#this man would never commit the crimes… again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kaiyunsim · 4 months ago

Text

serendipity —

pairing : spider-man!jake x gn!reader

summary : a late night studying session with shinyu results in a weird stalker following you home… but wait, he’s webbed to the wall..? by… SPIDER-MAN? what’s even weirder is that you find yourself running yourself running into the hero more often and begin to see some similarities with… jake sim?

warnings : FLUFF, very very oblivious reader, jake is SUCH a loser here (i crave a loser bf guys… he’s just a nerd), jake is popular, shinyu as a friend of the reader

a/n : omg everyone thank @writhyv for getting me back to writing for jake ! ALSO for getting me to write a hot loser jake (i love it very much) GIFT FOR HIM !! thank u pook ilysm.

queueing… : serendipity - laufey, sweet - cigarettes after sex, safety zone - leehi, blue - kai (not yung kai)

— wc : 7.5k — not proof read —

jake sim is the kind of guy who could ruin your entire life without even trying.

he’s the hottest person you’ve ever seen in real life. like, actually hot. perfect hair, perfect smile, broad shoulders under whatever hoodie he always throws on like he didn't just accidentally win the genetic lottery. he’s popular in the way that feels effortless, always surrounded by people who seem to orbit around him like he’s some kind of sun.

the whole school loves him. teachers, athletes, the kids who sit in the back of class and never talk. jake sim could probably trip and faceplant in the middle of the hallway and people would still clap for him.

the only weird part is that he’s also… kind of a loser.

you don’t really know him, just know of him. he’s in a few of your classes, close enough to be a familiar face but not close enough for either of you to actually talk. if anything, he’s just background noise in your life, one of those people who exists on the edge of your universe without ever really crossing into it.

except sometimes, every now and then, you feel like he’s acting a little… strange around you.

not that you think too hard about it. probably nothing.

the first time it happens, you don’t even clock it as anything weird.

it’s in english class, some group discussion where nobody’s actually talking, just pretending to think really hard about the book none of you actually read. you’re flipping through the pages when you feel someone staring.

you glance up, and there he is. jake sim.

he’s sitting diagonally across from you, elbow propped on the desk, eyes locked on you like he’s trying to figure out the meaning of life or something.

you blink at him.

he blinks back.

and then, like he just got caught committing a crime, he whips his head down, pretending to scribble something in his notebook with the intensity of someone writing their final will and testament.

...okay. weird, but whatever.

the second time, it’s in the hallway between classes.

you're digging through your locker, minding your own business, when you hear someone clear their throat behind you.

“uh—hi.”

you turn around.

jake sim is standing there, clutching his textbook like it's a lifeline. up close, he's even hotter, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, hair falling into his eyes.

he's also… kind of red in the face?

“hey?” you offer, confused.

he opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, then immediately shuts it again.

“never mind,” he mutters, spinning on his heel and walking away so fast you'd think the hallway was on fire.

...what the hell was that?

it keeps happening.

little moments that should probably add up to something if you actually paid attention, but you don’t, because jake sim is jake sim, and you’re just you.

he stumbles over his words when you ask to borrow a pencil. drops his entire water bottle when you accidentally brush past him in class. one time, you catch him fully tripping over absolutely nothing when you make eye contact with him across the cafeteria.

but for some reason, your brain just files it all away under wow, popular guys are weird sometimes and moves on.

if anyone ever asked you what you think of jake sim, you’d probably just shrug and say he’s nice.

you don't know that he’s been in love with you since sophomore year.

you don't know that every time he tries to talk to you, his brain completely shuts down.

and you definitely don’t know that the same guy who turns into a stammering mess around you spends his nights swinging across the city, cracking jokes and saving people as if confidence is something that comes built into the suit.

the third time you actually talk to him is in chemistry class.

the teacher pairs you up for some experiment, something involving measurements and burning stuff, and jake ends up at your table, tapping his pen against the notebook like he’s trying to act casual.

"can you pass me the beaker?" you ask.

he freezes.

his eyes flick to the beaker, then to you, then back to the beaker like it's a bomb he’s been assigned to defuse.

"...yeah," he says, voice cracking on the single syllable.

you don’t think anything of it, just reach for the beaker when he hands it over. your fingers brush against his, and he drops it.

it clatters against the table, rolling onto the floor with a loud clink.

"oh."

jake looks like he wants to melt through the floor.

"it's fine," you say, bending down to grab it. “at least it didn’t break” you joke to lighten to mood.

he doesn't move, just sits there gripping the edge of the table like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

you offer him a small smile when you straighten up, placing the beaker back on the table.

"chill," you joke. "it's not that serious."

jake visibly short-circuits.

"chill," he echoes, like it's the first time he's ever heard the word in his life.

if someone told you jake sim had a crush on you, you’d probably laugh.

guys like him don’t go for people like you.

guys like him date cheerleaders or instagram models or the kind of girls who know exactly how to flip their hair and laugh in that effortless, pretty way.

not people who half-ass their homework and accidentally fall asleep during history lectures.

definitely not people who would rather have deep conversations on rooftops than go to parties.

but what you don’t know is that those are all the exact reasons jake likes you.

he likes the way you always stick your tongue out a little when you’re concentrating. he likes how you always hum to yourself when you think nobody’s listening. he likes how you talk to everyone the same, never acting like anybody’s above or below you.

he likes you.

and it’s ruining his life.

—

"do you think jake sim is... weird?"

shinyu raises an eyebrow. "weird how?"

you frown, trying to find the right words.

"i don’t know. like... awkward? around me?"

he snorts. "he's awkward around everyone."

"not really."

shinyu pauses, eyes narrowing like he’s finally catching onto something you've been missing this whole time.

"...wait." he leans in. "do you seriously not realize he's into you?"

you blink.

"what?"

"oh my god." he gape at you like you're the dumbest person alive. "he's had a crush on you since, like, forever."

you genuinely laugh at that, because there's no way.

right?

meanwhile, across the cafeteria, jake sim is currently choking on his water because he saw you glance in his direction for half a second.

sunghoon pats his back, looking vaguely concerned.

"bro, you have superpowers, but you can't even talk to your crush?"

jake coughs harder. he’s so, so doomed.

—

you don’t try to stay out late. it just happens.

sometimes it’s because you lose track of time, caught up in the city’s glow. sometimes it’s because you’re walking home after a long study session, brain fried from trying to shove too much information into it at once.

tonight, it’s the latter.

shinyu yawns next to you, stretching his arms over his head as you both step out of the library. “i swear, if i have to look at one more page of notes, i’m throwing my entire textbook into the river.”

“you say that every time,” you point out.

“and one of these days, i’ll actually do it.”

you snort, tugging your hoodie closer around you. it’s late enough that the streets are quieter than usual, the hum of distant traffic the only real sound. most of the shops have already shut down, save for the 24-hour convenience store at the corner.

shinyu pulls out his phone. “should i call a cab?”

“nah,” you shake your head. “i’ll just walk.”

he frowns. “are you sure? it’s kinda late.”

“i always do this. i’ll be fine.”

he hesitates, clearly debating whether or not to argue, but eventually sighs. “alright. text me when you get home, though.”

“yes, mom.”

he rolls his eyes, flicking your forehead before heading off in the opposite direction.

you stuff your hands into your pockets and start walking.

your route home is familiar, same streets, same flickering streetlights, same little shop windows reflecting the glow of the city back at you. you don’t feel unsafe. if anything, you like walking at night. there’s something peaceful about it, something that makes the world feel a little softer around the edges.

but then—

you hear footsteps behind you.

at first, you don’t think much of it. there are always other people out and about. but as you keep walking, the sound stays steady, just far enough behind that you can’t tell if it’s a coincidence or something else.

your stomach twists. ‘who the fuck is walking around the same route as you at 2am..?’ you think to yourself.

you glance over your shoulder.

a man. mid-thirties, maybe. hood pulled up over his head.

the moment your eyes meet, he quickly looks away, pretending to check his phone.

your heart beats a little faster. you’re probably overreacting.

but then you turn the corner, and the footsteps turn with you.

you pick up your pace.

so do they.

your chest tightens. okay. okay. you’re not imagining it.

you scan the street for other people, but it’s mostly empty. the nearest open shop is too far ahead, and the alley you just passed is—

wait.

your stomach drops.

you didn’t even hear him move, but suddenly, he’s not behind you anymore.

he’s right there.

you barely have time to react before he grabs your wrist, grip too tight, breath too close. “hey—”

before you can even think to scream, something flies past you—fast, sharp.

and suddenly, the man is yanked backwards.

one second he’s gripping you, the next he’s pinned to the alley wall, struggling against thick strands of white webbing wrapped tight around his torso.

your breath catches in your throat.

what.

your brain barely has time to process it before—

“hey,” a voice calls.

you turn, heart still pounding.

and standing there, perched casually on the edge of a lamppost, is spider-man.

your mouth goes dry.

he hops down, landing lightly on the pavement, head tilting slightly as he glances at the guy still stuck to the wall. “yeah, i don’t think so,” he says.

the guy grunts, struggling uselessly against the webbing.

spider-man sighs. “not your best move.”

you just stare.

you know who he is, obviously. everyone does. but knowing about spider-man and actually seeing him in front of you are two entirely different things.

he turns to you. “you alright?”

you blink at him, mind still catching up. “uh.”

he tilts his head. “i’ll take that as a yes?”

“y-yeah,” you stammer, clearing your throat. “yeah. i’m fine.”

“good.” he gestures vaguely toward the guy. “i’ll leave him here for the cops. but, uh—maybe don’t walk alone this late?”

you exhale sharply. “yeah. got it. solid advice.”

spider-man lets out a soft chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.

for some reason, that tiny, almost shy gesture is what actually makes your brain start working again.

because up until now, he seemed untouchable, fast, sharp, the kind of person who moves like he already knows the next ten steps ahead. but now, standing here, he’s shifting his weight slightly like he’s not sure what to do with his hands.

and for some reason, that makes him feel real.

“do you, uh,” he starts, then hesitates. “want me to walk you home?”

your stomach flips.

“oh,” you say. “you don’t have to—”

“i don’t mind,” he says quickly. “just to make sure you get there safe.”

you bite your lip. you really should say no. he’s probably busy, and you don’t want to take up more of his time.

but also.

spider-man just offered to walk you home.

what kind of idiot would turn that down?

“…okay,” you say finally.

you can hear the smile in his voice. “okay.”

—

when you finally get home, he hangs back by the streetlight, watching as you unlock the door.

“thanks again,” you say, turning back to him.

he nods. “anytime.”

you hesitate.

“…do you do handshakes?”

he lets out a soft laugh. “not usually.”

“oh.” you lower your hand, a little embarrassed.

but before you can pull it back completely, he reaches out and bumps his knuckles against yours.

it’s such a small thing. so stupidly small.

but for some reason, it makes your heart stutter.

you glance up at him, but he’s already moving, gripping the edge of the nearest rooftop, hoisting himself up with an easy strength that makes your stomach flip.

and then, just before he disappears—

“goodnight,” he says.

your breath catches.

and then he’s gone.

you collapse onto your bed the second you get inside, phone buzzing with a text from shinyu.

shinyu: you home yet? you: yeah shinyu: good

you hover over the keyboard for a second, debating.

and then—

you: hey. what do you think of spider-man?

his reply is instant.

shinyu: idk. kinda cool? you: ...yeah.

you stare at the screen. your heart is still racing.

and for some reason, all you can hear is his voice.

stupid voice with that stupid accent you recognize but look over.

—

it’s become a thing now.

you didn’t plan for it, but somehow it has.

spider-man keeps showing up.

at first, it’s just the occasional late-night save, that charming but awkward conversation at the end where you thank him profusely and he gives you a weird little knuckle bump before disappearing into the night.

but then...

you start seeing him more.

you start to notice that he seems to be where you are, just when you need him.

it happens AGAIN one night when you’re walking home after another late study session with shinyu.

you’re tired. drained. your brain feels like mush, and shinyu, though he’s usually the one full of energy, seems to be on the same wavelength.

"i swear," he mutters, "if i see one more page of equations, i’m going to just… yeet this textbook into the nearest river."

you snort, nudging him. "don’t tempt me. i’m kind of considering it myself."

you both chuckle, but it's tired. the kind of tired where you can’t even muster the energy to fake your usual enthusiasm.

the streets are quiet again, just the sound of your footsteps echoing in the night.

and, as usual, that familiar feeling creeps in, like you’re being watched.

you brush it off. it’s probably just a shadow, the way the streetlights flicker and make things seem closer than they are.

but then, in the distance, a small rustle.

you freeze for a second, but quickly continue walking, convincing yourself it’s nothing.

you turn another corner, and then, there he is.

spider-man.

you blink, more than a little surprised.

“oh, hey,” you say, trying to act casual. "what's up?"

he’s leaning against the side of a building, arms crossed, but when you notice the way he’s watching you, you can’t shake the feeling that maybe he’s been here for a while.

he straightens, suddenly looking a bit... embarrassed? "uh, nothing much. just making sure you're alright."

you blink, a little confused. "i’m fine? why wouldn’t i be?"

he gives a small shrug, like it’s no big deal. "you know, just being careful. you’re walking kinda late, and i’m... well, i’m always around."

you raise an eyebrow. "you just 'happen' to be around whenever i'm out late?"

he looks sheepish. "yep."

you stare at him for a second.

“are you stalking me?” you joke, but it comes out a little too serious.

his eyes widen, and he starts shaking his head quickly, scratching at the back of his neck. "no! no, of course not. just... making sure you're safe, y’know?"

you chuckle softly, rolling your eyes. "right. sure."

he seems to relax when you don’t push it further. “anyway, i could walk you home if you want. just in case, you know?”

you shrug. it’s not like you mind. "okay, but only because you’re weirdly persistent."

he grins, clearly relieved. "wouldn’t dream of letting you walk alone."

it’s an awkward, quiet walk. mostly because spider-man doesn’t seem to know how to start a normal conversation. his silence is comfortable, though, like there’s no need to fill the space. just walking with him feels nice.

by the time you’re at your front door, you’re laughing over something dumb that shinyu had said earlier. you feel strangely at ease.

"thanks for walking me home," you say.

he shrugs. “it’s nothing. just doing my part.”

you smile, heart skipping a beat. "goodnight, spider-man."

"goodnight," he replies, his voice soft. then, as usual, he’s gone before you can say anything else.

—

the routine builds quickly after that.

it becomes normal to see him around whenever you’re out at night.

he always seems to be around, sometimes just dropping in for a casual chat, other times swooping in to rescue you from the occasional shady character or two.

but it’s the quiet moments you start to cherish.

there’s one night where you and shinyu are hanging out on the rooftop of your building, talking about life as you always do. the sky is clear, the stars twinkling, and it feels like a moment frozen in time.

shinyu is sprawled across the floor, pretending to sleep, while you’re sitting with your legs dangling over the edge, arms resting on your knees.

“so,” he says suddenly, breaking the silence. “what’s the deal with spider-man, anyway? you two talk a lot now.”

you freeze for a second, eyes narrowing. “what do you mean ‘talk a lot?’”

he raises his hands in mock surrender. “i’m just saying. you two have some weird dynamic. are you, like, dating or something?”

you laugh it off. “what? no! it’s just... he’s, uh, nice. i don’t know, he’s just been around when i’ve needed him, that’s all.”

shinyu sits up, raising an eyebrow. “oh, really? just ‘happens’ to be there. that’s cute.”

you roll your eyes. “he’s cool, okay?”

he gives you a knowing look. “if you say so.”

before you can respond, you hear the familiar sound of whoosh above you.

spider-man drops down onto the roof, landing lightly beside you with an easy smile.

“hey, guys,” he says casually, like he hasn’t just flown in to join the conversation.

you smile at him, your heart fluttering a little. “hey, spider-man.”

shinyu squints at him, grinning. “so, we’re just hanging out, huh? that’s cool. do you want anything to drink?”

spider-man looks at him in confusion. “huh?”

“i mean, you’re here now. should we get drinks?” shinyu gestures to the corner store below. “i’ll go down and grab something. you want anything?”

spider-man glances at you first, and then back at shinyu, his expression unreadable for a moment.

“uh, sure,” he says, his voice a little uncertain. “i’ll just have whatever you’re getting.”

shinyu gives a little nod before standing up and heading down the stairs to the convenience store.

you and spider-man are left alone again.

the air feels different this time, like the space between you has changed. you both sit there in silence for a moment.

he clears his throat. “so, uh... how’s the studying going?”

you laugh softly. “honestly? i want to burn my textbooks.”

he chuckles. “yeah, i get that. same.”

you glance at him, curious. “you study too?”

he shrugs, looking awkward. “well... when i’m not being, you know, spider-man. i try to keep up.”

you nod, smiling. “cool. you seem smart.”

he looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. “yeah, well, it’s all kind of a... blur, y’know?”

you laugh again. "yeah, i know exactly what you mean."

and suddenly, you realize something.

you’re actually... comfortable with him.

not just the whole superhero thing, not just the awkwardness, but the person behind it. you don’t need to be on edge around him.

and somehow, that makes you feel both lighter and a little strange.

later, shinyu returns with drinks, and the conversation picks up again. spider-man relaxes a little more, though he still seems a bit fidgety.

you can’t help but notice how, even now, when he’s around shinyu, he still doesn’t seem to know how to act. there’s an ease to his awkwardness that’s almost endearing.

shinyu teases him a little, asking if he’s ever had to take his suit off after a long night of “saving people” and spider-man just shrugs awkwardly, mumbling something about the suit being “perfectly breathable” as if that’s the most casual thing in the world.

it’s a weird dynamic, but it works.

and for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel quite so... lonely.

—

when it’s time to leave, spider-man walks you home again, which is literally downstairs.

you’re still laughing from something shinyu said, but when you glance over at spider-man, you notice him looking at you more seriously than usual.

“you okay?” you ask, surprised by the shift in his mood.

“yeah,” he replies, his voice quiet. “just... it’s nothing. just wanted to check on you.”

you smile softly. “you do that a lot.”

he shrugs. “it’s my job, right?”

and even though he says that, you can see the hint of something more. something deeper.

you’re not sure what it is, but you feel it.

you smile to yourself, wondering if maybe you’re starting to understand him a little better.

when you get to your front door, you wave goodbye, but this time, he doesn’t leave immediately.

he lingers.

“goodnight, spider-man,” you say quietly.

“goodnight.”

he’s gone before you can blink.

and you can’t help but feel like there’s something he’s not saying. something important.

—

you’re at school, sitting with shinyu during lunch, lazily picking at your food as the two of you chat about the usual, homework, annoying teachers, and how much you’d rather be anywhere else.

and then, somehow, the conversation lands on him.

"so, spider-man," shinyu says, taking a sip of his drink. "you never really told me. what’s the deal with that?"

you blink, caught off guard. "what do you mean?"

shinyu shrugs. "i mean, you guys talk a lot. what’s he like?"

you pause, considering it. "well... he’s nice. kind of awkward, but in a cute way. and, i don’t know, i feel like i can actually talk to him, you know?"

shinyu raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. "so you like talking to him."

"obviously," you say, rolling your eyes. "he’s funny, easy to be around, and—"

you pause for half a second.

shinyu waits.

"... and?"

you shrug, acting like what you’re about to say is no big deal. "and he’s kinda hot."

it happens instantly.

a loud choking sound from the table next to you.

you both turn your heads.

jake sim, golden boy of the school, is currently dying.

he’s hunched over, violently coughing, his drink abandoned as he tries to catch his breath. his friends, some of the other popular kids, are just watching him, either concerned or mildly entertained.

"bro, what is wrong with you?" one of them asks, patting jake on the back.

jake wheezes.

you stare at him, blinking. "... you good?"

he looks up at you, eyes wide, mouth slightly open like he just realized he made a scene.

"uh—yeah! yes! i’m fine!" he blurts out, too loudly.

you and shinyu exchange a look.

"uh-huh," you say, unconvinced.

jake quickly grabs his drink again, pretending like nothing happened, but you can see it, how his ears are red, how he’s suddenly so focused on stirring his drink with his straw like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

weird.

shinyu, being shinyu, decides to push it.

"wait, you were listening to us?" he says, grinning.

"no!" jake says, way too fast. "i wasn’t listening! i just— i mean— i heard something, but it wasn’t on purpose—"

he stops himself, as if realizing he’s making it worse.

you stare at him, trying to figure out what his deal is.

jake sim is, objectively, very attractive. everyone at school knows it. he’s the kind of guy who could probably get away with murder just by looking at someone the right way.

but right now?

right now, he looks like a glitching NPC.

shinyu smirks. "so, which part made you choke? the part where spider-man is easy to talk to, or the part where he’s hot?"

jake makes a strangled sound, like he just swallowed his soul.

"i—" he starts, then stops, looking deeply uncomfortable.

you narrow your eyes at him.

"wait," you say suddenly, realization hitting. "do you know spider-man?"

jake freezes.

his eyes dart around the table, as if searching for an escape route.

"i—uh—no?" he tries, but it sounds more like a question than an answer.

"that was very convincing," you deadpan.

"thank you," he says automatically. then, realizing what he just did, he groans and drags a hand down his face.

you just stare at him.

what is up with this guy?

shinyu snickers. "dude, you’re acting real suspicious right now."

"i am not," jake says, still looking very much suspicious.

you and shinyu both just keep staring at him.

jake, unable to handle the attention, suddenly stands up. "gotta go!" he announces, grabbing his tray and practically sprinting away from the table.

... what.

you blink. "okay, what was that?"

shinyu just laughs. "no clue, but that was hilarious."

you shake your head, still baffled.

jake sim is weird.

—

that night, like clockwork, spider-man appears.

you’re outside, walking back from the convenience store, a bag of snacks in your hand when you hear the familiar thwip of a web.

you don’t even flinch anymore.

“oh, hey,” you say as he lands beside you. "you’re early tonight."

spider-man, who seems slightly fidgety for some reason, clears his throat. "uh, yeah. just happened to be around."

you nod. "right. as always."

there’s a beat of silence as the two of you start walking.

then, spider-man casually goes, "sooo... you think i’m hot?"

you freeze mid-step.

"what—"

he panics immediately. "i mean—! not that i heard you say that or anything, but like— well, let’s say hypothetically you did say that, and hypothetically i overheard—"

you narrow your eyes. "did you overhear?"

he hesitates for a full second before blurting, "no!"

"uh-huh."

he coughs. "but if you did think that— i mean, just out of curiosity, uh... what part exactly were you talking about?"

you stare at him.

he shifts, looking way too eager but also like he might die on the spot.

you decide to mess with him.

"i dunno," you say, pretending to think. "maybe the mask? keeps things mysterious."

"mysterious," he echoes.

"or maybe the whole... ‘hero of the city’ thing," you continue. "kind of hard not to find that attractive."

"oh," he says weakly.

you glance at him.

his shoulders are tense. he’s definitely blushing. even through the mask, you can tell.

you bite back a grin. "why do you ask, spider-man? you interested in what i think?"

"wh—no! i mean— i guess? maybe? i just—" he stops mid-sentence, suddenly frustrated with himself.

you laugh. "wow. you get flustered really easily."

"i do not," he lies.

you grin.

he’s so bad at this.

but... it’s kind of cute.

he clears his throat, clearly desperate to change the subject. "so! um! anyway! totally unrelated question—"

"uh-huh?"

"—but, like... have you ever thought that maybe you already know me?"

you blink. "what?"

he shrugs, trying to sound casual. "i mean, like, what if i wasn’t just spider-man? what if i was, i dunno... someone you see every day?"

you frown, confused.

"... but you’re not," you say simply. "i’d recognize your voice."

spider-man pauses.

"oh," he says.

like he just remembered that’s a thing.

you keep walking, completely missing the way his entire body slumps.

"why?" you ask, glancing at him. "are you secretly my math teacher or something?"

he lets out a weird, awkward laugh. "pfft. no! definitely not. that’d be, um. weird."

you snort. "right... mr. lee..?"

spider-man sighs, clearly realizing this isn’t going anywhere. "never mind," he mutters.

you just shrug. "okay. anyway, are we getting snacks or what?"

he perks up instantly. "yes! let’s do that."

he’s back to normal.

but inside, jake sim is screaming.

when you get home, you fall onto your bed, thinking about the conversation you just had.

weird.

he was acting weird.

but it’s probably nothing.

meanwhile, somewhere across the city, jake is lying face down on his bed, aggressively kicking his feet like a teenage girl in a romcom, absolutely mortified.

his friends are still roasting him for what happened at lunch.

he’s never going to live this down.

—

rooftops are underrated.

shinyu agrees.

“this is the best place to complain about life,” he says, stretching out on the rooftop ledge. “no teachers, no school stress, just the city and the stars.”

“and potential death if you slip,” you point out.

“adds to the thrill.”

you laugh, taking a deep breath as the cool night air brushes against your skin. it’s peaceful up here, the hum of the city below feeling distant, almost like background noise.

this is your favorite part of the night, escaping the weight of the day, letting yourself exist without expectations.

shinyu, lounging beside you, throws a crumpled snack wrapper at you. “so. be honest. do you think mr. lee is actually grading our essays or just randomly handing out scores?”

“random,” you say immediately. “there’s no way he read mine. i wrote a whole paragraph about how pigeons should have jobs and still got an A.”

shinyu nearly chokes on his drink. “what?”

“i was sleep-deprived, okay?”

“bro.”

you grin, nudging his shoulder. shinyu’s dramatic laughter echoes in the open air, and for a second, it feels like nothing else matters.

but then—

thwip.

a familiar sound.

you don’t even flinch.

shinyu, however, does. “bro,” he says, staring at the figure that just landed on the rooftop. “your weird little superhero friend is here again.”

spider-man straightens up. “hey,” he says, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie over his suit.

“oh, great,” shinyu mutters. “now i have to third-wheel whatever this weird thing is.”

you roll your eyes. “it’s not weird.”

spider-man, beside you, shifts. “wait. what’s not weird?”

shinyu smirks. “you and them.”

spider-man nearly trips over his own feet. “what?”

you laugh. “ignore him, he’s just being annoying.”

“i’m just saying,” shinyu teases, standing up and stretching, “i feel like a chaperone. anyway, i’m heading home before mr. lee assigns another test. try not to die.”

you wave him off, watching as he climbs down the fire escape.

the second he’s gone, spider-man sighs dramatically. “your friend is kind of scary.”

“he’d love to hear that.”

he chuckles, shaking his head. “so. you just hang out on rooftops for fun?”

“why not?” you shrug. “it’s peaceful. no school, no responsibilities, no—”

you shift slightly on the ledge—

and your foot slips.

for a split second, your stomach drops.

but before you can even process it—

strong hands grab your waist, pulling you back to safety.

your breath catches.

you don’t even have time to think before you’re pressed against him, his hands still firmly holding you, your faces way too close.

your brain short-circuits.

spider-man tenses.

his mask hides his expression, but you can feel the shift, the sudden awareness of just how close you are.

your hands are gripping his arms, his hands are still on your waist, and for a moment, neither of you move.

the air is thick.

his breathing is a little uneven.

he’s calm on the outside, but inside?

jake sim is losing his mind.

because oh my god.

he is touching you.

holding you.

you’re close enough that he can see every little detail, the way your lips part slightly in surprise, the way your eyes flicker down for a second before meeting his again.

he’s panicking.

but he cannot show it.

so he clears his throat, trying to sound casual. “you, uh. good?”

you blink, snapping out of it.

“oh. yeah. thanks for—” you gesture vaguely, still hyper-aware of his hands.

spider-man nods, though his brain is still buffering.

he should move.

but his hands don’t move.

why aren’t they moving?

he’s gripping your waist like you’re going to fall again, like he has to keep holding on, and it takes everything in him to not scream.

you tilt your head.

“... you okay?”

"me? oh! yeah! totally fine! absolutely not freaking out or anything!”

you squint at him.

"... you sure?"

"yep! totally! one hundred percent normal behavior happening right now!"

he still hasn’t let go.

you raise an eyebrow.

he realizes he still hasn’t let go.

"oh! right! my bad!"

he snatches his hands away like he just touched fire, stumbling back a step.

you blink at him.

he looks like he just had an out-of-body experience.

"... you’re acting weird," you say.

"no, i’m not!" he says, voice cracking.

you stare at him for another second before shrugging. "okay."

you sit back down like nothing happened.

spider-man stands there, physically trying to reboot.

—

the next day at school, jake sim is a mess.

he is so weird about it.

you don’t even notice at first, too busy going about your day, but then, little things start adding up.

like how he keeps running into walls.

or how he drops his books every time you walk by.

or how, when you pass him in the hallway, he does a 180-degree spin and walks the other direction like he just forgot where he was going.

it’s like he has no motor skills around you.

and the worst part?

everyone notices.

"bro, what is your deal?" one of his friends asks after jake nearly trips over thin air.

jake just groans, aggressively rubbing his face. "i don’t wanna talk about it."

his friends exchange a look.

"you’ve been acting weird since yesterday," one of them says. "what happened?"

"nothing!"

"are you sure?"

"yes!" jake says, too fast. "i’m totally fine! absolutely normal! definitely not thinking about anything that happened on a rooftop last night!"

his friends blink.

"... what?"

jake.exe has stopped working.

"i gotta go," he says, shoving his books into his bag and sprinting away before they can ask any more questions.

meanwhile, you, completely oblivious to his entire breakdown, sit down with shinyu at lunch, happily eating your food.

"hey," shinyu says, nudging you. "you notice how jake’s been acting extra weird today?"

you pause mid-bite. "huh?"

"he keeps running into things. i think you broke him."

"... what did i do?"

shinyu shrugs. "no clue. but it’s hilarious."

you glance across the cafeteria.

jake is at his table, looking stressed.

you don’t think much of it.

meanwhile, jake is sitting there, gripping his drink, replaying last night’s moment in his head like a broken record, absolutely suffering.

there’s something weird about jake sim.

not in an obvious way, he’s still the school’s golden boy, still effortlessly good-looking, still surrounded by people who seem drawn to him like he has his own gravitational pull.

but ever since you started talking to spider-man, something feels... off.

and the more you think about it, the more you realize...

jake and spider-man are kind of similar.

not in every way, obviously.

spider-man is cool in a nerdy, awkward way. jake is just awkward.

spider-man is confident until he’s flustered. jake is flustered until he’s more flustered.

but there are little things. things that stick in your mind and refuse to leave.

the way they both stutter when they’re flustered.

the way they both react too strongly when you mention something embarrassing.

the way spider-man somehow always reacts to things you say about jake sim a little too specifically.

you wouldn’t normally care.

except now you do so you decide to test him.

the opportunity presents itself in the middle of lunch.

shinyu is ranting about his math teacher, and you’re half-listening, half-watching as jake sits at his usual table across the cafeteria.

he looks tired.

his friends are talking, but he’s zoned out, poking at his food with a fork like it personally offended him.

for once, no one is paying attention to him.

so you turn to shinyu and casually say,

"hey. you ever think jake sim is kinda... spider-man-y?"

shinyu blinks. "what."

you shrug. "just saying. they kinda act the same sometimes."

"what kind of reach—"

you don’t get to respond.

because across the cafeteria, jake, mid-bite into his sandwich, freezes.

like, completely.

his jaw locks, his eyes widen slightly, and for a second, he just sits there, bread still between his teeth, looking like he’s buffering.

it’s only when one of his friends elbows him that he starts moving again, slowly, mechanically, chewing like he suddenly forgot how food works.

you watch this unfold with mild amusement.

shinyu squints. "okay, that was weird."

"right?"

you decide to take it further.

"also, if you really think about it, their voices are kind of similar," you add, casually sipping your drink.

jake, still trying to recover from his sandwich malfunction, visibly flinches.

his friend frowns. "dude, are you good?"

"mhm!" jake squeaks, before quickly stuffing more food into his mouth to avoid talking.

his ears are so red.

shinyu glances between you and him. "...did you just break jake sim?"

"interesting," you say, watching as jake forces himself to act normal, failing spectacularly.

very suspicious.

—

that night, spider-man shows up like always.

you’re sitting on your usual rooftop spot, legs dangling over the edge.

he lands beside you, slightly out of breath.

you tilt your head. “you good?”

"yep!" he says. "totally! just... busy day."

you hum.

"...sooo," you start, watching him closely, "something really funny happened today."

spider-man tenses. "oh? uh. what?"

you grin. "i was talking to shinyu about how jake sim kinda reminds me of you."

he flinches.

"oh?"

"yeah," you say, leaning in slightly. "you both get flustered really easily."

"what? no, i don’t!"

you raise an eyebrow. "you’re literally flustered right now."

"no, i’m not!"

you squint.

he shifts uncomfortably.

"also," you continue, "you have the same little mannerisms sometimes. like how you rub the back of your neck when you’re nervous."

his hand immediately drops from the back of his neck.

you stare.

he stares back.

"...okay, that was suspicious."

"what was?"

"that!"

"what?"

"you just—" you gesture vaguely. "you’re acting weird."

"i’m always weird!"

"true," you admit.

he sighs in relief.

but you’re not done.

"also, your voice kinda sounds like his."

"what?!"

"just a little," you say, watching him panic. "not enough for most people to notice, but still."

"n-no it doesn’t!"

"you sure?"

"positive!"

you hum.

"you definitely don’t have anything you wanna tell me?"

"nope! nothing at all! absolutely nothing weird happening here!*"

you squint.

he is sweating.

interesting.

—

jake sim has fought criminals, dodged gunfire, and swung through the city at terrifying speeds—

but this is the most nerve-wracking thing he’s ever done.

because tonight, he’s going to tell you.

he’s going to take off the mask, look you in the eye, and say it, 'i’m spider-man. i’m also jake sim. and i like you. a lot.'

he’s been rehearsing it in his head for days.

except now that he’s actually standing on the rooftop where you usually meet, waiting for you, his brain is short-circuiting.

what if you get mad? what if you feel betrayed? what if you never want to talk to him again?

he groans into his hands. this was a terrible idea.

but he can’t back out now.

not when he hears footsteps coming up the fire escape.

his heart nearly leaps out of his chest.

okay, okay. just act normal. wait, no—don't act normal, you’re always awkward. act... slightly less awkward. you can do this. you got this.

he takes a deep breath.

the door creaks open.

he turns around, already preparing himself—

and then immediately panics because—

oh god. that’s not you. that’s shinyu.

shinyu blinks. “oh.”

jake freezes.

shinyu squints. “what are you doing here?”

"nothing!" spider-man blurts out. "just—y’know. being spider-man. normal superhero things. ha ha."

shinyu looks so unimpressed. "right."

jake is internally screaming. where are you?? why is shinyu here instead?? he was so ready.

shinyu leans against the rooftop railing, arms crossed. "so. waiting for someone?"

spider-man stiffens. "uh—no! no, just... hanging out."

shinyu hums.

spider-man shifts uncomfortably.

there's a beat of silence before shinyu smirks. "you’re totally waiting for y/n, aren’t you?"

spider-man chokes on air.

"what?!"

shinyu laughs. "dude, relax. you guys seem close, that’s all."

spider-man doesn’t know what to say.

shinyu keeps going, teasing. "you like them or something?"

spider-man malfunctions.

because the answer is yes, so much yes, oh my god yes, but he cannot say that.

so he just stands there, absolutely flustered, failing to form a single coherent word.

shinyu raises an eyebrow. "wait. do you like them?"

"WHAT? NO. HAHAHA. HA." spider-man's voice cracks.

shinyu stares.

spider-man stares back.

the silence is deafening.

then shinyu grins.

"oh my god, you totally do."

spider-man groans and buries his face in his hands. this is a disaster.

shinyu laughs. "don’t worry, i won’t tell."

"thank you," spider-man mutters, still dying inside.

shinyu pats his shoulder. "good luck, loverboy."

and with that, he leaves, completely unaware that he just ruined the big reveal.

spider-man sighs so hard.

he’s going to scream into his pillow when he gets home.

—

jake sim has been so, so careful.

for months, he’s balanced both sides of his life perfectly, being the popular golden boy at school while keeping his very obvious crush on you a secret, and being the confident, quick-witted spider-man who gets to talk to you without turning into a human error message.

but all of that completely shatters in a matter of seconds.

and it’s entirely his fault.

it’s late, and you’re heading home from another study session with shinyu.

your backpack is slung lazily over one shoulder, and you’re lost in thought when suddenly—

"HEY!"

a voice yells from the alley beside you, and before you can react, a blur of red and blue drops down from above.

spider-man.

except something is off.

because he’s standing in front of you... maskless.

his wavy hair is messy, his expression is panicked, and his wide brown eyes lock onto yours in sheer horror.

… jake sim.

"JAKE?" you yelp.

"OH MY GOD." jake grabs his head like he just realized he left the stove on. "OH MY GOD, I FORGOT MY MASK. I—I THOUGHT I PUT IT ON BUT I DIDN’T. I JUST SWUNG DOWN WITHOUT IT—OH, THIS IS SO BAD—"

he starts pacing in frantic circles, muttering a meltdown under his breath. "stupid, stupid, stupid—how do you forget your MASK? how did i even think this was a good idea? i should just move to another country—"

you’re just standing there, staring at him, processing.

spider-man is jake sim.

jake sim is spider-man.

it all clicks.

the awkwardness. the stammering. the similarities you swore you noticed but ignored.

you slap a hand over your mouth, because instead of being shocked, instead of yelling or freaking out—

you start laughing.

"you’re kidding." you wheeze. "you’re actually kidding."

jake stops spiraling and looks at you like you just started speaking another language. "wait. why are you laughing?"

you’re losing it. "because this makes so much sense now. oh my god. jake."

he goes so red. "don’t say my name like that while i’m wearing the suit, that feels illegal."

but you can’t stop laughing. "i can’t believe i didn’t put this together sooner. you—oh my god, you were literally short-circuiting in front of me at school while having full-on conversations with me as spider-man."

"please," jake begs. "please let me live."

you wipe a tear from your eye, catching your breath. "wait—hold on—" you inhale, trying to compose yourself. "so… does that mean… you had a crush on me this whole time?"

jake freezes.

his entire body locks up like you just hit him with a paralyzing spell.

you raise an eyebrow. "jake."

he doesn’t move.

he doesn’t breathe.

"jake," you say again. "do you—"

"OKAY—" he blurts out, exploding into motion. "yes! yes. i like you. a lot. i have for a really long time. and i know this is probably the worst way for you to find out but—"

you take a step closer.

he shuts up immediately.

he’s still rambling in his head, though, oh my god, they’re looking at me, they’re getting closer, what does this mean, am i going to die—

and then—

you kiss him.

it’s soft, quick, and so unexpected that it completely short-circuits him.

his brain blue-screens.

by the time you pull away, his soul has left his body.

"you just—" he breathes, voice barely above a whisper.

you grin. "you like me."

"YOU JUST KISSED ME."

"yeah." you tilt your head. "you gonna do something about it, spider-man?"

jake.exe has stopped working.

he just stands there, mouth opening and closing, until finally—

he just groans into his hands. "oh my god, i am so in love with you."

ty for reading and enjoying !

enha taglist : @minoouz

perm taglist : @s0shroe @minoouz

#kaiyunsim #kpop x reader #enha x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen #enhypen scenarios #jake sim #jake sim x gn reader #jake sim fluff #jake sim x reader #jake fluff #sim jaeyun x gn reader #sim jaeyun x reader #enhypen sim jaeyun #sim jaeyun #jaeyun x reader #sim jaeyun fluff #jake x gn reader #jake x reader

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woollypoison · 25 days ago

Text

Never odd or even

Male reader x Le Sserafim Kim Chaewon Word count: 10k

"It’s fifty-fifty. It either happens or it doesn’t."

You set your glass down on the table so hard it nearly cracks. "It is not fifty-fifty."

She shrugs—Chaewon’s quintessential uncaring attitude about anything you say—as she falls down into the couch. "But it is, though." She pops open another beer like she hasn’t had enough to drink already.

She always does this. Chooses some ridiculously wrong position to dig her heels in. Like if she just believes it to be true, the universe will bend to her will out of sheer exasperation. You should just ignore it, and just let her believe what she wants to believe. There really is no point to it with her. You drag a hand down your face, because you've been here before. You’re always here. There is a universe where you’ve been having this argument since the dawn of time. Monty Hall sits upon his cosmic throne and watches you suffer.

"You pick a door," she says, holding up one finger like she's making a serious mathematical point and not actively committing a crime against logic. "And then Monty—whoever the fuck he is—opens another door. And now there’s two left. So, you know. Fifty-fifty. You either win the prize or you don’t win shit."

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

And she still doesn’t care. If anything, she revels in your frustration, grinning and taking a lazy sip from her beer.

“I thought you liked your girls a little stupid,” she muses. You like Chaewon. Always have; since before her rejection and until now.

She might be onto something.

“That’s what I saw earlier at the club, anyway,” she mumbles, and it’s pointed, a sharp dagger concealed by a hushed voice.

You pay it no mind. It’s just Chaewon being Chaewon. Doing everything in her power to annoy the fuck out of you. You shake your head. “I like my girls with a basic understanding of probability.”

She hums, her gaze dragging over you, and it lingers. Long. Too long. So long it’s causing the alcohol induced haze to retreat from your brain. Then she just smiles again, takes another sip, and the buzz is back.

Chaewon stretches, arms flexed into a peak above her head, sliding against the backrest of the couch, her head landing against the armrest of the couch opposite of where you're sitting. Her legs stretch out off of the floor, her dress riding up, clinging to and stretching on her hips.

It’s a performance, designed to squeeze out resistance from any sap that would dare defy her. It’s impossible to tell if this is just Chaewon’s purest form, her instincts kicking in to naturally make any man submit, or if it’s a carefully crafted weapon, deliberately utilised and aimed with immaculate precision. Either way, it’s fucking lethal. Lace-trimmed thigh-high covered feet land in your lap, crossed. You glance down at them. Stifle a thought of fucking the exposed part of skin right below her dress and above her socks. Breathe out through your nose, annoyed.

She sees. She was waiting for you to see, to be more exact.

“What?” she asks, but she knows the answer. Feigning innocence, but the chances of it convincing you are slim. “Is the view not to your liking?”

You flick your eyes up to meet hers. Flat. Unamused. Stern. “Jesus, Chaewon.”

She cocks a half smile, hands up in the air like she’s being put under arrest but confident she can flirt her way out of it. “Relax. It’s just a joke.‘

Right. Just a joke. One she’s been playing at for far too long now. One you’re absolutely not in the mood for tonight. One that is quintessentially Chaewon. Mean. Sloppy. Reckless.

That’s what alcohol does to her. She gets all handsy and touchy and feely, disregarding any feelings or reservations you’d have about being touched meaninglessly by the girl that didn’t want you.

And the joke is not exclusive to you either. You’ve seen her like this before, with other guys. Hands on their shoulders and theirs on her hips, leaning in too close, laughing too loud. It’s just her usual mess. It doesn’t mean anything.

She’s warm, just warm enough that you can feel her through your clothes. But warm enough to make you fear the sparks could ignite something that shouldn’t be. Before you can have any more prohibited thoughts, you shift, trying to nudge her legs off of you.

She doesn’t budge. Deliberately. Straight up refuses to even acknowledge the attempt.

You sigh. “Get your legs off of me.”

Chaewon blinks at you, lashes fluttering faster than your heart can beat, her lips pouting— a poor substitute for saying she can’t believe you’d say that to someone this cute. She chuckles, transforms it into a smirk, and tilts her head.

“Make me.”

She presses the arch of her foot against your crotch. It’s right on target. Light. Testing. Provocating.

It’s impossible not to react. You could sit here, not do anything, let her rub your hardening cock through your pants a bit, enjoy the feeling of her getting you worked up. But that’s not what this is about. You know this pattern. As soon as you acknowledge it, it stops, and even if it didn’t, it would all be meaningless.

So you react. You grab her ankle, and shove her legs off of you.

She lets out a soft “oh,” before laughing, low and amused. She works herself back up right, shifting her legs underneath her, but she doesn’t look the slightest bit deterred.

“Wow,” she mocks. “Sensitive.”

You roll your eyes, reaching for your drink. It’s water. Unlike Chaewon, you know when to quit, much to her annoyance. “Stop being weird and focus.”

“I am focused!” she retorts, all tension and energy. “Are you focused?” she says finally, slow, saccharine, like honey that's taking its sweet time to drip from a spoon into your mouth. “Not too distracted by how fuckable I look in this dress?”

You don’t acknowledge it. Again, no point. You set your glass down with a deliberate clink— any noise to replace what she just asked—then reach for three random objects on the coffee table; her phone, a book, and a coaster.

“We’re settling this tonight.”

She puts her beer back on the table, folds her hands in her lap, and sits with her whole body pointed at you. She shakes her body loose with slight movements. Then, slowly, she smiles.

“Please,” she says, voice sultry and teasing. “Teach me a lesson, professor.”

You’ve probably explained the theory to Chaewon more times than there are episodes of the show that inspired the discussion. It’s time for a practical run-through. You grab the three nearest things you can find and leave standing upright to function as make-shift doors—your phone, your glass of water, and a book Chaewon has been quipping from for the past month, How to Date Men When You Hate Men—and you form a neat row of three. “Let’s drill it into your skull. Three doors. One has a prize. Pick one.”

And for all the effort you put in, she barely looks. Eyes on you, finger pointing in a different direction. “The book.”

“Right, and that was a random choice out of three, meaning—”

“That I was either right or I was wrong. Fifty-fifty.” She shrugs, and shuts the door on this method of having her understand.

She’s perfectly frustrating. “it’s not fifty-fifty—”

She shifts the opposite way from her previous slide, her head landing in your lap. Her cheek rests against your thigh, and her provocation pokes at your heart. She gazes up at you, lashes fluttering a hypnotic rhythm. “This is more comfortable. Keep going.”

How could you?

“Chaewon.”

She hums, but she doesn’t acknowledge your protest. “What? Does having a cute girl’s face this close to your dick make you nervous?”

Ignore it. If you acknowledge it, it only gets worse. You push it down, she’ll eventually grow bored, and as long as the boulder doesn’t slip from your hands, you’ll be done with this forever. “Okay, so now, Monty—”

“You’re looking a little serious,” she muses, herself looking anything but. “Would you look like that while getting head? All furrowed brows, all focused?” Her lips curve deviously like the curveballs she’s throwing you. “Or would you be more relaxed? I can go deep, you know. No need to worry about me.”

Every cell in your body is telling you to push back, take her up on what she’s offering, and let her ruin this night. But you know. You’d get your hopes up, but she’d just call it a silly joke. Keep ignoring it. She’ll get bored.

You take a slow breath. Slow down your rhythm. “Are you done? Monty opens a door that isn’t the prize. That leaves two doors with potential. Your first pick was only right one-third of the time, so if you switch—”

“Aaaah.” Her mouth opens, tongue peeking out like a landing strip, eyes fluttering shut like she’s waiting for you to shove your cock inside.

That’s it.

You shove her off, not rough, but firm, standing up from the couch you might have sunk in immediately. “Can you cut it the fuck out?”

She’s back upright, giggling, back landing against the couch, legs curled beneath her. “What’s wrong? Blood rushing away from your head?”

“Do you ever stop?”

Her arms stretch over her head again, and you’re starting to see a pattern with the way her dress is stretching against her hips. “Not when I’m having fun.”

It’s maddening. Talking with Chaewon is selecting a door, continuing to talk with her is being shown the wrong door and choosing to take it willingly. “You really don’t care how frustrating you make the Monty Hall problem, do you?”

She smirks. She must think she has it all figured out. “I already told you. Either something happens, or it doesn’t. Fifty-fifty, dude.”

“That’s really not how probability works.”

“That’s how life works.”

You shake your head, and accompany it with an equally disappointed sigh. “You just don’t want to admit when you’ve made the wrong choice.”

She stills, and it’s eerie. It shouldn’t have happened. Then, like a mask slipping back, she recovers with a sly grin. “Or maybe I just like my way better.”

Before you can argue, she makes her move, getting up, pressing against your arm, chest squishy, warm and deliberate against you. “But you can explain it to me as many times as you want.”

She’s impossible. “Chaewon—”

And she leaves no room for response. “Go on,” she purrs, pushing her tits smush against your bicep, molding around the way your muscles tense. “Teach me.”

Your patience and her dress have one thing in common. They’re both razor-thin. “I mean it.”

She hums, and she smiles, and she’s convinced you’re going to give in any second now. “Not a fan anymore of me touching you?” Her voice drops, all warmth and provocation. “Would you rather reverse the roles, have you touch me? Be careful. I’m sensitive.”

Your fingers wrap around her wrist, pulling it high with a firm and stern motion. “Cut it out.”

She clicks her tongue, and scowls in return. The joke is over, and you ruined her fun. “You liked it plenty when that slut at the club was all over you.”

“That’s different,” you say, your jaw tightening up. She knows it is, and it’s not fair. Does she think she can get away with it just because you’ve got a thing for her? Or, used to have, you try to convince yourself.

She’s so clearly unimpressed it’s almost hurtful. It wasn’t a lie though. It was different, that girl at the club never tore your heart out. But none of that matters when Chaewon wants to have her fun. She scoffs. “Must’ve been nice. You didn’t even flinch when she touched you. Just leaned into her, didn’t push her away like you do with me.”

You don’t answer. You let go of her wrist, sit back down, unsure what to make if anything yourself. You could have gone home with ‘that slut’. Had a great evening. Instead, you’re here, keeping your promise to Chaewon that you’d make sure she got home safe, wasting another night on a girl that should have long been in your past already.

That same girl plants both her knees next to yours on the couch, dress creeping above her hips, exposing the slightest hint of black and lace panties straddling your lap, settling against you.

You hate how right she feels here.

She rocks her hips down, just slightly, just testing the waters. And like an experienced professional, the joke’s back on. “You sure you don’t want to have a little fun?”

Your hands clamp around her waist—not pulling her closer. Pushing her off.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t resist. Just concedes as the distance grows.

“Come on,” she murmurs, trying to make sense of it all. “You used to love looking at me.”

Your arm extends fully, pushing her as far as your body allows. “That was a long time ago.”

She lets out a small scoff, more hurt than the lost one, finally relenting and shifting off your lap. The joke is no longer fun for anyone in this room.

You just have to bite the bullet. Separate her from yourself, let the alcohol fade from her system and figure out what to do after that. “Go to bed,” you exhale sharply, a forced sense of finality in your voice. “I’ll sleep here, and be gone before you wake up.”

Chaewon stares at you like you just suggested the unthinkable. Her eye twitches, a habit you’ve long learned to associate with her being so upset that something is going to break. Then, she exhales sharper than you did, standing up. “Fine. Whatever.”

She turns, stomping toward her bedroom, her pumps exploding with sound every step of the way. “It’s still fucking fifty-fifty, by the way!” she yells, right before she slams the door.

It’s suddenly silent. Silent enough to hear your heartbeat going crazy.

She’ll calm down soon enough. Hopefully.

The heat of her body still burns against you, scorching where she was pressed against you. But if you ran after her now, you’d get burned alive. You rub your hands down your face, sinking into the couch, staring into the ceiling as you mentally prepare for what’s bound to be a sleepless night. There’s no escaping those as long as Chaewon is a part of your life.

Sleep doesn’t come.

You want to blame it on the horrible way this couch is digging into your back. Or the sounds of the city being ever present. Or the dim glow of some street lights seeping into the living room through Chaewon’s curtains that never managed to fully close. But comfort isn’t the issue.

It’s your damn mind, that can’t shut the fuck up.

Too many thoughts, all tangled together like a string of memories that wrapped around itself far too many times. Her hands, her voice, her weight in your lap. Her unusually prickly temper, and her enhanced sloppiness.

It all feels too fucking familiar, and the moment you admit that, there’s no holding it back.

It started as a night much like this one. You and Chaewon, at her place, sitting too close for friends but too far apart for lovers. Laughing at everything and nothing. Drinking just enough to make the lines blur. You had thought—maybe. Hopefully.

And for a moment, you know, you had been right. It seemed like the kind of night you’d eventually be able to tell your kids about. An edited version, to cut out the once-in-a-lifetime pounding you intended to give her, but still, magical in its own way.

The way she let you kiss her. The way she kissed you back. The way her eyelashes fluttered to pull you into the kiss. How her left thigh rode up yours. The way her fingers locked behind the nape of your neck. The way you told her you liked her.

Then the way she pulled back. The hesitation in her eyes. The way her voice broke when she said “I don’t think we should do this.”

The way a crack formed on your heart, barely being pushed together by the rest of your more logical organs as you forced yourself to nod and agree, to act like it was fine. Like you were fine. Like you hadn’t just managed to secure the right door, only to be forced to step into the wrong one.

And the way your heart formed a second crack when you saw her again. She was still the same. Still Chaewon. Like nothing had happened.

But something did happen to you.

Your phone buzzes.

It’s not easy to ignore. Chaewon is an addiction to you, the next hit of this sweet obsession entering your veins as your screen lights up.

Chaewon: You awake??

You know you should just be failing at sleeping again. This can only lead to misery.

You: Yeah.

It’s quiet for a bit, but a new message makes its way to you all the same.

Chaewon: Cant sleep

If only she knew how she cursed you with the same fate. If not for her you’d be sound asleep in your own bed right now, or even better, in the bed of that chick you met at the club. What did she say her name was again? Kazuha? Instead, you’re here, repeating old patterns with exhausted probability.

You: That sucks.

Your answers are curt. Too perfect with punctuation for your usual back and forth. She doesn’t respond right away. She might be stubborn and annoying about things she’s convinced she’s right about, but she’s never been oblivious.

Then:

Chaewon: Are we okay?

You’re upset, but not heartless. It tugs.

You: We’re fine, Chaewon

Chaewon: Thats not a yes…

You might just scream out of frustration, your phone dropping on your chest, but obviously you can’t. She’d hear. She’s impossible. So fucking stupidly impossible. And yet, you find yourself typing anyway.

You: Do you want me to lie?

The pause is longer this time. Should you feel bad or just so tired that it doesn’t matter anymore?

Chaewon: No Chaewon: IdkChaewon: I just get nervous when ur like this

You: Like what??

Chaewon: DistantChaewon: CarefulChaewon: Upset with me

Your fingers hover over the keyboard without action. She’s not wrong. You are being careful. It’s her fault. She’d break your heart a second time in less time it took for it to beat. That’s dangerous.

You: Idk what you want me to say Chaewon

Chaewon: Idk either…Chaewon: But I miss how we used to talk

The memories flood in of the two of you just shooting the shit, countless evenings. Still…

You: We’re talking now.

Chaewon: U know thats not what i meant

And she’s right. You do know, but this is just easier. For you, for her. For the both of you.

Chaewon: Cant you just come over here and talk w me?

Chaewon: I miss you…

And before you can even overthink it—

You move.

There is a thought that creeps into your mind as the door creaks open and you step into her room. Something about a lion’s den, and then another one following it up about it actually being the lionesses that do the hunting. There’s no point to it. They all fade in an instant. She’s no huntress right now. She’s vulnerable, like prey, enticing you to be the hunter, looking so ready to be pounced on; curled up beneath her blankets, only the soft shape of her against the sheets to lure you in.

“Hey.” It’s a solid way to start a conversation, but you can’t help but expect more from her after calling you in.

You nod, eyes fleeing from hers, shifting awkwardly by the door. “Hey.”

It takes a while before you move. The same goes for her. She’s squinting, her eyes getting used to the darkness. She’s always been stubborn about letting you help her get a blue light filter on her phone.

She finally stops, and for a moment, your eyes meet hers. She carries a soft smile, the kind that made you fall for her in the first place. But there’s a difference in it; barely perceptible; most definitely flown under the radar by people not so obsessed with her face. There’s precaution sewn into it. The sides of her smile are constantly shifting and trembling, like she doesn’t know whether to keep it there or to switch to a more neutral expression. Then, she shifts, her left arm pulling out from under the cover and tapping the sheets next to her, an unspoken invitation.

You sit down with a sigh, back turned towards her. You’re not far, but you’re not close either. A safe distance, you think to yourself. The mood isn’t tense, but also not comfortable. Just… unsure.

You can hear her laps part, exhale, almost say something, and then close again a couple of times. It’s not until you finally turn to face her that she speaks.

“Do you remember that summer at the beach?”

Your eyebrows raise on instinct, disbelief unmistakably painted across your face, impossible not to notice, not even in this darkness. “How could I forget?”

The muscles on her face relax as her eyes drift away from your eyes, seemingly getting lost into her pillow, which she clutches tight. “You remember how you were so worried about me you gave me a piggyback ride back to the house?”

“No,” you scoff, “I remember you guilt tripping me into carrying your soaking wet ass across the sand.” Your face turns away from her again, hands clutching the side of the bed as your eyes veer off into the distance past the window; letting the glass serve as a canvas to project your memories onto.

You hear the sheets rustle behind you as she works herself upright, before reminding you exactly why you helped her back then in the first place. “You weren’t complaining back then! You were way too busy copping a feel of my ass.”

“Okay, now that’s not fair,” you snap back much too fast, much too flustered. “I wasn’t copping a feel, I was keeping you from falling. And besides, you weren’t helping either! Just hanging there all limp, mumbling you’d never be able to walk again.”

“I mean, it just hurt so bad. That jellyfish really fucked me up,” she chuckles back, and you can feel the pressure of her back leaning against yours.

There’s a soft silence, the one drenched in feelings you’d much rather stay in, instead of moving on to an uncomfortable reality. So you keep painting, hoping the window holds your memory-scape just a little longer.

“Do you remember what we kept talking about? To keep your mind off of the pain?”

You can tell she knows in the way she responds with an “Oh my god.”

Both of you say it at the same time.

“The fucking Monty Hall problem!”

There’s a beat of silence. First it’s a chuckle. It turns into laughter, and it quickly grows uncontrolled, unstoppable. The kind that makes the memories seem brighter, makes your body feel lighter, the kind that makes you throw your head back as she does hers. You both open your eyes staring at the roof, now sharing the same canvas to display footage of past days.

“God,” you breathe, your head locked in place but your eyes drifting over towards her face. “I miss those days.”

She giggles, nose scrunching. “I don’t miss what that jellyfish did to me.”

The laughter fades, and you think that maybe, just maybe you could forget about earlier and go to bed without feeling like shit. You shift, and she does too, turning towards her as she moves back to her original spot, leaning against the headrest, crawling underneath the blankets with her legs.

Your breath catches as you look at her. Your stomach turns. “Chaewon.”

She blinks, glancing up at you. “Hmm?”

“Did you—” You inhale sharply, but you can’t afford to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Did you seriously invite me in here just to talk un-dressed like that?”

Her brows furrow. Then she follows your gaze, shifting slightly, and—

Fuck.

Black lace, delicate, thin. Your favorite.

She freezes. "Oh."

Oh? Fucking oh?

“Why the fuck are you like this?” you explode.

Her eyes widen. "No! I—" She scrambles, tugging the blanket back up over herself. “I wasn’t—” “You said you wanted to talk, Chaewon.”

“I do!” Her voice pitches up. She’s pulling the sheets up hurriedly, using them as a shield from you, all you can see is her cheeks changing color ever so slightly. This time because of the embarrassment instead of the alcohol. “I promise… I do…”

It’s hard to believe that. It’s all so familiar, and all so fucking frustrating. “You know, this is just like you to do,” you ramble, and it’s hard to stop once you get going. “Always so fucking obsessed with getting a reaction out of me, never stopping to think for a second about how I feel!”

Her face softens, and the way she looks at you makes you sick. Like she thinks you’re right. “That’s not—”

“Isn’t it?”

“I swear!” She shouts, looking panicked and it’s enough to finally get you to shut up. “I was still out of it all, too mad and too drunk when I got back here. I just wanted to sleep. I didn’t—” and a big, shallow breath interrupts her, the kind that just appears and leaves you with less air than before. “I wasn’t thinking, okay?” You want to believe her. But tonight has been too much. Too many provocations, too many lines blurring that she would turn back from, and in turn, you would let form scars.

Then you sigh, sitting back down. “Okay.”

“Are you…” her voice trembles as she tries to figure out the specifics of your answer. “You’re shaking. Are you mad?”

Your mind is still trying to slow down, and answering gets forgotten. She takes that as an answer, obviously. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not so mad that I’d be shaking, you idiot.” Your voice is quiet. “It’s just way too fucking cold in here. And I was thinking.”

There’s no hesitation, because that’s just how Chaewon is as she shifts, making room. “Get under the covers.”

“Chaewon, please—” you start, but she’s not having it.

“I won’t try anything, okay? I promise,” she interrupts you, sounding calmer already. There’s a touch of pleading in it, but not the whiny kind she uses to get you worked up. It’s more desperate, more real. “Just give me a chance to prove I’m being serious.”

You don’t move at first. Stubbornness is inherent to both of you, after all. She tugs on the sheets impatiently. You sigh, but it’s obviously performative, a last jab at her to let her know you’re only doing this just because you’re cold. And she wasn’t lying. She properly keeps her distance, just sharing the warmth of the bed. It’s immediate and comforting, but you don’t allow yourself to sink into it.

“See?” she murmurs. “Not a trap.”

Not yet. You don’t dare say it, but you don’t have to. She sees the thoughts in your eyes. So she shuffles, turning away from you.

The silence stretches so long you start focusing on the noises it can’t beat into submission. Your breathing. Her breathing. The creaking and crumpling sound of the bed and the sheets as you move.

“I wanted to talk, and we talked so… that’s—that’s good. I guess,” she whispers. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind talking some more.” She lets a little space in between for you to insert yourself into. You never do. “But if you’d rather pretend like I’m not here, I get that too. I’ll shut up.”

It’s endearing, and your response is a little mean, letting her wait in silence for just a little longer before replying. “I’m not pretending. I need somebody to blame the lack of space I have in this bed.”

She smiles, soft. You can’t see it, obviously, but you feel it. Somehow. She shifts under the blanket, closer but not touching. She’s apprehensive. And she meant what she said.

“Is this the first time we’ve slept in the same bed?” she asks, but she masks her tone enough that she could play it off as talking to herself if you decided to not respond.

“Nope,” you correct her. “There was that one time in sophomore year. You showed up at my door at, like, three in the morning. Absolutely shitfaced, mind you.”

She lets out a small, embarrassed groan, and you know you’re on the right track.

“I remember that,” she mumbles. “Barely.”

“You couldn’t figure out how to get to your dorm. Said not even Monty Hall could help you find the right door.”

“How do you remember all that?” Chaewon questions, like you had no right to have that memory.

“Are you kidding me? How could I forget? I told you to take my bed, and that I was gonna crash on the couch,” you continue explaining, your lips curling upwards.

“But I didn’t let you?”

“Nope. You didn’t trust my roommate worth shit. Which, fair.”

She doesn’t say anything. You keep going though, less for her alone or you alone, both for you both.

“You grabbed my wrist when I tried to walk away. Looked me dead in the eye and said, and I quote, ‘Don’t leave me alone with that guy here, he smells like crusty socks and assault.’”

Chaewon lets out a strangled sound that’s half mortified laugh, half groan. “Oh my God.”

“So I gave in. Got in bed next to you. Fully clothed. On top of the covers. Like a gentleman.”

“You didn’t sleep for a second that night, did you?”

“Of course not. You starfished. One arm across my chest, one leg thrown over me like a fucking seatbelt. You had me trapped, dead to rights. Didn’t help you made me paranoid that my roommate was actually going to do something.”

She laughs—really laughs. Warm, unguarded. Then she rolls onto her side, facing you again. Her eyes search yours. "It was easier, wasn’t it? Back then. In college. At the beach. You carrying me like an idiot, me acting like I couldn’t walk, and you trying to turn probability into a personality trait."

You laugh, but it’s not really a laugh. More like one of those nose breaths that accompanies an abbreviated text. “Because it was.”

Her smile fades. “You never needed me to ask. You always just… stayed.”

You shift slightly, your fingers brushing the edge of the blanket. Her eyes drop there, then rise again.

“I think I’m a leaver,” she says. No warning. No lead-in. Like she had to say it fast before she lost the nerve.

“What?” It leaves your mouth before you can even blink.

But Chaewon swallows, her eyes retreating downwards. “I think that’s just who I am. Some people stay, and some people leave. You’re the kind of person that stays, and I’m a person that leaves. Because if I go first, I don’t have to wait until you become a leaver just like me.”

She looks at you like she’s afraid you’ll flinch. Like she’s already bracing for the recoil.

“I know it’s selfish,” she adds quickly. “But that night… when you kissed me, and then said you really liked me—I panicked. I did what I always do. You were giving me a choice, and that scared the hell out of me. So I picked the choice I always make.”

She breathes in. Exhales slow. Really takes her time, her eyes drifting slightly upwards now.

“And for a while, I told myself it was just another fifty-fifty. You know? Just a game of chance I lost. You either leave or get left. You either lose something or end up lost. And I thought—" she breaks off, swallowing again, part of her voice getting swallowed with it, "—that it would go away like the rest. That I’d forget. That it’d stop mattering."

You stay quiet.

“But it didn’t. It stuck. You stuck.”

She shifts again, knee brushing against yours beneath the blanket. Her voice cracks a little.

“And I started noticing things,” she says. "Little things. Like the first time you didn’t wait for me to text goodnight. Or when you were with someone else and you had that smile that I thought was reserved for me. Or when you stopped arguing with me about dumb shit just to keep talking."

Her voice wavers.

“And then I realized I didn’t just pick wrong. I watched the right door shut. And then I heard it lock. And that’s why I know your stupid fucking Monty Hall problem is wrong. I should’ve had another shot. Another choice. But life didn’t open a wrong door—it just took the right one away. And that’s why I know it’s just fifty-fifty. And I lost my coin toss at happiness.”

There’s a second of silence where your brain short circuits.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” you mutter.

She blinks, but it helps her to finally look at you. “Ouch?”

You sit up, tossing the blanket off like it offended you. “No, I’m serious. You think my door shut? You fucking locked it.”

She opens her mouth, but you cut her off, your pace quickening. “The fact that I stayed around all this time is proof enough that my door is still unlocked. It wasn’t up to me to reopen that door.” “I—” “But you had to try.” Chaewon’s eyes flicker—not away, but deeper. Her breath hitches, and you swear it’s the first real sound she’s made in a while that didn’t have a smirk behind it. She shifts forward just slightly, only enough that her leg brushes against yours again, like she’s testing if the signal’s still green.

“You’re saying… it’s still open?”

You drag a hand through your hair, eyes rolling ceilingward before locking onto her again. “It was never fucking closed.”

Her lips part. They’re trembling now. She’s not teasing this time. “Then why—why didn’t you ever—”

“Because I’m not gonna beg,” you cut in, sharper than intended. “I’m not gonna crawl through the fucking keyhole when you slammed the door in my face.”

She flinches. Just barely. But enough.

“I didn’t need you to beg, just…” she says, softer, like she’s going over the math again in her head. “I don’t know… I—” Her voice dips, trails, then steadies. “I’m here now. I’m trying.”

You look at her. Clear as day in the middle of the night. She's curled up next to you, defensive and ashamed and stubborn all at once. Her eyes are too glossy, her hands fidgeting with the edge of the comforter like they’re looking for somewhere to hide.

And then she breathes, and her voice breaks.

“I just wanted you to want me still.”

And that? That fucking cracks something open.

You reach for her—no grand gestures, no cinematic swoop—just firm, necessary motion. You cradle her jaw, fingers sweeping her hair back, and when you speak, it’s low and final and absolutely everything you’ve been holding back.

“I never fucking stopped.”

There’s no pause this time.

No “but what if—”

No “are you sure—”

No more fucking Monty Hall.

Just her lips crashing into yours, messily, hungrily, like the apology she couldn’t say and the forgiveness you weren’t ready to offer have decided to cancel each other out with tongue.

It’s not careful. It’s not gentle.

It’s honest.

She’s on your lap again, only this time it’s not a joke. Her knees bracket your thighs and she grinds down with purpose, gasping when she feels you through your boxers. Her hands slide beneath your shirt, nails catching skin, and you curse under your breath as heat swells in your gut, undeniable and urgent.

You break the kiss, forehead against hers. “Still cold?”

Her laugh is shallow, much too distracted with making sure she can properly share in your body heat. “Yeah. Make me warm.”

“And here I was thinking you were hot enough as is.”

She smirks, and it’s real this time. Like the one you saw when you barely knew her, but knew enough already. Not a mask. Not a trap. Just her.

And she whispers, “Don’t stop this time.”

Like you could. Besides, you’re not even sure it’s only meant for you. With the way she’s tugging and removing your clothes, kissing your shoulders and pulling you tighter, it’s like she’s making up for lost time. For every second spent being careful. Your hands trace her body, taking your time to really make sure every curve and beauty mark is stuck in your mind forever.

“God,” you mumble under your breath, pressing your lips to her cheek, her neck, her shoulder, working your way down until you’re kissing the edge of a black lace bra that was almost the reason you stormed off earlier. “I can’t believe how beautiful you really are.”

Her breath hitches. “I know.”

And you’ve missed that, too. Her confidence. The way she can say things like that without irony, because she knows exactly what she’s worth—she just never thought she’d be worth it to you once more.

You kiss her through the black lace, and she shivers when you nip at the edge of her bra, as close to her nipple as you can get. She doesn’t waste any time herself flicking open the button of your jeans. You’ve always thought she needed a helping hand, both of yours pushing your pants further down. They’re not even off properly when she pauses, eyes blown wide, honing in on the tent in your boxers leaving little to imagination.

“Wow,” she says, and it’s almost weird to hear her say it without sarcasm.

“Wow?” your voice is rough, coming out in a single breath.

She nods, and her lips part as she yanks your boxers down, eyes almost dazed as she takes you in. “Wow.”

It’s a reverent look. It’s a look that suits her as long as it’s directed towards you, you think. Her fingers reach out like she’s about to wrap them around you, but she stops right before she makes contact, and the look in her eyes changes. Smug now. Knowing.

“I need a moment,” she says, and you know she’s up to no good. “You can’t just swing that in a girl's face and expect me to make it easy for you.”

A throb shoots through your cock, hips twitching without your consent. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

But she just smirks.

“Chaewon.”

“Shhh,” she says as she shuts down any and all protest, and her voice is the perfect combination of exasperating and enticing. “I’ve got my own Monty Hall problem lined up for you.”

You groan, but it’s more of a plea for mercy than a protest. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m serious,” she purrs, fingers grazing the base of your cock before pulling back again, making you hiss.

“Three doors,” she says, and the way she looks at you is obscene. “My front door, my back door, and my... ehm... mouth door?”

You’re gone. You’re fucking gone. “You are so lucky you're fucking hot.”

She keeps going, relentless. Her grin is pure mischief. “Which one have I imagined you fucking me with the most?” She rolls her hips, testing you. “Pick right, and you get to fuck it.”

“And if I guess wrong?” Your voice is rough, needy, everything you never let her hear before tonight.

Her eyes burn. “Then you eat me out first.”

It’s a rigged game and you both know it, but you play along anyway, letting her set the rules and stack the deck and deal each card. You lean forward, drag your lips up the line of her jaw. “That’s an impossible choice. You want all of them.”

She moans, a hiccup of laughter and want, and the weight of her shifts in your lap, urgent. “You wish. You only get one.”

But her hips are grinding now, a rolling, deliberate pressure that tells you exactly what her body needs. The answer is and always has been: every option, at once, and all of them leading back to you.

You palm her ass, fingers splaying underneath the lace edge, and the way she shivers tells you she wasn’t expecting you to touch her with that kind of certainty. For all her bravado and gamesmanship, this is how you win: you move first, and you don’t hesitate.

“Let’s see,” you murmur, mouth against the shell of her ear, making her gasp. “Back door—” a squeeze, a knead that pulls a little yelp from her, “—doesn’t seem like your style. At least not as a first move.”

“Don’t count me out,” she breathes, and you hear the competitive edge in her voice, the same edge that made her stay up all night just to prove you wrong about some irrelevant, beautiful, dumb thing.

You laugh, slow and low, and she shakes against you. “Mouth door,” you say, and you can’t help but grin at the way she’s already licking her lips, hungry, needing to prove something. “Obvious contender. But I think you want it right here.” Your hand finds the heat between her legs, cups her through those ridiculous panties, and her eyes go wide, her breath gone.

You wait a beat. She’s never been great at waiting, but she’s trembling now, lips parted, waiting for your verdict.

“And if I told you it’s definitely not the back door? Does your answer change?” she pants.

You consider your odds. “I think—” you start, but she interrupts.

“Actually,” she says, and the way her voice drips with satisfaction is almost enough to make you lose. “I don’t give a fuck. I want your cock. Right here.”

She grinds against you, and you can’t help but think you’re never spending another day without that feeling.

“Fuck,” you groan, because she won this round, and she knows it. “You don’t play fair.”

She bites her lip, smiling, then reaches between you, fingers wrapping around you with a perfect, firm pressure. “And that’s why you love me.”

She’s right. She’s wrong about so many fucking things, but she’s right about this.

You thrust up into her hand, and she moans, her body arching, her hair falling down her back. You reach for her hips, hooking your thumbs under the lace, and she lifts herself up, letting you pull it down, off, away. She doesn’t care where it lands; she’s already lowering herself back onto you, and you’re closing the distance, guiding your cock to her needy cunt.

“Fuck you,” you breathe, so close to her you can taste it, the subtext of admission against her skin. “I’m not saying it first. I’ll force you to.”

She rocks her hips, taking you deeper, her breath catching with a shudder. “Yeah? You think you can make me?”

You grit your teeth, the friction of her tight around you making it almost impossible to think. “I know I can.”

“Big words,” she gasps, riding you faster, harder. “Think you can back them up?”

You reach between you, your thumb finding her clit, and she cries out, her whole body shaking, her walls clenching around you. “You first,” you growl, and you can tell she’s sensitive. “Say it.”

Her eyes roll back, her lower lip caught between her teeth. You know it, you have her dead to rights, this is your win, and then—”Nuh-uh.”

You thrust up into her, relentless, and the pressure builds, mounting, and she’s so fucking tight around you, and you want her to say it, need her to say it.

She grinds down harder, her nails dragging your shoulder blades, and it’s too much. Too good. Too fucking hot. “You’re gonna say it,” you gasp, your thumb circling her clit faster. “I know you.”

“And I know you,” she pants, her head falling back as she rides you with abandon, her whole body trembling, her breath hitching with every thrust. “I know—oh fuck—you.”

You watch her face as she rocks against you, her lips parting, her eyes wide and desperate and defiant. She’s so close. So close you can feel it, the way she’s fighting it, wanting to hold out, wanting to win.

“Say it,” you growl, thrusting up into her again, harder, not easing up on her clit.

She gasps, and this has to be it. She’s trembling, tightening, drowning in ecstasy and she’s— “I’m—Fuck, I’m cumming, you fucker,” she manages to choke out, and she cums hard. Her head drops forward, no further admission, still no winner as her whole body shudders, her walls clenching around you like she’s weaponizing her orgasm against you, trying to pull the words from you.

You swear, a rough sound that’s almost a surrender, and she laughs, breathless, smug, still shaking in your lap. “You first.”

Your grip tightens on her hips, and you’re so fucking close, but you hold on, hold out, your breath ragged. “I’m not going to give up,” you groan, thrusting up into her in a wild frenzy, loud clapping of flesh colliding now strangling the room. She lets out a strangled sound, and her eyes go wide letting you know she didn’t expect this.

Didn’t expect you to only go harder, to keep fucking her through her orgasm, keep pushing her over the edge again and again and again until she might pass out.You thrust harder, deeper, and her voice breaks, her body wild against yours.

You hold on, and she holds on longer. She’s so tight, so wet, and the heat is building, and you feel her clench around you, feel her mold to your shape. Her mouth opens, and you can’t tell if she’s about to say it or if she’s too far gone, and then—

She pulls off of you. You watch, stunned, as she drops to her knees and wraps her mouth around your cock, and the sight alone is enough to make you lose it. You groan, a deep, ragged sound, and she moans around you, the vibration pushing you over the edge. Your hands tangle in her hair as you come, hot and hard, spilling ropes of cum into her mouth.

“Fuck, Chaewon,” you choke out, the last of your breath leaving your body as every drop of cum you had does the same, her lips still tight around you.

Then she pulls back, and her eyes are on you, wide and bright and triumphant. She cups a hand beneath her chin, opens her mouth, and—

“I love you,” she says, letting your cum spill out over her lips, and there’s a laugh behind it, a tremor of amusement, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. Like she knows she just won all over again. She wipes her mouth, cum streaking her chin, her neck, her chest, and she looks so absurdly beautiful you can’t even be mad.

“Chaewon,” you breathe. It’s exasperation and wonder, the way you’ve said her name so many times before. “You’re fucking impossible.”

“Really?” She bats her lashes with a coy look, licking her lips like she’s savoring every last drop of the chaos she’s caused. “Aren’t you supposed to say it back?”

You grab her by the waist, pulling her back up to straddle you past your softened cock, and she giggles, squirming in your lap. “You’re such a fucking brat.”

“And you can’t get enough of it,” she teases, her smile widening,

You stare at her, chest heaving, the words settling into the spaces that were empty for so long. Then you let out a breathless, helpless laugh, pulling her face up to yours, kissing her despite all the filth she let drip out to cover her sweetness.

“Fuck you,” you say between kisses, but there’s no heat behind it, just the weight of relief and joy and everything else you’ve been holding back. “How do you win even when you lose?”

She smiles against your mouth, and you feel it in every part of you. “I guess I’m just smarter than you.”

You do. You say it like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like you’ve spent the last year waiting for your chance.

“I love you, you idiot.”

She makes a soft sound, and for a second you think she might cry, but it’s just a laugh, bright and giddy and so fucking happy. “I’m glad you do.”

“You’re a fucking nightmare,” you say as you shake your head, trying to hide the cartoonishly large smile she forced upon your face. “And you’re stuck with me,” she says, kissing you again, her body melting into yours, all softness and satisfaction. Her voice dips, teasing, warm. “Or did you forget?”

“Never,” you murmur, and you mean it. Hell, you’d bet on it.

Her body shifts in response, her being melting into you, her skin sticky but hot against yours. “So,” she says, and it’s light and breezy like that summer day still stuck in your memory, like you’re somehow back in a familiar rhythm, but new nonetheless. “You really think you can handle me?”

You laugh, wrapping your arms around her. “I’ve been handling you for years without the benefit of getting to fuck you.”

She pinches your side, but it’s playful, and you can tell she’s trying not to smile. “Asshole.”

“Yeah,” you say, kissing her forehead. “But I’m your asshole, now.”

She nods, and that alone was worth all the suffering. Because it’s honest.

“Shit,” Chaewon breathes, your skin stuck together with dried cum, pulling loose from you. “We’re a fucking mess.”

“Yeah, well, it’s your fault for trying to be funny,” you say like you’re not covered in it too.

She shakes her head, and it’s like she’s saying it’s your fault for not being the first to say you love her. “We can’t go to bed like this,” she proclaims, trying her best not to get too much filth on her sheets. “C’mon. Shower.”

“Together?” you ask, and she just rolls her eyes like that was the stupidest fucking question you’ve ever asked.

You follow her to the bathroom, the air chilly and the tile cool underfoot. She turns on the water of her shower, letting it heat up as she looks back over at you, one eyebrow lifting like she’s pondering if she should just keep it to showering or not.

“Get in,” she says, pushing you towards the shower. “I’m not letting you sleep until you’re clean.”

She’s already stepping toward the shower when she realizes you’re still standing there. Her eyes narrow, but her lips curve. “What? You’re dawdling now?”

You shrug, and she laughs. It’s not the sound she makes when she’s trying to get under your skin, but the one you’d almost forgotten she could make. Uncomplicated. Real.

She starts taking off the only thing she still has on—her thigh high socks that were the main culprit in why you failed to pick up a girl earlier tonight. You were way too busy admiring how good Chaewon looked, and it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Don’t tell me you’re expecting me to do it for—”

You catch her hand, stop her from peeling them off. She freezes, looks at you like a deer caught in headlights.

“Let’s pretend I lost your three doors challenge,” you murmur, and you hear her breath catch. “It’d be a shame not to eat you out with how good you look in those.”

“So you were staring! I fucking knew it,” she shouts gleefully.

You don’t give it a response. You just hoist her up, and she wraps her legs around you like it’s instinct, gasping, more eager than surprised, as you let her ass meet the bathroom counter. You spread her thighs open to admire, sink to your knees in between them, and look up, getting lost in the way she looks down.

“Oh my god,” she sighs out. “Are you really—”

You don’t let her finish. You drag your tongue up her slit, and her head falls back, the sound of the shower almost drowning out her moan. Almost, but not quite.

“Fuck,” she gasps, the first of many. “Right there. Oh, right—”

You swirl your tongue around her clit, and her hips buck, her whole body trembling. She’s close already, too close, and you know you could end this in seconds, but you don’t. Not yet.

Your hand slides up her thigh, and she shudders as you press a finger against her asshole, teasing, gentle. Her breath catches, and you feel her body tense, then relax, opening for you.

“Shit,” she gasps, her voice breaking. “I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”

You don’t stop. You don’t even slow down. You work her with your tongue and your fingers and your everything, and she’s shaking.

“Holy fuck,” she gasps, her voice breaking. “You’re—shit—you’re better at this than explaining math problems.”

You groan, a low, rough sound, and the vibration makes her shudder. “Careful, I might bite.”

She laughs, knowing you’re all bark, and her fingers tangle in your hair, not quite pulling you closer, but not allowing escape either. “Don’t stop,” she begs, and she wears it so well that ideas flood your mind. “I’m so fucking close.”

feel her body tense, tight and perfect around you. “Right there. Oh—” You curl your finger, the final bit of tension she needed to release, clenching hard, her hands in your hair, her body on fire. “Oh God, oh—”

She cums hard, her body arching, her legs closing around your head as she cries out, the sound raw and desperate and so fucking good. Your finger slips out but keep your mouth on her, not letting up until she’s shuddering, breathless, her hands tensed up tugging at you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she gasps, and you feel the last tremors of her orgasm as they ripple through her. “How did you—I can’t—” She’s lost for words, and it’s ammunition for next time you fight over something stupid.

You don’t move until she tugs at you weakly, pulling you up, and the look in her eyes is almost enough to make you drop to your knees again.

You grab her hand, pulling her toward the shower, but she doesn’t budge. Instead, she drops to her knees, fingers splayed on your thighs. “I’ll admit, you’re pretty fucking good,” she says, her eyes gleaming with challenge. Everything’s a competition with this girl. “But I’m better.”

You don’t have time to respond. Her mouth is on you, hot and wet and perfect, and you groan, your head falling back. She works you with a skill you didn’t think she had, her tongue swirling, her lips tight, and all you can do is hold on. She pulls back, and the sudden loss makes you gasp. “Feel free to cum wherever you want,” she muses, and your mind floods with options. All too enticing.

Her pace is relentless, precise, and you feel her smile around you, a smug curve against your skin. She’s rapidly proving her point.

“Chaewon,” you groan, and you’re not sure if you’re leading into begging or commanding. “Fuck, that feels—”

She hums, a low, teasing sound, and the vibration makes you curse. Her fingers slide down, cupping your balls, and you feel yourself throb against her tongue.

You’re close, too close, and she knows it. You can tell by the way she pulls back again, her lips glistening, her eyes wild. “I’m not done with you,” she says, and you swear you might die.

“Fuck my face,” she says, and you tremble, your whole body going tight.

“Chaewon,” you gasp, but she’s already got you begging for more, her hands on your thighs, guiding you inside.

You thrust, and she takes it, takes you, her mouth so fucking good you can’t believe this is real. She moans and gags around you, and it’s a sound you’ll hear in your dreams for the rest of your life.

She looks up, her mouth full, and the sight is obscene, incredible. She’s not stopping, not giving you a second to catch your breath, just letting you use her, and it’s all too fucking much.

You’re so close, the heat building, your control slipping. You fuck her face, your hands tight in her hair, and she’s caught between you and the counter, letting you use her, letting you lose yourself.

“Oh God, Chaewon,” you groan, your thrusts erratic, desperate. “I’m gonna—”

She pulls back, and you gasp, her lips getting pressed against the tip of your dick. She strokes you, her lips swollen and wet, and— “Do it,” she commands, tilting her head back, presenting her face and her tits and her abs and every target you could choose, her eyes pleading to cover not one but all. “Come all over me.”

That’s it. That’s fucking it. You cum hard, your whole body tensing, and she moans as your release hits her face, her lips, her cheek, her chest.

“Fuck,” you groan, and she smiles, licking her lips, and you’re so spent you almost collapse right there.

Then she’s pulling you down, kissing you, and you taste yourself on her tongue.

“At least I was worth the wait, right?” she murmurs, and you pull back just far enough to see the way she’s grinning, the way she’s looking at you like she thinks she won. If only she saw herself right now, you’re clearly the winner.

“Think I’m ready for that shower now,” you say, and you can’t help but smile back, because you’re a mess, and she’s a mess, and you came into this room specifically to be less of a mess; and you love it. You love her.

The shower is still running, heating up the room, and you both stand up. She pulls you with her, and the water makes quick work of the art you just made. What a waste, but a waste you love to spend with her.

She notices your face change as the cum disappears from her visage, and chuckles lightly. “You’ll get plenty of other chances.”

You wash her and she washes you back, and it’s slow and easy and comfortable. Like you never thought it could be again. But better. No rush, no desperation. She works the shampoo into your hair, but you can’t stand to not annoy her for another second, pulling her under the spray and rinsing her off.

“Hey,” she protests, but she’s smiling, her eyes bright.

“Hey yourself,” you say, dragging your thumb across her cheek, her lips, her collarbone. “Think I like you like this.”

“Wet?” she asks, and she’s teasing, but there’s a softness behind it.

“That too. But no. Mine,” you say, and her expression shifts, her eyes going soft, her hands coming to rest on your chest.

“You know,” she says, her voice quiet, thoughtful, “That makes you equally mine.”

You tilt her chin up, kissing her, and she melts into it, into you. “I guess that means we both won today.”

She laughs, and it’s the best sound, the best feeling, the best everything. “Guess I can get used to it if it’s with you.”

Eventually you turn off the tap, and she shivers as you wrap her in a towel, pulling her close. “Bed?” you ask, and she nods, simple and easy.

She helps you dry off, and you help her, and you just can’t let each other be right now. She tugs at you, at your hand, constantly leading you, hair still wild and just damp enough to be okay going to bed with. She slips beneath the covers fully naked, but it’s too cold to worry about any of that, so you follow.

You pull her against you, or she pushes herself into you. It’s hard to tell who’s more desperate. Point is, her back is against your chest, and it fits perfectly. Like she was made for it.

“So,” she says, her voice a sleepy mumble, “are you gonna lose your shit if I say it’s fifty-fifty again?”

You groan, exasperated and affectionate, and she giggles, burying her face in your neck.

“Chaewon,” you say, and she turns just enough to look at you.

“Hmm?”

You wrap your arms around her, holding her, holding everything. “You’re fucking annoying. Never change.”

She smiles, soft and genuine, and you know this is the real win. Not the game, not the challenge, not the give and take of a thousand heated mathematical arguments—but this. Her. You. Together.

“Promise,” she whispers, and you feel her breath slow, feel her body relax, feel the unlikeliest odds settle in your favor.

You hold her tighter, and the silence this time is comfortable, a weightless, blissful quiet that lulls you both toward sleep. You barely hear her next words, but they seep into you, the last sweet, stubborn thing you need to know.

“I still think it's fifty-fifty.”

#le sserafim smut #chaewon smut #male reader smut #kpop smut #idol x male reader #smut #kim chaewon smut #kpop fanfic #le sserafim chaewon smut

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citricacidprince · 10 months ago

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Could you draw that "I trust you" scene with Mabel and Stan but with the relativity AU? (The stan twins and pine twins swap ages au)

OF COURSE, I WILL GLADLY DRAW THEM!!! 💥💥💥

I’m gonna post a long winded thesis about my thoughts on this AU, my take on the AU, and two additional arts under the cut because ooooh boy it’s a tad bit long lol. Also, please please forgive the formatting, I’m writing this all on the fly and it’s extremely disjointed, sorry- 💥

I know there’s the ‘canon’ Relativity AU designs and character dynamics, however I don’t really like them that much ngl. I feel like it mostly just ends up with ‘Mabel and Dipper get switched with Stan and Ford with no nuances once so ever’ and that BLOWS!!! There’s so much potential there and no one is playing with it!! YOU GUYS DON’T EVEN HAVE MABEL PRETENDING TO BE DIPPER, WHATS THE POINT????

Not only that but I feel like making Dipper and Mabel’s dynamic just Ford and Stan’s when they’re adults is a HUGE simplification of their characters. Like, Mabel and Dipper fight, but they don’t fight like Stan and Ford, they’re not as hard headed and stubborn. Mabel would commit some crimes yes, but I don’t believe she would get into some of the heavy shit Stan had in his past. I refuse to believe Mr. Dipper ‘Undiagnosed Anxiety Disorder’ Pines would fall for Bill’s flattery as easily as Ford did.

The Pines Twins are very different from the Mystery Twins. Mabel and Dipper didn’t grow up with a father constantly comparing the two and pinning them against each other, outright telling one kid they’ll always be a failure while the other is going to have the burden of making their family rich. They never had that tension. They wouldn’t be walking on eggshells around eachother as adults.

I know that makes the concept sound boring to some, ‘Where’s the fun in the AU if you take away the sibling fighting’. You cowards, you can still have it, young Stan and Ford are RIGHT THERE. During the second half of the show when Dipper comes back through the portal, instead of having the older set of twins, something that doesn’t make sense with their characters, have a building tension that’s going to explode soon and keep it between Stan and Ford, don’t take it away from them. If anything, I think taking away the resentment and anger growing between the two and giving it to Mabel and Dipped is a butchering of all the characters.

Sure that means some of the episodes would have to change or be completely erased, but that’s fine!!! Make up some new ones!!! Get silly with it!!!

Mabel and Dipper talk about feelings, Stan and Ford don’t. Mabel and Dipper can’t stay mad at each other, Stan and Ford will try and stay mad for decades because being angry is easier than being upset.

In my idea of this AU that fight at the end of Weirdmageddon HAS to be between Stan and Ford, and Stan HAS to still be the one getting his memories erased.

💥 Post Not-What-He-Seems Relativity AU Rambling Below 💥

Dipper is a paranoid man, fool him once you’re never going to fool him again. He would never in a million years ever work with Bill again. Ford however is an extremely lonely child, both he and his brother are desperate for any type of positive attention. I think Bill would see him as a potential protege, especially since Ford is a ‘freak’ like he is and the kid is extremely smart for his age. He’s malleable, Bill probably thinks he could shape him uo to be the perfect lackey.

Ford, being the lonely kid he is, probably does fall for the praise initially. He craves attention and Bill pushes all the right buttons and says all the right words, tries and gains his trust even if time has proven again and again that he shouldn’t be trusting the demon.

The tension between the Stan Twins would grow after Grunkle Dipper comes back because Ford is upset that Stan didn’t listen to him (even if it was for the best that he did) and that Grunkle Dipper forgave Graunty Mabel so easily because if Ford was in those shoes he wouldn’t have. It grows more and more as Ford becomes distant and Stan tries to connect with his brother to no avail. Which, of course, comes to a boiling point when Ford says he’s going to stay in Gravity Falls and learn under Grunkle Dipper. Stan is rightfully upset. He can’t go back to New Jersey by himself. It’s always just been the two of them, he needed Ford, he couldn’t handle school or their father by himself. He can’t be alone.

Unlike Mabel who just wanted one more day of summer, Stan wishes that he wouldn’t be alone, which indirectly causes Weirdmaggendon.

Stan’s prison bubble would probably be a fake New Jersey-esc town full of a bunch of little Stans running around. Town O’ Stan. A place where no Stan is left behind.

The two don’t even get to have a heart to heart in the prison bubble. Stan was kinda forcibly taken out of the bubble and the tensions between the boys are higher than they’ve ever been.

During the Cipher Wheel fight Stan punches Ford and immediately feels bad when he sees he knocked out his brother’s tooth. He tries to apologize but Ford tackles him before he can, leading to the boys tussling on the floor. The two fight, whining out hurtful words neither of them mean and only stop when Bill shows up and captures them. Graunty Mabel and Grunkle Dipper run off and distract Cipher in hopes that they can keep the attention on themselves long enough that their great nephews could come up with a plan to escape.

The younger twins don’t find a way out and instead, finally, have an actual talk about their feelings, one that definitely ends up in tears as the two talk about the pressure that’s put on them or how worthless they feel. After that the boys get a rush of determination to escape when Stanley has a plan. Ford immediately hates the plan but Stan insists that they do it, in his own words, ‘Let me prove I can do something right for once.’

When Bill comes back and threatens to kill either Mabel or Dipper just for the hell of it, Ford calls out that he’d like to make a deal.

He wants to work with Bill, let Bill into his mind willingly. Bill immediately jumps on that offer. Ford is a promising young kid, perfect henchmaniac potential, not to mention it would absolutely devastate Dipper is his great nephew willingly turned to Bill’s side.

He goes into Ford’s head, revealing Stanley just in time to reveal that he was trapped, panicking as he was erased with a swift left-hook along with a kid who was happy to prove he was good for something after all.

Everyone was devastated after Weirdmaggedon of course, a child had his mind completely wiped. Stanford took it the worst, he just managed to finally break down those words that others built in his head, that he was too good for Stanley or that he didn’t need a knucklehead like him dumbing down his brain, and now his brother was gone. Just like that.

We all know what happens after this, Stan gets his memory back, everyone celebrates and the Stan twins are sent home, promising each other that they’ll never let anyone try and tear them apart ever again. Dipper and Mabel stay at the shack, after all, all they could ever want is there, where else could they possibly go?

Sorry this was… extremely rambly and long, I am extremely tired and can’t think straight I have a bunch more ideas and concepts so if anyone’s desperately wants to hear them just ask I guess, sorry you read this dumb of ass essay haha 💥

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strayingawayy · 3 months ago

Text

how not to hard launch your partner...

... the one where there's dating rumours about felix and some actress and he's hellbent on putting them to an end

i think the anon that requested this wanted some angst but i would like to spread the live laugh love felix agenda and make you smile hopefully so here you go <3 (warning: a brief mention of suicide but not really suicide)

your first mistake was letting jisung have the aux.

the second mistake was assuming felix would handle this situation like a normal person.

because now, instead of calmly addressing the false dating rumours about him and some actress, you were sitting in the back of the car with the boys, watching in horror as felix prepared to commit social suicide.

"just let the rumours die," chan begged, as he gripped the steering wheel. "don’t do anything dumb, mate please."

felix, already opening his instagram, grinned. "define ‘dumb.’"

"oh my god," you screeched, lunging for him, but it was too late.

he had hit 'live.'

the car descended into chaos.

"turn it off!" seungmin, the typically calm and composed seungmin, yelled.

"we can still stop this!" hyunjin howled.

but felix, a menace to society, just grinned at the camera like a man unhinged.

"hello, stay," he announced over the screams of his bandmates. "quick q&a session t'night!"

you wanted to die.

the comments were already rolling in at lightning speed.

— oml lixie hiiiiiii

— what’s happening why does seungmin look like he wants to commit a crime

— Wait is it true you’re dating that actress???

felix’s eyes lit up. "oh, that rumour? funny story, actually-"

jisung dived across the van, trying to snatch his phone. felix dodged at the last second.

"felix don’t-"

felix absolutely did.

"that rumour is false," he said, smiling. "wanna know why?"

you shook your head violently. "no, no they don’t-"

felix grabbed your wrist and yanked you into frame.

the comments exploded.

— what

— who is that omg

— the way hannie just threw himself to stop this and failed lmaoooo

felix meanwhile , beamed. "meet my actual partner!"

the screaming in the car reached new heights and you could only thank god that chan was a good enough driver to survive this chaos.

"delete it delete it delete it," hyunjin continued howling.

"we're not even parked yet-" chan yelled.

jisung, now hanging off the van seat, wailed, "div1 is gonna kill us!"

meanwhile, you sat there, frozen in pure horror.

"say hi, baby!" felix chirped.

you turned to him, wide-eyed, unable to use speech as a method of self expression.

felix, still grinning, turned back to the camera. "they’re shy."

the live abruptly ended, because chan finally pried the phone out of his hands and threw it across the car.

there was nothing but silence for a few minutes.

everyone just… stared at you two.

then, jisung groaned, covering his face. "you idiots."

seungmin sighed. "well. at least the whole world knows now."

you turned to felix, who looked way too pleased with himself. "what is wrong with you?!"

felix simply kissed your cheek. "now you never have to worry about rumours again, my jealous lil' baby!"

hyunjin clutched his chest, dramatically,"i need to lie down."

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solxamber · 3 months ago

Text

Trash Novel Chronicles: Gaslight, Gatekeep, Get Married || Deuce Spade

You get isekai’d into a garbage novel as the villain, so you take it as a sign that morality is optional now. So, you do what any reasonable person would: you set the world on fire (metaphorically… mostly) and somehow bag your knight, Deuce Spade in the process.

Series Masterlist

You sat in absolute silence. Reeling. Processing. Dissociating. The book lay in your lap like the aftermath of a terrible crime, and you were its sole witness.

This was it. This was the literary phenomenon your friends had been screaming about. The novel they had sworn up and down was “life-changing,” “revolutionary,” and “the best thing since sliced bread.”

They had lied.

You had just spent the last twelve hours raw-dogging the most deranged piece of fiction known to mankind.

Your soul had been ripped from your body. Your IQ points had been forcefully extracted like an amateur lobotomy. You were but a husk of your former self.

A single thought floated through your shattered psyche:

I will never know peace again.

With shaking hands, you closed the book. The sound was deafening. A death knell for your last two remaining brain cells.

And then, like a corpse freshly risen from the grave, you stood.

This could not go unanswered. This could not go unpunished.

Your friends would explain themselves.

You stomped through the dark streets like a vengeful ghost, guided by pure, unfiltered spite. It was 1 AM. Civilization had long since gone to sleep. You didn’t care.

Your mind replayed the sheer buffoonery you had just endured.

The heroine: an overpowered dumbass with the survival instincts of a chicken nugget. She was supposed to be a Saintess, and yet she spent 80% of the book actively making things worse. Entire villages burned because of her holy powers, and she had the audacity to be shocked every time it happened.

"Oh noooo, I accidentally summoned divine lightning again!"

AGAIN. AGAIN.

Then there was the Crown Prince, the supposed male lead. A menace. A plague upon this world. He was in love with the villain but too emotionally constipated to deal with it, so instead, he had chosen the path of delusion. This man pursued the heroine not out of love, but out of sheer desperation

"If I can’t be happy, then no one can."

That was his entire character arc.

And let’s not forget the second male lead. The butler. The SPY. He was somehow working for both the villain and the heroine at the same time while also being madly in love with the heroine for reasons that science could not explain. This man switched allegiances like he was flipping through TV channels. You were convinced he woke up every morning and rolled a die to decide whose side he was on that day.

And then. The villain.

Your one hope. Your one saving grace.

A man who started the book as a calculating mastermind and ended it as a broken shell of a human being. You did not blame him. You were right there with him.

By the final chapter, he had stopped trying to kill the heroine. He had stopped plotting world domination. He had stopped everything.

He just sat there, staring into the abyss, wondering how his life had gone so, so wrong.

And honestly? Mood.

You reached your friend’s house.

You did not knock. No. That was for reasonable, rational people. You grabbed a rock from their garden and hurled it at their window with the force of a person unhinged.

A light flicked on. Your friend’s groggy, half-conscious face appeared.

“Holy shit, what the hell—”

“EXPLAIN YOURSELF.”

You pointed an accusatory finger at them, your eyes wild, your soul fractured beyond repair.

“Explain WHAT?” They blinked, rubbing their eyes.

“The book.” Your voice was hollow. “The—thing—you made me read.”

Their face lit up. “OH MY GOD, YOU FINISHED IT?? WASN’T IT AMAZING??”

You had never before in your life wanted to commit a homicide.

You took a deep breath. A slow, shuddering inhale.

Then, in the most broken, haunted voice imaginable, you whispered:

“…I need you to pay for my therapy.”

You stomped down the street, vibrating with pure, unfiltered rage. That book—that war crime bound in paper—had single-handedly destroyed your brain cells, faith in storytelling, and will to live. You couldn’t let your other friend get away with this. No, you were going to kick down their door too and demand compensation for the IQ points you lost.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans.

Just as you turned the corner, a man—no, a menace to society—came hurtling toward you at ungodly speeds.

On a unicycle.

Juggling three live pigeons and a tray of scalding hot coffees.

His face was locked in an expression of sheer, manic concentration, like a circus performer who had just realized—mid-act—that he had made a terrible career choice.

You had exactly 0.2 seconds to process this before he crashed into you at full force.

The pigeons exploded into the sky, shrieking like war victims.

The coffee—boiling, lava-hot coffee—doused you from head to toe, scalding your skin and soul simultaneously.

And the unicycle? Oh. The unicycle was the true villain here.

Because as you staggered back, reeling from the assault on your dignity, the wheel rolled perfectly under your foot.

And then—

You flipped.

Like a medieval peasant being yeeted off a catapult.

You did a full midair somersault, knocked over a trash can, ricocheted off a parked bicycle, and crashed directly through the window of a sketchy pawn shop, where you landed face-first into a display of cursed porcelain dolls.

Your last conscious thought before darkness took you?

This is less painful than reading that book.

At first, you thought it was a dream.

Someone was shaking you. Like, aggressively. Like a demonic chihuahua trying to alert its owner to impending doom.

"Five more minutes," you groaned, swatting at the offending hands.

But then your barely-functioning brain remembered something very important.

You lived alone.

Unless the dust bunnies under your bed had finally formed a rebellion and achieved sentience, nobody should be waking you up.

Your eyes snapped open.

A person.

A man, actually. A very serious-looking man in full medieval armor, staring at you like he was expecting you to start speaking in tongues.

You blinked.

He blinked back.

Your first thought: Wow, the Ren Faire is getting really immersive these days.

Your second thought: WAIT A GODDAMN MINUTE.

Your hands flew to your face—your very much not-your-face face. Your voice, when you gasped, wasn’t your voice. The tailored nobleman’s coat draped over your body? Not your clothes. The ornate bedroom you were in? Definitely not your apartment, where your furniture was 70% discount IKEA and 30% “found on the sidewalk.”

Dread settled in your stomach like a badly microwaved burrito.

Slowly, with the growing horror of a person realizing they've walked into a live horror movie, you turned toward the giant antique mirror across the room.

And fuck your life, you recognized the face staring back at you.

It was him.

The villain.

The villain from that absolute garbage fire of a novel.

You whipped around so fast you almost took yourself out on your own cape.

"You," you pointed at the knight, brain desperately catching up to reality. "What happened?!"

The knight—Deuce Spade, if you remembered correctly—winced.

"Uh," he started, rubbing the back of his neck, "the Crown Prince tried to lean on your shoulder, but, uh… tripped and accidentally drop-kicked you across the ballroom."

Silence.

Absolute, dead silence.

Your eye twitched.

"…What."

You almost died because some love-obsessed dumbass with main character syndrome missed your shoulder???

Your soul nearly left your body, and it wasn’t even because of an assassination attempt, a duel, or a curse—but because the male lead had the motor coordination of a newborn giraffe?!

Your knees buckled. Deuce lunged forward like he thought you were about to die again.

Honestly? Not off the table.

Fine.

If the world wanted you to be the villain, then so be it. Who were you to deny fate when it had already drop-kicked you into this absurd, brain-cell-destroying mess of a novel?

Because that was the only way to describe your new reality—an unhinged disasterpiece where the male lead had the grace of a giraffe on roller skates, the heroine had the problem-solving skills of a concussed pigeon, and the villain—you—was doomed to suffer through all of it.

At first, you'd been horrified. Who wouldn't be? One moment, you're in your normal, rational world, and the next, you're waking up as the antagonistic nobleman of a bargain-bin romance novel. The kind of villain who existed solely to sneer in the background while the male lead juggled his misplaced affections and the heroine flailed through life like a lost duckling.

And now?

Now, you were done.

If this world wanted a villain, then you would give them a villain.

You had wealth. Enough to singlehandedly disrupt the economy if you felt like it. And honestly? You were tempted. Imagine the chaos. The sheer financial devastation. Maybe you’d buy every bakery in the capital just to make sure the male lead could never have a romantic “we bumped into each other while buying bread” moment with you. Not on your watch.

You had power. Both in social standing and in actual, real-life magic. The kind that could level mountains, summon storms, or—more importantly—discreetly trip the male lead every time he tried to monologue. And who were you, really, if you didn’t abuse that privilege just a little?

And, most importantly, you had a loyal knight.

Deuce Spade. Unreasonably devoted, painfully adorable, and more earnest than a golden retriever at a job interview. The kind of guy who would probably cry if you gave him a gold star for effort. It was almost enough to make you feel bad about your impending villain arc. Almost. But hey, if you were going to be the villain, at least you had one (1) extremely dedicated dumbass on your side.

So.

Why not cause some chaos?

Why not live your best, most dramatic villain life?

You could weaponize rumors so ridiculous that even the nobility wouldn’t know what to believe anymore. “Oh, the male lead? I heard he serenades his pet goldfish every night.” “The heroine? Trained in mortal combat by a secret society of warrior nuns.” “Me? Oh, I eat diamonds for breakfast and only cry during perfectly aesthetic thunderstorms.”

You could throw lavish, over-the-top parties where instead of dancing, people had to duel for your amusement. Invitation only. Dress code: Regal Menace.

You could buy every single black horse in the kingdom just to ensure that only you could have a proper dramatic villain entrance. What would the male lead ride? A mule? A cow? His own sense of self-importance? You’d pay money to see it.

If you were going to be stuck in this nonsense world, then you were going to make sure it regretted ever summoning you.

The original villain was a man of principles.

And those principles included:

• Never lowering himself to the chaotic cesspool of idiocy that was the crown prince and his tragically uncoordinated heroine.

• Never attending frivolous social gatherings, especially ones that involved said heroine falling into desserts face-first every five minutes.

• Never acknowledging the crown prince’s deeply repressed and painfully obvious feelings for him.

But you? Oh, you were going.

Why decline when you could make things so much worse? Why ignore a golden opportunity for chaos when you could embrace your inner agent of destruction and ruin someone’s day?

So, with Deuce Spade in tow, you marched into battle.

And the game began immediately.

The second you sat down, the crown prince shoved a cup of tea toward you.

You blinked at it. Then at him.

He looked too casual. Too composed. Like he hadn’t been hovering near the tea table for the last five minutes, perfecting a custom blend like a barista going for his final promotion.

Oh, this was rich.

“Oh,” you said, already locked and loaded. “I don’t like tea.”

The prince, who had definitely memorized your preferences in secret, froze.

“Give it to the heroine,” you added, voice laced with malicious delight.

There was a moment of pure, unfiltered suffering.

He recoiled. He made a noise. The tea remained exactly where it was.

And then, after one (1) full-body existential crisis, he stood up, walked away—

And returned.

With coffee.

Which was exactly how you liked it.

“Oh,” you said, even sweeter. “You really didn’t have to.”

“I didn’t,” the prince snapped, gripping the cup with white-knuckled desperation. “I was just—there was extra.”

Sure.

Deuce, the most bafflingly wholesome person present, leaned in conspiratorially.

“You know,” he whispered, “I think he likes you.”

You turned and stared at him.

It was a look that said: Deuce. Buddy. Companion. Do you have even a single brain cell dedicated to social awareness?

“You don’t say,” you muttered, astounded.

“Yeah,” Deuce nodded. “You should put him out of his misery.”

You considered it.

You truly, deeply, wholeheartedly considered it.

And then you did the exact opposite.

With all the deliberate grace of a seasoned actor, you picked up a fork, cut a tiny, delicate piece of cake, and hand-fed it to Deuce.

With the most lovesick expression you could summon.

Deuce, completely missing the emotional warfare in progress, chewed thoughtfully. “Oh, it’s good.”

The crown prince dropped his cup.

The sound was deafening.

He stood up so fast his chair screeched.

And then he stormed away like a scorned Victorian widow.

Checkmate.

The night was young, the chandeliers were gleaming, and the ballroom floor was filled with nobles pretending they liked each other. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, political marriages, and deep-seated dissatisfaction.

And you? You were bored.

So, naturally, you decided to ruin some engagements.

You adjusted your cuffs, took a sip of your (hopefully not poisoned) champagne, and set your sights on your first target.

Victim #1: Some Poor Fool with a Fiancée and No Survival Instincts.

He was standing beside his beloved, smiling like a man who had never known fear. So you approached him, flashing your most dazzling smile.

“You know,” you said, leaning in just a bit too close, “I always thought you’d end up with someone a little… taller.”

His fiancée, standing right there, gasped.

The surrounding nobles gasped.

He gulped. “W-What?”

You tilted your head, studying him with faux admiration. “It’s just—you have the posture of a man who could sweep someone off their feet. It’s tragic that you’ll only ever lift one person.”

His fiancée immediately looked down at her shoes like she’d just realized she was, in fact, shorter than him.

Engagement status: Cracking.

Victim #2: A Woman Who Was Already Looking for a Way Out.

She was sipping champagne and ignoring her fiancé, which meant she was exactly the kind of person who would enjoy a little trouble.

“Lady,” you greeted smoothly, plucking the glass from her fingers and taking a sip. “You have the eyes of a woman who’s tired of monogamy.”

Her fiancé, standing beside her, choked on his drink.

She laughed.

“You’re terrible,” she purred.

Her fiancé, pale, tried to recover. “H-Haha, what a joke—”

“It’s a shame,” you interrupted, brushing a nonexistent speck off her sleeve. “If things were different, perhaps I’d be the one at your side.”

Her fiancé turned a frightening shade of red.

She sighed dreamily.

Engagement status: Shattered.

Victim #3: A Man Who Looked Too Loyal to Be Swayed.

He stood with his hand in his beloved’s, looking like he’d rather die than betray them. But that had never stopped you before.

You smiled. “It’s rare to see a man so committed.”

His fiancée beamed.

You reached out, lightly tracing your fingers over his palm. “A hand like this… was meant to hold many hearts.”

His fiancée’s smile disappeared as the man leaned into your touch.

The crowd held their breath.

And then.

His fiancée fainted.

Engagement status: Annihilated.

At this point, Deuce—your ever-loyal, increasingly horrified knight—had begun to sweat profusely in the corner.

You waved at him.

He did not wave back.

But just as you were about to go for your fourth victim, you noticed something strange.

The prince—the male lead—was staring at you.

And not in the way one should stare at their supposed rival.

No.

He was staring at you like a man who didn’t understand his own feelings and was handling it terribly.

Deuce noticed before you did.

“Oh no,” he muttered. “Oh no no no.”

The prince stalked toward you, his jaw clenched, his eyes burning with repressed emotion and possibly indigestion.

“You,” he said, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

You raised a brow. “Me?”

“You cannot go around—” He waved his hands wildly, struggling to find the words. “—charming people!”

You blinked, feigning innocence. “Oh? Why not?”

He twitched.

A noble gasped. “Is he… jealous?”

The crowd whispered.

The prince turned red.

Deuce, watching from the sidelines, looked like he wanted to fling himself off the nearest balcony.

Then, just as the tension reached its peak—

“MARRY ME!”

The man whose fiancée just fainted, caught up in the whirlwind of drama and avant-garde societal rebellion, had dropped to one knee and grabbed your hand.

Silence.

Deuce inhaled so sharply he nearly passed out.

The prince’s eye twitched.

And you?

You smiled.

But before you could say yes, no, or something that would make the situation worse, Deuce lunged forward, grabbed your wrist, and hauled you away.

“YOU CAN’T JUST GO AROUND SEDUCING ENGAGED PEOPLE!” he hissed, physically dragging you out of the ballroom.

“Why not?” you grinned. “The nobles love it.”

“I—BECAUSE IT’S WRONG?!”

You hummed, thoughtful. Then, because you were a terrible person, you tilted your head, looked him dead in the eyes, and said:

“You’re kind of cute when you’re flustered.”

Deuce short-circuited.

The prince looked ready to challenge the concept of marriage itself.

And the night was, truly, a resounding success.

Deuce was the perfect knight.

Reliable. Strong. Steadfast. He never faltered in his duties, never hesitated to follow your orders, and—most importantly—he never questioned your absolutely necessary purchases, even when they were, objectively, not necessary at all.

Which was precisely why he was the perfect person to accompany you to the market.

The morning sun hung high in the sky, warming the cobbled streets as merchants called out their wares, their voices blending into a lively symphony of haggling, bartering, and excited chatter. The scent of freshly baked bread and spiced apples drifted through the air, wrapping around you like an old, familiar comfort.

And there was Deuce, ever-dutiful, ever-loyal, ever-patient.

The bags he carried had long since doubled in number, hanging from his arms like trophies of your victorious shopping spree. He bore the burden without complaint, as expected of a knight sworn to your service, though he did glance down at the latest purchase—a third bag of sweets—and furrowed his brow.

“That’s the third bag of sweets you’ve bought.”

You shot him a look, hugging your ill-gotten gains like a dragon hoarding gold.

“And?”

He sighed. “Nothing, I guess.”

Good. That was the correct answer. This was a judgment-free zone.

Everything was going well. The two of you meandered through the market at an unhurried pace, pausing to browse through silks, admire trinkets, and—most importantly—glare at the latest portrait of the crown prince displayed in the town square. It was a routine you had come to enjoy, something almost peaceful in its predictability.

And then—

Deuce stopped.

It wasn’t a gradual pause. It was sudden, abrupt, a full-body halt that nearly sent you crashing into his back.

“Hey—?” you started, but he was already moving, already reaching for his own coin pouch, already stepping toward—

A flower stall?

You blinked, watching as he carefully selected a single bloom, one of the freshest ones in the bunch, its petals full and vibrant. You stood there, bewildered, as he handed over a few coins, nodding his thanks to the merchant.

And then—

Before you could even begin to process what was happening—

He turned and held the flower out to you.

The world tilted.

You stared.

At the flower, at Deuce, at his outstretched hand.

At the way he looked at you, open and earnest and so painfully sincere that you felt something deep in your chest twist.

“…Why?” you asked, voice caught somewhere between confused and breathless.

Deuce tilted his head slightly, a sheepish sort of smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I dunno,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just—thought you’d like it?”

Thought you’d like it.

That was it. That was the entire reason.

Not out of duty, not because he had to, not because of some unspoken obligation—but because he wanted to.

Because he saw something and thought of you.

Your fingers curled around the stem almost too tightly, as if the delicate flower might vanish if you weren’t careful. The petals were impossibly soft beneath your touch, fragile and fleeting, and your heart did something suspicious in your chest.

Deuce had already turned away, already resumed walking, already moved on as if he hadn’t just unknowingly unraveled you.

And you—

You lingered a second longer, staring at the flower in your hand, your face growing entirely too warm under the summer sun.

Then, swallowing against the sudden tightness in your throat, you hurried after him, grateful that he wasn’t looking back to see the ridiculous, helpless smile you absolutely couldn’t fight off.

It started with a passing insult. Something entirely unoriginal, really—one of those tired, rehashed attempts at wit that nobles regurgitated when they had nothing better to do.

You weren’t even offended.

But you were bored.

So, naturally, you smirked, sighed dramatically, and placed a hand over your heart.

“Wow,” you mused, voice dripping with mock despair. “If only I had a loyal knight to defend me. Sigh.”

Deuce didn’t hesitate.

He didn’t even pause to think.

He just whipped around, locked eyes with the offender, and threw down the most aggressive glove slap in recorded history.

“DUEL ME.”

The noble flinched. The entire gathering flinched.

Even you, for a moment, wondered if you’d just summoned an unstoppable force of nature.

Deuce stood there, rigid with unwavering loyalty and violent intent, hand hovering over the hilt of his sword like an Old West gunslinger about to end someone's bloodline.

The noble stammered, looking around as if waiting for someone to intervene. No one did. The nobles had all collectively agreed to stand back and watch this disaster unfold.

You, however, recognized an issue.

“Deuce,” you started carefully. “Buddy. Pal.” You placed a hand on his shoulder, a gesture meant to calm him down.

It did not calm him down.

If anything, his conviction doubled.

“You don’t actually have to fight for my honor—”

“Yes, I do.”

He didn’t blink.

You blinked for him.

The realization sank in with all the subtlety of a grand piano dropping from a three-story window:

Deuce would throw hands for you. Without question. Without hesitation. It was pure muscle memory at this point.

You had too much power.

The nobles were whispering.

The prince was watching.

Some fool in the back had already started placing bets.

And Deuce?

Deuce was ready to kill a man.

“Okay,” you muttered under your breath, “I may have created a monster.”

The noble, sweating profusely, waved his hands. “I—I think there’s been a misunderstanding—”

“There’s no misunderstanding,” Deuce gritted out, stepping forward. “You insulted them. Now, we settle this properly.”

By all accounts, Deuce had just challenged a man to medieval combat over you.

It should have been a simple duel.

Just a normal, everyday case of your overly loyal knight throwing hands because someone vaguely insulted you.

A Tuesday, basically.

And yet, somehow, by the time you arrived at the dueling grounds, it had turned into a full-blown public event.

The stands were packed. Nobles gossiped in hushed whispers. Vendors had set up food stalls. Some particularly enterprising soul was selling commemorative handkerchiefs embroidered with Deuce’s face.

And standing right in the middle of this absolute circus were Riddle and Ace—your reinforcements, arriving at maximum velocity to make your life more interesting and significantly more stressful.

Riddle’s expression alone had the same effect as a guillotine blade. His hands were clenched into fists, his face a vibrant shade of red, and the moment his sharp, judgmental gaze landed on you, you had the distinct feeling that your days were numbered.

Ace, meanwhile, looked like he was having the time of his life.

“You. Absolute. Menace.” Riddle bit out, his words dripping with disappointment and barely-contained rage. “I leave you alone for one week and suddenly you’re challenging people to duels, seducing engaged nobles, and destabilizing the entire social order?!”

“Okay, first of all, I didn’t challenge anyone. That was Deuce.”

“Because you provoked it.”

“Debatable.”

“No, it’s not!”

Ace clapped a hand on your shoulder, beaming. “Don’t listen to him. In fact, I’ll actually pay you to keep this up.”

Riddle’s head snapped toward him, betrayal written across his features. “You’re paying them?! You’re encouraging this?!”

“Duh?” Ace grinned. “I’ve never had this much fun in my entire life. If it means watching them do more insane things, I’ll move the entire city to accommodate them.”

Riddle made a noise that was somewhere between a strangled scream and an impending aneurysm.

You, feeling very smug, turned back to the main event.

Deuce, your knight, your absurdly loyal human wrecking ball, was already standing in the ring, eyes burning with righteous fury.

The poor noble who insulted you was sweating bullets.

The duel started.

The duel lasted five minutes.

The duel ended spectacularly.

Deuce dismantled the guy so thoroughly, so efficiently, that entire bloodlines were probably questioning their place in the universe.

And then, with a smoothness you had not thought possible, Deuce turned, knelt before you, and bowed his head in silent, knightly devotion.

Which was horribly unfair.

Because, up until this moment, you had been so certain that nothing in this world could ever make you weak in the knees.

But this?

This was a problem.

Because the combination of Deuce being stupidly strong, stupidly devoted, and now stupidly attractive in the aftermath of his absolute annihilation of a noble in your name was doing something deeply unsettling to your brain chemistry.

You, a seasoned chaos gremlin, had not been prepared for the sheer level of attractiveness that came from watching Deuce absolutely demolish a man in your honor and then kneel like you were some kind of divine ruler.

And absolutely no one in this arena could be allowed to witness that.

Which is why you did the only logical thing—

You grabbed Deuce by the collar and dragged him the hell out of there.

“We’re leaving.”

Deuce, stumbling after you, genuinely confused: “Wait—? But—?”

“No questions.”

Behind you, Ace hooted.

Riddle yelled something about propriety

The crowd was whispering in scandalized awe.

And the noble who insulted you?

He was probably questioning every life choice that led him to this moment.

Congratulations.

You had once again caused a spectacle.

You had always known that your butler—the tall, brooding, vaguely tragic second male lead—was spying on you.

You just hadn’t expected him to be this bad at it.

At first, you thought he was just terrible at being subtle. The way he lurked behind obvious cover, like a potted plant that was two sizes too small for him, was almost insultingly blatant.

But then, after watching him trip over his own feet and drop his little spy notebook in front of you, you had a stunning realization:

He wasn’t just bad at this.

He was disastrous.

And you—being the responsible, morally upstanding villain that you were—decided that it was your duty to take full advantage of this situation.

So when he inevitably got caught, you gaslit the absolute hell out of him.

“You failed the test,” you sighed, shaking your head with deep, world-weary disappointment.

He froze. “Test?”

“Yes, a test,” you said, folding your arms. “Did you seriously think I wouldn’t notice one of my own subordinates spying on me?”

He blinked. “I—I don't work for the heroine.”

You smiled dangerously. “Don't you?”

The silence that followed was long, painful, and deeply existential.

“…I don't?,” he said, but there was now a distinct lack of confidence behind his words.

Deuce, who had been standing off to the side, vehemently disagreed with everything that was happening.

“You knew about this?” he asked, looking at you like you were a criminal mastermind unveiling your latest scheme.

You ignored him.

Instead, you rested a hand on the butler’s shoulder, offering him a kind, understanding smile.

“Since you are so clearly loyal to me,” you said, gently, “I’d like you to deliver a very special report to the heroine.”

Deuce let out an exhausted groan.

The butler stared at you warily. “…What kind of report?”

“Oh, you know,” you mused, smirking. “Just a few details about my daily routine. The way I conduct myself in my estate. My methods for staying eternally youthful.”

The butler squinted.

“What do you mean, eternally youthful?”

You grinned.

The heroine stood in your ballroom, pointing an accusing, trembling finger at you.

“You’re a witch.”

You grinned.

Then you turned to your butler—who looked increasingly uncomfortable—and hummed, “I see you did your job well.”

Deuce pinched the bridge of his nose. “What did you make him tell her?”

The heroine narrowed her eyes at you, vibrating with righteous fury.

“You—you bathe in your servants’ tears to stay youthful!”

You tilted your head.

“That’s an odd way to phrase ‘providing an excellent workplace with fair wages and health benefits,’ but okay.”

The heroine was not having it.

“And—and you drink phoenix blood to maintain your strength!”

“Well, now, that’s true,” you admitted. “It pairs nicely with a dry red.”

The heroine let out a horrified gasp.

Deuce stared at you like you had personally betrayed him. “You made him tell her you drink what?!”

“I was curious to see how far he’d go.”

The butler, now pale and visibly sweating, looked like he had experienced a crisis of faith during his conversation with the heroine.

And when she reached the final, most egregious offense, he seemed to finally, fully break.

“…And I was told,” the heroine whispered, voice trembling, “that you—” she took a deep breath “—have personally seduced your own knight, corrupting him with your villainous ways.”

You glanced at Deuce.

Deuce turned bright red. “What did you tell her?!”

Your butler, who had finally reached his limit, just turned on his heel and walked out of the room.

“I quit,” he muttered.

Success.

You had been accused of many things since you woke up in this absolute joke of a world as the villain.

Corruption? Sure.

Scandal? Naturally.

Inducing moral panic in the aristocracy because you decided to flirt with engaged people at a ball? Absolutely.

But today was new.

Today, you had apparently brainwashed Deuce Spade into a life of crime.

"You’ve brainwashed him!"

The heroine’s voice rang out across the royal gathering, loud and full of self-righteous fury, as if she had just caught you mid-scheme, cackling over a bubbling cauldron, weaving a spell to turn Deuce into a mindless delinquent henchman.

You, who had been mid-sip of your expensive champagne, slowly lowered the glass.

Deuce, who had been standing beside you like a human wall of pure knightly devotion, blinked in further confusion.

The heroine took a dramatic step forward, looking at him with heartfelt sadness, like she expected him to suddenly start frothing at the mouth and looting everyone in your name.

“Sir Deuce,” she said, voice trembling with emotion, “It’s not too late. I can save you.”

Deuce tilted his head, utterly lost. “Save me from what?”

“From this!” She gestured wildly at you, as if you were some demonic manifestation of lawlessness, corrupting poor, innocent knights into a life of wanton villainy and casual public indecency.

The male lead, who had been hanging around in the background like a disgruntled ex, suddenly perked up at this. “Wait, are you saying we can steal Deuce?”

“Not steal,” the heroine corrected, with the solemnity of a saint bestowing divine mercy upon a lost soul. "Rescue."

And then, in a stunning display of completely unfounded confidence, she pulled out a golden envelope and extended it toward Deuce.

“A direct invitation,” she declared, eyes shining, “to serve under His Highness.”

There was a deafening silence.

Then—

“No.”

The refusal was instant.

No hesitation.

Not even a single second of consideration.

The heroine’s jaw practically dislocated.

The male lead looked personally victimized.

Ace, who had been standing off to the side with Riddle, slowly turned to face him, nudging him with his elbow before whispering something so profoundly stupid that Riddle physically winced.

Then, as if processing a truth he had been avoiding all this time, Riddle sighed, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Ace, meanwhile, had the absolute audacity to look like he was having the time of his life.

The heroine, still struggling to process this complete failure, managed to find her voice again.

“I—I don’t understand.” She looked between you and Deuce, visibly distressed. “Why? Why would you refuse?”

Deuce gave her the most straightforward, obvious look in existence.

“I don't want to.”

The heroine gasped.

The male lead looked like he had been personally slapped.

Ace, meanwhile, had the absolute gall to let out a quiet, knowing cackle, like he had figured out the ending of a dramatic novel before the characters did.

“I fear he’s too far gone,” the heroine whispered, mourning the loss of Deuce Spade as if he had already perished.

You, meanwhile, had been too busy enjoying the absolute disaster unfolding in front of you to process what just happened.

Not until much later, when the two of you were walking back from the gathering, and you finally turned to him with a frown.

“Wait,” you said, still trying to wrap your head around it, “Why didn’t you take the offer?”

Deuce looked at you like you had just asked him why fire was hot. “Because I’m your knight.”

Oh.

That was—

That was kind of—

Warm.

An unpleasantly warm feeling spread in your chest, like you had just accidentally drunk an entire cup of molten sentimentality.

You didn't like it. You didn't like it at all.

ABORT. ABORT. ABORT.

You cleared your throat, deadpan as possible, and said, “Right. That makes sense.”

Then, with all the grace and subtlety of a spooked alley cat, you turned on your heel and walked away at high velocity, because you were absolutely not dealing with this today.

It doesn’t matter what you do.

You could ignore him. Insult him. Dramatically throw a glass of wine in his face and accuse him of high treason.

Nothing works.

The male lead only seems to fall harder.

And tonight?

Tonight, it’s worse than ever.

Now, he was finding excuses to touch you.

You had arrived at the royal ball with the intention of causing mischief—maybe ruining a few engagements, maybe flirting with people’s spouses just for the fun of it, maybe convincing a few nobles that you were an ancient demon cursed to live among them in disguise—you know, the usual.

What you hadn’t planned for was the crown prince himself swooping in like a predatory falcon, seizing your wrist, and dramatically pulling you onto the dance floor.

There was no escape.

And the worst part?

The entire room was watching.

Which meant you had to grit your teeth and endure it.

The music began.

You stepped forward. He stepped forward.

You tried to maintain a respectable distance.

He?

He did not.

Instead, he pulled you closer—his grip firm, his posture rigid, his expression unreadable as he held you just a little too tightly.

And then—oh, and then.

You felt it.

The slight intake of breath.

The subtle tilt of his head.

The near-invisible shudder that ran down his spine as he inhaled deeply, as if committing your scent to memory.

Your entire body locked up in horror.

What. The. Hell.

Was he—

Was this bastard—

Was he sniffing you?

You immediately tried to pull away, but his vice-like grip did not relent.

“I—” His voice came out a little strangled, and his eyes darted away suspiciously. “You—” He swallowed. “I was just making sure you didn’t smell like poison.”

You stared at him.

Poison.

He said that with his whole chest.

Like it was a normal thing to do.

Like it wasn’t the most deranged, lovesick, absolutely unhinged thing you had ever seen in your entire life.

“You think someone poisoned me?” you deadpanned.

“Yes,” he said, nodding a little too quickly. “I thought—I thought maybe one of your enemies slipped something into your drink.”

“So your first instinct was to smell me?”

“YES.”

The sheer delusion in his voice was astounding.

You pushed him off you the moment the song ended, practically flinging yourself across the room in search of sanity, reason, and possibly a priest.

The moment you reached Ace, Riddle, and Deuce, you collapsed into their presence, gasping like you had just escaped the jaws of death.

Riddle took one look at your disheveled state, grimaced, and immediately handed you a handkerchief, as if he could wipe the entire experience off you.

You snatched it up and aggressively scrubbed at your neck.

Ace?

Ace was dying.

He was bent over in laughter, hands on his knees, completely losing his mind.

And Deuce?

Deuce looks like you just drop-kicked his puppy off a bridge.

He is staring at you like you personally betrayed him, his ancestors, and the entirety of knighthood as an institution.

Ace sees an opportunity and takes it.

With zero hesitation, he grabs Deuce by the shoulders and shoves him closer to you.

“You gonna let that slide, man?” Ace teases, grinning like a madman.

“I—” Deuce blinks, still looking dazed and vaguely devastated.

Ace pushes him again. “Dude, do something! Your boss just got publicly defiled.”

Deuce finally snaps out of it, reaching for his own handkerchief—the one with his knightly crest embroidered on it—and gently, carefully wipes at your neck.

It was different from Riddle’s.

Riddle had handed you his like a noble disgusted by filth.

Deuce, however?

Deuce was careful.

His touch was light, his eyes too focused, too serious as he dabbed at the place where the prince’s lips had nearly brushed against your skin.

He was not just cleaning.

He was removing.

It was as if the very idea of another man touching you physically revolted him.

So, in a desperate attempt to make the moment less weird, you forced out a mocking smirk and teased,

“Aw, Deuce. What’s wrong? You don’t like it when he touches me?”

Deuce, sweet, earnest, painfully loyal Deuce, did not hesitate.

“No."

Oh no.

Bwcause something in your stomach flips and your face feels suspiciously warm.

It was bound to happen.

Honestly, with the way you had been leaning on him lately, whispering too-close teases in his ear, and throwing casual flirtations like daggers at his heart, it was only a matter of time before he cracked.

But you—oh, you hadn’t expected it to be like this.

You were lounging on him again today, your head resting against his shoulder, basking in the solid warmth that only Deuce could provide. He had long since stopped complaining about it—stopped stiffening up every time you got close—and instead, he had simply accepted his fate as your personal resting post.

Which, of course, meant it was your duty to push your luck.

So, you did.

With a slow, lazy grin, you tilted your head, let your lips brush a little too close to his ear, and murmured,

“Y’know, Deuce… you’re kind of my favorite.”

It was supposed to be a joke. (kinda)

It was supposed to be just another tease, another drop of fuel onto the fire just to see him sputter and turn red like he always did.

But this time?

This time, he didn’t laugh.

Instead—

He froze.

His entire body went rigid beneath you, his hands clenching into fists, his breath coming sharper, heavier, like he was wrestling with something too big to contain.

And then—he exhaled.

“Are you playing with me, too?”

The words were low.

Rough.

Like he had been holding them back for too long, like they had been simmering inside him, growing heavier with every glance, every touch, every stupid, careless flirtation.

You blinked. “What?”

Deuce shifted, just enough to look at you head-on, and oh.

Oh.

There was something in his eyes—something raw, something vulnerable, something that made your stomach flip in a way you weren’t prepared for.

“You keep doing this,” he muttered, his voice tight, frustrated. “You flirt with me like you do with the other nobles. You—you act like it’s all just a game. But I—”

His breath hitched.

And then, with a quiet, almost desperate laugh, he whispered,

“You know I love you, right?”

Your heart stopped.

“I—”

“I do,” he interrupted, the words spilling out like he couldn’t hold them back anymore. “I do. I’ve been trying to ignore it, trying to be just your knight, just your friend—but every time you look at me like that, every time you say stuff like this—” His jaw clenched. “—I feel like an idiot. Because I know you don’t mean it. I know you’re just playing around. But I—”

He swallowed hard.

“I can’t take it anymore.”

The air between you went still.

Your heartbeat was too loud, your pulse a slow, insistent drumbeat in your ears, and oh.

Oh, this was real.

He was serious.

Deuce squeezed his eyes shut, inhaled sharply, and then met your gaze once more, firmer this time.

“The next time you flirt with me,” he said, voice low, steady, “I’m going to take it seriously.”

“I mean it,” he continued, as if warning you. “You—you don’t get to joke about this anymore. Not with me. Because I’ll—”

His fingers trembled at his sides.

“I’ll take responsibility for it.”

It took you a second to process the words.

Oh.

Oh, he was adorable.

Because even now—even after basically confessing, after baring his heart to you like this, he was still looking at you like he was waiting for permission.

Like he needed you to say it first.

Like he needed to be sure.

And, well—

Who were you to disappoint your favorite knight?

With a slow, lazy grin, you grabbed him by the collar, pulled him close, and whispered,

“Deuce.”

His breath hitched. “Yeah?”

You leaned in, close enough that your lips brushed against his cheek, and murmured,

“Do you want my last name?”

The moment the words left your mouth, his entire body locked up.

And then—

Then he kissed you.

It was clumsy, heated, desperate in the way only Deuce could be—like he had been holding this back for too long, like he was afraid you’d slip away if he didn’t take you now.

And you—

You melted into it.

Because of course he was serious.

Because of course you had always known what you were doing to him.

Because—

Because you wanted it, too.

The ballroom is packed, glittering, expectant.

The chandeliers glow like stars, the music swells in the background, and every noble in attendance is on the edge of their seat, waiting for whatever ridiculous display you’re about to put on this time.

And, oh, are you about to deliver.

You stand tall, your hand resting comfortably in Deuce’s as you make the grandest announcement of your life.

“We’re engaged.”

The room erupts—gasps, whispers, the sharp clink of dropped silverware.

Deuce, standing proudly beside you, looks both smug and overwhelmed, like he’s still processing the fact that you actually said yes and also fully prepared to duel anyone who disagrees.

Ace is counting coins, no doubt because he made a bet about this happening.

Riddle looks like he’s two seconds away from both congratulating you and strangling you for causing another scene.

And the male lead—

Oh, the male lead is not handling it well.

He’s standing there, frozen, his eye twitching ever so slightly, his mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to form a sentence but can’t because his brain just blue-screened.

The male lead—in all his tragic, oblivious, love-stricken glory—then has the nerve to act like he’s concerned.

“I just think it’s irresponsible, the difference in your status.” he says.

The words hit you like a divine insult.

Like the heavens themselves have chosen this as your actual villain origin story.

There is a moment of stillness.

It’s the kind of moment you read about in dramatic novels—the eerie, anticipatory silence before an executioner swings his blade. The nobles are motionless, caught between the sheer audacity of your engagement announcement and the dawning horror of whatever is about to come next.

Because they can feel it.

They can feel the storm brewing inside you, the kind of apocalyptic fury usually reserved for fallen kingdoms and plagues of locusts.

Deuce grips your hand a little tighter, as if sensing the catastrophic levels of rage that are about to explode from your very soul.

And then—it happens.

You let out a slow, incredulous exhale.

And then, at the top of your lungs—

“OH, MY GOD.”

The chandelier shakes.

Somewhere in the back, a noble collapses onto a couch.

A waiter drops an entire tray of champagne glasses.

The heroine, bless her soul, gasps like she’s just watched someone get impaled.

And the male lead?

The male lead flinches.

But he does not back down.

Which is his second biggest mistake tonight.

His first was being born.

You take a deep, suffering breath, and then—oh, you absolutely let loose.

“JUST SAY YOU’RE JEALOUS, YOU PATHETIC, EMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED DISASTER.”

There is an echoing thud.

Ace has fallen to the ground.

He is actively pounding his fist against the marble floor in a fit of laughter so violent that one of the nobles attempts to call a doctor.

Riddle is gripping his temples, already mourning the loss of his peace.

And Deuce?

Deuce nods along.

Like, yeah. That makes sense.

But you are nowhere near done.

You take an intimidating step forward, pointing aggressively at the male lead’s absurdly symmetrical face.

“Do you think I don’t know?!” you demand. “Do you think I don’t notice when you materialize out of thin air whenever I so much as sigh?? Do you think I don’t see you hiding behind pillars, staring at me with the same expression as a neglected golden retriever!?”

The male lead opens his mouth—probably to deny it.

But you immediately cut him off.

“DON’T EVEN TRY ME, YOU NOBLE IMBECILE.”

The heroine physically recoils.

A duke mutters a quiet prayer.

Ace has fully ascended to the next realm.

“I have proof!” you declare, waving an accusatory finger. “Every time I enter a room, you’re already there, lurking in the shadows like a deranged, overgrown bat. Do you think that’s normal behavior?! Do you think people don’t notice?! I HAVE SEEN THE TOWN CRIER TAKING NOTES.”

Riddle’s entire body twitches.

Because, unfortunately, that is not an exaggeration.

The town crier really has been chronicling the male lead’s unhinged pining in weekly installments.

You take another step forward, voice rising.

“Just admit it! Admit that you have absolutely lost your mind over me, and you’re just mad that I don’t give a single, microscopic shred of a damn!”

The male lead is visibly sweating.

But you are still not finished.

“Listen to me,” you say, voice lowering into something cold, absolute, and devastating. You step forward until the male lead is cornered against a column, towering over him like a vengeful god.

Then, with as much venom as you can possibly summon—

“I value you less than a piece of moldy bread.”

Carnage.

The room erupts into madness.

The male lead physically staggers.

His soul leaves his body.

His knees tremble like he’s about to collapse.

Ace is choking on laughter, beating the floor like a medieval peasant begging for mercy.

Riddle has his hands over his eyes like this is the most humiliating thing he’s ever been forced to witness.

The heroine is looking at the male lead like he’s a dying animal.

And Deuce—sweet, loyal Deuce—just crosses his arms, nods approvingly, and says,

“Yeah. What he said."

You smile, victorious.

You dust off your hands like you’ve just completed a particularly satisfying chore.

Then, you turn back to Deuce, loop your arm through his, and promptly walk out of the ballroom with your beloved knight at your side.

The sun melts into the horizon, casting the ocean in gold and rose, waves curling onto the shore. A warm breeze rolls through the open balcony, carrying the scent of salt and flowers and Deuce Spade trying to subtly overthink again.

Which is unfortunate.

Because you had expressly banned thinking on this honeymoon.

Yet here he is—Deuce , your devoted, beautiful, terminally self-doubting husband—standing by the railing, arms crossed, jaw clenched, deep in Thought.

You know that look.

It’s the look of a man about to say something stupid.

And indeed—

“Do you regret it?” he asks.

You blink. “Regret what?”

Deuce doesn’t look at you. His gaze is on the horizon, all noble knightly brooding, except it’s Deuce, so it just makes him look like a golden retriever contemplating the meaning of life.

“Choosing me,” he clarifies. “I mean, you—you could’ve had anyone. A prince, a noble, someone with status. Someone who actually deserves—”

You physically grab him.

Like, you latch onto him like a barnacle and manhandle him around to face you, because this is quite possibly the dumbest thing he’s ever said, and you refuse to let him say another word.

Deuce, being Deuce, just lets you do it.

He stares at you, startled, lips slightly parted, eyes big and blue and breathtaking.

And you sigh.

“Sweetheart,” you say, voice dry, “you are the densest person I have ever met.”

He blinks.

You take his face in your hands.

“I love you, dumbass.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

Deuce grins.

It’s small at first, hesitant, like he’s still processing the words—like some part of him is still convinced he’s dreaming, that any moment now, he’s going to wake up in the barracks and realize none of this is real.

But then, you thumb over his cheek, gentle, certain, grounding him in reality.

And that’s when it happens.

That’s when his grin breaks into something helpless and bright, something that crinkles the corners of his eyes, something that is so very Deuce that your heart trips over itself.

He hides his face against your shoulder.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, muffled against your skin, voice warm, embarrassed, happy.

You laugh, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him closer.

“Make me.”

His arms tighten around you, and for a while, neither of you move—just standing there, on the balcony of some faraway villa, wrapped up in each other, with nothing and no one to interrupt.

No scheming nobles.

No pushy male leads.

No ridiculous duels or political scandals.

Just you, Deuce, and the rest of your lives ahead.

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst deuce #deuce spade x reader #deuce x reader #deuce #deuce spade #trash novel chronicles #male reader

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suiana · 1 year ago

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✎ yandere! criminal who is helplessly in love with you, devoting his life to you and keeping your affections solely on him, and him only.

✎ yandere! criminal who can't help but flirt with you despite being so beaten up. i mean you're just so cute! why wouldn't he flirt?

✎ yandere! criminal who always reminds you that he has the upperhand no matter what his condition is like. he likes playing dirty.

✎ yandere! criminal who commits even more crimes after seeing you talk with someone who isn't him. doctor, you just never learn, do you?

"remember doctor, you may be smarter, but i always have the upperhand."

the criminal mutters, smirking as he leans into your touch. you merely click your tongue, grimacing at the his antics before going back to tending to his injuries.

you were his doctor, illegally caring for one of the most wanted criminals in the country simply because he was once your childhood friend. you knew it was wrong, you knew you should have rejected him the second he came stumbling to your apartment one day with a bloody wound.

but you didn't. you took him in and treated his injury, nursed him back to health and even offered your place as refuge if he ever needed medical attention again.

unfortunately, you failed to realise that the man was crazy in love with you, infatuated to such an extent that he would harm others without a second thought.

"please, you must understand, i've only ever wanted you to love me and not some other bastard. if you didn't talk to him i wouldn't have needed to hurt that guy."

he mutters, looking at you with such a fond expression that you would've mistaken for love. you really didn't know how to respond to his affections. after all, he was your childhood friend turned criminal. things would be even worse for you if you reciprocated him.

so you did the best thing possible and just ignored him whenever he went off on another tangent of his delusional rambles. you daren't speak up and reject him again. oh no, it happened once and you didn't want it to happen again.

"you look so sexy when you ignore me."

the criminal coos, placing his hand over yours as he brings it to his cheek. you uncomfortably maintain eye contact with him, grimacing as you allow him to mutter and talk about his love. it's okay... just tolerate it...

"oh baby, don't you get it? everything i do is for you."

yeah, you know. he tells you all the time. bout how all his crimes are dedicated for you or done in your name. of course he never says it to the public, he doesn't want you to get jailed! though, he can't help but fantasize about how romantic it would be if you two were both wanted criminals on the run together.

"why must you torment me like this? all i've ever wanted was for you to love me back."

he sighs, not noticing your pursed lips or obvious discomfort.

"never smile for anyone else. only i should have the honour of seeing it. all those other fools will never worship you the way you should be worshipped."

you can't help but twitch at his words. ugh, he always preaches about worshipping you and stuff. it's so... is he mentally insane too?

you get the love part, but the worshipping? you won't be surprised if he prays to you when he's on the brink of his death.

"no one gets me like you. that's why i love you so much."

your childhood friend mutters, finally letting go of your hand after pressing a tender kiss to the inside of your wrist. you allow your hand to limp by your side, standing like an npc as you continue to stare at him as he continues his dramatic talk.

you never knew he yapped so much before. when he was younger he was more introverted, more silent and just clingy. now he can't shut up. or maybe that's just around you.

you continue to listen to the male yapping, not really processing his words. hopefully it'll be over soon... but your hopes were crushed as you freeze in place, eyes widening in horror as he smiles widely at you, eyes fully deranged as he suddenly brings your hands to his cheeks, forcing your cold hands to cradle his cheeks.

"i mean, don't you love me too?"

shit, how do you answer this without meeting a bad fate?

#yandere #tw yandere #yandere x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere scenarios #yandere concept #yandere imagines #yandere criminal #yandere criminal x reader #gn reader #suiana rambling #suiana brainrotting

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silkythewriter · 1 year ago

Text

Vox and alastor with an undeserving to be in hell reader!

Warnings!:non!

Fandom!: Hazbin hotel!

Author note!;I THINK TUMBLER ACTUALLY HATES ME (ﾒ﹏ﾒ)(｡•́︿•̀｡)it keeps not letting me edit my drafts, it’s happened like 3 times already this week alone!,…BUT ANYWAY I LOVE THIS IDEA I REALLY HOPE YOY ENJOY!!!!♡´･ᴗ･`♡

Summary!: alastor and Vox x reader WHOs I. Hell for a minor sin/crime

❤️Written by silkythewriter do not steal or repost any other platform please! <3❤️

ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ

“Each time I find myself

Flat on my face

I pick myself up and get back in the race!”

ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ

!📺✨Vox✨📺!

When you first admitted what you did that counted as a “sin” he was flabbergasted! He thought they must’ve made a mistake. All be it one that was in favor since he got to be damned with you. But still!

Out of every monster known to man kind one who’ve committed acts that are despicable. You, one who can barely hurt a damn fly get sent with them?

At first he thought you were genuinely just joking. And he actually laughed! Like audible chuckled before waiting for the actual reason, which never came, and he soon realized you were being serious!

He always questioned why you use to refuse to kill, or at least scare people into respect. But then you explained how you refused to be like the rest of the sinners.

He utterly dumb founded you made it this far without spilling a bit of blood, at least for survival!

He becomes more overprotective as if he wasn’t before, good luck with that!

Cause now he knows your rules, he knows you won’t budge. Nothing would get you to change your mind. So he made sure to keep eyes on you 24/7, you may be nice, but the other sinners in this damned place definitely aren’t. And he knows that from experience

Would neither confirm or deny he put a small tracker in an item you carry every where.

This man has enemy’s as you’ve seen, demons, overlords, rival company’s, it’s a headache an a half for him. Not that he hates protecting you and your values! No never!, but the nerve of the people who think they even have a chance to lay a hand on you.

Gives you the lastest phone from his series, and yes he will text you and blow up ur phone up if he can see you through cameras around the city.

Even if you put it on silent he wouldn’t put behind himself to over load it and just show up on your phone screen.

Sometimes he’s just so confused how you can be so nice, or at worst passive to those who are poking at you. He thinks your a saint, even if you aren’t, an maybe you have a short temper still the way you hold yourself form blowing up is astonishing!

Sometimes he jokes about how if you were to go to Charlie you would be redeemed in a day. And at night sometimes he thinks about it and it scares him to know there’s a possibility for you to go where he will probably never be able to follow you too

He loves you to the depths and the crooks of hell, and he’ll be damned again if he lets anyone hurt you. He sees you as a small soft light in the red cover world, and he will do anything before anyone can put out that light.

He makes sure to keep a good distance between you and Val, a BIG distance.

He’s always on the edge about people around you, how can’t he? He can’t trust all these “disgusting and repulsive” sinners in hell around you. The thought alone cringes him out and stresses him.

He knows to some degree he isn’t exactly better then them sin wise, but he makes sure to do his best for you while infornt of you, he cares about his image, and wouldn’t be afraid to scare someone into discipline. BUT he will tone it down, just for you ♥(⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝)♥

He has you under wraps, from the public eye in this case. As much as he’s one to show off his earnings, he loves you a little to much and knows well people will use you as a advantage. He loves to show off but you something just for him behind close doors for now before he can work something out

NOW if the public were to already know, he show off by showing how untouchable you were, demons knew better to approach you seeing as how fast he is to get rid of those stupid enough to try something.

Overall he respects your morals of not wanting to stoop as low as other sinners. But it dose make him more protective of you, your like a rare gem. There’s only a handful of people like you, and even then the numbers decrees daily, so he dose his most to make sure you safe and happy <3

ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ

!🎙️✨Alastor✨🎙️!

Like Vix he humors it at first! Playing around with it before Laughing with his usual staticky voice as he stared at you with his unnerving smile. You guys quite literally stared at each other for a hot minute waiting for the other to say something.

It took you clearing your throat for him to realize you weren’t just trying to get a chuckle outta him.

And for the first time since you met him you caught a hint of confusion, making you explain that it was genuinely what you did.

He quite literally burst out laughing, you, someone who probably did something everyone did once is in this horrid place stuck with the horrid monsters ever! Just for that single act alone.

He will admit he found it a bit amusing how you refused to kill or lay a hand on anyone. Refusing to stoop to other people’s levels. Now that for him is pure gold of entreatment! He’s seen people like you, say the same exact thing then crumble when backed I to a Corner.

But for the first time, for all the decades he’s been damned here, he’s seen you stick to what you’ve stated. You were very much quite a spectacle!

Now finding new amusement, he decided to protect you, cause someone like you were sure to be a one time experience. Aside from loving you of course

Now with your name being accosted with him alone is a shield in if its self. Barely any one approached you, aside from those playing with their afterlives of course.

If you ever feel a looming shadow or presence it’s most likely one of his shadows. Like Vox he is gonna have his eyes on you almost always

Although he loves you he will play around to get a reaction out of you. All for the fun of it!, he knows you cringe when he talks about his cannibalism tendencies he just loves seeing your cute little face scrunch up!

Even though with all of that he is a gentleman and will make sure no one is to bother you.

He’s quite impressed you made it this far without getting killed, I mean of course you have him but if you arrived to hell and didn’t met him immediately he’d be quite impressed and surprised one you both do meet

He indulges himself in the horrible aspects of hell, with no remorse or shame what so ever either. So although he dose respect your wishes he won’t stop or calm down his tendencies.. （；へ：）but on the bright side he’ll make sure your far away or he goes off to other part of the city and do whatever he wishes. But your likely to see on the news either way… (￣▽￣💧

He dose enjoy the more civil and nice talks he has with you though! He finds it nice to take a break from all the crude talk on the street from other sinners and have a nice conversation!

Great listener let me tell you, he’ll happily sit there as you explain your day away! He honestly enjoys hearing you genuinely happy!, although his a chatter box himself but he enjoys listening to you more then anyone or anything else!

Watches you be nice to the most repulsive, and rude demon like it’s nothing. Even when disrespected you find a way to calm down the situation and nicely at that. Of course the demon doesn’t live long once their out of your sight, but still! He’s pleasantly surprised.

He finds it rather weird that your nice just for the sake of being nice but still it’s definitely a nice refresher from all the horrible people down in hell!

You catch his eye rather quickly with how you stick out from others (in a good way! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ) and his eyes end up on you, you mainly have all his attention almost always if he isn’t off doing something!, your his light just live Vox he’ll make sure you’ll shine bright as ever and won’t go out.

Not everyone can catch it but in some rare moments he’ll be seen just staring at you as you happily talk away to Charlie. And for the smallest second you can see his unnerving smile turn into a soft smirk, eyes only on you and his mind filled with only you. This happens on the regular, it’s just he’s quick to cover up so no one sees!

Overall he loves you, even with some differences between your views he’ll still do his best to make you comfortable. Aside from teasing you here and there! But other then that he’ll protect you, your one of kind. And he loves having things no one else can.

ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ

AHHHH HELLOOOOO OH GORSH I MADE IT JUST IN TIME THIS TOOK SO LOBG TO DO CAUSE I KEPT HAVING TO DELETE AND REWRITE ON A NEW DRAFT AUGHHH I HOPE TUMBLR FIXES THIS BUG, BUT ANYWAY TYSM FOR REQUESTING PLEASE COME AGAIN!!!\(^ヮ^)/’

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ilovethanosdick · 6 months ago

Text

Choi Su-bong/Thanos (Squid Game) x fem! reader HCS

IM OBSESSED WITH THIS MAN!!!!!

also first ever post?! it’s a little short, but hope ya enjoy!!

SFW:

• he ADORES physical touch

• touching u at every chance he gets, like even simple hand holding, leaning against u

• HE LOVES IT ESPECIALLY WHEN IT COMES FROM U!!

• casually grabs u by ur ass in public, or give u a lil slap. when u confront him about it, he acts like he dont know what are u talking about, then giggle

• using ur breast like fidget toy, when he’s stressed

• squeezing it, when he feels like it

• shoving his head between ur boobs, bro can stay like that for a good 10 minutes until he calms down

• if u ask him if he would still love u as a worm, he would tell u that he’s not a zoophile

• pet names!! baby, babe, princess are his favs!

• he’s not so good with commitment and stuff like that, would prefer an open relationship (one sided tho, he's so possesive of u)

• have huge jealousy issues when it comes to u

• a male species near u??? he goes into rage mode, getting aggressively touchy to claim u! show everyone that u are his!!

• would apologise to u with rap songs

“Y/N” he screamed outside your house. throwing rocks at the window to wake u up.

“what the fuck…” u muttered to yourself, as u walked over to the window to check what this idiot come up with this time.

as soon as he saw your face, he screamed again, his hands clutching onto his chest “SEÑORITA!!! I WANT TO APOLOGISE TO U!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!! U DO REALISE THAT ITS 3 AM RIGHT NOW???” u screamed back at him, slightly leaning forward through window.

“I LOVE U!!!!!” he get on his knees.

“ARE U HIGH?????” u asked, clearly pissed at his presence.

“HI!!!!!” he said as he waved his hands to u, enthusiastically with a goofy grin.

even after this response, u can’t tell if he’s high. that’s pretty much how he’s acting regardless if he’s on drugs or not.

he turn on boombox, a cliche beat hit your ears. he stands up and cleared his throat.

“Yo, I messed up, I admit it, I’m a clown,

Flirting like a fool when you weren’t around.

But I swear, it was harmless, just a slip of the tongue,

Now I’m here confessing where I went wrong.

I told her, "Hey, nice shoes," and that’s all I meant,

But now I’m in the doghouse, paying the rent.

Baby, you’re the star, the queen of my heart,

And that other conversation? A throwaway part.

She laughed at my joke, yeah, I felt kinda cool,

But now I see, I was the class clown fool.

I’d never trade you for some silly chat,

You’re the boss, the CEO, I’m just the doormat.

I’ll buy you flowers, write your name in the sky,

Sing off-key if it’ll dry your eyes.

I’ll even quit drugs if you need me to,

Just don’t leave me hangin’, I’m a mess without you.

So baby, I’m here, on my knees with this beat,

Admitting my crimes, can’t handle defeat.

Let’s laugh this off, put it in the past,

‘Cause you and me, girl, we’re built to last.”

he end up the song showing a small heart formed with his thumb and index finger.

u sighed “all right, come inside”

“YAYY!!!” he did a happy jump and clapped his feet in midair.

• tbh he’s so silly

• steals flowers from a random garden for u

• night visits, but uses a window instead of a door to enter ur place, literally like some kind of teenager

• even if u gave him the keys to ur apartment, he will use the window no matter what

it was dark outside, about 11 pm. u were coming back from work. damn how exhausted u felt. some arguments with clients, boss yelling at u. it was not ur best day for sure.

u checked ur phone. still no text from Thanos. why he was ghosting u? probably he don’t want to deal with ur complains about how bad ur day went.

u opened the apartment door. u don't give a damn about anything. you plan to go to bed right away, you don't have the strength to change your clothes, wash yourself or eat something.

you threw everything aside and went to the bedroom. when you turn on the light in the room, you see your boyfriend lying on his side, resting his head on his hand, rose in his teeth.

“U WANT TO GIVE ME A HEART ATTACK???” u flinched. u can’t get used to Thanos randomly spawning in ur house.

“and i missed u too, princess” he grinned, standing up and then theatrically hand over the rose to u.

“i brought ur fav burgers and lotta beer” he said, pointing out at ur kitchen.

“thanks” u smiled softly at him. u can’t help but melt inside at his behaviour. he’a an asshole, but what a cute asshole.

“no problem, babe” he leaned to u, giving u a tight hug. burying his face in the crook of ur neck.

• avoids deep emotional conversation

• would tell that he loves u, but he don’t put much weight into that

• he’s saying it casually like it’s common sense that he loves u

• painting each others nails!!!!

NSFW:

• pansexual king, but he wouldn’t label himself

• he don’t care about gender, he fucks who he consider as cute and that’s it!!

• when u ride him, he would comment something like: WROOM WROOM!! or YEEHAW!!!

• A TOTAL FREAK….

• piss kink (y’all can’t prove me wrong)

• HE LIKES IT DIRTY!!!!

• public sex

• like fingering u in a club or on a party, sometimes anal when he's high

• claiming u like that in front of other people?? IT TURNS HIM ON SO BADD

• never a sub, it would hurt his ego

• bro don’t know what gentle sex is

• always rough and aggressive

• smokes weed/cigarettes during sex, blowing smoke in your face

• talking about himself in third person "yeah, babe. the great Thanos will make u feel so good”

“u like that slut? u like Thanos’s dick that much??”

• he’s not into after care. usually he just rolls down on bed, doesn't even bother putting on clothes, hug u tightly and fall asleep like that

#squid game #squid game x reader #thanos squid game #thanos x reader #choi su bong #choi su bong x reader

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selfcarecap · 7 months ago

Text

Over Each Other [L.H.]

Logan Howlett x female!reader

summary: Logan and you are just friends – you have a boyfriend, after all. But sometimes when you and your boyfriend are arguing, Logan listens and jerks off to it. He knows you two will break up soon, and he’s just finding ways to patiently pass the time until you can be his. Until one night, you’ve fought your final argument with your boyfriend and are in need of some comfort that Logan is more than happy to provide.

warnings: smut 18+ like this is more sexual and less fluffy (or angsty) than the summary sounds tbh (m masturbation, oral sex f receiving, unprotected piv, creampie, Logan calls reader princess, good girl, bub, baby), kinda toxic i mean you read the summary but still a sweet fic, reader is vulnerable so Logan could be seen to be taking advantage of her so don’t read if you don’t like, excuse the dramatic title and a few lines (from Linkin Park’s Over Each Other) because this is also me working through some feelings lmao, this is obviously not at aaalllll a realistic depiction of healing from a break-up lol (although I sincerely believe it would work with Logan..), X-Mansion era

note: not the fic I was expecting to be my first fic in over a month but my heart needed this so here you go <3 i also only proofread once so lmk if there are any atrocious typos lmao | gorgeous dividers by @dollywons

word count: 3.9k oops wth

Logan knows he’s a bad man. He’s killed people, innocent people, committed countless crimes, done more evil things than he can ever remember. But now he knows he’s a bad man because of something entirely different.

Logan shamelessly jerks off to the sound of you and your boyfriend arguing.

He doesn’t even need to use his heightened hearing, that’s how loud you two are. Night after night after night he listens to you arguing, stroking his cock to the rhythm of your voice.

You always have the upper hand — he would never masturbate to your pain or to you being degraded. Your boyfriend is a fucking idiot and you’re not afraid to let him know. Logan is sure he’s not the only one who knows that your relationship will end soon, and he’s fine to give you the time you need. Logan is a patient man these days; he can wait. But he’ll make the wait worth his while.

He gains pleasure from knowing that soon you two will break up, and you’ll be all his.

Logan sees the way you look at him, senses the way your heartbeat speeds up that little bit when he smiles at you, smells a spike in your pheromones when he’s around. And he’s no different when it comes to you.

The more you and your stupid boyfriend argue, the closer you get to breaking up, and the closer Logan gets to his release.

He’s listening to your moans of frustration this evening and imagines turning them into moans of pleasure, imagines licking your pussy until you’ve forgot all about your little boyfriend. Logan’s fist speeds up around his dick, hips moving up to fuck into his hand as he thinks of you and your gorgeous face.

Logan cums with your voice in his head, with the thought of you and your boyfriend finally breaking up, and shoots cum all over his own hand, down his forearm, and over his abs. He jerks off until he’s satisfied, lying in his bed a mess for a second – his hand coated in his cum, his happy trail sticky.

When Logan’s breath slows down, he realises your voice has stopped. You’re not arguing anymore – you must have gone to sleep. Then he hears your voice again, this time much closer.

“Logan?” A quiet knock at his door, “It’s me, you still awake?”

He pulls his sweatpants back in place and reaches for a tissue, only for his hand to land in the empty box. In a panic, Logan takes off the shirt that he’d pushed up over his abs, and uses it to clean himself of his release, using his freshly washed shirt like a rag.

“One second!” He calls out as he rubs the bunched up shirt over his happy trail to get it all off. Logan throws the dirty shirt into the corner of the room, and opens the door shirtless.

His heart drops when he sees the state you’re in, cheeks wet with tears and clinging to a teddy bear Logan once got you.

“Um… we just broke up. Can I come in? I know it’s late…”

Logan ushers you inside before the sentence has fully left your lips. Now he feels a twinge of guilt – he was too busy trying to get off to realise it was a serious argument this time. Maybe he jerks off more to the concept of you and that dumb boyfriend (ex-boyfriend) arguing and how hot you sound putting that guy in his place all confidently, than the actual fight.

As much as it pains him to see you hurt, he has to smile behind your back for a second when he closes the door. But a shiver runs up his spine when you let your guard down once you’re alone with Logan, all teary-eyed and small and sad.

Logan sits you down on his bed as you tell him the full story.

I tried to find my patience…

All we did was talk over each other…

It was all a waste of time…

There was nothing underneath…

I'm so tired of talking over each other…

Logan hugs you while you cling to him, your words barely audible with how you’re smothered against his naked shoulder. He gently rubs your back, and it only makes you hold onto him tighter.

“Shh, shh baby, I’m here for you. It’s gonna be okay.” The pet name just slips out. Logan barely realises what he’s said until you look up at him all doe-eyed, nodding your head frantically.

“I’m okay,” you say, “For now. Thank you for listening.”

“Of course, do you want to stay here for the night?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“‘Course I don’t mind, bub. I like having you here. Even better if it means I can take care of you while you need someone,” Logan says, and watches a soft smile spread on your face.

You sit up to wipe your eyes, only to realise you have no tears left. It’s been an hour since you got here, and you’ve calmed down.

Logan held you, said all the right things, helped you see things clearly. You’re better off without that guy, and you know Logan will be here for you until you’re over him. More importantly, you’re sure he will be there for you beyond that too.

“Here you go,” Logan takes your teddy and gives him a special place on his nightstand, and lets you wrap your arms around him as you settle against his chest. He’s not sure what to do next, but it’s late and he assumes you have no energy to do anything other than sleep.

It surprises him when you speak up a few minutes later, though your voice is quiet.

“He couldn’t even make me cum…”

Logan looks at you and finds a pout on your lips but a glint in your eyes, the warm glow of his bedside lamp making you look like an angel.

He chuckles, “So you’re crying over a man that couldn’t even make his girl feel good?”

You nod your head and smile bashfully.

“When was the last time you were fucked well?”

You look away from Logan as you think, “Uh, I dunno.”

“Hhmm. You didn’t miss it in all that time you were together?”

You turn to your side to lean up on your elbow, more awake again, “Well, I did. But maybe now I can… find someone better.”

You’re looking up right at Logan through your pretty eyelashes, and it’s subtle but so seductive, but he knows you’re too shy to initiate something, especially now when you probably feel guilty for not mourning your relationship more. But Logan is proud of you for realising your worth and ending it. Your ex should be the only one sad right now, not you.

“Of course you will,” Logan tells you, “You’ll find someone who loves you more than that idiot ever could and someone who will fuck you as good as you deserve.”

“Hmm, you think so?”

“I know so, bub.”

You give him a smile and move to lie down on your belly, head resting on your folded up arms. Your scooting around moves the blanket, pulling it off of Logan’s lap, revealing the half-hard bulge under his sweatpants.

Logan pulls the blanket back in place, but he’s not sure if you saw.

“How will I know if I’m being fucked well? If I don’t have a reference…” you play with your hands, not looking at Logan.

“I could always show you,” Logan smiles, patiently waiting for you to gain the confidence to look back into his eyes, and you do.

“Only if you want to. But if I’m interpreting your signals right then..” you nod to his lap with a teasing smile.

“You saw…” Logan rolls his eyes at himself which earns him a sweet laugh from you, “Didn’t want you to think your pain makes me hard, or that I’m taking advantage of you.”

“Do I look like I’m in pain right now?” you giggle, a huge smile on your face, cheeks already getting warm with arousal, “And if you wanted to take advantage I’m sure you wouldn’t have waited for me to bring it up.”

“You sure about this, bub? We have all the time in the world.”

“I want you now, Logan. Been waiting to get the courage to break up with him so I could finally have a chance at being with you.”

“Really?” Logan asks, but you’re busy letting your gaze drift down his body, fixed on his lap now. Logan moves closer, and he takes your face in his hands, chuckling “You still with me, bub?”

You don’t reply. Instead, you push your mouth against his, and it’s the most intense kiss Logan has ever experienced. It’s like Logan can feel himself pulling all the pain from you with his lips, eating your pain alive and swallowing it, never to be seen again.

He doesn’t even have to open his eyes to know that you’re smiling more than you have in weeks. He can feel a new energy radiating off your body. Something is healing in you.

You kiss until you’re both breathless, smiling and horny. Logan’s erection is pressing against your leg, and he can practically smell how wet you are.

“Tell me what you need, baby,” Logan says, heart beating fast from how turned on he is.

You pause for a second, grinning and almost too needy to think, “Tell me what you want to do to me.”

“How about I show you?” Logan lies you on your back, slowly pushing your oversized sleep shirt over your hips, and kissing down your body, down to your knees and over your shins.

“Is this okay? Tell me if you wanna stop.”

“Don’t stop,” you breathe, skin heating up where he touches you to gently pull your knees apart, “Never stop.”

Logan chuckles against your warm skin where he kisses you, from the side of your knee to your upper inner thigh. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you, how long I've needed you.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” It’s hard to talk, but you’re getting the words out somehow, “Could’ve been with you ages ago.”

“Didn’t want to intervene with anything. You needed your time to break up. And I know good things take time, and…” his words die in his throat when his lips move to your panties. They’re soaked with wetness, and Logan inhales you, something between a moan and a whimper leaving his mouth.

“God, baby…” he whispers, settling down between your legs and then lifting them up over his shoulders, “You have no idea how badly I need to eat your pussy right now. Can I?”

You nod, fighting the urge to rip your panties off yourself.

“Use your words, princess.”

“Yes, Logan.. yes, yes.” It’s the only word you can think of right now, with the heat of his mouth so close to your clothed pussy. He smirks at your words and nuzzles his cheek between your legs, leaving your clit throbbing and the spot on your panties growing larger.

You clench around nothing when Logan trails the tip of his tongue up and down your pussy over your panties, your legs squeezing around his head, hands finding his hair.

“You gonna be a good girl for me and stop squirming? I wanna take my time with you, baby.”

You nod and close your eyes for a moment, unsure if you can stop. But then Logan slowly pulls your panties to the side and seems to forget about wanting to take his time himself.

“Such a pretty fucking pussy, baby–” he interrupts his own words by burying his face between your legs, licking his way up from your pussy to the top of your clit and moaning as if it were the best meal he’s ever tasted.

You tighten your hand in his hair to pull him even closer and he obeys your silent command, burying his face in you more, his beard, lips and nose now wet with you. Logan licks into your pussy, tasting you like a man starved, one of his big hands coming up your body to place it over your tit.

“So fucking perfect,” he mumbles more to himself, finger playing with your nipple as his tongue plays with your clit. It’s been so long since you experienced this type of pleasure that you’re close already.

“Logan…” it comes out as a whimper, and he smirks as he lifts his head to look at you.

“Yes, princess?”

“Might not last long..” you say, and it takes everything in you not to push his head down.

“That’s the point, baby,” he smiles, and goes back down. He brings his hands between your legs to spread your pussy lips so that he can get even closer. You feel vulnerable spread open for him like this, but it’s a comfortable vulnerability. Your heart feels content. You know you can trust him. He won’t hurt you.

You’re so wet that you’re almost embarrassed by how loud it sounds when Logan eats your pussy. A pleasure you’ve been missing in your life for a while rushes through your body when Logan begins to suck on your clit, and your back arches off the bed.

You cum with Logan’s name a whisper on your lips, and he doesn’t stop until you’re seeing stars and pushing his head away.

Logan sits up from between your legs with a grin, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and then licking it clean right after.

“You okay?” He smiles, and you realise how hard you’re panting.

“Yeah. I almost forgot what that feels like,” you confess.

“What, cumming?”

You nod with a pout that Logan quickly kisses away, covering your body with his as he hovers over you.

“Trust me, bub, we’ll make you remember all of it. You up for more tonight?”

“Yes,” you reply embarrassingly fast. You’re not sure you could stop if you wanted to, your body pumped full with the happiness hormones you haven’t felt in all too long.

Logan holds himself up over you with one arm, pulling down his pants. You’d tease him about the wet spot of precum on them, but you’re far too horny to think of what to say.

“Good, because you taste so delicious, baby, you’re not getting rid of me between your legs any time soon,” he smirks, leaning down to kiss you as you grin against him. You don’t want him to leave, ever.

His big hand finds your thigh, and he gently pushes a finger in, then two, kissing you and watching your face for any signs of discomfort, but all you’re doing is arching your back for him to push deeper.

“You want it, baby?”

You look down Logan’s body, eyes settling on his hard and wanting cock, the tip glistening with precum, “Mhmm,” you nod frantically, “I want it.”

“Been a while though…” you add hesitantly.

“It’s okay, princess. I’ll be gentle. We’ve got all the time in the world, okay?” He leans his forehead against yours and a smile spreads over your face again.

“Okay.” You lean up to kiss him, both of you getting lost in the way your tongues feel against each other for a few moments.

“Here,” Logan rubs a few messy circles over your pussy, his palm getting slick with your wetness. He wraps a hand around his dick, stroking himself a few times to coat himself in the feeling of you.

“I’m ready,” you tell Logan before he can ask.

“Good girl.”

Logan trails his thumb over your cheek and gives you a chaste kiss, and butterflies erupt in your belly.

“You have no idea how happy I am right now,” he says, and all you can do is look back up at him lovingly.

“You want me to put it in?” he asks, teasingly slapping his cock against your clit a few times. Then, he suddenly pauses.

The warmth of him above you is gone, but he’s not far. He’s leaning over to his bedside table, turning your teddy bear away from you two.

“He doesn’t need to see this,” he says all seriously, and you giggle.

You help him take off your shirt, and you’re bare underneath, and as good as it feels to have Logan distracted by how good your boobs look for a bit, you need him somewhere else.

“Logan?” you ask, and he looks back up at you, a nipple still in his mouth.

“Yes?” he licks a broad stripe over your nipple as he says it, and it comes out muffled.

“Kind of need you somewhere else.”

“Oh, do you, princess?” Logan hovers over you again, leaning on one forearm as his other hand rests on your tit, and he’s smirking down at you, “Where would that be?”

You grin widely, biting your lip as you carefully take his hand off you, and bring it between your legs. You don’t even have to guide him all the way to your pussy before his hand is gone from yours and he’s cupping your wet, warm pussy.

“Here, baby?” he brings two fingers up to his mouth to suck your wetness off them, and you nod as if in a trance.

“Okay, bub, you sure?”

“Yesss, Logan,” you let out a pathetic groan of frustration, your chest vibrating with the sound.

He smirks, bringing his hand, still slick with his spit, to your cheeks and squishing them together, “You’re so adorable when you’re horny, you know that, princess?” You bat his hand away at his teasing, but your grin might be even bigger than his.

Logan finally lifts one of your legs and pushes it up against your chest, rubbing a few lazy circles on your clit before he rubs the tip of his cock through your folds. He’s doing it to tease you, but you see him lose his own composure, expression turning into a frown of neediness.

You share another quick but sloppy kiss during which you take Logan’s cock and rub it against your pussy. He only pulls away from the kiss to finally put the tip inside you.

“God,” he groans at just the first few inches, and you both calm yourself down to make sure this isn’t over immediately.

“I can take it,” you say, wrapping your arms around Logan’s neck.

“You’re my good girl, hm? Gonna take my cock? You sure?”

“Yes, Logan. Need all of it, please.”

“I got you, baby. I’ll give you anything you want.”

Logan slides his cock inside you, inch by inch, and you both moan when he bottoms out.

“You feel good?” He asks, and all you can do is nod. You groan, only at the fact that he’s not moving yet.

“Me too, baby, me too,” he smiles, slowly starting to move, beginning to fuck you. And he was right, he’s fucking you well. Better than anything you’ve ever felt.

He pulls out almost entirely for the first few thrusts, then stuffing you full of his big cock again, your wet pussy pulsing around him, sucking him back in. Your heart beats happily against your chest and he can feel it too; he’s slotted against your body as closely as he can be.

“Such a good girl, taking me so well. You still okay, princess?”

You grin and take his face to kiss him, his hips stilling just as he’s buried inside you as deeply as possible. You make out with him for a few seconds, pussy spasming around his uncontrollably, and you feel Logan squirm and pull out of you a bit because he doesn’t want to cum yet.

“That’s how good I feel,” you smile up at him.

Logan grins, burying his face in your neck to kiss you there as his hips begin to move again. He kisses over your jaw and your cheeks as a hand comes down to rub your clit. Together with his dick inside you, pulsing with warmth and pleasure, you suddenly feel all the energy of your body flowing between your thighs again.

You whimper against Logan’s face, your cheek catching against his.

“You close, baby?”

“Mhhm,” is the only sound you can muster as you cling to Logan, letting him fuck your pussy and play with your clit until you’re almost there.

“Such a good girl for me. Want you to cum for me, alright, princess? Gonna feel so fucking good, yeah?”

Your response is a whimper against his lips as you let go, and pleasure floods your body. Your pussy clenches around Logan’s dick, and while he’s still rubbing your clit, fucking you through your orgasm, he cums.

Logan cums so much you’re not sure where your orgasm ends and his begins, but you know you don’t stop feeling good until he’s drained until the last drop and your pussy is stuffed full with his cum.

You both slow down bit by bit, breathless and grinning at each other, not letting go. When Logan brings his hand back up between your faces, it’s slick with your wetness and covered in his cum, and you take his wrist to guide him towards your face.

You look Logan in the eyes as you suck his and your cum off his fingers, one by one, and Logan kisses you the second you’re done.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he whispers in your ear, slowly pulling out of you and pulling you into his arms when he lies down.

“Thank you,” you respond shyly, unsure what to say. You’re too happy to pay attention to your words.

“I’m always here for you, baby. You know that. And as soon as you’re ready to move on, I’ll take you on the best date of your life, okay?”

You grin, kissing his lips, “Okay. And until then?”

“Until then I’ll eat that pretty pussy of yours every evening, and you can sleep in my bed whenever you don’t feel like being alone. Sound good?”

You wrap your arms around his neck, cuddling against his chest, your heart warm and happy as you feel yourself getting tired, “Sounds good.”

P.S. thank you for reading <3 reblog and let me know what you liked most about this fic for Logan to come and eat your pussy out every night <3

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #deadpool and wolverine #title is a bit misleading bc it’s about reader and her ex and not about Logan but I needed this title for me lol #fem!reader #wolverine smut #logan howlett x you #selfcarecap

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