled by the hot skin.

“Yeah?” He laughs, now pulling his hand from your bra and lifting to your chin, pointing your gaze down at him, forcing you to see the way your thighs nearly suffocate him against your pussy. “Then keep your eyes on me.”

And you do, especially when he uses both of his hands now, nudging them between your legs and forcing them from his shoulders. He rests your legs on the arms of the chair instead and flicks his eyes up at you.

“You watching?” He makes this a point, blowing a small breath of air straight at your clit before receiving a dazed and slow nod from you. “Keep your legs open too.”

That’s the last thing he says before his mouth is full again, sucking your folds between his teeth before tucking his tongue right back into your hole. He tastes for just a few moments before you feel those same lips on your clit. He lets it throb in his open mouth as he listens carefully to your little sounds, especially now that he’s sliding his fingers into you.

You gasp, holding your breath at the feeling. His fingers slide in, reaching deep before he scissors them open. And all you feel from it is pleasure. You can’t help that your eyes roll back again, but you do try to keep your gaze fixed on his. With his eyes so rounded, blinking up at you with his strong jaw moving with each swallow of his own muffled moans.

He sucks your clit, fucks your cunt open, and relishes in the way he will soon get to splay you across his desk and really let you have it.

And he does this for a few minutes, though in your head it goes by so fast that you nearly get whiplash from the way he pulls back with a wet sound and grins at you.

“Aw, baby–” He coos at the face you make, seemingly disappointed to lose all stimulation at once, but he’s quick to lift to his feet and lean back over you.

Oh, his cock. It’s right there.

Oh.

His face–

“You’re so fucking wet right now.” He murmurs against the corner of your mouth with a raspy whisper, easily and without warning slipping two of his fingers right back into the heat that he just denied himself of licking more. “You hear that?” He continues with a sharp toothed bite to your lip. “How wet you are?”

You groan at the way he slams his fingers in, out, in, out, in…He keeps them there, pressed so far into you that you can physically feel the way your pussy tries to push him out again.

“Could slip it in right now–” He moans out at how tight you clench just his fingers. “Fuck, could be so deep in you.”

Your face feels hot as a bashful feeling overtakes you. His voice hits so much harder when you feel his breath along with it. His fingers, his cock right up against you. You want him to slip it in. To stuff his cock in you so fast, no room to adjust, not a second to even catch your breath.

God, you need it right now. It’s been too long since you’ve felt a real person touch you, you can’t help that you feel so desperate. The clench isn’t on purpose, your body tells him all he needs to know, all while he tells you all you could only wish to hear fall from someone’s lips.

And not just anyone. His lips.

You shoot your arms around his neck and it's not really intentional but– an actual kiss. You need it.

He seems pleased by it though, with the way his tongue immediately asks for more. One hand moves to brace your cheek, the other still fucking into you so good that you can’t keep a single moan down. He takes full control of the initiated kiss solely because you kissed him first. Almost hungrily, he licks into your mouth with his own muffled groan, encouraging you to keep being pretty like this. Just so you can see what he’ll do to you.

And, damn. He guides your body like a puppet, stiffening his shoulders when he licks into your mouth and threatening to pull away by raising himself up just a bit. He knew you’d chase the kiss, and you do. You lift with him, your ass lifting from the chair just to keep his tongue against yours, and he takes the elevated position and angles his hand just a bit. There, his fingers fuck into you harder, faster, so much fucking deeper until– you feel his fingers stop at a painfully deep spot inside of you.

He pulls back from the kiss, looking down between your bodies, and your eyes follow his gaze. Right there, he’s placed his knee up against his own wrist, forcing his fingers to remain deep and unmoving in you.

You take in a sharp inhale, seeing the way he lets your body fall back to the seat of the chair, only forcing him to skew his fingers and– “Oh, god!”

You moan out so suddenly that it even shocks him for a moment, but he takes your weakness and uses it to his advantage. Quickly, he licks into your moaning mouth, tickling his fingers upwards, pulling even more animalistic sounds from you.

“Yeah?” He whispers frantically, so turned on by the way your entire body stiffens. “Right there?” He continues, leaning his full body weight forward with his knee, wincing at the way he presses his cock against anything he can find in the process, just to get you off right here, right now.

You nod just as frantically, toes curling, arms shooting to the chair in a form that should appear as discomfort, but really you’re just bracing yourself through the tensing of your muscles before all of them relax and pulse at once.

Your ears pop, but you can still hear your desperate cries of his name somewhere distant. You can even hear him, humming and encouraging your orgasm. You wish you could hold your eyes open to see him, to grab him and force him to fuck his fingers hard into you. God, you could take it right now. You could take just about anything to heighten this feeling of stars bursting behind your eyelids.

Somehow though, it’s like he knows. Half-way through your orgasm, you feel the weight between your legs shift and his fingers start moving again. Still, your eyes are squeezed shut, and you can't help but to lunge forward and hug against his neck, clinging to him through the prolonged orgasm that his fingers alone have brought to you.

“Squeezing me so tight–” Sunghoon groans, unsure of if he’s referring to the way your needy cunt crowds his fingers, or the way you cling to him like a lost pet, begging for him to never leave your sight. “Fuck, you’re so pretty like this.”

You hear those words over any of his others. So clear in your head as you snap your head up and look at him. You see him lower his gaze, but your grip doesn’t quite allow him to actually look down at you. Not when he has to physically hold you up anyway. Still, he looks amused up there, knowing that single compliment must’ve hit somewhere inside of you.

You’re not sure why, through all this, Sunghoon calling you pretty makes it so much more intimate. And even as your legs continue to shake, and you release your death grip hug on him, he keeps himself crowded up to you. He’s somehow out of breath just like you are, relishing in the calm silence of your post orgasm as he…Jesus.

It’s not just your imagination. Somehow, it is intimate. It’s the way he pulls his fingers out and both hands shoot to your face. First, he kisses you as if you’re a long lost love. Deeply, slowly. Then, he’s putting one hand at the small of your back, nudging his knee right back between your legs, and pulling you right up against him.

“Who did you cum for?” Sunghoon asks, pulling back just to lick against your lips and stare directly down at you. “Say my name.”

You don’t hesitate, echoing out with a winced expression, still so out of breath while rubbing your clit to the expanse of his thigh.

“Su-Sunghoo-Sunghoon-”

“Yeah?” He encourages you, hearing his name heat his ears up. He moves his pussy-slicked fingers to your mouth while you cry his name, and easily presses your tongue down with them, sliding the digits further and further down your throat. “Sunghoon.” He says his own name. “Say it again.”

You gag around his fingers, unable to obey his demand.

“Sung–” He inspects the way your tongue struggles against the intrusion in your mouth. “Hoon.”

You swallow around them now, sputtering, tears now running down the outer apples of your cheeks. He watches you do it too, wondering how good that would feel if it were his cock you’re swallowing around. Knowing you’d probably do it for him if he wanted to right now.

But…he needs more than that. Despite how delicious you look while gagging, his cock has been neglected and he needs to fuck out the stress from the past however long you’ve been avoiding him. It’s like his brain breaks with the action as he watches you take his fingers in whatever way he offers. You let him do whatever he wants. You’re obeying.

“Up.” He suddenly says, pulling all physical contact with you away as he turns, steps out of the pants restricting his ankles, and swipes every pen, file, and picture frame off his desk. “Come here, baby.”

You feel like you’re melted to this chair right now, in all honesty. You’re still trying to catch your breath just from touching his cock before he decided to make you see fucking stars, to think you can stand right now is insane.

So, when you don’t immediately hop up and throw yourself onto his desk, he turns to look at you.

You’re splayed out, legs still spread, toes still curled. Your chest is heaving to breathe, eyes wild and lips so fucking kissable.

“Oh, fuck.” He sighs to himself in realization, relishing in the image of you he’s only recently been craving. “Look at you.”

You lift your arm to hide your face, feeling apologetic for the way you’ve lost the ability to exist as an active participant right now. Even more apologetic when you glance down at how fucking hard his cock is. Raging hard, so pretty with the tip sputtering precum for god knows how long.

He watches you stare, and lends you a few moments to catch your breath by gripping it himself. Leaning himself against his desk and twisting his wrist with a tight grip at the base.

“Is this how you looked at me when I did this before?” He asks, flicking his wrist still with each drag. “So out of it, you look like such a mess, babe.”

You find yourself humming a confirmation to him as you watch, almost reverting back to who you were during that first session. Unseen, only heard, all while you got to see him pleasure himself to almost nothing. You gave him nothing.

You’ve still only given him nothing.

And so, very slowly, you force yourself to stand on shaking legs to take those two strides to his desk. Something inside of you tingles when he drops his cock and opens his arms for you, like a good boss would do in this situation. Supporting your unbalanced weight, letting you walk into his comforting grasp.

“Said my name so pretty, you know.” He comments gently when he holds you close to him. Hands reaching down from the grip around your waist just to grab both of your fleshy ass checks and squeeze them. “You want more, yes?”

He’s quick to the point, only allowing the short and sweet moments to last just enough for them to stick in your head. Just enough to have questions about his actions. Just enough to give him anything, everything, he could want if it involves your body.

You nod almost shyly, dipping your head down and leaning against his chest.

“Let's get this off of you then.” He smiles with a gentle voice, reaching to the hem of your shirt and pulling it straight up, watching how you lift your arms to help him. “Mhm–” He hums again, loving how the bra drags off of you along with the shirt. He lets both of his hands brush your nipples before he goes back to gripping your ass cheeks and spreading them.

Spreading them so wide that, once again, you have to lift on your toes just to let him play with your body. Which, oh man. Always wearing his button down shirts, his blazers, his long-sleeve shirts. You can’t help it when you tug at the opened fabric of his shirt, asking silently that he shake it off. Wanting to see his arms, wanting to see the strength in them.

And he does it without hesitation, letting his hands fall from you just for a moment to shake his shirt off, only now hugging against you again and forcing a position change. He turns both of you so now you’re up against his desk, and he’s standing in front of you.

It’s easy for him to push you back in a kiss. Your legs open for him on instinct anyway, so he need not worry about prying those legs open again. You do just as expected when he pushes you too. Your ass hits the desk and you lift on your toes to sit on it. Your legs spread wider, making room for him to step even closer, cock right up against you when he closes any amount of distance, and still? He’s kissing you.

All across your face, down your neck, back to your lips. And his hands just keep feeling. Massaging your tits, lending small taps to your ass, holding your chin, jaw, neck, and then…he runs them through your hair.

The feeling is so good you almost forget how you’ve been trying to steal a glimpse of his flexing arms as he grabs at you. Goosebumps prickle and you let out a groan at the pleasure of it. He keeps one hand there now, smiling against his kiss to your ear.

“You like being pampered?” He asks, now gripping a fist full of your hair and skewing your neck to the side. “Like being moved around like a puppet?”

Never once have you thought about your sex life that way, but when you think about it…maybe. After all, you did enjoy being told when and how to touch yourself, being allowed or forbidden from cumming. Now, with him quite literally moving you around with just a simple grip of your hair? Yeah.

“By you–” You mutter out as you open your eyes, staring at the ceiling and feeling his tongue lap against your earlobe.

“Just me?” He leans back, using that same grip in your hair to force you to look at him. “You’d give me that power?”

You nod against the grasp, lips falling open in a moan despite not being pleasured by anything aside from the stinging against your scalp as he pulls little hairs a bit too tightly.

“You know–” Sunghoon starts now, pressing his hips forward, dropping his other hand to his cock and slapping it right against your weeping cunt. “If I had known you were this dirty...”He sighs out at the image in his head, thinking back to all those times he silently complimented you in his head. Back then, never would he have made comments about your legs out loud, or how your tits would look in certain shirts. Thinking back now, he’s always found you quite beautiful.

Quite fuckable, even.

You listen to the silence waiting for him to continue, feeling the way he presses the hardened head of his length against your clit repeatedly.

“I would have propped you up on this desk months ago,” He smiles now, leaning in real close to your ear as his grip in your hair loosens just a bit. “Could’ve had you moaning my name this whole time.”

Then, you feel it. The way he adjusts his weeping cock lower, prodding at your hole just a bit until his tip is entirely enveloped by your clenching walls.

You swallow a moan and hold your breath, legs shooting around his waist and instinctively trying to force his hips to move forward, trying to force him to penetrate you deeper.

“Shh,” He coos out, holding his hips firm and not letting you control his movements. Then, he kisses just under your ear before peppering them all the way back to your lips. He doesn’t kiss you though, no, he chuckles at you for trying. Watching you let your tongue fall from your mouth, inspecting the way you’re entirely in tune for him right now. “You really want it, don’t you?” He whispers just above your lips. “Want me to fuck you right here, right now?”

You nod absentmindedly, legs still trying to force him to move, arms clinging under his biceps, head still forced into whatever position he keeps it in by the hair.

“Please–Sunghoon.” You cry in a small voice, feeling as if you’re going insane by the feeling of his tip sitting comfortably in you.

“You’re so cute.” He smiles, lending you another inch of his length before letting his hand fall from your hair. There, he grips your waist instead, letting a strained grunt fall from his own lips this time. He’s really trying to remain collected about this, and he’s unsure himself why he’s enjoying the act of teasing you like this. He feels like he’s teasing himself more than you right now, seeing as how it’s taking everything in him not to stuff his cock into you hard and fast. “So–so, fucking cute.”

You clench around the few inches in you and it appears that’s all he needed to break entirely. Is he controlling you, or are you controlling him?

Honestly, who gives a fuck?

You feel his arms shake when he plants them at either side of you, pointing his cock straight into you and sliding in fully. There’s a groan from him that you want to hear so badly, but your own heart beat is thumping in your ears so loudly that you miss half of it.

The stretch is delicious, and the fact that it’s Sunghoon doing this to you makes this all the more enjoyable. The man who you’ve seen day after day, now holding himself up on the desk you’ve signed papers on with and for him? All so he can angle his hips and shove his cock in? Just to let his arms frantically wrap around your waist? Just so he can scoot you forward on this desk, using your leaking slick to slide you back and forth in time with his hips?

That groan you wanted to hear? He hasn’t stopped. He’s essentially, controlling the entire situation and when you half open your eyes to witness his face, you’re forced to roll your eyes back in a moan matching his.

He’s fucking you so deeply right now that all you can do is moan, all you can do is forget the embarrassment, the victimization, the way he’s doing this to you despite the risk of reality crumbling. He could lose his job, you could lose yours, and yet still– he’s fucking you like he doesn’t care.

So, you choose not to care either in the form of grabbing his hair, forcing his head back, and attaching your lips right against his adams apple. You feel him swallow and breathe out a shocked sound, and then? You suck.

Intentionally, you suck, bite, and lick, harder and harder until there’s a deep purple mark there. He doesn’t even fight it, though you feel him try to move his head just to keep you from going too insane with it. You don’t care though, because still you feel his cock splitting you open, forcing you to adjust to him.

“Ah,” Sunghoon lets out another breath with that familiar chuckle, “Marking me now?”

You hum a confirmation as you move to a new spot on his neck, absolutely fucking marking him. Feeling devastated by the idea that he’d do this with any other employee. Or any other person in general.

“Making me all yours, huh?” He continues with his cocky words, feeling the way your pussy clenches him tightly, dripping all over his desk. He’d let you make him yours, with or without the bruising from your mouth.

“Mhm.” You hum pleasantly, letting out little yelps each time he slams into you. Letting out full moans each time his arms wrap around your waist tighter.

You continue with the act, littering his pretty neck with your touch and loving how he just lets you. Knowing that he’ll show up at work tomorrow looking a bit tired, but glowing nonetheless, trying to hide all these marks with that tight-necked collar he likes to wear.

“Whatever you want.” He breathes, letting his hips lose rhythm for just a moment as he feels his muscles tighten. “Fuck, you’re still so tight.”

You feel like you’re on top of the world as he compliments you, to the point you’re not sure when you’ll cum because your whole body has seemingly been feeling euphoria anyway. Everything feels good, even if his cock reaches deep enough to cause little jolts of pain. The sound of the desk scooting back through the force of his hips is enough to make you take it. Enough to squeeze your legs around him tighter, enough to clench, enough to– forget what you’re doing and let yourself fall into it with him.

Your head falls back from his neck and you pant out little half-calls of his name with each thrust. Your legs loosen from around him too, but his grip on your waist only pushes you back on his desk. Until he’s leaning forward so hard with each thrust that suddenly your back meets the cold wood.

Sandwiched between him and his desk, he follows the action, his hands quickly moving from your waist to your tits, pushing them together just so he can nuzzle his face between them.

There, you look at him. You really look at him.

What a messy, messy, man. Always so pristine during working hours, now looking so wrecked and out of it as he chases a pleasure that you hope only you can give to him.

“Mr. Park–” You sigh out in a pleasant voice, watching the way he sucks your tit into his mouth before his eyes open wide just so he can look up at you through each thrust. “Harder.”

You can physically see the way his eyes darken when he pops off from your tit, hands now going back to the desk as he hovers over you and intentionally rolls his hips.

You feel his cock loosen you up painfully before he intentionally fucks into you. Dragging all the way out, just to push forward in a deep and painful thrust. Over and over again, all while he’s staring straight into your eyes.

As you look up at him, you see the intent in his face. The way he wants to give you exactly what you want. Sweat shining from his cheeks, his neck littered with pretty colors. Oh, he’s actually heavenly when he fucks.

Better than what you thought that guy on camera would have been. He’s not nonchalant like he was when he was performing. He’s entirely in tune with you and what you want. Like what you want is what he wants.

You can tell he’s paying no mind to his own face or expression, blatantly putting all of his thoughts into how he’s pleasuring you, his eyes searching your face to tell him he’s doing well. To tell him you feel good, to tell him you’re close or–

“Fuck–” He sighs out, teeth tracing his bottom lip as he glances up, keeping pace with the way he’s been plunging into you. “I can’t keep looking at you,”

You smile, feeling dazed and far away. It feels like it’s just you and him. You’re not in his office, on a desk, or doing anything you shouldn’t be doing.

“You hear me?” He drops his body weight on you again, letting his hips move freely as he chases and chases. “I’m so close.”

Oh.

“Then look at me.” You huff out, now shooting a hand between his flexed abs and simply…touching your clit once.

“Oh–shit.”

It hits you so fast. Just a simple touch causes your pussy to clench Sunghoon so tightly that he mimics your sound.

“Ah, fuck- fuck,” His voice sounds frantic as he tries to pull out, only to feel your legs shoot back around him. This time, he lets you force him to stay. He lets those legs of yours push him back in, so deep that he knows he can’t fight. “No, no–” He chokes out, uncaring if his hips show you that he’s lying with his words. “I’m cumming– I need to–”

“Stay!” You shake beneath him but your voice sounds pleading, pressing once more to your clit before letting it go. You clench him again, essentially letting your body finish him off. Letting those clenches squeeze him so tightly, making sure he couldn’t fathom ever wasting his cum. “Don’t pull out.”

He doesn’t. In fact, he presses impossibly deeper, trying to bury his cock into you to the point it even pains him. Arms shaking as he tries to hold himself up again, only to drop his lips to yours under his own weight. His hips are so tense between your legs, his cock is so stiff that you can feel each pumped release, and still you’re experiencing your own euphoria through it.

To the point your toes are curling and you barely notice the way you leave welts across his back from your fingernails through the intense orgasm. To the point his slack lips against yours feel more natural than anything else. Not kissing, just close. So close that–

He kisses you.

After it’s all said and done, he still kisses you breathlessly. Passionately almost, clinging to you as his cock twitches as it grows flaccid inside of you.

He doesn’t pull out, he just…kisses.

And as you lay against his wooden desk, body coming down from the pleasure you’ve felt more than once within the past hour, all you can do is let your brain think on its own. Without shame, without embarrassment or anxiety.

You thought Sunghoon would have been in control the whole time. Teasing you, maybe even making this experience more painful than it needs to be. But no, he…

He’s soft. Gentle, almost.

Only now do you recognize that as badly as he probably wants to appear harsh, like the confident man he is on camera, you think he needs something else. Not just power, not just money or control. Not even just fucking.

You think…maybe, Sunghoon needs connection.

Intimacy.

And that’s proven when he does finally stand on his own buckled knees, pulling you up with him into a hug where he still kisses you. Up until he takes that shirt you unbuttoned and holds it between your legs, scratching the back of his neck with a shy glance at you.

“Sorry for the mess.” He echoes in a meek voice, holding that shirt firm against you. “Guess I just couldn’t help myself.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Days later, you find yourself in his bed. Which should have been expected probably. Still doesn’t change the fact that every few hours, you remind yourself the reality of the situation.

It’s not just any bed you’re in. It’s Sunghoon’s bed.

“Oh, right. The promotion.” Sunghoon suddenly calls out mid-episode.

You’ve been here with him all day. To the point neither of you bother to put on clothes now because you know the spark will come back at any given time and you’ll be all over each other again. Still, lazing in his bed with him on a Saturday afternoon is nice.

“I’ve been a bit occupied but– the interviews for the assistant position has been pushed back a bit due to you not coming to work. I was supposed to notify you when you got back, but you know, we had priorities–”

Sunghoon sighs, embarrassed. It’s nice actually, seeing him in his natural element. Allowing you to see him as more than just the guy that wears a suit and tie every day at work.

“Unrelated to us…doing this, but, you’re up for the interview. Just need to schedule it with me. If you still want to be my assistant, I mean.”

“Oh, I can only imagine what that could entail.”

Sunghoon seems offended by this remark as he pulls back with furrowed brows.

“Excuse me?”

“Did you fuck the last one too?” You give him a playful smile, prodding at his soft-skinned chest.

“Absolutely not?!”

“You’re still gonna fuck me too though, right? Even if I’m constantly having to nag you for signatures and meetings?”

Sunghoon stares at you before smiling.

“Well, let's see if you get the job anyway. Rhonda from Marketing is applying too.”

You lend a half-joke gag at him.

“Is it too forward to ask for special attention for the position along with a sexual favor?” You tread the thin line. “I’m half joking but wouldn’t it be like…normal for us to be seen around each other at work if I’m working a job that requires it?”

Sunghoon thinks hard.

“You’re really asking to fuck your way up the ladder?”

“Aren’t you the one who offered it so I wouldn’t tell your dirty little secret?” You narrow your eyes at him. “But no, I’m asking for the job I’ve been trying to earn for ages. Besides, I’d still fuck you anyway.”

“Fair.” Sunghoon thinks harder still. “Rhonda would probably find out too, if she were to get the position anyway, considering my assistants are often intertwined in my personal business as well.”

“Oh, I’m personal business now?”

“Babe, my hand has been on your tit for an hour now.”

Well, he’s not wrong.

“Rhonda is really close with HR too…” You trail off, feeling a bit anxious. “I think she’d hold it over both of us if she found out.”

“In all fairness, you’ve been considered for the job more than a few times the past few months. Rhonda only applied during your two week avoidance of me. The reason she’s even up for the position is because my boss thinks you’re too flaky.”

Oh, so you have a chance with or without putting his dick in your mouth again?

“Who else has applied?”

“Confidential.” Sunghoon shrugs. “I still have to follow company rules even if we’re breaking a few of them right now. What I can tell you is, over fifteen other candidates have already been phased out by me personally.”

You pause.

“Why?”

“Bad matches, mostly. Two of them have been caught talking shit about me through the company emails, and the others? Many outside applicants, all freshman college students with strict schedules.”

“Being my assistant is not an easy job, and even before all of this, you’ve practically been doing the job already, better than the current assistant I have.”

You damn fucking right you have.

“How many are still in the running?”

“Two.”

Oh, this job is soooooo yours.

“Just, one more thing.” Sunghoon sighs. “If you get this job, we cannot be fucking in my office. No sexual stuff at work. We can take lunch together, or I’ll bring you home after work, but absolutely nothing at work.”

Oh, he thinks you want him that badly?

“Who says I need to fuck you during work hours anyway? I know how to control myself.”

“It’s not you who I’m worried about.” Sunghoon looks away, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Yeah?” You smile. “You gonna be calling me into your office just to torture yourself?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

pls remember to leave feedback and reblog! :D love you!

#enhypen smut #park sunghoon smut #sunghoon smut #enha smut

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yuukiiqwq · 8 months ago

Text

Satoru Gojo was more than ready to propose to you. For you to be his pretty little wife. For you to take his last name. To see you walk down the aisle in a white dress. He has spent weeks picking out a ring for you. Weeks finding the perfect place to propose. Weeks just for this moment. He knows you'll say yes.

Today was the day he would propose. He had everything all set up and ready. The ring box is in his pocket. He just needs to come home to you and get you ready for the date. He had long made a promise to himself. He'll make you happy because you are the world to him.

He then felt a vibration in his pocket from his phone, immediately snapping him out of his thoughts. He opened his phone to see that Shoko had called him. He accepted the call and was about to ask Shoko what she needed before she interrupted him.

"Satoru."

Satoru immediately freezes. Shoko had never called him by his first name. It was always Gojo.

"Come to my office," was the only thing Shoko said before ending the call. Her voice was shaking.

Dread filled Satoru's body. A chill was sent down his spine. Something was wrong, so he immediately teleported to Shoko's office. He was greeted with the sight of Shoko, his students, and you. The students' eyes red from crying. Shoko is unable to look him in the eyes. You covered in blood. Your curse energy completely diminished. Your lifeless body is on the table.

Oh. Oh.

"I'm sorry, sensei! It's all my fault!" Yuji apologies as he cries.

"She saved us." Nobara whispered as she continued to wipe her endless tears.

"We let our guard down." Megumi looks down. He was holding in his pain. "It's my fault. I was careless. They were wrong about–"

Satoru doesn't register the rest of Megumi's word. His ears were ringing, and his vision was blurring. A void in replacement of his heart. The ring in his pocket felt a lot heavier. He stares at your body before closing his eyes. He then turned toward his students with a smile.

"Hey, hey! It's alright, guys. It's not your fault. It was an accident! Don't blame yourself. It's not your fault at all. How about you guys take the next few days to relax! I'm sure this was very traumatic for you to lose a teacher in front of your eyes!"

"Gojo–" Megumi started, but he was pushed out the door with his friends before he could utter another word.

"Here, take my card and buy some stuff to help you take your mind off this, yeah? You guys need rest!" Satoru says as he closes the door. He's glad that he has his blindfold on so the students couldn't see the grief and pain in his eyes. He waited until he could no longer sense their curse energy before turning around towards you and Shoko.

"Shoko. Can you leave too? Just for a bit?" He asked. No. He pleaded. His voice was no higher than a whisper. He can't cry yet. Not in front of anyone but you. He's the strongest.

Shoko nodded and walked towards the door. "I'm sorry, Satoru. I tried to save her. I know today was suppose–" Shoko stopped before she finished the sentence. She bit the bottom of her lips before apologizing once more and then left.

Now, Satoru was left alone in the room with your lifeless body. He took off his blindfold and walked up to you. He held your once warm hand in his. He caressed your cheek as the tears that he was holding back finally fall down his face. He was going to propose to you today. You were supposed to be his wife. You were supposed to be with him until the day he died. But now... he would no longer see you. Your smile. Your laugh. You would no longer be smiling at him. In his arms. In his embrace. He wouldn't get to see your beautiful eyes open. Your voice. He wouldn't be able to hear your love for him. He won't be able to hear your "I love you, Satoru." You would no longer call his name. Oh, how he loved his name coming from your lips. It was supposed to be one of his happiest days. If he could only go back to yesterday. Where you were still in his arms, the two of you whispering your love to one another. Kisses being exchanged. Where you were still warm and alive. Where he can still stretch out his hand and reach you.

Fate loves taunting him with his loved ones. It loves to ruin him. To tear him apart. To rip his heart out and shred it to pieces because he's the strongest. So he'll always fail to protect the ones he loves. Fate is laughing at him because he is a joke. Fate is celebrating his grief. He has losted and fate has won again.

He doesn't know how much time has passed. Him next to your lifeless body, praying that you would just wake up. He wants to join you. Join you in the afterlife. To see you. To be with you. But he can't. He knows you'll never forgive him if he did. He still has his students to look after. A world to save. A revenge to sought after. He wiped his tears away because you would hate seeing him cry. He kissed you gently for the last time and whispered his eternal love towards you and a "I'll see you soon."

He then reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring. Your ring. He slipped it onto your ring finger and asked– "Will you marry me?"

A yes forever unspoken.

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ellecdc · 8 months ago

Note

mother!!!! that recent poly!marauders + lily fic had me WEAK. if you please, could you write a part two where shy!reader finds out remus is a werewolf? I could see rem really not wanting her to find out bc he doesn’t want to scare her, but maybe severus(or somebody) spills the beans thinking she already knew, or she overheard a conversation between the boys. she’d be accepting of course, but remus freaks out when she finds out. just a lot of comfort and reassurance.

hope that gives you some inspiration, also, totally don’t have to write it if you don’t want to, of course!!! ilysm 🖤💚

I took this in a bit of a different direction but the ending's just the same! thanks so much sweets <3 <3

pt 1 // pt 2 // pt 3 // pt 4 // pt 5

4.6k words

poly!marauders + lily x shy!reader who learns about Remus' furry little problem

CW: miscommunication trope, insecurities, angst [with a happy ending], reader is feeling incredibly insecure in this fic, James cries, Sirius cries a little bit too but they all pretend not to notice for his sake

You felt terribly foolish; no, you felt worse. You felt absolutely humiliated and you had no one to blame but yourself.

And now that you were here - ‘here’ being rushing to the dungeons to lock yourself in the Hufflepuff dormitories for the next foreseeable future - you aren’t sure how you had convinced yourself that this was going to end any other way.

It was a pipedream at best, thinking you had any place amongst the infamous Marauders and the princess of Gryffindor, and it was delusional at worst.

Of course they’d grow weary of you, of course they’d find your nerves and anxiety tiresome, of course they’d wind up bored of accommodating you when they were all so much more than you.

What had you been thinking? How did you manage to allow yourself to believe that this was anything but a phase for them - they saw you as a challenge, they beat the challenge, and now they were through with you.

You thought that the sweet looks, the kisses, the affection, the effort all meant more than it obviously did.

At least to them.

To you, it meant the world.

To them, it was a chore.

You were a chore.

Foolish girl.

You had been on your way to the library to meet up with the boys and Lily to study for the upcoming Herbology test. It was the first real group ‘date’ after the sketchiness that usually followed Remus about once a month that no one else seemed inclined to comment on, so neither did you.

Except…except, this time, some lingering tension seemed to follow the bout of sketchiness.

And still, no one seemed particularly inclined to comment on it.

And you couldn’t help but feel like you were out of the loop somehow, but you chalked that up to being a newer addition to the dynamic, and not living with them in Gryffindor tower.

That is until you happened to be walking out of their view behind the stacks of books that their table was situated by when you overheard their conversation.

“You’re going to have to say something to her, Rem. This is getting out of hand.” You heard Lily say solemnly, earning her a pained groan from Remus’ lips, causing you to pause behind the stacks so as to not interrupt their conversation.

“Can’t we just ignore this? Just for a little longer?” Remus bargained. “I mean, it can’t be that bad?”

“It’s worse, Moons.” Sirius corrected.

“Y/N’s so sensitive though.” James added. “I mean, how would that conversation even go? How do you tell her something like that?”

“It has to come from Remus.” Lily stated matter-of-factly.

Remus let out a long-suffering sigh. “And how do you suggest I go about this?”

“Listen.” Sirius asserted. “I don’t bloody care how we tell her, but we have to say something. I cannot keep living like this; it’s exhausting.”

Lily made a tsking sound and placed a consoling hand on Sirius’ shoulder as Remus let out another sigh.

“I know, I know; I’m sorry you guys. I thought we could ignore it but…I don’t think we can anymore.”

Lily, Sirius, and James all made a hum of acknowledgement.

“I think we ought to just rip the bandaid off and hope she understands.” Lily said.

You felt your stomach migrate to your throat as you turned on your heels and fled the library.

Is that what all the tension was about? Is that what this library study date was? Just a ruse to sit you down so they could break up with you?

Of course it was, idiot. You scolded yourself. They were foolish to entertain the likes of you for any amount of time.

So now you were here - ‘here’ being rushing to the dungeons to lock yourself in the Hufflepuff dormitories for the next foreseeable future - and you aren’t sure how you had convinced yourself that this was going to end any other way.

“Do you think I should do it tonight?” Remus asked Lily as she finally sat down.

“I think it would be best if we did, sweetheart. I just can’t help feeling like we’re keeping her at arms length by keeping it a secret, you know?”

“I agree.” Sirius said quickly. “It feels like she’s more of a guest than actually part of the relationship whilst we’re keeping something so big from her.”

“I just don’t want her to hate me.” Remus admitted in a whisper.

“Remmy.” James cooed from the other side of Sirius. “Our sweet little Puffle seems completely incapable of hatred. But you know we’ve got your back 110% if she’s not accepting of you, right?”

The other two nodded in agreement but Remus only grimaced. “It just feels like I’d be ruining the relationship for all of you if the only person she has a problem with is me.”

“Impossible.” Sirius replied emphatically. “Anyone who has a problem with you has a problem with us, Moons.”

“Even if we weren’t dating, Rem, if someone didn’t respect my friend - or anyone, for that matter - because of their lycanthropy, I wouldn’t want them around anyways.” Lily agreed.

“I don’t think we’ll have a problem, though.” Sirius continued. “Like Prongs said, she’s our sweet girl; I’m sure she’ll handle this fine.”

“Where is she, anyway?” James said, flipping his wrist to check his watch. “She was supposed to meet us like twenty minutes ago.”

The other three shared a look of bemusement.

“Do you have the map?” Sirius asked.

James quickly pulled the map from his book bag to scan the parchment for your name. “It says she’s in the Hufflepuff common room?”

“Maybe she forgot?” Lily mused.

“I spoke to her at dinner; she said she was going to change out of her uniform and then meet us here.” Remus replied, feeling his heart rise to his throat with nerves.

What if she knew? What if she already found out? What if she hated him?

“Rem, it’s alright.” Lily placated, clearly seeing his concern etched onto his face. “Maybe she wasn’t feeling well, or got caught up with something else.”

“She’s never bailed on us before…” James admitted, looking just as worried as Remus was. “Maybe we should check on her?”

“Why don’t we give her tonight; I think after all the shite we put her through this week, she’s allotted one missed date.” Sirius decided, opting to keep his tone light as he teased Remus for his ‘pre-moon angstiness’ as his partners call it.

“We’ll catch up with her tomorrow.” Lily decided; and Remus and James shared a look of concern as they relented to study for the upcoming Herbology test without you.

You weren’t really mad at the Gryffindor’s for their decision to end things with you; at least not at first.

People were allowed to change their minds, and you supposed that was the purpose of dating, right? To see if the person you’re interested in is someone you want to keep around indefinitely?

So, people were allowed to change their mind, and that was okay.

You also couldn’t particularly blame them; you were shy, quiet, timid, awkward in most social settings and certainly not as adventurous as them, it was only a matter of time before they grew bored of you.

So you hadn’t been mad at them, not at first.

But you were growing increasingly annoyed at their attempts to force themselves within your space.

You had opted to sit at the Hufflepuff table for breakfast the next morning; there was no sense sitting at the Gryffindor table with them anymore.

But then you couldn’t handle the feeling of your heart splintering every time you heard Sirius’ bark of laughter or Lily’s giggle at something Remus said or that James did. So you quickly scarfed down your toast and grabbed a muffin to shove in your bag before fleeing from the Great Hall.

What you didn’t notice was James noticing you only as you were leaving, looking incredibly worried.

You nearly shrieked when you exited your Astronomy class that you had with the Ravenclaws and slammed into Sirius’ frame.

“There you are, dolly! We missed you this morning!” He proclaimed as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

You quickly collected yourself; heart racing from the scare and then quickly migrating to your throat out of embarrassment and hurt at this familiarity you had with him only to be about to lose it.

“Sorry, I had been running late.” You said quickly as you headed for the stairs; the long-haired boy quickly keeping up with your steps.

“Were you feeling alright?” He asked you.

“How do you mean?”

Sirius tilted his head slightly as he considered you. “Well, you didn’t show up to the library last night, and then you were running late this morning; that’s not like you.”

A hot frustrated emotion burned in your chest that you weren’t completely accustomed to feeling.

Wasn’t he the one to say he couldn’t live like this anymore?

It wasn’t fair of you to be frustrated though, which frustrated you even more; he didn’t know that you had shown up to the library last night, nor that you had gotten to the Great Hall on time.

They hadn’t even noticed you this morning.

And that’s why they were ending things; you were forgettable, ignorable, unnoticeable.

“I’m fine, Sirius. Thank you.” You said simply, and quickly headed for the girl’s loo in order to shake him off.

Remus had approached you in Care of Magical Creatures as well, which somehow hurt more.

Perhaps it was because you knew he was going to be the one to tell you that things were over; though you had thought he’d be better than to break up with you in the middle of class.

“Hey, dove.” He said as he gently nudged your arm with his elbow; watching as you groomed the puffskein on your table.

“Hey, Remus.” You said quietly, not removing your eyes from the Beast you were working with.

“I missed you last night.” He admitted quietly.

Did you? You thought petulantly.

“Sorry.” You murmured instead.

“You don’t have to be sorry.” He said as he leaned his elbows on your workbench; if it had been any other student, you’re certain Professor O’Brien would have scolded him for not handling the beasts with adequate caution, but Remus seemed to be allowed certain privileges and the puffskein “Kujo” didn’t seem to mind him much. “I just missed you is all.”

And he was smiling that sweet, soft smile at you and he seemed like he actually meant it which only further contributed to your ire.

What happened to ripping the bandaid off? Why keep up this affectionate act if it was only going to end?

Remus looked like he was going to say something when the Professor announced the end of class.

“I’ll catch up with you later.” You offered quickly before you all but threw Kujo back into his pen and took off towards the castle.

The final straw had to be Herbology, though.

You shared Herbology with the Gryffindors, and because you were a new addition - your the four Gryffindor’s all shared a potting bench whilst you worked alongside another Hufflepuff.

Today, however, it appeared that James had other plans.

Before Sadie-Jane could take her seat beside you, James had plopped himself - rather carefully for the notoriously boisterous quidditch chaser, mind you - on the stool beside you.

“Hey, angel.”

Again, with the pet names.

It felt torturous at this point; part of you wanted to rip the bandaid off yourself.

But you looked over at the sweet, warm, inviting face of James Potter and any resolve to tell him to shove it completely dissipated. He was all messy curls, round frames, and warm eyes.

And you might have been [must have been] mistaken, but you felt you could see anxiety and worry painted in his features.

You supposed breaking up with someone could do that to a person, though.

“Hi Jamie.” You whispered back as you opted to ready your supplies for today’s lesson.

“I was wondering if you were going to come to the game tonight?” He blurted then, looking slightly embarrassed at his outburst.

Right…the game. The game against Slytherin. The game that would have you sitting between Remus and Lily as they cheered for James and Sirius. That game.

“I...uhm, well…”

Rip the bandaid off.

But it was James.

And you were in class.

And you could see Lily and Remus trying - and failing - to not look like they were watching you and James whilst Sirius had no such qualms and was actively staring at the two of you.

“Yeah, I’ll…I’ll see.” You offered James, mustering up what you hoped was a convincing enough smile.

You could tell by the divot that appeared in James’ brows that you were not convincing in the slightest.

Thankfully Professor Sprout appeared then, instructing everyone to take their seats for class to begin, and Sadie-Jane came to claim her seat from the Gryffindor.

You didn’t go to the game that night.

Gryffindor lost.

And though you didn’t know at the time, James cried, but it wasn’t about losing to Slytherin.

“So, why are you hiding in the dorms?” Caroline asked as she rolled away from her open magazine on her bed, clearly preferring potential drama you could offer her than whatever was in this week's Witch Weekly.

“I’m not hiding.” You muttered back, not looking up from your cross-stitch you were working on instead of, you know, dealing with your problems.

“Right.” Caroline agreed, not sounding like she agreed with you at all. “That’s why you’ve started and quit several hobbies over the weekend and have been going to the kitchen’s to grab food instead of eating in the Great Hall like a normal person.”

You looked over at your half finished gem ‘paint-by-numbers’, the scarf you’d crocheted that looked more like the skin of a messed up snake that had a terrible time shedding, and the guitar you had borrowed from Fenwick and nearly broke in a fit of rage when you couldn’t get it to sound the way you wanted it too.

“I just…can’t face them right now.” You admitted dejectedly.

“I don’t blame you. Helga, have you seen the lot of them? If I’d known they were accepting more I would have made my shot.” She mused as she laid back on her bed.

Grief and jealousy intertwined within you as you thought about them dating anyone else but you.

But you supposed that was their prerogative; they were allowed to change their minds.

“Yeah well, you may still have a chance.” You muttered, capturing Caroline’s attention.

“What?” She asked quickly, but you didn’t have a chance to answer before there was a knock on the door.

“Were you expecting anyone?” She asked with a salacious wink, causing you to glare at her.

“If it’s them, I’m not here; please.” You practically begged your roommate as she rolled her eyes and moved to the door to your dorm room.

“Oh, hello Evans.” Caroline greeted, causing you to scrunch your eyes closed from your place currently hidden from view of the door.

“Hi! Erm, is Y/N around?” Lily asked, sounding uncharacteristically awkward.

“Uh…no, she’s not in right now. I can let her know you stopped by, though?” Caroline offered.

You heard Lily thank her before Caroline closed the door again.

“You sure you don’t want them? ‘Cause those Gryffindor’s are fine.” She sighed as she returned to her bed.

She let out a squawk when your pillow made contact with her head.

Lily stepped out through the barrel to find Sirius and Remus exactly where she had left them (albeit far more tense) as James came running from down the hall where he had been pacing nervously.

“Well?” James asked.

Lily pursed her lips. “Her roommate said she wasn’t there.”

Remus looked down at the map to the place where your name was etched beside your roommate’s in the seventh year Hufflepuff girls’ dormitory.

Either the map was faulty [fat chance], or you were avoiding them.

It was official.

For whatever reason, they were losing you.

You had somehow managed to avoid the Gryffindor’s all Monday; taking a moment to thank every deity that you only had Divination with the Gryffindor house, and none of your Gryffindor’s had opted to take it.

You wondered if you could call them your Gryffindor’s anymore…

You had run over to the kitchens - all but a hop skip and a jump from your common room - to grab dinner and were stepping back out through the portrait of the pears when you came face to face with Sirius.

“So nice to see you, Y/N; I’d almost forgotten what your face looked like.” He said; his tone taking on a harsh tone you weren’t accustomed to hearing directed at you causing you to wince.

“Pads…” Remus warned from behind him, though he was looking at you just as warily as Sirius was.

As was James and Lily.

Shit.

“I’m glad to see you’re still eating…” Remus commented dejectedly as he nodded towards your smorgasbord of a plate that Winky had helped prepare for you that now looked horribly unappetising.

“I…yes. Erm, what are you guys doing here?” You tried.

It had, apparently, been the wrong thing to say.

Sirius let out a derisive scoff. “Cut the bullshit, Y/N. What the hell has gotten into you?”

“Sirius.” Lily warned.

“Would you guys stop?” He barked back at them before returning his burning gaze back to you. “I’m tired of this; of running around the school looking for you, of being disappointed every time you bail on us, of having to hold James whilst he cries because you’ve let him down, of being lied to. So I’m going to ask again - what the hell has gotten into you?”

“Nothing has gotten into me…” You tried to argue, though it sounded feeble even to your own ears.

James had cried? You made James cry…

The disappointment in Remus’ eyes, the concern in Lily’s, the anger in Sirius’, the sadness in James’... it was too much, too much, too much.

“You’re going to stand there and lie to my sodding face?” Sirius asked incredulously.

“Sirius, stop it.” James ordered; his voice far more severe than you have ever heard from him. “Angel, please. Just…just tell us what’s wrong. Tell me what I can do to fix this.”

Any sadness that had settled in your chest bubbled into anger at his word choice.

“Fix this?” You repeated back to him. “Why? Why bother fixing anything if you’re all just going to leave me!?”

The four Gryffindor’s stood staring at you with different levels of bemusement; Lily and Sirius at your words, Remus and James at you having raised your voice for the first time…well…ever.

“What do you mean ‘leave you’?” Lily asked cautiously, causing you to scoff.

“I heard you guys - in the library.”

“In the library? But…you never showed?” James asked.

“Yes, I did - and I heard you guys talking about me, so I decided to stay out of your way thinking that maybe I’d make it easier on you all. But then you’ve spent the past week absolutely torturing me; showing up at my classes, trying to sit beside me, showing up to my dorm room like you weren’t just biding your time.”

“Y/N, what exactly did you hear us say in the library?” Remus queried.

“That you couldn’t do this anymore! That someone ‘had to tell me’ because it was ‘getting out of hand’. That you couldn’t possibly live like this anymore and hopefully I’d just understand. And I do! I do understand; but what I don’t understand is what the point of chasing me around the bloody castle is if you-”

“Whoa, whoa. Okay, alright just breathe, darling, I’m sorry.” Lily attempted to placate, holding her hands up as she approached like you were some kind of feral cat.

You sort of acted like one when you swatted her hands away from you.

“No! No, it’s not fair! I’m sorry if I’m too much, or if I’m not enough; I get it, okay? I do; sometimes it doesn’t work out and that’s fair but if that’s how you feel then just leave me alone!” You shouted back, feeling the tears trailing down your neck at this point.

“Y/N, please, listen okay? Just relax and we can talk this out.” Lily tried again as James let out a pained breath that sounded awfully close to a sob.

“Remus, please.” He begged, turning his pooling hazel eyes to his scarred boyfriend who was looking at you in abject horror. “Please.”

“Y/N, you’ve misunderstood, dove. I-I’m sorry, It’s my fault, but what you heard…that wasn’t us talking about breaking up with you. I… It was about me.”

You wiped angrily at your face and set your now cold plate on the ground - you weren’t hungry anymore anyways. “It’s not you, it’s me?” You sneered half-heartedly.

“No, no…Merlin, Y/N I- I’m a werewolf. Okay? I have lycanthropy, I was bitten when I was four; that’s where I go once a month and why I get…weird. We were talking about the fact that I needed to tell you because it was hurting us to keep it from you. Dovey, I’m so sorry you’ve been so upset. Please, please take a breath for me.”

You held your hands over your eyes as you tried to control your breathing.

Sketchiness…tension…disappearances…

“You’re going to have to say something to her, Rem; this is getting out of hand”

“Can’t we just ignore this? Just for a little longer? I mean, it can’t be that bad?”

“Y/N’s so sensitive though… How do you tell her something like that?”

“It has to come from Remus.”

“I don’t bloody care how we tell her, but we have to say something; I cannot keep living like this, it’s exhausting.”

“I’m sorry you guys. I thought we could ignore it but…I don’t think we can anymore.”

“I think we ought to just rip the bandaid off and hope she understands.”

“I’m a werewolf. I have lycanthropy…that’s where I go once a month.”

“Please…baby, please say something. I-I’m so sorry.” You heard Sirius plead quietly; his shaky voice in stark contrast from the way he’d been barking at you just moments before.

You pulled your wet hands away from your eyes to see all four of them looking at you with nothing but worry and heartache on their faces; though none looked quite as vulnerable as Remus did.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He whispered.

You sucked in a shuddering breath as more tears fell. “So…you don’t hate me?”

Remus let out a disbelieving laugh when you heard what sounded suspiciously like a sob from James.

“No! No, no dove, that- I’m rather quite in love with you, you know?” He pressed, daring to step closer to you. “Do you hate me?” He asked then, tone turning vulnerable once more.

“No.” You whined emphatically.

“Oh my poor girl.” Sirius whined sympathetically.

“Can I hug you? Please?” James all but begged, stepping in front of you with his arms open already; poised for you to say…

“Yes.”

You’re not sure he even waited for the affirmation to leave your lips before he had you encased in his arms.

You shoved your face into his chest and fisted his shirt in your hands; pulling him as close as you possibly could to your person.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been standing there - directly in front of the kitchens and awfully close to your own common room - sniffling into James’ shirt as he sniffled into your hair, but you heard a sniffle come from beside you.

You turned to see Sirius’ grey eyes shiny and red as he looked at you imploringly.

“I’m so sorry I yelled at you, sweetness. I’m such an arse I just…I-”

“It’s okay.” You whispered.

“No it’s not.” Sirius argued immediately. “I…I get like that sometimes; just horribly defensive and then I go on the offensive first. I didn’t even give you a chance to talk to us before I was attacking you; I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Siri.” You offered again, holding a hand out to him which he took readily.

“I can’t believe you’ve spent this whole week believing we wanted nothing to do with you.” Lily whined from your other side. “I’m so sorry we left you feeling like that, darling girl.”

Though you were quite content in your muscled hideaway, you pulled away from James’ chest to wipe at your face again, feeling awfully self-conscious of how blotchy your face must look from your tears.

“I shouldn’t have assumed.” You admitted shamefully; voice scratchy from both the shouting and the crying.

“The way you described it, I can understand how our conversation sounded to you, babygirl.” Sirius contended.

“So…you’re really not leaving me?” You asked again.

“I feel like I should be asking you that, dove.” Remus replied.

“Why would I be leaving you?”

Lily shared a knowing look with Sirius and James who in turn moved their gazes to Remus with expressions reading “see?”.

“Not everyone would be accepting of a werewolf.”

You felt your eyebrows furrow as you looked at the others as if saying “are you hearing this right now?”

“But…I love you? I…I don’t even know what else to say…I just… love you so, that’s fine.”

“I just love you so that’s fine.” Sirius repeated as he looked at Remus arrogantly. “I knew I should have placed a bet on how she’d respond; I’d have made five galleons!”

“We were not going to bet on how our girlfriend would respond to Remus’ furry little problem, Sirius.” Lily chided as she playfully swatted at his shoulder.

“Besides,” James added, pulling you closer into his side again. “You would have lost because I don’t think any of us would have bet that she’d misinterpret our disastrous conversation as us trying to leave her and then spend the week believing we were waiting for the perfect time to break up with her only for us all to shout and cry when we realised what happened.”

“No, that's true.” Sirius agreed readily, looking back at you with sympathy. “I really am sorry, baby.”

“Me too.” Lily continued.

“Me most of all.” Remus added.

“I knew we should have gone looking for her that night.” James mused aloud mostly to himself. “Could have saved us all a lot of heartache.”

“Yeah, yeah Prongs. You’re right again; I’m sure we’ll never live it down.” Sirius said with a playful eye roll.

“How can we make it up to you?” Lily asked as she placed her hand at the juncture of your neck and shoulder and traced shapes along the column of your neck with her thumb.

You shook your head shyly and looked at your feet. “It’s not necessary guys.”

“Nonsense.” Sirius scoffed.

“Let’s start with some dinner, yeah? And maybe a cwtch in the boys’ dorm upstairs?” Remus offered to the group, though he seemed to be waiting for you to answer.

You nodded at him and he opened his arms in invitation which you accepted readily.

“I’m sorry, dovey.” He whispered into your hair.

“I’m sorry too, Rem.”

“Let’s never fight again.” James decided enthusiastically as Lily and Sirius stepped through the pear portrait into the kitchens.

“Sounds good to me, bubs.” Remus agreed as he bent down to press a kiss to James’ lips whilst keeping you secured to his side.

You were sure that after this week, these four wouldn’t be letting you out of their reach.

After this week, you weren’t sure you minded that at all.

3K notes · View notes

d0rothydraws · 3 months ago

Text

After a night out things get heated and Sylus can't control himself, revealing a new side of him.

content: f!reader, monster cock, porn without plot, public sex, multiple orgasms, Inappropriate use of Evol, after care, just a lot of smut idk

w/c: 3.7k

Ao3: Here

a/n: This took so long i'm so sorry works been wearing me out so much I haven't been able to post much. I hope this satisfies all the monster fuckers that wanted this from my one post.

Tonight had been.. A lot. You and Sylus were at a dinner banquet. Apparently a very important man was hosting the event and Sylus was looking for information about something. You didn’t really know or ask. You don’t really ask many questions these days. Sylus had custom fit you one of the most beautiful dresses you had ever seen. It was made of the softest silk, the neckline was low yet tasteful, showing enough to catch some looks but not enough to feel exposed. The skirt had a high slit that went to the top of your hip, exposing your leg once in a while. As you walked, the long skirt looked like it was flowing around you like water. You wore matching blood red heels that looked like they were carved out of ruby. The light catching them in a mesmerizing way. Your hair was done in a way where it framed your face, pulled in an updo that bounced slightly every time you took a step. And on your neck was a crow pendant embedded with a ruby.

To say it simply, you looked beautiful. Elegant.

And Sylus couldn’t keep his eyes, or hands, off of you.

As you walked, his hand was draped around your waist, hand on your hip. Or his hand was on your lower back, or when you sat his hand was on your thigh, fingers drawing patterns that sent a chill down your spine. He looked at you from the corner of his eye, meeting yours once in a while. You almost could feel the hot breath that left him when this happened, exhaling every time as if he was trying to control himself.

You couldn’t lie, it felt good to see him like this. It wasn’t like he didn’t know what you would look like in the dress, it was custom fit, custom designed just for you. He had seen it on you before. And yet when anyone looked over at you, giving you just the smallest bit of attention, you felt his hand tighten, body pulled closer. Your hip flush against his. You could feel heat radiating from his body.

Part of you wondered if he was going to end up dragging you into the bathroom. A couple times you thought he was considering it, especially as his hand moved to the inside of your thigh halfway through the banquet. His rough fingers trailed higher, brushing against your panties. He leaned over whispering in your ear, his voice thick as honey.

“You look delicious.” His words sent a shiver through your body as your hand tightened on the fork you were holding. You looked around, everyone was talking about something you didn't understand. Nobody knew what was happening under the table. And in a bold decision, you parted your thighs just a little bit more. Moving your hips to press against the fingers that were tracing your folds through your panties. You heard his breath catch, his hand pausing for only a second, Sylus’ lips returned to your ear.

“Try not to squirm too much, kitten. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold back.” He said as his fingers dipped under the fabric, calloused fingers grazing the sensitive skin. You took a bite of food to hide a moan, your face red as a shaky breath left your lipsticked lips. You wanted nothing more than to ride his hand. To throw all caution to the wind and thrust your hips against his fingers until you were clenching and twitching around him, begging for more.

And suddenly, his hand was gone. Your disappointment must have been audible because he chuckled, bringing his finger to his lips. Swiftly he liked them as if he was licking off a stray drop of sauce that fell onto his hand. You caught the look in his eye as his right eye started glowing slightly. Glancing down you seen the red and black tendrils of his power snake its way around your leg. It felt warm and you tried to not shiver or make a sound as you felt the weight of it move between your thighs. Your panties pushed to the side and as a reflex you tried to close your legs. The tendrils pushed your legs back open gently, like a pair of hands and as you felt the warmth against your core, you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching a hand out, putting it on Sylus’ thigh, nails pressing into the thick meat.

It felt as if it was Sylus himself between your thighs, just a different version. The feeling was like a warm tongue licking at you, lapping up every bit that you provided as you tried your damndest to not moan, or at least, too loud. You never felt anything like this before. You almost forgot you were in public until you heard his voice in your ear again.

“Quiet, kitten. You’ll get caught.” His voice was low, strained. A rush of adrenaline flooded your veins as you choked back a whine. The energy pushed inside you, curling exactly where you needed it. Licking your sensitive, throbbing clit. Your hand on his thigh tightened, nails digging in more making him give a low groan deep in his throat.

“Sylus-” You said, trying to be quiet, but the sound was choked out. Your breathing was heavy, face red and eyes were starting to get glossy. “I can’t. P-please, I-” You let out a choked gasp, louder than you wanted as your orgasm rushed through you. You clenched around the thick mass of energy inside you as you panted, blushing so dark that you probably matched your dress. A few people turned to look, eyebrows raised in curiosity as they saw your out of breath expression.

“We will be taking our leave now.” Sylus said, the energy around your lower half dissolved as if it never happened. Your legs felt numb as you tried to steady your thoughts, your heart pounding and blood rushing. Your body moved on its own as Sylus stood, as if being willed by him to follow. You had no complaints about this, your anticipation was as high as ever to get him alone. His hand was firm on your lower back giving you much needed support as you walked to the car.

The drive home was quiet but the tension was thick. His body was tense as he pulled into the driveway and before you could even open the door, the red-black tendrils of energy embraced you again. Your body was moved by a force you couldn’t fight even if you wanted to. A thrill ran through your body. He had never used his Evol on you like this before.

You were placed in the middle of the bedroom, Sylus following you through the door as his eye glowed. His hands in his pockets as he looked at you with a hunger you never saw from him before. You let out a slow breath, feeling the energy dissolve into the air as he towered over you, a hand moving to your chin.

“Sweetie, you almost made me lose control, looking like that in public. It’s dangerous, you know.” He said, fingers trailing your skin as his other hand trailed down the curve of your waist, admiring the figure hidden under the dress he picked out.

“I guess you could say I had a good stylist.” You said with a half laugh, he chuckled, a low sound that warmed your core. His hand moved behind your neck, fingers making quick work of the tie that held the light dress on your body. With a flick of his fingers, the fabric fell to the floor around your feet. Your hand moved to his chest, trailing up to wrap around his tie.

The tension broke as you pulled him down into a rough kiss, one of his hands curled in your hair while the other moved to your hip. He guided you as you felt the bed hit the back of your legs, one of his legs coming to rest on the edge of the bed as you fell back. His kiss was hot, hungry. Teeth bite your lip, tongues pushing against each other as your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer. He took your hand from his tie, his fingers wrapping around yours as he pinned it above your head.

“Do you trust me?” He breathed in your ear as he pulled back, panting softly. You could feel the hardness of his cock against your thigh, straining his pants. You arched your hips up to apply some pressure, making him groan. You knew there was only one answer to his question.

“Yes.”

The grip on your hand tightened as it was pushed harder into the soft mattress, his other hand moved to your face bringing your lips to his as he kissed you. Slow, deep. Different from the kiss you just had. You felt hot breath on your cheek as he breathed out through his nose asif he was holding his breath waiting for your answer. In turn, the kiss took your own breath away as you pulled back, your lips slightly red from how he bit your lip as you pulled back. His fingers traced the outline of your lower lip as his eyes stared down at you, red orbs swirling.

“Darling,” His voice made a low sound as his eyes looked into you. A serious look that brought you back to reality for a moment. He didn’t give you that look often. “I’m not sure if I'll be able to hold back tonight.” Sylus sounded just as breathless as you felt. “If you need me to stop at any point, tell me. Promise me.” He said, the hand on your cheek gently tracing the skin under his fingers. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Your heart fluttered as you looked up at him. Your cheeks flushed as you took a deep breath, processing his words.

You two had a safe word. It was well established when you started becoming physical. There was one time you did have to use it, not because of anything horrible but you weren’t in the right mindset for what he had planned that night. So instead of putting yourself through it, knowing that he wouldn’t want you to do that, you said it. He stopped instantly followed by a warm bath, snacks, and your favorite show.

“I promise.” You breathed, looking into his eyes as he stared down at you. There was something that you couldn’t tell, that you never had seen before. “I trust you, Sylus.” You whispered, bringing your free hand to pull him into a slow kiss that matched the last one. You put your whole soul into that kiss, as if hoping he would understand just how much you cared for him. How without a thought you would put your life in his hands, knowing damn well that he would do the same for you.

As the kiss continued, the energy began to change. Once soft and gentle was becoming something more. His lips were hot, hungry as he straddled your hips. His clothed cock grinded against your thigh making your body twitch and shiver with need. His hand on your face became rougher, holding your jaw firmly as his kiss devoured you. He pulled away with a soft growl, licking his lips.

“You’re like a drug to me.” Sylus said as his hands moved to pull at his clothes, buttons unfastening to reveal his chest. Your mouth started to salivate at the sight. Your hands moved up to help him, guiding your palms over the surface of his skin. Sylus let out a low sound, watching you as you made your way to his belt. He didn’t stop you as you undid the fasten. The sound of metal was loud in the room as it fell from its hold as Sylus pulled the belt and tossed it on the floor.

His lips were on you again. Hungry, hot. You felt your breath be taken from your lungs as your hands were pinned above your head. His tongue pushing into your mouth, devouring you whole. He pulled away with a low growl, looking down at you, his eyes dark and his lips red from the kiss and the stain of your lipstick.

“Roll over kitten.” Sylus purred as he let go of your hands and instantly you followed his direction. You felt the slick of your arousal as you moved, making your need even more known to you as you turned. Now with your ass to him, arched as your cheek laid against the pillow. You felt his fingers wrap under the lace of your panties, pulling them down to your knees. You looked over to him, your view obstructed but still managed to match his eyes.

No words needed to be said, both of you needed the same exact thing and he wasn’t in a mood to tease you, at least not at the moment. His hands worked on his pants, letting them fall to the floor as he stood off of the bed, his boxers following. Your mouth watered, moaning into the pillow at the sight of him. Hard, dripping. His hand wrapped around his cock, pumping slowly as his thumb brushed against the angry red head. You felt your pussy clench as if trying to draw him in. He was beautiful. He didn’t even look human. No human could be this beautiful.

As he climbed back onto the bed he wasted no time in positioning himself. He kissed your back, one hand on himself to adjust while the other was on your ass, sinking into the soft flesh. He kissed your back again before speaking into your ear, his voice was rough, deep.

“Remember our promise?” He whispered, his voice strained. Reminding you that you would use the safe word if you needed. You felt his tip slide against you, eager for the final confirmation. You nodded into the pillow, shifting your hips as you grinded against him. He groaned, the hand on your ass getting rougher as he held you still.

He began to push into you slowly. You felt your body stretch to accommodate him, your moan loud as your body felt like electricity was pulsing through your veins at the feeling. Fuck he always felt so good. So thick, so heavy inside you. Your eyes rolled as he bottomed out his hands gently rubbing your back, your ass, the back of your thighs. He waited a moment, his breath strained as he tried to contain himself. But as he started to thrust it was a lost cause.

You cried out moaning as he pulled out, thrusting back in. Your body shook as you felt him fuck you, his thrusts started to get faster the louder you moaned as if the sound of your cries edged him on, which was very much the case. You tightened around him, gasping as you felt his hand coming to rub against your clit, his rough thumb brushing the sensitive skin.

“You sound so beautiful darling. Let me hear how you sound as you cum on my cock.” He purred in his ear. His voice sounded.. Different. Deeper somehow, more primal, needy. It drove you wild. You moaned gasping as you moved your body against him, fucking yourself on his cock while he pressed his thumb against you. You felt the sensation take over your body as Sylus hit that spot inside you that made you cry out and see stars. Your orgasm flowed through you as your pussy fluttered and clenched around him, pushing him to the brink as he filled you with his hot cum.

You caught your breath, your forehead sticky with sweat as you felt your body tremble from the release. Sylus on the other hand, was still inside you. Cock hard, twitching as if he didn't just cum inside you. His hands gripped your hips, his lips moving to your back as he kissed your sweaty skin. You could hear his heart pounding, as fast as ever.

“I’m not done with you yet, sweetie. That was a warmup.” He said as he started to thrust again, slowly at first. Your body shivered and moaned at the sudden movement, sensitive from your orgasm as he stated to fuck you. You felt his cum inside you, being fucked deeper. You blushed gasping, your head spinning with pleasure.

As he fucked you, you swore his hands on your hips felt larger. His nails were digging into your skin as if they were talons. Not cutting into you, but more noticeable than before. You gasped, your mouth opening against the pillow, eyes widening as you whimpered.

“Sylus!” You cried out as you felt your pussy stretch more than before. You felt his cock, which was already big and thick, get even bigger. The girth stretching you out more to the point your legs were shaking. You felt him hit places inside you you didn't even know existed. You felt tears fall from your eyes, sure it hurt a little but god you never felt so good in your life. You felt his tongue lick up your spine, long, thick. His mouth moved to your ear, sharp teeth nipping the skin. You could hear your heart pound. What was he? How did he become… like this?

“Wow kitten, you took me so well.” Sylus purred. He wasn’t even moving yet and you were a whimpering crying mess. “I bet you love being stretched out on my cock like this, don’t you? I’m not even moving and it feels like you’re about to cum again.” He teased as you felt a rough, larger than normal thumb brush against your clit. “Careful, if you do, you might boost my ego. I could get addicted to this.”

Your head spun as you whimpered and moaned. You couldn’t see him. Even if you tried to turn, he was pressed against your back. But he wasn’t wrong. You were close. So agonizingly close that when he touched his thumb to that damn spot between your legs it was instant. You cried out, clenching around him and he hissed at the feeling. His cock twitched inside you as he felt you cum on his cock from nothing more than just being inside you. Filling you up completely. Stretching you to your limit to the point you weren’t sure if you’d be able to walk later.

“Good girl. You’ve been such a good girl for me, haven’t you?” Sylus purred into your ear as he started to move. Your eyes widened as you cried out, hands clawing at the bedsheets as you felt how massive he truly had become now that he started moving. Your legs shook as you struggled to keep yourself propped up on your knees. His hands came to grab your hips as you whimpered and moaned mindlessly into the pillow. His hands felt so big, so strong. He had always been strong but this was different, otherworldly. He held you exactly how and where he wanted you as he began to fuck into you. Your body bounced and shook as if you were a ragdoll.

“That’s it, sweetie, just like that. You’re a perfect little slut for me, aren’t you. Taking anything I give you, no matter how big. You’ll stretch your tight little pussy for me, won’t you?” Sylus growled in your ear and you gasped, eyes rolling back at his words. You couldn’t control the sounds coming from your lips, or the drool that spilled out onto the silk pillowcase. You couldn’t stop the loud needy whimper at the things he said to you. His nails pressed into your soft flesh as he continued to ravish you.

His thrusts started to get unsteady as he panted, one hand groping your ass as the other curled into your hair, turning your face for him to kiss you. His long tongue forced its way into your mouth, his teeth were sharper but it felt more like fangs now that you could feel him better. You opened your eyes for a second, catching a glimpse to see that he looked normal. As he pulled away and opened his eyes though, you noticed how both eyes were glowing red. It looked like orbs of the red mist of his Evol flowing inside his eyes. It was beautiful. If you weren’t getting your brains fucked out you would have more time to appreciate it.

The hand returned between your thighs, drawing circles against your sensitive nub. As he felt you twitch and whimper, his hand continued until he pulled another orgasm out of you. Your scream was muffled by the pillow but the sound made him take in a sharp breath. Even when he was like this, the sounds you made affected him more than you could ever know. You felt as his cock twitched, his thrusted uneven before he came inside you. The feeling was different than before. It was thicker and it felt like there was more than usual. You gasped, moaning as you felt him thrust a few more times, the thick globs of cum running down your thighs.

Slowly, you felt him begin to pull out. Your body was too weak and tired to turn around and look at him but that was the last thing on your mind right now. You didn’t care what form he took. He was still yours. And you were still his. You felt him shift around you, his arms pulling you into his chest as he kissed your head. The smell of him flooded your senses as a sense of calm you never felt before came over you.

His hands were so gentle as he carefully checked for marks and scratches. You felt a warm cloth on your thighs. A cold bottle of water pressed to your lips. You opened your mouth and the bottle tipped so gently. His hands were still on you, gently touching and caressing you. As you opened your eyes gently you saw the oh so familiar black and red mist surrounding you. Cleaning you, giving you water. You felt a kiss on the top of your head as Sylus pulled you closer.

“Relax, kitten. You’ll need to recover. I’ll take care of everything.”

~•~•~•~

some people on my post asked to be tagged or really seemed to want this so here u guys go i hope you dont mind the tag

@lunacielooo @in-too-deepspace @sefynarose

#love and deepspace #sylus #lads #lads sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader #l&ds #monster #smut #sylusposting #sylus love and deepspace #lads smut

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k0mmari · 2 months ago

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SYSTEM! SHEN YUAN AU (Pt.2)

Pt.1

Im not done with this, so to the people that wanted more, here it is! I, fortunately or not, have thought way too much again, so once more this is going to be a very, very, VERY long post. If you guys have any ideas about this btw, please do share them! I really am just letting my mind wander a bit more than usual, so maybe someone else can have more structured thoughts than me lol. (Fair warning, there probably will be plot holes, so sorry in advance!)

Please read Pt.1 if you haven't, or this won't make any sense!

After SY warped away from his impromptu meeting with Binghe, the last place he would like to end up would be even deeper into the Endless Abyss, but according to his System, the next piece of the virus was here. While not happy, since his Personal System was (mostly) working as intended, SY managed to activate Ghost Mode and walk towards the next part without having to deal with any of the creatures down there. (He had to try very hard not to get distracted by the monsters, lest his supervisor thinks he also went missing.)

It takes considerably more time to find the virus this time, so much in fact, SY starts to recognize his surroundings from SQH's ramblings (not that he was interested or anything), and he feels a cold sense of dread running down his spine. There was no way he was that unlucky that the object that got corrupted this time was-

He was that unlocky. Lo and behold, after entering a run down ruin, SY is faced with the legendary Xin Mo, power so overwhelming it manifested as dark fire covering the blade. The only reason why SY wasn't immediately writhing on the ground from the sword's power was Ghost Mode, which he could not rely for too long, as his Personal System was displaying warning after warning about Possibility of Corruption and God Like Plot Point. It all meant that SY was on a timer, and if he took too long, the sword would start corrupting his System, which in turn could corrupt him.

Now, since this was a VERY important Plot Point, Luo Binghe had to find Xin Mo or else the plot would derail to an unfixable degree, SY couldn't just snip at it, which was a problem, since manual debugging took a considerably longer time! Still, he summons his Scissors and positions it so he can start at least trimming off the virus.

His plan immediately backfires however, as an ominous crack sounds through the air and he's suddenly pushed away from the sword by a gust of energy. A bit disoriented, he shakes his head and acesses the sit-

Xin Mo, the horrible sword it was, was apparently so OP that it seemed to detect the Scissors at the last second, and the thing attacked back! The metal of the Scissors was dark and broken where it came close to the sword, almost broken in half! Which, not good! It any other time, a pair of broken Debugging Sheers would be more or less fine, if not a major inconvinience (and pay deduction) for SY, but since he'd been warping all over the time for a while now, his Personal System's energy reserves were carefully rationed, and if he were to use a chunk to send the Scissors back for some emergency repair, he'd only have one chance to go back to HQ. Alone.

He couldn't delay it any longer, he desperately needed to find SQH and pray he still had some energy reserves left.

Setting his Personal System's next warp location to SQH's last known location, SY wouldn't have guessed in a million years that he would go back to Cang Qiong Mountain, but whatever; maybe SQH had wanted to start with fixing the bug on Binghe's pendant? Not that this was the right time since it was after Binghe fell into the Abyss, but SQH had never been good at warping. It takes a bit of wandering and going inside different buildings, but eventually his Personal System managed to get a dirrect ping on SQH's System, which sent a massive wave of relief rushing through SY, since it meant that SQH was still slive.

Though as to why he was at An Ding Peak, SY could only guess.

After a bit more wandering, SY enters on what seems to be a (very messy) office space, SY feels all the pieces coming together in his mind. Half sprawled across the table with piles of paper covering the entire table's surface lay the An Ding Peak Lord, which- was already weird, since wasn't this guy supposed to be an enemy of the Peak now? After the whole betrayal thing or whatever? But that would've been something to look into later, were it not for said Peak Lord casually scrolling through a Personal System screen. A Personal System that could only be used by the System's Maintanence Staff.

SY wastes no time in deactivating Ghost Mode, and when SQH's eyes snap to his, the man jumps so high from his chair he almost falls back. It's not a happy reunion by a longshot, since SY immediately jumped his friend co-worker and demanded an explaination, almost screaming about it was all his fault for doing shitty maintenence, and creating this shitty world if it's shitty OP sword which broke his Sheers? Do you know how expensive these are?? I know you do, cause the supervisor never lets you touch the good ones cause you keep cracking all the other pairs-

It takes a more or less one whole hour to calm down SY, but eventually the younger settled and lets SQH say his bit of the story: Apparently, in his messing around with the System's world creation program when he was trying to find the bug in his world, he'd accidentaly managed to get himself actually transmigrated to PIDW, though still with (limited) acess to his Personal System, which let him still send messages to their supervisor and pretend that everything was ok. He'd gotten so unlucky too! Out of all the people to accidentaly select, did it have to be the An Ding Peak Lord? Couldn't it have been Binghe? Or MBJ- (SQH cuts his lamenting when he notices SY's absolutely viscious death glare being stared right through his soul.)

Long story short, he'd initially did try to fix his blunder, but as more time passed and SQH's access to Maintenance priviledges went out one by one on his System, he eventually just... Started actually living there. In fact, he was living so well there that he dared say his life as Peak Lord was even better then when he was with the System! Of course, since he had been integrated as a 'character' now, he had his limitations, he actually managed to get to know his fellow peak lords! He knew the name of his character's family members and his disciples! He'd managed to build a life he never even thought he could have inside the System.

Sure, did he betray the Peak? Yes, yes he did. Were they all going to die in a few years time when Binghe came back from hell? Yeah, yeah they were, and he was immensely guilty and terrified, but! The plot could be changed! He already assumed someone from the System had popped up in the Conference, as when Binghe had recently made his alliance with MBJ, and had mentioned in passing this weird thing that had happened to him just before he fell into the Abyss.

Anyways, eventually SY begrudgingly accepts SQH's decision to stay in PIDW, but he still had to help SY; and so they form a plan: SY was going to transfer some energy to SQH so he could temporarily get his acess to the full version of his Personal System and use his energy reserves to send SY's Sheers and get them fixed. SQH was also going to properly apologize to their supervisor for suddenly quitting without notice AND order some more energy stacks to be sent to SY's System. SY on the other hand had devises a plan to get closer to XIn Mo without the sword exploding his face off:

Infiltrate Demon Emperor Luo Binghe's palace as a lowly staff member and slowly debug the sword from the inside.

A perfect plan! What could go wrong?

SY selects to warp to a time where Binghe had Xin Mo mostly in control, so it is to no surprise he warps to a place were the Demonic Emperor's Palace is absolutely filled with women. Not the best situation, since a lot of people could and probably would be able to see him, but with that many harem members, it wasn't too much of a stretch to assume there was also a considerable number of staff, which, to SY's luck, there was! In fact, after he managed to activate a disguise for his clothes so they matched the rest of the servants, no one bat an eye on his presence; at most someone would inquire about his short hair, but other than that he was as noteable as a fly.

The first phase of his plan was already a success, so now he had to move on to reconnaissance which was mostly easy and the worst thing in his life. He was mostly looking for Binghe's quarters could be as he probably kept the sword close to him at all times, though with how big the palace was, his objective had gradually shifted to mapping out the labyrinth of halls as much as possible (SY was very glad that the System allowed him to create a map in real time or he might have gotten lost in the first five minutes). He walks so much he even manages to catch a few pieces of gossip, though the most interesting one by far being one about Binghe:

Apparently, a year ago, the Emperor had a qi deviation where, for a day, he seemed to have completely shifted his personality; he refused to touch any of his wives and kept screaming for his long dead Shizun. SY doesn't really remember that plot point, though his wondering is cut short when he hears people walking towards his direction. instinctively he his behind a dark corner, momentarily forgetting that he 'worked' at the palace now.

At list his bad luck was finally turning over as the Golden Protagonist himself walked past him with one of his wives hanging off his arm, looking just as cool as SY had always imagined. He had to snap himself out of his stuppor though, as two things caught his attention: First, Xin Mo was, predictably, strapped to his waist, still glitched but at least the virus seemed more or less contained, which gave SY a bit more time to work, though the other thing he noticed...

Hanging onto an old-looking braid laid SY's missing tassle that Binghe had found for him all the way back at the Conference.

What the hell was Luo Binghe doing wearing that old tassle at this day and age??

A few days passed and the Tassle Incident (as he called it) had to be set aside, as it seemed that passing as a servant also meant that other servants and even some wives expected SY to actually work. Not great, he sucked at cleaning and the other servants spared no words to make it clear to him, but it at least gave him something to do while he waited for his Scissors to arrive. SQH had sent him a few messages saying he'd gotten his part of the deal done, so now all SY could do was monitor Xin Mo's condition (from very far away), and occasionally manually debug some small virus pieces that had fallen from the sword, which luckily were easy enough to deal with that he didn't need to cut them off.

The only thing that was worrying him now is how... odd Luo Binghe seemed. Of course, he was supposed to be the pinnacle of the Cool Guy trope, so some edginess was to be expected, but Binghe didn't look just Edgy, he looked straight up depressed. There were bags under his eyes, and he barely seemed to tolerate the presence of 99% of his wives, and that damned braid with the damned tassle was still there-

Point is, Binghe acting so weird really threw SY through a loop, and he may have gotten a bit careless. At a random day when SY was carrying some dirty laundry another servant had just shoved at him, he had no prior warning before a voice sounded from behind him: "You seem to have dropped something."

He barely managed to shake off the violent sense of deja-vu that had sucker punched him in the face before he realized what was happening; Luo Binghe was talking to him. Directly to him. Shit- shit! Did he notice? Was Binghe doing a clever call back, spider-man style?? Was SY going to die????

SY shakily turns to Binghe, keeping his eyes locked onto the floor, bowing as much as possible that he still seemed respectful but the bag of clothes he had didn't all just fall to the floor. Thankfully Binghe didn't seem to mind, and simply put the fallen piece of clothing on top of the others and walked away. Though, just as SY was regaining his breath, Luo Binghe's voice stops him again. "You... Have we met before?"

SY trembles something about only being hired recently and not having the opportunity to formaly meet Junshang, and it seems to be a decent enough that Binghe just stares at him for a while longer before walking away. He really should grow out his hair if even the Emperor got weirded out like that...

Binghe started eyeing SY way more after that day. The protagonist would rarely speak directly to him, but SY could feel his gaze as if it were burning; though, since Binghe never said anything, SY just assumed that whatever Binghe's problem with him was, it was likely nothing to worry about.

In fact, it probably was because one of Binghe's wives had used SY is an impromptu act to try to get Binghe jealous (he just frowned, separated the two and walked away) and after that she had gotten infatuated with him, so she'd turned SY into her personal servant. Because of that SY saw Binghe at most two times a week instead of the 50% chnace of seeing his shadow once a week. Wow.

Because of this, as much as Binghe noticed SY, SY noticed Binghe as well, the protagonist seeming to get even more down as the days went. The tassle was still braided in his hair (SY worried it was just going to become a lock at this point), his eyebags never seemed to leave his eyes, and he was always muttering about... something. (SY managed to overhear something about 'fairness' and what Binghe actually wanted...?)

It all culminated at a seemingly random night. Most of the wives and servants had gone to sleep, only the more in-human women still hanging around, and SY, of course, but mostly it was because he wanted to see how close he could get to Binghe's quarters (aka Xin Mo) at night. Not that it was necessary, as when he was walking his attention was adruptly caught by the strangest sight: Luo binghe, sitting on one of the stone stair that lead to one of the many courtyards, being absolutely drenched in rain. The weirdest part was that a few servants and wives had also passed this place, and they all seemed like they didn't see Binghe, or didn't care.

Hating to see such an usually proud man (not that he'd seen much of that either) just soaking outside as if he'd just caught the love of his life cheating with another man, SY decided that at least he'd do a good job as a servant and take care of 'his Lord'. He grabs an umbrella from one of the adjacent rooms and slowly walks outside, covering Luo Binghe's form, not really caring if he was also getting soaked.

They stayed silent for who knows how long, but eventually, Binghe's eyes that had been laser focused on the horizon slowly blink once, as if coming out of a trance, and slowly move to SY's face, up to his hand holding the umbrella. "My Lord should get back inside. He'll get sick that way." SY half murmurs.

Binghe doesn't respond, though after a few seconds, his eyes seem to widen a bit and his breath comes out a little shaky. SY doesn't dare comment on it.

"Have we met before?" Luo Binghe asks again.

"...Yes." Shen Yuan says.

Binghe closes his eyes, and they stay like that for another hour.

Pt.3

#WE'RE DONE FOR NOW #this got atrociously long im so sorry #also im sorry for any typos im sure there were a lot #im not fixing them now doe #drabble #svsss #fanfic #shen yuan #shen qingqiu #luo binghe #luo bingge #bingyuan #binggeeyuan #this is set after bingge vc bingmei #if it wasnt clear enough #komm's system au

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antiwhores · 4 months ago

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(Dubcon at first)

Alpha!Bakugou in rut whispering “‘M sorry” to you, the Omega who wants nothing to do with him, as he dry humps you from behind.

He knows its wrong but he just cant stop his hips from rutting into your ass. He’s always been attracted to you, beyond normally. That’s probably why he bullied you in middle school. He just couldn’t handle the fact that he’d go crazy over your scent.

That had been years ago but he still thought about you.

He saw you at a coffee shop one day and immediately recognized your smell. It was almost like he was destined to be with you again.

You, however, were less than pleased. As soon as you made eye contact with him he winced at how your scent changed. It went from a calm, delicious scent to a scared sour.

You practically ran out of the door.

He couldn’t let you get away. He had been thinking about you since the day he graduated middle school. No way was he about to loose this opportunity to rekindle the relationship with HIS omega… well, soon to be his.

“Wait y/n!”

The sound of your name caught you so off guard you tripped on your own feet into the grass. He never said your name, it was always a mean nickname. You hadn’t even thought that he knew it.

You started to shake, “Leave me alone!”

He put his hands up beside his head, “I’m not gonna hurt you. I just wanted to talk.”

As you sat there, fisting the grass, he apologized. He told you about how he wanted to show you that he had changed. He wanted to be friends.

But you wouldn’t have any of that. Even though it was middle school, it was still traumatizing to this day.

You got up, brushing off the grass as you told him that you could never be friends. You told him off for everything that he did to you. He stood there and took it.

After that day, you started to see actual effort from him. Somehow, he found out your address. It was probably in some documents that can be accessed by pro hero’s.

He started sending flowers to your house. Food during lunch either at home or at work. He would show up randomly at different times to talk to you. He would even pay for your groceries. He dropped them off at your door before ringing the doorbell and walking away.

At first, you didn’t trust it at all. No way was the man that bullied you trying to court you into befriending him. But after a while your guard started to come down.

You would engage in conversation the tiniest bit instead of sitting in silence with him when he’d come sit at any table he found you at. You would even look him in the eyes when he spoke.

Everything was going well until his rut.

He was supposed to go home immediately after he felt the first heat wave surge through his body. Unfortunately, a villain decided to attack on his way back. And it also just so happens that you were on the scene.

He almost killed the villain for even being around you. The rut wasn’t letting him think clearly. All he could think was “protect mine.” He only stopped hitting the poor dude when you yelled his name.

He didn’t even realize the guy had passed out.

Bakugou looked sickly. His face red, sweaty and strained. He was breathing so heavily he was getting light headed. You could tell something was wrong. But you were ignorant to the fact it was his rut. Pro hero’s were required by law to use scent blockers. You couldn’t even smell his rut.

You took him to your house to help him since it wasn’t too far away.

As soon as he entered, his semi-hard cock went fully rock hard. He was trying to control himself on the way here. He barely managed to. But being surrounded by your scent, he couldn’t take it anymore.

He snatched off his scent blockers and in a quick movement he had you pinned against the wall.

He was humping you, fully clothed, before he even comprehended that he moved.

He wanted to cry, it hurt so bad. This small bit of relief felt heavenly.

“Bakugou? What are you-“

You had to shut your mouth when a moan came out of his. You knew that if you spoke any longer you’d have let out one of your own.

“‘M sorry, I cant-“

He groaned at a particularly hard jerk of his hips against your ass.

“‘M sorry…”

As he humped you from behind, your knees weakened. He was the only one holding you up. You were falling into a heat of your own from his scent.

“Fuck, ‘m sorry. Im ruining-“

He couldn’t even speak in full sentences without moaning into your neck.

“‘M almost done… Just- fuck… let me…”

He started to grind against you harder and faster. You couldn’t breathe, all you could inhale was him. Your mind went foggy, you could hear your own moans mixing with his. Even without the stimulation you felt so fucking good.

He stopped grinding against you as he came. He pushed himself hard against your heated body as he dug his nails into your hips.

His orgasm was strong. Leg shaking, eyes rolling back strong. He came ropes in his pants before he slumped against you.

You both fell to the ground, heavily breathing.

His mind temporarily cleared enough to know that he fucked up.

He was trying to cook up a worthy apology before he was interrupted by your voice.

You reached for his belt as you spoke,

“Take it off.”

#hi guys #ik its been a while #been busy #here this is for you #enjoy #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #mha x reader #bakugou smut

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kdollikesthighs · 26 days ago

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The Real Encore

Itzy Yuna x Male reader THIS IS A REUPLOAD! Maybe you've seen this work before, maybe you haven't. It used to be uploaded on a blog called K-DGN, run by two people. That blog got destroyed, and now I run this blog by myself, posting only 100% original kdol fanfic content. Word Count: 7.1k

Following the show, you sat back in your seat in a daze, dumbfounded that you had finally gotten a chance to see your favorite group Itzy live in concert. They were everything you'd hoped they'd be and more. Nothing online could have prepared you for what it would be like finally laying your eyes on them in person. Months of preparation getting right physically paid off in dividends too, as multiple members came by your side of the stage to give you all the fanservice you could have ever wanted. You believed you must have been the luckiest guy in the building as it happened more than once. Each and every member came by to dance specifically for you, and you ate it all up. It was all surreal, and you could not imagine a more perfect night.

As the audience continued to file out of the arena, you snapped out of your daze and started gathering your things to leave. You were about to leave when a staff member from the show got your attention from across the barricade and called you over. You were a little confused because you thought that maybe you had done something wrong, but that confusion was quickly washed away when they told you that your ticket had won a "special raffle", and that you were selected to come participate in a meet & greet with the group backstage. You were ecstatic, but told to keep your cool as the staff member did not want to draw the attention of the unluckier fans and cause a scene. They guided you around to the side of the stage and took you back through a hallway leading to the backstage area. You were brought to a room where a staff member took your belongings for safe keeping while another gave you some quick paperwork to sign. You were so excited at the prospect of meeting the members that you didn't even read most of it. Once everything was set, you were told to wait for a bit until they would take you to another room to meet the girls.

They sat you down in a long hallway backstage, on a row of foldable chairs seated against a wall. The rumble of JYP and Venue staff rushing through everything, packing up the show and making sure they get done as soon as possible to be able to head down was dizzying. There were a total of 4 chairs lined up, including yours, but so far you were the only one sitting in one. Staff kept rushing back and forth as 5 minutes of waiting turned to 10 minutes turned to 15 minutes. You wondered if it was going to take much longer, and decided to ask one of the next staff members you saw.

"Excuse me" You addressed them. "When will the special raffle event start? Are there other winners we're still waiting on?" You asked, in your politest voice, but they just looked at you confused.

"Special raffle? What special raffle?" They replied, as if asking what the fuck you were talking about. "Are you allowed to be back here?" They continued, putting you on the spot. You tried to explain that one of the staff members told you to wait here, but you had nothing to show for it.

"They're fine, I told them to wait here!" The staff member from earlier came in just in time to save your skin, with another guy you could only assume to be another concert goer going off of their outfit in tow. The staff member you asked for clarification gave you a suspicious look, but backed off, going back to their urgent tasks.

"Sorry about that." The first staff member said. "Not everyone is made aware of all events. I hope the wait wasn't too unbearable, we still had to find our other winner. But we are ready to start now!" They explained that, considering the nature of the special event raffle, it was sometimes a little harder to get all the winners in the same place. You couldn't help but notice the discrepancy in between the amount of chairs, and the amount of winners, but maybe it just meant some winners already left and lost out on their luck. Or maybe something entirely else you were yet to find out.

The two of you were then ushered further down the hall, ultimately ending at a pair of doors. These rooms were a lot more secluded, a far cry from the chaotic mess that was the staff hurriedly packing up the show back where you were previously. You and your fellow raffle winner both exchanged pleasantries as you awaited for further instructions.

"Here we are. Please wait just one more second while I check to see if they're ready to see you" the staff member explained and then turned around to knock on the door and peek their head in. They asked something in Korean, to which you could hear the female voice responding. Satisfied, the staff member then turned back to the two of you. "Okay! Now sir, if you'd please," they instructed as they opened the door and gestured the other guy to come forward. You were about to follow suit but the staff member raised a hand to stop you in place. "Just him, please. You will be meeting someone else. You made and "O" face and nodded you head. You and the other winner exchanged nervous glances before you raised a fist of encouragement. He reciprocated the gesture then turned back to the door, taking a deep breath and walking in.

As he rounded the bend, the staff member closed the door behind him, leaving you alone and now more nervous than ever. The staff member gave you a quick smile then headed to the other door, repeating the same actions he had done with the previous room's occupant. He then turned back to you, leaving the door slightly ajar for you to enter.

"Okay, she's ready for you. Please go in when you're ready." he instructed before stepping aside. Your eyes darted between him and the door. He gave you a nod and this time it was your turn to take a moment to collect yourself. You steeled yourself before mustering enough courage to take the step through the door. You walked a bit further into the room, hearing the sound of the door closing behind you. No turning back now, you thought to yourself. As you rounded the corner, you almost froze in place. In the center of the room was a couch facing away from you, and seated right in the middle of it was a girl with bright red hair, looking down at what presumably was her phone. You thought that maybe she hadn't heard you come in because she hadn't turned to greet you, so you decided to try and get her attention.

"Ahem...Yuna...?"

The girl's head instantly perked up and she whipped her head around to face you. It was almost like a scene from a hair product commercial the way her bright red colored locks flared out before perfectly settling along her exposed shoulders. From what you could see since she was still seated, she was wearing a spaghetti strapped white tank top. She had a huge welcoming smile on her face, complimented by her beautiful eyes which were beaming with excitement.

"Took you long enough! Come, sit with me!" she called out.

You couldn't help but notice two things when taking in the room. The first was the faint humming of some music playing at a low volume on a speaker, posited on a table in front of the couch. You weren't sure what song it was, but you could tell it was by Blackpink. The other thing was a faint smell, attacking your senses. It wasn't pungent, but if you focused on it, it was present. It wasn't anything like any smell of any perfume you'd ever smelled before. It had no traces of floral scents or any of the like, but instead had this deep sweetness to it. It was intoxicating, and you couldn't help yourself from drifting towards it.

The shock of being in a room alone with Yuna and her addressing you so directly almost caused you to dissociate long enough to get on the nerves of Yuna who just asked you a question. It wasn't your attention to ignore her, you just needed something to focus on and ground yourself with.

"Hello?" Called out again, snapping you out of your drifting gaze. You looked right at her again, and walked around the couch, staring at you the entire time before taking your seat next to her. She was still wearing her pink skirt from the encore, matched with her black boots. All she changed out of was her top.

"Hi!" She spoke to you, very high pitched and seemingly very excited to have your attention. Even after such an exhausting show, her fanservice was out of this world.

"H-Hi..." You mumbled out through your nervousness. You hadn't ever even been close to itzy before this show, let alone win a fancall or anything of the like. Not for lack of trying, mind you. "I'm your biggest fan!" You managed to push, almost as if yelling.

"I'm glad to hear that!" She replied, equally as full of gusto as you did. She didn't skip a beat however, and her smile pierced through your body before she placed her right hand on your left thigh, the one closest to her, before continuing. "What's your name?" She asked, tilting her head to the side, stunning you further.

"Y/N." You answered, the first sentence uttered without stuttering or an added ehm since stepping into the room. "Hmmmm, Y/N huh? That's a pretty name. You know my name too, right?" She asked, dragging her words out in a playful tone, her eyes intently staring at your face as she asked you.

You weren't really sure if this was a trick question. Who would end up going to this concert without knowing her name at least? You shook off your doubts, certain she was just giving you an easy question which she could use to give more fanservice as a response. "Yeah, Yuna..." You answered, tilting your head forwards as you answered her simple question, still unable to really feel comfortable with her hand on your thigh.

The instant her name left your mouth, her face rapidly came closer to yours, she closed her eyes, and planted her lips on yours. You were in complete shock, your eyes jolted open before slowly closing, oozing into the sudden kiss by Yuna. You felt her hand squeeze your thigh a little, before she pulled away, a small string of a mix of your and her spit trailing in between both of yours underlips.

"Hmmm, your lips taste nice when you say my name, Y/N." She divulged, wiping the spit off of her lip, before looking back at you, hungry eyes, studying how you were going to react. She took this chance to reposition herself, tucking her legs underneath her and sitting on her knees facing you. You couldn't help but stare, mute in shock at what was happening. You couldn't help but notice her short skirt wasn't fit to keep herself covered in her current position facing you, and your eyes drifted downwards, but all you could see were the same pink hue of her safety shorts. This action didn't go unnoticed, as Yuna's smile turned into a smirk, busting your perverted action.

She licked her lips, as her eyes grew smaller and focused. "Don't think I didn't see that, Y/N." She berated you in a sultry, teasing tone.

"I'm sorry!" You blurted out, afraid you might have pissed the younger girl off and was about to get thrown out for it.

"No, don't be!" She responded, once more putting her right hand on you, this time on top of your left hand, which was clinging onto your pants above your left thigh. Her touch tensed you up even further, before eventually giving into the feeling of her soft hand touching yours, causing your muscles to relax. You looked at her face, no trace of anger to see, her gaze fixated on you. Your eyes meeting caused her smile to grow wider, which instinctively caused you to smile as well before Yuna continued. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours!" She said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, a cute smile on her perfect face. Your hand tightened up again.

"I'm sorry?!" You exclaimed again, unable to believe you heard what she said correctly. Is this a dream? You weren't even sure anymore, and pinched yourself, but the pain was certainly real.

"Didn't you read the contract you signed? It's a non-disclosure agreement you know. You can't talk about what happens here today, what do you think that means?" She retorted, asking you with her head tilted, and her brows gathered between her eyes, almost as if asking if you were smart enough to read.

"I skimmed it?" You replied, grimacing at admitting your own incompetence. You could see Yuna's face cringe a little bit at your answer, which caused you to further explain yourself. "I was just so excited to be here, I'd sign anything for it!"

"So you're the hot but impulsive type huh? You're lucky I think that's cute." Yuna sighed, her eyes had drifted downwards, introspectively, before taking another look at you, this time, a smile but with the faintest hint of her pitying you mixed in. Her high-pitch and tension picked up once more. "Well? What's it going to be? Wanna show me yours?" She asked. No mistaking it now. Yuna just asked to see your cock, and you couldn't help but grow rock hard just from the thought of it. Your bulge had started to show through your pants, and Yuna noticed, honing in like a predator on its prey.

"Right, yes. Yes! I'll show you." You replied, not really finding the right words, but enough words to convey the essence of your message. You started unbuckling your belt, and slowly taking off of your pants, dropping it to your ankles, leaving your underwear on. Your bulge was clearly standing upright in your pants now, and you looked at Yuna once more to make sure you weren't misunderstanding.

"Aww, don't go teasing me now, Y/N!" She replied to the inquiry made by your eyes. Your confidence surged, and you started pushing your underwear down, the rim of it clinging against the tip of your rock hard dick before snapping off, revealing the full length of your cock. You were clean shaven down there as well, as you in your delusion like almost any concert-goer, had to be prepared for the impossible. You read somewhere that the lack of a bush makes a cock look bigger, and you wanted to look like you were at peak performance.

"Now that looks delicious." She licked her lips once more, her eyes focused on your stiff cock. "You pass this round, I don't like men with small cocks." She giggled to herself, retaining her smile towards you, as if proud of her compliment.

"Mind if I...?" Yuna asked you, without finishing her sentence, but you responded having a pretty good idea of what she was going to ask. "Please do." You responded, strangely more calm then you were at any given point since setting foot inside this room. Yuna's hand glided over to your cock, and her soft hand wrapped around the base of your cock, grasping it lightly. Her hand was barely gripping at all, a soft touch wrapped around you, before she started to twist and turn her hand up and down slightly. You couldn't help but moan at her touch, before she released your cock, taking her hands back to her side.

"So, you want to see mine now? It's only fair, right?" She asked you, her head tilted slightly downwards, causing her eyes to have to look up at you sitting straight across from you. You gulped your spit down and nodded your head yes. "Alright, but I'll sweeten the deal. I'll even let you touch it if you do a couple of things for me first."

You didn't have to think even a millisecond about it before responding. "I'll do it!" You almost screamed. Yuna chuckled out loud from this, causing her to respond in kind. "You really are impulsive! Very well. The first thing I want you to do is this:" She explained, as she turned around, grabbed her phone behind her on the couch, and unlocked it with her finger before turning on the camera app and extending it towards you. You tilted your head, looking a little confused. She giggled at your failure to understand. "I want you to take a picture of me with your dick in my mouth! Lia isn't here, but she loves updates on us having fun!" She explained. Your eyes widened. Of all the things, this was not what you expected. Wow, this girl is a fucking freak, You thought to yourself, but you were definitely not opposed to it. Your hesitation caused Yuna to speak up again.

"You already said you'd do it, no backing it out now!" She exclaimed, and as if that alone wasn't enough to snap you out of your gaze, she launched herself forward, taking the tip of your dick in her mouth, and looking towards your face, holding her head still there and her eyes clearly smiling. You tilted your head backwards, facing the ceiling, getting lost in the sensations she was bombarding you with, before Yuna pinched your thigh hard, making you aware of your part of the transaction. Her eyes had turned into a scowl towards you. You snapped back, took her phone, pointed it at her face, to which her visage once more bore a big eye-central smile, posing for the camera. You clicked the photo button a couple of times, before Yuna released your cock from her mouth with a big pop.

"Let's see!" She giddily said, as she took her phone back which you gladly extended back to her. "These will do! Thank you, Y/N." she continued.

"You're welcome." You meekly responded, undeniably a little sad your cock was no longer placed in between her lips. "You said there were a couple of things. What else do you need from me?" You inquired, showing you didn't forget and were not impulsive and stupid, just impulsive.

"I haven't been able to shower today, and I don't want to leave you alone like this right now." She replied, looking at you with giant doe eyes, her lip pouting.

"Okay?" You asked back, not really sure what she was getting at. She smirked at you, then lifted both her hands above her head, exposing her cleanly shaved armpits to you.

"Can't you please clean me up, Y/N?" She asked of you, an irresistible charm in her pleading voice. She wasn't saying it outright, but you believe you knew what she wanted. Or rather even if you were wrong, if she wasn't going to be clear you were going to take your chance to do what you wanted to do.

You brought your head closer to her, inching towards her armpit, as one question from earlier started forming an answer. This deep, slightly sweet smell you found earlier was coming from Yuna. Now inching closer to her, she seemed to still be glistening a bit from fresh sweat still on her. The smell was intoxicating, and you looked at her face before continuing any further, and she had a big smile on her face, urging you to go on.

You extended your tongue outward, touching her armpit, causing her to stifle a small moan, before licking up her sweat. You had never done this before, but you were hooked. The taste was sweet, slightly salty, and her skin tasted refined. One lick turned into two, turned into 4, turned into 10, before moving onto her other armpit, licking that one equally clean as the other, motivating Yuna's moans, until you were certain you hadn't missed a single spot.

"Thank you, Y/N, I feel a lot better now." She admired your willingness. You licked your lips, your eyes now fiercely intent on hers, before you made your first unprompted comment of the night.

"You are fucking delicious, Yuna." You told her, admiring her taste, letting her know you probably enjoyed what you just did more than her. She blushed a little from this, before snapping out of it, and regaining her bubbly, refined aura.

"Well, a deal is a deal!" She giggled at you, her head at 45 degrees, her eyes closed in two half moons and her mouth a big smile. She started pushing off her skirt, attached to her safety shorts, revealing another shocking truth about her. She was wearing no underwear, and she now sat on her knees across from you, legs slightly pushed open as if to lure you in, her clean shaven pussy exposed for you to see.

Your cock throbbed, the sight of such a perfect and pink pussy begging to be devoured by you was almost too much to bear. Your cock grew just that tiny bit more, pulsing, looking ready to burst.

"Oh, you were holding out on me? No fair, Y/N!" Yuna exclaimed, posing one hand over her mouth and using the other to playfully tap you on your shoulder with her other hand.

"I can't help it! Seeing such a delicious pussy, anyone would want to dive right in." You fired back, finding yourself in this erotic groove, growing in confidence. Yuna giggled in response to your admiration. She looked back at you, her eyes ready to devour you, before speaking up again.

"I haven't..." she said, in a soft, whispering voice, having that high-pitched pleading cadence to it. Her eyes started looking down at her own knees, avoiding your eyes. Her knees started to part more ever so slightly, exposing more of her privates. "Been able to clean her either." She finished her sentence before looking back up at you with her head tilted downwards, almost as if begging for you. "Could you please clean me up here as well, Y/N?" She requested of you, her cute charm overwhelming all your senses. She bit her lip at you, sending you over the edge.

You smirked, one corner of your lips arching upwards, before getting up from the couch. You stood in front of her, your cock pointing towards her at her chest level, and before you even had the chance to lower yourself towards her, the girl had leaned forwards, her tongue licking the tip of your dick. Her tongue curled upwards and inwards into her mouth. She proceeded to look up at you, opening her mouth wide and sticking her tongue out with a loud "aaaaaah", showing the strings of pre-cum she had licked up which had been dripping out of your cock because of her provocations.

"You'll have to be clean too for what we do next, Y/N!" She exclaimed proudly, gulping down your liquid while you grew a devious smile. Yuna give your dick a quick peck before telling you "You can continue now, Y/N." You quickly got lost in the thought of grabbing her hair in two pigtails and fucking her face, but you knew better than to throw away your chances at whatever could happen next here for such a risky play. You lowered yourself onto your knees, placing your hands underneath both of her thighs, and lifting the girl's underside up as to get both her legs off of the couch, and hanging off the edge, as to position yourself in between them. You pulled them apart, giving yourself a clear view of her entrance, causing her to coo at your assertiveness, and pushing her own hips forward for you.

You brought your face ever closer to her pussy, inching towards her. She was wet down there, but not drenched. You picked up another spark of her scent, the same tinge of sweetness but mixed in with a more organic, earthy smell. It was even more intoxicating than the smell of her sweat. You opened your mouth, close to her labia and breathed out onto her, your warm breath causing her to shudder in anticipation. You still felt the sensation of her kiss on your dick, and decided to return the favor. You purse your lips, planting a kiss over top of her clit. Yuna's soft vocalization of a satisfied "hmmmm" let you know you were on the right track, starting slow, and warming up over time.

You stopped the kiss, looked up at Yuna's face, who was staring back at you intensely, her eyes pleading for you to continue. No more words needed to be said, and smirked, reaching your tongue out, flicking it upwards over her clit. Yuna's legs twitched, her eyes jolted shut and her knees buckled around your head, tightening her thighs around your skull. You flicked your tongue again, and now having warmed Yuna up were mostly just rewarded with moans. You picked up your pace, and swapped your flicks from horizontal, to vertical, to letters. Her hands found her way to your hair, and grasped firmly around strands she managed to find, holding on tight to you.

Yuna's breathing had grown labored, but she still managed to push some words out. "Don't you DARE... fucking stop...!" She moaned out, and you didn't dare defy her command. Your hands grasped her thighs where they could, squeezing tight, as you unleash your final assault. You pursed but your lips around her clit, sucking on it, getting it into your mouth and nibbling on it ever so softly with your teeth. This mixture of pleasure and pain seemed to send Yuna over the edge, as her back arched away from the couch, and her feet lifted up from the floor, her moans rising in pitch as you felt her entire body convulse.

You'd forgotten to breathe for the final part of that, and pulled your head back, gasping for big breaths of air. Yuna slowly opened her eyes, un-arching her back and leaning forwards. Her both hands cupped both sides of your face, squishing your cheeks as she leaned ever closer, licking her lips on her way to you. She kissed you another time on your lips, her lips firmly pressed against yours, before you felt her tongue entering your mouth. You pressed your tongue slightly against hers, wrapping around hers, coiling and twisting in wet ecstasy. Yuna pulled away from the kiss, and stared down at you with a big smile, but her eyes turned totally vixen.

"Hmmm, your lips taste nice when you've made me cum, Y/N." Yuna spoke seductively. You couldn't help but be overwhelmed with desire for this night to never end.

"Your lips taste nice when you're cumming, Yuna." You retorted, turning her own script on her. She giggled, before regaining her posture. She held out both her hands palm upwards, inviting your hands onto hers. You followed her guidance and placed your hands in hers, and she took firm grasp helping you stand up. She crossed her legs in front of you, denying further access to her. She pointed over to a chair with a bag sitting on it.

"Could you go and grab a condom from there, please?" She requested of you. Your mind raced. She hadn't needed a condom before when touching your dick with her hand or mouth. This had to meant you two were going to fuck, right? Your excitement causes you to do as told without any questioning, turning your back on her and moving towards the bag. It was filled with Yuna's personal items, but you didn't take long to find a condom. You pulled one out, turning around to move towards Yuna again. This time, she surprised you once more, having removed her top, sitting on the couch waiting for you fully nude, her legs crossed and arms spread, leaning on the head of the couch beside her, exposing her pink nipples for you to admire.

Your mouth fell agape, admiring her every curve, curves that had been the subject of tons of speculation they were fake. If you had your phone with you know, you'd have saved the evidence they were all wrong in a heartbeat. You failed to comment anything on her appearance, being dumbfounded by her beauty, which caused her to raise one eyebrow at you, prodding you for a response. Your lack of vocal response causes Yuna to stand upright, her legs crossing over each other, causing her hips to sway, as she walks over towards you. Both her hands reach for your hips as she gets closer, grasping the edges of your shirt, the last piece of clothing you were wearing, and giving it a soft pull upwards. You got the hint, and lifted your arms up, allowing Yuna to take your shirt off, throwing it to the side.

"So what, you're not going to tell me how pretty I am?" Yuna teased you, shaking her head from side to side. You snapped back to reality, and quickly thought of the best thing to say to remedy this situation.

"You have to be one of the most beautiful women to roam this earth." You spouted out in a panic, causing Yuna to have to hold back her laugh in response to your compliment. Yuna looked at you, and you weren't sure if it was lovingly or pitifully, but it was only for you, and that's all you seemed to care about.

"That's certainly a unique compliment. Calm down, babe. You're doing great, I'm not going to just randomly kick you out." Yuna reassured you, taking the condom out of your hands, placing her teeth on the edge of a corner of the wrapping, tearing it off, pulling it out and figuring out which way was inside out. You couldn't help but have your entire being flutter from her calling you babe, and her reassurance did wonders for you to relax.

"Thank you. You won't regret picking me." You responded, your eyes meeting hers filled with conviction, showing Yuna her words had worked. She smirked at your newfound confidence, handed you the condom, gave you a smile and posed you with a question. "So, how do you want to fuck me?" You accepted the condom, started wrapping it over your dick and gave some thought to her question.

"Hmmmm." You consciously vocalized out loud, making sure Yuna knew you were considering your options, and were not just too stunned to speak. You looked around the room, and couldn't help but focus your attention on the giant make-up mirror against the wall of the room, drawing your attention before being gifted with an idea. In one smooth motion, you picked Yuna up, carrying her bridal style over towards the make-up mirror. Your sudden heroics caused the unexpecting girl to yelp out in surprise, shocked at the sudden shift or impact her words had seemed to have in unlocking your boldness. She quickly held on tight however, enjoying your display of strength.

You planted your right arm firmly under her knees, freeing your hand and using it to toss the chair in front of the mirror to the side, freeing up all of the space in front of it. Yuna licked her lips at the performance you were putting on, and as soon as you put her down facing you in front of the mirror, she decided that this time it was her turn to hold you tight instead of you holding her tight. Her hand had found her way over to your cock, wrapping tightly around it, slowly stroking it back and forth while looking you into your eyes. Her head nodded in the same rhythm as her hand stroked you, causing your breathing to become louder. You weren't about to stop this momentum with a light handjob, and put your both hands on her shoulders, turning her around to face the mirror.

"I'm going to show you just how pretty you look when I'm fucking your brains out, babygirl." You shot back, taking the initiative on the teasing. Yuna's eyes were big, surprised from you spinning her around, and you could see them clearly in the reflection of the mirror. Upon hearing your provocation, she smirked back at you, as if to challenge you. Her eyes were clearly expecting great things from you, but her mouth made it even clearer, asking you to "make me fucking scream." She places her arms onto the counter of the makeup table in front of the mirror, stabilizing herself, arching her back for you as if she knew what to expect.

Your hands planted themselves firmly onto her wide hips, grasping her tightly with your fingers digging into her skin. You pulled her ass a little closer to you, causing her to arch her back further towards you, to which she playfully accepted and wiggled her hips at you, as if to invite you in. You placed your gift-wrapped cock against her mound, sliding it slowly up and down her entrance. You were teasing her, waiting for her to grow impatient for your moment to strike. Her smirk eventually turned into a frown, waiting for you to put yourself inside of her.

"Stop teasing me, Y/N. Start fu-" she had started to say, intending to finish her sentence with "cking me!". Unfortunately for her, you felt like the perfect time to strike would be right as she started saying fuck, causing her voice to grow louder, and scream out further with "UUUUUUUUUUUUUCK". You slammed your hips against her ass with full force, jamming the entire length and girth of your cock into her petite, drenched with anticipation, pristine pussy. Her eyes rolled back into her head, feeling the warmth of your cock pulse inside of her, and you weren't about to let up. Her moans were varying in pitch, her breathing unable to keep up with her voice, as you pulled your cock back until only the tip remained, instantly slamming back into her wet cunt.

"Ugh, ungghh nghhh, FUCK." Yuna kept moaning, unable to lower her voice, and you began to wonder whether or not she'd be heard outside of this room. She was beginning to hunch forward, unable to support herself through your rough slamming of her thin body, so you decided to take a chance and lend her a hand. You moved your left hand from her hips over to her stomach, pulling it closer to you, and your right hand all the way up, around her neck. You put some light pressure on the sides of her neck, before gripping her towards you, and into your body. You placed your head right next to hers, pulling her upwards to you, her arms now too far away from the make-up table to reach, causing her eyes to open, looking surprised at what was happening. She looked into your eyes through the mirror, and you whispered into her ears.

"I promised you I would show you how pretty you looked, so look. I want you to see the goddess that I see when I'm fucking you." you growled in a low, whispering voice, commanding her to follow your lead. She purred, biting her underlip and nodding slowly at you, looking straight ahead as you released the tension on your elbow, continuing to hold your hand around her neck but supporting her arch as you resumed your pounding. You enjoyed the feeling of control you had over her body in this position, but you couldn't help but feel that a slight shift could give you even more access to her weak spots. Her arms were dangling behind her, grabbing onto whatever part of you she could hold on to, but you had better usage in mind for them. You moved your left hand from her stomach onto her left wrist, grabbing it firmly, and once holding tight, did the same with your right. You had stopped pounding for these few seconds to properly get everything in place, causing the girl to look at you through the mirror and ask you "What's wrong? Why did you stop, babe?"

Her calling you babe again ignited something deep inside of you, and you addressed her concern. "I'm going to start really fucking you now." You touted, like a stone-cold killer wanting to intimidate their target. Her eyes panicked, darting to meet yours.

"What do you mean, really fucking me? Hey, wait, what do you-" She tried to ask of you, her arms now bent back behind her as you pulled on them, before you cut her off, slamming your cock so hard inside of her she stumble forwards, her hips getting pressed against the high make-up table, forcing her to lower her stomach onto it, which pulled back into a beautiful curved arch. The tension you forced upon her pushed all the air out of her lungs as she heaved and moaned out of pleasure, still looking at your and her reflection in the mirror. Her mouth was wide open, her tongue clearly showing, as the tip of her eyebrows pushed together into her forehead. She was trying to say something but having trouble pushing it out.

"Cu-... Cum! Fuck, cumming!" She yelled as loud as she could, and you felt her tight walls gripping your cock, making moving harder. Her hips moved upwards, as she was now standing on her toes, her legs trembling through your relentless siege of her womb, but you gave her no reprieve. You kept pounding, even picking up the pace when you felt her cum, like a man possessed by her sex-fueled body. You kept increasing the tension on her arms, pulling her back further and further.

"Nghhh, you're gonna... fucking... break my back! FUCK, ngghhh, don't! Don't stop OHHH" She moaned, her voice cracking as she begged you to continue. You hadn't cum yet, and you had no intention of stopping before you did. You were getting close and Yuna felt it. She used whatever force she had left in her body to push her hips into yours, grinding your cock up and down while you pounded deeper and deeper.

"Fuck, Yuna, I'm gonna cum for you!" You grunted out, moaning behind her, feeling your climax near. Her eyes elated, a slight smile formed, instantly pounded away into submission by your cock, before Yuna started pleading with you.

"Cum for me! Cum deep inside me please! PLEASE please please please-" She begged, a submissive little slut begging for your seed, which was just enough to send you over the edge. You didn't want to cum without her however, and decided to make one last play before reaching the finish line. You leaned forwards, playing on the knowledge you had gotten from what she liked earlier this evening, opening your mouth and protruding your tongue, licking her spine from as far down to the base you could move upwards. She started twitching upon feeling your spit on her back, soon followed by her legs twitching and her pussy tightening. If this wasn't enough to tell you your gamble was a success, her screaming "Yes!" sure was. Your cock pulsed, shooting load after load into the condom inside of her, her walls vibrating rhythmically, as you took in this sensation, almost unable to keep yourself standing during.

After you came, you pulled out of her and took a few steps back. Yuna was now standing on her toes, her entire upper body laying on the make-up table, and her head had turned to face you, but her eyes were momentarily closed. You took in the sight of the half-passed out, fucked silly girl, before dropping back into the couch, taking a seat and a much needed breather.

Yuna had heard you falling down onto the couch, causing her to open her eyes and look towards you. She picked herself up with whatever strength she had, stumbling towards you and falling down onto the couch next to you. She was laying on her stomach, her ass up, red from you crashing into her.

She tilted her head upwards and looked at you, satisfied with your performance and proud of herself for picking you out. Her feet were up in the air, kicking like a giddy schoolgirl, before forming a circle with her left thumb and index finger wrapping around the part of the condom dividing your tip and your cum. She squeezed tight, cutting off any flow, then pulled the condom off of your dick carefully so as not to leak a single drop of cum. She tied a knot at the bottom of the condom to make sure its contents were safe. You looked on as she did this, while her eyes focused on your groin, impressed with the fact that she still had any energy left.

"A souvenir to remind me of you." She murmured, loud enough for you to hear, before grabbing a Ziploc bag and pen that had been lying on the table all evening long, placing your condom inside and writing your name in it and zipping it closed.

"Thank you." You spoke up to her, still unable to believe any of this happened. "This was a once in a lifetime experience for me." You continued, grateful to have been given this chance. Yuna looked back up at you, her head ever so slightly tilted sideways, puzzled at your remark.

"Are you coming to any of our other shows?" She asked you in response, suddenly changing the topic.

"Ehm, actually, I'm coming to see you at your show in two days as well." You replied back ever so confused. You thought she must have felt burdened by your remark and just wanted to get this over with while still being polite.

She smirked the same devious smile you gave her when you pounded the life out of her, and in less than a second had thrown her entire mouth over your cock, her tongue wrapping around your shaft from tip to base, sucking and slurping hard, licking every inch before releasing you with a pop.

"You'll have to be clean for that show too." She taunted you, her voice daring, playful and bubbly all at the same time. "And I wouldn't be so sure about that ‘once in a lifetime’ part." She smiled seductively, her eyes wide open staring deep into your soul. "Your dick tastes nice after you've made me cum, after all."

#Itzy smut #Yuna smut #Shin Yuna smut #Male reader #kpop smut #m reader #yuna x reader #smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction

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