#this is one of my all time favorite books

[joelsgoldrush]

“EPIPHANY” | 21k

worst!logan howlett x fem!reader

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

OR

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

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

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

Love giveth and love taketh away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love maketh you miserable.

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

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

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

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

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

Or is it the fact that you never fail to ask for a table for one?

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

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

She nods, and you feel the sympathy in her gaze. You’ve mastered the art of recognizing that look—the one hovering between concern and pity. Of course, people rarely voice it, but they’ll never know their eyes sometimes say more than they think.

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

Emily—you decide to call her that way from now on, because once you know her name, it feels odd to address her as the waitress—offers you a shy smile. “I’m getting married next month,” she blurts out, happiness radiating from her pores. Her eyes glint like two lanterns in a starless night. She also looks younger than you, and the abrupt silence forces you to pinch your wrist, a reminder of the fact that this is a conversation, and not just something you're overhearing.

“Congratulations,” you manage to reply, returning the smile. If she saw how your expression faltered the second she walked away, you wonder if she’d still think you were so amiable. Sometimes, your façade slips—you can’t help it. That’s what the ‘hopeless’ in ‘hopeless romantic’ stands for.

Some minutes later, she comes back with your coffee, and you catch another glimpse of the ring as it twinkles in front of you. Envy doesn’t suit you, so you shift your focus. Taking out your laptop, you scroll through the latest headlines. This is your attempt at acting more like an adult and less like a girl in her mid-twenties who has no clue what she’s doing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Without a second thought, you pack your things, shoving them rapidly into your bag. The cafe feels too little and too large all at once, the walls closing on you. The rest of the customers are looking at you. Fuck, they already noticed it—you can’t escape it.

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

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

At that moment, a man walks in, passing right by you. You see his face, his green eyes, and the way his lips curl into a grin as he greets Emily. The scar on her forehead, which you'd missed before, mirrors the one on his.

They are soulmates. 

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

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

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

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

Over the years, you might have changed your hairstyle or the way you dressed, but your scars never did—they’d always been there, and they were yours. Partly yours, of course, since you knew they belonged to your soulmate as well.

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

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

In the meantime, you dated. A few boyfriends came and went during and after high school, mostly as practice for the real thing, you’d tell yourself. God, you were determined to know everything. To be the best girlfriend ever, so that when you finally met him, he’d be over the moon.

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

You never knew how, but your life became that meantime. All your friends began to find their soulmates: in the supermarket, while traveling, at the goddamn doctor’s office. Everyone was fulfilling the purpose you’d been taught humans were made for—everyone but you.

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

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

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

Many nights, sleep eluded you. Lying wide awake, staring at the ceiling, you’d imagine what life with him would be like. What he would look like. You were certain that no matter his appearance, you’d think he was beautiful. Wasn’t that the whole point of soulmates—that the bond you two shared transcended physical attraction?

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

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

The bathroom mirror was fogged from the shower’s stream, and as you wiped it clean with the palm of your hand, the image you saw reflected on the glass made your stomach do a flip. There were no scars. No marks. Nothing. At first, you thought your eyes were playing tricks on you—it couldn’t be. Scars didn’t just vanish. It was impossible.

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

You felt it deep in your chest, too. Every sound seemed louder and clearer: the blood rushing through your veins, each shaky breath you took. Where are they? Your fingers dug into your flesh, intending to ground yourself. Is he… dead? It was the only reasonable explanation, the rule you’d known all along. You’d read it countless times, memorizing the principles about scars.

The scream that tore from your throat brought your mother running upstairs, and she entered the bathroom with a horrified expression on her face. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” she asked, but your mind was already far away. Your whole body shuddered in her arms, a sob slipping past your lips as you crumbled to the floor, desperately hoping it was all a nightmare. “It must be a mistake, honey. I’m sure he’s okay.”

But he’s not, you wanted to tell her. The words, however, never formed—only a broken whimper escaped your lips. Isn’t that what we were taught? Our scars belong to our soulmates; they bind us to them in a way that simple words can’t explain. It goes deeper than the skin. It delves into our bodies, our minds, reaching into the very essence of who we are. What was once his is also mine, but they’re gone. He’s gone. He must be, because otherwise, how would you explain this void?

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

A part of you died with him that day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The rest was history. Wade was just standing there, mesmerized by your microwave as if he’d never seen one before. You could only hear the faint buzzing sound of the gadget, punctuated by the rhythmic drumming of his fingers on the counter. He was humming a tune while shaking his head to the beat.

You tried to focus, replaying the guided meditation you sometimes followed to sleep in your mind. Allow yourself to feel the stillness of this moment. Notice your breath slowing as your body begins to calm. Be the observer of your breath, flowing in and out naturally, as your lungs—

Yeah, it wasn’t working.

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

“And why’s that?”

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

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

Save me, mindfulness, you thought to yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. Was that your fork?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wade did no more than laugh at your troubled expression. “Scared of me? That’s cute. I’m a nice guy, sweet pea. Persistent, sure, but I’ve got a knack for getting under people’s skin,” he said, grinning through a mouthful of food—which, for the sake of your sanity, you chose to ignore. After he had finished eating, he let the fork fall into the sink, the metal striking against the surface with a piercing echo, making you jump. He stretched his arms with a satisfied yawn, and he seemed determined to leave you alone. “Well, I’ve done my good deed for the day.”

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

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

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

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

Which brings you to the present day. You’ve been friends with him for over a year, and he’s taken every chance to introduce you to his “weird but lovable” (his words, not yours) group of friends. “Check your social anxiety at the door, thank you,” he’d tell you every time he hosted a get-together and you were invited.

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

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

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

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

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

As you hear footsteps approaching the door, Wade’s voice filters through the hallway. Panicking, you whirl around to the group. “He’s here! Everyone shut up!” you whisper urgently, turning off the lights and pressing your back flat against the wall next to the door. Seconds later, the sound of keys jingling fills the air as both Wade and Peter step into the apartment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s still a sensitive topic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where the hell did he go?

After his existence went downhill, Logan turned to prayer.

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

In the past, he had been told he was part of God’s plan, but somewhere along the way, he felt like he had become God’s mistake. After living a life plagued with loss and constantly in hiding, he wasn’t shocked that his self-worth was in the gutter.

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

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

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

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

Day after day, he convinces himself he’s got it under control. Logan may be tough as fuck, and he may heal faster than anyone else, but his pride is in pieces. No amount of strength or supernatural abilities can stop the decay he feels inside, the slow rot creeping deeper within him the longer he remains trapped in this life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do I know you, bub?” 

“You don’t, but I know you.”

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

“Everybody does. I’m the—”

Here it comes, the reminder of his personal calvary.

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

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

Logan holds his breath. The worst part of it all is that his day’s just getting started. He has no clue who this guy is or why he’s claiming to need him. But he’s got the wrong man—Logan doesn’t know him, and he sure as hell doesn’t have anything good to offer.

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

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

Nighty-night, Logan.

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

I’ve spent sleepless nights trying to figure out

where this need to call you mine stems from. 

You're like an antique, a rare piece displayed

in a crowded bazaar, drawing curious glances.

I’m aware that you're not mine

because I haven't bought you yet;

I hold no claim over you,

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

I want you to be mine,

but no amount of money would buy your soul.

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

I’m aware that you’re not mine, 

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

“Bullshit,” you mutter softly into the quiet of your apartment, where the only sound is the echo of your own voice. Chewing the end of your pen, your eyes narrow as they skim over the poem you’d written over a month ago.

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

You take a long sip from your coffee, tucking both knees up onto the chair you're sitting in. 7:30 a.m., and already, your mind is spinning, diving headfirst into a poem when countless other things are demanding your attention—like, a hundred things, really—but right now, cracking this piece feels more important than any other task on your list.

Who do you write to? That part is easy—your soulmate. That deceased, probably buried, long-gone soulmate of yours. It shouldn’t be funny, but there’s an absurdity to it.

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

“You should go for some self-love crap. People usually eat that up,” she said, not even bothering to look up from her nails, red polish smeared over the edges. Her fingers were a mess, coated in that fiery hue, but she didn’t seem to care as she tapped your notebook with her lacquered index finger. “This is repetitive. Keep writing about the same thing, and people will get bored of you.”

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

That managed to catch her attention. Passionate. She let out a laugh—sharp and cold, like something straight out of a villain’s script in a children’s movie. It grated against your ears. “Sweetie, you call that passionate?” She waved her hand dismissively, standing up from the table. Taller, older, and more secure—just the fact that she gave you her time should’ve made you feel grateful. “Not to be a bitch, but what you showed me is kind of depressing.” 

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

Still, she might’ve been right about one thing: your writing does fall into patterns. It’s predictable, to say the least—the rhythm, the themes. Even the metaphors you include can be found in several of your poems. Are you��� lazy? Has someone revealed the way to break out of it?

If there is, you figure you're fine without it. You don’t want to write the kind of articles she’d churn out about the latest trends or the five best positions to get pregnant faster. Nor do you want to pick apart celebrities' lives for a flashy headline.

What you do want is to write about love. Real love. Even if you are not the most qualified person to do it. Even if nobody wants to read the words from someone who has never experienced it in the flesh. And you’ll get there—how? You’re still figuring that out.

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

But it’s time to start your day—the real one. The one where you have to step outside the safety of your four walls and deal with reality. The to-do list assembles in your mind: groceries, that book you’ve been meaning to pick up, emails you need to answer.

You let your mind take over, guiding you through the motions without a second thought. As you head back to your room, you get rid of the comfortable robe you love so much. Next, your shirt comes off, tossed carelessly onto the bed. Just as you're about to step out of your pajama pants, you notice them.

The scars.

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

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

Tentatively, you press your fingers into the lines, expecting them to fade, to disappear under your touch like some peculiar illusion. But they don’t. They remain. You can feel the raised edges, the subtle roughness, the heat beneath your touch.

These scars are different from the ones you had before. Under no circumstances are they the faint memories you once carried. No—these are fresh and vibrant. Marks that shouldn’t exist, the stories they’ve witnessed unfamiliar to you. Within seconds, you’re sobbing, and you blink through the wetness clouding your vision, wiping your tears of disbelief (and maybe hope?) away with the back of your hand.

Nothing changes. They’re still there.

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

Barely able to stand without stumbling, you scramble to your phone. The first person you call is your mom, your fingers shaking as you press the buttons. She screams into the phone, and all you can do is laugh through the tears. What doesn’t sit right with her is the change in the scars. She mentions something about reaching out to a specialist, insisting that your case is rare—one in a million.

Almost immediately, you think of Wade, knowing he’d want to hear this. God, he’d be ecstatic. Before you even realize it, you’re standing in front of his door, finger hovering over the bell. That’s when the realization hits you: he’s been gone for nearly three days, off doing whatever it is he does.

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

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

Logan has had better days. Days that didn’t involve escaping The Void, fighting a hundred Wades, or saving an earth that wasn’t even his to begin with. You know, normal days—of being sneered at while drinking to forget and, fuck, how many hours has he been sober? It feels like an eternity.

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

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

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

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

It's a silent invitation to a new beginning.

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

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

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

“Me too, roomie. Me too.”

“Let’s not use that word.”

Wade holds the door open for Logan with an exaggerated bow. “Why not? It’s the truth. We can even share my bed if that’s—” The sound of Logan’s claws succeeds in silencing him. Wade recoils and covers his crotch, no doubt remembering past close calls. “You know what? You can have the bed. I’ll take the couch. No problem.”

Was moving in with Wade the worst idea he’s had in a while? Absolutely. The reason? Althea, the elderly woman he lives with, isn’t answering the door, and he doesn’t have his keys. Logan covers his eyes with a hand, silently questioning all of his life choices. And it’s only been ten minutes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then Wade jumps in front of him.

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

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

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

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

“Well, life’s full of disappointments.”

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

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

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

Wade tries to shake his arm free from Logan’s tight grip. “She’s in there. I know it,” he replies in the same tone, but now he uses his other hand to ring the doorbell with greater feeling. After a pause, he stamps his foot on the floor, throwing his head back. “Come on! Is this how you treat me after being away? Shame on you, Missy!”

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

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

“What… the fuck?”

The sound of your voice—soft, slightly groggy from sleep—pulls his attention away from the door incident. His gaze is fixed entirely on you—you look as if you’ve just rolled out of bed, which makes sense since it’s still early. Your hair is mussed, and you run your fingers through the tangled strands when you spot him.

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

The picture Wade had shown him, with you standing in the background, hadn’t done you justice. He had found you attractive then, but seeing you in person? You’re… far more than he expected.

More beautiful, for starters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

As he walks past you, your shoulders brush briefly, sending an unexpected jolt through him. A tingling sensation on the verge of being electrifying that has him knitting his brows. His gaze finds yours, searching your expression to see if you felt it too. But you look away, closing the door to go after Wade.

Great. You must think he’s a weirdo. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t worry, I’m—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And how is it? I mean, do you have—”

“I’m public enemy number one.”

Too harsh, idiot.

“Oh. That’s… good to know.”

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

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

With that, he embarks on a quest to find them, leaving Logan alone with you. Silence stretches between you two. He doesn’t know what to say, or if he should even say anything. Casual conversation isn’t his forte.

“You and Wade…?”

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

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

“What?” you ask him, puzzled.

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

“And I can tell you don’t.”

“Why would I? Those are lies,” he retorts, the corners of his mouth turning upward. His opinion is anything but objective, totally biased, given that every time he dove into love’s arms, he was met with the crude reality: not everyone’s meant to be loved, himself included.

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

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

“And where is yours, then?”

He regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth. Your expression becomes inscrutable. You could be either disappointed, frustrated, or even exasperated—sad, perhaps? Logan feels as though a weight has settled on his shoulders just from staring into your eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door almost closed on his nose.

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

Once settled into Wade’s apartment, Logan steps into the shower, water rinsing off his body. Yet he finds himself unable to stop thinking about you. The disappointment in your eyes when he asked about your soulmate. The coldness in your tone at the end, so different from the warmth you initially offered.

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

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

And where is yours, then?

His words shouldn’t have stung the way they did. All the charm—the gruff exterior, the mysterious personality—had vanished. The guy from another universe, with the claws, the healing abilities, and the raspy voice, is a moron.

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

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

Why? You’d seen handsome men before, even been with some. Yet, you’ve never felt this—this gravitational pull, this inexplicable pull to invade someone’s personal space. How would your soulmate feel if he saw you like this, lusting after another man?

You shudder at the thought. This isn’t like you. You pride yourself on loyalty—perhaps a little too much. You don’t read two books at the same time, and you’ve been buying the same brand of shampoo for the past five years. So why now? Why him? It feels like a betrayal of your own mind, your conscience turned against you.

Let things stay as they are—it’s safer that way. You don’t want to know the reason behind this forceful need. After all, being his grumpy and ill-tempered self, he’ll stay holed up in Wade’s apartment, avoiding any interaction with the real world. And you? You’ll forget about him. Easy-peasy.

That afternoon, as you take a nap on the couch, he invades your dreams. It’s not even a wet dream, but he’s there, staking a claim on a part of you he has no right to. You wake up with your hand clutching your chest, a frustrated punch landing on the nearest cushion.

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

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

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

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

“Are you pregnant?”

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

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

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

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

“Fuck?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wade smirks, clapping a hand on Logan’s shoulder as he looks at you. “Sweetie, Logan’s going through his second puberty at the ripe old age of two hundred. The pediatrician said it’s just hormones, nothing to worry about. Excuse his shitty attitude.” With a low groan, Logan shrugs off Wade’s hand, scowling. If anything, the younger man’s grin just grows bigger. “Wolvie, I gotta admit that whole ‘Don’t fall in love with me or I’ll break your heart’ personality shouldn’t turn me on, but here we are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t budge. “No.”

“Logan, I’m not in the mood.”

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

You wonder if he realizes the hold he has on you. No matter how hard you try to mask it, the unbearable pounding of your heart betrays you. You scan his features, tracing the rugged contours of his face with your eyes, lingering on the lines on his forehead—the aftermath of what it looks like a life lived through bitterness and pain.

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

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

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

It feels like you’re fifteen again, infatuated with the guy you know you shouldn’t get close to. Paul from high school wasn’t your soulmate back then—Logan isn’t now. The smart thing would be to take a step back, accept his apology, and ask him to leave. That’s how you preserve what little remains of your sanity and protect your heart, which is already hanging by a thread.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll think about it.”

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

“Well, you were an asshole.”

“Yes.”

“The first time we exchanged words.”

“Also yes.”

“And now you’re apologizing.”

“Positive. I just did.”

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

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

An idea sparks in your mind. You move toward the pile of books next to the TV, eyeing the titles, until one catches your attention: your copy of Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë, one of the first novels you’d read when you were younger. It’s adorned with colorful post-its, and the pages, sort of rough to the touch, are marked with handwritten notes in the margins.

“How do you feel about reading?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you—you remember specific pages?”

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

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

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

You’ve chosen a damn good page.

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

“You’ve got a week to read it.”

“How long is it again?”

“Four hundred pages.”

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

“Write an opinion essay if possible.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He thought that not seeing you for a week would snuff out his feelings. That by next Wednesday, every thought tied to your name, every urge to uncover the last of your secrets, would be extinguished. That's what time usually did: it diminished dangerous desires that couldn't afford to be voiced, and buried those longings that had no place in the light of day.

Logan now figures he’s been underestimating the spell you cast on him with just a few glances and the intensity of your eyes. He’s seen you animated, angry—both defiant and vulnerable. Each of your gestures feels like a memory he can’t quite place.

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

Still, he convinces himself it’s all in his head. He must be the one losing his mind, the years finally catching up to him. It’s the only reasonable explanation for the thoughts that consume his every waking moment. He’s wrong—you’re right. He’s seeing things where there are none—you’re simply too kind.

Too kind. Too young. Too damn clever for your own good, with your books and that sharp mind of yours. He wonders how you see yourself. Do you like the reflection in the mirror? Are you content with the way your life has turned out? Do you, too, lie awake at night, the bed stretching endlessly, aching for a touch that never comes?

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

Instead, he listens.

Some nights, you play the same movie on repeat—a romantic comedy that lasts exactly one hundred and twenty minutes. For two hours straight, he’s privy to your laughter, your commentary at the characters on the screen. He hears you cry when the lead couple drifts apart after a terrible argument, but they always find their way back to each other, and you watch every second until the credits roll.

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

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

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

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

Which one is worse, he can no longer tell.

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

Wade, lounging on the couch, stops scrolling on his phone and drops it onto his chest, drawing his eyebrows together. “Her? Who do you mean?” His tone oozes with feigned innocence, barely containing a shit-eating grin when Logan grits out your name, his tone rough, almost pained. “Oh, Romeo. You’ve got it bad.”

Intending to maintain some semblance of control, Logan strides into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and the last bottle of whiskey. As he tips it, only a few drops fall into the glass. “No, I don’t,” he says, extending his arm and holding the bottle up. “We’re out of whiskey.”

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

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

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

“Shut your mouth.”

“I’m sorry, weren’t you the one who came to me, looking for the essential oil of truth?” The silence that follows is thick and uncomfortable, mood-killing. “See what I just did there?” he adds, and Logan feels forced to shake his head from side to side, appearing conflicted. Wade lets out a low huff. “That was Virginia Woolf. Add her to your reading list.”

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

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

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

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

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

The air shifts. Wade’s playful expression fades and he tilts his head, his tone turning serious. “I don’t think it’s my story to tell,” he begins, gaze dropping to the floor. “But she lost them years ago. She was living a normal life, and one day, they were just—gone, like they were never there. It broke her. We didn’t know each other back then, but you’ve seen her.” Wade’s eyes flick back up, while Logan stands there, tongue-tied. “You even know the kind of books she reads—nothing can shake that belief in real love, in soulmates being destined. Imagine how she must’ve felt when she found out her presumed soulmate was dead… without a single warning.”

From what he had heard, that sense of loss was impossible to put into words. Those who’d gone through it described the experience as if half of you—your body, your soul, your very essence—was being ripped away. The pain was excruciating, and the only way to survive it was by means of tolerating it—no remedy, just the endurance to outlast the agony.

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

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

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

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

“I don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Much to his dismay, that’s exactly what Logan does. His handwriting isn’t the most legible, but he tries his best, leaving notes in the margins of some pages, such as:

I hate this John kid.

Her aunt is a cunt.

This is too cheesy.

Mr. Rochester’s married?

St. John—what an asshole.

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, this is what he’s been looking forward all week. This moment, this interaction. This Come in. This Yes, thank you. You’re so kind. His quiet acceptance of your invitation, the unpronounced thought of I don’t deserve this, but I can’t back off now, because how could I ever say no to you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t blame you for believing in soulmates if this is the kind of thing you read growing up,” he teases, handing the book back to you. Though a part of him almost wishes he didn’t have to—so that it would still be a reason, a tether, pulling him back to you again and again.

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

“It’ll take more than a book.”

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

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

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

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

“Of what?”

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

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

“And in the meantime?” Logan inquires, pressing himself further into your intimacy, edging closer as if testing the boundaries you’re willing to cross. His words are a subtle request for more, for answers. “What will you do until you find him?” If you ever do, he thinks, but it’s left unsaid, lingering in his thoughts. He’s getting better at not saying the things that sit heavy in his chest without thinking.

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

That casual admission strikes him like a wave of cold water. A flicker of jealousy burns at the edges of his composure, though he tries to smother it. I’ve been with other people, you say, your tone so nonchalant, and yet the mental images that flood his mind are anything but comfortable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s a lucky guy,” Logan murmurs, and just like that, he feels himself slipping deeper, falling into the rabbit hole with you guiding him through the madness. For a moment, he can pretend—pretend that matching scars and bonds that defy the rules of his principles make sense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The more time he spends with you, the less he feels like himself. Everything he’s done lately—reading that damn book, standing in your apartment at 7 a.m.—none of it feels like something he’d do. It’s not just his mind you’re messing with: it’s his very sense of self.

Logan’s smart mouth had always been a liability, getting him into trouble either by saying too much or by choosing the wrong words. Bad things had always followed in the wake of his tongue. Somehow, when it comes to you, he’s the most careful he’s ever been. He doesn’t want to upset you, nor does he want to be the cause of any sorrow that might affect your heart.

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

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

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

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

You’re a natural at this madness, diving headfirst into it. You must be losing it, too, because your actions don’t match what you said before. Slowly, his fingers brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the perfect excuse to feel your skin, to close the distance without saying what he actually wants.

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

“I can’t stay,” he finally responds to your earlier comment, his hand still lingering against your skin. His strength—the only thing saving him from completely giving in—helps him pull himself away.

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

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

You rely greatly on the knowledge that you’re good at multitasking—now more than ever, with a book in one hand and the other stirring the pasta on the stove. The warmth from the pot rises around you, but you trust yourself not to be careless. Not to be stupid enough to burn yourself with the boiling water.

This time, you miscalculate. Not only do you dip the wooden spoon into the pot, but your fingertips too. Though it only lasts a second, and the voice in your head instantly screams Hot! Hot! Hot!, the shock makes you drop the book to the floor. You yank your hand back, racing to the sink to run it under cold water.

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

The funny thing is, just a door away, Logan’s watching a movie with Wade when he feels a sting in the tips of his fingers. It’s barely there, practically faint, but he looks down, inspecting his hand like it doesn’t belong to his own body. His skin briefly flushes with irritation before returning to its normal state.

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

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

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

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

You’ve been down this road before, knowing men like him too well: they’re everywhere, until they’re not. One day, they vanish without a trace, leaving you staring at the empty space they used to occupy, asking yourself ‘What happened to my Prince Charming in disguise?’

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

So far, your avoidance strategy has worked wonders. Maybe it’s for the best. He’s a distraction—an undeniably attractive one, the kind anyone would want to trip over. Yet you miss him, which is dumb: why are you missing someone you were never supposed to care about in the first place?

You return home after a long trip to the grocery store, arms laden with bags. It’s the kind of errand that exhausts you, though you keep telling yourself it’s better than thinking about him. As you struggle to get through the building's exit, you resign yourself to the fact that it’ll take several trips to bring everything up to your apartment.

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

You should’ve known better than to assume victory so soon. After days of successfully avoiding him, there he is. And of course, it’s when you look your worst—tired from running around, weighed down by groceries, barely holding it together.

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

He looks... ridiculously good.

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

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

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

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

“Logan, you don’t—”

But he’s already moving, one hand tugging you out of the elevator, the other gesturing toward your apartment. “Not up for debate,” he mutters. Then, without waiting for permission, he holds out his hand. “Keys.”

Sighing, you dig into your pocket and drop them into his open palm. He unlocks the door with practiced ease, stepping inside and placing the bags on your kitchen counter. As he starts to unpack them, you stop him. “You really don’t need to do that.”

That seems to catch his attention. He pauses, turning toward you with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the counter. His unrelenting stare sizes you up, and he cocks his head to the side. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

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

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

A quick flutter of your lashes brings you back to him, and your chest tightens with the effort it takes to look into his eyes. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” you ask, praying he’ll let this go. You watch as his mouth twitches with something halfway between a smile and a smirk.

“You already want me to leave?”

“If you have plans, then yeah.”

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

You can’t help but snort. “Oh, please. Like you haven’t been doing the same.” You walk over to the couch, feeling your legs wobble beneath you. You collapse into one corner, hoping the distance will help you breathe. Like a shadow, Logan follows after you, sitting far too close. His legs splay wide, so wide they’re almost grazing yours.

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

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

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

It’s not just his words—it’s the way he stands so close, heat radiating from his body, the roughness of his hand gripping yours like he’s terrified you’ll slip away. The intensity of it all weighs on you in ways you can’t even begin to describe, leaving you breathless, caught between denial and desire.

“Logan, this isn’t—”

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

“That doesn’t mean we have to give in.” Blood pounds in your ears, your pulse racing as your heart hammers unpleasantly. Little shivers of ice run through your spine, and yet, your stomach burns with desire. More than ever, you feel yourself slipping, your sanity at risk.

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

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

“Come on, baby.”

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

His mouth moves hungrily over yours, pushing you back until the armrest digs into your lower back. A choked whimper gets lost in your throat, and you bring him closer by grabbing onto the lapels of his jacket, your chest pressing against his. Logan bites down on your lip, soothing the sting with his tongue, and the moan you let out reverberates in the apartment.

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

You end up perched in his lap, your thighs bracketing his hips. He’s hard beneath you, and as you shift, your center makes contact with his erection through the layers of fabric. Both of you sigh into each other’s mouths, your hips moving on their own accord, rocking slightly against his clothed cock. He hooks one of his arms around your waist, guiding your movements.

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

Logic? Error 404—not found.

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

He’s dizzy for it, but you’re no better, not when he trails his kisses down your neck, his mouth latching onto your skin, tasting the sweat and salt. “I can’t control myself around you,” he murmurs, groping your tits, and you wail, the ache between your legs becoming intolerable. His hands slip under your sweater, caressing the scars on your back.

That’s when recognition settles over you.

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

His arms drop to his sides, releasing you from his hold. You push yourself off him, away from the couch, putting as much distance between you as you can. Pressing your palms to your eyes, you shake your head. “God, I’m stupid. This is stupid.”

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

“Fuck you, Logan.”

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

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

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

“He’s closer than ever.”

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

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

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

“No. You’re not.”

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

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

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

“It’s what we both need.”

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

Your hand turns the knob, and then he’s halfway out the door, sparing you one last glance before he turns his back to you. No more visits. No more books. No more bruising kisses that leave you questioning your mere existence.

Let things stay as they are—it’s safer that way. You don’t want to know the reason behind this forceful need. After all, being his grumpy and ill-tempered self, he’ll stay holed up in Wade’s apartment, avoiding any interaction with the real world. And you? You’ll forget about him. Easy-peasy.

It didn’t go well in the end.

You remember your first heartbreak—seventeen, fresh out of high school. One of your hands clutched a million dreams, and the other, a pillow soaked with your tears. Your mother ran her fingers through your hair, attempting to soothe the sobs that racked your body. She murmured that it’d pass, that you wouldn’t feel like this forever. You believed her then, and trusted that things would eventually be okay.

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

But life, as it turns out, has a peculiar way of catching you off guard. Whether it’s pent-up horniness, touch-starvation, or genuine affection—it doesn't change the fact that your pseudo-relationship with Logan fell apart.

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

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

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

“I’ll take care of it next month.”

He’s supposed to be the one supporting you, but it feels like the roles are reversed—you’re comforting him, letting him vent. “My two favorite people now can’t even be in the same room. What are we gonna do for Christmas? New Year's Eve?” Straightening up, he grabs the nearest cushion and buries his face into it to muffle a defeated scream. “Damn it, Cupid! You had one job!”

All in all, Wade’s emotionally unavailable at the moment, grieving your separation from Logan as if it were his own loss, too caught up in his melodrama to be of any real help. Meanwhile, you fill your days with work, books, anything to keep your mind occupied. You go to bed too late, you wake up too early. Sleep too little, cry too much.

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

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

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

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

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

And yet, despite all of it, you continue to prioritize someone else. Someone who isn’t even here. Clung to the idea of a soulmate, you chose him over Logan. What did he expect? For you to abandon your principles, your belief in destiny? It’s who you are. Nearly thirty years of life guided by one belief can’t just be discarded like trash.

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

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

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

What’s the goal? Finding your soulmate, the voice in your head mockingly answers for the hundredth time, rolling its imaginary eyes. And where is he? You’ve shut Logan out, a man who’s made it clear he has feelings for you, for this elusive person. Isn’t it time he steps into the light at long last?

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

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

What kind of ending you’ll have—you’re not so sure about that.

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

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

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

The door swings open, and Logan appears right behind it, holding Wade’s phone to his ear. He narrows his eyes, leaning against the frame, a single eyebrow lifted in curiosity. “How sad. You don’t remember what I sound like.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I could do it.”

No. Not really. He’s doing that thing again—offering help when you know you shouldn’t accept it. You shake your head. “It’s not necessary,” you say, forcing a casual tone.

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

“I’m not worked up,” you hiss, and he sidesteps you easily, his arm nudging yours. The electricity is still there, undeniable, but neither of you has the courage to acknowledge it, acting as though it’s an ordinary occurrence.

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

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

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

“What do you want me to do?” he asks, hooking his fingers into the loops of his jeans, his posture both confident and annoyingly relaxed. There’s a challenge in his tone, and he acts as if you’re the one who pulled him into this situation—like he didn’t worm his way in here.

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

He sets to work, moving the smaller pieces of furniture aside to make space for the couch. Under no circumstances are you going to just stand there and watch him sweat. Instead, you busy yourself with the long-forgotten glasses and cups gathering dust in one of the kitchen cabinets, each one glinting with past disappointments.

Wetting a towel, you start by wiping the rims. The air feels heavily charged with uneasiness, but you're relieved that for once, you can breathe without feeling like you’re on the brink of a heart attack. You can already imagine Wade’s face when you tell him—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“And what is that—”

“I need a drink.”

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

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

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

The instant attraction, the yearning to be near him.

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

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

All those times you felt he was getting closer weren’t just a figment of your imagination—he was, in fact, right there. But he wasn’t just anyone—it was him. Logan is your soulmate. You two are meant to be together. How long would it take for you to truly believe it? Until it no longer sounded like something too good to be true?

Without uttering a sound, Logan gazes at you, silently pleading to see them. To see your scars. You extend your arm, and with a gentle motion, he rolls up the sleeve of your shirt, revealing the marks etched into your skin. He runs his fingers along the lines, trying to understand the bond you now share—both his and yours.

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

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

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

The look he gives you is one reserved for those he loves, a look filled with such warmth and affection that it almost feels dreamlike. “Do you want me to see them?” he inquires, and all he needs is a nod from you to gently tug your shirt up your chest and over your head.

He lets out a dry chuckle when you attempt to tame your hair, the effort proving to be in vain. The clock on the wall seems to pause its ticking the moment his fingers begin to trail each of the scars that captures his gaze. You can’t even begin to fathom what thoughts might be swirling in his mind, but if the flicker of lust and desire you catch in his expression is anything to go by, you’re not so worried.

Logan’s touch carries an unexpected softness, a tenderness you never imagined a man like him could possess. Deep down, you wish he understood that these scars don’t hurt, that they never have. “I’m okay,” you reassure him, prompting him to explore more of your skin, to claim you as his.

“Do you… like them?” he asks without meeting your eyes. Do you like my scars? is the real question hidden underneath. Do you like me? is the one he can’t bring himself to pronounce.

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

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

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

Desire has a limit before it overwhelms. There’s only so much need a person can contain before it spills over, uncontrollable and raw. This game, one you never learned how to play, feels as foreign to him as it does to you—neither of you knows the rules.

“Can I see more?” He’s still talking about the scars, still fumbling with the strap, and you nod, your eyelids growing droopier as you take his free hand and direct it to the front of your jeans. He catches the hint, undoing the button with ease, allowing you to shed the last layers of restraint.

Bare, moments away from being completely naked, standing in stark contrast to Logan, who remains fully clothed, your stomach does a flip as he rubs his thumb along the sides of your underwear. Leaning your forehead against his shoulder, you stifle a sigh when he splays his hand across your lower back, pulling you closer. His rough grip tightens on your ass, testing the feel of you, while your breathing becomes shallow, erratic.

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

“Yes,” you croak, the plea slipping out involuntarily, throwing your arms around his neck. He buries his face against your jaw, his lips parting against your skin, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck. You tilt your head back, exposing more of your throat to him, breathless as you whisper: “I’ve waited so long.”

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

Instead of answering with real words, you surge forward, crashing your lips against with his, reveling in the way he cages you with his biceps, locking you up in a prison of desire from which you never wish to break free. He tries not to settle his full weight on top of you, attentive not to crush you. As he nips at the column of your throat, you squirm beneath him, canting your hips up to seek the friction you crave.

He presses his knee against your center and you push back, grinding against him with an animalistic urgency. You can’t recall ever feeling this desperate, this overwhelmed by a man. But then again, he’s unlike any other you’ve encountered in your array of momentary hookups.

His kisses grow even more insistent as breathy moans roll off to your tongue, merging with the occasional creak of the couch beneath your movements. Logan spreads your thighs wider, sinking to his knees on the floor to tug your lower half forward until your ass is almost hanging in the air. He places your thighs on his shoulders, supporting you as he leans in to pepper your soft flesh with kisses.

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

“Eager?” he wonders aloud, looking at you through his lashes. While maintaining eye contact, he presses a kiss to your clit through the fabric of your panties. He does it again, and you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, his fingers deftly pulling your underwear down your legs.

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

The way you purr his name—a soft caress, a pat on his back that says Yeah, you’re doing fine—only spurs him on, infusing every one of his ministrations with fervor. His longing for you radiates in the intensity of his touch, sending shivers through you, making you writhe because of his hands alone.

Your core throbs. Your skin prickles with electricity. Your legs quake on either side of his face. He’s hungry and you’re his feast. He’s parched and you’re the last bottle of water in an arid world. Logan eats you out like this will be the only time he’ll have the privilege—each movement calculated, pushing all the right buttons, pulling out every trick he knows to make you think No, it doesn’t get any better than this. This is as much as one can get.

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

His pointed tongue teases your bud, matched with the persistent hammering of his fingers plunged into your wet heat. The combination has you coming on his mouth, falling over the precipice while you struggle to keep yourself together. Your walls flutter around his digits, and your cries fuse with his groans, both overshadowed by his insatiable desire to savor until the last drop of your release.

Shockwaves ripple through your body and you prop your weight on your arms to capture his lips in a fervent kiss, your eyes rolling rolling back in ecstasy as you taste yourself, a mix of sour and sweet. In a frenzy, he sheds his clothes, practically tearing them away, and you wrap your hand around his length, stroking him in time with your kisses. Logan pulls back, panting against you, and you steal a glance at him.

Your gaze travels down to his hard cock, the tip a furious red, and he seizes your wrist. “Why don’t you kiss it better?” he rasps, his voice dropping an octave. In this moment, you’re taken aback by his beauty, and the urge to express it rises within you.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur against his thigh, showering his skin with heated kisses. You stare in disbelief at the trail of hair leading to his girth, mouth watering at the sight. A kiss on the tip, followed by a broad lick along a prominent vein—Logan’s grip on the armrest tightens, his knuckles turning white. “So perfect.”

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

You try to take him in further once you’re feeling more confident, while Logan fights with all his might against the need to thrust his hips up into your warmth. He can’t stay still, grunting and smothering you with lavish praise that heightens your arousal, slick pouring out of you in waves. “Pretty thing you are. Don’t even know how to function around you. You got me all—fuck, acting all stupid.”

At one point, he tells you to stop, because he doesn’t want to come just yet. You know what comes next as he rubs his cock along your folds, blending your wetness with his precum. It’s sloppy, and dirty, and messy—and God, do you love it.

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

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

Your lips find his, and he swallows every sound he punches out of your lungs. His thrusts grow harder and faster as you adjust to his size, how big he feels inside you. He digs his fingers into the globes of your ass, yanking you towards his shaft every time he fucks into you. You feel the brush of his balls against your skin, the way his muscles flex beneath your touch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

For now, you can allow yourself the possibility of relishing the drag of his cock in your interior. His pace doesn’t falter for a second—something about mutants and their non-stop stamina, no doubt. He shoves a hand between your sweaty bodies, rubbing circles on your already swollen bud. Each time he fills you to the brim, you have to ground yourself, resisting the pull of an altered reality.

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

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

Whatever meaning he ascribes to your words is of little importance. He tightens his arms around you, kissing you deeply, tongue and teeth clashing as they compete to see who wins the battle. “Never. I’m never lettin’ you go, y’hear me?” Heat pools in your lower back, a coiling tension radiating through your limbs. “You’re mine, princess. Can’t afford to lose you now that I found you. Gonna remind you every day.”

His rambling pushes you over the edge, your dripping cunt spasming around him as you reach your climax, moaning his name against his shoulder. You cling to him, convulsing beneath his body, and he grinds his hips into yours, his chest rumbling as he growls. “Inside,” you mumble, extending your hand to press it to his waist. “Need you inside me. Please, I want it so bad.”

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

Night has fallen. The cut on your pinky no longer stings. Your scars, after all, are still there, nestled against Logan’s unmarked skin. You caress his back, sighing contentedly as a wave of peace washes over you. You’ve never felt this relaxed.

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

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

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

Love—hadn’t you pondered its existence for so long? Your fuel for living, the muse behind your best poems, a recurring motif in your fantasies. Love now has Logan’s name written in ink, no longer a blank canvas awaiting its unknown owner. No—it’s all his now.

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

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

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

Finally, you’ve wrapped love around your finger.

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

[pedrilcvr]

Birthday Boy — Spencer Reid.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: It’s Spencer’s 30th birthday and you seem to be the only one who remembers. You drop off your present to him but when you get home you realize you gave him the wrong box. You gave him the one filled with love letters.

Disclaimer/s: none! pure fluff <3

A/N: This one is for my bsf, I love you enny, happy belated 17th 💌

Taking a few deep breaths, you finally bring yourself to knock on the green door in front of you. Nerves wracked your body, as they did every time you were around Spencer. Sure, he was one of your closest friends, but he was also so much more than that, to you at least.

Hearing the sounds of feet shuffling behind the door, you brace yourself by clutching the box in your hands tighter. You should’ve noticed how much lighter it was when you set it down on your bed versus how it felt now.

The door cracks open and you can hear the lock being unchained before the tall figure that was Spencer Reid loomed before you, a confused expression on his face.

“Hey?” He speaks slowly. Then his eyes fall from your face to the box in your hands. “Oh!”

“Happy birthday!” You smile, nervous jitters wracking your body the longer you stand in his entrance. “The big Three-zero!” You add, instantly embarrassed with how evident you being flustered was.

Then Spencer lets out the most beautiful noise, his laugh. “Thank you! I didn’t think anyone remembered!” Handing the present to him, your fingers graze against his, sending tingles all up your back.

“What?” You frown, it was nearly 8 PM, had nobody told him happy birthday? Your question was answered the second you noticed the slight change in his smile, its corners twitching slightly. “Oh, i’m sorry—“

“Don’t be!” He waves it off, trying to hide how little it may have bothered him, “uhm, do you want to come in? I have coffee brewing.”

As much as you wished you could say yes, you knew you had lots to do at home before the weekend ended. “I wish I could, but I have to get home.. maybe next weekend?”

Hiding how disappointed he felt, Spencer nods in understanding. “Of course.” He nods, “and thank you, again.”

“You’re welcome, Spence. I hope you had a good day.. I’ll see you around the office tomorrow?” You ask, not knowing why you tried to keep conversation when you knew you had to go.

Spencer nods, his curls falling across his face as he does so. Lifting a hand to brush them back, the awkward man gives you one last smile. “For sure, see you around.”

And with that, you two say your ‘goodnight’s’. You leave with the same feeling you’d arrived with. Something was.. off.

Twenty minutes later, you arrive back to your apartment, ready to go over the last of the paperwork you needed to get done. Deciding to change into a pair of pajamas first, you walk into your bedroom, your whole body frozen the second your eyes land on the brown box sitting on your fresh white comforter.

Oh… oh hell no.

Hesitantly reaching out, you flip the lid off. There was Spencers actual present. The three books and a box of his favorite tea laying neatly within it. Fuck.

Nervously wracking your brain, you try to think of ways to get the original box back before he could open it. You knew it was a lost cause. Knowing Spencer, he’d opened it the second you left.

Anxiously grabbing your phone, you debate on whether to text him or not. If you ignored it, you’d still have to face him in the office tomorrow, but if you faces it head on… you’d still have to see him every day.

This was definitely a lose-lose situation.

You must’ve zoned out because the next thing you knew, there was three loud knocks at the front of your door, snapping you back to reality.

Hesitantly making your way toward the door to your apartment, you check the peep hole first, a habit you’d picked up as many of your co workers had.. experiences with intruders to put it lightly.

Chest contracting at the nervous face that came into vision, “hey.” He speaks softly, eyes refusing to look into yours.

You glance down at the box in his hands, your face flushing a vibrant red. “Listen—I can explain.”

“You—you don’t have to.” He stumbles you, shaking his head vigorously, “why didn’t you, uhm, why didn’t you tell me?”

Knowing there was no way out of this, your shoulders slump. “Because, there was no sense in ruining a friendship over something like.. that.” You motion toward the box.

Spencer’s eyebrows pull together, his head tilting to the side. “Why not?” His voice cracks, causing your eyes to snap to his. “I mean—it’s not like it wasn’t requited.”

“Spencer.” You sigh, drawling out his name. “Don’t do this to me right now. Please.” Don’t give me hope.

“Why not?!” He’s doing the thing where his voice raises an octave, which had to be one of his most adorable traits. His face pulled downwards, as if you just told him you were dying.

“Because..” Licking your lips, you turn your head to the side. You couldn’t look at him when you said this. “I don’t need false hope.”

There’s a long excruciating silence, in which Spencer stares at you in disbelief before getting his act together. He straightens his posture a little and whispers your name, “please look at me.”

Not being able to resist, your eyes flicker toward his. They are soft, the kind of shape that made it feel like you were staring into a doe’s eyes. His eyebrows scrunched up, every emotion written clearly in his face in such simple ways. Ways only you ever seemed to notice.

“I—“ you start, but are cut off instantly by Spencer.

“Would you like to get coffee together sometime?” He stumbles over his words, his lip twitching into an awkward, nervous smile.

Your heart hammering in your chest, you nod. You nod and you nod until you force yourself to stop. “Yes!” You smile, stomach full of butterflies.

“If we don’t have a case this weekend, would Saturday work? Anywhere you want to go.” He adds the last part quickly, shifting from one foot to the other as he waited for your reply.

“You choose the place and i’ll be there.”

Who knew in a million years, that it would take one simple mistake to get what you’ve wanted for years.

DTS , @halfwayhearted <3

[hoe4hotchner]

Bakery owner reader x loyal customer hotch

Something with the team finding out about reader and seeing hotch all happy and smiling and whipped for her.

Later them finding out they’re actually dating and penny freaking out 😭😭

Love, Freshly Baked | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Bakery owner!reader

CW: Nothing but tooth rotting fluff

WC: 1k

A/N: Forgive me for having this drafted for ages!!! But here it is, and it's super duper cute!!!

           The smell of fresh pastries and brewing coffee filled the small bakery every morning, a cozy retreat nestled on a quiet corner of the bustling city. You had been running the shop for a couple of years now, getting to know every regular by name, but there was one customer who had quickly become your favorite.

           Aaron Hotchner.

           He’d been coming in almost every morning for months, ordering the same thing - a black coffee and a croissant - but it wasn’t just the simplicity of his order that caught your attention. It was the way he always seemed so calm and composed, even when the stress of his job was written all over his face. You weren’t sure what he did - all you knew was he had to wear a suit for the job - but you could tell it wore on him. Still, every time he walked through the door, his shoulders relaxed just a little, and a small smile would tug at his lips when he saw you.

           What you didn’t know was that Hotch’s team had noticed this change in him. It started small - an extra cup of coffee in the morning, a slightly brighter demeanor after breakfast - but it wasn’t long before the rest of the BAU picked up on it.

           “Anyone else notice how… happy Hotch has been lately?” Emily asked one morning as they gathered around their desks, waiting for the next case.

           Morgan leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. “You’re right. I haven’t seen Hotch smile this much in… well, ever.”

           "Maybe he’s just found a new way to deal with stress. Meditation, perhaps?” Spencer didn't look up from the book he was reading as he answered.

           Penelope scoffed, twirling a bright pink pen in her hand. “Please, Reid. Hotch isn’t meditating. Something - or rather someone - has got him smiling.”           

           The rest of the team exchanged looks, curiosity piqued.

           A few days later, their suspicions were confirmed.

           It was a slow day at the office, so Hotch decided to take a longer-than-usual lunch break. What he didn’t realize was that his team had quietly followed him to the bakery, determined to find out what - or who - was behind their boss’s newfound cheerfulness.

           “Look,” Penelope whispered excitedly from across the street, pointing toward the bakery window. “He’s smiling! He’s actually smiling!”

           Sure enough, through the glass, they could see Hotch leaning against the counter, his face lit up in a way they’d never seen before. And then there was you, standing behind the counter with that same soft smile you always gave him.

           “Oh my god,” JJ whispered, her eyes wide. “Is that the bakery he always talks about?”

           “Looks like it,” Derek said, grinning. “And it looks like our boy is whipped.”

           Inside the bakery, Hotch had no idea he was being watched. He was too focused on you - on the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about your latest recipe, the way your hands moved with such care as you worked on rolling out the dough. Every morning spent in your presence was like a small respite from the chaos of his job, and he found himself craving that peace more and more as time went by.

           You handed him his coffee, and for a moment, your fingers brushed his. The simple contact sent a warmth through him that no amount of caffeine ever could.

           “You know, Aaron,” you said softly, your voice carrying the warmth that always made his mornings a little brighter, “you’re going to start running out of excuses to come here if you keep this up.”

           Hotch chuckled, a rare sound that you loved hearing. “I’ll think of something.”

           As he turned to leave, he glanced back one more time, catching your eye and giving you a smile that was just for you.

           Meanwhile, across the street, Penelope was practically bouncing with excitement. “You guys! He’s totally into her! Did you see that smile? We have to find out more.”

           A week later, the team got more than they bargained for.

           It was a Friday afternoon, and Hotch had just returned to the office after lunch. He was in a good mood, his smile lingering longer than usual. That’s when Penelope burst into the room, holding up her phone like it was a trophy.

           “Guys, you are not going to believe this!” she exclaimed, her voice high with excitement.

           The team gathered around, eyes wide as Penelope pulled up a photo she’d found online. It was you and Hotch, taken outside the bakery on a sunny day. He had his arm around your waist, and you were looking up at him with a smile that could melt hearts.

           “They’re dating!” Penelope practically squealed. “Hotch is dating the owner of the bakery!”

           The rest of the team was equally stunned.

           “Okay, now it all makes sense,” Emily said, grinning. “The extra coffee, the smiling, the mysterious bakery trips.”

           Morgan shook his head, chuckling. “Never thought I’d see the day when Hotch would be this smitten again. It’s nice to see him happy.”

           Penelope, however, was still in full freak-out mode. “Oh my god, we have to do something! Maybe throw them a surprise party or - wait, no, that’s too much. But we have to celebrate this somehow!”

           As they brainstormed, Hotch walked back into the bullpen, completely unaware of the chaos his relationship had caused among his team. But when he saw the knowing smiles on their faces, he paused.

           “What’s going on?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

           Penelope couldn’t hold it in any longer. “We know about the bakery, Hotch! And about her!” she blurted out, practically glowing with excitement.

           For a moment, Hotch was silent, his eyes scanning the room before he finally let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “I should’ve known you’d find out eventually.”

           The team erupted into laughter, and for the first time in a long time, Aaron Hotchner didn’t mind being the center of attention - because, after all, it was all for a love that made him happier than he’d ever been.

[salaciousdoll]

· · · ℜ · · · Bonten Rhapsodies · · · ℜ · · ·

.·:*¨¨*:·. starring Manjiro Sano, Kakucho, Ran Haitani, Rin Haitani, Mochi, Sanzu Akashi, Takeomi Akashi, Makoto, and Kokonoi Haijime

ᰔᩚ ━━ Warnings: Smut, Group sex, bodily fluids( spit kink, squirting), Impact play( clit slapping marking, and other body parts slaps), dirty talking, praise kink, degrading kink, moonlight position on Sanzu part, double penetration, anal play, anal, hardcore fucking, role playing, Sanzu and the reader are the only pornstars, The men are literally a little yandere for you, food play, etc. ( please let me know if I missed anything because I haven’t read this fic ever since it came out, ngl just reposted for the people that’s asking)

ᰔᩚ ━━ Word Count: 10.62k

ᰔᩚ ━━ Dolly Note from Salaciousdoll: hi everyone, this is just a repost of an old fic that was taken down. I don’t know why when I use explicit images for all my fics but I digress. I reposted this for the Bonten girlies who really wanted to read my fic. I didn’t change anything because I just don’t have the time too so yeah… enjoy cupcakes🎀

You were the ideal talk amongst the Bonten organization and company. You were even the talk amongst their enemies and opponents when it came to the different show of business they involved themselves in, even prostitutes they recruit for prostitution knew who you were .

They were the number one entertainment in the porn business. The women and men they chose were all shapes and sizes along with all skin colors.

The main person that brought in views was you. Your body was hypnotizing and you were respected amongst the company, if only the world shared the same respect.

Being a pornstar has its ups and downs. Ups is being able to meet new people, improve your acting skills, and Money. The downs were obviously the name calling in public, stalkers finding out where you lived, and overall just people only knowing your name and face through Porn.

Porn wasn’t your only go to, Modeling for savage x fenty and owning your own business that made millions was as well.

You were now a part time pornstar rather than a full time porn star like in the early stage of your career. The video you did with Makoto was the one that put you on the map as a pornstar and put Bonten in Top 10. Makoto knew how to fuck and you enjoyed every moment of him. I guess the porn magazines and masturbating came in handy.

Later on, you met plenty of other men and women who you enjoyed fucking. Some of your scenes were talked about for months.

Women talked about how pretty you looked when you ate pussy. Men talked about how pretty you look when you sucked dicks. All sizes and colors too. Oral was one of your greatest strengths when it came to your videos, they called you the oral vixen, meanwhile riding in reverse cowgirl and cowgirl were your favorites and apparently the world favorite too. You pulled people in with your lewd facial expressions too, along with your chubby stomach, rolls, and thighs.

You had limits when it came to porn too, when you didn’t feel like you wanted to continue the scene, you would get Bonten lower ranks to stop that person from making you more uncomfortable than you already are and more.

Bonten lower ranks will throw out or kill anyone who disobeys your wishes. Limits in fetishes too, like foot fetish, race play, scat and more. You may have pretty feet, which is also a turn on for men and women with foot fetishes, but you know how to draw the line for yourself.

You made Bonten become the top entertainment while also managing their appointments and booking with other pornstars or other collabs in the business, you were moved to be Koko’s secretary for a reason.

“ Ma’am, are you ready to go?“, Your bodyguard stated while your driver waited outside.

You had on a perfect outfit that gave your breast a lift and sat your ass up perfectly. Your hair and makeup was done and you felt very good about this night as you walked before your bodyguard, “ Yes.”

Your bodyguard was someone you trusted, mainly because he respected you and treated you like his little sister rather than just someone he has to protect in order to get a check.

The ride to Bonten’s event was funny and relaxing. Your driver and bodyguard were cracking jokes with each other, making you laugh in the process. You could tell they’ve been friends for years, maybe even more than friends from the way you saw him looking in the mirror at your bodyguard.

When you arrived at the building, paparazzi were all around and honestly you hated paparazzi so much.

As you stepped out your bodyguard along with the security that was traveling behind your suv shielded you from the flashing lights and degrading comments and questions.

Honestly you were glad to finally step inside the building, only to come face to face with a beautiful scenery and a big electronic sign that says “ Thank you for everything Y/N”

Your big smile brightened up the room even more and Manjirou could see that from a mile away. He nudged kakucho and nodded his head.

Kakucho knew what he meant and smirked when Sanzu caught his eye smirking at him too since they were both next to Mikey.

Meanwhile, you hugged your favorite co-stars and friends. The company loved you but the organization admired you. Two different things for Bonten.

Makoto hugged you longer than expected, making Yamagishi pull him off, “ That’s enough, you already have the most scenes with her baldy, let us get a chance to be around her.”

Makoto let out a laugh before kissing your forehead and moving to the side for Yamagishi to step up and hug you. His long strawberry blonde hair was beautiful and smelled so good. The scar on his eyebrow gave him a more lethal look, “ You look so gorgeous, princess.”

You said your thanks and he let go so Takuya could get a hug from you, “ Ah, you smell so sweet, I hope you enjoy yourself because you earned it babes.” You smiled and said a thank you to him.

You had once mistaken the three of them for working with the Bonten organization since they looked ruff and tuff, but they don’t know anything about the Bonten organization, except for news reporting about it. You were only the secretary for Koko meaning you are managing anything that concerns the porn business. They wouldn’t even dare to put you in harms way.

All throughout the party you were admired and respected amongst your peers. You loved every moment of the party. You met other curvy/ chubby stars and made great talk with them. You danced and drank shots of your favorite drink often but not that much, since you still wanna be cautious.

Everyone was conversing and having a great time meanwhile Sanzu was about to shoot a subordinate and a pornstar in their head when he came inside the large office and saw them fucking on the long table. He was the first to go in since he was excited to finally meet you.

Luckily Mikey stopped him in time before speaking sharply at the duo, “ Get the hell out and never do this shit again, do you understand me?”

They both had their clothes gathered in their hands as all the higher ups stood staring at them with mixed expressions: Anger, Amusement, and Curiosity.

“ Yes sir!”, The man says while walking out with the girl he was fucking.

Sanzu opened the door to yell out to the duo, “ And if you’re gonna fuck her at least make her moan and not fake moan, you fucker!”

The man looked back at the woman who tried not to giggle while the rest of the higher ups made their way to the table chuckling.

“ She was a gorgeous woman fucking with a scum.”, Ran says with a chuckle.

Rindou smirked, “ got a sharp feeling you wanted to be the one inside her.”

Ran laughed, “ Nah, I’m about to fuck the girl of my dreams.”

“ So corny, boo!”, Sanzu says, before Mikey got them together.

“ Alright, Alright, Now Koko you already know what you have to do right?”, Mikey says, twirling the pen in his hand. This is the first time he’d been excited by anyone, but it didn’t show on his face. He was a low key fanboy of you since you help him release his pent up frustrations more than the Prostitutes he tries to fuck but can’t. Probably due to another reason too. The others can say the same.

Koko nodded before waiting for Mikey to dismiss him in which he did and Koko was already on his way out the door to you. He didn’t want to share you with them, but it was too late. You caught the eye of everyone in Bonten.

You were bobbing your head to the music, you didn’t know the words to the song but you liked the beat, so it’s a win and lose situation.

You were honestly ready to dip, but Koko stepped in your gleam of light smirking at you, “ My, my, my, you look ravishing baby.”

He always gave you pretty nicknames and honestly you never paid attention until now because of the tone he used: seduction type, “ Thank you, Koko. I appreciate it.”

Koko grabbed your hand and rubbed his thumb over the surface of your hand, “ Let’s go somewhere private to talk, yeah?”. Your hands greatly contrasted from his as you two walked away.

you followed Koko until he pulled you in front of two big doors. It felt like you two took a long time to get here, but nevertheless you digressed.

Koko turned to you to say, “ When we get in there, if you feel uncomfortable by any means, tell me. I’ll figure out how to take you away. You’re going to meet our boss, can you handle that?”

Your eyes widened before slowly nodding your head while taking a huge gulp of your saliva, “ I can, I can handle it, Ko.” Koko smiled before kissing your forehead and then opening up the door.

He walked inside with his hand in yours already making Takeomi raise his eyebrow with a smirk on his scarred face.

“ Boss! She’s here.”, Koko says, moving aside to reveal you in your beautiful attire. You eyed the men around the table and gasped when you saw the leading man in the porn industry, Sanzu Haruchiyo. He was a bdsm pornstar in the Bonten entertainments, part of the reason why you haven’t done anything with him yet. That was one of your doubts or maybe it’s because you were too afraid to try hardcore BDSM.

“ Hello gorgeous, you know me from somewhere?”, Sanzu asks, knowing that you did know him from somewhere. Everybody did that’s why he got loud sighs from others all around the room.

Ran kicked his leg making him “ Dude, I’m sure she knows who you are, the entire country knows, now let Mikey speak to her so I can speak to her because I’m dying over here.”

Mochi just kept looking at you with a deadpan expression on his face but deep down inside he wanted you badly, too badly. Almost like you were his obsession.

You were Bonten’s obsession ever since they stumbled across your OnlyFans. It was more like Mikey did and then was deciding in his mind if he should tell the others about his new obsession. Eventually, he did.

He gave you a lot of money when you were doing live cam shows and then had Koko email you a position in their porn entertainment. And that got you here, in front of them. Clear as day.

You were taking in every last person but your eyes were stuck on Kakucho. He was fucking gorgeous. They all were but his scar defined his beauty even more. Your eyes then moved to your boss. The man of the hour.

He was breathtaking and you were pulled in when you saw his smirk. His eyes were lit up as he stared at you in adoration, just to hide it with a dull look on his face. You were glad that you could read expressions and emotions really well sometimes.

Koko led you to the opposite end of the table where the boss sat before pulling out the chair and letting you sit down. He walked to his seat afterwards before nodding his head at his boss. Yours too but you get it.

The way they just stared at you in silence was enough to put you on edge and regret you came in here. Their eyes were showing interest and something more.

“ You know why you’re here?”, The boss says. You gulped when you remembered seeing the same type of hairstyle and white hair on tv. This was Bonten’s boss and supposedly the head boss of the entertainment too.

“ No, but if I wanted to take a guest, it’ll be because of my status in the porn entertainment right?”, You ask sitting up. You were the face of the word scrumptious and they couldn’t wait to fuck you.

Mochi chuckled, “ Yes, you’re right for the most part.”

You looked at him before looking back at the boss, “ What’s the other part?”

Mikey was honored to be in your presence, let alone in the glint of your eyes, so he answered truthfully, “ I think you know what the other part is, y/n. You’re smart. You can figure it out or would you like us to explain but first let us properly introduce ourselves. I’ll start, my name is Manjirou Sano, Mikey for short. I’m the head of Bonten entertainments and organization.”

Your eyes widened a little before looking at the next deep voice who talked, “ My name is Kakucho, Bonten’s number three. Pleasure to meet you.” The pink hair one stood up and walked over to you sitting on the table blocking everyone but Mikey’s view of you making some of them groan.

“ You already know my name don’t you? I booked an appointment with you on my off days at the organization and you declined, why is that Angel face? Hmm.”, Sanzu says while caressing your face with his thumb.

You looked up at him through your eyelashes and that was enough to make him cum right there in his pants but he held back when he heard your voice again, “ I don’t do heavy BDSM.”

Sanzu threw his head back and laughed, “ I don’t only do that sweetheart, but don’t worry. We’ll be spending a lot of time together from now on.”, Sanzu says before sitting back down with a smirk on his pretty scarred face.

“ Pretty one, names Rindou, Rindou Haitani and this is my brother Ran Haitani, pleasure to meet you.”, Rindou says with seduction laced in his voice. It was almost sultry and natural from the way he talks.

You smiled when you saw Ran perform a little wave making the men almost want to take you right there. Your smile was beginning to be contagious to the group of the most dangerous men in the world.

Someone grabbed your hand and lifted it to their mouth. He was a male with a goatee and sharp eyes, “ My name is Mochizuki Kanji, Mochi for short, gorgeous.”

You let him plant his lips as you kept eye contact with his sharp eyes before letting your intrusive thoughts win, “ Were you born with those eyebrows?”

The room erupted in laughter after a good second, when in reality it wasn’t a joke, so you clarified yourself, “ No, no, not like that. I think they’re kinda cool and different that’s all, still a bit weird but hey to each its own.”

“ Yes, they were always like this and I’m glad somebody finds them cool.”, Mochi says, directing his comment to Sanzu. You laughed before turning your attention to the last man who was eyeing you nonstop. He was very gorgeous to look at. The scar made up his beauty too.

“ Akashi Takeomi, baby. Just call me Takeomi or whatever nickname you have. Doesn’t matter.”, Takeomi says, smirking at you. You nodded your head before turning back to the leader, “ Why am I here? We got through introductions, now please tell me why you took me away from my celebration.”

“ I thought we should celebrate and make a toast for you, only you. The woman who single handedly made Bonten entertainments the top studio ever. So why not celebrate with you in private. We want to thank you, babe.”, Ran says before popping a bottle of champagne and pouring it in your glass and his before bringing it to you.

“ Why not celebrate with me downstairs, why do it in private?”, You asked, making them smile wider as you took a sip of the champagne.

“ Because then we can’t fully celebrate with you, y/n. May I be the first to show you why this is private?”, Koko says, getting up and walking to you. You were hesitant to nod but again you let your intrusive thoughts win, so you nodded your head. Koko smirked before taking your hand to walk somewhere where everyone can see your face and body.

He then sat you on the desk before dropping down in front of you. Your hands grabbed his, “ Wa-” Koko smiled up at you as he spoke, “ Rin, give her the papers and we already got your papers, you’re clean as a prestigious doll.”

Rin walked over to give you the papers as your attire was slowly being taken off, he was determined to leave your rhinestone thigh-high stockings on and that’s exactly what he’s going to do. You ready over their papers as you were now left in your bra, panties, stockings, and heels. The perfect combo in their eyes.

Man was your body so rubenesque and just overall gorgeous. Your tits were up to their standards, maybe even exceed them. Your stomach was round and bunched up in little rolls as you sat on the desk and gosh your thighs, they were so thick with cellulite shown beautifully. You were an art piece in their eyes. Especially Mikey and Koko’s eyes.

You read through all of their papers before removing them from your face and seeing all of them staring intensely at you, “ How do I know this is real?”

Mikey smirked because not only were you gorgeous, you were smart too, “ Look at the signature of the doctor and the hospital, but before that would you like us to call our doctor for you.”

You noticed the tone he used and it actually made you feel like he’s telling the truth, you heard a phone connecting to someone before you could even speak, “ Wa-”

“ Hello Sylvia, what’s the result of our test again? Tell the honest truth.”, Sanzu says while smirking at you.

The doctor huffed before speaking to the speaker, “ Sanzu, the test is final and those results you got are real, I’m not saying every last one of your test results again because they’re right there. Now please let me get some sleep.”

Before Sanzu could even say anything their doctor hung up on them, “ You believe us now.”

You smirked before nodding your head, “ Yeah, but you do know this could all be solved by using condoms right?”

“ Yeah, we just wanna be able to feel and connect with you while being inside of that sweet pussy.”, Mochi says while Koko spread your legs and hooked one leg on his shoulder.

Koko breathed in your pussy as he licked his lips in hunger, “ Fuck.” Koko swiped a long tongue over your panties making you grip the desk you were on. The lights suddenly turned off and then led lights were shown all around the room.

You had no idea who did it but the color of the led lights was so pretty to you. It was white and illuminated against your skin.

You heard a slow 90s song come on but got distracted when Koko took your panties off with his teeth. He slowly pulled it down your thighs and legs before slipping them completely off. Koko kissed and nibbled on your right leg while massaging your left leg. He wanted to show appreciation for you as the songs you showed him played in the back.

You and Koko kept eye contact as he kissed up your thighs now until you felt a kiss trail down the side of your face and into your neck. You couldn’t see the person's face but you knew it was Kakucho because of the color of his hair, “ mmm.”

“ You like when Koko kisses up and down your legs? Hmm, I bet you do. Today is about your pleasure and we want you to feel satisfied. We are the puppets for you today and we’re gonna do as much as you want us to do with your full consent cupcake, it’s your choice. The strings are in your hands so move them however you want.”, Kakucho finishes before sucking on your ear and then moving down to suck on your neck.

You couldn’t even fully give your choice because Koko started sucking on your clit piercing with no mercy at the same time Kakucho sucked on your neck. You were sensitive when it came to this piercing and I guess he knew that but the question is how he knew that, “ Mmm fuck, this feels so good and we haven’t even s-started yet, oooh.”

Koko smiled into your pussy while he was now licking on your labia like a covetous vampire ready to drain your pussy out of juice instead of blood. He then slowly flicked his tongue up and down your pussy before spitting the mixture of your juices and his spit on your pussy. You couldn’t help but to take a handful of his alabaster hair.

You didn’t even notice the cold air hitting your nipples until you felt them erect. Rindou slipped your bra off without you noticing and you could honestly say you were impressed. He’s sneaky.

You then felt two lips wrapping around your nipples in hunger too. They were making love to them just as Kakucho and Koko were making love to your neck and pussy.

The sweet and metallic taste of your nipples for both of the brothers to want to make love to your boobs and boobs only. The nipple rings highlighted the taste of your nipples and they couldn’t get enough as they flicked their tongues over your tits either at a slow or fast pace, depending on the brother. Rindou was a fast one and ran was a slow one. Man were you ready for this ride.

A new song came on in the background as Koko began sticking his tongue in and out your hole while ran and rin was sucking and licking around your boobs, even on top of the surface of your boobs, that’s how addicting they were.

The song that played in the background was a song you haven’t heard in a long time as you gripped the desk for support when Koko performed zig zags across your puffy pussy with his long thick tongue. Your head was thrown back when Koko did that plus the sensations of Ran biting your nipple, “ Oooh fuck, please, I don’t think I can take all of thissss.”

The men chuckled around you as they heard your little whine, oh they were gonna have so much fun being your puppets instead of being the puppet masters.

“ Oh, baby, your pussy tastes so nectarous. Your little hair at the root makes up for the way it looks too, titillating really.”, Koko said as he licked around the inner part of your thighs before trading places with Kakucho, who now stood in between your legs.

He looked down at you with congenital eyes that made you feel like you two were the only ones in the room with Jodeci playing in the background as the white led lights started to change due to the beat/rhythm of the music, “ You’re fucking beautiful, Angel. So fucking beautiful.”

Kakucho started to slowly undress himself as you two engulfed yourselves into a sloppy but deliberate pace. Your arms wrapped around him as he rubbed up and down your body. He had no problems tracing your body rolls and lumps as he bit your bottom lip. It felt plump and smooth inside of his mouth.

You suddenly felt your hands be placed upon two cocks, one in each hand. You couldn’t see who it was since Kakucho was devouring your lips

Your fat fingers wrapped around their hard cocks as they wrapped one of their hands on top of yours, helping you pump them, “ Fuck! Your hands are so fucking pretty and I love them wrapped around my dick baby.”

Rindou was the one talking before Ran hummed in agreement, “ He’s right you know, now hold your hands open for us, princess.”

By that time Kakucho added one finger inside of your hole warming you up for his cock even if Koko just ate you out, “ Shit your clamping down on my finger, fuck were any of the men you were with fucking you right, shit.”

You moaned while doing as Ran before feeling Kakucho add another finger and ran and Rindou spit on your hands. After that, they brought them back down to their thick cocks, “ Mmph, Kaku, your f-f-ingers is so hmmm.”

Kakucho smiled when you allowed him to easily enter a third finger before twisting his fingers and curling them up touching your g-spot. You jolted as you cried out at the feeling of his fingers repeatedly hitting your g-spot, “ Please please please.”

Kakucho smiled as he saw your head hit Koko’s chest and your face starting to sudor due to the pleasure and bodies hovered around you. You were loving how careful and slow they were going. They had a lot of patience for you and you were honestly surprised.

Mikey watched as his men infiltrated you and couldn’t wait to have you in his arms. He was going to suck and lick on every part of your body. He was obsessed with you and couldn’t get enough of seeing you in his sight, but right now Kakucho was blocking his sight. He didn’t mind it since he and the others could hear your sweet Melodies contrasting perfectly with the music he grew to know and like since he’s been listening to it due to someone important putting him on songs like these.

Sanzu tapped on the table matching the beat of the song, he was trying to calm his nerves since he wasn’t patient like the rest. He liked to get things done and over with, but he promised Mikey that he was going to behave. He wanted to cherish you like the rest but in the aaaa his own way and pace.

Akashi put out his cigarette a long time ago and started to chew on candy or suck on suckers. This was his 2nd sucker and he had a plan he formulated in his mind. He wanted you to whimper and moan in his ear as he used his special tactics he just formulated in his mind. Mochi was trying to get a peek of you so he can palm himself in his trousers but the Haitanis were in the way, so instead he just imagined himself making you scream and moan like kakucho’s doing but better.

“ The way your nails look wrapped around my cock makes me want to fuck you even more. Holy s-shit! The pink and white illuminates on our cocks so gooddd, Ahh fuck.”, Ran moans into your ear as you twist your hand. Kakucho took his fingers out of you, making you whimper at the loss of contact before feeling his cock spring out and slap his stomach and in between your thighs once it settled.

He was just your type, big but medium size. You always like the ones that would make you scream but also be careful with you. On top of that, he had a slight curve to him. Pretty with no veins, surprisingly.

Kakucho’s red tip rubbed against your pussy in want and need. He moaned as he pushed inside of you and you followed sync.

“ Mmm.”

“ Fuck! Baby!”

The haitanis stopped what they were doing and sat on either side of you watching as Kakucho slowly moved in and out of you.

“ Woah dude, she’s gripping the fuck out of you. Ooh I definitely can’t wait to fuck her.”, Ran says as he moved your hand up and down his dick.

Kakucho grab your stomach as you laid back on Koko’s chest and started to thrust at a steady but fast pace. The table rocked underneath you while Koko played with your nipples. He loved how round they were, they areola was the perfect size for him.

“ Shit! Baby, stop squeezing me so hard, your gripping the shit out of me, so I’m gonna n-need you to Aahh fuck! Please loosen up some, for me baby.”, Kakucho says, wincing and throwing his head back at the feeling of your walls clamping down on his cock.

The haitanis laughed at his facial expressions before they realized that you are something dangerous. Your moans were fucking ethereal and how your body responds to them is so intriguing and addicting.

Kakucho massaged your stomach while rolling his hips with the beat of the song freek n you in the back. He studied this song for a while, more like loved this song and he couldn’t wait to fuck someone with this or any other song playing in the background.

The sound of clapping made the lights change different colors as he sped up his pace. His thick cock glided along your gummy walls, each time he twisted his hips, he met the g-spot making you scream at the impact of him drilling into your g-spot over and over.

“ Nngh, kaku, you feel so fuck-k-king goodddd, please fuck me harder.”, You moaned. Kaku smirked before grabbing your stomach with his right hand and your right thigh with his left hand, “ you like when I fuck you like this baby doll? You like feeling me fuck your g-spot over and over. Maybe if I push a little bit more, I’ll enter the oooh fuckkk.”

Your eyes widened as your mouth parted and your head bounced back on Koko’s chest. You felt a wet substance on your tongue as you saw Koko drop a string of saliva in your mouth, “ Swallow that shit up, Angel.”

You swallowed before opening your mouth again while Kakucho watched your stomach and tits bounce in rhythm with his thrust, little pants were escaping from Kakucho and you could feel he’s close due to his dick pulsing inside of you, “ hah, hah, fucking sexy, so fucking sexyyy.”

You were close to and he could feel it. He watched tears form inside your eyes due to the feeling of Kakucho pounding your pussy and the Haitanis and Koko eyes on you, “ Aah, I’m gonna, gonna, you’re gonna have to stop Kakuc-chooo because I can’t hold on anymore more.”

Kakucho held onto your pudgy stomach tighter as he moaned above you, closing in with his forehead against yours, “ Ooh fuck fuck fuck, please lemme cum inside, please, I can’t handle i-it, fuck, give me your word baby.”

You were on birth control pills, so were really about to risk it, the way his eyes were low and his face was red due to the build up of his cum, you couldn’t resist so you let him by signifying him with a nod of your head.

“ Aah, aah, thank you, thank you, thank you baby.”, Kakucho moans while kissing you on the mouth, occasionally breaking the kiss to whimper and pant.

Your body shook when you came on his dick, the momentum of your cum mixed with his was enough to have you filled and indeed you were as Doja Cat streets, the slow version came on, “ Kakcho! M’cummin, M’cummin.”

The other three men couldn’t help but explode on your hands and their own pants . Koko felt a little bad that he exploded in his expensive pants, but he couldn’t help it. The haitanis loved your hands and couldn’t wait to see them covered in their cum. The way you still twist and massaged their cocks while cumming was so special to them because anyone else would have stopped once they came.

Kakucho collapses on you while your bones untighten due to you coming down from your impactful orgasm. Kakucho gained enough strength to lift up on his hands, peering down at your fucked out expression.

Your eyes were low and your lips were puffed up as little cuts begin to form on your lips due to him biting, “ Fuck, you’re so pretty princess, now I’m gonna have to move so the others could get their turn.”

You suddenly felt the sticky hot cum on your hands from the Haitanis’ exploding on your hands and the desk. You moved your hand to your view before taking your fingers in your mouth one by one while looking the brothers in their eyes as they peered down at you. The way your tongue was swirling around your fingers in desperate need of their cum sent them into a frenzy and they practically barked at Koko to hurry up with you.

Koko got up, after gently laying you on the desk, took his pants off and sat them on the chair behind the desk. He took off his blazer before unbuttoning his cufflinks on his shirt and slowly taking it off with the bridge of streets playing in the back.

He threw the shirt on the floor before bending to look for something in the desk. When he pulled out what he was searching for, your eyes got wider and the cum that Kakucho planted inside of you leaked out via your pussy clenching and unclenching the air. Manjirou loved the way your pussy looked, hell everyone in the eye view of your pussy loved how puffy and stuffed it looked. Your pussy was already fat but it looks like it got puffier, due to the beating it just took from Kakucho, who was now sitting at the table with the men with a tired expression.

“ Gotta say Angel, your pussy sucked Kakucho dry and now he’s tired all thanks to you, you little vixen. Now, I wanna see if you can handle this, can you?”, Koko says, blocking the view from everyone while holding up a light up butt plug with chained handcuffs hooked on the sides.

You gulped before nodding your head, “ We’ll never know unless we tried right besides what’s the worst that can happen, I’ve had dicks inside of my eyes Koko, I can take a butt plug.”

Ran smirked at you because he knew you wouldn’t be able to handle what the butt plug does. Koko saved this just for you. He even said that's why Ran and Rindou smirked at you.

Koko chuckled before grabbing lube off the table and squirting some of it in his hands, “ I’m about to fuck you up, hope you’re ready Angel.”

Koko applies lube to the butt plug before doing the same to your hole. At the impact of his touch, your hole tightens and untightens. Koko smirked before leaning in to kiss you on the mouth while moving the butt plug adagio inside your tight hole making you whimper into the kiss. He then lifted your legs up with his hands on the back of your thick thighs before hooking your hands, one by one inside the handcuffs so now your stomach showed your rolls perfectly due to your knees being to your tits while your feet dangled in the air.

Ran gasp when your pussy was visible to them a lot better, only became more visible to the men behind Koko when he moved. You felt eyes on your pussy and ass and it was too much to handle, “ Fuck, she’s so pretty.”

You didn’t know if they were talking about you or your pussy, either way it’s a compliment and Koko thought you should give your thanks so he landed a hard smack against your pussy making you scream as your head lifted off the table to meet his eyes, “ Ahhh”.

“ What the fuck do you say when someone compliments you Angel? Hmm.”, He asked as he slapped your pussy again, making you throw your head back with a muffled moan due to you biting your lip.

You raised your head to Mochi and said, “ Thank youuu.”

Koko smirked as he heard Mochi let out a deep grunt, he knew Mochi couldn’t wait any longer, and neither could he. Koko moved back in front of you before taking his cock from his briefs. He rubbed the tip on the opening slit of your pussy before teasingly pushing in and out of you making you whimper at the contact, “ Ko, please!”

“ You better not take your hands from under your thighs because if you do, I’m gonna fucking stop and then you’re gonna be left dry like the little vixen you are. Uumph, fuck, everytime I push inside you, your pussy swallow me up like a Venus fly trap!”

With that, Koko bullied himself inside of you before pulling you up with all his strength and walking to a wall, placing your back on it, “ You feel so good cockwamring me right now, but can you take more of me, I’m only halfway in y/n”.

You put your face inside of his neck when he pushed deeper inside of you basking in the way you take his long dick. He wasn’t thick but the length made up for it.

Koko hissed at you, tightening around him as he began to move in and out of you while you threw your head back matching his whimper and moans.

Die for you, slow down version was now playing in the background as Koko fucked into you like he never wanted to let you go. He’s been wanting to make you his since that day in which you two watched the moons together. It was his favorite thing to do with you.

You couldn’t hold your thighs up any longer since he was moving faster. He grinded his hips to yours in a circular motion while groaning in your ear, “ Aahh, you’re gonna make me cum pretty girl, it’ll be too soon but it’ll be worth it, right boss?”

Mikey hummed before speaking while looking directly at you, “ Yeah, but make sure she cums first.”

“ Of course boss, does that feel good pretty?”, Koko asks as he was now digging inside of your stomach, kissing your cervix every time he moved his hips inside. Your hands were slipping from your thighs because it felt too good, “ Mmmm, Ko, I don’t think I can hold them any longer, please it’s too much.”

Koko smiled before taking your lip in between his teeth before fully kissing you on the lips while using his hand to play with your clit which gives your piercing the vibration it needs. Suddenly you felt vibration in your ass making you cry out as your head was thrown back, “ Fuck Koko, who the f-fuck nvm it feels so amazinggg!”

Sanzu smirked as he turned up the vibrations while Koko fastened his pace. Koko smiled while biting your lip before letting go and focusing back on holding you up. You may be a bit heavy but he didn’t care because he was inside of you. Being inside of you was like making a pottery physique, fun and relaxing, almost like he knew what he was doing, and he did because the way your mouth was parted with silent screams and how your body shook underneath him gave it up.

“ Look at me when you cum, daddy wants to see how pretty you look when you cum, daddy is already getting a taste of how you feel when you cum because of your pussy choking my cock like it owe your pussy money, Mmmph shit, just like that.”, Koko encouraged you as he slowed his pace but his dick was still hitting all the right spots.

Your body felt like it was lifting when you came around his cock, your little moans and squeals were gonna be the death of Koko and he wouldn’t mind it because soon after you released himself inside of you. Your pussy was now creampied and it felt so good.

Koko was babbling as he came inside of you, “ come on baby, just like that. You’re mak-king me cum, fuck fuck fuck, oh baby you looked so pretty cumming on my cock! I love you, I love you so much, never forget that.”

With one last final touch, he kissed you passionately and slowly, taking in the taste of your saliva with want and need. You couldn’t help but melt at his words and the way he carried you back to the desk while kissing you nonstop.

You two pull away after one last forehead kiss and the whisper of “ I love you too” coming from you , making Koko smile. The vibrator butt plug in your ass was pulled out by ran while Rindou took off your handcuffs, “ You ready to take both of us?”

Ran couldn’t wait any longer as he was now stripped down to nothing, just naked down to his underwear like the rest of the men. He grabbed you and walked you to the couch on the side of the wall opposite of where Koko fucked you before.

He suddenly laid down on the couch and smiled up at you, “ Come sit on my dick.” You honestly wanted to suck some dick because your mouth is watery and needs to be wrapped around something but you still did what he said. You held his heavy cock in your hands before climbing on top of him. You slowly sat down on him with Kakucho’s, Koko’s, and your cum leaking onto his dick making him moan loudly. This made Sanzu howl in laughter because he thought he was moaning like a bitch. He was loud over the music too.

Your lip was going to break off from the feeling of you biting it to suppress your screams, “ Damn, you’re too big, fuck, come on Rindou or you’re holding out on me!”

Rindou smiled before grabbing your neck, making your head tilt back onto his chest, “ prepare yourself baby doll.”

Kakucho couldn’t get enough of you but he had to let the others get a chance so he stroked his dick while looking at your facial expressions from Rindou sliding his cock inside of you. He was glad y’all were facing the table where everyone sat. Since the couch was a little in front of the table but still on the wall.

Koko couldn’t help it too, meanwhile Mochi and Takeomi were making their way to you three blocking the others' view.

Rindou pushed inside of your ass slowly, burying himself until his dick was all inside of it. Hips to ass. He loved every second of you wrapped tightly around his dick while Ran loved the way your pussy flutter in and out at the feeling of his dick inside you too.

They both moan at the feeling of your walls and ass around them while you whimper at them filling your holes up.

Rindou tapped your cheek to make you open your mouth to spit inside of your mouth. The spit wasn’t a glob, it was more like a strand going into your mouth and you loved it.

“ You’re doing so good, bunny, so good for us.”, Rindou moans once he sees you swallow his spit while letting him and his brother move inside of you without you running.

Ran slapped your pierced tits before speeding up the pace. His balls slapped against your ass whenever Rindou moved out of you and Rindou did the same to your pussy whenever he moved out of it. They were matching each other's paces.

“ Mhmm mhmm, yes keep fucking me like this. You both are going sooo deep, ugh!”, You moan as you reach to rub your clit. Two dicks at once was what you rarely do in the porn business because no one ever makes you feel this damn good.

“ rub that pussy for us like the good girl you are, fuck you look so hot, rindou let her go so she can wrap those pretty lips around my dick.”, Mochi says as he moves his underwear down his legs making his thick cock slap against his stomach. You heard it and couldn’t help but to hold eye contact with him as Rindou let him go. Rindou took a hold of your plush round ass between his pretty fingers as your ass bounced against him. He was mesmerized, Ran was mesmerized at how pretty your tits were in his face.

“ Shit baby! I love this fucking ass, how’s her pussy Ran?”, Rindou asked as he watched you wrap your free hand around Takeomi’s dick before taking Mochi’s tip inside of your mouth slowly swirling your tongue around his tip. Rindou saw how you made Mochi body stagger as you swirl your tongue around his tip and honestly knew now why you were called that legendary name.

“ s-she’s fucking milking my dick, She’s gonna make me cum and I don’t know if I can, Mmph, handle that.”, Ran says as he shuts out his moans as he takes your nipple ring into his mouth to help his oral fixation.

You, on the other hand, was holding eye contact with Mochi, occasionally switching your eyes to the scarred man named Takeomi. They both were handsome to you, may be a bit older and funny looking but they were still handsome. The honeyness in your eyes intrigued both of them as they looked into them, holding eye contact, well tried to since your tongue and the way your hand was moving was distracting them.

“ goddammit, You’re fucking mouth feels so good on my dick, make me cum down your throat baby, come on, you can do it!”, Mochi encouraged in a low sultry voice as you moved your mouth down his dick, taking him completely into your mouth while your eyes roll to the back of your head due to Ran and Rin fucking you at different paces. Ran was fucking into your soaking pussy fast while rindou was moving at a medium pace.

Your gargled moans were music to their ears even if Earned it by the weekend played in the background. Ran eyes rolled to the back of his head as you clenched around him while rindou performed little pants into your back as he leaned on you as he fucked inside of your tight little ass.

They both were about to cum. You were about to cum too because of the feeling of getting your jaw stretched and your throat fucked by Mochi, who was holding your head still as he moved in and out of your mouth at a rapid pace. His pace matched your hand moving up and down Takeomi’s dick making him throw his head back in bliss.

Takeomi tried to remove his cock from your hands as the sound of your throat being fucked without a gag reflex was just so fucking good, good enough for him to cum. He didn’t want to cum on your face but the way you held onto his dick making it known you weren’t letting him go made him cum directly on your cheek.

“ Oh God! She looks so fucking perfect. Fucking art man. I'm cumming y/n! I’m fucking cumming down this tight little fuck hole.”, Mochi announced as he held your head in place while his base hit your nose. You happily took his cum down your throat and was about to get up when he held you there. You took all of his cum before pulling away with saliva disconnecting between his dick and your mouth. You laughed before kissing his and Takeomi’s dick.

You were playing with his cum in your mouth before feeling rindou grab your stomach from behind and Ran grab your tits, harshly, as they came inside of your ass and pussy. All three of your orgasms were after one another.

“ Aaahhh bunny, shit!”. Rindou moans while he throws his head back. His hair was so wet due to the sweat building up. He felt on top of the fucking world while cumming inside your sweet juicy ass.

Ran groaned while babbling anything that comes to mind. You were fucking him dumb and he was in love with you.

Your moans were angelic but slutty to these men. These are your real moans, only Makoto and Takuya manage to pull them from you when you were on set, so to finally be able to hear your sweet moans, it was their dream. God, were these hardcore yakuza gangsters fans of you.

Rindou pulled out of you as he peppered your back with little kisses as a sign of gratitude. Ran was next to move out of you as he kissed you on your neck, mumbling a quick thank you baby.

You were now laid on the couch alone as the men sat back down at the table. You were tired and needed rest, so Manjirou and Sanzu gave you that rest, only for two minutes though.

“ she fucked you that dumb? Now, I definitely can’t wait to get her, let's see if she could have me like you two, if not then that just means you two can’t handle pussy or ass. Expected.”, Sanzu says to the Haitanis’ making them roll their eyes or huff in annoyance.

Mikey ignored Sanzu picking at them while making his way over to you. He held a cold water bottle to your lips, “ Here, drink up, you’re gonna need it when Sanzu fucks you. He wanted to go solo and as his reward for getting his job done this week, I decided to let him go solo. In the end, I get a win too because I get to have you all to myself while they watch.”

Saznu took the water bottle from you before taking your hand and walking you to the long table slowly. He nodded his head to the table and you got your ass up there without letting negative thoughts about your weight on the table slip into your mind. Sanzu got on after you, making everyone question what he’s doing in their mind.

Sanzu smirked before turning you to face the door of the room, where most of the men sat. He got in between your legs, “ Put your legs right here Doll” as he pointed to his lap. You did as he said while looking at his face in confusion. His smirk only got wider when he saw your confusion, “ Now lean back, I got you, Doll.” You grabbed the hand he held out and leaned back to see Mikey staring down at you with light swirling in his dark eyes. You were scared because how did you manage to see light in his eyes, but when he looked at the others it went away.

“ This is called the moonlight position.”, Saznu says as he slides inside of you taking in the way you automatically clamped onto his dick. He wanted you to get used to his size, so he went slow, for now. The rolling of his cock felt so good inside of you as your walls retracted to the feeling of him inside of your pussy. You were feeling good throughout this entire fiasco but this was something different. It’s like he’s making love to you and your body or maybe it’s just this position.

Sanzu bit his lip as he watched your titties bounce with his thrusts, “ Augh! Shit. You wanna know something, this position is known for being passion deprived with most people. The way your body is reacting to my thrust and tender touches on your stomach, I would say you feel it. You're even more beautiful up close.”

Your head was thrown back at the feeling of him inside of you and the feeling of his rouch, calloused hand tracing the stretch marks on your stomach. The sounds of your wetness colliding with his dick is sending the men into a frenzy and they couldn’t even see you. All they saw was Saznu’s back. Mikey and Sanzu had the most beautiful view.

“ That’s it doll, take my cock. You wanna be filled with my babies don’t you. You would look so pretty with a baby in this stomach. I’ll even paint the stretch marks on your belly when you are carrying my child, would you like that? Hmm. Fucking bitch! You’re making me feel so good, I never felt like this before. It excites me, doesn’t it excite you boss?”, Sanzu asks as he fastens his pace.

Your eyes were tearing up as you listened to his words and from the impact of his dick kissing the opening of your cervix. Mikey chuckled before grabbing your neck while you looked at him upside down due to the position, “ Yes, yes it does.”

Saznu leaned down and engulfed you in a kiss before cumming inside of you with deep grunts and moans while you came at the same time with your mouth opened in silent moans. He stuck his tongue inside of your mouth while it was wide open making you cum even harder. Your body gave out after the third shake.

“ Did she die?! Sanzu, I’m gonna kill y-”, Koko says before Mikey holds up a hand, shaking his head to confirm you’re alive.

Saznu chuckled as he panted uncontrollably via you milking his cock inside of your tight fat pussy, “ I guess you do make men weak, Femme Fatale.”

You smiled as Mikey pulled your arm to get you off the table and into his lap, making Sanzu whine a little at the loss of contact. Mikey couldn’t care less about how he feels. He wanted you too, “ You’re into foodplay, Angel face?”

“ Haven’t really tried, why?”, You asked, knowing the answer, but you wanted to hear him say it as you got up to turn around to face him because of the eyes of the others staring into your soul. Mikey performed a little smirk at you and grabbed some chocolate syrup, Strawberries, and whip cream with the last product, which was a lollipop from the black bag beside him. When the fuck did he get that and why is it so cold? Meaning he just got this out of the fridge.

Mikey held out his hand, “ Take my hand, Y/n.” You took his hand into yours. Both of your hands are folding into one another as your fingers are on each other's palms. Mikey with a nod of his head inserted himself inside of your ass slowly, which caused you to lean forward, putting your tits on his naked chest: Skin to Skin contact.

“ I need you to lean back for me, Angel face.”, Mikey says as he watches you oblige to his command. Once you leaned back, he grabbed the chocolate syrup and poured it on your body before grabbing the whip cream and spraying it on your nipples. You hissed at the impact from the coldness of the cream and syrup until he started moving inside of you again, “ holy shit, You were made for this shit. You’re a fucking natural.”

“ nngh, Mikey, I’m starting to become sticky.”, You moaned as you looked at him deep inside his eyes. Mikey couldn’t say anything because the way your ass was closing and gapping around his dick was enchanting. His cock pulsed inside of you as you lifted yourself up and down his cock, taking him in your ass perfectly. Mikey licked the syrup off your body rolls and stomach before licking and sucking on your tits as you slammed your ass on his dick.

He didn’t and couldn’t hold his moans because of the sweet taste in his mouth and the sweet feeling around his dick. He was absolutely star struck when you reached a hand behind you and started to stroke his cock while moving faster on his cock.

“ Fucking slut, you fucking slut, how dare you make me feel like this? You made me feel like this just for you to leave like everyone else is that it? Ohh shit!”, Mikey babbled as you continued to fuck him while allowing him to swallow and savor the taste of your tits with whipcream on them. You shook your head no but he still kept going with his little rant as he fucked you back, allowing you to remove your hand, “ I’m tired of being left alone y/n, so don’t you dare think about leaving us after this. Youre stuck with, ugh fuck!, us , You better fucking listen too.”

You were about to respond when he suddenly held your hips and started to dig inside of your ass while adding three fingers inside of your pussy, causing you to scream with your mouth wide open. Mikey held up the sucker and pointed to his mouth. You took that as a sign to put it in his mouth while he fucked into you with no mercy. His hands were full and his mouth was about to be too when you’re done with him.

You moved the sucker in and out of his mouth with low rise eyes watching him like a hawk, “ Aww, poor Mikey, so vulnerable and judgemental. Yeah, keep fucking me like that and I’ll have no choice but to stayyyy, fuck, im almost there Manji.” and you were, the way his thick finger curled up into your pussy should be a sin because oh wow did it leave you in tears as you moved the sucker in and out of his mouth faster.

Mikey’s spit dripped down on his chest and the lower part of your stomach with loud sucking sounds being heard around the room. The other men couldn’t tell if you were the one sucking the sucker or was Mikey the one. They way your ass was clapping against Mikey’s upper thighs made them want to fuck you again.

“ Come on, Angel Face, Cum on my fingers. I know you love the way that my fingers feel inside of your pussy darlin, It’s such a beautiful pussy too. All ours to share from now on. Say you’re ours y/n!”, Mikey says in a velvet voice filled with seduction. Your legs started to shake as your boys tighten along with the walls of your ass around his dick and pussy around his fingers, “ Mikeyyy, fuck yes. Yes! Yes! Hnngh, m’cummin, m’cummin. You squirted on his stomach and his hand while he came inside of your asshole filling it up even more.

“ You’re fucking squ- augh shit, yes angel!”, Mikey moans as his body shakes underneath you. The sucker landed in between you two as you held onto his neck tightly and he held onto your ass and back tightly. You two stayed like that as the other still wanted you to say what they wanted to hear. Mikey held onto you like he never wanted to let go as wanna be yours by arctic monkeys played after Woman by Doja Cat.

Mikey stared at you as you hear Takeomi ask a question which got Rindou to let out a loud huff, “ Hey, dick Cheese, you forgot to turn the fucking camera on.”

“ So how was it, Angel? You liked the little role play we had going on?”, Mikey says as Rindou and Sanzu argue.

You smiled before kissing him on the lips, “ Did I do good, I think I did.”

Mikey smiled before nodding, allowing you to lay your head on his shoulder, he didn’t care about the weight of you on his legs, he just wanted to hold his girl. Their girl.

Bonus:

Mochi and Takeomi were moving in and out of you as you laid against Mochi's chest while staring deeply into Takeomi’s eyes.

The pants and groans heard around the private room once the other men left was pure greatness for the two men. They were always the first or last ones to fuck you.

One thing they were consistent with was aftercare with you.

“ Awh, Come on little fox, you can take the rose toy, can’t you?”, Takeomi whispers to you while sweat drips down his forehead. Drool was slipping out of your mouth as soon as you felt the tongue of the rose toy moving on your pierced clit.

They laughed at your fucked out expressions, your eyes were rolled to the back of your head as your head tilted back due to the overwhelming good feeling of your pussy and ass taking both of their cocks at once.

“ Hughhh fuck, this ass is so fucking tight, I’m about to cum deep in this ass. My favorite thing to do too.”, Mochi moans aggressively in your ear making you clench around Takeomi’s cock.

Takeomi hissed before throwing his head back while grabbing your hair to pull your forehead against his while Mochi bit your back.

They both moaned out your name loudly as they came. Snapping their hips with their final thrusts inside of you. Takeomi had his mouth open with a pretty but horrid expression on his face as he came and you couldn’t see mochi’s but you knew it must’ve been similar. They missed you so much.

All three of you came with you squirting on Takeomi’s lower stomach as the result of the powerful orgasm you had with the men you were in love with. You were in love with all of them and they showed they loved you everyday with physical touch, while including the other love languages.

You knew who they were all along and they loved you for knowing who they are and keeping it a secret.

ᰔᩚ ━━ Tagging: whoever want to be tagged, idc anymore.

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ ｔｏ ｌｏｖｅ ａ ｂｏｙ ♡

♡ Pairing: boyfriend!joshua hong x chubby!fem!reader, best friend!hoshi, best friend!dk

♡ Genre: fluff/angst/smut

♡ Summary: Over the past year of being with your boyfriend you've grown close with his dearest friends. Something that he's always seemed happy about. That is until one night when he wakes up to find you hanging with two of his best friends when you should be lying in bed next to him. Joshua can't really be jealous over something so small, so absolutely innocent...right?

♡ Word Count: 3.2k-ish

♡ Warnings: jealousy/relationship insecurities, penetrative sex, fingering, overstimulation, creampie, a lil nipple play, possessiveness, pet names (baby), light dom/sub/switch dynamics if you squint, some thigh/ass slapping, fluffy love, & that's it, babes.

♡ A/N: This one is a request I got a little bit ago and I'm so happy to have finally finished it. I don't tend to get SVT x chubby reader fic requests so it was really nice to get one. Thank you to the sweetie of an anon who sent this in and was so patient with me getting this out. I hope you enjoy this my beautiful carat babes 💜

“DK, would you sit still? You’re gonna mess me up” you giggle, doing your best to apply false lashes to DK without poking one of his eyes out.

Seated on the edge of his bed, DK continues to do the exact opposite of what you’re begging him not to. “I am sitting still” he insists, flinching any time the lash even comes close to his eyelid. 

Over your shoulder a half awake Hoshi has a hand clasped over his mouth to quiet the laughter that has him turning red. Finally you get the lashes on, despite DK’s squirming, and you step back to admire your work.

DK bats his lashes, feeling prettier than any runway model, “Am I gorgeous or what?”

Hoshi collapses into laughter, his head falling on your shoulder as he wheezes, “This was the best idea ever. You look insane.”

“You shut up!” DK scolds, reaching for a pillow to no doubt knock the life out of Hoshi with. 

You stop him just in time, grabbing the pillow and holding it tight to you like a prized plushie. “Ignore him” you say, delicate fingers tilting his cheek, “I happen to think you look beautiful.” And you aren’t lying to him. You hate to toot your own horn but you’re pretty good with a brush and the makeup you’ve done on him suits him well. Subtle lipstick, flawless wingtip liner, and the slightest bit of blush to brighten up his face. 

Proud as you may be of the outcome, none of this was your idea to begin with. This all started when you found yourself tossing and turning at 2 in the morning. You’d tried every trick in the book to fall asleep but your restless mind wouldn’t let you. Not wanting to interrupt the boyfriend snoozing peacefully beside you, you wandered out into the kitchen in search of snacks. 

You navigated the halls quietly, not wanting to wake the rest of the house, only to stumble upon DK and Hoshi already in the kitchen. It turns out you weren’t the only one struggling to get to sleep tonight. Figuring there was no use climbing back in bed to suffer alone, the three of you made your way back to DK’s room, snacks in hand, and decided to play a late night game of Truth or Dare. And for poor DK this is how things ended up. Well, maybe not so poor DK. He seems to be as amused with it as you and Hoshi are. When people talk about “core memories” that’ll stick with you forever this will definitely be one for you. 

It was intimidating when you and Joshua first started dating. Naturally you want your boyfriend’s best friends to like you but “best friends” usually consists of 5 people at best. Not 12 unhinged men with a lifelong bond that makes them protect each other more like brothers than friends. You still remember the first time that you met them. Every week the boys gather at their favorite restaurant for dinner to catch up on things. It’s usually reserved strictly for them but Joshua decided to invite you this time around, insisting that the guys would love you. You spent every day leading up to that dinner worried out of your mind. Standing here now with DK and Hoshi you can’t imagine how you were ever nervous about meeting them. They’re so sweet. So harmless. 

“What are you doing?” Joshua asks, drawing your attention to the doorway where he stands, arms folded across his chest. Joshua’s always so soft spoken, it’s one of the many things you find so charming about him. Not once in your relationship have you heard him raise his voice so the added bass in his question makes you short circuit. 

“I…I couldn’t sleep” you stutter, smiling nervously, “So we were playing Truth or Dare and…”

DK smiles at Joshua, trying to maintain the upbeat mood, “I chose ‘dare’.”

Joshua responds with a frown, charging over and snatching you away from Hoshi. “You’re a little too close don’t you think?”

“We were just hanging out,” Hoshi says, his joy deflated by his best friend’s anger. It’s an anger he isn’t used to. An anger none of you are used to. The only person who seems to know where it’s coming from is Joshua and even he’s a bit thrown off by how strongly he feels. 

“Right, well, she’s done hanging out now” Joshua says, turning to DK, “And I’d appreciate you not having my girlfriend in your bedroom in the middle of the night anymore.”

“Shua!” you gasp at the insinuation of his words but there’s no time for you to protest, he’s already locking his fingers with yours, dragging you out into the hallway. 

The short trip back to his bedroom is plagued by a tense silence that only breaks when you’re behind closed doors. “Don’t do that again” Joshua forbids, his back resting against the door. 

“Don’t do what? You heard Hoshi. We were just hanging out."

“Well I don’t want you hanging out with them. Every time I turn around you’re with Vernon or Seungcheol or Hoshi. I can’t even sleep without one of them stealing…” Joshua pauses, choking on that last word. Stealing. He doesn’t mean that. Actually, he does. He only wishes that he didn’t.

“Tell me you don’t seriously think I’d cheat on you, Shua” you laugh as if it’s the silliest thing in the world because it is. You await his answer, anything to tell you that he’s joking, but you’re left with a silence that cements for you that he isn’t. “You know what, if that’s how you feel then maybe I should go.”

Too angry to even look at him, you grab your backpack from a nearby chair and begin to gather your things. It’s the middle of the night and he’s the one who drove you here but you’d rather walk home than sit around and be accused of something like this. You’d think that after a year of being together, after all you’ve gone through, he’d know how much you loved him. But clearly you thought wrong and the truth of that hurts.

Joshua can see it painted all over you and hurting you is the last thing he ever wants to do. “Please, just stop for a minute” he begs, taking your phone from your hand the second you pick it up. 

You snatch it back, ready to get out of here before someone else wakes up and he accuses you of trying to sleep with them too. “I don’t wanna hear anything else you have to say.” 

You maneuver around him to grab your hoodie from the bed when he swoops in behind you, locking his arms around your waist. He flops down on the edge of the bed, his feet firmly planted on the ground, refusing to let you go. You fight to twist your body free, fueling yourself with every bit of anger you feel towards him right now, but it isn’t enough. 

“Let me go” you demand but it only makes him hold you tighter.  

“Only if you let me say something. One thing and then I’ll let you go” he promises, “I’ll even let you take my car.”

It’s your instinct to be petty. Why should you let him get a word in when he’s said enough already? But that walk home is pretty long and you don’t really feel like hopping in a stranger's Uber this late at night.

“Fine” you huff, “Say what you have to say and then give me the keys.” 

“Look, I know you’d never cheat on me, it’s just…”

“Just what?”

“I’m jealous!” he admits, feeling equal parts embarrassed and relieved at his confession. “Minghao’s all zen and chill, Woozi’s this super cool producer, DK’s funny as fuck, Mingyu’s buff, and Vernon’s got that whole mysterious thing going on. Everyone has this thing to impress you with and what do I have? I’m afraid that the more time you spend with them the less I’ll be able to keep up. I don’t want you to get bored with me.”

You want to stay mad at him, you deserve to be for the way he acted, but it breaks your heart to know he feels this way. You can’t help but soften at the sadness in those brown eyes usually alight with so much happiness. Letting your backpack fall to the floor, you’re able to turn just enough to face him. You place a hand on each of his cheeks, trying not to lose it at the cute pouty face he’s making.

“I adore you but you’re being insane right now. I could never get bored with you, Shua. I don’t give a shit about how buff or funny or mysterious some other guy is. None of them are you and you are the only man I want in this whole world. Can you trust that?”

Joshua’s almost ashamed at how easily his insecurities are soothed by your words. For weeks he’s been holding onto these feelings, wishing he knew how to make them go away, and all along what he needed was your validation—to simply hear you swear to him that he’s enough.

“I can if you can forgive me for being an asshole” he says, easing his grip on you, now at least somewhat confident that you won’t run away. 

“Mmm, I don’t know” you sigh, chewing at your lower lip in contemplation, “I feel like I wasn’t mad at you long enough.” 

Joshua laughs, kissing you under your chin so lightly that it tickles, “Fine, stay mad at me a little longer then. I’ll just be here trying to make it up to you. Tell me when you’re done, okay?”

Parting his lips, he drags them down the softness of your chin, trailing sweet, open mouthed kisses down your neck. He rests his palms at the center of your back, smoothing them down and around to rest at your plush hips. He massages them, rocking you in his lap just enough to grind up against you. The barrier of his sweatpants and your shorts do little to stop the friction from sending a tingling sensation to your core.

You swallow hard, feeling your body flush with heat. You try your hardest to resist him, to pretend that some part of you is still upset, but how can you possibly hold that look of annoyance when he’s pushing your t-shirt up, his fingertips gently tracing the contours of your curves. “For the record, I am sorry” he says, tugging your shirt up over your head.

By the time the fabric comes to rest on the floor his lips are already skimming your breasts, his tongue teasing your sensitive buds through the lace of your bra. A hand ventures behind your back and the clasp of your bra snaps free, the straps dropping from your shoulders. You let out a gasp bordering on a moan and his lips curve into a smile at the sound of it. He’s enjoying this just as much as you are. Maybe even a little more.

Tossing your bra aside, he captures one of your pillowy breasts in his mouth, suckling at the bud as his tongue makes perfect figure eights around it. The pleasure it sends rushing through you has you tangling your fingers in the soft strands of his dark brown hair, your body arching with every flick of his tongue.

Slipping an arm around your waist and tucking a hand behind the band of your shorts, he lifts you up, laying you back on the bed. The second your head hits the pillow you’re biting your lip to choke back moans at his fingers dragging through your slick folds to stimulate your clit. He dips between your legs, using his free hand to tear your panties and shorts off at once. His fingers skate down to your dripping entrance, hovering there a moment to let him admire how wet you are.

Joshua goes all starry eyed at the arousal that leaks from you when his fingers sink into your core. And those sounds you make, those sugary little whimpers, have his cock straining against his sweatpants. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he groans, his gaze dancing back up to take in those gorgeous faces you make, “And you’re all mine, aren’t you?” 

He curls his fingers against the spongy texture of your walls, rotating his wrist at in a motion so heavenly you’re on the verge of drooling. You’re too lost in ecstacy—too busy riding his fingers to speak a word. Joshua grips your belly, pinning you down to the bed, his fingers pounding mercilessly into your needy core.

“I want you to answer me, baby, so everyone can hear you. You’re mine, aren’t you? Hmm?”

“Yes, I’m…I’m yours” you stutter, grabbing for his wrist. The feeling’s too intense, you can hardly keep still. Your heart’s racing in your chest. You want more but you fear you’ll lose your mind if it goes on like this. He’s working your sweet spot like only he knows how and you can already feel yourself coming undone. 

Joshua climbs on top of you, kissing his way up your belly, between your breasts, all the while fucking his fingers into you without missing a beat. His lips ghost yours, parting them to taste the moans that spill out. “Louder” he whispers and adds another finger, making you feel so much fuller than before. 

“I’m yours, Shua! All yours! Nobody else’s! N…nobody’s” you cry out, your moans as melodic as his favorite song.

“That’s my girl. Always so good for me” he coos, stealing your breath with a kiss laced with enough passion that you’d swear you were floating. 

If your lips were free, if your tongue weren’t fiercely tangled with his, you might spill a few broken moans out to let him know how close you are but Joshua doesn’t need your words, your body speaks for itself. The trembling of your jaw. The arching of your back. The way your walls are fluttering around his fingers, clenching tighter each time.

Reaching his thumb up, he presses it to your clit, rubbing it faster and faster until your screams fill his cheeks and your juices gush around his fingers. “Shua, mmm, oh god” you gasp, your fingers knotted in the fabric of his shirt. “I need you.” Tearing his shirt off, you summon what minimal strength you have in your weakening limbs to force him onto his back. You crawl on top of him, straddling his lap, and the room begins to spin. Maybe you made that move a little sooner than you should’ve. 

Joshua giggles at the slight sway in your movements before you collapse onto his chest, looking up at him with glossy eyes. He cups your cheek, brushing away the hair sticking to your flush cheeks. “How’d I get a girl who’s this cute all the time?”

You place your palms flat on his chest, pushing yourself back up just enough to hover over him. “Because you’re this cute all the time” you say, smiling down at the handsome man beneath you, “It’s like we were, I don’t know, made for each other or something.”

Joshua pulls his pants down, careful not to disturb your position. He likes you right where you are. His cock springs free, rubbing against your still sensitive pussy as it comes to rest between your legs, the tip of his cock wet with arousal. “Made for each other” he muses, lifting you up and slowly lowering you down onto his cock, teasing himself with the warmth of your core. “I like that.”

“Me, aah, too” you moan, your nails pressing into the bare skin of his chest enough to leave tiny indents behind.

The fullness from his fingers was one thing but it’s nothing compared to the fullness you experience when his cock’s deep inside of you, stretching you deliciously from all angles. You meant what you said when you called him insane. How could a man who looks this hot with a cock this nice ever think you’d look at someone else for a second? 

Sitting back you rotate your hips in a circular motion, alternating side to side, and your walls are just clinging to his cock as it pulses against them. You run your fingers down Joshua’s stomach, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch. He tries to keep his eyes open because he wants to watch you—needs to see you riding his cock, your body jiggling with every movement—but his lids are growing heavy already. The pleasure hits him, wave after unforgiving wave, and all he can do is take it. 

Leaning forward, you take him by the chin, tempting him with a kiss that you ultimately deprive him of. “Now you say it” you whisper, rolling your hips to make him whimper the way he did you. You pick up speed and his eyes nearly roll back in his head. 

“Say what? Fuck, I’ll say anything you want me to say” he moans, his palms crashing into your thighs with a snap that makes them vibrate around him. 

“Say that you’re mine, all mine, so that everyone can hear.” 

The light in his eyes darkens at your request and he throws his arms around you, positioning himself at just the right angle to thrust into you. This was supposed to be your power position but he has you held tightly again, fucking into you so that you bounce up and down in his lap, the swollen head of his cock leaking deep inside of you.

“I’m yours,” he says loudly, fearlessly, “I’m yours, this cock is yours, so take me. Take it.” 

Every thrust echoes through your body. You can feel it in the tips of your fingers and your toes, taste it on the back of your tongue. It’s like heaven. Your hips are still working, eager to swallow every inch of his length, desperate to match the intensity of every thrust. The friction between you bumps your clit and the overstimulation has your body humming. You’re struggling to keep it together, fighting back the high that so badly wants to overtake you.

Joshua steals the kiss that you denied him, grabbing the soft flesh of your ass. “No holding back. Cum with me, baby.” 

As if on command, because that’s exactly what it is, you surrender, letting your high crash into you for a second time. It’s even more devastating this time around with his cock swelling inside of you, filling your walls to the brim with warm, thick ropes of cum. You’re both completely out of it, your limbs turning to jello, but you’re too greedy to stop until your bodies give out, absolutely forcing you to.

Breathless, Joshua pets your back, leaning down to plant a kiss on your forehead. You look up at him with the brightest eyes, like he’s the very center of your universe, like there’s no one else in the world who can come close, and his heart skips a beat. You do soothe his insecurities. He does need your validation and that’s okay because he knows he’ll have it always and forever. 

[lailawinchesterr]

dean winchester 003

falling in love with dean is the easiest thing you’ve done, accepting his love was harder, always being scared you’re not enough, trying to stop it from happening (he doesn’t let you). dean kisses your worries away in the rain when you’re crying, in motel hot tubs when you’re rethinking all your decision, he kisses your problems away in elevator rides between hell and heaven and he’s there for you all the time until he isn’t, until it gets too much and he’s pushing you away, pushing you out of his life ‘till you don’t wanna be in it anymore, you never get to understand what changed and you exist retracing your steps to find out where you’ve gone wrong, when you baked him his favorite pie, or when you made him a mixtape with his favorite songs, or when you booked two rooms for alone time away from sam in a motel, and maybe you drown yourself in cigarettes and vodka, maybe you drive not being able to see straight for the first few months, maybe you look at his pictures too often, maybe you’ll never really recover, maybe you will — being lost after losing dean

idk how i feel about this one (i kinda love it but i hope it makes sense) this is for my ghosted square in @jacklesversebingo ! i do believe i’d react the same way if i got ghosted by dean winchester.

[jjameslily]

Lady Fate

For @jilytoberfest Day 2 Prompt: A: “If anyone does X I’m going to love them forever.” B: Does X. | A03

Lily was sitting in the corner of the Gryffindor common room, absentmindedly swirling the spoon in her tea. It was one of those rare quiet Saturday mornings—perfect for some much-needed study time before her exam. 

That is, until she heard the unmistakable clamor of footsteps descending from the boys’ dormitory. 

“Lily Evans!” he announced grandly, “Just the redhead I was looking for!”

Skipping the last step of the staircase, Sirius Black landed with a flourish and both arms outstretched to her. He strode over from across the room and threw an arm around her shoulders, planting himself on the arm of the sofa chair she occupied.

Lily sighed, giving him a long-suffering sideways glance. “What is it, Black?”

“Just here to do my duty and support my best mate’s blossoming romance,” he said, giving her a conspiratorial wink.

Lily’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You and I are not best mates,” she said as she struggled to free herself from his grasp.

Sirius stilled, his eyes wide with shock. “What? We had dinner together just yesterday!”

“You mean when I was discussing patrols with Remus and you ran up to us, shaking the rain off your robes like a wet-dog?”

“Exactly! How could you forget? We had a blast.” 

“We are not friends,” she repeated. 

“Oh, come on,” he said, shaking her playfully. “Any future girlfriend of my boyfriend’s is my…No, wait, my mate’s girlfriend is my girlfriend… That’s not right either.” He scratched his chin, as if deep in thought.

Lily felt the beginnings of a headache emerge.

He shook his head, “It doesn’t matter. ”

“Blossoming romance? What are you on about?” His nonsensical train of thought finally having caught up up to her.

He shrugged innocently. “Call it whatever you like, Lils—if I may call you that—"

"—no you may not," she responded.

He ignored her, "—but I’m committed to this love story.”

She snapped her book shut with a loud clap, turning to look at him with fluttering lashes and mock sweetness dripping from her voice. “Black, what can I do to make you go away? Preferably somewhere far, far away.”

“Oh, I’m glad you asked,” flashing her his most charming smile. “You, James—you know James, the most eligible bachelor in school, according to my recent survey.”

“Survey?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Alright,” he sighed dramatically. “I’m the only participant in my survey, thus far, but that’s besides the point.” He tightened his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in closer despite her protests. 

“Picture this,” he waved his free hand in front of them as if painting a grand scene, “summer wedding, a big white tent, twinkling stars in a clear night sky, all of your favorite people yet exclusive enough to give it that wedding-of-the-year kind of feel. I say we don't invite that sister of yours to really drive the point home,” he paused, “and me, the best man, getting mistaken for the groom all night because, frankly, I’m just more dashing in a suit than James is.”

Lily rolled her eyes, completely unimpressed. “If I have to start dealing with you asking me out on James’ behalf, I’m transferring schools,” she said dryly.

Sirius seemed to take offense at her words. “You think James could make me do anything?” He held her there, shaking his head in exaggerated pity. “I just see two very charming, very dense, incredibly oblivious—”

“Are you insulting me now?”

“—idiots who can’t get out of their own way,” he continued. “Do you have any idea what it’s like listening to James pine after you for years only for him to say he’s suddenly moved on? I can’t accept it.” He looked at her with downcast eyes as if burdened by his friend's plight.

“Black.”

“Yes, my future sister-in-law?”

Lily pulled herself free from his grasp and stood up, casting him a withering glare. “Kindly, fuck off.”

His words echoed in her mind—moved on. There was something about them that made her feel off somehow, but she quickly shook it off.

Sirius followed her, undeterred. “I beg you—go out with James, marry him, and have his beautiful, practically-blind, curly-haired children.”

Lily’s laugh was something between amused and utterly unhinged. She turned to face him, grabbing him by the shoulders this time. “I swear, Black, if anyone walks into this room right now, therefore freeing me of you, I’m going to marry them and I’ll love them forever, just to spite you. I swear it—”

The words died in her throat as the familiar creak of the portrait hole filled the room, both heads whipping in its direction.  

There, standing in the doorway, was none other than James Potter—hair even messier than usual, glasses slightly askew. He paused, brow furrowed, staring back at the two of them.

Lily’s jaw dropped, her words caught somewhere between shock and disbelief.

Sirius’ eyes lit up like a proud father. 

“Uh, did I miss something?” James asked, looking between the two. 

Sirius turned to face his friend, awarding James with an exaggerated slow clap. “Well done, mate. You have finally mastered the art of perfect timing.”

James looked from Lily to Sirius, thoroughly baffled. “What’s going on?”

Lily shot Sirius a death glare. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

Sirius raised a solemn hand to his heart, closing his eyes in faux reverence. “The universe has spoken, Ms. Evans, and I am but a humble messenger for Lady Fate.” He turned to James, bowing and raising his arm to gesture towards Lily as if was presenting her. “Please, do collect your bride!”

James blinked, taking a step back. “Wait, what?”

Sirius bursted into a fit of laughter, the sound echoing off the walls and shattering any quiet the common room might have had left. Lily groaned and buried her face in her hands, regretting every single word she’d said—knowing that Sirius Black would never let her forget this moment as long as she lived.  

James glanced at Sirius, who was practically rolling on the floor at this point, then back at Lily, entirely lost. “Did…did I do something?”

“Mate, how do you feel about a honeymoon in the countryside?”

[kaces-graham-crackers]

Stirring the Quiet - Quiet Signals

Jenna Ortega x Female Reader

Summary: A week after poetry night, Jenna and Y/N grow closer, leading to a movie night. After a bit of trouble at the theater and a quiet late-night diner, Y/N is left wondering if there's more to their connection than just friendship.

Word Count: 889

The following week at The Daily Grind, I was caught up in my usual routine when Jenna strolled in, her presence immediately drawing my attention. She smiled warmly, and I tried to play it cool, returning her smile with only a slight flush creeping into my cheeks.

"Slick, got a minute to talk?" Jenna asked, casually leaning against the counter with an easy smile.

She glanced at the menu momentarily, then looked up at me with a mischievous glint. "You know what? I think I'll switch it up today. How's that caramel macchiato? Any good?"

I raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Going off script, huh? Yeah, it's a solid choice, one of my favorites, actually."

Jenna grinned. "Then I'll take your word for it. Caramel macchiato, please."

As I made her drink, I couldn't help but tease, "Didn't take you for the adventurous type when it comes to coffee."

She shrugged, leaning against the counter. "Hey, you gotta keep life interesting, right? Plus, you make it sound like it's worth the risk."

I chuckled as I finished up, handing her the cup. "No pressure, but I might judge you based on whether you like it."

Jenna took a sip, her eyes lighting up immediately. "Okay, not bad, Slick. You might just know what you're talking about."

I smirked. "Told you. My recommendations are gold."

She laughed, and before I knew it, we found ourselves in a quiet corner of the café, conversation flowing as easily as ever.

"Read anything good lately?" Jenna asked, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of her cup.

I grinned, glad she asked. "Yeah, actually. I just finished House of Leaves. Have you read it?"

Jenna's eyes widened, her interest clearly piqued. "House of Leaves? Oh man, that book is a trip. It's one of those stories that just... stick with you. What did you think?"

I leaned forward a little, warming to the topic. "It's honestly one of the most unsettling things I've ever read. The house keeps shifting like it's alive, and the endless hallways that shouldn't exist... It's like a labyrinth that traps your mind as much as the characters."

Jenna nodded eagerly, her voice dropping slightly. "And the way it's written, with all the different footnotes and stories within stories... it feels like you're falling down the rabbit hole along with the characters."

"Exactly!" I said, feeling the excitement rise in my chest. "It's not just the story; it's how the book is physically laid out. The text starts spiraling or shrinking, and you feel claustrophobic like the walls are closing in on you."

Jenna smiled, clearly impressed. "It plays with your sense of reality. You're constantly questioning what's real and what's not. It's like the book becomes this haunted object you're holding."

I chuckled. "Yeah, I had to put it down a couple times just to clear my head. It really messes with you in a way no other book does."

Jenna's gaze was thoughtful as she sipped her drink. "I think the scariest part is that the horror isn't always in your face. It's subtle, creeping in through the cracks. That whole idea of a house being bigger on the inside than the outside? That freaked me out more than any monster ever could."

I nodded. "Right? It's the idea that something's not quite right, but you can't put your finger on it. That lingering sense of unease stays with you, even after you've finished reading."

Jenna leaned back in her chair, a smile playing on her lips. "You know, not a lot of people appreciate horror like that. It's all about tension and atmosphere, not just the jump scares."

I laughed softly. "Yeah, it's rare to find someone who gets that."

She tilted her head slightly. "Guess we're both a little obsessed with that eerie, psychological side of things, huh?"

"Looks like it," I replied, smiling. "We've got good taste."

Jenna smiled and nodded, taking another sip of her coffee.

"You know, speaking of that kind of slow-building tension, there's this movie I've been meaning to check out. The Hollow Reflection is coming out soon—it's kind of a psychological thriller. I've been dying to see it," I said, absentmindedly stirring my drink.

Jenna raised an eyebrow, leaning forward a little. "The Hollow Reflection, huh? What's it about?"

I shrugged, trying to remember the trailer I'd seen. "It's one of those films where you can't tell if the main character is losing their mind or if there's really something haunting them. A lot of creeping dread, weird symbolism, and by the end, you're just as confused and terrified as the characters."

Jenna's eyes lit up. "That sounds like my kind of movie. I love films that mess with your head like that. Maybe I'll tag along if you're going."

I blinked, caught off guard by her suggestion. "Wait, are you serious?"

She smirked, setting her cup down on the table. "Yeah, I've been meaning to see other actors' acting methods in horror movies. Seems like the perfect excuse."

I hesitated, still trying to wrap my head around that Jenna wanted to hang out with me outside the café. "Are you sure? I mean, wouldn't it be weird for you to go with—"

Jenna cut me off with a laugh, shaking her head. "Y/N, relax. I'm just a person who likes horror movies, too. Besides, it could be fun."

I nodded slowly, a grin tugging at my lips. "Yeah, okay. That actually sounds like a lot of fun."

We sat there for a moment, the weight of the conversation hanging in the air. It wasn't a date. It was just a casual hangout. Although there were implications, that this could be something more made my stomach flip.

Jenna stood to leave as she grabbed her bag from the back of her chair. She gave me a playful wave. "See you soon, Slick. And don't forget about that movie."

I watched her walk out of the café, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nerves swirling inside me. There was something in the air—something new. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but I knew one thing: I was looking forward to that movie night.

A few days passed, and the anticipation of movie night made me jittery. Whenever I thought about it, I had to shake the thought from my head to stay focused. It wasn't just the movie—I couldn't stop replaying our conversation in the café, Jenna's smile, her playful teasing. There was something... different about it.

On the night of the movie, I was already at the theater, standing in front of the giant neon sign that flickered "Now Showing. The Hollow Reflection." My hands were stuffed in my hoodie pockets as I shifted on my feet, nerves buzzing like live wires under my skin.

I rechecked my phone, my thumb hovering over the screen. It was just a movie. Not a big deal. Not a date. But then again…

"Hey, Slick."

Her voice cut through my anxious thoughts, and I spun around, spotting Jenna walking toward me. She looked effortlessly cool in a leather jacket and ripped jeans.

I smiled, feeling some of the tension drain from my body. "Woah! You're on time. Impressive."I smirked, lightly elbowing her arm.

She rolled her eyes, smirking as she came to stand beside me. "I'm punctual when I wanna be. Ready for some mind-bending horror?"

"Born ready," I replied, my voice coming out steadier than I felt inside.

Luckily, this theater was unpopular, so few people were there. We made our way into the theater, grabbed our tickets, grabbed some snacks, and found our seats toward the back, right in the middle of the row. The theater was dimly lit, the smell of popcorn filling the air. The excitement from the other moviegoers hummed softly around us. I couldn't shake the feeling that this night was more significant than it seemed.

As the trailers played, I found myself glancing at Jenna from the corner of my eye. She was focused on the screen, but there was this subtle energy between us as if we knew something had hung in the air.

Then the movie started.

The slow-building dread and tense atmosphere immediately set the tone. The psychological twists began creeping in early, and before I knew it, I was fully immersed in the story. Jenna leaned forward, completely engrossed. Occasionally, she'd make a small comment under her breath or give me a quick glance when a particularly creepy moment happened. I couldn't help but grin.

About halfway through, the movie hit a particularly intense scene—the main character was trapped in an abandoned building, the lights flickering ominously. The tension was almost unbearable, and I could feel Jenna tense beside me. I could hear her breath hitch as something moved in the shadows on the screen, the sound design making it even creepier.

The cool night air wrapped around us as Jenna and I stepped out of the theater. It should have been a peaceful moment, but I noticed a group of three guys hanging near the concession stand, their eyes lingering a little too long on Jenna.

One of them, a guy in a worn leather jacket, smirked as we passed. "Hey, isn't that Jenna Ortega?" he said to his buddies. He took a few steps forward, grinning at her. "You should come hang out with us."

Jenna gave a polite smile, clearly used to this kind of attention, "Hey, Thank you for the offer, but I'm exhausted, and I need to get home to get some rest." she continued walking. I could sense the shift in her posture, though—she was uncomfortable. I stuck closer to her side, hoping the guy would take the hint.

But, of course, he didn't. "Come on, don't be like that!" he called after us, voice rising as he moved closer. "We're just trying to be friendly."

Jenna's smile faded, and I could feel her tensing up beside me. The other two guys chuckled behind him, watching the whole scene like it was a show.

That's when I stepped between Jenna and the guy, blocking his path. "She's not interested," I said firmly. "Leave her alone."

Surprised for a second, the guy stopped before his expression turned sour. "What's your problem?" he snapped, glaring down at me. "We're just talking to her."

"No," I said, standing my ground. "You're bothering her. Back off."

Before things could escalate, one of the theater staff came over, noticing the commotion. "Hey, is there a problem here?" he asked, his voice calm but authoritative.

The leather Jacket guy sneered but didn't say anything. The theater employee stepped forward, pulling out his phone. "If you don't leave now, I'll call the police."

The guy looked like he wanted to say something, but after a tense moment, he scoffed and turned to his friends. "Whatever, man. Let's get out of here."

As the three of them walked off, grumbling, the employee nodded at me. "You two okay?"

I nodded, feeling the adrenaline still rushing through me. "Yeah, we're fine. Thanks for stepping in."

Jenna touched my arm gently, her voice soft. "You didn't have to do that."

I turned to her, my heart still racing. "Yeah, I did. I'm not going to let anyone treat you like that."

Jenna smiled, a warmth in her eyes. "Thanks, Y/N. I mean it."

As we exited the theater, I noticed two familiar figures waiting by the exit—Jenna's bodyguards. They straightened up when they saw us approach.

"Hey, Jenna," Greg, the shorter and more talkative one, greeted her with a nod. "Everything okay?"

Jenna smiled at them. "Yeah, all good. We had a great time until some jerks bothered us on the way out, but Y/N stepped in."

Will, the taller and more serious one, frowned slightly, his gaze flicking between Jenna and me. "What happened?"

I was about to brush it off, but Jenna jumped in. "Some guys trying to hit on me. Y/N got in between the leader following me and the theater staff taking care of the rest."

Greg grinned, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Slick here playing the hero, huh? Nice work."

I felt my ears heat up, trying to laugh it off. 'Aw man, even her guards are catching on,' I thought.

Jenna smiled and turned to me, clearly amused by the whole situation. "I told Will and Greg to stay outside tonight. I wanted a normal night out. But I guess I could've at least let Will trail us."

Will's brow furrowed, looking mildly frustrated. "Next time, just send us a text or call if something like this happens again."

Jenna shrugged. "Agreed. But no need to worry now; it's in the past, and Y/N had my back."

Greg gave me a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Thanks for the Backup, Y/N; we appreciate it."

I shrugged, trying to downplay it. "It's the sensible thing to do. I don't tolerate bullies or jerks of any caliber."

Will's expression softened slightly, and he gave me a nod. "Good to know. Thanks for stepping in."

As we walked toward the street, Jenna turned to me, her eyes bright with excitement. "Hey, do you want to grab a quick bite? There's this diner I love that is not too far from here. It's called "The Velvet Spoon."

I blinked, a bit surprised by the suggestion. "Uh, yeah, sure. I didn't realize you were still hungry."

She laughed, "Well, the popcorn didn't exactly fill me up. Plus, you've gotta check out this spot. Best secret diner in L.A."

"Secret, huh? I could go for a bite. I'll just catch the bus—"

Jenna cut me off, shaking her head. "You're not taking the bus. I've got my car. I'll give you a ride."

I paused for a moment. "I don't live far, and honestly, I didn't want to lose my parking spot at my apartment. Parking's a nightmare over there."

Jenna smiled knowingly. "I get it. City parking is its own level of hell. But don't worry, I'll drop you off later. You just have to see this place. It's worth it."

I didn't argue further. I wouldn't turn down a ride in Jenna Ortega's car. I followed her toward the parking lot; her sleek black car awaited us. The guards, Will and Greg, were already by the vehicle, giving us space but keeping an eye out. I climbed into the passenger seat, the car's leather interior far fancier than anything I was used to.

Jenna started the engine, the car purring to life as we pulled out of the lot. She shot me a quick smile. "So, have you at least heard of the name anywhere on the internet?"

"Nope, I don't think I've ever heard a place like that before."

"Good. People are doing well keeping the secret, then." Jenna explained. "It's got this super diverse menu, something for everyone. Breakfast all day, burgers, vegan stuff—whatever you're in the mood for."

"Sounds like heaven," I said, already imagining the food. "How'd you find it?"

"I used to come here all the time when I was younger, especially after shoots. The staff is super friendly, and the vibe is chill, despite who you might see there."

I raised an eyebrow, curious. "Who might I see?"

She grinned but didn't give any more details, leaving me hanging. We made small talk during the drive—about the movie, the rude guys from earlier, and Jenna's favorite spots in the city. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and I found myself laughing and chatting easily with her.

Before long, we pulled up to the diner. The neon sign flickered above, casting a warm glow over the front of the building. It looked like a fancy, retro-style joint from the outside, where you might expect to see velvet ropes and a waiting list.

"Wow," I said, glancing up at the sign. "This place looks… fancy. Am I underdressed?"

Jenna laughed, waving off my concern. "Don't worry. It just looks fancy on the outside. Inside, it's got this old-school, 60s diner vibe. You'll love it."

I stepped out of the car, Will and Greg already holding the door open. Jenna thanked them with a nod, and they hung back by the entrance as we walked inside. As soon as we stepped through the door, I was hit by the warm, nostalgic feeling of an old-timey diner. The red leather booths, checkered floors, and neon signs on the walls made the place look like it had stayed the same since the 60s. It was like stepping into a time capsule.

"Whoa," I whispered to myself. "This place is seriously retro."

Jenna smiled, clearly amused by my reaction. "Told you it's got charm."

As we walked toward our booth, my eyes darted around the room. Then, it hit me. The people sitting at the booths weren't just regular diners. They were celebrities—faces I recognized immediately. A-listers. My jaw almost dropped when I spotted actors like Zendaya, Timothée Chalamet, and even Florence Pugh casually eating at tables like this. It must have been their regular hangout spot.

I leaned over to Jenna, whispering, "Um, are those…?"

Jenna smirked. "Yep. Welcome to Hollywood's secret diner."

I tried to play it cool, but inside, I was freaking out. I was used to being around celebrities, but not all at once! Seeing all these big shot stars in this diner made me envious, 'I wish they were in The Daily Grind in these sorts of numbers.' The fact that Jenna was also one of them suddenly felt surreal.

We slid into a booth, and I tried to focus on the menu. Jenna laughed softly at my reaction but didn't make a big deal out of it, which I appreciated. Instead, we dove into a conversation. Jenna grinned as she flipped open the menu, her eyes lighting up as she pointed to a section near the top. "Okay, first things first—you have to try the pancakes here. They're ridiculously fluffy. I swear, they could probably double as pillows."

I chuckled, glancing at the menu. "Pancakes? At night? What a rebel, Ms. Ortega."

"Trust me," Jenna said, nodding enthusiastically. "This place has breakfast all day, and the pancakes are like a secret weapon. I always get them with their maple butter syrup. It's life-changing."

I skimmed over the menu, intrigued. "Maple butter syrup, huh? That sounds… dangerous."

"It is, but in the best way," she replied, leaning back in her seat. "They also have this burger that's a mix between a classic diner burger and something you'd get at a gourmet spot. It's called the 'Hollywood Hustler,' and it's got this bacon jam that I could eat by the spoonful."

I laughed, shaking my head. "Okay, gourmet pancakes and burgers. This place already sounds like it's on another level."

Jenna flipped to another menu page and pointed to a dessert section. "But honestly, if you're still hungry after that, the milkshakes are killer. They've got these over-the-top flavors, like peanut butter and strawberry cheesecake. And everything here is just… comforting. It's why I love this place."

I raised an eyebrow, glancing around the diner. "It definitely has that vibe, like one of those hidden gems you wouldn't expect."

Jenna nodded, a soft smile on her face. "Yeah, it's been around forever. It started as this little hole-in-the-wall joint in the 60s, just serving basic diner food. But over the years, it became a hotspot for actors and musicians who wanted a spot to hang out."

I looked around at the nostalgic décor, the retro booths, and the neon lights. "Makes sense. It feels like a time capsule."

"It really is," Jenna agreed. "They've kept the same décor since day one. I like it because it's not pretentious or flashy—it's just good food, good vibes, and no pressure. Even though some of the biggest names in Hollywood come through here, it still feels like a little secret hideaway."

I scanned the menu again, impressed by the variety. "Okay, I think I'm sold. But the real question is, do I go for pancakes or that burger?"

Jenna smirked, leaning in as if sharing a secret. "Why not both? Pancakes for the soul, burger for the stomach."

I laughed, feeling entirely at ease in the moment. "I think I like the way you think."

Jenna's eyes sparkled. "It's all about balance, Slick. You'll thank me later."

As Jenna continued to enthusiastically point out more items on the menu—everything from her favorite fries with truffle aioli to a buttermilk chicken sandwich that, according to her, "hits different"—I couldn't help but notice how blissfully happy she seemed. It was like watching a kid in a candy store, her eyes wide with excitement, the soft hum of the diner's retro vibe only amplifying the joy radiating from her. Every time she mentioned a dish, it was as if she were sharing a personal victory, proud and delighted just to be here.

I glanced over the menu, nodding along to what Jenna was saying, but my attention drifted. There was something magnetic about seeing her like this; she was so carefree and genuinely excited. I wasn't sure why, but it caught me off guard in the best way. Her enthusiasm felt contagious, making me want to experience this place through her eyes. She wasn't the famous Jenna Ortega here—she was just Jenna, enjoying a quiet night out, sharing one of her favorite spots with someone she trusted.

The buzz of the diner's ambiance faded into the background for a moment. My thoughts swirled as I watched her, caught up in her energy. It was rare to see someone so genuinely excited about the little things, and I found myself smiling, almost lost in the simplicity of the moment. How could someone who lived in the whirlwind of Hollywood seem so grounded, so at peace in a place like this?

Suddenly, I realized I had zoned out. Jenna's voice broke through the fog of my thoughts.

"Y/N? Earth to Y/N?" She was smiling, her head tilted slightly. "What's up? You spaced out for a second there."

I blinked, sitting up straighter, feeling my cheeks flush. "Oh, sorry. I was just… admiring your childlike enthusiasm about this place."

Jenna raised an eyebrow, her smile softening into something more curious. "Really? I thought you were getting bored with my diner ramblings."

I shook my head, feeling a little shy about being so honest. "No, it's not that at all. It's just that you're so excited about being here. It's kind of refreshing to see. You're like a kid in a candy store, Jenna."

She laughed softly, her eyes brightening even more. "I just love sharing things like this. I guess when you're used to so much… I don't know… noise, finding a place like this is grounding. It reminds me of when things were simpler, you know?"

I nodded, feeling the truth in her words. "Yeah, I get that."

Jenna smiled, reaching for her water glass, and I couldn't help but admire how at ease she seemed. "I'm glad you're here, Y/N. I wanted to share this with you."

Her words hit me in a way I hadn't expected. I felt a warmth in my chest, which made me feel like this might not be just a casual dinner with a friend. There was something more to this moment, something more to Jenna's need to share this part of her world with me.

"Me too," I replied quietly, and for a moment, we just smiled at each other across the table.

The waiter arrived to take our orders, and after some back and forth, I settled on Jenna's recommendation: pancakes with that famous maple butter syrup and a side of truffle fries. Jenna ordered her usual, which was the Hollywood Hustler burger with truffle aloi fries.

Once the waiter left, I leaned back in the booth, stealing another glance at her. She seemed so light, so free, sitting here under the soft diner lights, tapping her fingers against the table to the beat of the music playing in the background.

As the night went on, we fell into our usual easy conversation—laughing, teasing, and sharing stories—but it felt slightly different tonight. Maybe it was the nostalgia of the diner, or maybe it was Jenna's openness, but there was something about this place, this moment, that made everything feel… closer.

As Jenna pulled up in front of my apartment, the soft hum of the car's engine slowly faded. I unbuckled my seatbelt, still buzzing from the diner, from Jenna's energy and how effortlessly the night had unraveled into something unexpectedly perfect.

"Thanks again, Jenna, for tonight. It was… it was nice." I turned to her, meaning every word.

Jenna smiled, reaching over to give me a hug. "Of course, Slick. I needed this as much as you did."

I opened the car door, stepping onto the sidewalk, and just as Jenna was about to say something, she froze, her eyes widening.

"Oh. My. God!"

I whipped my head toward the building, alarmed. "What? What's wrong?"

Jenna pointed toward my apartment window with all the enthusiasm of a fan girl. "It's him!"

I followed her gaze, only to see Mr. Noodles perched on the windowsill, his paw pressed against the glass as he meowed. His tiny mouth moved in exaggerated yowls, clearly demanding attention.

"Mr. Noodles?" I raised an eyebrow, unsure whether to laugh or be concerned.

Jenna, however, had no such hesitation. "It's him, Y/N! Oh my god, I'm obsessed." She practically squealed, already making hand gestures, the usual pspsps sound that usually beckoned any cat.

I burst out laughing, my earlier calm completely thrown off. "You're fangirling… over my cat?"

"He's a star!" Jenna exclaimed, leaning across the seat. "Look at him! He's confidently taking center stage." She turned to me with wide, pleading eyes. "Can I meet him? Please?"

I couldn't help but chuckle, shaking my head in disbelief. "Okay, okay, sure. Come on up, but only if you're comfortable. It's just Mr. Noodles, though, not some celebrity cat."

Jenna grinned. "Please, Y/N. I'd love to meet the gentleman who's stolen my heart tonight."

We both laughed as we walked up to my apartment. I opened the door, and Mr. Noodles wasted no time, strutting over like he owned the place, 'which he did in all fairness,' immediately rubbing up against Jenna's legs.

"Oh my god, he's even cuter in person," Jenna cooed, crouching down to pet him. Mr. Noodles practically melted under her touch, sprawled out on the floor, purring like an engine. "You, sir, are a charmer." Jenna cooed.

An hour passed as we sat on the couch. Jenna had settled in, legs folded, Mr. Noodles curled up against her. I launched into a story about one of the celebrity bodyguards who frequented The Daily Grind. This particular bodyguard worked for a famous actor who was a regular at the café, and he was known for being extremely over-the-top when it came to protecting his client.

"So, this guy is like six feet tall, built like a tank," I started, setting the scene. "One day, a group of tourists sat nearby, trying to get pictures of his client. You could tell they were trying to be sneaky but were about as subtle as a neon sign."

Jenna leaned in, already smiling in anticipation. "Oh no, what happened?"

I chuckled. "Well, the bodyguard noticed, of course, and instead of just asking them to stop, he walks over, grabs a tiny spoon from their clients' cappuccinos, and holds it up to his ear like a phone. Then, in the deepest, most serious voice ever, he goes, 'Yeah, hello, police? I have a Code Flash Photo here. Unauthorized photos in progress.'"

Jenna's eyes widened as she burst into laughter, covering her mouth. "No way! Did they stop?"

"Oh, they panicked," I continued, laughing with her. "The tourists practically threw their phones back into their bags and bolted out of the café. Meanwhile, the actor didn't even notice anything was happening."

Jenna shook her head, grinning. "That's too funny!" I need to hire that guy just for the entertainment."

Before we could dive into another story, though, a loud voice interrupted the moment.

"Ken! You won't believe what kind of party we were just at!"

I froze, immediately recognizing the familiar voices of my brothers. Marcus and Caleb ran into the living room, out of breath from running.

"Please tell me it wasn't another one of Marcus's weird gym parties," I muttered.

Caleb, always a bit quieter and the more reserved of the two, smiled sheepishly. "Actually, it wasn't anything wild this time. It was a Sweet 16 party for one of our college buddies' daughters."

Marcus, ever the instigator, grinned and leaned on the doorframe. "Yeah, can you believe that? The guy's a serious family man now, but he was a party legend back in the day."

I raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Wait, so you two went to a Sweet 16? No wild parties this time?"

Caleb shook his head, laughing softly. "Nope, nothing wild. We stuck with our friends from college, and now most of them are family men. We didn't party hard; it was pretty tame. There were a lot of kids, and we mostly hung out by the snacks."

Marcus chimed in with a smirk. "Yup, no wild parties for us anymore. We're practically saints now."

Jenna smiled playfully, glancing between the two of them. "Saints, huh? I'll have to take your word for it… for now."

But before I could steer the conversation away from whatever embarrassing stories my brothers were about to unleash, Marcus clapped his hands together, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Hey, wait a minute! You're the Jenna Ortega! Y/N has been gushing over."

My heart basically dropped and crashed into a million pieces. "Don't you have something better to do!?" I yelled, throwing a pillow in their direction. Caleb chimed, "Y/N, why didn't you tell us we were having guests. We need to introduce ourselves."

I groaned inwardly as Marcus stepped forward, practically bowing as he introduced himself. "Marcus L/N, professional gym rat and Ken's favorite brother."

Caleb followed suit, though his introduction was more reserved. "Caleb, L/N. I'm the Quieter brother."

Jenna smiled warmly at them, but I knew that was just the beginning.

Marcus, never one to miss an opportunity, crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at me. "So, Y/N, did you tell Jenna how prone you are to spilling things on yourself when we were kids?"

Jenna's eyes sparkled as she turned to me, clearly intrigued. "Oh, really?"

"Marcus…" I warned, but it was too late.

"Yup! She'd knock over everything. Once, she spilled an entire Liter of soda all over herself at a family reunion. We thought she would slip and fall, but instead, she just stood there like a drenched statue."

Jenna, laughing so hard she had to hold her sides, added, "Oh, this is perfect. She spilled sugar all over herself when we first met."

Both my brothers stared at me in mock surprise. "Ken! You never told us that part of the story!" Caleb teased.

Mr. Noodles wasn't assisting in comforting me, as he was lapping up all the attention from Jenna away from me. At the same time, I was relentlessly being embarrassed by Marcus and Caleb. 'True to their word, they were gonna embarrass me. I'll have to repay them somehow.'  

It wasn't until 2:40 a.m. that I noticed Jenna yawning, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. She looked at me apologetically. "I'm sorry. I had such a great night, but I think it's time I head home before I fall asleep on your couch."

I nodded, then scolded my brothers with a playful glare.  "Okay, okay, enough roasting me. Leave the girl alone already. She needs to sleep."

Jenna laughed softly and whispered yelled. Don't worry; I'll see you guys again soon. I'm sure there are plenty more embarrassing stories to hear."

My brothers waved her off with mischievous grins as she stood up, stretching. "We'll hold you to that!" I blinked, still processing her words. She's coming back? My mind raced with the idea of a "next time," but before I could dwell on it, Jenna bent down to scratch Mr. Noodles' chin.

"Thanks for letting me spoil you with all my attention tonight, Mr. Noodles," she cooed, her voice soft as she petted him. He responded with a loud purr, rubbing his head against her hand before trotting back toward the living room where my brothers were still lounging.

"Traitor," I muttered under my breath, but I couldn't help but smile.

As Jenna's guards opened the car doors, she turned back to me, a soft smile on her lips. Before leaving, she stepped forward, pulling me into a warm hug. It wasn't just a friendly hug; it lingered, her arms wrapped around me with a closeness that made my heart skip a beat. I hugged her back, trying to keep my cool, but my pulse was racing. 'Damn, my heart. Hopefully, she can't feel it beating out my chest.'

"You know, Y/N, I had a really great time tonight. You're... different. And I mean that in a good way." 

Her words made my heart stutter, and before I could even think of a response, Jenna gave me a lingering glance—one that told me she wasn't just talking about our friendship. It was the kind of look that left you standing frozen, wondering if everything you've been feeling was suddenly becoming real.

"I'll see you soon, Slick," she said softly, her voice carrying a warmth that sent shivers down my spine. She gave me a small, meaningful smile before finally stepping back and climbing into the car.

I stood there, replaying her words and the hug over and over in my mind as the car began to drive off. My thoughts were racing, her look, her tone, and the way she said "different"—it all hit me at once like a wave.

As I watched the car disappear around the corner, I felt like I'd been hit by a truck, my heart pounding against my chest. Tonight was unexpected… The way she spoke, the way she hugged me, and the way she looked at me—it was more than just a fun night out.

Jenna was interested. Really interested.

And as I walked back inside, the realization hit me. This was the start of something more than I ever expected.

[the-river-rix]

Rymin is haunting me I fear

[crossingthedreams]

self-destruction — aemond targaryen x sister!reader

a/n: my idea was to make this angstober all about pedro pascal characters, but I’m not good at keeping my word and this prompt made me think of (book) aemond very intensely. so, here it is, a little late, but here it is!!! day 03 — self-destruction, from @angstober. there are some pop culture inspired references here and there, but nothing that takes aways from the medieval vibes, pinky promise! let me know what you think, and feel free to dm me :)

this is an angsty smutty piece, so beware and mdni. 

word count: 3.5k

warnings: angst. mentions of death. mentions of war. (targaryen) incest (brother/sister). smut. oral (m!receiving). p in v. slight (if you squint) breeding kink.

You realized from a very young age you were bound to marry one of your brothers or nephews.’Targaryens have queer customs’, your mother would say, but it didn’t seem like she’d mind it at all. Even though she would take you to the sept constantly and there the people would say it was a terrible sin to lay with one’s blood, she had betrothed your eldest brother to Helaena. 

Your father would tell tales about his grandparents, the King Jahaerys and the Good Queen Alyssane. How they knew Targaryens were closer to gods than they were to man, which was why only your bloodline remained as dragonlords. The doctrine of exceptionalism. It all seemed a little unhumble to you, and you knew gods, whether Valyrian gods, old gods or the Seven, had a way to punish mortals who flew too close to the Sun. 

Despite it being strange to you, you loved the stories. You loved the songs about old tales, the epicness of it all. Queen Rhaenys and your great-grandmother Alyssane were your favorites. Oh, how lovely would it be to see Meraxes flying in the skies next to Balerion and Vhagar. Balerion was your father’s dragon, and Vhagar was claimed by your brother. It seemed cruel that fate had taken Meraxes before you could ever ride her. 

The King Viserys would kid he had a Visenya and a Rhaenys in his offspring. Your eldest sister, the heir to the throne, had Visenya’s warrior ways, and her husband was the wielder of the very own Dark Sister. You, on the other hand, were much alike the Conqueror’s other wife, all would say. In the same fashion as the late Queen, you loved dancing, poetry and, above all, you loved flying. 

You bonded with the dragon Silverwing as a young woman, later than your siblings had. The feeling of the she-dragon's scales beneath your hands as you mounted her for the very first time was worth all the years of wait. You knew that if you couldn’t pursue Meraxes, the dragon that was meant for you, reserved to you by fate, was the one of Queen Alyssane’s.

The brother closest to you in age, Prince Daeron, had his own dragon, but he was much too small to fly on when you claimed Silverwing, and he was already halfway across Westeros with your mother’s family. That was why you took the skies with Vhagar and her rider. 

Another story you commonly loved was your grandparents, Princess Alyssa and Baelon, the Brave. It seemed Alyssane knew they were bound to each other, so she refused to marry Alyssa, the oldest living daughter of age, to Aemon, the eldest son. Instead, as your father told, she married Alyssa to Baelon, who were the love of each other's lives. 

Hearing about your grandparents was the first time you thought that, perhaps, marrying one of your brothers wouldn’t be awful, or even Jacaerys Velaryon. 

The wedding ceremony for Aegon and Helaena happened when you were a young woman, just entering the age to be betrothed. You knew the expectations were high, above all because of the disputes regarding Rhaenyra’s claim and her children’s legitimacy. 

Honestly, you thought, all of this would have ended if Aegon was married to Rhaenyra, despite the age difference, or Jacaerys to Helaena. However, there was too much pride and ego involved. 

When it came to your pride and ego, you knew that as a Targaryen princess, your wishes mattered to everyone, except for your family. Your father would marry you to whom he saw fit, and your mother would make sure it was a match able to strengthen Aegon’s silent claim. You had a preference, though. With the story of your grandparents in mind, you had your own Baelon.

From the first moment you took the skies together, you knew you were meant to take on life together. He was no Aegon the Conqueror, it was true, but he was your match in more ways than one. 

You were set to be married on the fortnight following your sixteenth name day, but the death of your father changed everything. The horrible deaths of your nephews, the terrible aftermaths of battle, the sheer horror of your family destroying itself from the insides. There was no more poetry, no more songs, no more flying. 

On the fall of a night, you were on the balcony, overlooking Blackwater Bay. You thought that, maybe, if you tried, you could see all the way up to Dragonstone. Maybe, if your sister, almost two decades your senior, looked from her chambers, she could try to see you too. Perhaps, you could make peace, if not for all, for the two of you. 

He walked in quietly behind you, in the same wild but quiet fashion as always. His presence made himself known to you before any sound, and you let him get close enough before acknowledging him. 

“I often imagine what life looked like for our family. Rhaenys and Aegon, for instance. Sometimes, I like to wonder”, you started, voice barely above a whisper, “when our ancestors stood on the balconies of the Red Keep, as we now stand”, you finally turned around, meeting his eyes — one purple, one sapphire, “did they see this line where the sky meets the sea in the same way as we see?”

He was quiet, his one eye passing through your face, down your neck, to your almost sheer purple nightgown, all the way down to your bare feet. You wish you could tell what was happening in his brain. Your brother looked up to your uncle, the Rogue Prince, but you wished he could see the virtues in your father: the curiosity, the longing for beauty, for art. He had it in him, but it wasn’t cultivated. It broke your heart, and it revolted you. 

“Aren’t you cold?”, he asked, and you scoffed. 

“Nyke hae olvie hen nykeā zaldrīzes hae ao, jorrāelagon lēkia (I am as much of a dragon as you, dear brother)”, you straightened your back, and turned again to gaze at the bay and the city.

“Nyke emagon daor doubt, issa mandia (I have no doubt, my sister)”, you could hear the smile in his voice as he replied. You rolled your eyes, not letting the memories flood through you.

He had been your first for everything — your first fight, your first flight, your first kiss, and everything else. 

The tantrum your mother would have thrown had she found out about this years ago… But now, after the babe Jahaerys’ death and Helaena’s exhaustion, you doubt she would care if you appeared with child, as long as the wedding was set to a proper date. 

His right hand raised and rested on your hip, and you felt his body approach yours as he took a step closer. You could feel his breath on your ear, and you slowly closed your eyes.

The thing with fire is that, when not properly controlled by a force equal or bigger than itself, it becomes all consuming. You and Aemond were much like fire — multiplying, growing, and, even if by accident, destroying your surroundings. You had never expected this fire to harm you, but now, you realized just how much fire was a force of nature not to be tamed by any man or woman, regardless of their lineage. You, a Targaryen, would die if a fire brought down your surroundings, just as any commoner.

Aemond’s hand started caressing your hips, and in the silence of the night, high on the Red Keep, away from any prying eyes, you let your head fall to his shoulder. He wasted no time in starting kissing your neck, as his free flew up to your breast. It was natural how your hands reached back to his shoulder length hair, and you let out a soft moan. His kisses found their way near your hear, and he whispered. 

“Hemtubis, nyke jāhor sagon leaving syt Rook's Rest isse naejot rhaenagon rūsīr Ser Criston. Nyke syt nykeā jikagon-pryjagon. (Tomorrow, I will be leaving for Rook's Rest in secrecy to meet with Ser Criston... I hoped for a proper send-off)”. 

You stopped. 

Much like dragons, there was an inexplicable beauty in fire, but it is also fearsome.You hoped Aemond had learned that by now, after the pointless war in your family, but you realized he hadn’t.

You turned in his arms, as he held your hips. He looked amused, tranquil. You, on the other hand, had a frown you knew resembled your mother’s. 

“Aemond”. 

“Sister”.

You laughed lightly. “Surely you do not think of me as a common whore you can call upon when you desire”.

“Of course not, jorrāelagon (dear)”, his hand raised to move a strain of hair from your face, but you moved, stubbornly, to avoid the caress. His head tilted to the side, an amused look on his face. “Are you not to be my wife?”

“I am not yours for anything”, the response was quick, instinctive. By now, he should know you were not a lady for his bedding, but his alike, his sister, a Targaryen princess. Maybe not a warrior as he and your brother, the King, would have liked, but a dragonrider nonetheless.

He seemed all the more entertained by your reply. His hand once more tried to touch your hair, but you slapped it away. Aemond had always been quick to anger and slow to forgiveness, and you knew it. You knew he would take it as a challenge when you fought him, which was why his aggressiveness did not surprise or scare you. He used one hand to pin your wrists together, and the other to grasp at your gown at the height of your waist. You tried to kick him, without any use of your actual strength, and he simply used the size and force of his body to push you against the balcony. 

Heights never scared you, you were a dragonrider and a fearless princess from the blood of Old Valyria. Aemond, however, scared you in this moment, because you knew that no matter how much he loved you, his temper would always be his one true reliable characteristic. For a second you imagined he would let his hand go, and let you fall all the way to the patios beneath. 

His one eye darkened, and his breath was quick. Against your chest, you felt his rise and fall almost rhythmically. He could drop you or throw you, but you would still choose him, you realized. And what a terrible tragedy that was. 

Your realization must have softened your features, for Aemond’s own face calmed. He could destroy you, ruin you, and you’d let him. Your soul was intertwined with his, for better or worse, whether you willed it or no. Walking in this horrible pattern willingly, constantly putting yourself in the way of his temper, denying yourself… Was it self-destructive behavior, as the men with skinny arms in Old Town would say? Perhaps. What a small price to pay this terror was, a price you were willing to pay to be alongside your twin flame. 

The small of your back was still pressed on the balcony when Aemond kissed you, wet and fast. He let go of your pulses, and your hands immediately held to his shoulders for dear life. Was it fear he’d drop you? Was it desire? 

Both.

Aemond passed one hand beneath your legs, and the other supporting your back. He picked you up like it was nothing. One of your hands caressed his neck, and the other laid quietly on his chest.

That fire from a few minutes before had grown, like fire always does. It became a fuel for the desire you had for each other. Walking inside, into your chambers, Aemond threw you on your bed as gently as he knew how. His expression was hungry, and he would have devoured you if he could. 

You moved and sat on the bed as he stood in front of you, eye level with his crotch. You wanted to devour him, too, and there was no better time than the present. With one hand you began to unlace his pants, and with the other you pushed his dress shirt up. You hadn’t realized he was wearing his combat clothes. He was probably training all day. 

He took the hint and took his shirt off, his gaze never leaving you. When his pants dropped to the ground with a quiet sound, he made no move to remove it, or his boots. You couldn’t care less, as his manhood presented itself already fully upward and hard, leaking from the top. His tip was probably one of your favorite parts, because it was always so sensitive, which was exactly why you didn’t start there. 

One hand on his bum and the other making up and down movements on his shaft, you looked into his eye with your best sweet and helpless look. It was one of the things Aemond loved the most about you: that you were his younger, fragile little sister, bound to him, given to him by the Gods to fulfill the Valyrian tradition and his destiny. His member twitched, and he threw his head back when you finally licked a stripe from the base all the way to the tip. 

There you were, bobbing your head up and down, using your tongue to move when you reached the tip of your brother’s beautiful cock. You felt yourself wet, in need of release too, so you took your hand from Aemond’s body to your own, using it to feel your breasts beneath the nightgown. 

This did not go unnoticed by Aemond. Nothing went unnoticed by Aemond. 

“How could I be so selfish, hāedar (sister)?”, he removed himself from your mouth, taking a step back from the back and making you whimper from the loss of contact. 

His face, lit by the moonlight, was the most beautiful of all sights. You were sure you had seen other men, even other Princes, who were charming, but there was no one who could be this alluring. 

How could someone so beautiful be so destructive?

You began to let your body fall back in the bed as Aemond straddled you. By the look on his face, you knew this would be fast and rough. It didn’t scare you. Should it? Should the consequences of it scare you? 

A little princeling with violet eyes and white hair, running through the Keep. The memory of Jaehaerys was painful, but what troubled you most was if this little boy of yours would be a Targaryen or a Waters. 

Still, you let Aemond climb to the top of you, pulling your gown up to your waist, revealing a part of your body that he, and he alone, was familiar with. He pushed the nightgown all the way up, taking it off and leaving you bare, as naked as the day you were born beneath him. 

Very rarely would he take you in this position. Sometimes, he would have you on your hands and knees, face away from him. Most times, he liked to have you ride him, going as far as making jokes that you were mounting the fiercest of Targaryen dragons, and he would hide his face in your breasts. But tonight, his eyes were looking into yours the whole time. 

He entered you quickly, with one deep thrust. Your cunt was ready for him, and he knew it would be; having him in your mouth had this effect on you, always left you throbbing and ready.

As his body would enter yours with force and then leave, making you see stars with the movement of his hips, you raised your legs and intertwined them around his waist. He grabbed both your hands again, this time holding them close to your breasts, which allowed his body to rise in a delicious angle. 

You both had done this enough times to know to be quiet. It was hard keeping the moans in, and you let out little sighs and made a painful expression as he became sloppier. 

Your hips had a life of its own, moving with Aemond’s, trying to get him as deep as possible while also obtained friction. Your brother realized this very quickly, and he let go of your hands to prop himself on his knees and put both your legs on his shoulder. One hand of his went straight to that place where your bodies met, and he began to pressure and circle the one spot he knew would make you feel as good as you were making him feel. 

Warm, wet, welcoming, That was all Aemond wanted. 

Your moans became louder, and you took one hand to your mouth and the other to his chest. You let your nails make a red line down to his stomach, and it wouldn’t be a problem, considering all the training he endured these past days. You were close to screaming when you were about to finish, and Aemond could tell. Your walls began clenching around him, and your juices were rolling down to your bum, making a mess of the linen sheets. 

He let his body fall close to yours and kissed you passionately as you came, muffing out the sounds and making you feel oh, so loved. 

Too bad it only lasted a second. 

“Nyke jāhor mazverdagon ao issa ābrazȳrys, nyke jāhor tepagon ao issa riñar, mandia. ȳdra daor worry. Ao jāhor sagon dāria, se olvie Targārien hen ry queens pār Rhaenys. (I will make you my wife, I will give you my children, sister. Don't worry. You will be Queen, the most Targaryen of all Queens since Rhaenys).”, he murmured in your ear. This thought of his, this pursue of greatness and the Targaryen tradition… This would be his downfall. 

He kept thrusting, completely ignoring you, chasing his release. You laid there, unmoving, thinking about what he had just said. You could never be the Queen Rhaenys, because you could never be Queen. Aegon was married to Helaena, Daemon was married to Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra had five sons, and none of your kin would let go of their claims. 

You felt the warmness of Aemond’s release inside you, and he bit down hard on your neck as he came. 

He could use your body for his own pleasure, it didn’t bother you. He pleased you as he did it, so there was nothing the matter for you. But he couldn’t use your kinship to justify whatever horrors he planned or wished to commit. 

His body left yours, falling with a thud on the bed. He was sweaty, but he smelled like home. What a bizarre thought of yours, that someone’s sweat was comfortable. You turned onto your side to face him, laying on his back with his eyes closed. Would he dare to spend the night? Could he stay for another minute, even, considering this plan on Rook’s Rest? 

“Lēkia (Brother)”, you called him, who opened his eyes slowly and murmured “hm?”. “This war we are fighting with our sister… I have a feeling this will be irreparable for our House. It’s self-destruction, it’s terror. It’s unnecessary”. 

He was quiet, and coolness was always more concerning on Aemond than explosions of rage. 

“Ao issi se jorrāelagon hen issa glaeson, mandia. Nyke jāhor daor emagon aōha bartos dīnagon se egros kesrio syt hen īlva kepa's refusal naejot brōzi se drēje prince. (You are the love of my life, sister. I will not have your head put the sword because of our father's refusal to name the correct heir)”, he simply said. He was peaceful, which was all the more concerning. 

“You are destroying yourself, Aemond”, you shaked your head, turning your back to him as he sat on the bed, clearly preparing to leave you once more. “Ao jāhor daor botagon bisa vīlībāzma. (You will not survive this war)”, your heart broke as you spoke what you knew to be the truth. 

Helaena could be a prophetess, Aegon could be King, Daeron could be as daring as he wished. You and Aemond had your fates intertwined, and he seemed ready to let it all burn, destroying himself, you and whatever lifes you hoped to have.

“Mirre hen īlva jāhor (None of us will)”, Aemond, now fully dressed, replied. 

You raised your gaze to meet his. In this darkness, he was still beautiful. There was a part of you, however, that wondered if this was already a memory. Aemond was leaving now, with only hope and faith guarding his return. 

Looking back on that night, many moons later, you knew what he meant with that last comment, right before he left. He thought the people would not survive, but the Targaryen name would. What Aemond didn’t realize is that the destruction was generalized, and it took from all of you, innocent or no, destined for greatness or no, all the same. 

Surely, none of you would survive the battles. 

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Day 5: acorn

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

This is kind of flangst if you squint, but the idea came to my mind and I thought it would be really cute. One of my favorites, enjoy, and reblog if you liked it!

You and Spencer walked in silence, with only the sound of the orange leaves crunching under your feet. Autumn had undeniably arrived, and you knew perfectly well that this season was a blessing for many children, providing them with leaves on the ground to play with, warm clothes, and tons of candy. Somehow, it was also your favorite time of the year, as it brought back a few pleasant memories you guarded closely in your heart.

“How did he behave over the weekend?”

“Very well, actually,” he replied, happy that you had finally decided to break the silence. In the distance, you could hear the giggles of a child you both made sure to check on from time to time. “We made pancakes, I took him to the aquarium, we drew a lot, and overall, he didn’t throw any tantrums or anything like that. He even asked me to tuck him in.”

“He always wants that,” you said. “Sometimes he makes me read the books you give him.”

“And he asks me to sing him lullabies you taught him.”

You both fell silent again.

It wasn’t often that your ex-husband’s days off aligned with yours, and the truth was that you both only sought to see each other when strictly necessary. Many times, Jason spent weekends with his father, and when Spencer had the chance, he would take him to school and other activities.

As a father, you couldn’t complain about him. He tried his best after the divorce, as if wanting to make up for something, and you both made sure to keep arguments away from Jason’s ears because the last thing you wanted was for your son to suffer because of it.

It had been somewhat complicated explaining the dynamics of your post-divorce life to Jason, as he didn’t understand why his father, whom he loved so much, had to move to a new apartment. Spencer had tried to be as kind as possible when talking to his son, not wanting him to feel, even for a second, the abandonment Spencer himself had felt from his own father. He called him all the time, bought him an endless number of things, and made sure to have him with him whenever work allowed.

Work, work… that damned work.

“That’s just how he is,” you said simply.

A cold breeze filled the air, and you tucked your hands into your coat pockets, just as your husband did. Once upon a time, you might have held hands to deal with the cold, but now that was unthinkable.

“He also told me he already has a costume for Halloween, right?”

“He wants to be Sherlock Holmes. It was between that and Albert Einstein, but he went with Sherlock because he said his job was similar to his daddy’s.”

Spencer let out a chuckle that was stifled in his throat and looked in the direction of the little boy who was hopping around in the leaves, already too dirty from the nature of the park.

“Do you need money to buy the costume? I could ask JJ where they sell some, or…”

“It’s okay, Reid. I’ll probably make it myself or ask my mom,” you murmured, shrugging. “But he wants you to take him trick-or-treating.”

“I’ll try. But you know with cases… it’s unpredictable.”

“Explain it to him, not me,” you muttered seriously.

Honestly, conversations between the two of you were almost always uncomfortable. Sometimes Spencer tried to find a normal or interesting topic for you, but you rarely carried the conversation forward. Other times, you wished you could ask him about things that really mattered—his mental state, his feelings, or simply what was happening in his life—but you had no idea how to go about it.

That’s why you both preferred to talk only about Jason.

“Look, Mommy!” your son suddenly shouted, throwing a bunch of leaves into the air and laughing when they fell on him.

“How nice, baby,” you responded with feigned excitement, somewhat relieved that your son was having fun.

You both stood there watching the little one, and you could feel your ex-husband’s gaze from the corner of your eye. So many years of knowing him, of loving him, had allowed you to detect when he wanted to say something but didn’t dare. Sometimes, you still felt guilty for being able to read him so easily, and you had no doubt he felt the same, especially with that eidetic memory of his helping him.

“Jason talked to me about Christmas the other day,” he began, seemingly gathering the courage to speak. It had to be something important if he had taken the trouble to bring it up. “Has he mentioned anything to you about the presents he’ll ask Santa for?”

“Not yet, but he’s usually happy with whatever he gets. We can ask him later what he wants or tell him to write a letter for something specific, but I think some of the other gifts could be a chemistry set or art supplies; his teacher says he’s shown a lot of interest in both.”

“I see,” he murmured, nodding slightly. But he didn’t seem satisfied with your answer. “He said something interesting to me the other day. I just wanted to know if he had told you about it already.”

“Maybe if you tell me, I can answer,” you said without looking at him, trying to stay calm.

You had a suspicion of what your son had talked about, but you didn’t want to make a mistake. And Spencer felt exactly the same.

There was silence again for a few minutes, which felt like an eternity, and then he spoke:

“He told me this year he doesn’t want to ask Santa for anything because he wants to save his wish for something special,” he began. He paused for a moment and then continued, “I asked him what it was, and he didn’t want to tell me, so I suggested he could write a letter even though it was still early. He did, and after I put him to bed, I went to read it. There was a drawing and some words written in a messy but legible way. It said his only wish was for his mommy and daddy to be together again.”

By the middle of the conversation, you already knew what it was about. By the end, a few tears had welled up in your eyes.

“I know. He tells me that often,” you confessed, feeling a tightness in your chest. “And I never know what to say.”

“Have you thought about remarrying?” he suddenly asked. It was barely a murmur, but enough for you to turn to him in evident surprise. “I mean… with someone else. Or maybe having a boyfriend?”

“Jason takes up most of my time, and work takes up the rest. I don’t think there’s an opportunity to even consider it,” you said seriously. Since the divorce, neither of you had thought about the possibility of Jason having a stepfather or a stepmother. “What about you?”

“Never. I believe marriage is a pact you make only once in life.”

What was he trying to do? Was he criticizing you? Was he hinting that he saw the possibility of living together again?

“Well, that way Jason won’t be confused. At least until he grows up.”

“Don’t you think he needs a father figure?”

“What do you think you are then?”

“A permanent figure,” he clarified. “And a mother figure at the same time. We worry about ourselves, but we never thought about how this would affect him.”

“Of course I thought about it, Spencer. That’s why I asked for the divorce.”

Low blow. And a painful one.

“Listen, I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes, and I’m not trying to justify myself. But it’s been two years, and I think I’ve changed enough to prove to you that I’m not a bad father.”

“I don’t need proof of that. I know you’re not,” you said firmly. But when you spoke again, your words were harsher. “But I can’t trust that you’ll be a good husband.”

“I was before.”

“Yes, but then you ended up in prison. And you decided your work was worth more than your family.”

“That’s not true,” he exclaimed, clearly offended. “You and Jason have always been my priority, even now. I live only for you, and in return, you abandoned me when I needed you the most.”

“Spencer, stop blaming me. I had to choose between taking care of you or raising my son. Our son. So I sacrificed my marriage to make the best decision for him. We came second.”

“But divorce doesn’t have to be forever,” he insisted, stepping in front of you to make you look at him. “If you want, we don’t even have to sleep in the same bed. I just… I just want us to live together again. For Jason. I think he deserves to have a complete family because I know how hard it is not to have one, and I don’t want him to go through the same thing.”

You were finally talking more than you had in months. But to be honest, you wished it wasn’t happening. He took one of his hands out of his pocket and reached up to touch your cheek. You were freezing, and it became a fervent desire to lean into you and lose himself in your lips.

“Spencer, don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I need to think with a clear head. And you’re just clouding my judgment.”

“Why does it have to be a decision you make with a clear head?” he said, sounding hurt. “I’m not a stranger; we once loved each other. I still love you.”

His other hand came up to cup your face, and you placed your hands on his wrists, trying in vain to push him away. You didn’t have the strength, neither physically nor mentally, to do it.

“Spencer, nothing guarantees that getting back together will make us happy.”

“And nothing guarantees that it won’t,” he murmured, pleading. His fingers stroked you gently, and you felt yourself succumbing to temptation.

You were looking into his honey-colored eyes again, and you realized that was one of the things that hadn’t changed despite all the years; they still looked so sweet, so docile toward you. And suddenly, you felt as in love as the first time, and that terrified you. Loving meant the fear of getting hurt again.

You were about to say something when a shout caught your attention, making you think for a second that something had happened to your son. Luckily, it was just him trying to get your attention.

“Come play! Please!” he said politely, with that persuasive little voice he was already learning to use.

“We’re coming, my love.”

The conversation was interrupted by that activity, and although Jason asked why you were crying, you reassured him, blaming the cold in the park. As the minutes passed and you two began to follow your son’s lead, the mood lightened. You even reached a point where you were genuinely having fun, the three of you together, and it was undeniable that your little boy was brimming with happiness.

“A squirrel!” Jason suddenly shouted. He loved animals, so he didn’t hesitate to get closer.

“Careful, honey,” Spencer hurried, always the more fearful of the two of you. “It’s not a good idea to touch squirrels, even if they look cute. They’re wild animals and could bite or scratch you if they get scared. Plus, they can have bugs or diseases.”

“But I want to pet it! Can I, Mommy?”

“When Daddy says no, it’s a no.”

Your son pouted, pretending to be upset, but looking as cute as any 6-year-old. Your ex-husband tried to cheer him up by crouching down to his level.

“Better let’s observe what it’s doing. What do you think it’s looking for?”

“I don’t know.”

“Look, there. In its little hands.”

“An acorn!” he exclaimed happily. The squirrel was picking some off the ground and putting them in its mouth, filling its cheeks. “Why is it doing that?”

“It’s storing food for the winter. It buries them in a safe place, and then when the snow falls, it looks for them to eat.”

“There are more over there!” your son said, pointing with his little finger. “There are three. Do you think those are its mommy and daddy?”

“Maybe, son.”

“They’re like us, right?” he smiled.

You looked away from them because you didn’t want to meet Spencer’s eyes if he turned, and you only heard him laugh.

“Yes, maybe they are.”

Jason watched the animals for a few more minutes, and then he got distracted by a nearby hot chocolate stand. Spencer bought a cup for each of you, which felt wonderful. During the time you all sat on a bench to drink it, with Jason in the middle of both of you, you could sense the furtive glances Spencer gave you, and unwillingly, you did the same toward him.

Jason played for so long that the sky darkened, and he was completely exhausted. By the time you hugged him, ready to head home, he had already fallen fast asleep. And although his presence was evident in theory, you were once again effectively alone with your ex-husband as you approached the car.

He offered to drive to avoid waking your son, and then he opened the passenger door for you, where you settled in, trying to make Jason as comfortable as possible. Halfway through the drive to your apartment, there was an awkward silence that couldn’t even be avoided with music because Spencer had forgotten to fix the stereo.

You struggled to admit it but, to be honest, you hadn’t had such a bad time that afternoon. You were genuinely happy about the family moment you shared, and proof of that was how you clung to who you would always see as your baby, smiling as you watched him sleep so peacefully.

Spencer didn’t expect you to speak during a red light.

“We can meet up to spend Christmas together as a family. Stay in the same apartment, open presents together, and all that,” you said, not looking at him, trying to focus on anything else to avoid him “And it’s too soon to make such a drastic decision, Spencer, like going back to a practically married life. But we can think about it and decide after the new year.”

Despite your indifference, he knew you were being sincere and not just giving him false hope. And he also knew that he would work twice as hard to win back your trust, forgive your mistakes, and, with some luck, recover your love. You hoped you had the strength to forget what had happened and see Spencer for who he was now, not for who he had been.

“I’m glad you said that. And I agree,” was all he replied.

When you got home, you both made sure to leave your son comfortably asleep in bed, and as an extra favor and a show of commitment, you stayed a long time watching him sleep, as if trying to preserve that childish image forever. You didn’t say anything when Spencer wrapped his arms around your shoulders, and he pretended not to notice that you leaned into him, resting your head lightly against his chest.

All you could think was how you hoped time would be kind to you and allow you to eventually rekindle the love you once had and offer it to the beautiful child lying in front of you.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

reading update: september 2024

I'm turning in the reading roundup a little later than usual, but booooy not for lack of enthusiasm! September was such an interesting month for books, not least of all because you'll notice that things take a spooky turn towards the end of the month. in the name of whimsy I decided that October would be the perfect time to go on a themed reading kick and read through everything vaguely spooky, scary, or horror-related on my TBR, and then I thought, hey, why wait? Halloween is a state of mind, and I want to get spooked.

(have I been spooked yet? well... eh. but there's still time!)

my point being, if you want some creepy recs, hang tight because the October reading roundup is going to be great for you. in the meantime, here's what I read in September:

My Nemesis (Charmaine Craig, 2023) - cannot recommend this brief novel enough if you like very stylized prose about very insufferable people. Craig's protagonist is a memoirist who narrates her tale of woe exactly like she's writing a personal essay that's going to do numbers on twitter, intimate from a detached and analytical distance and giving the strong impression of a person who's made a living being intensely self-obsessed and can't quite manage to turn it off. it's a fascinating approach to a story about an emotionally overwhelming friendship destroying two marriages and ending in a woman's death, all without any actual adultery ever occurring. the narrator is consciously self-conscious, unreliable in the subtle and shifty way of someone trying to take exactly enough culpability to avoid being assigned more. it's a heavily interior novel, but Craig managed to keep me gasping with surprise here and there - the stomach-twisting reveal of why the narrator is actually telling her story, for one, as well as the revelation of the work within the novel that shares its name. if you like a tightly crafted character exercise, you're going to eat this up.

Raiders of the Lost Heart (Jo Segura, 2023) - this was the romance novel picked out via poll over on my patreon for September, and if I may be honest I was NOT excited! to my mind it was the dud of the group, the one amongst the four possibilities that I was most dreading. the garish cover, improbable plot summary, and blatant Indiana Jones of it all (the male love interest is literally named Ford) was a tremendous turn off, and you know what? I was wrong for that. Raiders ended up being one of the better romance novels I've read this year, and not JUST because I've been reading an endless parade of stinkers. the characters are largely free of manufactured drama and are instead believably and sympathetically rendered, with the female lead Corrie being a particular knockout; I would love to be her friend. the plot isn't nearly as cartoonish as the synopsis on the back of the book would have you believe, or at least most of it isn't; the silliness doesn't arrive until almost the very end, when Segura decides she needs some action movie stakes in here ASAP. and while the prose wasn't totally free of the genre's worst bullshit (stop reminding me that Ford's eyes are emerald, I beg), it was for the most part refreshingly no-nonsense. I wasn't even a chapter into this book when I found myself realizing I might really like it, and as of right now it's looking to claim the title of my favorite romance of 2024 in a landslide victory. having said that someone should be in thought crime prison for titling the sequel "Temple of Swoon."

Delicious in Dungeon Vol. 11 (Ryoko Kui, trans. Taylor Engel, 2022) - man you guys Dungeon Meshi is so fucking good. what the fuck. what the hell. it's so genuinely insane that Kui is still able to weave in elements of humor that feel so organic and natural to the characters at this absolutely dire point of the game, when all of my faves are actively in so much danger - largely FROM EACH OTHER - that I'm eating my fingers. christ. some of my students who are in an LGBT book club did Legends and Lattes last month and I just kept wanting to ask if anyone had read Dungeon Meshi for, you know, a very D&D-flavored story that's actually intensely interested in dissecting the tropes of the genre alongside race and class and xenophobia and the social rules of an adventurer heavy world but god. I couldn't. because it's not gay. like Senshi I just want to nourish the youngsters but I can't because it's not gay. please everyone for the love of god just read Dungeon Meshi.

The Most (Jessica Anthony, 2024) - I'm a simple man, and I added this tiny novel to my TBR based on a blurb that really gave me nothing but "a 60s housewife gets in the apartment complex's pool and refuses to get out and it freaks her husband right out." god forbid women do anything, right? anyway, at risk of showing my whole ass I think this is exactly the kind of "disaffected adultery and divorce" book that a lot of tumblr users claim to hate, and I fucking loved it. Anthony is a brilliantly sharp writer who paces her microcosmic drama perfectly, revealing everything at just the right moment like a practiced tour guide showing us around the shadowy corners of an aggressively ordinary marriage. I love adultery and I think this book in particular should be taught in writing courses. sue me.

Dear Senthuran: A Black Spirit Memoir (Akwaeke Emezi, 2021) - I think this year I've reread more books than I have any other year of my adult life, and I'm so glad that I took time to revisit Emezi's memoir. it's genuinely like nothing else I've ever read, one of the boldest and bravest things I've ever read. Emezi's account of godhood, of coming to understand themself as a deity trapped in flesh, is absolutely unwavering, completely grounded in their certainty of their truth and proceeding from there without ever worrying about persuading others to believe them. Emezi is a storyteller's storyteller, and their story doesn't need anyone's approval. but while it can be challenging, I wouldn't call the book confrontational. quite the opposite; in many places it's achingly vulnerable, as Emezi guides you through an unabashed tour of the very worst of their heartbreak, trauma, and alienation, and the times they've nearly succeeded in taking their own life. but god, please don't think this memoir is unrelenting misery. Emezi also speaks so, SO powerfully of opulence, of love, of the dedication to their artistry ad unabashed acknowledgement that they are a peerless talent. Emezi talks about magic of writing in a way that makes me feel like I'm being engulfed in golden-white flames; they make me want to transform myself into the artist I want to be. once again: I am an Emezi stan first and a person second forever.

The Beginning and End of Rape: Confronting Sexual Violence in Native America (Sarah Deer, 2015) - listen, I'll be straight up with you: unless you're exorbitantly interested in rape law, alternatives to carceral "justice," and legalese, this is going to be a very dry read, and there are not enough narrative segments to make up for that. for my money, Deer provides a thorough overview of the difficulties faced by American tribal nations in exercising legal power to prosecute and punish cases of sexual violence, despite the staggering levels of violence experienced by women in many Native communities. I really admired the intensely tempered view that Deer (a member of the Mvskokoe nation) brings to her work, discussing the history of Native approaches to sexual violence without pretending precolonial North America was a feminist utopia and offering thoughtful criticism of proposed substitutions to imprisonment. while the rape laws of any one of the 574 federally recognized tribes in the occupied lands of the United States could be a book on its own and Deer is constrained by the need to cover as much territory as she can in the broadest strokes possible, this is a solid primer to an ongoing social, spiritual, and legal issue that too rarely receives attention outside of Native communities.

Things Have Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke and Other Misfortunes (Erica LaRocca, 2022) - straight up I was only trying to read Things Have Gotten worse, LaRocca's somewhat infamous story of a lesbian relationship that goes extremely wrong extremely fast, but the only copy available through my library system came with two more of his short stories (the aforementioned Other Misfortunes). I'm going to save time on the two extra stories: one is an incomprehensible exercise in religious trauma and I did not like it, and the other one was silly because I, personally, simply would not get so trapped in a sense of social obligation that I let my neighbor do stupid riddles to be until I was in a guillotine. rip to that guy but I'm different. anyway, back to the star of the show. I made the mistake of browsing some other people's thoughts on Things Have Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke and encountered a truly dizzying number of people whose takeaway seems to be that it's bad not for any stylistic reason but because it depicts two lesbians being in a relationship that's deranged and unhealthy, to which I say you should probably go watch Stephen Universe or something instead of looking for #goodrep in the horror short stories. christ. for my money, Things Have Gotten Worse is messy in the most delicious way, absolutely bonkers from start to finish. escalates pretty much instantly and refuses to let up for truly even a second. cannot believe the predatory mommy dom turns out to be the reasonable one in this dynamic, that one threw me for a loop. it's not incredible but god was I entertained.

Fledgling (Octavia E. Butler, 2005) - another reread, revisiting some of my favorite little freak vampires for the spooky season! although, honestly, the most spooky scary thing about Butler's vampires is probably that vampires look like an Aryan cult and some of them are turbo racist while the other ones insist that it's totally 100% impossible for vampires to be racist and the fact that this gets quite a lot of people killed, something that I'm sure is just a weird coincidence and not any kind of commentary that Butler was making on anything at all. what else is there to say? this is one of Butler's most elaborate explorations of inverted power dynamics, dropping codependent symbiotic sexy vampire polycule cults smack in the middle of the 21st century United States instead of on an alien planet or an apocalyptic wasteland just to really drive home how crazy this shit it. and it's delicious! I love it! what a deliciously different interpretation of vampirism. imagine the utopia we'd be living in if this was the vampire novel that had gotten big in 2005 instead of Twilight.

The Low, Low Woods (Carmen Maria Machado, Dani, and Tamra Bonvillain, 2020) - first I remembered that there are horror comics that I can include in my Octoberish reading, and then I remembered that creepy queen Carmen Maria Machado has published one with DC Comics' Black Label. The Low, Low Woods follows dirtbag teen lesbians Octavia and El in the burnt out coal mining town of Shudder to Think, a town where everyone knows that something's not quite right but no one can seem to leave. the story begins with El and Octavia waking up in a movie theater with no memory of a movie, realizing that they've lost time. the ensuing investigation takes them deep into the town's troubled history, and forces them to realize it's not just the supernatural preying on the town. I love creepy Appalachia and would definitely recommend this for any Old Gods of Appalachia fans, and I will say that so far this is the only one of the spooky reads to really get under my skin and give me a full-body shiver due to the sheer overwhelming awfulness of the implications Machado raises with the revelations in her story. I'm not usually one for trigger warnings in my little roundups, but I cannot emphasize enough that if you have a hard time reading about sexual violence, you'll probably want to skip this one.

The Icarus Girl (Helen Oyeyemi, 2005) - I've been meaning to get into Oyeyemi's large body of work (in part because Akwaeke Emezi speaks quite highly of her) and where better to start than with her debut novel? and why not now, since it was tagged as horror? ultimately I'd concede that the book is creepy but don't know if I'd quite consider myself horrified, and that's completely fine since it's an astonishing piece of prose regardless. writing a believable eight year old narrator of an adult novel is a tricky thing, but Oyeyemi pulls it off beautifully with protagonist Jessamy, effortlessly selling her as an insightful, anxious, and intelligent girl who's still utterly believable as a child. the Icarus Girl revels in the same kind of "powerless child" horror as Gaiman's Ocean at the End of the Lane, following the lonely Jessamy as she initially is befriended and then tormented by a mysterious and powerful little girl that she meets while visiting her mother's family in Nigeria. as her new friends gets increasingly malevolent and out of control, Jess struggles to account for the damage and to be taken seriously by her parents when she tries to explain what's wrong. Oyeyemi apparently wrote this book when she was only a teenager, and if she's been leveling up her craft with each subsequent novel then I have a lot of look forward to.

[kiwi-but-the-bird-not-the-fruit]

Vil schoenheit x F!Reader

(More female presenting reader its minor but he does call you his queen)

___________________________________________

Vil,who looks at you first thing in the morning, and stares at you with adoring eyes as he watched you're steady breathing & calm expression, the way your curves are molded under the soft purple blankets and the little murmurs you speak in your slumber, just you sleeping next to him makes his heart full.

Vil, who when you two get ready for another day of class happily lets you style his hair and after he picks out your perfume for the day, his favorite is the cherry one.

Vil,who is attentive to things you like, flowers, book genres, perfumes, makeup pallets, candy he'll note it all down;then he will get you a variation of those things every once in a while and is happy when you smile and thank him for the gifts.

Vil, who takes pictures of you doing random or cute things while you're not paying attention to him, he'll save those pictures and print them out, placing them into a photo album of you and him.

Vil, who keeps every letter you gave him from the very beginning of your relationship, will read them when he's feeling sad or feeling like he could do better in acting or in his modeling and especially after being defeated by Neige, but all those thoughts go away when he reads your letters.

Vil, who after a long day comes back and crashes into your arms as you sit on the end sofa, he gets comfortable laying his whole body on the plush sofa and takes a few minutes to breath in you're sweet cherry perfume and squishes his face into your bosom even though he knows he shouldn't cause he's still wearing a full face so you'll end up with a smudged on your crop top.

Vil, who loves your fashion sense and loves to see you in sundresses and skirts, chunky pink platforms with leg warmers and low rise parachute pants with compression shirts; he doesn't even think straight seeing you in such clothing only your figure and how good it would look with hickeys underneath him.

Vil, who can't help but feel so loved by you everytime you make the initiative for a date, the two of you going to a secluded part of the five star restaurant and talk for endless hours while trying out some amazing dishes, he's so happy that you planned this like every other date you plan and he's going to repay you back for this 10 fold because you are his beautiful queen.

Vil, who after all this time of not letting anyone in and letting his heart love someone truly, is at peace now doing so for the only girl that really matters. You because without you and your sweetness;how persistent you were with helping out, he finally let his guard down and let you in, which led him falling so desperately in love with you.

Vil, who holds you at night under the soft blanket whispering into your ear sweet nothings, you who looks up at him with a gentle smile and kisses his lips before finally closing your eyes to fall into slumber.

Vil, who before doing the same whispers "you are my everything, and i will always be there for you, my queen" he kisses your forehead then adjusted himself to hold you close, protectively almost but gently; his breathing slowly synced with yours and finally he could rest with you in his hold.

[starfxkrinc]

teacher's pet - pope heyward

kinktober day 2 - light femdom + exhibitionism

professor!pope x student!reader

you were professor heyward’s favorite student. the things he let you get away with were unheard of and rumors had been swirling for the past two semesters about your strange relationship. everyone thinks he’s abusing his power to take advantage of you, they would be wrong.

the amount of power professor heyward gave you was addicting as it was strange. here he was, 20 years your senior letting you guide him through the rows of books in the library to a little corner tucked in the back--filled with nothing but dusty old books nobody comes back there for, not even the teachers.

you shit him down with you, back against the wall as you whip out your laptop and for a solid 45 minutes you don't pay attention to him. luckily you go to a very liberal college, and it wasn't unusual to see students sitting with their professors, especially if they were TAs or research assistants--and you were the latter.

so pope was there, thigh pressed against yours brimming with tension while you seemingly ignored him, typing away without sparing him a second glance until all of a sudden you thrust the computer into his lap, "read it." despite your tone you looked sweet with a disarming smile and a relaxed posture, "i wanna know if it's any good."

"okay...alright just give me a minute," it seemed like a paper for another class--british lit maybe-- and whatever you were reading was dense. pope was only a quarter of a way through the second chapter when he felt you tugging at his ear, teeth clacking against his earring.

"keep reading."

he let out a shudder. this was ridiculous, here he was a 41 year old man shaking because his student might touch his dick. but he kept reading--or he tried. because truth be told he didn't know what he was reading, as he scrolled on, the paper seemingly devolved into gibberish. what he thought was a paper of british lit morphed into something about greek classics. latin words sprung up here and there, and every time his eyes slid shut at the feeling of your nails raking across his stomach he lost his place.

"sweetheart, we really shouldn't be doing this here." but pope makes no move to stop you, he looks you in the eyes when you lick your palm with a sweet smile, before sliding them down his pants.

"doing what? you're just reading my paper." you grip him around the base, already feeling how hot and hard he is when you drag your palm up, tugging him out of his slacks to circle your palm around his tip, "i've been working really hard on it, and you're the only person i trust."

the flattery gets to him and you know it, because he twitches in your hand as you watch a pearl of precum bead at his slit.

"yeah?" his head falls back against the wall, eyes shut as he gives in to the feeling your hands cupping his balls.

you give a little hum, squeezing him harder just to hear him groan, "mhm, now will you keep reading please? i know that dead languages club meets in about 10 minutes, and they love to sit back here..."

nodding, pope does his best to focus, his heart beating as the wet schlick of your hand gets louder and he struggles to keep quiet, almost blowing your cover when you bend forward to take him in your mouth, "oh fuck honey that's good."

instantly you pop back up, letting his dick go to throb in the air while you grab his face with your sticky hand, "we can't focus if someone comes back here," you're grin is deceptively sweet when you peck him on the lips, "so please. be quiet, we're in a library."

you're mouths back on him all pope can pay attention to is the slide of your tongue, the warm wet heat of your mouth as you quietly gag around him. the laptop's long forgotten, and pope clenches his hands at his side, knowing you'll stop if he touches you--then someone sits at the table right across from where the two of you are hidden. far enough that it's not immediately apparent what's going on, but one wrong move and it's over.

he definitely can't speak now so he pinches you, making you slowly raise your head in confusion, and pope has to fight the moan threatening to push past his lips when he sees you, teary eyed and swollen lipped from your work, "what?""

pope nods towards the student--seemingly unaware with to the debauchery happening across from her--but to his chagrin you shrug, "don't get us caught then."

his stomach drops--he's the authority here, you're both adults but he's the adult in this situation, the one with a job and a livelyhood at stake. he could just as easily throw you off him and stop it, stop this whole relationship and treat you like every other student.

but you make him feel wanted, desired. you kiss him like you need his air to breathe and you fuck him like it's the last thing you'll ever do.

so he acquiesces, lets you rest your cheek on his should so you can watch his swollen tip disappear and reappear in your fist all spit soaked and shiny. you take pity on him, letting him grip your thigh for dear life when you switch to short, fast strokes near the head. pope's breaths turn to harsh gasps and you nip at his shoulder in warning, but there's not much you can do, because soon he's spilling into your hand in lazy rivulets until it drips down your wrist.

pope's head is still buzzing when you tuck him in, wiping your hand on the carpeted ground before reaching for your discarded laptop.

"that wasn't really an essay was it?"

you snort a soft laugh, "nope. complete and utter bullshit."

pope pinches your side, making you giggle as the both of you pack up to leave.

he doesn't miss the wink you send to the other girl.

[lotties-ashwagandha]

SHOKO HEADCANONS! (sfw and nsfw). sugar mommy shoko vibes to an extent, it just happened :) fem!reader implied.

SFW

⬦ after a long day of work, shoko is exhausted. she’s given so much of her energy to patients, to paperwork, to caring for everyone but herself. when she comes home to you, all she wishes for is to be held by you. she loves quiet evenings with you, quiet dinners and chamomile tea with honey and reading together wrapped in one another’s arms.

⬦ on her days off, shoko loves peaceful, romantic dates with you. taking you out to bakeries and coffee shops, or out shopping for any clothes you want. there’s no window shopping with shoko, she has enough money that if you take so much as a second glance at something then you’re inevitably going home with it. she especially loves buying you jewelry, necklaces and bracelets that serve as subtle signs of her on you.

⬦ BOOK STORE OR LIBRARY DATES!!!!! you can’t tell me this woman isn’t the most nerdy book obsessed queer ever in her free time. i’d like to say she reads mystery/suspense or horror, but realistically i think she would try to live permanently in the non fiction section. in any case, the two of you leave with heavy as fuck bags of books every time you go to a book store. you make her read your favorites that you’ve gotten together, and she makes you read hers.

NSFW (under the cut)

⬦ dom!shoko, who is either so soft with you or so rough with you depending on how she’s feeling. after a hard day at work she needs to fuck you hard, bury her strap in you and slap you and put you in handcuffs. she’ll heal the marks on your wrists if they’re rubbed by the cuffs, but she’ll leave the hickeys on your neck and chest as they are.

⬦ the jewelry i mentioned that she buys you — she loves to fuck you in it. she wants to see your back arch and feel your body tense under her while the diamond necklace she bought you hangs around your neck. she wants to pull your hair and catch a flashing view of the new earrings you picked out and used her money to pay for, and wants to hear the jangling of your bracelets when you clutch at her at the edge of an orgasm.

⬦ shoko pulls you into her office at work, or into an empty alley, or into the backseat of her car when she wants you. she doesn’t care where the two of you are, just that she can use you wherever she wants to.

my first official jjk post 🥹 dedicated to @webism for getting me into jjk, i’m writing a fluffy fic for you later to show my gratitude not just headcanons SORRY

[fairyysoup]

the devil i know

chapter three: i smoke out your darkest side

(repost)

fic tag | fic playlist | fic masterlist

pairing(s): crossroads demon!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: Your favorite accidental demon boy toy maims your piece of shit manager, learns a bit about your past, and visits you in a dream.

cw: explicit, witch!reader, reader is 21+, eddie is immortal, deal with a demon, inspired by american and european folklore, sacrilegious themes, wet dreams, lucid dreaming, handjobs, skin on skin grinding, teasing, horror, very intense bodily harm done to a minor character (tongues are lost), blood, gore, bullying/harassment, mention of past abusive ex, dead dove: do not eat

please check masterlist and individual parts for content warnings before reading. this fic contains dark themes. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

EASTWICK, YOUR JUNIOR YEAR

The book you found at the garage sale a town over has to be fake. Right? You’ve spent weeks flipping through it, looking at the pages and reading the words over and over, trying to somehow carve them into your memory. 

It seems so improbable, but the notion bounces around in your skull for so long that it grips hold somewhere in there, wiggling down into your belief system until you just can’t seem to get rid of it. 

Magic is real. Witchcraft exists. It has existed, in different forms, throughout history. You’ve just never considered that you could practice it for yourself, until now.

Part of the reason that you decide to try it is that you want to see what’ll happen. You have an insatiable curiosity, and if it works out, you may have just discovered the cure to all that ails you, so to speak. But the other part of it is a quiet desperation for something more. 

Being sixteen sucks. But being sixteen in a small, puritanical town that’s stuck in the past, when you’re considered too weird to eat in the cafeteria without getting wads of gum stuck into your hair by the assholes on the football team, is worse. 

You have no support system, and no way out. Your family won’t even pretend to understand. So, you’re taking to naïve leaps of faith, instead.

The moon is bright enough to illuminate the clouds moving in the sky around it. The air is thick with late spring mugginess and oncoming rain, stifling your skin. The candles arranged in a circle around you don’t help with the heat. Beneath you on the dirt, you’ve used red painter’s pigment to sketch out a pentacle, for lack of a better understanding of how to “cast a circle.”

In your hand, the little cloth doll you’d amateurly sewn together stares back at you with two black button eyes. You’d been very careful when you clipped off a piece of Matt Anderson’s backpack strap to tie around its neck. The wad of ABC gum that he’d shoved into your hair is wrapped in it, and stuffed inside the doll’s body, making it lumpy– but it doesn’t have to look perfect.

It just has to work.

You pick up a cheap plastic cigarette lighter and flick it on. The flame glows yellow in the dark, illuminating the crude red smiley face you’d drawn onto the doll’s head. 

Fucking Matt.

The polyester cloth sizzles when you hold the flame to it, barely singeing the edges. All your rage, all your pent up anger and aggression toward him and the impromptu haircut he caused, floods out of you. The smiley face warps. One of the little button eyes pops off. The stuffing inside is going to catch on in a second–

“Oh, my GOD. What are you doing?”

You drop the lighter with a yelp. Over your backyard fence, your neighbor, Jessica, stares at you with wide eyes.

Jessica is your age, your longtime neighbor and one-time friend, when you were very little. You grew apart in middle school, when she discovered cheerleading and you discovered teen angst. She doesn’t talk to you much anymore, unless it’s to give you a hollow, backhanded compliment.

“Jess– I didn’t– what are you doing?” You squint at her in the darkness. Her blonde hair is up in foam rollers, a baby blue bathrobe wrapped around her willowy shoulders.

“Well I saw fire out here when I was getting ready for bed and I wanted to see what was– I wanted to make sure you weren’t, like, in trouble.” She takes in the circle of candles around the red pentacle, the lighter, the mutilated doll in your hand. “Are you, like… a Devil worshipper?”

“What?” You stand up, still clutching the doll in your hand. “No, why would you ask that?”

“Well, I mean… Reverend Tanner was talking about ‘em in church the other day, and I just thought…” She looks you up and down. Her eyes linger on your oversized Black Sabbath t-shirt, your hands covered in red pigment and soot from the spell you were attempting. “It’s okay, I’m not gonna say anything. I promise.”

“Jess, I’m not a Devil wor–”

“It’s… it’s alright. It’ll be our secret.” Jessica gives you a wobbly, forced smile that you know means she’s lying. 

Your eye twitches in annoyance. You probably should say something. Plead your case, make her understand that this isn’t Devil worship. Tell her that whatever the hell she listens to the preacher at the local parish say about ‘lunatic Satan worshippers consorting with the Devil’ doesn’t apply to you, and frankly, probably doesn’t exist the way she thinks it does. 

Instead, you just sigh. You can’t foresee her being as big of a problem as Matt or any of his cronies. She isn’t vindictive as all that. “Sure, Jess. Our secret.”

“I, um. Sorry, I’m just gonna…” Jessica gestures over her shoulder, and then retreats back toward her house. Her fluffy pink slippers scuff the wood of her patio as she glances back at you cautiously, like she’s afraid you’ll chase after her. 

You watch her disappear inside. Then, with a roll of your eyes, you irritatedly hold the lighter’s flame to the Matt doll, and let it catch fire in your hands. You toss it into an empty Folgers coffee canister and let it burn to shit before you blow out the candles and go back inside. The pentacle on the ground will be washed away with the rain by the morning.

Fuck it all.

As soon as Colin enters his house, Eddie appears on the horizon like a stoic angel bearing a message.

Actually, that’s a fucking lie. He makes the walls cry blood. Always wanted to do that, at least once.

Colin’s a little pipsqueak of a guy in his early thirties, with prematurely thinning hair and skinny legs that make his pants look way too big on him no matter what size he wears. Eddie finds it hard to take him seriously– especially when he’s cowering in a corner brandishing a wooden crucifix like Eddie’s some kind of movie vampire.

“Colin– hey.” Eddie smacks the crucifix out of the guy’s hand, sending it clattering across the floor. Red ooze drips over Colin’s shoulder as he flinches away, whimpering and crying. Eddie rolls his eyes. “Christ, you people are so easy to scare. Okay. Here’s how this is gonna go– you’re gonna quit your job, and I’m gonna make you vomit green pea soup, and then we both go our separate ways and never have to see each other again. Sound good?”

Eddie pauses, tilting his head and squinting at Colin as he starts whispering something. It’s so quiet and wobbly with tears that he can’t quite make it out, so he has to lean close to Colin’s trembling face.

“–thy kingdom come thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven, give us this day our daily bread–”

Eddie sighs. “That’s not gonna work.” 

“–forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us–”

“Colin, I’m losing my patience.”

“–lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil–”

“COLIN!” Eddie’s head explodes into a storm of snarling beasts, screeching demons and eldritch beings whirling around each other in a tempest that could rival the Tasmanian Devil. A monstrous jaw with three rows of razor sharp teeth unhinges in front of Colin’s screaming face, roaring at him, showing him the glowing pit of hellfire deep in Eddie’s chest.

Colin continues shrieking even after Eddie’s face returns to normal. Eddie rocks back on his heels, inching away from the puddle of urine Colin just released onto the floor. 

“I warned you,” Eddie murmurs. “Needed you to shut up. Now,” Eddie snatches Colin’s phone from the coffee table, pushing it at him. “Call your stupid fucking boss and quit your job so I can get back to my girl.”

Blubbering, Colin juggles the phone in his trembling hands. It takes three tries for him to unlock the damn thing.

After it’s done, Eddie takes the phone from Colin and tosses it over his shoulder. “You just got off so fucking easy– they teach you those fucking manners in Sunday school, too? Stealing tips, making her clean the goddamn bathrooms on her hands and knees. I’d love to kick your teeth in–”

“W-wait–” Colin sniffles, sitting up in his corner. “That’s your girl? The witch?” 

Eddie leans back, his jaw clicking into place as he readjusts it– unhinging it like that always misaligns it. He scrutinizes Colin’s expression; the blubbering, frightened little cretin is gone, replaced by a wild eyed and angry zealot. 

“Oh, my god. Oh my GOD, so it’s true?” Colin laughs hysterically. “You know they say she burned down her neighbors house because they saw her worshiping the Devil?”

Eddie blinks. “What fucking year is this? 1692?”

Colin doesn’t answer, just continues, “And she never got caught. They couldn’t prove it was her. But now, I bet…”

Colin trails off. There’s something dark and menacing in Eddie’s eyes that wasn’t there before– not even when he lost his temper. Lava pools whirling and stormy, boiling and angry like the buildup before an eruption. 

Fear shoots directly into Colin’s mind so hard that he gives a startled jump. After years of skillful practice, Eddie has figured out how to play with people’s emotions in quite the literal sense. Sometimes, he does it harder than necessary. 

“I– I mean–” Colin backtracks, “I’m not gonna say anything. I promise. I– I fucking swear on my life–”

“I don’t care about your life,” Eddie says, his voice as flat as he can make it. “I care about hers.” 

“Please– please don’t kill me!”

“No, I’m not gonna kill you.” Eddie looks momentarily as though he’s considering launching himself forward and throttling the cowering man, but he sets aside his sudden temperament. “I promised her that I wouldn’t. Which… complicates things.”

Colin squirms. “It… it does?”

“Mm.” Eddie nods, his hands pressed together under his nose as though in prayer. “Because you’re obviously not gonna keep your trap shut, so I have to do it for you.”

Eddie stands as Colin retches. His body contorts on the floor, wailing and gurgling until a projectile stream of blood bursts forth and splatters across the living room hearth. In the midst of the puddle of blood, a writhing tongue curls and twitches, severed on one end like it was cut with a sharp blade.

Colin collapses in a pool of his own fluids. He’ll live. Unfortunately.

Eddie dusts his hands off on his pants and whistles. Out of the shadows, the smoky impression of a dog appears, its glowing red eyes piercing through the darkness and mirroring Eddie’s. 

“Dante,” Eddie mutters to the shadow of the rottweiler, standing at attention and waiting for instructions. The dog gives a short whuff of acknowledgement. Eddie snaps his fingers, points at Colin’s disembodied tongue. “Dinner.”

Dante barks and falls upon the tongue enthusiastically. It’s been a while since Eddie’s hellhounds had any fresh meat, only being fed by the souls of the condemned in the Otherworld. 

Eddie turns around in a circle, staring around at Colin’s less than stellar apartment setup. He can’t really judge, he was never much of a housekeeper either, but this guy is on a whole other level.

It takes a minute, but he finds what he was looking for beneath Colin’s mattress– hilariously predictable– in a tin pencil box. There’s about $300 in cash, singles and fives and a few twenties in the mix. A couple receipts from a Coinstar machine, as well.

Eddie snatches up the wad of money and shoves it into his back pocket.

You’ve managed to have one or two lucid dreams in your life. In the past they’ve been something mundane– walking through a city or having a talk with an elderly gentleman on a park bench.

This one is different. You open your eyes to something entirely unexpected. 

Your dream is bright and colorful, despite it being perpetually twilight. As you gain lucidity, you pick up on different things– damp grass on your bare back, skin on skin, a gentle caress up a naked thigh. You turn your head, and you find Eddie there next to you, stirring as if rousing from a dream of his own.

You– or, your subconscious– has already taken the liberty of stripping him of his clothes, and you lay in the tall grass of a meadow. Your arms are around him, your leg hooked over his waist. He pets your thigh, soft and gentle like he’s doing it mindlessly. 

Your hand wraps around his cock and he startles, his eyes flying open as he gasps.

“Oh. This is, um…” Eddie turns his head towards you, snickering as a warm flush spreads across his cheeks. Ringed hands– because of course, your mind would keep the rings in there– come up to cover his face.

You giggle. “Hello, handsome.”

He grumbles something, but he doesn’t manage to say anything of real importance before he moans. You squeeze his cock and roll your wrist, stroking him torturously slow. He throbs in your grip, needy and jumping when you skim your fingers over the vein that runs along his shaft.

“Well, you, um–” Eddie huffs and cracks a smile, dragging his hands down his face as he does to clear away the grogginess that comes from stepping into the astral plane. “You sure know how to make a demon feel special.”

“Not what you had in mind?” you ask, and your voice has a sultry dip to it that makes the demon squirm. 

“Mm, I figured–” Eddie’s breath catches in his throat when you lean over and spit onto his cock. The sound that kicks up from it is salacious, a lewd squelch that completely contradicts your pastoral surroundings. You watch him, as his mouth hangs open in shock for a moment. His head drops back against the ground, baring the jumping muscles of his long neck for your consideration. “Fuck– figured you dream about unicorns and lollipops or some shit.”

You hum, looking pointedly down at where your hand strokes him between his legs. “Well, you’re half right. S’what you get for hijacking my dream, you little shit,” you mutter, but it doesn’t come out as caustically as you want it to, because you litter his chest with kisses. 

“I just wanted to talk.” He tilts his head, giving you a pointed look. “You seem to have other plans.”

“Well, it’s my dream, and you caught me in a mood, so.” You shrug, rolling your thumb over the head of his cock. You’re gazing down at it like it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen, with heavy-lidded eyes and your bottom lip caught between your teeth. 

Eddie groans and bucks his hips up into your fist. His hand comes up to grab your shoulder, a warm touch that sends a shudder through you. “Remind me to do that more often?”

You shake your head slowly. “Nuh-uh, this is a one time thing. You said you wanted to talk, so talk.” 

You hadn’t realized just how much his presence would affect you, even just in your dreams. Everything about him screams for you to unhinge yourself, against your better judgment; his eyes, his scent, even his voice beckons you. Something not quite human or tangible pulls at your senses and clutches at your chest, and you’re not sure if it’s hunger or lust or something else entirely, some other primitive urge that you’re feeling in force.

Eddie sucks in a long breath through his teeth, his eyes falling to your hand as it works over him. His own tremble, holding back from touching you how he wants. 

“There’s, um. You asked me to– uh–” You start trailing your tongue along his chest in a way that makes him lose his train of thought, your lips dragging over his skin, heavenly soft. “Uhhh– not kill that guy for you. So I didn’t.”

“Good.” 

“I cut out his tongue, though.”

“Eddie.”

“Sorry.” He isn’t, really. You can feel it, and you can see it in the ghost of a smile on his face. “He was gonna say some shit about you worshipping the Devil. Called you a witch.”

“Everyone already does. And they’re right, aren’t they?” You sigh, and your breath whispers across his overheated skin. “I’m worshipping a devil right now.”

You’re bolder in your sleep. You guess because, to your subconscious mind, there isn’t as much to be afraid of in dreams. Especially in dreams that you can control. All your hang-ups are, well… hung up. And you can let yourself be as promiscuous as you want, at least until you wake up. 

You bite at a spot on his neck that makes him lose his composure. Eddie chews his lip and groans, his eyes nearly rolling back into his skull. He grabs your hip and flips you, until your back hits the grass and his hips rest between your legs. 

Your heart pounds in your chest as you gaze up at him. Eddie’s beautiful, so impossibly stunning that it nearly frightens you, almost as much as this aching want burning inside of you does. His dark hair hanging around his face, his flushed skin and glowing amber eyes. He’s the picture of immortal beauty and power, and he’s yours.  

His lips are so close to yours, his mouth open so that his breath gets caught in your lungs. His nose bumping your own, almost like he means to kiss you. 

Eddie rocks his hips, and you feel his erection grind against your cunt. Splitting the seam of your pussy, parting around him as he slides the length of it against you, getting it wet with your arousal. He isn’t… he isn’t fucking you, per se. But it would take just the slightest hitch of his hips, just a little press forward to change that. 

You whimper, clutching at his shoulders, your nails digging into his back. “Eddie…”

“So you want to play games, huh?” he murmurs, his voice low and bassy in his chest.

You roll your hips up into his. You can’t help it– the slick, soft glide of his cock through your folds, the head catching against your clit feels too good. His lips on your skin, his breath in your ear. It’s been way too fucking long for you, since someone touched you like this. Your head drops back on your shoulders, your back arching as you moan–

You wake up.

You fucking. Wake. Up.

You lay, disoriented, on your bed. Your hand rests on your sweaty forehead as your pussy throbs, hot and angry between your legs. Seething with rage and neglect, begging for the job to be finished. 

It was so real. It felt so real, and so good, and you had to go and ruin it.

His scent remains. His smoke fills your lungs, eating up all your oxygen and making your head spin. You struggle to find your balance somehow, trying to quell the ache between your legs, trying to snap back to a reality where you weren’t just about to fuck your dream demon.

“Did you burn down someone’s house?”

You yelp, bolting to sit up in bed. His scent wasn’t just a leftover memory from your dream. You search through the darkness until your eyes find him sitting in the antique chair in the corner of your room, facing the bed, lit only by streaks of light filtering through the blinds from the streetlamp outside. He reclines, immobile, seemingly relaxed as his eyes glow warm and nearly gold in the low light.

You simply cannot handle this right now. Not while you’re coming down from a very near orgasm you just had because of him. 

“What?”

“The guy, Colin–” Eddie continues, as if he’s completely unaware of the absolute torture you’re going through. “He said you burned down someone’s house. Your neighbor’s?”

You wonder for a moment if you could hate him for this, but you already know the answer. You could never hate him. Not really.

“C’mon, you can tell me,” he coos, and then winks. “Tell me and I’ll give you a present.”

You squint at him. He can’t possibly mean what you think he means. You get a mental image of him between your legs, his eyes glowing as he peers up at you, his mouth closed over your cunt. 

He smirks like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. The fucker. 

“Yeah,” you admit, drawing your knees up to your chest. “Yeah, uh. My fucking neighbor– she started a rumor that I was a Satanist in high school. Got everyone in on it. So, I threw a Molotov through her kitchen window.”

Eddie nods slowly. “Amazing de-escalation tactic.”

“It’s not like I genuinely tried to burn down the place,” you huff. “How was I supposed to know they’d just had the floor waxed?”

Eddie laughs, rocking forward in his seat. His eyes sparkle and his smile is sharp when he pulls a wad of money out of his pocket, holding it up between two fingers. “Your tip money. Your wish, my command.”

You’re taken aback, gazing at the paper that seems so bright in the darkness. “Well, that was relatively painless.”

“Was it?” It’s barely a whisper, but something you were meant to hear. Holding his jaw in his hand, fingers splayed across his cheek, he watches you with growing intensity. “Come and take it, then.”

The knowing smile on his lips issues a challenge, one that you would walk away from in any other circumstance. He knows very well what he’s doing. He can read your thoughts, that much is obvious. And since it seems they’re always in the gutter now, he knows how you’re squirming beneath your skin at the sight of him. 

You wonder if you were really the one who ended the dream.

Refusing to breathe– you’re afraid that if you do, the sound of it would give you away– you crawl out of your bed and stand on shaky legs. One look at him tells you he’s gloating, watching the way that you struggle.

Ohhhh you hate him. You hate him, you hate him.

You cross the room toward him, moving slower than necessary in order to steel yourself to the shortening distance between you. You stop short of his legs, extended out and crossed at the ankles.

Eddie doesn’t move, his elevated hand still holding the wad of money. “C’mon then, tough girl.”

You stare at him, trying not to give yourself away, trying for all the world not to scream or throw yourself on him. You hesitantly step forward and snatch the money out of his hand before taking a long step back. 

“Thank you, Eddie,” you say mildly, trying to keep your voice steady. Even his name sends a rush of warmth through you. The word burns on your wrist. Your body shakes against your will.

Shit. Fuck. God damn it.

He chuckles, standing from the chair, looming over you. “Anything else I can help you with?”

You squint up at him, your voice shaking as much as your hands, now. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Right. It was a one time thing, wasn’t it?”

The expression on his face is somewhere between affection and condescension as he suppresses a grin. His hand comes up and he pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, urging you to look up into his eyes. 

A note of fondness oozes into his tone. “Don’t play games with me, sweetheart. You won’t win.”

Eddie’s touch sends a shock wave through your body, a shiver so strong that your eyes flutter shut. His voice is so soft, so lovingly gentle that it nearly makes you break down, knees weakening, head spinning. 

He leans forward, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear. “I’ll be here, whenever you change your mind.” 

There’s an edge to his voice, a tone that hints at some sort of plea in there. You don’t know what it could be for– sex? Your trust?

You trust him to protect you. You approach him the same way you might approach a spirit in your house– unfamiliar, sure, but not immediately a threat as far as you know. Here, let me offer you half of my muffin as long as you don’t set my house on fire, okay? Maybe don’t kill that guy. Or maybe do. Depends on my mood.

You purse your lips, thankful that he doesn’t look at you when you say, “I know.” 

You sound a lot more sure than you feel. You desperately want to grab him and kiss him, throw him on the bed and finish what you started in that dream. 

Except, you’re afraid. A dream is one thing; sex in the waking world is another. You’re tiptoeing around some strange patron demon-human relationship that you don’t know how to navigate. It’s in the contract that you have to fuck him, eventually. But you and relationships don’t have a good history, and you’re a little frightened that if you make that leap on your own, it’s only going to end badly. 

You think of Andy. You think of your abusive ex who still just hangs around, waiting to intimidate you. You think of the reason why you went out to make a deal with Eddie, and you think of the dog tag that you buried as an offering because Andy had taken the last thing you truly loved from you.

You know that Eddie isn’t just some normal guy you’re dealing with. Your attraction to him goes against everything that you understand, but it makes sense, doesn’t it? Because you try. You try and try, and you’re a good girl until you’re pushed too far, and then you do something stupid like make a deal with a demon because you’re sick of having to just be strong on your own. And suddenly you want to fuck that demon’s brains out so bad that it’s keeping you up at night.

But… you don’t know him. Not really. And as bad as you want him, with your body screaming for him, it’s still enough to make you hesitate. 

There’s a subtle movement of Eddie’s head, like maybe he can sense your indecision. Maybe he’ll end that torture for you. He’ll read the brimming anxiety in your thoughts and give you what you’re too afraid to ask for. Sex. Sex with Eddie. Sex with your demon… whatever he is.

Sex with his infernal majesty of freaks and misfits.

But he doesn’t. Without another word, Eddie turns, and he disappears into your bedroom mirror. Leaving you to flop down onto your bed, punch your pillow, and scream.