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tonycries · 1 month ago

Text

Heat Waves - C.K.

Synopsis. The two things they don’t tell you about a hot emo half-curse? 1. He’s in heat. 2 He needs you badly.

Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, slight omégaverse, HEATS, roommates-to-Iovers, he goes FÉRAL, matíng presses, size kínk, knots, he’s huge, squírting, dúmbifícation, Choso with piercings n’ tattoos, pheromones, use of jujutsu, MARATHONS, creampíes, cúmplay, matíng marks, stopping you from running, proposals, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 7.6k

A/N. She’s BACK and she wrote this during a power cut ummm?

“Choso, are you in there?”

You’re nervously gnawing on the inside of your cheek, feet shuffling as you wait outside of your strange new roommate’s bedroom.

Summer.

And the scorched air outside wasn’t the only thing that was sizzling, it felt like your skin was pricked with countless goosebumps at the temperature inside of your cozy lil’ apartment. Each heady wave of heat originating from his room.

Half-wondering whether you should call his pink-haired little brother for assistance, your fingers rap once more on the firmly shut mahogany door. Calling out, “I’m coming in, okay?”

There’s a noise from inside- a gasp.

And then something that sounded like a low, guttural…moan at the very sound of your voice. The humidity only rising. Brows furrowing, warmth creeping, you just barely start turning that doorknob open—“Choso, what is-”

Oh.

Seventy-four days.

Seventy-four days since Choso had started rooming with you, thanks to your associates higher up at Jujutsu High. And seventy four days since he’d wanted to tear off your tiny sleep shorts and wrench your pretty legs apart to stuff you all full of his-

Fuck.

And just like that, he’d been hit with his annual heat cycle on the hottest day of the month.

All part of being half a curse, he grouches.

Maybe it was the paper-thin t-shirt you’d been wearing this morning, maybe it was just how you’d batted your lashes as you greeted him in the hallway.

Maybe it was the way all he had to do was fucking stand next to you to smell how sweet that pussy of yours was, throbbing away between your thighs. Thump! Thump! Thump!

But here he was- one step inside of his sweltering bedroom, only a single inch that you’re toeing past the door frame, and he’s bolted out of the bed to slam against you. Heaving chest to chest, back to wall.

Mouth crashing-

You don’t know what burns more - the push of his toned, rippling flesh radiating pure heat, crushing against you, or his lips. Choso grabs you, Adam’s apple bobbing dryly as he damn near sobs at the contact of your spit-glossed lips.

“Ch-Choooso–!” You’re squealing, kissing back in earnest. Your rationality only a faint inkling now, “What’s gotten- hah! into y- fuck!”

Before you know it, he’s fisted his shaking, prolonged fingers into your shirt to rip the fabric down the middle-

Gasping, your knees knock together weakly once he sticks a clammy palm to the valley between your tits and tears up. Your wetly ajar maw breaking away from his own with a sultry dampened noise, followed almost instantly by a strained whine as Choso registers the feeling of his attack on your mouth dwindling.

Just about the only thing he could be struck with right now.

CRASH!

One of his big, beefy forearms slams on the patch of wall above you, flecks of plaster snowing down at his sheer inhuman strength. “Stay…” And his other arm greedily claws at your throat, jolting at the sound of your oh-so-cute gasp as if your voice made something deep n’ dark down inside him twitch. “-away.”

And you might not have known him the longest, but Choso Kamo never sounded so rough. So…gone.

Rugged and husky.

He’s peering down at you through his towering height with semi-widened hazel eyes like he couldn’t dare look away and oh-

Oh, Choso looked ruined.

You’re gazing up at him for the first time now - really, really gazing up at him - in all his desperate, clammy glory. Heat sticking to him like a second skin. Mouth parted. Throat parched.

His expression was almost dazed, still drinking in the sight of you as if he was just seeing a phantom walk into his bedroom.

Choso’s skin was simmering with a blush that made him look feverish, the cracks between his bangs the only thing revealing his dark, half-lidded stare. He’d hounded you like a predator closing in on his prey.

Ready to pounce.

And you gulp, squirming at the scraping itch of his pointed nails. The pads of his fingers plant pressure on your airway as if he didn’t want you to even speak, couldn’t handle it. “Wanna stay, Cho–”

Ah, that did it.

Choso had been shivering- shuddering viscerally as he loomed above you, fawny lashes fluttering like he was holding himself painfully back. Away - only to snap the very second his nickname stumbles out of your beautiful, beautiful mouth so that he has to shut you up before you cause any more damage to his sanity.

Whimpering, the bite of his extra-honed canines makes your lips sting. “Oh- ngh, slow down-”

“Can’t.”

His voice cracks.

“F-fuck…” Just the sound of his lilted, crazed bass is enough for your thighs to clamp yearningly together. Chasing just the slightest friction, he sounded so sensual that it made your pussy so-

“Oh.”

This time, it’s Choso who’s breaking off the lurid kiss with a sticky mwah! The syrup of your saliva gluing to his rosy, puckered lips when he lurches his head downwards and sniffs.

Right between your legs.

It’s as if he could sense something you couldn’t, jaw slowly unhinging further open the wetter you became. Until your inner thighs were sheened with a splotchy puddle of your slick and Choso was drooling.

“Oh.” He’s repeating, like a broken record. It’s just then at the air grows murky, as if your roommate had suddenly emptied out your most favorite syrupy bodyspray then and there. Body twitching, “Oh.”

And before you could blink away the haze in your eyes and say something about the glittery sprinkle of spittle travelling down the side of his mouth, Choso’s powerful knees hit the floor with a booming bang!

If he could feel any pain then he doesn’t show it, can’t even manage to twist his expression into anything but a look of utter fucking hunger. Rabid at the mouth.

“O-oh my god are you…” You had half the mind to push his face back and ask whether he was okay- but the harrowed look in Choso’s peripheries stopped you. He needed this. And he needed this now.

He looked just as surprised as you, almost as if he was in disbelief at the way his trembling fingers were digging into your flimsy skirt. The battle-worn calluses of his fingertips slicing through the cute satin cloth like it was butter, Choso barely even hesitates a second to breathe before he’s stuffing his face into your sopping, clothed pussy.

Nose-deep, and Choso cups the cheeks of your ass to push himself even deeper.

Lips meeting puffy, achin’ lips.

“H-nghhh—” Dribbles from your mouth stain your lips all dewy wet, and you can’t do anything but sift your fingers through Choso’s auburn locks and pull-

“Don’t.”

You watch in awe when he’s surging forwards to crush the tip-top of his straight nosebridge into the slope of your pussy. Rubbing lightly against that cute lil’ bow decorating the hemline of your panties, “But you can’t even breathe like that-”

“Don’t.” Comes out his growling warning again. Before Choso’s taking a final deep inhale of your saccharine sweetness- fuck, your tight cunt just smelled so sweet that he can feel his cock jolting already. Gulping back a bucketload of ravenous spit, “Don’t.” He doesn’t have to breathe.

Tone hitched. Tastebuds parched. It’s the last thing that he’s muttering—“Starved…”

Before Choso crushes the underside of his tongue past your sodden panties and tastes you- just a singular drop of your syrupy sweet slick, a singular ounce, and you think you may have broken him.

Because his broad back stills, dark eyes widening. And you’re just about to wrench your mouth open in question before he’s back flopping his tongue past your underwear.

Caressing your swollen pussylips with his pointed tip in a French kiss, Choso swats your stupid lil’ panties aside - why did you even need those - to drink you in. To sluuuurp up every given droplet of your dewy wet juices like he was a man starved.

And his eyes were still widened, damn near bulging out of his poor sockets once he’s tilting his head sexily to the side n’ flicking your sloppy entrance.

Grunting at the slight friction of your cotton panties, “Puh-pussy.” His husky utterance makes your thighs clench- something that Choso can not fucking bear because he’s pushing himself even deeper. Further. “Pussy.”

“Sh-shit–” You’d have easily collapsed onto his bedroom floor if it wasn’t for the way that one of his roughened palms was cupping your ass to hold you up. Supporting your weight like a feather. “Choso my…my panties.”

And it was true- oh, he didn’t give a fuck about those.

Letting them skid over his jaw, Choso’s just barely blinking his glassy eyes down at the now-transparent piece of cloth covering your pussymound like he’d just realized that was still there.

Sounding out your cute shriek, “P-panties…” Even if he wanted to, it was such torture to even think about pulling away. Still lugging his tastebuds down the glittering crevice of your slit, one of his indexes creeps forward to tease the elastic of your underwear and let it spring back with a resounding snap!

“Hey- rude-”

Barely even letting the syllables escape your mouth, Choso’s lips curl into a feral smirk whilst he nibbles down on the edge of your panties and rip-rip-riiiiips!

All with his canines.

He’s undressing you like he was unwrapping his next meal - on his knees, eyes boring up at you and- shit. Shit shit shit- it’s just then that you’re hit with the thought that you might not even make it out of this alive.

Because within a singular bat of your lashes, Choso’s bolting up with your pliable body in tow, pushing you onto the nearby bed, throwing your legs wiiide open.

So fast you wonder whether he’d lost control of his powers and somehow teleported - you wouldn’t be surprised.

Yelping, “Oh- what- oh my nghh- Choso!”

“Your p-pussy.” He’s keening out, dark brows scrunching with aching need whilst you’re barely done bouncing on the bed before he’s smearing your pussylips apart and taking a gooood long look at you.

Hypnotic, the plump ends of his lips hover oh-so-close near your slippery slit. And you wonder whether he’s trying to drive you mad by trawling that horizontal shape of his nose tattoo across the top of your cunt. Panting, “My baby’s pussy.”

The fringe of Choso’s rovering tongue is so fat, stuffed thickly between your folds so that it felt like your hole was being stretched to the maximum. A low whimper breaks at the back of his throat when he’s feeling the resistance, snarling—“Inside. Need- inside.”

“B-but—” And that primal shrill of yours turns into a sob once Choso’s only keepin’ your thighs pushed further apart. The mountains of his palm bruising five straight lines of his fingers as he gropes on.

“No- no.” Striking the curve of his chin against your pussy, when Choso was in heat - he was thirsty. Nipping your outer cunt with the edges of his fangs, “Let me. Let me let me let me- oh.”

Push after push, his half-closed eyes are so blurry with lust that your cursed roommate is acting on pure, animalistic instinct. Gnawing on the left of your bloated labia like a gum before he draaaags it backwards and plunges his tongue in deeper.

Choso takes one look at the way your glistening hole was all wet n’ clamping down over nothing before he can’t help but hold your folds open whilst he fills you up stupid. “Wet…so…”

He can’t even finish his sentences - his thoughts, just that drunk on your treacly pussy.

Wailing, “Slow down, Cho–!” You’re nearly choking on the heady wave of pheromones that gust from down below just at that simple nickname. Tugging on his clammy bangs, “Y-you’re gonna–”

“Don’t care.” He’s groaning out a throaty answer, each syllable punctured with a lick of his textured tongue past your entrance like he didn’t even realize he was talking. “Don’t care. Don’t need to- breathe. Just need…”

And the next thing you hear is the wettest, rawest squeeeelch! emanating into the tense air once Choso snakes his right hand upwards to pluck a ringed finger between your lips.

He hisses, fighting with himself for possessive reign over whose lapping up more of your sleek juices. Cheeks hollowed, he’s latching onto your clit and playfully biting as the slimy crown of his digit rovers inside.

And the stretch- oh, the fucking stretch had your pupils whirling dizzily inside the whites of your eyes.

“Sh-shit- w-were your hands always this ngh- big?”

Because, really, Choso’s hunched-over back only seemed to flex bigger the more he’s tasting you. His fingers longer, pearly whites sharper. Eyes gleaming–

“Big?” Choso breathes from below you, long lashes shuttering as his eyes widen. Oh, he was just realizing- and that tone did not bode well for your poor, impaling pussy.

“B-big.” Because he shifts, he jerks his head just the slightest inch to register his sudden strength n’ size. Before grinning—“Then take-” Slurring, your roommate tugs your puffed-up folds just barely enough to the side so that he could slip in the knobbly ends of a second finger. “-take it, my baby.”

It’s like you were made to take it.

Your elastic hole snagging on the ridges of his slender fingers, you throw your head back and moan at the sudden impact of Choso pursing his pretty pink lips and spitting on your pussy.

“Y-you know what else the head of the Choso clan can control?”

Just about the longest sentence his heat-filled mind has managed so far, he’s snagging the caps of his nail polish-chipped fingertips into the side of your walls and spreeading your cunt apart to let his pearly glob of saliva slither inside.

Immediately making you feel hypnotized, making you feel as if you were sweltering.

Oh, shit.

The realization makes your head lift off of your dampened pillows- he controls blood and…

He has the audacity to grin when the slimy ribbon of his saliva stirs in circles ‘round and ‘round your snug channel. Controlled. Filthy.

Watching your every minute squirm with bated breath, Choso nestles that droplet against your tenderest weeping orifices. Shocked. Ready. Like a wolf stumbling upon resh blood he’s breathing—“There”

Something in him twitches.

Something in him awakens, hips grinding against the bed.

And then you’re watching Choso’s nosebridge tattoo deepen, you’re watching him lazily flicker his pinkish tongue over the perked nub of your clit while his fingers were ravaging you from the inside out. He wanted to ruin you.

He was whacking his cold metallic rings against the gummy insides of your cunt and hoping that it bruised. Carving a cute lil’ ‘C’ right at the edge of your g-spot where you needed him the most, his high cheekbones flush. “Can control this. You. Her.”

Quirking the wide end of his index against your sweetest spot, Choso stuffs a third finger and lets all three rounded curves treat your g-spot like a bullseye. Probin’ so deep with their frigid designs into your every nook and cranny, Choso elbows your thighs open once the pressure makes you thrash.

You’re bucking off of the silken sheets, your slick-plastered thighs smushing each side of his handsome cheeks. “There- o-ohhh my god k-keep going-”

“Th-there.” Choso’s smiling. Something feral. “There- there- there.” Hit after hit, he’s sticking his maw against your slit and makin’ out with your sappy lips with a dopey smile. Unfocused. Throat relaxing to let the miry wads of your sweet, sweet sap flood his tastebuds.

They’re damn near sizzling as they stick to your puckering hole as if made of adhesive, slashes of his refined tongue making your cunt sing almost as much as your voice box was. “F-fuck, m’not gonna last, Cho—”

He’d noticed - that sixth, sensual sense of his cursed energy that was making him scour your walls with his curvaceous digits. That primal sense in him.

And that’s all he needed to hear.

The ringed bands of his rings spanking your g-spot like he was maddened, lips wrapped so hard as he sucks on your throbbing clit that they’re starting to ache.

More.

More more more- he needed fucking more of you before you’re cumming all over his face. And ah- how much more would you drench his snogging mouth when you reach your high?

Choso unfastens his jaw all wiiide and lets your slobbering drags push against his chin. Pushed so nose-deep between your twitching thighs that you can barely even understand him. “Cum.”

“Please—” You’re whimpering out shrilly, fucking music in his ears that makes him spread his meaty thighs apart and push his aching erection into the mattress. “Cho— I’m gonna mmm- m’gonna-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence before Choso’s finishing you off.

With a few more vulgar, sloppy strokes that set your teeth on edge. Your roommate doesn’t care for any method, he doesn’t care for any technique because he’s lavishing his velvety mouth everywhere.

From your pulsating clit, to the gasping circle of your entrance, to right past where three of his lengthy fingers were already filling you up because Choso just couldn’t get enough. And he’s laying his craned neck out across one of your trembling thighs, mouth burning with the cloying taste of you while you cum and cum harder than any of your toys have ever made you.

“I-it feels so…” Words fail you, and your hands stay firmly wrapped through the valleys of his sweaty scalp for dear life. “-so- nghhh- can’t even d-do anything.”

It was devastating- your vision splotchy with white, toes curling. And the half-curse was so plowed between your pert pussylips that he couldn’t even rear himself back to moan.

Letting out each moistened ‘fuck’ and ‘oh’ into your gushing pussy.

Blinded, it’s the only thing he can do to let your rose-shaped insides clench around his dexterous muscle. A sweet lil’ ba-dump–! that matched in carnal synchronization with the beat of your rapid heart, and Choso’s counting about twelve before he finally feels your high bating.

“No.” He grunts out instantly, eyes widening. Panicked. With a grope to the left side of your waist, Choso latches on a death grip and immediately pulls your restless hips back onto his mouth. Lips wobbling, “No no no no- come back.”

Yelping, “Shit m’so- hck! sensitive, Choso.” Even the slightest pinch of his coral pink lips right over your clit left you seeing stars.

But he didn’t listen.

He didn’t care.

He’s pushin’ his tongue back between your wet slit with a growl and eyeing how it makes you shudder. “Can’t-” Laughing - laughing - Choso alternates between bumping his rounded index against your g-spot and stretching out his rubbery tongue to lap at your walls.

Smack after smack every time he flaps his lips, all dangling with gleaming streaks of your hot orgasm. He’s trying to get you to cum once more, but he’s too impatient.

Too needy for it that all he can do is slash his tongue across your sweetest spots and watch as it only edges you until you’re all dizzy. Sniffing your pussy like you’re his favorite scent, “Can’t fucking stop.”

“Want- ngh! want you—” You’re keening, pushing on the perspiration-sprayed surface of his forehead to no avail. Choso only manhandles your body to glue his lips to yours even further, “Want your cock.”

“H-huh?”

For the first time, your roommate lifts his head from the sinful heaven between your legs with a loud plop! It’s the most lecherous noise, and the only thing wetter than that sound was how wet Choso was.

He’s dripping with syrupy slick from the apples of his high cheekbones down to his sharp jaw, beaded drops of slick hitting your thighs with a pitter-patter. He was flushed. Pheromones burning. Slightly shivering.

And it looked like the very second you opened your mouth - not even from the sound of your voice, just the mere notion of it - Choso’s nose scrunches and he flinches. “Wan’ your cock…”

“O-oh.”

Oh.

You were done for.

You were absolutely and completely done for- because no sooner are the words out of your mouth that your snug pussy walls are left empty n’ hollow. Void of when he’s dragging his fingers back, making sure to leave a rovering little caress as he pulls out with a soppy slurp!

And then he’s slouching over you, he’s bending you.

Fully clothed and yet it’s like his heat-melted mind doesn’t even register that, Choso’s holdin’ your dangling ankles spread open while he grinds his swollen, aching cock against your core and groans.

“Fuck- fuck-”

He was so fucking hard, and your pussy had felt so damn tight around his tongue.

Just once. Twice- Choso ruts between your legs like an animal before he’s fumbling for the silvery latch of his belt. Unfreezing, you’re finally helping his dazed fingers through it- whining as you tug on his off-white undershirt, “Take it- off.”

Moaning- he thinks he’s going to die if he doesn’t listen to every word you say. “Please.”

It’s like each sound of your needy voice only makes his weight cock sag further, so it’s such a relief when he’s shoving the rest of his trousers down and letting his red, bulbous tip swab his abs with a stripe of glittering pre.

You only get a flash of Choso’s cock - rock-fucking-hard, engorged, looking so painful as his lengthy shaft hangs between his pale legs. The mushroomed tip of his cock was burnin’ red and weeping, and- was that- a shiny silver piercing right next to his orifice?

Like a pretty pink lollipop that you wanted to reach out and-

“Later.”

And then he’s pushing in.

Then he’s letting his ballooned-up shaft twitch primally at the noise of your sweet, sweet voice, before spreading his meaty thighs and pushing between your tight, glistening cunt.

“I know-” He’s rasping out, two of his veiny forearms planting underneath your legs to lift them bonelessly onto his shoulders. Ankles hitting his back muscles, “I know I know I know- fuck!”

Nearly screaming at the way your cozy hole was just too small for his pierced tip, resisting the way Choso fits the very reddened point of his cock between your folds and pushes and pushes. Ruts. “O-oh my goddd- nghhh- s’sooo biggg–!”

But your adorable huffing and puffing was only making every ounce of blood pound to his aching cock and make it even bigger.

Tightly pushing against the rubbery outer edge of your pussy, your pussylips get smeared apart sooo fucking widely by his rigid circumference.

And no matter how much you’re thrashing and mewling, Choso only tugs apart your cunt with a thumbing of his ringed digit. Deeper, fitting just an inch.

He gasps- he whines. Just so desperate, and you’re hypnotized by both that ecstatic look on his face to the sweetened, humid atmosphere.

“Cho! O-oh my god s’not gonna mmm- fit-”

“No.” Choso repeats it like a mantra, and he’s begging with those hooded chestnut eyes of his. Probing your gaze with his dilated pupils, heels digging into your rickety mattress, the head of his swollen shaft squeezed where he was bullying inside. “No no no no- hafta take it. You need to, my baby.”

Long lashes shuttering, you swear you see Choso’s eyeliner run with tears when he makes your pussy gulp down a single solid few inches.

His cock so fucking big that just this slightest swallowed measurement made you feel a round bruise at your throat, your mouth overflooding with heated saliva. “Need to take it inside just-”

Babbling, Choso glues his clammy palms upon either side of your birthing hips and bends you in half.

All the way until the globes of your ass nearly weren’t touching the bed, all the way until he’s pressuring you with the weight of his muscular body and holding you still whilst you take him in deeper.

In a mating press.

And give him an inch, he’ll take a mile.

“Fuh-fuuuuck!” Because Choso was thrusting, not even waiting - he couldn’t. Your gooey pussy was just so soft and warm around his barreling girth that it was driving him wild. “You’re just soooo—”

“Inside. Inside.”

“What if I can’t fit-”

“I’ll make it fit.”

He’s holding onto your mounds of flesh like it would stop him from losing control, thighs shivering at his inner quads once he’s punishing your squelching cunt with half-ruts. Bucks. Humps like an animal all just to fit and fit his swollen, red cock inside.

Eyes dazed, mouth slack.

Choso’s already drilling into you, whacking your bubblegum insides with everything he could fit.

From the geysering divot homed on the middle of his tip to just where one of his prominent veins was tickling your outer folds. His Prince Albert’s was so cold where he’s slimy mazing along your textured walls, “Tight-” He dares to let one of his hands caress your tummy, pushing down to feel himself. “Fucking tight.”

Struggling, and so when Choso’s finally tugging further on your dewy slick cunt to sheath in more more more- all he can do is stutter his breath to a labored hold and cum. Just by bottoming out.

Your eyes widen, “Did you just-”

“I-inside.” Choso croaks out, strained. Raw groans hatching, he presses down on your body with his toned upper strength and keeps you there as he’s pumping you full.

It’s so much of his thick, ribbony white sap splashing ‘round that you’re wondering whether your puffy hole was flooding already.

Not that Choso would ever let you- no, his familiar ringed thumb spanks down on your slit and makes sure that not even one ivory drop leaks out.

Driving and driving every vein-covered inch in half-thrusts that leave your knees weak, “Inside.” He’s panting like he was feverish, brown irises murky. So hot inside of you with all his syrup, he’d just bottomed out and he was still planting his feet flat on the bedsprings to maze his glistening cock further.

Octaves higher, cracked. He’s in disbelief when he’s sliding his globular piercing in a straight line down your cervix, “Inside.”

“Mhmmm– all inside, Choso.” You’re managing to strangle out, your twitchy fingertips reaching up to push away a few strands of his soft bangs from his sweaty forehead. “All better now?”

You’ve no idea what had gotten into him today, but anything to help your hot half-curse roommate-

“All better?”

It’s posed as a question, but Choso wasn’t looking for an answer.

He’s poring down at you with bulging eyeballs, gaze smudged with eyeliner. “All…better?” Before letting out a sudden, strained bark of laughter.

And before you know it, Choso’s curling the tips of his fingers around your throat and grabbing you to halt in your journey to squirm away. Squealing, you let yourself be dragged down to hit his hard pelvis with a spank.

Leaning down, down, down every inch that he’s closing in the scorching distance between you two made your cum-glazed pussy let off a talkative slurp! “All better.”

“Wh- oh!”

He doesn’t let you speak.

He doesn’t even let you breathe before ramming into you with all the vein-patterned, roaming length of his girth. “All better?” Choso echoes breathlessly, “You- think- I’m all better?”

As you whine, the headlock of his palm tugs your lolling scalp forwards to stare back up at him. Holding the deepest, most lecherous eye contact with you as he sliiiides his zig-zagging veins against the roof of your pussy.

Spit flying, Choso crashes his maw into your open mouth. “Do I look fucking better?”

Oh.

That’s when it finally hits you- that short, hastened paragraph you’d skimmed over in your book on cursed - Choso was in heat.

“P-please!” It was almost comical the way he had you mewling all stupidly on his cock, your heart-eyed pupils swirlin’ inside of your eyes with each poke into the bottom of your pussy. His stout, frigidly pierced tip furiously thumping away, “Feels so good, Cho- can feel you all the way ngh- here.”

And he was not letting you go.

Choso looked like he was losing his sanity when you’re mindlessly tracing a hand up the valley of your tits, touching your throat.

“Th-there, huh?” He questions, dryly. With a final swab of his bulging length where you were most sensitive, he’s suckin’ on your quivering lower lip with a hum. “You know I ngh- respect you, right, my baby? Riiight–?”

Confused, you’re nodding—“Yes?”

“Good.”

Because Choso wasn’t going to fuck you like it.

He’s departing his hoarse breath in gusts, letting out a barely-audible little–”Flowing Red Scale: Stack.”

The jujutsu technique to increase speed. Endurance.

Before the air around the two of you tightens with electricity, with every atom around the two of you coating with a layer of cursed energy. Something so rabid and desperate that seeps through Choso’s body like he almost wasn’t in control, coating the ends of his upright erection when he’s bucking.

“There-” The rounded circle of his piercing is plowing you open like a searchlight, mazing your velvety walls in a lil’ zig-zag. The underside of his shaft sticks to you like a second skin, striking your g-spot dead on. “-there.”

Rovering his hand right on top of the sultry rounded bulge he was pounding away into you, “M’here.”

He was there right inside of you and he was everywhere.

Weighing in on the splotch of your nerved walls, pushing away the creamy white layer of seed on top of your lips so that he could see himself being sucked in even deeper. “Me me me me-”

“O-oh please!” You scream out in time with the creaking racket of your aged bedcoils, it was making the most protesting noises as he bucks his hips deeper. Hands clawing across his deltoids—his chilling piercing whacks your g-spot and you can only reach for the wooden headboard with a babble.

“No- no no come back-” Choso’s free hand creeps from your cute tummy bulge to claw at your scalp, pushing you down. Pulling you all the way down, “No running.”

No running.

Again and again and again.

Choso’s got a hold on your head, a knee trapping your thigh. Pinning you down so that he can smack his tensed core down on your front and leave your heated flesh stinging.

“No running no running no- hah! You’re gonna be mine, my baby–” Angrily, he swats your partly-opened lips with a great dollop of spit, feeling the sultry trickle swirl it’s way circlin’ your mouth.

The entrapping hand on your head tightens like a vice and you squeak something unintelligible, something that makes his pinkish cockhead swerve and his body heave with a great, visceral shudder.

“What was- hah- what was that, my baby?”

“Ch-Choso–!” Comes out your shrilling calls, “More.”

And he almost stops. He almost freezes—“What?”

“More!”

“M-more?” Choso can only repeat through a harrowed gasp, letting his heavy, hard cock slide niiiice and easy between your legs. Echoing, “More.” And it’s like he’s agonizingly fucking you slow n’ steady- hard and rough.

Alternating, it’s hard to keep himself in check.

Hard to even force himself into a constant sloppy cadence when you’re looking up at him like that.

Begging for him, your mouth unfastens open at the way Choso’s pretty hazel eyes only seem to glow…animalistically. A cursed, powerful tinge taking over his gaze, claws sharpening, body bulging with even more sexy muscles as if that was possible.

He was almost transforming in front of your very eyes and the only thing you can do is throw your oversaturated head back and take it.

“More.”

Choso whacks his bulbous, cold Prince Albert’s against the side of your g-spot and hopes that pretty area of your cunt remembers it. Bruising you.

Your thighs on his shoulders, his dick shoveling into tender orifices inside of you that no one’s ever reached before. Your cute roommate’s damn near laughing himself hoarse whilst moaning away that singular syllable you’d uttered out. “More- more. What the fuck- more.”

“Fuck—” Your doughy heels dig in eagerly where his back muscles were rippling, lungs filling with all his heated scent. “M’gettin’ so ngh- sensitive, Cho.”

But it’s not like he could hear you.

Choso Kamo knew your lips were moving, but he was too deeply-stuffed inside your dripping wet cunt to even pretend to listen. All he could think as he shuffles all his fat, roaming inches inside, creaming out a generous helping of buttery pre, was that he wanted to make your gorgeous mouth fall into an oh! of pleasure.

Fuck, talking- he’s fucking you like he’s trying to make sure that you couldn’t.

Merciless thrust after thrust, the power clinging onto the air around you two was becoming stifling.

“More” Choso utters, two of his ringed fingers skimming your bulged folds open and kissin’ your clit with a sweet hello. “More.” Before pinching, harder. Sloppier. His bulbously swollen red erection stirs your insides like he’s trying to melt his body onto yours, “Tight lil’ hole can’t g-get enough of me- she wants more-”

Oh.

Oh–

You weren’t the only one caught off guard by just how ragged Choso was becoming - just how ragged his ruthless hips were becoming. Because with only one, two, three precise glides of his rotund cockhead stirrin’ your g-spot, your poor pussy is bullied into a second orgasm.

You see white.

Surprised. Hitting you like four semi-trucks, all you can do is gnaw your lolling maw down on the tempting curve of his shoulder and cum.

“O-oh, my baby.” Choso whispers out from above, gasping once he’s registering your high. Your bite- marking him up in a way that makes his cursed heat flare.

Cumming.

Cumming and cumming so hard that your roommate’s feeling his heavy breeder balls drain with each sploshing wire of sap being pumped into you.

You hear him grunt over n’ over through your popped eardrums, “My baby-” Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! goes the slap of his cum-glazed balls digging into the backs of your ass. And you swear you feel his frigid piercing draw out a loooong ‘C’ on your sponged cervix, “My baby my baby my baby- alll…”

Dazed, you’re watching when his ringed hand lets go of your head to caress your tummy bulge. Now only inflated further with his knotted wads of cum, “-here.”

Oh…

He didn’t just mean that you were his baby- he meant that he was going to fuck a baby into you.

And that’s exactly how he’s milking you through your high, letting the sparks of your bliss overtake you as his driveling cock fucks away lazily. Sensually rubbin’ the curve of his piercing over your g-spot to overstimulate you.

“Never f-felt this good, Cho–!” Your criss-crossed eyes scrunch with a few warm tears, feeling the gooey puddle of white stagnant below you.

He reels his plump girth back just the slightest smidge and watches as a torrent of sap splashes out wetly.

Choso only grins, “S’my first time-” Planting a lingering smooch over your gaped lips. “My first kiss. My first…”

And absolutely nothing - nothing - could’ve prepared you for the word that attaches to the tail-end of his groaned sentence.

“-mate.”

His only mate. His one and only.

And he was groping the underside of your ass cheeks to make sure that his loving mate wasn’t squirming away. Getting a good handhold for your pretty, pliant body to be held up and dragged backwards.

Choso wasn’t in the right headspace to even pretend he was pushin’ you into a cute mating pressing right now.

Only melting the ridges of each chiseled ab into your front, glissading easily with the sheen of his perspiration.

Choso creeps his bruised, red lips right up to your ear.

“And m’not letting you walk out of this hah- bed not pregnant.” As if struck by the sudden thought, he rolls his sloppy cock between your saturated pussylips once more and grunts. Dark eyes sliiiding backwards, brows scrunching with need. “A-actually- m’not letting you walk at all.”

Gasping, “Not walking- th-that means…”

It’s all you can get out before the cursed energy sticking to your bodies heightens twofold.

And Choso gets harder. Choso’s pushing you down.

Choso cups your spilling pussy to smear apart your bloated folds, slimily weaving his rounded mushroom tip to circle back to your entrance and push—

“More.”

Your tongue feels sticky with all the pheromones of his saccharine heat, “M-more?”

“Gonna fuck you more.” Seemingly able to utter more than just three words now, “Fill you up more.” Shaking - both his voice and his thighs pushing you into missionary now. “Get- get you pregnant more.”

Blood manipulation to make his prolonged, split-ended shaft harder. Reverse cursed technique to make sure you two don't break bones.

But neither of you can stop the way his creaking bed frame shatters.

And Choso doesn’t care- his knee hikes further to keep your legs open. Fist pumping the fattened excess of his ravaged cock furiously to pump n’ pump himself to a merciless hardness. He’s hissing as his cursed energy forces every ounce of blood in his sparking mind to rush to his plummy, weeping crown.

“I-is this even safe, Cho–?” You’re whining, trying to nudge yourself to some sort of rationality before Choso completely ruined you all over again.

“Safe? Safe?” He’s giggling out, hissing between your parted lips. “Who knows…?”

The last thing you’re managing to hear before his slender hips snap forwards and meet your pussylips with a tender few strings of even more cum. Pouring out a thick paste that damn near covers the slope of your cunt an opaque ivory, “I don’t know- I have no idea- a-all m’gonna do s’fuck you–”

Just at that moment your pussy lets out a sappy few squelches as he shovels inside and Choso’s nodding.

“Y-yeeees, my baby.” Slobber trickles down either side of his lips and marks him all glittering, the round orb of his piercing cleaning off your pussy of seed. “All pregnant. A-all mine. All pregnant.”

Choso’s still so damn big- growing even bigger thanks to his jujutsu that every rummaging inch makes him slick your skin with cum. Creaming you. Milking himself.

Bulging cock so layered with jujutsu that it almost zaps the inside of your silky smooth cunt like a vibrator to have him pummeling you deeply.

The more he’s pounding away like he’s crazed, the more and more he does become crazed. Rasping tone breathless, gone. “Yes- yes yes yes tha’s right-” He’s sounding out, trekking a hand down to thumb over your jiggling cum-inflated tummy bulge. “Pregnant. Pregnant pregnant- pregnant–”

“S-slow down Cho, or m’gonna—ngh! again.” You wail, hips bucking up shallowly - just about all you can manage right now, but the mere idea has Choso breathing all labored.

Hands twisting on the lecherous nub of your clit, “Yeah- yeahhh, mama’s gotta cum.” He’s reciting off- it wasn’t just the heat, it was some second primal nature that made him want to make that drenched pussy of yours squeeze his cock to death.

And fuck, was that instinct strong.

Because Choso’s hitting your deep cunt with gushing whacks, angling his pelvis just right to curl the left-leaning spheroid of his cockhead against your g-spot and-

“Cum- cum. Cum.”

When you do, it’s in carnal unison with him. For the nth time this night.

So hard that the two of you can only throw your heads back and moan—

Long, stringy ribbons of sap entering your filthy hole right in time with each peak of your high. You count one, two, three- four.

“Cum—ing.” Your voice cracks, eyes rolling. Nails clawing fresh crimson marks down his pale shoulder blades, ones that the man himself smells and drools at. Yeah- all he wanted in his heated haze was for you to ruin him. “Choso- oh.”

“S’my name- what’s this say?”

You yelp, feeling him guide his pierced cocktip to swab your most tender orifices. Grunting- “Tell me. Spell.”

That fucking animal inside of his cursed body was makin’ him tease your bruised and battered cervix with an outlined ‘C’, then an ‘H’, and then an ‘O’-‘S’ -‘O’.

C-H-O-S-O

You think you might be cumming again, you think you might be grinding your hips back down without even thinking to help him spell out his name. “Choso- Choso! Cho—!” Mindlessly whining and whining that very word whilst your orgasm hits you like a freight train.

And Choso knew it was coming- oh, he saw.

The lecherous part of his cursed technique growing in tune with your body enough that he’s sensing the waves of your impending bliss, and gifing your pussy with a rigid thrash against your g-spot that leaves you squirting.

All over his dick.

“I’m— did I-”

“You did.” He’s breathing, rough. Gone. “You did.”

Dampened, streaming gushes of sap coat Choso’s shaft, and it’s a damn miracle that he’s able to stop himself from pulling out right now just to taste the wetness of your dewy soft walls as you ride him through your high. His own orgasm nothing more than numerous dry spurts of white liquid when he’s fucking you even sloppier.

Still fucking you when he’s muttering the incantation underneath his breath for his blood manipulation technique sugring down to his fattening girth. Overstimulated. Overworked.

Gasping, something wet hits your shoulder and it takes you every shred of will in your body to wrench your teary lashes open and look. Only to realize that Choso Kamo was crying.

Whimpering, sucking himself dry on you.

You didn’t know who was more drunken as he’s lazily dragging his veiny cock along your channel in a third- fourth? round. “I finally have- have you in my ngh- bed and-” Toying the flared edge of his mushroom tip right where your g-spot was, back n’ forth, back n’ forth. He makes you squeeze down on the rounded swelling at his hilt, “-you think m’letting you go that easy?”

Teeth on edge, bangs sweat-stuck, eyeliner running.

Heavy balls tightening.

Before you can even register it, Choso has you face-planted into the pillows - his hand at the base of your arched spine, cock taking you from behind, foot firmly seated on top of your head.

And he’s collapsing his body down onto yours and pushing, pushing, pushing.

So hard that you think you hear a faint pop!

“N-no breaking bones…” Comes out his throaty tut, followed by the cool breeze of even more reverse cursed energy bleeding into your bones. The expanse of his heated skin buzzing with electricity, he almost made you bolt to the touch.

And suddenly this mean position on all fours doesn’t feel so bad anymore-

Finishing off, “Need the f-future mother of my kids safe.” You can only drench his silky pink pillowcase with pure saliva and tears, whimpering when he dabs a finger over a dribbling wad of cum that’d started to spray from your folds.

Delicately massaging over your overstimulated slope, Choso brings his glazed fingertip over to stick to the ring finger on your left hand and draw. A cute lil’ wedding band.

“A…proposal?” You’re questioning, head cocked where you’re all laid out prettily on top of the cushy surface.

And maybe it’s by the fourth round when the two of you can barely even speak, and the massage of his soaked chocolate happy trail had started irritating the cheeks of your ass. Maybe it’s by the fifth when it’s barely even fucking and more so Choso making sure that his high leaves him dry, nothing but a pearly droplet of seed escaping his strawberry divot before he’s pinning you down to the mattress.

Maybe it’s by the sixth when he’s laying you side by side and gluing his slobbery mouth against yours while his raw, red cock lazily gyrates inside of your sensitive walls.

Plugged up with a swollen girth homed at the base of his red shaft that you’re slowly realizing is his wide knot so that all he can do is swirl n’ fill each slick, creamy crevice. Not having the strength to thrust even with his use of reverse cursed energy.

“You’re mine now.” It’s the last thing you hear as the two of you are on the precipice of passing out. Your bed shattered. Your apartment lights charred with the overuse of jujutsu.

Sending out a wave of cursed energy strong enough that it’s a wonder sorcerers aren’t knocking down your door - and yet, Choso still wouldn’t be able to stop his hips.

His sharp canines sink into the sweaty crook of your neck, much like yours had on his all those hours and hours ago. Yet, something about his bite felt…animalistically permanent.

Like his infamously venomous technique was flowing through you and marking you. Though, you barely even feel the sting with his reverse cursed technique- not out of his control.

Through a crack of your tear-dewed eyelids, you’re taking in with awe at the way that your dear half-curse roommate’s nosebridge tattoo only grows wider. Stronger. Suddenly matching with a new one that’d started to formulate at the base of his soft, mahogany happy trail - like an incubus tattoo.

He was all yours now.

Length throbbing harder as his tastebuds sizzle with your crimson, “Forever.” Choso takes oooone good look at you with loving, heart-shaped eyes. And you wonder whether his heat was finally, finally-

Before he’s inhaling your saccharine sweet scent, and you watch in real time as Choso’s molten peripherals dilate. Wide. Panting. Cock twitching. “O-oh, my baby, think m’getting…hard again.”

A/N. Mwahaha summer is coming up so I simply had to.

Plagiarism not authorized.

#choso x reader #choso smut #choso x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo smut #choso kamo x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #choso #tonywrites #choso kamo

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malejesteress · 3 months ago

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the rare condition of Hazel Eyes

#uncommon but not Very Rare LOL #people seem to distinguish hazelness vs CH but like. i really doubt theres a fucking difference it's 2+ colors either way #my dad and i have it. so like it easily runs in families

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thirstdere69 · 1 year ago

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2012 art again.

these are two ocs that mean a lot to me. on the right is hazel nylan, a girl who has anger management problems and a major case of ennui. on the left is stephanie mccormick, an admittedly kinda bitchy girl who loves to dance and is hazel's childhood friend. they have a messy relationship that blossoms to something sweet.

#(( tomo's old art ))#ch: hazel nylan #ch: stephanie mccormick (ihm)#my art

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florencemtrash · 1 year ago

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Take it Off - Azriel x Reader

Summary: You and Azriel have been friends for centuries... but what happens when he wakes up one day to find that things have changed? And how will he react when you start wearing Cassian's clothes?

Warnings: Angst. Jealous Azriel. Suggestiveness and then some (I don't know what warning to put, but it's spicier than my usual stuff is all I'll say). Cassian is an absolute menace... good for him

Author's note: Did I write this to procrastinate editing SSIB Ch 22 after watching Bridgerton S3?... yes

Is this a fucking game to you?

Cassian grinned over the lip of his cup, raising his brow in a poorly disguised expression of confusion. He’d been playing the innocent fool all throughout breakfast, seemingly oblivious to the daggers Azriel was throwing his direction every time he made you laugh.

Internally, he and Nesta were both cackling. He threw his arm over the back of his mate’s chair, plucking the cream puff she held out for him, and tossing it into his mouth with a shit-eating grin.

I’ve not the faintest idea what you’re talking about, Azriel. Although it hurts me deeply to see you so upset.

Upset was an understatement. Azriel was holding onto his glass of orange juice so tightly cracks were beginning to form beneath his fingertips.

You elbowed Azriel in the ribs, brows furrowed as you pointed your slice of toast towards his hand. “Are you ok?” You whispered low and just for his ears.

The molten anger in his eyes melted away, hazel eyes softening as he took in your concerned expression. You were the first and only one of his family members to watch him so intensely. You could unravel the meaning in every twitch of his jaw, every rhythmic tap of his fingers against his thigh, every flicker of his shadows. You knew when he was upset, when he was happy, and when he wanted to laugh but had trouble expressing it. The only thing you weren’t aware of when it came to Azriel was how unbelievably in love with you he was.

But that was his own fault.

You’d watched him fawn over Mor for centuries, watched as he practically crawled on hand and knees for any kernel of affection she was willing to throw his way. Then, when you thought he’d finally gotten over his feelings for her, he’d chased after Elain’s heels like a dog in heat. You didn’t even want to begin thinking about Gwyn and the way she’d trampled over his hopes with the simple phrase, “I love you as a friend, Azriel. Nothing more.”

No. It was entirely his fault that you’d learned to bury your own feelings for him so deep they’d become background noise — as inconsequential and ever present as the sound of your own breathing.

Still… you couldn’t help but notice the secrets swimming in his eyes, the hurt and longing there that you could only guess the origin of. Who’d hurt him this time? You wondered.

“I’m fine.” Azriel whispered, his hands ghosting over your thighs before deciding against touching you there.

You hummed, clearly unconvinced. You held your toast in between your teeth, tasting the raspberry jam explode on your tongue as you reached over and carefully peeled Azriel’s fingers off his injured glass.

His heart stuttered at the sight of your lips as they closed around your thumb, licking away crumbs and jam from your fingertips. But then his gaze dropped to your chest and his stomach soured.

As Madja’s apprentice, you’d acquired a special interest in botany — an interest that had all but shoved you into Feyre’s studio so you could learn the skills necessary to depict all manner of flora and fauna in your field journal. When you’d complained about finding paint and charcoal stains over your clothes, Cassian had jumped on the opportunity to give you his old shirts to use as painting smocks. He had to congratulate himself for the stroke of genius. After all, he and Nesta had been discussing plans on how to get Azriel to admit his feelings for months now.

Azriel did not respond well to outright suggestions or bullying. If he told Azriel to pull his head out of his ass and ask you on a proper date, the Shadowsinger would only hunker down on his preconceptions that he was unloveable, and that you were far too good for him. If he revealed to Azriel that you’d secretly loved him for decades that would only make him feel even more embarrassment and shame.

No.

Jealousy worked far better when it came to Azriel.

You looked comfortable and happy in Cassian’s clothes — a fact that escaped no one’s notice. You had the sleeves rolled up past your elbows, the rows of buttons at your back haphazardly done without wings to accommodate. You’d worn that particular shirt a half dozen times now and replaced any scent of Cassian with your own.

Still, you were wearing another male’s shirt… and it was starting to drive Azriel insane.

“I was going to get rid of these and thought you might like them for… painting.” Azriel shifted on his feet, holding out the neatly stacked pile of clothes for you.

You were laying on your stomach in bed, colored pencils and textbooks splayed out around you, but quickly righted yourself and sifted through the piles he handed you.

You held one up for a better look.

“Azriel, you were just wearing this last week.” It still smelled like him — the scent of the Illyrian mountains at night woven through the soft, cotton material. “I can’t take this. Or this. Or this!”

“I have more just like them.”

You huffed, fists balanced on your hips.

Azriel was a simple male with ample space in his wardrobe. When he wasn’t in his Illyrian leathers he wore the same three outfits on rotation, all of them nearly identical. If there was anyone who shouldn’t be giving away clothes, it was Azriel.

“I really appreciate it, Az, but I’m ok. I don’t need these. Cassian already gave me enough hand-me-downs to last two decades at least.”

A muscle in Azriel’s jaw jumped out. “Well I’m glad for that.” He was practically seething. You noticed, as you always did, but you couldn’t imagine that you were the cause of his frustrations.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Az? You’ve been acting strangely the past few days.”

“It’s nothing.”

“I doubt that.”

There were various things on his mind, chief among them you. So he took hold of the olive branch you’d extended him and laid down beside you, talking about everything and nothing at all. But one thing he avoided talking about at all costs was how the gentle scraping of your nails through his hair as he rested his head in your lap made him want to lock the door and never come out.

He wanted to bury his face beneath your sundress and then tear it to pieces. He wanted to dive under the covers and leave an assortment of marks on your skin. To hold you so close that you began to smell like one another.

You lay down beside him, leaning your head against his shoulder so he caught whiffs of your elderberry and lemon shampoo.

“You know you can tell me anything, right? That’s what friends are for.”

Right… friends. He was starting to hate that word.

“Yes… I know.”

How long do you think he’ll last?

Nesta felt Cassian’s soft laugh blow over the back of her neck as they crouched just behind the door of Feyre's painting studio.

Azriel had been undeniably irritable the last two weeks, his patience fraying like a linen skirt with the hem torn off. Cassian was still sporting a bruise on his cheek from this morning’s sparring session after one of his teasing remarks had hit a little too close to home.

Not much longer. Look at him, Nes. He’s practically vibrating.

Nesta slapped her hand over her mouth, stifling her laughter.

Azriel was restless, his wings kept opening and closing with agitation and the curve of his ears had long since turned a bright shade of pink. He’d had his shadows knock over a cup of ink earlier, sending its contents splattering over your shirt and staining the fabric beyond repair. But you’d only shrugged and said, “It’s my painting shirt. It’s meant to get dirty,” before going back to your canvas with a soft smile. The moment you’d turned your back to him, he’d silently cursed the ceiling.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He kicked himself, too focused on your continuing conversation to think that his meddling brother and sister-in-law might be watching.

He hadn’t expected his emotions to take over so quickly, least of all with you. You’d been his best friend for over two hundred years. You were a staple in his life, more familiar to him than the childhood blanket he still had tucked away in his drawer. There was no reason why he should suddenly wake up one day and realize with a shock of surprise that he loved you and couldn’t imagine living in a world that didn’t have you in it.

It had been such a silly moment as well. You’d been getting ready for Starfall, your hair done up and a flush of color spread over your cheeks and lips. He’d come to check in on you and lost his breath when he saw you sitting at the vanity, holding up earrings to your neck to see if they matched the satin of your deep blue gown. And then you’d politely asked him to lace up your dress and he’d nearly swallowed his tongue in surprise, forcing his hands to stop shaking as they brushed against your spine. Gods he’d wanted to throw himself off a balcony that night, if only because you’d be the one tasked with healing him.

He wanted to throw himself off the balcony now. Let the ground swallow him whole so he wouldn’t have to make a fool of himself in front of you… again.

I give it another week. Nesta declared.

Cassian smirked. I know my brother. He won’t last another three days.

In the end they were both wrong.

It only took two days for Azriel to finally snap.

“Take it off.”

You swiveled around in your chair, tongue pressing against your cheek as you wondered what gave Azriel the audacity to march into your private lesson with Feyre and make such an out-of-character demand.

“What?” You asked, furrowing your brows.

Azriel stood as still as an obsidian statue in the doorway. His wings loomed over his shoulders, talons reaching towards the ceiling tense and twitching.

“Take. It. Off,” he repeated through gritted teeth. He clutched a neatly folded shirt in his hands, knuckles pale and bloodless from the tight grip. You’d been wearing Cassian’s clothes almost every day this past week and he couldn’t stand it anymore. He couldn’t stand sitting beside you at the dinner table or in the library, the laughter in his throat dying when he caught Cassian’s scent drifting off your skin.

It was maddening the way you didn’t think anything of it.

Yes, Cassian was practically a brother to you, and yes, he was a mated male but… fuck it bothered Azriel so much to think of anyone else laying claim to you. To think that one day you might actually walk around wearing another male’s clothes because you loved them. To think that that male wouldn’t be him.

He’d tried to bring up the topic with you in his own round-about way, but you’d shrugged off all his suggestions of wearing something — anything — else.

“If you want painting clothes, why don’t we go shopping this afternoon? I’m sure Feyre has recommendations. Or we could just walk around the Rainbow until something catches your eye.”

“I’m not a full time artist, and it seems silly to spend money on clothes you intend to ruin.”

“Why don’t you ask Feyre or Mor for hand-me-downs then? They’ll fit you better and the sleeves won’t drag so much.”

“I like it when my clothes are loose.”

Feyre glanced between the two of you, namely the flare of Azriel’s nostrils and the way he ground his teeth so intently you worried he’d crack a tooth.

“I’m… going to leave now.”

“Wait—Feyre!”

The High Lady kissed your cheek, a knowing look in her eyes, before scurrying out the door.

Don’t scowl so much, Az, you’re making her nervous. She chirped to the Shadowsinger before slipping down the hallway and disappearing.

She made it all of ten feet down the hall before crowing, “It’s happening!” to the others.

It’s happening?! Mor leapt out from her bedroom, a robe hastily tied around her waist and soap suds clinging to her hair. “Fey—” she hissed.

Feyre pressed a finger up to her lips, cutting her off. They’re in the art studio now.

I fucking KNEW IT! Mor squealed in delight, stomping her feet soundlessly into the floorboards as she allowed Feyre to grab her wrist and drag her forward.

I won the bet, Nes.

You didn’t win, we both lost!

Semantics.

Why you bas—

Feyre, Rhys, Mor, Cassian, and Nesta streamed into the foyer. There was an air vent here that led directly to the art studio two floors above them and painted over so expertly it may as well have been part of the molding. The sounds traveling through it were muffled by echos and distance, but nothing that fae hearing and magic couldn’t overcome.

“That’s it!” The chair you’d been sitting in skittered back with a squeak. “What is your problem, Azriel? You’ve been agitated for weeks now. You won’t tell me, or any of the others, what’s wrong and every time Cassian so much as glances in your direction you look like you want to tear his throat out!”

Azriel said nothing as you stomped forward and dragged him into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Whiskey eyes flickered down to your hand — the hand you currently had closed around his wrist — and he shuddered.

You didn’t even want to begin to unpack the hidden meaning of that response as you brought him to the center of the room and let go.

He dropped the shirt on the nearby desk, hands lowering to the hem of your painting smock with a grimace.

“I need you to take this off.” He repeated with a frown.

“What kind of person marches into a room and demands that their friend take off their shirt?”

He flinched at that word — friend.

“Az!” Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and his anger. “What is going on with you?!”

“It’s nothing.” He growled out, but he tugged at the hem like its very existence was a personal offense.

“Clearly it’s not nothing.”

“Can you just take off your shirt and put this one on?”

You shoved him away. It wasn’t even like he was asking you to get naked, you both knew you were wearing something beneath this, but it was the way he was asking that grated on your nerves — like what he was requesting was perfectly normal and you were the ridiculous one for not listening.

“No.” You folded your arms over your chest with a huff. You were just being stubborn now, but you didn’t care.

His eyes turned tortured and he clasped his hands together in front of you. “Please?” He begged.

“No! Not until you tell me what’s going on and why you’re acting this way!”

“I don’t want to have this discussion while you’re standing there smelling like another male!”

That was… not what you were expecting.

You gaped at him, unsure whether to howl with laughter, or slap him across the face.

“That’s what this is about? You’re upset because I’m wearing Cassian’s clothes?” You gagged at the mere thought of what Azriel was insinuating.

“Well that was a little hurtful.” Cassian mumbled.

Mor slapped the back of his head. “Shhhhh. I’m trying to listen.”

Azriel shifted on his feet, color beginning to spread high on his cheekbones. “It’s not about Cassian… not really…”

You tapped your foot on the ground, waiting for him to continue. Azriel felt naked. Stripped back like one of your insect specimens lit up beneath a microscope. Your eyes raked over his every movement. Even his shadows, usually so attention-seeking, cowered behind their master’s back whispering to one another about how Azriel might dig himself out of his own grave.

“Well?” You snapped.

Azriel shrank back, “I… I like you, Y/n.”

You rolled your eyes, “I know, that’s why we’re friends. I like you too.”

“No. Not… not like that.” Azriel groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh I’m fucking this up so badly it’s not even funny anymore.”

“I don’t even know what it is you’re fucking up. I—”

“I love you, ok?” He said in a burst of energy. “I love you and not in the way that friends are meant to love one another and Cassian’s an idiot and I’m a jealous bastard and I… I…”

You stared back dumbly. “You can’t mean that.”

Azriel’s face fell. “And why not?”

“Because I have been here for decades, centuries,” you jabbed his chest with a finger, “And you never once looked at me that way. Never once considered me as anything more than a friend. You’re upset because I’ve been wearing Cassian’s clothes the last few weeks? Well guess what, Az, I’ve watched you walk in and out of those doors for years with your poorly concealed hickies and that lovesick look on your face, and I never made it your problem or anyone else’s.”

“Well I want you to!” He shouted. It was the first and only time you could remember him raising his voice. “I want you to make it my problem, Y/n. I want you to tell me that you love me and I want you to shout at me for all the stupid decisions I’ve made because I’m yours. I’m yours to shout at. I’m yours to get angry with. I’m yours to love if you’ll still have me and…” Azriel gasped for breath, chest heaving as he came face to face with the fact that he’d just said those words out loud. Those words that he’d kept close to his chest with the rest of his secrets. Those words that proved just how completely at your mercy he was.

Please say you’ll still have me. His eyes begged.

When you didn’t move or say anything, he felt a piece of his heart wither away. He lowered his eyes, suddenly interested in a speckle of red paint that had smeared under his boot, “Forgive me. I’m… I’m sorry I didn’t… I shouldn’t have—”

“You’re a fucking idiot, Azriel.” You muttered breathlessly.

Then you flung yourself into his arms and crashed your lips into his.

Kissing Azriel was better than you could have ever imagined. The fantasies you’d constructed late in the night when you were lonely blew apart like paper houses, crumbling in the face of reality. His mouth fumbled for purchase against your lips before slotting into place with a strangled moan. He lifted you in the air and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, tightening them until you could feel him harden between your legs.

His tongue flitted over your lips tasting like oranges and magic.

But his hands.

His hands.

You couldn’t get enough of them as they slid up and down your back, squeezing and pressing into your skin until he’d memorized the curve of your spine. You wove your fingers in his hair, tilting his head so you could stare into his hazel eyes before diving in for another taste.

He walked you back to the desk, shadows flinging the tins of charcoal and pastel pencils off the furniture so you could perch there instead. Then he surged forward, pressing his hips into the space between your legs so he could feel the heat that gathered there. It sent shivers down his spine.

This… this was everything he’d ever wanted. You were everything he’d ever wanted. Not some unapproachable female he admired from afar but hardly knew, but someone who’d seen every inch of his soul and never flinched. Someone who’d nestled into the hidden corners of his heart and grown there like a willow tree.

You moved your hands over the wide expanse of his back, digging your nails in to feel every twitch of muscle, every shudder, as he latched onto the side of your neck and slid his tongue over the sensitive skin there.

He smelled like mountain rain. Like fresh wind and petrichor and sea salt.

You smelled like lemons and safety. Like maple leaves and lavender and… Cassian.

Because you were still wearing his gods-damned shirt.

Azriel felt his blood boil, and an instinctual rage took over as he growled low in his throat, bunched the fabric of Cassian’s shirt in his hands, and tore it in two.

You pulled away from him at the sound of ripping fabric, but kept your grip on his solid shoulders as air blew across your skin.

Azriel’s pupils were blown wide, his lips pink and raw as he leaned his forehead against yours in a daze. You continued to breathe each other’s air like you were drowning. He seemed just as in disbelief as you, if not more.

“Azriel…” You whispered, chest heaving.

He looked at you with half-lidded eyes full of heat. “... yes, Y/n?” He asked breathlessly.

“I think you ripped through my dress… and my bra as well…”

“Oh…” He fingered the ruined fabric that fell loose around your shoulders and realized that your back was indeed on full display. The straps of your bra slipped down and the mangled buttons of your sundress clung to their loops by weak threads. “Oh…oh gods.”

One hand flew up to your chest to keep the fabric in place while the other slapped over your mouth, suffocating the laughter that threatened to burst forth.

Azriel’s ears and cheeks turned brighter than the sun as he slowly lowered you down to your feet, fumbling over apologies like he hadn’t been shoving his tongue down your throat mere seconds ago.

“I’m so sorry—”

“Azriel, it’s ok.”

“No, I was being an ass and now I’ve ruined your dress and—”

“You can buy me more.”

Azriel’s shoulder dropped. “I can?” “You can.”

He shook his head very seriously. “Yes, yes you’re right, I—” Azriel had always been the beautiful one — the one that drew eyes when he walked into a room. The one that had females and males falling out of their seats for a proper look at his elegant features. But right now he looked so helpless, so flustered and unsure of himself that you finally lost it.

Champagne bubble laughs slipped out of your mouth, light and airy, and sent a shock of warmth through Azriel’s chest. It was infectious the way the skin stretched over your cheeks. The light in your eyes couldn’t be contained no matter how hard you tried.

He couldn’t help himself.

He started laughing too.

What began as one of his reserved chuckles grew into uncontrollable peals of laughter that echoed throughout the studio and had you clutching onto the desk for support.

Azriel doubled over, one hand holding the stitch in his side together as you howled.

“Oh gods. I can’t—” You hiccuped. “I-I-I can’t breathe.”

Soon you were both kneeling on the ground, clutching each other’s arms for some semblance of stability. You gasped for breath, wiping away tears from the corners of your eyes.

Azriel captured one of your hands, weaving his fingers through yours before bringing your wrist to his lips for a soft, reverent kiss. You thought you’d experienced enough emotions for today ranging from frustration to anger to a joy you couldn’t begin to put into words. But you were certain your heart could handle one more shift in the atmosphere.

Wordlessly you tugged off Cassian’s shirt, dropping it to the side where shadows caught hold of the cursed fabric and quickly tossed it into the fireplace. The flames crackled with triumph, eating away at the shirt with a vengeance.

“A little dramatic, don’t you think?”

“We can agree to disagree.” Azriel murmured, his eyes growing dark and heavy. His gaze drifted down to the soft skin now exposed from your tattered dress, the thin straps clinging to your arms, the gentle swell of your breasts as you breathed heavily.

His fingers danced over the straps in silent permission, eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation. But you were open and wanting and desperate for his touch. You crawled into his lap and a faint nod was all he needed before the pale blue fabric of your dress fell down and bunched about your waist. The bra followed, and then you were sitting there naked from the waist up, feeling the heat grow between your bodies as Azriel looked at you with pure adoration in his eyes.

“Am I dreaming, Y/n?” He whispered, rubbing circles into your hip bones.

You smiled softly, “Have you dreamed of me before?”

“Yes. Many times.” He kissed your chest, slowly dragging his hands down your ribs as you shivered and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, and then his belt buckle. “But we never got this far.”

“Hmmmm, I think we could go a little further.”

“NOT IN MY STUDIO!” Feyre’s voice echoed oddly through the room, sounding muffled and far away.

Azriel’s wings flared out, hiding you from view as you yelped and pressed your chest against his. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment about being found in such a compromising position. But the door was closed! And so were the windows!

His shadows finally found the culprit in the air vent.

“Godsdamnit—HAVE YOU BEEN LISTENING THE ENTIRE TIME?!” Azriel shouted.

A moment passed before Feyre answered, “... No,” in a much softer tone.

“We missed part of the beginning,” Cassian chimed in.

Azriel groaned, dropping his forehead against your shoulder as you were stunned into silence. He muttered something beneath his breath that sounded oddly similar to, “I swear I’m going to kill him one day.”

Azriel helped you to your feet and finally, you put on his shirt.

“Are you happy now?” You teased, arms dropping to your sides.

The corner of his lip twitched upwards. You looked… very good in his clothes with the sleeves rolled up and a sliver of your dress (now skirt) peeking out from beneath.

He looked towards the vent, then wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close so he could whisper, “I would be happier if I saw my shirt and that dress of yours on the floor of my bedroom.”

His hand slid up your skirt, squeezing the back of your thighs in a way that had you stiffening.

All at once he was second-guessing himself. Maybe he’d taken things too far. Maybe the lust-filled haze had cleared and you didn’t want him anymore.

You swallowed and wrapped your hand around his wrist, gently guiding his fingers to your core. You let him know just how much you wanted this.

A roar of blood sounded in the Shadowsinger’s ears.

“I think that sounds like a very good plan.” You murmured in agreement and his eyes turned black as night.

He stole another long kiss before scooping you into his arms.

“Az, where are we going?” You giggled into the curve of his throat as he flew down the hallway and stairs. “We just passed your bedroom.”

“We’re not going to my bedroom.”

“Well we missed my bedroom too.”

He didn’t respond.

Azriel skidded to a stop at the top of the staircase, already well aware that his family had gathered at the bottom and were waiting to bombard him with questions.

Azriel smirked at you, leaned down, and kissed your cheek. “When I take you to bed properly, it won’t be with our nosey family members in the house.” He ran his tongue across the line of your jaw all the way to your earlobe and whispered, “I want any noises you make to be for me, and me alone.”

“You are certainly a man of poetry, Az.”

He smiled. “Only for you.”

“Well, well, well if it isn’t the two love—” Shadows flew into his mouth, muffling his words. “HEH! Azz! Whazthf—”

“I’ll see you in a week.” He said to no one in particular, his shadows opening the door of the River House.

“Where are you going?” Mor asked, her eyes zeroing in on the bright red mark blossoming on your neck. What the fuck? She mouthed at you, giving you two thumbs up as Azriel crossed the doorway with you in his arms.

“None of your business. I’ll see you in a week.” Then he looked down at you, eyes growing soft. “We’ll see you in a week,” he corrected himself.

Your stomach bottomed out, heat flowing through your body as you heard him make such a declaration in front of... well everyone. You couldn't wait to see where he would take you and where he would take you.

"Ready?" Azriel asked, a sultry smile growing on his face.

"Ready."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face in the hollow of his throat as he took off into the air.

#azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #azriel x reader angst

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ofzahras · 1 year ago

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While tall and wiry, Zahra had never been the athletic or muscular sort. If anything, her height was of the lanky type, all long limbs and sharp edges. Evidently that was not the case with this stranger who seemed to have no problem carrying the mammoth bag. "Just inside, thank you. I need to return them."

The woman looked down at the bag and picked it up with a perfect ease, the weight not at all a bother for the huge woman. Hazel looked down at the bag and then to the smaller woman before her "Sure, so where do you want it?" she asked casually with a little shrug.

#ch: hazel ryn

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astrum-medeis · 1 year ago

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Your perfume notes based on your Venus sign/2nd house (remaster)

Aries/1H

Masculine, heavy, sexy scents. Notes: tobacco, gasoline, leather, whiskey, pepper, cumin, smoke, vanilla, tonka bean

My recommendation: Replica Under the Stars (for the brave), Carolina Herrera Midnight or CH Very Good Girl

Taurus/2H

Feminine, natural and seductive scents. Scent notes: cocoa, shea butter, vanilla, caramel, musk, tonka bean, sugar

My recommendation: Eilish Billie Eilish or Sol de Janeiro 71 mist

Gemini/3H

Both masculine and feminine scents. Scents: sweets, florals, fruits

My recommendation: Ariana Grande Cloud, Mugler Angel Nova

Cancer/4H

Feminine scents. Scent notes: aquatic florals, ginger, cookies, cinnamon, sea breeze, sea salt, coconut, vanilla

My recommendation: Sol de Janeiro 71/39/62 mist or Sol de Janeiro perfume

Leo/5H

Masculine, luxurious and seductive scents. Scent notes: vanilla, champaca, cherry, rose, honey, saffron, cashmere

My recommendation: Valentino Born in Roma Intense or Carolina Herrera Very Good Girl Glam

Virgo/6H

Feminine, floral, sweet and fresh scents. Notes: linen, cotton, peony, rose, jasmin (basically your favourite flower scent), fruits

My recommendation: Miss Dior Rose N’Roses or Sol de Janeiro 68 mist

Libra/7H

Masculine but more like dark feminine femme fatale scents. Notes: jasmin, rose, vanilla, cashmere, coffee, dark chocolate

My recommendation: Carolina Herrera Good Girl

Scorpio/8H

Feminine but seductive and mysterious scents. Scent notes: coffee, dark chocolate, smoke, blood, black licorice, blackberry, witch hazel

My recommendation: Carolina Herrera Good Girl Velvet Fatale, Replica Coffee Break

Sagittarius/9H

Masculine, oriental and exotic scents. Notes: amber, wine, fig, orange blossom, incense, any wood

My recommendation: Replica On a date

Capricorn/10H

Masculine, expensive, strong, earthy scents. Scent notes: peppermint, citrus, eucalyptus, wet earth, leather, cash

My recommendation: Replica Under Lemon Tress

Aquarius/11H

Masculine, unique and strange scent combinations, nonobvious combinations of scent notes. Scent notes: any fresh scent like peppermint, citrus, aquatic and green notes, chlorine

My recommendation: Mugler Angel suits Aquarius SOOO well. It’s kinda like an alien scent. Very pretty but confusing.

Pisces/12H

Feminine, dreamy and sweet scents. Scent notes: honey, bubble gum, cotton candy, sweets, fruits

My recommendation: Ariana Grande Pink Cloud, Sol de Janeiro 68 mist

What is your venus sign and what scent do YOU like? Let me know!

#astro observations #astrology #astro notes #astro community #astroblr #astrology community #astrology observations #astrology notes #venus #venus signs

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loganficsonly · 1 month ago

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an independent woman

˚₊‧⁺˖✮ ch 2: cleaning up ✮ ˖⁺‧₊˚

worst!logan x fem!reader, 4.3k

SUMMARY: As Logan learns to live instead of survive, he finds himself in the extremely dangerous position of sharing an apartment with you—Wade's friend. Extremely dangerous because Lord knows he can't keep his feelings a secret forever... not when your room is five steps away from his.

SERIES WARNINGS/TAGS: english is not my native language, no use of y/n, reader is a working adult (mid-late 20s) with a slightly written out personality, friends to roommates to lovers, slow burn, secret crushes

CHAPTER WARNINGS/TAGS: 1 SUGGESTIVE LINE, angst, mentions of alcoholism, many inner thoughts, descriptions of somatic release, laura <3

AUTHOR'S NOTE: very nervous about what you think, please let me know how i did

Logan wakes up with bleary eyes.

There is an uncharacteristic softness underneath him. Things smell different, too: a refreshing combination of musk and cedarwood, a whiff of pulp. They all betray a sense of gentleness that he most certainly isn’t accustomed to. Wade’s couch usually smells like burnt bacon and worn blankets—

Wade’s couch?

He blinks, focusing his hazel gaze on the unfamiliar plaster ceiling above him. Then he looks at the rest of the room.

Bare, save for an opened cardboard box the size of one and a half dishwashers sitting in a corner. Big enough for what little items he’s accumulated in the three months he’s been here.

Right. He officially moved in with you yesterday.

Spent the afternoon getting the place clean enough to live in. Ate pizza for dinner—his first meal with just you. Helped you unpack and move things around before deciding to call it a day. He lets out a soft grunt, slowly shaking off the sleep.

Everything smells… comfortable. You must’ve sprayed some kind of air freshener when you cleaned the bedrooms.

He knows the apartment is empty before he walks out into the short hallway. Your heartbeat isn’t home. No sounds from within the space, though there are plenty of them outside. Unlike him, the city has been awake for a while.

There’s no clock on the wall yet, but by his estimates, it’s sometime around nine. You must’ve left for work.

A rumbling hunger beckons him to the kitchen, his bare feet pattering on the hardwood flooring. He squints at the refrigerator light when opening the door. The only thing there is a box of leftover pizza from last night. You had the foresight to order more, something he’s endlessly thankful for right now.

He places the pizza on a big plate—porcelain white with a bunch of flowers on its edges, one of yours—and into the microwave. The box buzzes alive at a press of a button. His mind turns slowly, just as the plate does.

He doesn’t have work today, so he can go straight to the grocery store. Buy coffee. He grunts, feeling a little grumpier at the fact that there’s none around, putting in a mental note to text you about it later. He has no idea how you like your coffee.

That’s something he plans to fix quickly.

Because that’s what good roommates do, he quickly convinces himself.

You’ve been nothing but kind to him, so if he’s going to stock up the pantry, might as well pick stuff that you like. Right? No other reason to know your preferences.

He abandons the thought process as he feels his heart rate hitch up slightly. Instead, he resorts to making a list in his head. He’s good at that.

Unpack. That’ll take fifteen minutes tops.

Take a shower, then go out to the grocery store. If the one he saw around the block is open, that’ll also be less than an hour.

Get a clock.

That will leave him about six hours to kill until you come home. He can probably do some errands for you—he’ll have to ask. He frowns, thinking about what he should get exactly. You cook, so you’ll need spices, seasoning, oil…

His brain mentally scans the imaginary aisles of the grocery store, window-shopping before he sets foot in it—a habit, so that he can be in and out of that overwhelming place as quickly as possible. He recalls the rows of soup, canned tuna, dried tomatoes, turning to a different aisle to beverages. Soft drinks, milk…

He opens his eyes, as if broken away from his browsing, the space between his brows deeply creased. A jolt out of his musings, interrupted by a memory. Memories, rather.

Blurry flashes of his past, hazy blues and yellows and what looks like black but smears to bright red. Glimpses of faces he’ll never see again, people he’ll never be able to apologize to. Then the aftermath—nothingness and desperation, too gone to mind the jeers of heads turned towards him, scowling. The sounds of a glass bottle knocking against a wooden counter. One, then another, then another…

Until he doesn’t remember anything.

How this caustic string of thoughts surface while picturing grocery store aisles is beyond him. They were once tucked under the metaphorical rug of his consciousness, buried under busyness.

Always bigger fish to fry when it comes to making this universe a home. Had to earn money so he’s no longer squatting at Wade’s. Try to be in Laura’s life and help her adjust, though it seems like she’s taken to it like a duck to water, compared to himself.

But now, three months in? Now he hears what sounds like a small dog barking in the distance. Street chatter. Bicycle bells.

Peace. He barely recognizes it. It’s disfigured, distorted. Maybe because he punches it in the face every time he sees a mere glimpse of it—mostly by getting himself hammered.

For the first time in a long time, he feels like there are no more bigger fish. No more excuses. Nowhere to run.

A lump in his throat at the thought of facing it, the thing he’s never allowed himself.

It’s intimidating. For a man who’s faced horrors like him, that means something. His jaw tightens.

He decides he’ll do it tonight, anyway.

As if on cue, the microwave dings.

It’s about 11am. You’re in the middle of reading a document when your phone pings with a text.

It’s from Logan.

Hey. Got a minute?

You realize it’s only, like, the fifth text in your conversation thread with him. The ones above it were ‘thanks for helping me carry the groceries’ from you and a simple ‘no problem’ from him.

Real life interactions with Logan are pretty limited. Group hangouts at Wade’s are one of the ways you’d see him, but you had to share him with other people—that sounded weird even in your head. And if you drop by at Wade’s, Logan’s not always there.

That, along with the fact that he was probably already a century old when the first iPhone came out, meant that he barely uses his phone, and therefore you don’t text often.

A warm feeling blooms in your chest. Now that you’re roommates, it’s safe to assume that you’ll be talking to each other more…

Fuck, woman, can you be normal about this? your brain scolds itself.

Of course you and Logan are going to communicate more often—you live under the same roof. Frequency does not equal intimacy. Especially if you’re most likely going to be talking about mundane things like ‘the detergent is running out’ or ‘can you help me get a bunch of triple-A batteries?’.

Yeah, maybe living with your crush was not such a good idea.

Taking in a deep breath, you dial his number and put your phone up against your ear. Yes, you can talk, if it spares you from working even just a minute.

He picks up after the first tone.

A ‘hello’ grunted from the other end of the line. You realize this is the first time you’ve heard his voice over the phone.

“Hope I’m not botherin’ you at work,” he continues. It sounds like he’s outside—an overly cheerful piece of stock music is playing in the background.

“Hey, not at all,” you reply, eyes glued to your screen but registering none of its contents. “What’s up?”

“I’m at the grocery store. Want anything?”

You blink. He could have texted you that, but you’re not complaining about getting to talk to him. He’s probably just bad at it, his large hand cramping against the little touchscreen keyboard. Laura joked about that before.

“What are you getting?”

A beat. “Coffee. Milk. Apples. You like apples?”

“Yeah, I like ‘em.”

“What kind of coffee do you drink?” he asks, the question quickly following up your answer as if he had it locked and loaded.

“Any kind,” you answer easily. “I take mine with a bit of milk.”

“What about pasta shapes?”

There are static crinkles of plastic through the phone. You find yourself smiling, imagining Logan with a hand holding his phone, the other hovering a bag of linguine next to the spaghetti to see what the fuck the difference is.

“Honestly, Logan, I don’t mind most of them, you can get whatever you want,” you laugh lightly.

“Which ones do you mind, then?”

You feel a pleasant twinge in your chest. His voice sounded so low and warm and gentle just then, like he really cares. Swallowing, you find your voice again.

“Angel hair. They’ve got no bite.” You murmur.

There’s a short chuckle that provokes butterflies to flutter around in your stomach, unbidden.

“What else d’ya need?”

For a good two minutes or so, the two of you ping-pong items back and forth. You list down some seasonings and condiments. He asks for your thoughts on brands. You smile at the way he pronounces some of them—“Graze-a? Grah-za. Whatever.”—and at the fact that he’s thoughtful enough to check with you on your preferences.

Quietly giving you a choice. You bite your inner cheek. How can something so simple make someone feel so special?

By the end of going through the shopping list, it feels like you don’t want to hang up, and neither does he. There are beeps now, audible from the phone. He’s probably queueing at the checkout.

“Can I get a wall clock to hang in the living room?”

“Sure,” you reply softly.

Another silent beat.

“I’m up. Talk to you later, sweetheart.”

“See you later.”

The line is cut. You stare into your phone, slowly placing it facedown on your desk.

Did he just call you sweetheart?

You blink, focusing back on your monitor, failing miserably.

That nickname has to be a side effect of being alive for so long. He lived through, what, all the wars since the Civil War. It doesn’t mean anything, just a thing they called the ladies back then. Don’t read into it.

The echo of his voice remains, nevertheless. It takes you five minutes to lock back into the document you were reading.

There is an off-white wall clock hanging in the living room when you arrive home. Logan works fast.

You are in the midst of eating some apples—the ones in the fridge, no doubt the spoils from his grocery shopping trip earlier—when you hear the keys turn. The man in question walks through the threshold.

His simple presence made the space feel so much more comfortable, it’s almost scary.

“Hey,” you smile from your seat on the island, wondering what he did on his day off. “Did you go out for dinner?”

The first concerning sign is that there is no sliver of acknowledgement: not a nod, a grunt, and certainly not the rare small smile. He doesn’t immediately reply to you, closing the door and just standing there. Gaze taking in the bare walnut floor, before it sweeps onto you.

The second sign is his eyes. There’s something unrecognizable in them, like he got hurt but he let it happen.

“Logan?” you call out softly, unease woven in your expression. You stand up from your seat.

He takes off his boots at the entryway before moving closer to you, though not quite close. His lips part, and you can tell he’s deliberating whether or not to speak.

“I… went to AA,” he says, voice low. The words are hushed, void of his usual belligerence, a little scratchy from a dry throat.

You look at him, surprise taking over your face.

Wade has made references to the monumental drinking problem he found Logan in when they first met, but from what you can tell, Logan’s been doing much better lately. In gatherings he mostly steers clear from wherever the bottle is. Asks if dessert’s gonna be boozy. Even declines offers for beer.

His relationship with alcohol is clearly a complicated one. And it’s Logan. The fact that he not only reached out for help but also told you about it…

There’s a moment of silence, and then your feet closes the distance, walking towards him until he’s an arm’s length away.

You look up at him, almost timid. “Can I hug you?”

The hard expression on his face melts. You wonder if he thought your reaction was going to be something else other than acceptance.

All it takes is a short nod for you to gently wrap your arms around him, hands settling at the center of his back. For a moment, he’s all you perceive: the warmth of his body, his breathing, his scent.

And then there’s a gentle sensation of his own arms reciprocating the gesture, his movements slow, as if wanting for you to stop him if you’re uncomfortable. You allow yourself to lean in, a signal that it’s okay.

His chin lands softly near the top of your head, arms tightening just the slightest, and your heart just about burst.

“I’m so proud of you,” you say, muffled by his flannel shirt.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he replies.

There it is again. The second time he’s called you that today, and this time, you can feel the rumble of those two syllables from deep within his chest. It shouldn’t intoxicate you the way it does, not when this moment is about him.

You force yourself to pull away.

“We should celebrate,” you suggest, smiling.

His face morphs into an amused look—a little kink in one eyebrow and the lightest lopsided pull of his lip. At least it doesn’t seem like he’s despondent.

“Save it for the coin,” he counters.

“You know people don’t just celebrate achievements, right?” you grin, letting go of the hug. “Come on. A nice meal. We can celebrate moving in, too, just… let me treat you to something.”

His jaw clenches playfully at your insistence, biting back his own smile.

“You’re a stubborn one.”

You take that as a win. Pleased with yourself, you saunter to the kitchen, looking for something to ingest as a commemorative treat. Perhaps a bag of potato chips will do for now.

“There’s this Mexican place down the street, it looks nice—”

He calls your name, and you look over your shoulder.

“Hm?”

There’s that deliberating look on his face again that makes you stop rummaging the cabinet. When he speaks this time, he sounds almost… bashful?

“Could you, uh, cook instead?”

Your eyes widen. He wants you to cook?

“Are you sure you’d like that?” you stammer.

He places a hand in one pocket, eyes still looking into yours. “The fried rice you brought to the potluck was good.”

The potluck last month for Al’s birthday. True, the container was cleaned out by the end of the night, but you didn’t think Logan particularly enjoyed it enough to remember it.

He shakes his head, looking away, voice tight. “Forget I asked, don’t wanna bother—”

Crap, you must’ve stayed stunned for a second too long.

“No please, it’s no bother! I just… I didn’t realize you liked it.”

He looks at you sternly, pausing for a moment. “It was good.”

You nod, convincing yourself that this is real and happening. “Okay. I’ll cook, then. We should invite Laura. Wade too—”

He looks away. You examine his face, registering a change.

“Have you told anyone else?” I ask.

He shakes his head.

You feel a dangerous warmth seep into your bloodstream, travelling to your hands and feet and god forbid your cheeks. How did you end up becoming the first person to know about this, this, this exceedingly vulnerable thing that he did?

“I’ll tell Laura in a bit. Wade…” he falls silent for a moment. He hasn’t been vocal about his gratitude to the merc. It’s for a good reason, or at least that’s his excuse—a simple ‘thanks for everything’ would probably make Wade combust and blabber a series of orgasm-related jokes.

Despite that, though, he really does owe everything to the damn motor mouth. Including the fact that he’s standing in your living room right now, as your roommate, asking you to cook for him—fuck, did he really ask you that?

“I’ll tell Wade when I get the coin,” he decides firmly. The last thing he wants to do is let down yet another important person in his life.

He puts his hand back in his pocket, clenching a fist. That being said, he doesn’t want to disappoint Laura either… and certainly not you. Funny how he finds himself caring about your opinion—the person he’s known for the least amount of time.

You nod, feeling a little overwhelmed from the conversation—the good kind of overwhelm.

“Just Laura then. Can you ask her what food she’d like?” you say. “Something to go with your fried rice?”

He nods.

“How’s Friday for dinner?”

He nods again, pulling out his phone. Probably texting Laura.

“I’ll prep the stuff on Thursday then.”

“I’ll help,” he replies quickly, eyes meeting yours. When he speaks again, it’s a little softer. “I’ll buy the ingredients. And I ain’t a chef, but I can chop.”

“Please, there’s nothing much to do.”

“Then I’ll clean up,” he adds.

You frown. “Logan, the dinner’s for you, remember?”

“Just let me clean up. Least I can do.”

You put a hand on your hip, shrugging. “Fine. Leave the food to me.”

A roguish smile on that handsome face almost makes you so weak, you have to steel your legs for a second. His voice is once again that smooth, guttural baritone.

“’preciate it, sweetheart.”

Third time’s the charm. You huff, trying to appear relaxed.

“I’m going to shower,” you announce, escaping the room.

It’s a little past ten.

Logan lies in bed. His hands are holding up his phone that looks too small for him. The light from the device is almost blinding, but he doesn’t bother—not like his eyesight can get ruined or anything.

He has a text typed out. Staring at it for a few more seconds, he presses send.

Went to AA today.

There’s no immediate response, not that he expects one.

It’s really no surprise if Laura is busy.

She’s probably got it harder than him: young with a hunger to find her place in the world, mature beyond her years but still having so much to learn.

This new universe might not be that different from hers, but the struggles aren’t the same—because it’s her first time in community college. He doesn’t remember what it feels like being a student, but working and studying at the same time sure sounds like a hell of a life.

He blinks. A series of three animated dots appear on the screen as she types a response.

Just like that, they’re gone. He frowns.

And then the dots are there again, only for a second, replaced by Laura’s reply.

i’m really proud of you

Another message.

seriously, i mean it

congratulations

He allows himself a smile in the privacy of his room, before resuming to text Laura about the celebratory dinner you insisted on having. When she’s free, what she wants to eat…

She turns out to be good with Friday—less resident assistant work and assignments for her to worry about.

The answer to the second question is pulled pork. Haven’t tasted a good one in a while.

i can bring the salsa

it’ll be like a deconstructed burrito but with fried rice

Your fried rice was not just good, it was excellent. God, he hopes he didn’t cross a line, blurting the request out of the blue like that.

It was instinctive. Completely unplanned. Why did he do that, anyway? The Mexican restaurant would’ve been nice, something Laura would like.

But it’s outside, it’ll be crowded and loud… He’d rather have a conversation without the background noise. Plus, you just moved into an apartment of your own. Wouldn’t dining outside be a waste of space?

Maybe he should’ve suggested takeout instead of inconveniencing you. But you said it was your treat, and his stupid old heart betrayed himself by saying what it wanted without running it by his brain.

And what a selfish thing to want, too. A kind of gluttony that torturously gnaws at him. It’s getting harder to ignore despite his special brand of stubbornness, honed by the long, long decades. He has a feeling it’s exactly the stubborn part of him that is making this feeling grow, too.

It wants more of you.

For now it’s content with little scraps: the glimpse of your shoes at the entrance, the sight of your toiletries in the bathroom, your scent lingering around the house…

But who knows what it’ll demand next. A little more.

You, smiling at him, laughing at something he said.

Your thighs pressed against his on a crowded couch.

Your plush bottom lip between his teeth as he bites it, drinking in a small sound of pleasure that bubbles out your throat when his hand runs up your inner thigh—

He locks his phone as the conversation with Laura concludes, a cue for him to snap out of it. His mind turns elsewhere, and decides to mull over the Alcoholics Anonymous meeting he attended earlier.

That meeting was about as difficult as a thousand and one sleepless nights. At least, it felt like that when he had to walk up to the library. Adamantium bones never felt heavier.

There were about seven of them when he finally walked in, and another seven arrived after. A mixed group. Reminded him of the family he used to know. There were almost a handful who were older than him—though he’s undoubtedly the oldest despite his looks—and others who looked like they barely hit twenty.

Amidst the chatter, they were polite, asking if it was his first time and giving him a rundown of what would happen. He wasn’t the only new face, which brought him slight relief, and they assured him he didn’t have to share if he didn’t want to.

Then they sat in a circle. The chair spoke the preamble smoothly from memory—just how many meetings has he been in?—and people began introducing themselves.

His eyes are half-lidded, recounting the memory with his head on a soft pillow, but the reality felt like hard concrete.

He remembers how dry his throat felt when the room looked at him, how clammy his palms were against the roughness of his jeans.

Tension.

And yet it was a kind that he wasn’t accustomed to. Instead of one that threatens to spring violence loose, it demands a calm release.

Above comfortable sheets, he can still hear his own voice battling shakiness as he spoke.

I’m Logan… and I’m an alcoholic.

Those few words were cathartic then, but somehow he felt it more intensely as he relives the moment through memory. Pressure builds behind his eyes and in his jaw.

He knows this feeling. Why now?

Emotions wash over him in waves that build, growing stronger and taller—shame, guilt, rage, fatigue, hopelessness, the most damning anguish any man has ever experienced. Each of them sits heavy in his bloodstream, overcoming his body as his heart paces. It reminds him of that time he went back to the school, too late to save anyone.

Thump. Anger. Thump. Agony. His chest heaves.

And then, for the first time in a long time, Logan cries.

Did he cry for his friends when he saw their bodies in the mud?

Scott, Jean, Storm, Charles, Rogue, fuck, Rogue—

Or did he dive straight into the massacre, letting hatred blind him?

It’s patchy, his recollection, but the tears fall quietly into the sheets, and he allows them. He’s past the point of stopping himself.

There is no sound. Just a broken dam as he quietly shakes, tremors rushing through his body as the tears wet his cheeks and nose. He looks up at the ceiling.

Amidst the violent purge, there’s a heaviness deep in his gut, a sense of stability. The same feeling that prompted him in the morning, the little whisper of a disfigured sensation he’s long discarded. Maybe this time he’ll let peace take its place.

The same feeling when he felt the matter and antimatter currents surged through his body, each cell in him screaming as they are killed and reborn over and over again, before it stops.

The same feeling when saving Wade’s little world.

The pillow is damp now, but he doesn’t mind, because the more he lets go, the lighter he feels. A knot unravelled slowly in his chest. The memories grow kinder. Dinners with Wade’s friends. Trading stories with Laura.

Ororo laughing at something Jean said. Scott looking at the redhead—even with the vizor, you can tell he’s in love.

Meeting you. Sharing that pizza together.

He falls asleep at the memory of the hug you gave him earlier.

When he comes home from work the next day, dust all over his heavyweight t-shirt, he notices something hanging on the back of the door.

A small whiteboard. To its side is a marker, affixed to the board with a magnet.

“Hey,” you greet from the kitchen.

“What’s that?” he gestures with his chin.

“Oh.” You turn to the entryway to look at the whiteboard. You hung it up not ten minutes ago. “I thought we’d need it to write notes. Things to buy, chores to do, stuff like that.”

Heading towards the door, you grab the marker. “But I guess you can write whatever you want.”

He watches as you stand in front of him, the marker squeaking under your strokes.

You turn to him, smiling before walking away.

Logan’s heart clenches painfully—an occurrence far too often for his health, seeing that it’s barely three days since moving in with you.

He stares at your handwriting for the first time.

Have a great day ahead :)

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