#I could die for my top 20 you know

[joelsgoldrush]

“epiphany” | 21k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

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

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

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

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

Love giveth and love taketh away.

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

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

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

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

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

Love runs faster than anyone, hiding within the bushes, counting the seconds until its next appearance.

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

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

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

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

Love maketh you miserable.

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

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

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

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

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

Or is it the fact that you always ask for a table for one?

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

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

She nods, and you feel the sympathy in her gaze. You’ve mastered the art of recognizing that look—the one hovering between concern and pity.

Of course, people rarely voice it, but they’ll never know their eyes sometimes say more than they think.

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

Emily—you decide to call her that way from now on, because once you know her name, it feels odd to address her as the waitress—offers you a shy smile.

“I’m getting married next month,” she blurts out, happiness radiating from her pores. Her eyes glint like two lanterns in a starless night. She also looks younger than you, and the abrupt silence forces you to pinch your wrist, a reminder of the fact that this is a conversation, and not just something you're overhearing.

“Congratulations,” you manage to reply, returning the smile. If she saw how your expression faltered the second she walked away, you wonder if she’d still think you were so amiable.

Sometimes, your façade slips—you can’t help it. That’s what the ‘hopeless’ in ‘hopeless romantic’ stands for.

Some minutes later, she comes back with your coffee, and you catch another glimpse of the ring as it twinkles in front of you. Envy doesn’t suit you, so you shift your focus.

Taking out your laptop, you scroll through the latest headlines. This is your attempt at acting more like an adult and less like a girl in her mid-twenties who has no clue what she’s doing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Without a second thought, you pack your things, shoving them rapidly into your bag. The cafe feels too little and too large all at once, the walls closing on you.

The rest of the customers are looking at you. Fuck, they already noticed it—you can’t escape it.

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

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

At that moment, a man walks in, passing right by you. You see his face, his green eyes, and the way his lips curl into a grin as he greets Emily.

The scar on her forehead, which you'd missed before, mirrors the one on his.

They are soulmates. 

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

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

Until the day you lost them, you wore your scars with pride.

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

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

Over the years, you might have changed your hairstyle or the way you dressed, but your scars never did—they’d always been there, and they were yours.

Partly yours, of course, since you knew they belonged to your soulmate as well.

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

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

In the meantime, you dated. A few boyfriends came and went during and after high school, mostly as practice for the real thing, you’d told yourself.

God, you were determined to know everything. To be the best girlfriend ever, so that when you finally met him, he’d be over the moon.

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

You never knew how, but your life became that meantime. All your friends began to find their soulmates: in the supermarket, while traveling, at the goddamn doctor’s office.

Everybody was fulfilling the purpose you’d been taught humans were made for—everyone but you.

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

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

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

Many nights, sleep eluded you. Lying wide awake, staring at the ceiling, you’d imagine what life with him would be like. What he would look like. You were certain that no matter his appearance, you’d think he was beautiful.

Wasn’t that the whole point of soulmates—that the bond you two shared transcended physical attraction?

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

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

The bathroom mirror was fogged from the shower’s stream, and as you wiped it clean with the palm of your hand, the image you saw reflected on the glass made your stomach do a flip.

There were no scars. No marks. Nothing. At first, you thought your eyes were playing tricks on you—it couldn’t be. Scars didn’t just vanish. It was impossible.

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

You felt it deep in your chest, too. Every sound seemed louder and clearer: the blood rushing through your veins, each shaky breath you took. Where are they? Your fingers dug into your flesh, intending to ground yourself.

Is he… dead? It was the only reasonable explanation, the rule you’d known all along. You’d read it countless times, memorizing the principles about scars.

The scream that tore from your throat brought your mother running upstairs, and she entered the bathroom with a horrified expression on her face.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” she asked, but your mind was already far away. Your whole body shuddered in her arms, a sob slipping past your lips as you crumbled to the floor, desperately hoping it was all a nightmare. “It must be a mistake, honey. I’m sure he’s okay.”

But he’s not, you wanted to tell her. The words, however, never formed—only a broken whimper escaped your lips. Isn’t that what we were taught? Our scars belong to our soulmates; they bind us to them in a way that simple words can’t explain.

It goes deeper than the skin. It delves into our bodies, our minds, reaching into the very essence of who we are. What was once his is also mine, but they’re gone.

He’s gone. He must be, because otherwise, how would you explain this void?

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

A part of you died with him that day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The rest was history. Wade was just standing there, mesmerized by your microwave as if he’d never seen one before.

You could only hear the faint buzzing sound of the gadget, punctuated by the rhythmic drumming of his fingers on the counter. He was humming a tune while shaking his head to the beat.

You tried to focus, replaying the guided meditation you sometimes followed to sleep in your mind.

Allow yourself to feel the stillness of this moment. Notice your breath slowing as your body begins to calm. Be the observer of your breath, flowing in and out naturally, as your lungs—

Yeah, it wasn’t working.

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

“And why’s that?”

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

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

Save me, mindfulness, you thought to yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. Was that your fork?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wade did no more than laugh at your troubled expression. “Scared of me? That’s cute. I’m a nice guy, sweet pea. Persistent, sure, but I’ve got a knack for getting under people’s skin,” he said, grinning through a mouthful of food—which, for the sake of your sanity, you chose to ignore.

After he had finished eating, he let the fork fall into the sink, the metal striking against the surface with a piercing echo, making you jump. He stretched his arms with a satisfied yawn, and he seemed determined to leave you alone. “Well, I’ve done my good deed for the day.”

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

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

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

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

Which brings you to the present day. You’ve been friends with him for over a year, and he’s taken every chance to introduce you to his “weird but lovable” (his words, not yours) group of friends.

“Check your social anxiety at the door, thank you,” he’d tell you every time he hosted a get-together and you were invited.

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

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

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

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

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

As you hear footsteps approaching the door, Wade’s voice filters through the hallway. Panicking, you whirl around to the group. “He’s here! Everyone shut up!” you whisper urgently, turning off the lights and pressing your back flat against the wall next to the door.

Seconds later, the sound of keys jingling fills the air as both Wade and Peter step into the apartment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s still a sensitive topic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where the hell did he go?

After his existence went downhill, Logan turned to prayer.

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

In the past, he had been told he was part of God’s plan, but somewhere along the way, he felt like he had become God’s mistake.

After living a life plagued with loss and constantly in hiding, he wasn’t shocked that his self-worth was in the gutter.

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

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

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

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

Day after day, he convinces himself he’s got it under control. Logan may be tough as fuck, and he may heal faster than anyone else, but his pride is in pieces.

No amount of strength or supernatural abilities can stop the decay he feels inside, the slow rot creeping deeper within him the longer he remains trapped in this life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do I know you, bub?” 

“You don’t, but I know you.”

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

“Everybody does. I’m the—”

Here it comes, the reminder of his personal calvary.

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

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

Logan holds his breath. The worst part of it all is that his day’s just getting started. He has no clue who this guy is or why he’s claiming to need him.

But he’s got the wrong man—Logan doesn’t know him, and he sure as hell doesn’t have anything good to offer.

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

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

Nighty-night, Logan.

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

I’ve spent sleepless nights trying to figure out

where this need to call you mine stems from. 

You're like an antique, a rare piece displayed

in a crowded bazaar, drawing curious glances.

I’m aware that you're not mine

because I haven't bought you yet;

I hold no claim over you,

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

I want you to be mine,

but no amount of money would buy your soul.

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

I’m aware that you’re not mine, 

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

“Bullshit,” you mutter softly into the quiet of your apartment, where the only sound is the echo of your own voice.

Chewing the end of your pen, your eyes narrow as they skim over the poem you’d written over a month ago.

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

You take a long sip from your coffee, tucking both knees up onto the chair you're sitting in. 7:30 a.m., and already, your mind is spinning, diving headfirst into a poem when countless other things are demanding your attention—like, a hundred things, really.

Right now, cracking this piece feels more important than any other task on your list.

Who do you write to? That part is easy—your soulmate. That deceased, probably buried, long-gone soulmate of yours.

It shouldn’t be funny, but there’s an absurdity to it.

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

“You should go for some self-love crap. People usually eat that up,” she said, not even bothering to look up from her nails, red polish smeared over the edges.

Her fingers were a mess, coated in that fiery hue, but she didn’t seem to care as she tapped your notebook with her lacquered index finger. “This is repetitive. Keep writing about the same thing, and people will get bored of you.”

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

That managed to catch her attention. Passionate. She let out a laugh—sharp and cold, like something straight out of a villain’s script in a children’s movie. It grated against your ears.

“Sweetie, you call that passionate?” She waved her hand dismissively, standing up from the table.

Taller, older, and more secure—just the fact that she gave you her time should’ve made you feel grateful. “Not to be a bitch, but what you showed me is kind of depressing.” 

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

Still, she might’ve been right about one thing: your writing does fall into patterns. It’s predictable, to say the least—the rhythm, the themes. Even the metaphors you include can be found in several of your poems.

Are you… lazy? Has someone revealed the way to break out of it? If there is, you figure you're fine without it.

You don’t want to write the kind of articles she’d churn out about the latest trends or the five best positions to get pregnant faster. Nor do you want to pick apart celebrities' lives for a flashy headline.

What you do want is to write about love. Real love. Even if you are not the most qualified person to do it. Even if nobody wants to read the words from someone who has never experienced it in the flesh.

And you’ll get there—how? You’re still figuring that out.

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

But it’s time to start your day—the real one. The one where you have to step outside the safety of your four walls and deal with reality.

The to-do list assembles in your mind: groceries, that book you’ve been meaning to pick up, emails you need to answer.

You let your mind take over, guiding you through the motions without a second thought. As you head back to your room, you get rid of the comfortable robe you love so much.

Next, your shirt comes off, tossed carelessly onto the bed. Just as you're about to step out of your pajama pants, you notice them.

The scars.

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

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

Tentatively, you press your fingers into the lines, expecting them to fade, to disappear under your touch like some peculiar illusion.

But they don’t. They remain. You can feel the raised edges, the subtle roughness, the heat beneath your touch.

These scars are different from the ones you had before. Under no circumstances are they the faint memories you once carried. No—these are fresh and vibrant. Marks that shouldn’t exist, the stories they’ve witnessed unfamiliar to you.

Within seconds, you’re sobbing, and you blink through the wetness clouding your vision, wiping your tears of disbelief (and maybe hope?) away with the back of your hand.

Nothing changes. They’re still there.

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

Barely able to stand without stumbling, you scramble to your phone. The first person you call is your mom, your fingers shaking as you press the buttons. She screams into the phone, and all you can do is laugh through the tears.

What doesn’t sit right with her is the change in the scars. She mentions something about reaching out to a specialist, insisting that your case is rare—one in a million.

Almost immediately, you think of Wade, knowing he’d want to hear this. God, he’d be ecstatic. Before you even realize it, you’re standing in front of his door, finger hovering over the bell.

That’s when the realization hits you: he’s been gone for nearly three days, off doing whatever it is he does.

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

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

Logan has had better days. Days that didn’t involve escaping The Void, fighting a hundred Wades, or saving an earth that wasn’t even his to begin with.

You know, normal days—of being sneered at while drinking to forget and, fuck, how many hours has he been sober? It feels like an eternity.

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

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

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

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

It's a silent invitation to a new beginning.

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

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

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

“Me too, roomie. Me too.”

“Let’s not use that word.”

Wade holds the door open for Logan with an exaggerated bow. “Why not? It’s the truth. We can even share my bed if that’s—”

The sound of Logan’s claws succeeds in silencing him. Wade recoils and covers his crotch, no doubt remembering past close calls.

“You know what? You can have the bed. I’ll take the couch. No problem.”

Was moving in with Wade the worst idea he’s had in a while? Absolutely. The reason? Althea, the elderly woman he lives with, isn’t answering the door, and he doesn’t have his keys.

Logan covers his eyes with a hand, silently questioning all of his life choices. And it’s only been ten minutes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then Wade jumps in front of him.

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

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

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

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

“Well, life’s full of disappointments.”

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

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

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

Wade tries to shake his arm free from Logan’s tight grip. “She’s in there. I know it,” he replies in the same tone, but now he uses his other hand to ring the doorbell with greater feeling.

After a pause, he stamps his foot on the floor, throwing his head back. “Come on! Is this how you treat me after being away? Shame on you, Missy!”

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

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

“What… the fuck?”

The sound of your voice—soft, slightly groggy from sleep—pulls his attention away from the door incident. His gaze is fixed entirely on you—you look as if you’ve just rolled out of bed, which makes sense since it’s still early.

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

The picture Wade had shown him, with you standing in the background, hadn’t done you justice. He had found you attractive then, but seeing you in person?

You’re… far more than he expected.

More beautiful, for starters.

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

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

He finds the way you stifle a yawn endearing, though.

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

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

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

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

As he walks past you, your shoulders brush briefly, sending an unexpected jolt through him. A tingling sensation on the verge of being electrifying that has him knitting his brows.

His gaze finds yours, searching your expression to see if you felt it too. But you look away, closing the door to go after Wade.

Great. You must think he’s a weirdo. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t worry, I’m—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And how is it? I mean, do you have—”

“I’m public enemy number one.”

Too harsh, idiot.

“Oh. That’s… good to know.”

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

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

With that, he embarks on a quest to find them, leaving Logan alone with you. Silence stretches between you two.

He doesn’t know what to say, or if he should even say anything. Casual conversation isn’t his forte.

“You and Wade…?”

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

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

“What?” you ask him, puzzled.

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

“And I can tell you don’t.”

“Why would I? Those are lies,” he retorts, the corners of his mouth turning upward.

His opinion is anything but objective, totally biased, given that every time he dove into love’s arms, he was met with the crude reality: not everyone’s meant to be loved, himself included.

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

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

“And where is yours, then?”

He regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth. Your expression becomes inscrutable. You could be either disappointed, frustrated, or even exasperated—sad, perhaps?

Logan feels as though a weight has settled on his shoulders just from staring into your eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door almost closes on his nose.

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

Once settled into Wade’s apartment, Logan steps into the shower, water rinsing off his body. Yet he finds himself unable to stop thinking about you.

The disappointment in your eyes when he asked about your soulmate.

The coldness in your tone at the end, so different from the warmth you initially offered.

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

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

And where is yours, then?

His words shouldn’t have stung the way they did. All the charm—the gruff exterior, the mysterious personality—had vanished.

The guy from another universe, with the claws, the healing abilities, and the raspy voice, is a moron.

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

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

Why? You’d seen handsome men before, even been with some. Yet, you’ve never felt this—this gravitational pull, this inexplicable pull to invade someone’s personal space.

How would your soulmate feel if he saw you like this, lusting after another man?

You shudder at the thought. This isn’t like you. You pride yourself on loyalty—perhaps a little too much. You don’t read two books at the same time, and you’ve been buying the same brand of shampoo for the past five years.

So why now? Why him? It feels like a betrayal of your own mind, your conscience turned against you.

Let things stay as they are—it’s safer that way. You don’t want to know the reason behind this forceful need.

After all, being his grumpy and ill-tempered self, he’ll stay holed up in Wade’s apartment, avoiding any interaction with the real world. And you? You’ll forget about him. Easy-peasy.

That afternoon, as you take a nap on the couch, he invades your dreams. It’s not even a wet dream, but he’s there, staking a claim on a part of you he has no right to.

You wake up with your hand clutching your chest, a frustrated punch landing on the nearest cushion.

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

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

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

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

“Are you pregnant?”

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

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

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

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

“Fuck?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wade smirks, clapping a hand on Logan’s shoulder as he looks at you. “Sweetie, Logan’s going through his second puberty at the ripe old age of two hundred. The pediatrician said it’s just hormones, nothing to worry about. Excuse his shitty attitude.”

With a low groan, Logan shrugs off Wade’s hand, scowling. If anything, the younger man’s grin just grows bigger. “Wolvie, I gotta admit that whole ‘Don’t fall in love with me or I’ll break your heart’ personality shouldn’t turn me on, but here we are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t budge. “No.”

“Logan, I’m not in the mood.”

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

You wonder if he realizes the hold he has on you. No matter how hard you try to mask it, the unbearable pounding of your heart betrays you.

Scanning his features, you trace the rugged contours of his face with your eyes, lingering on the lines on his forehead—the aftermath of what it looks like a life lived through bitterness and pain.

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

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

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

It feels like you’re fifteen again, infatuated with the guy you know you shouldn’t get close to. Paul from high school wasn’t your soulmate back then—Logan isn’t now.

The smart thing would be to take a step back, accept his apology, and ask him to leave. That’s how you preserve what little remains of your sanity and protect your heart, which is already hanging by a thread.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll think about it.”

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

“Well, you were an asshole.”

“Yes.”

“The first time we exchanged words.”

“Also yes.”

“And now you’re apologizing.”

“Positive. I just did.”

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

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

An idea sparks in your mind. You move toward the pile of books next to the TV, eyeing the titles, until one catches your attention: your copy of Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë, one of the first novels you’d read when you were younger.

It’s adorned with colorful post-its, and the pages, sort of rough to the touch, are marked with handwritten notes in the margins.

“How do you feel about reading?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you—you remember specific pages?”

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

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

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

You’ve chosen a damn good page.

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

“You’ve got a week to read it.”

“How long is it again?”

“Four hundred pages.”

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

“Write an opinion essay if possible.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He thought that not seeing you for a week would snuff out his feelings. That by next Wednesday, every thought tied to your name, every urge to uncover the last of your secrets, would be extinguished.

That's what time usually did: it diminished dangerous desires that couldn't afford to be voiced, and buried those longings that had no place in the light of day.

Logan now figures he’s been underestimating the spell you cast on him with just a few glances and the intensity of your eyes. He’s seen you animated, angry—both defiant and vulnerable.

Each of your gestures feels like a memory he can’t quite place.

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

Still, he convinces himself it’s all in his head. He must be the one losing his mind, the years finally catching up to him. It’s the only reasonable explanation for the thoughts that consume his every waking moment.

He’s wrong—you’re right. He’s seeing things where there are none—you’re simply too kind.

Too kind. Too young. Too damn clever for your own good, with your books and that sharp mind of yours. He wonders how you see yourself.

Do you like the reflection in the mirror? Are you content with the way your life has turned out?

Do you, too, lie awake at night, the bed stretching endlessly, aching for a touch that never comes?

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

Instead, he listens.

Some nights, you play the same movie on repeat—a romantic comedy that lasts exactly one hundred and twenty minutes. For two hours straight, he’s privy to your laughter, your commentary at the characters on the screen.

He hears you cry when the lead couple drifts apart after a terrible argument, but they always find their way back to each other, and you watch every second until the credits roll.

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

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

Logan can’t allow himself to be the moron who derails your purpose.

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

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

And so the images blur, new dreams twisting with his usual nightmares.

Which one is worse, he can no longer tell.

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

Wade, lounging on the couch, stops scrolling on his phone and drops it onto his chest, drawing his eyebrows together.

“Her? Who do you mean?” His tone oozes with feigned innocence, barely containing a shit-eating grin when Logan grits out your name, his tone rough, almost pained. “Oh, Romeo. You’ve got it bad.”

Intending to maintain some semblance of control, Logan strides into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and the last bottle of whiskey. As he tips it, only a few drops fall into the glass.

“No, I don’t,” he says, extending his arm and holding the bottle up. “We’re out of whiskey.”

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

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

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

“Shut your mouth.”

“I’m sorry, weren’t you the one who came to me, looking for the essential oil of truth?”

The silence that follows is thick and uncomfortable, mood-killing.

“See what I just did there?” he adds, and Logan feels forced to shake his head from side to side, appearing conflicted. Wade lets out a low huff. “That was Virginia Woolf. Add her to your reading list.”

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

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

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

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

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

The air shifts. Wade’s playful expression fades and he tilts his head, his tone turning serious. “I don’t think it’s my story to tell,” he begins, gaze dropping to the floor. “But she lost them years ago. She was living a normal life, and one day, they were just—gone, like they were never there. It broke her. We didn’t know each other back then, but you’ve seen her.”

Wade’s eyes flick back up, while Logan stands there, tongue-tied. “You even know the kind of books she reads—nothing can shake that belief in real love, in soulmates being destined. Imagine how she must’ve felt when she found out her presumed soulmate was dead… without a single warning.”

From what he had heard, that sense of loss was impossible to put into words. Those who’d gone through it described the experience as if half of you—your body, your soul, your very essence—was being ripped away.

The pain was excruciating, and the only way to survive it was by means of tolerating it—no remedy, just the endurance to outlast the agony.

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

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

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

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

“I don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Much to his dismay, that’s exactly what Logan does.

His handwriting isn’t the most legible, but he tries his best, leaving notes in the margins of some pages, such as:

I hate this John kid.

Her aunt is a cunt.

This is too cheesy.

Mr. Rochester’s married?

St. John—what a prick.

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, this is what he’s been looking forward all week. This moment, this interaction.

This Come in. This Yes, thank you. You’re so kind.

His quiet acceptance of your invitation, the unpronounced thought of I don’t deserve this, but I can’t back off now, because how could I ever say no to you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t blame you for believing in soulmates if this is the kind of thing you read growing up,” he teases, handing the book back to you.

Though a part of him almost wishes he didn’t have to—so that it would still be a reason, a tether, pulling him back to you again and again.

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

“It’ll take more than a book.”

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

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

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

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

“Of what?”

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

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

“And in the meantime?” Logan inquires, pressing himself further into your intimacy, edging closer as if testing the boundaries you’re willing to cross. His words are a subtle request for more, for answers. “What will you do until you find him?”

If you ever do, he thinks, but it’s left unsaid, lingering in his thoughts. He’s getting better at not saying the things that sit heavy in his chest without thinking.

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

That casual admission strikes him like a wave of cold water. A flicker of jealousy burns at the edges of his composure, though he tries to smother it.

I’ve been with other people, you say, your tone so nonchalant, and yet the mental images that flood his mind are anything but comfortable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s a lucky guy,” Logan murmurs, and just like that, he feels himself slipping deeper, falling into the rabbit hole with you guiding him through the madness.

For a moment, he can pretend—pretend that matching scars and bonds that defy the rules of his principles make sense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The more time he spends with you, the less he feels like himself. Everything he’s done lately—reading that damn book, standing in your apartment at 7 a.m.—none of it feels like something he’d do.

It’s not just his mind you’re messing with: it’s his very sense of self.

Logan’s smart mouth had always been a liability, getting him into trouble either by saying too much or by choosing the wrong words. Bad things had always followed in the wake of his tongue.

Somehow, when it comes to you, he’s the most careful he’s ever been. He doesn’t want to upset you, nor does he want to be the cause of any sorrow that might affect your heart.

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

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

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

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

You’re a natural at this madness, diving headfirst into it. You must be losing it, too, because your actions don’t match what you said before.

Slowly, his fingers brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the perfect excuse to feel your skin, to close the distance without saying what he actually wants.

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

“I can’t stay,” he finally responds to your earlier comment, his hand still lingering against your skin.

His strength—the only thing saving him from completely giving in—helps him pull himself away.

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

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

You rely greatly on the knowledge that you’re good at multitasking—now more than ever, with a book in one hand and the other stirring the pasta on the stove.

The warmth from the pot rises around you, but you trust yourself not to be careless. Not to be stupid enough to burn yourself with the boiling water.

This time, you miscalculate. Not only do you dip the wooden spoon into the pot, but your fingertips too.

Though it only lasts a second, and the voice in your head instantly screams Hot! Hot! Hot!, the shock makes you drop the book to the floor. You yank your hand back, racing to the sink to run it under cold water.

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

The funny thing is, just a door away, Logan’s watching a movie with Wade when he feels a sting in the tips of his fingers.

It’s barely there, practically faint, but he looks down, inspecting his hand like it doesn’t belong to his own body. His skin briefly flushes with irritation before returning to its normal state.

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

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

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

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

If anything, it made everything worse.

You’ve been down this road before, knowing men like him too well: they’re everywhere, until they’re not.

One day, they vanish without a trace, leaving you staring at the empty space they used to occupy, asking yourself ‘What happened to my Prince Charming in disguise?’

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

So far, your avoidance strategy has worked wonders. Maybe it’s for the best. He’s a distraction—an undeniably attractive one, the kind anyone would want to trip over.

Yet you miss him, which is dumb: why are you missing someone you were never supposed to care about in the first place?

You return home after a long trip to the grocery store, arms laden with bags. It’s the kind of errand that exhausts you, though you keep telling yourself it’s better than thinking about him.

As you struggle to get through the building's exit, you resign yourself to the fact that it’ll take several trips to bring everything up to your apartment.

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

You should’ve known better than to assume victory so soon. After days of successfully avoiding him, there he is.

And of course, it’s when you look your worst—tired from running around, weighed down by groceries, barely holding it together.

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

He looks... ridiculously good.

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

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

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

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

“Logan, you don’t—”

But he’s already moving, one hand tugging you out of the elevator, the other gesturing toward your apartment.

“Not up for debate,” he mutters. Then, without waiting for permission, he holds out his hand. “Keys.”

Sighing, you dig into your pocket and drop them into his open palm. He unlocks the door with practiced ease, stepping inside and placing the bags on your kitchen counter.

As he starts to unpack them, you stop him. “You really don’t need to do that.”

That seems to catch his attention. He pauses, turning toward you with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the counter.

His unrelenting stare sizes you up, and he cocks his head to the side. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

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

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

A quick flutter of your lashes brings you back to him, and your chest tightens with the effort it takes to look into his eyes. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” you ask, praying he’ll let this go.

You watch as his mouth twitches with something halfway between a smile and a smirk. “You already want me to leave?”

“If you have plans, then yeah.”

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

You can’t help but snort. “Oh, please. Like you haven’t been doing the same.” You walk over to the couch, feeling your legs wobble beneath you. You collapse into one corner, hoping the distance will help you breathe.

Like a shadow, Logan follows after you, sitting far too close. His legs splay wide, so wide they’re almost grazing yours.

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

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

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

It’s not just his words—it’s the way he stands so close, heat radiating from his body, the roughness of his hand gripping yours like he’s terrified you’ll slip away.

The intensity of it all weighs on you in ways you can’t even begin to describe, leaving you breathless, caught between denial and desire.

“Logan, this isn’t—”

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

“That doesn’t mean we have to give in.” Blood pounds in your ears, your pulse racing as your heart hammers unpleasantly. Little shivers of ice run through your spine, and yet, your stomach burns with desire.

More than ever, you feel yourself slipping, your sanity at risk.

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

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

“Come on, baby.”

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

His mouth moves hungrily over yours, pushing you back until the armrest digs into your lower back. A choked whimper gets lost in your throat, and you bring him closer by grabbing onto the lapels of his jacket, your chest pressing against his.

Logan bites down on your lip, soothing the sting with his tongue, and the moan you let out reverberates in the apartment.

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

You end up perched in his lap, your thighs bracketing his hips. He’s hard beneath you, and as you shift, your center makes contact with his erection through the layers of fabric.

Both of you sigh into each other’s mouths, your hips moving on their own accord, rocking slightly against his clothed cock. He hooks one of his arms around your waist, guiding your movements.

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

Logic? Error 404—not found.

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

He’s dizzy for it, but you’re no better, not when he trails his kisses down your neck, his mouth latching onto your skin, tasting the sweat and salt.

“I can’t control myself around you,” he murmurs, groping your tits, and you wail, the ache between your legs becoming intolerable. His hands slip under your sweater, caressing the scars on your back.

That’s when recognition settles over you.

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

His arms drop to his sides, releasing you from his hold. You push yourself off him, away from the couch, putting as much distance between you as you can.

Pressing your palms to your eyes, you shake your head. “God, I’m stupid. This is stupid.”

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

“Fuck you, Logan.”

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

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

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

“He’s closer than ever.”

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

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

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

“No. You’re not.”

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

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

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

“It’s what we both need.”

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

Your hand turns the knob, and then he’s halfway out the door, sparing you one last glance before he turns his back to you.

No more visits. No more books. No more bruising kisses that leave you questioning your mere existence.

Let things stay as they are—it’s safer that way. You don’t want to know the reason behind this forceful need.

After all, being his grumpy and ill-tempered self, he’ll stay holed up in Wade’s apartment, avoiding any interaction with the real world. And you? You’ll forget about him. Easy-peasy.

It didn’t go well in the end.

You remember your first heartbreak—seventeen, fresh out of high school. One of your hands clutched a million dreams, and the other, a pillow soaked with your tears.

Your mother remained by your side, caressing your back, attempting to soothe the sobs that racked your body. She murmured that it’d pass, that you wouldn’t feel like this forever. You believed her then, and trusted that things would eventually be okay.

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

But life, as it turns out, has a peculiar way of catching you off guard.

Whether it’s pent-up horniness, touch-starvation, or genuine affection—it doesn't change the fact that your pseudo-relationship with Logan fell apart.

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

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

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

“I’ll take care of it next month.”

He’s supposed to be the one supporting you, but it feels like the roles are reversed—you’re comforting him, letting him vent.

“My two favorite people now can’t even be in the same room. What are we gonna do for Christmas? New Year's Eve?” Straightening up, he grabs the nearest cushion and buries his face into it to muffle a defeated scream. “Damn it, Cupid! You had one job!”

All in all, Wade’s emotionally unavailable at the moment, grieving your separation from Logan as if it were his own loss, too caught up in his melodrama to be of any real help.

Meanwhile, you fill your days with work, books, anything to keep your mind occupied.

You go to bed too late, you wake up too early. Sleep too little, cry too much.

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

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

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

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

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

And yet, despite all of it, you continue to prioritize someone else. Someone who isn’t even here. Clung to the idea of a soulmate, you chose him over Logan.

What did he expect? For you to abandon your principles, your belief in destiny? It’s who you are. Nearly thirty years of life guided by one belief can’t just be discarded like trash.

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

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

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

What’s the goal? Finding your soulmate, the voice in your head mockingly answers for the hundredth time, rolling its imaginary eyes. And where is he?

You’ve shut Logan out, a man who’s made it clear he has feelings for you, for this elusive person. Isn’t it time he steps into the light at long last?

This is what you fear the most: loneliness.

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

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

Or, better yet, you’d grab a pen and rewrite it yourself. What kind of ending you’ll have—you’re not so sure about that.

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

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

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

The door swings open, and Logan appears right behind it, holding Wade’s phone to his ear.

He narrows his eyes, leaning against the frame, a single eyebrow lifted in curiosity. “How sad. You don’t remember what I sound like.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I could do it.”

No. Not really. He’s doing that thing again—offering help when you know you shouldn’t accept it. You shake your head.

“It’s not necessary,” you say, forcing a casual tone.

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

“I’m not worked up,” you hiss, and he sidesteps you easily, his arm nudging yours.

The electricity is still there, undeniable, but neither of you has the courage to acknowledge it, acting as though it’s an ordinary occurrence.

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

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

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

“What do you want me to do?” he asks, hooking his fingers into the loops of his jeans, his posture both confident and annoyingly relaxed.

There’s a challenge in his tone, and he acts as if you’re the one who pulled him into this situation—like he didn’t worm his way in here.

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

He sets to work, moving the smaller pieces of furniture aside to make space for the couch. Under no circumstances are you going to just stand there and watch him sweat.

Instead, you busy yourself with the long-forgotten glasses and cups gathering dust in one of the kitchen cabinets, each one glinting with past disappointments.

Wetting a towel, you start by wiping the rims. The air feels heavily charged with uneasiness, but you're relieved that for once, you can breathe without feeling like you’re on the brink of a heart attack.

You can already imagine Wade’s face when you tell him—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“And what is that—”

“I need a drink.”

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

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

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

The instant attraction, the yearning to be near him.

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

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

All those times you felt he was getting closer weren’t just a figment of your imagination—he was, in fact, right there.

But he wasn’t just anyone—it was him. Logan is your soulmate. You two are meant to be together. How long would it take for you to truly believe it? Until it no longer sounded like something too good to be true?

Without uttering a sound, Logan gazes at you, silently pleading to see them. To see your scars. You extend your arm, and with a gentle motion, he rolls up the sleeve of your shirt, revealing the marks etched into your skin.

He runs his fingers along the lines, trying to understand the bond you now share—both his and yours.

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

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

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

The look he gives you is one reserved for those he loves, a look filled with such warmth and affection that it almost feels dreamlike.

“Do you want me to see them?” he inquires, and all he needs is a nod from you to gently tug your shirt up your chest and over your head.

He lets out a dry chuckle when you attempt to tame your hair, the effort proving to be in vain. The clock on the wall seems to pause its ticking the moment his fingers begin to trail each of the scars that captures his gaze.

You can’t even begin to fathom what thoughts might be swirling in his mind, but if the flicker of lust and desire you catch in his expression is anything to go by, you’re not so worried.

Logan’s touch carries an unexpected softness, a tenderness you never imagined a man like him could possess.

Deep down, you wish he understood that these scars don’t hurt, that they never have. “I’m okay,” you reassure him, prompting him to explore more of your skin, to claim you as his.

“Do you… like them?” he asks without meeting your eyes.

Do you like my scars? is the real question hidden underneath.

Do you like me? is the one he can’t bring himself to pronounce.

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

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

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

Desire has a limit before it overwhelms. There’s only so much need a person can contain before it spills over, uncontrollable and raw.

This game, one you never learned how to play, feels as foreign to him as it does to you—neither of you knows the rules.

“Can I see more?” He’s still talking about the scars, still fumbling with the strap, and you nod, your eyelids growing droopier as you take his free hand and direct it to the front of your jeans.

He catches the hint, undoing the button with ease, allowing you to shed the last layers of restraint.

Bare, moments away from being completely naked, standing in stark contrast to Logan, who remains fully clothed, your stomach does a flip as he rubs his thumb along the sides of your underwear.

Leaning your forehead against his shoulder, you stifle a sigh when he splays his hand across your lower back, pulling you closer.

His rough grip tightens on your ass, testing the feel of you, while your breathing becomes shallow, erratic.

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

“Yes,” you croak, the plea slipping out involuntarily, throwing your arms around his neck. He buries his face against your jaw, his lips parting against your skin, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck.

You tilt your head back, exposing more of your throat to him, breathless as you whisper: “I’ve waited so long.”

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

Instead of answering with real words, you surge forward, crashing your lips against with his, reveling in the way he cages you with his biceps, locking you up in a prison of desire from which you never wish to break free. He tries not to settle his full weight on top of you, attentive not to crush you.

As he nips at the column of your throat, you squirm beneath him, canting your hips up to seek the friction you crave.

He presses his knee against your center and you push back, grinding against him with an animalistic urgency.

You can’t recall ever feeling this desperate, this overwhelmed by a man. But then again, he’s unlike any other you’ve encountered in your array of momentary hookups.

His kisses grow even more insistent as breathy moans roll off to your tongue, merging with the occasional creak of the couch beneath your movements.

Logan spreads your thighs wider, sinking to his knees on the floor to tug your lower half forward until your ass is almost hanging in the air. He places your thighs on his shoulders, supporting you as he leans in to pepper your soft flesh with kisses.

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

“Eager?” he wonders aloud, looking at you through his lashes. While maintaining eye contact, he presses a kiss to your clit through the fabric of your panties.

He does it again, and you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, his fingers deftly pulling your underwear down your legs.

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

The way you purr his name—a soft caress, a pat on his back that says Yeah, you’re doing fine—only spurs him on, infusing every one of his ministrations with fervor.

His longing for you radiates in the intensity of his touch, sending shivers through you, making you writhe because of his hands alone.

Your core throbs. Your skin prickles with electricity. Your legs quake on either side of his face. He’s hungry and you’re his feast. He’s parched and you’re the last bottle of water in an arid world.

Logan eats you out like this will be the only time he’ll have the privilege—each movement calculated, pushing all the right buttons, pulling out every trick he knows to make you think No, it doesn’t get any better than this. This is as much as one can get.

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

Who is enjoying this more: him or you?

His pointed tongue teases your bud, matched with the persistent hammering of his fingers plunged into your wet heat. The combination has you coming on his mouth, falling over the precipice while you struggle to keep yourself together.

Your walls flutter around his digits, and your cries fuse with his groans, both overshadowed by his insatiable desire to savor until the last drop of your release.

Shockwaves ripple through your body and you prop your weight on your arms to capture his lips in a fervent kiss, your eyes rolling rolling back in ecstasy as you taste yourself, a mix of sour and sweet.

In a frenzy, he sheds his clothes, practically tearing them away, and you wrap your hand around his length, stroking him in time with your kisses. Logan pulls back, panting against you, and you steal a glance at him.

Your gaze travels down to his hard cock, the tip a furious red, and he seizes your wrist.

“Why don’t you kiss it better?” he rasps, his voice dropping an octave. In this moment, you’re taken aback by his beauty, and the urge to express it rises within you.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur against his thigh, showering his skin with heated kisses. You stare in disbelief at the trail of hair leading to his girth, mouth watering at the sight.

A kiss on the tip, followed by a broad lick along a prominent vein—Logan’s grip on the armrest tightens, his knuckles turning white. “So perfect.”

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

You try to take him in further once you’re feeling more confident, while Logan fights with all his might against the need to thrust his hips up into your warmth. He can’t stay still, grunting and smothering you with lavish praise that heightens your arousal, slick pouring out of you in waves.

“Pretty thing you are. Don’t even know how to function around you. You got me all—fuck, actin’ all stupid.”

At one point, he tells you to stop, because he doesn’t want to come just yet. You know what comes next as he rubs his cock along your folds, blending your wetness with his precum.

It’s sloppy, and dirty, and messy—and God, do you love it.

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

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

Your lips find his, and he swallows every sound he punches out of your lungs. His thrusts grow harder and faster as you adjust to his size, how big he feels inside you.

He digs his fingers into the globes of your ass, yanking you towards his shaft every time he fucks into you. You feel the brush of his balls against your skin, the way his muscles flex beneath your touch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

For now, you can allow yourself the possibility of relishing the drag of his cock in your interior. His pace doesn’t falter for a second—something about mutants and their non-stop stamina, no doubt. He shoves a hand between your sweaty bodies, rubbing circles on your already swollen bud.

Each time he fills you to the brim, you have to ground yourself, resisting the pull of an altered reality.

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

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

Whatever meaning he ascribes to your words is of little importance. He tightens his arms around you, kissing you deeply, tongue and teeth clashing as they compete to see who wins the battle. “Never. I’m never lettin’ you go, y’hear me?”

Heat pools in your lower back, a coiling tension radiating through your limbs. “You’re mine, princess. Can’t afford to lose you now that I found you. Gonna remind you every day.”

His rambling pushes you over the edge, your dripping cunt spasming around him as you reach your climax, moaning his name against his shoulder. You cling to him, convulsing beneath his body, and he grinds his hips into yours, his chest rumbling as he growls.

“Inside,” you mumble, extending your hand to press it to his waist. “Need you inside me. Please, I want it so bad.”

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

Night has fallen. The cut on your pinky no longer stings. Your scars, after all, are still there, nestled against Logan’s unmarked skin. You caress his back, sighing contentedly as a wave of peace washes over you.

You’ve never felt this relaxed.

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

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

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

Love—hadn’t you pondered its existence for so long? Your fuel for living, the muse behind your best poems, a recurring motif in your fantasies.

Love now has Logan’s name written in ink, no longer a blank canvas awaiting its unknown owner. No—it’s all his now.

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

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

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

Finally, you’ve wrapped love around your finger.

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

[ventismacchiato]

💌 i hope this doesnt find you !

a social media au | scaramouche x gender neutral reader

synopsis you were perfect on paper: school captain, one of the top students, cocaptain of the volleyball team, and a “pleasure to have in class.” it wasn’t easy to be such a model student, especially when you were competing against scaramouche, your rival since you both could barely talk. his competitive streak has annoyed you ever since you were kids, especially since you were working so hard to keep your scholarship while he flashed around his family’s money every other day. but the trick to keeping your sanity was to channel your frustrations into your email drafts. you’d never send them of course, the people pleaser in you would rather die than hurt someone’s feelings. all of your intensely worded emails were usually directed to scaramouche, your annoying cocaptain. you never have to hold back in your emails, because nobody will ever read them. that is, until they’re accidentally sent out. overnight your carefully crafted life is turned upside down now that everyone knows what you truly think of them. but amidst the chaos, there’s one person who grows to appreciate the real you: scaramouche, the only person you’ve sworn to hate. 

genre college au, enemies to lovers, academic rivals

warnings  time stamps don’t matter, characters including y/n are portrayed as young adults, mentions of alcohol, nsfw

notes read this novel with my friend and we couldn’t get out of our heads that the mc was scara, so here i am. title card tbd

taglist open! comment to be added, asks will be ignored

MEET OUR STUDENTS

COCAPTAINS -> YN | SCARAMOUCHE

ACT ONE

O1. O2. O3. O4. O5.

O6. O7. O8. O9. 1O.

ACT TWO

11. 12. 13. 14. 15.

16. 17. 18. 19. 20.

ACT THREE

21. 22. 23. 24. 25.

26. 27. 28. 29. 3O.

author’s notes i’m actually a huge whore for stories like this, love simon and tatbilb had such a chokehold on me and this is basically the enemies to lovers version of that. also i did track in highschool so i might change the sport to that idk yet

[wincore]

I faked my engagement for free cake samples and got sued after I ran away AIO | haechan

pairing: haechan x baker!reader

genre: comedy, fluff, rivals (?) to lovers (?)

warning(s): quite possibly you will be inflicted with cringe, shameless scamming, mild swearing, one (1) innuendo

words: 5.4k

song recs: santa doesn’t know you like i do by sabrina carpenter, too late for chocolate? by kana hanazawa, like a raspberry by 宇宙ネコ子, honey by kara

a/n: ty to my queens lana and cat for gassing up this dumpster fire i wrote in a caffeine haze while watching my bf die every 20 secs in ds3. the initial plot was going to be far longer and more fleshed out but i fear i'm past my prime ( ._. )" i still hope you guys have fun with this one!! i got to play around with hallmark comedy far more this time, so overall it was a fun time writing <3 happy new year, my lovely mooncakes!!

part of a nonsense christmas: reddit edition collab <3

r/AmITheAsshole

u/YeastMode6969 • 3h

I faked my engagement for free cake samples then got sued after I ran away. AIO?

I (24F, small bakery owner) faked my engagement to get free cake samples at my rival bakery but the employee said I needed my fiance to be there. I panicked and grabbed the first guy to come through the bakery door after me. Turns out he’s not just some random customer. To top it off, he was ridiculously attractive even though he pissed me off every two sentences. I had a panic attack, told myself it’s totally not my fault, and moved on by baking fourteen cakes over the weekend. I thought I got away with it, but three days later, I got an email from him—he’s now suing me for “emotional damages” and “theft of pastries.” Am I doomed, or is this just karma with extra frosting?

⥣ 7.7k ⥥ 2,701 Comments

bun_theory0222 • 2h

INFO: Did you at least try the samples? Were they worth the lawsuit? We’re all dying to know here.

➥ Reply ⥣ 3.2k ⥥

muffinbutdrama1122 • 1h

nah cuz why is he suing when he CLEARLY wants to flirt??? this man is embarrassing but so are you. somebody matched ur freak <3

➥ Reply ⥣ 1.7k ⥥

soggywaffle0205 • 6m

YTA why can’t this shit happen to me. AT LEAST I would commit to the bit.

➥ Reply ⥣ 420 ⥥

cerealfordinner0323 • 2h

Bro sued you just to slide into your life again. He’s not slick, and neither are you. Good luck with that wedding cake.

➥ Reply ⥣ 9,011 ⥥

. . .

If you could hop a few steps to the right, feign unconsciousness, and climb right into the active fireplace, it could potentially make everything okay. For you, that is. Not for the poor bakery employees who would have to call the cops. 

“I’m sure he’s a handsome one!” The girl behind the counter giggles, light pink dusting her cheeks. “You’re- you’re so gorgeous!”

Setting aside the fact that most gorgeous women you know end up with malformed gargoyles, your current predicament is almost equally sinister. What started as an innocuous process to gain free wedding samples (in other words, a scam) has led to a question that should be obvious but completely escaped your mind following your trailing success.

“We’ll need to have you come in with your fiance for the free wedding cake samplers. Is he around?”

Is he around?! Boy, you sure hope so. Because now you’re also frantically looking around with the employee after you blurted out another lie: “He’s going to be here soon!”

When did you turn into a compulsive liar? You’re not sure if your mom would be proud of you for being so good at nabbing free food, or disappointed that you’re a filthy liar. After all, she did tell the buffet employees you were under 10 all the way till you were 14. So, really, you’re not the source of the problem! You brush your festive red skirt of invisible crumbs, trying to busy yourself.

The cafe itself is well decorated for Christmas—a silver reindeer bores holes into your head from by the front door, a small Christmas tree stands at the center that’s a little emaciated but the cute Sanrio ornaments in Santa hats make up for it, and most importantly, a beautiful Mont Blanc cake sparkles from atop the glass counter. (Seriously, why didn’t you think of this? Your own bakery is all sparkles and no play.)

You move out of the way of other customers, and casually glance at the source of your awe and joy. Powdered sugar dusts the top as idyllic snow, covering the sugared cranberries and sugared chestnuts, not dent in them under the white fondant star. The base of the cake is tied with an edible red ribbon, completing the seasonal aesthetic of it. A sigh rests momentarily upon your lips before it escapes. 

You love Mont Blanc cakes, but you never quite get it right. That’s your biggest failure as an up-and-coming baker, and such is the reason for your unhinged serial sampling scam. You swear it started off as a search for inspiration in a creative rut but before you knew it, a lie had spilled from your eclair-sweetened lips, and another, and another. 

It is at this point that you briefly consider bolting for the door. Tibet is great around this time of the year. Maybe if you convert to a monk lifestyle and atone for your sins, you’ll be granted a pardon in the form of delicious sweets. Before you can make your escape, however, the front door jingles, and in strides a sight unbelievably reassuring. A man with caramel hair enters, who might as well be wrapped in a giant red ribbon and seated atop a snow-white horse in golden ornaments.

It’s a Christmas miracle. Hallelujah! They still apply to you.

His smile—soft and sweet as meringue hearts—lights up the room as he inhales the warm, sugary air of the bakery. You’re hit with the vaguest sense of familiarity. He might be one of the few customers you get these days. For a moment, you falter. Are you really going to victimize this stranger?

Yes. Yes, you are. The situation is dire.

“Hi darling!” You exclaim within earshot of the employee, before lowering your voice. “Could you help me out a little here?”

The man blinks, dazed for whatever reason. “Uh… sure?”

“Okay, then follow along and ask questions later,” you reply, and loop your arm through his gingerly. The touch of his fuzzy winter coat makes you relax a little. It is chocolate-colored, with beige fluff around the collar. Not now, you think to yourself, You need to stop thinking about sweets for one goddamn moment.

“Here he is,” you laugh sheepishly as you bring the man forward. Gosh, what in the heavens are you doing? You didn’t even ask his name. 

The employee stares, jaw agape. What’s with the reaction? He’s not that hot. 

“O-oh,” she responds. “That’s quite the surprise. I never knew. Congratulations, sir!”

You turn to look at him. He simply scratches his chin with a sheepish smile, and manages to respond with a “Thanks, Kimi.”

He must be a regular, you think. Oh, (Name), what did you get yourself into? You’re just gonna have to read his name off his coffee order first.

“We have a selection of samples for our wedding cake choices,” the girl, Kimi, moves to the far side of the counter, offering a small menu card to the two of you. “I know you’re not a big fan of wedding cakes, Mr. Lee, but the latest tiramisu flavors should suit your tastes, no?”

Just how close are they?! You chew on your lip and try to calm your depraved little heart.

“Well,” he responds, thinking for a second, “I actually hadn’t thought this far. What do you think, honey?”

He turns to you with a radiant smile, but you sense a hint of mischief. You don’t have time to think of that though—so you just change the topic. 

“Actually, do you have a Mont Blanc flavor? I’ve always had trouble perfecting it myself.”

Truth be told, that ‘honey’ had flowed from his lips and struck you straight in the heart. He’s not too bad to look at, you think now. His tousled hair catches the light with a playful sheen, framing his face and accentuating his disbelieving smile, while his fluffy coat adds a cozy touch to his charming, boyish demeanor. If you were to overthink a little, you’d find a hint of mischief in his voice. Alas, you’re a simple girl who only overthinks sweet treats, not boys.

“You bake?” He blurts, before his ears turn red from realization.

Kimi shoots him a puzzled look and your breath hitches in your throat. Was the miracle an idiot in disguise?

“I mean, uh, gosh, you make me so nervous, honey.” He looks like he’s trying his very best to ace an exam he never studied for. “I meant to ask if you're going to bake.. today? Don’t look at me like that.” 

Maybe you should’ve picked a candied apple and prayed that a witch had poisoned it. You can’t even force out a smile at that pathetic save.

“You’re a lucky man, Mister,” Kimi jabs, a look of distrust in her eyes before they flash to you. “I’m afraid Miss (Name) in a wedding dress would make me drop dead at the altar.”

“Oh, you- you flatter me,” you choke out, “I promise you wedding gowns aren’t my thing at all. Besides, you’d look beautiful in white yourself.”

Why is she so into this wedding conversation? How close are these two? You’re not sure how to react, and neither do you know how this man is going to explain your mysterious disappearance the next time he visits the bakery. You’re sure as hell not going to continue the act beyond this. It’s time you retired from this scam business. You’re not even sure how you’ll talk your way out of this with the man, currently engaged in small talk with Kimi. 

And— is he blushing?! Does he have something going on with the girl—Kimi? Did you just ruin something? Your heart tightens a little, and you have to physically restrain yourself from falling to the floor, head in your hands.

You laugh awkwardly, trying to diffuse the situation. When you open your mouth, you are interrupted.

“Actually, Miss, I think I take back what I said about the handsome part,” Kimi jokes, evident disdain sent towards Donghyuck.

Your natural response is a little laugh that leaves before you know it. Maybe, the feelings you sensed were of unrequited resentment. He does have the kind of face that looks like it’s often smacked by girls. No offense to him.

Kimi hands you the first sample (two delicious slices of Mont Blanc) and excuses herself to fetch the rest. The two of you make your way to a booth with the heaviest silence you’ve ever experienced. You might as well be at a funeral.

“So… free samples are that good, huh?” The man asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Shut up,” you mutter. 

“I’m Donghyuck, by the way,” he responds with a youthful laugh. “Might I have the honor of knowing my fiance's name?”

“(Name). And stop looking at me like that.”

He lets out a short breath.

“You know, maybe we should’ve pretended it was an arranged marriage.”

“Quite proficient in the scamming business, are you?”

“Oh, you’re better off not knowing my dirty secrets.”

You couldn’t care less about his secrets but the look you shoot at him is certainly dirty.

He opens his mouth but you interrupt him to absolve yourself first. “Listen, I don’t do this often. And I’ll have you know it’s nothing personal. Well, not against you. The owner of this place maybe.”

Donghyuck blinks. “Oh? Do tell. I’m all for being a hater with my fiance.”

You stare at him, not impressed.

“Sorry.”

“Okay, so this started a month or two ago. I had been working tirelessly, testing recipe after recipe, trying to perfect the Mont Blanc cake. It was my dream to make it iconic, you know? But before I could even settle on the perfect combination of flavors, some smug bastard opens a bakery right across from me. And what does he have as his specialty? Why, the Mont Blanc cake of course. Seasonal! Cute, elaborate new decor every two weeks! Just how rich is he? I bet he doesn't even bother to create his own recipes. This guy didn’t just steal my idea, he’s turned my passion into some overpriced, generic trend!”

You heave, tired from the onslaught of frustration. Chewing on your lower lip, a pout naturally makes its way onto your face, and so do more complaints. 

“And that’s not all, okay? I never see him at the bakery. I refrain from entering my competitors' establishments unless I greet them in person. But this asshole is just never there! What, is he too good to work at his own bakery? Too good to grace us lowly bakers with a visit? How could he just swoop in and steal my signature item?”

Donghyuck listens to your rant with intent, cheek resting against his palm. He even looks a little ridiculously charmed right now. 

“Wait… so you’re the infamous Free Cake Phantom everyone’s talking about?” He gasps.

You’ve finally turned to your poor, neglected Mont Blanc sample, just for your heart to jump out. “What?”

“Just kidding. Your secret is safe,” he says, digging into the cake with infuriating nonchalance. “But hey, you’ve got good taste. This Mont Blanc though? It’s my personal recipe.”

Your fork halts halfway to your mouth. “Your recipe? What, you work here or something? And, no offense, but it’s overwhipped.”

If that’s a joke, it’s not very funny. The man looks more like a confectionary than a confectioner. There’s no way he works here. He’s probably some jobless guy drifting from bakery to bakery on early Saturday mornings.

His jaw drops. “Overwhipped? Are you kidding me?”

You wave the fork at him like it’s a weapon. “Chestnut puree shouldn’t have the texture of mousse. It’s called finesse, Mr. Lee.”

Before he can respond, Kimi returns with another tray, and you slip back into character, placing your hand on Donghyuck’s. “Thank you,” you coo at her. “I can’t wait to share all these flavors at our wedding.”

Donghyuck stiffens slightly at the unexpected contact, but he recovers quickly, plastering on the fakest grin known to man. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

Kimi laughs. “You’re such a lovely couple. When’s the big day?”

You freeze, and so does Donghyuck. For a moment, neither of you has an answer.

“Oh, we’re still, uh, deciding,” you blurt, glancing at him for backup.

“Yeah, we’re thinking spring,” he adds smoothly. “Cherry blossoms. Very romantic.”

“Y-yes. Maybe the Raspberry Rose should be in the winner’s spot then.”

As Kimi bows politely and walks away again, Donghyuck leans in to whisper. “Should I book the honeymoon now, or…?”

“Don’t push your luck,” you hiss, elbowing him in the ribs. 

He makes a pained sound, but recovers quickly. 

The second flavor is dubbed “Marble Eclipse”, a decadent blend of rich chocolate and vanilla, perfectly balanced with a luscious buttercream frosting. You try to focus on the taste, but Donghyuck’s smug grin as he watches you take a bite is more distracting than you’d like to admit. You’re not easily flustered, not by men. Unfortunately, he would have been the exact type you’d have tried to nab in college.

You shake your head. Focus, (Name), you think to yourself, You’re in the enemy’s lair right now!

“So… I might as well come clean,” Donghyuck says with a serious tone, right after you’ve taken a bite. You pause in horror. What arcane knowledge is he going to use for your humiliation this time?

“I visit your bakery often, and I must say your selection is just as good, if not better.”

You exhale.

“Oh, it’s better alright,” you retort, before realizing the unwarranted passion in your voice. You compose yourself. “I mean, maybe their Mont Blanc is… a solid competitor.”

Donghyuck laughs, clearly amused by the bashfulness on your face.

“Wait, are you patronizing me?”

“Of course not!” He places his hand over his heart in mock hurt.

“I think the difference is that this one keeps up with the youth.” He waves his fork about, explaining his point further. “Everyone loves new, shiny things. Cycle those as much as possible. Have you ever considered holding blind box events with your cupcakes? I’m sure the kids would love to find out which flavor of panda bear cupcake they got—matcha, my personal favorite, or coconut cream, or… god forbid, chocolate mint. Ugh. Have you considered removing that from the menu? Anyway, that shouldn’t take too much time and money, right?”

The youth? What is he, forty? However, however, the look on his face as he describes your own baked goods to you is enough to make you intensely flustered. Has this man visited so often? And you never noticed him? How could you miss that easy-going smile?

A familiar figure saves you from whatever awkward, garbled response you were going to muster.

Despite Kimi’s arrival, Donghyuck has a hard time taking his eyes off you. Lashes swaying with each flicker of his eyes over your face, he’s hardly taking a bit of the delicious marble cake, in fact. What, have you got something on your face?

Kimi apologizes profusely before you can say anything to greet her. 

“There’s only one slice prepared for the Tiramisu Dream sample,” she explains. “I’m so sorry about this. Would you mind sharing this one? I apologize again.”

“No worries, Kimi,” Donghyuck responds, laughing a little. You shake your head and reassure it’s alright too. 

Anyway, that slice is going to be yours. You’re ready to pry it from his cold, dead hands.  

To your surprise, though, he shoots a friendly smile at you. 

“Want the first bite?”

“May I?” You ask, just to be sure.

“By all means,” he says, gesturing grandly. “After all, what’s mine is yours, fiance.”

You swear, if he calls you that one more time, he’s going to end up in the cake display.

Kimi stares at the two of you blankly for a moment. It instantly flusters you and Donghyuck both, so much so that the idiot digs his fork into the cake slice and holds it up to your lips with a soft ‘ah’ —and so much so that you actually accept it graciously. 

And all that only for Kimi to not even notice as she excused her way back to the counter. So now you’re just two idiots deep in your romantic charades. Donghyuck clears his throat, too late to cover his coral-tinted cheeks and ears. You’re certain you wear a similar expression.

“You’re- you’re so weird,” you jab, unable to come up with an insult higher than middle school grade. 

“What, you wanted me to do airplanes too?!”

“Take that fork and drive it through your tongue, will you?”

“Woah, woah, no need for violence, Miss (Name). Peace and Love.”

Unexpectedly, it makes you break character into unbound laughter. The weariness of the act and the silliness of the whole situation leaks into the sound, and it’s enough to make Donghyuck join in. For passersby, you are just a couple already past your third, fifth and seventh dates.

“Any comments for the tiramisu cake?” Donghyuck asks, grinning ear to ear.

You catch your breath, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. “Yeah, I have a comment: who puts this much cocoa powder on top? Are you trying to choke your customers?”

“Awh, and I thought you were gonna be nice,” he whines, “Your smile is just so… inviting.”

As if on cue, he chokes on the cocoa powder. 

“I still like it,” you continue. “I’d just do it better.”

“I have the utmost confidence in that.”

Gosh, his smile is nauseating—too bright, too easy, like he’s actually enjoying this. Maybe he’s a rising actor, and you’re the one being hoodwinked. After all, who looks at someone like that on a first meeting?

A moment passes, and suddenly his thumb is at the corner of your lips, brushing off the cocoa powder with a touch so casual it feels anything but. “Got it,” he murmurs, and the air between you shifts, warm and oddly heavy.

“So, how do you know all this?” you ask, changing the topic. You’re forcing yourself to focus, to breathe. 

He leans back, a small laugh slipping out like he’s grateful for the lifeline. “You- uh- you could say I’m a connoisseur of pastries,” he offers, his voice lighter now. “I like to sample the best around town—just, you know, legally. I even take notes of my favorites.”

He gestures towards you, and you scoff.

The words settle between you as you toy with the edge of your skirt, smoothing the fabric down over your lap. There’s something about the way he speaks—so casual, so effortless—that needles at you. For a man so annoyingly confident, he sure seems relieved to have redirected the conversation.

Your hand grazes the tiny snowman buttons on your cardigan, tracing the cold plastic absentmindedly. His gaze flickers to the movement, then back to your face, a smile tugging at his lips like he’s trying not to laugh. You don’t know what’s more embarrassing—getting outed as the Cake Thief or the fact that he’s bound to know he flusters you.

You tilt your head, giving him a skeptical look. “How professional of you.”

The bite in your tone is softening, and you don’t like it one bit.

He holds up his hands, feigning surrender. “Hey, it’s an art. Someone’s gotta appreciate it, right?”

The faint chatter of other patrons fills the room, but his presence sharpens the moment, making it feel like it’s just the two of you. For a fleeting second, you catch yourself wondering what kind of person would take notes on pastries for fun. It’s so bizarrely specific, so utterly unnecessary—and yet, so like him.

His smile deepens, pulling you out of your thoughts. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he teases.

You roll your eyes, but there’s no stopping the traitorous grin threatening to break through. You refuse to indulge him, even as you feel the faintest crack in your defenses.

"Maybe,” you say, finally.

He chuckles, the sound warm and genuine, before leaning back against his chair with a satisfied air, as if he’s won something. You glance at the tray, willing yourself to focus on anything else.

How awkward. How warm. 

You spot a napkin fluttering off the table, carried by a sudden draft from the door. Instinctively, you step out of your chair to grab it, but Donghyuck beats you to it, scooping it up with an exaggerated flourish and a bow.

“Your knight in shining armor,” he declares dramatically, holding it out like a trophy.

“More like my nuisance in sugar-stained armor,” you retort, snatching it from his hand.

He laughs, unabashed. “Ah, so sharp. Yet here you are, sharing cake with said nuisance. Life is full of mysteries.”

“I’m just here for the cake,” you deadpan, dusting your hands off.

For a second, his smile falters—not in hurt but in sheer disbelief. He tilts his head, studying you with an incredulous expression, and you suddenly feel like a frog under a magnifying glass.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he says, almost to himself, his voice low but still playful.

“Get what?” you ask, genuinely confused.

Donghyuck presses his lips together, fighting back a grin. He steps closer, leaning in just enough for you to catch the faint scent of chestnut cream. “I mean, I could spell it out for you, but that might ruin the fun.”

“Spell what out?” you press, a little flustered now.

He straightens with a laugh, shaking his head. “Nothing, you airhead. Absolutely nothing. Is your head full of cotton candy, by any chance?”

You narrow your eyes at him, but before you can respond, he’s already pulling his chair back, resuming his seat with a sigh.

“Mont Blanc, Marble Eclipse, and Tiramisu on the first date,” he states, deep in thought. “Maybe Matcha Lemon, Lavender Peach, and White Chocolate on the second… Perhaps a Red Velvet and a Strawberry Shortcake before you realize I literally own this place?”

You feel the heat intensify on your cheeks. You almost miss the last part, clouded by the implications of the rest of his words. He… wants to go on more dates with you? Was this a date all along? You’ve been swindled into having fun with a man somehow. He even knows the ins and outs of a baker’s life. And he’s charming in an oddball sort of way. You shouldn’t be feeling solidarity with this weirdo. But then again, somehow, his laugh is very… endearing. 

Wait a minute.

“You- you really own the place?!” A scream dies in your throat.

Donghyuck looks positively taken aback. “So you actually weren’t aware?!”

“What do you mean? How the hell am I supposed to know?! You described yourself as a connoisseur of pastries. I thought you were some kind of freelance failure so I didn’t pry!”

“Excuse me?!”

“Well, either that or you’re unbelievably rich. But then you don’t look it. Your sleeves have flour and oil stains on them, and your shoes are all dusty too, and there’s gold flakes in your hair—okay, how did I miss this?”

“Geez, way to judge someone by their looks. I’m not taking that from the local tart snatcher.”

The retort barely registers because your brain is too busy replaying the words “I own this place.” The realization hits, and before you can think better of it, the chair screeches back as you bolt upright.

“Wait, where are you—” Donghyuck’s voice is cut off by your shrill, mortified “Bye!” as you make a beeline for the door, leaving behind a very startled staff and a half-empty tray of cakes. Immediately after your exit, you let out a shriek. 

What the hell are you doing?!

Your face burns as you speed-walk down the street, each step punctuated by the memory of your impulsive retreat. You must have cast your senses away at that moment, like some wide-eyed fool in a fairy tale, almost charmed by that silly man and his absurd little quirks. It’s not your fault, of course—it’s his, with his flour-dusted sleeves, that stupidly endearing laugh, and the way he talked about pastries like they were a love language. What was wrong with him?! you think, conveniently ignoring the fact that it was your awkwardness and runaway theatrics that had caused the scene. You’d blame it on sugar overload if it weren’t for the nagging realization that maybe—just maybe—he’d gotten under your skin, and the fact that you deserved it.

. . .

You hadn’t expected to hear from him again. Not after your embarrassing getaway. But three days later, you’re staring at an email with the subject line: "Notice of Legal Action for Unauthorized Sampling."

You open it with trembling fingers, only to find what can only be described as the world’s most dramatic—and definitely fake—lawsuit. 

Your jaw drops as you scroll through the email. He’d even attached a fake case number: #CAKE-404-NO-FUN.

The body of the email was littered with ridiculous legalese. Phrases like "egregious acts of confectionery negligence" and "failure to properly appreciate artisanal craftsmanship" were scattered between absurdly specific accusations.

There is a diagram. An actual diagram. Arrows pointing to "Exhibit A" (the Mont Blanc) and "Exhibit B" (the empty spot on the tray), annotated with notes like "victim of hasty consumption" and "left to fend for itself."

And then, at the very bottom, there it was—the pièce de résistance:

“This suit may be settled by one (1) heartfelt apology and one (1) coffee date at the aforementioned bakery. Should you require legal counsel, I suggest bringing your A-game. I am, after all, a connoisseur of arguments… and pastries. 😉”

You groan, head thunking against the back of your chair. The audacity. The drama. The fuckass emojis. 

This man is getting to you.

Your first reaction is, of course, panic. Your second? Rage. And by the time you storm into the bakery at ass o’clock before it even opens, Donghyuck is waiting for you, leaning against the counter like he owns the place. (Which he does, actually.)

He’s propped on his elbows, his posture easy and unhurried, as if he’s been expecting you. The black apron around his waist is slightly askew, and his beige T-shirt bears faint streaks of flour across the chest, a testament to an already busy morning. His fluffy brown hair is an artful mess, the kind that looks unintentional but infuriatingly perfect, with a few errant strands curling over his forehead. There’s a streak of something golden—sugar, maybe?—on his cheek, catching the light as he tilts his head to regard you with an expression that’s equal parts curious and smug.

“You’re early,” he remarks, his voice low and teasing, as though he isn’t the root of all evil.

“You think this is funny?” you demand, shoving your phone in his face.

Donghyuck grins, unbothered. “Hilarious, actually. Did it get your attention?”

“You can’t just send someone a fake legal notice!”

“Worked, didn’t it?” He shrugs, leaning back with infuriating calmness. “Besides, you owed me an explanation for your Houdini act. You know, poor Kimi had to clear your tray. She almost cried.”

“She did not!”

As if on cue, Kimi pokes her head out of the kitchen. “Oh, she absolutely did. It was tragic,” she deadpans before ducking back in.

You groan, feeling your cheeks grow hotter by the second. “You’re unbelievable.”

Donghyuck leans back, smug as ever, and gestures to the email still open on your phone. “Unbelievable or resourceful? Let’s review: I sent a single, harmless message—full of creativity and wit, I might add—and look where we are.”

“At me wanting to strangle you?”

“At you running right to me,” he corrects, his grin widening. “What, were you worried?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you snap. “I’m here because—” 

You stop, realizing you don’t have a decent answer. “I didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of thinking I took you seriously.”

“Oh, you absolutely took me seriously.” He nods sagely. “I saw the panic in your eyes. Admit it: for a second, you thought you were going to have to pay me a hundred grand or grovel at my feet.”

“I- ugh- fuck you!” is all you can muster, stepping forward without thinking.

He mirrors your movement, the space between you shrinking by degrees. 

“But seriously, you ghosted me, and I had to get creative. What the hell was I supposed to do? I figured the legal drama might get my point across.”

“What point?”

“That I wanted to see you again.” The words come out so easily, so matter-of-fact, you don’t know how to respond. When you finally glance up, he’s watching you closely, his expression uncharacteristically sincere.

“Just because you’re all cute and covered in flour like the star of some indie chef movie doesn’t mean you get to toy with me.”

“Ha! You’re presumptuous—despite all the fine details on me you seem to observe.” He leans in. “But guess what, I’m a greedy bastard that loves attention. So, look closer.”

And you look anywhere but his lips, too pink and too plush, as your face grows hotter than a convection oven on broil.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you manage, staring resolutely at the display of cakes. “That hardly counts as details.”

“Details,” he echoes, his grin growing wider. “Like the way I look at you?”

“You’re just a flirt,” you mutter.

He gasps, mock-offended, and gestures dramatically to the kitchen. “Kimi, did you hear that? I’m just a flirt!”

“You said it, not me,” Kimi calls back without missing a beat.

You laugh despite yourself, the sound surprising you. And Donghyuck doesn’t miss it. His gaze softens, the teasing edge in his voice dropping slightly. “There it is. I knew you could laugh without running away.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late.”

For a moment, the air shifts, the humor giving way to something quieter. Donghyuck’s gaze lingers—not on your awkward posture or flushed cheeks, but on you, as though trying to piece together something he doesn’t quite understand.

“What?” you finally ask, defensive.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, but there’s a small, genuine smile now. “Just... you’re such a fidgety person.”

“Are you trying to shell out an insult?”

“No, I mean, I always see you scuttling here and there. Always on the move. Always observing, but never stopping long enough to be seen. You just… don’t seem like someone who takes much time for yourself.”

You blink, caught off guard. He tilts his head, like he’s trying to figure out if he’s crossed a line.

“I’m wrong?” he asks, almost sheepishly.

“I—” You pause, unsure of how to respond. “You’re nosy, that’s what you are.”

“That’s a yes,” he decides, grinning again.

Donghyuck chuckles, leaning just a little closer, his warm brown eyes locking onto yours. “Tell you what,” he says, his voice dropping to a murmur, “I’ll prove I’m not just nosy. Let me take you out. Somewhere you don’t have to bolt out the door halfway through.”

“You think I’d agree to that?” you retort, though your words lack bite. The proximity is doing something to your brain, and you’re acutely aware of how close he’s leaned in.

His grin is confident and infuriating. “I think you’d be curious enough to say yes.”

Your breath hitches as you realize how little space is left between the two of you, your noses almost brushing. “Woah,” you whisper, trying to play it off, “my mommy warned me about boys like you. All up close and personal with flour in their hair.”

He raises a brow, unrepentant. “Smart woman. But she didn’t tell you we’re pretty good at first dates, did she?”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes, soft but genuine. “Fine,” you say, straightening up and taking a step back before your pulse betrays you further. “But you’re paying. And no weird cakes this time.”

“Deal,” he replies, his smile softer now, more sincere.

And for a moment, you believe it—not just the act, not just the cakes and the banter, but the idea that maybe, somehow, this strange, sugar-dusted series of events has led to something real.

. . .

r/AmITheAsshole

u/YeastMode6969 • 16h

UPDATE: I faked my engagement for free cake samples then got sued after I ran away. AIO?

Fine, you guys were right. We’re dating now. Let’s just say we’ve been filling my cream puffs lately  🫠

Edit: I also got the Mont Blanc recipe!!

⥣ 7.7k ⥥ 3,297 Comments

kimikakes • 13h

KIMI HERE, REPORTING LIVE FROM THE SCENE: they literally argued over frosting consistency for half an hour yesterday. This relationship is built on chaos and croissants.

➥ Reply ⥣ 7.1k ⥥

bun_theory0222 • 2h

Hellooo where are the recipes. Priorities, OP :/

➥ Reply ⥣ 4.1k ⥥

lil_sugar_daddy0813 • 1h

man i was betting on donghyuck dying alone i dont wanna lose my $20

➥ Reply ⥣ 1.3k ⥥

muffinbutdrama1122 • 1h Give me your money NYEOW ➥ Reply ⥣ 1.7k ⥥

soggywaffle0205 • 6m why are you suddenly a furry ➥ Reply ⥣ 1.1k ⥥

muffinbutdrama1122 • 1h pays the bills ➥ Reply ⥣ 2.7k ⥥

[astonmartinii]

home ties | charles leclerc social media au

pairing: charles leclerc x fem bff!reader

got a home race curse? that's no match for the power of friendship

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 31,498 others

tagged: yourbestfriend

yourusername: today i start my pilgrimage across europe - i.e. i'm a 20 something who is inter railing to try and 'find herself' BUT i shall be stopping at any church i can find, bestie @charles_leclerc we're getting that home win this season

view all comments

user1: INTER RAILING? BUT BUT BUT WHAT ABOUT CHARLES?

user2: this better be a SHORT trip because i need her in the ferrari garage this season

charles_leclerc: don't have too much fun without me :(

yourusername: iMPOSSIBLE

charles_leclerc: good i hope you miss me everyday

yourusername: like a wife waiting for her husband to come home from the war

charles_leclerc: why am i not the wife?

yourusername: i mean you're the one going here, there and everywhere

charles_leclerc: but i'm the pretty one?

yourusername: die ❤️

charles_leclerc: do you or do you not have a picture of me in your locket?

yourusername: do you or do you not want me to lay offerings for wins this season?

charles_leclerc: noted.

user3: these fools are so dear to me

user4: i know we need positive male and female friendship representation but like god i need them to fall in love

pierregasly: so fuck me then?

yourusername: is your name charles leclerc?

pierregasly: i have known you just as long as charles

yourusername: so has max and este you don't see them bitching up a storm in this comment section

maxverstappen1: i mean i just about to but ummmmmm have fun travelling!

estebanocon: i am very secure in our friendship.... some people not so much

pierregasly: i will spit in your coffee

estebanocon: it's already on the top shelf, good luck goblin!

yourusername: okay............ but thanks max!

user5: i love how most of this grid grew up together - not because it's cute but because they're all rude to each other

user6: they'll cry over each other's wins but won't follow each other on instagram

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, pierregasly and 1,207,683 others

charles_leclerc: an okay start to the season. get well soon carlos!

view all comments

user8: @yourusername i know you're on your travels but you really need to get your ass back in the garage

charles_leclerc: trying real hard not to blame her rn

yourusername: skill issue

charles_leclerc: HOW DARE YOU

yourusername: if you need me to perform, then babe that's on you

charles_leclerc: is it really a crime to want my best friend with me at races

yourusername: did you not include my letters to you in your very instagram dump

charles_leclerc: but those are just letters :(

yourusername: just letters? i see. i guess i won't send any more

charles_leclerc: NO I'M SORRY PLEASE KEEP SENDING THEM

user9: i'm so sorry but this is too cute to not be romantic

user10: i know platonic soulmates exist but damn they're making it real hard to not believe they're in love

user11: they're either in love or charles is a puppy with severe separation anxiety

pierregasly: have you considered that he could be both

user12: HUH?

yourusername: regardless .... i'm proud of you doofus

charles_leclerc: thank you pookie

carlossainz55: do i not get a get well soon? anything?

yourusername: i'm glad you didn't die?

carlossainz55: i guess i'll take it

user13: y/n is unapologetically a hater

yourusername: no i'm just a charles stan first and foremost

user14: as you should

yourusername

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 39,412 others

tagged: yourbestie

yourusername: yeah i'm here in the middle of a random forest eating hard pasta but charles was back on the podium so more candles and offerings coming your way

view all comments

yourbestie: do we have to stop in every church?

yourusername: YES

user15: i need someone as passionate about me in my life

yourusername: i am COmMITTED TO THE CAUSE

yourbestie: too committed i'm tired

yourusername: sit back and enjoy the stain glass windows let me do the work

user16: i feel like i'm having charlesxy/n withdrawals already

charles_leclerc: me too

user17: instagram live? twich? TWITTER SPACES? i'll do anything

yourusername: babe i'm in the middle of the forest

charles_leclerc: i thought you'd make it work for me but i see how it is

yourusername: stop i will cry and run home

yourbestie: ?

charles_leclerc: i'm sorry, enjoy your travels i just miss you

yourusername: i miss you too :(

yourbestie: gross

maxverstappen1: so like how do we go about getting you light candles for us?

pierregasly: good luck bro

yourusername: first of all, ew. second of all, no. third of all, YOU DON'T NEED THE HELP

maxverstappen1: okay damn tough crowd

charles_leclerc: you've not got the leclerc charm buddy

maxverstappen1: i've seen the 2012 haircut clearly charm was needed

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, maxverstappen1 and 1,409,562 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: look who's backkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

view all comments

user20: phew i thought he was gonna die from separation anxiety for a second there

maxverstappen1: he's just dramatic

yourusername: so you don't want the souvenir i got you

maxverstappen1: I DO I DO I DO

yourusername: you know what you have to do

maxverstappen1: ugh. i'm sorry charles, your weird need to be with y/n at all times is kind of cute (if you weren't 26 years old already)

user21: the fact he's so pumped for her to be back - fave duo ever

user22: not to be that one freak but the last picture is looking very girlfriend to me

user23: you make a good point but i don't wanna get my hopes up just yet

user24: was his separation anxiety not enough? i feel like there's no way he could be in another relationship when he wants to be with her so often

yourusername: i'm glad to be back - the wilderness was lovely but nothing compares to you

charles_leclerc: teehee

yourusername: and i get to be reunited with my favourite gal pascale and light votives together

charles_leclerc: my lucky charms for real

pierregasly: i mean only one person has been there for each of your wins in f1 just saying

yourusername: so i'm sorry pierre i'm SORRY THAT MY APPENDIX NEEDED TO COME OUT

yourusername: but i do believe it contributed to the win

charles_leclerc: it did cause i raced so fast so i could get to your side quicker

yourusername: awwww a real gentleman (take notes pierre)

user25: how can they not be in love ^^^ LOOK AT THE MATERIAL PEOPLE

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 59,304 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: this is the set up for monaco week

view all comments

user28: babe is taking up residency in saint devote that's crazy

user29: idk what she's doing but the moon was red ... is she really going to manifest the home win

yourusername: if i can, yes! but if he does win it's all charlie and his talent

user30: ugh you guys are so cute

charles_leclerc: having you back and racing in monaco? best week ever

yourusername: it will be

pierregasly: once again no good lucks for us

maxverstappen1: i'm really starting to think our childhood meant nothing to you

yourusername: booooo the home town hero is obviously the one i'm supporting

maxverstappen1: you told me to "choke on your cock" when i asked if you would watch from my garage in zandvoort

yourusername: welllllllllll

pierregasly: just admit you have a favourite

yourusername; fine, charlie is my favourite

charles_leclerc: :)))))

pierregasly: :((((

yourusername: you asked me to???

user31: i don't know who will be happier if charles wins monaco charles or y/n?

charles_leclerc: i know who would cry more

yourusername: i'm a big crier and proud

alexalbon: not you guys coming for my albon_pets brand

yourusername: don't pit the kids against each other

charles_leclerc: let us be dog parents in peace alex

user32: so like that's their dog.... they're together?

user33: they're so confusing

user34: i mean it's so obvious they're in love so a dog really isn't that crazy

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, joris_trouche and 3,874,099 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: monaco finally loves me back (and so does she)

view all comments

user35: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

user36: i am NOT okay

yourusername: so unbelievably proud of you charlie, you deserve this more than anyone and you've made everyone proud ❤️ 🤍

charles_leclerc: thank you my love xx you've always believed in me and i'm so glad i could share this moment with you

yourusername: you're the love of my life and i would do anything for you

charles_leclerc: you already have <3

yourusername: i would light every votive i can find again if it brings you joy like this again

charles_leclerc: you bring me all of my joy

user37: they're so cute your honour

user38: lowkey forgot that they confirmed their relationship because the win was simply hitting too hard

user39: it's hitting like crack and it will be the only thing i talk about for the rest of my life

pierregasly: congratulations calmar!! i knew you could do it and i'm very happy for you both xx

charles_leclerc: thanks brother, you next

yourusername: we love you pear !!

maxverstappen1: I KNEW IT

charles_leclerc: that i would win my home race?

maxverstappen1: yeah, yeah... congrats but I KNEW YOU FOOLS WERE IN LOVE

yourusername: yeah you and about a million other people, we weren't that secretive

maxverstappen1: let me have this one thing

user40: yeah this is the worst kept secret in the world

yourusername: sorry guys but have you seen my boyf, there's no way i wouldn't be showing that off

charles_leclerc: HAVE YOU SEEN MY GIRLFRIEND???

yourusername: awwwww i love you

charles_leclerc: and i love you too

fin.

note: here's a small one to celebrate charles finally winning his home race, i won't lie i did cry. idk it's when he brought up his dad it just started the waterworks but i'm so proud of my lil millionaire racer guy :)))

[cosmicmunsonwrites]

i dream about you and i

mean!rafe cameron x desperate!fem!reader

cw — reader is on period, fluff

summary — rafe is proving himself to you that he intends to be better.

authors note — once again, this can def be read as a standalone but its apart of my mean!rafe series. it can be found in my rafe cameron masterlist under au’s. please send some cutesy requests, i love them sm.

do not copy or post my work anywhere else.

you were currently laid out in your shared bed with a fluffy, weighted blanket clutched close to your chest to try to ease some of the pain you were feeling. you’d gotten your period thankfully but it was more painful than ever. you never really got cramps so experiencing them for the first time now was like literal hell. you had hot tears running down your cheeks because of it.

the obnoxious ringtone of your phone rang through the silence and it almost made you want to die at the thought of rolling over to pick it up. you groaned and reached behind blindly to grab it. rafe’s name flashed across the screen. “hello?” you answered, voice shaking.

“hey, what’s wrong? you cryin’?” his voice was soft and gentle and full of concern. “somethin’ happen?”

you sniffled and wiped your cheeks with your sleeve but it was no use as another wave of pain hit you and a choked sob escaped your lips. “no. ‘m fine. jus’ got my period,” you half-lied. you weren’t even sure why because he definitely could hear you.

he sighed to himself, knowing you were going to take the stubborn route. “well i’m on the way home now, sweetheart. i jus’ got done with work. you want me to pick anything up? food? whatever you need.”

“no,” you said quickly before covering your mouth to hide another cry. “i don’t need anything,” you managed to whimper out before clamping your hand over the lower half of your face again.

there was a beat of silence. “ok, i’ll be home soon then,” he replied. “see you in a bit. i love you.”

you took a deep breath and nodded to yourself. “i love you too,” you mumbled before hanging up. your stomach began to hurt even more and a headache began to form due to the crying.

it had only been about 20 minutes before you heard the sound of rafe’s car pull into the driveway of your shared home. the front door opened and closed quietly almost as if he was trying to sneak in but unfortunately for him, kiwi began to go crazy out of excitement.

he gently quieted her down and made his way up the stairs to where you were tucked in the bed under the covers. when he walked in, he had a red box tied neatly with a bow, a basket full of your favorite sweets and self care items resting on top of it, and a bouquet of roses in the other hand.

you quickly wiped your tears and sat up to get a better look at him, kiwi jumping up onto the bed and laying by your lap. “rafe,” you said softly. “what is all this?”

“you said you jus’ got your period and you sounded upset,” he explained while handing you your gifts and flowers. “so i got you a couple things to make you feel better.”

your lip began to tremble as you admired the basket and box of chocolate covered strawberries in your lap along with the flowers in your hands. “when did you even have the time to do all this?”

he shrugged it off as if it weren’t even that big of a deal. but it was to you and he knew that. you’d mentioned once or twice how much the little things mattered to you. “stopped at the store on the way home,” he said, a smile on his face as he watched you admire your roses. “got some food for you too. i know you’re in pain but you still gotta eat, angel. even if its just a few bites so you can take somethin’ for the pain.”

more tears began to fall at how sweet he was. he’d grown so much over the last month and you were so proud at how he’d finally stepped up and began acting right. you just really hoped it wasn’t temporary.

“don’t cry, sweet girl,” he whispered softly as he cradled your cheeks and wiped them with his thumbs. “c’mon, lets go downstairs ‘nd watch a movie or something. i still got the food down there too.”

you groaned and leaned back against the wooden headboard. you weren’t sure you’d even make it with the pain you were feeling. “i don’t wanna walk all the way down there,” you whined in hopes he’d just come lay with you in bed.

he smiled to himself at how cute you looked. he quickly looped an arm under your back and the other under your knees, lifting you up bridal style with complete ease. “let’s go kiwi. downstairs,” he told your dog. she immediately jumped off the bed and led the way down the steps.

rafe walked through the kitchen, allowing you to catch site of the bag from your favorite restaurant. your heart fluttered at the thought of him remembering considering you only mentioned it once. it was too expensive to have often in your opinion.

he softly set you down on the couch and placed a big, fluffy blanket over you. “you wanna eat now or later?” he asked, brushing your hair past your ears to get a better look at your face.

“later,” you stated quietly. “i’m not really hungry right now.”

he nodded and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “i’ll be right back, ok? i jus’ gotta change really quick,” he said, his face only inches from yours. he kissed you once more then stood on his feet and handed you the remote. “put somethin’ on.”

you could hear him quickly jog upstairs while you mindlessly scrolled through netflix until something caught your eye. you settled on a random movie in the top 10’s just as he came back, now in nothing but black sweatpants and white socks.

he moved the blanket off of you a moment and pushed your legs apart just enough for him to squeeze between them and lay on top of you with his head on your chest, listening to the calming thump of your heartbeat before throwing the blanket over the two of you again.

the weight and warmth of his was extremely comfortable and it made the pressure in your stomach ease up a little bit. one of your hands came up to play with his hair while the other rested on his back.

“you need anythin’ princess?” he asked one last time, voice slightly muffled against your chest as he watched whatever you put on.

you hummed and shook you head. “just this,” you replied surely.

his hands slipped underneath your back to wrap around you and pull you impossibly close. in this moment, you were sure you could stay here forever.

[misguidedasgardian]

GLADIATORS

CREGAN I.

MASTERLIST

Summary: You see your father’s latest acquisition in a closer way, a wild man from the North who had become one of his gladiators.  

Pairing: Slave!Gladiator!Cregan x Domina!Reader

Warnings: Ancient Rome AU, Cursing, slavery (and everything that comes with it, technically rape, forced labour, punishments), blood, guts, gladiator battles, lude language, nudity, sex and everything related is no biggie here, we’re a ‘sex positive’ Republic, mentions of sex, same sex couples, orgies, and more.

MINORS DNI + 18

Wordcount: 6,7 k

Notes: This reader is young perhaps… like 18? 20? but so is Cregan!

“Dad, he is old!”, you whined. You heard your older brother snicker by your side, as their silly wives snickered like the silly girls they were. You sighed as you popped a grape into your mouth followed closely by a piece of cheese and bread and a sip of wine. 

“He’s got money… and he is in the senate!”, he said then, signaling one of the slaves to start lighting up the oil lamps along the Triclinium, the night had fallen over King’s Landing and it was getting dark.

“I bet you could find someone who’s in the senate who’s got a wife he is willing to divorce, and he won’t die of old age before the wedding”, mocked your eldest brother, but soon got quiet as your father looked at him with severity

“Nobody should divorce their wives on my account”, you said, the notion made your stomach turn. Even though divorce was a common thing, if a man desired another, or another union would ensure more privileges, or if his woman was unfaithful or not able to give in heirs to the family, they could divorce. A woman could divorce her husband too if she had her own reasons.

You knew the dowry of your middle brother’s bride was quickly being spent on the training of the gladiators in the Ludus underneath the house, so he needed to come into some money quickly, even though he would have to pay for your dowry.

One of the greatest events of the year was coming quickly, and his Gladiators needed to be in top shape. 

“Tomorrow I want you all there, at the games of Senator Tywin”

“Have we’ve been invited to the pulvinus father?”, asked your eldest brother

“Close enough, right by it”, he said, he seemed pleased, but you had learned to read him better, there was something lurking in his eyes that betrayed a darker desire… for more power perhaps.

“I've heard that Larys Strong and therefore Alys Rivers got an invitation this year to the pulvinus, and her gladiators in the primus at sundown”, whispered Martyn

You had two oldest brothers, Alton and Martyn. 

“That Ludus stands as such because of that whore Alys Rivers”, mumbled your father

“A woman Lanista?”, you asked, “how could that be?”

“She is not, but she whispers in her half-brother's ear while he aspires to be in higher positions”, explains your father. “While his brother, first born son and heir goes around playing gladiator”

“He is a slave?”, you asked

“He volunteer himself into that life”, murmured Alton, “you had seen him fight sister, Harwin”

“Oh wow!”, you said, not really knowing what to say, but rather, sipping your wine, you did remember seeing the biggest person you had seen upon the arenas of King’s Landing’s Coliseum. 

“Anyways, Alys stands as such because she was advised many years by Daemon himself the demon of the arenas”, mumbled Martyn

“Yes, fine Daemon/Demon”, your father would repeatedly, while on his cups, tell the tale of his biggest regret, and that was not purchasing a young Daemon while he was still in training, he grew to be the greatest gladiator at the arena, so much so he won his own freedom at the games of the Vulcanalia some years ago. Daemon, as many other gladiators, came from the shadowlands of Essos, as he sported beautiful white/silver hair and violet eyes. 

You would never say this outloud, but the gladiator battles were never a thing of your interest, not really. You did not liked the bloodshed, the gutting, you had no taste for violence, and yet, there was something to admire as you saw those men fighting 

They looked like they were carved from the finest artist, they stood like they were gods above the sands. They stood as fierce representations of the god of war himself.

“Well, her reign of depravity will not last long, I heard the Northman shows great promise”, mumbled Martyn’s wife Adella 

“What about the Northman?”, Martyn asked then, you raised your head in question. Oh the Northman.

The man had your father in a lockdown, taking most of his time, money and patience. He was ‘caught wild’ in one of the last incursions of the armies of the emperor to the wild tribes of the North, hence his nickname. Purchased by your father at the slave market, and trained for the last months. With the purchase, your father was hoping to impress Tywin Lannister himself, a senator and a very wealthy man, it did not work, so far, as the man planned to visit your father’s villa upon invitation to see the Northman’s training and hopeful subjugation. So far, no luck. 

He was caught fighting, he wasn’t a stranger to it, but there was a long way from being a soldier to being a gladiator. From being… whatever he was up there, to obey command from a man that subdued you into slavery. 

But again, your father’s temper has closely returned to normal, so, you could only assume the training was becoming fruitful, even so slowly. 

“He will never be tamed”, he said curtly, “but… if we keep managing him properly, we can turn that hate of his into the arena, he shows great promise”

“Forgive me father”, you said, raising from your place in the triclinium, “I take my leave to bed”, you said with a soft smile, nodding at everyone present

“Good, I won’t have you all tired tomorrow”, he said approvingly, and you nodded, thinking for which old bat he would have you presentable tomorrow.

He was determined to get you wed before the autumn plantings at the end of the year, and he didn’t seem to care to whom as long as it brought privileges upon his house. 

It was hot, so hot, you could barely stand, you were eternally grateful to your personal slave, Anya, who stood by your side, fanning you with a soft paper fan. She leaned into you as you allowed her, to also enjoy the soft waves.

Although, they brought some stench from all the people around you.

King’s Landing, although the capital of the great republic, stood famous for its stench, having grown rapidly and unprepared for it. 

The sun cooking the viewers of the spectacle didn’t help either.

The people cheered, bringing a new wave of hodor that made you dizzy and poor Anya almost faint

“Did you see that?”, asked your elder brother to the youngest, as two gladiators fought to the death, one cutting the other’s arm. HIs screams could be heard all the way up where you stood, near the pulvinus.

You rather stare into the sun, which you did. Soon, after midday, it was going to hide behind the wooden beams supporting the canvas on top of the Arena, there you truly were going to enjoy it. being able to relish in the shadow. 

“Tywin demanded only the best this city has to offer present themselves in his games”, the comment alone made you turned your gaze upon the Arena, as people cheered again, some even pushed you in their ecstasy, to see the gladiator in shining white armor decapitate the one missing his arm

“And Cole does it again”, said Martyn. The one who had an armor so polished it was blinding was known as Cole, he stood from the Rhoynar in the south, from Dorne itself, plucked from the desert to fight in another kind of arena. 

“See her gloat”, demanded Alton, you all looked towards the Lanista herself, Alys Rivers in the pulvinus, with a smug look upon her face, she of course was the one holding the wip that trained the man in the arena.

She was of extraordinary beauty, long lustrous black hair, long to her hips, wearing a deep green stola, beautifully decorated atop a black tunic, you wondered how she did not bake wearing such dark colors. 

She was stuck to the side of her rumored half-brother, he was a.. interesting man, thin and a bit twisted, unruly hair but fine clothing adorned his weak frame. 

“People of King’s Landing…!”, presented Otto HIghtower from the pulvinus, a small but central box, where the most prominent people attending the games would sit at. He was a Senator, friend to Tywin Lannister and apparently presenter to today’s games. Maybe he was the patron of the entire occasion, your father had been paid by a HIghtower man.

But this… was far from over.

It was odd to see such a gladiator so early in the day, the sundown was reserved for the very best part of the games, the primus, between the two best and more known gladiators. 

You found yourself thinking about like four names at the time.

Harwin, Cole, Aemond, and… the Northman.

Although Harwin was disapparating from latest presentations… he still held name, but he had lost his prowess as the last time he found himself in the Arena he asked for mercy as he found himself losing, he raised his hand in the air with both index and middle finger pointing to the skies begging for mercy, and it was granted.

Against Cole himself. He got terribly injured almost a year ago, thereafter only presenting himself in fights long before midday sun.

Yes, everything you knew about gladiators and fights was learnt unwillingly. 

But the primus did not belong to your father, so the Northman was fighting early, thankfully. You might have a chance to survive this heat, by retiring back to your father’s villa early.

Although, these occasions were like the market for older unmarried men. And your father would have you giving everything to sell…  

“... I give to you, from one of the greatest Ludus of the Republic, a man, from the wild tribes North of the neck…”, your father smiled proudly as the name of the family was spoken loudly for everyone to hear. “trained to wet the sands with the blood of his enemies… I give you… CREGAN!”, people booed at his entrance, as the wild tribes of the North had been villainized by the Republic, as relentless, violent and above all, uncultured and barbaric, but you had learned to read between the lines, they were described as such because they refused to bend the knee.

The gates of the Arena opened on the west side, revealing the men ready for battle. He stood tall and broad despite his young age, his dark brown hair tied back, although hidden by a thick helmet in the shape of a wolf’s head. 

He wore nothing protecting his torso, yet a thick metal belt putting together the lower part of a tunic. He wore forearm and shin protectors, and thick leather sandals 

He had a huge sword in hand, and a shield on his other.

The sight alone took your breath away.

You had seen him only practicing, briefly, as your father did not approve of you gazing from your balcony down to the men. As they would, “get distracted”, and you didn't enjoy their eyes filled with lust either. So you refrained from doing so, but…

The mere glimpses you had gotten of the men were nothing when putting in comparison to the men upon the sand today.

In all glory, in strength, as a gladiator was the mightiest representation of a man, or that is what your father always said.

This was a rare sighting though, as he had barely been making a name for himself, this time might be the first he presents himself alone. Your father was right, taiming him was proving to be incredibly difficult, but nobody could deny that even if he presented himself a gladiator today under your father’s ludus, he was still as unruly as the first time you laid eyes upon him, as the first time you gaze down upon him, entering through the gates, kicking and screaming, hair longer than you had seen in a men, even longer than he had now. 

He fought your father’s guards and even the ones who he would call his brothers this present day.

Tywin himself called for the start of the fight, his opponent was someone of the Ludus of Larys himself, one with lesser note, his name left your ears as soon as you heard it.

But you couldn't care less, as when he started to move upon the sands, the rest of the world could crumble around you and it would not matter in the slightest.

“He stands superior in all aspects”, mumbled one of your brothers and you couldn't tell which as you were so hypnotized.

Cregan attacked first, and that was very frowned upon in the Lanistas, as the first to strike tended to have disadvantage, his opponent met him half way and the clash of gladious responded all over the coliseum. 

There were some gladiators that favored other weapons, like the spear and short shield, or the Retiarius, that were gladiators trained with a net and a trident, in a fisherman fashion. 

It sounded laughable in paper, but they were quite impressive in the arena, not this time though, both gladiators stood with a gladious, meaning a sword, and a long squared concave shield.

The fight wasn’t lengthy, the superiority of the Northman was clear since the very first movement.

Although it wasn’t less breathtaking, as each of their movements, attacks, the way they moved, and deflected, its like they were dancing, dancing in a mortal rhythm 

The crowd cheered for them, and even though they were not on the Northman’s side, suddenly, they shifted as it became clear that he was the better fighter. 

Although you did not enjoy the games, there was this moment, this exact moment in which you felt like your heart was in your throat and you could tear your eyes apart from the fight. The moment where you really cared about who won, about who survived. The Northman, even thought it was the 

But it was brief, first Cregan drew blood on the arm of his opponent, and then, after a quick movement, the man was dead, dropped in a growing pool of blood on the floor. 

The magic was gone, and the crowd erupted in cheers, applauding, screaming his name, although there were those disappointed because of the outcome.

“He will be the champion of our house!”, said Alton, “mark my words!”, he said, as your two brothers hugged each other in happiness. you turned to Anya, who had a soft smile on her face, but kept fanning the both of you 

The rest of the fights happened quickly after that, the sun hiding behind the podium of the magistrates and people of importance in the city, which gave you relief as the day turned quickly, the sun moved above the sky until it hid behind the outer walls of the coliseum. 

The last fight ended quickly as well, Aemond killing his opponent in an impressive showing of strength and blood. 

Your father was called upon another man near the pulvinus, as you tried to stand your ground as people around you were quickly to leave the arena, but you managed to stand your ground, as your siblings found friends of their own to talk to. 

Your father came back to you, rubbing his hands amongst each other with a pleased look on his face

“I must attend a meeting in the magistrate’s house”, he said happily, “He spotted me in the crowd and invited me”, you smiled at him

“I’m pleased, father”, you said with a soft smile

“See yourself to the villa, with our guards and slaves, don’t wait up”, he commanded the lot of you. 

“We have been invited to the Lannisters”, mumbled Martyn, your father’s eyes again shone with interest. So he nodded towards your brother.

“I trust you’ll be well taken care of”, he said then, turning to you, he then signaled to one of his most trusted guards and even to the Doctore himself, the trainer of the gladiators.

“Yes father”, you nodded at Anya and the both of you exited the arena, followed closely by a guard. 

You turned quickly as you heard your name being called by a familiar voice, as you were int he shade of the hallways, as you turned you found yourself with your old friend from your childhood, Alysanne Blackwood

“How long haven’t we gaze upon one another?”, she said, grabbing your forearms as you did hers, she leaned in a made attempt to kiss both your cheeks as it was accustomed

“Too long”, you said with a long sigh

“We shall remedy that immediately!”, she said then, “you didn’t mind telling me your father’s Ludus was the one who owns the Northman himself?”, she tried

“Oh well, much has happened in the last couple of years”, you said shyly, smiling softly at her.

This was hardly the time, all the people were leaving the coliseum, and pushed you who were trying to stand on the sidelines. She looked at you with those deep green eyes of hers, she was so beautiful, lean and tall, with thick black hair fixed beautifully and big green eyes, her smile was contagious. 

“Well it's been too long”, she said then, as you failed to meet what she desired, “and I will wait no longer, to get reacquainted with dear friend”, she said, grabbing your hands

“My villa, its mine for the night, as my father meets with important men”, you offered, her smile was as beautiful as the rest of her

“Perfect, Jeyne Frey is also here”, she said, “we’ll go together”.

To say you were nervous was an understatement 

The night found you and your friends in the safety of the triclinium in your family’s villa, where the soft wine flowed freely and also the dining. 

“And his cock was huge!”, she said, making you gasp

“Alyssane!”, you chided, “don’t say that!”, you said, feeling your cheeks heated

“What? Cock?”, she teased, “Cock! Cock! Cock! COCK!”

“Stop it!”, you slapped her arm playfully

“I see them all the time!”, Jeyne said then, looking sheepishly, hiding her smirk in her cup of wine. 

“Only because you like to peek as your brothers have sex with slaves!”, mocked Alyssane 

“No I don’t!”, she said, but you knew she was lying. 

“I bet that Northman’s cock is huge too”, teased Alyssane, finally revealing her true intentions behind her and Jeyne’s visit to your father’s villa. You got quiet, so did Jeyne, but the expression on her face said it all, she was as intrigued as Alyssane

“I wouldn’t know, even if I saw it”, you said

“You had never seen a man naked?”, asked Alyssane, raising one of her perfect eyebrows

“No”, you said then, well… you sort of had, men, male slaves on sale on the streets, but you had refused to look long enough to draw a complete image in your mind. What you saw in a couple of seconds did not please you at all, rather… you disliked.. something so… small and wobbly. You shaked at the very memory of it.

“You had never seen any of your gladiators in such fashion?”, asked Jeyne, ready to tease and follow Alyssane’s lead.

“No I have not!”, you said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Aren’t you at least a bit curious?”, asked Jeyne

“Well, of course I am”, you defended

“You are to be married before the darkest of the winter months, you should at least know what you are up against”, Alyssane said simply, “and I would not deny the sight… of such a man”

“You are here just to gaze upon naked men?”, you said playfully, although, a bitter taste in your mouth, as you were feeling clearly used, and pressured.

“No, I am here to gaze upon naked gladiators”, Jeyne said then.

But another flavor joined the others, the need deep within you impress your friends, your friends from rich houses of the capital 

“Bring me the Northman”, you said to the guard that stood in the corner watching the whole reunion, he seemed terribly nervous, but nodded and left you. You shaked with the resolution in your command, and felt a pit in your stomach in anticipation.

You knew he was going to take a while, so you turned back at your friends and smiled nervously, and they seemed terribly motivated. 

“I must say”, began Jeyne, as she saw your face filled with trepidation, “that my tongue will not be kept from wagging about your hospitality to my father”, she wanted to make sure you knew there was going to be recompense for this, and good recompense. His father, as old as time, sat in the senate, she stood the daughter of a senator.

“Thank you Jeyne”, you said with a soft smile, you took a long gulp of your cup, to try and soothe your nerves. Alyssane did the same, but with a smirk on her lips, she said nothing as she studied your form. 

Finally, they both took sit position in their triclinium as you heard movement behind you. You looked back to see their trainer Roose Bolton, following closely behind the man himself. The wildling from the tribes of the North, whose name was Cregan Stark, although everyone called him… ‘The Northman’

He stood with thick shackles around both wrists. in front of him. He was wearing nothing but a clean subligaria, and his body was like one of a god, well defined and gleamed under the light of the torches, he had recently been cleaned. The sight made your mouth dry, so you took another long sip of the mulsum in your cup. He had thick brown hair that he used tied in the back of his head, and he had sharp eyes, cold as ice and the same colour. The features of his face were soft, declaring his young age, your own, perhaps. 

“Leave us”, you demanded, but the trainer Roose Bolton looked conflicted

“Domina, I don’t think…”

“I said leave us”, you said, about to lose your courage, your friends behind you giggled, weirdly giving you confidence to commit to your own command. With a grunt, the doctore nodded and left you, with only your friends, a couple of guards standing silently in the corners of the room behind veils, and him.

The Northman

He was deadly still, looking forwards, beyond you and your friends, beyond this room, his jaw was tense, you could tell that being here, summoned by you like this… for him was humiliating, but there he stood, tense like a bow. He said nothing, he didn’t move an inch.

“Is this what all northmen look like?”, Jeyne teased, “he is more beast than man”, you didn’t know if that was a real question, but your eyes never left his form, even if it wasn’t he didn’t answer.

“You can answer”, you encouraged 

“All northmen do not look like me”, he said finally, the dark tone in his voice made the three of you gasp. “some make me look like an Andal”, Jeyne and Alyssane giggled at the prospect of finding even gruffer men than him. 

“Oh he speaks the common tongue”, Alyssane was on fire, making you more uncomfortable. His eyes finally found yours, and you couldn’t take your own out of his. 

“Yes he does”, you whispered, he indeed had a beautiful set of eyes. You then looked down at his chest, there was a red line, his injury from the battle in the Arena, it was still fresh, but you could tell it was healing properly

“I think he is handsome”, mumbled Alyssane, taking foot to walk towards him, you feared his reaction, as the guard standing in the corner of the room clenched his hand around the pommel of his sword. 

But the gladiator still didn't move as Alysanne walked around him, teasing him with a single finger, touching his skin as she walked. His eyes were still on you. 

“He stands as Mars, ready for war”, she whispered

“Alyssane seems taken by the man”, teased Jeyne in your ear

It was a curious thing, this what you were feeling, like somebody wanted to take something that belonged to you, but again, he wasn’t a thing, and you didn’t own him. Not technically at least, your father did.

“Their day starts early tomorrow”, you mumbled, making Alysane stop and look back at you with a teasing smile on her face. “his training I mean”, you said then

“Of course”, she said, you signaled the poor shaking guard and he grabbed Cregan, and took him from your side. You could swear you saw lingering eyes from him to you, but you must have imagined it.

“You should… enjoy him while you can”, said Jeyne finally, once you found yourselves alone again

“What do you mean?”, you asked her, her and Alyssane shared complicit looks

“Well, obviously, before you take an old bat as a husband, you should enjoy one of his gladiators, like that Northman for example”

“No…”, you said quickly, “I couldn’t possibly do something like that”

“Why not?”, asked Alyssane

“He is a man trained as a gladiator!”, you said, “he is a bit dirty…”, you tried, not quite convinced 

“You have him bathed and oiled before you”, said Alyssane like it was no issue 

“What if he doesn't want to?”, you tried then

“He is a slave, under your command…”, said Jeyne, “...and a man”

“What if he decided to kill me instead?”, you said then, “wrap his hands around my neck”

“I will not shame you is that is to your pleasure”, giggled Alyssane

“Aly!”, you whined, “the point is I really couldn’t, I mean, he is big and thick… and wild looking”

“Delicious then”, she offered

“Dangerous…”, you continued, although you felt your cheeks heated. 

“Well if you don't have him, maybe I could!”, she teased

“What are you talking about?!”, you asked, scandalized, “when have you heard that proper Andal women lay with their gladiators?”

“Oh I’ve heard a ludus where such things happen quite frequently”, she teased

“Where?”, you asked

“In Alys Rivers’ ludus!”, your eyes opened wide in shock

“Really?”, you asked, “the bastard sister of the Lanista Larys Strong?”, you asked 

“They say she offers her gladiators in… other manners”, she said, winking at you, “perhaps we should find ourselves at her door?”, she asked Jeyne

“Perhaps we shall”, she said back. 

“Don’t be mean!”, you teased back, she laughed, as she was clearly jesting, you hoped.

“The hour is late”, said Jeyne with a soft smile, “I should start my journey back to my villa before my father starts a search party”, she said, raising from her chair

“Yes! me as well!”, said Alyssane, “I hope I can meet you tomorrow at the market?”, she asked you, you smiled and nodded profusely, as you accompanied them to the atrium, and therefore the door

As you watched them leave, nervousness started to take a hold on you, as did the warmth of the wine consumed to hide your embarrassment 

It was not common to find yourself alone in your villa, your father had allowed it because you were in company of friends -who had influential fathers-, but now there you stood, no brothers, or sisters in law, father or friends to loom over you.

Your lower belly burned with necessity, with something you have never felt before, a longing, your body burned with anticipation and excitement. You didn’t know if it was the mulsum you had drank, or the power you just discovered, all the whole thing combined.

“Bring the Northman up here”, you said to the first guard you saw, he nodded and went to comply with your command. Your body was tingly because of the alcohol and you were excited to say the least, you didn’t even care that you had already sent the poor man down mere minutes ago, tonight, you had the power.

You shakily served yourself some more wine, back in the safety of the triclinium, the room where you ate, met with friends and family, where you were most comfortable. The man was standing right in front of you in minutes, the guards nodded at you and then left you as they had done before.

The gladiator stood there, now he seemed more surprised than before, as he found you alone, and he also seemed to be showing more of his emotions on his face.

“Northman”, you called, he turned to you quickly, anger in his eyes

“That’s not my name!”, it took you by surprise, you couldn’t deny it, the anger in his eyes, the sharpness in his tone. 

“What is your name?”, it was of no consequence to you, his domina, and you should express so, that it did not matter anymore what his real name was, but, there you were, asking him nonetheless

“My parents named me Cregan”, he said, “of House Stark”, he said sharply, “as many leaders of my house before me”

There was so much more you wanted to ask, as his words truly shocked you, but as you gazed down the street you came to your senses, realizing that you should not allow such things. As your father tended to say, “who were you before this Ludus does not matter, the only thing in your mind should be sand, and the blood of your enemies”

“That is not what you are here for”, you finally find your voice, minimizing his anger at hand, turning his attention somewhere else.

“Remove your subligaria”, you whispered the command as if you did not wish it, and his sharp eyes were trained on you

“Look at you, a little domina in the making”, he teased, his tone much changed since he let you know of his true name. The very words made your cheeks heated, and you found yourself averting his gaze, his did not stray from your face as he released himself from the only item of clothing he was wearing. Your eyes followed the trail of his perfect skin, down his toned chest to his belly and…

The sight alone made you gasp. 

This looked nothing like the ones of the male slaves in the market, if anything, those were… flacid and small, that sight brought you disgust and uneasiness, this one however, made your mouth dry and your skin tingle with desire. Desire that was pooling in your lower belly.

“You can touch me”, he said, he was being amused at your expense, only making you even more nervous, “I will not bite… much”, your hand was placed on his belly, muscles showing in beautiful shapes, you couldn't believe something could be hard but soft at the same time.

As your hand lowered, you found thick dark hairs there, making you shudder 

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen”, he whispered, so close to your face your hand stopped right before getting to his base and you looked up at him.

“I’m the daughter of your dominus”, you said, as you believed he was forced to praise you.

“Do you think that’s got something to do with what I just said?”, he asked. Your hand stopped right as the base of his cock, you shuddered, his manhood was terribly hot. 

You had never spoken to this man before today, you had barely glanced at him, and now, here he stood, under your command, looking at you with his sharp eyes, not missing a thing. 

“I’m sorry, this was a bad idea…”, you whined retrieving your hands like his skin burned you. Cregan grunted when your soft hands left his cock, and that only made you burn more heatedly

“And you are going to leave me hanging like this?”, he asked, amused, mocking you, but inside he was suffering, he was enjoying it too much, it has been so long without a woman’s touch, “you can’t do that!”

“My apologies”, you said quickly, leaving him there standing 

His doctore came to collect him, he retrieved his cloth from the ground, putting it in place

“A little tease that one”, he mumbled to the serious man

“Do not speak of domina in that way”, he growled as he pushed him 

“There is not much domina in her”, he chuckled

“That’s it, five lashes in the courtyard”, he said

“I’d think better of it doctore”, he said defiantly, taking advantage of the fact that only the two of them were present in the narrow passage that separated the villa from the training grounds of the Slaves, “the Vulcanalia is merely a fortnight away from now, and they have high hopes for me”

“Keep walking boy”, Roose Bolton threatened.

He led him downstairs and then through the big gate that separated the villa from the ludus, where the gladiators lived and trained. A guard locked it tight after they passed through it

“I advise you to keep what happened to yourself”, he said gloomly, Cregan looked back at his doctore, but nodded.

He was directed straight to a long open room, where the gladiators ate lunch and dinner. He directed himself to the cook, who gave him a clay pot with a white mush in it, just like the day before, and the night before that. 

“Here comes the whore!”, someone shouted at him, as his “brothers” started mocking him and winking at him.

It didn’t take much to guess what happened in the villa, there was only one reason you get called upon at such hours, and wearing so little

“Shut the hell up Ben”, he mumbled to his only friend he had in the Ludus, he haden’t say anything, but he was grinning at him like an idiot.

“Was it her?”, he asked him, “the daughter? the domina?”

“Yes”, he said, his friend pushed him playfully

“Did you fuck her?”, Cregan just looked at him angrily

“No”

“Was she not pleased with you then?”. he asked, frowning

“She is young, she doesn’t know what she wants”, he said simply, really not wanting to share what had happened upstairs.

It was humiliating, to say the least, to be treated like that. To be called upon to be gazed at by women who looked at him like a piece of meat, and then again to be touched.

Oh but he meant every word

You were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, since the first time he saw you, standing on that balcony, looking down at him. He did not blame you for your father, for the blood that ran through your veins, for the republic that created you. You had nothing to do with any of it.

Just by looking at you he could tell the kind soul that moved your body and warmed your heart

But you were the daughter of the man who purchased him, he wasn’t the one who enslaved him, but it was the man that had condemned him to the life of a gladiator. 

“Well, maybe you can change her mind”, he teased

The only reason he was playing along with the Andals was to see how to escape them, so far, it had been easy to stay alive, he had been trained since he could pick up a sword on how to hunt, how to fight, how to survive, the North was not a place for the weak

“Father?”, you called out loud, the servants all dropped their eyes as you passed them by looking for him, but you couldn’t find him in his study, so you were on your way to his room at the other side of the villa

“What’s this ruckus?”, he asked, looking at you with sharp eyes as he went to encounter you in the atrium

“My good friend Alyssane has summoned me to go to the market at noon”, you knew he wouldn’t refuse you, not if Alyssane was involved, so he just sighed and motioned for you to follow him. You went back to his study, passing all the statues decorating the atrium. A normal Andal family would display in honor effigies of their most prominent family members, but yours displayed the most prominent gladiators and fighters that had come from this ludus.

“Here”, he passed you a small punch filled with gold coins

“Thank you father”, you said, offering a complacent smile

“Take one of my men with you”, he said then, “one of the gladiators”

“I hardly think that’s necessary, a servant and a guard would do just fine”, you said quickly, always as you were in the market you wanted to pass by as inconspicuous as you could. 

“I insist, after the games, and before the Vulcanalia, I want the people to see them, to get excited, take the Northman”, you hid your face before your father could see the embarrassment in it. 

One of the guards of the villa went to fulfill his request, and you sighed in exasperation. 

You came back to your rooms to get ready to go out, and once you were, you returned to the entrance of the house, where Cregan himself was waiting for you with a severe look on his face, this was not to his liking, he was standing right by a guard, and by Roose Bolton. 

The sight alone made you tremble

Had he told anybody what happened the day before? that you had touched him and presumed to have him?

Once his eyes found yours, he smirked. 

“If something befalls the daughter of your dominus, fate worse than death awaits you boy”, he said in his ear

“Rest assured, that I will look after her with my life”, he said with a silly little smile.

You took a long sigh, and nodded to the guards and started walking out of the villa.

The villa stood on top of a hill, you had a pretty nice view upon the city of King’s Landing, but the rest of it wasn't quite impressive, the road was made of dirt and the houses around it were less impressive than the one your father had inherited from his father. It had been in your family since the very creation of the city.

You led a small comitive, all on foot, as you bluntly refused to be carried in a cot. You, your faithful slave Anya, Cregan himself, being flanked by two guards.

The center of the city started right at the foot of the hill, so it was a short minute walk.

You reach a street made of cobblestone, one adjacent to the one that led to the main street, as it was time before you had to meet Alyssane, you started to look the small stores

“Did your father hear of the way you handled me last night?”, Cregan whispered as Anya was tending elsewhere, you look back sharply at the Northman.

“No, and he shall not!”, you said sharply

“Oh well, I guess if he had, he’d have me castrated”, he whispered for your ears only, “and I guess you don’t want that as it seems you like what you saw”, he teased

“Stop it”, you said back. Your father was a practical man, and if he had heard of what occurred last night, you would be the one at fault, as everyone involved was just following your command. “My father will never know of this”, you sentenced 

“You wanted to lay with me? A gladiator? a slave?”, he asked then

“I was mistaken”, you said, trying to gaze upon what a man was cooking on his store towards the street, it smelled delicious 

“You are mistaken”, you heard him claim, his thick accent made your thighs, “for seeking bedding before connecting, to seek sex, instead of love, to want lust before you even began to feel the fondness”, he said sincerely.

“Thinking love is something within the grasp of someone in my position is foolish, and I learned not to be blinded and distracted by foolish things”, you whispered sadly. You nodded at the man and exchanged a couple of aerus for a plate of lamb soup. “I’ll be married before the year is over”, you whispered. 

[bunny-jpeg]

hii little bunny <3

i like make an order of  banana bread, jos louis and  english muffin, with a expresso shot and tonic water served by Lewis Hamilton, please 

bakery menu!

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu! i love to hear what you'd want to order! thank you for anything you send! i hope you have a lovely day/night! thank you to this anon for your order, enjoy!

banana bread ("i'm going to fuck that sweet pussy of yours until the only word your little brain can form is my name.") + jos louis ("does someone need a daddy?") + english muffin ("aw, is someone crying?") + espresso shot (dirty talking) + tonic water (age gap) served by lewis hamilton (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, dirty talk/degrading language, age gap (20s/late-30s), slight daddy kink, dom/sub, sugar daddy au

lewis hamilton was on top of the world. the billion dollar man, nothing could top him. not even the pretty thing on his arm. you have tried to top him, even tried being on top of in a cow girl position. but lewis loved when you were underneath him, his cock dragging in and out of you while you clawed at whatever you could get your hands on.

"does someone need a daddy?"

it was after singapore, the start of a small break in the season. which left you confused because wasn't there just the summer break? regardless, lewis invited you to stay a few days before you headed back to his home in monaco.

you didn't know what your relationship to lewis was. he paid for almost everything in exchange for your time and attention. when you tried to use methods to save money, it only made the man shove more money into your bank account. however, the words 'i love you' never came up, but you called him daddy when he fucked you. there were promises, he'd never leave you out to dry. which meant that even if this arrangement ended, he wouldn't do it suddenly. and would make sure that you were taken care of. but something often nibbled at your core, that lewis would die before he cut off the relationship you had.

but lewis also liked to make you cry in the bedroom. not heavy, sad tears. but rather the euphoria of his cock being buried into your sweet cunt night after night. you were a stress toy that lewis could have deep conversations with. the doll he could bite at, but also gift the world to.

you tried not to think about it too much. not when he had you pressed chest first against the door of the hotel room. his chest up against your back and his hands up the skirt of your dress.

"lewis." you said with your breasts up against the door, your back arched to let him press into your further. you sniffled a little as you felt the pain in your chest from being pressed so hard into the door.

he licked his lips and rubbed against you further, his hand found the waistband on your panties. the panties he bought for you specifically. he asked, "aw, is someone crying?" there were times where lewis treated you like a slut.

he was older, domineering in a sense. the world at his finger tips. there was a power to him that called you in like a siren's song. so even when he teased you, it excited you. maybe you were a slut after all.

he continued to feel you up and you loved it. his strong grip, the grip that kept his hands on the steering wheel, were all over your body. and it made you hot all over. you could feel the excited in your chest as he continued to touch you. your core throbbed with a need for him. even without the money, you had a deep urge to let him fuck you like he did every other time.

you moaned a little and he kissed your neck roughly. his grip got harder which made your back arch further. you were always so responsive to him, it made your heart race. you knew he wouldn't fuck you up against the door.

"i'm going to fuck that sweet pussy of yours until the only word your little brain can form is my name." he said almost softly, with tenderness as if he wasn't pushing your panties down to your ankles, "i want to see your squirm, sweetheart."

"please, daddy." you whimpered before you were pulled away from the door. you ended up in bed with him soon after, his hands in your hair as he pulled you in for a softer kiss.

you whined against his lips as he laid you out on the bed under him. he admired your beauty. you softness, your figure. you drove him crazy. the bed felt soft under you, it felt even softer when lewis got you undressed. you could feel his gaze on you, as he looked at your face once more and smiled.

"you're making me warm." you said.

"good." he said as he got his shirt off, "i want to make you hot." he kicked off his socks and soon his pants. his toned, tattooed body made you swallow.

"daddy."

"i know, sweetheart. fuck, you're beautiful." you knew he was being serious with his words. the sight of you enticed him as you were both eventually naked. he splayed his hand out across your stomach and leaned in for a soft kiss. his lips then trailed down your jaw and neck and he watched you squirm.

you wanted to cover your face from shyness, but he'd tie you up on the bed before he let that happen. and you could still feel the familiar ache of rope against your skin. he was between your legs once more and licked his lips.

"and what do we say to daddy before he fucks you?" he flashed you a smile.

you swallowed, feeling more embarrassed, "please and thank you." he beamed at you and you yelped as you were pulled closer to him with your hips raised to his cock.

"always the good girl, aren't you?" he rubbed his hard cock up against your achy cunt. he could practically see the embarrassment on your face. he loomed over you as he was painfully close to slotting himself inside of your pussy, "don't be shy, sweetheart. you know i adore every inch of you. it calls to me, you know. when we're apart." he was closer into your space as he slipped his cock into you slowly.

a moment of tenderness.

he held onto your hips, not hard enough to bruise you. but, enough to keep you under him. his lips were soon close to your ear, "so good for me. most would've been long gone by now. but you like when i fuck you, don't you? you like when i make a mess of you and throw some money at you." he pressed down further on you and you whined, "like a proper whore."

you shuddered, your pussy tightened around his cock and he chuckled as he started to move against you. his pace was quick and rough, he loved his sex rough and fast. he loved watching you squirm and try to hold onto his shoulders.

"such a good girl for me. your pussy can take anything i can throw at it." he chuckled, his voice in your head. which left your thoughts cloudy with hot want.

you could feel your heartbeat quickening and you felt hot all over. it was painfully hot for you. you could feel the thrum of pleasure in the back of your mind while he worked your body. lewis was good that way, he knew exactly how to make you squirm.

as if he didn't spend a season break examining and figuring out what made your back arch and your toes curl. he tried everything and you took it all. now lewis knew what you liked and how to make his sweetheart fully melt under him.

he believed he was a gentleman that way. as if he weren't roughly thrusting against you and it made your head spin. he kissed you deeply, to keep the moans down to a minimum. you tasted sweet like sugar and were softer than velvet. you drove him crazy, so much so that those three little words seemed to bubble up in his brain.

instead he pulled away and looked at you with his dark eyes, "you like being using like this. you love how i feel against you. it's cute when you try to squirm out of my touch. because you know you never will. i like you too much and i'd be an idiot to let another man touch your pussy."

he dragged against the right spot and there were stars behind your eyes. you kicked your feet out a little bit and he pressed you further into the bed. his thrusts became quicker and your noises got louder. his kisses became hotter as they dragged across your chest.

"please, lewis. fuck." you squirmed a little more as you felt the pleasure bubble in your chest. he continued to move against you and everything in you burned like an out of control flame.

the kisses on your lips once more were heavy and it made you pant heavily. you felt like a dream to him, you felt like heaven. and he felt like heaven to you. the kisses deepened while you held onto him tightly.

you came with his lips on yours. nails dug into his shoulders as he moved against you. you felt the rush of pleasure through you as he continued to move against you.

you tensed up then relaxed against him before he continued to make out with you while he fucked you. the bed squeaked under you and he felt the same thrum of pleasure you did.

with a few more heavy thrusts of his hips, he pushed himself deep inside of you and finished. he held onto your hips and felt the heat course through his body. when he relaxed after the height of pleasure, he slowed his rapid thrusts to a stop and kept his cock inside of your pussy for a moment.

he went in for a kiss, with a bit of heat to it. you groaned against him and held onto his shoulders tighter. eventually he pulled out and laid next to you on the bed.

his arms were loosely around you and he occasionally pressed kisses against your heated skin. he said, "anything you want. it's yours." he said like a promise.

you turned to look at him and softly smiled, still basking in the post-orgasm bliss. you replied, "would it be cheesy to say i want you?"

he smiled, "a little bit. but, i did promise anything." he pressed against you, his arm draped over your hip. he smiled, "so i guess you can have me." something made you heart skip, you kissed him deeply.

"then, i guess i have you." you simply replied before he took you by the head and kissed you deeply. he may fuck you to the point of tears, but you knew that lewis cared deeply for you. as you cared for him. <3

[slytherinshua]

ALL MY LOVE

genre. fluff. boyfriend headcanons. warnings. minghao dreams abt marriage and starting a family. not proofread and written while i'm sick and have half a braincell so i'm rly sorry if this is a mess. pairing. minghao x fem!reader. wc. 558. request. no. a/n. babe wake up slytherinshua is back skdjskd GOD IM SO HAPPY I WAS ABLE TO WRITE SOMETHING FINALLY 😭😭 thought this blog was literally gonna die cause writers block was so strong. also surprised it ended up being svt that broke through my block esp minghao but yk ill take it no complaints !!!!

boyfriend!minghao who’s a gentle, slow lover. he never rushes, but he also never leaves you with any doubt. he can read you like a book, and any concerns on your mind seem to be instantly resolved before you even have time to bring them up. he’s steady and true; your rock that you always know you can fall back on when things get tough. no matter what, he’ll always be there. he gives you a soft passionate type of love that you would never get tired of even after decades. 

boyfriend!minghao who’s always been ambitious. he has dozens of things he’d like to do and achieve, but he also knows how to take life slow and enjoy the present. he knows he has time to do everything he wants, and he reminds you that you also have plenty of time as well. sometimes you need that extra voice to tell you that it’s okay to take a break sometimes. it’s okay to breathe and think. no matter what, minghao will always be your biggest supporter— always rooting for you to strive and reach your goals, even if they are small.

boyfriend!minghao who helps you relax after a long day. warm tea and a massage are enough to put your mind and body at ease. his hands work like magic over your neck, shoulders, and back. it’s so good, in fact, that you feel guilty for not paying him for his service. he would never accept anything like that from you, though. once he’s done working out the knots for 20 minutes, he’d fall on top of you, giggling into the crook of your neck as he acts like your personal weighted blanket.

boyfriend!minghao who has a whole collection of couple items with you over the years. whether it be clothes, jewelry, or even mugs, everything he buys seems to come in a set of two. he can’t even imagine buying something for just himself anymore when you always seem to cross his mind whenever he spots something cute.

boyfriend!minghao who scolds you (but truly only out of love). his attention to detail and observant nature is both his strength and his flaw. he’s quick with his tongue— too quick— and will catch himself lecturing or correcting you when it wasn’t strictly needed. although it’s rare for his scolding to get on your nerves, as you know its a way he shows that he cares about you and loves you, it sometimes does. but he’s quick with his apologies as well, so no bickering between you two can ever last long. 

boyfriend!minghao who is so happy and secure in your relationship. he knows he’s found the one with you, and now that he’s been able to call you his for years, there’s no way he would ever be able to imagine his life without you. the overwhelming fondness he holds for you plants itself in his head and his heart and always has him thinking about your future together. he’d tell you randomly over tea how much he’s been thinking and dreaming about spending the rest of his life with you. whether it be big milestones like your wedding and starting a family, or smaller ones like waking up in each others arms each morning, he’s excited to experience it all with you.

↳ svt taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @ddeonudepressions,, @hannahsophie0103,, @minholing,,

@shuabby1994,, @icyminghao,, @98-0603,, @weird-bookworm,, @candewlsy,,

@wonwooz1,, @blossominghunnie,, @haecien,, @amara-mars,, @okshu,,

@parkjennykim,, @wootify,, @svtoose,, @seunghancore,, @ujisworld,,

@heavenfilm,, @sobun1est,, @bananabubble,, @talkingsaxy,, @thesunsfullmoon,,

@talking-saxy,, @nicholasluvbot,, @cupidslovearrows,, @50-husbands,, @hursheys,,

@gong-fourz,, @nonononranghaee,, @forever-atiny

[lionhanie]

study with boynextdoor! (ot6 hc + drabbles)

….ranked from best to worst study buddies 😅

classmate!boynextdoor x gn!reader (college au)

word count: 3.4k (~500-700 each)

warnings: TW SCHOOL 👎, written in lowercase, there’s a curse word here and there…, No Beta We Die Like Men (not proofread very well lmao)

a/n: wrote this while i was procrastinating studying for my final exams :,) soooo these r self indulgent hoohohoh ... enjoy :3

reblogs ↺  + feedback always appreciated!

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･sungho

tbh i feel like he’s the type to not study and just. be perfect idk 

sungho pays attention in class so he doesn’t feel the need to review extensively before the exam … COULD NOT BE ME!!!!

with that being said tho, he’s the perfect tutor ^_^

sungho will definitely be right by your side as you’re doing the exam review packet, waiting to see if you get stumped on a particular question 

when you do, he walks you through the steps you got stuck on, making sure you /actually/ understand the content rather than just doing whatever he tells you to do

and if he isn’t able to be physically there with you, he will literally be on standby bc he’s so used to you calling him for help the night before the exam :,) 

he is SO patient too. especially because he sees how hard you’re working and he just wants to see all of your hard work pay off 

sometimes you’ll feel bad because you feel like you’re taking up too much of his time just because you don’t understand the material 

but he’s so quick to reassure you about it all bc he genuinely doesn’t mind, and he will MAKE SURE you know that 

✐ᝰ

you place your head into your hands for the nth time that night, groaning at the way you can’t seem to memorize the right definitions. sungho chuckles from the other side of the phone, knowing exactly how you look despite not being able to see you right now. “everything okay over there?”

“i’ve been studying for so long and it still doesn’t make any sense,” taking a look at the time, you realize it’s later than you expected. “you know, you really don’t need to help me study right?” 

“how many times do i have to tell you that–”

“yeah, i know you don’t mind, but i always feel bad keeping you awake any later than you need to be.” of course you’d take all the help you could get, but you don’t have it in you to hold him hostage again for the sake of your grade. “...goodnight, sungho!” you end the call before he has any chance to reassure you any further.

…you’re not surprised when you get a knock on your door 20 minutes later, opening it to see sungho with a bunch of snacks in one hand and his backpack slung over his shoulder. “are you still going to turn me down after i went through all the trouble of coming over?” 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ jaehyun

he’s so annoying to study with (endearingly) but i feel like a study sesh with him would guarantee you are getting a good grade on your exams

since he’s so hardworking i feel like he’d immediately call you out if you were getting sidetracked when you weren’t supposed to be 

or if he doesn’t…. him being Ultra Locked In only makes You feel like you Also need to be Ultra Locked In

it’s honestly kind of scary how On Top Of Business jae can be when he needs to study…. bc he’s normally pretty hyper Every Other Time, you didn’t know he was capable of being so quiet for an extended period of time

it’s suuuuper impressive how seriously he takes his studies though… sometimes you’ll stop him when you have a question about something and he’ll explain it with EASE before immediately getting back into the zone

bad news for yappers because jaehyun is NOT entertaining the conversation unless he is Also taking a break. if anything he might even be the type to side-eye the people being too loud in the library because he doesn’t want them to distract you 

honestly though it’ll probably help you get a lot more done 

even though he studies like his life depends on it, i think he’s really good when it comes to balancing the work so your brain isn’t fried too quickly

i fully believe he will like. have some weird ass Study “Hacks” that lowkey make no sense but you entertain them bc he’s a cutiepatootie :3 

✐ᝰ

the rustling from the other side of the table takes your attention away from your laptop, taking off one earbud before asking the boy across from you what he was doing. jaehyun doesn’t turn to answer, instead continuing to dig through the various compartments of his backpack for who knows what. “you know about superfoods and stuff?”

“...yeah? what does that have to do with what we’re studying though?” you let out a soft laugh, unsure about where he’s going with this conversation. 

“well, i heard that if you eat five almonds everyday it makes you smarter. there was a study on it and everything, i swear.” you raise your eyebrow at his words, finding it hard not to roll your eyes at the ridiculous “fact” he just proposed. moments later, he’s plopping a ziploc bag full of almonds in the middle of the table, looking incredibly satisfied with himself. 

you watch as he counts five almonds for the both of you, motioning for your hand to pass your portion over. “why don’t we just eat a ton of almonds so we become geniuses?” you move to reach for the bag to grab more, before he snatches it away from you. 

“no, we can’t do that. the limit is five almonds, or else it starts reversing the effects,” jaehyun tosses an almond into the air and catches it with his mouth. “or something like that, i didn’t actually read the study.” he grins at you from his side of the table, making you laugh in disbelief before resuming your work, almonds by your side.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ taesan

personally i think taesan is the type to just. periodically check in from time to time while you’re studying

he seems like the type to focus best when he’s completely in his own space, so he wants to give you that same space (especially if he’s working on music, he doesn’t want to bother you with the noise) 

….but that doesn’t mean he’s completely ignoring you while you’re out in the living room hunched over all your papers

he’d probably ask if you wanted to do the pomodoro method with him LMFAOOO like. you do work for 50 minutes and then u get a 10 min break

it honestly helps make the work go by faster bc you’re just looking forward to your next break w/ him :,) 

when the fifty minutes is up and it’s time for both of your breaks, he’s so excited to come out of his room and just Recharge with you. simply seeing you quite literally gives him enough energy to go back to whatever he’s currently working on 

if he found you too burnt out from studying for so long, he’d make an exception to his rules & he’d let you take a longer break bc he knows how much effort you’ve been putting into prepping for your tests 

✐ᝰ

you were only halfway into your fifty-minute work interval, but taesan could sense something was wrong when he left his room to get some water. instead of taking notes like you were earlier, your pen was left abandoned on the side of your textbook as you frowned down onto the blur of words you were trying to take in. 

taesan knows how hard it is to keep working when you hit a mental roadblock– he knows how badly you need to study right now, but it’ll be no use trying to force yourself when you clearly need to step away. he peeks around the corner, clearing his throat to catch your attention. 

“hm?” you tilt your head as you look up from your notebook, frustration clearly written all over your face. it almost pains him to see you so stressed over exams. “is it time for break already? i could’ve sworn i just started–”

“maybe you just got so into it that you didn’t realize how much time passed,” he bluffs, walking up to the table. “do you want to see what i’ve been working on? i feel like i need a second opinion on it, something isn’t quite right with the melodies.” 

taesan finds it cute how your face lights up immediately; you were clearly looking for any excuse to walk away from your work, but you knew you’d feel guilty if you had no good reason to do so. since taesan really needs your help, it’s fine… right? 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ leehan 

idk something makes me feel like leehan just dgaf LOLOLOL but he’s definitely not going to bother you much unless you’re taking a break or something

i don’t think he puts too much effort into studying but he’s definitely just going to be in your general vicinity so you don’t get too lonely looking at your computer screen for so long… he’s just there in spirit

if u were in the same class & u asked him what Something Meant… he genuinely could not tell you unless it was about a topic he was actually interested in. bro just has his laptop open to feel included yk

i think he’d be the type to see you frustrated over whatever concept you can’t seem to get right & literally Make You take a break so you can clear your mind 

you didn’t realize it while you were too focused on doing work, but he’s constantly been catering to your every need so you don’t get distracted

like he made sure your water bottle was refilled every time you finished it

turned up the heat in the apartment when he noticed you shivering

opening curtains so the sun lights up your workspace n makes it less stuffy :,)

i totally see him as the type to stay up as long as you are, even if he isn’t studying with you

again. just the idea of him wanting to keep you company so you don’t feel lonely ARRGHHHHH

like maybe he’s just sitting at the table w/ you as he watches u do work (like a freako) ((I need him so bad))

even if he falls asleep in the process… at least he’s nearby in case you need him…. (he wakes up every now and then to make sure you’re doing OK) 

✐ᝰ

you can’t help but turn around when you hear all the commotion your friend (he’s in love w/ you btw) is currently making in the kitchen behind you. sensing your gaze, he looks back slowly, giving you a sheepish smile. “i know i’m being loud, but i’m doing this for you, okay?”

before you get the chance to question what he meant, he’s balancing a tray in his hands as he makes his way over to your desk. it’s adorned with anything you could possibly want during your study session– a steaming cup of tea, a plate of fresh fruit cut into cute shapes, a bag of your favorite chips, some of the gummies you two were sharing earlier, and even a bottle of painkillers for the eventual headache you’ll get from looking at the screen for too long. 

you could honestly cry; it wasn’t a grand gesture, but you’ve been so overwhelmed trying to meet all the deadlines you’d made for yourself recently that you’ve been neglecting your own needs in the process. leehan’s clearly proud of himself as he takes a seat next to you, resting his head on his palm as he watches you. “you’re not gonna study with me?” you question, popping a piece of fruit into your mouth as you look at him. after all, you did ask to study together. 

“i was kind of hoping being next to you while you reviewed would transfer all the knowledge to me.” his eyes turn to crescents as he grins at you. you guess that works too.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ riwoo

riwoo would prefer to do work specifically at home bc he likes to be comfy if he’s gonna spend a majority of the day studying

with this being said tho… he’s restless. he moves every hour bc it claims it helps him focus if he changes up his surroundings every once in a while 

def going to put on some music and maybe light some candles so you aren’t too miserable trying to learn so much content the day before the exam … he’s all for setting the vibes PERFECT for the study sesh

i like to think riwoo has like. a system he uses to keep the both of you motivated while studying (i do this. im projecting) 

like…. if you both get the next 10 practice problems right… you can share the slice of cake waiting in fridge LOL or maybe if you finish writing one more paragraph of your essay, then you can go lay in bed for seven minutes idk i think he’d be really random with it

riwoo always says that you guys are gonna take a “short” break but it usually ends up 3x longer than you intended

he’d say “maybe we should take the dogs for a walk to get a breather before getting back to work”

and then you come back 40 minutes later bc you two got distracted letting daebak and jangyi play with all the other dogs in the park T_T

he’s 100% the type to try and discreetly watch tiktok or something when you’re both supposed to be doing work and it plays on full volume (woonhak would too but he would not try to hide it)

honestly i feel like he’d get tired of his own studies at some point, but i know he’d stay with you to help you review or just to encourage you to keep going <3 

✐ᝰ

you’re welcomed with warm lighting and the sweet aroma of a seasonal candle as riwoo opens his front door, daebak in his arms and jjangyi wandering around the room behind him. it’s a familiar environment; you’ve gotten used to doing work with riwoo in the comfort of his own home, finding it much easier to focus there than any of the popular study spots on campus. 

you’re sitting at the dining table, one paragraph of your essay on the verge of completion. riwoo is sprawled across the couch, his laptop laying haphazardly on his chest as he swipes across the trackpad. “do you remember that takeout place we passed by last week? i was thinking we should order some later once we get hungry!” 

“...are you looking at the menu right now?”

“well, no…” you glance at him from your seat, clearly doubtful. “...okay, maybe i am. i can’t focus when all i can think about is how good it smelled walking by the place!” he groans, shutting his laptop and placing it on the coffee table beside him before moving to a more comfortable position on his couch. 

he’s so quiet that you almost forget he’s there when you’re locked into your essay, snapped out of your zone when he sighs dramatically, not having moved an inch since you last looked at him. you’re not sure why he’s the one in distress when he hasn’t touched his laptop in nearly forty minutes. 

“y/nnnnn…. i don’t wanna study for my classes,” you don’t have it in you to scold him, especially when he’s the one letting you work at his place to begin with, but you can’t just let him do nothing the whole time. “can you take a break so i don’t die of boredom over here?”

“okay, how about you come over here and help me proofread my paper, then we can get food once i finish?” he makes his way over to you, using his socks to slide across the wooden floors in the process, more than happy to occupy himself with something if it meant he got to hang out with you afterwards!

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ woonhak

finals season with woonhak honestly seems like it would be hell LMFAOOOOOO

genuinely i think he’s the last person i’d ask to study just because i feel like procrastinator x procrastinator is a DEAD END!!!

no shade but the chances of both of you locking in at the same time are little to NONE.

trying to be accountability buddies for each other genuinely doesn’t work because. he just doesn’t want to study ☠️

bro is definitely trying to convince you that you don’t need to study (you desperately do)

and even IF…. you guys both start working…. it genuinely doesn’t last long LOLOLOL

woonhak literally cannot shut the hell up when he’s doing work for some reason. everything needs to have some sort of commentary, even if you guys aren’t even studying for the same class

if you didn’t also Need To Study, it’d be pretty funny to hear him complaining about getting every other question wrong…. and his periodic comments are NOT helping 😭

but bc of that i think he’s the most willing to stay up late with you to study just because you wasted so much time doing Who Knows What that you both feel like you need to pull an all nighter if you want to pass that test YIKES

u eventually both feel SO GUILTY bc you wasted so much time doing NOTHING productive and it’s already 11pm…. guess you have to make up for it by ACTUALLY being productive until 4am . . . .

the urgency finally kicks in and you actually ARE clocked tf in until you’re literally forced to get out of the library

✐ᝰ

the security guard working the front desk at the library gives the two of you a quizzical look as you walk through the doors at 11:37pm, whereas most of the other students tend to wrap up their studies around this time. this wasn’t out of the ordinary for you and woonhak– you knew what you were getting yourself into when you first texted him asking him if he was free to study earlier in the day. 

just a couple hours ago, the two of you were seated on the floor of his dorm, pages of notes sprawled across the carpet in a pathetic attempt to try and make a game plan for a semesters-worth of material you had to learn before the final tomorrow. it was almost laughable the way neither of you could make sense of the content in front of you. 

“how is it that we’ve gone to every lecture and we still don’t know what’s going on?” it’s a useless question, given that neither of you are capable of providing any sort of explanation. 

“have you seen that video where they rub their notes on their heads to try and send the information to your brain–”

“woonhak, you know that doesn’t actually work, right?”

“right. i just wanted to know if you saw it too. haha.” there’s an air of silence between you two as you both realize how screwed you actually are for the test, but nobody dares to speak it into existence. “should we go to the arcade before we start studying?”

…and that’s how you found yourself set up in one of the booths in the far corner of the library (obviously after wasting three hours and twenty bucks at the claw machines), the tabletop adorned with a jumbled mix of your shared review problems, scrap paper balled up in a growing pile, and two freshly-opened energy drinks.  you’re both lucky that the library doesn’t close for another couple hours, you needed all the time you could get to try and burn the information into your brains. 

when you walk out of the exam room, seeing woonhak laying on a bench outside & using his backpack as a makeshift pillow as he waits for you to finish, you can’t help at chuckle at the look of defeat on his face. it’s funny the way your eye bags match his own; you’ve definitely seen each other at your lowest at this point. 

“so…how do you think you did?”

“can we talk about this after i take a nap at your dorm for, i don’t know, three days?”

“deal.”

© lionhanie 2025 ; all rights reserved!

[atalldrinkofcaprisun]

Don’t Wait For Me After I’m Gone (pt. 2)

silco x gn!reader - he didn’t die AU - tw: canon compliant violence, drug use - 18+

howdy!!! reposted and edited again! I’m having trouble with all of the links so sorry they’re not super functional right now. But anyways, I MISS MY WIFE TAILS!!

also on ao3 xx masterlist

The screaming was the worst part. You had been posted outside of The Doctor’s underground laboratory/cave for three hours now, under the orders not to enter unless you wanted to be sedated until the procedure was over.

When the Scientist arrived at the factory, he had started work immediately. The bullets nimbly extracted and quickly stitched, his hand feebly squeezing your own when he could. You had pressed kisses to his damp temples and pushed hair out of his face, back into his rumpled style. He’d even notice sometimes but it was clear he was in agony.

“It is good you kept that with you,” The Doctor nodded his head towards the injector lying cracked on the floor towards the far wall. You had thrown it off as soon as it had emptied, “He would have been unreachable if you had not administered the medicinal serum. It gave him just enough to hold on.”

“So, he’s going to be okay?” You asked, trying to give that little flame of hope in your chest something to fuel itself.

“He will survive, yes. Survival at least.” the bandaged man replied cryptically before returning his full attention to Silco, “I suggest making plans to move him to safety. Your opponents will be hunting for you soon if they haven’t started already.” He’d put a hand on your shoulder, “I know where they will not find you.”

Shortly afterwards, you had sprinted all the way back to The Last Drop. Exhausted and shaking, you’d only managed a stammering, “Silco. He’s- the warehouse…” before promptly passing out into Ran’s arms. You’d woken up in your bed, apparently you had only been out about 20 minutes.

Now, here you stood, arms crossed and leaning against a rough stone wall. Your nails dug into your skin, trying to center yourself. You couldn’t leave, not when he was in pain. Jinx had been permitted in. Whatever had transpired between Jinx and The Doctor had created a new trust. You had wanted to protest but when Jinx set Silco down on the examination table and sat quietly in a chair in the corner, her eyes not moving from Silco, you had surrendered. Jinx needed to know her father wasn’t going to be one more thing to haunt her. You could keep watch this time.

Sevika was elsewhere getting her arm fixed once again, and keeping all of the intelligence open for signs of what had been happening in Piltover. She’d headed back to The Drop. Running Zaun directly or alone had never been something you wanted. Especially now, with the love of your life still in danger of being lost forever, and your child being the cause on top of whatever had been done to her-

There came another string of rambles, ranging from terror to agony to anger. Occasionally you would hear The Doctor muttering. You could feel the wave of emotions settle between your shoulders, winding up the muscles like snakes tensing to bite. You needed a distraction.

Threats were going to be coming from all sides. Jinx had officially crossed the carefully toed line of impertinent interference that Silco had perfected. You didn’t know what the aftermath of the missile had been, and it didn’t take a genius to guess. A part of you didn’t care. Fuck the Topsiders for needing to be brought to the battlefield. Still, you couldn’t ignore the stiffness setting in your arms and neck, your hands clenched into fists as tears began to resurface.

Another moan of pain, this one low and mournful… your name again. You covered your ears and tried to fight the urge to bust through the door.

Fuck it. You’d rather be sedated then hear one more second of this without being able to help. Hands flew to the door handle of their own accord, but were met with the empty air as the door opened first.

Jinx’s pink eyes bore into your own, flat, “Doc say you can come in. Apparently he’s though the worst. Dad’ll- be okay.” She sounded completely drained.

You gathered Jinx in a tight hug, wanting to offer any sort of comfort you could, “He’s going to understand. We’ve been so worried about you, Blue.”

“I killed him.” She mumbled into your shoulder, “I almost-”

“But you didn’t,” you pulled back to look in her eyes, your hands pushing her bangs off of her forehead to finally get a good look. She was so pale now, worse than before, almost spectral. Her freckles and dark makeup only making her appear more sickly, she was smeared with dirt and blood and crusted tears. Her eyes weren’t glowing anymore, but their pale blue had been consumed by the eery magenta of Shimmer. “He knows how much you’re struggling. He isn’t dead. It was an accident. He knows that.”

Jinx didn’t look convinced, only lifting your arms off of her and pushing past into the fissures beyond, “I just need to be alone.“ She turned before she crossed behind the faint lantern glow, “You know where to find me,” and then she was gone.

You waited, letting the compulsion to run after her and comfort her dissolve for a later time. If anything would be able to get through to Jinx it would be Silco himself. In order for him to get the chance, however, you needed to make sure Silco would stay alive. Jinx was smart, and knew when and how to lay low. She would be alright for a few hours. With a deep breath and you headed into the attached cavern.

“Doctor, Is he-“ your gaze mimed fixated on the disheveled and miserable man strapped to the gurney. At the sound of your voice Silco’s eyes landed on you, relief washing over his expression the moment he processed what he was seeing. “Thank Jannah, Sil,” you sighed, stepping and crossing the space. Your hand fell into his, fitting perfectly into his palm, warm and alive and responsive. With a smile you took your free hand and pushed the strands of charcoal and ash hair out of his face, “Hey there, handsome.” You beamed.

The once bright orange iris, now matching his daughter’s pink hue, was scanning along your features, relief washing over the face you had come to love more than you had ever thought possible. His pale blue eye was just as intently looking at you, but his eyelid hung heavy with exhaustion, “What’s a creature like you,” his voice was strained and low, rumbling out of his chest more than his throat, “doing in a place like this?”

Your mind played the first time he had said that to you as you grinned, “That line is still too cheesy to work.”

“Better than the look you gave me when I said it then.” He hummed as your hand moved from his hair to brush his cheek, “Did I ever tell you it was Jinx’s idea?”

“To try and hit on me after saving my life or?” You laughed lightly.

“To tell you,” he wheezed for a second as a flare of purple raced up his skin and into his damaged iris, “ah, how pretty you looked.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek and the pain seemed to become just a little less.

“So you settled on calling me a creature?” You scoffed teasingly.

“Is now the time for such, frivolous things?” The Doctor’s tone was annoyed as he cut in. He started undoing the straps holding Silco down, and he motioned for you to help him.

You looked at the scientist with one brow raised as Silco sighed, “I’ve nearly died today. It makes a man think about things… differently,” his gaze didn’t move from your face, like he was studying it for the first time. You were used to his staring habit, but this felt different. Maybe it was the drugs, “so beautiful,” he muttered so low, he probably hadn’t even noticed he’d said it.

“Shut up, old man,” you smiled, “Save your breath.”

The Doctor moved to your side of the table, batting you away as he began to unstrap his arm and head. Which was only fair since you hadn’t even started to undo the buckle. Your hand slipped away from Silco’s and you immediately missed the feeling. The anxiety that boiled in your stomach was vicious and your skin seemed to itch with the need to continue to make sure Silco was truly alive and real, on the mend and going to survive. Once the kingpin was free, the Doctor took his pulse, then gently helped him rise to a sitting position. His face contorted with the pain but eased as he breathed through it. At last, Doc looked towards you and nodded, giving his permission, you could fully take in your paramour.

Silco’s left arm was protectively hugged around his bandage wrapped torso, his smoldering eye still pulsing pink as was it’s seafoam counterpart. His hair was haphazard and his makeup smeared away long ago, the ashen skin of his scar visible in large smudges. You wrapped your arms around him as gently as you could manage, still causing him to hiss ever so slightly. His heartbeat thumped away under your ear, protected in his rib cage, fast and a little irregular. His smell was tainted with blood and sweat but it was still him. His free arm pulled you closer, his nose resting on top of your head. Together you breathed. Just for a moment that to you, felt like the exact eternity you needed to find your voice.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

He chuckled deep in his chest, “I promise to try and not make it a habit, my lovely.”

You only burrowed further into his arms in reply. Your home was here. Safely by Silco’s side, in his arms, breathing and basking in the gift of having more time. Just as the tension had begun to ease from your shoulders Silco spoke again, “Where is Jinx? Is she alright?”

You met his gaze, “She’s… upset. She didn’t mean to kill you. I think she’s headed back to her lab. I wanted to go with her but…”

“But you needed to make sure I would be alright first.” He gently finished and ran a hand through your hair, “Thank you for saving me. Now we’re officially even.” He let his fingertips stroke your cheek, “We need to get to Jinx. I need to tell her I forgive her.”

“You won’t be able to walk on your own yet, old friend.” The Doctor spoke up again from his desk across the room, apparently he had returned to his more important projects, “Your body is still processing the serum. You don’t have your daughter’s vitality.”

Silco frowned over at the old scientist, “I think I can manage. And anyways,” he looked down at you, “I won’t be alone.”

You nodded, and stepped out of his embrace to help him down and onto his feet. As he touched the stone floor however, his legs seemed to buckle and he fell onto you heavily with a grunt of pain. You caught him and let him get his grip on the edge of the gurney. His teeth grinding as he pulled himself upwards, “Sil? Are you-?”

“It’s fine.” The ever stubborn Eye of Zaun commanded. The Doctor and you shared a quick look.

You knew he was lying but he had more pressing concerns than his own comfort at the moment, “Can you?” he gestured vaguely around himself. Asking for help was still not something he was completely comfortable with, but you knew what he meant.

You shifted around him, so one of your arms was around his midsection, the other was holding his hand as his own arm swept over your shoulders. Jinx’s Lab and The Last Drop were a bit of a walk away. The Doctor, grumbling all the while, retrieved a cane from some depths of his caverns and gave you what doses Silco might need if he took a sudden turn. With measured steps you began to lead Silco to the door. Just before you crossed the threshold, Silco tugged and stopped, “Thank you, Doctor. My family owes you a great debt.”

A stiff and matter of fact “I know.” was the only reply he received.

Silco pressed a kiss to your temple and together you set off.

[romancherry]

caged in silk (1) – introduction

pairings ➝ dark!joel miller x dark!javier peña x dark!marcus acacius x female!reader

summary ➝ introducing you to your captors.

warnings ➝ dark content, brief mention of alcoholic parents, homelessness, guns and drugs, 18+, MINORS: DO NOT INTERACT.

word count ➝ 442

author's note ➝ hello everyone! i've been obsessed with this idea that randomly popped up in my head a few days ago and i wanna act on it as quick as possible so i don't lose interest. hope you like it.

do NOT repost, reupload, translate or plagiarize my work.

you: an innocent young woman in her 20s navigating through life and its never-ending obstacles; your parents were abusive alcoholics and you consider the day you ran away at 16 years old to be the best day of your life. the rest didn't matter. the eventual homelessness and working 3 different jobs while balancing a smoke addiction was a thousand times better than what you had to endure before. as time passed on, you could afford rent and even dream of getting an education. it didn't matter that you had no friends whatsoever; your goal was financial fulfillment, not being a social butterfly. you could have created some lifelong connections with your coworkers, but as you ended up switching so many jobs, you figured good things never last. and heartbreak is best to be avoided.

so, in conclusion – you had no one. you meant nothing to anyone, and if you'd dissapear (once again), nobody would care.

that made you an easy target.

introduce:

marcus acacius: a man with discipline and precision. his background as an army general has not only conditioned him to assess, control and dominate any situation – but it earned him important connections with gun dealers, spies, armies and even the government. marcus operates with a quiet, calculated intensity; he sees everything. processes every possible outcome before making a move. but underneath the iron grip lies a dark obsession: a deep-seated need to possess, protect, claim. he justified his obsession with logic: you were struggling. you had no one. you needed a better life. he was the man for the job.

javier peña: javier is seduction and danger wrapped in silk. he's a very adaptable and unpredictable individual – former DEA agent turned cartel associate. he knows best how to make people trust him and how to keep them wanting more. but beneath his irresistible charm is something ruthless: a man who switched sides without hesitation, who plays the long game and always comes out on top. he has an insatiable hunger and addiction for you – he doesn't just want to own you. he wants you to want to be owned.

joel miller: joel is violence disguised as a man. he doesn't believe in morality, he views survival as a necessity. that's what makes him the perfect mercenary. if someone needs to die, he'll end their life with no hesitation. he doesn't justify or explain, he just acts. his obsession with you is primal and territorial; but there's also something softer beneath it, something dangerously close to love. he doesn't care that what they did to you was wrong. after losing two daughters, he'll tear the world apart to keep you.

[sulumuns-dootah]

Can I request a headcanon of wbh kings reacting to a gn mc who's a actress/actor and watching a horror killer movie mc played in (mc is the final person to die)

WHB kings w/ MC acting in horror movie

⟡ Masterlist ⟡

A/N: Hi! Sorry for the wait, Fall is always kinda rough on my mental health U.U

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

When you told Satan that you're in a horror movie, he was super excited

Certified horror movie enjoyer right there

Oh and when he found out you were on the poster of it?

Suddenly it's all over Gehenna and many screenings are scheduled in pretty much all the cinemas

Before, however, it is shown anywhere publicly, Satan wants to watch it with you alone

During the movie he'd joke that he's expecting your character to be one of the first ones to die since it's a rule that hot characters die first

But then he realizes there's only about 20 minutes of the movie left and your character is still alive

Maybe you're one of those final survivors who don't die?

Nope :)

Just as the final credits start to roll in, the killer jumpscares the audience by surprise lounging at your character and kills them as the credits roll list all the names of everyone who took part in the production

       ༺☆༻

Similar to Satan's reaction, but Mammon only has a screening in a handful of cinemas of his choosing

Obviously,as the star you are, the screening also has a meet and greet with you included

Bimet was the one to organise everything, so you can imagine how expensive the tickets are

Mammon will also want a private screening before letting anyone else watch it

And since for example Texas Chainsaw Massacre did it: If there's a scene with your ass all over the screen, Mammon will be obsessed and make it his personality for the next century :)

Now, getting back to the end of the movie and seeing your way too suden death, you sneak a peek at Mammon to see his reaction and he, to be fair, looks unmoved

But then you notice him being more clingy than usual

When you ask him about it, he'll give you, honestly, the best answer:

"Seeing you die made me realise I don't ever want to loose you in reality"

       ༺☆༻

Exact opposite

Nobody except for you and him are allowed to watch it

Now, Levi will be happy to tell everyone that his partner is an actor/actress in movies, but will never say which ones

What's it to them? They can't appreciate your presence on screen correctly

The next thing you know they'll be making fan edits and write fanfics about you and either the killer or some random self-insert instead of Leviathan - your ACTUAL partner

The movie will kinda become shadow banned in Hades bc the people will fear their king will find out they watched it and hang them to death for it

The only one to openly talk about it is Glasyalabolas bc of course

He's hoping he can catch some other demons while they pretend to not know what he's talking about despite secretly watching it

(Oof, I can even imagine: You know how are those videos like 'Top 5 movies you shouldn't watch'? Your movie will be every no.1 on those lists :D)

       ༺☆༻

When you told Beel about your new found stardom, he tried acting surprised but you both knew his act was bad

He knew even before you knew and accepted the offer from the casting director

And you could swear you think he was there during the shoot

Or at least you thought you saw him for a flash by the catering table, moments before someone started raising all hell because someone ate all the pizza again

So when you suggest a movie night with your movie, he already has some stuff prepared at some secret location

Maybe he might even send some pics of you cosying together to Bael just to piss him off

       ༺☆༻

Belphegor just to happened to be half-awake when you came excitedly running to his room

He had half the mind to just fall back asleep, but then you started talking about some movie you were in, so he decided to give you at least some of his time

"Oh, and you want me to watch it now or...?"

Sure, you can join him in bed and watch it with him, but he can't promise he'll stay awake the whole time

Maybe only until your character dies, because after that you won't mind, right?

Oh boy, did he not know...

To be fair, he does watch the whole movie until then, but might not be awake long enough for him to give a review of your performance

       ༺☆༻

"Oh, you're in a movie, my pretty little bitch? Sure, let's watch it."

You know where this leads to...

By the time the first kill happens you're already folded in half, taking Asmo in and screaming louder than the poor victim in the movie

But Asmo actually is interested in your character, so whenever you're on screen, he slows down and shushes you so that he can hear the other you

By the time your character dies, you've already cume multiple times and are about ready to pass out just like in the movie

After the movie's over, Asmo will actually give you a good review and ideas on what to work on (including your stamina ;))

       ༺☆༻

You didn't even get to be the one to tell Lucifer

Of course Gamigin had to accidentally let it slip while begging Lucifer to partake with the rest of demons in a movie night

You wanted to surprise Luci by putting the movie on and seeing if him or any other demon catches on to recognise the bad-ass final girl/guy as you

After that Luci hears you scolding Gamigin for the slip up so he decides to act like he didn't know you'll be in the movie

He's not really convincing, but it's the thought that counts, right?

After the movie's finished, you anxiously ask everyone for the opinion

Everyone has nice things to say, except for the SFX team and the many inaccuracies they noticed

But... Luci is silent

At least until everyone's gone to bed for the night

After that he'll have you sit on his lap and whisper so much praise into your ear

[starboykel]

an artist and his muse ⭑⚝²

pt1

artist! König x chubby!F!reader

!!content warnings: König is younger than canon, pistol mentioning, idk this is just fluff. Chubby reader. Extensive description of how to make a condensed milk cake. Maybe a bit out of character.

3,7k words — English isn't my first language, i apologize for any mistakes.

Since that day, you and König have been talking practically every day through the cellphone, König would often talk about his day and his new projects, sending you photos of the new paintings he was working on and recently, he started a new hobby: learn digital art. He would send you screenshots of his drawings, they were... Certainly something, it wasn't as great because he was used to work on a canvas with paint and such but, he was trying at least.

If he disappeared for 3-4 hours, you were sure he was just working on whatever his mind was thinking of, painting, digital art or even ceramic, yeah, he also started ceramic. He was trying to occupy his mind with something and it was obvious... You just didn't know he was trying to occupy his brain because you were everything in his mind.

König was having trouble painting because he couldn't focus on anything but you, his happiness was texting you everyday and looking at the selfies you send him anytime you were doing something mildly interesting, watching a movie, cooking, baking, oh god, baking, he could kill someone to taste those brownies you baked practically every weekend. He really wanted to ask you out on a date but he didn't have the guts to, you were such a pretty girl, who was he to think he had a chance with such a beautiful girl?

On your side... Well, it was the same. You were too shy to ask him out on a date, he was such a busy guy, he was painting and when he wasn't painting he was training his digital art and when he wasn't training he was doing ceramic, you didn't want to bother him. Your heart skips a beat every time he sends a photo of what he was working on, his face wasn't even on the photos but you were so in love it didn't even take too much to make you kick your feet and smile like a fool...

"Who are you talking to?" Suddenly, your father kicked you out of your thoughts, he was frowning and trying to peek on your phone as you were eating. You were already an adult but old habits never die to your father.

"M...my friend, his name is König." You reply, showing him the conversation, Anton takes a look and nods. "Your boyfriend?" He asks, you blushes slightly and shakes your head, "N-no, he's just a friend." You stutter. He gives you a look like 'yeah, sure' and then goes back to the living room, leaving you in the kitchen to finish your lunch.

You didn't have anything to do that day. You wanted to go out with your friends but they were all busy, you didn't have a photoshoot today, no modeling or something, so you would just enjoy the day, just being lazy... So you decided to bake a cake! Why not?

You looked for a recipe on the internet and found one you found interesting, 'Condensed Milk Cake'... Hmm, sounds good! And you have all the ingredients, luckily.

You grab the apron that was probably too old for its own good and protect your hair and start making the cake, it was therapeutic. In a large bowl, you pour the condensed milk, whisk in butter and the vanilla extract, over the bowl, sift four and the baking powder over the condenser milk mixture. After that, you grab the rice cooker, grease the interior with butter and pour in the batter, spreading it evenly in the rice cooker, you decide to top with some chocolate chips, put the cover on and cook for 20 minutes. After waiting, you pick a toothpick and poke the cake, it comes out clean so it means it is ready! You place a plate on top of the rice cooker pot and carefully invert. The scent of vanilla and condensed milk infested the kitchen. It was so good, you were proud of yourself, it looked delicious!

Your father walks in the kitchen, "What are you doing?" He asks, frowning slightly before he sees the cake, "Oooh, it looks good. Gimme a slice." He picks a knife and goes to cut the cake but oh no, your father didn't have the reputation of being the best cake cutter.

"Waaaaait!" You shouts, trying to stop him but your father was a man on a mission. He cuts a huge part out of the cake and walks away, you can practically see the evil smile on his face as he goes to his room, leaving you with less than a half of the cake... Goddamnit.

You sigh and decide to take a photo of the... Half cake you have, you grab your phone and try to get the best angle of it but yeah, a cake cut in half wasn't the most aesthetically pleasing thing ever.

Eating a slice of the cake while watching something was a pleasing experience at least, watching some old humoristic sitcom your father had on DVD since the 90s that he refused to get rid of was nice at best. You hear a notification coming from your phone and check it... It was König!

'Hallo, are you free tonight? I would be pleased to have dinner with you.'

You found it amusing how he always wrote it grammatically correctly, you could've never, sometimes you just forget how to write some words.

'Yeah, I'm free! Where do u wanna meet?'

'Meet me at the park, I am going to take you to the restaurant from there, at 7pm. Don't be late.'

You smile, he was always so assertive and direct sometimes, it was nice though, at least he wasn't confused about what he wanted and treated you well.

You start getting ready at 5pm, showering, doing your makeup, choosing the best clothing, fixing your hair, airdrying it and, oh god it's already 6:56pm! You run out of the house, forgetting to bring your lip oil.

You go to the park and look around for König, it was 7:04pm. You feel a cold hand on your shoulder, looking over your shoulder...

"Oh, hi Kö! How are you?" It was König! He didn't seem mad at you, good. He smiles and gives you a little pat on the head.

"I'm fine. Let's go to my car." Simple as ever. He takes your hand and leads you to the car, opening the car door for you. You two make small talk in the car on the way to the restaurant. He was wearing some nice clothes, a white button shirt that was rolled up to his elbow, black tailored pants with a belt and black shoes. It was minimalistic and he looked good on it. You could see some scars on his arms, that was interesting, maybe he wasn't always an artist.

The restaurant was nice, had a warm atmosphere and some relaxing jazz music playing. You order some alfredo pasta and chicken with some orange juice, he orders steak with onion, rice, salad, some rustic potatoes and... You lost track of the list after that, he was a bottomless pit. Oh, he ordered some apple juice for himself too.

"So, what do you like to do in your free time? When you're not doing paintings and such." You were the one to start the conversation, noticing that Konig was more of the quiet type and that, depending on him, the date would be mostly silence and eating.

"I enjoy... Uh... I enjoy television shows, I watch it when I'm... I'm not doing art..." He stuttered, not looking at you directly, you noticed that he was very nervous, his hands shaking, it was very different from the man you met before. Maybe you were starting to get under his shell.

Your soft smiles didn't help much. His mind was going a mile a second, his hand shaking and his body couldn't relax, he felt like everyone was staring at him, why wouldn't they? He's on a date with a cute girl while he looks like this giant freak, you probably don't even like him, you're just with him because you pity him youcangetsometingbetterthanhimyou—

"König?" Your soft voice slaps him out of his trance, his eyes focusing on your worried expression, "Are you okay? You seem... I don't know—" "I'm fine." He cuts you off, his hands still fidgeting underneath the table.

You were a bit confused and even a little shocked. He was so serious, confident before and now he's shaking like a wet cat. Well, he's trying to hide it but it's obvious, someone his size can't hide. You decide it's best to let him relax, stay silent for a while, let him recompose.

Well... His brain was going miles an hour, waiting for YOU to say something, to talk about something YOU like, maybe you could even forget he's there and just ramble away his anxiety... But that doesn't happen. He's waiting for you to talk and you're waiting for him to speak. Both so awkward, his anxious behavior getting into you, where you are scaring him? Why? What have you done? Did you do something that made him uncomfortable? Doeshenotlikeyouanymore-

Then, the waiter arrives after what felt not even a second, you swear you had just ordered not even 10 minutes ago. The waiter places your order in front of him and two of König's extensive list of food, the potatoes and the beef. The orange juice being placed in the middle for the both of you.

He awkwardly starts cutting his beef, the cutlery was so small in his hands that it made a task as simple as cutting a steak difficult. You eat your pasta, staring at nowhere as your mind is non stop thinking that you did something wrong. You both reached for the orange juice glass, his fingers touching yours before he flinched his hand away, just reassuring that he was scared of you on your worried brain.

The rest of the date was... Not cozy, just two looked like two pathetic wet cats that didn't know where their mama went and was scared of the world. He pays for everything, even if you insisted that you had money. You two step out of the restaurant, some significant distance from each other, and just... Staying there, waiting for the one another to say something.

"Look-" "I'm sorry-" You two speak up at the same time, eyes meeting in an anxious atmosphere, silence remains for a few seconds. "Hear-" "I apologize-" Interrupting one another again, the atmosphere getting tenser and tenser, you both take a deep breath, taking a step closer to each other. He let you talk first.

"I'm sorry, I'm not aware of what I did but I apologize for making you uncomfortable." You speak up, playing with the hem of your clothes as you try to sound not nervous.

He frowns slightly before sighing and nodding, "I'm the problem. You're not the problem, I've always been this... Social awkward, since I was a teenager. It's not your fault." He reassures, taking a step closer... Closer... Closer until he's right in front of you. He looks at you... "It's going to snow, you should go home." Before he lifts your chin and gives you a forehead kiss...

Then he turns around and walks away, you don't know that but he's panicking inside, his hands shaking and his heart beating like a drum, his face red as a tomato... That man saw you naked and is flustered because he gave you a forehead kiss! Men...

Well, you were blushing too, your mouth opened slightly in shock... The snow starts to fall, the cold feeling makes you feel even hotter inside, it has just started. You didn't know what to do so you do the same as him, you turn around and walk home... No, you can't do that. You stop in your tracks, turn back and start running towards him.

"König!" You shouts, making him stop and turn to see you. You don't know what you're doing and why but you feel like you need to do this. You reach him, panting, you weren't used to exercising. "I'm- I'm-" "You don't need to be sorry, it's okay." He cuts you off.

"No, that's not it, I-i... I-" You look up at him and you just... Can't finish your phrase, he's so handsome your heart beats and your brain stops.

He smiles softly and ruffles your already messy hair, "You shouldn't stay outside, you're gonna catch a cold... Wanna go to my place?" He speaks up, and honestly, he's being too damn bold, his heart feels like it's gonna explode out of his chest, he's trying to keep this cool guy persona but... That's not him.

You definitely didn't want to freeze outside so... "Y-yeah, sure." You nod. He takes your hand and starts walking to his car. This all feels too... Unbelievable... Damn, you're going to a guy's house after the first date? What are you? You silently judge yourself but König isn't like other guys... You hope.

The car ride back to his place was silent, some random song in German playing on the radio. His car was fine, definitely not the best or the most expensive but also not the cheapest, it was a nice car that had the necessary to live. When arriving at his place, the snow was already filling the streets with its soft whiteness, he opens the door and gets inside after you. The place was... Nice? It was a bit messy but it was comfortable.

"Make yourself at home. The TV has a little sound problem but nothing that will bother you, I'm going to take a shower, there's a few snacks in the drawers in the kitchen if you feel hungry." He welcomes you, giving you a faint smile before going to his bedroom.

You look around... Should you explore? Yeah, why not? As soon as the shower starts, you begin to wander around the house. The drawers were filled with snacks and the fridge with water, milk and egg... Nothing else. How did this man lived? Whatever. You go to the living room and turns on the TV, putting on your favorite show, yeah, the sound definitely has a problem but your ears would probably get used to it, it was some sort of faint static it could be heard on the background but whatever. As you wander through the house, the drawer closes to the door catches your eye, you open it and... A pistol and a dog tag. Your eyes widen slightly but then you frown, you take the dog tag and before you can read anything in it, a hand rips the dog tag from yours, your heart falls, your face going pale.

You gulped and looked at König, his face was dark, his eyes filled with disappointment, your eyes immediately went back to the drawer, not wanting to look at him, your hands shaking. He sighs and throws the dog tag back in the drawer and closes it. "Forgot to lock it."

You two stay silent for a while, before you murmur an "Sorry." Nervously. He shakes his head, "Don't be. It's okay to be curious... Just don't do it again." His voice was deep and dark, like if he was giving an order...

"... I'm gonna order some pizza. We can watch a movie, c'mon." He tries to sound more excited as he pulls you by the waist, leading you to the couch. You were still shocked, but trying to relax as you do breathing exercises. He tried to make small talk but you were still thinking about the pistol and the dog tag...

The pizza arrives not long after, he picks it up and goes back to the couch, placing the pizza on top of the living room mini table and putting on some movie on Netflix.

The silence was uncomfortable, the pizza munching sounds not helping. After half an hour, he pauses the movie and looks at you. "I have to explain something to you." He says in a serious tone. You look back at him and gulps, nodding.

He takes a deep breath, "I used to be a soldier, a lieutenant. I was in the army from 17 to 29, almost 30. I retired earlier because of my mental health, it was killing me from the inside." He puts his hand on his chest, "I had no choice. I've done a lot of things that shouldn't have been done and I regret it with my heart."

"You're... A war criminal...?" You ask, the tone quiet and uncertain. He shakes his head, "No... No, not that I'm aware at least." He chuckles nervously, looking away, "I've... Killed a lot of men. My hands are filled with blood... But I've never wanted it, I never wanted to be a soldier, to kill people. I've always loved art, and I'm doing what I want, what I love now and I can't escape my past, it doesn't matter where I go. My soldier self is part of me, I can't get away from it." He vents, his tone getting sadder and more self aware.

You nod, taking a breath and sighing, "I don't know how it feels, how it is to have such a hard backstory... Are you in therapy at least?" You ask and he nods, "I take meds.. I don't want to talk about it."

Nodding, you sigh, "I understand... I'm sorry for sneaking in your things, I shouldn't have done that." You clench your fists and look at your lap, feeling trapped, disappointed at yourself... Until, he takes your chin and lifts your face to look at him. "It's okay." He says, softer, making your heart beat faster. He gets closer... Closer... Closer, until your lips touch his. You immediately kissed him back, wrapping your arms around his neck. He smiles on the kiss and takes you closer by your waist until your legs are on his lap. The kiss is soft, like a make-up kiss, warm.

You were the one to break the kiss, your eyes meeting his... And he panics, "Oh verdammt— es tut mir leid— I'm sorry, you're just so pretty and I'm so awkward, I'm-" He freaks out, immediately taking his hands out of your waist. You smile and giggle.

"It's okay, I liked it." You take him by the cheek, making him look at you. "You- you did?" He asks, not believing you. You nod and smile, "Yeah." "Y-yeah?" "Hell yeah!" You giggles and kisses him, you taking the lead now. This one was much more playful than intense as the last one, you break the kiss a few times because you were giggling and he starts giggling too. He pulls you closer as he lays down on the couch, you getting on top of him. You two start laughing, apparently for no reason at all.

After relaxing, you two just cuddled, he was warm and you even warmer due to your weight. It was comfortable and the closeness was making the heart of the both of you relax. Him giving you forehead kisses from time to time. "Hey... You wanna sleep here?" He asks and you nod, "Sure, why not."

The night falls and you were used to showering before sleeping and you definitely needed one... But you had no clothes to wear! He was okay with sharing the bed with you and you didn't want to smell bad. So you asked for some of his clothes, he at first laughed but then gave you a shirt and some boxers.

For some reason, the water of his shower was freezing cold and had no heating option, so poor you. His shirt was bigger than your, that was rare, that never happened with your exes, it was nice to now have someone that was bigger than you, it makes your heart warm... and the boxers a bit loose but fitted better than the shirt, you put your hair on a bun with a satin scrunchie and go to lay with him. The heater was on so that was nice. "Goodnight." You tell him before he turns off the lights and lays next to him.

..."Can we cuddle? You're warm and I like your weight on top of me..." He asks a bit shyly, your heart beating faster. You look at him and nod, snuggling closer to him, he pulls you closer, getting you slightly on top of him. "Goodnight." "Night..." And you both fall asleep.

When you woke up he was already up. You stretch and yawn, going to the kitchen after fixing your hair (or trying) and he was already there, eating his breakfast. His eyes light up as he sees you, "Morning. I made breakfast! Eat!" He says, sounding excited. You smile and join him, it wasn't the best but it was good enough.

You two spend the afternoon together, watching movies, chatting, playing in the snow. At night, you were ready to go home. He drives you to your place, and in the door, he kisses you goodbye.

You get in the house, very happily, smiling widely and your father notices, he smirks. "Just a friend, uh?" He teases and you chuckle. "Boyfriend now, dad." You correct him playfully and he rolls his eyes.

"I knew it.”

Sorry, this took too long!! I was in a creativity block and didn't know what to do but i hope this is fun to read!!! Love yall, stay safe, xoxo from Kel. Feel free to send me asks!

[nouvxllev]

hey! can i get something like... Vada cavell x Fem reader? R is in a bar playing pool but she is terrible at it. Vada is enchanted by R and approaches her but R doesn't pay much attention to Vada. Vada then makes a bet that if she wins the pool match against R, she will get a kiss.

you can make the ending with R liking Vada and going home with her. smut if you want and g!p if u want

first fuck

Pairing: G!p!Vada Cavell x Fem!Reader

Summary: ^^ request!!

Words: 4.0k (was not expecting this is THAT long)

Warnings: smut. i think thats painfully obvious. but also a little fluff, bottomvadabottomvadabottomvadaholyshit, i love a confident to awkward little guy vada cavell

a/n: thank you for your request anon!! much appreciated, hope ive fulfilled it

masterlist.

Vada wasn't what you'd call someone who's great at pool, 8ball, or billiards, whatever you'd call it.

She'd boast about being 'somewhat decent' at the game even though her skills barely lined between the basics and knowing nothing at all.

She manages to win a few games here and there, but she doesn't really think winning a game against her 11 year old sister would be much of a win situation.

You on the other hand, the prettiest girl that Vada was definitely not watching for the past 20 minutes trying to pocket atleast one ball, basics were definitely not your thing. Or maybe you just skimmed it all and let it go through the other ear with how absolutely terrible you are playing.

Not that Vada has any room of say. But watching you focus so intensely on the cue stick only to somehow to sink the 8-ball in every match is almost adorable to her.

She couldn't tear her eyes off of you for even a second—it's suffocating.

She couldn't care less watching an idiot struggle lining up her shot for what felt like the hundredth time this evening surrounded by, seemingly, your group of friends.

Yet she could. She could say she was head over heels for you, enchanted even.

Vada, perched on top of the edge of one of the bar tables, a wry smile slowly coming up to her face as she watched you, drink in hand while she swirled it around, the ice slowly melting but her gaze on you remained frozen.

She heard how your friends cheered you on for the hundredth time, giggling while they watch you horribly fail and pocket the cue ball. They were ganging up on you quite fast, like there was some bet going around that if you win they'll probably give you 100$.

"So are you just going to keep watching that girl or are you going to come with us?" Nick creeped up, hand in hand with Mia, slightly kicking one of the legs on the chair, almost tumbling Vada down. Though she would rather die in her own hole than admit that she was someone light-weight.

Vada almost got knocked off if not for her getting a grip on the edge. "Kick my chair one more time and I will make my fall so damaging your wallet should be the one being hospitalized." She scowled, even if it looks like a pout more than anything.

"Scary." Nick rolled his eyes, almost darting his tongue at Vada if not for Mia nudging Nick, shaking her head while letting out a sigh.

"We're gonna play beer pong with the others. You coming, Vada?"

Vada hesitated for a moment, she could play pong where she was an absolute beast at, or she could stay and horribly pine for a girl she just saw like some weird stalker.

It's an easy choice.

"Mn, no thanks," she squeaked out, nodding slightly, "You guys go ahead. I'll catch up with you later," she replied, mustering a half-hearted smile before averting her gaze back to you.

The two let out a shrug, a 'suit your self' kind of shrug as they headed towards the table of those stereotypical cups you'd see in highschool parties, surrounded by her other friends. She could almost regret her decision if not for you catching her eye just for a slight second.

With a deep breath, as well downing what was left of her drink in mere seconds, she pushed herself off the edge of her seat and made her way over to your table, steeling herself for what she hoped would be a move of confidence (or maybe to fuel the lack of.)

And of course she'd regret it right away when she was already 2 steps away from you.

God, you were pretty. So, so, so pretty. Like her breathing capacity slowed down to a minimum.

Her hands made her way to that one ring on her pointer finger, fidgeting as she felt her heart pound in her chest and making its way up to her ears. She felt a flutter of nervous excitement in her stomach, like butterflies. But it wasn't just flying around, no, it was definitely eating her from the inside. In a good way.

She cleared her throat, trying to sound casual but not like that voice you'd do when it's awfully obvious you've been staring at them for a while.

"Uh," she started, or maybe stammered. What a way to go, Cavell. "Hello, do you—would you mind if I join in?" She stood at the left side opposing yours, fidgeting with her hands.

No response.

She didn't miss how her heart shot up a pitch when you glanced her way for a brief second before returning to that focus you had.

Maybe, at that point, it was Vada's cue to stop talking, but she persisted anyways, "I'm pretty good—okay maybe not that good but I do know the basics. You know, how to pocket a ball or two... is it alright if I play a game with you?" What an absolute lady charmer, Vada.

But again, no response.

It's sad how she sounded like if a man embodied a 7th grader who still used the same reduce and reuse horrible pickup lines was a 5'3 19 year old woman.

Vada bit her lip, so maybe it actually was the time to shut the fuck up. Or maybe not. Downing a glass of beer wasn't technically a way to stitch one Vada Cavells mouth up even if you tried.

So as some last-ditch effort, and something she wouldn't normally do if she had the mental capacity to stop her brain, Vada slammed a couple of $100 bills onto the pool table.

If someone were to ask where in the fuck did she get all her money from she'd probably answer that she's been waiting for this day. (Even if it was the money to pay her large amount of debt for Nick.) It was safe to say it caught all your attention.

"Could I make a bet with you?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You weren't getting a fucking thing.

Pool wasn't your strong suit, more so not your forte. Maybe agreeing to joining a game with your friends might not have been the wisest move you've done. Sure you pocketed some balls, but they were either by a long shot or the wrong ball.

When you got that invite via text, you figure you'd just join in for a while then bail when things either, a, get messy and they have to drag you in for a possible aiding and abetting crime that would mess up your whole record, or b, becoming the designated driver for your friends who'll be blacked out like a light switch.

No person who has the mental capability and their frontal lobe intact would see either options to be appealing.

The balls scattered on the table after a near perfect break, which was the only thing you were good at you noticed, and your attempts to sink them into the pockets were met with more misses than hits.

To say that your patience was wearing thin was an understatement, and you have half a mind of stabbing your friends in the eye with the cue stick.

Your friend slung her arm over your shoulder, unable to contain her laughter. "Oh, this is sad to look at. You should just give up the 100$, y/n. It's been, what, 5 rematches? That's not even counting the times you accidentally hit the wrong ball."

You roll your eyes, hearing everybody laugh around you before sighing as you tried to line up your next shot, "I'd rather die before I have a negative symbol to my name." You retorted, mustering up the confidence and that one comfortable hand position that wasn't doing you any justice.

Of course, it doesn't. It always doesn't. How was it possible that you were hitting every corner but the one you're supposed to hit!?

The others let out an empathetic little 'ooooh...' even if you knew they were tiring their asses out not to laugh at you.

"Knowing that you have a 100$ and nothing is crazy, and that's even sadder."

And that's when you heard a loud slam when you were about to make your shot, expecting it to be one of your friends' hands messing you yet again, so imagine your surprise when you looked up to find the most amount of money you've been offered your whole entire life.

You blinked, your grip loosening on the cue stick as your gaze repeatedly looked down at the money and at the girl, "Hello?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

You knew this girl was watching you ever since she walked up to the table, yet you never seemed to pay attention to her, so you hadn't taken a good look at her until now.

Oh you were fucked.

She was gorgeous.

To say that your curiosity was piqued was an understatement, it was definitely caught. Trapped, even. "A bet?" you repeated, the flicker of interest in that one word was something you needed to work on, "what kind of bet?"

She nodded, a smile coming out of her lips. A dimple. Shit.

Her gaze was locked onto yours, you didn't even notice how all your friends dipped the moment the cash was slammed onto the table. "Yeah, is that... cool with you?" she leaned against the table, you didn't even notice she was only wearing a pair of basketball shorts and an oversized tee. "I'm Cavell. Vada, Cavell."

It looked hot on her more than it should've.

"We play a game of pool, think that's obvious enough," she chuckled, "If I win..." Vada paused, you could see her thinking as she stared off, "you owe me a kiss. But if you win," her fingers tapped on the bills of cash laying around, "I'll give you this. Maybe even double."

There is in no universe, no world, does the prettiest girl you have ever seen just proposed a bet with the stakes of a kiss and a couple hundred dollars in hard cash.

And it's almost concerning how you'd burn all the stacks of cash just to lose and kiss this girl. A stranger, yet she was one of those strangers who you'd absolutely go down on.

Maybe you had too much to drink when you gave a silent nod and accepted her challenge.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's only been a few minutes into the game and you're giving half a mind to throw the game all together and pull Vada into the nearest stall and makeout with her.

You'd have to remind her that it's you should be plotting the cue ball then shoot. Not wink at you with that insufferable smirk on her face, take the cue ball from your hands, and pocket her own ball.

You're pretty good yourself, you noticed. You started taking on a different approach to cue spins, and you were getting the hang of not accidentally shooting the wrong ball.

Yet your thoughts became increasingly tempting, each one more distracting than the last.

Every time she leaned over the table to line up her shot, you couldn't help but stare at the way her hair often fell in loose waves around her face, her shirt falling against her movements.

That distracting in a way you could almost gauge your eyeballs with the cue stick to remind yourself to focus and tear your gaze away from her. Quite literally.

You lined up your shot, to say that your fingers were trembling was an understatement, they were fucking palpitating at this point. You try to ignore it yet it felt like every nerve in your body was relying on this damn point in your life, like they don't have anything better to do than make your body function normally.

It would only take one solid ball to make your shot and you can get to finally shoot the 8-ball.

"Oh shit right, I didn't get your name."

Of course, Vada of all people, would only ask this question now.

Your mind goes blank for a moment. Shit, shit, shit.

"Oh, uh, it's…" you stammer, feeling like a complete idiot for forgetting your own name in front of her.

Before you could even speak, she's leaning in even closer, her perfume taking your senses, a scent that you could almost overdose in and would gladly take either heaven or hell.

"It's y/n," you finally manage to say, the rush of relief never felt more satisfying than the words leaving your lips.

The built up tension in your mind eases slightly as you meet Vada's gaze as you turn your head, her smile widening into a ray of sunshine that warms your heart. It's captivating, almost mesmerizing, and for a moment, you find yourself lost in the warmth of her gaze.

And maybe a little too captivating to the point you miss the unmistakable sound of balls clacking against eachother as they fall into the pockets, watching in disbelief as Vada pockets her last striped bal and the 8-ball all at once.

Oh, fuck me.

"Forgot to tell you that you ran out of time, y/n." Vada smirked, a full-blown shit-eating grin crossing her face.

"Oh my God." You curse under your breath, standing up slightly, even your posture looks defeated. "So not well-played." You jokingly quipped, placing down the cue stick and crossing your arms.

"You owe me something." She inched a little closer to you, her voice too fucking intoxicating for you to handle. You feel a shiver run down your spine as you step back just a slight, her head tilting upwards and a glint in her eyes that makes your heart race even faster.

"Impatient much?"

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"S-shit, wait... "

You gasped for air, stumbling into your apartment. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt Vada's hands falling to your hips and desperately clutching your waist, her body rutting against yours, feeling her clothed erection grinding on your heat. Fuck, you could tell she was big.

Her arms wrapped around you, pushing you against the door in frevor with your heart pounding in your chest as her lips met yours in a heated kiss, her mouth parting to intrude yours.

A sudden surge of desire and hunger shot through you as she claimed your mouth, closing your eyes as you hear her groan inside of your mouth all while she took you breathless.

"I thought you only wanted a kiss," you managed to murmur between kisses, your head tilting to grant her even more access, "Now you take me home to your apartment?" Her touch travelled down further, cupping the swell of your ass, feeling every curve you had in an agonizing desperation.

You'd think making out with Vada in more than 10 minutes in a bathroom stall would satisfy the both of you, yet you're here. In her apartment, feeling her hardened cock bucking against you.

Vada whined, her breath warm against your skin, a smirk gracing your lips at her sound, "I want more," she almost pleaded, "I need more," she whined, "please." Her fingers traced your jawline, your eyes meeting hers that almost begged you to take her.

You nodded frantically in response, your lips parting as your hot breath hits her skin, having no trust by letting your mouth run off rather than shoving her bulging cock down your throat until it fits perfectly in your mouth, pleasing her in every way possible.

Without hesitation, you lean in and kiss every inch of her skin, feeling her abs flex under your touch while you left wet kisses in her wake as you trailed down on your knees, letting your fingers slide into the waistband of her shorts and boxers, her garments offering no purpose to hide her painful erection.

"W-wait, y/n," she stopped you, her hands hovering over yours as she looked down on you with the prettiest doe eyes ever. "I never—I never done this before."

You looked up at her, your eyebrows raised, almost having to withdraw your hands from her, "You're... serious?" It was hard to imagine someone like her never had sex, yet it spurred you on even more knowing it was her first time. Her first fuck with you.

"Well, I have," she explained, her voice slightly trembling, " Close enough. We stopped before we got to actually fucking."

"Sorry, just—" she gulped, her hands leaving yours and tangling them into your hair, "just warning you. I'm not that experienced. Well, I have watched porn—"

"Vada." You stopped her just before she could tell you more, but you couldn't deny that it was extremely adorable for her to do so, "don't worry baby, I'll take care of you."

You wink before letting her boxers hit the wooden tiled floor, her veiny and pulsing cock sprining out and slapping against her abdomen, your eyes widening at the sight of her while your mouth watered and your cunt throbbed with want, needing her cock plowing into you.

"Fuck, Vada, you're huge," you gasped, your fingers wrapping around her dick as you guided the throbbing length to your lips, her pre-cum coating your already abused mouth.

You could sense Vada smirking above you, her ego boosting by the slightest compliment, but fuck she knows she's big.

You looked up at her, your eyes glistening with the faintest hint of lust as you started stroking her dick.

Quiet moans escaped her lips, her hips repeatedly bucking against your fingers while her head was thrown back, her fingers tightening their grip on your hair as you took your time tracing lazy circles around her leaking tip.

Every stroke you made on her had her cock twitching, almost begging for release, whines escaping her mouth every minute, she was pleading for more yet you gave her nothing.

"God, you look so pretty like this, baby, just for me..." You panted, it was intoxicating, maddening, the way she responded to your every movement with desire written all over her, especially when you call her that. She was never much of a dominating one, you noticed.

"Y/n, please… oh, f-fuck!" She threw her head back when you sped up, hearing her labored breaths, the way she would occasionally gasp your name in a broken moan all while you looked up at her like you've done nothing, how could you not tease her just the slightest bit?

You slowed your movements to a halt, drawing out her pleasure in the most agonizing way possible, tilting your head just a slight bit, "what is it, pretty girl? Tell me."

"Wanna—shit..." she moaned, "wanna cum'n your throat, baby, please..."

"Of course, pretty girl," you chuckled softly, leaning in to kiss her hardened cock while wasting no time in shoving her dick down your throat, gagging around her as you feel her erection stretch your lips as you took her deeper and deeper.

Vada's hips bucked around you, her moans growing louder and louder. Your name kept tumbling from her lips in broken moans and cries, her other hand hovering over her mouth yet it never muffled her erotic moans.

"Y/n, fuck, your mouth feels so good around my dick," she moaned, her words sending a shiver along your spine all the way to your dripping pussy.

You gagged around her pulsing length, feeling every crevice and vein inside your throat, your throat constricting as you struggled to take her size.

Spit dripped from your lips, going no where but to her balls and onto the floor as you tried to take her in.

With each thrust of her hips, each gasp of pleasure wanted you to take her in more and more.

You close her eyes, the taste of her on your tongue, the feeling of her throbbing length filling your mouth, the erotic sounds of her moans and your gagging around her dick—it was all too much, and yet not enough.

"Gonna cum, oh God, m'gonna cum..." she took a handful of your hair, trying to push you in deeper, chasing her high, "can I cum? Baby, please, I wanna cum so bad, please, pleasepleaseplease..."

You remove your mouth from her dick, hearing her groan and whine at the slightest bit of distance from your mouth and her cock, releasing it with a little pop all while you lick your lips, the faint taste of her still lingering on your tongue.

"Have a little patience, Vada," you cooed, going to your feet and taking off your undergarments, Vada's eyes immediately shooting down at your wet pussy, watching how her eyes wanted to take you all in, how she wanted to slam you against the bed and fuck you till early morning.

You let your arms stretch over her shoulders, trapping her in as you leaned in, your clit bumping with her twitching cock. "We've got all night, baby. Just wanna have you ready before you fuck me."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Vada! F-fuck, m'gonna cum again... gonna cum all over your cock, oh God!"

Throwing your head back, the only sounds that filled the room where the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the sloppy and wet squelch of your pussy as you went down on Vada's cock for the 4th time this evening.

Your words were barely coherent, your hips bucking and squeezing uncontrollably against Vada's cock all while your face was red and flushed from all the orgasms you've been receiving from her and giving her, tears streaming down your face in pleasure and pain.

The only sounds that filled the room were the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the sloppy and wet squelch of your pussy as you rode Vada's cock for the fourth time this evening. Each thrust of your own body left you gasping and moaning in heaven with Vada as she stared at you with her lips parted.

Her hands found peace on your waist, guiding your body with each movement you had on her, showing Vada how to perfectly cowgirl, your ass bouncing every time you hit the base of her cock that painfully stretched you until your puffy folds got used to her size.

Your own hands found their way to her chest, feeling the delicious flex of her abs as your tight walls squeezed around her dick.

Yet, you were running out of stamina, your pace slowing down as you started to grip on her chest a bit more tighter than usual.

Of course, the ever sweetest girl, Vada Cavell, noticed this almost immediately as she cooed, "you alright, y/n?" She moaned breathlessly, her cock still sensitive from you, "we could take it slow if you want—"

"No…" you panted, going to a halt. You couldn't stop now, not when you were so close to the edge, "don't wanna… wanna cum'n your cock… please," you whined, though you weren't resuming to your natural pace of fucking yourself into her.

You collapsed onto her, feeling your eyes closing shut and your body relaxing against Vada, her scent mixed with sweat was oddly comforting all while you melted into her embrace.

Vada sighed against you, her heartbeat against yours was all she needed after a few hours. Gently rubbing your back, she kissed your shoulders, praising you everytime her soft lips landed on your skin.

"You're perfect, have I ever told you that?" She whispered, "the prettiest girl. I don't know what I would do if I didn't offer you that bet." She then chuckled, making you chuckle against her back, pulling her into a tighter embrace as you whined at the loss of her cock inside of you.

"How's that for your first fuck?"

"Better than the shit I've take. Like, way fucking better." You both laughed.

"I'll draw you a bath, 'ts just a few steps away from my bedroom anyway." Vada got up after she laid you down comfortably on her mattress that was awfully stained with your and her juices. She put on a new pair of boxers before kissing you on the forehead, smiling against your skin.

"You're the sweetest, V." You smiled dumbly, yet Vada looked at you with tenderness and fondness in her eyes, like she didn't just fuck a stranger well into late night. But, she might just be falling in love after all.

Vada laughed, a smile creeping up on her face, bringing out her dimples, "V?"

"'ts your nickname," you slurred "Don't you like it?"

She took a moment before responding with a kiss on the lips, her soft ones meeting yours, "I love it."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

V: So... so are we official? Like girlfriends girlfriends, we're not just fucking around? Oh my God, don't tell me this is just a one night stand. Y: Vada, I thought that was already established when I repeatedly came around your dick yelling 'I love you.' V: Rrrrright, but what if Y: Vada, we're girlfriends. Alright?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

another a/n: been mia for probably weeks now, so sorry about that!! especially to those who have pending requests. ive been focusing on my studies recently AND i got hit with the worst cases of writers block. so thats two of them. but now since ive got maybe a free schedule, i can focus more on writing requests! thank you so so much by the way and stories might be posted a lot more late than usual. anyway,

[okkotsuus]

crawlin' back to you (rensuke k.) !

features: rensuke k.

contents: established relationship. spoilers (second selection). a smidge of comfort. cliff hanger because i hate you <3

notes: hey lol, kinda bad because i have to get back into my flow state iykyk

The Blue Lock program: a selection meant to hone 300 high school kids down to 1 legendary striker.

When you sent off Rensuke with a kiss and soft murmurs of your certainty of his success, you never thought that it would end you up here. Sitting on your couch, doing some calculus homework while watching the U-20 v. Blue Lock exhibition match.

It stirred a strange feeling in you when you didn't see that familiar head of tousled orange hair even once on the plasma screen in front of you.

Maybe he was just sick? Or he was temporarily injured, so he couldn't play.

Surely.

But, even then...

Wouldn't he have at least been on the bench?

It sent a wave of unease through you, at the thought that something could have happened to divert his lifelong dream. But thinking that way wouldn't solve anything, that was something Rensuke taught you himself: positivity is key.

So, you blindly cheered for Blue Lock, even running laps around the kitchen when they ended up pulling off a win. Those boys were talented, so knowing that Ren was chosen to be with them made you all the more sure of his success.

The program went nearly radio silent for a two week period following the match.

Still no sign of your ginger striker.

Days were long, all your classes felt so much more droning without him sitting at your side. It was beginning to wear on you.

Then, it came as a sudden announcement. The 'Blue Lock: Neo-Egoist League' would be premiering tonight at 3pm JST. All plans were canceled, you were firmly planted on the couch, shooing away your siblings as you clicked onto the waiting screen.

It started with a click, showing all the players gathering into a room with the former Japanese U-20 Team. No Rensuke.

They featured different players as they explained the different stratum they could choose. The five European leagues that dominated the modern soccer world: France, Spain, England, Italy, and Germany.

Watching all the players debate where they wanted to be, the uncertainty of the U-20 Match prodigy: Yoichi Isagi. You were forced on the edge of your seat, knee bouncing idly as you hoped and prayed desperately to see the face of the boy you really needed to see.

Even as they all went their separate ways, still nothing. You were beginning to lose hope. Slowly, your focus began to fade away, half-way actually watching the broadcast.

"Now enter! The lone survivor of the Wild Card program..." Now that, that had your attention. "The last dark horse..."

It couldn't be...

"Rensuke Kunigami!"

There. That's him.

Even under that ruffled, grown-out, carrot top. Even with those darkened, hollow amber eyes. Even with a change in his physique, his gait. You would recognize him in any and every form.

Your Ren, in the flesh.

Tears welled in your eyes as your ears rang, unable to hear anything as you watched his mouth move a few times back and forth with Isagi. Then, they cut to a training exercise.

Something happened to die out the light in his eyes. And guessing by the way Ego introduced him, he was probably intended to have lost and left the program; but he won his way back.

No wonder you hadn't seen him in the exhibition match.

He was suffering trying to claw his way back to his dream, while you were just sitting here moping. Pathetic.

It lit a spark in you. You had to see him, as soon as possible.

Great minds think alike, ego attracts ego; even if it is at the subconscious level.

It took a lot of calls, letters, and video chats. But, within ten days, you were permitted to enter Blue Lock to observe a match between Bastard Munchen and FC Barcha: the first game of the League, under the guise of enhancing Kunigami's morale.

Ego agreed to this deal on the main term that you would not be able to watch the match, nor take any sort of electronic device on your person past the facility doors. Likely, to prevent copyright infringement.

You didn't have to think before agreeing.

In a cold room, surrounded by metal walls, you waited. The game lasted nearly 70 minutes, with which you had nothing to occupy yourself with other than your own mind.

It was another 20 before the doors slid open, the familiar figure of a face you'd come to know as Anri Teieri leading an even more striking form. "In here, Kunigami-san. You have as much time as you need."

You were on your feet in an instant, it was actually him. God, he reeked of sweat and spice. That damned door clicked behind the JFU associate, amber eyes staring stone cold down at you.

"Rensuke, congratulations on your victory." The words spilled from your lips. Yes, you knew him well, that look in his eyes, it was not forlorn in the way you knew he felt after a loss.

"Why are you here."

His words were flat, but it was all a facade. No one in this word knew Rensuke Kunigami quite like you, and no one ever would. "I'm so incredibly proud of you, my hero."

And just this once, for the first time since he walked into that Wild Card door, those broad shoulders of his relaxed.

"Yeah... Yeah, I know you are, sunshine."

© okkotsuus 24 – do not repost, plagiarize, change, or translate any of my works to any other platforms.

[star-suh]

Don't Chew More Than You Can Swallow

Johnny Suh x Male Reader

cw: top johnny, pseudo-incest, underwear kink, musk kink, degradation, praising, breeding, hickeys, blowjob, deepthroat, manhandling, implied size kink, snowballing, age gap (yn is 20 and johnny is 25).

an: this is the other idea from @ldrei

also i was lazy to think about names for the mom and the stepfather so yuh.

—

“ok yn, i want you to put on a smile on that face we're almost near the house” yn's mom said while driving towards their new home.

some years ago yn was part of a loving and happy family until one day his father, an honorable police officer, died during a raid against a gang. yn and his mother were devastated, mourning his death for the next couple of months. but life goes on and we have to let go and move on, right? after like a year yn's mother started dating another police officer, months later they made their relationship official and decided to get married, which brings us to the beginning of the story, yn and his mother would move to their new home, where yn's new father and new brother, a 25 years old guy, live already.

“hello we're home” yn's mom greeted, “hey honey” yn's stepdad appeared and kissed her, “hey yn, how are you?”; “i'm good.. thanks” he replied, “glad to know that” the older man said with a smile on his face.

yn walked towards the kitchen searching for a glass to drink some water, “the cups are up there” someone said, yn turned around and there he was his new stepbrother “the name's johnny” he extended his hand and yn grabbed it to shake it, his hand was way bigger than yn's, “i'm yn.. n-nice to meet you” he laughed nervously, “i say the same, see you later then” johnny said winking at him and waving a goodbye.

a couple of months have passed, everything was going good for everyone except for yn. he was thirsting over johnny 24/7, when he walked around the house with just a short on and no underwear because he can clearly see his bulge swing around everytime he walks, his body is to die for ‘god i wish i could lick those abs right now’ thought yn. it was even more harder for yn to not think about johnny fucking him when he was on the room next to him rearranging some woman's insides, the banging sounds going straight to yn's ears, ‘i wish that was me’ he thought. and that's the only thing yn can do, fantasize about him because well… his stepbrother is straight.

johnny sent yn to search something in his room, he did as he was told but something catches his attention, a pair of underwears resting on a pile of clothes. driven by his impulses, he grabbed one and began to sniff it, his face immediately turning red and a bulge growing in his pants "johnny~" he moaned softly.

he went quickly to his room, locked the door and began to jerk off, wrapping the underwear around his cock sliding it up and down while biting a pillow to suppress the moans.

the weeks passed and yn's desire for johnny only increased. every time johnny brought someone home to fuck, while his parents were away, yn always masturbated listening to their moans.

one day yn was masturbating again with his the underwear until a voice interrupted him, "hey yn!" a shirtless johnny called opening the door with a bang "what the hell were you doing? i've been calling you for a while" he asked with a somewhat angry tone. "sorry johnny, what do you want?" yn questioned, "these last few months you have been the one picking the dirty clothes to take them to the laundry room, have you by any chance seen my underwear? they have been missing” he scratches his head. “i have no idea johnny” yn replied with a nervous laugh. “hmm… it's okay” and just like that, johnny left.

worried that johnny would find out, he grabbed all the dirty clothes and ran down to the laundry room. there he turned on the washing machine and placed the underwear there and just when he was going to press the button to start the washing cycle a big hand stopped him, a low and very deep voice whispered in his ear "i thought you didn't know where my fucking underwear was" the warm breath sending shivers down his spine, “you're such a dirty pervert yn” he laugh was deep and sexy.

“j-johnny i-i” yn didn't know what to do, “you thought you were slick with it but no, did you think i didn't notice how you stared at me every time i walked around the house shirtless, how your eyes went from my abs to my bulge, shit i even could feel how you fucked me with your eyes”. johnny positioned himself behind yn, his huge bulge rubbing against yn's ass, "even every night i fucked someone i could hear your slutty moans on the other side of the wall, how you moaned my name was… so sexy... now i kinda want to hear them again" the taller was leaving small kisses on yn's neck, he then took out his huge cock from his shorts and rubbed it on yn's clothed ass “do you want to taste my cock, yn?", his sexy low voice doing things down there on yn's crotch area.

“j-johnny” yn stuttered “i-i'm sorry” a little moan escaping his mouth. “if you want to apologize you have to take responsibility about this” he slams his thick heavy cock against yn's ass again. “y-yes” yn fell to his knees and started kissing the tip, using one hand to stroke the rest of the shaft while the other was stroking his own.

“you're so nasty yn, look at you sucking at your brother's cock. aren't you such a nasty slut huh?” johnny grabs his head and starts to mouthfuck him, forcing yn to deepthroat him, “come on you can do more than that, it's barely halfway in”, little by little yn swallowed it all, johnny locked his head with his arms. the gagging sounds being like music to his ears. “there you go, you're doing so good for me”.

johnny lifted yn and fold him against the washing machine, rubbing the tip of his cock in the other's hole “want me to destroy you, cockwhore?” he says once again using that sexy low voice that drives yn crazy “p-please~ do it”.

johnny was slamming so hard that the washing machine was moving too, yn's legs were shaking due to how good johnny was fucking him, "how does my little fucktoy feel.. is this what you wanted? my thick, heavy cock opening your ass?"; “yes johnny please wreck me” yn replied withiut thinking, “so desperate”.

johnny lifted yn and carried him from the laundry room to his bedroom but without stopping fucking him. the thrusts were slow but as powerful as the harsh ones because he always manages to brush yn's prostate with the tip of his cock, drawing whimpers out of his mouth that made johnny chuckle, ‘so cute’ he thinks.

they're finally on the bedroom, johnny throw yn towards his bed, attacking his neck with kisses and leaving some bruises here and there. his big, tall body towering over yn's. “i have a deal for you” the taller comments, “if you can take me without cumming you'll be my little fucktoy boyfriend. what do you think?” he keeps on kissing yn's body until he reaches the nipples and suck on them. “hngh i really w-want that” the bottom squirmed.

the fat cock went in and out, going in even harder than the last time, johnny's balls slapping against yn's ass “who's being a good cockwhore?” the top asks, “m-... me” yn struggles to answer due to the harsh thrusts “i'm johnny's g-good cockwhore”.

“but you're only mine right?”.

“yeah i'm only yours…”.

both sealed the deal with a gentle kiss, contrasting with the rough thrusts. “fuck i'm gonna cum” johnny growls, he took advantage of the fact that his cock reached so deep inside yn to make him cum, however he let himself be carried away by the moment and filled yn's ass up with that warm sperm.

yn barely managed to hold off his cumming so johnny now has to fulfill the deal they just made. "it seems like i'm your little fucktoy boyfriend now"; "i think so," johnny adds, “and a cute one”.

“you took me so well pretty boy, i think you deserve a threat” and as he said that he went down and started to suck yn's cock “j-johnny you don't have to~”; “mmm mmm, i want to, prince” the sweet name embarrasing yn so much that he covered his face with his arms, feeling the little chuckle the taller let out. with a few more strokes yn came inside johnny's mouth, “shit that's some good blowjob johnny” yn rode his high while johnny crawls up until he is face to face with yn, with one hand he opens the bottom's mouth and spits the sperm in there, then kisses and plays with it between their mouths.

johnny carries yn to the bathroom where they both take a bath, then get dressed and fall asleep in the bed.

“look at them, aren't they cute” yn's mom said watching them both sleeping while hugging, “yeah i think they're gonna be good brothers” the stepdad adds with a huge smile in his face.