#I had to do this in bits after work so sorry it took a while | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bippot · 12 hours ago

Text

Sick Little Baby

Story Summary -> Poor Eddie didn't show up to school because he has a bit of a cough and Wayne needs his rest, so his best friend and her puppy are willing to come to his aid.

Tags -> Domestic Fluff, Sick Character, Cutesy, Friends to Lovers, Caretaking, Tooth-Rotting Fluff

Would you prefer to read this on AO3? Click here!

Skipping school was practically Eddie's signature move - his go-to, if you will. He’d done it so often that the members of Hellfire Club barely batted an eyelid when he mysteriously vanished during lunch. Perhaps he was off sealing some shady deal, or maybe he was just blissfully snuggled in his bed back at his trailer, or, let’s be real, maybe he simply didn’t feel like showing up. But there was one day they could always count on him to be there - Thursdays, the sacred day of their campaign. It was a non-negotiable rule: no Dungeon Master meant no game at all as that was just downright impossible.

Dustin, ever the charming little shit, decided it was high time to check in on their favourite troublemaker. "I’ll call," he proclaimed, but as the idea marinated, he quickly reconsidered. “Actually, you do it,” he whined and thrust a slip of paper with Eddie's number into Y/N's hands like it was a ticking bomb.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. “Oh, what’s the matter, Henderson? Are you scared Wayne will answer?”

“Yes. He’s terrifying, and he knows you.” Dustin exclaimed, his eyes wide as saucers.

“Terrifying? Come on, Wayne is not scary.” She chuckled, thoroughly entertained by the dramatic antics of the younger boy.

“He is too,” he shot back as if that would somehow bolster his argument.

Dustin huffed, his arms crossed, throwing a challenge her way with his pout. If she continued her teasing, he had the perfect ammunition to retaliate - after all, he had witnessed that embarrassing moment when he caught her doodling Eddie's name in her notebook while Mike took what felt like an eternity to figure out his next move during one of their sessions. Dustin had leverage, and he was not shy about wielding it when the moment called for it.

With a teasing grin, Y/N sidestepped him and snatched up the phone, her voice dripping with mock seriousness. “Henderson, you are a complete pussy.”

"Yeah, yeah. Just call the damn number."

Y/N took a deep breath and dialled the number, her fingers dancing over the keys like they were playing a lively tune. "Munson residence," came a gruff voice, thick with sleep. It had to be Wayne. Had they disturbed his slumber? Poor guy probably worked the night shift and was running on fumes. The thought made her stomach twist with a pang of guilt.

"Hey, Wayne. It's Y/N," she chirped, trying to keep the mood light.

"Oh hey, youngster." Wayne's voice brightened, and she could practically picture the warm smile that surely graced his face. Honestly, she had no idea why Dustin was so scared of him. The man radiated a laid-back charm that could put anyone at ease, a stark contrast to Eddie's frosty family atmosphere. Sure, Wayne was a bit rough around the edges, but it only added to his character - a man forged by countless night shifts and the pressures of life. He had always treated her with kindness.

She sheepishly twirled the phone cord around her finger, feeling a hint of embarrassment. "Did I wake you? I'm so sorry - "

Wayne's chuckle interrupted her, “I was already awake, kiddo. Eddie’s been coughing all morning long.”

In the background, the unmistakable sounds of Eddie's smoker's cough echoed through the receiver, the harsh notes of it painting a vivid picture of the scene - Eddie huddled under a mountain of blankets, the world outside a distant memory. "Yeah, that idiot boy has come down with a cold or some shit." She could almost hear the eye roll in Wayne's voice as he continued, "He ain't sick enough to quit smoking, though."

Despite the concern that washed over her, Y/N couldn’t help but tease, "Yeah, Ed smokes like a chimney." She tried to ignore Dustin, who was prodding her ribs insistently, a mischievous glint in his eye as he urged her to spill the tea. "Do you need anything? I can always swing by the pharmacy on my way home and grab some stuff."

A hearty laugh erupted from Wayne. "Be my alibi when I strangle him? He’s been keeping me from my beauty sleep," he quipped, a playful bitterness colouring his words, which made Y/N chuckle softly.

"I could always look after him if you want to catch some Z's before your shift tonight. I don't mind, really." The prospect of taking care of Eddie sparked a glimmer of excitement in her. With Hellfire cancelled for the evening, she had to find something to fill her time, and homework? No, thank you. "My parents are on holiday, and my house is eerily quiet. A coughing idiot could liven the place up a bit."

Wayne paused; the line filled with the distant sounds of Eddie's coughs and the rustling of bedsheets, and then after a moment, he finally replied, "I knew you were my favourite of Eddie’s friends for a reason." A smirk came upon his face as he added, "Just don’t kill him."

A grin broke across her face, lighting it up like the summer sun. “I’ll do my best. I’ll swing by and pick him up after school.”

“Okay. Thanks a tonne, kid. I owe you big time.” He replied, his voice bubbling with gratitude. “Talk to ya later, alright?”

“Later, Wayne.”

Once the call ended, she turned her attention to her friend, and what a sight he was. Dustin wore a smirk so smug it could rival the Cheshire Cat, that knowing glimmer in his eye making her roll her own in playful defeat. “Shut up,” she sighed, but there was no real annoyance behind her words; they both erupted into laughter.

“Oh, Eddie. Let me take care of you, my sick little baby,” he teased, his impression of Y/N so awful it was almost a performance art. She playfully thumped his arm and shook her head, a blend of exasperation and delight making her cheeks bloom a rosy pink.

“Shut it,” she chided, but the warmth in her voice said otherwise.

In a comically exaggerated fashion, Dustin turned his back to her, wrapping his arms around himself as he began to mimic smooching sounds, his voice soaring higher. “Mwah, mwah. One day, I’m going to be Mrs. Munson, just you wait. Eddie. Yes, I will marry you. I will bear your fuzzy-headed offspring. Mwah. I just love making out with you so much -”

He was on a roll, completely unaware of her absence until he spun around to find she had already scampered off. The phone line had captured his ridiculous declarations, leaving whoever had walked by to possibly think he was just a boy doing something incredibly peculiar. One girl shot him a look, silent but clear, her expression tinged with a certain judgement.

With Hellfire postponed, Y/N dashed off for Eddie's place the moment the bell rang - well, she made a quick stop at the drugstore first, but Eddie was on her mind - and when she arrived, the older Munson looked every bit as worn out as she anticipated. What was left of his hair was in a wild disarray, sticking up like he had just wrestled a tornado, and dark circles hung beneath his bloodshot eyes like heavy shadows. He sported rumpled clothes that had seen better days, clearly a sign he hadn’t showered yet. And as soon as Wayne spotted her car pulling up, he playfully nudged Eddie out the door with a grin, “There she is, your knight in shining... dungarees.”

Eddie looked just as bad, if not worse. He was bundled in a thick hoodie and sweatpants, with a blanket haphazardly tied around his shoulders like a makeshift cape. Yet, even this cosy ensemble couldn’t stop him from shivering. In a valiant but ultimately futile effort, he had tied his hair into a messy bun that was mostly falling apart, and his nose was a bright shade of red, his expression screaming, ‘Yeah, not my best moment.’

Rolling down her window, she couldn’t help but tease, “Wow, you look like hell.”

“Thanks,” he muttered sarcastically as he climbed into her car, a small smile teasing the corners of his lips as he closed the door. “How would you like it if I said you looked like shit?”

“I said you looked like hell, not shit,” she shot back, her tone light.

“Oh, so I don’t look like shit?” he questioned, a playful glint in his eye.

“Nope. You do.”

Wayne waved a grateful goodbye and retreated back inside the trailer, likely seeking the sweet embrace of sleep he desperately needed.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, glancing at Eddie, who was still cocooned in his blanket, looking every bit the part of a cosy burrito.

He shrugged, leaning forward with a playful tilt, elbows perched on his knees, as he gazed out the window like a weary traveller searching for a glimpse of adventure. “Like crap, actually,” he admitted, his voice still heavy with sleep, before turning back to her with an exaggerated pout that could’ve melted glaciers.

Oh, that pout wasn’t exactly doing him any favours. It made her giggle - a little snicker that was probably a bad idea considering the fierce glare he shot in her direction - but honestly, it didn’t bother her nearly as much as it should have. It was downright adorable, especially when they finally reached her house, and Eddie shuffled toward her front porch like a toddler, clutching his blanket as if it were a trusty sidekick against the Arctic chill. In that moment, his grumpiness was more endearing than serious, and she couldn’t help but smile.

As soon as she flung open the door, a whirlwind of fur came barreling down the stairs, a puppy racing toward them in a blur of excitement. She crouched down, letting the little furball sniff her hand before scooping him up into her arms. “I missed you too, Chewie,” she declared with a laugh as the mini Briard showered her cheek with enthusiastic licks. Y/N chuckled, scratching behind his floppy ears, and cradled him close as they ventured into her cosy haven.

Eddie, however, made a dramatic beeline for the couch, flopping down with a theatrical sigh, wrapping his blanket tightly around himself like a cocoon. He buried his face into the throw pillow, surrendering to silence, except for the occasional cough that escaped him. “You okay?” she asked, gently placing Chewie on the couch beside him. Eddie merely nodded, pulling his blanket even tighter, like a protective shield. “You hungry? Thirsty? Got a headache?”

“Yep, yes...and yes.” He rubbed at his temples, glancing her way with those big brown puppy-dog eyes that made her heart do cartwheels. Even without the actual words spilling from his lips, she could feel his silent plea of ‘Please?’

Without a second thought, she sprang into action to gather what he needed. “Go cuddle up to Eds. He needs it, bud,” she urged Chewie, who seemed to understand her perfectly, and the dog was instantly bounding over to Eddie as if he were a little guardian of comfort.

A few moments later, Y/N returned, triumphantly carrying painkillers and a water bottle, only to find Eddie deep in conversation with the puppy about absolutely nothing in particular.

Eddie eyed them with faux suspicion. “Cyanide?”

“Belladonna,” she quipped, grinning.

With an exaggerated groan, he extended his hands to accept the items from her and downed them like a champion, returning the empty bottle with a satisfied huff. She held up her hand triumphantly—two out of the three checks complete. But one crucial task remained.

“Food, please,” he whined, pouting just like he had in the car.

She dashed off to the kitchen as she went to warm up some soup. It might not have been a culinary masterpiece fit for a five-star restaurant, but it was quick and simple—a cosy hug in a bowl. The aromatic waft that filled the air was enough to elicit an adorably goofy grin from Eddie when she brought it to him, as if she had just served him the finest feast in the universe. In that blissful moment, all the worries of the world faded away, leaving just the two of them basking in the comforting warmth of home.

Once the bowl was safely in his grasp, she settled in beside him, propping her feet up on the coffee table with a satisfied sigh. At first, he gave her a strange look, as if she had just sprouted a second head, but once she asked, "What? Do you want me to feed you too?"

With a cheeky grin, she snatched the spoon from his hand and teased, "Here comes the aeroplane for the little baby boy," her voice taking on an exaggerated tone that could make anyone chuckle. Now, she never would have expected him to actually open his mouth and let her feed him, but there it was. The joyful face he made while she did it made her realise, "You love being coddled, don't you?"

His small nod confirmed it, though he looked about as sheepish as a child caught with its hands in the cookie jar. He glanced at her with a mix of curiosity and mischief, and she merely shrugged, continuing to spoon-feed him. The silence that enveloped them was blissfully comfortable, broken only by the occasional slurp or a light-hearted cough that made them chuckle together.

As she placed the spoon back in the now-empty bowl, she suddenly felt a gentle tug at the side of her shirt. Looking down, she spotted Chewie, who had snuck in and was now cosily sprawled out beside them, resting his chin on Eddie's knee. A warm smile crept across her face as she lovingly scratched behind his ears, eliciting a happy wag of his tail.

"Thank you," Eddie eventually said, joining in on the ear-scratching. She nodded absentmindedly in acknowledgement, setting the bowl down on the coffee table before stretching out on the couch next to him. Just as she was about to close her eyes, he broke the serenity with his heartfelt words. "For taking care of me. And Wayne, I guess."

"It's nothing. You're my best friend, Eddie, and you know I'd do anything for you," she replied, her voice low and sincere, yet buoyant with warmth. There was something about hearing those words that made Eddie feel lighter, like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. She didn’t say it often, but when she did, it rang with more meaning than a thousand other affirmations ever could.

To her, Eddie was family. A fierce loyalty and protective love wrapped around her heart for him. He was a wild mix of annoyance, stubbornness, and a bit of childlike wonder, but that was what made him so endearing. She loved him dearly, and caring for him felt as natural as breathing.

Speaking of her loveable crew, it was time for Chewie's dinner. "I know you're comfy, but do you want your food? Dinner time?" She called to the eager pup, her voice slightly higher, infused with excitement. Watching as his tail wagged in a frenzy, ready for his meal, she couldn’t help but giggle. "Let's go then. Lead the way."

Chewie bounded off to the kitchen with uncontainable energy, his tiny legs a blur. He was such a little guy, but his enthusiasm was boundless. He darted across the kitchen floor, barking joyously as he made a beeline for his food bowl, practically vibrating with impatience as he waited for her to prepare his meal. Her heart swelled with affection as she realised that her dog and her best friend shared so many similarities.

"Hey, hey buddy, slow down," she teased lightly, watching as Chewie practically inhaled his dinner. "Jesus fucking Christ. Breathe a little, babe."

Returning to the sofa, Y/N felt Eddie lean against her shoulder the moment she settled in, his contented sigh enveloping her in a warm cocoon of familiarity and affection. Time seemed to pause as they lingered in that embrace, Eddie snuggling closer, melting into the comfort of her presence as if she were a soft, reassuring blanket that shielded him from the chaos of the world. Y/N's fingers instinctively found their way to his wild mane of hair, a playful smile dancing on her lips as she gently tugged at the scraggly elastic band he had used as a makeshift hair tie. With tender care, she began to untangle the messy strands, laughter bubbling between them like a sweet melody.

It was a simple moment, but it felt as if the world had faded away, leaving just the two of them wrapped in their own little universe. She could hear his quiet intake of breath as he closed his eyes, surrendering to the soothing sensation of her fingers weaving through his hair, combing out the tangles and transforming his chaotic locks into something almost presentable. The gentle rhythm of her touch was hypnotic, and he found himself wishing it would last forever.

Soon, his hair was tangle-free, and with a playful grin, she decided to plait it for him, her movements fluid and graceful. Chewie returned and contentedly settled himself on Y/N's lap as she worked. With each passing moment, the bond between them deepened. She finished the braid and took one of her hairbands from her wrist, twirling the hair into a bun and securing it with a tie, her fingers brushing against his skin in a way that sent delightful shivers down his spine.

"There we go. You’re so pretty," she cooed in his direction, her voice dripping with affection. The satisfied hum that escaped his lips was music to her ears, and the smile that lit up his face made her heart flutter. Now that his hair was styled, she suggested, "How about we watch a video?"

Y/N already had a movie in mind—one she knew would perfectly align with Eddie's quirky tastes. Repo Man, a beautifully weird film about cars and extraterrestrials, was just the ticket, especially since her dad had rented it right before her parents went on holiday and it had to be returned soon.

As she sprawled out on the couch, lying back against the cushions, Chewie decided to awkwardly slot himself in the gap between her shoulder and the back cushion, falling asleep almost instantly. However, Y/N was taken aback when Eddie crawled on top of her, resting his head against her chest, a blissful expression plastered on his face. "Your boobs are comfy," he whispered playfully, a teasing grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She rolled her eyes, a laugh escaping her as she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him closely, feeling the warmth radiating from his body. He sighed contentedly, resting his cheek against her upper chest, watching the film in peace. Minutes passed, and he couldn't help but revel in the feeling of being with her - how safe, how cherished, and how utterly happy he felt.

Slowly, he lifted his head and turned towards her with a questioning gaze, his heart racing in anticipation. Y/N smiled warmly, raising an eyebrow and waiting for whatever stupid comment he might share. Then he finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, "I'm sorry if you get sick too now."

Her hand came up, brushing away a stray strand of hair from his eye, and she murmured softly, "It's okay, big guy. If I get sick, you'll have to take care of me." His heart swelled at her words, and a soft chuckle slipped past his lips. "I promise I'll be half as whiny as you."

The moment felt charged, and he found himself unable to hold back. "That's okay. You could be twice as whiny, and I would still love you."

The blush that crept onto Y/N's cheeks illuminated the space between them, and when she pressed a tender kiss to his forehead, murmuring, "I love you too," he knew he hadn't imagined the butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

At first, he had mistaken that feeling for the side effects of being under the weather, but no, this was different; this was pure bliss. Pure joy. This was love, unfurling gently like petals in spring.

Settling back down, he gave her collarbone a light peck, lost in the comfort of her warmth. Soon, he drifted off into a serene slumber, completely oblivious to the world around him. He didn't notice the way the corners of her lips curled upwards as she glanced down at him, her heart swelling with affection at the sight of his peaceful expression, knowing that these moments were precious.

Chewie was the first to wake, his tiny paws padding across the soft fabric of the couch as he stood and wandered over Eddie's back. Despite the fact that the puppy barely weighed anything, Eddie stirred at the gentle pressure, groaning as he opened his eyes to find Chewie standing over him with an expectant look. Eddie tried to stay nestled against Y/N, but he knew he had to shift so she could get out from under him. Pushing himself up onto his elbows, he shifted awkwardly, failing to see how entertained she was as she watched him struggle to lift himself out of grogginess.

With a gentle kiss to his temple, a silent apology lingering in the air, Y/N slid out of the cosy groove they’d created on the couch. She scooped up her feisty little pup just before he could unleash a series of enthusiastic yaps that would shatter the peace. Chewie was set down, and off he dashed, zooming around the room in wild pursuit of his favourite chew toy, a little bundle of energy that could brighten anyone’s day.

Y/N glanced back at Eddie, and she couldn’t help but melt. There he was, adorably tousled with bleary eyes struggling to stay open, looking like he’d just rolled out of a dream. The sleepy blush dusting his cheeks added to his charm as he yawned and stretched, the blanket slipping off his shoulders like a forgotten shawl.

His shirt had hiked up a bit, revealing a tantalising sliver of bare stomach, and for just a moment, she found herself completely mesmerised. Eddie caught her admiration and arched a brow playfully, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “What’s up?” he asked, his tone light and playful.

Y/N shook herself from her daze, cheeks warming as she tried to divert her gaze. “Oh, nothing. Just, um... nothing,” she stammered, the words tumbling out in a fluster.

“You don’t sound very convincing,” he quipped, his fingers lacing around her hand, sending sparks of warmth racing up her arm.

Despite her best efforts to fight it, a blush crept onto Y/N's cheeks, and she quickly realised she was battling a losing game. Maybe it was time to surrender and let her cheeks flush naturally. "You look really cute right now," she admitted shyly, her heart fluttering as the heat radiated from her face like the first rays of morning sunshine.

Eddie's grin widened, revealing his adorable dimples, his eyes sparkling with mischief and delight that felt like the sweetest kind of magic. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” he remarked casually, his gaze appreciatively tracing over her as she bent down to toss Chewie’s toy across the room. The sight of her, all playful and carefree, sent warmth blossoming in his chest, chasing away the remnants of sleep that still clung to him like a stubborn shadow. Even though he felt a bit under the weather, watching her was like a dose of sunshine that brightened his spirit.

“So,” Y/N began softly, her voice tender like a soft lullaby after launching the toy into the next room, giving them a moment of peace, “How are you feeling now? Do you want anything?”

Chewie strutted back, triumphantly dropping his toy at Eddie's feet, his tail wagging like a tiny flag of victory, all too proud of his fetch prowess.

“Well...” Eddie mused, scratching the back of his neck in that adorably awkward way that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. “My head is still pounding a bit, and my throat feels like sandpaper, but hey, I’m not dizzy anymore.”

Moments later, she returned with a tall glass of cold water, sunlight glistening on the droplets as if it were a little sparkling treasure. She felt her breath catch at the grateful smile that spread across his face - infectious and warm - and it lit up his features like the brightest star in the night sky.

“How did the Hellfire boys take it?”

“Like champs,” she replied, brushing a stray hair from his cheek and tucking it gently behind his ear, her fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary. “Mike was a bit grumpy, but when is that boy ever in a good mood? Gareth, Jeff, and Nate were their usual gracious selves. Lucas had basketball practice anyway.”

“And Henderson?” Eddie enquired, a smirk spreading across his face, the corner of his mouth lifting mischievously.

“Dustin was too busy having a blast making fun of us. Well, mostly me, but you were the reason.”

“Me?” Eddie feigned disbelief, laughter bubbling up in his chest, his voice rich and melodic. “I wasn’t even there.”

“Nope, but it was still your fault,” she teased, giving his arm a light smack, her expression animated as if to say that he was the entire reason for her playful antics. “If you weren’t so... you, I wouldn’t be the target of all this.”

Earlier, they had exchanged those sweet, vulnerable ‘I love you’s’. They are words that could be perceived as platonic in some lights, but the way they felt in this moment was undeniably more intimate, like a secret meant just for them. This wasn’t platonic. He knew that now.

“You like me,” Eddie stated matter-of-factly, his big brown eyes locking onto hers, full of sincerity and playful challenge, as if he was just waiting for her confirmation.

For a heartbeat, she simply stared, her heart racing like a wild drum. Then, leaning forward, she pressed a soft kiss to his lips, her hand cradling his face tenderly, warmth flooding between them in a wave that swept all thoughts away. It was just a fleeting, sweet kiss, yet it conveyed everything they needed to say - an unspoken promise of affection and connection.

“I’m definitely going to catch your cold now,” she teased, pulling back with a playful pout, her eyes dancing with mischief.

“Swapping saliva? Yeah, you're skipping school tomorrow,” he joked, his voice muffled as he nuzzled his nose into the crook of her neck, a warm sensation enveloping them both.

A shiver of delight ran through her at the tickling sensation, a giggle escaping her lips as he playfully nipped at her skin. “Shut up,” she laughed, attempting to push him away, but he just chuckled, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer.

Together they snuggled into the couch, enveloped in a blissful cocoon of warmth and comfort that seemed to stretch on forever, like a moment frozen in time. "Can we just stay here and never move?" he murmured, his voice soft and dreamy.

"Yeah, for as long as you want," she replied, knowing in her heart that what she said wasn't exactly true. Chewie would need to go up the garden soon, but the sentiment was there, wrapping around them like a warm blanket.

Eddie squeezed her slightly, enjoying the closeness, as they lay there basking in each other's presence. Eventually, he felt himself begin to nod off once more, and it didn't take much persuading before he surrendered to sleep, cuddled tightly against Y/N, her sweet scent enveloping him in an ethereal warmth that allowed him to drift off quickly.

"Achoo!" He woke up with a start, bursting into laughter at the sound of her sneeze. She glared at him playfully, and it only made him laugh even more. "I hate you," she muttered, burying his face back in her chest, wrapping her arms around him protectively.

"Nah, you love me," he countered, his words muffled by her shirt but dripping with playful confidence.

Rolling her eyes, she replied teasingly, "Whatever helps you sleep at night." His response was still muffled, but she could catch something along the lines of 'You know you love it' with a dopey grin plastered on his face. In that moment, there was no denying it. She couldn't even try, because deep down, every teasing word felt like a soft confession—one that was only meant for them to share in this cosy little world they had built together.

*Click here for my masterlist*

Wanna be added to a taglist? Either comment on this post or send me a message!

Taglist: @emxxblog

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #joseph quinn

72 notes · View notes

judesmoonbeauty · 1 day ago

Text

A Day With Jude Jazza: Chapter Two "13:00 Working at Raven & Lunch"

TW: Weight discussion. Idk if this really needs it or not, but I added it just in case.

Please expect grammatical errors and translation inaccuracies. This is a full translation. Creative liberties are taken for characterization and smoother translation process. Cybird owns everything. Re-blogs are appreciated, but please do not post my translation elsewhere. Thank you for your support! ☾.

I’m working hard at Raven today too —

(I’ve been working non-stop, but I wonder if I’ll be able to finish this….)

The moment I gulped at the mountain of documents in front of me…..

Jude: Do ‘em perfectly.

He showed up and said that, so I stopped what I was doing and puffed my cheeks.

Kate: Isn’t there some kind of reward for your girlfriend who works so hard?

Jude: What kinda reward?

Kate: Hmm, like taking me out for lunch…?

Jude: ….Tch.

Then his finger came up to my forehead,

Kate: Ouch!

I reflexively squeezed my eyes shut because of the force of the forehead flick —

(…..It doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would.)

Opening my eyes, he let out an annoyed sigh and turned around.

Jude: Let’s make tracks.

Kate: What?

Jude: Lunch, let’s go.

Kate: Coming!!

Kate: It’s my first time coming to this restaurant, but it’s super delicious.

Ellis: Good, I’m glad you’re happy Kate.

While eating a tasty meat-dish and chatting with Ellis,

Jude: ……

I heard the sound of a fork being put down next to me, and when I looked over he had stopped eating, leaving the fatty part untouched.

Kate: That’s such a waste.

The plate was silently brought to me, as if telling me to eat, so I ate the fatty portion.

After that, Jude made an exasperated look.

Jude: You’ll gain weight if ya eat like that each ‘n every time.

(Actually, I have been a bit worried about that recently….)

Kate: Isn’t it because you’re handing your plates over to me, Jude?

Jude: Didn’t say t’eat it.

Jude: Yer the one sayin’ it’s a waste not t’eat it.

(I can’t deny that…..)

Jude: ‘N ya eat more sweets than me’, innit?

Ever since we started dating, I felt like it was a waste to leave any of the fat and sweets on the plate,

So when I look over, the plate gets closer to me, and before I know it, I end up eating it.

Ellis: But I think it’s nice to see Kate eating it deliciously.

Kate: Ellis……

Ellis was sitting across from me and kindly smiles.

Feeling a bit happy, I brought the dessert to my lips without hesitation.

That’s when Jude’s fingers stroke my thigh under the table —

Kate: Urk!

Jude: Ya really have put on weight, haven’tcha?

His warped smile irritated me, so I lightly pinched his hand.

Kate: This is what I do to people who say such things.

Jude: Ha, don’t hurt none.

His hand let go of my thigh, and he took a bite of the dessert,

Jude: Ya can work back the weight gain.

This sentence translation has been updated. Previously, I rendered it as, “Work back the weight gain.” However, い is used at the end of the sentence (which can soften what’s said), so I updated it to the line above because the other sentence sounded too blunt imo. Sorry, I’m still learning.

He didn’t seem to like the sugary taste, and immediately put down his fork.

Jude: Got the perfect job for ya.

Kate: What is it?

Jude: Deliver all o’ the finished documents to the department heads in the company.

Kate: That much?!

Thinking back to all the documents left on my desk, I felt overwhelmed.

Jude: Kate.

Kate: Yes, [MUMPH]

Bite by bite, he feeds me his dessert.

Kate: Wai-, Jude, Ju-

As soon as I gulped down the last mouthful, he flashed a wicked smile.

Jude: Ya ate desserts for two, so ya can work fer that much, yeah?

Kate: —You DEMON!

Jude: Ha!

As we glared at each other, I heard Ellis’ heartwarming voice,

Ellis: Hehe, Jude and Kate, you both look like you’re having fun today too.

Jude & Kate: Ain’t havin’ fun. • I’m not having fun.

And so, the lunch break ends.

[Event Master list] [Next - ⏱♡ 16:00 - Negotiations at Twilight]

I want to be spoiled and fed by Jude too.......

Dividers: @.adornedwithlight

If you wish to be added to my translations tag list, and are +18 YO, then please comment below! If you wish to be removed, please do the same.

Tag list: @sh0jun @theimaginativelyreticent @sapphire-323 @velisle @nateko @greatwitchsongsinger @injudescoat @aeyumicore @complexivelovely @cosmowgyral @lunaaka @rosalyne08 @8the-perfect-lie8 @voydsoul @goustmilk @kraiyne

#ikevil translations #cybird translations #ikevil jude #jude jazza #jude jazza translations #ikevil #ikemen villains #ikemen villains translations

103 notes · View notes

mattatouilletkachuk · 1 day ago

Note

#6 with Quinn? I imagine it similar to him reacting to the exploding golf ball with the whole exasperated “that’s gotta count for something. He does something big but mundane (such as carrying your groceries for you or something) and is just tired or exasperated in saying it :)

A Disastrous Decoration || Chaos With Quinn

Prompt: 6. “i think i deserve a kiss.”

WC: 1.3k

A/N: I’m so excited! I haven’t gotten a Quinn request yet! So I’m going to make this a part of The Hockey Babies Au & Chaos With Quinn.

💕 Sunny’s Season of Love 💕

Whoever it was that claimed that making cupcakes for the whole of the preschool classes would be easier than other jobs was simply lying. You were sweating and huffing and puffing as you pulled the third tray of cupcakes out of the over and placing the, on the granite counter top. Without closing the oven door you placed two more trays into the oven and started the timer again.

Your young daughter watched your every move, or, more so, watched every single cupcake that came out of the oven. The small cakes were all vanilla as Miss. Kathleen suggested. No kid in Oliver's class had a nut allergy nor did the kids in the other preschool classes, but in her own words "it was better safe than sorry."

For days on end, you and Quinn had to hear about the Valentines Days Party that the entire preschool was throwing. You were happy that your oldest child was happy but when he came home with a paper asking all parents and caretakers to join in and hep with the party, your own excitement had waned a bit. You were the one to take Oliver to school, and your daughter to her tumble bug classes, and at the end of the day you either picked Quinn up from practice or stayed to watch his games, and on top of all of that, you helped a small mom and pop business in Vancouver in all aspects so they wouldn't have to close down.

The next day, while the kids were out of the house and it was just you and your fiance you had come up with a plan. You would ask Miss. Kathleen for an easier way to help and if there wasn't an easier job, well then, you would work on the cupcakes together,

Despite her small stature and seemingly kind nature, your son's preschool teacher was not one to budge. Most jobs were already taken and one of the few parents that could afford to buy all of the supplies to bake and decorate over one hundred cupcakes it would be you and Quinn,

That's how you ended up here. Sweating and mixing a new bunch of vanilla cupcakes as your two-year-old watched you like a starved dog. Quinn was out getting icing, edible glitter,candy rings and other things to decorate the cupcakes as you were at home in the middle of a staring contest with your child.

"Do you plan on staring at me the entire time, dear?" you asked,leaning your back against the counter behind you. You rubbed your swollen belly, not yet noticeable if you were wearing an oversized hoodie, but noticeable enough that those closest to you knew that you were pregnant with your third child.

"Can I have a cupcake?" her voice was high and sweet and it was hard not to give in. She was only 1-years-old turning 2-years-old soon, and while she was sneaky she was sweeter than the small cakes on the table.

"If you keep behaving, even after daddy gets homes, you can have a pretty decorated one." you smiled as her face lit up. She nodded in agreement and mimed zipping her mouth so she wouldn't say another word.

It was when you took out the last tray of cupcakes out of the oven that Quinn came through the front door. Your heart swelled at the sight of him. He walked in with all of the grocery bags. He had several in his hands and others draped on his arms and two between his teeth, If there was one things Quinn hated it was making two trips back to the car whilst it was cold outside.

You greeted him as he placed the groceries on the ground. He kissed your cheek, wet and cold, and you tried not to squeal. His smirk told you he knew what he was doing but turned from you and went to grab his little girl as she squealed happily as her dad threw her high up into the air. Eventually he settled her in his arms and brushed her curly dark hair out of her face as he questioned conspiratorially, as if you couldn't hear him him, " were you a good girl for your mommy?"

she nodded quickly, her hair getting in the way of her eyes again.

"If I asked her would she the same thing?"

Yes!" She yelped happily. "Mommy even said that if I kept being good I could have a cupcake when the two of you are down,"

Quinn hummed and pursed his lips as if he were actually thinking about it, You would have paid more attention but at just that moment the baby inside you kicked gently. You knew better than to get Quinn's attention. It was too soon to feel the baby kick from outside just yet. You would just be getting him excited for no reason.

Quinn placed your little girl back down on her island chair and placed a bag of googly eyes in front of hers. Her eyes rounded excitedly whilst yours rounded in horror "Quinn-"

"hold on I have a plan!'" He said as he pulled other items from the bags, You looked at all the supplies, confused. "Lady Bugs!"

"We'll decorate them as lady bugs because hearts are just so over done." He pointed at you, "you'll do the base, The brown underneath and i'll do the red wings and you" he said in a funny voice as he tickled his little girl, "will add the googly eyes and after all of that. mom will add the little hearts for the spots."

you placed your hands on your hips and sighed. "It's a cute design Q, but this is gonna be a mess."

He smiled that wonderful smile at you, the one that could make you do anything and said, "in that case, at least we'll have plenty of happy memories.

"What about Ollie? He'd want to help!" your sweet girl chimed in.

"Oliver is at Garland's house playing with Quint. I'm sure we'll be forgiven when we give him a few cupcakes."

"Otay…"

With the final confirmation of your almost toddler, you all started to decorate.

Ollie came home just as the three of you were finishing "decorating". Some of them had turned out well, but most of them were either entirely red, entirely brown, or had five eyes. After all of the hard work you thought you would have been upset but you couldn't stop laughing every time you looked down at the deformed cupcakes. You and Quinn each took one and you split one for each of your children, and despite the look of them, they were tasty.

Covering your mouth you looked at your boyfriend, a smile on your lips and a mischievous twinkle in your eyes. "I think we should have simply done hearts,"

Quinn nodded and laughed loudly. "I tried, though."

You sighed happily. The soft contentment in your chest took over as you nodded and said, "yeah, you did."

He placed his cupcake down and leaned towards you like an over excited middle school boy, "I think that means I deserve a kiss."

You pretended to think for a moment, "I think your right."

You said this before leaning in and kissing his chastely, His lips were sugary and you were sure your were too. It didn't take long for Quinn to place a sticky hand on your neck and one on your curving waist to pull you closer and to deepen the kiss, There was no protest from you but just as his tongue touched your a choir of 'eewwww" came from your two children.

You both pulled away and laughed softly. Quinn whispered in your ear before going to put the cupcakes away for tomorrow "little cock block”s

#Quinn Hughes #quinn hughes x reader #Quinn Hughes fic #my writing #dad!quinn #sunny's season of love #hockey babies au #quin hughes imagine #nhl fics

108 notes · View notes

eddiesvixen · 21 hours ago

Text

Dirty Rotten Filthy Stinkin’ Rich - 𝗗.𝗥.𝗙.𝗦.𝗥

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗳𝗳 (𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗮 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗸𝗶𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴) , 𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘀𝘁, 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲, 𝘀𝘂𝗴𝗴𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲, 𝘀𝘂𝗯𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝘂𝘀𝗲 (𝗱𝗲𝘃𝗶𝗹’𝘀 𝗹𝗲𝘁𝘁𝘂𝗰𝗲)

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗻𝘁: 𝟱.𝟭𝗸

the sixth and final chapter of Open Til Midnight

The car ride is silent on your way home from the station. You’re sat in the backseat of Hopper’s truck with Eddie as he eats away at the meal Jonathan brought you. You didn’t have an appetite honestly. Nothing filled you mroe right now than the rage you feel for Larry.

That smug face he gave you, the accusatory tone he used against Eddie when those cops showed up. The way he looked at Hopper like he wasn’t worth a wad of gum on the sidewalk. You wanted to make that bastard pay.

Hopper drops you and Eddie off at his apartment.

“You two gonna be okay?” He looks back at the both of you, tired and defeated. You’ve never seen Hopper like this and that hurt’s you more.

“We’ll be fine.” You nod. “See you tomorrow.”

You hop out of the truck and go into Eddie’s apartment with him. He’s been awfully quiet and that worries you given how uncommon it is. You speak up.

“Do you want me to draw you a bath? Help you relax?”

He hesitates, not facing you. He hasn’t said a word since he watched you hand that cash in at the jailhouse for him. “Shower’s fine.” He walks off to the restroom.

You sigh and rub your eyes, fighting off how tired you are. Shutting down the car wash took Robin and Steve forever, leaving Chrissy to work the register alone while Jonathan brought the cash to you guys at the jailhouse. They didn’t count the cash and get Eddie out until 10, and now you’re home late 11.

‘Maybe he’s just tired.’

Bullshit.

You walk to the restroom door. “Eddie.”

There’s a gap of silence before he speaks up, his voice slightly shaky and that alone makes you wish you could break this door down.

“Yeah sweetheart?”

“Baby please let me in.” You place your hand to the knob. “Please.”

After a few seconds you hear the door unlock and when you open it you see him sitting on the lid of the toilet, eyes red and puffy from crying.

“Eddie.” You frown and hold onto him, standing between his legs.

He hugs you tightly and sobs into your shirt. “I’m so sorry.”

You frown and rub his back. “Eddie you have nothing to apologize for, yeah? Larry was a dick. There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

He sobs a bit and you feel that ache in your heart. You haven’t seen Eddie cry this hard since his 18th birthday. He couldn’t stop crying over his mom, he missed her the most that day. And he kept playing that record over and over again. So you rest your hand in his curls.

There are places I remember

All my life though some have changed

Some forever, not for better

Some have gone and some remain

He takes a deep breath and keeps his tight hold on you, his breathing trying to regain strength. You keep rubbing his shoulders and back, feeling the tension fade.

All these places had their moments

With lovers and friends I still can recall

Some are dead and some are living

In my life, I've loved them all

He looks up at you. He sighs and gently grips your hips. “What did I do to deserve you?”

You offer him a sympathetic grin as you move his curls back so you can see his eyes better.

“You’re not perfect, Eddie. You’re a freak, remember? We’re never gonna be accepted by these people. We don’t have to be accepted.. and I know that’s scary.” You sigh. “Eddie, i’m terrified. I’ve been scared out of my mind all week.”

You cup his face. “But Steve and Chrissy, Robin, Jonathan, Hopper.. even that old man at the car wash,” you huff a small laugh, “and especially you, Eddie. That’s why I keep going. Because I have you.”

He eyes dart between your eyes and he speaks in a soft tone, as if he’s afraid to talk. “I love you.”

You feel your heart warm and freeze at the same time. Sure, you’ve said it before, as friends. But you’re not just friends anymore. You answer back in the same soft tone.

“I love you too, Eddie.”

He stands up and cups your face, kissing you as if you’ll fade away if he lets go. You kiss him back and keep your gentle hold on him, given that he’s still trembling a bit.

When he finally pulls back he speaks lowly. “Sweetheart, I promise i’ll make this right.”

You shake your head. “Eddie, there’s nothing we can do. We don’t even know what’s gonna happen tomorrow.”

“I do.” He nods and sighs. “I overheard those officers talking while the clerk was counting my bail. I know where Larry’s gonna be for the opening.”

You raise a brow. “What?”

“He’s having a party with the rest of his big business buddies. Cutting a ribbon and everything, like some kind of ceremony.”

“And how do you know this?”

Eddie moves his hands to rest on your shoulders. “I heard them sweetheart. It’s gonna be a huge event.” He shakes his head. “Turns out I was right about the cops being on his payroll.”

You nod. “Well then we better make sure they know about Larry’s letters.”

“Have a feeling they already do.”

You frown, the weight of his words sinking in. "So what's our play? We can't just sit back and let them sweep this under the rug."

He grins with a mischievous glint in his eyes. The same glint you saw before he punched Larry. "But we wont. If they're so busy making a scene, we'll just have to steal the show."

You had so many questions and yet, that glint in Eddie’s eyes woke you up. All of the anger, sadness, worry, rage and anxiety you felt all week. Play it cool. Wrap things up. You nod.

“We’ll steal the show.”

~~~~~

“Are you out of your mind?” Steve says from behind Hopper’s desk.

“Just hear me out.” Eddie sits up in his chair. “Those assholes are about to drink and party up in their fancy suits while our family ship sinks. There’s gonna be an orange slip on the door and a big ass sign hanging over our store tonight. Do you really want that?”

“Of course not.” Steve sighs.

“So let us do this, just once.” You look at Steve with pleading eyes.

“You just got out of jail.” Steve points at Eddie, then you. “And you’re not even on the schedule today.”

“And yet here we are. Home.” Eddie sits back in his chair.

“Look… I hate this, okay? I’m losing my mind knowing this’ll be the last time I step foot in here. But Hopper left me in charge.”

“So,” Eddie shrugs, “where is he? We’ll distract him while you give us the paperwork.”

“Downtown.”

You both look at Steve and he regrets saying it as soon as he does.

“Why’s he downtown?” You sit up and Steve swallows a bit because he knows from the look in your eye and the bounce of Eddie’s knee, that you both already know.

He sighs. “Signing off the lease.”

There’s a moments silence before Eddie speaks up.

“How long?”

Steve looks confused. “What?”

“How long do we have until the lease has to be in?”

“He said ten.”

You and Eddie look at each other. “The ribbon cutting.”

“The what?”

“At the party, Steve.” You sit up, hands on the desk. “Larry’s gonna cut a ribbon and that’s when those signatures count. That’s when it’s final.”

Steve looks at the clock. “It’s 3pm, why’d you come here just now?” He stands up with Hopper’s store keys as you all walk over to his closet.

Eddie hides a smrik and shrugs. “Traffic.”

You shake your head and look away so Steve doesn’t see the laughter you’re hiding but it’s late. “You guys are gross.”

“Not letting my girl leave the house stressed and untouched, Harrington. Take my advice.”

“Eddie.” You blank stare him and he sighs.

“Right, time and place. Sorry sweetheart.” He wiggles his fingers and takes the folder from Steve.

“Look, let’s maybe not tell Hop about this? In case it all goes to shit?” Steve looks between you and Eddie.

“Scouts honor.” Eddie quips as the three of you sit and look through the folders.

They’re all here. 5 years of letters, contracts, signatures from Hopper and Larry. You had a wave of hope swarm in you that you hope won’t die out.

“If there’s gonna be that many people at this party you need to move now.” Steve holds up his car keys.

Eddie raises a brow. “And what are these for?”

“Drives faster.”

Eddie scoffs. “My van is faster than lightning.”

“Okay? My car looks better-“

You cut off Steve before the boys can waste any more time. “Save it. We’ll take your car Steve. Beisdes, we have to make a stop on the way.”

“We do?” Eddie gives you a contemplative look.

“Come on.” You grab his hand.

Steve yells. “Don’t scratch my car!”

“No promises!” Eddie yells back as he lets you pull him out to the car.

~~~~

“This is bullshit.” Eddie groans as he drives Steve’s car along the road.

“Come on it’s not so bad.”

“His car’s so small.” He huffs and looks over at you as you hide a laugh. “Oh this is funny?”

You smile. “We are on the mission of a lifetime and you’re worried about driving Steve’s bmw. This is the richest car we’ve ever been in.”

“Are you really disrespecting the van while she sits in the lot away from me?” He looks at you like you called him ugly.

“Babe all im saying is… this is kinda nice. Admit it, Steve’s car does drive very smoothly.”

“No shit, he can actually afford the best engine and his dad didn’t fuck the motor when he owned it.”

You grab Eddie’s hand and rest it on your knee. “Al left you a gift. She is the golden ride, the safe haven, okay?”

He grins and nods, squeezing your hand before resting his palm over yours on yours on your thigh. “Say it again, baby.”

You laugh. “Shut up.”

“Just wanna hear you say it again. You know how much it would mean to her.” He smirks and you sigh.

“She is the safe haven.”

“Damn sweetheart. You keep talking like that and all I hear is wedding bells.”

Your eyes widen and you look at him. He can’t believe he said it too but you grin. “Wow.”

“Is that a good wow?” His adam’s apple bobs and he shifts in the driver’s seat, his other hand tightening on the wheel.

You grin and squeeze the one resting on your thigh. “The best wow.”

He snorts. “Sap.”

You gasp and smile. “Asshole. Says the guy who wouldn’t let go of my hand at the Manowar show in ‘85.”

“Oh you’re bringing that up again? Didn’t want us to get separated by that mosh.” The tinge in his cheeks shows you that he’s lying.

“You’re the sap, Munson.”

“And what does that make you?” He quips back.

“The girl in love with you, idiot.” You smile and tilt your head to look at him.

“You can’t say things like that. Not today, okay? Can’t focus if my girl is consistently flirting with me.”

“Fine, but we’ll finish this talk later.” You nod and point. “There’s our exit.”

He takes the exit and drives into the lot of the strip mall. If you were going to crash a rich asshole’s party, you needed to get in first. And if you were gonna get in, you needed to look the part. Jewelry to your hair to your clothes and shoes.

But you’re not rich assholes, you’re record shop workers. Record shop workers with a left over thousand dollars from your hard work this past week. You walk into the shop with Eddie and you look around for anything that will suit your style the best it can.

You found the prettiest black dress that slits up to your thigh and you picked out some jewelry to fit in with the other trophy wives bound to be at the party. You’d fixes your hair up and touched up your makeup to a soft glam. The black stilettos on your feet made you feel like you were actually rich, but damn did you miss your boots.

Any worries about your outfit goes out the window when you walk out of the dressing room and see Eddie. The black button up with the top two unbuttoned, he had on these black slacks that made you see him in a different light.

He manages to speak after his jaw falls slack. “Oh baby..”

You smile. “Look at you.”

“Me? Sweetheart, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” He reaches his hand out and you take it, allowing him to pull you closer, your hands resting on his shoulders.

“You brush your hair down?” You grin, eyeing over the low bun he managed to fit his curls into.

“Well I can’t show up with a giant mane, they’ll never let us in.” He hesitates. “It’s not bad is it?”

“It’s fine.” You grin as he cups your face.

“You’re like a princess. They’ll never see you coming baby, all sophisticated and sexy.” His hands rest on your ass and you giggle.

“Thought you said no distractions.”

“We can spare a minute.” He puckers his lips and you laugh.

“Nerd.”

He smirks. “59, 58, 57…”

You cut him off by pulling him in for a kiss. He smiles and squeezes your ass, humming as he feels you lick into his mouth. He shuts the door of the fitting room and grips your body closer.

You murmur against his lips. “Watch the dress.”

He hums and carefully loosens his grip on your ass. He kisses you for a bit longer before pulling back with a smile on his face. “Are you wearing that damn lip tint?”

That lip tint you wear to every concert, the one that left the cherry scent on his cheek after you kissed it in the photobooth after graduation senior year. He loves it so much and you love how his eyes widen when he licks his lips to taste it again.

“It is!”

You laugh and before you can respond, he kisses you again, tongue delving out to taste the cherry from your lips.

You laugh and pull back. “Stop, you’re gonna smear it.”

“Oh, too late for that.” He pokes his tongue out and you laugh.

You wipe the corners of your lips. “Minute’s over.”

He groans and sighs. “Right.” He pulls out the envelope of cash from his slacks. “I’ll pay and you start the car.”

You take the keys from him. “Okay.”

You walk separate ways but before he gets too far you pull him in and kiss him and smile, speaking in that sultry tone he loves so much.

“It’s called cherry bomb.” You grin.

“Cherry bomb. I will bulk these, just so you know.” He smirks and licks his lips again. “Go, before you make us late.”

~~~~~

City lights, busy streets and almost twenty parking lots later you and Eddie found yourselves in the elevator of the Languard suites. You stand there a bit nervous. There was bound to be so many people in rich suits and dresses, the people who would determine what happens to Empire tonight.

Eddie holds your hand. “I just want you to know.. if this goes south,” he sighs and gives your hand a gentle squeeze, “night shifts are open at the diner, and Jeffrey says we’re welcome.”

You wish you didn’t have to hear those words from Eddie’s lips. You nod and squeeze his hand in return. “Okay.”

You share a look. “And if it doesn’t go south,” you grin, “we’ll go back to Empire and party all night.”

He smiles. “After some alone time?”

You laugh at his eagerness. “After some alone time.”

The elevator dings and opens, you wrap your arm around his as you walk off and see into the main hall where the party takes place.

It’s very lively and full of rich people in the fanciest clothes. There’s a fountain and music played by a live orchestra. Waiters standing in every corner and everyone has a glass of their desired drinks in their hands.

Eddie leans in and murmurs in your ear. “Fancy was an understatement.”

You grin and speak back. “I think i’m gonna be sick.”

He laughs and your eyes scan the party. “That asshole’s gotta be somewhere in here.”

“Hors d'oeuvres?” A waiter says as he holds up a platter of.. fish bites?

“No thanks.” Eddie says and he grabs two glasses of champagne from the table. When the waiter leaves he looks are you with a disgusted expression. “The hell was that?”

“Fish, mushrooms? I can’t tell.” You both cringe.

You look at the clock. “It’s 7:29. Think they’ll cut the ribbon soon?”

Eddie looks across the room where the dark blue ribbon lies near the performers. “Maybe, but we made it in time.”

“So what now?” You look at him.

“Lets try to find something actually edible.” He tugs you along.

You don’t find much and of course you don’t go unnoticed. It seems everyone at this party knows each other and have businesses, so you and Eddie play along to your best attempts.

You two actually had a pretty solid story. A lovely young couple with a family business passed down from your lovely late Uncle Jim, with a successful rise in vinyl sales and bigger rise in production. Simple, typical, rich. The story sells for a while.

Unfortunately for you and Eddie, rich people talk and they talk fast. As the two of you mingle you hear someone approach you. You smell him, actually. That disturbing scent of old cedar and the smell that the dry cleaning leaves on his suits.

“Rest poor Uncle Jim’s soul.” Larry fixes his hair and looks over the both of you.

“Thought I heard slithering, sweetheart there is a snake in here.” Eddie wraps an arm around your waist.

“Nice party, Larry.” You hold onto Eddie.

“Do I need to call security? This is a private event.”

“Oh, but it’s a business event and until midnight we are business partners, right baby?” You look at Eddie and he smirks, proud to see his girl standing up to an ass like Larry.

“Oh absolutely. Even have it right here.” Eddie pulls out an envelope from his slacks and Larry’s face drops as the company around him sees his mood change.

“Have you lost your mind?” He glares at you both, “I will not be threatened by a bunch of little rebels from some pathetic small music store.”

“Pathetic?” You tilt your head, “and so which one of your properties got you enough money to afford an event like this?”

“Certainly not yours.” He glares at you both.

Eddie pulls out the paper from the envelope and smiles. “How about a little toast? Little speech?” He clears his throat before Larry can even speak. “It is with great pleasure that I sign into agreement with Jim Hopper as partners in ownership of lot 387-“

“That’s enough.” Larry demands as a few people around us catch focus.

Eddie keeps reading. “On the present date February 16, 1981 all rights of personal sales, clientele and ownership of the land belong to the persons arranged on any legal form.”

Eddie drops the paper at Larry’s feet and a lot more people focus in, murmuring to themselves.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“We know our rights.” You unfold another paper from the envelope as you walk around now. The music has stopped and everyone is focused in on you and Eddie.

“See this? This is the first certificate of full ownership for lot 387, where a community music store has rested for the past 8 years.” You hold up the certificate, “and your friend Larry here has scammed me and my family.”

You hold it up and a lot of people can’t believe their eyes. Larry grits his teeth before he speaks up. “No such thing has happened, the lot is not made for personal ownership.”

“Then why sell it to us?” Eddie speaks up.

Larry's face twitches but he quickly recovers as straightens his tie. "That was a leasing agreement not a purchase," he tries to talk smoothly but he falters at the feeling of everyone’s eyes on him. "There's a difference."

You wave the certificate for the crowd to see. “The difference is Larry here, has had my boss, the most cooperative and honest man sign these fake certificates. Otherwise known as an incomplete certificate.”

“This ribbon.” Eddie says now standing in front of it, “will kill the past 8 years that me and my girlfriend and my friends have built up. The community it’s raised and the sales that have gotten you all to this very room. All gone and for what? A bookstore? Something special to so many kids and families. Gone.”

Larry clenches his jaw, his face turning red.

"This isn't some charity case. Business is business and I have done my part."

"Business?" Eddie scoff. "Scamming hard working people and kicking them to the curb is business to you?"

“How much?” A woman in a fancy dress speaks up.

You look at her a bit confused so she rephrases. “Larry never told us how much he’d be making once he made his big sell tonight so how much is it?”

“Ten thousand.” You look at the woman then Larry. “And we almost had it too. Until we saw that the licenses were actually all in his name.”

Another man speaks up. “That’s just ridiculous.”

You nod. “And yet here we are, being ever so kind to you Larry. Not asking for money or land or anything from you.”

“Then why are you here?” If looks could kill you and Eddie would be melted and six feet under.

“We want our home.” Eddie says simply, tossing all of the papers to the floor. The crowd of business owners in the room watch closely as you and Eddie face Larry.

“No more business agreements, no certificates, no partnerships. We want it to ourselves. The land, the lot, the building. Where it’s always been, but ours.”

There’s moments silence before Larry take a step closer. “And if I say no?”

You tilt your head, meeting his cold stare. "Then we take this to court. Every little trick, every fake contract, every loophole you exploited." You take a step forward standing by Eddie. "You might win, the man always wins right? But it'll cost you. Reputation, clients, everything you worked so hard for. Everyone here who’s celebrating, do you think they’ll have your back when it all goes away?”

The room falls into the silence. For every man, there’s a man he must answer to. And as you look around the room you know you’re right. No one would risk all of this for anyone else, not me or Larry or anyone.

Eddie chimes in in a kinder tone. "Or... you sign it over. No lawsuits, no bad press. Just a clean break. We walk away with what's ours and you’ll never see us again. Nobody needs to know.”

You nod and look around the room. Nobody needs to know. You don’t know much about rich people or what deals they make and you don’t know how far this will get you and Eddie as he extends his hand.

So many eyes on the three of you. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest and your head swirling with thoughts. You can’t believe your eyes when you see Larry shake Eddie’s hand.

“Nobody needs to know.”

~~~~

You can’t stop staring at the papers in front of you. You’ve been reading them since they got here. The font, the title after your name. The amount of money following it.

Certificate of ownership, Jim Hopper.

Your name lies underneath with the title Co Owner.

Certificates and licenses under your names. The ownership of Empire Records is one hundred percent yours. You had people making offers at the party after finding out about Empire and how much money the store had brought for Larry’s career but you wanted it as your own. And now you look at the papers, rightfully yours.

“It’s not going anywhere you know.” Eddie smirks from behind you, smiling as he brings in your coffee.

You share a quick kiss, smirking when you pull away. “I just can’t believe it.”

“Yeah? Well, I told you you’re the favorite.” He lifts your lanyard, the title of assistant manager underneath your name.

“You’re my favorite.” You reach up from your seat and kiss him.

He murmurs against your lips. “Sap.”

You smile. “Shut up.”

You keep kissing until you hear the fake gags at the door from Steve and Chrissy. You both flip them off before pulling back.

“Can you two please keep that at home, it’s like watching two snakes slither into each other’s mouths.” Steve cringes dramatically.

You smile. “Technically this is my office, my rules.”

“Besides,” Eddie kisses you one last time before standing straight. “If I can’t kiss my girlfriend here i’ll think of somewhere else. Bathroom, back room, the van..”

Your eyes widen. “Eddie!”

Chrissy gasps. “You said those pillows were in the back for sleeping!”

“They are.” He smirks. “After we eat, have a little joint, then-“

“Eddie.” You give him that look and he shuts up.

“Anyways,” Steve pipes up, “customers are outside. Are the doors ready to open?”

Everyone looks at you. You smile. “We’re all set.”

The customers flood in and the store is in great business. There’s people coming in to listen to music, but records and even some acknowledge your help wanted sign. Now that you’re co owner, there’s more help needed on the sales floor. And you’re relieved to see so many people come in.

You order new deliveries for more records and check the booths. Managerly duties come easy to you since you’ve been here for so long, and you can’t help but admire all of your own hard work.

All of the money you raised, how determined you were to keep this place. Shutting down the corporate and keeping your families home. There’s a gentle hand on your shoulder.

Robin smirks. “Miss boss manager lady.”

You groan. “Rob come on. No big titles okay, im still me.”

“Someone needs your help.”

You raise a brow. “They asked for a manager?”

“Mhm. Right in the back room.” She nods, feigning seriousness.

“Okay um, ill be right back.” You walk down the stairs from the booths to the back room and you smile at the sight in front of you.

Eddie stands by the sofa, a rose in his mouth and a cupcake on the table. The room is dark and lit by a few tea candles. He smiles and wiggles his brows, whatever he’s trying to say to you is muffled by the rose.

“What?” You smile.

He chuckles and holds his hand out for you to take. Once you do he pulls you into his body and grins as you take the rose.

“Where’s your shirt?”

He rolls his eyes playfully. “That’s your first question, really?”

You smile. “Well someone could walk in.”

“Thought you liked pda.” He challenges you, pulling you onto his lap on the sofa as you sit on his left thigh.

“I do, but this is our first solo opening.”

“Exactly.” He smiles and hands you the cupcake. “Congratulations baby.”

You take the cupcake from his hand, feeling the warmth of his body beneath you. The dim lighting from the candles casts a soft glow around you both making the moment feel even more intimate.

"Congratulations to you too," you grin before taking a small bite of the cupcake. "Mmm, did you pick these out?"

He smirks, running a hand down your back. "Of course. You like it?”

You smile. “Try for yourself.” You drag your finger in the frosting, spreading a bit onto his nose.

He blinks in surprise before letting out a low chuckle. "Oh you think you're funny huh?"

You giggle, leaning back slightly as he pretends to be offended. "Just wanted to share." You say it in one but Eddie’s no dummy.

He swipes his thumb across his nose, licking the frosting off with a slow smirk. "Cute. But now you owe me."

You raise a brow and before you can react his fingers graze your chin, tilting your face as he kisses you soft and slow at first, then deeper as he tastes the sugar on your lips from his. Your fingers curl against his bare shoulder, the warmth of his skin grounding you in the moment.

When he pulls back his eyes gleam with mischief. "Definitely sweeter that way."

You smile. “Teasing me while were in the middle of our first shift?”

“Teasing? Sweetheart it’s like 8pm, I should at least get ten minutes.”

You play at his curls and kiss him one last time. “I could fire you now.”

He clutches his chest. “Maliciously cruel princess how you break my heart.”

You giggle at his dramatic attitude and tap his chest. “Something I could never do.”

He holds your hand to his chest and speaks softly. “Always knew you’d find a way.”

You speak in a tone to match his own. “Couldn’t have done it without you all.”

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, his smirk softening into something more sincere. "Well i'm not going anywhere so you're stuck with me."

"Good," you murmur, giving his hand before finally pulling away. "Now get back to work before I actually fire you."

He sighs dramatically but stands, stretching before shooting you a wink. "Yes boss."

He pulls on his shirt and heads toward the front, you take a moment to glance around the reality of the night settling in. Your first solo opening. Something you've dreamed of for so long and somehow it feels even better sharing it with him.

With Steve and Jonathan and the girls, for Hopper, for your customers. You saved Empire from hell and woth the help of everyone you did it for including yourself, you knew that everyday would feel like today and even better.

taglist: @pupwrites @sheneedsrocknroll92 @koshkahhh @kthomps914 @definitionwanderlust @veravee-blog @losingmygrasponreality @ironmusictrash @littlemissholy @bastardstevie

author’s note: thank you so much for reading Open Til Midnight. this has been fun to write and i hope its been fun to read. please reblog or share with a friend, zoe ♥️

53 notes · View notes

hannieehaee · 1 day ago

Text

ive been told another one of my fics (over my head) seemingly draws too much inspiration from another preexisting fic (hits different cause its you).

while i 100% do not believe this belief to be true, ill be taking it down to avoid any issues (ill be leaving it up for the rest of the day in case you'd like to save/archive it for ur own reading and then will be removing it altogether). my fic and this fic were posted one month in difference and my full-length fics usually take me months to complete, so any similarities in plot were purely coincidental.

id like to take this time to clarify that a few of my fanfics do utilize tropes/concepts ive seen other authors use but that id never actually copy or steal the actual subject matter of someone else's writing in my own. i was told by this same author that apparently there's been other writers who have issue with some of my fics copying their own, so if you're one of those people, i invite you to come forward and let me know so i can remove whichever fic you feel is similar to your own.

i want people to understand that a lot of writing on here will reminisce one another due to being about the same thirteen individuals who all share specific dynamics and personality traits, along with tropes and trope progressions being similar (if you read my fics i use the exact same trope progressions 90% of the time). and that i could easily pull up a few fics that read similarly to each other but are not the same.

i will remove any 'copied' writing (despite me knowing this is false) to avoid any issues because i dont want to entertain this. though i completely admit my fault regarding my imitation of another writer in my previous post, i wont entertain the idea that most of my writing is copied, because it is not.

with this, i will post the last few works i had already been planning on posting and move onto removing the rest of my work from tumblr altogether. for full transparency, i have a few other works i am in the middle of writing and will be posting those to patreon (i frankly dont care about anyone's opinion on my use of patreon, by the way).

i have a lot of stressors in my personal life, which is why i would only ever pop in here to post writing and leave immediately after, so i am not entertaining anything that makes this space the slightest bit uncomfortable/annoying for me lol sorry! writing has been fun, and the few people ive met on here have been very nice and i will miss them, but im not sitting and waiting for false accusations about my writing due to a mistake i made and admitted to as soon as it was pointed out to me.

id also like to clarify about my patreon since ive gotten complaints before: i do not feel any type of way about it. that money has been incredibly helpful for real-life money issues ive had and im incredibly appreciative of anyone who's supported me. ill continue posting there for a while before ultimately stopping my writing altogether.

im sorry to anyone who liked my writing on here. i'll keep it untouched for a few days in case anyone would like to save it or archive it for their own personal reading. and if anyone would like to read 'closer' (the fic i took down yesterday) message me and ill send you a google docs of it so you can personally keep it for yourself.

bye lol idk if anyone will be sad about my departure ik i sure as hell wont be

#ill open my asks for the rest of the day before closing them back up bc i dont wanna drag this #ill also be posting my jihoon fic in advance for anyone who wanted to read it #my acc will be gone within this week so if u wanna literally copy and paste my work into some google doc so u can read it for personal use #feel more than welcome to. i dont mind it and hope u continue to enjoy it on ur own!

31 notes · View notes

uniquexusposts · 1 day ago

Text

Her || Charles Leclerc

Main characters: Charles Leclerc x OC Genre: fanfiction, fluff�� Story type: novel Part: 32/? Word count: 1848 Co writer: @mistrose23

Story summary: Matilde Jørgensen, the new Scuderia Ferrari team principal, faced the nerve-wracking challenge of reviving the team's fortunes and aiming for a championship. Leading a historic team as a 'newbie' and separating her work and personal opinions posed a significant challenge. The big question: is she capable to do so?

Previous chapter

WARNING: 18+ content, reading this chapter is your own responsibility if you're a minor

Chapter 30. I Came. I Saw. I Conquered.

As Matilde and Charles continued walking to the hotel, their steps fell into a comfortable rhythm as they returned. They ended up in a deep conversation about the race; not the technical part, but more like the fun part and the happenings around the race. It was so deep that they forgot to go their own way when arriving at the hotel. Matilde walked with Charles to his room while they exchanged words.

Charles opened the door of his room and stepped inside. Immediately, he spotted his wallet on the desk. He grabbed it and turned around. "Got it, let's- oh."

Matilde stood close to him, which he did not expect, and the same went for her. She could feel his breath on her skin, and goosebumps started to form on her arms. They were standing a few centimetres apart.

"Sorry," she mumbled, looking into his eyes. I should go to my own room. I don't even know why I walked with you here."

"Yeah," Charles agreed, but he kept looking at her.

For the first time, he noticed a small mole under her eyebrow and a little scar on her chin. His eyes almost hypnotised Matilde. They were green, but she also saw specks of blue and gold. And his lips. His lips were so kissable. It took her back to last week, when they kissed in Amsterdam. They both hadn't mentioned it, and now she couldn't stop thinking about it. She wanted to feel his lips on hers again, she craved it. Matilde slowly placed her hands on his chest, and she moved them towards his neck. Charles followed her every move, he couldn't take his eyes off of her. When her arms were draped around his neck, she gently pulled him towards her, and she pressed her lips against his. Charles instantly grabbed her waist and tugged her closer to him.

Then, Matilde realised what she had done, and she shyly pulled herself back. She even took a step back and stared at Charles. She bit her lip and observed his face for a reaction; he was smiling. It was a similar smile to the one he showed this afternoon after the race.

Charles confidently stepped forward and placed both his hands on her cheeks. "Thank god," he whispered, putting his lips on hers again. He felt her smile against his lips, making him smile as well.

He took some steps back, pulling her with him towards his bed. When he felt the back of his knees hit the bed frame, he turned them around and gently lowered Matilde onto his bed. Charles crawled towards her and he kissed her again, this time he deepened the kiss when his hands found her cheeks again and he caressed her lovingly. Matilde responded by tangling her fingers into his hair and she pulled him even closer, she wanted to feel every single part of him. A moan escaped Charles' lips when she tugged on his hair, and they finally broke apart. His forehead rested against hers, and Matilde's chest heaved because she was trying to catch her breath.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked her. He leaned back and tilted her chin with one hand so that she had to look at him.

"Yes," she answered determinedly. "Do you?"

He chuckled softly. 'Yes. God, yes."

She smiled, and she tugged at the hem of his shirt. "Take it off, please."

"Only because you asked so nicely," he said, and he attempted to wink.

He grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it off in one go. She couldn't take her eyes off his upper body. She slowly lifted her hands so that she could caress his toned pecs and abs. Charles smirked and he slid back, he was now standing in front of the bed. He kicked his shoes off and unbuckled his belt. Quickly, he stepped out of his pants and then his eyes were focused entirely on the woman lying in front of him. Matilde whimpered. Charles's eyes were hungry, and she longed for his touch. Plus, she felt overdressed. It felt like he was reading her mind, because he placed his hands on her ankles and he took her shoes off. Then, his hands moved to her calves and he gently grasped them. His hands slid up further along, and he pushed her dress up. When he reached her thighs, he squeezed the soft skin and kissed her inner thigh.

"Charles," she moaned; one hand was tugging his hair while the other clutched the duvet.

She felt him smile against her skin, and he continued kissing her. His head disappeared under the fabric of her dress, and he nibbled on her thigh while also making his way further up. She could feel this hot breath against her skin, and his nose nudged the damp fabric of her panties. Matilde whimpered, which gave Charles even more confidence. He savoured the sounds that she made, and he pressed a kiss just above her panties. His fingers skimmed over her thighs, brushing her sensitive skin with a touch so soft, it left her trembling. She arched her back slightly, her body responding immediately to his touch. He hooked his fingers around the waistband of her panties, and he slowly slid them down her legs. His head appeared again from under her dress, and their eyes locked.

The intensity in his gaze made her shiver.

He dipped his head again, and he pressed his lips to her bare skin. She moaned, and she pushed up her hips, desperately wanting more. He chuckled against her, and without a warning, he teased her with his tongue. She gasped and her fingers tightened in his hair, she pulled him closer, and Charles sucked her clitorus. He savoured every reaction he drew from her and his hands grabbed her thighs even more firmly, he held her steady as he moved with precision. Her breath hitched, her moans and gasps growing louder and desperate. She barely couldn't think. His tongue flicked in just the right way, sending wave after wave of pleasure crashing through her body, her legs were trembling.

"Charles," she gasped, her voice barely audible.

Just by hearing her whisper his name, she made him push even further. He shifted slightly, and with one hand, he trailed up her body, his fingers brushing over her waist and higher until he reached the zipper at the back of her dress. He pulled it down, undressing her slowly. Matilde lifted her arms to help him. Her chest rose and fell as she tried to catch her breath. Charles pulled the dress off her body, leaving her in her bra. His eyes darkened with desire as he gave her an one over, he took in every curve and every dip of her skin.

"You're so beautiful," he muttered, his voice hoarse.

Before she could even respond, Charles towered over her again, and he kissed her. His kiss was hungry, and Matilde could only comply. She tasted herself on his lips, which only heightened her arousal. Matilde wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, pulling him closer, she needed to feel him against her. Charles groaned in her mouth as their bodies were pressed together, she felt his hard dick through his boxers. He moved his hips, grinding against her bare pussy and he teased her with enough pressure to make her squirm, but not enough to satisfy the burning desire between them. He stopped grinding, and gently pushed a finger inside of her. She gasped and moaned, urging him to continue. He happily obliged. He added a second finger in preparation, and the sound of her moans and groans was music to his ears.

"Tell me what you want," he told her. He was panting, and he could barely hold himself back.

"You," she answered, her voice soft but clear. "I want you, Charles."

Charles let out a chuckle, satisfied that she said that. "I want you too."

He quickly pushed down his underwear, his body was fully exposed to her. Then, he reached behind her, unclasping her bra, and he tossed it aside. For a moment, he paused. He wanted to remember this moment and he took in the sight of Matilde, she was trembling beneath him and looking up at him with lustful eyes.

"Condom," she remembered, and she looked at the nightstand. "I have one in my bag."

Charles nodded, reached into the purse and grabbed a condom. He opened the package and put it on. With a careful tenderness that made her heart swell, he positioned himself at her entrance. He kissed her softly, his forehead resting against hers as he pushed into her, slowly, allowing her to adjust to him. She gasped at the sensation, and her fingers dug into his shoulders.

"Matil..." He couldn't finish saying her name of the sensation he was feeling. "You feel so good," he breathed a few seconds later, and he stilled for a moment.

"Don't stop," she begged.

She tightened her grip around his waist again, urging him to move. He began to thrust, slow and deep, and his pace was steady, but each stroke ignited more desire. She arched her back, and he aimed for another angle, which resulted in more moans. She could feel the pressure building, her toes curled, and she knew she was close. Her nails scratched his back, and she lifted her hips to help him. Every movement, every sound and every touch was electric, their bodies were in perfect sync as they lost themselves in each other. Based on her breathing and her moans, he knew she was close to orgasm. He increased his pace, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more demanding. She felt the pressure building, and she was close to her release. She cried out his name, her body trembling beneath him.

"Charles, I'm close," she gasped.

"Come for me," he whispered in her ear, and he kissed her again.

She felt his hand move, and a second later, he massaged her clitoris to help her come. All of that together shattered her; her climax was washing over her in waves. Her body was clenching around him as she moaned his name. He was in awe, and it brought him over the edge. He moaned her name as well, and he placed her forehead against hers. Their bodies were shaking in the aftershocks of their shared pleasure. They stayed like that for some time, tangled in each other, breathing heavily and unevenly. Charles kissed her face softly before pulling out and rolling to the side. He grabbed her hand, and he grinned at her with a smile. She smiled as well, and she snuggled into his side. Her heart was still racing. Neither spoke for a while, and neither did they need to. The silence between them was comfortable, warm and pleasant.

Finally, Charles broke the silence, his voice a soft murmur. "I've wanted to do this for so long."

The corners of her mouth curled up. "Yeah. Me too."

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @crashingwavesofeuphoria @maryvibess @ironmaiden1313 @blodwyn4u @sltwins @heart-trees @npcmia @llando4norris

29 notes · View notes

lyracarvahall · 2 days ago

Text

HeartBeat Part 15

Serenade for Seonghwa

Part 14 Here

As Seonghwa stepped towards the microphone, he turned to look at Y/N. "So what is the goal today? How can I help?"

"I am just setting up the intro harmonies for one of the tracks and you can record your parts for the whole track if you are comfy and have time."

"That sounds great!" He gave her a sweet and gentle smile. With that he put the headphones and took a listen to her reference for his vocals. He closed his eyes and swayed to the beat, tapping the beat lightly on his waist with his fingertips.

Once he finished the first listen, he took one of the sides of the headphones off and looked at her beaming. "This is truly brilliant Y/N. I listened to some of your music and knew you were capable but this...this is perfect for both your sound and for us. Thank you for doing this for us."

Y/N blushed at the compliment. She had had fans but hearing someone so musically talented and experienced compliment her so highly filled her with a different level of pride. "Thank you Seonghwa. That means so much coming from you."

He looked genuinely touched and muttered a quiet thanks. "Is it alright if I try to record it now?" Y/N nodded and again was blown away by his talent. His voice had such a unique tone to it it was hard not to be captivated. She made sure to give him a few high notes throughout the song because she didn't think he got enough of those. He knocked it out of the park the first recording.

"Wow Hwa! You nailed it first try! That was beautiful!"

Now it was his turn to blush with a bashful smile. "Thank you."

Now was the moment she began to panic a little bit. Here was the special project she has worked on this morning. She was just hoping that he liked it.

"Hey Seonghwa? Is it okay if I get your feedback on another track that I have been working on? Since you finished so early?"

He nodded enthusiastically and she cued up the track. It was a confession, a plea. A ballad she had written about her struggles to connect with him. The sweeping instrumentals built to a peak and then everything but her voice cut away. The end of the song pleaded for him to talk with her and give her a chance to love him. Even if it was as a friend. To let her connect.

Seonghwa began to bawl as he sat on the recording booth stool. As soon as the song ended, he threw the door open and she thought he was going to storm out. Instead, he turned towards her and fell in front of her on his knees. He laid his head on her lap and continued to cry.

As he clung to her waist, she heard it. A gentle ocean wave. He gasped and clung to her tighter as she saw the tattoo crawling up his neck like curls making their way around the base of his hairline. She felt the matching burn.

"I am so sorry. I am so so sorry." He continued to sob into her lap. She began to cry to watching him fall apart this way. She felt his sorrow and regret.

"Hey...hey Hwa it's okay." She gently combed her fingers through his blonde hair. "I am here in whatever way you need me to be. Did you want to talk about it?"

Y/N looked up to see San watching the scene unfolding in front of him through the window. He held up his phone and then walked off. Shortly after he messaged that he would get them all food and be back.

Sniffling, Seonghwa sat up but still remained sitting between her legs. "I....never thought that...I was a part of this. I figured my feelings about it made it karmically impossible."

Y/N stayed silent and let him keep talking while rubbing slow circles on his back.

"At first I resented you. I resented that you took him from me. As a group we had discussed the possibility of soulmates before but all of the public events worldwide and no prospects coming up...we thought it was not in the cards for us. Some held onto the idea...including Hongjoong. I developed feelings for him years ago and no matter what I hinted at he had still held out hope to find you. Recently he had started responding to my flirtations and I thought there was finally something there for us. And then you came. Instantly I was forgotten and my hope was gone. I couldn't deny that I felt a connection to you too, but that only made me hate it more. As I saw each of my friends fall for you, and I learned more about you, I couldn't hate you. You are a beautiful person and I am sorry that I took this out on you."

He took a moment to finally look into her eyes. His were red from the tears that had been shed. "I would like to explore this connection with you. I would. I just need it to be slow. I am still...healing from heartbreak in a sense."

"I understand. Take all of the time you need. However, I wanna say something and don't get mad. Please."

Seonghwa hesitantly nodded.

"I think we should talk to Hongjoong together about this. I don't like the idea of breaking your heart just because you are bound to me. I am not opposed to you two exploring your feelings with each other if it is something you both want to pursue."

Seonghwa looked shocked. "Wait really?! Why would you do that?"

"Because I wouldn't truly love you if I kept you from happiness Hwa."

He lept up and wrapped his arms around her. She felt such joy through the bond it was contagious. She giggled and squeezed him back. Just then San gently knocked on the door. Wiping tears from her eyes, she nodded and waved San in. He was carrying bags of takeout which he placed on the table behind them.

"Thank you San. That was very nice of you. Come to think of it I haven't eaten since this morning."

Everyone made their way to the sofa behind the table and began to eat quietly. Seonghwa sat very close to Y/N like he needed her presence as reassurance. San smiled his closed eyed smile.

"Welcome to the club bro."

-----------------------------------------------

Taglist: @mrsminseochoi @vtyb23 @imbaebi @nuggiesnuggetdog04

#poly ateez #ateez x curvy reader #ateez x older reader #poly ateez x reader #soulmates

29 notes · View notes

kxtsukixoxo · 5 hours ago

Note

OOO TOKOYAMI FRIENDS TO LOVERS???? TOKOYAMI SITS INFRONT OF READER AND DARK SHADOW STARTS TO GOSSIP AND GIGGLE WITH READER QUIETLY (^_^)v TOKOYAMI AND READER EVENTUALLY START TO HANGOUT AND YK WHAT ELSE (*^-^) IDK IVE HAD THIS CUTIE IDEA FOR A WHILE AND YOURE THE ONLY WRITER I HAVE ENOUGH TRUST TO SHARE THE IDEA WITH </3

IM ABSOLUTELY HONOURED TO WRITE THIS OUT <33!!

from strangers to friends to lovers

ft. fumikage tokoyami

the new seating plan was weird, as much as you’ve been with your class for a year and still counting, you weren’t that familiar with the people surrounding you. you took a seat, deciding to just stick to yourself and hoping the day would go by faster if you did. it seems like the universe had the complete opposite in store for you.

“psssst” you ignored it, thinking it was kaminari trying to call kirishima for something stupid

“heeeyyy, you!” the voice whispered. you picked your head up, coming face to face with tokoyamis quirk.

dark shadow.

“hiiii!” the funny creature called. tokoyami seemed oblivious to this, considering he had his desk on the table, snoozing.

“i’m bored” dark shadow crossed his arms, as he watched you complete your work. you smiled at him “what would you like to do then?”

“oooo how about we play x and o’s!!”

“sure!”

tokoyami woke up to the buzzing sound of snickers and laughter, he turned around to see dark shadow and you, playing x and o’s, he watched the two of you have fun, unaware of the smile forming on his face, and just as he noticed. his demeanor changed, “that’s enough dark shadow, stop troubling the young lady”

“awwww but we were having fun!!” dark shadow sulked as tokoyami scolded him. “it’s really no big deal fumikage, i don’t mind!” you grinned as dark shadow clapped his hands together

“yayy!!”

days went by, dark shadow grew attached to you, and so did tokoyami. you hanging out with dark shadow, meant also hanging out with tokoyami, and he became accustomed to your presence.

tokoyami took a nap, as dark shadow doodled on the loose page you tore out of your book for him. “i think fumi has a crush on you!!”

you giggled “wow, you really think so?”

“hundred!! he’s always smiling at you, he’s never done that before!!”

“idk bud, maybe he just warms up whenever he sees us hanging out ya’know?”

“i’m telling you (y/n)!! he-“

“i what?” tokoyami peered at dark shadow

“whoopsie! nothing!” the cloudy purple shadow screamed.

tokoyami facepalmed himself “i’m sorry if he said anything embarrassing, my deepest apologies (y/n)”

“it’s not biggie!” you giggled as the siren rang, indicating classes were over.

tokoyami, exited the class faster than the speed of light, leaving you behind to eat his dust, “bye (y/n)!!” dark shadow squealed

“fumi wait up!” you screamed as you gathered your belongings.

after running for more than two minutes, you caught up to tokoyami outside the dorms.

“fumi! hold on!”

“hu-“

you cut him off, “would you like to grab coffee with me”

before tokoyami could answer, dark shadow did for him, “we’d love to!!”

you let out a sigh of relief “perfect! see you in a bit then?”

you left the two behind as tokoyami glared at dark shadow “come on! you had to make a move!” he had to thank dark shadow for that.

weekly trips to café’s turned into daily trips after school, the subtle touch of his knuckles grazing your knee turned into soft glances of your side profile, and longing gazes from fumikage, as he stood across the room, more than an arms length away from you.

he wanted you, but he was shy, and that’s where dark shadow would come in.

you sat ontop of tokoyamis bed while the three of you played cards, “and i win!!” dark shadow exclaimed “you’re such a cheater!” you exclaimed, throwing your deck on the bed. cards spilled everywhere, tokoyami rushed to pick

it up and so did you, the both of your lips inches away from each other, dark shadow noticed this too, giving tokoyami a nudge and forcing his lips to crash into yours. the peck left you hungry for more, “i-i’m sor-“ you cut tokoyami off, the kiss this time more passionate. “finally!!” dark shadow exclaimed, “you’re so dead” tokoyami grumbled. “i didn’t want things to play out this way, how about i take you out for lunch?

“sounds perfect!” you placed a kiss on his cheek

he could get used to this.

#mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #tokoyami #tokoyami fukimage #bnha tokoyami #mha tokoyami #fumikage tokoyami #tokoyami towa #dark shadow #tokoyami fumikage #fumikage x reader #mha fumikage #bnha fumikage #tokoyami fumikage x reader

16 notes · View notes

trognak · 2 years ago

Note

could you draw the barbie ken mugshot pics but with grognak and troy 🥺

Thank you for this suggestion, it's wonderful :)

#grognak the destroyer attorney at law #troy donahue #trognak #gta rp #nopixel #callmekevin #flawlesswhale #my art #thank you donablue for suggesting grog as barbie lol #orangetintsunglasses #trognak.ask #I had to do this in bits after work so sorry it took a while #maybe one day I'll colour this

166 notes · View notes

kyouka-supremacy · 6 months ago

Text

(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

#I've had the cutest interaction today #So like yesterday? There was this post I saw on my dash that was like “you want to know extra info about museums? Just befriend a–#guide! That way you can also unlock the Secret Backscene” and I was like. Lmao. Who could ever befriend a museum guide I've never–#even personally met anyone who works at museums?#... Well. Guess what happened today #I was following this guided museum tour with a friend and when the tour came to an end I was happily chatting with her when the guide.#Shyly chimed in and was like “is that an Atsushi keychain?” And I was like !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#And I was like‚‚ omg‚‚‚ Do you happen to know‚‚‚ This one series‚‚‚‚‚‚#And they unsheathed their phone like a fbi distinctive in American movies to show me their fyo/zai background amjdsgawsjda it was SO cute.#They were adorable. And I got so embarassed but trying to keep my cool while internally I was like‚‚‚#Omg the Cool Museum Guide™ is talking with me about my hyperfixation‚‚‚‚‚‚ What is happening #We talked a bit about the manga it was such a nice and sweet exchange. They said they like Dostoyevsky and I was like yeah he's so cool!!!#They said they're sorry about Bram it was REALLY cute (´；ω；｀)#I didn't want to hamper them too much so I took my leave shortly after but I'd actually really like to pay visit again–#when the new chapter is out??#Hhhhhhh I don't want to look stalkery and like go look for them on their job. But also like‚ they looked genuinely happy and as excited as–#I was when we were chatting and I believe in the power of human connections through shared hyperfixations #The possibly funnier part is that then my friend went “Wait you're into b/ungo stray dogs??” and like alright. This is less surprising.#I already knew she likes manga.#What actually left me quite baffled was that... She really didn't know I was into b/sd. When it's literally what I think about 24/7 #Something very similar happened just a week ago. My friend gifted me a manga volume of a series she really likes for my birthday #But when she was giving it to me she awkwardly went “oh‚ just‚ it features romance between two guys. I hope that's okay with you...”#And I internally had to pause and realize that no.#In fact most of the people I hang out with don't know I spend half my time curating a bl focused blog.#It's just funny in a way? I got so used to concealing my hyperfixations I didn't even realize I actually got quite good at passing–#for someone who is normal about stuff.#random rambles

54 notes · View notes

anothermonikan · 5 months ago

Text

Man high school was fucked up. You ever think about that. Thank fucking god I'm not in high school anymore

#Sorry I need to turn a distraction video on or smth because my mind came back to #The very first experience I had of high school #And like my father had just dropped me off right. Yknow. Big massive new place I hadn't been before #And we went into an assembly hall right and my father called me like 5 minutes after #My phone was on silent and I took it out of my pocket for what. 5 seconds to dismiss the call.#Yknow a call from my parent who probably just wanted to make sure I got in okay #And in that 5 seconds a teacher just came over and took the phone off me #And then later on in the assembly the speaker was like 'We have a strict phone policy.'#'You're not allowed to use them outside of break unless explicitly asked' and the fucking.#Teacher who practically snatched my damn phone of me was like #'I have caught 5 students on their phones already. This is unacceptable behaviour in high school and you should already know'#Like. Holy shit I got it out for 5 damn seconds to dismiss a call from a parent who just wanted to make sure I was okay :sob: I was 12 yknow #Just something so. Fucked up about that. That's not a fucking expectation in the real world #Yeah don't be distracted by your phone while doing work in class but it was nothing like that :sob:#I'm willing to bet that most of the people who got their phone confiscated in that assembly were of similar circumstances to me #Yknow. Worried parents who just dropped their 12 year old off to a big unfamiliar place for the first time calling #You could've taught that lesson in the classroom if someone was actually distracted on their phone. Come on now #What Is with some fucking primary school and high school teachers having absolute power trips over actual children #Awful. I was thinking about it because my younger sibling has just gone back school #And their in their last year of primary school and they where telling me about like all the bullshit they're pulling #And I guess I just. Worry a bit. Because high school is genuinely a little bit fucking traumatic #I tell them all the time that most of the rules they set up in primary school and high school are kinda bullshit anyways #And to follow them simply to not get in trouble. But don't let them dictate how you act forever #Because you go through the whole of high school being told what to do by people who usually view you as a lesser being to them #And then you get to college and everything changes and it's gonna be weird as fuck finally being viewed as an equal #...especially if you're like me and engrained rules way too seriously #Sorry this is breaking the no emotional posting after 10pm rule but I think I can stand by this one #Okay I've made 6 begillion grammar errors I'm on mobile I can't change em #To everyone currently in high school: please fucking survive. It get's better. I prommy you #android.txt

0 notes

joelsgoldrush · 4 months ago

Text

“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

4K notes · View notes