#Love the way we see EVERYONES THOUGHTS in the novel

[randomositycat]

Lunch break over oh my GOD I'm itching to read v4 ch 9 im THROW ING UP the cliffhanger from ch 8 made me start yelling

[joelsgoldrush]

“epiphany” | 21k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

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

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

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

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

Love giveth and love taketh away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love maketh you miserable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They are soulmates. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A part of you died with him that day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, it wasn’t working.

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

“And why’s that?”

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

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

Save me, mindfulness, you thought to yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. Was that your fork?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s still a sensitive topic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where the hell did he go?

After his existence went downhill, Logan turned to prayer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do I know you, bub?” 

“You don’t, but I know you.”

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

“Everybody does. I’m the—”

Here it comes, the reminder of his personal calvary.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nighty-night, Logan.

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

I’ve spent sleepless nights trying to figure out

where this need to call you mine stems from. 

You're like an antique, a rare piece displayed

in a crowded bazaar, drawing curious glances.

I’m aware that you're not mine

because I haven't bought you yet;

I hold no claim over you,

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

I want you to be mine,

but no amount of money would buy your soul.

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

I’m aware that you’re not mine, 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The scars.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing changes. They’re still there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's a silent invitation to a new beginning.

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

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

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

“Me too, roomie. Me too.”

“Let’s not use that word.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then Wade jumps in front of him.

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

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

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

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

“Well, life’s full of disappointments.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What… the fuck?”

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

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

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

You’re… far more than he expected.

More beautiful, for starters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Great. You must think he’s a weirdo. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t worry, I’m—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And how is it? I mean, do you have—”

“I’m public enemy number one.”

Too harsh, idiot.

“Oh. That’s… good to know.”

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

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

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

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

“You and Wade…?”

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

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

“What?” you ask him, puzzled.

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

“And I can tell you don’t.”

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

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

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

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

“And where is yours, then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door almost closes on his nose.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And where is yours, then?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you pregnant?”

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

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

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

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

“Fuck?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t budge. “No.”

“Logan, I’m not in the mood.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll think about it.”

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

“Well, you were an asshole.”

“Yes.”

“The first time we exchanged words.”

“Also yes.”

“And now you’re apologizing.”

“Positive. I just did.”

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

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

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

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

“How do you feel about reading?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you—you remember specific pages?”

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

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

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

You’ve chosen a damn good page.

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

“You’ve got a week to read it.”

“How long is it again?”

“Four hundred pages.”

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

“Write an opinion essay if possible.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, he listens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which one is worse, he can no longer tell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut your mouth.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I hate this John kid.

Her aunt is a cunt.

This is too cheesy.

Mr. Rochester’s married?

St. John—what a prick.

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’ll take more than a book.”

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

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

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

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

“Of what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If anything, it made everything worse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks... ridiculously good.

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

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

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

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

“Logan, you don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If you have plans, then yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Logan, this isn’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Come on, baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Logic? Error 404—not found.

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

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

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

That’s when recognition settles over you.

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

“Fuck you, Logan.”

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

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

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

“He’s closer than ever.”

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

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

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

“No. You’re not.”

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

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

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

“It’s what we both need.”

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

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

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

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

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

It didn’t go well in the end.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll take care of it next month.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is what you fear the most: loneliness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I could do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

“And what is that—”

“I need a drink.”

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

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

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

The instant attraction, the yearning to be near him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who is enjoying this more: him or you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve never felt this relaxed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, you’ve wrapped love around your finger.

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

[aweekoftodays]

Hey, can we talk about the fact that one of kdj's biggest traumas is indisputably the way the publishing of his mother's book affected his life. He felt powerless and on display, and it severely hurt his ability to connect with other people.

But honestly, if I saw that book at a bookstore, I would have picked it up and read it and thought wow im so glad she was able to tell her story. I would have fallen into the trap lsk sets, and never thought deeper about how it happened. And this book was said to be really inspiring and the way the other prison women stands up for lsk you can see they sympathize with her story and maybe there were plenty of women who felt seen and heard from that story.

Its popularity meant a decent amount of money was made off of it that went straight to kdj's cousins pocket. Everyone profited from this novel in some way, everyone but kdj. (That's why he's the fool that has never dreamed of his own happiness, he can't picture it, it's always been everyone except him.)

So tell me why, kimcom + everyone writing orv and collecting the pieces they knew of him and spreading them out, not to one universe like his mother, but the eternal ever-multiplying universes and that is what saves him.

The exact same action, both born out of love and despair. One ruined him, and the other brought him home.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Do you mind updating Alfred's boy? I just fell in love with your work and can't stop thinking about it lololol especially with Wes and Danny crushing on Jason as everyone else is crushing on Danny

It's the most complicated love shape I've seen since Miraculous and I can't get enough 💖

Bruce is working on some late-night emails.

He chose not to go out as Batman tonight just because his kids had a lot of pent-up energy they needed to release on some unsuspecting crook, and he got behind in his civilian persona.

Bruce also wanted to keep an eye on Wes and Danny. The day after the Opera, Danny took it upon himself to take Wes out into the city again, showing him not only Batburger but also the city's sights and arcade.

Alfred booked them both an entire afternoon in Gotham's most luxurious spa as a gift for Danny's hard work. When Danny and Wes came back, both seemed to be glowing and frankly, Bruce wouldn't be surprised if they had turned heads on their way home.

Danny made his children break their necks when he walked by the family room with a laughing Wes. After spotting Danny in a very uncharacteristic move, Damian even walked into the living room wall.

Jason had laughed so hard he choked on his spit. It took every year of training for Bruce to catch Damian mid-jump to save Jason from his younger brother's worth.

It was only the knowledge that Wes was a civilian staying in the manor and that if he saw them in a fight, their covers would be blown, stopping Damian from attacking Jason further.

Bruce was getting tired of this romance novel setting he found himself in. His children haven't stressed him out this much in years. Okay, that's a lie.

They always stressed him out, but usually, it was due to them making a stance against crime. Not a random young man who was dating (secretly) the object of their affection.

Wesley Weston was a delightful young man despite everything. Bruce would almost approve of him if it weren't for the fact that he seemed aware of the Wayne children's hostility and edged it on by being extra cuddly with Danny.

He was delighted for Danny to have a friend who had been making him this happy, but all good things must end. This would be Wes's last night in Wayne Manor.

Tomorrow, Wes will board a plane back through Clockwork's unique gate and be gone from their lives until he can visit again. That could take a while, as Alfred had informed him that Danny's parents were becoming a nuisance.

That could mean any number of things, but the most obvious was that Danny's location needed to stay hidden. No one could contact him from his home.

Bruce sighs, wondering how the boy will handle the news. Alfred chose to wait until Wes was out of the manor so his charge would not break down in front of his friend. It would mean the world to Danny, who closely held his emotions to his chest.

A knock interrupts his thoughts.

"Come in," Bruce calls, wondering who it could be. He is surprised to see a shy redhead pop his head in. "Wes, what are you doing up this late?"

"Sorry to bother you, Mr. Wayne. I couldn't sleep," Wes says, scruffing his feet on the carpet. He takes a moment to gather his strength, then straightens out his back. Bruce braces himself, feeling he won't like what the boy has to say. "I wanted to talk to you about assigning Danny a medical cuddle buddy."

Bruce blinks, feeling well out of his depth. Was that new teen lingo? "A medical cuddle Buddy?"

"It's like an emotional support animal." Wes starts, gesturing with his hands in a flip-flap sort of motion. Bruce noticed Danny tended to do the same when making an explanation. A culture thing? "His emotional, mental, and even physical well-being plummets when he goes too long without cuddling."

Bruce had concluded the same.

Over the last two days, he noticed that Danny had seemed far happier than the weeks he had been in the Manor. At first, he just assumed it was because he finally had someone who understood what he was going through. But now it was clear that it wasn't just the excitement of having Wes around. Danny looked as if he was healing from a long-term lack of nutrition.

It was not a lack of food, as Alfred would never allow anyone to go hungry under his roof.

There had to be something else.

"Danny isn't human," he ventures, watching Wes' body language. At once, the boy tensed up, a dark look in his eye and a precise curl of his lip indicating protective intensity. Bruce closes his laptop, curls his finger under his chin, and leans on them, giving his full attention. "I have no issues with Danny being anything other than human. But I need to know what I have to provide him to keep him healthy."

We hesitated for a long moment, staring back at Bruce like he was weighing the billionaire's soul. His intense eyes bore into Bruce's, flickering around his face as if trying to find a lie in his statement.

Eventually, the boy hesitantly responds. "Danny is part human. The other half is a being that relies on certain emotions to feed. The most common one is fear, which is why his parents tried to kill him when they found out his kind. Fear-based beings are...dangerous, so it was understandable even if it sucked."

Wes's face twists into a hateful and sad expression that lets Bruce know the kids are attempting to rationalize Danny's parents' behavior. He would make sure to tell Alfred not to allow the boy any contact with them. They held too much power over the kid.

"Danny isn't a fear-based than," Bruce prompts, to which Wes rapidly shakes his head.

"He isn't! Danny is....well, he's love-based. He feeds on different versions of love. Have you heard of the eight ancient Greeks' type of love?"

"I have"

Wes rubs his arm, looking relatively young for his age. "Danny feeds on Agape and Philia the most. He used to feed a lot on Storge, but well...you know how that turned out."

He did, indeed.

Does this mean Danny had already been cut off from a significant food source his people needed? Did it also mean that Danny wasn't the Fenton's by blood? How could they not know he was half of another being?

He needed answers to all the questions, but the most important one still resurfaced: "How does Danny feed?"

"Usually through physical contact. Emotions aren't corporal; they are felt through a body like a ripple in the water. When Danny touches someone who shares Agape or Philia with him, the ripples transfer from the contact to his core." Wes explained looking mroe sure of himself. "When I first arrived, Danny looked half-starved. He would have collapsed had it not been for Clockwork sending me."

That's alarming. "What could have happened if he went too long without any love?"

"His core would explode."

"And a core is?"

"Think of it like Danny's heart. It pumps his body with the energy his people need to survive. If it fails, Danny dies."

The last sentence hangs in the room like poisonous gas. Bruce feels his chest squeez at the mere thought that Danny would pass from soemthing they could easily provide for him. "I'll make sure that doesn't happen."

Wes cracks a shaky smile. "I figure you wouldn't. You seem like an okay guy. Can you make sure none of the ones feeling Eros towards Danny are his cuddle-buddy? I don't think his heart is ready for that just yet."

"Of course." Bruce was thinking of Alfred, Cass, Dick, Jason, and himself. All of them would quickly provide the emotion Danny needed. He tells Wes this with what he hopes is an assuring smile.

Wes shuffles his feet nervously before he yells, "Not Jason."

"Why?" Bruce asks, mystified.

"Danny might...um, have a crush on him." The boy mutters almost too low for Bruce to hear. He then glances up with a look of panic. "You can't tell Danny I told you!"

Bruce feels a headache coming on. Of course, out of all the children who had a thing for Danny, the boy chose one of the few of his kids who did not feel the same way. Knowing his son, Jason would probably think it was flattering but would gently let the boy down due to his age.

Jason refused to date anyone outside of a four-year difference from him in any direction. Danny was in for a painful confession.

Wait.

"Wes, what would happen if Danny experienced heartbreak? How does that affect his people?"

Wes blinks, confused, before shrugging. "I guess they die of heartbreak?"

Great.

I'm going to have to make Danny stay away from my second eldest like another stereotypical villain in Jason's romance novels. Bruce rubs his eyes. Or get him together with one of the others who actually likes him. Ugh.

He'll have to discuss things with Alfred. After all, that was his boy.

[wolverigrl]

Rumors

Hugh Jackman x reader (actress)

Warnings: smut! Only 18+!, swearing, angsty, fluffy

!Disclaimer! If you'd like to skip the smut, scroll down as soon as you see "---" in the text. From there, the smut part begins and ends at the next "---"!

Enjoy!

Previous Part

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It's been five months. Five months since our first date, and yet somehow, it feels like both forever and no time at all.

I sit here now, in the gym, watching him lift weights like it’s nothing, and I’m struck by just how lucky I feel. From the very beginning, it was like we found our rhythm without even trying - our relationship is built on mutual respect and trust. We give each other space when needed, and t's refreshing to be with someone who values independence as much as I do.

The dates we've had so far have been perfect in their own way. Our second one was at this hidden gem of a restaurant tucked away in the city. I remember how he laughed when I spilled wine on the tablecloth, and how his hand brushed mine as we reached for the same napkin. We've done simple things too, like grabbing coffee early in the morning or working out. Once, we spent an afternoon at an old bookstore, getting lost in the aisles of dusty novels and sharing passages that made us laugh. Every moment with him feels like a memory in the making

And yet, it all changed a little last month when we were spotted. We hadn't been careful enough. A quick kiss in a park, something so innocent, but the paparazzi caught us. The next day, our picture was splashed across every tabloid and social media. That unintentional confirmation of our relationship wasn't what we had planned. Neither of us wanted the world in on our private lives.

Still, we've dodged every question thrown at us in interviews or on social media. But avoiding the questions doesn't stop the criticism.

The age gap. It's what everyone seems to latch onto. Hugh's used to it - He’s been doing this long enough to know how to handle the press, the rumors, the gossip. But me? I’m still learning how to deal with it. I try to act like it doesn't bother me. I nod along, tell everyone I'm fine, but inside, it's harder than I thought it would be. Some of the comments sting more than I care to admit. I've been in relationships before, but none of them were "public" like this. My exes were all from my private circle - well, except for Chris, but that doesn't count. That was way before either of us was well-known. This, with Hugh, is different. It's out there.

I didn’t want that. I wanted to keep us private for a while longer, to hold onto this little piece of normalcy for just us. But now it’s out, and there’s no taking it back.

Now everything is under scrutiny. People question our relationship and my motives. Of course there are fans who are supportive - sweet comments, even some who come up to me on the street and say they love us together. But then there are the others. The ones who say I’m only with him to advance my career, that I’m using him to get ahead. Ever since our last movie together, I’ve been getting bigger roles, and some people think that’s because of him. Like I can’t earn anything on my own.

I try to brush it off, but there are moments when those words hit hard. And even though Hugh has told me a thousand times to ignore it. I’m not like him. I haven’t been in the spotlight for decades. I don’t have the thick skin he’s developed over the years.

Our managers weren’t thrilled either when they found out we’d been seeing each other behind their backs. It wasn’t anger, really, more disappointment that we hadn’t trusted them enough to let them in on it. But in a way, I’m glad we didn’t. We needed this to just to be ours for a while.

Still, despite all the noise, the criticism, the rumors—there’s comfort between us. We act like a real couple. We’ve never had the talk, though, about what we are exactly. Are we officially together? I don’t even know. We’ve just kind of fallen into this routine, and honestly, love it. I love the way he makes me feel like I’m the only person in the world when we’re together.

My eyes drift back to him as he lowers the weights, his muscles tensing with the effort. He's ridiculously strong, and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a turn on. God, he’s attractive. And sweet. And patient. And funny. Sometimes I catch myself even fangirling. I mean, it's still Hugh fucking Jackman. How did I get so lucky?

“You good, y/n?" Hugh’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I realize I’ve been staring.

“Yeah." I say, quickly covering up my awkwardness with a grin. “Just appreciating the view.”

His eyes narrow, that playful smile tugging at his lips. He walks over, sweat still glistening on his skin, and towers above me, crossing his arms. “You know, you could’ve just taken a picture.”

“Maybe I will next time,” I tease, leaning back on the bench.

He chuckles, the sound warm and rich. “Or you could just join me instead of sitting over there like a creep.”

“Please. I did twice as many reps as you did earlier,” I say, pretending to wipe imaginary sweat from my brow. “I deserve a break.”

“Is that right?” He raises an eyebrow, leaning down so we’re almost face-to-face. “Pretty sure I saw you struggling with those squats.”

“I wasn’t struggling." I protest, trying to keep a straight face, but his cocky grin is making it impossible.

“You say that now, but your form—”

“My form was perfect!” I laugh, pushing his arm lightly. “Stop acting like you weren’t impressed.”

“Oh, I was impressed." he admits, his voice dropping an octave. “Just not with your workout.”

The heat between us flares up in an instant, the way it always does when he looks at me like that. There’s this pull, this magnetic energy that I haven’t felt in a while. We flirt, we tease, we push each other’s buttons, and it’s exhilarating. But there’s always this line we haven’t fully crossed yet. We get close - so close - but we always pull back.

We go back and forth like this until we wrap up our workout. Hugh's leaving for Sydney tomorrow to visit his family for a few weeks, but his kids won't be able to join him because they're going on holiday with their mom, so it'll just be him this time

I'll admit, I already miss him so much. I don't really know what to do yet. So far, we've spent pretty much every day together, but now that the interviews are slowly getting fewer and everyday life is getting quieter, it's getting boring without someone to keep me on my toes. I guess Ryan and Blake will have to take over.

After the gym, we head back to his place, still bickering about who did better with which exercises. By the time we're on the couch, it's turned into playful shoving and teasing until his lips are on mine, and everything else fades away. God, I’ve missed this. I’ve missed the way his lips feel on mine, the way his touch sets my skin on fire.

But just as things are about to cross that line again, I pull away, leaving him breathless and staring at me in confusion.

"You’re impossible." he mutters, running a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his voice.

I smile sweetly, standing up and stretching. “I need a shower.”

"You’re an absolutely evil woman!" he calls after me as I walk toward the bathroom, but I don’t turn around. I can feel his eyes on me the whole way.

I can't help but smile to myself as I undress and step into the shower. The hot water cascades down my skin, but my mind is elsewhere - back on the couch, replaying the way his hands felt on me, the way his breath hitched when I kissed him. It's getting harder to hold back, to not give in to the growing desire between us. We've come close before - so many times - but for some reason, we always stop right pefore things get too far. It's like we're both waiting for the perfect moment. I'm not in a rush, but God, he makes it so hard to resist.

But it’s not just physical. It’s him. It’s the way he looks at me, the way he makes me feel seen. I’ve never been so comfortable with someone, and that scares me a little. I’m falling for him - hard - and I’m terrified of what that means. We’ve never even talked about what we are, and here I am, thinking about how much I want him, how much I love him.

The thought stops me in my tracks. Am I in love with him? My heart pounds in my chest, and I realize that, yes, I probably am. But I don’t know if he feels the same way. What if this is just something casual for him? What if I bring it up, and he doesn’t feel the same? He’s never pressured me, never pushed for more, and sometimes I wonder if he’s happy with how things are - just casual, just fun.

When I'm done, I slip into my pajamas - just a simple tank top and shorts - and head into the bedroom. Hugh's sitting on the edge of the bed, scroling through his phone, but he glances up when I walk in.

"Took you long enough." he says with a mischievous grin. "Were you thinking about me in there?"

I smirk, leaning against the doorway.

"Maybe?"

He laughs, setting his phone down and standing up. He walks over to me, placing one hand on my hip, the other cupping my face. His lips brush mine in a teasing kiss, his hand sliding down to give my ass a playful squeeze.

"Behave." I mutter, but my voice betrays me, sounding more breathless than I intended.

"Why? I thought you like it when I don’t." he says, that teasing grin never faltering.

Before I can respond, he pulls away and heads to the bathroom. "I'll be right back."

I sighed and lay down on the bed and looked thoughtfully at the ceiling.

Before I can lose myself in my thoughts again, I hear the water turn off, and a minute later, Hugh steps back into the room, still dripping wet and wrapped only in his towel, which hangs dangerously low. I can't take my eyes off him. He's searching through the dresser, muttering something about forgetting his boxers, but I don't hear the words. My heart pounds in my chest, and I know - I know - this is it. I can’t hold back anymore.

Without second guessing, I get up and cross the room, moving toward him without a word. He watches me, his brow furrowing in slight confusion, but there’s something else there too.

When I reach him, I stop, just inches away, and look up at him. I don’t say anything for a long moment. I just let myself feel the weight of this moment.

---

Finally, I find my voice, though it’s softer than I expected. “I want you.”

His eyes widen slightly, and for a moment, I think I’ve surprised him. But then, something shifts in his expression, and the air between us thickens. He steps closer, his hand coming up to cup my cheek as he studies my face.

“Are you sure?” His voice is low, husky, and I can see the restraint in his eyes. He’s giving me an out. One last chance to change my mind. But I don’t want out. Not anymore.

“Yes." I whisper, barely able to speak past the lump in my throat. “I’m sure.”

That’s all it takes. In an instant, his lips are on mine, and the kiss is different this time - deeper. Hungrier. His hands move to my waist, pulling me against him, and I wrap my arms around his neck, melting into his touch.

Before I know it, he’s lifting me off the ground, my legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. I can feel the heat radiating off him, the roughness of the towel against my skin. His grip tightens, and I’m suddenly aware of just how much I want him - how much I’ve always wanted him.

The kiss grew more intense, more desperate, and I can feel the last remnants of our restraint crumbling. He carries me over to the bed, his towel loosening around his hips, and gently lays me down. Our breaths are ragged, our bodies pressed together in a way that makes it impossible to think of anything else.

His kisses moved to my neck while one of his hands disappeared under my top. I gasped softly and ran my hands over his strong back. He began to gently squeeze my breast as I pressed his hips against mine with my legs, clearly feeling his arousal. Breathing heavily, he rubbed his groin against me and applied more pressure to my breast.

"Please." I said softly and looked at him greedily. "Please what, love?" he broke away from my lips and straightened up a little to get a better look at my face.

I couldn't help myself and looked down to his towel, which was now hanging down so low that you could see his perfect v-line clearly, as well as the vein under his belly button.

I swallowed and also straightened up to pull my top over my head.

"Fucking hell." he muttered quietly. I lay back down with my arms over my head and looked straight at him. "Just stop holding back and fuck me already."

He didn't need to be told twice and leaned over me again. The kiss was wilder than before and I felt like his hands were everywhere. I was in such a trance that I didn't even notice that he had already thrown my shorts on the floor. It was only when I felt his fingers on my clit that I realized it. I gasped out loud and dug my fingers in his hair and shoulders as he caressed my neck and circled his thumb over my clit. I was a complete wreck. Everything happened so quickly, but somehow it also didn't. I pressed my knees into Hugh's sides and pushed my pelvis towards him as he slid two fingers inside me. I moaned loudly and pushed my head back into the pillow. Suddenly I felt an electrifying sensation as he ran his tongue around my breast and sucked on it. He curled his fingers in and moved his hand faster. I moaned loudly again and pressed my nails firmly into his shoulder as a pleasurable feeling came over me in my abdomen.

Hugh's kisses moved back up to my lips until he released his heavy breath and slid his fingers out of me.

He looked at me full of lust and totally befuddled. I had never seen him like this before. But seeing him like this almost made me go crazy myself. He smiled gently at me and stroked a few strands of hair from my face. "You're so damn beautiful."

I felt my face flush and ran my hands down his torso to his dick, smiling. He breathed heavily and closed his eyes as I slowly began to stroke him.

I clenched around nothing and bit my lip as I looked at him.

He looked at me again, bent both my legs and pulled my hands away, to stroke his own member. He rubbed his pre-cum wet tip against my clit and looked deep into my eyes. It made me absolutely feral.

"Hell. Stop fucking teasing!" I growled. Without another word, he slid into me and put my legs over his shoulders. I moaned loudly and curled my toes. He was breathing heavily and you could see how much he was controlling himself.

"You're so fucking tight." He slowly began to move his hips and it drove me wild when I felt him filling me up. "Baby please don't hold back." I moaned and closed my eyes.

"Eyes on me my love." he groaned and thrusted harder. I gasped, a little startled, and looked him straight in the eyes. My hands disappeared into his hair again and his speed increased steadily. I felt everything slowly boiling up inside me and I clenched hard around his dick. That eye contact. His moans. The sounds of our bodies hitting each other and the thick air in the room. Everything began to spin around me and I could no longer maintain eye contact.

"I'm gonna cum!" I moaned as I felt him thrusting even deeper than before. Hugh now closed his own eyes, let my legs off his shoulders and pressed both my hands over my head with one hand to stimulate my clit with the other. He was panting loudly himself. "Cum for me baby. I wanna see how you cum all over me."

That gave me the rest and for a brief moment I thought I was seeing the white light. My legs were shaking like crazy and I felt an incredible pull in my abdomen. Hugh moaned with me and let go of me to support himself with his forearms next to my head instead.

Panting, he rested his head in the crook of my neck while I stroked his sweaty back. Shortly afterwards, I felt his rhythm become more and more irregular until he did a last hard thrust and moaned loudly. The sound of his voice and the feeling of his pulsing dick made my skin crawl and I pressed myself tightly against him with my legs and arms.

There was complete silence for a moment. I could only hear our panting and our heartbeats in the room.

I felt his semen leaking out of me and slowly running down my bottom.

Hugh pulled away to lay down next to me and pulled me to his side before kissing me on the forehead. I smiled at him and stroked his sweaty chest with my hand.

"We should probably have done it before the shower." Hugh said with a smirk and looked at me.

"Or in the shower." He laughed and nodded.

---

After cleaning up, we lay together, our bodies entwined under the blanket. The room is quiet, except for the sound of our breathing slowly returning to normal. Hugh is beside me, his arm draped over my waist, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on my skin. I can feel the rise and fall of his chest against my back, and there’s a comfort in the silence between us.

But there’s also a weight, a need to say something. To define this.

I shift slightly, turning so I can face him. His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, neither of us says anything. Then, softly, I ask. "Do you ever… worry? About what people say about us?”

His brow furrows slightly, and he brushes a strand of hair from my face before answering. “What people say? You mean the age thing?”

I nod, feeling a lump in my throat. “Yeah. And the way they watch us. The paparazzi, the rumors… It’s just hard sometimes.”

He presses a soft kiss to my forehead, his hand gently cupping the back of my head. “I know it’s hard, y/n and I’m sorry you have to deal with all that because of me.”

“It’s not your fault,” I say quickly. “I just… sometimes I don’t know how to handle it. But I don't want to be that person who lets the outside world affect what we have." I whisper. "But sometimes it just... gets to me."

"You're not that person." he assures me, his voice firm but gentle. "You're human. And it's okay to feel that way. The important thing is that we talk about it, like we're doing now.. And you don’t have to handle it alone." he murmurs, his lips brushing my temple. “I’m here. We’re in this together.”

His words are soothing, but there’s still a part of me that struggles with the reality of our situation. I bite my lip, hesitating before speaking again. “Sometimes I wonder… if maybe we shouldn’t—”

“Hey." he interrupts softly, his thumb grazing my cheek. “Don’t go there. We’re good, okay? We’re more than good.”

I close my eyes, leaning into his touch. “I know. I just don’t want it to get too complicated.”

Hugh is silent for a moment, then he asks quietly. “Would it help if we made it official?”

I blink, my heart skipping a beat. “Official?”

He gives me a small smile, his eyes soft as he looks at me. “Yeah. Maybe then they will stop harassing us with their questions." For a moment we both were silent before he started to speak again. "Like… would you want to be my girlfriend?”

My heart swells at the simplicity of his question and made me speechless. Then I slowly nod, a smile spreading across my face. “Yeah." I whisper. “I’d like that.”

He grins, pulling me closer and pressing his lips to mine in a soft, lingering kiss. We stay like that for a while, wrapped in each other, content.

After a while, he pulls back, looking thoughtful. “You know, I’m heading to Australia tomorrow to visit family.”

I nod, already knowing. “Yeah, you mentioned that. How long will you be gone?”

“A few weeks." he says, his fingers brushing over my arm absently. “But… I was thinking. What if you came with me?”

I blink in surprise. “To Sydney?”

“Yeah. I mean, only if you want to. No pressure. I just thought it’d be nice… spending some more time together. Away from all this.”

I hesitate, the idea both exciting and terrifying. “I don’t know, Hugh. It feels… fast. I haven’t even met your family yet.”

He chuckles softly. “You wouldn’t have to. Not unless you wanted to. It can just be the two of us. We can do whatever you want. I just want to spend time with you."

I smile softly at his words, feeling my heart swell.

“I’ll think about it,” I say softly, leaning my head against his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath my ear, a calming rhythm that soothes the anxiety swirling in my mind.

“Good,” he murmurs, running his fingers gently through my hair. “That’s all I ask. No pressure.”

I bite my lip, thinking it over. The idea is tempting - really tempting.

"Okay." I say, making the decision. "I'II come. But maybe I'll fly out a week later. That way I can maybe meet up with Blake and Ryan, maybe even visit Chris in Boston."

Hugh nods, a relieved smile spreading across his face. "Deal. A week later, and we'll have the best time. Just you and me."

We share another soft kiss, and can't help but laugh against his lips.

After our conversation, we lay there for a little while longer, basking in the afterglow of everything we’d just shared. The weight that had been pressing on my chest for weeks felt lighter now that we’d talked about it.

Eventually, we sat up, and the idea struck me - if we were really ready to move forward, maybe it was time to let the world know about us on our own terms.

“I was thinking…” I start, glancing over at him. “We should post a photo of us."

Hugh’s eyebrows lifted in slight surprise. “You sure about that?”

I nod, feeling a sense of resolve I hadn’t felt before. “Yeah. I mean the media already knows about us and we can't hide anymore. So why not?"

A smile tugs at his lips, and he reaches for his phone on the bedside table. “Alright, I’m in. Let’s take a picture then.”

I chuckle. “But maybe we should put on some clothes first?”

Hugh laughs softly, the sound sending a warmth through me. “Yeah, I suppose we shouldn’t scandalize the internet too much.”

As I sit up, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the bedroom mirror and grimace slightly. My hair’s a mess from… well, everything, and I’m definitely not looking my best. “Ugh. I look awful.”

Hugh stands up and shakes his head with an amused smile. “You look perfect,” he says, casually reaching into his closet for a shirt. He pulls one on, his muscles stretching the fabric in a way that makes it hard for me to focus. “Come on, we’ll take a cute one.”

I roll my eyes playfully but grab one of his T-shirts from the drawer. “Fine, but if I look weird, we’re deleting it.”

“No way!” he teases, pulling me into his arms once I have the shirt on. “You could never look weird.”

I can’t help but laugh as he wraps his arms around me from behind. He holds the phone up in front of us, angling it to get the perfect shot. “Okay, smile!”

I glance up at him just as he snaps the picture. My smile turns into a laugh, the joy bubbling out of me before I can stop it. I look ridiculous, but when I see the photo, it’s kind of perfect. Hugh’s grinning at the camera, looking all charming and effortlessly handsome as always, while I’m gazing up at him, clearly laughing and obviously so in love.

I bite my lip, hesitating. “I don’t know… I look a little -"

“You look great." Hugh cuts in, his tone firm but soft. “Come on, y/n. This is us. It’s real.”

I glance at the picture again. He’s right. It’s not some polished, perfect photo shoot - it's just us. Happy, in love, and completely ourselves. I sigh, giving in. “Okay, fine. Let’s post it.”

He beams at me, clearly pleased, and starts typing a caption on his phone. I lean over his shoulder to read it:

>>thehughjackman: Caught laughing at all the rumors... guess they weren't all wrong🤫 #couplegoals<<

I laugh, rolling my eyes playfully "#CoupleGoals? Really?"

"You're right." he says, smirking as he backspaces. "How about.. #HughJackedY/n?"

I swat him laughing, and he finally posts it without any hashtag.

I take my smartphone and also post it with another caption:

>>y/ninstagram: Who knew Wolverine was such a softie?❤️🐺<<

And just like that, it’s out there. The world now knows officially. My heart pounds a little faster as the notifications start rolling in almost instantly. I feel a rush of nervous excitement—what will people say?

We sit there, watching as the comments flood in, one after another.

>>vancityreynolds: Took you long enough!<<

>>blakelively:This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Love you both!<<

>>ChrisEvans: Treat her right or Cap's coming for you!💪🏻<<

>>zendaya: Omg, stop! You guys are ADORABLE<<

>>officialladydeadpoolmovie: Deadpool approves of this union. Carry on.<<

I glance at Hugh as the comments keep pouring in, feeling a strange mixture of warmth and relief. There’s so much love here—so many people supporting us. It’s overwhelming in the best way.

“I told you it’d be fine,” Hugh says, his voice soft. He nudges me gently with his shoulder. “And look, everyone’s happy for us.”

I smile at him, feeling lighter than I have in days. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

More comments continue to roll in, some from fans, some from friends:

>>florencepugh: I KNEW IT!!!<<

But it’s the fan comments that really make me smile:

>>lordyx3z: Omg, I knew they were together! This makes me so happy!🥹😩<<

>>serenax77: Remember when y/n literally said 'fuck me' during an interview? Manifesting at its finest😂😂😭<<

>>hugh4ewa: Hugh, blink twice if y/n's forcing you to post couple pics😂<<

>>y/nno1fan: About damn time! Y'all had me waiting like the post credits scene of a Marvel Movie!<<

>>mynameseve: I need somebody to look at me, like y/n looks at Hugh😭❤️<<

>>girlpoolxpoppins: Can somebody pls check on Ryan? ASAP<<

>>boyinyellwspndx: y/n: "fck me!" - Hugh: "Say less". Dreams come true folks<<

I can’t help but grin at the flood of positivity. Sure, I know there will be some haters - there always are - but for now, it feels like we’re surrounded by love and support, and that’s all that matters. I glance at Hugh again, my heart swelling as he scrolls through the comments, laughing at some of the more playful ones.

“This was a good idea.” I say quietly, resting my head on his shoulder.

He turns his head slightly, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Of course it was.” he murmurs. “Now everyone knows you’re officially mine.”

I laugh softly, my heart feeling full. “And you’re mine.”

We sit there for a while, reading through the comments and enjoying the moment. It feels like a weight has been lifted, like we’re finally free to be ourselves without worrying about what anyone else thinks.

And honestly? It feels perfect.

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

@spectorrrhgf @tinawantstobeadoll @appetencyfortacos @weskerussy @kellyxo1 @larkkyoris @shukirschtein14 @corvusmorte @carefree-flowerchild @rexmeshlasblog @melmel-fandom @needz1nk @nonamevenus @morganlolitta @angelofthorr @pickuptruck01

Next part

[crowleysgirl56]

Updated with edits!

Timeline of the last 12 months 15 months of the Good Omens fandom.

July 2023 - Good Omens season 2 drops. Fans watch on the presumption this season is based on the sequel idea Terry and NG spoke of in the 90’s and 2006. Reactions are mixed but mostly positive. We’re happy with fluff. Initial thoughts: “I don’t see how this story could have been fleshed out into an entire novel, but I guess it was only ever just initial ideas, so I suppose that works.”

July 2023 - THE KISS.

Fandom reaction: NNNNNOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

August 2023 - NG responds to fandom

NG: “Season 2 isn’t actually based on the idea Terry and I spoke about.”

Fandom: “What?”

NG: “Season 2 is just a bridging story to get us to season 3. That will be the story that Terry and I discussed.”

Fandom: “What!?”

NG: “Season 3 hasn’t been greenlit by Prime yet so we might not get it.”

Fandom: “WHAT?!”

NG: “Also I wrote the kiss that way by giving the fandom what you want without actually giving you what you want. So like, stop asking me for things or I won’t write them.”

Fandom: “AAARRRGGGHHHHH!!!”

August to November 2023 - The fandom, now lost and depressed, mope through the halls of Tumblr and Reddit, desperately clinging to any piece of information dropped by NG, sharing fan art, creating headcanons and theories, and writing the angstiest of angst fanfiction ever written. Some weep in a corner mumbling about the South Downs. Most just trudge through their daily lives, listless and despondent.

December 2023 - Prime greenlights Good Omens Season 3.

Fandom: YES! OMG HOORAY! WAHOO! Dancing in the streets. Fanfiction turns to fluff and smut. NG is active and happy, answering many questions without actually answering them. Gives us the hilarious gift of Dottie and Sadie.

January 2024 - speculation of when season 3 filming will begin commences. Realisation that it could be quite a while starts to sink in. Actors and writers strike has caused delay to the scripts being written. David and Michael have taken on theatre work which will delay their filming schedules. Douglas McKinnon announces he’s stepping away as director. Fandom has slight freak out, but NG reassures everyone it’s nothing to worry about, and linked to the recent strikes.

Early to mid 2024 - “The invisible and unbreakable line that joins Crowley and Aziraphale”.

Fandom: AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! We inevitably become even more feral. Much fanart is made.

March 2024 - David hosts the BAFTAs and Michael helps him during the opening. David is then nominated for TV BAFTA for Good Omens.

Fandom: OMG YYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAYYYY!!! Much dancing and celebration is had once again. We are so in love.

May 2024 - filming schedule for GO season 3 is announced. It will commence January 2025. The fandom reacts.

Fandom: “That’s still so long away!” “Michael and David will have their hair dyed white and red for the awards season!” “Going by the previous production schedule this means season 3 won’t reach our screen until 2026! No!” “Cannot wait for this to start filming we are going to be so feral!” More fanfiction, more fanart.

June 2024 - David hosts Pub in the Park. Michael joins him.

Fandom: THEY ARE SO CUTE! HOW CAN THEY BE THIS CUTE, WE DON’T DESERVE THEM.

Early July 2024 - horrible allegations are laid against NG and the fandom comes to a terrible crashing halt. Much debate and discussion is had back and forth: “Believe the victims”. “Separate the art from the artist”. “Drop the fandom entirely”. “Step back for a moment”. There is a lot of arguing, but there is also still a lot of love. NG has fled all social media.

Late July 2024 - until it’s January, and the show actually starts filming, Good Omens season 3 has now become Schrödinger’s Series. It both now exists and doesn’t exist. Prime at any moment may pull the production due to the backlash against NG. The fandom now re-examines McKinnon’s departure speculating if he left for other reasons. We once again despondently trudge the halls of tumblr and Reddit feeling the same feeling of this time last year.

This section of the post was made in late July was this was original posted: And that pretty much brings us up to date. Anything could happen in the next six months, which is why I feel we’re all worried. It’s why I’m worried. So instead, keep sharing the art, keep writing the fanfiction, keep speculating with theories and headcanons. Let’s be here for each other. Because we created this fandom for each other. It doesn’t belong to NG anymore. Let’s do this for Terry. Personally, I can’t wait to come back to this timeline and add January 2025 - filming begins.

28 July 2024 - Michael Sheen, the absolute angel that he is posts a picture of his tartan socks clad feet alongside the caption “To our world”. Such a beautiful, beautiful man!

10 September 2024 - Amazon Prime announces production for season 3 is paused. Everyone loses their shit. There is much lamentations.

Unsubstantiated posts start circulating that the show is cancelled. People who have a friend whose cousin’s gardener’s former roommate claim they are involved with the production and therefore they KNOW the show is cancelled. More lamentations.

Amazon stays silent for EIGHT. FUCKING. WEEKS.

The fandom walk around in a god damn haze again akin to what August to December 2023 felt like. Will we be left with the final 15 forever?

Mid October 2024 - for about 3 days straight the fandom receives information that is akin to a rollercoaster of emotion. Head graphics designer Mickey tweets out a now deleted post that everyone is going back to Scotland. Then Peter Anderson Studio tweet out a now deleted post referencing the South Downs cottage. Then random casting company updates their subscription website advertising Good Omens: The Finale a TV movie. Entertainment website releases an article referencing this. The fandom LOSE. THEIR. SHIT. AGAIN. We honestly can’t take much more of this.

25 October 2024 - Amazon finally announces the news we’ve been half expecting half dreading with positive and negative ramifications. Neil Gaiman is gone. GOOD! Season 3 will still happen. GOOD! But now it’s just a 90 minutes finale. WAIT, WHAT, NO! But it could have been worse. It was a hairs breath away from being completely cancelled. GOD BLESS RHIANNA PRATCHETT AND ROB WILKINS.

It’s been a wild ride everyone. I’ve already posted earlier this morning (25 October 2024) my thoughts about the whole situation so go read that there. But for now? Gaiman is gone, and we get our ending.

For now here’s to seeing our boys with their red and white hair again.

[charlottes-diary-entries]

just a little something to get started with this blog <3 enjoy!

"afternoon amour" poly!marauders x reader, very, very fluffy

Now, despite the difficult and dreary task it is to stay focused in History of Magic, despite the awful, droning tone of Professor Binns, and despite the pleasant day outside that called to every Hogwarts student like a siren, you were dutifully scratching out notes on Elfric the Eager.

That's just who you were, a good student. Focused, dutiful! Your grades never suffered, and, quite frankly, you took pride in your work.

So, when the end of class rolled around and students were itching to chase out the door and into the sun, you were reasonably surprised to have Binns return a paper to you with a "Dreadful" marking on it.

You gaped at the "D" on the paper before quickly flipping through the pages. Red ink was scribbled all over it, corrections here and there and everywhere. By the time you recognized the handwriting and realized Binns had made a mistake by handing you the wrong paper, the student's paper that you held had scrambled out of the classroom with the rest of his famous friends.

You thought the Marauders were all relatively smart, how did Sirius Black manage such an awful grade?

Glancing around the now empty classroom and then out the window, you sighed, trying to decide just how worth it it was to follow the rowdy group outside and retrieve your actual paper. You looked at the "Dreadful" paper again.

Not that the Marauders had ever done anything horrible to you personally, it was quite the opposite.

They were far too friendly.

It was perfectly fine that they were cozy and affectionate with each other, seeing as the whole school knew about their sweet romance, but they always managed to pull you into their show. Little compliments here and there, the occasional brushed hand or shoulder. You flushed thinking of some of the things Black himself had shouted to you in public. Potter incessantly held doors for you and practically stole your books off your shoulder to carry them for you. Even Lupin had his moments of quiet suaveness, standing and sitting too closely to be entirely friendly, speaking to you gently as he explained things or said a joke only meant for you.

Not that you entirely minded, of course. But having three gorgeous Gryffindors flirt with you and distract you and be so romantic but never fully ask you on a real date could be... overwhelming.

A gentle sigh escaped you as you stood with your bag on your shoulder and Black's paper in hand. Might as well take the opportunity to enjoy the pretty day outside.

As you made your way out the doors, sunshine washed over your face, followed by the shouts of your peers enjoying the day. A quick glance around the courtyard led you to exactly what you were looking for.

There stood James Potter, emphatically recounting a story to Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. He seemed completely in his element, skin glowing under the light of day as he jumped and kicked and shouted to them. Remus leaned against a tree with his legs crossed, one arm holding Sirius to his chest (who was enraptured with James's story) and the other holding a novel. You smiled watching them. Their shared happiness was completely contagious to everyone around them.

Sirius looked like he was about to chime in with Jame's when you caught his eyes, a huge grin spreading across his face.

"Hey gorgeous! Don't you look lovely as ever?"

His shout made James turn and Remus look up from his book, smiles spreading across their faces as well as a flush spread across yours. James bounded towards you and tossed an arm around your shoulders, bright as ever.

"Hey there lovey," He said as he dragged you towards the others, much faster than you had been walking before, "to what do we owe the pleasure of seeing your pretty face?"

"A misplaced paper, it would seem." You shyly produced Sirius's horrid essay, and James snatched it from your hands.

"Christ, Pads, how'd you manage that?"

"Manage what?" Remus frowned, putting down his novel as James handed him the paper. He skimmed the front before pushing Sirius aside to flip through the leaves of paper, frowning more. "Sirius, I helped you study for this! How'd you still manage a 'Dreadful'?"

The boy in question scoffed a little, before smirking and offering a hand towards you. "Way to tattle on me gorgeous."

Your cheeks felt even warmer as James grabbed your bag and nudged you towards Sirius, who, once in range, grabbed your wrist and pulled you to sit with him. He wrapped an arm around your waist and tugged you into his side, leaning his head against your shoulder.

You whispered a quiet sorry to Sirius, who playfully shushed you, as Remus looked up again, scolding in his tone.

"I'm serious Pads, this is just horrendous. Did you even try at this?"

"Maybe. Maybe not," He then turned his gaze to you, mischief in his eyes, "maybe I was distracted during class."

At this you tucked your face behind your hands and groaned, making James and Sirius coo at you while Remus's frown softened.

"Quit using our dovey as an excuse, and set the poor thing free, you've just about crumpled them."

Sirius shot up at this, scandalized. "I've done no such thing!" He tightened his grasp on you and pulled your hands into one of his as he looked at you. "They don't mind my loving on them! Do you, gorgeous?"

"Uh-" You glanced between Sirius, Remus, and James, who had now set your bag down and sat in front of the two of you. Your face felt like it was on fire. This felt a little more serious than the playful comments you four had shared up to this point. James smiled pitifully and reached over to stroke your arm.

"Do you really mind, lovey? We'll leave you be if it's too much."

If it's too much.

You glanced between the boys, thinking about how overwhelmed you felt around them. The touches, the soft words, the loving pet names.

Glancing between them, you realized just how wonderful the feeling was. Sure you were overwhelmed, but it was a completely fuzzy, delightful feeling. You felt loved.

The longer you sat quietly, the more boys seemed to deflate. Sirius removed his arm and was about the shuffle off before you grabbed at his arm to stop him.

With a smile, you spoke up,

"No. Not too much. It's alright. I-... I like it."

Sirius grinned, scooping you entirely into his lap and holding you tightly as James laughed and Remus rolled his eyes fondly at his behavior.

"Perfect, I knew you'd be on my side, gorgeous." He tucked his chin over your shoulder to give Remus a stink eye and a smirk. "Looks like I win this time."

You feared Remus's eyes may get stuck if he kept rolling them, but he shook his head and scooched to lean against Sirius. His voice was filled with loving as he spoke up,

"There's no winning for you considering this essay."

You giggled as Sirius groaned and hid away in your neck, whispering a quiet "see what they put me through?" to you as James laid his head across your lap with a grin.

"Maybe they can help you study, Pads! Since it's clear Remus's tutoring isn't workin- OW! Hey!"

James rubbed at his cheek where Remus had just pinched him. The latter huffed and cozied up closer to you and Sirius, who laughed at James's misfortune. You began to run your hand through his curls as your eyes shut.

The sun's warmth felt lovely on your face, but being surrounded by your boys possibly made you feel warmer.

this completely not proof read i fear but i wanted to write something before the night ended, so have this as a gift my dears <3 much love, charlie

[jburrgf]

Bags.

Can you see me? I'm waiting for the right time. I can't read you, but if you want, the pleasure's all mine. Can you see me using everything to hold back? I guess this could be worse, walking out the door with your bags.

pairing: joe burrow high school! x book nerdy y/n reader.

summary: high school sweethearts, book nerdy girl, shy-misterious jock, player x nerd girl.

description: joe starts going on s/n book club, and one day they got stuck together at the classroom by mistake.

It was a truth universally acknowledged in my high school that Joe Burrow, the star quarterback, was unattainable. Joe Burrow is basically a myth. He’s everywhere and nowhere at the same time—on the football field, leading our team to state championships, and in my honors classes, where he sits quietly, blending into the background. He’s the quarterback, but he's not what people expect. He’s shy, nerdy, and mysterious.

I’ve always been invisible to Joe Burrow.

I mean, not exactly invisible—we’ve gone to the same school since we were in kindergarten, sat in the same classrooms, shared the same air—but for someone like him, I might as well have been a ghost. I always thought he had no idea who I was, just another face in the sea of people who adored him.

Still, I was ridiculously in love with him.

I had been hopelessly, head-over-heels, and completely smitten with Joe Burrow since the seventh grade. It wasn’t just that he was good-looking, or that he was the star quarterback—although those things certainly didn’t hurt. No, what had drawn me to Joe was how kind he seemed to be to everyone, how he went out of his way to help people even when he didn’t have to. There was something about the way he carried himself, a quiet humility that made him different from the other guys on the football team.

Still, none of that mattered because, as far as I was concerned, I was just another face in the crowd.

So, when I saw Joe walk into the same after-school book club that I attended every Tuesday, I was shocked. The school's book club is a quiet, nerdy escape for me after hours, and apparently for him too. At first, I thought he had wandered into the wrong room, but then I saw him sit down and pull out a copy of Great Gatsby. The fact that the quarterback was not only in the same room as me but also reading the same book threw me completely off-guard. For weeks, I couldn’t focus on anything but how to avoid making eye contact with him while somehow hoping he’d notice me.

But he didn’t.

Or at least, that’s what I told myself every single time I snuck a glance at him. He was quiet, focused, and didn’t engage much during discussions, unlike me. I always had my hand up, always contributing to the conversation, but never to him directly.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, and the faint scent of old paper filled the school library. I sat in my usual spot, the far corner of the room where the sunlight barely touched. My hands played absently with the spine of the novel in my lap, but my mind was elsewhere. Specifically, it was on Joe Burrow.

He was late to the book club meeting again, not that it surprised me. I was used to him sliding in just as Mrs. Fowler began her rambling analysis of whatever novel we were discussing. His late arrivals had almost become routine. He’d offer a sheepish grin, mutter a quick apology, and take his seat across the table from me. Every time, my heart did that ridiculous thing—skipping a beat or two—like I wasn’t used to seeing him in the same room after months of this.

He was a mystery I couldn’t quite solve. In class, he was quiet, smart, but always reserved. In the hallways, he blended in despite the attention the football team got. And here, in book club, of all places, he sat a few feet away, focused, intense, and always... distant. It drove me crazy, even though I had no right to expect anything from him.

I sighed, glancing at the clock. Mrs. Fowler was wrapping up her talk about the The Great Gatsby, and I hadn’t heard a single word. The meeting was almost over, and there was still no sign of Joe. Maybe today he wasn’t coming at all. Maybe—

The door creaked open, and there he was, slipping inside the room as quietly as possible, his eyes scanning the room. As expected, his gaze landed on the empty seat across from me, and my pulse quickened. He muttered his usual apology, and Mrs. Fowler barely acknowledged him. I kept my eyes down, pretending to be engrossed in the pages of my book, but my mind was far from calm. I could feel his presence like a warm weight across from me.

The minutes ticked by, and the meeting ended, the rest of the club members gathering their things to leave. I lingered, as usual, taking my time. Joe remained seated too, flipping through his copy of Gatsby, even though he’d barely participated today. I stole a glance at him, hoping he wouldn’t catch me. But as fate would have it, our eyes met.

My heart jumped into my throat, and I quickly looked away, my face heating up. Get a grip, Y/N, I scolded myself. He’s just a guy. A guy who probably doesn’t even—

“Hey, Y/N,” Joe’s voice broke through my thoughts, soft and hesitant.

I blinked, turning back to him, my heart now hammering in my chest. “Oh, hey,” I managed to say, surprised he’d even spoken to me.

He gave me a small, nervous smile, like he wasn’t sure if he should have said something or not. “Did you like the book?”

I blinked again. “The book?” I repeated, feeling like an idiot. “Oh, yeah. I mean, it’s a classic, right?” Great response, I thought sarcastically.

Joe nodded, and for a second, it seemed like he might say something more, but then he fell silent, his attention shifting to the clock on the wall. “I guess we better—”

Suddenly, the lights flickered, and the sound of a door clicking shut made both of us freeze. I glanced toward the entrance of the library, my stomach dropping as the realization hit. “No way…”

Joe got up, striding over to the door and trying the handle. It didn’t budge. He pushed it again, harder this time, but nothing happened. “I think… we’re locked in,” he said, turning back to me with a bewildered look.

For a moment, I just stared at him, processing the situation. Locked in? With Joe Burrow?

I stood up, clutching my book to my chest as I walked over to the door, peering through the glass. The hallway was dark, deserted. “The janitor must have locked up,” I muttered, feeling a strange mixture of panic and disbelief. “They didn’t notice we were still in here.”

Joe let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Well, this is… unexpected.”

I glanced up at him, the reality of the situation sinking in. We were stuck. Together. For who knows how long.

“Yeah,” I breathed, my heart racing. “Unexpected.”

We sat in silence for a while, both of us too awkward to speak. Joe leaned back against the wall, his long legs stretched out in front of him, while I perched on the edge of a desk, nervously flipping through the pages of my book. The quiet between us was almost suffocating, and I could feel my pulse in my ears.

“Do you think they’ll notice we’re gone soon?” I asked after what felt like forever.

Joe shrugged, his eyes flicking to the window. “Maybe. But I think most people have already gone home.”

I swallowed, trying not to let the panic rise. “Great. Just… great.”

Joe chuckled again, and I glanced at him, surprised by the sound. It was soft, genuine, and I realized then how rare it was to hear him laugh. His eyes caught mine, and for a moment, the tension between us eased.

“You don’t seem like the type to panic easily,” he said, a teasing note in his voice.

I raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know me very well, then.”

The silence stretched out between us, heavy with unspoken thoughts. I could feel the warmth of Joe’s presence even though we weren’t sitting close. My mind raced, but my words seemed stuck somewhere in my throat, tangled up with nerves. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, watching as he fidgeted with the cover of his book, his fingers tracing the edges like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

“Um,” I started, then immediately regretted it. The sound of my own voice startled me, and I felt my cheeks heat up. “What… what about you?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “Why did you join the club?”

Joe shifted a little, glancing at me briefly before his gaze darted back to the floor. He shrugged, his shoulders rising in that quiet, unsure way that made him seem far less like the confident quarterback everyone assumed he was.

“I guess… I just like books,” he muttered, his voice soft. “It’s easier than… you know, everything else.”

I nodded, understanding what he meant. “Yeah. It’s kind of nice to disappear into a story sometimes. I get the feeling. Nobody know me."

Joe gave a small nod, still not quite meeting my eyes. There was a vulnerability in the way he held himself that surprised me. Here was Joe Burrow—the guy everyone talked about, the quarterback who led our school’s football team to victory—and yet, in this quiet room, he seemed almost… unsure. Just like me.

The room felt smaller suddenly, like the space between us wasn’t as wide as it had been moments ago. I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but the words caught in my throat, tangled up with my nerves. I wasn’t used to talking to Joe, and now that we were alone, I found myself hyper-aware of every small movement he made, every glance he sent in my direction.

After what felt like an eternity, Joe cleared his throat, the sound quiet but startling in the stillness. “I’ve… always noticed you,” he said suddenly, his voice barely audible.

My heart stopped. I blinked, unsure if I’d heard him correctly. “What?” The word slipped out before I could stop it.

Joe’s face flushed a deep red, and he rubbed the back of his neck nervously, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor. “I—I mean, not in a weird way,” he stammered, his words rushed and awkward. “Just… you’re always there, you know? In class. In book club. And, uh, you’re really smart. I just… noticed.”

I stared at him, completely at a loss for words. Joe Burrow— Joe Burrow —had noticed me? My heart raced, and I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks. I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. I was too stunned, too flustered.

Joe shifted uncomfortably, clearly regretting his confession. “Sorry, that was weird. I didn’t mean to—”

“No!” I blurted out, louder than I intended. I winced at the sound of my own voice, feeling my face grow even hotter. “I mean, it’s not weird. I just… I didn’t know.”

Joe’s eyes flicked up to meet mine, and for a moment, we just stared at each other. There was something raw and uncertain in his gaze, something that made my stomach flip in a way I didn’t fully understand. He looked just as nervous as I felt, and somehow, that made it easier to breathe.

“I didn’t think you’d ever notice me,” I admitted quietly, my voice shaky but honest.

Joe’s eyes widened, and he shook his head quickly. “No, that’s… I mean, how could I not? You’re…” He trailed off, clearly struggling to find the right words. “You’re kind of amazing.”

My heart stopped again. Amazing? Me?

I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t used to compliments—especially not from Joe Burrow. I could barely manage to look at him without feeling like my heart was going to beat out of my chest. So instead of speaking, I just offered a small, shy smile, hoping it was enough to show him I appreciated what he said.

The silence between us stretched on, but it wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It felt like we’d crossed some invisible line, like something had shifted between us. Neither of us knew what to do with that shift, but neither of us seemed to want to break it, either.

After what felt like forever, Joe glanced toward the door, then back at me. “Do you think… we’ll be stuck here for a while?”

I shrugged, feeling a strange sense of calm wash over me despite the situation. “Maybe. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Joe nodded, but instead of looking anxious like he had before, he just leaned back against the wall, his posture relaxing a little. I could feel the tension in my own shoulders easing too, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t mind the idea of being stuck in this room. Not with Joe.

“I’ve always thought you were too smart for me,” he confessed, avoiding eye contact as he ran his hand through his hair. “I didn’t know how to talk to you. And then, everyone expects me to be this... athlete. Like that’s all I’m good for.”

I was speechless for a second. How could someone like Joe, someone so confident on the field, be so unsure of himself off it? That quiet moment between us, surrounded by old paperbacks and classroom desks, felt like something out of a story I’d read before. And suddenly, all the reasons I’d convinced myself he wouldn’t ever notice me melted away.

“You don’t seem like the typical quarterback,” I said before I could stop myself.

Joe raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips. “What does that mean?”

I blushed, realizing how that sounded. “I just mean… you’re here. In book club. That’s not exactly where you’d expect the star athlete to be.”

He laughed, the sound soft and self-deprecating. “Yeah, I guess not. But I’ve always liked reading. It’s just… different from what everyone expects.”

I nodded, understanding what he meant. We sat in companionable silence after that, the quiet no longer feeling so heavy.

As the minutes ticked by, the air between us softened, and the weight of our earlier awkwardness started to lift. Joe’s posture became more relaxed, and for the first time, I felt like we weren’t just two strangers stuck in the same room. We were two people who, despite everything, had more in common than I ever realized.

“So,” Joe started again, his voice low but steady, “if you like reading so much, do you have a favorite book?”

I bit my lip, considering his question. It seemed like a simple one, but the answer was anything but. There were so many stories I loved for so many different reasons. “It’s hard to pick just one,” I admitted. “But I guess, if I had to choose… maybe *Jane Eyre*.”

Joe’s eyebrows shot up, and he tilted his head slightly. “*Jane Eyre*? Really?”

I nodded, feeling a little self-conscious but also oddly proud. “Yeah. I mean, it’s more than just a romance. It’s about finding yourself and standing up for what you deserve, even when the world expects you to settle.”

Joe’s lips quirked up into a soft smile, and for a moment, I wondered if he was laughing at me. But then, he nodded thoughtfully. “I get that. It’s... about being strong, right? Even when things don’t go your way.”

“Exactly.” I smiled, surprised that he seemed to understand. “I guess I always admired Jane for that. She never let anyone make her feel small.”

Joe’s smile faded just a little, his eyes dropping to the floor again. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I think I get that more than you’d think.”

His words hung in the air between us, and I felt my chest tighten. I wanted to ask what he meant, but the look on his face told me it wasn’t something he’d share easily. He shifted, rubbing the back of his neck again—a nervous habit I was beginning to notice. When he finally spoke again, his voice was softer than before.

“People always assume things about me,” he said, his gaze still fixed on the floor. “Like, because I’m the quarterback, I have it all figured out. But… most of the time, I don’t. I feel like everyone’s watching, expecting me to be someone I’m not.”

I stared at him, feeling a sudden pang of sympathy. I had never considered what it might be like to be Joe Burrow. To have all that pressure on your shoulders, to be constantly seen but never really known. “That sounds… hard,” I said quietly.

Joe nodded, his expression still serious. “It is. But… then there are moments like this.” He glanced up at me, his eyes meeting mine, and my breath caught in my throat. “Where it feels like maybe… I don’t have to pretend.”

For a second, neither of us said anything. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, and the room suddenly felt a lot smaller. Joe’s eyes stayed locked on mine, and I could see the vulnerability there, the quiet need for something real—something he didn’t have to fake.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my voice. “You don’t have to pretend with me,” I whispered.

Joe’s gaze softened, and the tension between us thickened, but not in the awkward way it had before. This was different. There was something unsaid in the air, something I wasn’t sure either of us was brave enough to address. But it was there, lingering in the space between us, waiting for one of us to make the next move.

Joe shifted again, pushing off the wall and taking a small step toward me. My heart pounded louder in my ears as he came closer, his eyes never leaving mine. I could feel the heat radiating off him, and suddenly, all the air seemed to disappear from the room.

“So, what book are you reading lately?” I asked.

His eyes met mine then, blue and steady. “Oh, um... just some science fiction stuff. I’m not as into the classics like you seem to be.”

I blushed. “How do you know what I read?”

Joe smiled, a little shyly, looking down at his hands. “I pay attention more than you think.” He stopped for a moment and got back talking again. “I’ve liked you for a long time. But I never thought you’d be interested in me. I mean, you’re... you. And I’m just... well, I’m just the guy who throws a football.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Joe Burrow—*the* Joe Burrow—liked me? All this time?

“I—I don’t even know what to say,” I stammered, still reeling from the shock.

He glanced up at me then, his blue eyes more vulnerable than I’d ever seen them. “You don’t have to say anything. I just... I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time, but I was too nervous. I didn’t think I was good enough for you.”

I shook my head, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes. “Joe, I’ve liked you for as long as I can remember.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. The room felt impossibly small, like the world outside had shrunk away and all that existed was the two of us.

“I never asked you out because I thought you were too smart for me. You always know what you want and you’re so intellectual and funny, and smart, and beautiful…” Joe admitted softly, his gaze still locked on mine. “I thought you wouldn’t want anything to do with a guy like me.”

I couldn’t believe it. All this time, I had thought he was out of my league, that he didn’t even know I existed. And yet, here he was, confessing that he felt the same insecurities about me.

“I always thought you didn’t even notice me,” I whispered.

He smiled then, a small, soft smile that made my heart ache in the best way. “I noticed.”

My breath caught, and suddenly, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of us. Joe took another step closer, so close now that I could feel the warmth of his body against mine. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes flicking down to my lips and then back up to my eyes.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. All I knew was that Joe Burrow was standing inches away from me, looking at me like he wanted to close the distance between us.

He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against my skin. My heart raced, and for a moment, I thought—this is it. I thought he was going to kiss me.

But just as the space between us seemed to disappear, the sound of keys jingling echoed from the hallway. The door creaked open, and the janitor appeared, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw us.

“Oh!” he said, startled. “Didn’t realize anyone was still in here. You two okay?”

Joe stepped back quickly, his face flushing red. I felt the heat rush to my cheeks as well, the moment shattered in an instant. “Uh, yeah,” Joe muttered, running a hand through his hair nervously. “We’re good. Just… stuck.”

The janitor chuckled, oblivious to the tension in the room as he held the door open for us. “Well, you’re free to go now.”

I glanced at Joe, my heart still racing from the almost-moment we’d shared. His eyes met mine briefly before he looked away, his face still red. Neither of us spoke as we gathered our things and made our way to the door.

But as we stepped into the hallway, Joe’s hand brushed against mine, just for a second. It was brief, but enough to send a jolt of electricity through me.

“Y/N,” Joe said softly, his voice hesitant, “about what I was going to say before…”

I looked up at him, my heart still racing. “Yeah?”

He swallowed, his eyes flicking away for a moment before returning to mine. “Would you, um… maybe want to go to the spring dance with me? If you’re not, you know, already going with someone.”

My breath caught, and for a moment, I couldn’t speak. He looked so nervous, standing there with his hands shoved in his pockets, waiting for my answer.

I smiled, feeling a warmth spread through me. “I’d love to.”

Joe's face lit up with relief, a shy smile pulling the corners of his mouth. "Great. I was so afraid of you saying no to me."

"I could never," I said, honestly.

"That's... that's perfect." He agreed with me. "So, I'll pick you up around 7:40 pm, okay?"

I agreed with my head, giving him a smile back. But instead of Joe moving away from me, he started walking towards me. Slowly, making my heart throb inside my chest. The last thing I saw was his eye just before mine, and then he kissed me.

Like a real kiss. A kiss from the movies, that kind of kiss you say to your children. His lips were soft, his mouth tasted like peppermint. His hands were lost, but he found his way to the place I liked - my waist.

The boy walked away, looking into my eyes soon after. I just couldn't believe it. He smiled, shy, his cheeks turning red at an extreme speed, showing that he was also nervous. Nervous just like me.

"So..." He started talking again, but suddenly stopped. "Sorry, I got lost. I didn't expect this to happen today. Actually, I wanted to, but not in a strange way, you know-

"Joey." I called him by his nickname and saw his eyes getting brighter. "It's okay. I got you. See you at 7:00 at my house?"

He smiled, winking at me. "I'll see you on Tuesday." He smiled again. "We can read our books together after the club.

"It looks like a plan!" It was the last thing I said to him when I turned my back on him.

We separated in the hallway, but as I walked towards the exit, I couldn't stop smiling. I had come to the book club just expecting another quiet afternoon. Instead, I left with the promise of something new—something real. Something real with Joey.

[callsign-rogueone]

the spider - l.m.

Liam Mairi x reader When you find an uninvited guest in your room, you find yourself knocking on Liam's door to ask him for help. words: 861 🏷: no book spoilers at all, just fluff! mentions of spiders but nothing too detailed (mild arachnophobe here) and Liam handles it for you 🥰 reader is referred to as a girl once, but no pronouns used. this was originally going to be for someone else, but I realized I haven't fed the Liam lovers in a while, so here you go!

“I need you,” you blurt as soon as Liam opens his door.

He blinks, thoroughly confused. “What?”

You take a breath and try again. “There is a ginormous spider in my room and I need you to do something about it. Please.”

“And I was the first person you thought of?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. He has a point — you hardly know each other. 

“You’re my neighbor, so yeah, you were,” you answer, your cheeks warming. “Please, Liam?”

He doesn’t think you’ve called him by his first name, ever. To hear you whining it as you blink up at him, pleading… 

“Before it crawls into my bed or something,” you add urgently, shuddering at the thought. 

“Well, we can’t have that,” he says with a soft laugh. “Lead the way.”

He knows where your room is, knows you’re right across the hall, but he still trails a few paces behind as you make the incredibly short walk over.

You unlock the door and usher him inside, remaining out in the hallway.

He steps forward, taking it in; he’s caught glimpses over your shoulder, but never set foot inside.

It looks… lived in. There’s a pile of boots by the door, tonight’s homework and yesterday’s notes spread over the desk, and he could swear that’s a romance novel on your nightstand — you’re almost finished with it, judging by the location of the scrap of colorful parchment you’re using as a bookmark.

The bed is unmade, blankets pulled back as if you’d just gotten out of it. A small stuffed dragon sits on your pillow, a soft green thing that looks remarkably like Blythe.

And everything about this room smells like you, soft and sweet — he’s never figured out how you manage to do that, to smell so good when everyone in this entire school uses plain unscented soap.

His eyes finally catch on the intruder. It’s an ugly little fucker, but nothing to write home about, just a harmless garden variety.

“You know, it’s probably more afraid of you than you are of it,” he says with a glance over his shoulder.

“I highly doubt that,” you huff. “There is no reason why anything on Amari’s green earth should have that many legs. It’s damn creepy. Can you just smush it, please?”

“That’s a fair point. But it’s too big, if I smush it you’re gonna have spider juice on your wall.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Ew, okay, fine, um. There’s paper on the desk, and an empty cup.”

“See, you have the tools,” he begins, grabbing the aforementioned supplies, “you just need to take the leap and follow through with it.”

“No, thank you,” you reply from the corner of the room you’ve pressed yourself into, as far away from the thing as you can get. “I’ve faced enough of my fears this year already. This one is gonna have to wait.”

“Understandable,” he acknowledges, trapping it inside the cup and sliding the paper overtop it.

You give him plenty of space as he walks out the door, not leaving the corner until he returns a few minutes later. 

He holds up the paper silently, showing you the front and back, and flips the cup upside down, shaking it to prove that the spider is, in fact, gone.

“Where did you put it?” you ask, still paranoid.

“In the bushes, as far from your room as possible. Clear across the courtyard.”

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

He sets the paper and mug back on the desk where he found them, looking back at you. 

You pull him into a loose hug, wrapping him in that lovely scent — orange blossoms and vanilla, he decides. It’s intoxicating.

“Thank you,“ you say quietly. “For dealing with it, and for not thinking it’s dumb or making fun of me.”

He falters for a moment, but quickly brings a hand up to rest on your back. “I’d never make fun of you. And it’s no problem, really.”

You realize you’ve never so much as shaken his hand before. You pull away quickly, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, that was… forward of me,” you manage.

He laughs softly. “It’s okay. Come get me if any of its friends show up. I’ll give them a talking to.”

You can’t help but smile. “Thank you, Liam.”

There you go again, saying his name and making him feel things.

He offers you a soft smile that nearly brings you to your knees. “Goodnight, pretty girl.”

“Goodnight,” you breathe, shutting the door after he’s back in his own room.

“He thinks I’m pretty,” you whisper aloud, smiling.

“Of course he does,” Blythe says, amused.

You jump. “What have I told you about eavesdropping?” 

She sounds like she’s rolling her eyes. “And what have I told you about broadcasting your every thought to me?”

You sigh, conceding. “I’m still working on that. I’m sorry.”

“All in good time, soft one. All in good time.”

You kick off your boots, flopping down onto your bed with a sigh and picking up your book again, but you’ve lost interest. Knights in shining armor be damned; all you can think about right now is Liam.

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Lots of lovely kisses & an unwarranted upset in the standings

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Oct 2024 Week 2

Ongoing Series - Thai

Fourever You (Thai Thurs YT) ep 2 of 16 - Yes yes J&J should be first but I am weak in the face of, well, frankly this man's face:

Pond = greatest piner in a dog’s age. The yearning in that boy’s eyes is obscene, it’s like the most explicit sex that only he can see and we’re just voyeurs.

Thus I continue to adore this stupid show and everything it stands for. No notes. May the fluff continue eternal.

Jack & Joker (Thai Mon IQIYI) ep 5 of 12 - Everyone is so skilled in this show, but War is truly glorious. Considering the pacing, I think we are probably in for some long periods of darkness, suffering, and pain soon. I’m not mad about that prospect, it’s earned and foreshadowed, I just thought I’d lay it out there.

Kidnap (Fri YT) ep 6 of 12 - More boys from GMMTV with good communication. Who knew? Min has SUCH a white knight complex. NO SINGING. Good demanding kiss, though. Well, Ohm can handle anything. 

Meanwhile, this really is a bodyguard romance under another name. And I kinda wanna rewatch Never Let Me Go as a result.

Love Sick 2024 (Thai Sun iQIYI) ep 4 of 15 - Earn remains best boy and my favorite character. Phun is v jelly, as he should be. AND I like Ohm & N'Mik better in this version. I still prefer the original leads, but I’m enjoying this enough. 

I had no idea how much I missed Gunsmile! It’s so nice to see him on my screen again.

Monster Next Door (Thai Thurs Gaga ) ep 12 fin - I hate Diew’s mom. Hate her. So much. She may be my least favorite mom ever in BL. That’s saying a lot. No I don’t think she was redeemed. 

Conclusion

Adapted from the novel Godzilla Next Door by Jiwinil about an introvert who lives mostly in his room, until a loud annoying extrovert moves in next door. This was one of my top picks for 2024 and I’m delighted to say it satisfied expectations. A charmingly serene story of opposites attract, that featured good communication, patience, and genuine affection used to build a solid relationship.(I’m particularly delighted that our musician is a drummer and I don’t have to listen to him sing.) Yes it’s a tad slow but it’s very earnest and leans into the kind of sweetness that Thai BL does best. Doesn’t hurt that this starred an actor (Big) that many of us have been hoping would get a lead for years. I was pleased and comforted. This is not a kind of BL that suits everybody, but it suited me admirably. 8/10 

Battle of the Writers (Sun YT) ep 10 of 12 - Ozone and the Ice Prince (name still unknown) did their little dance. What an earnest and romantic confession from our Icy man. I literally said “no no no just kiss, no foreheads.” And it was a great crying kiss, my favorite. Honestly, that amount of emotion hadn’t been earned by this pair, but I don’t mind. I could watch a whole show just about them. Also woah! Major nekid on YT?

Thailand......

Risking demonetization for arse…...

I guess we’ve all been there. 

Where was I?

I’m happy with this episode since it was mostly my side couple. But the distribution of main couple and side couple and the focus of each episode is wildly erratic with this show. It’s very odd. (And let's be clear we ordered errotic not erratic.)

Every You Every Me (Thai Mon Gaga) ep 1 of 10 - Jade and Chin have lived over a thousand lifetimes. In each one they somehow manage to fall in love with each other. (This pair, TopMick was piloted in a My Universe ep, that was one of the only ones I liked.) Soulmate premise is a mix of Color Rush and La Pluie. Frankly, this isn’t as good as either, but it’s enjoyable in a slow cheerful way. Especially if you like this particular set of tropes. It’s quietly lovely and I like the leads. Sunshine is very very sunshine and our tsundere is a grumpy mysterious nerd. Trigger for domestic abuse. It looks like each episode is gonna be a completely different meet cute with the same pairing. It’s more linked vignettes than any overarching story. So if you don’t like this pair, you won’t like this series.

Addicted Heroin (Thai Tues WeTV) ep 9 of 10 - More sports day. (Everybody’s doing sports days right now.) Random sides kissing. Where did the glasses person come from? Was he introduced and I forgot about it? Oh that’s the evil cousin! Okay… anygay. Sides randomly flip-flop who they like and I don’t know what the fuck is going on. This show. I swear. Ooo caught kissing. And… killed? What a mind fuck of a soap opera. Honestly, I’m fine if he’s dead, I don’t care at this point I just feel jerked around. 

For some reason no eng sub for me for the first half. So I watched with Spanish subs (which is about as good as my Thai, only for different words). What a wild experience.

Bad Guy My Boss (Thai Sun Gaga) ep 4 of 10 - Oh dear. I just can’t imagine ever rooting for this couple. Which means… Why am I watching this? 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

My Damn Business (Korea Sat YT) eps 1-2 of 7 - Oh I love it. Casual flirty westernized-style boss. Reserved reluctant cutie (yes we’ve seen the actor before). Is it disgusting workplace harassment? Oh most certainly. Do I enjoy it anyway? Yep, I’m warped. No defense, but at least it’s something from Korea. 

Teenager Judge (Vietnam Sat YT) ep 3 of ? - I like the lead being bullied and pushed to his limit thus turning into a psychopath. It’s gonna be a fun ride if it really goes Devil Judge just teens and actually gay. I wonder if it has the strength of its convictions? 

Our Golden Times (Hong Kong YT) 5 fin? - I guess that is the reunion? What an odd little piece. I’m not entirely sure what I feel about it except that this feels more BL than anything Hong Kong has given us so far (which isn't much). The subs are truly terrible. Since I speak absolutely zero Cantonese I can’t really fix them in my brain. I thought this was the final ep but then a teaser for ep 6 dropped so I we have at least one more. 

First Note Of Love (Taiwan Mon Gaga) ep 10 of 12 - It was a nice, if entirely unearned reunion. And the leads do kiss beautifully. Trust Taiwan. I am so glad that Orca is back! There was even a little language play flip-flopping just for me. Very cute. Also GREAT kissing. How long have we been waiting for Thailand and Taiwan to kiss? 

Eccentric Romance (Korea Weds Viki) eps 1-2 of 12 - Silkwood’s 2nd Thai/Korean colab. This has been in production since 2022 which is a LONG time in the BL world (worrying). But I like the concept: friends of 10 years who’ve been hiding feelings for each other enter the same university. Plus MURDER. Stars Yoon Jun Won (The Man BLK) and Thai actor Save Saisawat (Ai Long Nhai). I begin to think every The Man BLK member will eventually lead out a BL at this point.

It’s enjoyable in a weird way. Grumpy (hottie with a crush) + sunshine (captain oblivious). I gotta say, since this is the second relationship dual lingo style in our BL rn that it’s ALWAYS weird if the other half doesn't occasionally code switch languages, especially for specific words. In other words, the Korean dude is supposed to at least understand Thai, occasionally he’s should use a Thai world to get a point across. And the Thai dude is there to STUDY KOREAN, he should be slipping in and out of Korean regularly. Bah. 

It's airing but...

Love is Like a Poison AKA Doku Koi: Doku mo Sugireba Koi to Naru (Japan Tues Netflix?) 5 of 10 eps - I never managed to get hold of ep 5. Frankly, it’s going to Netflix (I don’t subscribe) so I might not finish this out of sheer laziness. 

The Hidden Moon (Sat WeTV) ep 1 of 10 - This is a supernatural romance (my ghost boyfriend trope) by Violet Rain (I Feel You Linger). A man is hired to write an article about an old mansion in Chiang Mai being converted into a café. He sees the ghosts of people who died at the mansion, falls in love with one of them. Was substantially recast. I loved IFYLITA except the ending so I think I'll let this one run it's course you can tell me if it's work tracking down... if they managed to land it. I have my doubts.

Gangster and His Boyfriend (Korea ????) 8 eps? - was supposed to air 10/10 Kim Dong Bin (famous trainee & idol reality competitor, yeah that happens) stars as a fallen idol who unexpectedly becomes entangled in a gangster family. Discovers that his friend’s father is responsible for the murder of his entire family years ago. I don't know much about this one, neither does anyone else and I'm not sure where I got that release date so……

Next Week Looks Like This:

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

Still Coming Oct 2024:

10/17 Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo (Korea Thurs Gaga) 8 eps - High school student Do Hoe lives with his violent and brutal father who runs a Taekwondo gym in a rural area. One day, cheerful Ju Young arrives, he dreams of going to college for Taekwondo. Joy begins to fill Do Hoe's dark life. An unexpected incident forces them apart, they reunite ten years later.

10/21 Love in the Big City (Korea ????) 8 eps - Okay, this is both a movie (already out) and a series. Neither one is likely BL and I can't imagine it will end happily. I'm giving both a pass but here's your synopsis.

Cynical fun loving student Young pinballs from home, to class, to on night stands. He and Jaehee, his female besie and roommate, frequent nearby bars where they push away their worries about life, love, and money with soju and hookups.

10/23 See Your Love (Taiwan Weds Gaga & Viki) 10 eps? - Zi Xiong, a third-generation heir, attempting to flee from taking over their family business, meets and falls in love with Shao Peng, who works as a hearing-impaired nurse. From the same production house as Kiseki Dear To Me in partnership with Shinehouse Theatre, funded by Taiwan’s BIGART + Japan's Rakuten (Viki). Show includes Lin Chia Yo (Be Loved in House: I Do). Director Chiang Ping Chen’s childhood experiences with his deaf uncle have inspired the drama.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

Addicted Heroin

Incidentally he didn’t ask to “be with Ter” he asked if he could flirt/court him. jeeb doesn’t really have a direct translation, but it isn’t “be with.” 

Fourever You

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

Sigh, Tumblr in its infinite wisdom doesn't like too many at-ings.

[astarionancuntnin]

request for: @ladycroft5245

Public Display of Attention

summary: his consort - his beautiful, too kind for her own good - forever young lover. she was his, and his only, and he believed it was long overdue to make that statement clear among the rest of their group. after tonight, the only name spiling from her luscious lips would be his.

pairing: ascended astarion x reader!tav

rating: E

word count: 4.6k

cw: 18+. astarion POV, late act 3 setting (so potential spoilers), smut, big angst, depiction of racing thoughts due to low self-esteem/jealousy, very possessive behaviour and sex, public sex/exhibisionism/slight voyeurism, oral (f!receiving), hold the moan, mentions of pregnancy, breeding kink, mating press, p in v, blood/vampire bites, creampie.

a/n: songs inspo for this one were taste and who were you with last night by ari abdul, if you wanna get an idea of the vibe as i was writing this up

read on ao3

my masterlist

or keep reading down below~

It was in the little things that he noticed it the most. How she was always willing to give a helping hand to anyone who asked — and even those who didn’t, quite honestly. Gods, how it aggravated him in the worst ways. Her kindness was her most admirable trait, yet also her biggest weakness.

Then again, that's how he truly fell for her in the first place.

How she was simply too pure for her own good, and it was most infuriating at times; constantly giving people the benefit of the doubt, believing everyone was inherently good, desiring to befriend everyone and truly believing everyone had a good reason to act the way they did. As if she refused to see the corruption of this world and its people, of him, of all people.

Maybe that's also why she opened her heart to him in the first place. Maybe it had nothing to do with his charms, and although he believed he had successfully and very easily seduced her for his own protection, he kept thinking she would slip away from his grasp at any moment. 

The doubts kept growing as one night he spied on her as she indulged Wyll for a dance. Well, not as much spying as they did it right next to the campfire, anyone could see them. Then again, that might be what bothered him so much. 

How carefree they were to dance the night away, visible to all and with no shame whatsoever. How he avoided being publicly seen with her, reserving their time together in the privacy of his tent. How the voice in his head screamed, “You're wasting her time. She deserves happiness with someone whole, someone who can make her as happy as she is with Wyll. You could only bring her misery. You don't deserve her.”

And how hard he had tried time and time again to push those thoughts away, to convince himself that she did choose him, that he deserved her love, no matter how novel the concept was to him.

But when he witnessed Wyll leaning in closer, his lips reaching for hers, Astarion turned away, closing the flap of his tent. He couldn't bear to stare much longer, as his heart shattered at the thought that the moments he spent with her were but ephemeral. Gone in an instant, a bittersweet memory, and how foolish of him to believe he could have had a chance at love when he was but the shell of a man. His fear of losing her turned to resentment against not only himself, but also against their companion for experiencing what he could only dream of. 

Of course, he thought, how could I be such a fool to believe what we had could ever last?

But that night, before he could enter his reverie, she joined him in his bed. Without a single word, she snuggled up close to him and fell asleep in his arms, bringing cosiness to his bedroll with her hot skin warmed up by the alcohol flowing through her veins, and the soft beating of her heart calming his thoughts as he listened along.

In the morning, he listened in on her discussion with Wyll to learn she had turned him down in favour of Astarion. 

He couldn't begin to comprehend what had happened.

She had the opportunity to be with someone better, and yet she chose him, over and over again.

Many weeks later, when she spent her entire evening gallivanting at Gale’s side of the room at the Elfsong as he showed her tricks of the weave, standing close to her — too close — and she smiled, and laughed, and held his shoulder, and her eyes sparkled with amazement at the magic before her, it's as if everything she had ever done to prove her love became meaningless. 

He could practically hear what she was saying: Gale, you’re so talented, please, can you show me more? Can I spend more time with you? Oh Gale, how I love when you teach me the magic of the weave, when you touch me, Gods Gale, what I wouldn’t do to feel you inside me, fuck me, oh Gale—

The mere thought of someone else laying their hands on her in any way imaginable sent him down a spiral of dark thoughts. Since defeating Cazador, he only became more selfish, perhaps he would be the most selfish man she would ever know, but he was the only man she should want. After two hundred years of torment, of pure shit, he deserved better. Everything and anything he wanted, he would have.

In the past he couldn’t find it within him to keep her to himself, but now, now that he was all powerful, now that the world was his to claim, it wasn't something he would allow anymore. 

No.

This time, he wouldn’t sit by idly, waiting to rot and let those thoughts get the best of him.

He approached them, trying to appear nonchalant despite the seething fury boiling within him.

“My treasure,” he purred in her ear, interrupting Gale through yet another rambling of his. “May I have a word?” She turned her head around, caught off by his sudden presence behind her, with one hand on her waist, and the other on her shoulder, gripping firmly. When he noticed the uncertainty on her face, he answered her unspoken question. “I'm afraid this is of the utmost importance; it really cannot wait.”

He gave a quick glance at Gale to let the wizard know there was no stopping him from stealing away the woman between them. 

“Go on,” Gale said, when their leader remained silent. “We can pick up where we left off once our mighty Vampire Ascendant is done indulging in your presence, whether that be tonight or tomorrow.”

She gave him a sad smile and he nodded with a smile of his own, as she tried to apologise for cutting their time short, and it only added onto Astarion's irritation, who pulled her out of their shared room, and away from prying ears. 

“What’s wrong?” The worry in those soft, brand new crimson eyes of hers. 

Well, truth be told, he didn’t have an answer. He didn’t plan this far ahead, he just wanted to get her away from Gale as fast as possible. 

“Oh, how bothersome,” he clicked his tongue. “It seems to have slipped my mind completely.”

“Didn’t you say it was of the utmost importance?” she sighed, pouting.

“I truly apologise for cutting your time short with the wizard, but now that I have you here with me, I might as well keep you close. You do need to feed, don’t you, little love?” 

Her eyes wandered; this form was still new to her, she didn’t know yet when or even how to tell if she needed to feed. It was no bother though, he would teach her everything there was to know about it. He would be there for her, be the master he couldn’t have when he was in the same situation centuries ago.

She turned her head aside towards their room, probably thinking about Gale and how she left him hanging. Ugh, why did she have to care so much about the others?

“Ugh,” he sighed desperately. “The wizard will still be there when we're done, dear.”

When she turned back to him, she noticed his sneer in Gale’s direction and that’s all she needed to connect the dots. 

“Astarion…” She took a hold of his hand and laid it upon her chest, right over her undead, unbeating heart. His doing. “I promise you there is nothing between Gale and I, or anyone else in our group for that matter. Even Halsin made advances, and — although I am extremely flattered — I’m really not interested. You’re the only one for me.”

Her softness caught him off guard and his face softened temporarily before taking back its haughty state, rolling his eyes. 

“Obviously, I know that.” He lifted her chin with his free hand, the other laying over her waist, pulling her closer as he whispered over her, “You’ll be mine forever, after all.”

“Until the end of times,” she whispered back.

There it was, that smile she kept for him only, with her features softened, and yet, he knew that if she still had a pulse, it would be beating out of her chest.

He loved the way her eyes almost closed when he drew her in for a kiss, lips colliding in a passionate embrace. She let herself get lost in it, giving him control over this dance he knew all too well, but a dance he now took pleasure in, with her only.

His most beloved spawn.

His precious consort.

It was the first time in two hundred years he had something for himself, someone to claim as his, and he wanted to show her just how loved she would be with him, to prove to her she didn’t need to seek anyone else’s attention when she had him all to herself. She needed but to ask; anything she desired, he would give her.

But tonight, he would make that decision for her, and he would keep her all to himself.

Pulling back only slightly, leaving her wanting more, he murmured against her lips, “Now, can I interest you in joining me in bed?” 

“But I’m not tired,” she sulked. “And Gale was going to show me more tricks with the weave, and—”

“How about I show you what tricks I can do, hm?” He cut her off softly, bringing her attention back to him. He swore, if she mentions the damned wizard once more—

“What kind of tricks are we talking about exactly? Because I wouldn’t call pickpocketing the local bard a trick.”

He smiled at the memory, “I’m afraid you’ll have to trust me on this one, pet. But I can assure you, you will be exhausted by the time I’m done with you.”

It was so easy to reel her in with just but a few words. By now, he knew the telltale signs that he had caught her interest; a few quick looks as she was processing the possibilities of what this would entail, those same eyes shining as they fluttered shut, and the biting of her lip followed by her playful smile. 

“Fine.”

She simply couldn’t resist his offers. 

She lifted her chin with eagerness to meet his salacious look, and he got the impression she did so to appear taller, mightier than she really was. 

“As long as it doesn’t involve getting people hurt.”

Again, with the others’ interest at heart before her own. He wanted to roll his eyes at her request, but the only thought crossing his mind as he looked at the soft frown she was forcing along with her crossed arms was how utterly adorable she was, and how delicious the sight of her would be with that frown upside down as she panted underneath him, begging for mercy, with his name spilling from her mouth like a prayer.

The thought alone made his trousers feel much, much tighter.

Before the thoughts could overpower him, he answered her request, raising his hand. “I promise only pure, carnal pleasure for the parties involved.” 

She gave him a side look with her eyes squinted, and he just took her hand, raising it to his lips before kissing it with a smirk as a response. 

“Just follow me, little love, and I’ll show you exactly what I mean.”

And she did just as she was told, as she followed him back inside the room shared amongst the rest of their friends, to his bed. Most of their companions were already fast asleep, with some others quietly preparing for bed. Gale was among the latter, and to Astarion's demise, his bed was right next to his, with barely a partition separating their respective side of the room.

The faint light cast from Gale’s side depicted his shadow, and when Astarion noticed him reading in bed, he thought that maybe he could take advantage of their bed placement, if only for tonight.

He drew his own partition, hiding them from the rest of the room, before walking back to his consort.

“Now,” he purrs. “For this little trick of mine, I will need your full cooperation. Can I trust you to follow my every command?”

She nodded eagerly, her eyes fixated on his.

“Whatever I do, you must remain silent. Understood?”

Another nod. 

His good, little, obedient pet. How he loved that about her.

He walked behind her, leaning his head in the crook of her neck, whispering. “Good girl.”

Slowly, he reached for the lace in her back, untying her dress until it came loose. Her chest rose with anticipation, as he drew his fingers up at her front, lightly brushing his fingers against the light fabric covering her breasts. Hooking his fingers into the crown of her dress, he pulled her top down, releasing her breasts to the crispy air of their room. A warm, deep breath he released against her neck sent shivers down her spine, and she just closed her eyes as she let her head fall back onto his shoulder with a sigh, letting him work her like putty in his hands.

Gods, how he adored that she didn't bother wearing a bra out of combat. It made everything so much easier when it came to indulging his deepest desires: a light brush against the fabric here and there, just to see her nipples harden under his touch, a daring squeeze, sometimes, to feel the fullness of her chest, but his favourite was this dress of hers, and how easy it was to pull down to indulge in a quick nibble.

Maybe that’s also why he was reluctant to her being so damned touchy with the rest of their group, how close she allowed them to be to her precious body. His possession.

It’s okay, he thought to himself, no one will question my ownership after tonight.

Her dress carelessly fell to the floor when he pushed the sleeves down to reveal her everlastingly beautiful body. He pressed his body against her back, rubbing his growing bulge against her ass as he massaged her breast with one hand, while the other roamed south of her navel. A light pinch of her nipple while he reached her clit had her whimper once, potentially loud enough to already give the wizard next door an idea of what they were up to.

“Nuh uh, what did I say? Not a sound, darling.”

“S– sorry…” Her breathing was already heavy with lust.

She could try to keep quiet, but he would do anything in his power to make her crumble beneath his fingers, those same fingers that didn’t waste a second more dipping between her folds, earning another soft moan out of her.

“Already so wet for me, pet.”

He left a trail of wet kisses from her shoulder to her neck, where he licked all the way up to her ear, breathing hot air against her cool skin, while his hands kept working her up.

“Astarion…”

“My sweet, sweet thing, what did we say about keeping quiet, hm?” He dipped two fingers inside of her, and her hand flew to her mouth as she yelped in surprise. “Unless that’s what you really want? To let everyone know who owns you, body and soul? Or maybe you just want poor Gale to know what he’s missing out on?”

She only moaned louder, her palm serving no purpose as her noises escaped it, while he increased the pace of his fingers in and out of her. The lewd wet noises coming from her pussy were loud enough to be heard by their neighbour, he thought, as the shadow before them had put its book aside.

“My, my, what a depraved little thing you are, wanting to put on a show for our friends.” He pushed another finger into her and a soft cry escaped her. “You drive a hard bargain; it would be fun, wouldn’t it?” She kept whimpering and Astarion chuckled softly behind her. "We shouldn't keep them waiting in that case, should we?”

In a swift move, Astarion removed her panties, the only piece of clothing she had left, before picking her up to lay her on his bed and climbing on top of her.

Before them, Gale’s shade was seemingly depicting a far more pleasing activity than reading, with one hand visibly stroking himself and his arm resting under his head. 

“Well, well, would you look at that?” He tilted her head aside to make her watch his shadow through the partition. “Seems like our friendly wizard is having some fun of his own, wouldn’t you agree?”

Before she could answer, he left a trail of kisses down her belly, all the way to her delicious cunt that laid before him like a meal, ready for him to devour. He finally tasted her nectar with one languid stroke of his tongue from her entrance up to her clit. Her head fell back into the soft pillow, lifting the side of it to bite down as she held back a moan.

“Astarion…” She breathed heavily, “Gale is right there—”

“And? Look at him.” She turned her head aside, panting as she observed the silhouette dancing. “Clearly the man is enjoying himself, I'm sure it would torture him if we stopped now, and I did promise only pleasure for all the parties involved.” He licked his lips with a salacious smile. “I am nothing but a man of my word.” With one last look up at his lover, he dived back in, his tongue entering her at long last.

She tasted like the sun after centuries of darkness; like a springtime breeze that carried the promise of rebirth; like life, the one thing he had taken from her. Just as his heart beat anew, hers had stopped for eternity, and he liked to think that his heart would beat for them both from the moment he had made her his. Forever grateful for giving him everything.

Among the feverish moans of his beloved consort beneath him, a deep moan from across the room had Astarion lifting his head and turning it aside, where he noticed Gale’s shade now covering his own mouth in a poor attempt to hush his whimpers. Pathetic, he thought. Reduced to pleasuring himself from the pleasure of others. 

But he didn’t mind it tonight. No, everything was going according to his plan, and he would seize every chance to state his claim over her, that she belonged to him and him alone, and that the only reason Gale had the opportunity to even hear her is because Astarion allowed it. No one else.

By now, his face was covered in her juices, and he would gladly drown between her legs if it meant making her scream from the top of her lungs and letting Gale know how good she’s getting fucked, and how this poor excuse of a wizard would never even come close to experience this. Astarion’s cock only got harder to the idea of showing off his beloved — his greatest possession — with mere sounds; making her scream with the knowledge that someone was listening in, and someone got off to the sounds he was getting out of her.

His attention moved away from her entrance and over the side of her thighs, where he kissed her before biting down on her soft flesh.

Her hands flew to her mouth once again, trying to suppress her cries as they grew louder, but Astarion would have none of that. 

He paused his feast to reach for her wrists, pulling them down near her waist and pinning them to her sides, “Don’t be shy now, my treasure. Let him hear what he can only dream of having.”

With her blood now covering his lips, he moved back to her most sensitive area, where his tongue teased relentlessly and when he felt her squirming under her, he knew she was already close. He just had to push her in the right direction.

Pressing his tongue flat against her clit and swiping up and down, rubbing his taste buds over and over again where he knew she loved the most was all she needed. When she came, he plunged back inside her to drink in everything she had to offer, as her body convulsed from the waves of her orgasm. She couldn’t hold back the screams as Astarion continued to stimulate her, almost crying as the sensation became too much, but he knew her body now, better than anyone else, and he knew how to play with it to make the pleasure last.

He pulled back to admire the sight before him, as she laid eyes fluttering, dazed from the pleasure, trying to catch back her breath — one that she didn’t even need anymore. 

Little did she know he was far from done, as he did a quick glance towards Gale’s shadow to notice how his back now arched, lost to the feeling of his own hand as he sped up his pace. Surely the wizard could indulge them a bit longer.

He removed all his clothes, leaving no barriers between his lover and himself anymore, finally freeing the throbbing erection that begged for release in his trousers before he towered over her.

He hooked her legs with his, locking her in place as he positioned himself against her entrance, pausing with the head of his cock poking just against her pussy.

Their eyes met, half-lidded and full of lust. “You’ve been so good to me, little love. I believe you deserve a little treat, don’t you think?”

Her eyes flickered open, and she nodded with her mouth kept open as she breathed hard.

“Come on, you know the magic words,” he taunted.

“P– Please.”

“Please who?” He purred in her ear.

“Astarion! Please, Astarion, please.”

Always so good, so compliant for him. He would give her everything he didn’t have, he would make her his Lady, she could have the world if she only asked him, but for now, a few sips of his ascended blood to quench her thirst would suffice.

He offered his arm to her, and she held it carefully, breathing hard over the visible veins popping out before biting down to taste his delectable crimson.

As his consort, any amount of blood from him wouldn’t break their bond — she would forever be his until he decided otherwise — but he needed to be at the top of his game for this. She drank just enough to get her strength back before he pulled away, leaving her wanting for more.

The sight of her pupils dilated, her tiny fangs glistening from his blood dripping down her chin, it awakened something primal in him. He needed to fuck her, to taste her, now.

With a growl, he thrust his hips into her in one swing, and at the same time, his fangs dived right into her neck, where they had been a few nights ago when she joined him in eternity. He sipped, and gulped, tasting her blood as it was now mixed with his. How exquisite she was, how he would never tire of this, of her, of their lifeblood forever linked.

His ownership over her was clear now, and he felt oh so foolish for believing that Gale of all people stood a chance with her. No — she was completely and utterly his, mind, body, and soul.

His hips swung with languid strokes as he picked his rhythm, feeling her walls tighten around his length with each thrust. Her hands flew to his back, scratching near his scars — but not for long. Before she could do any real damage, he grabbed her wrists, pinning her down in place to focus on the real task at hand: making everyone know who she belonged to.

His fangs left her neck to find her lips, their blood mixing as their tongues entered each other's mouth, and a particularly well placed swing of his hips had her breaking the kiss, as she cried out his name.

“Gods, my name sounds divine coming from your lips, my love. Say it again.”

And she obeyed.

“Louder,” he growled, pouding deeper into her.

Again.

“You’re mine.”

And again.

“Mine. Mine.”

“Yours,” she panted. “Only yours, forever yours.”

“That's right, forever and ever after. If our lives end in this timeline, I will find you in the next one and make you mine all. over. again.” He plunged roughly into her with each of his last words, his hips slapping loudly against her with the sound of their mixed fluids. “Now, be a good girl and come around my cock, darling. Come as hard and as loud as you can, understand?”

He fastened his pace, ramming restlessly into her as his fangs dived into the other side of her neck. He bit without even drinking, biting her everywhere he hadn’t before, leaving his trace on her in ways others could never. 

The bed was a bloody mess; to anyone else she might’ve looked like a butchered corpse, but to the vampire ascendant, she was the most breathtaking sight he had ever seen.

When she came, it was with an otherworldly scream; one that could most certainly wake the dead. Her mind must’ve shattered as she convulsed beneath Astarion, completely losing control of herself. 

She was so warm now that she had drank from him, his blood running into her veins, his seed inside her womb. As her walls tightened against him and Astarion neared his own collapse, he only imagined how delightful she would look, belly swollen with his child after shooting loads after loads into her. What better way to tell the whole world he was the one to share her bed than to make her pregnant with his seed? As a spawn, this could’ve never been possible even in his wildest dreams, but as the Vampire Ascendant, it was a door that was potentially open to him once again. He just had to dare to believe. 

With those thoughts racing, Astarion came roaring, stilling inside of her as he unloaded himself, a part of him hoping he could spy over a small bump over her belly by the time they were done with their quest against the absolute. He came, and came, until she was so full of him that his come was spilling out of her onto the bed sheets, and yet, he remained inside of her. If he could, he would keep her chained to his bed and spend his days breeding her relentlessly until she was carrying his offspring. The thought alone made his cock twitch in anticipation.

With silence reigning once again over their shared room, Astarion looked back to Gale’s shadow to see a hint of his chest heaving. Whether he came or not, he couldn’t care less, this little demonstration was over.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself, wizard,” He shouted. “This was the first and last time you would hear my lover's cries of pleasure. Better have made that count.”

Not a word from the partition, but the shadow clumsily hid under its bed sheets before blowing away the light of the candle that betrayed him.

A devilish smirk now appeared on Astarions lips, as he turned his attention back to his consort, bloody, exhausted, and utterly ruined. Beautiful. 

Mine.

Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated <3

tag list (comment or message me if you want to be added!): @grimistheangerinmystares @silverfangmarks @roguishcat @nyx-knox @anacdoce @jwera @annnagennnie @angeldarkness95 @marlowethebard @hellethil @frankie-mercury @ariajc79 @ladycroft5245 @lets-just-daydream

requests are OPEN!

[eunnieboo]

IYHM ask replies! (1/3)

🌸 @daniluvz asked:

I am so happy, I got your book and I am excited it's finally next in my to be read pile!!!!!! I know this is way to soon to ask but will you be making another book? (I had to ask, I know you literally just came out with this one not to long ago, but I love your art and it has inspired me to continue my journey in art and graphic novel) sending all the love and well wishes❣️❣️❣️

wahhh thank you so much!!!! oh my gosh, while it's not a sequel, i AM making another book! i feel like i'm the type to keep big projects close to my chest until the moment i can reveal it to the world, but i have to confess i'm very excited about this one... AH i can't wait!

wishing you well too, i'm so excited for your journey omg!!! sending you all the luck and love in the world!!!!! 💖💖💖

🌸 @perseusrising asked:

my girlfriend and i read your book together! it was absolutely spectacular! thank you so much for sharing such a beautiful story

oh it makes me so happy when i hear about people reading it together!! especially couples! what a wonderful experience to share. thank you <3

🌸 @ggwweenn1 asked:

I work at a library and read "If you'll have me" because I saw it in our new book delivery and thought "oh hey I know them from Tumblr" and then immediately was like "ok ok where can I display this prominently so every 16 year old girl can read it!?!?!" xoxo

AHH i only want the best for everyone who works at libraries!! thank you for all your hard work!!! 😤 also OMG YES... i wish that every girl who needs this book may find it... tysm! xoxo!!

🌸 @elihoneybee asked:

my girlfriend got me iyhm for christmas im so happy thank you for this beautiful book

oh thank you so much!! ;_; i'm always so touched when i hear it's been given as a gift. i think books are such good presents! and giving them is such a sweet gesture <3

🌸 @mythicalphoenix14 asked:

I recently read your book and wanted to tell you how incredible the art was and the story.

oh my gosh. that means so much! thank you forever ♥

🌸 @animaestr0 asked:

me and my friends went to the bookstore a couple montsb back and i SAW "IF YOU'LL HAVE ME" on the shelf and i straight up screamed and yoinked it because I was late to the iyhm preorder chain and couldn't find it anywhere for a while BUT!!!! I HAVE IT NOWW WOOOOOOOOO

OMG YAYYYYYYY i'm so happy to hear that!!! YIPPEEEEE 💕💕 honestly i should've reblogged the preorder link more but i'm so slow to act and afraid of being annoying 😩 i wanna try harder next time!!

🌸 Anonymous asked:

I saw your sneak peak scene on twitter and i just fell in love with your artstyle in a heartbeat, the colors, your way of setting the scene and i just wanted to tell ya i ordered if you'll have me! ps: i'm from germany! :)

you are so wonderfully sweet oh my gosh! ;0; thank you so much for your kind words!! may it get to you safely~

🌸 Anonymous asked:

i saw iyhm in a store today! i'm in australia so i was going to buy it online but i was so moved seeing irl :') it's on my bookshelf. congrats on getting published, i'm so excited to read it!

oh my goodness, thank you! SAME every time i see it in a store, my heart skips a beat 💓 i feel very grateful to have physical copies out in the world, especially with the state of digital media preservation today... thank you again!!

🌸 @unfortunatelyem asked:

read the iyhm graphic novel in one sitting and almost cried!!! thank you for the food🙏

wahhh thank you so much for reading and enjoying!!!!

🌸 @dancingcoder28 asked:

Just wanted to tell you that I saw your book in my local library! I am so happy and excited to see it because it’s such a good book, and definitely deserves to be put out there 💜💜💜💜

AHHH yessss we love libraries!! omggg thank you so much for this lovely message, that means the world 💛💛💛💛

🌸 Anonymous asked:

HI HELLO i just wanted to let you know that my friends and i went to the big barnes and nobles in NYC recently and i recognized If You'll Have Me on display and ofc i HAD to have it so I picked it up right away and absolutely adored every page of it and thank you sososo much for giving us such a lovely story <33 it made me smile so much !!!!!!!

OMG THANK YOU AHHH!!!!! oh i wanted so much for it to make someone smile!!! T_T my dreams are coming true... i hope it felt like a warm hug <3 <3

🌸 @cosmonautchan asked:

SAW YOUR BOOK AT MY LOCAL WATERSTONES!!! IT'S SUPER COOL!!!

THANK YOU AHHH HOW WONDERFUL!!! i would love to visit a waterstones someday!!

🌸 Anonymous asked:

Hiii I'm in the middle of reading IYHM (digital version cuz I don't trust my local post office sorry 😔) and it makes me feel so uwu. I'm happy to see wlw works out there (I've read mostly mlm so far). Momo is so relatable it almost hurts, I too overthink absolutely everything. Congratulations on the release!!! Here's to many more! 🎉 🥂

totally understand omg rip 😔🙏 but yayyyy i'm so thrilled! the overthinking is so real for me too. also uwu is EXACTLY the feeling i wanted to capture 😂 the uwus and the doki dokis... i wish i had even more time to show the girls being cute and fluffy with each other! maybe next time hehe. thank you so much!!!

🌸 @hyper0bject asked:

heyyy i just got a copy of IYHM in! excited to read it, been following the mini comics for a bit now and pulled the trigger on it a couple days ago :) even just looking it over it looks super quality, print and heft! thanks!

ahh i'm so happy to hear that! thank you so much!! i'm still so pleased with how the physical copies turned out. i like paperbacks because of how they feel to hold, but i was amazed to find out the hardback has the art printed right onto the cover! i totally wasn't expecting it. ty again! :>

🌸 Anonymous asked:

I just wanted to let you know I remember seeing art of momo and PG when I was in seventh grade (the "you're the cute one" art) and today I saw them on the cover of a book at my library and I almost couldn't believe it!!! I finished it within that same afternoon, and I gotta say I'm so happy you were able to publish these girls. I love them to bits. keep up the amazing work!!!

omg it's been so long since i drew that!! it's amazing that you remembered them and that they came back to you like this!!! thank you so much aw... this is so incredibly sweet... i wish i had more words to say thank you <33

🌸 @lemonbaristas asked:

Happy book birthday!!! 🎉

thank you so much!!! 🥺💕

part 2 is on its way~

[calisources]

𝐄𝐗𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒, 𝐄𝐗𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒, 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.

All sentences here are taken from different medias about exes with complicated feelings, exes that are still lovers, jealousy, complicated feelings and the game of chase and catch. You can change names, pronouns, locations and more as you see fit. Some of these are suggestive and others are a little foul, so beware.

Every time I thought to, I wrote about you.

Actually, I hadn’t thought of her for a long time.

Are you waiting for your lover? Do you know that's the only reason anyone comes to a place like this in the middle of the night?

Is that why you're here?

You can go pick another spot. I found this one first.

If you hadn't stolen my bride away in the night, I would not have been forced to take such drastic measures to get her back.

What do you want? An apology? For me to crawl back into your bed and play nice, little wife?

Why should I want spoiled goods returned to me?

You're gone and you left me. My heart has dissipated. The only thing I can feel is the blood rushing through my veins and the strings that hold my fragile heart together.

When you truly love someone, it doesn't go away.

I don't want to forget what we had.

Everything is moving so fast. Before long everyone we know will be scattered across the country, the world even. 

Have I lost you love?

Why would she wear a dress like that? Is she doing it just to torture me?

You need to change clothes now. Everyone is looking at you.

You don’t control what I wear or who I wear it to.

For someone who looks after hearts, you can be careless. You know you broke mine, don't you?

You can't hold on to things just because of the memories.

Yes, I made the mistake of falling in love with a man without any feelings.

You're with him?

You’ve always enjoyed people fighting for you.

The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.

I will never blame Barry for falling in love with you but I will blame him for considering himself eligible.

Don’t torture me any more, I can’t stand it.

Whatever there is between you two I don’t want to know about it.

Just shut up. I need to not to think and you need to think less. We need this.

He is in love with you. I read the fucking letters.

Where the hell have you been?

I don’t need your permission.

Oh, but I do care and you do need my permission. You’ve become very forgetful, my sweet—I’m your husband, remember? Take off your clothes.

I’m jealous, and I find the feeling not only novel, but singularly unpleasant.

Do you love her?

You pushed me away.

Do you want me then, to deceive and entrap you?

It often gives a lady a pleasure to giver her lover a pang.

You're jealous because I actually go after what I want, and I get it.

I'm afraid my jealousy is a beast I find difficult to tame.

I’m not obsessed with her.

It is possible to care about a woman without wanting to bed her.

If girls could spit venom, it'd be through their eyes.

She's a fucking rat trying to humiliate a queen...She's nothing.

That's none of your concern.

I'd like to know who's been giving rings to my council.

But just out of curiosity, how do you feel about getting my name tattooed on your forehead?

You don’t need to worry about Reece.

You are doing all of this on purpose. To get a rise out of me.

Perhaps it bothers you that I am not longer yours to keep and play with.

I chose not to follow your advice. Ned is a very nice person. Handsome, personable—a perfect escort.

Fuckin' my man in my bed. You got some goddamn nerve, girl.

I know you'd react negatively if I approached a make. You're... possessive.

Sugar, I'm way past possessive.

You like jealousy. You like knowing people want you.

I don't get jealous, I get even.

I am not yours. I stopped being yours, you have no right to keep me away from others.

It has been years since you seen me and you still behave like this.

She is my girlfriend, I can do whatever I want to her. 

You know my heart, It’s yours. But I’m done.

I want you to be in my arms again. I don’t think I can live without you.

Every day is hard and the nights are so cold without you here. 

Don’t look away. Look me in the eyes and tell me you no longer feel anything for me. That you don’t think of me. 

This is the reason I need to go away. I can’t be around someone I can never have. 

I am over you, but my heart is still under the spell of the relationship that was. I miss you.

You’re still my person, even if I’m not yours.

I have seen you give him looks and smiles this very night, such as you never give to—me.

I don’t mind you think of someone else, soon I will be the only one in your mind.

Do not worry, I will make you forget everything and everyone. 

This is your punishment, for your little trick tonight. 

You have to stop doing this. Bring me to your bed, making me want you. 

Does it bother you, the thought I will be wed soon? That a man will share my bed every night?

[strawbellyx3]

Some thoughts on JinMao in The Apothecary Diaries LN (spoilers)

I love how Maomao's love for Jinshi is written in the Light Novel. She's an unreliable narrator and can't put a name on what she feels for a long time and heck, for the most time she doesn't even want to. The beginning of volume 6 showing this perfectly when she didn't want to leave Jinshi's hair stick behind, carried it with her and when she slept, she kept it near her chest because she didn't want to have it anywhere where she could see it. The symbolism *chef kiss* (she doesn't want to face her feelings but also still carries them close to her chest)

She purposely chooses to avoid thinking about any potential feelings for Jinshi and at the end of the same volume it's also stated that she does have some kind of affection for him that she can't yet put into words.

For readers, it's easy to view Maomao's avoidant attitude as disinterest. Even more so paired with how she doesn't seem to ever be nervous around Jinshi. But really, we don't need blushy nervous Maomao to understand what she's feeling. Her feelings come to show everytime she worries about Jinshi's well being and goes out of her way to get him to eat and rest, takes time of her own day to make sure that he's well.

When at the beginning, she always considered him bringing all these tasks to her as bothersome. Maomao just wanted to experiment with poison and make medicine, she didn't want to spend time on anything else, really.

Then, in volume 9 she's even willing to give up her agency if it meant helping ease his burdens.

Maomao, miss "I don't want to have anything to do with this, this is bothersome" tells him to use all of her. Use her until she falls apart. (while kabedoning him, love Maomao being an absolute girlboss even when she tells him to use her)

She's worried by his selflessness. How he's unable to use other people to reach his goals and shoulders everything on his own, wanting to save everyone. Maomao gets upset by it and worries he'd never get anything in return and become as luckless in life as her adoptive father. Who carries the same selflessness and kindness.

I don't think we talk enough about how much it means for Maomao to get to a point where she would rather get used by Jinshi than to see him exhaust himself.

This whole scene afterwards is just..generally really heartwarming honestly.

(Volume 9 Chapter 20)

Her hands went to Jinshi’s cheek. “You’re only human, Master Jinshi. You’re not some mythical immortal who can save everyone.” She held his face in her hands, the fingers of her left hand brushing his scar. “You can be wounded, scarred, brought low. Only human.”

Who was she talking to? She knew Jinshi was standing in front of her, but for some reason she kept seeing Luomen’s face.

No wonder I’m so upset. The principle that drove Jinshi’s behavior seemed very similar to Luomen’s. She was afraid that if he went on like this, he would end up just as luckless in life as her old man. Just like Pops... He’d spent himself trying to rescue everyone and everything. Like a fool. He should have wanted more, been greedier, but instead he’d suffered his fate patiently. Suffered and suffered, and for what? To become an old man resigned to his empty hands. This was, it was fair to say, Maomao’s one criticism of her father. She’d felt it keenly in the affair with the Shaonese shrine maiden. She respected Luomen immensely. A man who never lost his kindness no matter what unhappiness he encountered was like a miracle. The price, though, was that his body and his heart were both battered. In time he became so that everything he did, he did in the expectation of defeat. Would Jinshi end up like him one day? Or— “Please, please don’t go doing anything else like burning a brand into your skin,” Maomao said. “I heard you...the first several times,” Jinshi replied. “Are you sure?” A smile flitted across Maomao’s face, and she slowly pulled her hands away.

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Three Rules

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: being in an abusive relationship, domestic violence, covering up bruises (nothing is ever explicit, just talked about), minor fluff at the end

Summary: Bucky Barnes has been assigned to you as a way to overcome his feelings and separate himself from the Winter Solider. You're his saving grace and maybe, he can be yours.

Squares Filled: "need a medic?" (2021) @star-spangled-bingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

The mirror above the steering wheel is so tiny but it’ll have to do since you don’t have your big mirror in your purse this time. You make sure your makeup is good enough to last the whole day, and more importantly, to keep what’s underneath hidden from everyone else. You don’t know what you’d do if people found out about your home life.

When you deem yourself okay, you grab your things and head straight to work. Your assistant, Carly, greets you with a friendly smile and a cup of coffee.

“Good morning, boss!”

“Morning. Who do we have on the books today?”

“The only one is Bucky Barnes.”

“Great. Send him in as soon as he gets here.”

“Sure.”

You walk into your office and make sure everything you need for today’s session is in front of you. Bucky Barnes has only been seeing you for a couple of months so it’s still so new to either of you. You're a well-respected psychologist who had many clients, but you never thought you’d be seeing the former Winter Soldier.

You’ve heard the stories. You know what he’s done but he’s trying to atone for his mistakes. One of the important ways he’s going to do that is if you give him the chance to. He’s been respectful of you even though he’s closed off. Someone like him who experienced the torture he’s been through isn’t going to open up easily. It’s hard getting him to talk about himself but you’re hoping that if you start from before Hydra it will get him to open up to you a lot more.

His appointment is in a couple of minutes so you check yourself using your desk mirror to make sure everything still looks the same.

“Boss, Mr. Barnes is here,” Carly says through the phone intercom.

“Send him in.” The door opens and Bucky walks in with an uncertain look in his eyes. You give him a small yet friendly smile to ease his concerns. “Hello, Mr. Barnes. Please, have a seat.”

“Please, call me Bucky.”

“Okay, Bucky.” He sits down on the couch across from your desk. “How was your week?” He shrugs in response. “Did you do anything special?”

“I spent time with Sam and his family.”

“How did that make you feel? Did you like it?”

“It was alright,” he sighs.

“Did you uphold your three rules?”

Rule #1: Don’t do anything illegal. Rule #2: Don’t hurt anyone. Rule #3: Introduce himself as James Barnes instead of Bucky, formerly the Winter Solider.

“Yes.”

“That’s good. I’m proud of the progress you’ve made since seeing me. Is there anything you’d like to talk about specifically that happened this week?”

“No.”

He can’t seem to look at you. He’s talking to you, that’s a plus, even though he’s only giving you one-syllable words.

“Bucky, if this is going to work, I need you to try here. I’m not asking you to write me a novel about your life. I’m asking you to give a little. Can you do that for me?” you ask in a gentle tone.

“Okay,” he sighs and looks into your eyes. “I’ll try.”

“What would you like to talk about?”

“Steve.”

“What about Steve?” Bucky looks like he wants to cry. Anything about Steve makes him question everything about him. He left Bucky. He left everyone behind to start a life in another timeline. “This is a safe space. Everything you’re feeling is valid, Bucky. When you’re ready, I’d love to hear what you have to say.”

It takes him ten long minutes to find the courage to talk and when he does, he can’t look at you.

“What if Steve was wrong about me? I was under Hydra’s influence when we crossed paths again, and he did everything he could to save me. He even brought me to Wakanda to get that shit out of my head. What if it’s still there? What if they say those words again and I’m back to being the Winter Soldier? Sometimes I don’t think I’m worth saving.”

You want to cry for him. He is so badly damaged that it will take a long time if not the rest of his life to be okay again. He might have happy moments here and there, but those fears will always be there. You have to choose your words carefully.

“It’s hard to see the good in someone who has done bad, but that doesn’t make you a bad person. Steve remembered his best friend and knew the kind of person he was. Steve remembered something in you that is still true to this day.”

“What?” he asks and looks up at you with hints of tears in his eyes.

“I see a man trying to do good, to atone for his mistakes, and I think that’s someone worth saving. Steve saw it, too.” A single tear escapes his eyes but he doesn’t wipe it away. “If you are who you think you are, you wouldn’t feel remorse for what they did to you. The fact that you do shows me that you’re more than what they put in your head. You’re trying to do good with the bad you’ve been given, and that’s not a bad person.”

You’ve made excellent progress with Bucky this session, and you think the next one is going to go by just as smoothly. He only gets an hour but you make the most of the rest of the hour.

“The same time next week?” you ask.

“I’ll see you then, Doc,” Bucky smiles and leaves your office.

With each passing session, you and Bucky form a stronger bond until he realizes he looks forward to being with you. You make his day a bit brighter but the last thing he is gonna do is tell you that. You’d never have romantic relations with a client but you can’t say the same once they no longer are your clients.

You show up to work one week dabbing makeup on your face while driving. You’re on the phone with your husband. He isn’t on speakerphone and your phone is resting in one of the cup holders, but you can still hear every word he is saying as clear as day. He is yelling that loudly at you. You forgot to do the dishes before you left for work and now he is telling you what a burden you are, how much he hates you, and that you’re useless…

…and those are the nice things.

“Baby, I was running late this morning. I’m sorry,” you sigh and pick up the phone.

“I will deal with you later,” he growls and hangs up the phone.

You’d cry but then you’d ruin your makeup, and you’re already at work. You push down your feelings about your abusive husband and walk into work. You gasp at how hot it is, and you look at your assistant who has her work jacket off.

“What is going on in here? Why is it so hot?”

“The air conditioning is broken but someone is coming to look at it later.”

“Fine,” you sigh. “How many today?”

“Three.”

“Send them through.”

You get through the first two clients with as few problems as possible but by the time Bucky comes in, you’re almost about to break. You're tired, your face is pulsing with pain, your makeup feels like cake at this point, and you don’t know how much longer you can stand sitting in the heat.

“Hi, Bucky. Please have a seat,” you greet. He sees the immediate shift in your behavior and you’ve only said six words to him. “I’d like to start this session by talking about last week. You said something about taking a trip with Sam, right? How did that go?”

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Bucky, we’re here to talk about you, not me.”

Bucky has to let it go for right now but he can’t when you wipe your face to clear the sweat. You forget that you have makeup on otherwise you wouldn’t have wiped your face with your handkerchief. It’s not entirely present but Bucky knows a bruise when he sees one, and you have a dark one near your eye.

“Need a medic?”

“I’m fine. I fell.”

“I’ve fallen plenty of times. I’ve gotten hit enough times to know a bruise caused by a punch when I see one.”

“Bucky, please. Drop it. We’re not here to talk about me.”

Bucky notices you play with your wedding ring nervously whenever the spotlight is on you. He’s not stupid. He knows exactly what’s been happening here. For your sake, he lets it go. The session is cut short due to Bucky needing to be somewhere, and you made it clear he is still getting charged the full hour whether he uses it or not. He was fine with it so you moved on with three other clients after him.

The air conditioning was fixed after the first client, so you redid your makeup in the bathroom to be more presentable. It’s late when you finish with your last client, and you curse at the time. Your husband is going to kill you if you’re late again. You gather your things and rush out of your office, but Carly stops you before you can get far.

“Listen, I’m running late, so can you--”

“The police called earlier. I told them you were with a client and they asked if you could call them back. They said it was urgent.”

“Oh, okay,” you stutter. She hands you her phone after redialing the last number called. “Hi, my name is Y/N. My assistant got a call earlier?” You hear the words they’re saying but your brain isn’t processing them. “Wait, I’m sorry, he’s what?”

“Your husband is dead, ma’am. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“How? When? I just talked to him this morning.”

“My guess is that he’s been dead for maybe four hours. He died from a severe beating and blunt-force trauma to the head.”

All you hear them saying is that you’re free. You’re finally free. No more pain. You’re not sure who killed your husband because he didn’t have a lot of enemies. Despite how he treated you, he was very charming to everyone else. He put up this facade that made him look like a saint when really, he was the devil.

When you show up to work the next week, your hair is pinned up, you have light makeup on, a nice outfit, and your heart is light. You’ve never been happier now that your husband is out of the picture. He was a wealthy man, so you got all of his money to use how you see fit. He was so horrible to you so maybe his money will bring some happiness to people when you donate a chunk to different charities.

Bucky shows up right on time, and you give him a smile when he enters your room. You look down and notice some bruising and scabs on his knuckles, and if his metal hand could scar as easily as flesh, he’d have scars there, too.

“Have a seat, Bucky.”

“You look happier.”

You chuckle in amusement. You look Carly through the small glass window who is busy taking calls for you to listen to later. You look back at Bucky who raises his eyebrows in question.

“The following conversation didn’t happen.” He nods in understanding. “My husband is dead. Someone killed him.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything for a long five minutes.

“Did he deserve it?”

“Yes.”

“Then don’t worry about it.”

“Did you break rule number two?”

“I might have,” he smiles, “but I had a really good reason.”

“What reason is that?” you ask and sit back.

“There’s this woman I know, and for the first time since I met her, she actually had a genuine smile on her face… and it is gorgeous. I guess her husband didn’t know what he had when he had her.”

You smile at Bucky.

“No, he didn’t.”

x

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[intermundia]

i love how the revenge of the sith novelization is able to provide so much vivid insight into anakin's mental state, with stover giving words to what hayden's pained scowl and wet eyes are able to imply.

we see how far he's already gone, how close violence is to the surface of his thoughts. this is the first time in the book that in any way he has been a threat to padmé, instead of desperately trying to save her. he's really teetering on the edge, like "a bug he could crush beneath his heel and keep on walking?" the biggest possible yikes 😬

but, in a moment that expands what is shown in the final film, we see him pull himself back from that space:

we see how he's not gone yet, how he's teetering on the edge, but how he's aware that he's on the edge. it's not just that he's not the jedi he should be, it's that he's in free fall in the dark. he doesn't know how to orient himself, who to believe, how to behave. he's detached from all the bonds that keep him stable, keep him sane. the order, obi-wan, now padmé? palpatine has been relentlessly and successfully alienating him from everyone, playing him perfectly.

the problem, and why his maniuplations work so well, is that because deep down, anakin wants to be played. for all his confusion and panic, he wants what palpatine is offering, he likes the way palpatine flatters and encourages him. he's close to the edge, so close, and about to leap off, because he can. these last moments of self-awareness, self-recrimination, we see the man he used to be tugging impotently at the man that he's become. he's already lost control in so many important ways and it's so painful to see haha