#thank u my loyal friend

[gomacave]

im drawing blk materia sfkr comics again<3 rhe world is healing

[calvins-dad]

my family has insisted on watching percy jackson and i do think that having to sit through something with your family that you were unhealthily obsessed with as a kid is hell on earth. my sister’s like “ugh clarisse is so annoying” she doesn’t even know about clarisse and silena and the battle of new york…

[d1stalker]

Origin [Logan Howlett]

Summary: Two people, one shared past, and decades apart.

Warnings: fem!reader, angst, fluff, longing, things get bad before they get better! WC: 14k - MASTERLIST

A/N: there are plot points that are inspired by Logan's origin story (thank u marvelwiki), but they are so non-canon compliant its funny so don't call me out tyyy 😙

----

Before he was known as Logan, or as Wolverine, he was James. 

Your James. 

—

It’s quiet in the Howlett estate, the kind of stillness that only comes when everyone has long retired for the night. But while the rest of the mansion sleeps, you remain wide awake. Dressed in your nightgown and nestled under the blankets, you glance at the small, brass pocketwatch resting on your bedside table. The hands read 10:22 PM. Any minute now, you think to yourself. 

Then, like clockwork, you hear it—a faint knock on your door. Three slow, deliberate taps, followed by two quick ones. The secret signal never fails to make you smile. You spring from the bed, feet softly padding across the floor as you hurry to the door. You open it as quietly as possible, your grin widening the moment you see who’s waiting on the other side.

James.

He stands there, dark tousled hair and that familiar mischievous smile that always manages to light up the dim hallway. You’ve known him your entire life, growing up together under the roof of the Howlett estate. Your parents, both loyal servants to the Howlett family, were fortunate enough to be granted permission raise you alongside their son.

From the moment you could walk, you and James were inseparable, sharing countless adventures in the woods, running across the estate’s gardens, and whispering secrets to one another under moonlit skies.

"About time," you whisper, teasing him with a playful glint in your eyes. "You really know how to keep a lady waiting, don’t you?"

A soft snort escapes his lips as he grabs your hand, pulling you gently into the hallway. "My deepest apologies, M’lady," he replies with mock formality, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. "I had to... attend to urgent business in the necessary."

You snicker, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "Ah, I see. Was it a fulfilling experience, sir Howlett?"

He glances over his shoulder, rolling his eyes with exaggerated exasperation, though you catch the small smirk tugging at his lips. He doesn’t respond, but his silence confirms everything. It was.

The rest of the trip is quiet, the two of you moving stealthily through the darkened corridors, careful not to disturb anyone or draw unwanted attention. After all, your mother would certainly disapprove of such late-night rendezvous. It is improper, she would say.

But what choice did you have? The day offered no time for moments like this. You were busy training to take over as the next chief maid, learning the endless routines of the household, while James spent his time with his family or other highborn friends. It was only after hours, when the mansion finally settled, that the two of you could steal away for these secret meetings.

Finally, you reach the gardens. The crisp night air greets you as you slip away from any prying eyes. There’s a familiar sense of peace here, among the fragrant flowers and the towering trees that shield you from the world. James leads you to your usual spot, a stone bench tucked beneath the shadow of the hedges. Wordlessly, he slips off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders before taking a dramatic bow.

"To keep you warm, M’lady," he says softly.

"Hush, James," you laugh, finding his antics endearing. 

You’re grateful, especially as the cool night air nips at your exposed skin. The nightgown, while comfortable, offers little protection against the chill. You pull his jacket tighter around yourself, then pat the empty spot next to you, gesturing to him to sit, to which he does.

“How was your day?" you prompt.

James sighs, leaning back on the bench, his hand casually resting behind you as he stares up at the sky. "Same old, same old," he starts, a familiar twinge of annoyance creeping into his voice. "You know how it is. Dinners with my parents, listenin’ to old men talk about businesses I'll never care about, trying not to fall asleep while they drone on about investments or land expansions. It’s all so posh."

You stifle a giggle, nudging him playfully with your elbow. "Posh? You sound like you're living the dream."

He rolls his eyes dramatically. "If by 'dream,' you mean sitting there pretending to care while wonderin’ how quickly I can escape to see you, then yeah, it's an absolute dream," he quips sarcastically.

Sniggering, you bring your hand up to your forehead, acting distressed. "Oh, how tragic. The poor Lord James Howlett, trapped in a world of lavish dinners and fancy wine. Whatever will you do?"

"Mock me all you want, but it’s unbearable," he groans, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I hate it. All the stuffy clothes, the fake smiles, the way everyone acts like they're better than everyone else." He pauses for a moment, then glances sideways at you. "You're the only real thing here."

The sincerity in his words makes your heart flutter, and you’re suddenly grateful for the darkness hiding the faint blush creeping up your cheeks. Looking away, you try to play it off. "Well, if that’s the case, I guess I should charge you for my company," you tease coyly.

He lets out a huff of amusement, shaking his head. "I'll pay whatever price you want.”

There's a pause as you both sit in comfortable silence. Just then, a soft breeze sweeps through the garden, catching the edges of your nightgown and fanning it up slightly. Before you can even react, he swiftly moves his jacket from your shoulders to your lap, covering your legs. His hand lingers, making sure you're covered before he hastily wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you close against him.

The warmth from his body contrasts with the cool air, and you can't help but laugh softly at his sudden behaviour. "Wow, you really are a gentleman, James."

He tenses slightly, his grip on your shoulder loosening as he looks away, clearly flustered. "I—I just didn’t want you to get cold," he mumbles, his usual confidence faltering.

You smile at how shy he suddenly seems, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Thank you. It’s sweet."

For a brief second, he says nothing, but you can feel the way his heartbeat picks up just a little. Then, almost too quietly, he mutters, "I’d do anythin’ for you."

Your breath catches in your throat, and you tilt your head to look up at him. But you can’t respond, because he clears his throat, looking down at you with a small, sheepish smile. "What about you? Any exciting adventures in the life of a future chief maid?"

Grinning, you recognize his attempt to shift the conversation, and decide to let it go for now. "Oh, you know, the usual. A thrilling day of dusting, folding linens, and trying not to spill tea on your mother’s favourite rug."

He chuckles, pulling you a little closer. "Sounds way more exciting than my day."

You hum in acknowledgement, letting the moment linger. Neither of you speak for a bit, just relishing being in each other’s presence. 

"So, do tell," you say after a while, breaking the silence, "if you could get away from all the fancy dinners and boring conversations, what would you do?"

He smiles slightly, his gaze still fixed on the star-filled sky. "I’d leave. Go far away from here, maybe somewhere quiet. Live in the countryside, where no one cares about wealth or titles." His eyes drop to meet yours. "Maybe you’d come with me."

You laugh gently. "And who would take care of your family if we both ran off?"

Shrugging, his expression grows more serious. "They don’t need me. They need someone who’ll do what they want—someone to follow in their footsteps. That’s never been me."

There’s a weight in his words, and you feel a pang of sympathy for him. You’re about to respond, to tell him you understand more than he realizes, when—

BANG.

Your body stiffens instantly, heart beginning to pound in your chest as you straighten up, eyes wide.

"What the hell was that?" James asks sharply. He turns to you, his face mirroring the confusion and unease you're feeling.

Shaking your head, you swallow the lump that’s forming in your throat. "It sounded like a gunshot."

The two of you stare at each other for a beat, then, right when you’re going to speak again, you hear it—his mother’s scream. It’s high-pitched, panicked, and it sends a jolt of fear through you both.

"Help!" she shrieks from inside the mansion. "James, help!"

Without a word, you bolt to your feet, the peaceful night forgotten as you rush back inside. Your heart is racing as your bare feet fly across the grass, nightgown fluttering behind you. James is ahead of you, moving fast, his expression shifting from confusion to pure fear.

As you reach the back entrance, your mind races with possibilities, none of them good. You burst through the door into the hallway, your breathing laboured from the sudden sprint. Something is terribly wrong.

"Mother!" He calls, his voice sharp with panic as he leads the way toward the main staircase. You follow close behind, anxiety coiling tight in your chest.

Once you get to the bottom of the stairs, you hear footsteps—heavy, hurried—and then you see her. Mrs. Howlett, wide-eyed and pale, comes hurrying down from the upper floor, clutching the banister for support. Her hands are trembling.

"James!" she cries. "Your father—he’s been shot!"

The boy beside you freezes, face going white. "What?" he breathes, disbelief etched into every syllable.

"He—he was in his study, and I—I heard the gunfire. I—I don’t know what happened. I don’t know who—" Her voice breaks, and tears stream down her face as she struggles to speak. "We need to get help!"

He doesn’t waste another second, taking off up the stairs, his long strides making quick work of the distance. You trail after him. How could this happen? Who could’ve done this?

When you reach the second floor, you see the study door slightly ajar, light spilling out into the dark hallway. James' hand wavers over the doorknob for only a moment before pushing the it open wide.

Inside, the scene is worse than you imagined.

There, slumped over his desk, is Mr. Howlett. His once pristine office now looks chaotic—papers scattered, a window broken, and blood, so much blood. A crimson stain is spreading across his shirt.

"Father," James chokes out, rushing to his side, his hands shaking as he reaches for him.

You stand paralyzed for a moment, the sight rendering you speechless, but then the adrenaline kicks in, and you move further into the room. Your mind is screaming at you to do something, anything, but all you can do is watch as James desperately tries to wake his father, calling his name again and again.

Trying to make sense of the horrific scene, your attention is dragged away by the sound of footsteps shuffling behind you. Thomas Logan, the groundskeeper, stumbles in, his movements clumsy, his face twisted with drunkenness. His bloodshot eyes are manic, and in his trembling hand, he’s clutching a gun—the same one that must have been used to end Mr. Howlett’s life.

"Thomas!" Mrs. Howlett yelps. "What are you doing?"

James turns sharply, still kneeling beside his father’s body, his expression hardening immediately. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Thomas lets out a low, slurred laugh, staggering further into the room. His eyes flick between you, James, and Mrs. Howlett, but his focus remains hazy. "I’ve had enough of this, enough of all of it," he mutters, waving the gun in the air. "Your precious mother thought she could keep the truth from you. But it’s time you knew the truth, boy."

"What truth?" The younger man demands harshly.

Swaying on his feet, he points the gun directly at James, his finger twitching dangerously on the trigger. "I’m not just the groundskeeper, you idiot," he snarls venomously, "I’m your damn father."

It’s as if the room has been put on pause. You feel the air leave your lungs, your mind scrambling to make sense of what you just heard. Glancing at your friend, you see the disbelief wash over his features, his eyes widening with shock, denial.

"No," he whispers, shaking his head, backing away slightly. "You're lying. You’re drunk."

But the older man just laughs, the sound hollow and bitter. "You think John Howlett was your father? That man never wanted you! He raised you because he had to, not because you were his. You’re mine, boy. My flesh and blood,” he jerks his head in the direction of Mrs. Howlett. “Go ahead, ask your mama."

You hear Mrs. Howlett begin to blubber in the background at the accusation, but your attention is solely on the boy in front of you.

Betrayal is written all over his face.

His breath quickens, and his hands clench into fists at his sides. You want to reach out to him, concern puling you forward, but then he lets out a scream—a sound so full of pain that you stop in your tracks.

"James!" you cry, but he doesn’t seem to hear you. His eyes squeeze shut, and his body convulses, as though something inside him is tearing him apart from the inside out.

The sickening sound of skin breaking fills your ears, and bone claws shoot out from his knuckles. They gleam in the dim light of the room, sharp and lethal. The sight of them is nauseating, but you’re unable to look away as James blinks, gazing down at his hands, dumbfounded.

"What—" he rasps, his chest heaving. "What’s happening to me?"

“What the hell is this?” Thomas sneers in disgust.  He stumbles, reaching for the wall to steady himself. “Figures... Of course my son’s a freak.”

“You were always a fuck-up,” he continues in his drunken rage. “Useless, soft... a disappointment from the start. Just like your mother. Look at you now, boy.”

“I’m not your boy,” James snarls through gritted teeth, rage building inside him. His eyes flash dangerously. It’s as if something inside him has snapped, some deep, instinctual part of him that has been lying dormant, waiting for this very moment.

“You’re right. You’re no son of mine. Just a goddamn mistake. Should’ve left you in the dirt with your—"

Before he can finish, a roar rips from James’s throat. So raw, so animalistic, you get goosebumps. His entire body tenses, muscles coiled, and then, with terrifying speed, he lunges.

In an instant, his claws sink deep into Thomas’s chest with a thunk. The force of the blow sends the older man crashing back, disbelief and agony seizing his face as blood sprays across the room, spattering the walls and floor. His body thrashes, his hands weakly grasping at his son’s wrists, but there’s no strength left in him. 

A gurgling gasp bubbles from his throat, and then it's over. He collapses to the ground, lifeless, as James stands over him, claws retreating back into his skin. 

"James!" Mrs. Howlett screams, her voice piercing. "What have you done?!"

You don’t know how to react. You can’t process it, can’t breathe. All you know is that you need to get out of here—get James out of here, away from this nightmare before it consumes him. Without thinking, you rush to his side, grabbing his bloodied hand.

"We have to go!" you say urgently.

His eyes dart to you, frantic and unfocused but he doesn’t resist as you pull him toward the door. His mother's cries echo behind you, but you can’t stop, can’t look back.

You run—both of you—through the hallways, out the back door, and into the dark of night. The wind whips around you, stinging your face, but you don’t stop. You run until your legs burn, until you’ve entered the surrounding forest, and the Howlett estate is nothing but a distant shadow behind you. 

All the while, James’s hand stays locked in yours.

Branches scratch everywhere, at your arms, your face, and the underbrush tugs at your clothes as if trying to hold you back, but you push on. Only after the first light of dawn begins to creep in, does the exhaustion hit. Bodies aching and bruised, the two of you collapse beside a small stream. 

You’re on your back, catching you breath, when you tilt to your head to look over at your friend. He’s sitting down, with his hands out in front of him, leering at them. He struggles for air, his breaths coming in short, panicked bursts, and his clothes are torn, stained with blood—his father’s blood, Thomas’ blood. 

His claws are long retracted, but the scars of where they came out of his skin are there, fresh. 

"James," you whisper, but he doesn’t respond. Slowly, you crawl over to his side, pain flaring with each movement. When you reach him, you sit on your knees, looking up at him, trying to meet his gaze. You repeat his name, more firmly this time.

He finally looks at you, but he’s broken. His lips tremble as he opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a choked, almost inaudible, "What did I do?"

Your heart aches for him. Reaching out, you gently take one of his bloodied hands in yours, and as soon as your skin touches his, he flinches, pulling back slightly. "I killed him." he whispers, more to himself than anything. “I—I didn’t mean to, I swear I didn’t mean to!"

"Hey, listen to me," you say. "You didn’t know. You couldn’t have known this would happen."

"I killed him," he repeats. "I killed Thomas. I—" He glances down at his hands, at the scars along his knuckles, and his expression crumples completely. “He was my father.”

You don’t know what to say, don’t know how to fix this, but you know you have to try, so you wrap your arms around him. At first, he stiffens, but then he collapses to the ground, pulling you down with him. You land on top, your chest pressed against his as the weight of your bodies crashes into the soft earth. He squeezes you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded, his face buried in your shoulder as his breath comes in short, broken sobs.

"I didn’t mean to do it," he repeats, the words muffled against your skin. "Something just changed inside me. What am I? What am I turning into?"

“Hush," you whisper, moving one of your hands to brush his hair. "Look at me. Just breathe, okay? You’re not alone in this. We’ll figure it out together, I promise."

His arms tighten around you, pulling you even closer. It’s overwhelming, but you don’t push him away. Instead, you let him hold you as tightly as he needs, your fingers gently stroking the back of his head, trying to console him in any way you can.

"I’m a monster," he whimpers. "What if I hurt you, too?"

"You won’t," you affirm, lips brushing against his ear as you whisper. "You’re not a monster. This… this thing that happened, it doesn’t change who you are. You’re still you."

Beneath you, his body shakes, overcome by emotion he holds onto you. Your forehead is pressed to against his, your breath mingling with his while you continue to whisper reassurances, telling him over and over that it’s going to be okay, that he’s not alone.

Minutes pass, maybe longer—you lose track of time as you lie there together. Gradually, his cries begin to quiet, his breathing slowing as the storm inside him starts to subside. His grip on you loosens slightly, but he doesn’t let go fully, still cradling you in his arms.

Shifting, you raise your head to look at him. His eyes are red, his face pale, but he’s calmer. You start to pull yourself off of him, but as you're standing up, he grasps your hand again, and he looks at you with a tired, grateful expression, squeezing it gently as if to say everything he can’t put into words yet.

Then, you continue. Hand in hand, you move deeper into the forest. And finally, after a few more hours, you notice something in the distance. Through the trees, there are rooftops, small and clustered together, their chimneys trailing thin lines of smoke into the evening sky.

“A town,” you whisper, the first word you’ve spoken in hours.

He follows your gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the sight of the small mining town nestled in the valley.

In it, the people’s faces are etched with lines of hard labour and even harder lives, but still, you know you’ll be safe there. 

—

Initially, it’s difficult—this new life you and James have carved out is a far cry from the comforts of the Howlett estate. The town you’ve settled in is rough and unpolished. You both share a modest shack on the outskirts, a place that feels foreign and strange, but over time, it starts to become home.

He finds work in the mines almost immediately. The foreman takes one look at him, his broad shoulders and strong arms, and practically shoves a shovel in his hand without asking any questions. The job is tough, but it suits him. 

Every evening, he comes back to you covered in soot and dirt, his hands rough and calloused, his face lined with exhaustion. You can see the toll the work takes on him, how his body aches, but there’s something else too—a measure of peace that wasn’t there before. It’s as if he’s found a way to silence the chaos inside him, at least for a little while.

It’s not long before everyone in town begins to call him Logan, a name he offers with indifference when asked.

A new identity. 

Logan is a man who works hard, who keeps to himself, who doesn’t ask for anything more than a paycheck at the end of the week. 

Logan is a man who doesn’t need anyone, who can survive on his own. 

To you, he’s still James. 

In the quiet moments, when it’s just the two of you, he lets down the walls, lets you see through the façade. And when you whisper his name—James—he closes his eyes as if that one word alone soothes something deep in his soul.

After weeks of watching him silently carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, you offer him a rag to wipe his face as he sits down at the small table you’ve cobbled together from scraps. He takes it without a word, rubbing at the grime on his skin.

“You don’t have to do this forever, you know,” you say softly, leaning against the table as he tosses the rag aside. "There’s more to life than breaking your back underground."

He glances at you. "It’s all I’m good for now."

"You’re good for more than that," you reply walking up to him, reaching for his hand. He lets you take it, like he always does. "You can’t let what happened define you."

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he gives your hand a small squeeze, his eyes drifting to the floor as he mumbles, "What’s inside me… it’s different. You don’t know what it’s like."

You don’t argue. How could you?

The changes in him, the way his strength has grown, how his senses have sharpened, it all impacts him. He can hear things no one else can, smell the rain long before it falls, and even in complete darkness, he sees as clearly as if it were day. His powers are evolving, changing him.

But you know, deep down, that the man sitting in front of you is your friend—your James—no matter what he’s become.

You’ve seen him wrestle with the fear of what he might turn into, the fear of losing control, but you also see the man who leans into your touch, who lets you bandage his hands after long days in the mines, who presses his forehead to yours when the nights grow too heavy with silence.

And as your time together in the town goes by, there is a shift.

It starts with small things—a lingering glance, a brush of your fingers as you pass each other in the kitchen, the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

Then, it moves to bigger gestures. When you’d pack him his lunch fo the day, you slip in a small piece of parchment with a heart hastily drawn on it, or at night time, instead of falling asleep backs turned toward each other, awkwardly trying to ignore whatever tension is brewing, you fall asleep in his arms, and wake up the same way.

It gets to a point where you can neither of you can deny it. 

You’ve fallen in love.

—

It’s late, and you’re sitting by the fire outside the small cabin, waiting for him to return from one of his now-frequent disappearances into the woods. You used to worry about where he went, afraid he was distancing himself from you, so one night you followed him. What you found took your breath away—him, sitting out on a ledge, with some wild animals surrounding him. There was something in him that they must have recognized, a mutual respect that seemed to transcend anything human.

Since then, you’ve let him go without asking questions, trusting that those nights in the woods bring him the peace he can’t find anywhere else. But tonight, when he returns, he’s different. He doesn’t just brush past you to head inside. Instead, he sits beside you by the fire.

You turn to him, about to ask if everything’s alright, but the words catch in your throat when his hand cups your jaw. His grip is gentle, hesitant, as if he’s afraid to break the moment, but in his eyes, you find a longing, a yearning, that mirrors your own. 

His thumb brushes over your cheek, and for the first time in a long time, there’s no hesitation in his movements. Your heart stutters, and when he pulls you closer, you let him. His lips meet yours, careful at first, but as you kiss him back, you feel the stress drain from his body. 

The kiss deepens, slow, tender, and everything you’ve ever wanted.

—

The next few years are a kind of peaceful bliss you never expected. With each passing day, you and Logan seem to fall deeper into each other, the bond you share growing stronger, more intimate, like you’ve finally found the rhythm of the life you were always meant to have together.

Mornings are your favourite. He always wakes up first, moving quietly so as not to wake you, and he’s gotten into the habit of making you breakfast. You always sneak out of bed and snake your arms around him from behind, pressing your face into his back as he grumbles about you not getting enough sleep. “You’re always up too early,” he’d say. 

“I like being up with you,” you’d mumble in response, and he’ll turn around, his hands coming up to cradle your face, his eyes soft and full of that quiet, steady love he’s never really put into words. And then he’d kiss you like he has all the time in the world, even if he has to head over to the mines. 

On your days off from your job at the pub, you’ll spend hours together, finding little ways to enjoy the simplicity of your life. He will sometimes take you out to the woods behind the house, where you’d walk the trails together. He points out the different wildlife, the plants you don’t recognize, and you tease him about being a mountain man. He’d smirk, giving you that low, raspy chuckle that never fails to make your heart seize in your chest, and tug you closer to his side.

In the evenings, oftentimes, you sit together while you knit, something that started as a hobby but quickly became one of your preferred pastimes. He always pretends to be uninterested, but he’ll watch you anyway. “You’re getting good at that,” he’d say gruffly. 

“Want me to make you a sweater?” You smirk, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he’d grumble, but you can tell he’s secretly pleased at the idea.

The town itself becomes part of your life together, too. You’ve made friends with the locals, joining a small knitting club. If he has time, Logan drops by the pub on your shifts just to check in, sitting at the bar with a beer and watching you work. When your gazes connect very now and then, he gives you that look—the one that says he’s proud of you, that he’s content.

“We’ve got a good thing here,” he murmurs one night, holding you close. 

“Yeah,” you agree softly, kissing his cheek. “We really do.”

But, all good things must come to an end. 

The mining town, though small and isolated, isn’t immune to the tensions that fester beneath the surface. Harsh conditions, grueling work, and the endless grind wear people down, turning frustration into anger, and anger into violence. Fights break out often, especially in the saloon after a long day when men try to drown their sorrows in whiskey. You both have learned to keep your distance from such skirmishes, knowing nothing good ever comes from getting involved.

Still, one night, as you return home from your evening shift at the pub, you hear the unmistakable sounds of a brawl breaking out in the middle of the street. Shouts reverberate through the cold air, followed by the crash of breaking glass. Your heart races as you recognize the deep, guttural growl cutting through the noise—a sound you know all too well.

On impulse, you rush toward the commotion, dread pooling in your stomach. You know this won’t end well. Not here. Not for him.

When you reach the scene, your worst fears are confirmed. He stands in the centre of the chaos, fists clenched at his sides. Two men circle him, their faces twisted with drunken aggression, goading him. The small crowd that’s gathered seems almost entertained, too caught up in the spectacle to understand the true danger festering.

“James!” you shout, trying to get his attention, but to no avail.

One of the men—a burly miner you’ve seen around town a few times, always looking for trouble—lunges forward, his fist swinging. The punch connects with your man’s jaw, hard enough to stagger him back, but instead of falling, you see something shift in Logan’s expression. His eyes darken, his jaw tightens. Then, his claws slowly begin sliding out of his knuckles.

The crowd gasps, and the laughter dies immediately.

“Don’t come any closer,” he growls, his voice low and full of warning. His chest heaves as he struggles to keep control, but you can see the fire burning behind his eyes. He’s on the edge, teetering dangerously close to losing himself.

But the miner, too drunk and furious to notice or care, spits on the ground. “Freak!” he slurs, venom lacing every word. “You think you scare me?”

He charges at Logan again, fists swinging recklessly. Your heart leaps into your throat, and you scream for him to stop. But it’s too late. Logan tries to pull back, to stop what’s about to happen, but the man is too close, too fast.

Everything slows down, the world moving in fractured seconds. Claws slice through the air, meeting flesh with a sickening thud. The miner gasps, his eyes widening in shock as he stumbles, clutching at his chest where the claws have sunk deep. Blood blooms around his hands, staining the dirt beneath his feet.

And suddenly, you’re thrust back into the past. You see James as he was all those years ago, his claws dripping with blood after killing Thomas. The memory crashes into you—the look of fear on his face, the horror in his eyes, the way he stumbled back, realizing what he’d done.

Just like now.

Logan’s eyes go wide, his expression mirroring that same devastation. He steps back, staring at the miner who crumples to the ground, gasping for breath. What follows is a deafening silence, the air thick with shock and disbelief. The townspeople that had been so eager for a show now stand frozen, eyes wide, faces pale.

The man gasps one last breath, then goes still.

Logan stares at the body at his feet, his claws still extended, still dripping with the man’s blood. His chest heaves, his breath shallow, and he mutters under his breath, barely audible, "Oh god… Not again."

You rush to his side, grabbing his arm in desperation. "Come on, let’s go home."

He doesn’t move. He’s locked in place, staring at the man he’s just killed. His hands tremble, the claws still out, and you can see the raw pain in his eyes as the reality of what’s just happened sinks in.

"I didn’t mean to," he whispers again, his voice cracking. "I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…"

—

That night, while you're sleeping, Logan makes his decision.

And when you wake up the next day, the space beside you is cold.

The shack feels too quiet, too still. 

All you can do is stare at the empty spot in your bed. You tell yourself that maybe he’s outside, chopping wood or he’s already left for work. But deep down, you know. 

Throwing on your boots, you don’t bother to change out of your nightclothes, and rush outside. His name is the first thing out of your mouth, sharp and desperate. "James! Logan!" Your voice barrels through the small yard, bouncing off the trees and fading into the cool morning air. 

There’s no answer.

Panic grips you as you search the familiar places—around the shack, the small trail he likes to take into the woods, by the creek where he often spends time when he needs to clear his head. There’s no sign of him.

No footprints, no lingering scent. Nothing.

The townspeople stare as you move through the streets. They know what happened. They saw the claws, the blood. And now, they see you—a reminder of the violence that tore through their quiet lives. But you don’t care about their judgment right now. You’re too focused looking for him, too frantic to worry about the whispers that follow in your wake.

"Have you seen him?" you ask one of the miners who had once shared a drink with him, but he shakes his head and pulls away from you, muttering something under his breath. Everybody keeps their distance, their faces closed off, avoiding your gaze. 

By the time the sun climbs higher in the sky, the truth settles in your chest like a heavy stone. He left. You wander the streets a little longer, until exhaustion finally forces you back to the shack.

He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t even leave a note. The man who you shared your life with, who you fell in love with, is gone—and he isn’t coming back.

In the days that follow, everything changes. The people who once greeted you with a nod or a smile now avert their eyes when you walk by. They speak in hushed tones, voices thick with suspicion and disdain. 

Nobody cares that you had nothing to do with what happened in the street that night. To them, you’re guilty by association.

It starts slowly, but the gossip spreads like wildfire. Saying thinks like: you knew what Logan was all along, that you hid his secret, allowed him to kill their men. Their anger turns to you, and before long, you become the pariah—cut off, unwelcome, the person responsible for the death of one of their own.

The day they decide to exile you is gray and heavy, the sky thick with the promise of rain. No one has the decency to say it to your face. Instead, you wake to a note slipped under your door, the word leave scrawled across it in angry, uneven letters.

You pack what little belongings you have—a few clothes, some keepsakes from the life you left behind at the Howlett estate—and sling a small bag over your shoulder. Then, you walk away without looking back.

Stretching out before you is a desolate, abandoned looking road. Your legs ache with every step, your feet blistering inside your boots, but you don’t stop. The memories of Logan, the town, the life you tried to build together swirl in your mind.

The sound of a a horse whinnying pulls you from your thoughts, and you turn to see a carriage approaching. The coachman—a man with kind eyes and a weathered face—slows as he pulls alongside you. His voice soft and cautious as he asks, "Need a ride?"

Nodding, you’re too exhausted to respond with words, and climb into the passenger seat. He doesn’t ask many questions, sensing perhaps that you’re a soul in need of silence more than conversation. He drives in quiet companionship, the horses' feet against the dirt the only sound breaking the stillness.

He takes you to the nearest town, dropping you off with a quiet wish for better days ahead. You thank him and give him a few coins. You’re standing on the edge of a new beginning, unsure of where to go next but knowing, with painful certainty, that the past is behind you now.

—

In this new place, you slowly begin to rebuild what you’ve lost. It isn’t easy—there are nights when the loneliness threatens to swallow you whole and days when the weight of losing your best friend feels too much to bear. Still, you find work at a small shop, rent a modest room in the quieter part of town, and painstakingly, you carve out a new existence. 

Though no matter how hard you try to move forward, he’s always there. A shadow, lingering in the corners of your mind. You can’t forget him—the way he looked at you with those intense, searching eyes, the way he held you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world, the way he left without a word. Your entire childhood, your early adulthood, revolved around him. He was the best part of your life. Every moment spent with him was cherished, imprinted in your memory like a brand you can’t erase.

Nights are the hardest. When the world is quiet, and it’s just you and your thoughts, that’s when the ache becomes unbearable. Each night, your mind drifts back to him. You tell yourself it wasn’t his fault—he must have believed he was protecting you by leaving. 

Maybe he thought you would hate him for killing another man with his claws, for unleashing the violence he tried so hard to contain. Maybe he thought you could never forgive him.

But the more you think about it, the more you realize: if he truly believed that, then he didn’t know you at all.

And that hurts. A lot.

You start to feel like him in some ways, burdened by secrets and anger with nowhere to go. More often than not, you slip out of the town in your nightgown and into the nearby forest, hoping the solitude will offer some kind of peace. It doesn’t, not really, but it’s better than suffocating in your room, choking on memories of what was and what could have been.

—

A year passes since the night he left, and you find yourself standing among the trees once again, lost in thought. It’s not fair—none of it is. You lost everything, and for what? Because you loved him? Because you could look past his mutation?

All of the emotions you’ve done a decent job at managing bubble to the surface, a torrent of grief and rage with nowhere to go. Mindlessly, you draw back your fist and slam it into the trunk of a nearby tree. The impact shoots a sharp pain through your arm, but it’s fleeting, drowned out by the rush of anger. You pull back to punch the tree again, harder this time, desperate for some kind of release.

But the tree doesn’t just splinter. It explodes. 

The force of your punch obliterates the trunk, sending shards of wood flying in all directions. You stagger back, staring at the destruction, stunned. What was just a tall, beautiful arbor is now reduced to nothing but rubble, the strength of your blow far beyond anything a normal person could achieve.

Your breath hitches when it dawns on you. You’re standing in the middle of the forest, surrounded by the evidence of your newfound power. You aren’t just grieving the loss of Logan anymore; you’re discovering that you are, just like him, a mutant.

Except, unlike him, you’re alone.

He’s not here to hold you, to help you make sense of what’s happening. He’s not here to run away with you like you once ran away with him. You have no one to share this terrifying revelation with. You have only yourself.

Looking down at your trembling hands, the faint ache in your knuckles nothing compared to the pain in your chest. It’s as if your heart is breaking all over again.

If you had known—if you had discovered this power when he was still with you—would things have been different? Would he have taken you with him? Would you still be together?

You can’t stop the questions, can’t silence the what-ifs that plague you.

Finally, the dam breaks, and you cry.

Pressing your fists against your eyes, you try to stifle the sobs, but it’s no use. The grief crashes over you in waves as the life you tried to build together all plays out in your mind like some twisted, unending loop.

—

The days bleed into one another.

Each is marked by the slow, steady march of time. You continue to live, to survive, but the discovery of your mutant powers changes everything, setting you on a path you had never imagined.

You learn that you can channel energy through your body, whether that be your emotions, or external, and then amplify it for your own gain. It’s a power that protects you, that makes you feel invincible, but the more you use it, the more distant you become from the life you once knew. 

And then there’s the other side of your mutation—the ability to heal others by absorbing their injuries. 

The first time you did it, it was an accident. 

You were closing up shop, and as you walked along the cobblestone roads, you saw a man lying face down. Instinctively, you quickened your pace, and crouched down beside him. Was he drunk? Dead? Gently, almost hesitantly, you reached out, placing your hand on his back with the faint hope that he was simply unconscious. Your intention was simple—just to check if he was breathing, to see if he would stir at your touch.

But the moment your fingers brushed his coat, a violent surge of pain exploded in your mind, like a thunderclap within your skull. The agony was so sudden, so sharp, that it nearly knocked you off your feet. 

It was more than pain—it was as though the man’s suffering had become yours, pulling you into his darkness. Your vision blurred, and for an instant, you could feel it. Blood. Hot and sticky, trickling down your forehead in a slow, steady stream. You raised a trembling hand to wipe it away, expecting to feel the warmth of it on your fingertips.

But there was nothing. No blood. No wound.

Just the phantom sensation of pain that wasn’t your own.

Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the pain vanished. You blinked, gasping for air, trying to steady yourself. When you looked down at the man again, he was stirring, groaning softly. His eyes fluttered open, and he sat up, as if waking from a long sleep. He looked up at you, confused but grateful, oblivious to the power you had just unleashed.

It feels like a curse, the pain of others transferring to you in ways that leave you gasping for breath. But over time, you learn to control it, to take on only as much as you can handle, and to let the rest fade away.

You never stay too long in one place. Town after town, you move, always careful to keep your powers hidden. The people you encounter are kind enough, but you never allow yourself to get close. You can’t afford to—not when the memory of him still haunts you, his absence a constant ache in your heart. 

What if they leave you too?

Every now and then, there are some nights of passion with a stranger, but you never find another lover, never allow yourself to even consider it. 

As the years slip by, and you move through life like a ghost, always on the fringes, never fully there. In the beginning, you don’t notice it—time is something you stopped paying attention to long ago. But then, one day, nearly ten years after he left, you catch sight of yourself in a mirror.

Your reflection stares back at you, unchanged, unmarked by the years that have passed. It’s as if time has forgotten you, leaving you suspended in a state of perpetual youth. This knowledge—that you could live indefinitely—fills you with a sense of purpose you haven’t felt in years.

So, when the First World War breaks out, you volunteer as a nurse, determined to use your abilities to save as many lives as you can. The troops who come to you are broken, their bodies ravaged by the horrors of war. You take their pain into yourself, healing them with a touch, until there is nothing left but faint scars—a reminder of what they have survived.

It’s during the Second World War that you first hear the rumours. Injured men speak in hushed tones of a man they saw—a soldier who seemed invincible, fighting with a ferocity that borders on the inhuman. They talk of claws—long, sharp claws that can cut through anything, and a healing ability that allows him to shrug off injuries that would kill anyone else.

Could it be him? Could he still be out there, after all these years?

You dismiss the thought almost as quickly as it comes. It can’t be. He would be dead by now, just like everyone else from your past. 

He is gone, and you are alone—that’s the truth you’ve come to accept.

—

Somewhere along the way, you meet Charles Xavier. You don’t know how, but he knows you. He knows you’re a mutant—how you helped in the war. And he wants you to join his team.

You’ve spent so long on your own, relying on your powers to survive, that the idea of joining a team feels foreign, almost impossible. But there’s something in his eyes, something in the way he speaks of his vision for the future, that resonates with you. This isn’t just about survival—it’s about making a difference, about using your powers to protect those who can’t protect themselves. 

And, perhaps, it’s also about finding closure.

Maybe you can help mutants who struggle with their identity, like he did. Maybe this time, you can stop them from running away from themselves, the way you wish you could have stopped him.

So you agree.

And when you arrive at the mansion, you’re introduced to the others who will become your teammates—Jean Grey, Scott Summers, Hank McCoy, and Ororo Munroe.

The early days are challenging. Learning to work as a team, to trust one another, isn’t easy, especially for you, after so many years of solitude. But a camaraderie that develops between all of you, and it feels right. You’re no longer just a group of shunned mutants—you’re a family, united by a common goal.

—

This mission is supposed to be simple—investigate a remote facility rumoured to have ties to illegal mutant experimentation. Charles had briefed the team before sending you out, warning that there might be danger but nothing you couldn’t handle as a group. You’ve faced threats before, so when you arrive at the facility, it’s with the usual caution but no real alarm.

The structure looks forsaken at first glance, the exterior covered in years of grime, windows cracked and dark. But as you all approach, something feels wrong. There’s an energy in the air, a hum of activity beneath the surface. You can sense it, and by the looks of the others, they feel it too.

“We should be careful,” Scott mutters lowly as his hand hovers near his visor.

Jean furrows her brows. “I’m sensing...something. There are people here. This place isn’t empty”

Your stomach twists, and once the team cautiously makes its way deeper into the facility, you start to hear it—the muffled sounds of machinery, the low hum of voices, and then...a scream.

You freeze.

You’ve heard that scream before, in the dead of night, in memories you’ve tried to bury.

James.

Without thinking, you push forward, your body moving on instinct as you race toward the source of the sound. The others call after you, but their voices fade into the background as panic claws at your chest.

The scream grows louder, more desperate, until you burst into a large chamber. And there, in the center of the room, suspended in a tank of bubbling liquid, he is.

His body is thrashing against the restraints that bind him, wires and tubes connected to his skin. Machines whir around him, injecting something into his body—something molten, silvery. 

A team of scientists in lab coats and armed guards surround the tank, all of them focused on the cruel procedure unfolding before your eyes.

You can barely breathe. The sight of him, after all these years—being tortured like this is too much. Pain and rage surge through you, and before you realize what’s happening, you’re moving again.

“What the hell are you doing?!” you scream.

The guards whirl toward you, but you’re already on them. The first one goes down with a single blow, your fist connecting with his chest and sending him flying into the wall. You barely register his body crumpling to the floor before you move on to the next. 

Behind you, Jean and Scott rush in, their powers flashing as they help subdue the remaining guards, but your focus is on the man in the tank, whose eyes are squeezed shut in pain, body convulsing. You can’t think straight—you can only feel the overwhelming need to make this stop, to save him before the experiment finishes. 

But it’s too late.

In a roar of destruction, he breaks free from the tank, glass and metal exploding outward in every direction. His eyes are wild, erratic, his mind lost to the pain and the transformation—he’s a force of nature now. A whirlwind of violence and fury.

You try to reach him, but Jean steps forward, her eyes glowing as she raises a hand. “I’m sorry,” she strains. Her telekinetic force slams into him, knocking him off his feet, and his body crumples to the ground, unconscious, the rage finally quieted.

Standing there, panting, your hands are shaking as you stare at his still form. You’re overwhelmed—by the sight of him after so many years, by the pain of seeing him like this, by the fear that you might lose him before you even got him back.

Scott places a hand on your shoulder, his voice gentle. “We need to get him out of here.”

You nod, unable to speak, and together, the team lifts Logan’s unconscious body and carries him out of the facility. The entire time, you keep your eyes on him, terrified that if you look away for even a second, he’ll disappear. When you finally make it back to the jet, Jean lays him on a stretcher, her powers keeping him sedated for the trip back to the X-Mansion. You sit beside him, your hand hovering just above his, too afraid to touch, too afraid to hope.

The jet lifts off, and your mind races with a thousand questions. 

How did he end up here? Why did they do this to him? 

But above all, one thought consumes you: He’s alive.

After all these years, after all the heartache and loss, Logan—James—is still here.

—

He remains unconscious for three days, his body healing from the horrific procedure he endured. You barely leave his side, watching over him as if your presence alone could somehow anchor him back to himself. His breathing is steady, but his face—it’s both exactly the same and entirely foreign to you. He looks like the man you’ve known and loved, but it’s what is on the inside that worries you.

You swallow hard, your gaze tracing the familiar lines on his skin. Where are you, James? you think. Are you still in there?

Jean had done a body scan soon after you brought him back to the mansion, and the results confirmed your worst fears: they’ve bound adamantium to his bones and buried his personality underneath the most powerful brainwashing you’ve ever heard of.

It’s devastating. Whatever relief you’d felt—if any at all—at finding him alive is now eclipsed by the crushing reality of what he’s become.

The day he is scheduled to wake, Charles calls a meeting. The team gathers in the briefing room, and you sit quietly in your chair, replaying everything that led up to this moment.

Following a seemingly endless stretch of silence from you, Charles clears his throat. “If you’re ready, perhaps you could tell us more about your history with him. It might help us understand what we’re dealing with.”

A deep breath fills your lungs as your hands clutch the table’s edge tightly. Talking about him, about everything you’ve been through together, feels like peeling at old wounds that never really healed. But you know it’s necessary. If anyone is going to help him, they need to know the truth.

“I met Logan—James, as I used to call him—over a hundred years ago, when I was very young” you begin, and you can see the surprise ripple through the room at the admission of your age. “We grew up together. My parents were servants at the Howlett estate, and I spent most of my childhood by his side. He was my best friend… and eventually, he became so much more.” Your voice cracks, and you pause for a moment, collecting yourself.

“After a tragedy involving his family, we ran away together. We lived in a small mining town for years, trying to find some semblance of a life, but things fell apart. He left, and I—I spent years trying to forget him, but I never could. He was—is—everything to me."

Jean leans forward. “I can’t imagine how hard this has been for you,” she says softly. “But you need to prepare yourself for the possibility that when he wakes up… he may not be the man you remember, and not just because of how much time passed.”

You look up at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

She hesitates, exchanging a glance with Charles before continuing. “The brainwashing they used on him wasn’t just designed to make him forget. It was meant to strip away his sense of self entirely. His mind was… broken down, piece by piece. What you saw back at the facility—his rage, his lack of control—that’s what’s left of him right now.”

Hank speaks next. “We’ll do everything we can to help him, but Jean’s right. You need to be ready for the possibility that he won’t recognize you. He might not even recognize himself.”

Nodding slowly, your heart sinks further and further with each word. 

“We have tools, ways to work through the brainwashing,” he continues, “but it will take time. And patience.”

“Time,” you echo quietly. “I’ve already waited so long.”

Ororo reaches across the table, her hand hovering near yours. “I know this is overwhelming. But you don’t have to do this alone. We’re here to help.”

“I need to see him,” you whisper, your voice firmer than before. “When he wakes up, I need to be there.”

Charles nods gently. “Of course.”

—

When he finally stirs, it’s not a gentle awakening. His whole body jerks, his head whipping around in wild confusion. His breaths come in sharp, uneven gasps, and his eyes dart frantically across the room, taking in his unfamiliar surroundings, and just as his eyes finally land on you, he freezes.

And for a long moment, neither of you speak.

There’s a lump in your throat, and you wait with a bated breath for some flicker of recognition in his eyes, some sign that he remembers you—that he knows you.

But it never comes.

Instead, his gaze narrows, studying you. “Where the hell am I?” he grunts. “And who are you?”

It hurts more than you expected. You knew this might happen—Jean and Charles had warned you—and you thought you had prepared yourself, but it doesn’t make hearing it any easier. 

He doesn’t remember you. 

“Just take it easy,” you manage to say softly. “You’ve been through a lot, James.”

His eyes flicker with confusion as he shifts in the bed, wincing at the movement. "James?" he questions.

You quickly correct yourself. "Logan."

His hand instinctively goes to his chest, fingers brushing against his side as if testing for wounds that aren’t there anymore. “What is this place?” he asks again. 

“You’re at the X-Mansion,” you explain. “You were... rescued. We brought you here to heal.”

“Rescued.” he repeats dryly. “From what?”

You hesitate, unsure how much to tell him. How do you explain everything—the horrors of Weapon X, the brutal experiments, the torture that nearly destroyed him? You can’t even bring yourself to speak the full truth, not yet. 

“You were taken,” you say carefully. “By people who wanted to use you for something terrible. But we got to you before they could. You’re safe now.”

Logan lets out a short, bitter laugh, though there’s no humour in it. “Safe,” he mutters, his voice low and sarcastic. “Right.” He rubs a hand across his face.

“Why do I feel like I’m missing somethin’?” he mutters, his irritation growing. “Like... like there’s something important I should remember.”

Swallowing hard, your heart twists at his words. He is missing something. But you won’t tell him that now. He’s already grappling with so much, and the last thing he needs is the weight of your shared past thrust upon him before he’s ready.

“Don’t worry about it.” Your voice is gentle, coaxing. “It’s... normal to feel confused right now.”

Frowning, he runs a hand through his hair. “Like I’m supposed to believe that.”

“I know it’s hard to understand,” you say softly. “But it’ll get better. You’ll remember in time.”

He doesn’t respond right away, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling as if he’s searching for answers that aren’t there. After a moment, he sighs, his eyes returning to yours. “Alright. Who are you, really?” he asks. “Why do I feel like I should know you?”

Because we grew up together. 

Because we were everything to each other. 

Because you were the one person I never stopped loving. 

“Just focus on resting,” you say, forcing a soft smile. 

He studies you briefly, as if trying to figure out whether or not to trust you. Then finally, he nods, thought you can tell he’s still wary “Yeah... okay.”

The awkward silence returns. 

“I should go,” you murmur, standing abruptly. The chair scrapes against the floor, the sound jarring in the quiet room. “You need rest.”

He doesn’t stop you, doesn’t ask you to stay. He just watches as you turn toward the door, and leave.

Your chest tightens painfully as you walk out of the room, the familiar ache of loss settling in once more. It’s worse this time, though—worse because he’s alive, and yet, in every way that matters, he’s gone.

You leave the room in a daze, your mind swirling with a storm of emotions. Your feet carry you down the hall, and before you realize what’s happening, you find yourself in the washroom. 

The moment the door clicks shut, your stomach lurches. You barely make it a toilet before you’re retching. Tears sting your eyes, and you brace yourself against the cold porcelain, gasping for breath as your body shakes with sobs.

Standing up and flushing, you walk over to the sink, and press your forehead against the mirror. How did it come to this? You found him, after all these years, but the person in that bed isn’t the Logan—it isn’t the James—you once knew. 

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you close your eyes, taking a deep breath as you try to pull yourself together. It's not the time to breakdown, you think, and after splashing some water on your face, you turn toward the exit.

Pushing open the door, you’re met with the familiar gaze of Ororo. She stands in the hallway, her white hair cascading down her shoulders, her eyes filled with something that feels like both understanding and pity.

Your eyes widen, caught off guard, not expecting to see anyone, least of all her.

“I saw you come in here,” she whispers empathetically, “but thought you might need a moment.”

You pause, trying to blink away the redness in your eyes, trying to pretend you’re stronger than you feel. But she sees through it. She always has.

“I’m fine,” you say, the words slipping out automatically.

Stepping closer, her gaze softens as she studies your face. “No,” she disagrees, “you’re not.”

The vulnerability you’ve been trying to keep at bay rushes forward again, threatening to swallow you whole. You open your mouth to argue, to brush it off, but the moment you meet her eyes, the words die in your throat. The pity, the compassion—it’s too much.

Silently, she reaches out, her hand resting lightly on your arm. It’s a small gesture, but it feels grounding.

“I saw him,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “He doesn’t remember me.”

“I know,” she says quietly. “I’m so sorry.” 

—

The next few days are a blur. You keep yourself busy—too busy—hoping that constant movement will keep the gnawing ache at bay. If you let yourself stop, if you let yourself think about what’s happened, the hurt would consume you, so you don’t stop.

Most of your time is spent in your room or the garden, taking refuge in the places where you can hide from everything, everyone.

Sometimes, you train, pushing your body past its limits in a desperate attempt to silence your thoughts. Every hit you land, every punch you throw, never feels like enough.

It’s easier this way, you tell yourself. Easier to avoid him, to pretend he never came back into your life. Because the alternative—watching him live here, knowing he doesn’t remember you, doesn’t understand what you once shared—that’s too painful.

You’d rather pretend he’s still a memory than face the reality that the man you love is here, but not really.

When you walk through the mansion, you see him from afar. You can’t help but notice how he’s begun to soften around the others, how the confused man who woke up in that bed is slowly adjusting to life at the mansion. He has daily appointments with Charles, who you imagine is sifting through his mind, doing his very best to retrieve something, anything.

While there is still a distance in his eyes, still a guarded edge to him, but you can see the small shifts—the way he listens when someone speaks, the faintest hint of a smile when Hank tries to crack a joke.

And sometimes, your eyes meet.

From across the room, you’ll catch him watching you. In those moments, your heart skips a beat, wondering if there’s a reason why he’s zeroed in on you specifically, but then he looks away, and it passes. You never approach him, never ask him how he’s feeling or if he’s starting to remember anything. You’re too afraid of the answer.

One night, you sit in the garden, letting the soft breeze play with your hair, eyes closed. 

“Mind if I sit here?”

The voice startles you, pulling you from your thoughts. Your eyelids flutter, and as you turn, your heart jolts upon seeing Logan standing at above you. And momentarily, it’s like you’re teenagers again—sneaking out at night into the gardens to talk. 

“Sure,” you nod, gently patting the space beside you, as you always did. 

He steps closer and sits down, though not without leaving a small space between the two of you. “I’ve been seeing you around,” he says after a beat.. He doesn’t look at you, his gaze focused on the flowers in front of him. “But... you’ve been avoidin’ me, haven’t you?”

A small laugh escapes you, bitter and self-deprecating. “You noticed, huh?”

“Yeah, not much gets past me. Even that one guy’s attempts at being a leader.”

Despite yourself, you snort. “Scott?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “He’s too easy. Guy looks like a human stoplight with those stupid glasses.”

You bite back a snicker, feeling like a teenager again. The banter, the lighthearted teasing—it makes it seem like maybe, just maybe, there’s still something left of the man you knew.

He turns his head slightly, his expression growing more serious. “You know, I’ve been trying to figure it out,” he says, quieter now. “Why it feels like something’s missing. Every time I see you... I know you’re related to it.”

Shifting a little to look at him, you take in the way his facial hair is a little bit more kempt, how he still has his hair tufts. You miss him, and he’s right here with you. 

“I... thought it would be easier,” you admit, staring down at your hands. “For both of us. If I kept my distance. I didn’t want to add to your stress.”

Frowning, his brows furrow as he processes your words. “Add to it? How?”

“Because you don’t remember me,” you say softly. “And I didn’t want to be a reminder of something you can’t recall.”

He stares at you for a long moment. Then, “you’re right. I don’t remember everything,” he says slowly, “but I know there’s something about you.”

You nod, your throat tight, but you don’t push him. You know it’s only a matter of time before the pieces fall into place. “You’ll remember,” you whisper. “I know it.”

He grunts. “I don’t want you to keep your distance.”

“I won’t. Not anymore.” The idea of him wanting to spend more time with you, fills you with joy.

—

For the next few weeks, it becomes a quiet routine—the nightly conversations in the garden. It’s like slipping into an old rhythm, the two of you always finding a way to gravitate toward each other once the sun goes down. You talk about small things, but it's never too heavy. Sometimes he teases you, and you tease him back, exchanging sarcastic quips. Nothing and everything has changed at the same time.

You’ve started training together too, spending more and more time together each day. It’s almost as if there’s a magnet between you that not even time could weaken.

This night, you’re in the gym together on the sparring mat. It’s the usual scenario playing out—dodging, blocking, throwing punches. He’s fast and strong. And it means a lot to see you see him finally embrace his mutant powers and use them, rather than try to hide and run. 

You’re both breathing hard, the exertion pushing your bodies to their limits. You land a solid kick to his side, and he grunts, stepping back for a moment. Without warning, his claws extend, and your gaze locks in on them.

Of course you know about the adamantium, but seeing it like this, so up close, it’s different. 

“What?” Logan asks, noticing your sudden stillness. His brow furrows, and he glances down at his claws, as if he’s only just realizing they’re out. “What are you staring at?”

“Does it hurt?” you question, clearing your throat. “When they come out?”

He tilts his head, his gaze flicking between you and his claws. “Everytime” he sighs. “But not as much as the old ones.”

Your eyes snap up from his claws to meet his. “... What?” you ask. The old ones?

“They were bone,” he continues, “Hurt like a bitch.”

Your heart starts pounding in your chest. Could this be it? Could he be remembering?

Stepping closer, your voice trembles slightly as you push for more. “What else do you remember?”

His eyes widen, and then he blinks, his stare glazing over for a second, like he’s trying to chase down a memory that’s just out of reach.

“I… I don’t know,” he admits with a bit of frustration. His claws retract, his hand flexing unconsciously as he stares at the empty space where the blades once were. “It’s all bits and pieces. I get these flashes, but nothing sticks. Charles said... he said the barriers in my mind are comin’ down, but it’s slow. Like finding a damn needle in a haystack.”

But the fact that he remembers even a sliver, is enough to fill you with hope.

—

This continues, the small fragments of memories coming back to him. They come unexpectedly, at random times in the day. It’s never anything big, never the full flood of memories you’re hoping for, but each time it happens, it feels like another piece of the puzzle falling into place.

You suggest a walk one afternoon. The mansion has felt a little too closed in lately, and you think maybe the fresh air might help clear his mind. Together, you wander along a little pathway that connects the mansion to a nearby river, the sound of the water in the distance a soothing backdrop as you walk side by side. He’s quiet, more so than usual, and as you glance at him, you notice his expression has grown distant.

“Logan?” you ask softly, nudging his arm. “What’s on your mind?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. His brow is furrowed, like he’s trying to fit together pieces of a puzzle, his thoughts distant, swirling. “I remember…” he starts, his voice quiet, as if he’s speaking more to himself than to you.

Your fingers begin to twitch at your side. Every time he remembers something, it feels like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to see if he’ll fall into the past, if this will be the moment he remembers it all.

“A cabin,” he says finally, his voice rough but certain. “There was a shack. In a small town. I used to stay there.”

You nod, urging him to continue, anticipated building within your chest. “Go on.”

“It was small. Cold most of the time. But I don’t think I cared.” He lets a chuckle. “I liked it. Felt... peaceful.”

You can’t help but smile a little at the memories he’s bringing up. His steps falter, and he stops in the middle of the path, turning to look at you. “Mining,” he mutters, as if the word itself is triggering something. “I remember mining.”

“That’s good,” you say. ‘I’m happy for you.”

—

The memories keep coming.

You’re in the mansion, passing through one of the long hallways together on your way to eat, when he suddenly stops, his hand reaching out to steady himself against the wall. You turn, concern flooding through you. “Are you okay? What is it?”

He frowns, his eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to force something into focus. “There was a girl.”

“A girl?” you repeat, not wanting to push him but unable to stop the question from spilling out.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “In a big house—like a mansion, I think. We'd play together. She was... she was always following me around. Always gettin’ into trouble.”

You know exactly who he’s talking about.

“Do you remember her name?” 

Shaking his head, you can see the frustration etched onto his face. “No. But she must have been important, I can feel it.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you try to hold yourself together. It was me, you want to say. That little girl was me.

“It’s okay,” you say instead, your hand reaching out to touch his arm. “You’ll remember. You’re already so close.”

He looks at you then, his eyes searching yours for something—answers, reassurance. Once a few seconds pass, he sighs and shakes his head.

“I don’t know how you put up with this,” he grumbles lowly. “With me.”

“Because I know you,” you whisper back. 

To have a chance at another lifetime with him, you’d put up with anything. 

—

He’s busy with Jean and Charles this morning, the duo having started to work together last week, trying to finally break down the wall stopping Logan from recovering his memories. With nothing else to occupy you, you’ve retreated to the mansion’s library, seeking solace in the endless rows of books. The familiar smell of paper and ink is comforting, and for a while, you manage to lose yourself in the words on the page. 

You’re curled up in one of the oversized armchairs, a book resting in your lap, when your ears pick up the sound of heavy footsteps—fast, purposeful, ringing out through the mansion’s quiet halls.

Concern rises in your chest. Those footsteps aren’t casual; someone is rushing, and you’ve been around long enough to know that in here, that usually means something’s wrong.

Setting the book down on the small table beside you, you stand and head toward the entrance of the library. The sound grows louder, the footsteps coming closer, and just as you reach the doorway, you collide with a solid wall of muscle.

"Ho—holy sh—" you gasp, stumbling back, startled. Your hands fly to steady yourself, and you look up, wide-eyed, to see Logan standing there. "Logan, you scared m—"

“James.”

You still. 

"What?" you whisper, your mind racing as you stare at him. His face is different—not just the usual irritated-by-himself expression he’s been wearing lately, but something else. There’s a certainty in his eyes, relief and maybe even—

“My name is James,” he repeats. “I was born in Alberta. We grew up together. I... I killed my father.” His voice falters slightly at that, but he pushes through, his gaze locked on yours, unwavering. “You were the little girl in the mansion. You’ve always been there. And I—” His eyes brim with emotion. “I love you.”

The words slam into you, leaving you breathless. You can feel the blood drain from your face, your heart jumping so hard it feels like it might burst. “You... you remember?” You’re barely able to get the words out.

Logan—James—stares at you. “I remember everything.”

A sob escapes your throat, and you throw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as the floodgates open. His arms come around you immediately, holding you tight, his chin resting on the top of your head.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m so damn sorry. I should have never left. I should have gone back to find you.”

You shake your head, tears soaking into his shirt. “It doesn’t matter,” your voice breaks. “None of that matters anymore. We’re together now. That’s all I care about.”

He pulls back slightly, just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that won’t stop falling. There’s so much love—so much everything—in his eyes, your knees nearly buckle. All you do is hold on to him, as tightly as you can, afraid that if you let go, this moment will slip away.

But it won’t, because he’s really here, he remembers, and he still loves you.

For what feels like hours, you stand there in the hallway, wrapped in each other’s arms. Eventually, you take a small step back, unwrapping your arms and instead grabbing his hands, squeezing them. “We have a lot to talk about.”

He squeezes your hands back in return. “Yeah, we do.”

—

You sniffle, wiping away the last of your tears as you lie in bed with him, pressed so close it feels like you’re trying to merge into one person. His warmth surrounds you, his arm wrapped protectively around your waist, hands drawing small circles. It’s like all the years apart never happened, like you’re finally back where you’re meant to be.

“So, what made it all come back to you?” you ask softly, your voice a bit hoarsefrom all the crying you’ve done in the last hour.

James takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly. “I guess having two strong telepaths diggin’ around in your mind will do the trick,” he responds. “Shit was brutal, but... worth it.”

Tilting his head down, he presses a small kiss to your temple. If even possible, you nestle yourself further into his hold. 

“I thought I’d lost you forever,” you whisper. “All those years... I never thought I’d see you again.”

“Same for me. Thought I lost you too,” James murmurs, his hand running gently up and down your back. “After I left the cabin, I tried to forget. Tried to convince myself you were better off without me, but...” He trails off. “I was wrong—a coward. I shouldn’t have been runnin’ away. Especially from you.”

You look up at him, your eyes searching his. “What did you do all those years? Where did you go?”

He lets out a heavy sigh, closing his eyes. “I wandered. For a long time, I didn’t stay in one place. Fought when I had to, drank when I couldn’t forget. Got into a lot of trouble.” He grimaces slightly. 

You frown. “What kind of trouble?”

“The kind where people like me aren’t supposed to be walking free,” he remarks bitterly. “I gave into the monster I thought I was.”

His words sink in, and you can feel the toll those years took on him, the way they left him scarred, not just physically, but emotionally. “It must have been so hard,” you whisper, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. “Living like that, without... anyone.”

Leaning into your touch, “Yeah,” he admits. “It was. But... I didn’t know how to live any other way. Not after everything that happened.”

There’s a long pause, the two of you lying there, bodies tangled together as you both process the weight of what’s been lost and what’s been found. Then, he kisses the inside of your hand, looking at you with a faint, curious smile.

“What about you?” he asks softly, tugging you closer. “When did you... ya know, find out you were a mutant?”

The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. You’ve never really talked about that part of your life to anyone, at least not in detail. 

“I didn’t know for about a year,” you begin. “After you left, I was... lost. And then one day... I punched a tree.”

James raises an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that. “A tree?”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the seriousness of the memory. “Yeah. I was angry—angry at everything. And when I punched it... the damn thing exploded.”

He stares at you for a moment, processing your words. Then, a slow, amused grin spreads across his face. “Exploded, huh? Guess that’s one way to find out you’re not normal.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Yeah, it wasn’t exactly subtle.”

His smile fades slightly. “What did you do after that?”

Taking a deep breath, you let the memories of those early days as a mutant flood back. “I tried to keep it hidden for a while. Didn’t really know what to do with it. But then... the wars started.”

Eyes narrowing, his expression changes instantly. “The wars?”

Nodding, you continue. “Yeah, the First and Second. I volunteered as a nurse. I figured if I could use my powers to help people, then maybe I could make up for everything I lost. I moved station to station, healing soldiers. I couldn’t save everyone, but I tried.”

He’s momentarily quiet, gaze never leaving yours, even as he processes what you’re telling him. Then, slowly, his features shift into disbelief.

“You were on the frontlines?” His voice low, almost incredulous. He reaches out to brush a few strands of hair out of your face. 

“Yeah. I wanted to make a difference.”

Letting out a sharp breath, James sits up slightly in bed as he stares at you. “Holy shit,” he mutters. “I fought in those wars, too. In the trenches.”

You’re speechless, and the realization washes over you slowly. The whisperings you’d heard from the troops, the rumours you’d chalked up to be nothing more than drunken tales, suddenly come flooding back. A man who couldn’t be killed, who healed from every injury, who fought with claws that could tear through anything.

It was him.

It was always him.

“Oh my god,” you breathe. “So it was true…all those rumours about the man who couldn’t die... that was you.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Guess it was.”

All those years, all those battles... and you were both there, so close, yet so far apart. 

“We were so close,” you say, moving forward in to give him a kiss. “And we didn’t even know it.”

He kisses you back, his grip on you tightening. Then, when you pull away, he sighs, leaning back against the headboard. “It’s all so different now,” he begins gruffly. “You’re not the little maid in training anymore, runnin’ around that mansion, worried about getting caught”

You smile faintly at the memories of your younger selves, the girl you used to be, and the boy who was so much more to you than just a young lord. 

“And you’re not sir James Howlett or whatever—Lord—anymore” you tease. “You’ve come a long way from the boy who used to sulk in the garden because he had to attend another dinner party.”

He lets out a noise that sounds like a mix between a huff and a laugh “Yeah,” he agrees. “That feels like a lifetime ago. And in a way, I guess it was.”

While neither of you are the same people you once were, in this moment, you can feel that connection—the one that has always been there.

“I’ve thought about you every day,” he speaks up again. “All those years.”

“James…”

“I love you,” he confesses. “And I’ve loved you my whole life. Before we ran away, after I left, even after I thought you were gone... I couldn’t forget. Didn’t want to.” He sucks in a harsh breath, grabbing your hand once more. “I shouldn’t have left. I should have stayed. We could’ve figured it out together, but I was so... so damn scared. I thought if I stayed, I’d only hurt you.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes again. “You did what you thought was right,” you whisper, intertwining your fingers. “You were scared, and so was I.”

“I wish I could take it all back,” he says, regret bleeding into his tone. “I wish I could’ve been there for you... We could’ve had so many more years together.”

“We have time now,” you say softly, assuring him. “We have all the time in the world to make up for it.”

He doesn’t respond verbally, but rather he edges forward, brushing his lips softly against yours. “I love you,” he murmurs before closing the gap completely, kissing you passionately.

You smile against his lips, because while he may be known as logan, or Wolverine, he’s still James.

Your James. 

----

A/N: I'm going to have to either write some crazy smut or excessive fluff now because this took it out of me LOL also I hope none of you got confused with the name switching! Thank you so much for reading <3

[kisses4reid]

convenient pt.3 | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

pt. 1 | pt.2 (you cannot read this without prior reading)

summary - spencer likes the girl from the convenience store

warnings - awkward conversations and long silences, both of them being hopeless romantics, allergies/sickness

genre - fluff!!! college!fem!reader x earlyseasons!spencer

a/n - thank you for the love and support on this series. it goes without saying i appreciate all of you all 🫶 thank u @raevyng for the cameo. sorry this is short, it’s either i upload this part or i make y’all wait for another week - i like you guys too much to do that.

“good job on you’re stem cell report, y/n. it was very informed and unique. i liked the, now who was it… william blake quote you included!” the teacher spoke before a class of 60. it was back to teaching new information before the next assessment, you were just about finished typing the professor’s notes before she spoke up. the mention of your name nearly made you jump.

a few of the students looked back up at you, some looking around because they had no clue who you were. you liked it better that way.

you also had no idea who william blake was.

“oh- um. thanks.” you say barely above a whisper. professor raena simply smiled and pushed back her shoulder length bob from her face. she started talking again, so did your friend.

“thanks? the professor who’s known to call out people for their incompetence more than smile in the classroom just praised you. that’s all you had to say?”

maybe logan wasn’t your friend per say. maybe she was just someone who sat next to you the first class and also happened to be your neighbour. she was stubborn and straight-forward, insanely intelligent and also smelt great. but she was caring, and gave you tough love when you needed it.

you glanced at her and smiled awkwardly, “i didn’t have much time to think about an answer.”

“i spend most of my time thinking about what i’d say to professor raena if she ever complimented me.”

“that’s because your-“ you suddenly muffle a cough into your hand, “obsessed with her.” you bring out a small packet of tissues from your bag and wipe your nose, nose reddening. logan leans slightly away from you and you roll your eyes.

“you’re not going to catch anything, it’s just allergies.” you lean back and try to continue typing notes but logan continues,

“you should go home, have some medicine, get some sleep.”

“i can’t, i’ve got work.” you whispered, a man in front of you turning around to shoot you with a side eye.

“you’ve told me multiple times that your manager wouldn’t care if you stole from the store. i’ve also told you many times i also don’t care.”

“yeah well… i like working there, that’s all.”

she rolls her eyes again, and waves you off, her long brown hair blocking her disappointed expression from you.

you stayed loyal to your job for two nights, for nothing. sure you got paid, and sure you got to steal some strawberry milk to ease your throat for a couple of minutes, but it felt boring. you actually started to file through the month old magazines you sold for double the price of a new one. you almost made it a third day without dying of allergies (and another secret feeling of sickness you constantly ignored), before you decided you were over it.

you stood up, flipped the door sign so the word ‘open’ faced you, and turned off half of the fluorescent lights before someone was suddenly in the corner of your eyes. spencer was opening the door so quickly you thought you were being robbed, you wouldn’t have seen him if not for the bell ringing on his entry.

“y/n.” he panted, watching your fingers hover over the last light switch. there was two lights left flickering softly above the front door and the check out desk. he looked stoic in the light, dressed in a grey sweater a little too big for him (like his mother had bought it for him telling him he’d grow into it) and black slacks. he seemed to have gotten a trim, his hair just under his ears now. “you don’t close until 1.”

he was confused, eyes wandering with a light hint of relief. like he was happy he didn’t miss you.

“yeah.” is all you said before you turned away from the light switch and returned to the register, assuming he would get his usual. but he didn’t keep walking, he just turned his body to face you. his eyes were expectant, delirious in a way like he needed something from you.

it was silent before the tension literally forced you to speak, “um. i need to close the store before i pass out. so i can uh… get home alive.” you look down and realise the pile of tissues before you was making a mountain, quickly grabbing them and stuffing them in an over filled bin.

“um.” a cat caught his tongue, he looked down to his feet.

spencer was sitting in his desk chair, scrolling on his government provided computer through forums and websites on ‘how to ask out a girl.’ not realising a majority of his team was reading them as well. he heard a small, familiar giggle behind him, quickly closing the tab and turning his head to be met with many other faces. jj slapped garcia on the shoulder with a smile, who’s hand was over her mouth, morgan and emily also smiling. spencer sighed and was about to cover for himself before morgan stepped in,

“look, pretty boy. no websites or article is ever going to teach you how to ask out a girl. they know nothing.”

emily joined, “yeah, none of those things are going to work. i mean, one of those said ‘don’t take no for an answer’. that’s straight up harassment.” she chuckled. morgan walked forward and placed a hand on spencer’s shoulder.

“all you have to do is talk. learn to what she likes, and be confident.”

“that’s easy for you to say.” spencer mumbled.

“who is this girl anyways? who’s taking our genius away from us?” garcia asked, today her hair was adorned with green themed pieces and a small pink flower clip.

spencer couldn’t help but let the corners of his mouth perk up when he thought about the girl who worked at the convenience store. the girl who’s report honestly impressed him. the girl who knew his total without looking at the register. the girl who called him good looking without noticing, like it slipped off of her tongue with no second thought. “just someone.”

you were not just someone.

“yeah you should get home. you look terrible.” spencer’s eyes widened as you raised an eyebrow, “no i mean- not terrible- you never look or have ever looked terrible- i just meant today- no you- like you’re sick and obviously- i mean you don’t obviously look terrible- it’s just uh…” he nodded at himself after he noticed a smile creeping onto your face. “you know what i mean.”

“i know i look terrible, thank you.” he was slowly walking up to the register.

“you really should go home, i shouldn’t keep you here because of some coffee.”

you eyes stung and were puffed in redness, you nose dried yet running, eyebrow lines permanent from warding off a migraine. any other customer you would stay for, but you felt less guilty with him. not because you didn’t care, because you knew he did.

“yeah, thank you.” you grabbed your bag, put your empty water bottle into it and walked over to the lights, turning off the last ones, leaving you both in darkness. spencer was waiting for you, quite creepily as he was basically just a block of void. “you sure you don’t need your 3 minute lasagne?” you joked, and he smiled.

“no, this is fine.”

this? them? you thought this man was articulate.

you opened the door with a key-accessed button that automatically locked it after it closed, and walked into the warm streetlight with spencer.

“bye spencer.” you looked up to him only to find his eyes already on you. his face was plain of emotion, except maybe it was just the lighting that made you think he looked disappointed. not at you, at himself. he was silent, hands making their way into his pockets. it was a habit, you had learned. “what’s wrong spencer?” you asked softly, sniffling immediately after.

it was cold, the wind let a stray piece of hair cross your stuffy features.

“do you like old bookstores, y/n?”

you blinked, taken aback. “yeah. i like old bookstores.” you huddled into your sweater, a darker grey compared to his with a large font displaying your university.

“okay, goodbye y/n. see you tomorrow.” he hurried off into his car and you followed him with you eyes in curiosity.

you were already walking away before he could turn around and ask you something, he felt like he had missed his chance. but there would be more. spencer closed his eyes in frustration and took a breath, starting his car before texting the team’s group chat.

“Attempt One failed. 😐👎”

there was a string of messages after but he didn’t read them. all he could think about was the percentage of people who die alone, and then the percentage of people who are like you.

the next night he appeared at the normal time, around nearly 11pm. but he wasn’t the only one, logan was there with you, studying behind you on the floor.

she was bored, and needed to get out of her room, and the only person she knew well enough was you. there in her mens pyjama pants and an over-sized shirt that read ‘RIP Princess Diana’ with a photo of owen wilson on it, her computer warmed her lap and made a soft whirling sound the in the background.

“hi y/n.” spencer waved, he felt bad about last night. you were barely walking straight when you left and he could tell you wouldn’t get out of your ‘work clothes’ (whatever you wanted to wear with a vest over it) before falling onto your mattress, and he drove away. he didn’t even offer to take and walk you home, let alone give you a ride. but his hands were sweating and his heart thumping in his ears, and he couldn’t think straight.

“oh, hi spencer.” you turned from your own textbook splayed on the counter beside you to see spencer and his tall self. a bag of apples, a 2 minute bolognese container, and a bag of coffee. you scan them, weigh the apples, and watch him.

he wasn’t meeting you eyes. you furrowed your eyebrows for a second before telling him his total with a sniffle.

“i’m sorry for not driving you home,” he lifted his head, a piece of chocolate brown hair crossing his left eye, “or walking you home. or making sure you made it home safe.”

you widened your eyes slightly and sat still before spencer cleared his throat and continued, “i was nervous, about being around you. and my friends- my colleagues- told me i need to be more confident around you so.”

logan had stopped writing, glancing through her bangs up at you both. your mouth was slightly agape before you realised how stupid you looked and how awkward you were making it.

“oh- no it’s okay spencer, you don’t have to say sorry. i was- i’m fine. um,” you tilt your head with the corner of your lips quirking up with little resistance, “you talk about me to your friends?”

spencer nodded, put his hands in his pockets and thought for a second. he wished there was a better place to do this, a better person to take over for him.

all you have to do is talk.

spencer is great at talking.

“did you know that you could be scrolling for seven weeks before you can reach the end of ‘how to ask a girl out’ results on google? i was scrolling for a long time but then my friends told me to just talk and be confident, but i’m only good at one of those thing. so i was trying to ask you out last night but then i- well i failed basically, it isn’t my strong suit,” he took a breath, “so basically i’m saying sorry for not asking you out and not driving you home.”

it was silent, even a customer stopped humming.

“and also your allergy medication isn’t strong enough for your symptoms.” he glanced down to a white and blue box by your hand. you looked down, seeing logan in the corner of your eyes, hand covering her face.

“spencer-“

“dude just ask her out.”

spencer’s face dropped, and he looked over the counter to find another woman sat down, a cringed out expression on her face. his nervousness increased after he realised this wasn’t as private a conversation as he thought. wiping his hand on his vest, he continue with a gulp,

“no i can’t. not here, um. i’ll see you on monday. and i promise i’ll uh- be better? i’ll try again, so. okay see you on monday.” he quickly took his groceries and walked off quite speedily. you watched him walk away and then once he was out of sight, you simply stared at the box of allergy medication on the counter.

logan groaned in the background and said something about growing balls, but it was tv silence for you.

you didn’t know how to go out with someone, your last relationship was in your first year of high school with a guy who thought baby’s came out of a woman’s bum. not that spencer meant he wanted a relationship, no it could just be a friend ‘going out’. totally not romantic.

you slump and stuff your face in your hands. you didn’t care if you hadn’t dated for however long, he didn’t seem to be a man-whore at all. you just cared about how you were actually going to say yes to a man you’ve only talked to inside of an off-brand convenience store on the night shift.

you muffle a scream before the same silent customer placed a carton of milk on the counter.

“$2.50.” you grumble.

you carried logan’s computer bag as she took out a box of strawberry pocky on the sidewalk. the store was locked, the air was crisp, the light was flickering. you didn’t say much until logan couldn’t stand it anymore.

“you know when you’re this silent it’s actually pretty nice, i like peaceful walks home.” you nodded, and continued your racing thoughts with your line of vision stuck on the concrete as you both walked the block to your apartments. she sighed, “but it’s odd. you love talking. a guy likes you and you go mute?”

“his name is spencer, he does something dangerous for a living, he likes old books and drinks a lot of coffee. he gets home late at night, looks skinny but can lift a box of flour above his head with ease. he’s insanely smart and reads poetry, and helped me with my stem cell report.”

you look over at logan who looks a little disgusted but mainly confused.

“he helped me lift that box of flour without me asking. i have no idea who william blake is. i have no idea how he managed to put poetry in a biology report, and i have no idea how he can admit he’s going to ask me out and then not ask me out. his favourite colour is purple, his favourite fruit is grapes but he buys apples because they’re cheaper. and his name is… spencer.”

logan stopped in her tracks, making you copy. you flung out of whatever trance you were stuck in and raised an eyebrow at logan, “what?”

“what? oh no i don’t know, maybe you’ve just never told me about a man you happen to know a lot about, and yet don’t know anything about. you sound insane- not in the ‘loony-bin way’, in the romcom way. it’s disgusting.”

you both continued to walk, climbing the stairs to the foyer of your building before she took back her bag and gave you the pocky, mumbling, “you need these more than me.”

the elevator ride was mostly silent, and that continued before you both unlocked your apartment doors right beside each other.

“you need to ask him out, if he doesn’t do it first.” she entered her apartment before you could speak, let alone think.

suddenly your apartment felt lonely.

so did spencer’s.

he was cross legged on his plush couch on a call with penelope garcia, she was squealing every second minute trying to create a plan for spencer to ask someone out.

“spence, you’re making this very hard. how am i supposed to be your coach if i only have half a team?”

“you can find someone’s address with half a fingerprint, i think you’ll be fine.” he takes a bite of his 2 minute bolognese.

“that takes the fun out of it. i can only give you tips if i know her personality.”

spencer sighed, and thought for a second, he could practically hear penelope’s growing smile knowing she had won.

“her names y/n.” garcia squealed. “she’s smart and pretty. and her favourite colour’s purple and she studies biology. she knows my groceries off my heart and she’s allergic to pollen. she works late at night at the convenience store two blocks away from my apartment building, and she likes old book stores. she’ll be introverted around an extroverted person, but extroverted around an introverted person. she can read my expressions faster than anyone else, she tries out different hairstyles when nobody’s in the store, and she’s funny.” spencer smiles to himself, “she’s pretty.”

“you mentioned that, lover boy.”

pt.4

taglist: @jeffswh0re @hypotheticallyspeakingwitch @trashmonstersara @wannabewolf @evysian @navs-bhat @mywellspringoflife @daphnesutton @smalls155 @amortencjja @anuncalledbridge @belsreid @redmurderbaby @tatilolz @criminalmindsandhouse @forensicuntology @nomajdetective @ilikw @screechingphantommaker

[loveanddeepdick]

Please could I get anything to do with an obsessed geto when he’s feeling jealous/possessive- I’m a new follower and I love your obsessed geto work😩

hii anon i’m saurrr excited this is my first req! so ask and you shall receive! if u guys want more then just lmk >.<

obsessed!geto x f!reader || no genitalia is present but I marked it f!reader because shoko and geto refer to you with feminine terms, continuation of my previous obsessed!geto post

cw and notes: sfw but suggestive, geto is extremely possessive and jealous on the dl, SHOKO AND HIGURAMA CAMEO YAY, mentions of handcuffing you, shoko is concerned that geto is too clingy with you hehe

obsessed!geto who sees you talking to higurama at school when while drops off yuji’s items. he watches from the doorway into the courthe knows it’s unreasonable for his blood to be boiling at the sight of you talking to another man but he knows you’re loyal. no matter where you were, you were his girl and he was your man.

higurama’s eyes catches geto’s as he’s closing his conversation with you. both men are silent, staring at each other.

“thanks, hiromi! i’ll see you when yuji comes back from his school trip!”, you waved higurama goodbye, not sensing the eyes burning in your back.

“uh—yeah, i’ll see you”

right as higurama turns around, you yelp, almost dropping the box of yuji’s items when you feel two hands wrap around your waist.

“hi angel”, geto mumbled into your ear. you turn around, meeting the pretty face of your boyfriend. his eyes were closed and his eyebrows were furrowed against your head.

“whats going on, sugu? usually you hate pda”

“just missed you, that’s all”

“is this because of hiromi? are you jellyyy”, you giggle, squeezing his cheek. he gives a low chuckle before nodding his head again.

“aww.. you big ol’ baby, you know you’re the only for me!”

“yeah, i know sweetheart. im the only man for you”

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

obsessed!geto who hates when someone actually notices and points out how clingy he can be. of course, geto knows he's possessive and wants to stay as nonchalant as possible but it’s so hard when he finds you so attractive.

it's a friday night in your house and you're laying on the couch with shoko, binging love island season six while snacking on some popcorn. you two are complaining about the men on screen when shoko brings up that geto is as clingy as the men on love island.

“heyy, girl, you know.. suguru is really clingy toward you, don’t you think? i've never seen him act this way", shoko mumbles, letting out a small giggle

geto overhears shoko from the kitchen, stopping in his steps. shoko was his friend too and knows her too well. before he could deject, he hears you instead.

"hm? i don't think he's too clingy. i think it's just right, actually", you reply with a mouth full of popcorn.

"you two talking about me?" geto smiles as he snakes a hand on the nape of your neck and down your back as he approaches you two from behind the couch.

"jeez, give us a warning, suguru. i was just telling your wifey here that you need to lay off her back a little. i mean, you two are way past your honeymoon stage and you're still connected to her as if you're handcuffed or something", shook shrugged.

well that was an idea for later

"shoko, i think i know what's best for my girlfriend. if she wants space, she would've told me", geto plants a kiss before leaving the room again, chuckling at shoko, "maybe find a girlfriend of your own, ierie".

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

after shoko left, it was 1:27am and you were cleaning up the blankets. you felt geto's looming presence in the doorway of the living room as you threw away the unpopped popcorn bits into the trash. you turned your head and he smiled when he noticed that you finally acknowledged him. it was almost eerie the way he could show up, go places, and just stalk there without anyone noticing. you, being his girlfriend, of course became accustomed to it and it didn't scare you anymore.

"hi, baby, not sleeping yet?" you shuffle over in your comfy slippers and give him a small peck on the corner of his mouth before brushing your thumb on his cheek.

"nah.. just waiting for you, angel", geto stepped forward towards you and cupped your face. his calloused hands englufed your cheeks as he looked down at you with an unreadable expression.

"am i too clingy for you, doll? do you want some space?".

geto almost smirked knowing your answer. of course it'd be no. he knew you and had dug up everything about you before you two had officially started dating. it's not like he had to change anything about him, he always was and will be your perfect man.

"mm-mm!", you shook your head, "don't think about was ierie said too much, sugu".

geto visibly relaxed a little. his shoulders slightly came down before his right hand trailed down to your waist and his other hand reached into his pocket to pull out something metal.

you were his. you'd always be his no matter how people looked at you too.

"so... about the handcuff thing that she said earlier.."

[maplesyrupsainz]

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙loyal!! | CL16˖⁺｡˚⋆˙

pairing: charles leclerc x sports commentator!reader y/n (she/her)

genre: social media au

warnings: none just fluff

summary: in which a certain someone tries his hardest to convert you to his team !!!

a/n: i barely know what a commentator does Tbh srry if thts problematic anyways enjoy 😃

request!!!: charles leclerc x sports commentator reader

fc: jules leblanc

my masterlist

instagram ->

yourusername📍 bahrain

liked by yoursister, yourbff, and 118,273 others

yourusername gp weekend!!! my first time covering f1 & had sm fun can't wait for the rest of the season :)))!!

view all 3,183 comments

user1 who is she

user2 a sports commentator

user3 ur so cool y/n what's ur favourite team in f1!!

yourusername 🫶🫶 im a mercedes girl :))

user4 SO REAL

user5 love to see more girlies on the paddock

yourbff go offffffff!! so proud

liked by yourusername

mercedesamgf1 🫶

yourusername 🙈🙈🙈

yourusername posted a story

liked by charles_leclerc, mercedesamgf1, and 77,018 others

user6 ahhhhh cant wait to see u this weekend

user7 new favvv

charles_leclerc sorry i missed you last week y/n, hope to meet you this weekend

yourusername oh for sure this time!!

user8 SO EXCITED

yourusername 📍 jeddah

liked by charles_leclerc, georgerussell63, and 204,321 others

yourusername my life is so fun!!

tagged: mercedesamgf1, charles_leclerc

view all 8,274 comments

user9 omg hi charles???

user10 merc girlieeee

charles_leclerc so nice to finally meet you y/n!

yourusername you too!!! had a great weekend!

user11 omg cuteee

user12 love seeing her become friends with drivers lol

user13 she's so beautiful omg

mercedesamgf1 thanks for visiting us!

yourusername omg thank you so much for the invite and the merch too im starstruck fr

user14 she's just like us

user15 charles is so yum

liked by yourusername

user16 not y/n liking this comment 💀💀💀

charles_leclerc posted a story

liked by yourbff, maxverstappen1, and 398,614 others

mercedesamgf1 back off leclerc she's ours

charles_leclerc we'll see about that

mercedesamgf1 😡😡

user17 OMG HELLO??

user18 looks suspiciously like a date

user19 yoohoooo

user20 what's going on here

messages ->

instagram ->

yourusername posted a story

liked by mercedesamgf1, lewishamilton, and 131,839 others

mercedesamgf1 🫶🫶

liked by yourusername

user21 obsessed

user22 CUTE GIRLLL

charles_leclerc boooooo 🍅🍅🍅🍅

yourusername im not sorry mr ferrari

charles_leclerc does our friendship mean nothing to you 💔

yourusername sooo dramatic!

charles_leclerc 📍 suzuka

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55, and 883,417 others

charles_leclerc some non race related adventures in japan 🇯🇵

tagged: pierregasly, yourusername

view all 14,273 comments

user23 omg y/n hellooo???

user24 posting each other on the grid how sus

user25 are they dating LOL

user26 surely not just hard launching immediately they met like a month ago ...

user27 she's everywhere

pierregasly glad to make it on the grid post 🫡

charles_leclerc because i look good in the picture

pierregasly oh.

user28 LOLLL

yourusername so fun!!! 😝

liked by charles_leclerc

user29 she calls everything fun

user30 she's rizzless 😔

yourusername 📍 shanghai

liked by charles_leclerc, yourbff, and 294,617 others

yourusername your fav merc girlies

tagged: yourbff

view all 12,193 comments

user31 she's so hot

user32 i'd do anything for her

user33 she's literally iconic

yourbff HOT HOT HOT 🥵

yourusername ur influence tbh i need to take u everywhere with me from now on

yourbff real. i am free everyday from now on

mercedesamgf1 we are here once again 🙏

yourusername WE LOVE UUU

yourbff fr we do

mercedesamgf1 blushing right now... 🥰

charles_leclerc take that hat off

yourusername never

charles_leclerc i sent you something much better

yourusername im not going to wear ferrari merch charles we've been over this!!

twitter ->

instagram ->

f1wagupdates 📍 miami

liked by yourbff, user34, user3, and 89,174 others

f1wagupdates starting off the grand prix weekend in miami with a sighting of charles leclerc with a mystery brunette 👀 thoughts?

view all 8,266 comments

user40 IT HAS TO BE Y/N

user41 y/bff/n liked omg

user42 who is that

user41 y/n's best friend!!

user43 omg charles and y/n this is NOT A DRILL

user44 NO WAY

user45 that is y/n. i've never been so sure of anything in my life

user46 our ferrari convert 😛

f1gossip 📍 emilia-romagna

liked by user40, user12, yourbff, and 104,418 others

f1gossip charles leclerc once again spotted looking cosy with a brunette girl, this time in italy. could this be y/n y/l/n?

view all 11,061 comments

user47 AGAIN

user48 why has it been crickets since miami 😭😭😭😭😭

user49 i need confirmation

user50 obsessed with y/bff/n liking all the posts about them

user51 they're doing all this in public but wont even post on instagram

user52 waiting for y/n to post selfies in ferrari merch

user53 no way that girl is mercedes thru & thru!!

user54 real

yourusername posted a story

liked by mercedesamgf1, georgerussell63, and 301,283 others

user55 that's our merc girl

mercedesamgf1 we knew you would always find your way back to us

yourusername i never left 😘

user56 loyal queen

charles_leclerc & here i was, thinking i made a ferrari fan out of you

yourusername maybe you should move to mercedes

charles_leclerc why would you joke about such things?!

lewishamilton our girl

liked by yourusername

georgerussell63 i bet charles is so jealous right now

yourusername he's mad because i told him to switch teams

georgerussell63 🫣🫣🫣

charles_leclerc posted a story

liked by yourusername, landonorris, and 683,912 others

user57 this is a confirmation in my eyes

user58 this is not a "just friends" type of post

user59 in monaco with her🥹🥹🥹

user60 she doesn't even know she's mrs ferrari now

yourbff wtf she's beautiful

charles_leclerc you're telling me

yourusername 📍 monaco

liked by charles_leclerc, georgerussell63, and 532,718 others

yourusername 🌹

tagged: yourbff, charles_leclerc

view all 12,328 comments

user61 THEY'RE SO DATING

user62 THE ROSE

user63 omg she even drives a mercedes

user64 a regular ass commentator friends w drivers or not would NOT be posting this type of thing unless she was DATING CHARLES LECLERC!!!

yourbff beautiful

yourusername ❤️

charles_leclerc ferrari red 🏎️❤️

yourusername 🤔 i'll let you have this one

charles_leclerc i won!!!

yourbff mercedes 1238 - 1 ferrari

mercedesamgf1 😛😛😛

user65 i think it's obvious guys

yourbff posted a story

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, and 55,203 others

charles_leclerc that's my girl 😂

yourbff expose her

charles_leclerc 👀

yourusername ARE YOU TRYING TO EXPOSE ME

yourbff you expose yourself!!!

mercedesamgf1 oh???

yourbff dont worry about it!

user66 is that our merc girlie y/n ?!?!!

charles_leclerc

liked by yourbff, scuderiaferrari, and 891,374 others

charles_leclerc my favourite ferrari fan ❤️

tagged: yourusername

view all 18,294 comments

user67 LOL no way

user68 she's just a girl ok she couldn't resist forever !!!

mercedesamgf1 no way...

yourusername i still love you guys i swear

georgerussell63 i gasped out loud

yourusername NO PLEASE LOOK AWAY

lewishamilton wow

yourusername IM SORRY

user69 poor y/n fighting for her life in the comments

scuderiaferrari she looks good in red 🌹

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername

yourusername you're finished!!!!!

charles_leclerc yea yea sure, see you at home

user70 HOME!? 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

THE END ❤️

[leclercwriting]

first win | oscar piastri social media au

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

you're oscar's lucky charm he needed

masterlist

y/n.user

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 123,389 others

caption: back with my baby before he goes to hungary

view all comments

oscarpiastri: I'm gonna miss u :(

y/n.user: poor boy

oscarpiastri: come with mee to the mclaren garage in hungaroring

landonorris: yeeessss I need you to make the chocolate cookies again

y/n.user: we'll see

user39: OMG Y/N'S FIRST RACE?!

user848: can we talk about how good they look together? y/n is so stunning

user94: can oscar fight?

oscarpiastri: I indeed can

landonorris: he can't fight. He almost broke his hand when he tried to fight a guy who talked to y/n for "too long"

y/n.user: that's true

user38: lol

danielricciardo: come to vcarb garage. there's one hot australian too

maxverstappen1: daniel you have a girlfriend..

danielricciardo: stop it or im gonna say the secret u told me to kelly

y/n.user: @ danielricciardo I NEED to know the secret

danielricciardo: I'm calling you

sabrinacarpenter: y/n you're so hot babe

y/n.user: thanks luv <3

user838: y/n is friends WITH SABRINA

user94: my two worlds colliding together

oscarpiastri

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 456,949 others

caption: fp1 and fp2 done, and now we need to get really for tomorrow's quali

view all comments

landonorris: tomorrow mclaren 1-2?

oscarpiastri: hell yeah

user84: where was y/n?

landonorris: clearly not there

user949: LOL

user23: she's not even in the comments or the likes. I think they broke up. She is clearly not enough for oscar. She didn't go to any race

y/n.user: stop acting like u know me or my and oscar's relationship. I'm pretty busy with work and school, but you clearly don't know that those things exist

user32: SHE WAS SILENTED

oscarpiastri: that's my girl

f1gossip: I love how oscar is protective of y/n and y/n is protective over their relationship

oscarpiastri

liked by y/n.user, landonorris and 876,737 others

caption: my lucky charm.. that's all I have to say

view all comments

y/n.user: I'm so proud of you osc🥹

oscarpiastri: I did it because of you

landonorris: lovebirds

charles_leclerc: don't be jealous lando

charles_leclerc: Congrats, my child. U deserve it

user83: LOL he really did adopt oscar

y/n.user: yeah

landonorris: MCLAREN 1-2 BABYYYY

landonorris: congrats osc

oscarpiastri: thank you lando

user858: that's so them coded

lewishamilton: congratulations. You are going to be a world champion one day

carlossainz55: congrats for your first win

pierregasly: congratulations oscar!

user84: all the drivers in the comments make me emotional

danielricciardo: congratulations fellow ausie

oscarpiastri: thanks danny

user84: not oscar replying to danny but not to lewis or carlos

user90: he got priorities

mclaren: U DID IT OSCAR

oscarpiastri: we did it

user94: don't make me emotional again

y/n.user: u get me

y/n.user

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 456,939 others

caption: enjoying budapest after emotional weekend. also, I saw the replay of me crying, and i look kinda good. you'll see me more from now on

view all comments

oscarpiastri: I can't wait to take you to spa

y/n.user: I'm gonna root for fernando and carlos

oscarpiastri: traitor

user84: NOT CARLOS LOL. oscar's biggest enemy

user85: y/n being alonso fan makes so much sense to me

landonorris: lovebirds at it again

y/n.user: @ oscarpiastri we need to find lando a girlfriend cuz someone's jealous

oscarpiastri: noted

user94: not them setting lando up

user34: I love them they're so iconic

f1fanpage: oscar and y/n being the IT couple again. I'm here for it

danielricciardo: when are you going to vcarb garage?

user33: daniel is simping on oscar's girlfriend again

danielricciardo: naah, I just need some lucky charm to win

y/n.user: @ heidiberger_

heidiberger_: I'm gonna be there

user84: I love how loyal y/n is, and she doesn't like it when other men who have a girlfriend give her attention

user36: she's simply iconic

user38: that's called y/n behaviour, and everyone should behave like that

note: soo I decided to make this post after oscar's win. I was actually at the gp and I saw oscar win his first race with my own eyes lol. Enjoy

[pepperyduck]

you walk around the corner to see gojo’s girlfriend sitting on top of his desk and him talking to her sitting on his chair between her legs. so much for surprising him with your early coming home from your work trip. even tho he’s your husband you don’t dare take a step further keeping your shock to a silent gasp, worried you’ll get caught. your marriage had been arranged, and even though you loved him and he was a good caring husband, he was never in love with you. while you figured this was happening it still hurt seeing him so happy and full of life when he’s engaging in just simple conversation with her.

almost immediately after he notices you avoiding him and keeping to yourself even more than normal. when he brings it up, you tell him you know about his girlfriend after having listen to them talking for a long time before they started to “make out.” while Gojo isn’t mean or smug about it, he doesn’t deny it leaving you an absolute emotional wreck.

hi honey! thank u for this request, u get me so well :'). i hope i delivered what u were looking for! much love hun!

word count: 1.9k

warnings: hurt/no comfort, angst, cheating, mentions of divorce, manipulation if u look hard enough, a couple mentions of sex but no active descriptions. (18+ mdni!)

notes: so i haven't written about gojo yet but i absolutely love this man. let me know what u think! also i did not proofread this, very sorry, i wrote half of it on my lunch break @ work.

you can find part two here

masterlist

“satoruuu!” you chirp your husband’s name as you enter the home, the ending syllables of his name echoing throughout the massive entryway, and you’re met with silence. you drop your bags in front of the door, you can’t help but be enthusiastic about seeing your husband – you’ve been on that stupid business trip that took way too long, and you feel lucky you were able to come back home a few days earlier.

a boisterous laugh comes from upstairs in the empty house, signaling your husband is somewhere around your office – maybe he’s on the phone with a friend and didn’t hear you from all the way downstairs. you smile to yourself and run up the stairs, staying quiet as possible so you can surprise satoru – tiptoeing closer and closer, you see your office door wide open. when you peek around the doorframe into the room, you see your husband, dressed in one of those expensive shirts you bought for your last anniversary –

and there’s a girl, a girl you’ve never seen, perched atop your desk, smiling widely and proud from a joke she cracked to make satoru laugh so loudly.

you draw your head back quickly, praying neither one of them saw you, because you had no idea how to approach the situation at hand. that girl was more than a friend, for sure, with the way satoru was feeling up and down her thighs from sitting in between them. for a second, you feel as if your whole marriage was a lie. 5 years, down the drain, and how many of those years were spent with other women, too?

satoru gojo was the son to your parent’s closest counterparts – you grew up around him, not too close, but enough to know enough about one another by the time you became adults. after college, neither one of you held a long-term partner, so your parents and his decided to arrange a marriage for the both of you. you willingly accepted – satoru was a sweet, caring boy for the most part – yet unbeknownst to you, a cheater who never really had any intentions of staying loyal to his wife. in his mind, the marriage was nothing more than a benefit for the both of you; he agreed to get his parents off his back and live a comfortable life because of the successful jobs you both obtained. you were content taking the man’s last name, having gradually fallen in love with him over time, even planning to have kids with him one day.

all your future dreams and past feelings come to a halt when you see the man with another woman.

you creep back down the stairs, quietly so no one catches on, and you grab your bags and leave again. you don’t go too far at all; you stay down the street in your car so you can see whenever your husband leaves. once he’s on his way to go drop his mistress off, you scurry back to the house and take all your things inside. satoru returns hours later, well past after dark, greeted with you in the kitchen finishing up dinner.

“oh- honey,” satoru perks up upon walking through the door, “i didn’t think you’d be back so early.” he walks up and wraps his arms around your waist from behind, giving you a tight squeeze and kissing your neck. your first instinct is to relax into his touch, as you had always done for years before, but the hurt inside of you causes you to stiffen up at the hug.

“hi, satoru,” you faintly reply, eyes diverting from everything else to the saucepan simmering in front of you on the stove. satoru always had a knack to be able to tell when something was off with you, even from the smallest bit of action. this was no different.

satoru unravels his arms from around you and leans onto the counter adjacent to the stove, giving you a quick peck on the cheek. “everything okay, sweetie?” the pet name he most commonly used made your stomach hurt and your chest tighten.

“mmhm,” you bluff, “just a rough trip, i’m really exhausted,” you tell him, gaining a bit of strength to look him in the eyes with a tired expression and a weak smile.

“aww, you should’ve told me, honey. i would’ve got us something while i was out,” satoru says, his sickeningly sweet voice causing a bout of anger inside you.

“i was going to surprise you, but you weren’t here when i got home,” you lie to him, gazing back down to the saucepan and turning the eye off, “where were you so late?” you ask, although you already knew the answer. the question was just a meaningless test.

“ah, i was out with kento. he wanted to treat me to drinks since he got a new promotion,” satoru lies right back, but you see right through it.

“really? good for him,” you compliment his friend, able to work yourself up a little more to keep a straight face in front of your husband.

satoru couldn’t tell yet, but your heart cracked each time you looked at him. you wanted to slap the man to the ground and interrogate him as to why he’s sleeping around – but you only had evidence you saw with your own eyes. you figured he would most likely try to flip things around if you accused him of cheating and pin the blame on actions of your own that didn’t exist.

so, you make the noble decision to keep quiet about your knowledge for now.

days pass, the scene of your husband and the other woman slowly ate away at you, it chipped at the loving wife persona you displayed for satoru, more and more with each hour that came and went. your husband’s usual upbeat personality remained the same, and you tried your hardest to match it, continuing to kiss and be intimate with the man as much as he wanted.

but as time grew, your feelings slowly started to show. you couldn’t help it – who could help it? – being cheated on tears away someone’s entire confidence and demeanor. for years, satoru had feigned innocence and loyalty, he was a perfect husband to you, but maybe he was too perfect for someone like you.

he was his family’s most prized heir, and you were just some girl that got lucky enough to marry him, by some chance of fate. you hated the fact that you realized all you were to him was some … possession, someone there for convenience and convenience alone.

“what’s got you down in the dumps, hmm?” satoru teases as he pokes at your shoulder. you’re laid with your back facing him, trying to fall asleep after a long, emotionally painful night of sex.

you don’t reply at first, you just roll over a little more so he can’t see your sad face, curling into yourself at his touch. there was never going to be a perfect time for you to confront the man. but all the painful feelings you’d been holding on to for weeks at this point get the best of you, and a tear makes its way out of your eye and onto the silk sheets below.

“satoru,” you peep, barely audible as you continue to face away from your husband.

“hmm, honey?” he hums, so effortlessly faking a kind tone.

“who’s that girl?” you question, “i saw her here when i came home.”

“oh,” satoru replies, and you can feel his weight shift next to you so he’s laying on his back.

silence falls over the room, you wait on a reply that satoru refuses to give you for multiple minutes. he lays there, contemplating a lie, or whether or not he should come clean.

it’s not like you’d leave him, anyway.

“i’ve been dating her for a few months now,” satoru tells you, his voice no longer sweet or caring, just plainly spitting out the words you didn’t want to hear from him, ever. the tone in his voice upsets you even greater, he doesn’t even try to deny it, which causes an even greater pain to expand inside of you.

satoru’s new indifference to your feelings hurts a lot more than you’d ever imagined. you tried to psych yourself up, telling yourself that it was okay, you’d be happy if he just lied to you about the whole situation and you’d never bring it up again. his honesty is excruciating, it causes your heart to finally shatter into a million pieces when he confesses everything so guilt-free.

“why…?” you whimper, still unable to gain any of the forged confidence you had for weeks before to look him in the eyes again. you couldn’t stand to look at those beautiful blue eyes you’d fallen so deeply in love with over time, because you knew all they’d do is glare back at you unimpressed.

“well,” satoru starts, “what did you expect? this whole marriage was a fluke, anyway,” he mutters, still too honest for you to be able to feel any comfort in his words.

satoru doesn’t care, though, he never really cared, it’s all so agonizingly obvious to you now.

what did you expect?

you knew what you expected from this marriage, you treated satoru with the utmost care, even if it was a situation you were both forced into. you expected him to stay true to his vows, to be there in all the rough patches, and he was, only until it comes to your attention he wasn’t.

the sweet, considerate, thoughtful husband you once knew disappeared in the matter of a few minutes. all that remained of him now was a hard shell of what he was.

you decide to not reply to satoru anymore, to save yourself from anymore heartbreak – as if you had any left for him to smash into a billion pieces. the only actions you take are to curl up into an even smaller ball and allow the flood gates to open – you begin to coat the soft sheets in your salty tears. satoru only groans at your crying, like it was such a burden he broke your heart, as if he’s not the one to blame for everything going downhill.

the bed sinks in as satoru stands up, sighing. his footsteps shuffle behind you, you hear his keys jingle and his shoes scuff against the floor as he puts them on. you see him walk over to your dresser – the one he made for you with a huge mirror years ago – and check his reflection to fix his hair. soon after, he walks over to you and plants a meaningless kiss to your temple.

“i’m going to go see my girlfriend now,” the utterance of the word “girlfriend” makes you squeeze your eyes shut, “if you want a divorce, let me know so i can get a lawyer.”

satoru walks away and grabs his coat on the dresser, giving himself another good look in the mirror before walking over to the bedroom door.

“bye, honey.”

he leaves behind a broken wife, who’s too beautiful inside and out for her own good. he knows you won’t really leave him; the suggestion of a divorce was to only get a reaction out of you, he was bored the instant you had no rebuttal.

you only continue to cry into the night, falling asleep alone, the only thing to accompany you is the fact your marriage was a lie. satoru will come back, but things will never be the same.

[remcycl333]

your desire is a gift of god 🍁

I was reading “at your command” by neville goddard the other morning, and there was something he was talking about that I really loved. he reminds us that everything you desire, you desire because it’s meant to be yours. you wouldn’t desire something that u couldn’t or shouldn’t have, and when u desire something, it is the gift of god.

here is a part from "at your command" i really loved:

"don't be anxious or concerned as to results. they will follow just as surely as day follows night. look upon your desires--all of them--as the spoken words of God, and every word or desire a promise. the reason most of us fail to realize our desires is because we are constantly conditioning them. do not condition your desire. just accept as it comes to you. give thanks for it to the point that you are grateful for having already received it--then go about your way in peace." -Neville Goddard

whenever you think throughout the day “ugh i want *my desire*” (or something of the sort), don’t get upset or anxious bc you’re in the state of lack or “u messed everything up” etc. the past few days since ive read this, any time I catch myself thinking from lack, I just go “omg thank uuuuu it’s mine yayyy”

like…you desire something bc it’s supposed to be YOURS. your godself is SHOWING YOU what can give you the feeling you desire. like when you desire the feeling of love, your godself will make you desire that specific person bc that’s what will give you the feeling you crave. Or maybe you desire the feeling of security, so your godself gives you the desire of money or being rich. etc!

so when u desire something, that is a GIFT! your godself is showing u the thing that u deserve—the thing that is RIGHTFULLY YOURS!!!! u do not desire something by accident. u desire it bc it’s supposed to be yours!!!

in our society we’ve been taught that we “can’t always get what we want” and “things won’t always go our way” etc but like….no!!!! God is not supposed to WANT for anything like wtf??? if god wants something it’s bc it’s rightfully theirs

when u create literally everything in your reality, there is absolutely nothing in your reality that u don’t deserve. oh so money only exists bc we’re conscious of it existing yet we don’t deserve it??? that big mansion only exists bc we assume it does yet we don’t deserve it??? NO!!!!! (not saying we deserve the bad things in our reality. we just deserve the things we DESIRE)

we’ve been conditioned by the people who haven’t been awoken to the law that life isn’t fair and we don’t deserve anything in this world, but that’s simply not true. we deserve everything we want, bc the only reason we want it—once again—is bc it’s supposed to be ours.

the reason i love this idea of saying “thank u” any time u think of wanting something is bc 1) it shifts u to wish fulfillment (saying thank u= u accept it as yours) and 2) youre accepting the gift of god!

like, wanting something isn’t bad. it’s THE GIFT OF GOD! you desire a certain feeling, and you give yourself the solution immediately. u feel lonely and want to feel—for lack of a better word—unlonely? here u go, u want a friend! on top of that, you want a GOOD friend, so here u go! u naturally desire what you’d consider a perfect friend maybe they’re loyal, the same age as you, live in your town, etc. you naturally desire all of these things without even trying!

I love this sm bc it’s kinda like, manifestation is already halfway done IMMEDIATELY! manifestation is started and completed in the 4d. u want a feeling….u give yourself the feeling. all done! yes ofc, as a side effect, it reflects in your 3D as well. but manifestation is completed before your desire even reflects in your outer-world.

the second u give yourself the feeling (give yourself your desire in the 4d) u successfully manifested it.

so if the steps are 1) desire a feeling and then 2) give yourself the feeling…by desiring something, your godself is showing u how to give yourself the feeling. for example, you want the feeling of being loved. so u naturally begin to desire being with a certain person. this is a gift! and you’re god, so it’s a gift you are giving yourself!

so you’re like, damn i want to feel loved…but how do I feel loved in my 4d??? BY GIVING YOURSELF YOUR DESIRE (your specific person) IN YOUR 4D!!!!! (for example)

u want a feeling, so your godself gives u a desire to show you how to feel it, and then u give it to urself in the 4d and feel the feeling, and then u manifest it INSTANTLY. slay! it’s that easy!!!! wanting things ISNT BAD!!!! it’s a TOOL!!!! a GIFT!!!!!

also like, if u notice u fell into a stack of lack and are thinking abt how badly u want your desire, DONT BEAT YOURSELF UP!!! u know why you’re thinking of how u want your desire?? bc ur godself is reminding u of how to give yourself the feeling baby say thanks!! & keep going

I think this is such a simple and comforting and exciting way to look at the law. like, wanting things isn’t bad and you only want something bc you’re SUPPOSED TO GET IT!! I hope this resonates with y’all!!! 🤍

(i wrote this two months ago at 3am and you can kinda tell lol but i love this post so! here it is in all it's glory :) adapted from my twitter thread)

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

hii love! i just read your clingy so u distance yourself fic for the bazillion time and i cried again no surprise🥹 I just wanted to say i love your works so much and would live to request for an angst oneshot with brother bsf chan? basically reader has been pining for chan for a few years but she never got the courage to tell chan cause she thinks she isn’t good enough for chan. Then afterwards basically chan got a girlfriend who hated her and basically influenced chan to stop hanging out with her which he listened to and told the reader which the reader told him that his girlfriend wasn’t loyal but he thought she was sabotaging his relationship and so they ended off on bad terms but turns out a few weeks later he caught his girlfriend cheating and went back to the reader? sorry if it is kinda long but i rlly need a oneshot like this to read when i just need some angst i really live and admire your works so id be elated if you did my request. thank you and lots of love❤️

my first piece since I went on a mini little baby hiatus. and i had a lot of joy writing this. so i hope you enjoy <3!!!

Brothers Bsf Chan x Fem!Reader (angst/fluff)

6.8k words

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You didn’t know when it started. Was it a simple touch? A brush of a hand or an accidental graze of fingers? Or was it one of those lazy Friday nights where Chan would crack jokes to you and his best friend- your older brother Jisung- while you three were watching movies in the house you grew up in. Or did it stem back all the way to those days where you would chase after Chan and Jisung on the playground, down your neighborhood streets- crying out for them to wait for you. Those cries stopped when Chan would reach his hand out to bring you along.

Maybe it was a combination of all of those things, those things you had tried so hard to forget because it could only lead to heartbreak. Falling in love with your brother’s best friend was no easy feat for anyone. Let alone when you were falling for someone like Chan, who was so hard to fall out of love with. Maybe even more so for you since he would always be in your life. Him and Jisung were nearly joined at the hip, which made it even harder to hide your pining for him. You wouldn’t dare love out loud, but it was starting to whisper through the cracks of your resolve.

You were unconditionally in love with everything about Chan. 

That's how it was for years, and how you intended it to be for as long as allowed. You spent countless nights staring at your ceiling, wondering if he could ever see you the way that you saw him. You were sure things were only platonic between the two of you, but you couldn’t help but linger on the memories of certain looks, certain gestures that you couldn’t delude yourself into believing happened between friends. 

Things started to change when Chan began dating someone new. 

Duri. Her name was Duri, and the first time you met her, you knew she was the type to turn heads. She had a smile that could light up a room and a confidence you could only dream of. Standing next to her, you felt small, like a background character in Chan’s life story. A girl who captured Chan’s attention so easily. A girl who wrapped him up in her life so easily that you knew you were to be forgotten. He was smitten and her words flowed like the river of the smoothest molasses. She could easily convince Chan, he didn’t need you. Because she didn’t like you.

You weren’t sure why, but it was obvious. And because she didn’t like you, her feelings towards Jisung weren’t all that different, it seemed. And slowly you felt like Chan was making his way out of your life.

“Ji, why isn’t Chris here?” You loved the way his name sounded when you said it. Not many people around you called him Chris, so it felt special to call him that. He seemed to enjoy it as well, not ever asking you to conform to societal norms.

“He’s probably just busy, Y/N-ie…I’m sure he’ll come back around.” Jisung said one day as you guys sat on the couch, scrolling through movies. It was the first Friday movie Chan had missed. And even if it was the first time he had missed it, you knew it would be a regular occurrence.

In all honesty, at first, you tried to like Duri. She was with Chan, after all, and you thought that maybe you could be friends. That maybe if you could convince yourself to like her then the pain of not being the one that Chan loved would ease.. But the more you saw her, the more you felt her sharp, indirect glances, the way she dismissed you with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She made you feel invisible, as if you were only tolerated because you were Jisung’s sister. Even if she just barely tolerated the latter.

Over time, you saw the changes in Chan too. He became distant, no longer the easygoing guy who’d spend hours with you and your brother. He was still polite, still kind, but he was pulling away, bit by bit. You told yourself it was just a phase, that he’d come around once things settled down with Duri.

But then, one night, things came to a head.

You, Jisung, and Chan had made plans to meet at your favorite café—just a casual hangout, like old times. But when Chan showed up with his girlfriend by his side, something was off. His smile was forced, his laughs hollow. He barely met your eyes, and when you spoke, and even then  it was like he wasn’t really listening. To the point that Jisung even pointed it out. Every time you spoke, Duri happened to speak at the same time. Every time a question was directed at you, Duri somehow changed the conversation. You felt small and insignificant and made your way home early. You couldn’t stand to sit there and see the man you were so down bad for with his significant other. Duri had sat close to him, her hand always somewhere on his arm or shoulder, marking her territory in the subtlest way, in a way that caused an anger that wasn’t so subtle. 

But even then after leaving you couldn’t shake the ache in your chest. You sat down on a bench outside of a convenience store by your home, trying to sort out your feelings. 

You okay? I’ll be heading home soon. We went out to drink. 

You quickly type out a reply to Jisung, your fingers shaking as you realized just how cold it was. Just as you were about to get up to leave a pale hand reached out to you with a warm drink. 

You looked up to see a guy with dark and prominent eyebrows, and a little birthmark on his nose. 

“You seemed cold. Its…” He looked at the can. “Mocha flavored.” He handed it back out to you and smiled softly. 

“Thank you.” You said with a small bow of your head, and you couldn’t help but smile at the thoughtful gesture. 

“You live in the neighborhood right? Your brother…looks like a squirrel?” The man’s voice was soft and shy, like he thought he was talking too much.

“Oh! You’re our new neighbor? I’m Han Y/N.” You said with a flourished bow.

“Park Sunghoon. Nice to meet you…” He shuffled awkwardly. “Would you like me to wait before I walk home…I don't want to make you uncomfortable.”

“No! No! It’s fine, I'm not uncomfortable. You can walk home with me.” You say quietly. “Maybe it’ll be nice to not feel lonely.”

As you made your way back home with Sunghoon you had a weird feeling in your chest. You thought maybe you were just trying to sort your feelings, but it was more of an intuitive sense. 

Then you got a text from your brother.

I’m coming home. Duri tried to make a move on me and I’m not trying to get into it with Chan while she is here.

You blinked at the text, nodding when your voice registered Sunghoon asking if you were okay.

That was that odd feeling…

You didn’t know if it was selfish to feel happy that Duri was a tool, but you did. You didn’t want Chan to get hurt so you decided to go talk to him. Giving a message on behalf of Jisung, who thought maybe Chan would listen better if it was coming from a girl

“Hey, can I talk to you?” you asked, your voice soft but determined, as you walked up to him outside of his job a few days later.

“Yeah, of course,” he replied, looking a bit surprised. He followed you to a quieter part of the park, away from prying eyes. “Is everything okay? Jisung hasn’t texted me in a couple of days…"

You took a breath, feeling the words tangle on the tip of your tongue. “Chris…I just…I feel like you’re not around as much anymore. I get that you’re with Duri, but…it’s like you’re pulling away from me and Jisung. My brother is too scared to say anything, but he feels just as bad, if not worse than I do.”

He frowned, looking down at the ground. “I’m sorry if it feels that way,” he said finally, but not much emotion in his voice. “But…I need to be there for Duri. She’s… she doesn’t feel comfortable with me hanging out so much with, you know…” He trailed off, not meeting your eyes.

Your heart sank, a cold dread washing over you. “With me, you mean?”

He hesitated, but the silence was all the confirmation you needed. “She…doesn’t get why I’m so close with you. And I don’t want her to feel insecure, so I…I think it’s best if we… keep some distance. Just for now.”

You stared at him, feeling a surge of hurt and anger. “Chris, she’s manipulating you!” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “She’s making you feel guilty for caring about people who were here long before she was. Because she knows those people will pinpoint, that she’s a manipulative cheater!”

He looked at you, a flash of anger in his eyes at the words. “You don’t know her like I do,” he snapped.

You flinched at the venom in his voice. He had never snapped at you and you could feel tears spring to your eyes.

“She tried to make a move on Ji…” You said quietly. “And don’t try and say my brother is a liar, Chris,  because you know he’s not.”

Chan gave a sarcastic chuckle. “She already told me that Y/N. She was drunk. It was nothing more than that.”

“Drunk actions are sober thought Chris!” You shot back.

“Oh, so the first time you ever got drunk and confessed your feelings for me was a sober thought?”

You felt your body freeze and you blinked at Chan with wide eyes. You blacked out the first time you had ever drank and didn’t touch anything since. You never knew you had admitted to liking Chan.

“So it’s true then? You actually love me?” Chan let out a large sigh. “Frankly, it’s not fair for you to accuse her of things that aren’t true just because you put me on a pedestal. Your feelings for me aren’t my responsibility Y/N. This…this just feels like you’re trying to come between us because of some childish jealousy. She’s my girlfriend, and I trust her more than I trust someone who hasn’t been honest to me for years.”

You felt like you’d been slapped. The words cut deeper than anything you’d expected, leaving you struggling for air. “That’s not…that’s not what I’m doing, Chan. I just…I don’t want to see you get hurt.” You tried to say back. “My feelings have nothing to do with this I’m coming to you as a friend-”

“Friends don’t feel that way about each other Y/N! Once you cross that line friendship can’t be used as a label. Do you ever think that Duri might be acting this way because you absolutely suck at hiding your feelings?!” His voice was sharper than ever and you could feel a sad squeeze in your heart. “So deal with the fact that I’m going to put my girlfriend first- regardless of what I feel for you.” There was the slightest hesitation and falter in his face at his last words, but you were too upset to decipher what exactly that meant. “ I’m done with this conversation. I’ll see you later, Y/N.” He said in a soft yet defeated voice, leaving you standing there, heartbroken and speechless.

The next few weeks were met with silence.  Jisung asked what had happened, but you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him. You kept your pain buried, letting it fester in the corners of your mind. Chan had felt terrible for yelling at you, and had come over to apologize with extra snacks for your guys Friday night movie, but to his surprise, it was only Jisung who was there. 

“Where is Y/N?” Chan asked, setting down your favorite candy and chips on the reclining chair you always claimed. He looked around the corner to see if you were in your room. Your door was open and he walked in, looking at the little polaroids littered across your room on various walls and flat surfaces. He looked at your books and plushies with a soft smile. 

“She’s working overtime tonight. Do you want to watch a Marvel or DC movie?” Jisung called from the living room. Chan’s brow furrowed. He knew the company you worked for closed early on Fridays, all employees getting off early. Something he had realized after observing you for so long. 

“Marvel…” Chan called out, closing the door behind himself.

As suspected you weren’t working overtime. 

Rather as time passed, you found comfort in unexpected places. One of those places was the attractive man that one night, your neighbor Sunghoon. Who, much to your surprise, shared your interests and understood your silence without question. He became your confidant, your quiet escape from the heartache Chan had left behind.

“He’s probably over at my house right now with Jisung.” You had mumbled as you cuddled up on his side. Also, much to your surprise, Sunghoon was a great cuddle buddy. What was even better is that he wanted nothing in return, nor were there any ill intentions letting you grow close to him in an emotional and physical way. He had confided in you that a deeper intimacy was something he couldn’t ever see himself liking, which was why he was set on settling down alone, and that he wasn’t much of a physical person to begin with, but with you he found himself not minding the soft physicality much at all. 

“Like we’re twin flames right.” You had joked, that day, holding out your pinky. He had nodded, locking pinkies with yours. 

“You’re right, but I am more than sure he won’t think to come over her-”

The doorbell rang and you sprung up from your position on the couch as Sunghoon made his way to the door. 

“Well speak of the devil…” He mumbled. 

Chan stood at the doorway of Jisung’s new neighbor, delivery food in his hand. He looked at the bag and considered the weight of the bag.

Maybe a couple having date night?

“Hello?” A tall and undeniably attractive man stood at the door. 

Damn…wow uh-

“Oh, hey! I think your delivery was sent to my friend’s house. I just wanted to make sure you knew it was here...” The man looked at Chan with a blank look. 

Are kids these days given supplements or something…why is he so majestic looking…

“Oh, thank you.” He said , bowing and grabbing the food.

Before the door was shut, Chan could’ve sworn he noticed a pair of familiar shoes, but disregarded it, making his way back to Jisung’s.

As more time passed, you found yourself missing Chan rather than getting over him. 

“Is it strange, Sungie?” you asked while you were building a puzzle with him one evening- another Friday. “That I’m absolutely pissed, and heartbroken, but I want nothing more than to see him? And I can’t think of anything other than I miss him?”

Sunghoon thought for a moment and then spoke softly. “No, it’s not strange at all. Rather, it’d be strange if you didn’t. Sometimes, love clings to us hardest when we’re hurting the most. It's like every part of you is aching for the one person who can make it better—even if they’re the one who hurt you. Missing him doesn’t make you weak; it just means he’s still a part of your heart. Sometimes, loving someone means feeling everything all at once—the anger, the heartbreak, and that unstoppable longing. It’s okay to feel it all."

You were at your house, and Sunghoon was over since he had become a regular visitor, after Jisung befriended him and then finally pieced together where you were going every Friday and other odd days of the week when you first heard the news. At first he had assumed you and Sunghoon were a thing until you both quickly shot down that notion by informing Jisung that relationships and love were not Sunghoon’s cup of tea.

But since he now knew that wasn’t the case, and had long since known the truth since your first and last drunk outing he thought you might want to know.

“They broke up. Strange enough, Chan didn’t seem all that upset—I mean, he did seem upset, but you think you’d be more upset when you break up, you know?” Jisung rambled, barely pausing for breath. “Instead, he was, like, really calm, which made no sense to me. I feel like I’d be freaking out, or, like, super sad, or anxious, or angry. How can you just be indifferent to a breakup with someone you thought was going to be the love of your life? It’s like those characters in anime—”

You tuned out Jisung’s voice, the news sinking in like stones in your stomach as you laid your head against Sunghoon’s side as he read the ingredients on an air freshener bottle while he waited for Jisung to finish warming up food. 

Chan and Duri had broken up. Your heart was a tangled mess of relief and pain, of memories you hadn’t let yourself fully process. After all those months, he was free—but what did it mean now? What did any of it mean when he’d already chosen her once?

As Jisung continued his rapid-fire monologue, you watched to the two people who had been a distraction these past few weeks: him and Sunghoon. Sunghoon, in a more practical way since he knew the depths of your doubts and worries, and easily fit into the spot of your platonic soulmate and best friend. It seemed he was more versed on the Chan-sized hole in your heart than even you were, and you were glad you now had him to walk these roads with you.

Eventually Jisung came back to the living room with dinner, and you were soon enough immersed into the activities of the evening. 

You were unaware what was about to go down when the knock at the door came, Jisung springing up to answer it, his laughter echoing down the hall as he let someone in. The air around you shifted, growing thicker, familiar, and before you even turned around, you knew who was standing there. 

You had known him long enough to sense when the man you loved was in the room. His presence filled it quickly enough, his gaze sweeping over the space, lingering a little too long on you and Sunghoon, who seemed to be molded together perfectly, Sunghoon’s arm lazily resting on your leg.

Jisung shot you an awkward glance before mumbling something about getting snacks from the store. He and Sunghoon exchanged a glance, and, with a silent nod Sunghoon got up, and they left, closing the door behind them. You were left alone with Chan in the thick silence that followed, the quiet pressing down around you.

Chan’s expression was tense, guarded, and yet, behind his eyes, you saw a trace of vulnerability. He took a hesitant step toward you, his voice soft. “Y/N…”

You met his gaze, pain simmering just beneath the surface. “What are you doing here?”

He took a deep breath, guilt etched into the lines of his face. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice cracking slightly. “I should have listened to you. I didn’t… I couldn’t see it. I was so focused on Duri that I didn’t see what was right in front of me. She wasn’t loyal. I caught her cheating, and I realized just how wrong I was and how right you and Jisung were.”

His words landed between you, each one a mix of relief and ache that clawed at your heart. But you couldn’t ignore the questions tumbling through your mind—the doubts that held you back from even entertaining the hope you’d once felt. You folded your arms, steadying yourself as you looked away.

“Chan, I don’t even know what to say to you. It’s not just about her or your breakup,” you said, voice low.

The older boy flinched at your words. 

“Chan…” He mumbled. You had rarely ever spoken his name aloud like that before. So rarely he couldn’t even remember the last time you did, and he didn’t even recognize your voice when you said it. “I messed up horribly…didn’t I?”

 “You didn’t just choose her.” You started. “You looked me in the eyes and didn’t believe me. You accused me of saying things because of personal feelings. Then went on to accuse me of lying to you because I never confessed my feelings- even though apparently I did and you just omitted the truth of what I said when I blacked out as if that's not also a form of dishonesty. You thought I was trying to ruin your happiness, like I’d sabotage your relationship out of jealousy. Are you serious, Chan?”

He winced again, his hand reaching toward you as if he wanted to touch you but was too afraid. “I know, Y/N, and I hate that I did that to you. I was wrong. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I just… I needed you to know that I truly am am sorry. I didn’t think I had hurt you that badly and it was foolish.”

The hurt that had sat quietly in your heart surged to the surface, and before you could stop yourself, you murmured, “So what? You’re here now because you need a rebound? You want someone to feel close to because she’s gone?”

Chan’s face fell, confusion and hurt flickering across his features. “What? No, Y/N, it’s not like that at all. You’re not some replacement or… or backup. You’ve never been that to me, ever.”

“Then what am I, Chan?” You shook your head, frustration and sorrow mingling together. “Because if I was the first one you come to- not even your best friend-” You said referring to your brother. “Than there has to be reason behind that. Let me guess, you feel something for me?” 

Chan swallowed and you knew his answer when you saw the look in his brown eyes. You let out and exasperated sigh and tried to hold back your tears, but couldn’t so you looked at the ground instead.

“If you really felt this way—if you really cared about me or dare I even say loved me…then why did you pick her? Why now, after you’ve been with her all this time? Am I supposed to believe that just because she’s out of the picture, you’ve suddenly realized what you want?” Your voice was sad and defeated and you let your tears fall. “If so that's really really mean.” You whined sadly.

His eyes widened, and he shook his head emphatically. “No, it’s not because of that. Y/N, I was so stupid. I’ve spent these past few weeks… I didn’t even realize how much I missed you until I lost you. I can’t just go back to how things were, but I know I want you in my life. I don’t want to lose you.”

He paused until you looked up at him, his heart shattering even more at the glossiness behind your sad eyes. “It’s not that Y/N-ie not at all. Sometimes you really just don’t know what you’ve had until you lost it.

But something about his gaze shifted as he glanced back toward the door where Jisung and Sunghoon had left. His mouth pressed into a thin line, his brows drawn together in a dark, unreadable expression. “Guess I’ve already been replaced though, huh?” He said quietly.

You felt your stomach twist at his words, your tears drying almost immediately with the thought of where this was heading. “Replaced? What are you even talking about?”

“Your neighbor,” he said bitterly, albeit soft; the label sharp on his tongue. “You and him. I came here to tell you how much I’ve messed things up, only to see you with him. I guess it didn’t take long for you to move on.”

The accusation in his voice stung, leaving you feeling exposed. You bit back the urge to yell, to let out the anger that had simmered for so long. You knew it brought some validity to his earlier statement, him being jealous of Sunghoon, but God did you sometimes want to smack sense into him.

 “You don’t get to come in here and make assumptions about me, Chan. Sunghoon is my friend. He’s been here because you weren’t. Because you pushed me away. I didn’t have a choice.”

“But you looked happy cuddled with him,” he said, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. “It didn’t seem like you missed me at all.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the tightness in your chest intensify. “Of course, I missed you. But you don’t get to accuse me of moving on. I waited. I wanted… I thought maybe one day you’d see me. But you chose her. You chose someone who didn’t even care about you, and I was the one left behind. So of course I needed comfort.”

He took a shaky breath, eyes softening as he stepped closer. “I chose wrong. I see that now, Y/N. I know I hurt you, and I don’t expect you to just forget that. But I can’t pretend now that I don’t feel something for you.”

You stared at him, searching his face for any hint of sincerity, but doubt gnawed at you. “We just went over this. How am I supposed to know it’s real? How am I supposed to believe that you actually want me, and not just because it’s convenient? If you loved me before than why not say something.”

“Why didn’t you say something!”

“Because unlike you I don’t go around dating people while I have a crush on someone Chan! If it was ‘oh so obvious’ than you should have said something. Or I don’t know, maybe when I blacked out and confessed you could have done something then-”

“I was petrified!” Chan shouted, causing you to take a step back. “How…how am I supposed to respond when my best friend’s little sister tells me she’s been in love with me since we were kids. And that’s its only growing?” He swallowed. “Am I supposed to take that risk and tell her its mutual, but that I don’t want to do anything in case things get messy? Because I don’t want to ruin things? Relationships are complicated Y/N! People fight and argue but romantic ones are so much heartier. Those arguments and fights hold more weight than friendships. I wasn’t…happy…only being your friend but I was content. Even if it meant I wouldn’t get to hold you or kiss you, or see your face in my children’s faces I was okay with that as long as it meant there was no risk in ruining things between us. And that saved me from the risk of getting on uneasy territory with Jisung. So I left it alone. I didn’t tell you. I asked Jisung to forget about it even if that meant he was upset at me for quote ‘rejecting my wonderful and perfect  little sister’ unquote.”

You stood there, lips trembling, not knowing what to say as he lay his heart in front of you.

He reached out, brushing a thumb over your cheek in a tender, hesitant motion. “But now that I know what it’s like to live without you, Y/N,  I can’t go back to that. I can’t. I don’t want anyone else. I just want a chance to make this right.”

The vulnerability in his eyes was almost too much, the raw honesty in his touch searing against your skin. But your heart still trembled with uncertainty, with a fear that ran deep.

“I’m petrified now.”

A tear slipped down his cheek as he nodded, a small chuckle leaving his lips, his thumb gently wiping away a tear that had fallen from your own eyes. “I’ll spend every day proving to you how much I love you, Y/N, so you won’t have a reason to be scared. I don’t want to lose you, not again. I was blind, but I see it now. And if you’ll let me, I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust back. To get you to a point where you won’t be able to deny the fact I only want you.”

You held his gaze, your heart wavering between the hope you’d never fully let go of and the fear that he’d break it all over again. And in that quiet moment, with the ache of the past between you, a fragile, cautious feeling began to bloom once more.

You took a steadying breath, bracing yourself as you met Chan’s eyes. “Chan, I don’t know what assumptions you’ve made about Sunghoon, but he’s just my friend. He’s been there because…” You hesitated, the words delicate on your tongue. “Because I needed someone. Not someone to date, or to replace you, but just…someone who understands. He’s helped me pick up the pieces after everything fell apart. And he’s not even interested in relationships like that. We’re just close in a different way.”

Chan blinked, his gaze softening as he listened, brows knitting in a mixture of relief and confusion. “So… you and Sunghoon… you’re really just friends?”

“Yes,” you replied, hoping he could hear the sincerity in your voice. “And he’s not going to change his mind about that. He doesn’t want anything more with anyone. It’s not in him. But he’s been a good friend—my best friend…my soulmate really.” Your voice trailed off quietly. “He’s someone I could talk to when I felt like I’d lost you.”

Chan let out a slow breath, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as he looked away, processing. “I…I feel so stupid. I was so ready to believe you’d moved on, that you’d replaced me. It was like this nightmare I’d imagined every night, that you’d found someone else who actually deserved you. And when I walked in and saw you both…”

His words faltered, and he rubbed a hand over his face, frustration and regret etched deep. “But I know I can’t blame you for being close to him. You had every right to find support after what I put you through. I just…”

“You just didn’t believe me,” you finished for him, the words raw but necessary. “And then you left, and I didn’t know how to fill that space you’d left behind but Sunghoon found a way. But that doesn’t mean he warrants any jealousy from you, Chris. I’m hoping you can learn to love him like you love Jisung. For me?”

He nodded, his eyes filled with regret.A part of you softened at the earnestness in his expression, the vulnerability that showed he understood, at least on some level, of what all of this meant. You sighed, feeling the weight of everything settling over you, but also immensely light.

But Chan seemed like he was struggling for a moment.

“Whats wrong?”

He bit his lip, his gaze darting away for a second before he finally asked, “Was there ever a point when…when you thought you could move on? That maybe you’d fall for someone else?”

The question struck deeper than you’d expected, and for a moment, you just looked at him, letting yourself process the vulnerability etched into his features. Did he truly think he could simply be replaced? That you’d spent years loving him, only to let him go?

“I thought about it,” you admitted, your voice soft but steady. “I thought maybe it would be easier if I could just let go. Even before all of this I thought about it. But no matter how much I tried, it was always you. It’s always been you.”

You felt the familiar sting of tears, and you blinked them away, not wanting him to see just how deeply his words affected you. “For the record, I don’t want to lose you either. But if we’re going to do this, we have to be honest. No more letting other people’s opinions get in the way. No more letting doubts fester between us.”

He nodded, a fierce determination filling his gaze. “No more doubts. I want us to be real, Y/N. Nothing standing in the way, just you and me.”

The weight of his words, the sincerity in his gaze, was almost overwhelming. You felt the warmth of his hand as he reached for yours, his fingers tentative, as if he wasn’t sure you’d accept him.

You took his hand, squeezing it gently, grounding yourself in the quiet assurance of his touch. It wasn’t the grand gesture you’d once dreamed of, but it was real. And somehow, that made it mean even more.

He looked down at your intertwined fingers, his thumb brushing softly over your knuckles. “Thank you for giving me this chance, Y/N. I’ll spend every day showing you that I mean it.”

You offered him a small, tentative smile, one that held a flicker of hope. “And I’ll do my best to believe it. But you have to understand—this is going to take time.”

He nodded, his own smile softening his face. “I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

For a moment, you both stood there, hands entwined, caught in the delicate balance between past hurt and the fragile possibility of something new. The wounds might still be raw, but you could feel them beginning to heal, slowly, with each beat of your hearts in sync.

As you looked into his eyes, you felt something you hadn’t felt in a long time—a cautious, budding belief that maybe, just maybe, this time, things would be different.

A few weeks later, things had settled into a comfortable, tentative new rhythm. The past wasn’t forgotten, but it had softened around the edges, allowing something new to bloom between you and Chan—no, Chris. You’d started calling him that again recently, just between the two of you, and every time he heard it, his eyes lit up, as though it was his own quiet assurance that he had your forgiveness, that he wasn’t just “Chan,” your brother’s best friend, but Chris, the man you were falling for all over again.

You weren’t rushing anything, taking each moment as it came. There were stolen glances, shared laughter, and late-night conversations that stretched until dawn, weaving a new kind of trust between you. He was patient and gentle, letting you set the pace, and every step you took forward felt right. It was healing, a slow rekindling that felt like rediscovering a part of yourself that had been missing.

One Saturday afternoon, you and Chris were sitting on the couch, a movie playing in the background as he leaned closer, his arm resting around your shoulders. Sunghoon and Jisung had left to get snacks- Chris listening to your request and giving Sunghoon a chance, finding out that he genuinely enjoyed the company of your best friend. 

“Its like eternal best friend double dates.” Jisung had joked.

But since your brother and best friend had left, Chan had been looking at you with that soft, adoring expression you’d only dreamed of before, and it made you feel like you were the only person in his world.

“You’re staring,” you whispered, smiling as you felt a blush creep up your cheeks.

“Can you blame me?” he murmured back, his voice warm and low. “I’ve missed so much time, I don’t want to miss a single moment now.”

You felt your heart stutter, a nervous excitement bubbling up as you glanced down at his hand, your fingers lightly tracing patterns on the back of it. The space between you felt electric, and when he gently cupped your face, tilting it towards him, your breath caught. Slowly, as if asking permission, he leaned in.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and then his lips brushed softly against yours, a delicate kiss that felt like everything you’d waited for. His hand cradled your cheek, his thumb brushing gently as if he were afraid you might disappear. You kissed him back, your hand moving to rest against his chest, feeling his heartbeat under your fingertips, strong and steady.

“Chris,” you whispered softly as you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, his name slipping out naturally, comfortably. The warmth in his eyes told you he’d heard everything you couldn’t put into words—how he was forgiven, how he was here, truly here, and that was all you’d ever wanted.

The tender moment, though, was cut short by a loud gasp and a stumbling sound near the doorway. You whipped around to see Jisung and Sunghoon standing there, both looking wide-eyed and more than a little surprised.

“Oh… I did not mean to see that,” Jisung said, covering his eyes dramatically, though you could see the smirk threatening to break through. “My best friend and my little sister? Wow, I was not prepared!”

Sunghoon, by contrast, grinned openly, the kind of grin that said he’d known this would happen all along. “Took you both long enough,” he teased, making his way over towards you to whack your head affectionately. “I was starting to think I’d have to do something drastic to get you two together.”

You laughed, face warm with embarrassment, but Chris only chuckled, unfazed even by Sunghoon’s physical touch with you, as he slid his arm around your shoulders again. “You two need to learn how to knock,” he said lightly, squeezing you a little closer.

Sunghoon just shrugged, shooting you a mischievous look. “I’m sure Jisung didn’t feel a need to consider having to knock on the door of his own home.”

Jisung laughed, giving Sunghoon a playful nudge. But then turning to Chan with a serious look. “I might still need to have ‘the talk’ with you, Hyung. I know we’ve known each other forever, but this is new territory.”

You rolled your eyes, pretending to scowl at your brother. “Oh, please, Ji. You never said anything before.”

“It’s because you weren’t actually together at the time! But now you are.”

Chris leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, a look of peace and contentment in his eyes. “Yeah, and I’m not going anywhere this time,” he said, looking up at Jisung and Sunghoon, his tone serious yet gentle. “Not ever.”

Jisung nodded, his expression softening as he took in the scene. “Good. Just make sure you’re good to her, alright? Or else I’ll have to do the brotherly duty of fighting you or whatever older brothers are supposed to do…” He mumbled, turning towards Sunghoon for backup.

“Yeah…and I’ll do whatever a best friend does…” He said confused, shrugging as you laughed.

Chris’s grip tightened just slightly around your shoulders. “You don’t have to worry about that,” he said, his voice low and steady. “She’s the most important person in my life.”

Jisung scrunched up his nose, pretending to gag. “Ugh, okay, I was prepared for the brother talk, but I did not sign up for the mushy romance stuff. Can you two not be gross for five seconds?”

Chris laughed, glancing down at you with a sparkle in his eyes. “Fine, I’ll spare you… for now,” he said, giving you a playful nudge and a kiss to your nose

Sunghoon, ever the instigator, leaned back with a grin. “Hey, give them a break, Jisung. They’ve got years of this to catch up on. And honestly, I’m enjoying the show.”

Jisung threw a pillow in Sunghoon’s direction. “Well then maybe you should go find yourself someone if you think it’s cute seeing how my best friend and sister act.” He teased, rolling his eyes but unable to hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe they’ll have a sister and then you can join our family.”

Sunghoon shuddered and shook his head. “No thank you. But Y/N’s kids will have an Uncle who spoils them.” He said, grabbing the bottle of Soju from the coffee table.

“Hey! I get the title of favorite Uncle automatically.” Jisung whined. “No fair.”

Sunghoon shrugged. “The favorite Uncle has to be from the maternal side.”

“The hypothetical-” He shot a look at you. “Mom in question is my sister!”

“Logic, doesn’t always logic my dear friend.”

As Sunghoon and Jisung went back and forth you laughed, settling into Chris’s embrace, feeling the warmth of home around you. You felt his smile without even looking and it made your heart leap. This, right here, was everything you’d hoped for and more. And as the teasing and laughter filled the room, you knew that no matter what, you were exactly where you were meant to be. With who you were meant to be with.

<<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>>

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha

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@leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon

@night-storm7 @missmajdastark @axel-skz

[targaryenluvs]

ooh what about coryo x a plinth!reader, like sejanus’s younger sister who’s friendly but cautious. and though she accepts coryo into the family (since he was her brother’s “friend”) the way he just took his place begins to unsettle her until she finds out what happened but by then it’s too late and she can’t get rid of him

RUNAWAY

pairings: dark!coriolanus snow x fem!plinth!reader

summary: you’d always considered coriolanus to be a friend of yours. family even. but after sejanus’s death you find him to be off. he’s keeping something from your family and you’ve run out of time to get as far away as you can.

warnings: mentioned murder/hanging, nc kissing, secrets, manipulation, lying, possessive, blackmail, forced marriage, implied sex

a/n: thank u for the requestsss!! i’ve had no inspo lately so thank y’all

he looked so different.

well not so, but to anyone else it was just a change of clothes and a hairstyle. but he truly had changed, in personality and looks. his face rarely smiled anymore, it being reserved for a small group.

what you didn’t know was that the group was just you.

your family has been quick to welcome him, sejanus’s loyal best friend. the one who’d been by his side, when it happened and before it. who helped him in the academy and as peacekeepers. you liked coriolanus a lot back then, he was always nice to you. bringing you a rose or a treat he’d managed to charm a naive baker into passing his way free of charge. you’d always seen him as a brother, his presents being an affectionate way of showing his liking of you. sejanus’s little sister. you were happy for sejanus, as most of the kids weren’t exactly welcoming. having an acquaintance, friend even, was good for him.

but if you’d known he had other intentions in mind for these years you would have ran for the hills.

coriolanus was on the fast track for success.

with the plinth fortune at his back he was for once providing what he wanted to for his family. presidency in the horizon, respect by his side and lucy gray in the past.

but there was something he wanted from the plinth family, even if he’d already taken their fortune and son. their daughter. before now, he was meek. he may have held himself high, fooled some and scared others with his smart self he’d never managed to get the one thing he wanted, you. but there was no way you could deny him now, right?

you didn’t know how it had happened but you weren’t miserable. you knew you’d have to marry one day so why not coriolanus? you thought to yourself as you fixed your wedding dress, you’d asked for time alone before you walked since- well you didn’t know why. you just wanted a second to breathe before the entire capitol came down on you with a million questions, pokes and prods.

you were in corio and yourselfs room. as you surveyed the room one last time as an unmarried woman you noticed something peeking out from his bed. you knew coriolanus liked to write, but you assumed it was all business related. god you wish your curiosity had kept itself in check.

your dress was wet in places. the tears were non-stop and you couldn’t breathe. just when you thought the tears and heavy breathing would die down you felt coriolanus’s hand on your bare shoulder, “you should have not read it.” his voice was stern, unwavering. you wanted nothing more than to kill him. “don’t be hysterical. get up. he’s gone and there is nothing you can do about it. i won’t allow you to ruin my image, get up.” you continued crying as he lifted you up, manoeuvring you like a doll. moulded for him.

he wiped away your tears as you buried your face in his neck and your nails in his biceps. you were holding on to him for dear life, you feared if he wasn’t there to ground you the floor would eat you.

“settle down, we have a wedding to finish.” you choked on god knows what, “do you honestly believe i’d marry you now? no! i’m telling everyone. and they’ll see what a disgusting monster you are. how dare you come to our family for reprieve and safety! use our money! stay in our home and smile at us knowing what you did?” you screamed as you ran towards the door, being met with a guard. he was large, burly and did not look like he cared about you. the tears down your face and he held no sympathy. “i pay him handsomely. he won’t help you, no one here will.” coriolanus walked over to the door and shut it as you walked backwards.

you had no clue what he would do to you, if he could have sejanus hung and then face his family everyday. charm you, love you, sleep with you and now marry?

“would you like to tell your mother? that someone she considers to be a son took her child from her? would she even believe you? or would she die of heartbreak before you could explain? what happens when i prove your lying? no one knows besides you and me. your word vs mine. a powerful business man, game maker of the hunger games, from old money and wealth. coriolanus snow, soon to be president and his dear wife. y/n plinth, a daughter of the plinths, new money with no history in the capitol and whom made money of off the war whilst others suffered. even if they did believe you, who would stop me from making sure they see their son again?”

checkmate.

you had no where to run to and your family on the line, so when coriolanus walked to you, fixed your hair and dress, you let him.

when your father walked you down the isle to the monster who destroyed your family, you let him.

when your mother cried tears of happiness for her daughters marriage, you let her.

when coriolanus kissed you passionately, hand dropping quite low as the crowd cheered for your love. you let them.

and when he carried you to your new bedroom, ripped your dress off and made his way down, you let him.

because you knew there was no way you’d allow him to touch your parents, hurt them. maybe they could get away from his poisoned thorns that dug so deeply. by the end of the night you’d been taken in so many ways you couldn’t move without irritating a bruise. and with coriolanus’s arm trapping you in his chest only one thought blared through your mind.

RUNAWAY!

[kechiwrites]

property lines

dark!steve rogers x neighbour!reader

kinktober countdown: day two (facefucking).

synopsis: your neighbour is inappropriate, and you aren’t quite sure how to broach the subject.

wc: 2.2k

cw: dark content, non con, oral (male receiving), femme language + afab!reader, pet names, internal victim blaming, pet names (sweetheart), a touch of misogyny

author’s note: day 2 brings us more dark!steve, i fear i may be incapable of writing him sincerely. he’s just a little too perfect. I like to take off a bit of the shine. thank you @katsukikitten u r my muse.

Your neighbour is inappropriate, and you aren’t quite sure how to broach the subject. Mostly because you can’t be sure if he’s doing it on purpose or if he’s just overly friendly. Maybe it’s the signals you give off, bringing a plate of thick, sweet, cheesecake brownies over to the recently sold house next door, hoping to make a new connection. Suburbia can be isolating, and with all of your friends shaking ass in the city, you need to branch out. It really isn’t the kind of home you figured a single man like Steven Grant Rogers would buy, but then again, you lived in your suburban palace alone, willed to you by your late grandmother and only in need of a few renovations.

He’d been so bright, when you first met him, with a perfect white smile and twinkling blue eyes. He’d been happy to accept the desserts, even happier to return the plate a day later, extolling the praise he and his poker buddies lauded on you over the taste. You’d shrugged it off, “The least I could do for a neighbour. I’m just glad you all liked them.” 

Secretly though, the compliments had thrilled you, especially once you’d gotten a glimpse at the aforementioned “poker buddies”, the whole lot of them, handsome, built, big. All too happy to fix leaky pipes and paint fences in exchange for chocolate cream pie or a dish of homemade lasagna. But Steven  - “Steve, please”  -  was your most loyal customer, always lending a hand, pausing during his early morning jog to check up on you while you watered your flower beds, asking how your book is going, what you do in that “big old house all by yourself” when you aren’t working on “the next great American novel”, of course (his words, not yours).

It’s fine at first, a little disarming to be at the centre of his white hot attention, burning your flesh like he had you under a magnifying glass on a perfect sunny day. But eventually it’s not fine, eventually Steve Rogers takes more and more steps over the property line of overly friendly and into the front yard of wildly overbearing. Eventually, Mr. Rogers insists on weekly visits, popping into your house by using the spare key under the mat he shouldn’t even know about. Slinging his muscled arm over you during the neighbourhood block party, and your neighbour’s son’s 5th birthday party, and the Fourth of July barbeque. He fixes your car without you asking, brings in your groceries when he sees you unloading them in your driveway, brings your mail to you during his daily jog. It’s helpful sometimes, yes, but it’s also suffocating. And you were going to set him straight. You were! But it’s hard, hard to stare into the face of a suburban god, the literal king of the neighbourhood and tell him no. It’s hard to tell him that he’s making you uncomfortable, that you’d like for him to stop being so goddamn friendly all the time. 

So maybe a little of it is your fault. Maybe you should’ve been clearer on your boundaries. Maybe, when handsome, strapping Mr. Rogers came to your front door to ask you to essentially cater one of his poker nights, you shouldn’t have stayed to serve the food, playing happy little housewife in front of Steve’s friends, bringing them cold beers from the fridge and sitting next to Steve, playfully making faces at his hand, then plating up dessert when he asked you to. But it felt good to have his attention. His favour. So when “the boys” start to head home, laying praise and amazement at your feet, you’re sufficiently buttered up for Steve to ask yet another favour of you. It’s not much, of course. Just a little help with cleanup. Then he’ll escort you home himself. After all, there are some real sickos out there.

So you agree. What’s the harm, right?

The harm, it just so happens, comes quickly after you finish drying the dishes Steve washes. You slide the last plate, towel dried as best you could, into his cabinets, sighing in contentment at a job well done. The harm is when Steve turns you around and presses you against the sink, water soaking into the back of your blouse, making the fabric cling to your skin. You stay there for a minute, not processing what’s happening, ready to laugh off another inappropriate joke from Steve. 

You don’t really get the chance.

Two heavy hands clap down on your shoulders, exerting pressure on you until you crumple to the floor, knees hitting the tile of Steve's kitchen painfully. You yelp, struggling against him, pressing, then beating your fist against his tree trunk legs. 

"Stev-" you choke on his name when your neighbour unzips his trousers before you, undoes the fly of the pair you helped him pick out, with him bent over your shoulder while you held his phone, his front pressed close to your back. Pulls his half hard dick out of pants starched and pressed with the iron he'd borrowed from you because his was "on the fritz" again. 

"Open up." He cajoles, and you pin him with an incredulous, confused stare. No. No. This is all wrong. He doesn’t act like that. Steve Rogers isn’t like that.

The hand he doesn't use to stroke himself grabs your jaw, squeezing until you open your mouth, squeezing til it hurts. A sharp, purposeful punch of his hips is all it takes for him to make use of the opening. All it takes to put every little joke, boundary crossing, and stray touch into startling, horrifying perspective.

“It was the baking.” He whispers above you. “Peggy never baked, which was fine.” He sighs above you like he isn’t pistoning his cock deep into your throat with reckless abandon. “But I missed it, y’know? And you, you bake how angels ought to, sweetheart.” 

Tears stream down your face while Steve uses you, dragging your dazed, crying face back and forth on his hard-on. On a particularly strong thrust, he broaches your throat. Your eyes roll up, until he can barely see the perimeter of your irises, and you warble out a miserable moan, begging, all while wrapped around his dick, for a reprieve. Your head is pinned to the counter behind you, and even though you shove against the muscle of his thighs, Steve brooks no quarter.

“Just take it,” he coos, like he wants you to swallow cough syrup, “it’ll be over soon.” his breath stutters when your lips brush against his balls. Steve moves one of his hands to cup the back of your head, keeping you as close as possible when he comes down your throat, groaning in pleasure while you struggle to swallow stream after bitter stream of his seed, lest you choke on it or fucking drown. 

He finally releases you, and you pull back so fast you bang the back of your head on his pristine white counters. The pain radiates through your scalp, grounding you in the moment, cementing you to the spotless linoleum floor of Steve Rogers’ kitchen. You’re both panting, eager to fill your lungs with gulps of air. 

“Whew.” He sighs, hands on his hips, like that took a lot out of him. “I didn’t mean to get so rough with you, just didn’t expect the struggle.” He chuckles, patting you on the head. “But you settled down quick, didn’t ya?” His tone takes on…contentment? Happiness? 

No. That’s not quite right. 

It’s pride. Steve is looking down at you, your spit and cum slick mouth, the weepy, watery state of your eyes, and the disarray of the hair he’d used as a handle, with pride.

Your stomach roils.

He bends low and you flinch away from him, smacking your head on the countertop again. He cocks his head at the involuntary movement, and smiles at you. A familiar, warm thing. One that made your heart flutter with pleasure, beat fast with your own surge of pride when he accepted a pie, or offered a compliment. Now it does the same, your heart speeds up, your palms itch curiously, and your brain doesn’t know if you’re happy or sad. Doesn’t know if it craves those smiles anymore. 

“Just wanna set you on your feet. C’mon.” He speaks quietly, like he’s soothing a frightened animal, and hooks his hand under your armpits, heaving you up with the same startling strength he'd used to face fuck the fight out of you.

“It’s okay.” You bleat, voice as wobbly and unstable as the pair of legs struggling to keep you upright. And it’s not, it’s far from okay, the taste of him lingers in the back of your throat and if you think about it for even a second more you’ll throw up all over his shiny floors, on those godforsaken pants.

“I admit,” he laughs, ducks his head with that small town charm he does so well, “I wanted to last longer. But you were too good.” He winks at you, like you share a secret. Like you’re in league with each other.

He staring, waiting for you to say something, arches a brow like it’s your line and you’re fucking up the show.

But there it is again, that smile, sunny and open, and so pristine.

“Let’s get you home.” He herds you towards his front door, hand glued to the small of your back, his pinky finger stroking the skin exposed by the riding up of your still wet shirt. The two of you walk into the balmy summer air, and the spaces in between the black night, punctuated with the occasional white streetlight, designate your path home. Some of your neighbours’ houses are still illuminated, their warm yellow windows denoting the presence of life. You wonder what goes on behind their doors, you wonder if someone is having a good night somewhere close to you.

You come across your door faster than you were prepared for, the cheery yellow paint job Steve and James had done for caramel apple pie, mocks you. The way he’d smiled in your face, touched you, laughed. Steve shifts next to you, holding onto your extensive tower of pyrex and tupperware, for an instant your blood runs cold at the prospect of Steve inviting himself in, like he’s done so many times before. Not to bring in groceries or put together a dresser, but to pin you prone to the carpet of your bedroom and smile at you.

“So!” He turns, “Same time next week?” You gawk at him, and when you don’t say or do anything, he stoops and slides your extra keys out from under your Garfield emblazoned doormat. The jingle of two, simple metal keys against the little bell shaped key-chain makes your head pound, your blood boil. He unlocks the door, and gestures for you to take a step indoors. You raise both hands, palms upturned so he can give the keys back, so you can hide them, or melt them, or flush them down the toilet. Instead, you get to watch him slip the key-ring into his pocket, before he places your dishes into your uplifted open palms. “I gotta say, the lemon bars were a hit.” He tweaks your nose between his thumb and forefinger, his compliment tempered by the greedy shine in his eyes. You nearly scratch your own eyes out when you get that pleased, soft tingle in your chest.

He smiles and you salivate. He compliments you and your heart responds. He’s proud and your brain tells you ‘I’m happy’.

Why hasn’t it gone away? Will it ever go away?

“Maybe those brownies again, the cream cheese ones?” His voice is hopeful, soft and pliant, like he’s worried you’ll say ‘no’.

Like there’s a world where he’d take no for an answer.

You nod, a jerky, quick gesture that rattles your brain around in your skull. “Sure. Yeah.” You answer, sweaty hands slipping against tempered glass and plastic lids. “Yes. Brownies.” Steve beams, clapping his hands together, once, loud, drawing your eyes to the brutish width of them.

“Fantastic. I can’t wait.” He jogs down your front steps, and the fist secured around your lungs loosens with every step he takes away from you. He pauses at the side walk, one foot still on your property, the other poised to leave it.

“We make a great team. Don’t we?” He turns to you, and this time, he isn’t smiling. This time, his eyes cut through the night and the streetlight and the foggy haze of misfortune clouding your brain.

And the fear finally comes.

You kick your door closed, and you lock your door, and you drop your pyrex and tupperwear and serving spoons in the sink and you lock your windows and you get into bed, still dressed for a poker night you had no business being at, and you pull the covers up and up and over your face.

But the fear doesn’t go away.

And neither will your neighbour.

god i want him so bad. tomorrow, captain soap.

find the rest of the masterlist here.

support city girls who bought $50 of baked cheesecake today, reblog what you like.

[yuri-is-online]

ace has the biggest, fattest crush on yuu and it's amazing how he's winning against the rest of the cast. and yes even malleus is losing against ace and i said what i said!

he canonically commuted during winter season when yuu sent an SOS, offered to sleep next to them twice, was the first one to worry about them when everyone vanished in the spectral soiree and had a mini tantrum when they didnt realize how worried he was!! and lastly had the guts to tell malleus to his face, a top 5 magician in the twst universe, that what he did wasn't cool just cause he was worried sick abt yuu (and grim and deuce ig) !!!! Also he was so fucking worried when Yuu went to STYX and him and deuce couldn't contact him?!!

Also spoiler warning if u guys dont want spoilers on his vignette on the japanese event with stitch

Like!! When he thought that gantu's robots were there to attack them and the only one present was him, Yuu and Grim, he told them to run away and get help and he'll slow the robots down until they returned!! He was like "I won't let you pass me!", and he was so embarrassed when he found out it was just floyd and stitch 😭😭

End of spoiler

He's so down bad that it's endearing !! He's the bestest boy and its sad how ppl dont like him much!! (His fucking fault tho he's so mean to deuce, i want to punch him in the face then kiss him)

*want to make it clear that i am not trying to suggest this is cannon. it is my cannon though so it goes on my blog

Thank you for sending me more aceyuu propaganda I need it on my blog and people need to see this. He is winning against Malleus for me too (b ᵔ▽ᵔ)b He is a supportive and caring friend and there is so much there in game to fuel the aceyuu agenda. Honestly his little spats with Deuce are kind of funny to me. Deuce hits back just as hard (he actually has some of the better burns imho) Grim actually roasts Ace pretty good too sometimes, he's really easy to make fun of.

I do understand why people might dislike him, tsun isn't everyone's bag. Hell it isn't usually mine, but I just love how loyal of a guy Ace is. Aceyuu supremacy fr fr

[m4ttslvr]

Snaps from Bff!Nick but Matt and Chris fight for your attention but you chose Chris (Pt.5)

Matt and Chris have a crush on you and your best friend Nick is kinda grossed out but you secretly love it but you chose Chris anyway

👉🏼 Matt version

(Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3, & Pt.4)

a/n: super wholesome ending amiright 🥰 i appreciate all the love thank u guyyyys❤️

—LEV ᖭི༏ᖫྀ

had to tag my loyal rebloggers and besties, i see yall and i appreciate u SO MUCH. wanna kiss you all @muwapsturniolo @avaaawava @ellie-luvsfics @princessbetsy123-blog @simply-sturniolo @luverboychris

[juyeonszn]

SWEET

PAIRING lee juyeon x f!reader

WORD COUNT 4.61k

GENRES fluff ﹒ smut ﹒ minuscule bit of angst

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, boy next door/neighbor au, reader was in a toxic-ish relationship, juyo is so cute and so sweet, until he’s kinda 😵‍💫 yk?, um kevin and changmin appearances, reader being absolutely irrevocably impossibly down bad for juyeon’s hands, so hand kink lol, making out, vaginal fingering, cum eating…. lol, they get a little sappy at the end

SUMMARY maybe this was for the better. maybe it was okay to let your guard down every once in a while, so long as it was always for your flirty neighbor.

MORE i would like to apologize for putting this out a day late… um i was really busy preparing for my enhypen concert so 😭 not a lot of writing was happening since there wasn’t enough brain juice flowing. anyways. ENJOY <3 pls rb if u did! (ALSO THANK U REESE AND @sungbeam FOR BETAING AND EDITING <<<3 i love y’all sm)

PERM TAGLIST @winterchimez @maessseongs @itsbeeble @zzoguri

If there was one thing you took pride in, it was your keen sense of hospitality.

You’d been raised as the type of girl to always be welcoming when a new face arrived, to be that guiding light for them as they adjusted to all the changes in their life. When you were little, your mother taught you to introduce yourself first, because you never knew if that person was shy or not. Of course, there was the usual ‘Stranger Danger’ pep talk, but it differed greatly from the new friend pep talk.

The first time you exhibited this wonderful trait of yours was in middle school when the foreign student in your class was forced to stand at the front of the room. He wasn’t necessarily shy, but you could tell he didn’t really enjoy being put on the spot, hands behind his back as he said his name and where he was from.

Kevin Moon. Age 13. Vancouver, Canada.

The only empty desk in the classroom was the one beside yours, and that was the golden opportunity to become best friends with the new kid. As soon as he settled into his seat and class had resumed as normal, you leaned over slightly and cupped a hand over your mouth to whisper loud enough that he could hear.

“Hi! I’m Y/N!”

He gave you a small smile in return and from then on, you and Kevin Moon were the best of friends.

The second time you proved your kindness was your freshman year of college. It was still syllabus week, but your professor had sent out an email over the weekend with papers that needed to be printed and brought to class. The guy next to you didn’t get the memo, freaking out over already messing things up on the first day.

You didn’t know him at all, but you felt bad that he was so stressed. In turn, you decided to rip up your own papers. He looked at you like you were crazy, maybe because you were. What idiot does something like that?

You give him a warm smile. “There. Now we’re both missing it.”

All he can do is laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’m Changmin.”

“Y/N.”

After that, Ji Changmin came to be another one of your closest friends. It was kind of silly that something your mother instilled in you at a young age had become such a big part of your life. It brought you people who you’d cherish forever. But it also brought people you wish you’d never met.

“Get the fuck out.”

“Y/N, babe, we can work through this—”

“Are you deaf?” Your tone raises and your feet carry you to the front door, swinging it open. “I said to get out of my apartment.”

“We’ve been together for three years. You’re not gonna fight for us?” He pleads, clasping his hands as he stands in front of you.

“Why would I? Why should I stay with someone who doesn’t value me enough to stay loyal?” You seethe, your anger growing in size the longer you glare at his pathetic face. The face of a man you thought would love you until death did you part.

“She meant nothing to me!” He tries to rationalize with you, but you won’t have any of it. You weren’t stupid and you sure as hell weren’t blind.

“Do you take me as a fucking fool, Daehyun? I’ve known for months that you weren’t ‘working late at the office’. She even DMed me and showed me screenshots of your messages. Now get out before I call the cops.” You’re so pissed off that you don’t even realize you’re crying, fat tears trickling down your hot cheeks.

“After all I’ve done for you and all I’ve given you? You’re gonna act like a bitch?” He drops the innocent boyfriend act, backing you into the doorframe.

“Leave, Daehyun.” You say flatly. You’re not gonna give him the satisfaction of crumbling beneath the weight of his words. You knew the truth, you knew what kind of person he truly was after all this time.

He scoffs, grabbing his jacket off the hook beside him and finally storming out of your apartment. You cover your mouth with your hand to muffle the sobs that so badly want to escape. You watch as he bumps shoulders with a stranger holding a box, thankfully not looking back at you.

You make eye contact with said stranger, eyes wide like a child who’d just gotten caught with their hands in a cookie jar. His eyes resemble those of your friends’ when you told them you’d found out about your boyfriend’s infidelity. You both stand there for a moment, an impromptu staring contest ensuing.

Quickly, you snap out of your trance, cowering into your apartment. You vaguely remember the elderly woman across the hall mentioning that someone was moving into the unit beside yours. She had never told you a specific date, though. Had you known it was today, you might’ve expedited the dramatic break-up with Daehyun.

How could you possibly introduce yourself to him after he witnessed that? And in your current state; snot-nosed and teary-eyed? There was no way. You’d just have to postpone that for another day. Hopefully he didn’t mind too much.

“Was he cute?”

“Kevin, why is that what you’re worried about?” Changmin’s mouth pulls into a thin line, smacking the slightly older male over the back of the head. He winces, caressing the spot to ease the pain.

“I wasn’t really paying attention to that when I had just shoved my cheating ex boyfriend out of my apartment,” you push around the ramyeon on your plate with your chopsticks. “I do feel terrible that he had to see that though. But how can I face him after that?”

Kevin taps his chin with his index finger, lips pursed in thought. “Why don’t you bake for him? Welcome him to the complex like the hospitable neighbor you are.”

“That’s not a half bad idea, actually.” Changmin nods, shoveling some rice onto his spoon. The Pisces deadpans and reclines in his chair.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Okay, enough bickering you two. I need you to finish eating so I can start planning what to bake.”

The third time you practice your mother’s life lesson, is the next evening when you’re face-to-face with your neighbor’s door.

Your hands have begun to clam up beneath the warm tupperware of cookies you were holding. Were you supposed to just knock on his door like everything was fine and dandy? What if he wasn’t even home? Maybe you should just leave the baked goods with a note and—

The door swings open to reveal the stranger from a few days ago. However, this time he also wears that expression of shock, cat-like eyes widened. Your mouth moves like fish out of water, not sure what you should say or how you should say it. So you don’t think and you just act, extending the tupperware towards him.

“H-Hi, I’m Y/N, I’m your neighbor,” your speech is a little shaky, but you’re too nervous to focus on that. “I— um— I baked these for you as a housewarming gift to welcome you to the complex. As well as an apology for making you a bystander in my messy breakup.”

His features relax as a smile inches its way onto his face, graciously accepting the treats you made for him. “Thank you, you didn’t have to do that. And don’t even worry about it, I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“N-No, you’re fine, I swear! We shouldn’t have aired our dirty laundry so publicly like that. You did nothing wrong.” You wave your hands as if physically dismissing his words. He lets out a little chuckle that warms your chest.

“If it’s any consolation, I’m glad that you left the dude. He sounded like a total asshole,” your neighbor tucks the tupperware under his arm, leaning against the threshold of his apartment. “You seem too nice to settle for somebody like that. From what I’ve seen, of course.”

You don’t know why that has your heart skipping a beat like a high school girl. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that he really was cute. He had a boyish charm to him, but not so much so that it overpowered how handsome he was. Kevin was going to have a field day with this information.

“Uh, thank you. I should be getting back to my place now. I have an early day at work tomorrow. Have a good night!” You clear your throat to kick yourself out of whatever stupor you were about to fall into, bowing. As you’re turning on your heel to make the ten foot trip to your own apartment, he calls out your name.

“I’m Juyeon, by the way.” He grins, waving as you push open your door.

“Now that is quite the interesting development.” Kevin snorts, helping himself to one of the raspberry filled donuts you’d just finished baking.

“If you keep eating my product, I’m gonna have to kick you out of the kitchen and out of my bakery,” you chide, swatting his hands away from the baker’s rack. “And how is that interesting in the slightest? I literally gave him the cookies, apologized, and that was that.”

“He was literally flirting with you, Y/N. Changmin, tell her I’m right. Apparently I’m no longer a voice of reason here.” He says through a full mouth.

“I mean, yeah? Kinda? Calling a girl nice is usually guy code for ‘I think you’re attractive and I could see myself sleeping with you’,” Changmin shrugs, tearing off a piece of Kevin’s donut. “But I also see where you’re coming from. You did just meet each other. He could’ve just been trying to console you in a way.”

“Why am I even friends with men when they’re useless?” You throw your head back, speaking to no one in particular.

Perhaps Kevin truly was overthinking the situation. Juyeon seemed to be a kind person who probably didn’t want any problems with his neighbors. It made sense why he’d side with you after witnessing your break up. Besides, the wounds were still too fresh to even consider thinking of anyone else in such a way. No matter how hot they may be…

You’d just have to wait and see for yourself. Only time could tell what would become of the nature of your relationship with your cute new neighbor.

You look insane with everything in your cart, filled to the brim with baking ingredients. It was around 10 PM and here you were, at the grocery store buying the things needed to make cinnamon rolls. Being a baker with a bit of a sweet tooth meant your cravings got a little out of hand at times, forcing you to make drastic decisions. (I.E. grocery shopping so late at night.)

Even your clothing choice was silly: flimsy pajama shorts with Care Bears patterned on them, a baggy t-shirt, and matching slippers. It’s not like anyone cared anyway. And it wasn’t like you were trying to impress anybody either.

But as you’re walking towards the registers, you start to regret your outfit. You very quickly spot your neighbor with a basket on his arm, waiting in line for self-checkout. You feel all the color drain from your face as you stand there, staring like an absolute idiot.

He’s dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants, a hoodie swallowing his figure. He looks so effortlessly good, it kind of makes you upset. Because how are you just now meeting a guy who’s both kind and attractive? As far as you were concerned, they didn’t exist in real life— they only existed in fairytales.

Juyeon looks up from his phone and catches your eye, his hand coming up to give you a little wave and one of those crinkly eye smiles that he does when you pass each other in the hall.

As the weeks have passed, you’ve seen him more and more than you deemed normal. You’d bump into each other on the way to or from picking up your mail, you’d hold the elevator for the other in record time, and you’d even leave your apartments at the same time. Now it appears you’re running into the guy at the supermarket, too. You tried to chalk it all up to coincidence, that you just both happened to be thinking on the same wavelength.

But shyly waving back to him right now reminds you that divine intervention had crazy ways of working its magic. Perhaps those had all just been openings for you to engage in something more with your cute neighbor. And there was only one way to find out.

You psych yourself up as you walk towards him, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Juyeon’s smile grows wider as he notices you approaching. “Hey, stranger. What are you up to tonight?”

“Some late baking,” you giggle, wanting to punch yourself in the face for sounding like a goddamn school girl. “I was actually wondering if you’d like to come over and keep me company? Totally up to you of course! I just thought it might be nice to get to know each other properly.”

Your suggestion is what leads the two of you to meet back up at your apartment after purchasing your respective groceries. You attempt to tidy up as best you can while you wait for the knock at your door, setting out all the ingredients on the counter and preheating your oven.

The soft knock comes moments later and you find yourself practically running to open the door, grinning at the sheepish expression on Juyeon’s face. You allow him inside of your apartment, trailing after him into the kitchen. Part of you felt like you were moving on too fast after Daehyun. As a baker, your kitchen was your safe space. It was where you went when you needed to be alone and in the comfort of what you knew best. Kevin and Changmin were the only ones you trusted to be within that element. For you to let Juyeon in— to let him permeate the walls you’ve never let down before, not even with your ex— was brand new territory.

“I almost forgot you own a bakery,” Juyeon speaks up, fingers tracing along the stand mixer. “But seeing all this expensive equipment reminded me of that. It only makes sense that someone as sweet as you would constantly be around sweet treats.”

You fail to bite back your smile. Maybe this was for the better. Maybe it was okay to let your guard down every once in a while, so long as it was always for your flirty neighbor. He laughs when you nudge his shoulder, grabbing all the dry ingredients for the dough.

“On a scale of one to ten, how patient are you?” You ask, avoiding his eyes as you open the flour. The question was in regards to several things.

“I’d say about an eight or nine. Patience is a virtue, you know. It comes easily if you practice hard enough.” He answers, leaning against the counter and watching you.

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding in, searching for your measuring cups. Both you and Juyeon begin to measure out the dry ingredients, dumping them into the mixing bowl. You decide to let him take some of the reins, folding in the mixture of milk, egg, butter, and yeast. While he does that, you prepare the cinnamon sugar.

“I think I’m done. What do I do next?” He turns to you, head cocked to the side slightly. You might actually die of cuteness aggression. The duality of man would one day drive you to the brink of insanity.

“Now you just knead it until it’s smooth.” Your back is to him as you say this, putting away any refrigerated items so they don’t go bad. But as you face him again, you wish you hadn’t.

Your eyes zero in on his hands, kneading the dough with careful, nimble fingers. You feel light-headed as you slip into a spell, gawking at how long and slender they are, massaging the dough like an expert. How had you never noticed how big and pretty his hands were?

Maybe baking with Juyeon was a bad idea. You could barely focus on anything but his fingers pressing the under-construction-cinnamon rolls into the counter. Oh how badly you wanted to be that dough— his hands all over you, groping and massaging and kneading and caressing everywhere they could reach.

The veins running up his arms weren’t helping either, instead fueling the fire burning in the pit of your stomach. You feel your lips part, eyes glossed over with that all too familiar lustful intensity. You wouldn’t be surprised if you had to wipe away drool after this.

“Y/N?” Juyeon glances up from the dough, a little taken aback by your reverie. He follows your line of sight, grinning to himself smugly when he realizes what has you so transfixed. He’s finally found your weakness, and he couldn’t wait to dangle it over your head. Patience was a virtue, but perhaps it would be okay for him to dabble with a vice for once.

He pushes out the dough, using his thumbs to spread it into a rectangular shape. He feels his blood pressure rising the darker your eyes get. However, he’s aware that you just recently got out of a relationship. He wants to move at a pace you’re comfortable with. So he won’t take the first step. He has to leave that up to you.

It’s at a certain point that you come to, blinking to force away the dirty thoughts plaguing your mind. You travel your field of vision to his face, where you find him already looking at you. Your cheeks heat up in mortification from being caught red-handed. You were just gawking at the poor guy’s like they were a piece of fresh meat. This was terrible.

You swallow thickly, averting eye contact to grab the bowl of cinnamon sugar. “Uh, we can start forming the rolls now so they can rise. And then— um— and then we can make the glaze.”

The burn of his gaze on your profile has you tripping over your words, cinnamon sugar sprinkling onto the counter space surrounding and the knife almost slipping from your grip when you go to cut the dough. Juyeon catches it for you, wrapping his fingers around yours to guide your movements and keep them steady.

You feel his breath behind your ear, his chest pressed to your back. His hand is so much larger than your own, nearly covering it entirely. He doesn’t make an effort to move either, rolling the dough into swirl shapes along with you. The whole time this is happening, neither of you are saying a word, letting the silence consume you and the air around you.

As the rolls are rising/baking, you set up everything necessary for making the icing. Juyeon watches with hearts in his eyes as you whisk the sugar, cream cheese, vanilla, and butter in a separate bowl. He wonders how many other people you let see you in this setting. How many people get to see you do the thing you love so dearly?

“I’d like to visit your bakery sometime, if you wouldn’t mind,” Juyeon suddenly says, resting his elbows on the counter as you taste test the icing. “I wanna try all of the desserts you bake.”

“I’m opening later tomorrow morning actually,” you smile, humming in appreciation when the sweetness of the glaze hits your taste buds. “You can come with me to try the fresh batches before I put them out? I’ll warn you though, I get there at like six.”

“AM?” His eyes practically pop out of their sockets.

“Yes, AM.” You laugh, lightly shoving him backwards.

“I’ll put like ten alarms so I can make sure I’m up in time, then.” He pokes his cheek with his tongue, tipping his head to the side. The goofy smile on your face remains even after minutes have passed and the two of you are just waiting for the cinnamon rolls to finish baking.

It feels like hours have gone by with the two of you standing there when they’re finally ready. The ding of the oven has you springing into action, putting on some oven mitts and taking out the baking sheet. Juyeon's eyes light up and even though you’d just been losing your mind over how insane he was making you, you find yourself cooing at him.

He laughs as you grab a couple spare icing bags for the cinnamon roll glaze, filling them generously. You hand one over to him and decide to split the rolls evenly, icing one half yourself while he does the other. And for once, you think that tonight might end normally. You think that nothing eventful will happen and you’ll just ice the cinnamon rolls without problems.

But you were wrong, like always.

“Ah, shit—”

You glance up from the roll you were glazing to see what the fuss was about. Juyeon’s icing bag tore somehow, the sticky topping getting all over his hand. Truly, you were no better than a man, with the filthy thoughts inhabiting your brain almost instantaneously.

He brings his hand up to his mouth, licking the glaze off the back of his hand and wrapping his lips around his thumb. You felt dizzy, drunk on the sight of your extremely attractive neighbor doing something so sensual without even trying to. You bite your lip, accidentally dropping your own icing bag due to lack of attention.

Juyeon smirks slightly, relishing in the way it takes absolutely nothing to hypnotize you with his hands alone. He really tried to keep himself contained. He really wanted you to extend the first olive branch, but he knows you’re apprehensive. So just this once, he tells himself that it’s okay to initiate, to give you a little push in the right direction.

He takes a step closer to you, caging you against the counter. You stare up at him with wide, doe eyes, as if you were completely innocent despite the naughty images flashing behind them. Juyeon brings his thumb up to your lips, the pad of it still covered in icing.

“Think you could clean this up for me?” He asks, voice low and husky. You could actually combust with that all on its own.

Just like your formal introduction, you don’t give yourself the time to think, and act, instead, running your tongue along the length of his thumb. Juyeon doesn’t restrain the groan in the back of his throat, holding your face in his hands and pulling you in for a kiss.

You reciprocate immediately, fisting his hoodie like it was the only thing capable of stabilizing you. Maybe it was, with the way Juyeon’s lips synchronized with yours and his fingers tangled in your hair. You thought the ground would swallow you whole and wake you up from this dream. On what planet did someone like Lee Juyeon like a girl like you?

His hands slide down your body, groping everything in their path desperately before cupping under your thighs and lifting you onto the counter. He knocks the baking sheet of cinnamon rolls out of the way, palms rubbing up and down the sides of your legs. You want more, so much more, but you’re afraid to ask. You’re afraid to start something you’re not even sure you can emotionally handle.

Juyeon senses your hesitation, detaching from you momentarily. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want. I understand if you still need time.”

“N-No, I want this— I want you— I'm just… scared.” You breathe, your forehead using his shoulder for support.

“I'm not him, Y/N. I can give you the world if you’d let me. I’d never do what he did to you, that’s a promise.” He holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, kissing the crown of your head.

“Okay,” you nod, smiling up at him. “I trust you, Juyeon.”

You reconnect your lips as his fingers slip beneath your pajama shorts, toying with the waistband of your panties. His lips curl up when he feels you squirm, legs parting to make more room for him in the middle of them. You sigh, body shuddering when he drags his knuckle down your clothed slit.

Juyeon hooks his fingers into your shorts and underwear, hauling them down your legs. You place your hands behind you to brace yourself, a shiver trailing your spine when the cool air of your apartment hits your warm core. He groans again at the sight of you bare for him, using two fingers to spread your lower lips.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he swears, his thumb slowly circling your clit.

You whine, tossing your head back as he applies more pressure. Bit by bit, you begin to lose yourself to the pleasure of Juyeon’s gorgeous hands. Soon the stimulation on your clit amplifies when he adds another finger, thrusting it in and out of your entrance. He curls deep inside of you, like he was reaching for something he’d left.

One finger turns to two, and before you know it, Juyeon’s openly finger fucking you on the counter. He leans over your body to keep your lips together, kissing you sloppily while all his focus is on drawing you to the edge. You can almost taste it, your saccharine release in your field of vision now.

It’s a little embarrassing how quickly he was able to wind you up and trip you over the edge, but you feel too euphoric to care. You pause in your kiss to look down at his handy work. (No pun intended.) It makes your head feel foggy and your vision blurry to see his deft fingers fucking you open, veins bulging, like he’d done this many times before. Your hooded eyes follow them up his forearms, a whine escaping your lips.

A particular curl of his fingers and circle of his thumb have you clenching around him, creaming like you’d never had an orgasm in your life. He doesn’t slow his assault, bringing you down just to put you back up on that summit once again. The overstimulation has you cumming a second time in a matter of what felt like seconds, whimpers becoming voluminous moans.

Juyeon kisses you softly, gently pulling out his fingers to lick them clean like he did with the cinnamon roll glaze. A choked groan bubbles past your mouth, tossing an arm over your eyes. He laughs, towing you to the edge of the counter.

He brushes some stray hairs out of your face, moving your arm to smile dopily at you. “I hope you know I was being serious about the whole treating you better thing. If you’ll give me the chance.”

“I know. I told you I trust you, remember?” You nip at the inside of your cheek. His eyes crinkle up like they tend to do when he’s smiling so genuinely. It forces the wind out of you, because how could you ever get used to a sight so stunning?

“You’re so cute.” He laughs, kissing all around your face and smushing your cheeks together.

“Juyeon,” you mumble. “I’m half naked…”

“Even better,” he grins, pecking the tip of your nose. “Makes it that much easier to do all of the other things I wanna do to you.”

© juyeonszn. do not steal, claim, or repost.

[mrworldwide305dale]

❦ Wrath of the gods ❦

(Emperor Geta x reader)

❦

WARNINGS ETC.

slow burn, adopted!reader, reader is a ball of anxiety in this chapter, mentions of death, mention of past accident, very brief physical violence, period-typical misogyny, very little historical accuracy lmao, Geta is a prick, so is Caracalla, enemies to lovers

❦

There he was, standing before you in all his glory. Draped in expensive fabrics and a crown on his head, the dazzling metal reflecting the scorching hot midday sun and nearly blinding you. You had never wanted to bury yourself in the ground more than right at this very moment.

❦ —❦—❦ —❦—❦ —❦—❦ —❦—❦ —❦—❦ —❦—❦ —❦—❦ —❦—❦

You woke up with a headache, nothing unbearable but a nasty, barely-there feeling that lingered in the distance. Yawning, you pulled the cover off your body and made your way to the wooden cupboard containing all your clothes, except for the dirtied ones that your servants were, probably, cleaning at this very moment. Won't be a cheerful day, that's for sure, you thought to yourself. Based on the sun peeking through the wooden window covers, it was almost midday - you had overslept.

Talk about a feeling of impending doom. Little did you know what the gods had in store for you today.

Scoffing to yourself, you swiftly pulled fresh fabric on your body and with a little struggle tied a belt to your waist. Usually your ever-so-loyal servants were the ones to dress (and undress) you, but thanks to your "excessive" need for sleep, they had busied themselves with other housework. Your uncle and aunt would be waiting for you in the main hall, no, rather your aunt would be there, having prepared to shield you from the gnawing, scolding words of discipline from your uncle. "Oh leave it be, Marcus, the girl is no general. She has no need to follow such strict schedules", she would scoff at her husband.

Ah, the unbeatable and loved-by-everyone uncle of yours, Marcus Acacius. The general of the Roman army.

Regardless of your dislike towards his discipline, you were sure you wouldn't stop being grateful of his actions even after your soul roamed the ground no more. After his elder brother, your father, General Lucius, had heroically passed during one of the numerous conquests to expand the glorious empire, you had become parentless and homeless at the age of 13. Your mother had died during childbirth - a tragedy to the whole family. Marcus was then assigned the rank of General, and so forced to step into his late brother's shoes. Luckily, he felt nothing but pity for his favourite, and only, niece, and took it to his rights to legally adopt you.

And now here you were, almost eight years later, living a content life at your uncle's and aunt's manor. You did have servants, but you never really considered them as lesser beings. They were more like your only friends, with whom you could share your every thought.

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To your surprise, your dear uncle was nowhere to be found, nor was your aunt. As you roamed the house, you also noticed the absence of their servants. Weird, you thought. Usually the housekeepers were roaming around the corridors looking for anything to be taken care of, regardless of the time of day. Trying to shake off the uncanny feeling at the pit of your stomach, you made your way outside. Nobody at the courtyard, you remarked. Your second-best guess as to where everyone was hiding were the gardens. So, to the gardens you made your way with confident steps.

"Lady Y/N, good morning! Was your sleep satisfying?" you were greeted by Ilya, your most loyal servant.

"Good morning", you greeted her, and everyone else at work, with a slight hint of embarrassment in your voice. "I cannot help but wonder why I was allowed to oversleep while my uncle and aunt are out of the house..."

Ilya's face lit up from surprise. "Oh, my sincere apologies Y/N, we thought it would be best to let you get some additional rest. You know, you've been helping us too much for your own good lately."

A heartfelt laugh escaped your mouth while you jokingly shook your head. "My dear Ilya, I could spend the rest of my days here at the gardens with all of you and never be exhausted. I appreciate you letting me rest but please, next time make sure there's at least one resident awake and present." Ilya smiled at your last remark. That was your friendship - you could scold her about everything and she would always know you were not really being serious. Many a slave would sell their soul to have a bond like that.

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The scorching morning sun only burned more as the hours went by. You had been helping pick all the fruit from the beautiful luscious (as your aunt called them) trees and carry them in the kitchen in grand straw baskets. Pearls of sweat lingered on your forehead and temples, some breaking loose and travelling down your face, neck and all the way into the fabric of your tunic. You didn't mind, though, for helping with the housework had always been a passion of yours.

You were just starting to get rid of the lingering sense of doom, when one of the servants came running up to you. They stopped, panting, and pointed at the house. "My lady, I strongly advise you to go inside immediately. ...And change to a cleaner tunic."

Your gaze fixed on the house. What you saw towering over the rooftop made your stomach drop, so hard it almost hurt.

Banners.

Golden banners with embroidered leaves.

The symbol of the kings.

The emperors.

Instantly you started to internally panic, which was visible to outsiders more than you'd hoped. Ilya noticed your agitated state and, to be fair, was mentally shitting her undergarments herself.

"Y/N, we have to go now! There's no way you're presentable like this!“ she half-whispered, perhaps fearing that some royal guard was about to catch you, a high-born, doing mere housework. You looked down at your tunic which was already covered in patches of mud and sand. Silently you cursed the gods, picked up a basked of freshly-picked lemons and took off towards your house with Ilya by your side. You took a swift turn at a corner of a small shack, but something unexpected, no, something unexpected and terrifying made you abruptly stop in your tracks.

There he was, standing before you in all his glory. Draped in expensive fabrics and a crown on his head, the dazzling metal reflecting the scorching hot midday sun and nearly blinding you. You had never wanted to bury yourself in the ground more than right at this very moment.

Emperor Geta.

Staring at you, glaring down his stupidly chiseled nose.

At least you assumed the emperor before you was indeed Geta. He was quite tall, not a quality that people often associated with his elder brother, emperor Caracalla. Well, what difference would it make, you were doomed anyway.

He must have noticed the blood vanishing from your face and your expression changing from agitated to absolutely horrifyed, because his sneer, which looked like it hadn't left his face in a good while, slowly turned into a menacing smirk. You couldn't move, not an inch. Like a prey before a predator, you had been struck by the glorious aura of one of the immortal Imperatori.

You struggled to turn your gaze to Ilya and soon noticed that she and everyone else in your vicinity had their heads bowed, some even kneeling.

Right. You were surely going to die today.

Quickly you bowed your head and managed to utter out an apology, sounding quite pathetic. In the meantime, another man, looking very similar to the man you almost bumped to, appeared on his side. So I was right, this is Geta, you remarked while raising your head to see better. Caracalla really is short.

Emperor Geta's scowl-smirk soon turned, agonizingly slow, into a taunting, evil smile.

"Oh, is this all for me?" he taunted with a sincere tone, one you recognized as fake. He gestured to the basket of lemons still in your embrace. You forcibly moved your muscles and clumsily lowered the lemons to the ground. Not being able to utter a single word, your face burned partly thanks to the sun, partly because you wanted to vanish from the situation unfolding before your very eyes.

Caracalla's high-pitched, screeching giggle startled you, and you carefully eyed the elder Emperor.

Clearly he was enjoying making people feel like mice in his precence.

"We were looking for General Acacius's daughter, have you lot seen her by any chance?" he continued after his obnoxious burst of emotion. Ah, even better, you thought.

"I... I am the General's daughter", you managed to blurt out, "...adopted."

The silence following your shameful confession was then filled with Caracalla's familiar schreech-giggle, accompanied by one of Geta's - a bit deeper in tone but otherwise almost identical. You felt anger boil inside you. How dare they laugh at our faces?!

You knew exactly why they dared. They were the emperors of Rome, not just some mortal beings, like you. Not many individuals dared to question this divine course of, well, things.

"My my, you lot really look like you've been bathing in shit, don't you? Oh well, I suppose you don't even have mirrors here to reveal your sorry states to yourselves", Caracalla then barked out a sharp laugh, "And you! Not even Jupiter himself would recognize you as some high-born. And that nasty scar will surely scare away any potential courters, not that I believe you've had any", pointing at a faint scar on your neck, barely there but still visible.

Now almost shaking with frustration and the yearning of standing up to yourself, you couldn't keep quiet after hearing Caracalla's next words. He began targetting Ilya and the others behind you, having a laugh with his brother about their "dead" looks and every awful thing they would probably face during the years to come, so you cleared your throat and stepped forward.

"They may look like they've been shit on, but has lord Emperor ever noticed that he surely looks like a short cunt-"

A sharp, stinging pain made you quiet down. You instantly lifted a hand to cover your cheek and your nose, which had already began bleeding. With shocked, round eyes you looked up at emperor Geta, who in turn stared at your soul with wide manic eyes, hand still raised in the aftermath of the blow to your face.

"You could be hanged for that", he spoke calmly, a haunting coolness present in his voice. Shivers travelled down your back and cold sweat, if that could even occur in the heat, nauseatingly tickled the back of your neck. You felt blood run from your now-ruined nose down to your tunic, dotting the beige material with scarlet.

"I-I...I apologize, lord emperor." Still shocked by the sudden act of the younger ruler, you struggled to keep your eyes fixed to him. "...emperors", you quickly added, nodding towards the man you just insulted. You insulted an emperor. An emperor.

Caracalla loomed at his brother's side, eyeing you with confused, and very offended, eyes. His mouth opened and closed time and time again, as if he wanted to scream and shout every curse imaginable at you but was too appalled to do so.

You heard Geta snort and you turned your gaze back to him, fear seeping into your bones. But he only stared. Stared with that sneer on his lips, which you, in turn, stared at just a bit too long when a tongue darted out to wet them. Stop, you commanded yourself. Sadly, raising your eyes to meet his was no help to your confused state. You felt something else as well. It couldn't be excitement, could it?

Those menacing, stupidly beautiful, hazel eyes suddenly had you captured. You were absolutely horrified, adrenaline rushing through your veins.

Gods, you really were fucked.

"The General's expecting you, I suggest you hurry", the Emperor told you in a haunting, horrifying sing-sang voice. You blankly stared at the intimidatingly ...seductive (?) man in front of you, bowed absent-mindedly to both of the Emperors, separately, and off you went. Before you knew it, you were anxiously striding along a hallway inside your house with Ilya right behind you.

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"With all due respect, my lady - what were you thinking?!" Ilya whisper-shouted as you two hurriedly changed you to cleaner attire and simultaneously tried, with great effort, to stop your stubborn nosebleed. To be fair, you weren't really thinking at that moment. Nobody who really thinks their decisions through before acting them out, wouldn't see calling an emperor "a cunt" a very sensible thing to do.

"Gods...I don't know", you admitted, but then continued with frustration present in your words, "He insulted you, Ilya. He insulted all of you. I could bear him calling me hideous, but you? No, that won't do."

Ilya scoffed, even though a small smile dared to spread onto her lips.

"Well, you're still alive. That's probably the biggest blessing the gods could grant you today, so make sure to thank them thoroughly."

You nodded and sighed. The nosebleed had stopped, but there was slight bruising clearly visible on your cheek and nose. What would your uncle think? Or perhaps the Emperor himself had already gone and bragged about the incident? The only way to find out was to face both of them.

You made your way to the dining hall with hesitant steps. From the distance you could see your aunt and uncle conversing politely with Caracalla, Geta by his side, silently agreeing to whatever the topic of discussion was. When you entered the space, your aunt greeted you with a radiant smile which soon twisted into a horrified scowl upon seeing the state of your face.

"Oh my sweet girl, what has happened to your face?! Was it one of the soldiers? I swear to the gods I'll damn them to Pluto-" she began babbling while cradling your face. Your uncle Marcus looked equally as worried but stood by the Emperors's side, being their most trusted protector after all.

"It's fine, I'm fine, there's no need to worry", you hesitantly assured your aunt, grabbing her hands and moving them away from the bruises, still sensitive to touch. She was determined to know who had done this, though, and the cursing and threatening of the culprit seemed to never end. So you had to confess.

"It was Lord Emperor Geta, aunt", you shamefully admitted, staring off into the distance, or rather, the stone wall opposite you. The hall went dead silent - your aunt gasping, staring at you with wide eyes, the servants seemingly having turned to marble statues, and your uncle, oh you did not dare to look at him. Instead, you laid your eyes on the one who striked you. Geta's cold, manic eyes set onto yours and a piercing smirk revealed sharpish canines. Your breath hitched. Never had you felt so vulnerable, like a prey having been caught by a predator. The weirdly sultry look on Geta's face seemed to affect you more than you wished it would, because suddenly you could feel and hear your quickened pulse everywhere.

"What?" your uncle uttered out, eyes wide, completely baffled by the situation. You felt his gaze bore through your skull and you knew he was mad, fuming inside. Not at the alleged attacker, but you. You felt your aunt's hands, still holding yours, tighten their grip. You looked up at her, scared, but you were only met with a look of genuine concern. With a hint of anger, though - what could you expect?

"My lords, I-...words cannot describe how deeply I am sorry for this, this is absolutely inacceptable and I will make sure my daughter will be met with punishment according to the severity of her actions-" your uncle began apologizing, not even knowing what you had done. You listened calmly, or as calmly as you could, and kept your eyes in the ground in front of you. You hated it, bowing down to the rodent of a man who you had offended, but deep down you knew this was all you could do to prevent your aunt and uncle facing unbearable consequences.

"Fear not, General Acacius, there's no need for any more action. She's been punished by the divine hand, don't you think that's already enough? Surely we wouldn't want this beautiful evening to go to waste?" Hearing Geta speak made you want to throw up from all the tension and stress you had been dwelling in. At the same time you couldn't believe what your ears were receiving - he was really letting you go so easily.

Patting your uncle's shoulder with his divine hand, Geta smiled, and what a devious smile it was. You glanced at Caracalla, who in turn scowled at you, like a child who realized things wouldn't go as they had anticipated. What a brat, you thought. It was funny, since he was around the same age as you, or so you assumed.

You were pulled back to reality by your uncle demanding you to tell what you had done to deserve such punishment. "Uncle, I don't think it's relevant anymore, I mean, the situation's already over", you argued with an anxious voice. However, your arguments were no good when Geta decided to open his mouth once again.

"She called my brother a short cunt", he said and surprisingly, couldn't hold back a giggle, which resulted in him getting punched in the arm by the said short cunt. Before your uncle could get a word in, he continued with a barely composed tone, "after he had insulted her and the servants."

Was he defending you? You couldn't be sure, it might as well have been him taunting you. You hated how he made you feel weak, made your mind spin around at a rapid pace. You sunk into your thoughts and didn't really pay attention to the following conversation. Something about the upcoming dinner and the emperors' stay at your manor. Oh, right. The reason they were here the first place. After a successful conquest led by General Acacius, the emperors wanted to celebrate by paying a visit to your uncle's home, staying a fortnight. He had told you, you remembered, but alas the royal pair had decided to show up earlier than expected. That was why your day had seemingly been straight from the underworld.

And they would be staying. Too long for your liking. You doubted you were even going to make it through the dinner without dying.

Gods, did you despise him.

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A/N: okay guys, this is my first ever (proper) fanfic, I hope you like it 😩🙏🏻 Not much happening in this chapter, I know, but I'll be making a second part asap (I didn't want the first chapter to be way too long lmao) so your patience will be rewarded. Don't mind the grammar mistakes etc., English isn't my first language 🥹👍🏻