#the 'you see in black and white until you meet your soulmate and then you can see colors' variant

[d1stalker]

All of You, All of Me [Logan Howlett]

Summary: In a world of black and white, the only person who could bring colour to your life is the last one who'd want to.

Warnings: au where everything is black and white until you meet your soulmate, fem!reader, slow burn, angst, running away from feelings, pining, grovelinggg WC: 14.2k - MASTERLIST - A/N: help i'm sorry i didn't mean for it to get this long, but this fic is my baby

----

You've always cherished the idea of having a soulmate—someone who would love you unconditionally, waiting just for you as you them. The thought of finding that perfect match, the one who complements you in every way, is something you’ve always dreamed of. 

But as you get older, the hope you carry seems to dwindle more and more each year. Everyone around you has found their other half, reveling in the newfound ability to see colours in all their glory, and soaking up every moment of shared affection.

Everyone, except for you.

Your world remains a stark, colourless void, as if the universe is deliberately withholding the one thing you desire most.

And to make matters worse, despite not finding your soulmate, you are unequivocally, irrevocably in love with someone who has.

Logan Howlett.

You can’t remember a time where you didn’t feel anything toward him. His rugged, lone-wolf demeanor snuck its way deep into the crevices of your heart, and made itself a home there.

You and him formed an unlikely friendship, formed through the desire to fight back against all the people who’ve wronged mutants. Over the years, you had accepted the fact that while he wasn’t yours, at least you were alone together. Well, until she came.

Jean Grey.

She was strong, charming, and everything you felt you weren’t. It was no wonder her and Logan were meant to be together—the stoic, brooding mutant and his graceful, strong-willed counterpart. 

You remember the day it happened so vividly, it’s almost like you were the one who found their life partner. You and him had been walking around the mansion, when Charles had called you into his office to meet someone new. One look at their faces when they made eye contact and you knew you’d lost him.

It pained you to see them all over each other, all the time. Your once-regular walks in the garden became rare, then vanished entirely. On missions, he no longer looked out for you; his attention was consumed by protecting her. And as much as it hurt, you couldn’t deny they seemed perfect for each other—just as soulmates should be. You had no right to feel jealous.

Then, just as quickly as she had entered his life, she left it. 

The Pheonix was too strong, ripping her apart from the inside out. The pained scream he let out as not only his heart died, but as the world around him faded back into black and white, was forever ingrained into your memory. 

Logan was never the same after that.

 —

You trudge down the familiar halls of the mansion, your feet heavy with the weight of the day. It’s been long, filled with training sessions, team meetings, and a lot of paperwork. All you want to do is retreat to your room, lose yourself in a book, or maybe just sleep until the ache in your chest dulls.

As you walk, you hear faint commotion down the hallway—a low murmur of voices and the occasional clatter of something being moved. But you pay it no mind, too lost in your thoughts to care. Another mission, another discussion, another moment where you aren’t needed. It’s all so routine now.

Lost in your reverie, you don’t notice the figure walking toward you until it’s too late. You collide with a solid chest, the impact jolting you back to reality.

“Oh, sorry—” you begin, stepping back, but the words die on your lips as you look up.

It’s Logan.

Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, shock rippling through your body as you process his presence. And for a moment, neither of you speak. You just stand there, taking him in—the man who was once your closest friend, the man who was torn apart by grief and loss. His clothes are rumpled, his skin rougher than you remember, like he’s been through hell and back. 

You hadn’t seem him in a long time. After the devastation, he stopped talking to everyone. He holed himself up in his room for days at a time, only coming out in the dead of night to eat. Either that, or he was away on a mission–anything to stay distracted. 

But now, looking at him, there’s something different off. Something you can’t quite place your finger on. Did he always look like that? Maybe it’s the way the light above is reflecting off of him. Or maybe it’s—oh.

Looking around in surprise, you watch as the usually dark, stoic walls explode into a deep, rich shade. The carpet below you—no longer a mural of grey—radiates colors you can’t name. Your hands, his eyes, his hair-

You want to open your mouth and say something, anything, to the man who has caused your world to shift on its axis, but he’s already turned, walking away from you.

“Give me a fuckin’ break.”

----

Brown. Logan’s hair is brown.

After Logan leaves you paralyzed in the hallway, you run to your room, find the book on colors you had stashed in your bedside table, and throw open the cover. In it is a diagram that displays every known colour and their names. You learn that your favorite pair of pants are maroon, your bedsheets are navy green, and the X-Men suits are bright yellow and blue.

You stare at the page, each word blurring as your mind tries to process the impossible. Logan’s hair is brown. The thought keeps repeating in your head like a mantra, over and over again, until it becomes a steady thrum, drowning out everything else.

Brown.

You sit back on your bed, letting the book slip from your hands, the pages crumpling as it hits the floor.

Why him? Why me? Why now?

You begin to fidget, the adrenaline of the prior moment causing your heart to flail in your chest like crazy. You can’t stay here, you think to yourself. The idea of locked in your room with only your thoughts for company does not sound appealing. You need air, something to ground you, something to clear the haze clouding your head. Without thinking, you jump out of bed and find yourself heading up to the roof, the one place where you can breathe without feeling like the walls of the mansion closing in on you.

The trip up the stairs feels longer than ever before, each step heavy under the weight of your mind. It’s like every thought adds ten pounds. When you open the door, the cool night air hits you like a welcomed slap to the face, and you exhale deeply.

Walking to the edge, you lean against the railing. You’re in a daze - wondering if you made up the entire thing in your head. The only proof that you haven't, and that Logan being your soulmate is real, is the colours that coat the mansion’s grounds. The moonlight bathes everything in what you now know as a soft, silver glow, and for a moment, you just stand there, looking out into the distance.

It doesn’t make sense, and the more you try to wrap your head around it, the more tangled your thoughts become. You don’t want to face the possibility of what it could mean, but you can’t just brush it aside either. It has quite literally changed your entire life. 

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath in an attempt to quiet your racing mind. But when you open them again, you freeze.

Logan is standing at the other end of the roof, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the sky. He hasn’t noticed you yet, and for a split second, you consider turning back, retreating before he sees you. It would be a wise idea - he didn’t want to talk to you then, and he probably doesn’t want to talk to you now. But, it an act that can only be seen as your own body betraying you, you take a step forward. 

The sudden movement catches his attention, and his head snaps in your direction, his eyes locking onto yours. 

“Why are you here?” he asks accusingly.

You hesitate, unsure of how to answer. Seeing him out here was the last thing you had expected, and now that he’s in front of you, you are at a loss of words.

Logan’s eyes narrow, and he pushes off the wall, walking toward you. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I needed air,” you manage to say, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I just needed to clear my head.”

“Well, find somewhere else to do it,” he snaps, “I don’t want company.”

“Logan, I—”

“Don’t,” he interrupts, not even bothering to hear you out. “Don’t start. I know what you’re gonna say, and I don’t want to hear it.”

You blink, taken aback, and hurt at his coldness. “What are you talking about?”

He lets out a low, humourless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You think I don’t know what’s going on? God, I… this is all so fucking stupid.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you feel a flush of embarrassment rise to your cheeks. “I wasn’t—”

“Enough!” he barks, his voice echoing in the night. “I’m not interested, alright? Whatever it is you think is happening between us, it’s not real. It’s just some stupid trick of the universe, and I’m not playing along.”

His words hit you like a physical blow - like you’ve just been shot at right in the heart - and you have to bite your lip to keep from crying out. “I don’t understand. I didn’t mean for any of this—”

“Yeah, well, neither did I,” he snaps at you, “And I’m not gonna sit here and pretend like there’s something here,” he gestures between you two, “when there isn’t. You’re not mine, and I’m sure as hell not yours.”

The finality in his tone leaves you breathless, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. You have nothing to say back, he’s not giving you any slack. The reality of his rejection sinks in with a brutal, crushing weight, you have to put in effort to not stumble over. 

After a long moment, you finally collect yourself. Then, “Okay,” you whisper. “I understand.”

Logan’s expression doesn’t soften; if anything, it grows colder, more distant.

“Good. Then stay away from me.”

You nod, eyes filling with tears. You quickly turn your face away, not wanting him to see just how much he’s hurt you.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, barely audible. “I didn’t mean to make things worse for you.”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t even acknowledge your apology. He just turns away, his back to you, effectively shutting you out.

You stand there for a long moment, watching him walk away for the second time that night. The colours that seemed so vibrant, so full of life just a moment ago, now feel like a cruel reminder of everything you could never have.

—

When you eventually return to your room, all you can do is lay in bed and stare up at the ceiling as your encounter with Logan on the roof replays in your mind on an endless loop, each harsh word he’d thrown at you cutting deeper than the last. It’s causes pain unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, pain that seems to have no end, no respite.

If he doesn’t want you in his life, you’ll accept that. You have to - it’s not like you have a choice. Soulmates are a two-way street.  

You can’t force him to feel something he doesn’t, can’t make him see you in a way he clearly never will. And you understand, don’t you? You can’t even imagine how difficult this would be for him. Losing your soulmate, and then the universe saying Fuck You and giving you another? 

You’ll never ever forget how wrecked he was when Jean died. How her death shattered him into pieces so small you weren’t–no–you’re still not sure he’ll ever be whole again. 

And you—where do you stand in the grand scheme of things? Just as the unfortunate recipient of a bond that neither of you asked for? Are you even allowed to be upset about this?

—

Waking up the next morning, you honestly wish you hadn’t. You knew you weren’t on good terms with Logan after his little rooftop showcase of emotions, but nothing could have prepared you for the way he starts to treat you.

His face is stuck in a perpetual scowl when you’re in his vicinity. He’s leaving every room the moment you enter, refusing to look at you, speak to you, or acknowledge your presence in any way. It’s as if you’ve become invisible, a ghost haunting the same halls you once shared with him. There’s only one thing you two seem to wordlessly agree on: don’t tell anyone. 

Each day following becomes a struggle, an unbearable test of your strength as you try to make it through without breaking. You begin to avoid Logan as much as he avoids you, but the mansion is only so big, and there are always moments when you catch sight of him in the distance, his broad shoulders hunched, his brooding face glaring daggers in your direction. 

It hurts you every time, an unending torture that leaves you stumbling. Still, you bite your tongue and keep moving, pretending you don’t care.

But you do care. You care more than you want to admit, more than you think is possible. Because despite everything—despite the rejection, the coldness, the anger—you still love him. 

And that’s the cruelest twist of all.

So you endure it, day after day, week after week, month after month. Letting it tear you apart piece by piece, because what else can you do? You carry this burden alone, just as you’ve carried your feelings for him all these years. And maybe one day, the pain will fade, the bond will weaken, and you’ll be able to move on.

—

The only person you tell is Charles.

“What’s on your mind, my child?” he asks one day, while you’re sweeping the dust in his office. 

You hesitate, your gaze dropping to your hands as you focus on cleaning. You know he’s just asking out of courtesy, and that he could easily crawl into your mind and figure it out himself. He probably wouldn’t even need to put in that much effort, given how loud your thoughts are. But still, you don’t yield to his probing.

“Nothing, really,” you mutter, forcing a small smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “Just… tired, I guess.”

Charles watches you carefully, his eyes full of the warmth and compassion he always has, but this time, it makes you feel uncomfortable. Like he can see right through the facade you’re trying so hard to maintain, which you have no doubt, he does. 

“I’m here to help, whatever the burden.”

You want to groan. It’s not like he’s doing it on purpose but damn does it feel like he’s trying to guilt you into confessing that you just recently had your heart shattered. 

“I know, Professor. But… it’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“You forget, I worry about all of you,” he replies gently. “It’s in my nature.”

The chuckle that crawls out your throat is nothing short of bitter. “It’s just… complicated.”

“Complicated doesn’t mean you have to face it alone.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep the emotions at bay. Do you really want to explain to him the insurmountable suffering you’re in, the rejection you faced from the one person who is supposed to be your soulmate? How can you tell him that the bond the universe forged is the very thing tearing you apart?

“It’s just… I don’t know how to make sense of it, Professor,” you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Everything’s so… wrong.”

He leans forward slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Wrong how?”

Knowing that you’re teetering into confession territory, you hesitate, needing time to collect your thoughts. 

“Logan… he… we… It’s not supposed to be like this, is it?” you eventually get out. Not your best work, but you know he’d get the gist. 

Understanding dawns in Charles’s eyes, and you can see the sympathy there, the quiet acceptance of the truth you’re struggling to voice. “The bond you share… it’s more than you expected, isn’t it?”

You nod, feeling the tears well up again. “But he doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want me.”

The professor sighs softly, and he looks at you like you’re a lost puppy. “Logan has been through so much, more than most could bear. His heart has been wounded in ways that are difficult to heal, and it’s not surprising that he would resist this new connection.”

“So why me?” you ask. “Why bind me to someone who will never love me?”

Leaning back in his chair, his fingers steepled thoughtfully, he says, “I wish I had an answer for you, my dear. The universe works in mysterious ways, ways that often defy our understanding. But I do know this: the bond you share is there for a reason. Whether it’s meant to bring you closer or to teach you something important… that remains to be seen.”

“It feels like a punishment,” you whisper, the tears finally spilling over. As much as you hate being put on the hot seat, you can admit that it feels good talking to someone about it.  “Every day, it hurts more. And he won’t even look at me. I don’t know how to make it stop.”

“The heartache you’re feeling is profound, but you must understand that it’s not your fault. Logan’s reaction isn’t a reflection of your worth, but of his own pain and fear.”

He reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your own before continuing.

“To love, even when it’s not returned, takes incredible courage. But you must also take care of yourself. Give Logan the space he needs, and in the meantime, allow yourself the grace to heal.”

So you do. In the days that follow your conversation with Charles, you make a promise to yourself—to try, really try, to focus on your own life, to reclaim the parts of yourself that have been overshadowed by the pain of this unrequited love.

The colours are still there, vivid and vibrant, and though they sometimes feel like a bittersweet reminder of what could never be, you find moments where they bring you joy. You marvel at the deep blue of the sky, the rich greens of the trees, the way the sunlight filters through the leaves and paints the world in golden hues. It’s like seeing the world anew, and in those moments, you allow yourself to feel happiness.

Moreover, you busy yourself, volunteering for every assignment that comes your way. The adrenaline, the focus, the purpose—they all help to drown out the pain, even if only temporarily. And when you return from each mission, tired but satisfied, you feel a little more like yourself again.

The mansion, too, becomes less of a prison and more of a home once more. You start spending more time with the others, rejoining them for meals, for training sessions, for movie nights. 

You laugh with Rogue, spar with Scott, and even find yourself engaging in playful banter with Remy. It’s not perfect, and there are still moments where you catch yourself faltering, when the weight of everything threatens to pull you under, but those moments are becoming fewer and farther between.

You’re healing, slowly but surely, and with each passing day, you feel a little stronger, a little more in control of your life—of your emotions. 

But then there are the times when you cross paths with Logan, and those moments are the hardest.

One evening, after returning from a particularly grueling mission, you find yourself heading toward the kitchen, your mind on the sandwich you plan to make. The place is quiet, most of the team out on various assignments, or finishing up on some work, and you relish the peace as you walk down the corridor.

However, just as you reach the kitchen door and push it open, you find Logan standing there, preparing to exit the room at the exact same moment. Your heart lurches, and you stop dead in your tracks, almost like a deer caught in headlights. 

His gaze meets yours, and all you can see is his impassive, stoic expression. He steps back, giving you space to enter, but the tension between you is palpable.

“Sorry,” you mumble, stepping to the side, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

Logan doesn’t say anything, barely nodding—if you could even it that— before brushing past you, his shoulder grazing yours. The brief contact sends a jolt through your system, and you have to force yourself to stay still and not physically react. 

Once he leaves, you let out a shaky breath, your heart still racing from the encounter. It’s been so long since you’ve been this close to him—so long since you’ve seen the deep brown of his hair that you love so much. You hate this. 

Why does he have no reaction to at all? Why is it only you who seems to care? 

Because you are the only one who does care.

You move into the kitchen, still intent on eating, but it’s a challenge. Your hands are trembling.

—

It all comes to a head one night during dinner. In this rare occasion, both you and Logan are in the same room. You’re supposed to be celebrating Rogue and Gambit’s anniversary, and even though you insisted that they share this special moment together alone, they didn’t take no for an answer. 

That’s how you find yourself, sitting at the grand dining table with all your friends, and Logan. 

He’s across from you. Just your luck.

He refuses to spare you a single glance, his eyes staying busy the whole night. And while it’s been months and months of this, you have never gotten used to it. Still, you can’t help but sneak a few looks at that chocolate-coloured hair. Brown. 

Everything seems to be going smoothly, the food is delicious and the dessert even better, but when Gambit presents Rogue with a giant painting, that’s when you slip up. 

“I love how you blended the red with the blue!” You compliment, loving the way he managed to create the perfect contrast between shades. You’re too caught up in staring at the artwork to realize the table as gone deathly quiet, all eyes on you.

Rogue's expression is one of gentle confusion, her head tilted slightly as she tries to make sense of your words. “Darling, I thought you couldn’t see colour?”

In any other situation, you’re sure the team would have laughed at how comically large your eyes got, and how all the blood draining from your face makes you look like a gaping fish, but in this moment, nothing is funny. You can feel Logan’s eyes on you, and when you finally muster the courage to glance at him, you see that his all-too familiar glare you’ve been subject to for the last half-year. It makes your heart thud painfully in your chest

“I…” you begin, but you falter. Your mind is going through a thousand thoughts per minute, searching for an excuse you can use to deflect, to pretend it was just a mistake, but the silence is too heavy, too demanding.

Rogue’s confusion deepens, her gaze flickering between you and Logan, who is now staring at you with an expression that’s impossible to read. She starts to say something, but Remy gently places a hand on her arm, shaking his head slightly as if to tell her to let you speak. 

Logan’s gaze stays locked on you for a moment longer. Then, without a word, he pushes his chair back, the legs scraping harshly against the floor. The sound echoes in the silence, and before you can react, he stands up and walks out of the room, his movements stiff, almost mechanical.

The door closes behind him with a quiet click, and the tension in the room thickens. You feel a rush of embarrassment flood through you, your heart sinking as the reality of what just happened crashes over you. 

You lower your head, your eyes stinging with tears that you fight desperately to hold back. But it’s no use. The emotions you’ve been trying to keep buried for so long bubble to the surface, and before you can stop yourself, the tears start to fall. 

“I think I need a moment,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling as you stand up from the table. Without waiting for a response, you hastily excuse yourself and head for the door, not before mumbling a quick apology to the couple in which you were there for.

Soon you find yourself outside in the gardens, the nightly breeze hitting your face as you make your way to a secluded bench. You can’t even appreciate the beauty in what you see, because all you feel is the overwhelming sense of failure and sadness that threatens to swallow you whole.

Sitting down heavily on the bench, you bury your face in your hands and let go. The sobs come hard and fast, each one ripping through you with a force that leaves you breathless. You’re heartbroken and angry and absolutely over it, but at the same time you feel like a massive asshole because who are you to be upset with a man who’s mourning the loss of a soulmate? 

It’s not fair.

You don’t know how long you sit there, lost in your grief, but eventually, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching. You look up, wiping at your eyes, and see Scott walking toward you.

“Mind if I join you?” he asks gently.

You shake your head, unable to find your voice, and Scott sits down beside you on the bench. 

“I’m sorry,” you croak, “I didn’t mean to ruin the night.”

Scott clicks his tongue in disagreement, his gaze focused on the gardens ahead. “You didn’t ruin anything. It’s clear you’ve been carrying this burden for a long time. It’s no wonder it slipped out tonight.”

“So everyone knows now?” you ask. He nods.

“It wasn’t hard to put two and two together,” he concludes, and you groan, bringing your hands to your face.

“I just… I didn’t want anyone to know. I didn’t want to be pitied.”

“Pity isn’t what anyone feels right now,” Scott says softly. “We’re worried about you. You’ve been hurting, and we didn’t see it. That’s on us.”

“It’s not your fault,” you bring your hands down from your face. “I’ve been trying to deal with it on my own. I thought I could handle it, but… clearly I was wrong”

With a serious expression, Scott turns to look at you. “I know what you’re going through, more than you might realize.”

You glance at him, surprised by his words. “You do?”

He nods, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I was in love with Jean, remember? When her and Logan found out they were soulmates… it tore me apart. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to move on, and for a long time, I couldn’t.”

The mention of Jean’s name brings a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you, but there’s also a strange comfort in knowing that Scott understands your pain. “How did you… how did you get through it?”

He sighs, “It wasn’t easy. It took a long time, and I had to accept it.”

You wipe at your eyes again, sniffling as you try to compose yourself. “I’ve been thinking about leaving for a while. Taking a longer mission, just to get away for a bit. Maybe then I can figure out how to move on.”

He is quiet for a moment, considering your words. “If that’s what you need to do, I understand,” he says, “sometimes, a change of scenery can help. Though I think you should try to talk to Logan again.”

Letting out a bitter laugh, you shake your head. “I don’t know if he’ll even listen to me. He’s made it pretty clear how he feels.”

“He’s hurting too,” He decides, “He’s not handling it well, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. You both need closure, and running away won’t give you that.”

“What if it just makes things worse?”

“It might.” Scott places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “But it might also give you both the chance to start healing. You deserve that chance.”

You nod slowly, letting the weight of his words sink in. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“Take the time you need,” he says. “We’re all here for you.”

“Thanks, Scott. That means a lot.” You offer him a small, grateful smile.

With a final nod, he turns and walks back toward the mansion, leaving you once again alone in the quiet of the gardens. You take a deep breath, the idea of leaving still tugs at you, but now, there’s also the thought of confronting Logan—of finding some kind of closure, whatever that might mean.

You really don’t want to do it, and you’re pretty sure it’s just going to end the same way it did last time - with him shutting you out. But Scott’s words echo in your mind, reminding you that healing often requires confrontation, not avoidance.

Goddamn it.

You huff as you stand up from where you’re seated. You can’t keep running from this, can’t keep letting him run from this. You need to talk to Logan, to lay everything out on the table, even if it tears you apart in the process.

Your anxiety builds with each step as you approach his room, and you pause outside his door, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he could hear it if he was listening. This is it. There’s no turning back now. With a shaky breath, you finally raise your hand and knock. 

There’s a long, agonizing pause, making you strain to hear any movement on the other side. For a second, the silence causes you think he might not answer, that he might just ignore you like he’s done so many times before. But then, you hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching the door. Your heart catches in your throat as it slowly opens, revealing Logan standing there, his expression hard and unreadable.

The moment he realizes it’s you, his eyes darken, and he immediately moves to close the door, shutting you out yet again. However, you’re not letting him get away that easily. Before the door can fully close, you stick your foot out, blocking it with more force than you intended.

“C’mon, Logan,” you press. “You know we need to talk.”

He freezes, his grip on the door tightening until his knuckles turn white. His jaw clenches and unclenches, nostrils flaring. He still doesn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on some distant point as if he can will you away if he tries hard enough. But he doesn’t push the door shut either. The room is thick with suspense, both of you standing there in a silent standoff.

Finally, with a low growl of frustration, Logan steps back, opening the door just a smidge wider, barely enough for you to squeeze through. It’s a reluctant invitation, but it’s all you need.

“Fine,” he mutters, his voice rough, edged with irritation. “Talk.”

You step into the room, and he closes the door behind you, lingering close to it, as if he’s ready to bolt at any second. You feel vulnerable and exposed. It’s suddenly hard to gather your thoughts when he’s standing so close, when the heat of his presence and the distance he’s placed between is right in your face.

“Why did you come?” Logan questions. He still refuses to look directly at you, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder.

“Because we can’t keep pretending this isn’t happening,” you reply, “We need to talk about what’s going on between us.”

His jaw tightens further, and his teeth grind with barely contained frustration. He finally looks at you, his eyes hard and defensive. “There’s nothing to say,” he says bitterly. “I told you how I feel. I thought that was enough.”

“It’s not enough!” you shoot back, your own frustration bubbling to the surface. “You think you can just push me away, pretend like this bond doesn’t exist, and that’s supposed to solve everything? It doesn’t work like that, Logan.”

He flinches slightly at your words, but his keeps his expression hard. “Well what do you want me to say?” he demands, his voice rising. “That I’m sorry? That I didn’t mean to hurt you? Because I am, and I didn’t. But that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t be what you want me to be.”

His words hurt. 

“I know you told me how you feel,” you start, “but you’ve never let me tell you how I feel. You’ve never given me the chance to say that it’s been tearing me apart.”

A flash of guilt. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think you needed to say it. I already knew.”

“That isn’t fair,” you argue.

“You don’t understand,” he counters, “I lost Jean. I loved her, and when she died, it broke something in me. And now… now I’m supposed to just… move on? With you? It’s not that simple.”

“I never asked you to love me, Logan,” you say, your voice trembling with the intensity of your emotions. “I never pushed for anything more than friendship—it’s not like you gave me the chance! You’ve been shutting me out, ignoring me, making me feel like I’m nothing more than a burden, like I don’t even matter!”

You can see that the pain in your voice hitting him hard, but he doesn’t apologize. Instead, he looks away, his expression conflicted. “I’m trying to protect you,” he mutters, the words sounding hollow even to him

“Protect me?” you echo incredulously. “All you’re doing is make me feel like shit. Like I’m worthless. I can’t even be your friend, to help you through this.”

You pause. “You expect us all to know how you’re feeling, but you can’t even communicate it.”

Logan winces, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, filled with a torment you’ve never seen before. He opens his mouth to say something, but the words seem to get caught in his throat. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he breaks the silence, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I can’t be what you want me to be,” he admits, his tone filled with a deep, aching sadness. “I don’t know how to let you in. Without her, I feel like… I can’t let anyone in.”

Your eyes soften a fraction his confession, but there’s also a deep frustration that burns inside you, a frustration born of months of pain and rejection. 

“You haven’t even tried,” you say softly with a quiet resignation, “You haven’t even tried to let me in, to see what we could have been, even if it was just as friends.”

What follows is a long, nagging silence. You let it linger, giving Logan the chance he needs to think of something to say. But there’s no answer, no promise that things will change, and then you realize, with a sinking feeling, that he’s not going to take that step, too broken to try.

That’s when it really hits you. 

Whatever you were fighting for, was a losing battle from the start. 

You give up.

This time, it is you who turns your back on him. 

“Goodbye, Logan. Take care of yourself.”

You don’t wait for a response. You don’t glance back. You walk out of the room, the door closing softly behind you, and with it, the last remnants of hope you had for something more.

— 

You decide to go on the mission.

It’s nothing complicated. Your task is to survey different regions of Europe, ensuring that there are no burgeoning anti-mutant operations threatening the safety of anyone. The primary goal is gathering information, and quiet observation. No violence, Charles told you in the debrief. 

The lack of immediate danger doesn’t make leaving any easier, though. This is as much about finding yourself as it is about fulfilling your duty.

Rogue and Kitty are with you during your final preparations, helping you pack the essentials and offering support in their own ways. They don’t ask many questions, probably sensing that this decision was not just made on a whim. And for that, you’re grateful.

“I still think you’re crazy for going solo,” Rogue says with a half-smile as she zips up your bag. “But if anyone can handle it, it’s you.”

You manage a small smile in return. “Thanks, Rogue. I just need some time…”

Kitty, who’s been quietly folding clothes and tucking them into your bag, looks up, seriousness clouding her gaze.  “We get it. Just promise you’ll keep in touch, okay? And don’t hesitate to call if you need backup.”

“I promise,” you assure.

She hesitates for a moment before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small device—the X-Men communicator gadget. She holds it out to you, and you reach your hand out. 

“Here,” she says softly, pressing the device into your hand. “This is so you can update us on your whereabouts, your status, or any important mission details. Even if you don’t need anything, just… let us know you’re okay, alright?”

You look down at the communicator in your hand, and close your fingers around it, nodding as you meet Kitty’s gaze. 

“Alright, I’ll check in regularly. I won’t leave you guys in the dark.”

Rogue finishes the last bit of organization. “You’ve got this,” she says, “And we’ve got your back, even from a distance.” You nod, appreciating their support more than you can express. 

It almost feels like a walk of shame—leaving the mansion. Everyone knows why too, and that makes it a thousand times worse. But you won’t let it get to you. With one last look, you get in your car and begin on the windy path to the airport. 

—

When you arrive in Europe, the first thing that strikes you is the sheer beauty of the landscape. Each city, each town, has its own unique charm, its own story to tell. The bustling uphill streets of Porto, the serene canals of Venice, the ancient ruins of Athens—they all offer a distraction from the turmoil inside you.

The only good part about this whole mess is that you can see colour, and truly appreciate the sights before you.

You move from one place to the next, blending in with the crowds, quietly observing, gathering information, and sending brief updates to the team through the communicator Kitty gave you. Every message is short, to the point, just enough to let them know you’re safe and on track. You don’t share much beyond the essentials, not wanting to burden them with your personal struggles.

Then, in a small café in Rome, you meet a man named Marco. He’s a traveler like you, exploring Europe with a curiosity that matches your own. He’s warm, easygoing, and before long, the two of you strike up a conversation over coffee.

He is charming in a way that makes you feel at ease, his laughter infectious as he shares stories of his travels. You don’t tell him much about yourself, keeping the details of your mission and your mutant abilities hidden. To him, you’re just another traveler, searching for something—though he doesn’t pry into what that something is.

As the days pass, you and Marco continue to cross paths, and it’s nice to have someone to talk to, someone who doesn’t know about your past, about the things you’re running from. With him, you can be anyone, and for the first time in a long while, you start to feel a little lighter. You find yourself laughing more, the weight on your chest lifting a little each day. You don’t talk about the mission, and you certainly don’t talk about Logan.

One evening, as you’re both sitting on the steps of the Spanish Steps in Rome, watching the sunset, he turns to you with a grin. “So, where are you off to next?”

You hesitate, not wanting to reveal too much, but then you smile. “I’m heading to Florence. There are some places I need to check out.”

His eyes light up. “Florence? I’ve been meaning to re-visit. Mind if I tag along?”

A part of you wants to say no, to keep the distance you’ve carefully maintained, but another part—the part that’s been lonely for so long—nods in agreement. “Sure, why not?”

—

Back at the mansion, things haven’t been as positive. The once lively atmosphere has dimmed, replaced by an uneasy tension that lingers in the halls. The X-Men carry on with their duties, but there’s a noticeable shift—a missing piece that everyone feels but no one talks about. Logan, in particular, has become even more withdrawn, if that’s possible. The man who was once brooding and distant now seems even more so, his mood volatile and unpredictable.

His behavior has become a source of concern for the team. He’s always been rough around the edges, but now, it’s like the slightest thing can set him off. He snaps at everyone, his temper flaring at the smallest provocation. On missions, he’s reckless, throwing himself into danger without a second thought, as if he’s trying to outrun something—or someone. 

In many evenings, Logan finds himself in the mansion’s gym, trying to work off the restless energy that’s been plaguing him for months. The room is always empty, save for him, the steady rhythm of his fists pounding against the punching bag being the only sound. Sweat drips down his face, his muscles straining as he channels all his frustration and anger into each punch. Yet, no matter how hard he hits, he can’t seem to shake the thoughts of you that have been haunting him.

This night, door to the gym creaks open, and Logan doesn’t need to look up to know who it is. He can sense the other man’s presence, feel the weight of his gaze as he steps inside. He doesn’t slow his punches, doesn’t acknowledge Scott’s presence, but he knows why he’s here. They’ve had this conversation before—or something like it—but nothing’s changed. Nothing’s gotten better.

Scott watches him for a moment, his expression unreadable. He’s been watching Logan spiral for weeks now, but he’s kept his distance, knowing that he’d only be pushed away. But this can’t go on—Logan can’t keep doing this, can’t keep tearing himself apart over something he refuses to confront.

“She wouldn’t want this,” he finally says, voice cutting through the steady thud of Logan’s fists against the bag.

Logan’s movements falter for just a second before he resumes, his jaw tightening. “Who?” he growls, not bothering to turn around. “Her or Jean?”

Scott doesn’t flinch at the harshness in the other man’s tone. He steps closer, his eyes steady on their target as he answers, “Both.”

Finally, Logan stops. His fists still as he leans against the bag, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His shoulders are tense, the weight of Scott’s words pressing down on him like a physical burden. He doesn’t want to hear this, doesn’t want to be reminded of what he’s lost—of who he’s lost. 

Taking a step closer, Scott’s voice is firm. “Look, I’m not a spiritual person. But I also don’t think the universe messed up with this.”

Clenching, his fists, Logan knows what the other man is getting at, but he doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Doesn’t want to think about what could have been, what he’s been too scared to even consider.

“I know you know how I felt about Jean,” Scott says quietly, knowing he’s breaching a sensitive subject. “Losing her… it killed me too. And if I had been given a chance—a real chance to be with her, to make things right—I would have taken it. No hesitation.”

Logan’s breath hitches at that. The truth is, he’s been running—running from you, from the bond you share, from the possibility of something real. 

“I’m not saying you should chase after her,” he continues. “But I am saying that you need to stop running from her. The universe doesn’t just throw things like this at us for no reason. And you know that.”

The weight of Scott’s words settle over Logan like a shroud. He knows the other man is right—deep down, he’s always known. But that doesn’t make it any easier. The fear, the guilt, the pain of losing Jean—it’s all still there, gnawing at him, holding him back. 

There’s something else too, something he’s been trying to ignore but can’t any longer: the way he feels about you, the way he’s always felt, even if he couldn’t admit it to himself. One of the first thought’s that ran through his head when his world re-erupted into colour was that, had this happened before Jean, maybe it could have worked. Maybe he could have been what you wanted, felt something real.

Scott takes a step back, giving Logan the space he needs. “Just think about it,” he says softly. “Think about what you really want. And don’t wait until it’s too late to figure it out.”

Logan doesn’t respond, but Scott doesn’t need him to. He’s said what he needed to say, and now it’s up to him to decide what comes next. With a final look, Scott turns and leaves the gym, the door closing softly behind him.

The clawed mutant stands there for a long time, his fists still clenched, his mind racing. He knows he can’t keep doing this—can’t keep tearing himself apart over something he can’t change, something he’s too afraid to confront.

But change is terrifying, especially when it means facing the truth. The truth that maybe, just maybe, the bond he shares with you is something worth fighting for. Something that Jean wouldn’t want him to throw away.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Logan finally lets his fists unclench, the tension in his body slowly ebbing away. He doesn’t have all the answers—hell, he barely knows where to start—but he knows one thing for sure: he's can’t run away anymore. Not from this, not from you.

—

You’ve now spent days in Florence, wandering through the Uffizi Gallery, marveling at the works of the Renaissance masters, and evenings enjoying the quiet serenity of the Arno River. With you, Marco. You’ve grown to trust him. He’s never made you uncomfortable, never had any intentions to take advantage of you, and knows all the best restaurants. 

But there’s always been a small, nagging doubt that you’ve pushed aside—a feeling that something isn’t quite right. You’ve ignored it, convincing yourself that you’re just being paranoid after everything you’ve been through. After all, he has been nothing but kind, always knowing the right thing to say, always showing up just when you need someone.

It isn’t until the two of you are exploring a quieter part of Florence, that the doubt flares into something more. You’re walking through an old, narrow alleyway, the kind that tourists rarely venture into, when Marco suggests you take a shortcut through a small, unmarked door in the side of a building.

“I found this place the last time I was here,” Marco says, his smile as easy as ever. “It’s a hidden gem, leads right to a beautiful courtyard. You’ll love it.”

You hesitate, something in his tone—or maybe it’s the way his eyes gleam just a little too brightly—sets off alarm bells in your mind. You’ve come to trust him though, haven’t you? You’ve traveled together for weeks, shared countless stories and laughs. Surely, he wouldn’t lead you into danger.

Still, as you step through the door, the darkened space beyond immediately feels wrong. The air is colder, damp, and the walls are lined with strange, unidentifiable equipment. You glance back at Marco, and that’s when you see it—the change in his expression. The warmth is gone, replaced by something cold and calculating.

Before you can react, you feel a sharp prick in your arm. Your vision blurs, and your body goes numb almost instantly. You stumble back, trying to push away, but your legs give out, and you collapse to the floor.

Marco looms over you, the smile gone from his face, replaced by a look of triumph. “Did you really think I didn’t know?” he sneers, his voice dripping with disdain. “You’re a mutant, and you thought you could hide it from me?”

The world around you spins as the drug takes full effect, but you force your mind to stay focused. “What… why?” you manage to whisper, the betrayal cutting deep.

“Why?” He laughs, the sound harsh and devoid of any warmth. “Because mutants like you are worth a fortune. My clients pay top dollar for… research subjects. And you, my dear, are about to make me very, very rich.”

You try to move, to fight back, but your body refuses to respond. Panic rises in your chest as he kneels beside you, pulling out a small device that looks like a portable scanner. He runs it over you, and it emits a low hum as it registers your vital signs, confirming what he already knows. You’re weak. 

“You won’t get away with this,” you say.

“Oh, but I already have,” he replies with cruel satisfaction. “No one knows where you are. And even if they did, it’ll be too late by the time they find you.”

With the last bit of strength you can muster, you reach into your pocket, fingers trembling as you fumble with the X-Men communicator that Kitty gave you. His attention is momentarily distracted as he prepares a syringe filled with a clear liquid, and you seize the opportunity. You manage to pull out the communicator, your fingers barely able to grip it. Then, with a deep breath, you press the SOS button, the screen flashing to life.

You type in the message as quickly as you can, your vision blurring even more as the drug takes hold. 

Location: Florence. 

Message: Help.

Just as you hit send, Marco notices what you’re doing. His eyes widen in anger, and he grabs your wrist, yanking the communicator out of your hand. “You little—!” he snarls, but it’s too late. The message has already been sent.

His face contorts in rage as he slams the gadget against the ground, smashing it to pieces. He glares down at you, his hand tightening painfully around your wrist. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? But it doesn’t matter. They’ll never get here in time.”

Your strength is nearly gone, the drug pulling you into unconsciousness, but you manage one last defiant look. “You won’t win,” you whisper with the last of your energy.

Marco releases your wrist with a sneer, standing up and looking down at you with contempt again. “We’ll see about that,” he mutters before turning away, leaving you on the cold, hard floor as darkness overtakes you. 

You can only hope they—that Logan—will reach you in time.

—

The signal comes through during a meeting. A sudden, loud beep cuts through the room,  and everyone freezes, their attention immediately drawn to the source of the sound. To Kitty’s pocket. It’s the X-Men communicator, the one linked to your device. 

Logan’s head snaps up, his eyes narrowing as he recognizes the tone. He’s on his feet before anyone else can react, his heart pounding in his chest. “What the hell was that?” he demands, his voice tense with urgency.

Kitty quickly pulls it out of her pocket, her eyes widening as she reads the message that’s flashed across the screen. Her face pales, and she looks up at the others, her voice trembling as she speaks. “It’s from her… Florence… Help.”

There’s a brief pause, maybe a second long in length, and then the room erupts into a flurry of movement. 

Chairs scrape against the floor as the team rises to their feet, already preparing for action. But Logan is the first to react, his face a mask of fury and determination. “I’m going,” he growls, already heading for the door.

“Logan, wait!” Scott steps forward, blocking Logan’s path with a firm hand on his chest. 

“Get out of my way, Summers,” He snarls, his voice filled with barely controlled rage. “I’m not waiting around while she’s in danger.”

“We can’t just rush in without a plan,” Scott insists, trying to keep his own emotions in check. “We need to know what we’re dealing with.”

Logan shoves the other mutant’s hand away, his eyes blazing with anger. “She sent an SOS, Scott! She needs help, and we’re wasting time standing here talking about it!”

The rest of the team watches the confrontation with anxious eyes, knowing that things could easily escalate. Logan’s been on edge for weeks, and the urgency of the situation—of you— has pushed him to the brink. 

“Logan,” Ororo interjects, “We understand how you feel, but we need to think this through. If this is a trap—”

“I don’t give a damn if it’s a trap!” He snaps, his voice rising. “She’s part of our team! We can’t just leave her there!”

“That’s not what we’re saying,” Scott tries to reason, but Logan isn’t having it.

“Then what the hell are you sayin’?” He demands, his frustration boiling over. “Why are we wasting time when we should be getting her out of there?”

There’s a brief, uncomfortable silence, and then it’s Rogue who steps forward, conflicted. “Logan… what if… what if she doesn’t want to see you?”

He freezes, the words hitting him harder than any physical blow could. He stares at Rogue, disbelief and anger warring in his eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he growls.

Rogue swallows, her eyes filled with worry. “She left because she needed time, Logan. Because things between you two… they weren’t good. Maybe she—maybe she doesn’t want you to be the one to save her.”

Clenching his hands into fists, his body is taut with tension. “Fuck that!” he roars with a fierce, protective rage. “She’s part of our team! She sent that message to us, to the X-Men, because she needs our help. I don’t care what’s happened between us, I’m not leavin’ her there!”

The room falls silent, the weight of Logan’s words settling over everyone. They know Logan is right—she’s part of the team, and they can’t leave her behind. But they also know that the situation is more complicated than that.

Scott takes a deep breath, his gaze steady as he looks at Logan. “We’re not saying we shouldn’t go after her, Logan. We’re saying that you need to be prepared for whatever we might find when we get there. She might be in a bad place, and she might not be ready to face you.”

“I don’t care,” he says after a brief pause, his voice quieter now, but no less determined. “I’m going to get her out of there. Whether she wants to see me or not, I’m not lettin’ her go through this alone.”

Scott studies Logan for a long moment, then finally nods. “Alright. But we do this together, as a team.”

Logan nods, his jaw set in a grim line. “Fine. Let’s go.”

—

Your eyes snap open, the dim light of the room piercing your vision. You’re in a large, abandoned warehouse. Your head feels heavy, like it’s filled with cotton, and there’s a dull, throbbing pain at the base of your skull. As you try to move, you realize with a jolt of fear that you’re restrained, your arms and legs strapped tightly to a chair. Panic flares in your chest, and you struggle against the bonds, but they don’t budge.

And then you see him—Marco, standing a few feet away, watching you with a smirk that sends a chill down your spine. His eyes gleam with satisfaction, and you realize with horror that you’ve been caught, trapped in whatever twisted game he’s been playing.

“Ah, you’re awake,” he says, voice dripping with mock concern. “I was starting to wonder if I’d given you too much of the sedative. But it seems you’re tougher than I thought.”

You try to respond, but a gag in your mouth muffles your words, turning them into incoherent sounds. You glare at him your eyes burning with fury.

He only chuckles, clearly amused by your resistance. “Oh, don’t bother trying to speak. We wouldn’t want you calling for help, now would we? Though, I must say, I’m impressed you managed to send that little SOS before I caught on. Clever, but ultimately futile.”

He steps closer, his eyes narrowing as he looks you over, his expression turning cold. “You know, I’ve dealt with a lot of mutants in my time, but there’s something special about you. Something… unique.” He reaches out and grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Too bad your powers won’t do you any good here. The drug I gave you should keep you nice and powerless for the foreseeable future.”

Straining against the bonds, you continue to try to break free, but he drug in your system dulls your abilities, leaving you feeling weak and vulnerable. All you can do is stare at him with hatred as he continues to taunt you.

“Such fire in your eyes,” Marco murmurs, almost to himself. “It’s a shame you’ll never see the light of day again. But don’t worry—I’ll make sure your abilities are put to good use.”

He lets go of your chin, his hand trailing down to your shoulder in a way that makes your skin crawl. “Now, let’s see what we can do to make you a little more… compliant.”

Just as he reaches into his coat pocket, presumably for another syringe, a sudden, loud crash echoes through the warehouse. The sound of splintering wood and shattering glass fills the air, followed by the unmistakable hum of energy blasts and the heavy thud of boots on the concrete floor.

The X-Men have arrived.

Marco’s eyes widen in surprise and then narrow in anger. He spins around, barking orders at the security guards scattered throughout the warehouse. “Stop them! Don’t let them get near her!”

The guards rush forward, weapons drawn, but they’re no match for your friends. The familiar sounds of battle flood your ears—Rogue’s powerful punches, Scott’s optic blasts, and Storm’s lightning crackling through the air. You struggle against your restraints again, desperate to free yourself, but it’s no use. 

Then, you catch a glimpse of Logan. He’s fighting his way toward you, his claws out, slicing through anyone who gets in his way. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, your eyes meet his, and you can see the raw determination in his gaze. He’s coming for you.

But just as he takes a step forward, something changes. He hesitates. You can’t hear what he’s thinking, but you can see the conflict on his face—the way he seems to second-guess himself, the way his steps falter. Your heart sinks as you realize he’s unsure, almost as if he's torn between wanting to save you and fearing that you don’t want him to.

In that split second of hesitation, Rogue swoops in, landing beside you with a determined look on her face. She doesn’t waste any time, using her strength to tear through the restraints that bind you. “We’ve got you, sugah,” she says, her voice steady and reassuring as she pulls the gag from your mouth. “You’re safe now.”

You nod, your throat too dry and your body too weak to speak. Your muscles scream in protest as you try to stand, but she quickly wraps an arm around you, helping you to your feet. You’re shaky, your body still reeling from the effects of the drug, but you’re free. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Logan still standing there, his eyes locked on you, his expression unreadable. He wanted to save you. He wanted to be the one to pull you out of that nightmare, but something held him back.

Rogue helps you toward the exit as the rest of the team continues to subdue the guards and Marco. You lean heavily on her, your legs barely able to support your weight, but you force yourself to keep moving. 

And when everyone else has back in the jet, hugging you and comforting you, you look over to Logan, who sits far away, on the opposite side, refusing to meet your gaze. 

—

Returning to the mansion feels like stepping back into a familiar, comforting embrace. You missed the soft, warm bed in your room, the quiet serenity of the gardens, and the comforting presence of your friends. It's been a few days since the whole ordeal in Florence, and the drug has finally worked its way out of your system. Your strength has returned, and physically, you feel like yourself again. The mansion, too, seems unchanged—still the safe haven you’ve always known.

But as the days pass, you begin to notice that while many things have returned to normal, some things have not. You’ve seen most of your friends, their faces lighting up when they see you, their hugs tight and full of relief. There have been quiet conversations and laughter, shared meals in the kitchen, and moments that remind you why this place is home.

Except, there’s one person you haven’t seen. Logan.

His absence is like a shadow that follows you wherever you go. You’ve felt his presence in the mansion—heard his voice in the halls, the sound of his footsteps on the floorboards—but he’s kept his distance. He hasn’t sought you out, hasn’t tried to talk to you, and that stings more than you want to admit.

You’ve tried to stay strong, to remind yourself of the resilience you found during your time away. You’ve reminded yourself over and over that you don’t need anyone else to validate your worth, that you can stand on your own. Yet the longer Logan avoids you, the harder it is to hold on to that strength. The old wounds, the ones you thought had begun to heal, start to ache again, and you can’t help but wonder if anything has really changed at all.

More often than not, you find yourself retreating to the front lawn. The sun is warm on your skin as you lie down in the grass, a book in hand. The soft rustling of leaves in the breeze and the distant hum of life inside the mansion create a peaceful background, and for a moment, you manage to lose yourself in the pages of your book.

Still, even here, in the sanctuary of the garden, the thoughts you’ve been trying to push aside keep creeping back in. The memory of Florence, of Logan’s hesitation, lingers like a bitter aftertaste. You replay the moment over and over in your mind, trying to make sense of it, trying to understand why he stopped, why he didn’t come for you.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t notice the shadow that falls across your page until a deep, familiar voice breaks the silence.

“I’m glad you’re alright.”

The voice startles you, and you jerk slightly, looking up to see Logan standing above you. His expression is guarded, as if he’s not sure how you’ll react to his presence. There’s a tautness to his posture, a stiffness that you recognize all too well. 

For a moment, you just stare at him, caught off guard by the suddenness of his appearance. He’s as rugged and intimidating as ever, but there’s something different in his eyes—something a tad bit softer. You close your book, sitting up slowly as you meet his gaze. The question that’s been gnawing at you since Florence rises to the surface, and you know you can’t keep it inside any longer.

“What happened?” you ask, your voice steady but filled with quiet intensity. “In Florence?”

His jaw tightens, and he looks away for a moment, his gaze shifting to the trees in the distance. He doesn’t answer immediately, and the silence stretches out between you, thick with unspoken words. 

You just watch him, waiting for an explanation, but there’s a part of you that’s already bracing for disappointment. You’ve been here before, waiting for Logan to decide what happens next, to take the lead. And you’re tired of it. You’re tired of being the one left in the dark, of being the one who has to wait for him to be ready.

Finally, he lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as if the weight of the world is pressing down on him. “I… I hesitated,” he admits huskily, almost in a growl. “I wanted to save you. Hell, I was going to. But then… I didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

His confession hangs in the air, and you feel a mix of emotions—surprise, confusion, and sadness. You hadn’t expected this, hadn’t realized that his hesitation was rooted in something so painfully human.

“Why wouldn’t I want you to?” you ask softly, searching his face for answers.

Logan finally looks at you, really looks at you, and the raw emotion in his eyes takes your breath away. “Because of everything that’s happened between us. Because I pushed you away. I hurt you, and I thought… maybe you’d be better off if it wasn’t me.”

You shake your head, trying to make sense of his reasoning. “Logan, this can’t keep being about what you think is best,” you begin. “And it’s not about who saves who. It’s about being there when it counts. You were there. You came for me.”

He doesn’t have a response to that, at least not right away. He looks down at the ground, his fists unclenching, his shoulders slumping even further. It’s like he’s carrying the weight of everything he’s done, everything he’s failed to do, and it’s crushing him. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally manages to get out. “For everything.”

You stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I know I’ve messed up,” he continues. “I know I haven’t been there for you like I should’ve. But I’m here now. And if you’ll let me… I want to try to make things right.”

You know you should be happy—this is everything you’ve wanted to hear from him for so long. But it’s also too much, too late. The doubt, the pain, it can’t just disappear with a snap of your fingers.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” you admit. 

There’s pain on his face. “I get it,” he says, his voice rough but steady. “I know I’ve got a lot to make up for. And I know it’s not going to happen overnight. But I’m willing to do whatever it takes, if it means I can earn your trust back.”

“I need time. I need time to figure out where I stand, and where you stand with me.”

He nods slowly, his gaze dropping to the ground again. “Take all the time you need,” he says quietly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I appreciate that,” With a small nod, you stand up, brushing the grass off your clothes. “I need time,” you repeat, more for your own benefit than his.

“And you’ve got it,” Logan replies. “As much as you need.”

—

Days turn into weeks, and weeks into months. You focus on yourself, on healing the wounds that were reopened during your conversation with Logan. It feels strange, being the one who needs space, but you know it’s necessary. You find things to take your mind off him: you train more, read more, spend more time with Rogue, Kitty, or Remy. It’s nice.

But Logan… Logan doesn’t give up. He knows you need time, and he respects that. He doesn’t push, doesn’t pressure you to make a decision, but he makes it clear through his actions that he hasn’t forgotten about you, and more importantly, that he isn’t going anywhere.

It starts with the small things—things so subtle that you almost don’t notice at first. You probably wouldn’t have suspected anything if you hadn’t known the kind of person he is. He’s nothing if not persistent. He knows you better than you realize—the rift he created after Jean’s death muddling with your memory—and he uses that knowledge to quietly, almost imperceptibly, work his way back into your life.

In the mornings, you wake up to find your favorite snacks waiting for you in the kitchen, carefully placed where you’d be sure to see them. He never mentions it, never takes credit, but you know it’s him. It’s in the way he glances at you from the corner of his eye as you take a bite, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He never makes a big deal out of it—just a quiet, unspoken gesture that says, I’m thinking of you.

Then there are the late-night training sessions. You go down to the Danger Room or the gym, hoping to clear your mind with a bit of solitary exercise, only to find Logan already there. At first, you’re tempted to leave, to find somewhere else to work out, but something in his demeanor stops you. He doesn’t approach you, doesn’t speak unless you initiate it. Instead, he just… exists beside you, his presence steady and reassuring, like a rock in the storm.

It’s in these moments that you begin to see a different side of Logan—one that’s patient, understanding, and perhaps a little unsure of himself. He follows your lead, mirroring your exercises or silently spotting you during weightlifting, always attentive to your needs without ever making you feel pressured or overwhelmed. He’s just there, offering his support in the quietest, most understated way possible.

And then there are the little surprises in your room—small, thoughtful gestures that you can’t help but notice. A favorite book you’d mentioned in passing suddenly appears on your nightstand, its pages pristine and waiting for you to dive into. The time-worn leather straps on your gear are suddenly replaced with new ones that fit perfectly, the stitching unmistakably done by Logan’s hand. Even your plants, the ones you’d worried would wither away while you were on a mission, seem to thrive in your absence, the soil freshly watered and the leaves turned toward the sun.

He never asks for thanks, never draws attention to what he’s doing. It’s all done quietly, behind the scenes, as if he’s afraid that if you notice too much, you might push him away. But you do notice. How could you not?

At first, you try to ignore it, telling yourself that these gestures don’t change anything, that they’re just a way for Logan to assuage his guilt. You tell yourself that he’s just doing this because he feels bad, because he wants to make up for the past, not because he actually cares. You’ve built walls around your heart for a reason, and you’re not ready to let them down just because he’s being nice.

But over time, those small gestures begin to chip away at those walls, brick by brick. You start to realize that Logan isn’t just going through the motions—he’s really paying attention, noticing the little things that make you who you are. It isn’t just about the snacks or the books or the plants—it’s about the way he remembers the details of your life, the things that matter to you, the things that make you feel seen and understood.

After a particularly long and stressful day, you return to your room exhausted, and all you want is to collapse into bed and forget the world for a while. But when you walk in, you find a small bouquet of wildflowers sitting on your nightstand, the beautiful colors a stark contrast to the dark thoughts that have been swirling in your mind all day. There’s no note, no explanation—there never is—but you know who left them.

You just stand there, staring at the flowers, your heart squeezing in your chest. It’s such a simple gesture, and yet it means so much. You’d forgotten that Logan knew how much you love wildflowers—you’d mentioned it once, years ago. The way they’re resilient, thriving even in the harshest conditions, blooming where others wouldn’t. It’s as if he’s telling you that he sees that strength in you, that he admires it.

And it’s then, in the quiet of your room, surrounded by the small, thoughtful gestures that Logan has left behind, that you realize something. This isn’t just about making up for the past. Logan is showing you, in the only way he knows how, that he wants this. Wants you.

He's finally picked up the pieces of him that fell apart after Jean’s death, and he is willing to pick up the pieces of you that fell apart after his rejection.

So, one evening, months after that fateful conversation on the lawn, you find yourself standing in the common room, staring at the fireplace, lost in thought. The mansion is quiet, the rest of the team either out on a mission or asleep. It’s just you and the flickering flames, the soft crackling of the fire the only sound in the room.

But when you hear footsteps behind you, heavy and deliberate, you know instantly who it is. Without turning, you can sense his presence, the way he moves with that quiet confidence, the way the air seems to shift when he is near. Logan has always had a way of grounding you, even when you don’t want him to.

He walks up beside you, stopping just short of touching you, his warmth radiating in the small space between your bodies. He doesn’t say anything at first, doesn’t ask why you’re here or try to force a conversation. He just stands there, his hands shoved into his pockets, waiting patiently, giving you the time you need. It’s something you’ve come to appreciate about him in recent months—his newfound ability to just be, without pushing or demanding more than you’re ready to give.

"I’ve been thinking," you say finally, your voice soft, as you continue to gaze into the flames.

"Yeah?" Logan asks, his tone careful, as if he’s afraid of saying the wrong thing.

You turn to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. "You’ve been… different. Doing all these little things… I see them, you know."

Logan’s eyes meet yours, and for the first time in a long time, you see hope there. "I just wanted you to know that I care. That I’m sorry," he says, with so much emotion. “You were never a burden to me.”

You swallow hard. "It’s hard for me, Logan," you admit, "I’ve been hurt before, and I’m scared. Scared that if I let myself love you again, you’ll just… break me."

He steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek. "I’d never hurt you again," he says, "I’d rather cut off my own damn hand than hurt you. The past is the past, and you are my future."

That’s enough to make your walls crumble completely. You know, deep down, that Logan is telling the truth. That he’s willing to do whatever it takes to earn your trust again.

And in that moment, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you’re ready to let him.

You don’t say anything. Instead, you let your actions speak for you. You close the distance between you, standing on your toes as you press your lips to his in a gentle, tentative kiss. Logan freezes for a split second, as if he can’t believe this is really happening, but then he kisses you back, his arms wrapping around you as he pulls you close, holding you as if he never wants to let go.

The kiss is slow, tender, full of everything that has been building between you for so long. It isn’t just a kiss—it’s a promise, a commitment to try again, to rebuild what has been broken. When you finally pull back, your breath mingling with his, you rest your head on his shoulder. "I’m still scared," you whisper.

"I know," Logan replies, his arms tightening around you. "But I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. We’ll take this slow, darlin’. Whatever you need."

You nod. "Okay."

Logan smiles then, a real, genuine smile that makes your heart flutter in a way it hasn’t in years. It’s a smile full of relief, of gratitude, of love—a smile that tells you that he understands just how much this moment means, just how much you’re giving him by letting him back into your heart.

—

The time that follows is a slow, steady journey of rebuilding trust. Logan is true to his word—he is patient, understanding, and surprisingly tender in ways you hadn’t expected. The small gestures continue—coffee waiting for you in the morning, a gentle hand on your back during missions, quiet moments of companionship where no words are needed.

You can feel the doubts you’ve been holding onto slowly begin to fade. Each time Logan shows up for you, each time he puts your needs above his own, it chips away at the fear that has kept you guarded for so long. It’s in the way he listens when you talk, truly listens, as if every word you say matters. It’s in the way he looks at you—not with the same fury he once had, but with a steady, enduring affection that speaks of something deeper.

With Jean, he loved her because she was his soulmate, she was who the universe destined him to be with. He loved her because that’s what he thought he had to do.

With you, he has a choice. He doesn’t need to acknowledge the bond, but he chooses to. He chooses to everyday and he’ll never stop. He loves you because he wants to, not because he has to.

One evening, you find yourself sitting on the mansion’s porch watching the sunset. Logan joins you without a word, sitting close enough that your shoulders brush. 

“You’ve been quiet today,” he says softly, breaking the comfortable silence.

“I’ve just been thinking,” you reply, leaning your head on his shoulder. It’s a simple gesture, but one that speaks volumes about how far you’ve come in trusting him again.

“’Bout what?” he asks, his voice gentle.

“About us,” you say, your voice steady. “About how things have changed. How… how good they’ve been.”

Logan’s hand finds yours, his fingers lacing through yours in a way that feels so natural, so right. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you echo, squeezing his hand. “I’m not scared anymore, Logan. Not like I was.”

He turns to face you, his eyes searching yours. “You sure?”

You nod, smiling softly. “I’m sure. You’ve shown me that this bond means something to you, that you’re not going to hurt me. And… I want this. I want us.”

Logan’s face lights up with so much love, that it takes your breath away. He leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “I’m glad, darlin’. Because I want us too. More than anything.”

—

It isn’t long before the rest of the X-Men begin to notice the change in Logan as well. At first, it’s subtle—small things like the way he looks at you during briefings, or the way he seems to be more patient, more relaxed when you’re around. But over time, it becomes impossible to ignore.

During a training session in the Danger Room, you’re paired with Logan for a simulated mission. The others watch as Logan moves with you in perfect sync, his focus not just on the mission but on you—making sure you’re safe, supporting you when needed, and trusting you completely. It’s a far cry from the Logan they had seen when he was in mourning, where his moves were rash and careless.

After the session, as you and Logan leave the Danger Room, you catch sight of Ororo and Scott exchanging a look, the kind of look that speaks volumes, full of surprise and a touch of amusement.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as you approach them.

Ororo smiles warmly, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Nothing, just… noticing how good you two are together.”

Scott nods in agreement, his expression softening as he glances at Logan. “Yeah, it’s… different, finally seeing him like this. In a good way.”

Logan shrugs, but there’s no hiding the small smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. “What’re you guys talking about?”

“Just that it’s nice to see you happy, Logan,” Ororo says gently. “Really happy.”

Logan looks at you then, his smile growing as he meets your gaze. “Yeah. It is.”

More members of the team begin to notice the change in Logan as time goes on. Rogue, who has always had a soft spot for him, comments on how he seems more at ease, less burdened by the weight of his past. Hank, ever the observer, points out how Logan’s demeanor has shifted—less brooding, more open. Even Charles, who has seen Logan through his darkest times, pulls you aside one day to express his approval.

“I must say,” Charles says, his tone warm and approving, “I haven’t seen Logan like this in a very long time. Whatever you two have managed to sort out, it’s working.”

And it is. Slowly but surely, the wounds that had once held you back have healed. The doubts that had kept you from fully embracing your relationship with Logan have faded, replaced by a deep, abiding love. It isn’t just the little gestures anymore—it’s the way Logan makes you feel seen, heard, and cherished in a way that no one else ever has.

—

“I never thought we’d get here,” you admit one night whilst looking up at the stars.

Logan looks at you, his expression tender. “Neither did I,” he says, his voice full of sincerity. “But I’m damn glad we did.”

You smile, leaning into him as he wraps his arm around your shoulders. “I love you, Logan. And I trust you. Completely.”

His grip tightens slightly, as if to hold onto the moment, to hold onto you. “I love you too, darlin’. I never thought I’d feel this way about someone.”

You know what he’s trying to say. So without thinking, you reach up and cup his face, drawing him closer until your lips are just a breath away from his. “Show me,” you whisper, your voice low and filled with desire.

He doesn’t need any more encouragement. He closes the small gap between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that is soft at first, almost tentative, as if he’s savoring the feel of you. 

You can feel the heat between you building, the kiss growing more fervent as your hands roam over his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt, then into his hair. Brown. 

His hands slide up your back, one hand tangling in your hair as he angles your head, deepening the kiss further until you’re both breathless.

When you finally pull back, your foreheads resting against each other’s, you’re both panting, your hearts racing in sync. His eyes are dark with desire, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he holds you close.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmurs. “I never thought I’d get my happy ending, but here you are… and I’m never lettin’ you go.”

You smile, feeling the last remnants of pain melt away, replaced by a certainty that this is where you’re meant to be. “And I’m never leaving,” you whisper back, sealing your words with another kiss that quickly reignites the fire between you.

This kiss is hungrier, more urgent, as if you both need to make up for lost time. Logan’s hands roam your body with a possessiveness that sends shivers down your spine, his touch igniting a fire in your core.

That night, you lose yourself in him, in the way he tastes, in the way he makes love to you as if you’re the most precious thing in the world. Because this time, you’re not just in love—you’re in love with a man who loves you back, fully and completely. 

And that makes all the difference.

----

a/n: i love you if you made it this far. please check out my new series The Feeling's Mutual

[moonpascaltoo]

theodore nott

MASTERLIST • SLYTHERIN BOYS • 07/24/24

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs

theodore nott two

𑣲 the way i loved you I @angelfic

in which theodore nott will do anything to get you to go out with him, but you’re just as stubborn rejecting him

𑣲 lessons in love I @obsessedwithceleste

Ft. Enzo being bad at potions, the Ravenclaw common room door, and more than one accidental love confession.

𑣲 all’s fair in love and quidditch I @/obsessedwithceleste

All’s fair in love and quidditch. At least until Matteo’s poorly aimed bludger knocks you off of your broom.

𑣲 theodore nott and the fortress of trust issues I @/obsessedwithceleste

Theodore Nott had never been able to cast a patronus. In third year, when dementors were swarming the castle, of course he tried, but was never able to manage more than a whisp of soft silver. Come seventh year, he was painfully unsurprised when his efforts were once again lack luster. Turns out, with the right tutor, casting the formidable charm might not be as impossible as he thought.

𑣲 til it’s gone I @/obsessedwithceleste

It seemed like they’d always been there. An ever-growing thorn in Theodore’s side. He really didn’t realize what he’d had until it was gone.

𑣲 mother brother knows best I @/obsessedwithceleste

In which Theodore is no match for the sheer determination of a twelve year old fueled by sugar, pumpkin juice, and spite.

𑣲 fighting fate I @/obsessedwithceleste

soulmate!au in which everyone sees in black and white until they meet their soulmate. Bold of fate to assume it can tell you what to do.

𑣲 jealously I @ahqkas

an unexpected situation catches you off guard in the heart of florence and your boyfriend reveals a side of him you’ve never seen before

𑣲 practice makes it better I @/ahqkas

struggling with the local slang, you feel out of place until you meet theodore nott, the silent slytherin

𑣲 dealer I @/ahqkas

smoking had never interested you before but when the local dealer catches your eye, you might get the experience of a professional

𑣲 the odds of affection I deactivated account

where theodore is grumpy and quiet and when the slytherin’s take note of how he always gives reader forehead kisses, they’re rather shocked.

𑣲 fools I @luv4freddie

in which the only Hufflepuff friend in the group of slytherins develops a crush on Theodore Nott— something only fools do.

𑣲 shut up kiss me I @theostrophywife

𑣲 written in the stars I @/theostrophywife

𑣲 kiss with a fist I @/theostrophywife

𑣲 lovebites and potions I @caramelcal

𑣲 not even the addressee I @kaciebello

When Theodore's name gets misspelled he's not happy about it.

𑣲 the sirens task I @frost-queen

𑣲 the letter I @spectorgram

you get a letter from a secret admirer who wants to confess. your best friend is none too pleased.

𑣲 eyes wide open I @/spectorgram

you discover that there is so much more to theodore nott than you thought. 

𑣲 flustered and blushing I @amourane

in which you're a flustered mess around theo nott and he absolutely adores it.

𑣲 why can’t we love freely I @/amourane

you're tired of being a secret and it was time to let theo know.

𑣲 so this is love I @/amourane

there's a weird feeling that erupts in theo's chest whenever he looks at you and for the first time in his life his mind goes silent.

𑣲 down the rabbit hole I @/amourane

in which it's blatantly obvious that theodore nott has fallen down the rabbit hole of love.

𑣲 little dragon I @retrobutterflies

You are not a fan of one of his admirers and he thinks you are a pretty idiot.

𑣲 i think he knows I @dreamcubed

you had fancied the mysteriously quiet slytherin boy for as long as you could remember (since first year), and, quite frankly, your best friend was sick of you going on about it without ever making a move

𑣲 you need to calm down I @/dreamcubed

after returning to hogwarts for a subsidiary 8th year to make up for the loss of 7th year due to the war, you are a completely different person, and muggle-born-hating theo finds himself obsessed with you

𑣲 tired I @mrsmikaelsxn

you were theo's childhood best friend and he waits for a time when you will love him back

𑣲 try that again I @distantdarlings

Pansy finds out that a group of Gryffindor girls has had a lot to say about you and your relationship with Theodore Nott. They think you won’t do anything about it, but you prove them wrong.

𑣲 house pride I @/distantdarlings

Theo is pissed that you seem to be interested in other guys. The two of you are not officially dating so you find it ridiculous that you can't talk to whomever you want. You have feelings for Theo, though, and think it might be interesting to put his jealousy to the test.

𑣲 by the fireplace I @/distantdarlings

You have been an Animagus for around a year now. You have quite a knack for learning everything you need to know about it quickly and Professor McGonagall really likes you. However, a fellow classmate, Theodore Nott, does not like you. And you couldn't care less. Both of you are in for a surprise when you accidentally meet in the library.

𑣲 one star rating of dirty talking I @darkmagic-s

Sexting through note passing, one of Theodore's favourite ways to bother you.

𑣲 you understand I @lexamiele

Hogwarts students aren't exactly known for minding their own business. Thankfully, you and Theo speak a language they don't.

𑣲 august I @cassiopeiasdaughter

Theo asks you to be his fake-girlfriend but you understand the assignment a little too well.

𑣲 gold rush I @/cassiopeiasdaughter

loving Theo in secret was not something you had ever planned

𑣲 invisible string I @/cassiopeiasdaughter

you get married in the middle of the night during the war

𑣲 i could never not love you I @battinscn

theodore nott is a self sabotaging selfish bastard. he jumps to conclusions too quickly and is too hot headed for his own good. you never thought you would ever be one to experience it first hand. yet, despite it all, you could never find it in you to truly hate him.

𑣲 i hate you I @/battinscn

tate has a very special lucky broom he relies on for every match. when you accidentally step on it, he loses his temper.

𑣲 trust me I @/battinscn

theodore’s always had a hard time trusting other. but you would think being his girlfriend that he would have some faith in you. turns out you were terrible wrong and one day, you had finally reached your limit.

𑣲 missing you I @/battinscn

theodore’s job takes him away from you a lot and hi here understanding for the most part. but after countless broken promises, you had enough.

𑣲 his hufflepuff I @yoursecrett

You were known as the sweetest Hufflepuff at Hogwarts, from tutoring students to being Madam Pomfrey's helper, you were constantly busy you liked it that way... Theodore Nott - The Slytherin Prefect, you had caught his attention, and everyone knows Theodore Nott never gives up on something or someone he wants.

𑣲 sugar rose I @0luv9

Fool in love, bright like silver, shinning for everyone to see. Life has never been this good for Theo and he'll go out of his way to keep it that way. Or Theodore being utterly and unapologetically in love with you.

𑣲 between the shelves I @weasleyreidstyles

𑣲 blind date I @magiclostinfantasy

Y/N and Theo's friends set them up on a blind date, not knowing they've secretly been dating.

𑣲 karma I @wordsarelife

karma is the way you wear his jersey, making sure his team will lose the game

𑣲 moonlight and masks I @gemissleeping

Newly turned Death Eater Theodore Nott is tasked with hunting down Harry Potter and the Order Operative protecting him. Only to discover the person he hunts happens to be the one he loves.

𑣲 anything for you I @aemondsi

in a universe where voldemort won, you and theo risk everything.

𑣲 nonsense I @writingsbychlo

you got that holiday glee from your true love.

𑣲 secret notes I @sunshinelollipopsicle

theodore and you begin leaving notes for each other, you knowing it's him but him unaware it's you, and eventually, you agree to meet in person

𑣲 dreaming of saturn I @thestarsarebrightertonight

theodore nott seems so out of reach to most people yet you have him right in your arms

𑣲 cinnamon girl I @/thestarsarebrightertonight

everyone knows you have a crush on theo , even he knows! so when you randomly start avoiding him one day , theodore cant help but go crazy.

𑣲 seeker I @crimsntwlip

𑣲 clandestine I @puffleyia

Mattheo can not seem to place his finger on what exactly you have been keeping from him. He confides in his best friend, Theo, though he ends up cutting the conversation short due to some urgent matters. (aka, you)

𑣲 for the first time I @vintagebishx

in which, the usual womaniser finds himself in love with a girl who doesn’t even know his name…

𑣲 no smoke, only love in the air I @papercorgiworld

When the guys notice that you don’t like their smoking habit they quit, but dealing with the withdrawal has your boyfriend constantly needy for a kiss.

𑣲 pansys interrogation I @/papercorgiworld

Weird behaviour and rumours have Pansy asking questions and figuring out who the guys are crushing on.

𑣲 theo I @/papercorgiworld

The things Theodore Nott does for love.

𑣲 babysitting I @rainyreading

𑣲 the only heaven i’ll be sent to (is when i’m alone with you) I deactivated account

Best friends get dared to play seven minutes in heaven but they just sit and talk the whole time and somehow manage to admit their feelings for each other

𑣲 our secrets are buried I deactivated account

where they go on a double date with separate dates but they spend the whole time flirting with each other

[help-itrappedmyself]

Dead on Main AU

Masterpost

Guys, I'm so sorry. But here's this!

~~~~

Danny blinks and he is somewhere else. He’s sitting at a dining room table, surrounded. There are so many people here. They’re all talking over each other, some yelling, some laughing. This scene comes as a great surprise to him, who -one blink ago- was trying and failing to do his homework at home in his room. Danny shoots up, his chair making a horrible noise as he pushes it away so fast it tumbles over. Everyone in the room turns to look over at him like he’s insane. 

“Oh my god, who are you people?” Danny did not mean to say this out loud, but at the sound of his voice he startles. Danny takes a moment to assess, and then, “Oh my god who am I?”  He is tall, and big, and this is certainly not his body, what is he wearing.

The boy sitting to the right of Danny, a little shorter than he is, with black hair and blue eyes (though now that he’s paying attention that does describe most people in the room),  starts chuckling lightly. “Uh, Jason? Are you good?” 

Danny turns to stare him right in the eyes. “What day is it?”

And he can tell the concern around the table is just ratcheting up every time he opens his stupid mouth.

“Did you hit your head on patrol?” The voice comes from the only blond and one of the only girls in the room, who's to the left of the person across from him. The person across from him is another boy with black hair and blue eyes who is studying Danny in a way that makes him uncomfortable, that under-a-microscope look that makes you feel like you’re failing at something.

“I have no idea if Jason hit his head.” Danny says. “I was just trying to remember if it was my birthday.”

And if he thought the room was busy when he first arrived here it is absolute pandemonium now. Everyone starts shouting and asking questions that he can’t even hear over the shouting. Someone with white hair in a suit just came through a door he didn’t even see earlier to stand by the only person not shouting, who -Danny would guess- is the only other adult in this room, witting at the head of the table. He also has black hair and blue eyes, and where almost everyone else’s reaction was panic, he froze instead. The person across from Danny also isn’t shouting, but the person next to Danny on his right has now fully stood up and looks like he might actually jump across the table to win the argument he ended up in. 

“Are you Jason’s soulmate?” is the main gist of the shouting that Danny can interpret but he’s more concerned with actual Jason at the moment. If they switched bodies... Then Jason might be in trouble…

“Hey, I forget, how long is this body swap supposed to last again?” Danny asks.

“Until you and Jason have physical contact. You have to actually meet.” The boy sitting across from him explains. He seems like one of the only ones that heard Danny talk, everyone else was still shouting. 

“Oh, that just seems terrible. What if we’re in different countries or something?” Danny complained. “Everyone in the world is just supposed to be able to drop everything and afford to fly across the world. The universe is really trying to screw people over now. Honestly, am I in a different country? Where even are we right now?”

“You’re in Gotham.” This voice was new, coming from the head of the table to Danny’s right. 

“Oh no. Nope.” Danny started backing away from the table, almost tripping on his overturned chair. “Absolutely not, no, how do I get out of here?” He starts earnestly looking for a door to get out of this place, but there are three doors he can see and he has no idea where any of them go, and doesn’t this room have any windows? What kind of a room doesn’t have any windows? Do they like to eat in a basement?

“Jason- not Jason. Uh, you need to calm down, everything will be fine alright, We’ll get you and Jason introduced no problem.” Danny swivels to track the voice and it’s the one who was sitting next to him, he’s walking towards him with his hands up and out in front of him. 

“I have to get home.” Danny breathes. 

“We can get you there, promise. Now, I’m Dick, can you tell me your name?”

“Your name is Dick? Who named you Dick?” Danny is so confused he’s stopped panicking. “How old are you for you to go by the name Dick?”

“Okay, rude.” Dick sounds like a petulant child so Danny’s estimations for his age are continuously dropping. “I’m 24.”

Danny snorts. “Okay.” The blond girl starts laughing over at the table. “I’m uh, I’m Danny.”

“Nice to meet you. Sort of. I’m Tim.” The guy from across from him had made it over to stand next to Dick. “There’s a lot of us here today so the one laughing like a hyena is Steph. That one there is Duke.” African-American, still with black hair but he has brown eyes and waves once introduced. “Damian is the short one next to him, and Cass was sitting across from Dick earlier. Our dad, Jason’s dad-” 

“Not my dad!” Steph interrupted. Tim waves her off.

“Everyone but Steph's dad, is over there, Bruce. Alfred, our butler is the one next to him.” Alfred gives a slight nod to his head. Bruce is just staring at him.

“So, names out of the way. You said you wanted to go home, where do you live?”

“Amity Park.”

[obsessedwithceleste]

Fighting Fate (It’s a losing battle)

Theodore Nott x gn!reader

Inspired by, and dedicated to @musingsofahufflepuff

Summary: soulmate!au in which everyone sees in black and white until they meet their soulmate. Bold of fate to assume it can tell you what to do.

word count: 3.1k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

Ever since your first day at Hogwarts, you’d been told that you were lucky. A one in a million chance. Exceptional. Because as soon as you’d been sorted, and the sorting hat had been lifted up off of your head, your eyes had met his, and the world had burst into color.

It had been wildly disorientating at first- you almost fainted from the visual overload as the banners over each section of students burst into bright color. As you went to take your seat, you got strange looks from several students, but you never felt his eyes leave you.

You’d always thought it was rubbish. Even at the ripe old age of eleven. Your mother had first explained the idea of soulmates to you as a bedtime story. You remember her explaining how everything looked bland and colorless now because you hadn’t met your soulmate yet. But once you did, the world would come to life.

“When will I meet my soulmate?” You’d asked.

“Well, that’s the catch isn’t it? It’s different for everyone. Some meet their soulmate very young. At school even. But some, some will never meet their soulmate. They can be anywhere in the world, fate doesn’t discriminate.”

You’d scrunched your little nose up in distaste.

“That’s stupid. Why do I have to listen to fate?”

Your mother had only laughed, tucking you in and kissing your forehead goodnight. But the sentiment had remained as you grew up. How could someone really just be meant for you? Ridiculous.

Theo had known that you were going to be his soulmate before fate did. He’d watched silently from his seat on the train as you boarded, a nervous grin on your face as you waved goodbye to your family. You were perfect, and he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. At least until Mattheo swatted his arm.

“What’re you staring at, mate?” He’d asked loudly, gaining the attention of the other boys in the carriage.

“See them, there?” Theo asked, pointing to where you were boarding. “That’s going to be my soulmate.” He’d announced proudly.

“Yeah, okay mate,” the other boys had laughed, quickly moving on to the next topic.

But Theo didn’t take his eyes off of you until you disappeared through the train doors and off into some unknown compartment.

The next time he saw you was at the sorting ceremony. He watched as you confidently made your way up to the front, the smile never leaving your face as McGonagall lowered the hat onto your head. It only took a few moments of deliberation before the hat was being lifted off of your head and Theo’s eyes met yours.

It was like the wind was taken out of him as the room sprung to life, colors swirling around his vision as his eyes raced around the room in awe.

By the end of the night, all of Theo’s friends had been sorted into Slytherin with him. Mattheo, Enzo, Draco, Blaise. Even Crabbe and Goyle.

“I was right on the train. About them being my soulmate,” he’d announced proudly, pointing out different objects and describing the different colors to his friends who wondered in amazement.

You on the other hand, didn’t speak a word of it to anyone until you accidentally let it slip to your mother over break that you could see the pretty colored ornaments strung up on the tree.

She’d been thrilled of course, wanting to know every detail about this soulmate of yours. What did he look like? What house was he? Had the two of you spoken.

You answered each question with less enthusiasm than the one prior, and eventually she got the point and stopped asking.

As soon as the news slipped that Theodore Nott, a child of the sacred twenty-eight, and son of Tiberius Nott no less, could see in color however, it didn’t take long for people to start noticing you. Telling you how lucky you were to have found your soulmate. To be able to see color. As if you wanted a soulmate at eleven years old.

The first few years it was easy to avoid. Being only eleven or twelve, Theo was content admiring you from a far. Third year was when the boy finally got the courage to really try and talk to you for the first time. Sure he’d said hi a few times over the past couple years, but nothing you’d found particularly note worthy. Especially not for someone who was supposedly your soulmate.

“Are you any good at charms?” A voice asks, startling you as you look up from the essay you had been finishing up in the court yard. It was a warm, cloudy day, with only a light breeze, so you’d thought it would be the perfect day to take your studies outside.

You stare up in surprise at the brunette boy in front of you, watching silently as he takes a seat across from you.

In the past, you'd played the avoiding game, quickly scurrying off if you saw the boy or his friends approaching. This year, you hadn't been taking the same precautions, and it seemed Theodore was taking full advantage.

“I’m alright,” you reply hesitantly.

That was a lie. Charms was your best subject, but you were hoping the boy might go away. He didn’t.

"I know that you're top of the class," he responds, staring intently at you with a sly smirk.

That afternoon you begrudgingly helped Theodore with his charms homework, and he happily helped you with your DADA essay. There wasn’t a whole lot of interaction between the two of you, but he wasn’t horrible you supposed. At least he had brain cells to rub together.

After that he kept popping up sporadically throughout your third year.

At quidditch tryouts he'd insisted on partnering with you for several of the drills. You both were offered a place on the team. In the Great Hall he'd seek you out to ask about the homework assignment he'd missed after skiving off of class with Mattheo. The fact that you gave him your notes each time meant nothing. Obviously. And every so often, between the shelves of books in the library, you'd see a flash of soft brown hair, and intense eyes gazing at you before they disappeared as if you were imagining it.

With each increasing encounter, the both of you made idle conversation as you kept the boy at an arms length. It was nothing personal really. In fact the more you thought about it, he seemed perfectly alright. But something in your stubborn thirteen year old self just wanted to stick it to fate. So you continued to ice the boy out.

Theodore however, was nothing if not determined. He knew from the moment he saw you that he was meant to be yours, and he’d be damned if he let you slip through his fingers. Thirteen year old Theodore was a stubborn bastard and he knew he was willing to play the long game.

Things grew a bit more complicated in fourth year when you became friends with some of the Slytherin crowd.

It had been an accident really. You’d been reading down by the Black Lake when Daphne Greengrass had stumbled upon you, followed closely by Pansy Parkinson and Lorenzo Berkshire.

“Oh!” she’d said in delight, seeing the book in your hands, “I love that book!”

The two of you ended up talking enthusiastically about the novel for almost an entire hour with Pansy and Enzo butting in every so often to add their thoughts.

“Wait, you’re Theodore’s soulmate aren’t you?” Enzo asks, eventually recognizing you.

You eye the boy cautiously as you nod slowly, suddenly feeling self conscious.

Pansy just wrinkles her nose.

“Sorry you got stuck with such a tosser.” She says.

The four of you are quiet for a moment before your laughter breaks the silence, the other three following shortly after.

After that, you’re integrated into their little group seamlessly. You’d always been a bit of a loner. Sure people would wander up to you often enough to chatter about what it was like to see colors, but that was really all people wanted to know about you. Like it was some trivial party trick.

It was nice having your own friends to study with and wander about Hogsmeade with on the weekends. It was nice to have people who liked being around you simply for being you. Not because some magical force had decided to bind you to a whole other human and grant you the ability to see color.

It didn’t take long for Theo to notice you hanging about more frequently. How could he not? You were so pretty. So smart and witty. So perfect. He was just so happy to have you around more often. Even if it wasn’t to spend time with him specifically.

He reveled in any little morsel of information that he could scrape up from your friends. Your favorite color, your favorite sweets at Honeydukes, your class schedule. Theo was willing to admit the last one was a bit weird, but he was really just hungry to learn anything he could about his elusive soulmate.

Soon enough, it didn’t become unusual for Theodore and Mattheo to join the four of you on your little excursions. Popping up at the Black Lake, or meeting up with you at the Three Broomsticks. He was just always there. As if he was making a point of it. And begrudgingly you began to let him in.

A friend of your friends was okay you thought. Wouldn’t hurt to get to know him a bit. That wasn’t crossing any lines.

For Theo however, this was huge. He was finally getting somewhere. Even if you weren’t ready for any sort of romantic relationship, he was going to be the best damn friend you’d ever had.

By fifth year, there was simply no denying it. Theodore Nott was your best friend. You weren’t really sure how it had happened. The two of you just fit so well together. He had truly wormed his way into your life.

It had started with the study sessions.

"Remember when you helped me with charms in third year?" He'd asked. "I got top marks on that assignment."

As those became more frequent, it had turned into afternoons by the lake with both of you deep in your own novels, but sharing the comfortable silence.

Then it had morphed into weekends at Hogsmeade. Your friends thought they were being subtle when they consistently slipped away, leaving you and Theo to wander about the village. You couldn't find it in yourself to mind though.

You’d tried to keep him at an arms length. You really had. But Enzo couldn’t make you laugh as hard as you did with Theo. And Daphne just wasn’t the intellectual match that Theo was. And Pansy always made sure you let loose sure, but being around Theo was just- freeing.

You still weren’t sold on the whole soulmate thing though. Sure Theo was great. Perfect even. But you just couldn’t shake the icky feeling of blindly trusting fate to decide your life.

Then it happened. No one was expecting it. Especially not Pansy. But you and Pansy and Draco and Theo had all been working late on a potions assignment before dinner, and on your way back up from the dungeons, Pansy ran smack into a certain platinum haired Ravenclaw. You’d later find out that her name was Luna Lovegood. As soon as their eyes met, Pansy stumbled, leaning into you for support. You already knew what was happening as her eyes darted around wildly.

“Oh. I suppose we’re soulmates then aren’t we?” The girl said, a dreamy look overtaking her.

It all seemed too easy for them after that. It was like a flip had switched and the two were just mad for each other. A picture perfect example of what soulmates should be.

You found it to be slightly horrifying how blindly trusting fate could severely change a person and their relationship with an essential stranger.

Theo however, couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy. He had what? Almost five whole years on Pansy, and was lucky to get a friendly hug out of his soulmate. Yet Pansy and Luna were inseparable after only a few short weeks.

Not that Theo thought he was entitled to your affection necessarily. But it would be nice if you’d at least acknowledge the bond you two shared he thought.

“Why don’t you believe in soulmates?” Daphne asks one night.

It was one of those rare nights where it was only you, Daphne, Pansy, and Enzo huddled together wrapped in thick, warm blankets inside Daphne and Pansy’s dorm room. Salazar knows where Millicent was off spending her night. A bottle of shared fire whisky sat between you and packs of chocolate frogs littered the floor.

You blink in surprise at your friend’s question. You didn’t talk about soulmate stuff much.

“I do believe in them,” you say with a simple shrug.

“Yeah but you don’t really believe in them, ya know? Why?” She pushes.

You pause again, glancing at Pansy who was looking back at you intently.

“I don’t know. I guess I just don’t like the idea of someone deciding to be with me, just because they’re supposed to.” You say finally.

“I suppose I know what you mean.” Pansy murmurs after a moment.

You look at the girl in surprise and can tell the other two are shocked as well.

“Don’t get me wrong. I adore Luna. Really. I always tell her that I’m so glad that fate put us together. But then sometimes I wonder. If it weren’t for fate, would I have even given her a second glance that day I bumped into her in the corridor?”

There’s a silent lull as your group mulls over Pansy’s words before slowly drifting off to a new topic.

In another dorm, not so far off, Theo lay on his bed staring blankly up at the ceiling.

“Think they’ll come around soon?” Mattheo asks, sensing his roommate’s building tension.

“I dunno. But I’ll wait,” he replies, closing his eyes and letting images of you flood his mind. “They’re worth it.”

That night as you’re leaving to return to your dorm, Enzo catches your arm, pulling you off to the side.

“You can never tell Theo that I told you this, but the first time I met Theo, we were on the train waiting to leave for Hogwarts and he pointed out the window to a someone and said ‘they’re going to be my soulmate’. Then, at the sorting ceremony he got all dizzy all the sudden, and when we got to the common room, he said that he’d been right about who his soulmate would be. You. Just thought you should know.”

And with that, he’s gone.

It’s after that that you really begin to see Theo. You’d never really given him a fighting chance. But now, you kind of wanted to.

It’s the beginning of sixth year when Theo finally notices the shift. Notices you actually seeking him out on purpose, not flinching away when your hands brush, eyes hovering on his lips a bit too long for it to be accidental. And to say that he is ecstatic.

Meanwhile you were silently kicking yourself for taking so long to get over your petty bullshit with fate. Sure you still didn’t love the idea of it all, but after spending enough time with Theo, you could really, truly see the appeal.

After that night in fifth year, you began noticing how Theodore was one of the only students who could keep up with your academic prowess. He could always sense when you were tired, or stressed, or simply in a mood, and always did his best to subtly cheer you up. He was always there. Even after all the years you had put him through the wringer, he remained by your side. And that’s what really convinced you.

It’s also what landed you here, at the top of the astronomy tower, with your head in Theodore’s lap as his fingers raked gently through your hair.

It had become a usual meeting spot for the both of you. Theo had brought you up here a week into the school year starting. It was his safe place. His getaway when everything got to be too much, or when he just needed space to think. When those words had left his mouth you had melted. He trusted you. You had meant so much to him for so long, and you couldn't be bothered to give him the time of day.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, eyes gazing out at the swirling navy sky that seemed to stretch on forever.

“For what, amore?”

“Dunno. Making you feel like you weren’t good enough, or makin you feel like a bad soulmate.”

Theo looks down at you, and you meet his steady gaze.

“I knew I was good enough, amore. We wouldn’t be soulmates if we weren’t perfect for each other.” He replies.

You perk up at this. “You think I’m perfect?” You ask, a dopey smile appearing on your face.

Theo just rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he laughs. He'd grown used to your antics. Just another piece of you that he'd grown fond of.

“I said that we’re perfect together. But you’re perfect too I suppose.”

It hadn’t taken nearly as long as you had expected to reach this point. It seemed that Theo had just been waiting for the word to switch on boyfriend mode. All it took was one spontaneous, heated make out session in his dorm room, and you had the boy wrapped around your finger. (He already had been for years, but you didn’t need to know that.)

“Alright. Wrap it up love birds. You better be fully clothed,” Pansy calls, head peeping up from the top of the staircase leading up to the tower. “You two have been up here for hours, and you can’t have them all to yourself Theodore. They were our friend first.”

“Yeah! Time’s up lover boy!” You hear Enzo call.

Theo groans, head falling back as he rises lazily, offering you a hand up.

“I waited five years for this, can’t you guys let me have my moment?” He calls back.

“No!” The chorus replies.

With a laugh, you grab onto Theo’s hand, tugging him towards the stairs.

“C’mon. If we get Mattheo and Enzo drunk enough, they won’t notice if I spend the night,” you say with a cheeky wink.

“I heard that!” Enzo’s voice rings out.

“You wouldn’t say no to me anyway,” you shout back.

With a smile, Theo follows you down the stairs after your rowdy friends, hand wrapped tightly around yours. It had taken him five long years, and he certainly wasn’t going to let go anytime soon.

I'm a sucker for soulmate aus

[neovillains]

10,000 TIMES OVER | GOJO SATORU

syn. they would choose each other ten thousand times over.

── gojo satoru & fem-bodied!reader, black mirror!au, futuristic!au, strangers to lovers!au, soulmate!au in an unorthodox sense, alternate universes & different lifestyles, longing, infidelity, angst to fluff, suggestive, minor pairings: gojo satoru & utahime iori, geto suguru & fem-bodied!reader | word count : 7.0k words ( minors, ageless & blank blogs: do not interact )

special note. this fic is based on the black mirror episode, hang the dj. also, please note that every instance is a different universe, so it's a different lifetime for gojo and reader. [ a small playlist ]

FIRST INSTANCE

It took you two hours to get ready. With hair that is as stubborn as you are, it’s the main culprit as to why you’re running late. In the satin white dress that traverses down your body, what your wardrobe assistant had voiced to be the best attire for this event with a pair of royal blue heels to go along with it. You held up a questionable glance at the ensemble when it was all put together, but again, the artificial assistant persisted that this was the best look for tonight. The baby blue taxi sits in front of your house, the engine running lightly as you jog slowly down the pavement, rushing as the motion sensors of the vehicle lights up and the door automatically opens. 

Hopping in, the robotic hum of the driver comes to life, its stiff neck twisting as it places its arm against the seat of the front passenger side. “Welcome,” the taxi android thrums, speaking your name. “You are ten minutes late. Due to your tardiness, we will be arrive at La Grande past your schedule. Are you fine with that?”

“Yes,” you breathe. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be sitting in this car. With a curt nod, the android faces forward, arms moving to put the car into drive as his foot lightly taps on the gas pedal. The car ride is occupied with the sweet melodies of melodic rain patter as the taxi computer assistant can detect your distress. 

Do not worry, it states, hooking up to your phone data, pulling up your dating app. Gojo Satoru will adore you. You scoff, shoulders dropping as you fall back into the seat. “How are you so sure? You don’t even know if we’re compatible yet.” 

I am trying to offer you words of comfort, the female automated voice states. I apologize if I’m failing to meet your standards. Would you like to complete a survey to help better your experience? 

You roll your eyes, propping an elbow up against the car door as you start staring out the window. “Maybe another time,” you whisper.

This got exhausting. Going out on dates in hopes to meet your match, only for all this effort to go to waste when the data collection to finally be complete and given a low score. Though, Gojo Satoru’s dating profile did pique your interest. A handsome man with strikingly white hair that it looked unreal and blue eyes to match his impossible, the algorithm seemed to be bettering itself everyday for such a handsome man to be paired with you. 

With every dating profile came the standard information. Your date of birth, gender, star placements, and anything that the computer system deemed important. Little fun facts and quirky shows of personality prohibited as it only allowed for everything relevant. He’s a Sagittarius, which seems interesting enough. You didn’t know what to make of any of the information, but you just needed something to keep you busy during the drive. You tapped away on the screen, your recently done cutiles shining as your nails are adorned in simple French tips. A timer starts to flash in front of you, indicating that there are three minutes left until arrival. 

Clicking the power button to your phone, you slip it into your purse as you look through the car window. You can see the restaurant a distant away, ash brown walls and tinted windows as a sign hangs over, a light gray reading its name. You’ve been to this restaurant countless of times before, where you’re sure that the moment you step foot inside, the employees will quickly recognize you. They probably deem you as that girl who has yet to meet her one hundred-percent match yet, finding it completely and utterly embarrassing. 

The moment the taxi was safely parked and the door was opening, you jumped out. Heels clicking on the pavement as your hips swayed with your movement. You stopped getting nervous over these dates a long while ago, but there was something on your chest that made it feel so tight as every step you take sounded against the ground. When you approached the door, you were immediately greeted with a friendly nod as the man reached for the handle, holding it open for you. 

You reached for your phone from your purse and pulling open the dating app, holding it up to the scanner. With a quick chime, the machine before you buzzed as green lit up and your name reading across the screen. Glad for you to finally arrive, it greeted you. Your date, Satoru Gojo, waits for you at booth ten. Good luck!

You started walking over the moment it told you the table number, memorizing the restaurant by heart as you took a right turn. You manuevered yourself past the tables, making sure to be cautious of rushing hosts and waiters before you see the number ten in one of the booth racks. Immediately, your phones buzz the moment you’re in close proximity of one another, calling for the gentleman’s attention before he realized your presence. He lets his phone drop back on the table, standing up tall.

Your eyes widen, realizing just how tall 6’7” is as he looks down at you. You ignore his greeting, it all coming out muffled as you take in his large statue. Instead, you guffaw. “Wow…”

He laughs, pearly-white blinding you as he nods. “Yeah, I get that a lot.” 

He helps you by pulling out your chair, not sitting back down until you do. “I know we know each other’s names already from the dating app, but my name’s Gojo Satoru.”

“Gojo Satoru,” you say, trying his name on your tongue before introducing yourself. He reciprocates, tasting your name on his lips before smiling, “That’s a pretty name.”

You don’t get a chance to comment on his statement when the waitress comes over, a cheery smile on her face as she clasps her hands together. “Hello and welcome to La Grande. I’m Utahime and I’ll be your waitress tonight. Have you guys started your order yet?”

“No,” you shake your head, reaching for your phone. “Can we get a few more minutes, so we can, please?” 

Utahime nods, glancing at the both of you before disappearing from your sight. Gojo scrunches up his eyebrows, eyes flickering from you and back to the waitress. You’re scrolling through your phone and something tells me that he should be doing the same. “I’m sorry, I’ve never been on one of these dates before. What are we supposed to be doing?”

Your thumb stops as you scrunch up your eyebrows together at his statement, bewildered at his admittance. “What?” you gasp. “You’ve never been matched before? That’s one of the first things you do the moment you turn eighteen. How old are you?”

Gojo chuckled. “Yeah, typically, but there’s a route that you can take if you don’t want to initially start. I decided to do that first before I wanted to take things serious.”

“Oh,” your eyebrows raise, sitting back in your seat as you cross your arms. “You’re a little player.”

Gojo meets your challenging eyes, pointing at you. “I didn’t say that. I meant that I focused on more pressing matters than finding my match.”

“Really?” you ask, finding him intriguing. As well as the fact that you could’ve delayed this all if you had known there was a way to. “What’d you do before—” you gesture around you “— all of this?”

“Prioritized college,” he shrugs. “Not that I had much of a choice. It was that or get disowned by my father.”

“So it was your father’s doing that you haven’t started matching yet?” 

“No,” Gojo smirks. “You weren’t necessarily wrong when you said I was a player.” He throws you a wink that you’re ashamed to admit that it made your heart flutter. 

For the rest of the night, the two of you were engrossed in each other’s conversations. You showed him the ropes of the dating app and how it functions when going on dates. Though, you were hoping by the rest of the night, neither of you no longer needed it. He told you stories of his childhood— the positive ones— and telling you what life was like without having to worry about your next date. Not only that, but the two of you seemed to mesh well.

When the time allotted for the two of you had ended, the waitress leading you through the door, a taxi waited for the both of you. “We’re supposed to spend the night together,” you tell him, motioning him to the car. “That’s how the app furthers its data.”

“Oh?” Gojo quirks an eyebrow. He has friends who had found their match early, but he was never interested in knowing the process. Right now, he felt like a toddler learning his alphabet all over again as he stopped in his tracks, watching how you walked so seamlessly over to the car, waiting for the door to fully open. You were a gorgeous thing, the way the white dress hugged onto you as your heels shone in the moonlight. He concluded there that he wouldn’t mind spending a night with you.

The moment the two of you stopped at your new destination, the designated place after all first dates, you punched in the code that you read off the phone before the door swung open and lights started flickering on. It was a cozy cabin that was accommodated to all current technology, but still gave the feels and comfort that it had as portrayed in old television shows from back in 2024. Climbing the short three steps, you turned to watch Gojo following you as he took in the small abode. 

It was spacious, but in the same word, congested. It was all one room, fitting in the living room, kitchen, and bedroom. Only a secluded room for the bathroom. It differed a lot from what he was used to. “This is where we’re supposed to spend the night?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “It took some time getting used to, but we don’t have to do anything. We can just… go to sleep, and wait for the next day.”

“Okay,” he breathes. He followed your words, letting you guide him and show him around. He didn’t have much knowledge on this. His parents only ever spoke good things about the process, but never the finer details of things. However, he remembered them mentioning the process is usually quick. It only took three dates for his parents to find out they were each other’s hundred-percent. However, the way you run around, memorizing everything lets him know that this isn’t even your third rodeo. 

“How many dates have you been on?” That question has you stiffen up, turning your head as you reach for a glass from the cabinet. Your eyes flicker away as you set it down on the marble countertop. 

“Oh, um…” You hum. “This would be my… twenty-ninth, I believe.”

What? “Oh…” 

“Don’t worry,” you try to lighten up the mood. “I’m pretty sure you won’t have bad luck like me. Maybe you’ll find your hundred-percent on the next date.”

You sound so sure that this one will fail. It makes him feel sympathetic towards you, how you’ve grown so accustomed to the failed matches. He inches near you, leaning against the countertop as he grabs your glass. He slides it from one hand to the next as his eyebrows wiggle and a smirk plasters on his lips. “How are so you sure that you aren’t mine?”

You don’t like how he’s gotten you all so flustered. He has a point. Maybe you don’t have to do anymore chasing, spending your afternoons and nights getting ready for a date instead of lounging at home. There’s a possibility that it could be him. However, there’s been guys like him before. Guys that you thought were decent, but didn’t make the cut. You didn’t want to get your hopes up. You didn’t want him getting your hopes up only to feel like a fool.

You don’t answer him, simply going to the fridge and pulling out an unopened bottle of apple juice. You gesture towards the bedroom area, taking the glass from his hold. You ignore the feeling of electricity that runs through your fingertips when your skin touches his. “In the left dresser, there are men’s clothes. You can use the bathroom to get changed while I use the bedroom.”

His shoulders slump, but he nods, body moving involuntarily as his posture straightens and does as he’s told. When he leaves the bathroom, he’s caught you at the wrong time. Fortunately, your back turned to him as you pull on the oversized t-shirt over the night shorts before spinning around. 

The bare skin of your back seemed to glisten under the lighting before it’s hidden away before you’re reaching for the bed sheets and feeling his presence. “Oh, hey!”

The air’s lighter as you pat the spot next to you, the tension from before dissipating as you get under the covers. Over your head, there’s a bonnet that you look adorable in as you find yourself getting comfortable. “Don’t get shy. I don’t bite.”

Gojo smirks. “I’m not too sure of that.”

Underneath the covers, the two of you spend majority of the night talking amongst yourself, speaking into the darkness as the moon wisks itself away and the stars seemingly saying goodbye. Nonetheless, the two of you enjoy each other’s company and laughter before eventually falling asleep. It’s six in the morning when both of your phones chime. To you, it’s the familiar notification of the app announcing that the data has been completed. Might as wel get this over and done with. 

You didn’t realize that Gojo had reached for his phone before you, long having opened up the app as it’s loading. A slew of pearls going in a circle before the numbers pop up on screen. “Oh.”

Through the sound of devastation, you go to look at your phone as well. And while you weren’t trying to get your hopes up when you read that ten-percent. Yeah… Oh. 

500TH INSTANCE

Gojo adjusts his cufflinks, pulling at the fabric of his shirt as the sleeves rise just below hiss elbows. The baby blue shirt becomes more crinkled as he glances at his phone— Utahime Iori is on her way. He’s fidgetting on anything he can find, his stomach starting to growl the longer he waits. He really shouldn’t have arrived early, but listening to the app, he wanted to make a good first impression. 

Are you nervous? The male voice of the dating app assistant sounds in his earbud. Absentmindedly, he shakes his head, grumbling while he’s at it. In a low voice, he responds, “No, moreso annoyed. This is my fifth date.”

I’m sure this one will be just fine, the chirpy male voice responds. I have good faith in this one.

“How are you so sure?” Gojo sneers. “You’ve said this three times before already.”

I’m just giving you positive words to cheer you up, the bot voices. If you feel like my vocal services are inadequate, please feel free to turn it off in the settings. 

Gojo does that, following the bot assistant’s instructions as he goes to the menu. Clicking on the blue slider, he chucks his phone to the corner of the table before a soft, feminine voice calls for his attention. “Gojo Satoru, right?” 

Immediately, Gojo comes to stand, holding out his hand for her to shake. She takes it, appreciating the kind gesture. He takes in the woman— jet black hair and fair skin. She’s pretty, chestnut-colored eyes that seem sweet and friendly with her hair styled down, a white bow in the back, clipping some back. The most noteable thing, however, is the large gash that decorates her face. A few shades darker that her skin, Gojo watches as the light in her eyes falter as she grows self-conscious. Her soft voice alerting him, “Hey, it’s rude to stare.”

“Sorry,” he smiles sheepishly. “It’s Utahime Iori, correct?”

“Yeah,” she nods, with the faint of roll of her eyes. “Just like it says on my profile.”

“Well,” Gojo sighs. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Utahime only hums in acknowledgement before clicking the button at the center of the table, signaling that the two of them are ready to be served. Without having to order, two plates are brought out for Gojo and Utahime. And just like the last date he was on, he’s been given the same dish. A shrimp alfredo with green beans on the side, Utahime a filet mignon. Her plate looking more appetizing than his as he picks up his fork. Usually, he’d start off each date with compliments, his flirtatious personality coming off so easily on his tongue, but he finds himself tongue-tied. So, instead, he tries starting up normal conversation. “So, what do you do for work?”

Utahime darts a look in Gojo’s direction, scrutinizing him. She grimaces at the app’s choice of date for tonight. He’s really not my type. “Did you not read my profile at all or something? I’m a teacher.”

Gojo’s shoulders droop as he comes to realize that it’s going to be a long night. 

When the two of them are brought back to a condominium, one that Gojo’s starting to familiarize himself with, he watches as Utahime kicks off her shoes. “Where’s the bathroom? I need to shower.” 

“Second door on your right,” he voices absentmindedly. Again, she says nothing, only humming in acknowledgement before trudging her way down the hall. Gojo pulls out his phone, opening the app as it still reads ‘Collecting Data…’ He lets out a sigh. Why couldn’t she be like my second date? He received the results within twenty minutes of dinner, glad that the results rung out a thirty-five percent. And he was immediately grateful for it, the woman obnoxious the entire time she was there. Why couldn’t I also get lucky with this one? 

Gojo finds himself perched at the dining table as the shower runs. He doesn’t bother to get changed, slouching down in the chair as he settles in his misery and into his mind. He thinks back to his first date. The girl he saw hurrying on in only to trip and land in a muddy puddle. You ruined your dress, a black and backless dress that flowed nicely at the skirt. When the two of you were made aware that you were each other’s date, you had given him the go ahead to laugh at you. You followed not too long after, cracking each other up while you sat in the cold establishment dirtied by the rain water. You were each other’s first dates and unfortunately, not either of your last. 

When Utahime hopped out of the shower, she came out to the dining area in only just her towel. With a smaller one wrapped around her head, she let that one fall down on the bench as she approached Gojo. Before he could fully register her planned turn of events, she dropped the towel that draped around her body and climbed on his lap. Excess water dripped onto the baby blue shirt as his entire body stiffened, eyes widening. “What’re you—”

“Don’t say anything,” she pressed a finger to his lips. “By the end of the night, we’ll get our results and we won’t have to see each other again after this.”

It’s her certainty that lures Gojo in. After this night, we won’t have to see each other again. And he liked the sounds of that. 

Skin slapping against skin, the pungent smell of sex infiltrating the air ducts. The sweet sounds of each other echoing throughout the room as Utahime holds onto Gojo’s shoulders, his hands holding at her hips as he controls her movement. She’s the sweetest like this. When she’s not complaining or making a jab at him for “not” reading her dating profile. Just pure sex without any romantic ties to it, no feelings that bound each other down. 

He feels his stomach tighten, the muscles coming together as his grip becomes stronger. “Shit, ‘m g’nna…”

“Hold on,” Utahime cries. “Hold on!” 

When Gojo cums, Utahime makes sure that it’s not in, watching how his cock leaks his seed onto her stomach as she fingers herself to her release. Her moans are sweet and sultry, her cunt pulsating before creamy white follows in suit. And when both fall out of euphoria, she’s the one to speak first. “C’mon. Let’s strip the beds before going to bed.”

When the phone chimes at four in the morning, Gojo’s expecting to taste the sweet relief of heading on home, watching how the bubbles swirl in a circle as the app pulls up the database. He rubs out the sleep from his eyes, his sight a little blurry before the number loads up on screen. Digital confetti blinding him and bringing him into a slot of confusion. Huh? It’s never done this before. 

His heart drops when he registers what the number says one the screen— One hundred percent. 

1,000TH INSTANCE

Geto is a decent guy, you conclude. A very sweet man. However, there’s just something that he lacks. You couldn’t put your finger on just what he was missing though. Long brown hair combed back in a small bun, one lock of hair falling out of place and in front of his face. Chocolate brown eyes that look at you, seemingly assuring you that everything is and will be okay. His voice is smooth, like the sweet blue agave that you pour into your tea. 

He carries and each conversation smoothly, listening to you intently as he has his hands propped up, leaning his head against it as hums. He nods his head at everything you say, giving you his undivided attention as he had barely touched his food while you half. You shouldn’t be wishing for this night to end because ideally, this is the partner you wanted. He was the man you so desired and wished for. But those sentences are all in the past tense, and you want to focus on the now.

You have a medium well steak that’s nearly finished. The sides, mashed potatoes and chopped vegetables. Your drink, a Diet Coke, as recommended by the app. Geto a Cesar salad with vidalia onion dressing drenching it. As you continue to talk, the more you get more hungry as you drone on and on about more stuff. It’s in the midst of your never-ending rambling that you become self-conscious, becoming flustered as you look over at Geto sheepishly. “Sorry, am I talking too much? I’ve been told I do.”

“No,” he completely dismisses your worries. “I like that you’re so open with me. I’d listen to you all the time if I could— If I possibly can.”

And that should be flattering. A man willing to listen to his partner at any time of the day if possible, but you still feel uneasy. “No, you know what. What about you? You told me that you grew up on a farm. Your accent doesn’t match your upbringing. Is there a story to that?”

He nods, accepting the change in discussion as he relaxes his shoulders. With a deep breath, he stares off into space for a moment. “There is, uh, a story to that actually.”

You’re sure that the story would have been fascinating if you were truly and genuinely missing. Instead, your eye flicker to outside of the window as you swear you see a familiar face. In a red button up and charcoal gray slacks, you watch as Gojo climbs the short steps up the pavement as the gentleman at the door bows in respect and holds the door open. Geto drones on and on about his childhood as your eyes follow the white-haired man. His head of hair styled back like he had done so with you. Dark circular frames that fit his face, he checks into Pimento’s with his phone before turning in your direction. 

Eyes meeting yours, he stops in his tracks as he looks over at you. Neither of you say anything for a while, Gojo calling for attention as onlookers and passers-by become curious as to why the gentleman is so bewildered. Geto’s soothing voice pulls you out of your trance, looking behind him to see just who you’re having a staring contest with. “Do you know him?”

“Huh?” You lose. “What— I’m sorry. I didn’t hear what you said?”

“The guy,” he gestures to Gojo. “Do you know him?”

“Oh,” your face heats up in embarrassment. “We, uh—” There was no ‘we.’ You barely knew Gojo, the two of you only sharing one date together before the app revealed the dreadful news that the two of you weren’t each other’s hundred-percent. After such heightened conversations and slews of laughter, the two of you just… clicked. However, according to the app’s data base, that wasn’t enough. Thirty-percent, it algorithm had collected that that’s what both of you were, claiming that there were too many differences and that in the long run while the two of you got along now, the future would turn out nasty. The two of you were devastated, but neither of you voiced that. “— We went on a date. That’s all. I just… I just usually never see them again right after, you know?”

“Oh,” Geto nods in understanding. “No, I get that. I’ve yet to see any of my dates again, so that is a little weird.”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” you lean against the table in curiosity. “How many dates have you been on so far?”

“This would be my fifty-sixth,” Geto answers truthfully, holding no shame to it. Your eyes widen, mouth shaped into an ‘O’ in surprise. Geto chuckles, used to that reaction. “Don’t make fun of me too hard now.”

“I—I’m not!” you hold up your hands in defense. “I’m just—Does your app need some updating or something because how have you not found your hundred-percent yet?”

Geto shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve concluded it to bad luck, but I’m still hopeful.”

“Hopefully, you find the one soon,” you try to assure him.

“Hopefully, you are the one,” he smiles. 

Gojo watches from afar, you with your date. You’re smiling. You seem happy. Good, he thinks. You deserve happiness. Though, he believes deep down that it should be with him. Gojo lets out a deep sigh when he reads a notification on his phone. Utahime Iori is one minute away. 

You decided you needed a long shower the moment the two of you arrive at the hotel, scanning yourselves in before a keycard is uploaded to your screen. Geto takes the lead in bringing you up to your room, letting you in first as you reach for the light switch. It’s a beautiful room, you have to admit. Cream-colored walls with brown accents. Picture frames hang on the wall, making the area feel more homely. As expected, there’s only one bed. 

“If you want to take a shower first,” Geto says. “Go ahead. I want to take a second to relax.”

“Okay,” you chirp. That’s no problem with me. You end up taking an hour long shower, so absorbed in your mind as dread fills it. You just want this night to be over with. You feel so guilty because Geto seems like a nice guy, but you don’t feel a spark to assure yourself that this will be an everlasting connection. By the time you’re twisting the pipe, your fingertips are pruned up and dehydrated. You reach for the towel that hangs on the rack, stepping out. 

You curse to yourself in realization that you didn’t get a change of clothes when you’re drying off your face, taken aback when you see just what you need waiting on the bathroom sink. Wait, your eyebrows furrow. These weren’t here before—

Your phone chimes the familiar melody for the results. The loading screen pops up and disappears rather quickly than what you’re used to. One hundred percent. 

5,000TH INSTANCE

Perfection can never be achieved. You remember these words from your husband when you first met. You mentioned your love for painting, pulling out your phone to show him your works. Innocent recreations of what’s already been done and a few original pieces of your own. It was an off-handed comment that you made that sparked him to say that. “Oh, it’s not perfect or anything. I just do this for fun.”

“Perfection can never be achieved,” he told you, pushing back the dark strand of hair behind his ear, brown eyes that resemble a fox as they reeled you in with such charm. “Only something that we can aspire for.”

He paused before adding, “But, I’d say you’re damn near close to perfection.”

His smooth-talking immediately locked you into him, accepting the score of one hundred-percent the moment your phone chimed that familiar ring, waiting a few seconds before it popped up on the screen. You believed what he told you after that, how he was happy that you were his and that he only sought to take care of you. His hands wrapped around as the sheets fell from around him, his strong hands pulling in your bare torso and kissing you alongside your neck. 

The soft hum of your voice sounds the bedroom as you lean into his touch, naively falling for his lies. Eyes shutting as his hands raised to flick at your pert nipple, you melted into his touch as he whispered to you a broken promise. “I promise to love you with all my power.”

Maybe if he were truthful, your mind wouldn’t drift back to that one person who always lingered on your mind. 

Around the dining room table, you feel like you’re running short of breath. Gasping for air, tears stream down your eyes as you’re slamming your hand down on the table, three loud bangs that echo through the night. Both of your phones lie far inside the bedroom, promising each other not to look at it until the very next morning. It’s three in the morning now, exhausting pooling inside of each other’s eyes, but still— something is holding the two of you back from going into that bed. 

Your loud laughter fills the dining area, snorting every so often as you hold your stomach, paining starting to stab you. You keel over, holding your weight with one arm as Gojo watches. Circular frames set down on the table as his laughter slowly dies out, cheeks tinted in red as his chest heaves up and down. His eyes are solely on you, something you don’t realize until you’ve finally calmed down. A long-winded sigh leaving your mouth before your eyes meet his sapphire-like pupils. He’s giving you this… look. You don’t know what to call it. No one’s ever looked at you this way. 

Instinctively, you examine yourself, giving yourself a quick skimming before you’re asking, “What? Is something on me?” 

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Never was.”

Easily growing flustered, you avert your gaze away from his piercing one. From under the table, you kick at his shin gently. “Stop it.”

“What?” he feigns innocence. “You asked, I answered.”

Such short-lived happiness. Now you feel a hollowness in your heart as Geto’s broken his thousands of promises, making you dream for a universe that you’ll never have. Did you fall for it all because it reminded you of the man that you really wanted?

5,001ST INSTANCE

“Gojo,” Utahime grumbles out. “I’m going out. Don’t wait for me.”

When have I ever? He wanted to voice out, but instead, he responded with silence. And she doesn’t say anything about it, walking through the door with a loud shut that sends vibrations to the trinkets and decor to the neighboring dressers and picture frames. Picture frames that hold nothing of any true value, all pictures that Utahime has hung up of nature and wildlife. Something to spruce up this… empty and desolate home. He doesn’t know where she goes, such a frequent occurrence that he no longer questions it in his mind. 

Perched up on the couch, his blue eyes pinned straight to the television as he clicks through the channels. His eyes are starting to burn and exhaustion is laced in his body, but he doesn’t care. No work tomorrow. Nothing to do. No Utahime in the house. All she does is fill up the empty space and even when she’s hear, it feels emptier than it already is. Maybe he’s being harsh, but it’s his truth. 

His unhappiness ruminates inside of his mind, festering as he clicks from channel to channel, still not finding anything interesting to watch. It comes to a point where the screen is dark, clicking the power button, and finding more entertainment in the darkness before he’s scrolling through his phone. Going through socials as he sees the smiling faces of his loved ones with their hundred-percents. He hates how happy they seem, even if they��re just conjured falsities. Why hasn't he felt like he hasn’t had one good moment with Utahime?

Through the lifeless scrolling and rediscoverings of certain apps, he finds the dating app. Something he hadn’t used since learning about Utahime being his hundred-percent, but the app is still there and his account is still there. You can no longer match with anyone reads underneath his name, but he goes past it, clicking on his match history. It was a short list of names, three people at most. Utahime Iori, Shoko Ieiri, a few other women and… you. 

Something batters against his chest at the remembrance of you. A student in her residency, so close to tasting victory. You spoke with so much passion, life still inside your eyes as you spoke to him. Cheeks that rose that they looked like they hurt at some point. “How many men have you made fall in love with you?”

He asked that simple question and you giggled, shaking your head. You had such a brightness that it was blinding. A vermillion dress that was so striking that you called all the attention to yourself, a beautiful flower that didn’t belong in between the rose bush, its thorns and thickets too deadly for something as precious as you. 

“I should be asking you that question,” you redirect the question to him. “What’s a fine man like yourself doing without his hundred-percent yet? The algorithms are doing a shitty job if you still haven’t found the one yet.”

He was so confident when he said, “I think they were leading me straight to you.”

He feels like a fool now. Holding so much faith for a woman that wasn’t his by the end of the night. He got his hopes up, and in response, got his heart torn into shreds by the end of the night. He kissed you that night, his second to last date. He’s never done that with any other woman before that. However, you managed to make yourself the exception. How did you do that? Weasel your way into his heart so easily?

He wonders if you’re as miserable as him right now. And while some sadistic part of him hopes so, his dwindling love hopes not. He hopes that your hundred percent gives you someone that you deserve and love— even though it’s not him. 

10,0001ST INSTANCE 

When was the last time you enjoyed being at a nice house party like this? Sure, it’s not as wild as your college days, but it doesn’t need to be. The EDM that hums through the heavyweight speakers vibrates through your bones as you hold a red solo cup in your right hand. The lights are dim as neon streams of light flash across the ceiling. Chatter intermingles with the music, everyone’s eyes bright as they dance along. Pushing through the large crowd comes Shoko, she’s tugging her hundred-percent along with her, eyes bright when she spots you hidden away. 

Calling out your name, she beams in excitement. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“Well,” you chuckle. “You haven’t been looking hard enough.”

You stand tall, meeting Shoko in the middle before your eyes fall adrift to her partner. A pretty woman with fair skin and chestnut-colored eyes. Jet black hair that falls past her shoulders and bangs that hide her forehead. The most striking feature about her, however, is the large gash across her face. However, it doesn’t take away from her beauty, only seeming to enhance it as it calls for a story waiting to be told. She holds a shy smile on her face, averting eye contact before she voices out a “hello.”

“Hi,” you respond, holding out your hand and giving her your name. 

“I’m Utahime—” She could barely introduce herself before Shoko’s smiling all giddily, “Isn’t she stunning?”

Utahime’s face heats up, a shy smile on her face before nudging Shoko, and whispering, “Stop it…”

You enjoy this part about matches. You enjoy watching people get their hundred-percents and finding themselves happy. Seeing how they’re ecstatic and overjoyed to find someone else they mesh well with. But, why couldn’t you have that? Why are you still searching for that through yours? Where was that immediate connection that you’re longing for? As much as you love seeing other people’s happiness, it becomes overbearing at some point. You manage to sneak yourself away from the lovey-dovey scene, squeezing past the myriad group of people and finding homage at the food table, picking up a paper plate and sharing yourself a small serving of fruits. You sneak a few pieces of cantaloupe into your mouth before sharing out more on the plate before a voice rings inside your ears. “Make sure to leave some for the rest of us.”

You nearly choke on a piece when you whirl around, a strangled ‘hm?’ leaving you before spitting it out on your plate. Your eyes widen at the piercing blue eyes and the inhumanly white-head of hair that you haven’t seen in months. 

“Oh, my gosh!” you gasp. “Gojo!”

The two of you hug as if you’ve both been life-long friends. It feels that way, remembering the first and only date the two of you have been on. That long night of chatter as the two of you spent it in each other’s comfort. Both of you equally poured your hearts out to each other like no one else was watching. Those within that restaurant were so sure of it, the two of you would be hundred-percents. Only for the staff to share the same disappointment you had when you returned in a week’s time waiting on someone else.

There was a connection that you had with Gojo that even a blind man could see, even now with the two of you hugging each other. Each of your grips were strong, scared to let go of one another as if the moment you did, one of you would be gone once more. You couldn’t help but inhale his scent, an earthy fragrance of his cologne that made you want to nuzzle yourself further in his chest. He couldn’t help but to bury his face in your hair, smelling a scent of citrus from your hair products. Subconsciously, his grip tightened on you before both of you finally pulled away. 

You looked up into his eyes, finding yourself easily lost in them as you’re held speechless. A snort leaves you, still baffled that he’s here. “You know Shoko and Utahime?”

“Utahime, yeah,” Gojo nods. “She was an old classmate of mine. Surprised she invited me, to be honest. She hated my guts.”

“Who could hate you?” you jest, but deep down, you’re asking yourself that question. How could anyone possibly hate him? He scratches the nape of his neck, chuckling as he leans down to your height, getting awfully close. “You’d be surprised.”

He sends a chill down your spine, your smile dropping as your eyes flicker from his eyes and down to his lips. He does the same, having the strong urge to kiss you then and there. “Want to take a step outside with me? It’s— It’s, uh, getting a bit claustrophobic in here.”

You nod without hesitation. “Yeah.”

You take his hands, bigger than yours, they lead the way out. The two of you find latibule on a rusty bench out front, a few blocks down from Shoko’s place. The sky is getting darker and the air is getting chillier. You start to shiver when Gojo’s pulling off his sweater. “Here.”

“No.” You start shaking your head. “I’m fine.”

However, Gojo’s already draping it over your shoulder, not taking your ‘no’ for an answer. Instead, he starts the conversation up with a question he’s been meaning to ask the moment he saw you at the food table. “Have you found your hundred-percent?”

“Nope,” you sigh, averting your gaze in shame. “You?”

“Nope,” he repeats. There’s a long silence the two of you share before his eyes lie on you. “Do you think it’s worth trying anymore?”

“No,” your eyes flicker around before braving it. A few inches away becomes a centimeter, lips ghosting each other’s. “Not when the only person I’ve been wanting is you.”

note. thank you so much for reading this fic. gojo is my king for angst. please let me know your thoughts in the comments below or in your reblog. it is very much appreciated. mwah!

[hatsukeii]

hey girllllll i’m here at ur cafe cause exams have been kicking my ass… i need a comfort drink RN !! can i get an oolong tea with pumps 19 and 20 from the sugar free menu :) ive been EYEING that customer in the corner right there.. yeah the blonde haired red eyed one— he’s called bakugou you say? fuckkk, set me up pls, sister? 😁😁

ps. good luck for ur exams hattsun! we can do this :p

hello hello:)) thank you for the wishes and good luck on your exams too!! i've got your order up! (why! would you put yourself through extra bitter tea!)

to kill a god / prohero!katsuki bakugou x reader

ingredient(s): angst<3 (you asked for it baby), pro hero katsuki x terminal patient reader, soulmates to dead idk, major death! major character death! anguish! pain! just straight up agony tbh

disclaimer(s): terminal illnes + major character death warning!! also like i think i used a hc that pro heros don't reveal their names to the public idk why, scarce use of y/n like once or twice, ending is! a little rushed but i hope it hits anyways, they are the embodiment of "are they lovers?" "no, worse" so...

wc: ~3.0k

drink profile: absolute defiance, hospital walls, luck and chance

Katsuki Bakugou, at six years old, declares that he wants to live forever. He wants to blow villains up for the rest of time, expend the nitroglycerin in his sweat glands until the world ends one day and everything is reduced to atoms. He lives out his childhood with his chest puffed out, like he cannot- no, will not die.

Even as his limbs weigh heavy on his teenage body, and he can feel himself hit concrete ground as whips of black shoot through his torso, he tells himself he is not dying. He's not fucking dying, because he has lived and fought like a god.

By the time he graduates from UA, Katsuki is certain that he has to, one day, meet his end. He pretends like he can live forever anyways.

When Katsuki meets you for the first time, it is in a hospital courtyard on a sweltering July afternoon. Hours of greeting and running around with children finds him sitting on a bench, away from the commotion that is contained within the hospital white walls of the pediatric sectors. His skin boils beneath his suit, and he tries to wipe his sweat-slicked forehead with a gloved hand. From beside him, a paper towel appears beneath his nose, slipped between an index and middle finger. Katsuki stares at your palm, eyes travelling to the IV drip inserted into your wrist. When he looks up, he isn't sure how you've gone unnoticed for so long, with your IV pole by your side, donned in a sterile blue hospital gown. You look not a day over twenty.

"Dynamight." Your voice comes out as more of a croak than a youthful chirp.

The towel is swiped into Katsuki's hands swiftly, before he pats at his forehead. "Yes?"

"Are you afraid of dying?"

He scoffs, slipping the dampened towel into his pocket. How absurd. Dynamight? Afraid of dying? Do you think he fights because he's scared of dying? Turning to you, Katsuki comes to realise that you might be dead serious, dull eyes boring into his skull. He could see nothing behind them. The IV drips, and drips, and drips. You stare. He isn't sure what to tell you.

"Hell no. But I don't wanna die." He leans into the hardwood bench, spreads his legs a little further apart. He doesn't know that he's lying, even when his stomach stirs and the wooden bench begins to cool, and coarsen into concrete ground and blood. He should look away before it all feels too real again, but you're looking at him like a child, twenty years too old, searching for answers in the face of what power means in this world. Katsuki hates it.

"Of course not. You're a hero after all. All the power in the world."

You stand, and leave him sitting there alone. That night, pro hero Dynamight waits for backup at a villain sighting for the first time.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Katsuki Bakugou promises to give you a taste of power when he meets you a second time at the same hospital, the next week.

He's not sure how his patrol shift has brought him here again, but he never got to stand up for himself. It's not his fault he's a hero, not his fault that he enjoys power in the spark of his palms, or that he isn't afraid of dying because he's clawed his way out of it so many times. But he knows what it's like, he says, standing by your bed. Knows what it's like to never die, even when everything is pushing him to. That's power, he tells you, absolute defiance. And you're sitting in a hospital bed surrounded by two palliative care workers who have to shoot you up with anaesthetics every four hours. So he leans down close, so close that he can sense the wariness coming from your stony eyes, see the hairs on your skin stand helplessly, and he frowns.

"D'you think you're weak?" His question is uttered to a husk of a human, who needs the wall to keep them upright. You wince painfully in response, unsure of what he wants to hear from your chapped lips. One of the workers doses you with anaesthesia, and you pinch your eyes shut. It still hurts, even after all this time.

"I'm just waiting to die, call that what you want. Weak, sure." You swallow at the thought, because you're fucking terrified. Katsuki takes it that you are scared of him.

"You're just fuckin'... waiting to die?" Vermillion eyes squint in disbelief, and you swallow again, this time at his question instead. He hates spineless quitters. He hates them more than he can imagine. Some part buried deep inside him wants to refuse death on your behalf, because he detests nothing more than the notion of going out helplessly, bound at the mercy of a hospital bed and anaesthesia. There has to be someone out ther with a quirk that can save you, and Katsuki isn't sure why but he's hellbent on finding them. Call it civil service. A hero's duty to save.

"If you're going to come here, Dynamight, at least make this easier for me, and don't act like I asked for it."

Right, Dynamight. That's what people call him, and you are no different, so he's not sure why he expected otherwise. When one of the two palliative workers approaches you with a syringe, Katsuki doesn't think he can bear the sight of another dose of chemicals worming its way into your veins. You're just another chickenshit defeatist, poisoning themselves in a hospital room.

He turns on his heels, and leaves while you hiss in pain.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

No one at the hospital is quite sure of what is going on between pro hero Dynamight, and a terminal patient. They watch him return, week after week, sometimes consecutive days in a row. When he steps through the automatic doors, he shoots every single worker that passes by him a curt nod, then hikes up the stairs to room 203. The only people in the room would be two palliative care workers and yourself, and the rest of the hospital staff is sure he's brokered a deal with the two workers to never let a single word out of 203.

Nobody else ever enters 203 while Dynamight is here.

But everybody talks.

They make rumours, pick up on singular words through the sliding door, then say he's grown weak. Soft. Pro hero Dynamight, no longer the first at the scene of a crime. Pro hero Dynamight, falling back from combat on live television. Pro hero Dynamight, visiting a terminal patient, day after day. He must have too much free time on his hands. Maybe he's had enough of hero work. Maybe he's gone mad.

What they conveniently fail to understand, outside the barrier of 203's white door, is that Katsuki Bakugou doesn't know what is going on between himself, and you either. He comes back every day not because he particularly wants to, but because he can't help himself not to. He finds you again, and again, and again, just to listen to you talk about hospital food, or how you've just watched him back down on live television, scrutinised by millions of watchful eyes.

Then, Katsuki asks you how long you have left, to which your answer is always decreasing. A year the first few times, then halved, and by this visit, his seventeenth, you tell him, "three months."

"That's a quarter of what you had five weeks ago."

"Tough luck." You stare at the IV drip in your wrist, watch the liquid seep into your veins through the thin tube.

He wants to promise that he can help you, even though it holds no power. He is not a doctor. Everyone else in this hospital is. But Katsuki Bakugou has almost died about a hundred times, and still he lives, so he thinks he must know something that they don't. Absolute defiance.

"Nothing is luck." He sits on the bedside stool, grinding his foot into the squeaky hospital floor. "It's all a wretched fight."

"Yeah, for you it can be." You laugh dryly, wiggling your wrist and watching as the IV tube sticks up in odd angles. "But luck's all everyone else has got."

A pigeon smashes into the glass window, and drops to the balcony floor outside in a flurry of feathers. One of the palliative care workers leaves to pick the mound of grey from the floor. Katsuki looks away when the other one shoots you up with another dose of anaesthesia. Something hums in the air, inescapable, like the time he woke up in a hospital bound in bandages, circulating oxygen from a new, pumping heart. His hands spark, and for once, he wonders if he just got lucky.

"Let me touch your sparks."

You finally speak again, a hand stretching out weakly to point at the crackles and pops of Katsuki's palm. Gingerly, he extends his gloved palm towards you, careful not to touch the equipment that surrounds your bed. When you take his hand in yours, something twists in his chest, and sparks thud at his suited torso instead. They're weak enough to do little damage, yet as he tries to ignite sparks again, they misfire a second time, scorching the dead pigeon pinched between the palliative care worker's fingers. Katsuki Bakugou has never been afraid before, but he jerks his hand away from you, yanking onto the IV drip and rattling the pole that wobbles at the force. He may as well be quirkless in your wake. Powerless.

"What the fuck was that?"

You shrug. You've always wanted to be a hero, watching their escapades from your bedridden world. You just got unlucky.

"Luck. That's luck. I wanted to become a hero with it."

You would have been a great hero, Katsuki thinks. You should have been a great hero.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Katsuki Bakugou doesn't realise that he has never called you by name until his twenty-third visit. He sits by your bed, gives you his hand, lets you do as you please with soft sparks that tickle and prick at your skin, as he has for the past four visits. He's figured that you would smile when they redirect to the spot just between the two of you, like fireworks that stutter and pop into flowers. Some part of him hates to admit it, but he's enjoying this much more than blowing villains up.

"You're getting better. That's the third in a row in the right place."

"All luck."

He swallows thickly, because he hasn't asked the question yet. How could he, when he's giving you exactly what he promised- power? He floats images in his head: IV drips, surgery, growing tumour, operation room, flatlines. They cover your body in a shroud of inevitable dread, and Katsuki would blow them apart if he could. But he's given you his quirk, and you're making fireworks with it.

"Are you scared? Of dying?" The fourth spark hits a mug on a desk across the room. It jolts off, and shatters on the ground. You shrink into the bed, pulling his hand into your chest, and his gut drops. There's a sort of bitter taste that worms into his mouth, but he lets his hand lie flat against your sternum when you push it closer to yourself, and it dissipates. Your chest rises, heavy and slow, like every breath is laboured. When you look up at Katsuki, he isn't angry. His cheeks are rounded, soft eyes watching your fingers around his hand, lips slightly pushed apart by his sudden question. It occurs to you that he might be asking more than just yourself that.

"What does it matter to me?"

"Should I be?"

He stares back at you, and you freeze. Pro hero Dynamight faces death head on every day like it's nothing, but some sick part of you wants him to be afraid too. It will take three weeks to catch you, maybe a few more decades until it chases his tail, but death finds everyone eventually, and that should be terrifying.

"You can choose. Do you want to be scared?"

He should defy this, just like he has so many times before. Dynamight has a fake heart, fake name, fake recklessness, it's all fucking bravado. Katsuki's been tasting blood in his mouth every night since his old heart stopped pumping at sixteen years old, his bed is bloodstained concrete ground when he wakes up in a cold sweat. He can choose, but can you do the same? And even if he did not have to choose, if he could be immortal, would he still pick a side? What good is being a god, if he can only live to watch death take you from above? 

Your hair covers your face, your fingers ghost across his gloved ones, and he swallows the question of how long you really have left. 

"What's your name?"

"Y/n."

He holds his breath, letting it out only to utter, "Katsuki." You hold his hand a little tighter in yours.

"I wouldn't be scared if I knew I could move on from this." 

"Don't use me to make your choice. You have to move on from this. And you have to be okay with that."

At thirteen years old, Katsuki Bakugou is publicly asphyxiated for approximately one minute and twenty seconds, until Izuku Midoriya arrives on the scene, trying to wrench him out. At sixteen years old, he is pronounced dead in battle, until Edgeshot turns himself into his new heart. It has never been about defiance, and always about people being in the right place, at the right time. His life has been dangling from the promise of luck since the day he was born with a quirk that lets him pretend to be a god. So no, maybe he shouldn’t let somebody else make this choice for him.

"But I'm still scared, y/n. I'm still so fucking scared."

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Pro hero Dynamight breaks down on live television one week later, following a close call with a criminal syndicate. Millions of eyes glue to their home televisions, watching him scream profanities into a Juko News microphone outside a hospital. Parents cover their children's ears, angry commentators press backspace on their "dy-no might" comments, 6pm rush hour stops to stare at angry Shibuya billboards, but nobody changes the broadcast.

"You motherfuckers have no idea how fucking lucky you are to be alive! When have you ever, ever! Had to count your fucking days?" Spit shoots from Dynamight's mouth, and they think he's deranged, unhinged. He stands in front of the hospital- your hospital, and forces the retreating cameraman to redirect the lenses at his angry spew.

"Gone soft, weak, no might, quit the shit!" He points at the hospital behind him, right at the window of room 203. If you aren't hearing him from your bed, Katsuki is ready to grab the microphone, and yell it from the balcony for everyone to hear.

"You will never understand what it's like waking up to fucking hospital white day by day. I have seen it, people in there have seen it." He jabs a finger at the camera accusingly. "If you want heroes to die fighting so badly, I suggest that you fuckers try it for yourself."

Turning to 203, Katsuki stops for a moment. Reporters snap photos behind each other, yet nobody says a word. Have you made him soft? Made him weak? Have you killed Dynamight? When he remembers the fireworks between your noses, and the choice he's made for himself, he thinks the opposite.

"I will not apologise for wanting to live. I will not apologise for trying to live. And I will not fucking apologise for being scared of dying. Not when I get to wake up, and choose to be scared."

Katsuki throws the microphone to the ground, and stomps on it, storming into the hospital. Comments flood the broadcast. Coward. Fake. Spineless. Ungrateful. His PR team scrambles to get the footage deleted.

He hikes into 203. To hell with the news outlets, and the reporters, and the spineless keyboard warriors, because he's watching you take your dying breath if that's what it takes for him to move on from you. He slides open the door, and you're bedridden, breathing through an oxygen mask. You smile at him like you've saved him from something you don't know. He smiles back, because you have.

"I'll only move on when you do."

"Two weeks, Katsuki."

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

When pro hero Dynamight arrives at the hospital again, nine hours have gone by since his public meltdown. He returns to rubble, and dust, and a dozen rescue heros scrambling on their feet at 3am. They say that there's been a gas explosion, that the past few maintainence checks have failed to detect litres of propane seeping into every crevice of the institution, all while flipping through piles of concrete for signs of life. They tell him that more heroes will be here soon, and that he should focus on breaking open larger pieces of debris. As he sends explosion after explosion into deconstructed hospital walls, Katsuki wishes he could pretend to care about the mangled corpses crushed beneath what once was a hospital. He doesn't.

People all look the same when their heads are crushed between asphalt and concrete. Hundreds of IV drips are littered around the wreckage. It has been one hour, and even with backup, they have only found seven survivors. Dynamight cannot save people here, all he can do is blow rubble to bits, hoping to find beneath it one more person whose lungs haven't been crushed already. He is no hero. He couldn't even save one person.

Three hours of searching concludes with twenty-two survivors, all hauled into helicopters and stretchers, and flown away to someplace Katsuki doesn't care to know. Rescue heroes never confirm the death count, and can only give an estiamte of approximately three hundred fatalities, and twenty-two casualties. They never find your body.

Katsuki stands on broken rubble, and he thinks he has been killed again, two weeks too soon, all in the name of misfortune. Tough luck. He swallows his pride, because in the face of death, absolute defiance has never been his vice. As he gapes at this massacre of pure chance, his gloved hands can barely form sparks. How did you ever turn them into fireworks?

barista's note:

hi do you guys still love me<3 double pump of sugar free you were ASKING FOR ITTTTTTTT i do apologise i rushed the ending because i have more requests and i want to get through them but i am physically! incapable of like multitasking on writing like i have to finish one to start one or nothing comes out i fear... i hope the ending hit the vibes right anyways though because idk what i was thinking while writing this i think i was kinda just vomiting onto the page whatever felt right LMFAOOAO

tags: @catsoupki @laughingfcx @wishi-selfships @fiannee @chuuya-brainrot @zzwon @akaakeis @hiraethwa @bakery-anon @wyrcan @bailey-reeds @hiraethwrote @kuroppiii @kongkhoi @staraxiaa

[just-a-little-cellist]

Hi,

could you write a Hannibal headcannon, where he meets his soulmate at an FBI crime scene.You have to touch your soulmate in order to see colour?

(oh I love the idea of Hannibal with a soulmate au, his reactions would be so interesting! hope you enjoy!)

(Hannibal x gender neutral reader - Hannibal is his own warning)

Hannibal discovers his soulmate in... interesting circumstances. Not the perfect meeting by any means, but the universe has its ways.

He'd never made an effort to seek his soulmate out, more than content to live in black and white forever if necessary, but once he meets you he wonders how he could ever have existed without you.

Hannibal had seen you before, he thought, in passing in one of the many corridors full of bustling FBI agents.

You had caught his eye once or twice before, for reasons he couldn't quite place. Obviously you were attractive, but that wasn't usually enough to sway his attention.

Either way, he nodded in recognition when Jack brought you along to the scene. Jack mentioned that you had only just been reassigned to the Chesapeake Ripper case and, while you had obviously done your background research, being present at a scene would be a very different experience.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Doctor Lecter. I've heard a lot about you."

You extended your hand in greeting. Hannibal shook your hand and was about to reply, but had to pause for a moment as he looked into your eyes.

Your eyes, that were suddenly full of colour.

From the way your expression shifted, you were experiencing the same thing.

He was pulled out of his momentary shock when you retracted your hand, schooling your face into neutrality once again.

"The pleasure is all mine. I hope I can be of assistance."

Jack soon ushered you both over to the thick of the crime scene, not willing to spend more time than necessary on introductions.

You were clearly trying to push thoughts of meeting your soulmate aside, focusing on doing your job for the moment until you had a spare minute to process.

Hannibal, however, was not able to do the same. He didn't particularly need to focus though, only appear as if he was. The details of this murder were not exactly foreign to him.

Soulmates were not a unknown concept. He was fully aware that they existed, but doubted that he himself would ever have one. Or, even if he did have one, he doubted he would ever be fortunate enough to meet them.

It was also not the most ideal scenario. He had no plans to cease his 'work', but presumably spending time with an FBI agent would make it much more difficult.

He supposed he would just have to figure it out.

His role today was simple, and something he had perfected by this point. Give a slightly vague profile that would keep the FBI on the trail, leading so close but not quite all the way to him, and then act disappointed when there were no traceable leads to be found.

While Jack still seemed satisfied with his profile, Hannibal felt more than distracted by the musical sound of your voice in the background. You were talking to one of the photographers - Hannibal didn't even register what about - and when you briefly glanced back at him and smiled, the rest of the world seemed to vanish for a moment.

There was, as with the other Ripper cases, nothing much to be found in terms of evidence at the crime scene. Not that Hannibal would expect anything different, of course.

Though it did mean he would have to part ways with you rather sooner than he'd hoped.

While the deceased was prepared to be taken for autopsy and the agents finished clearing the rest of the scene, Hannibal watched as you approached him. Perhaps a little cautiously, but not lacking in the confidence you'd held the whole day.

"Could I borrow you for a moment, Doctor Lecter?"

"Of course."

You moved away in hopes of having a little more privacy, and apologised for your reserved introduction. You explained that you didn't want to be seen as easily distracted on your first scene in this case. You wanted to prove to Jack that it was worth having you reassigned and, now that you'd done that, you were very interested in meeting the man, not the doctor, that was your soulmate.

Hannibal understood. He was also not keen on making a fuss about his soulmate, at least not in public.

(Although, he was already considering how best to dedicate his next 'work' to you.)

You intrigued him. Clearly for good reason, if the universe had deemed you to be his perfect match, and he found himself craving the next moment with you, despite the fact that you were still stood before him.

Stood before him with that hopeful, doe-eyed expression.

Hannibal couldn't wait to truly make you his. To possess you, in every way he could.

Though that might be too strong a start.

"Perhaps I could steal your attention later tonight instead? I would love to have you over for dinner."

"That sounds wonderful!"

He took one of your hands and gently pressed his lips to the back of it, delighting in the heat that rose to your face.

"I'll look forward to it, my dear."

[pentrologram]

advent calendar - day seven

You can't see colour until you meet your soulmate. It only takes you dying for you to find yours.

reaper!simon riley/reader

a/n; grim reaper skin anyone? anyone? no? okay.

Simon Riley’s world has been black and white for as long as he can remember.

Which is to say a long time. It's been a stupidly long time.

He doesn’t remember the faces of his family. Recently, he’s been doubting if he even had a family to start with. His name, too, is beginning to elude him- he’s been Ghost for so long, it seems futile to separate himself from his fate.

For as long as his life has been black and white, he’s been Ghost. Death. Reaper. God, sometimes, in some circles, years ago. He’s the person who ferries souls from the living to the dead, stuck in an in-between that bars him from both worlds. He exists in limbo, the thin veil, the *grey*. His home.

His life is largely monotonous, but that’s a good thing, he thinks. He could’ve needed to fight passersby for their souls. He might’ve needed to seduce them. Maybe trap or trick them. No, this suits him, the bland you’re dead working just fine for him, thanks. Maybe once or twice someone’s got handsy or pissed- usually the drunk ones- but it’s so rare that he never thinks twice about it. He’s easily twice the size of those mortals, anyways, and can always chuck the misbehaving ones over his shoulders and haul them to the place that they go to when they die. That always makes him bitter; he would kill to have a chance at what they don’t want.

Days don’t exist for him. There is only work and the absence thereof.

He’s hunkered down after a particularly long quiet period, maybe a minute, when he’s abused with a sudden pop of… colour.

He’d never seen it before, but he knew it existed from the way that chatty passing souls would describe the living world. Red apples, orange oranges, yellow sun. He had always assumed he’d never see it, too, because why would a Ghost like him have a soulmate to begin with? Why would love be wasted on him?

But still. Now he can see that the ground he’s paced countless times is earthy and damp, that his hands are not merely white but alive-looking and that the veil to the living world is a reflection of his bubble but more vibrant. It nearly hurts his eyes. It nearly hurts yours, too, and his breath is taken away as he sees you. Eyes squinted as you take in the influx of colour, eyes scanning before they land on him- hulking, silent, probably scaring you. You don’t seem to mind, however, beginning to smile before offering a wave that makes you wince at yourself.

“Um. Hi,” his soulmate says. 

part two!

[il-predestinato]

hello beautiful elle

since it is going to be a long 3 months without our boys could you please recommend some fics that you liked? cause i really like your writings and how realistic they are and i wanted to get some of you suggestions for the break!

love you loads

Thank you, lovely anon, for your very kind message! 🥺 I must admit I have fallen behind in reading fics. I am sure I am forgetting some excellent Lestappen fics/writers, but these are some of my all-time favourites!

Lestappen Fic Recs:

And in the end I will seek you out amongst the stars by mandzilkos (@geeeooorrrge) - rating: G, 22k words

Soulmate AU where you see in black and white until you meet your soulmate, and the world goes back to black and white after your soulmate dies. This is ALWAYS the first Lestappen fic that comes to mind whenever anyone asks for a recommendation, and it is probably my all-time favourite. The fic that inspired me to write Lestappen, if I'm honest.

getting half of you just ain't enough by shybear_styles - rating: E, 20k words

The friends with benefits story that spans the 2019 season. The only thing better than amazing smut is amazing smut with feels. For sure a top 5 fic in the Lestappen fandom for me. Also, this author is simply amazing in general and you should read all of her fics! I haven't given up hope that she will return one day and write more Lestappen. 🤧

you feel the mornin' feel by shybear_styles - rating: M, 3.3k words

Remember that time Sebastian Vettel asked Charles, "Is he [Max] pretty?" And we never got an answer because Charles descended into gay panic? Well, worry not! We get an answer in this fic.

Monaco Malaise by ProngsfootxJily (@cupidskissx) - rating: E, 8k words

Rivals with benefits, takes place after the 2021 Monaco Grand Prix. Yes, this one is delicious smut but also a character study. Both of them are written so well, and it leaves you begging for more. Don't forget to check out the equally amazing sequel! (Don't worry, I have been relentlessly harassing her to write the sequel's sequel.)

algorithm by Anney (@badboy-george) - rating: M, 17k words

In a world where F1 uses simulation-based compatibility tests, five times Max doesn't find the right partner and the one time he does. Black Mirror ("San Junipero" and "Hang the DJ") vibes in the best way. Another one of my absolute favourite fics. If you've read any Lestappen fics, you've probably read "Every Other Sunday." This one is simply a masterpiece by the immensely talented Anney; definitely check out her other fics!

panem et circenses by Anney - rating: E, 13.2k words

Wow - simply devastating, haunting, an ode to these two as drivers, set in a dystopian future AU. The world building is absolutely incredible, but at its heart is such a beautiful story of love and hope. This one doesn't get enough recognition. (TW: implied non-con, not between Lestappen.)

Unlearn by wantinghopingwriting (Tazza1993) (@lightsoutfullhearts) - NR, 45k words

This is another all-time favourite, a must-read. Fake/pretend relationship to lovers multi-chapter story that is ever so satisfying; both of them are so well characterized. Set in a parallel-ish 2022 season. I really cannot recommend this one enough.

the edge of what can be loved by Ledger_m (@the-last-jedis) - rating: T, 13k words

The third wheel fic from the perspective of Max and Charles' various "Steves." It's funny, heartwarming, and everyone on the grid is nosy as fuck.

Charles Leclerc vs Red Bull caps by Ledger_m - rating: T, 6.4k words

Charles is the hero we all need, as he goes on a mission to get rid of all of Max's stupid Red Bull caps. This is REQUIRED reading! Kami is a genius. Go read all of her fics.

If You Don't Play, You'll Never Win by antimonyandthyme (@antimonyandthyme) - rating: T, 4.1k

Post 2021 Monaco Grand Prix. Max wants to take their relationship further; Charles... doesn't. Oh my God, where do I begin to describe how much I love this fic. The language is beautiful, both of them are so well-written, and I feel punched in the gut over and over again in the best way. The ending (well, the whole thing) is so damn satisfying.

all's well that ends well (to end up with you) by stylestappen (@stylestappen) - rating: G, 3k words

Max has a meltdown in the cereal aisle (yes, the cereal aisle) at 3 am when he realizes he is in love with Charles despite the latter's questionable taste in cereal. Dani has an absolutely wicked sense of humour! (Although I don't understand what she has against cocoa puffs 😭.) She also wrote a banger of a Lestappen soon-to-be teammates fic, so make sure to check out her profile.

Max Verstappen: Spotify Extraordinaire by frnndtorres - rating: G, 26k words

Max makes Spotify playlists for the grid. Fluffy, funny, care-free, liberal use of nicknames, with a healthy dose of feels between Max and Charles. A really fun read.

i love the way your green eyes mix with that malibu indigo by altissimozucca (@altisssimozucca) - rating: G, 11k words

Max and Charles spend summer of 2020 together in Malibu and try not to fall in love. Spoiler alert: they fall in love. I feel the urge to explain something: When I first started reading Lestappen, there were less than 250 fics in their entire tag (yeah I know, we are currently close to 3000 fics, which is insane). From 2019-2021, we truly lived off crumbs. So trust me when I say that we owe so much to altissimozucca, who wrote something like 40% of the fics in the Lestappen tag and nearly single-handedly kept us fed in those days. It's so hard to pick one of her fics to recommend, so make sure you check out her profile for more!

#803442 by altissimozucca - rating: M, 1k words

Max and Charles celebrate the end of the 2019 season in a hotel room. So soft, so fluffy, so satisfying.

Bruises by eefiplier - rating: E, 5.1k words

I think of this one as THE Lestappen smut fic. Oh my God, it's 5k words of amazing established relationship smut with all the feels. A classic. I can read this one over and over again.

outside the box by playclock (@endowataru) - rating: M, 6.1k words

Max falls in love with Charles' driving... oh and Charles himself too. They are ultra competitive idiots who are madly in love. There aren't enough established relationship fics out there, but this one is simply amazing. And don't forget to check out this author's profile for additional Lestappen fics. I promise every single one is a banger!

i made it link by link by purpleglasseswrites (@f-ferrari-forever) - rating: M, 4.2k words

Charles and Max try to be kinky, but who are they kidding - they are far too vanilla for that stuff. 🤣 This one is so sweet, and don't forget to read the sequel!

One man's trash, another man's treasure by AzziNow (@track-terror-apologist) - rating: T, 4.2k words

Charles turns into a raccoon and terrorizes everyone except Max. (Well, he terrorizes Max too... slightly.)

Call it madness, call it love… by AzziNow - rating: M, 3.5k words

Ferrari auctions off Charles for charity. No angst, just fluff. Alpha!Max/Alpha!Charles. So I confess that I never read A/B/O fics. There's nothing wrong with it - just not my cup of tea. But I really enjoyed this one. Al has such a chaotic sense of humour.

it all reminds me of you by grandprix (@grandprix-ao3) - rating: E, 3k words

Secret relationship Lestappen with flashbacks. Oh the yearning, the desire, the smut - incredibly satisfying. I must put a plug-in for this author's other Lestappen fics as well. Never misses - make sure to check them out!

burning you into my mind by thightattoos - rating: E, 4.1k words

Porn with feels and possessiveness. You cannot ask for anything more. I must have read this one a dozen times.

an evil plan or two by witchee_writer - rating: T, 5.2k words

Max and Charles are roped into a plan to get Brocedes back together; they come to a few realizations along the way. The only thing better than a Lestappen fic? A Lestappen AND Brocedes fic!

Fine Line by empireoffclouds - rating: NR, 7k words

One of the more light-hearted enemies to friends to lovers fics. I absolutely adore their dynamic here - it's snarky, warm, but also so them. The incomplete sequel is also a super fun read.

Into Darkness Of Thought by flamingosarepink - rating: T, 1k words

After the 2019 Japanese Grand Prix, Charles thinks Max isn't coming back to their shared space.

steal softly under castle walls by untouchableocean - rating: G, 521 words

Max gets home late from Milton Keynes and Charles has already fallen asleep. Short, tooth-rooting fluff of the best kind.

Zoomies by greeny1710 (@maxlambiase) - rating: E, 2.2k words

This one is just hilarious. A (mostly) naked Max walks into Charles' team Zoom call during the COVID lockdown.

...and many, many more that I'm sure I have forgotten! 🙈 You can also check out my AO3 bookmarks (the first few pages are pretty much all Lestappen fics).

Please remember to leave kudos and comments for these amazing writers. The talent in this fandom is absolutely incredible. They all deserve so much recognition. Happy reading!

[kurokens]

In The Night I Miss You | Satosugu

anime/manga: jujutsu kaisen

character: gojo satoru & geto suguru

words: 1.5k

pronouns: they/them

request: none

notes: sorry for the wait!!! but part 2 of In The Middle, my first satosugu piece, is finally here! a little bit more angsty this time and from satosugu's pov

not proof read

song rec: The Night I Miss You - Lee Changsub

genre: hurt comfort, fluff, slowburn, a little bit angsty, poly?

warnings: satosugu are in a loving relationship, misunderstanding, pinning, a lot of pinning on satosugu's end, reader is so oblivious, insecure and self conscious reader

Satoru and Suguru were quite the pair, always together since they can remember, as if fate created them for each other. Two pieces of a puzzle fitting perfectly together. They knew that, hell, everyone around them and their mother knew that. And yet, they both felt like something was missing, they spent years happily loving each others, and they never stopped, but they couldn't help but feel some kind of longing for something more.

At first it drove them crazy, how could they feel like that when they already had everything they ever dreamed of? They're both each others soulmate, and yet it's not enough, not anymore, not since they met you. You came and wrecked their perfect little world. You and your stupid smile, you and your stupid laugh, you and your stupid kindness, you and your stupid gentleness, just you and your stupid self. It was such a hard time for them to accept these feelings, especially with the growing guilt towards each others, clueless about the other similar torment. Until one day, the cat got out of the bag. "Say sugu..." The white-haired man started softly, a gentle hum coming back from his lover. "Are you satisfied? I mean, with us? Our couple?"

"Why? Yes, of course. Is something the matter? Have I done anything to make you think otherwise?" Suguru exhaled through a trembling breath.

"No, god no. It's just, god, how do I say this without sounding selfish. Have you ever felt like something was missing?" Satoru breathed out, closing his eyes in shame.

"You mean, like someone?" The black-haired man whispered shakily causin Gojo to spring up from his previous position, biwildered eyes meeting the ones he was ashamed to look at earlier.

"I didn't, I didn't say that, I mean not exactly, but, but maybe? Do you?" He murmured, a glint of hope in his orbs.

"Do you?" Suguru asked, just as hopeful.

"Yes, god, yes. I'm so sorry Sugu, I love you, I do, I promise. Like I've never loved anyone, but lately I've felt this way and I don't know why, and I didn't know how to tell you. Please tell me you do too. I can see it in your eyes, you do too right?" Satoru begged, his hands now clamped on the sheets below him.

"Yes, I do. God I was so scared to tell you, I'm so glad you feel it too. Oh, I'm so glad." Geto let out, his breathing calming down as well as his nerves. "You're thinking about someone in particular are you not?" He continued, reaching out to take Gojo's hands in his, easing down his stress.

"Yes..." He answered, tightening his grip around Geto's hands. "Do you?" Only receiving a nod along with the brightest smile he's ever seen his lover give him. "It's them, right?" Another nod came his way, just as he was pulled into a hug. "I'm so glad you feel the same. I was so scared. I thought I would lose you if I said anything, I don't want to lose you." He sobbed, finally letting out all the repressed feelings he's been having for the past couple of days.

Suguru stayed quiet, nuzzling his head into his lover's neck, grateful for the conversation, but also for the fact that they both felt the same. Of course the universe wouldn't betray them like that. They were soulmates, and it was destiny for both of them to fall for you, and maybe it was how it was always meant to be, not just them, but the three of you. And Suguru was more than content with this idea, he wished nothing more but to be able to share this overwhelming love with you as well. But he knew it would take time, it's not something they could act on just like that. They needed to proceed slowly, they didn't want to scare you, let alone lose you. Hell, losing you would shatter them, they could handle rejection just fine, but not having you in their life anymore just wasn't possible.

That's why Suguru had to physically stop Satoru from screwing this up. It was quite hard for the white-haired man child to refrain himself from acting on his desire to confess to you, and make you theirs. Since you lived with them, seeing you everyday and not being able to love you like he truly did, was the worst hardship he ever had to face. He wasn't used to not getting what he wanted, so having to wait for you to be theirs was proper torture. Don't get him wrong, it was also very hard for Suguru, but he knew they had to do this properly, and one of them had to be strong, because Satoru sure wasn't going to be. And because of that they would regularly have the same conversation in their room late at night, or early in the morning because it's when they were yearning for you the most. In the comfort of their bed.

"I dont know for how much longer I can do this Sugu..." Satoru sighed, burying his head in his lover's chest, muffling his next words. "They're so pretty, and so nice, and so caring, I love them so much. I would give anything to crush them between us right now."

"Me neither love, but there is nothing much we can do about it.They live with us." His black haired lover replied, laughing at his antics.

"I know, ugh I know, but it's getting so much harder everyday. Seeing them is becoming unbearable. I can't stand it anymore, we need to do something." He went on, on the verge of throwing a tantrum because of how much he yearned for you.

"Shh, I know, I feel the same. But we can't just drop this on them all of the sudden and expect it to go well." The oldest reasoned. "We will get there, we just need to take things slow Toru, we can't rush them into something like that."

And he was right, Satoru knew he was right, but it's been weeks and nothing changed. They tried being more affectionate towards you, complimenting you, being a little bit touchier and clingier without crossing any boundaries. Hell, they were looking at you so lovingly you could compare them to teenage boys going through their first ever crush. And yet, nothing changed, you were so clueless, it was driving them insane, but at the same time it was so endearing how oblivious you were to their adoration.

Everyone around you three noticed it, but you. It was quite amusing for your friends, but it was proper torture to them. And Satoru was growing reckless, he could'nt look at you in the eyes anymore, scared he will do something on impulse and regret it later because it could jeopardise your relationship, and your potential future together. Suguru wasn't much better to be fair, he could still look at you, but it was getting harder, and he couldn't bring himself to say anything to you that wasn't a heartfelt confession about their undying love for you, and his need to make you part of their life. So they decided to ton it down a bit, grow some distance between you, just the time for them to get themselves together, and to elaborate the perfect plan to confess to you properly without forcing you into anything. Yes, that was a good plan, or so they thought. Not once have they ever imagined this plan of action could backfire. Because why would it? It was the perfect plan!! Just until it wasn't.

After some time of putting distance between you, (literally a single day, Satoru couldn't more), the couple deciding to put their plan back into action but with a bit more hints being thrown into it. But, unfortunately for them, when they came back from work, the house was oddly silent, not a trace of you to be seen. "Sweetcheek?" Satoru called, walking towards your room, only to be met by complete silence. "Hey gorgeous, you in there?" He knocked, but once again silence was his only answer. So he opened the door, to see if maybe you were sleeping, but you weren't. Your bed was made, but something was off. Your room was clean but it felt like something was missing.

"Sugu, come here real quick." He urged, and Suguru footsteps were quickly heard. "Something isn't right."

They both stood at the entrance of your room, analysing everything, trying to find what was amiss, this odd feeling growing stronger and stronger. And then they spot it, a letter neatly placed on your desk, which read:

'The walls are thins here you know. Anyway don't worry I'll be out of your space soon. Sorry about the stuff I've left there, it's just for the time it takes for me to look for a new place and then I will give you back your much needed space. Thank you for letting me stay this long, and sorry for the trouble I've caused.'

The couple grew livid. Their worst fear became reality, and they didn't know how to fix it, but they knew they had to. And the sooner, the better.

part 3 is out, find it here!!

[ilguna]

☼ breathtaking pt1 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you thought that you were going to go into the arena without ever meeting your soulmate. little did you know, he's been next to you the whole time.

warnings; swearing

wc; 3.5k

part two.

–

The worst part about the announcement of the Quarter Quell was by far the amount of questions you were asked about it afterwards. In the months leading up to the reaping, all you kept being asked was, “How do you feel?”

In the beginning, you would just stare at them for a second, hoping that they’d realize how stupid they are for asking it in the first place. How do they think you feel? While they’re all grown and get to live the rest of their lives without worrying about dying, you’re having your rights taken away from you yet again.

You aren’t supposed to do this again. Everyone was promised that once they win, they are done with the Hunger Games. They were no longer eligible to go inside, the only time you’d come close would be during mentoring. You’d get to live that week in the Capitol over and over and over again, watching different tributes get reaped, and then die in the arena.

As the reaping drew closer, the question died in their throats. The idea of reminding you about your potential fate made them uncomfortable. They never considered the idea of how irritating it was to answer the question every day of the week and then for it to slowly fizzle out.

You could handle the odds of going back into the arena. With only four girls in District Five, there was a twenty-five percent chance that the name pulled out of the bowl would be yours. It bothered the other girls, but you knew you had to let it go if you wanted to be even remotely happy for what could be your last weeks in your home.

Actually, the part that upsets you the most is the fact you’ll never get to see the world in color, because you haven’t met your soulmate yet. You’ll never get to see the sky, or the trees, or the color of the clothes you wear everyday. All the features that make someone who they are is absent in your sight. You’re left with black, white, and grey.

You thought that you would have years to try and find them. You’re only in your twenties. You were supposed to take over mentoring, which would’ve allowed you to get a better chance at finding your soulmate. 

It was ruined as soon as your name was the one drawn out of the bowl. You felt your heart sink into your stomach, because you weren’t stupid enough to think anyone would volunteer for you. The sighs of relief that came from the other girls was salt in the wound.

For a few hours, you were stupid enough to hope that you’d win, until you saw exactly who was drawn this year. It ended up being the last nail on the coffin. You are going to die inside of the arena, you’re sure of it. That’s why you haven’t taken a single thing seriously this past week.

Why does it matter? Why would sponsors matter? They don’t want you, they want the siblings, they want the volunteers, they want their darlings, and they want the newest trouble. You are just a minor victor in the crowd.

When you were telling your stylist about your pessimistic views, all he could say was that they were entirely justified. The Capitol loves their victor’s unfairly, and then it ruins the chances for the rest of you. Anything that would normally catch the attention of the crowd on a regular Hunger Games is useless here. The parade, the scores, the interview you’re about to do. It’s for nothing.

You trace patterns on the bare skin of your thigh, watching as your prep team and stylist move around the room. They’d briefly gathered a few minutes ago to talk, and ever since they’ve been running around pulling things off the shelves in the closet. You’re guessing it’s jewelry.

Your stylist pulls out one of those protective bags for dresses, except this one is bigger and stuffed with fabric. He unzips it to take a look inside, and you can see the smile come across his face. His eyes dart up to yours, looking at you through the mirror.

“(Y/n),” He begins, coming closer, “I’ve been saving this dress for a special occasion, since I will never be able to use it again in any of my work. Tonight, you will be my muse.”

You give him a slight smile, “Are you sure you don’t want to save it for anything else?”

“I’m sure.” He says, unzipping the bag, “I’m aware you can’t see the color, but you should know that it’s not the most important part. It’s the design.”

Together, he and the prep team work to get the dress out of the bag. It’s a light shade of grey, so you’re going to guess that it’s a pastel color. It’s uncommon for stylists to go for something so gentle, because the lights on the stage tend to wash the tributes out. That’s why the colors are bright and hard, so they can pop and shine.

You think that it’s going to be some small dress, but the fabric never stops. There’s so much of it. He tosses the dress bag off to the side, and then unzips the back for you to get into. It takes a minute, they have to adjust and pin the dress where it’s too big or too small. By the end, you can’t even tell that it’s been altered.

One of the prep team members gets to work on fluffing the dress, while the other fixes your hair, and then gets to work on putting the jewelry on you. She focuses on your earrings and the necklaces on your collarbone to make sure they’re positioned perfectly. They get you in heels, and then your stylist shuffles in front of you to settle something on the top of your head.

You’re ordered to close your eyes until you’re in front of the mirror and finishing touches are made. They fix your makeup, and then spray something wet and sweet smelling on your skin. You’re guessing it’s perfume, but as soon as you open your eyes and sway slightly, your skin sparkles.

The dress is floor length, off the shoulder but with long and loose sleeves to keep you from getting cold while waiting for your turn to be interviewed. And the object he snuggled in your hair is a tiny tiara that sparkles with your skin each time you move.

You run your hand over the gorgeous patterned lace, letting out a breath, “What color is it?”

“Pink.” He says, coming over to stand behind you, “A gentle and loving pink, one that resembles innocence and beauty.” He fixes a curl, “It’s light and uplifting, and it looks beautiful on you.”

“Thank you.” You smile.

“You’re good to go out, (Y/n). I believe in you.” He says.

You wander out of the room and down the hall, absently tracing one of the closest flowers while you near the line to the stage. The other victor’s are in varying outfits. This year, District Two is subjected to looking like gladiators, the Ritchson siblings are eye-catching in their sequin outfits. Johanna Mason wears a long dress, but she doesn’t look out of place.

A few eyes land on you as you draw closer, but they don’t linger longer for more than a second. They don’t care, a victor from District Five is anything but a threat to them at this point. You’re sure half of them have already decided how they’re going to get rid of you in the arena. And if they haven’t, it’s because they know they can take you in a fight. There’s no use planning it.

It’s only a few minutes later, when the entire hallway is going completely silent. You look over to see Katniss, dressed in a large wedding dress. You should’ve guessed, that was the whole obsession after their Victory Tour. Of course, her stylist would try one more thing to catch the Capitol’s attention.

“I can’t believe Cinna put you in that thing.” Finnick says, there’s a look of bewilderment on his face.

“He didn’t have any choice. President Snow made him.” Katniss defends.

Cashmere flickers her hair over her shoulder, “Well, you look ridiculous!” She spits, taking Gloss’ hand and walking off with him to stand at the front of the line.

You swallow, closing your eyes. You don’t know how you’re going to survive this, really. You know nothing about any of these people, except for what you’ve seen on the screen. You’re at a severe disadvantage compared to the other female victor’s back home. At least they got to talk to half of these people.

The only two victor’s that feel the same way you do must be Katniss and Peeta, but even they’re fitting in more than you are.

You resist the urge to rub down your face, but you do let out a slight huff. You guess you’ll just have to resort to hiding in the arena, even though you didn’t win through that strategy. You mostly fucked around with trying to set off traps and force the gamemakers to accidentally kill the tributes for you. It worked, it’s why you’re standing here today. 

That’s not going to fly in the arena, though. These people have watched your games, the same way you watched theirs. All strategies are on the table, which means that you’ll need to figure out how to camouflage and hide, immediately. 

Cashmere and Gloss lead the way onto the stage, and one by one, you make your way to the seats at the back of the stage. The audience is loud, cheering and whistling. The lights are blinding, you squint through them, relaxing your face when you’re adjusted to the brightness.

You tuck the dress beneath you before you sit down, as soon as you’re planted in your seat, you can feel the nerves in your stomach settle. You haven’t been on a stage in a few years, you remember hating every minute of it. From the parade, to your face being shown for scores, to all the interviews and speeches you did after you won. You hated every second of it.

Caesar’s hair is a different color, it’s some type of grey, so you’re thinking it’s a muted color. You know that he changes it every year, you wish you could see, because you’re sure he looks fantastic every time. He’s been hosting the Hunger Games for a long, long time. That’s a lot of colors to go through, repeating or not.

He does his usual opening-interview spiel with the audience by cracking a few jokes and getting them in a fun mood. From what you’ve heard from your mentors, the citizens of the Capitol are torn between hating the Quarter Quell and adoring it. It’s clear on why; most of the favorites are here. It’s a shame they don’t know how much power they hold.

Cashmere starts the interviews with a speech on how she’s been crying ever since she was chosen. She’s so heartbroken over the fact that the Capitol is suffering because of how many victor’s they’re losing to the games. Gloss follows up with talking about how they’ve been so kind to them ever since they won, and it’s been a pleasure mentoring since.

Enobaria expresses how sad she is that she won’t be able to experience the Capitol’s wonders, since there’s more to live through. She was hoping to get more body modifications and possibly become one of their featured darlings, or a modeling icon for the people back home. 

Beetee does his intelligent rambling, talking about how the Quarter Quell is technically illegal and it shouldn’t exist in the first place. He asks if the experts—Gamemakers—have considered this and examined it as of late. You watch as Wiress goes up and backs him up calmly, explaining that this isn’t fair.

When Mags takes the stage, it’s filled with Caesar guessing what she’s trying to say, but you can tell that she’s outraged, too. She’s too old for this, and yet she volunteered to come to save a girl she mentored. Finnick talks through a bright smile, and when Caesar asks if he’s got anything to say, his eyes darken. He proceeds to recite a love poem that’s clearly talking about his home district and how he might not get to see it ever again. It’s misinterpreted and too many people in the crowd think it’s aimed at them. 

“For District Five, we have the lovely (Y/n) (L/n)!” Caesar shouts, hand held out in your direction.

You get to your feet with a smile, heading toward the front of the stage. You place your hand in his, he squeezes your knuckles, “Hello, Caesar.”

“Hello!” He laughs, looking over what you’re wearing, “Well, don’t you look pretty! I don’t think I’ve seen anything quite like this before on stage.”

“My stylist was saving it for a special day, and that’s tonight, I suppose. I was just as surprised as you are.” You look out to the audience.

“Yes, it has been an interesting night so far.” He agrees, “Tell me, what was going through your mind at the reaping?”

You give a half-shrug, “I was disappointed, if I’m being honest.”

“And why’s that?” He asks.

“Well, I’m sure you can guess.” You shake your head, “I’m sure it’s an honor for some people to be back here again and have the opportunity to compete, but I’m losing out on one of the most important parts about living.”

“Let me guess, getting to mentor tributes?” He smiles.

You shake your head again, “No Caesar, it’s getting to see color.”

There’s enough gasps at once that makes your smile inwardly. You know what the other victor’s are trying to do, so you’ll help them. Even if they don’t invite you into their alliances, you’re with them on this. You don’t want the Quarter Quell to happen. You want to go home. That’s why you’ll expose yourself to the Capitol, because you’ve heard how colorful they are. They’ll eat up the idea of living this long without seeing color, ever.

Caesar gapes for a second, “You haven’t found your soulmate yet?”

You look out, “I will never get to see the Capitol the way the rest of you do. I hear the buildings are brightly colored, I hear how gorgeous the clothes are. And I will never get to experience that, because it’s being taken away from me.”

You can feel the tears build in your eyes. They’re partially real, because all you’ve ever wanted was to see the world the way your parents did. They saw real beauty everywhere they looked, and you saw nothing. And you will see nothing, until the day you die in the arena.

You hard blink to force the tears down your face, throat clogging. You have to play it up for them, otherwise they won’t care. You take a few seconds to dab at the corners of your eyes, with Caesar comforting you. The citizens are eating it up, there’s a few of them crying, you can’t see them past the light in your eyes, but you can hear them out there.

“I’m sorry, (Y/n).” Caesar squeezes your hand.

“I am too.” You sniff, fanning your face, “For what it’s worth, I think the city is beautiful without color, too.”

The buzzer goes off, signaling the end of your interview. There’s shouts complaining over how short it felt. You kiss the tips of your fingers and blow a kiss to the crowd before turning away and walking back to your seat. You struggle to hold in the smile that wants to break over your face.

The next few interviews are just as brutal. Johanna questions whether or not the creators can do anything about it. They never anticipated that the Capitol and the victors would form such a bond. Cecelia does a number by saying goodbye to her kids on camera, which has the whole audience in tears.

Seeder’s calm when she says that Snow is considered powerful. If he is, then certainly he can change the fate of the Quarter Quell, right? Chaff comes in swinging, reciting the same thing as Seeder but enforcing the idea that Snow must not care about the way his people feel.

And then Katniss walks to the front and the audience is in shambles. She’s unable to speak for several minutes, and by the tame she can, she’s speaking about her wedding. How none of them will be able to attend it, now that she’s been reaped for another Hunger Games, but Snow wanted to show them what could’ve happened.

She starts twirling like she did last year, except the minor flames from the year before have turned into large ones. They consume the end of the dress and eat away at the layers, until it reaches her shoulders, and suddenly the flames are gone. You’re left staring at a black dress with feathers. When she stretches her arms out, wings appear. 

Katniss’ interview ends almost a minute later, and she takes her seat. This allows Peeta to come to the front of the stage, where they go back and forth being comical. Caesar changes the topic to the Quell once he sees an opportunity to, and there the mood slowly spirals downward.

He says that he and Katniss are already married, and they did it privately while they could because they wanted the moment to be theirs. Then he quickly says that it’s unofficial because the traditions back home mean almost nothing to a piece of paper confirming it. Caesar and the crowd eat it up, completely on the edge of their seats.

“As you say, no one could’ve. But I have to confess, I’m glad you two had at least a few months of happiness together.” Caesar says. There’s a round of applause, Katniss briefly looks up from her dress.

“I’m not glad,” Peeta suddenly ays, “I wish we had waited until the whole thing was done officially.”

There’s a shock that goes through Caesar, he doesn’t say anything for a second, “Surely even a brief time is better than no time?”

“Maybe I’d think that, too, Caesar,” Peeta spits, “if it weren’t for the baby.”

Silence.

The words sink in the air, but as people get to their feet, shaking their fists, voices raised and screaming about injustice, it sparks others to follow. It’s not long before the whole audience is a wreck and nothing but an indiscernible noise. Caesar stands there dumbfounded, speaking into the microphone but not gathering any attention.

You press your lips together to hide the smile cracking at the corners of your lips.

Caesar’s trying to get the crowd to calm down, chaos has broken out. There’s no point in saying anything once the anthem begins to play. The volume’s so loud that you can feel it in your chest when the deeper parts play. It lets you know that it’s time to get to your feet to say goodbye on the program.

You lace your fingers in front of you, but quickly notice that others are not doing the same. As you look down the line of victors to your left, where Peeta is at the end, you can see that they’re holding hands, and your district partner has his palm open to do the same. 

You grab his hand, and turn to Finnick, who has this little smile on his face, hand held up for you to take. You carefully place your hand on top of his, he’s quick to lace his fingers with yours. You squeeze tightly, hoping for some reassurance, and find him squeezing back.

When you look up to the crowd, your face twists. The light is just as strong, but you can tell what’s beyond it, because it’s no longer a sea of different shades of black, white and grey. They’re in color, they’re bright, and they almost hurt your eyes from the shades they’re wearing.

You gasp, tears filling your eyes when you look out. You remember what your stylist said about the dress you’re wearing, and look down at it. Gentle, loving, innocent, beauty, light and uplifting pink. He was right. He dressed you as a princess for these people.

You tear your eyes away to finally, finally look at Finnick, your soulmate. The reason why you’re seeing these colors. You’re met with bright and breathtaking eyes, watching your face with a crooked smile. You can’t help the laugh that comes from you as the tears overflow your eyes. 

“It’s you.” You breathe.

“It’s me.” He agrees.

[kiss4noo]

his palette – n.rk

꒰ 🎨 ꒱ A NISHIMURA RIKI [니키] ONESHOT!

genre. soulmate au, fluffy fluffy fluff! .˚⊹ pairing. non-idol,,artsy ni-ki x artsy fem reader. ໒꒱ warning(s). bumping into each other cliche meets classmates 2 lovers. word ct. 869

synopsis .ᐟ in which people see the world in shades of black & white until making contact with their soulmate.

꒰ 💬 ꒱ mi note. remember, this is a work of fiction. i did not proofread, so please excuse any mistakes.

if you enjoyed this fic, please like and reblog! it's always appreciated :)

enjoy, my lovely readers. xoxo, mi. ‹𝟹

NISHIMURA RIKI was the quiet, loner type at decelis high, considering the fact that his best friends were all upperclassmen that had since graduated. he often sat by himself during lunch period, headphones on blast as he drew in his small sketchbook. his art was beautiful to anyone who had the privilege to see, yet it lacked one element; color.

the boy greatly envied those who had gained their palette, straight from the source of interacting with their soulmate; to which he had yet to meet. at least that’s what he believed, since he’d never came in physical contact with them.

currently, he was sat beneath a tree in the courtyard, hoping to sketch the scenery of campus, humming along to a track playing in his ears. his legs were entirely outstretched, laid before him as he used his thighs as a surface to draw upon.

a figure, obviously in a rush, had approached with hurried steps through the grass, tripping over his limbs with a soft ‘oof’. glancing up in surprise, riki’s gaze met the back of your kneeling figure. he recognized you immediately, as you shared multiple art classes throughout the years, and many labeled you as the campus sweetheart.

but…

wait, your outfit was a different sprawl of hues from the generic blacks and whites that he could see. in fact, his view was anything but grayscale. he assumed that you’d realized the same, your head tilting a few degrees in curiosity as you stared at the green grass beneath your palms.

pulling himself from the initial shock, the boy removed his headphones, placing them and his sketchbook aside to help you gather what had fallen from your grasp, knelt beside you.

“are you okay, y/n?” the boy questioned, his fingertips grazing yours as you’d reached for the item. when your eyes met his, he felt the air leave his lungs, your features far more angelic than people had described. his sight was one that people would’ve fought for, and yet he had the privilege to witness you in such beautiful color. your expression mirrored his, the honey of his skin, the blush of his lips– it was an exquisite change, leaving you in awe.

“y/n?” his voice drew you from the daze of his beauty, causing your eyes to flutter in rapid blinks that showcased your nerves.

“s–sorry, riki.” you murmur, reaching to take your sketchbook from his hands, only for him to pull it back. leaning your upper half forward, you found yourself a mere few inches from him– your breath mingling with his.

“y/n.” riki called with a low tone, causing you to gulp, averting your gaze. his fingers reached up, gently caressing your chin as he turned your head to meet his eyes.

“why were you in such a rush, bunny?” he questions, his brows furrowing in worry of any possible injury you may have gotten. flustered by the pet name, your cheeks flushed an adorable shade of pink, catching his interest as he waited patiently for a response.

“well.. well i wanted to..” you begin, stumbling over your words in embarrassment. you were actually on the search for him, hoping to find a vantage point in which you could draw him for the day. your fingers reached to grasp at the sketchbook, your name sprawled across the front; only for riki to cheekily grin at you.

“what’s in here, hm?” he questions with a playful wiggle of his brows, glancing down at the sketchbook to flip the front page.

“w–wait!” you attempted to protest, only for his lips to part in surprise, having found a drawing of… himself?

“y/n…” he whispers in disbelief, his eyes casting between the drawing and you, his gaze landing on the paper once more. his fingers gently flipped through the pages, finding a multitude of sketches you’d made of him; most of them during lunch period, where he peacefully sat alone.

“oh, pretty...” he murmurs, folding the sketchbook shut before placing it aside, practically tugging you onto his lap. “stop admiring from afar.” he mutters, pressing gentle kisses against your cheeks, to which your skin flushes even further. he was honored to have been the apple of your eye, as you were his.

after all, his staring sessions during class were rather obvious to everyone but you.

“riki!” you squeal in shyness, hands pressed against his chest as he lovingly smothers you.

“see, it's a sign that you should’ve joined me all along, baby.” he coos, glancing up at the sky and pointing with his index finger; the colors sprawled across your vision as you turned your head.

“not only can you see colors, but you have me to grace your presence.” he grins at you, ticking your sides as a giggle falls past your lips, your gaze returning to his.

“oh, yippie!” you sarcastically respond with a playful smile, earning a gasp of feign hurt from the boy; to which you place a gentle kiss to his lips.

now it was his turn to be flustered, your action catching him off guard before he pulled you in once again, your smiles meshing as you expressed your affection, no longer hidden.

꒰ 📎 ꒱ taglist. @greentulip @nshmuras @wonsdoll

how to be added to my taglist : click here!

[choiseungcheolprincess]

More Than Friends// Choi Seungcheol

Bestfriend!Choi Seungcheolxafab!Black!Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: You've been best friends for years. You can't imagine life without him. You don't know when the lines blurred, but you start to wonder are you the only one who feels this way?

Genre: Fluff, Smut

Warning: Spit play, Praising, Fingering, Oral Use of nicknames (good girl, princess, baby girl)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 🔞

A/N: Helloooo! Enjoy, like, and repost whatever you feel is right!- Cherry 🍒

I've been friends with Seungcheol for a while. He's been there for me when I needed him the most after the conversation at his apartment. The guy just finished practicing and wanted to eat and have drinks. Cheol called me and asked if I wanted to join them. I said yes of course. We were all sitting there listening to the stories of how Hoshi is intimidating while practicing for this comeback. I got up to get some food until Cheol stopped me and made me sit back down and made me a plate of food. 

"You guys operate like a couple," Jeonghan said sipping his beer. Everyone hummed agreeance. Seungkwan looked at me. 

"Your friendship dynamic changed. All we are saying is something changed." 

"What if you guys are soul mates!" Soonyoung said. I laughed 

"What is it with you and the soulmates theory Soonyoung?" 

"I mean everyone has one, platonic or romantic. What if you and Seungcheol Hyung are romantic soulmates" 

"Ignore him he's drunk," Mingyu said

"Am not!" Soonyoung said pouting then turning to Wonwoo to kiss him. Wonwoo just patted him on the head. 

No one said anything else, I knew they were right. I just don't know what happened to make the lines blurred. Was it before or after I found out my ex-boyfriend was cheating on me? That was six months ago: 

Me and my boyfriend were supposed to meet up for a date until he canceled on me. He said he had a bad day at work so I decided to go to his house and cook him some food. That was until I got to his apartment only to find him in bed with a co-worker. Heartbroken and unable to see through the tears. I called Cheol who immediately came to get me. Of course, my ex-boyfriend follows me out of the building at the exact time Cheol is pulling up and getting out of the car. 

"Oh of course you call him! You can't get mad at me for cheating when something is going on between you too!" He shouted out. Cheol helped me get into the car and then turned around to face the pathetic excuse of a man. I don't know exactly what was said, but seeing Cheol angry was not something you see all the time, but when he is. It's scary. After watching my ex-boyfriend's face change Cheol walked away and got into the car without saying a word and drove off. Playing with my bracelet trying to calm down, Cheol grabbed my hand and glanced over. 

"Are you okay, Princess?" He said softly. I shrugged. He pulled into an empty parking lot when tears began running down my face unbuckling his seat beat then leaned his seat back

"Cheol what are you doing?" I questioned he just ignored me, picking me up and over the center console and onto his lap allowing me to cry in his shirt, which was white. 

"Your shirt has makeup all on it," I said, sniffing. 

"I don't care, you need someone to cry on, and I'm here. If you care so much I'll take it off" He said I hit his shoulder making him laugh. One of his hands was placed on my back and the other was running through my hair. When I was done crying I got back into the passenger side, laughing at the stain on his shirt. 

"I'm sorry, about your shirts Cheollie" He looked down seeing the light stain on his shirt. He just laughed along with me. 

"Let's get some food and you can stay at mine tonight," He said I nodded. 

"Sounds good" 

Was that when everything changed? Or was it always like that and I just just just noticed now? Cheol's always been affectionate. His love language is gift-giving and physical touch. He does it with everyone. Was it when your boyfriend forgot your birthday and didn't show up to your dinner but Cheol made sure that you knew he remembered? Especially when he pulled out the jewelry box

"Happy Birthday Y/n" The open box in front of me showed a pinky ring. It was white gold and wrapped in white and pink diamonds. 

"S-seungcheol..." I whispered he just smiled at me gently taking the ring out of the box and sitting next to me tilting the ring a little so I could see the engraving on the inside 'To my princess, my best friend Y/N' and grabbing my hand to the ring on my pinky 

"Y/N-ah, You are one of my best friends. You have seen me at my best and my worst. When you heard of my injury you dropped everything just to be by my side. You ensured I wasn't lonely when everyone went on Nana's tour and I thank you for that. I can never repay you for everything you did for me, but I hope this is a start." 

I was playing with the ring on my pinky. Seungcheol comes back with food. I was placing it on the table in front of us. He handed me some chopsticks. 

"I thought we could share if that's okay" He whispered as I nodded, smiling a little. He sat down next to me. Still, all in my head, he nudges my arm with his shoulder 

“You okay?” He asked me, I just looked at him. When did I start looking at him differently, why haven’t I recognized my feelings for him? 

“Y/n?” I snapped out of my thoughts. I was leaning forward to take a bite of the tteokbokki. 

“Mmm, good,” I said, covering my mouth and chewing. Glaring at Jeonghan and Shua who were laughing. 

I ate in silence. I was listening to how excited they were about their comeback.

“You should do the challenge!”I froze about to eat the pork belly then laughed and shook my head. 

“No way I seen the footwork and there’s no way I can do that” I watched the video of the choreography and the break dance at the end of the song is insane. 

“You can do the bridge,” Seungcheol said they all nodded agreeing with what he said. I would deny it until he looked at me, pleading with his eyes. 

“Okay, teach it to me?” I said looking at him, his eyes softened and he nodded. I smiled taking a sip of water.  One by one everyone started to leave. First Soonyoung and Seungkwan. Shua next, Jihoon soon after. Vernon, Seokmin, and  Minghao, and Junhu. Mingyu and Wonwoo left after they finished their last beer. Jeonghan and Chan were left. Jeonghan looked at Chan who was in his own world at this point and got up Helping the younger and the drunker one up. 

“I’m gonna make sure he gets to his bed,” Jeonghan said leaving me alone with Cheol. We sat in comfortable silence for a moment until he looked at me. 

“You staying the night?” He asked I thought about it for a second then nodded. 

“Can I borrow a shirt?’ I said getting up and walking to his room. Knowing he’ll say yes. I went into his closet and grabbed a shirt, then went to take a shower. After I took a shower, I dried off and put on the shirt. I left the bathroom and found him sitting in the living room. As often as I spent the night in Cheol's apartment, you think I would have extra clothes over here. The only clothes I have are actual day clothes, and undergarments not pajamas, simply because I like wearing his shirts they are big and comfortable. 

“Movie?” I asked

“You pick?” He said. 

“I was gonna tell you to pick” I grabbed the remote, turning the TV on. We both sat down after we cleaned up scrolling through Netflix trying to decide on a movie. 

“Hmmm, do we have to watch a movie?” I asked not finding anything interesting enough to watch and taking the remote from my hands and clicking on the TV Show category. 

“Have you started watching Bridgerton?” He asked glancing over at me. 

“Have you?” I said laughing 

“You know that the only reason I’d watch this is with you,” He said pressing select and starting the first episode of season 3. We sat in silence, Cheol grabbed my legs and rested them on his lap. Running his hand up and my calf  I felt my heart flutter as his finger traced circles on my skin. Eyes focused on the screen. I couldn’t focus on the show anymore, my mind drifted as I felt the warmth of his hands. I felt myself getting turned on as I watched his eyes move up and down my body. I knew I had to stop this, but I couldn't move away.  Episode one is finished now on episode two Halfway through the episode you looked at Cheol. 

‘Tell him..’ a voice inside my head whispered 

“Cheol?” I said making him over at me. 

“Hmm?” He said still rubbing my leg. 

I can do this! I CAN do this right? 

It was the end of the episode and Colin and Pen kissed. I glanced over at Seungcheol who was looking at me. 

“What’s wrong, you’ve been quiet ever since I bought the food out.” He asked I shook my head the words stuck in my throat.  I can do this. I guess. 

“Cheol, I-” I took a deep breath pulling my legs off of him and moving closer to him. He looked concerned. I was playing with the ring on my pinky again. 

“Princess? What’s going on?” He said grabbing my hands. I looked at him biting my lip. Closing my eyes. 

“Seungcheol, we’ve been best friends a long time, right? I can’t imagine my life without you in it if I’m being honest, Cheollie. I don’t know why it took me so long even to realize this but. I-” Stopping to look him in the eyes. 

“I’ve been in love with you for so long. You’re everything I could ever ask for. Caring, protective motivational, and understanding, you take charge when needed and become the one person in my life I know will be there. These last few months being able to be here and be a support system for you watching you work to be back on stage with your members have been inspiring and made in love with you even more. ” 

He just stared at me. No words came out. I could decipher what he was thinking. I slowly moved my hands from his and got up.

“I should go. I’ll see you later?” Moving from him grabbing my phone off the table. His hand quickly grabbed my wrist. Getting looking down at me. 

“Were you going to leave? Without me saying what I have to say. Just gonna run out and pretend those pretty words didn’t come out of that pretty little mouth of yours.” His thumb ran over my lower lip. I sucked in a breath. 

“Princess... I have always been in love with you. Every time I tried to tell you, you were in a relationship or I was dating someone or having a fling, it has always been you baby. The first time you came to watch our concert and just seeing you in the crowd with that smile of yours singing along to all of our songs, you made sure to come to every concert just to show your support not only for me but for my members as well. Every show, every stage when I look at the carats cheering for us, I’m looking for you, you are the one to calm my nerves. You have not only helped me go through one of the toughest times in my life. Babygirl I fell and I fell hard for you ” He stepped closer to me hand on my cheek.  I could feel my heart racing as I looked up into his eyes. He leaned down and brushed his lips against mine. I closed my eyes and kissed him back, my, heart full of joy and hope.  We pulled away, our eyes still locked. He smiled and kissed me again, this time more deeply. I melted into his arms. He sat down pulling me into his lap. Cheol kissed me again, this time passionately. I was lost in the moment, my heart racing as I felt his hands exploring my body. His hands on my hips moving them. Letting me grind against him. He bit down on my lip  I let out a moan of pleasure as his tongue slid into my mouth. We fought for dominance, which he won, of course, We pulled away panting. His shirt was over my waist his fingers digging into my skin.  His lips met mine again, this time with more intensity. His tongue made its way into my mouth, exploring every crevice. I felt my body temperature rise as my heart raced.

“Cheol” I whimpered against his lips as he raised his hips to meet mine. He groaned his hand sliding down my thigh I felt myself getting wetter as my desire for him grew more intense. His lips moved from my mouth to my neck, leaving a trail of kisses behind. I arched my back to meet his advances, my heart racing as I felt my body trembling with pleasure.  His fingers brushed against my clit, collecting my wetness with his fingers then start to rub my clit. His other hand moved higher, caressing my breasts as his lips continued to explore my neck. His touch was electric, sending waves of pleasure through my body. I let out a moan of pleasure as my body quivered. His lips returned to my mouth, his touch sending my mind into overdrive. I could feel myself getting closer and closer to climax,

“Good girl princess. Tell me what you need”  He whispered against my lips. 

“I-I want your fingers, please” I whimpered body trembling with anticipation. He slowly inserted two fingers into me, his thumb rubbing my clit as his fingers thrusted in and out of me and I began writhing in pleasure. I felt my body tense up as I started to come undone. 

“I’m cumming!” I said. 

“That’s a good girl, use my fingers to cum” His lips returned to mine, and I let out a final moan of pleasure as my body shuddered in ecstasy. When I finally calmed down I tugged on the string of his sweatpants untying it.  He quickly removed his fingers from my pussy and allowed me to take his pants off. He stood there naked, his erection jutting out proudly. ‘Wow, he’s big.’  I thought to myself as I looked up at him with admiration. I reached out and wrapped my small hand around his shaft, feeling it throb in my hand. I slowly began to stroke him, feeling him harden even more.

“Shit, Y/n, make it wet baby. Spit on it, ” He said taking his shirt off and tossing it across the room. Taking my hand and spitting on it wrapping it around him again. 

“Good fucking girl,” He said panting. I smiled softly watching his face twitch in pleasure.  Finally taking him in my mouth slowly watching his mouth drop slightly. 

“Fuuuuuuuck, baby girl,” He said once I took some of him in my mouth. My hand wrapped around the rest.  He looked down at me, biting his lip. Learning what sends shivers up and down his spine. I pulled up to suck on the head of his cock. I started to move my head and hand up and down his cock occasionally deep throating him. 

“Oh, my fuck- so good at that” His raspy voice whispered his hand in my hair. My eyes never left his. 

“Fuck, you look so beautiful like this.” He said, then pulled me away from him. Bending down picked me up and placed me on the couch with him on his knees. Without a warning, his mouth attached to my clit. 

“Oh shit, Cheol!” I cried out my hands in his hair. His fingers slid into me again. Riding his fingers as his mouth worked on my clit had me arching me arching my back. He pulled away still fucking me with his fingers. 

“You don’t know how long I wanted this, princess. To taste you and feel you around me. Now that I know what you taste and feel like…I’m never letting you go” He said curling his fingers and hitting my G-spot over and over again. 

“Fuck, right there!” I moaned, and he smiled teasingly and said 

“Right here, princess? ” I nodded biting my lip, which made him spank my clit lightly 

“F-uck!” I screamed tightening around his fingers 

“Oh- no baby you gonna cum? You need to ask sweetie, let me hear you beg” he said smirking and spanking my clit again. 

“Please, let me cum so you can fuck me Cheollie” My hips meet his fingers in every thrust. His lips wrapped around my clit again making me gasp and whimper. I couldn’t help myself, the aura he gave, the control he had. The word slipped out 

“Daddy! Please can I cum?”  He smirked again before pushing his fingers deeper inside me and sucking and nibbling at my clit, making me moan louder. I felt my orgasm building, my body trembling with pleasure, and when it finally released, I screamed out in pleasure, my body shaking and trembling with pleasure.  I gasped in pleasure, my orgasm finally arriving. He didn't stop, continuing his ministrations until I was spent. Only then did he remove his fingers and lips from me, leaving me in a blissful state.

“Daddy huh?” He said standing up and taking my legs in his hands wrapping them around his waist. Sliding his cock through my lips. 

“Mmmh, please don’t tease me.” He leaned down kissing me. Biting at my lower lip pulling away 

“Beg me to fuck you baby” 

 “Please daddy, fuck me,” I pleaded. His lips curved into a smirk, pushing inside me., back arched gasping out as he bottomed out  He slowly began to thrust in and out, his grip tightening on my hips with each thrust. I moaned in pleasure, my body trembling with pleasure. He leaned down and kissed me, his breath hot against my lips. 

“You, feel so good. Like you were made for me” he groaned out kissing and biting my neck. I moaned out at the pain and pleasure he was giving me. He leaned up took my leg in his hand put it on his shoulder kissing it softly. The angle change made my mouth drop open, 

“Right there daddy, please” I moaned 

“Please what babygirll? Use your words” he said his other hand pinching at my nipple. I couldn’t think straight. My brain can’t even form the thought of what I was asking for.

“Princess, be a good girl and use your words,” He said hand traveling up my chest onto my neck. 

“F-faster please” I cried out. His pace increased, and my moans became louder with each thrust. He leaned down and whispered, his voice low and raspy. 

“Such a good girl, taking all of me. Asking so nicely. I always wondered how much of a good girl you’d be.” I tightened around him making him groan out. 

“Fuck,” Him hitting my g-spot the way he looked like he could spend forever in this position. Turned me on even more. Making me clench around him. 

“You keep doing that I’m gonna cum” He said I smiled and did it again. He groaned his thrusts stuttering. His hold on me tightened, he reached down and rubbed my clit I gasped as I felt him release inside me. Which triggered my orgasm. 

“Daddy!” I screamed out he continued to fuck me through it. He collapsed on top of me, our breathing still heavy. Once he caught his breath he pulled out. I whimpered at the loss of his warmth. I felt him get up he took me in his arms carrying me to his room and then the bathroom and sat me on the toilet. 

“Use the bathroom princess,” He said grabbing a washcloth and wetting it. I used the bathroom grabbed some toilet paper, wiped myself, and stood up. Seungcheol quietly wiped me with the washcloth and cleaned himself off picking me up again and leaving the bathroom. Walking towards his bed laying down with me on top of him. 

“You’re mine now baby girl, and I don’t plan on letting you go anytime soon”

[wnbnny]

wish you back - h.js

w.c - 2.0k | genre - highschool!au/slice of life | pairings - jisung x gn reader | authors note - omfg i'm back from hiatus 😭 anyw req by my bby @starseungs i hope u enjoy <3 req can be found here!

life brings about many surprises, one of which comes in the form of han jisung.

life as a highschooler wasn't easy, navigating through workloads, teenage crushes, and the struggles of a growing and developing brain.

most of all, the concept of soulmates.

soulmates were a thing you would expect from a movie, a fictional world. yet, it was very much true, girls gossiping over potential soulmates in the hallways, boys proposing to their girlfriends in soccer games, happy couples strolling down the streets of the city. your life was lived in monochrome, the classic black and white. it was only when you met your supposed soulmate at the age of 18 that everything would explode, a vibrant splatter of colours that finally allowed you to see the world as it was, not just through a filter. people described it as the feeling of warmth on your skin, the thrill of it all, the reds, oranges, yellows, greens, blues, purples, pink, all the hues, like home.

but that blood red string scared you.

what was so good about soulmates? the idea of having the rest of your life laid out before you, pre-destined and fated, scared you. what if your soulmate lived halfway across the world? what if you would never meet your soulmate, destined to die a lonely death while everyone else danced under the stars with their loved one? what if you didn't like the life planned out for you? what if you had to live the rest of your life seeing only black and white, and never see the yellow of the sun or the fresh green of the grass and the vibrant red of the flowers? what if your soulmate didn't want you?

it was especially the latter of the questions that haunted you the most.

you feared, with a frightening worriedness, that your chosen one would reject you. you had heard stories of people being rejected by their chosen soulmate, only to either live out their lives in misery or take their own life. no one was ever the same after meeting their soulmate. 

to be honest, you would rather live forever in a world with only black and white than to go through that heartbreak. you would never allow yourself to fall in love, you vowed. soulmate or not, heartbreak was something you never wanted to experience.

---

"oi!" 

"what do you want for your birthday? y'know what, nevermind, it should be a surprise." jisung grinned, ruffling your hair as you scowled at him.

"don't remind me, you know how much i dread the damned day." you groaned, shoulders sagging in defeat. 

your 18th birthday. 

the day you would finally meet your soulmate. 

life had been so peaceful until now, you thought. until someone would come into the picture and fuck everything up.

just 7 days to go until the day. 7 days wouldn't be that bad, right?

wrong.

day 7. day 6. day 5. day 4. day 3. day 2. 

each day, you could feel the trepidation settling into your bones, a chill running through your spine every time you looked at the clock on the wall, until that very day.

the day was normal, well-wishes from your parents and your gift given to you, the new bag you had been yearning for, significantly improving your mood, a smile on your face as you walked to the bus, corners of your lips lifting up and eyes crinkling. your eyes zeroed in on every person as you boarded the bus, squinting in anticipation of the bright colours that were supposed to burst in your vision. luckily, the world remained black and white, not a single spot of colour. you looked down at your phone. damn. the only classes you had with jisung were in the afternoon.

throughout the day, everyone showered you with birthday wishes, gifting you beautifully wrapped presents, yet you couldn't find it in your heart to be genuinely happy, a fake smile plastered on your face as you thanked them for the wishes. it wasn't that you didn't appreciate the gifts, truly. you just dreaded the change that would come in a few hours or so. in a few hours, you would be meeting the person that you would spend the rest of your life with. 

"class dismissed!" you startled awake with a jolt, unconsciously having daydreamed throughout the class, lost in thought. as you scrambled to move onto the next class, hastily picking up your textbook, a hand stopped you. you flinched in surprise, heightened alertness instantly kicking in. a girl held out your pen to you, the world still remaining in black and white.

thank goodness.

up next was biology, your hated arch nemesis. groaning half-heartedly to yourself as you dragged yourself to your locker to dump your heavy textbooks in, a voice broke you out of your reverie.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY-" a voice screamed, causing you to yelp in surprise, head whipping around in surprise as you finally saw the offender of your eardrums.

oh.

time seemed to stop.

red, the colour of his old beanie.

brown, the colour of his soft silky hair that you loved to thread your fingers through.

black, the colour of his old sweatpants and backpack.

yellow, the colour of his pins on his backpack.

blue, the colour of his fluffy hoodie.

purple, the colour of his keychain.

white, the colour of the blinding brightness that seemed to overtake you for a millisecond.

han jisung was your fucking soulmate.

in his hands was a badly wrapped present, wrapped in a bright yellow paper, his lips parted in shock and surprise as he started dumbfoundedly at you.

"oh."

he could only sputter, his boba eyes round and wide as the present dropped to the floor in shock.

han jisung was your soulmate. 

fuck.

"uh- so-" jisung's hand came up to scratch the back of his head, eyes wide in disbelief. 

"so uh- we're..."

"soulmates." you could only say in response.

should you be happy? you were supposed to jump in joy, after all. anyone would expect someone to be happy after bagging the person who was simultaneously your best friend and your secret crush. 

but why did it feel like you and jisung were headed on a one way train to doom?

"i- i gotta go." you stammered, turning around and dashing out the hall, breathing laboured as you heard him call after you in desperation.

no, no, no-

life was going so well. he would never want you, ever. he would never see you in that way. your friendship would be ruined. you would lose your best friend. 

life seemed to bustle around you as you ran. greens, pinks, purples, hues of every shade faded into your vision as you ran, tears finally cascading down your face, dripping onto the lush grass beneath your feet. you couldn't bring yourself to look at anything, eyes tightly shut, a stark reminder of what would change.

---

[57 missed calls]

jisungie 

hello?? y/n? i know you probably don't want to see me now... but i'll be here waiting for you, ok?  it's probably hard to accept that we're soulmates... but take your time:) seen at 12.03 a.m

jisungie

you didn't come to class today...  r u ok?? take care of yourself seen at 15.39 p.m

jisungie

its been five days already i miss you seen at 23.12 p.m

---

you threw your phone across the room, head buried in your shoulders as you muffled a sob. 

fuck him and his perfect personality.

if only he were that easy to forget, to let go. 

but he was han jisung. perfect in every way. as if you could ever dream of forgetting him and his warm touch, his wide grin, his fluffy brown hair hanging over in his eyes with a boyish innocence.

"ding!"

you groaned in annoyance, flinging the sheets back, stumbling out of bed, and quickly wiping away your tears. 

probably one of mom's online deliveries again. 

walking down the stairs, you swung open the door. 

"hi, you can leave the delivery there-"

except it wasn't even a delivery man.

it was han jisung.

"jisung-?" 

you could only stammer in response, eyes widening as you took a step back.

after all, what was one supposed to say to your soulmate that you'd been avoiding for days?

a flash of white and pink caught your eyes. your gaze drifted down to his hands, only to be met with a bouquet of pink, white, and red tulips, a beautiful arrangement wrapped in pink tulle and tied together with a elegant white ribbon.

"uhh... surprise?" jisung smiled anxiously before scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as his face turned crimson red.

too stunned to speak, you could only stand there gaping at him. after what felt like an eternity, you finally spoke.

"what are you doing here?"

"wait... lemme just- uh- compose myself. big speech, y'know?" he grinned in nervousness, fidgeting slightly, clearly a bundle of nerves.

"so..." he exhaled. "i know i'm probably the last person you want to see right now, but... i don't blame you. but however you feel about us being... soulmates, it doesn't change the fact that i don't mind being your soulmate. i was... pretty happy at first, but then you ran away, so i-"

"wait, happy? i thought you would be mad, or angry, or anything-" you cut him off, brows furrowing in confusion.

jisung gulped. "i had feelings for you." 

"what-?" your heart rate skyrocketed, a ringing in your ears, the thumping of your heart against your ribcage, all making you painfully hopeful, pleading with the gods to not break your heart and dash your hopes again.

"i- i had feelings for you. so... no matter how you want this whole soulmate thing to turn out, even if you don't feel the same, i'll be happy either way knowing you're my soulmate. if you don't want it to, this won't change anything between us, we can go back to living our normal lives-"

jisung was cut off by the feeling of soft, plush lips on his, crashing into him with a ferocity as your arms were thrown around his neck, teeth clashing with his, warm hands threading into his hair.

you didn't think you would ever get used to kissing jisung, you thought. every single touch, smile, even a tiny glance set your nerves ablaze. the feeling of his pillowy lips on yours was thrilling, his hands threaded into your hair and pulling you closer by your lower back, pressing you flush against him until there was so space between the two of you, bridging the gaps that felt like oceans forcing the two of you apart.

finally, the two of you parted with a gasping 'pop', ears red and cheeks flushed, staring at each other in childlike wonder. 

"thank you for the tulips," you smile, taking them from his hands and planting one last kiss on his cheek, "they're lovely."

jisung's ears turned bright red, stammering out a 'you're welcome' in response as you laughed at his antics. "oh, that reminds me," he smiled giddily, hand reaching into his pocket to pull out a beautiful baby pink coloured box, gently opening it. you gasped, inside was a beautiful necklace with a heart charm in the middle, simple and elegant. "i was gonna give this to you on your birthday, but... well, you ran off, so here." he smiles nervously awaiting your reaction, and is pleasantly surprised when you squeal and plant a big fat kiss on his lips. he helps you put it on, your lips finding his again as you wrap your arms around his neck and tug him closer. "it's beautiful, thank you." you smile, resting your head in the crook of his neck.

"so you'll accept me as your soulmate?" he asked, eyes wide as he worried his bottom lip between his teeth, anxiously waiting for your answer.

you nod, smiling. "i accepted you as my soulmate the moment i found out, i just... thought you wouldn't feel the same way back... so i just avoided you. in hindsight, that sounds pretty stupid," you sigh.

"aish, we could've kissed a long time ago if i had just told you i felt the same!" jisung groaned, pulling you closer as you laughed and smacked his arm in playful indignation. "at least we worked it out." smiling softly, you allowed yourself a moment of peace, tucking your head into the crook of his neck.

"out of all the people in the world, i'm stuck with you, han jisung. but you're the best person to be stuck with."

[ash-whimsicalfanfic]

A Black & White World

Mattheo Riddle X Fem OC/Reader

Word Count: 2635

Warnings: Mild Language, Partying, Alcohol, Angst, Fluff, Blood…

Prompt: Everyone sees black and white until you meet your soulmate. Unfortunately, you are the only one in your friend group who hasn't met their soulmate.

"Look at this color! Isn't gorgeous!" Pansy exclaims, running into the common room with her dress.

Lorenzo, Theodore, Draco and Blaise go quiet, looking between her and I nervously. She looks confused and I smile.

"I'm assuming it's a darker shade of green which should go well with your hair since it's a darker brown. Not to mention your have a somewhat pale complexion." I say with a soft smile.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry Y/N. I forgot." She whispers.

"It's fine. Seriously." I say.

"Y/N..." She trails off.

"It's fine. I have to go catch up on some studying." I say.

She nods, looking guilty. I grab my bag, giving her a soft smile before I leave the room and frown. I never am going to meet him.

After sulking in the library for a few hours, instead of studying, I headed to the Great Hall for dinner. I found them sitting there already and I take my seat when the room goes silent.

"I'd like to introduce our new student! He is a fifth year and he was pre-sorted into Slytherin! Please welcome Mattheo Riddle!" Professor Dumbledore exclaims.

I focus on my food, pushing it around on my plate. Pansy kicks me from under the table and I glare at her. She motions to her left and I look over to see the Mattheo had sat on the other side of Draco.

Mattheo looks at me, and the moment our eyes locked...I could see color. The first thing I noticed was his brown eyes. Then I took in the blank expression. He looks away and I bite the inside of my cheek before looking at Pansy and shrugging.

"Y/N!" Fred exclaims.

"Yes, Weasley?" I ask, turning towards him.

"Umbridge took our brooms again...could you get them back for us...again?" He asks, motioning between him and George.

"No! Last time she was forced to write lines with Umbridge's special quill." Pansy snaps.

"Special quill?" Mattheo asks.

"Basically you write lines, but it's writes into your hand." Lorenzo explains.

"Yes. Come along." I sigh, standing as I begin to walk out of the Great Hall.

We get to Umbridge's office and she wasn't in here. I point to their brooms and they grab them when I hear her. Oh great. I motion them to hurry and they grab my hand, pulling me towards the window as we all jump out.

Fred and George each hold one of my hands as I hang between the two.

"If you drop me, I'll kill you!" I exclaim as they fly higher on their brooms and I'm dangling by their hands.

"Fred! George!" Pansy screeches from below in the courtyard.

"We won't drop her! We got to go! Umbitch!" Fred exclaims.

"Y/L/N!" She screams and I grimace.

"Tree!" I screech and the twins fly higher.

"Sorry!" They shout.

"I'm going to kill you both!" I shout.

"Well in that case." Fred says, as he smirks.

He lets go of my hand and so does George. However, they both fly down and grab me again and I find myself about to throw up. Thankfully, they land.

I stumble forward and Pansy rushes forward, pulling me into a hug.

"Oh thank god. Your okay." She breathes.

"Y/L/N, I thought you learned last time. Come along. You'll be writing lines again." Umbridge says.

"Why are you still trying? You know it doesn't work on me." I say.

"How doesn't it hurt you?" She asks, rolling her eyes.

"It hurts, but I know how to hide it. Kinda like it." I smirk, shrugging and her eyes widen briefly before she rushes off.

"What the fuck?" Mattheo mumbles, his eyes widening slightly.

"I never said she was sane, did I? She has her crazy...but we all do...just hers is more so than others." Draco explains quietly.

"I think I'm in love." Mattheo whispers.

It's been a few weeks since Mattheo transferred here, but he avoids me, so I do the same. I was out dress shopping with Pansy for a party that was being thrown tonight.

"This is pretty! I like it. I've discovered that emerald green is more my shade." I say as I turn to her, holding the dress up to me.

It was short, going to about mid-thigh. It had a high slit on one side, so I definitely wouldn't be able to wear panties with it. It was a deep v-neck, and it'd run down between my breasts, nearly reaching my belly button.

"Its so pretty and so you! And yeah, I agree! Emerald green is your color—wait a goddamn minute! Emerald! When were you able to start seeing color?" She asks.

I pale, realizing I slipped up. She knows. I look down, letting a deep breath out as a familiar ache takes over my heart.

"He doesn't want anything to do with me, Pansy. I'm just trying to move forward." I say, looking at the satin dress I held.

"Alright." She mumbles, knowing I didn't want to talk about it.

"There they are!" Draco exclaims.

I add the dress to my basket before I look up to see that all the guys were here. I decided to slip away and went to the shoe section. I found a gorgeous pair of black heels with a silver snake wrapping around the heel. I find them in my size and add them to the basket. I look at a pair of shoes and grab them before heading back to Pansy.

"Pans, try these on." I say, tossing her the box.

She grabs them and sits on a nearby bench as the guys watch. I ignore Mattheo's eyes on me and she grins up at me.

"They are perfect and will go with my dress! Did you get yourself shoes?" She asks, putting the shoes back in the box.

"Yeah. I just need to find some boob tape." I say.

"What? What are you wearing?" Draco asks protectively and I roll my eyes.

"None of your concern. I'm a big girl and unfortunately yet fortunately, I'm single so I can wear what I want when I want and look however the hell I want." I say tiredly.

"Give her a break Draco, she's having a hard time. She met her soulmate...but she said he doesn't want anything to do with her." Pansy whispers.

I acted like I couldn't hear, focusing on the handbags that were literally right next to us. I grab one and pair it up with my dress before adding it the basket.

"Ms. Y/L/N?" The store clerk calls.

I look up before walking over to the front desk. She laid out some of her best snake jewelry and I look over them slowly.

There was a long silver snake choker necklace that was covered in diamonds. It was a necklace, in the shape of a snake and it would be like I had a snake resting around my neck. The snake head and tail would rest between my breasts, but it was gorgeous.

I see a matching pair of snake earrings that would dangle. It was like the snake was slithering, however it looks like it would bite your ear from the way they clip on.

"I'll go with these two pieces." I say.

"That's over a grand, are you sure Ms. Y/L/N?" She asks.

"Yes." I say, pulling my card free.

I pay for the jewelry, dress and shoes before walking back over to Pansy who was ready to go to the makeup store. The guys followed behind us and I let Pansy lead the way.

"This shade of red would be gorgeous on you!" Pansy exclaims, running towards me.

"I don't know Pans. I'm not big on makeup." I say unsure.

"She is right. The red would really make your eyes pop." Theodore says.

I sigh, looking at the lipstick. I nod, giving in and she grins. I follow behind her as she excitedly shows me different pallets before I decided to look at the different perfumes.

I look around before catching Mattheo staring at me once again and I look away. Why won't he stop staring?

"Excuse me?" I hear.

I turn towards a boy who was much taller than me. He had blond hair and green eyes.

"Yes?" I ask annoyed.

"Would you go out with me?" He asks.

"Abso-fucking-lutely not. Goodbye." I say, turning away.

I gasp as he pulls me back by my hair. I spin around, pulling my fist back and hitting him in the nose. He groans, grabbing his very much broken nose. I knee him in the balls and watch as he sinks to the floor.

"Maybe next time you'll think before you put your hands on a girl, asshole." I snap.

I put the lipstick down before I storm out of the store knowing if I stayed any longer, I would've pulled my wand out whether he was a muggle or not. I was absolutely furious.

I find myself in a bookstore and I felt myself calming down as I read the backs of several books. I ended up caving and bought myself several romance novels and several spicy books.

I walk out to see that Pansy was waiting outside with the guys.

"Hey, are you okay?" She asks.

"Why wouldn't I be? Well...my card definitely is suffering now. Who knew books have gotten so expensive? It's such a shame." I mutter annoyed.

"I...I'm talking about that guy." She says.

"Oh him. I came to the bookstore to calm down. I wanted to crucio him, muggle or not." I say.

"Alright. I think you've had your dosage of muggles for the month. Let's get her back to Hogwarts." Draco sighs and I shrug at the concerned looks from my friends.

Mattheo looked confused and I look at his hands to see that his knuckles were split. I quickly look away before he notices though.

I slip on the dress, looking at myself in the floor length mirror. I smooth out the silky material. It was gorgeous. I loved this, although I was a little worried about some slip up or flashing someone.

I pull on the heels before looking back at myself in the mirror. The heels pulled the entire outfit together. The dangling snakes and the snake necklace around my neck looked beautiful. I looked...hot.

Not to mention the makeup job that Pansy did was phenomenal. I had a red lipstick on with a dark eyeshadow. I heard the music and I knew I needed to get out there soon.

I walk out and go to the common room where everyone was dancing. I head towards the drink table, pouring myself a glass. I slowly scan the room, ignoring Mattheo who was staring at me. He had a group of girls surrounding him who were hardcore flirting. Pansy was dancing with Draco.

"Wanna dance?" Theo asks.

"Where is Luna?" I ask.

"Broke up." He says shortly.

I take his hand and we head towards the dance floor where we start dancing. He was one of my best friends. I shouldn't have been dancing so sensually with him. This was wrong. Especially knowing Mattheo was watching.

"Seems like both our soulmates don't want us!" He calls.

"Theo, what are you trying to say?" I call back, turning to face him as I stop dancing.

"Why not try something out? Just you and I." He suggests.

"Theo, we are best friends." I say surprised.

"We could be more though." He says, pulling me closer to him as he starts to dance.

I look over his shoulder at Mattheo who was watching us with a clenched jaw. His fists clenched around the cup and his drink goes everywhere.

I couldn't be in a relationship with anyone else unless it was Mattheo.

It felt wrong already.

Mattheo was pushing through the crowd and I look down between Theo and I. Theo was giving me time to think although, I knew my answer. I knew I couldn't be with him. Especially because I only saw him as my best friend. And I'm friends with Luna. I wouldn't do that to her. I'm sure there is a reasonable explanation to why the two broke up because just the other day, they were so in love.

"Theodore, get the hell away from her." Mattheo snaps.

I look up to see Mattheo standing behind him. Theodore turns towards him, chuckling and I could tell by Mattheo's stance that he was about ready to beat the hell out of Theodore.

"No Theo. I'm not interested in something like that. We are friends. That's it. Mattheo, come on." I say.

Theodore grabs my wrist and pulls me into his chest. I stumble and I smell the alcohol on his breath before his lips were on mine. I push him away, sending him back as Mattheo goes to lunge at him, but I use all my might to push Mattheo back as more attention focused on us.

"What's going on?" Draco asks, pushing through the crowd.

"Get Theodore out of here before Mattheo kills him! He's being drunk and stupid and has no clue what he is doing anymore!" I grunt, pushing Mattheo back who was still trying to get to Theodore.

Blaise and Lorenzo start to drag Theodore away as Draco and Pansy calm the party down and I was able to drag Mattheo away. I held his hand, pulling him through the halls and outside until I see the Astronomy tower. I pull him up to the top before I turn to him.

"Don't you ever fucking stop me again, Y/N! He fucking deserves what will come to his way! You could've been hurt. If I'm going to get into a fight, you need to standby." He snaps.

"No! Theodore is going through something right now. He's drunk and he probably won't even remember this tomorrow. So, calm down Mattheo! He's still my best friend." I snap.

"He fucking kissed you right in front of me!" He snaps, running a hand through his hair as he paces.

"And? Why do you care Mattheo? You've acted as if I was invisible these past few weeks although we both know we are soulmates." I snap.

"I didn't think you'd want to be with a monster like me." He snaps.

"Well you don't get to pick what I want and what I don't want, Mattheo! I'm a big girl! And frankly, I'm a monster too if you are. We are more alike than you think." I say.

"Your not a monster! Your so much more than you think you are!" He snaps, looking me in the eye.

"You can't say stuff like that, Mattheo." I say annoyed.

"Why not?" He asks, stepping towards me and I back up.

"Because we aren't together." I snap.

"Then be my girlfriend." He says, pinning me against the wall as he looks down at me with those chocolate eyes.

"Fine." I snap.

He chuckles before leaning down and kissing me roughly. I kiss back, moving my hands to his hair where I run them through his curly locks. He presses himself further against me, biting my lip before pulling back. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth and I see my blood coating his lips.

"As much as I love this dress on you, I rather see it off." He says, pushing a strap off my shoulder.

"Then take it off." I murmur.

"At my dorm." He says.

I huff, nodding before he drags me along. I try my best to keep up with him, the both of us eager to get to his dorm.

[tuometarr]

You guys wanna hear an angsty jayvik soulmate au scenario? No? Too bad, see my vision:

 It’s a you-only-see-colour-for-the-first-time-when-you-meet-your-soulmate au. The first time jayce sees viktor it is mage!viktor during the snowstorm. First colour he sees is the blue of the magic, it can be excused, maybe magic just has colour no matter what, right? Same goes for the magic teleport thing.

But the field? that just explodes in colour for jayce. Maybe he is left wondering, was it the magic that came him colours, or was it the mage? He spends time researching and never finds out. He learns to live with the fact that he’ll never find his soulmate, or his soulmate will have to come to him.

And then viktor walks into a crime scene and his entire world shifts into colour as he sees the man he has come to arrest. Viktor is frozen for a moment, but then jayce has no reaction to him at all. Nothing. So viktor pretends that nothing is wrong and does his job, asks around later and maybe finds out that talis has always seen colours. And all of viktor’s fears of rejection an inadequacy ramp up. He is not Jayce’s soulmate but Jayce is his, so he goes to the trial, reads jayce’s research, saves his life and revolutionizes science with him. But he never tells Jayce, never asks about soulmates, they do not talk about it.

Maybe viktor thinks about it at points but never gets there. And jayce is slipping away, becoming a councilor, and viktor is dying. And there is no point telling jayce because he is dying.

And then viktor dies and jayce’s vision returns to black and white and he doesn’t understand why until he sees the face of the mage who saved him. And then all he wants is his partner back.