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joelsgoldrush · 1 month ago

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“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

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yay-depression · 2 years ago

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i have definitely made a post like this before but i’m so fucking fed up with ppl that i’m making it again. why does no one seem to know what a trigger warning is!! why are people so offended by the idea of giving other people information to regulate themselves?? “life doesn’t come with trigger warnings!” IT LITERALLY DOES?? WHAT DO YOU THINK MOVIE RATINGS ARE?? we use trigger warnings all the fucking time.

also: no one seems to know what being triggered means?? being triggered is shorthand for stimuli or situations triggering a mental health crisis. whether that crisis is a PTSD episode, a psychotic episode, a panic attack, a meltdown, etc. being triggered is not “this makes me comfortable” or being “easily offended”, it’s a serious case of emotional distress and dysregulation.

and the wild thing is, most people who complain about trigger warnings are the same kind of ppl who are trying to get books they find even slightly offensive banned from places like schools! they’re the same people who will shoot at their bud lite cans bc they saw a single trans person collaborating with the company. the people who seem so aggravated by people with literal trauma and mental health issues asking for a little heads up are the same ppl who would spontaneously combust if someone said the words “reparations” within a mile radius of them.

#trigger warnings #that’s why i tag posts that mention a fake fact with tw unreality #bc as someone with psychosis i understand how bad episodes can be and how much can bring them on #also like… for ppl who say ‘oh well life doesn’t have trigger warnings’ that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t??#‘life doesn’t work that way!’ you understand we can change the conditions of society right?? we have the power to do that #also ppl with trauma know life doesn’t come with trigger warnings. we spend our days getting triggered by a number of things #so when we encounter so many things that you can’t create trigger warnings for #we would really fucking appreciate it if ppl could at least try to put warnings on the stuff where you can put it!#same with ppl with psychosis #ik bugs don’t come with trigger warnings. i wish they did! but they don’t #and i have to interact with bugs on the daily basis as a side effect of living on earth #so it would be REALLY FUCKING NICE if someone showing a video of bugs could let me know what the video is about!#bc i would like to not have more hallucinations over something that if you just put the words ‘tw:bugs’ in front of #i wouldn’t be having hallucinations for them in the fucking first place!

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eupheme · 1 month ago

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DEADPOOL & WOLVERINE FIC RECS

a rec collection of my fave logan and/or wade x reader fics - please give these writers some love! ❤️💛

poolverine recs | fic rec tag | these are all 18+

logan howlett x reader

— a different kind of training by @reidsworld

When sparring with Logan turns into something more.

— a peaceful repose by @d1stalker

After some time away on a mission, Logan comes home, and all he wants to do is be around you

— all day long by @ozarkthedog

Logan fucks you with one of his cigars.

— all's fair in love and viscera… by @sceletaflores

logan wants to spar…

— after midnight by @teamred

logan hates that you never listen to him and you can't stand how he still treats you like a kid. but tonight's your chance to change each other's minds.

— any other way and so contagious by @/teamread

in which your good friend, wade, ditches your planned movie night, but his roommate offers to watch one with you instead. however, logan ends up falling asleep on your shoulder.

— bloodthirsty and animal instinct by @hauntedhowlett-writes

when your next shipment of blood won’t be delivered to the x mansion for another two days, logan offers to help keep you fed. // after helping you out by letting you feed from him, logan asks you to return the favor.

— busy signal by @superhoeva

a phone call interrupts a relaxing logan.

— cliché by @/lovelybucky1

— cravings by @pedgito

with no threshold for pain, logan finds that losing control with you is easier, triggering a thirst that is insatiable.

— dog tags by @spiderispunk

— give me all of that ultraviolence by @joelsgoldrush

you give logan head for the first time.

— guard dog by @/ovaryacted

On another one of your joint club outings with Wade, your boyfriend Logan stands by to make sure you enjoy your night. Once you both arrive at your apartment, he tends to your needs and helps you relax.

— guilty pleasure by @/joelsgoldrush

after saving earth-10005 from impending disaster, wade convinces logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. he’s convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. suddenly, sticking around doesn’t seem so bad after all.

— handlebars and morning ride by @wannab-urs

Logan teaches you to ride a motorcycle.

— heart made of glass by @/moonlight-prose

you couldn't control when they could come. the waves of nothingness - of battling with your body and mind in the hopes it would cause a shift. you wanted to control it. he simply wanted to help.

— heavy metal lover by @sceletaflores

the wolverine is a regular at your bar…

— help me hold onto you and one of me is cute, but two though? by @guiltyasdave

Logan deals with feeling guilty after he's accidentally cut you with his claws in his sleep. // Your cat-like mutation gives your life some cat-like qualities… like going through heats.

— intoxicating and intimate by @ozarkthedog

you warm Logan’s cock while he smokes.

— keep quiet by @sinsofsummers

logan can smell how much you need him as soon as you enter the room. what kind of man would he be to let you go unsatisfied?

— knuckle velvet by @ohcaptains

he walks you home, then lets himself in.

— house in nebraska by @venomnyx

Reader gets roped into saving the timeline with ex-best friend Deadpool, coming face-to-face with a variant of Logan that uproots memories she'd long suppressed, only to find that this version of him lost her in his universe, too.

— hunger by @/moonlight-prose

things are set into motion the second logan opens your drawer. suddenly you find yourself the center of a show with only one audience member.

— i want you by @/d1stalker

Logan is jealous of you and Scott's friendship, not knowing your true feelings.

— into the unknown by @yxtkiwiyxt

You, a dedicated doctor in a small town in the Canadian Rockies find your life turned upside down when you meet Logan Howlett, a mysterious man whose mutant abilities leave you questioning everything you know about reality.

— make it hurt by @wannab-urs

It’s difficult being the only mutant at Xavier’s school with regenerative powers. There’s no one you can spar with – fellow professors included – that is on your level. Not when you can kill them, but they can’t kill you. That is, until you meet Logan.

— never alone by @sunflowersteves

basically, you defend Logan and he quite literally goes feral.

— not your man by @studioghibelli

live giveth wolverine, and life taketh away. but sometimes…. the sweet, sweet void intervenes.

— nothing but time by @tonysopranosrobe

Logan likes to take his time with you. Sometimes he gets carried away.

— nsfw alphabet by @wolviensabes

— nsfw alphabet by @robo-writing

— on his six by @superhoeva

logan can't get enough of the xavier's School for Gifted youngsters' newest hire–you.

— one last time by @toomanystoriessolittletime

Three years ago you buried Logan on the day you were supposed to get married. When your friend calls you, telling you that she saw Logan at the bar she was at, you had to check for yourself if she was right. Not knowing that the night would end with you in his bed. And a surprise weeks later you were not ready for.

— origin by @/d1stalker

Two people, one shared past, and decades apart.

— play nice by @kiwisbell

logan and joel put away the claws and put their skills to better use.

— right where you left me by @moonlight-prose

logan was familiar with death. he understood why it happened, what could cause it to occur, and finally how to accept it. so when his family - the people he cared for most - died…he thought he could handle it. only you didn’t die. you left. now he’s found himself in a new universe with a person who wears your face, yet doesn’t hold your memories.

— 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐬 by @/superhoeva

logan can't live without you.

— room for rent by @/hauntedhowlett-writes

logan finds a new roommate.

— salvation and absolution by @elflutter

Logan would worship your body for hours if you’d let him. He can’t help but prolong your pleasure before finding his own. He once told you that it’s because you deserve it so much more than he does.

— say you'll remember me and everything stays, but it still changes by @avocado-writing

in the Void, after leaving the other dead in your own timelines, you and Logan are reunited. // you and logan have a pretty happy life… but there’s still something you want.

— secondhand smoke by @/ovaryacted

Waiting for Logan back at the X-Mansion, he welcomes you into his arms and enjoys his cigar with you on his lap.

— soft edges by @lubdubology

Logan doesn't know how to relax. So you help him.

— sugar by @studioghibelli

if there’s one thing logan loves- it’s fucking you.

— suspension bridge effect by @/d1stalker

You saved one of the younger mutants during a mission, and now he's obsessed with you, much to Logan's dismay

— taste me on your tongue by @/moonlight-prose

the taste of him became an addiction you couldn't ignore. especially when he was adamant on sharing it in multiple ways.

— the honda odyssey by @coweye

The car fight reimagined and it only needed to be like 10% more erotic than the original.

— the place where the pages meet by @/avocado-writing

You’re a bookseller. Logan is picking up a package.

— the worst logan and just logan by @/coweye

You are the deceased-anchor-being-Logan's lover, having found yourself with Laura in the void, you navigate meeting the variant of the love of your life.

— this is ours by @/d1stalker

It's your first time back at your grandparents' farm in years, and while many things are the same, one thing is not: they've hired a new farmhand.

— wish you knew by @/ovaryacted

After coming into Wade’s world following their team effort to save his timeline, Logan attempts to adjust to his new reality. In rebuilding his life from the ground up, your paths collide when he least expects it, throwing him off course.

— vis by @/ozarkthedog Logan's feeling impulsive before a mission and you happen to be within reach aka he fucks you in the jet.

old man logan x reader

— ain’t as good as I once was by @lovelybucky1

— be my baby by @cavillscurls

logan fucks you in your sundress.

— diet pepsi by @flowersforbucky

old!logan x reader limousine sex. inspired by the song diet pepsi by addison rae

— look at me by @silverskyeline

logan can't fuck like he used to, but you don't care. you get on top, gladly taking care of him in return.

— mean!oldman!logan takes you apart by @inkedells

Logan is sick and tired of you treating him like he's fragile. He'll ignore his relentless pain to show you what it's like to be taken apart, rough and slow, then fast and agonizing.

— never is a promise by @/joelsgoldrush

You are everything Logan isn’t: sweet, trouble-free, much younger—and, to top it off, Charles' caregiver.

— quiet drive by @wlwloverwrites

Logan likes quiet drives, but there’s only way that can happen when you’re sitting in the passenger seat.

— speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life by @/moonlight-prose

he knew he loved you when your words begin to piece his heart back together. he knew he loved you when he flourishes at your praise. he knew he loved you when nothing in this world could matter but the sound of your voice telling him you love him too.

— sweetness of the damned by @/moonlight-prose

when night falls and wine overflows in glasses of crystal, logan finds his home in between your thighs.

— the grave of lust by @/moonlight-prose

when his body doesn't work as it used to and the weary bones that poison his soul begin to ache, you take the lead in a dance you know well.

— two's company by @jen-with-a-pen

— white hot forever by @eddies-ashtray

Most days exhaustion plagues him. But tonight, with his last dregs of energy, Logan cooks for you. Though he’s hungry for something far more enticing.

wade wilson x reader

— gtfih (get the fuck in here) by @/teamred

every morning, you see a man and his dog walk past your bakery and all he does is stick his head through the door, inhales deeply, make a comment, then walks out. what gives?

wade wilson x reader x logan howlett

— car fight by @/avocado-writing

— home sweet home by @/teamred

this series compiles moments of domesticity, love, and more featuring logan howlett and wade wilson as your two boyfriends.

— i just want you to make a move by @/avocado-writing

You, Wade and Logan are on a stakeout after reports surface of a drug which only affects mutants. But what happens when you take a hit of it yourselves…?

— jealousy sex by @froggibus

— you & wade helping logan in a rut by @/avocado-writing

as I read more, I’ll post a part ii! and if you haven’t read these, you need to! and please support these amazing fics & writers by reading, reblogging & commenting 💕

#to celebrate DP+W streaming today!#fic recs #logan howlett x reader #wade wilson x reader #wolverine x reader #deadpool x reader #deadpool & wolverine

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thesirencult · 6 months ago

Text

How Will Your FS See You ?

1--2

*****************************************

Pile 1

I'm seeing a vision. A girl is gathering flowers and playing in the sun between trees. At the same time, a man is looking at her like she is his whole world.

What this tells me is that there is a very clear distinction between you and your future spouse's energies. Your FS is definitely more masculine (no matter their gender) and you are more feminine.

This person sees you as a ray of light. You are dainty like a flower and sweet like honey. I'm hearing the word "yellow" 💛. Whenever they are looking at you, you are draped in golden light.

Now, what makes me sad is that you don't see yourself that way. Your person knows that you are picking yourself apart and they hate it.

You are a shiny little star to them. Some words they might call you are : my little star, pooh bear, sweetheart, honey, sweetie, cutie. They believe you are the sweetest, loveliest, most sincere person on planet earth. You believe that you do not deserve love or that you are not that important but they are seeing "You are important. You are as important as the air I breathe. You are necessary to my survival."

Like the sun is the centre of our universe, you are the centre of their universe. Your FS is very affectionate with you. I'm seeing someone kissing the fingers of someone else and breathing in their scent from their neck/hair. First and foremost they find you sweet and cute. Like, to them, intimacy doesn't mean mindless physical connection but love making. They love your hands and your nose.

They adore your expressions and they find certain quirks you have cute. As an example, when you feel tired and puff air out or if you tag on their hand and look up at them.

This person might be bigger than you and they just want to protect and serve you. I believe that they want to set boundaries between you and the world. They want to hold up a mirror for you and help you see your own light.

Whenever you are sad they want to make you smile.

I believe that you and your FS are going to be really close. This is not a normal bond. To others it might not seem healthy, they way that you are attached to eachother, but for you it's perfect...

Pile 2

Your FS sees you as their dream person, not in a childish way but in a mature way. You are what they need not what they wanted.

This person has had lots of experiences when it comes to love. When they meet you they will be going through a "winter" moment, life will have lost its spark. You might be born in March, cause you are going to wash away the snow and help them see the bright side of life again.

This will not be easy. Your FS will see you as their wish fulfillment, but at moments they will be wondering whether God or the d*vil sent you. You will be triggering their old wounds and stagnant energy.

This person will be very caring towards you. They will constantly remind you to take your vitamins and drink enough water. They will tease you about your height or nose just to get to your nerves.

I'm hearing "They are so draining!". Now, this is really funny cause I heard it in a teasing way, like you are at the next room and they are telling your mom you are a pain in the butt when in reality they love your quirks.

They will be constantly worrying about your well-being lol. They will get mad when you are not taking care of yourself and they will be trying to guilt trip you into doing things that are good for yourself.

Let's say you are really shy and don't want to go to the beach but they want to go and you have a dog that loves the water. They will be telling you "See, the dog is broken hearted. You are not a really good dog mom/dad."

This person will think you are sneaky. They will love the sparkle your eyes have as you have a very "active" inner child.

I believe you don't show that side to others that often and no one will believe what they have witnessed. You could have made a crazy food combination or they found you teaching the dog muay thai, to them you can NEVER be boring. It's like, what is she up to, AGAIN?

I also get that you might give them the "puppy eyes" when you get caught doing something you're not supposed to be doing (ex. cheating on your diet) or playing all coy and sweet and they love that!

#astrology #tarot reading #level up journey #tarot #pick a card #pick a pile #pac reading #pick a photo #pick a picture #soulmate #future spouse #psychic readings #tarotreading #Spotify

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

Text

Just Friends: How It Began

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

masterlist

Summary: You make a new friend.

It's giving

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

There’s more people than you expect. The book club is more of a book crowd. Not exactly what was advertised online. Instead of a circle of only about ten people, there are tables set around the room to seat as man. Each.

“Find your name tag,” the woman at the table near the entrance explains, “and your table. Everyone has a number.”

You thank her and find your name tag, sticking it onto your cardigan, right below your collar. You clutch your copy of The Good Earth. It’s well worn. A used copy you found on a thrift shop shelf. You search the room, lost as you take in the other listless faces.

You check the list of names and find your table number. This isn’t what you were hoping for. You want to make friends. Everyone here is older than you. Noticeably so. And there’s so many. It’s going to be so loud, you won’t be able to focus. You doubt you’ll make any sort of real connection.

You think of leaving but you’ve come this far. Besides, there’s a spot waiting for you. You find your seat at Table 12 and swing your feet nervously. You tap your fingers on the cover of your book and smile as a pair of white-haired ladies sit down across from you. They don’t acknowledge you as they chatter. You sit back, disappointed.

Other tables are a little livelier. Several attendees sit at the next table and garble loudly on. It seems like they’re already talking about Pearl S. Buck’s narrative from what you can make out. An older man sits down and you try to think of how to greet him. Oh, no, he seems to know those ladies. All three of them block you out as they ignore your tiny wave.

“Twelve,” the deep voice gristles over you. The chair next to you scrapes out. An even more worn novel lands on the table next to yours. The man sits. “This everyone?”

He looks around and you do too.

“There’s a few more seats,” you say as trace your finger over the spine of the book. You turn to him and pause. He’s familiar. Do you know him? “Um, hi...” You introduce yourself, trying not to cringe.

He’s younger than the others but still older than you. The silver strands threaded into his dark hair and patched along the edge of his jaw suggest at least a full decade, likely more. You offer your hand stiffly, not sure why you do. You’re not one for shaking hands. He accepts the gesture and your lashes flick in surprise. His fingers are... metal?

“Bucky Barnes?” You blurt out as he squeezes your hand firmly.

He drops his chin as if he was hoping to stay covert, “uh, yeah. You beat me to it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you retract your hand and slap your cheek, “I didn’t mean to. I only... I thought you looked... familiar and then I worried I forgot you from somewhere. But you’re too old to have been in my classes. But I mean... not too old. We had lots of mature students. Mature... just students. Age isn’t... well...”

He chuckles, “don’t worry about it. More than a century in, I can handle being called old.”

“I wasn’t-- I didn’t mean... that,” you shake your head. “I’m sorry.”

“Really, it’s fine. It’s... cute,” he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. Another duo sits down and make no effort to engage beyond their pairing. He sighs and looks around. “Not very social for a social club.”

“Mm, no, but maybe once we get started...” you shrug.

“Maybe,” he sits back and drops his hands onto his lap. “You... don’t have somewhere less... geriatric to be?”

“Oh, um, well, you know, I have some friends but they only want to go drinking and I get all bubbly in my stummy—stomach, when I drink. So, yeah. I thought maybe I could meet a few tamer friends here.”

“Huh, well, I assure you, the old ones really aren’t that much different,” he scoffs. “And I get it. Alcohol doesn’t do much for me. Don't like the taste either. It’s all people ever wanna do. Always ‘let’s go for drinks’.”

You nod.

“Besides,” he continues, “don’t feel like hanging out with a bunch of dudes who can only talk about fighting the next bad guy. I need a friend who isn’t enhanced or magical.”

“Right, that sounds...”

“I know. I'm a grumpy old man complaining about saving the world,” he snorts. “Sorry, I just—I'm like you. Wanna expand outside my circle.”

“Yeah, makes sense,” you agree. “Looks like you’ve read that a few times.”

You point to his copy and he peers down. His blue eyes find you again, “first edition. Read it before I shipped off. My sister Rebecca still had it when she passed... she left it behind. It was just sitting in a storage unit.”

“Oh wow, I... yeah, er--”

“See, the whole friends thing... tough when there’s only one other guy in the city the same age as you,” he says.

“It’s nice of her to hold onto it for you,” you finally get your thoughts in line.

“Yeah, she was nice,” he agrees. “My best friend, but don’t tell Steve I said so.”

A man sits on your other side and jars you from the plucking of heart strings. He’s balding and thin. “Hi,” you turn to him and give your name, “nice to meet you.”

He glances at you, “Didn’t know this was open to kids.”

“Kids?” You echo. You’re well into adulthood. Almost twenty-five.

“Lay off, she’s being friendly,” Bucky leans over. “It’s a club. We’re supposed to talk about the book.”

“Yeah, I'm sure she has great insight into the battle between wealth and tradition.”

Your eyes round. You crane to see around you. You really are the youngest person in the room. You should have known.

“I’d love to learn,” you say and the man harrumphs.

Bucky growls, “you sure act like a jackass for putting on airs. She’s being polite.”

The man sneers, “some idea for a date, boy.”

“I’m not--” Bucky puts his metal hand on the table, between your books, balling it to a fist as the man gapes.

“I--” the man begins.

“Save it,” Bucky says. “Think you may have missed a few themes... you know, about women and oppression.” He drags his hand from the table. “Hey,” he nudges you softly. You almost can’t believe he can be so gentle with the metal limb, “how about we get outta here? They’re showing It Happened One Night just a few blocks down at the old cinema.”

“Yes! I know. It’s one of my favourites. I was going to go but everyone said it was boring and I didn’t wanna go alone.” You chirp, shying away from your own rambling.

“Same. So, how about it. Wanna make me look normal?”

You laugh, “sure. I love popcorn.”

“Alright, I might save you a few milk duds,” he stands and you do the same.

You think you’ve made a friend after all.

#bucky barnes #just friends #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #series #drabble #mcu #marvel #avengers #winter soldier #captain america

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bossbtch1 · 1 year ago

Text

Forbidden Reunion

Summary : You managed to escape from Loki after discovering his lies. Aware that both he and the TVA would be searching for you, you prayed they wouldn't succeed. However, now Loki stood in front of you and he had no intentions of letting you go.

Pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!Reader

General tags : SMUT, 18+, Dark Fic, Obsessive, Yandere

Trigger Warnings: Strong Language, Violence, Stalking, Non-con, Dubious Consent, Forced Blowjob, Forced Orgasm, Fingering, P in V, Unprotected Sex, Breeding, Overstimulation (let me know if I missed any lol)

Word Count: 10k

A/N : Sorry it took me too long to post this, juggling this alongside my other story took some time. But as promised, I'm releasing this one first.

Before you continue, please read TW again. This is a dark!fic and explicit, strictly for readers 18+. Please, DO NOT PROCEED if these themes disturb you. I've warned you, this fic isn't for the faint-hearted.

This took in Loki season 2 based on that shadow play.

If you like my story, please go check out my other stories here

Exhausted from years of evading both Loki and the TVA. Tonight, you found yourself in a bar, a moment to escape the chaos for years and hoping for a chance encounter. Despite your past with Loki, you were eager to move forward and explore new relationships, you have your own needs, and the more time went on, you knew they could not be sated by yourself anymore.

You could use your power to manipulate them into sleeping with you, but you knew it was wrong, you were sure there was a natural progression you just needed to be patient, and maybe your powers were going to waste being used to keep you hidden from the TVA.

Your mind drifted back to Loki, the god of Mischief and how he lied to you, manipulated you.

Flashback

"I'm sorry to say this, but you have been deceived by him," the TVA agent asserted. You turned your back on her as you attempted to escape, your eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of Loki. You had become separated during the chaotic chase within the TVA headquarters.

"No, I'm not. Loki wouldn't lie to me," you defended him, your voice laced with unwavering belief.

"Is he? Tell me, what did he say to you, the reason he got caught?" the agent probed, her tone challenging.

"He tried to rule Earth and failed," you replied, recalling the events that had led to his capture.

She seemed surprised that you knew. "Yes, and whose fault was that?" she pressed further.

“Yes, I know it was his.” You admitted, frustration seeping into your words, “But it stemmed from his deep-seated need for approval and love, especially from a father who resented him for being adopted." Despite the firmness in your tone, a flicker of doubt shadowed your eyes, making you question whether you were convincing the agent or merely grappling with your own uncertainties.

"Is that the whole story? Or just a part he wants you to believe?" Her words hung heavy in the air.

"He's the trickster god, the silvertongue," she continued, her voice steady, unwavering. "Manipulation is in his nature. Don't fall for his lies."

"Hello? Hey?" You heard a voice bringing you back from your daydream. "Can I buy you a drink?"

You looked up, it was a handsome man who had sat down beside you. You smiled, not wanting to appear rude. "Yes, please," you said.

He smiled, "I'm Mark."

"Y/N," you said.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N," he smiled.

You returned his smile. You enjoyed his company as you chatted and laughed, his eyes sparkled as he listened to you talk, you knew you were making him blush when you teased him, he was sweet, and you knew he liked you.

Conversation flowed easily between you two. You couldn't remember the last time you felt so at ease with a stranger, the feeling was new and exciting. He seemed so genuinely interested in what you had to say and you felt as if he actually understood what was going on in your life.

"Do you want to come to my place? I've got a bottle of whiskey that needs drinking," he smiled.

"Sure, why not?" you said, downing the rest of your drink. This was your chance to get what you've been craving, and what better way to start than with a handsome man inviting you to his place?

Then someone spilled his drink onto Mark, ruining his white shirt.

"What the hell? Are you kidding me?!" he yelled at the man. "Watch where you're going, asshole." He shouted in frustration.

"Oh, I am so sorry, man, I tripped," the other man said, his voice calmed.

You recognize the voice.

It was Mobius.

Your heart raced, and you couldn't believe that he had managed to track you down. Paralyzed with fear, you sat there, feeling the color drain from your face as you stared at him in disbelief. If Mobius was here then that meant that Loki wasn't far behind.

Mark was fuming, he stormed off to the bathroom, leaving you alone, and you wanted desperately to call out, to warn him not to leave you by yourself, but fear kept your words trapped in your throat.

"Hello, Y/N."

Your name was like poison on his lips.

"Loki," you hissed back, turning around to face him.

He looked exactly the same as the last time you'd seen him, his black hair was neatly styled, his green eyes were piercing, and his face was pale. His expression was serious, his jaw set and his eyes cold, he looked so different from the Loki you had known and fallen in love with.

"What the fuck are you two doing here?" Your heart pounded in your chest, your palms sweaty with anxiety, and you were suddenly very aware of how alone you were in the bar.

"I missed you, pet. I have been worried," his tone was mocking and his smirk didn't reach his eyes.

"Don't lie, Loki," you shot back, glaring at him.

"You know, you've always been so difficult."

"And you're an asshole."

Loki didn't say anything, instead he reached for your wrist and held it tight. "Let me go! You fucking liar, I trusted you, I loved you, and you betrayed me," you shouted, struggling against his grip.

"Little one, don't make a scene." he growled in your ear.

Your eyes pleaded with Mobius, who stood caught between the two of you. "Are you just going to stand there and let this happen?" you implored, your voice cracking with desperation.

Mobius sighed, a mixture of resignation and sadness in his eyes. "I'll leave you be for now then," he said, his tone heavy with regret. "I'll see you later." With that, he turned away, leaving you to face Loki's wrath alone.

"How about I give you a choice," he said, a sinister glint in his eyes. "Either you can come home willingly, or I can use my magic to knock you out and bring you home. Which do you prefer?" The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, leaving you trapped in a lose-lose situation.

"I'm not going anywhere with you, Loki!" you hissed, your voice laced with defiance as you struggled against his grip. Every fiber of your being screamed resistance, but you knew the sheer force of his magic could easily overpower you.

"Very well then," he purred, his lips twisted into a sadistic smile as he waived his hand, ready to use his magic.

"Wait!" You blurted, holding up your hands to stop him, your voice trembled as the weight of your decision bore down upon you.

"Yes, little one?" he asked, his tone condescending and smug.

"I'll come willingly," you said, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. It was a lie, a desperate attempt to buy some time.

"But can I go to the bathroom first?" You clung to the hope that a brief moment alone might offer a chance, your mind racing for an escape plan.

"Alright," Loki agreed, his tone oddly accommodating. "Go on, pet." He nodded towards the restroom.

You hurried into the bathroom and locked the door behind you, your heart pounding in your chest. Your frantic eyes searched for your tempad, only to realize it was gone. "Asshole!" you muttered under your breath, realizing that Loki must have taken it when he grabbed your arm.

You had no escape plan, and Loki was waiting for you. You looked for a way out, but the windows were too small for you to climb through, so you thought it would be best to just run through the door and run far away from the bar.

Gathering your courage, you unlocked the door and burst out, your footsteps echoing in the corridor. Behind you, you could hear Loki's enraged shout, "Y/N!" His voice boomed, fueling your determination to run as far and as fast as you could from the bar.

"Y/N! Y/N!" you could hear him getting closer and closer. His voice cut through the air like a sharp blade. "Y/N, stop now!"

"FUCK OFF!" you screamed, frustration and fear fueling your voice. You cast a desperate glance behind you and saw Loki hot on your heels. "Fuck!" you whispered under your breath.

You could feel the tears burning behind your eyes, the adrenaline coursing through your veins, and the fear of being caught was overwhelming. "Fuck, no! Not again!" you thought.

You were annoyed by the people "Move! Move! Please!" You screamed at the people that were blocking the road, but they wouldn't move.

"Fuck you!" One guy shouted back at you after you pushed him away.

You couldn't run anymore. You were too slow, and he was gaining on you, and you knew that you couldn't escape him. But you need to keep trying, you couldn't give up. You were running, and running, and running.

The pain was too much, your muscles ached, and your lungs burned. Your vision was blurred, and you couldn't focus. You were tired of running and out of breath, you leaned against a wall and rested, hoping Loki wouldn't see you.

However, your respite was short-lived. In a blink, Loki teleported right in front of you, his expression oddly calm. "Pet, we have been searching for you for a long time, you hid well." He said, his tone icy.

"You can't be fucking serious!" you hissed, "Why did you look for me? I left for a reason, you betrayed my trust. You used me, and I hate you."

"Little one, why are you angry at me?"

"Are you really asking that, you lying snake?" Pushing him away, you shouted, and sprinted away from him once more, your determination fueling your escape.

You didn't make it far, though, before you felt a familiar, freezing hand grasp your arm, tugging you backward and pulling you against a cold, solid form.

"I don't appreciate it you calling me that."

You gasped, and tried to pull away from him, but his grip was like steel, and no matter how hard you struggled, you couldn't free yourself from him. "I don't care! Let me go!"

He ignored your pleas, then you pulled out a knife from your pocket. You knew he could've easily taken the knife, but instead he let you go, "You think you can hurt me, little one? How adorable." he cooed, his voice silky smooth.

"I'll fucking kill you!"

He laughed again mocking you, "Do you want to try? Do you think you can stab me with that knife, pet?"

You didn't answer, instead you held the knife up, threatening him, "Loki, you don't want to make me angry." You knew that was stupid of you saying that.

He smirked, he wasn't afraid of you, and he wasn't intimidated by you. "You are so cute when you are mad," he mocked, his voice dripping with sarcasm, and his eyes were dark.

"Put the knife down, and we can go home, pet" he offered.

"Fuck you, Loki," you spat, your voice dripping with venom as you stood your ground, the knife still clutched tightly in your hand.

He grinned, "Oh, you will soon enough, pet." He let out a low chuckle and he snapped his finger and the knife flew from your hand to the wall. You watched in horror, you didn’t have anything else on you to defend yourself from him.

He began to advance toward you, a predator toying with his prey. Panic surged through you, urging you to flee. Yet, no matter how fast you ran, Loki always reappeared before you.

His voice dripped with amusement, "Come on, pet. Do you really think you can outrun me?" His grin widened, relishing the chase as if it were sort of a game to him.

"You won't ever escape me, pet. Even if you manage to get away from me, I will always find you again and again. You will be mine, whether you want to or not." He declared, his tone possessive and chilling. He stood before you, his presence looming over you like a dark cloud.

"I won't stop fighting you," you vowed, your voice filled with defiance, glaring at him as he advanced toward you. Desperation fueled your steps as you ran, but he always caught up to you, teleporting right in front of you, a relentless pursuit that seemed endless.

"You can't run forever, pet," he taunted, his eyes dark and menacing, his voice deep and husky. “Eventually, I’ll catch up to you.”

You were getting tired of running. "Come on, pet. Are we playing a game?" He chuckled, the sound echoing eerily through the empty street. The bastard was enjoying this twisted cat-and-mouse chase.

"Just stop!" you cried out, your frustration boiling over.

"Why would I stop? This is the most fun I've had in years, darling. I enjoy seeing you run, it's quite entertaining."

"Shut up." You tried to run away again, your breaths ragged. "Quit your magic, and fight fair!" Deep down, you knew if you were in a one-on-one combat with him, without his magic, you could win. "If you win, I'll come willingly."

"That's not how this works, little one," he chided, his tone laced with amusement.

You felt the anger boiling inside of you, but you continued to run. Each step echoed in the empty alley as you tried to escape his relentless pursuit. "Leave me alone then!" you shouted, desperation lacing your voice.

To your horror, your movements came to an abrupt stop. Loki stood in front of you, his mischievous grin sending shivers down your spine. Frantically, you turned around, only to find him there again, mocking your attempts to escape. Panic set in as you attempted to flee in the opposite direction, but there he was once more, his presence haunting you like a nightmare.

"What the fuck is going on?" you muttered, disbelief coloring your voice. How was he everywhere? How was he doing this? Your mind raced with questions as you stepped back, trying to distance yourself from the three identical Loki that surrounded you.

Were you tripping, or is there really three of them?

Loki's chuckle reverberated around you, a haunting sound that sent chills down your spine. Frustration boiled within you, and you screamed in exasperation, "How are you doing that?" Your voice wavered, trembling with a mixture of frustration and fear as you desperately demanded answers.

His grin widened as he continued to toy with your sanity. "Oh, come now, surely you know a trick or two, you being a witch and all," he taunted, the words laced with mocking arrogance.

You took slow steps backward as the three Loki remained in front of you, your resolve mingling with confusion and growing fear. "I'm not a witch, you... asshole," you retorted.

Suddenly, you felt his warm breath near your ear, and his voice sent a shiver down your spine. "It's called an illusion, little one," he whispered, the hot air tickling your earlobe. You jolted away from him, only to find another Loki standing in front of you, and you jumped yet again.

Fear gripped you, not of him, but of the overwhelming confusion and frustration that clouded your senses. The relentless onslaught of illusions left you feeling disoriented, unable to discern reality from the intricate tricks he was playing.

"Please stop," you pleaded.

"Stop what?" he asked, feigning innocence, his eyes glinting mischievously.

"Your tricks. I'm not stupid, stop," you demanded, your voice growing firmer despite the fear gripping your heart.

The three Loki slowly closed in on you, each step they took making your heart race faster. You retreated, trying to create distance, but soon your back met the unyielding wall. There was no escape. Your mind raced, your heart pounded, and you breathed heavily, trapped in a nightmare of your own making.

Suddenly, you felt an invisible force restraining your hands, pinning them against the wall. You looked around frantically, searching for the source, but there was no one in sight. Panic clawed at your throat as you realized you were immobilized.

"What the fuck are you doing?! Let me go."

"I don't think I will, my little pet," Loki said, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

Suddenly, Mobius reappeared beside Loki, seemingly out of thin air. "A little over the top, don’t you think, all the shadow play?" he commented, his tone disapproving.

Loki smirked, unrepentant. "I thought it was spot on."

Mobius turned his attention to you, his expression filled with concern. "What are you trying to do to the poor girl?" he asked.

"I'm merely making a point," Loki replied casually, as if discussing the weather and your distress was nothing more than a game.

Mobius shook his head and lightly chuckled, "Oh, I'm sure you are. That's why she looks like a frightened rabbit."

"I'm still here? Hello?” They were casually talking like you were invincible, despite being bound to a wall. Their attention shifted to you, and you erupted, "Mobius, what the hell? Arrest him! What are you doing!" Panic and anger laced your words, but it fell on deaf ears.

"Sorry, sweetheart, I can't do that. I made a deal with Loki," Mobius responded, his tone regretful yet resolute.

You felt a chill run down your spine. "What fucking deal?" You asked, your voice trembling. "What are you going to do with me?"

"I'm not going to do anything. But Loki, on the other hand..." he chuckled darkly. "Well, the deal is, we only need you alive. That's all I'm saying. My lips are sealed," Mobius replied with a cryptic smile.

You didn't have a chance to process his words before the Loki closest to you began circling you, a predatory gleam in his eyes. Your heartbeat wildly, fear coursing through your veins as he trailed his finger along your arm, his touch light and teasing in suspense.

"What the fuck is the matter with you, let me go!" you shrieked, your panic and anger rising. "Mobius you fucking bitch, you are nothing but a- MMM" abruptly, as the shadow silenced you, turning your pleas into incoherent whispers.

Mobius sighed, shaking his head. "Now you're just showing off," he admonished.

"I can't help it, you bring out the worst in me."

Loki stepped in front of you and leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear. "Now, where were we?" he whispered, his voice low and seductive. His fingers trailed along your jaw, his touch feather-light and tantalizing. You were struggling to break free from his hold, but your body remained paralyzed, at his mercy.

Loki, leaning casually against the wall, let out a low, amused chuckle at your futile struggles. "Oh, little one," he purred, his tone mocking and condescending. "There's no use in fighting. You won't be able to break free. Trust me."

"Now, be a good girl and remain still," Loki said, his smile cruel and unsettling as he locked eyes with you, a twisted affection glinting in his gaze.

"Loki, take it easy on her. She's just a young girl, after all." Mobius interjected, his voice laced with a hint of compassion, though his eyes conveyed a different story. "Make sure to control your pet, Loki.” Mobius emphasized before vanishing into thin air.

You screamed was incoherent since your mouth was being covered by the shadow, you tried to say "Help!" and "No" but nothing came out.

Loki grabbed a fistful of your hair, forcing your head up to meet his gaze. "Oh, darling. Don't try to speak, or scream, or fight. You can't escape, and no one is going to save you. No one will hear you, the only sound you will make is your moans."

Fear gripped you, the uncertainty of Loki's intentions leaving you paralyzed and vulnerable.

He advanced toward you, his steps deliberate and predatory. "Now," he whispered, his voice dripping with sadistic anticipation, "let the fun begin, pet."

With a snap of his fingers, Loki dispelled the shadow covering your mouth, granting you the ability to speak again. "Get off me, Laufeyson!" you exclaimed, your voice laced with defiance. You strained against your restraints, desperate to escape his grasp. "This is wrong. You're crazy psychopath."

"Oh, pet," he said, a twisted smile playing on his lips. "We've done far worse together."

Frustration and fear gripped you as you struggled against your bindings, pleading, " Why can't you just leave me alone?"

A dark chuckle escaped Loki's lips as he replied, "You know why."

"Please, just let me go." You pleaded, desperation creeping into your voice.

Loki's smirk deepened, his eyes glinting with possessiveness. "I'm afraid I can't do that, love. You belong to me."

"No, I don't! I'm not yours," you protested vehemently. You writhed against the magical restraints, a mixture of anger and fear fueling your struggles. His control over you felt like a violation, and you despised him for it, for using his magic against you in such a cruel manner.

"Oh, pet," Loki purred, his voice dripping with both mockery and desire. "You can fight all you want, but you'll never win, not when it comes to me." He leaned in, his lips grazing your neck in a chilling caress. You whimpered as he sucked on your skin, his teeth scraping lightly.

"Stop. Please," you begged, your voice trembling.

"But why would I stop," he replied, his tone silkier than ever, "when I'm having so much fun?" His words hung in the air, laden with sadistic pleasure.

"I hate you. I will never stop hating you," you spat out, your words laced with a fierce determination, even in the face of your vulnerability.

Loki's lips curled into a sly smile, "You don't truly hate me, little one. You merely pretend to. I see through the façade. I know what lies beneath."

"What the hell are you talking about, Loki?" you shot back.

"Stop being such a brat," he sneered. The shadow binding both your wrists kept you firmly against the wall, his control unyielding. "Do you like being restrained, hmm? Enjoy the feeling of someone else in control, knowing you can't escape, and no one will help you?" His face hovered dangerously close to yours, his breath ghosting over your skin.

“No! Stop that nonsense!” You lied, you were scared, and angry, but you also secretly enjoyed being under his control whether you wanted to admit it or not.

He hummed and kissed your neck and whispered in your ear, his breath tickled your ear and you felt shivers down your spine. “Fuck, how I miss you.” His voice was deep and commanding, sending tingles of pleasure throughout your body.

"Please, stop. Just leave me alone. Don't do this to me, please."

"Oh, little one. You know I can't do that." He said as his hands roamed all over your body, caressing every inch of you, making you feel so vulnerable. You felt the heat rise between your legs and your heart raced faster.

"I can smell your arousal, pet.” He lightly bit your neck. “Your body betrays you. It craves my touch, just as much as you do," he said, his voice laced with a sinister confidence. "You want me, even if you refuse to admit it."

You met his gaze with defiance, attempting to deny the truth he claimed. "You're delusional," you retorted, your words aimed at rejecting his manipulative influence.

"Am I?" Loki's eyes bore into yours, a predatory glint flickering in their depths. "Your heart, your mind, your body—they all long for me, even if you deny it. You can't escape this, no matter how hard you try. I will always find you, even if I have to tear the universe apart to get you back."

Loki was right. Your body was betraying you. The wetness was getting more intense by the minute, you could feel the pleasure building up, but you couldn't let yourself fall into temptation, he had hurt you, lied to you, manipulated you, used you, and now he was going to take you against your will.

You had to fight him.

You had to escape him.

You couldn't let him take you.

Not like this.

But you wanted more, and you knew that Loki would give you everything you wanted and more. You could feel the pleasure building up. You moaned softly as his hands roamed over your breasts. You felt a rush of anger, "What are you doing? You're using your magic to seduce me, aren't you?"

He met your accusation with a knowing grin. "I don't need magic to seduce you.” He countered, “Your body responds to me naturally, so beautifully. It's like a drug, and once I've had a taste, I'm hooked. I can't get enough of you."

You felt his lips on your neck. His kisses were soft and tender. You gasped as his tongue licked your neck, trailing down your collarbone. You couldn't stop the moan that escaped your lips as his fingers pinched your nipple.

You felt he smirked and you tried not to moan, biting your lip, trying not to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was affecting you. But he could read your mind, and he could hear your thoughts, and he knew what you were feeling. He was inside your head.

"Just stop."

"Not until I'm finished with you. Not until you're begging for more. Begging for my cock inside of you. Begging for me." He slammed your back against the wall, and you yelped as you hit it hard.

He had you caged, and your legs were starting to tremble. You didn't know if it was from the force or the intensity of his words. You tried to push him away but he was stronger than you. His body was pressed against yours. He then kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth. You couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but feel his body against yours.

He was a good kisser, and he knew what he was doing. You were moaning into the kiss, and you were fighting to keep control. Then you felt his cock growing hard. You gasped and that was when you realized what was going on. In a desperate act of defiance, you bit down hard, drawing blood. You tasted it.

He pulled back momentarily caught off guard. He looked like a maniac, and you had to remind yourself not to be afraid of him. His lips curled into a sinister grin as he wiped the blood away with his fingers, his eyes never leaving yours. "I like that," he said, his voice low and dark, his grin widening.

You stared at him, and you felt your eyes widen in shock. You felt your heart race. You were still struggling against him, and you tried to pull your hand free from his restraints, but it was useless.

"Oh, pet," he sneered, his tone laced with malice. "I'll make you pay for that defiance."

"What are you planning? Torture me?" you challenged back.

"Torture is such a crude term," he replied, his words dripping with sadistic pleasure. "I prefer 'punish'. After all, you've been a naughty girl. And naughty girls must be disciplined."

Your eyes narrowed, a fierce glare aimed his way. "You can't do anything to break me. You can't force me to feel anything. You have no control over me."

He laughed, "Is that so? You know nothing about me, love. Nothing. If I had my way, I would've taken you to my bed, and kept you there, tied up, blindfolded, gagged, naked, helpless, at my mercy. But I can't do that, yet. However, that doesn't mean I can't have fun."

"You're insane. I despise you," you retorted, your words heavy with hatred.

"That's fine," he replied, his tone oddly calm. "I'm used to people hating me. It's just a matter of time before they change their minds. And I'll have you. One way or another, you're mine."

"Go to hell."

"Only if you come with me."

You felt a chill run down your spine, and you couldn't help but shiver. You couldn't stop thinking about the things he had said. About how you were his. You tried to shake the thoughts away, but they were persistent.

You accidentally clenched your pussy at his words, you hoped he didn't notice.

He chuckled, the sound sending chills down your spine. "Oh, pet, that's adorable," he taunted, his grin widening with malicious amusement. "Do you like the thought of that, pet?" Loki's eyes glittered with dark intent, sensing the conflict within you, and it only served to fuel his sadistic amusement.

"No!" You denied.

"Then why did you clench your pussy, hmm? Was it because you were imagining me taking you?"

"It was just a reflex," you stammered, attempting to deny the undeniable truth.

"Is that so?" he murmured, his voice a dark, taunting whisper. His smirk widened, and he moved his face closer to yours until there were mere inches between your lips. "You're lying, love."

"I won't let you slip away again," he whispered, his fingers tightening around your throat, making each breath a struggle. His eyes bore into yours. "I will make you mine."

He tightened his grip around your throat and slammed your back against the wall, your head hit the wall with a loud thud. You couldn't breathe. The pain was unbearable. Tears began streaming down your face as you struggled to breathe.

But this was making you turned on, despite how much you hated Loki, you couldn't deny that he was hot and the way he was being rough with you was making your pussy throb.

"You'll see. It's time to begin your training, pet." He whispered as his hands travelled lower, caressing your inner thigh. "Please, Loki."

"Shhh, shh." He pressed his finger against your lips, "Save your begging."

“Fuck you!”

He raised his eyebrows and smirked, "I would love to do that right now, but I think we should save it for later."

"You bastard!" you spat, your anger seething.

"Watch your language, pet," he sneered, his grip tightening as he grabbed your chin, his fingers digging into your jaw. "Now, be a good girl and open your mouth." He took a piece of cloth out of his pocket. It was green.

"Hell No! I won't do it. I won't cooperate." You retorted, like who in the world would agree to that?

He sighed. "You know, you really are a stubborn little thing. It's adorable. But, it won't get you anywhere. In fact, it'll just make things worse."

You stared at him. You couldn't believe what was happening. How could he be so cruel? So evil? He chuckled. "I told you. You're not in control here. I am. Now, open your mouth."

“Never.”

"Fine. Then I'll do it for you." He used his magic to force open your mouth, his magic was painful, and it burned. You could barely move. He put the cloth in your mouth and tied it around your head. You tried to scream but couldn't.

"So pretty," he said as he stroked your cheek. "You should be grateful that I'm even letting you use this, instead of forcing you to be silent. And remember, the gag stays on unless I say otherwise. Understand?"

You shook your head mumbling, "Mmff, no."

"That's too bad," he mused, his voice dripping with sadistic amusement. "Because if you try to remove the gag, I'll have to punish you. And you don't want that, do you?"

"Nnooo, I don't," you mumbled, your voice barely audible through the gag.

"Good girl," he purred. "You'll get used to it."

With a swift motion, he removed the shadow restraints from your arms, and you immediately attempted to fight back, you tried to hit him, but he easily dodged your blow. His grip iron-strong when he caught your hand. "Careful, pet," he cautioned, his voice a dangerous whisper. "My patience wears thin."

Using his powers, he summoned the shadow to immobilize you once more, pinning you against the wall, this time including your legs. You were rendered utterly helpless, trapped in his web of darkness.

"Now, let's begin," he said, his voice oozing with menace. You remained tied up, gagged, and entirely at his merciless mercy.

He took out a dagger from his belt and cut through your shirt and bra, leaving you exposed. "Oh my, that's a nice sight."

You let out a muffled scream, "You don't need clothes. They will only get in the way."

He began kissing your neck and sucking on your skin. "Mmf," You moaned softly as his lips trailed down your collarbone, leaving a trail of kisses and bites. He cupped your breast and teased your nipple.

"Mmff No..."

He ignored your protests and continued to play with your nipples.

"You like that, don't you? I can feel how wet you are, darling." He whispered into your ear.

"Mmmff." You tried to deny, but he could hear your thoughts.

He smirked. "I bet if I put my fingers inside you right now, they'd slide right in. I bet you're dripping wet for me, aren't you, my sweet?"

"Mmf."

"You don't need to speak, little one," he whispered, his voice a low, seductive murmur that sent shivers down your spine. "Just relax. I know what you want."

His hand glided down your thigh, his touch sending electric sparks through your skin, until he slipped his fingers under the hem of your dress and traced the edge of your panties. "And it seems that your body agrees with me," he continued, "It's telling me that it's ready to submit to me."

You closed your eyes and tried to block him out. But he could hear your thoughts, and he knew what you were thinking.

"Come on, pet. Open your eyes and look at me. I want to see your beautiful eyes."

Reluctantly, you opened your eyes and found him staring at you, his gaze darkened with hunger and desire.

"There you go. Such a good girl." He praised you.

He slid your panties to the side and his fingers found your pussy, already dripping wet. "Oh, you're so wet, pet. Do you want me that much? Do you want me to fuck you, hmm?"

He slid your panties to the side and cupped your pussy. "Fuck," he muttered as his fingers slipped between your folds, "You're already dripping for me."

You blushed furiously as he rubbed your clit in slow, gentle circles.

"Yes," he said, his voice deepening, "Your body wants me. It wants me to take you and make you mine."

His finger pressed against your entrance and then pushed into you, making you gasp. He curled it and began to massage your G-spot. You bit your lip and moaned, trying not to make too much noise. You tried to squirm away from him, but it was no use.

You clenched your fists, struggling to hold back the moan threatening to escape your lips. A soft whimper escaped your lips, and the Loki behind you laughed softly. "No. You're not getting away from me."

You whimpered as he thrust another finger into you, stretching you even further. He began pumping his fingers in and out of your pussy, making you gasp and moan under the gagged cloth. His fingers worked their magic, sliding in and out of you, rubbing your G-spot with each stroke. He kept a steady rhythm, keeping you on the edge.

You could feel your walls tightening around his fingers, the sensation driving you mad. The Loki in front of you watched intently as he continued to pleasure you, his gaze filled with a mix of lust and amusement as you struggled to keep control. "Oh, little one," he said, "I love seeing you like this. So desperate. So needy. So fucking sexy." His other hand gripped your hips, keeping you in place.

"You're so wet," he murmured, "You're practically begging me to fuck you."

"Mmfff." You tried to ignore him, but he curled his fingers and stroked you just right, and your hips bucked involuntarily. You were quickly approaching your orgasm, and it was impossible to stop yourself from moaning loudly.

Loki leaned in and nipped at your neck, and you shivered as his breath caressed your skin. "But I won't. Not yet. First, I want to watch you come. I want to see your face when you orgasm. I want to hear the sounds you make when you come."

His fingers thrusting into your pussy, his thumb rubbing your clit. You were so close, and you knew that he could sense it. "Ah, yes. That's it. You're doing so well. Now, tell me... do you want to cum?" He pumped them faster, deeper.

You shook your head. You didn't want to come, you tried to resist, but you were too far gone. You felt the pressure building in your core, the pleasure was too much.

He leaned down and whispered in your ear, "Then let's see how long you can last."

He pumped his fingers faster and harder, making you moan and cry out. He thrust a third finger into your pussy and continued his assault on your clit. He was fucking you with his fingers, and you were so close. You could feel the heat rising in your belly, and you knew you couldn't hold it back any longer. You shook your head at him begging him not to make you come.

"Come on pet, don't fight it, just let it happen. Give into the pleasure. Come for me."

He pumped his fingers faster and harder, making you moan and cry out. "Yes, that's it," he whispered, "Just a little bit longer, you're so close."

He was relentless, his fingers working your pussy expertly. "Nnnn." You tried to tell him that you weren't going to let him win, but you couldn't speak.

You could feel the pleasure building and you knew that he could sense it. He kept pumping his fingers and rubbing your clit, and you couldn't hold back any longer. Your pussy was so wet, his fingers were sliding in and out so easily. You felt the orgasm approaching, the pressure was building, and you knew you couldn't hold it back any longer.

"You're going to come, whether you want to or not. So, don't fight it, just let it happen."

"Mmmmmm"

"Yes. You can't stop it. I'm going to make you come."

He continued to thrust his fingers, his thumb circling your clit, the pressure building until you could take it no more. He removed the gagged from your mouth, "Let me hear your moans, pet."

You let out a loud cry, unable to contain it. "That's it. You're so close, I can feel it.” Your back arched and you cried out, his fingers and thumb pushing you over the edge. "Come for me, my sweet. Come for me. Now." He curled his fingers inside you and bit your neck.

You screamed and bucked as the orgasm took you, and he didn't let up. He continued to pump his fingers and rub your clit, pushing you further and further until you couldn't take it anymore. You thrashed about as the pleasure was too much, your orgasm overwhelming your senses.

Your body writhing against his fingers. Your release was so intense that it made your whole body shudder. He held you tightly, his fingers still moving in and out of your pussy, drawing out your orgasm.

"There we go," he said, smiling down at you. "Such a good girl. You're such a good girl for me, pet."

You were a panting, sweating, mess, and you were exhausted.

He kissed your forehead and pulled his fingers out of you. You were glad the shadow was there restraining you or you would collapse.

After you came down from your high, you realized what just happened. You spat at him, "Fuck you, Loki. You're disgusting."

"Disgusting?" He raised his eyebrows. "Now, why would you say that, little one? Was it not good for you? You certainly seemed to enjoy yourself."

"Get the fuck away from me." you spat, your voice filled with venom.

He laughed, "You don't get to tell me what to do, little one. I'm not done with you yet."

"You fucking monster," you screamed, "I'm not going to let you touch me."

He grinned and grabbed your hair, pulling you towards him. "Watch your mouth, pet. I don't like hearing you use foul language. Now, since I was so kind to give you such a nice orgasm, will you be a good girl and obey me without any fuss?"

You rolled your eyes. "Like hell I will!"

He smirked in response. "Since I've been rather kind to you," Loki began, his eyes roaming over your body, "I have a proposition for you."

Though you had little desire to hear anything he had to say, your curiosity got the best of you, compelling you to reluctantly listen.

"Do you want me to fuck you here, right now in this alley, or in our room where we will be alone, and no one will interrupt us." He said with a smirk.

Your throat tightened, both options he presented were equally horrifying. But, the last thing you wanted was for someone to find you two here, like this. "Neither.” you choked out.

"That wasn't an option, my sweet."

You glared at him, "You're vile," you hissed

He raised an eyebrow, seemingly unaffected by your words. "You say the most hurtful things, pet."

"I'm not going to choose," you declared, "I'm not choosing anything. I'd rather die than have sex with you."

He looked amused. "Fine, then I will choose. You have a few seconds to think about it." He said as he took his jacket off, and dropped it to the ground.

"You're going to take me right here? You're an animal."

"It's your fault for refusing. If you choose the other option, I was going to be nice. I'll be rough if you insist."

"If you touch me, I'll kill you." You growled.

He laughed. "Oh, little one. It's not me you have to worry about."

Ignoring your warning, he reached forward, his touch cold against your skin, and ran his thumb along your lower lip. "Shame that I have to punish you. I'm sure you'll be a good girl after today."

You gritted your teeth and move your face away from his touch, "Don't touch me."

He ignored your demand, and began undoing his pants. He pulled his cock out, and started stroking it. You stared at his member and he was already rock hard. You hesitated, not wanting to touch him.

"Are you afraid, my sweet?"

You remained silent, refusing to dignify his question with a response.

He laughed, “There's no need to be scared. I won't hurt you. Unless you disobey me."

He moved closer, his proximity suffocating. With a swift, unwelcome touch, he reached out and stroked your cheek. Despite your best efforts, you couldn't help but flinch away from his caress.

"Relax, darling. This will be pleasurable for the both of us." He said as he grabbed his cock and ran it against your slit.

You felt your wetness seep onto his cock.

"STOP!" you screamed, your voice breaking the tense atmosphere, forcing him to halt his actions and look up at you.

He smiled at you. "Do you want me to stop, pet?"

You nodded frantically, desperation clouding your eyes. "Yes, I do."

"Tell me," he purred, his tone dripping with cruelty, "why should I stop?"

You scrambled for an excuse, your mind racing. "Let's do it in your place then," you stammered, your words rushed. "Please? I don't want anyone to see." Desperation clung to your voice as you pleaded, hoping against hope that he would agree to your request.

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, pet. You know that won't work."

He pressed his cock against your pussy again.

You felt his tip slip inside you. "PLEASE! I'll be good, just please stop."

He smiled. "I like the sound of that."

He sighed, "Very well, little one." He swiftly pulled up his pants, adjusted his shirt, and retrieved his jacket, freeing you in the process. You winced as you flexed your arms, the restraints having taken their toll.

With a snap of a finger, he put your clothes back on, and you felt like a weight has been lifted off your chest. You couldn't believe he stopped. He looked at you. "Remember what I said, pet. You don't speak about this to anyone. I'll know if you do. Understand?"

You nodded.

"Good girl," he affirmed.

"Come," he motioned for you to follow him, and for a moment, you considered fleeing again, knowing full well that it branded you a coward. But the terror of Loki's power held you in check.

You didn't get far before he seized you once more. "Enough!" he bellowed, sending you crashing to the ground. Your body felt numb, the pain overwhelming. You begged through the agony, "Please."

"You brought this on yourself, pet," Loki's tone was icy, disappointment etched in his features. "I was going to take care of you, give everything you desired, and all I asked in return was your love and trust. And you broke it."

"Please, Loki. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," you pleaded, desperation lacing your words.

He shook his head, "No, pet. There is no going back. You have to pay the price for what you've done," he stated firmly, his grip unyielding.

Loki wrapped his arm around you and pulled you closer to him, "Sweet dreams my pet."

And then, everything faded into darkness.

When you woke up, you were on the bed, naked. The room was dark, and there was no sign of Loki. At least right now your arms and legs weren’t bounded. But still he had kidnapped you. "Fucking asshole!" You cursed inside your head.

Then you heard footsteps approaching outside, you pretended to fall asleep, hoping that he'd leave. "I know you're awake, my sweet." He chuckled, "Did you really think you could trick me, darling? You're such a naughty girl, aren't you? Tsk tsk. Such a bad girl."

You tried to fool the god of mischief, what an idiot you were. You opened your eyes and saw him staring at you. He sat down next to you and began caressing your body. He ran his hand up and down your legs.

You slapped his hand away, you hated him. How dare he touch you like that! Loki grabbed your wrist, "Don't try to stop me, little one." He threatened, his grip was tight. It hurt. "No, stop." You whimpered. You tried to struggle free, but he was too strong.

"Oh no, no, no, you're not going anywhere." He said as he pinned you down on the bed. "Are you ready to behave now, my sweet?"

You refused to respond, instead, you glared at him.

Loki shook his head and chuckled. "You are so beautiful, my sweet.”

You were getting tired of him calling you sweet and darling. "Shut up, Loki. Don’t fucking call me that, you bastard!"

He gave you a stern look. "Behave."

"Or what?" You challenged.

Loki leaned down and pressed his lips to your ear. "If you don't stop that right now, I'm going to have to punish you."

You glared up at him. "What, like you haven't already done that?"

Loki smirked, "Don't be a smartass, darling. I can make this a lot worse."

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, sure."

Loki gripped your hair tightly and tugged your head back. "Are you sure you want to challenge me?"

You looked up at him defiantly. "Do your worst." You then saw him grinned, you realized you had made a big mistake.

"As you wish, little one." Loki said with a wicked grin. He got off the bed and started taking his clothes off. You knew what he was going to do, and it scared you.

He took off his shirt and threw it aside. You were confused at first, until Loki lifted his other hand and started waving it.

"What are you doing?"

"Just making sure you don't try to resist."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means, I don't want you getting away." Loki smirked. He then started moving his hand up and down your body.

You squirmed and tried to push his hand away, but they felt frozen. "Let me go, you sick bastard!"

Loki gave you a wicked grin. "No, I don't think I will"

Loki forced his lips against yours, you tried to resist, but it was useless. You couldn't move. You tried to turn your head, but it was no use.

Loki forced his tongue into your mouth. He explored every inch of your mouth, tasting you. You could taste his breath. It was sweet, with a hint of mint. You tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let you.

"Stop!" You yelled, "Please stop, Loki! I don't want to do this!

Loki ignored you. He kept kissing you, forcing his tongue down your throat. "I know you like it, darling."

You shook your head. Loki broke the kiss and smiled. "You're such a stubborn little thing, aren't you?"

"Fuck you." You spat.

“Why are you so impatient, my little pet?” Loki laughed. "Don’t worry, I’ll do it in a moment. Right now, I'm more concerned with teaching you a lesson."

You glared at him, you were so pissed off. He laughed again, “Such a pretty face, too.” He traced his finger along your jawline.

Then you watched Loki removed his pants, revealing his fully erect cock. He stroked himself slowly. You felt your body heat up. You couldn't believe it. He was making you hot.

"See something you like?" He grinned.

You blushed. You looked away. It had been awhile since you had sex with him or anyone else. You missed being fucked by him. You needed to feel his cock deep inside of you. But you knew this was wrong, you looked away from him.

"Look at me." He ordered.

You turned and looked at him. You watched as he continued to stroke his cock. "You betrayed me, Y/N." He climbed over you and straddled your hips, trapping your wrists with his hands, and pinned them above your head. "You hurt me. You have to be punished."

“You are hurting me too.”

“I don’t think so, pet. Deep down, you want this. You want me to force myself to you, you don’t think I know? I know your deepest darkest desire. The desire you try to deny. The desire for me to make you mine again. You want to be my pet again, don't you?"

He was right. You were afraid to admit it but you missed Loki. But you didn't want to admit it. You shook your head, “No! I don’t have such thing.” You knew it was a lie, deep down you wanted him to use you and force himself on you, forced you into submission, make you his again, like he had done many times before.

"Keep lying to yourself, pet. I know you more than you know yourself. Now, open your mouth and let me fuck it.” He smirked and moved closer to you. His cock was inches away from your face. You moved your head away, but he grabbed your hair and pulled it. You winced in pain.

"Open up. Open wide and say ahh."

You refused to obey. "Don't be stubborn." You clenched your teeth together. "If you don't open your mouth, I'll fuck your throat. I'll make you gag and choke."

"You're sick."

"Maybe, but so are you, darling."

He grabbed your face, forced your mouth open. You kept them close together, "I'll fucking bite your dick off, I swear."

He was having none of it, he used his magic to make you couldn't move your jaw. Then he shoved his cock inside your mouth and forced his way in. He started to pump his hips and his cock went deep down your throat, hitting the back of your throat. He moaned, enjoying the feeling.

He pushed his cock deep into your throat, making you gag. You could feel his hard length against your tongue. His precum leaked onto your taste buds, sending shivers down your spine. He kept thrusting in and out of your mouth, deeper and deeper. Your eyes watered.

You coughed, trying to catch your breath, but he was relentless. His hands gripped your hair tightly, his hips moved faster and harder, his cock sliding in and out of your throat.

You felt your body relax, your heart rate quickened, and your clit throbbed. You were getting turned on by this. You whimpered and felt a surge of excitement flow through your body. You couldn't believe it. You were excited at the thought of him taking you, forcing you, fucking you.

You were sick.

"This is all your fault." He said as he looked at you, enjoying the way your throat was stretched around him. "Such a good pet. Take it all, pet."

He grabbed your hair and forced his cock deeper into your mouth. You were struggling to breathe. He moaned louder as he felt his cock going deeper into your throat. He held his cock in your throat, watching you struggle to breathe. "Such a pretty face. I wonder how many people you've sucked off.”

You whimpered, feeling your body reacting to his words.

"Did you plan to suck that guy you were flirting with?" He thrusted his hips. You gagged and tears filled your eyes. "He could never make you feel this good." He moaned. His thrust became harder and deeper. You choked and gagged on his cock.

You cried, your body trembled. You were about to pass out, when he suddenly pulled his cock out and allowed you to breathe. You gasped, sucking in as much air as possible. You couldn't move, you were frozen. He then proceed to grab his cock and stroke it.

"Such a pretty sight, you are. And the view of your lips wrapped around my cock." He said, grinning. "Don't worry, my pet. I'm almost there. You're doing a great job. You're going to be rewarded for being so good for me. I'm going to give you what you want. What you need."

He grabbed your hair and slammed his cock deep again into your throat. Then his hand reached to your pussy. He put his finger in your pussy, you moaned as he touched your pussy. He smirked. "That's a good girl, you are learning. Now, suck my cock."

You started sucking his cock. He started thrusting his cock deeper and harder into your throat. He moaned as you sucked his cock. He loved feeling your mouth on his cock.

"Mmmphh… stwop.” You tried to beg, but his cock was down your throat.

"Do not talk with your mouth full, darling. That is not polite."

You felt him tighten around your neck. His grip was firm.

"I am going to cum. Do not spit. Swallow every drop, and maybe I will reward you. But only if you're a good girl. Do you understand?"

"Mmmph." You tried to protest, but the god didn't listen. You couldn't do anything except suck his cock. Loki kept fucking your mouth until his seed spilled into your throat, you felt the warm liquid slide down your throat making you choke. Your eyes rolled back as you swallowed his seed. He pulled out and released your hands.

You coughed, and gasped for air. "Good girl. Very good girl." Loki patted your head.

You glared at him. You wanted him dead.

"Don't be like that, Y/N. You're supposed to be happy. This is what you wanted, remember? We're together again. Just like old times."

You looked away. "That was a long time ago."

Loki grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him. "But it's not too late. We can have it again. We can have everything. We just have to work together."

"Work together?" You scoffed, "How can we work together? You lied to me!”

“We can talk later, my love. Right now, I need to be inside you.” He stroked his cock, he was still hard even after he came earlier. He spread your legs apart and grabbed a hold of his cock, aiming it towards your wet pussy.

"Now I'm going to fuck you so hard until you pass out. Until I cum deep inside of you and make you mine again. Then when you wake up, I'll fuck you again, and again, and again."

You felt him press his cock against your pussy, his head slid between your folds and penetrated you. "No, Loki, please, I'm sorry."

"It's too late for that." He stroked down his hard cock even after he just came, he was hard again. He then forced himself inside of you. You screamed in agony. He was too big.

"Oh, stop your whining." Loki chuckled. "You're such a baby. It doesn't hurt that much."

His cock was big that it stretched your open, he didn’t give you time to adjust. You screamed, "You fucking asshole!"

"Watch your mouth, darling. I'm not a fan of that language." Loki slapped your pussy, it was red and swollen from his previous assault. He kept thrusting his hips, his cock pounded you over and over. Your whole body ached from him.

He was holding your waist down with one hand and pumping his hips in and out of your pussy. He continued to thrust in and out of you. He took his time and made sure he hit the spot that would make you scream and beg for more. He knew what you wanted, he knew your body and what made you tick.

You were biting your lip, trying not to give him the satisfaction of hearing you moan for him.

"Why don't you let me hear those beautiful moans, pet?" Loki purred, leaning his face in close to yours. "Don't hold back, you know you want to enjoy this."

"No..."

Loki grinned and snapped his hips hard against yours. "I know what you like, and I know you like this. It's why I keep doing this." He smiled wickedly. Loki picked up the pace. His cock hit the spot inside of you. "It’s okay. You don’t need to be embarrassed, just let it all out."

You bit your lip and gripped his sheets, trying not to make a sound. "Darling, you're so stubborn, you're going to hurt yourself." Loki grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked on it, causing you to moan and look up at him.

"You're fucking psycho!"

Loki began pounding into you even harder. His hand gripped your throat, and you felt yourself grow weaker. fast. "Loki, please..." Your vision began to fade, and you started gasping for air. “Stop…” Loki's fingers wrapped around your neck, he choked you.

He squeezed them together and pounding his cock into you. You screamed and he slapped your pussy again. He fucked you harder than you'd ever been fucked before. You were sobbing, begging him to stop. Tears ran down your face but he didn't slow down. He kept fucking you harder than before. Your breasts were bouncing wildly as he pounded into you.

You felt him hit a spot inside of you that caused a surge of pleasure to flow through your body. "That's it, darling." Loki moaned, slamming his hips harder against yours. "Come on, you know you want to."

You felt your orgasm building. You tried to fight the urge, but you couldn't help yourself. He kept pounding into you, his cock rubbing against your g-spot.

"Don’t fight it. You can't resist, so just give in." Loki said thrusting harder and harder, until you were both a moaning, writhing mess. Your walls clenched around his cock, and you arched your back. You moaned loudly as he fucked you harder and faster.

You couldn't fight it anymore, you screamed in pleasure, feeling yourself reaching your peak.

"Fuck, yes! Come for me! Milk my cock, pet"

You cried out as your orgasm crashed over you. Loki didn't stop, he continued thrusting in and out of your pussy. Your body shook uncontrollably. You cried out again, screaming.

"Please, stop." You pleaded, panting.

Loki ignored you, he fucked you harder and harder, and you could feel his cock throbbing inside of you. "I'm going to fill you with my seed. You'll be leaking it out for days. Every time you sit down or move, you'll feel it dripping down your thighs. You'll be mine."

"Please, Loki! No! Pull out!" You begged, trying to push him off of you. But he was too strong. "Why are you doing this to me?" You cried.

"I'm not going to pull out." Loki's fingers wrapped around your neck, he choked you. "After you betrayed me, this is the least you deserve. I'm going to make you pregnant. You'll have a little monster running around. You won’t ever leave me again.”

"No! Loki, stop!" You sobbed, crying out. "I'll do anything! Please don't cum in me."

"It's too late, pet." Loki ignored your pleas, he continued thrusting hard. He rubbed your clit, "Cum with me, my sweet." He was rubbing it harder, making it hard for you to keep up with his thrusts.

You shook your head. Loki growled. "Now."

You gasped, "No! No!" You cried out, trying to pull away. You couldn't fight it anymore. You moaned loudly. Your whole body spasmed with your orgasm, your walls clenching tightly around him.

Loki groaned. You felt him got bigger inside you. He let out a long moan. "Take my cum." He spilled his hot seed inside you. It filled you, filling you up, some of it spilling out. You could feel it filling your womb, stretching your belly. It was so warm.

He continued to fuck you through his orgasm, pushing more of his cum into you. "No! Please stop!"

Loki laughed, his cock was still hard and pushed his cock back into your pussy. "Oh, but we're not done yet. I'm not finished with you yet." He pushed himself deeper inside you. He was still coming. "This is just the beginning."

"You're fucking insane."

"Yes, I know." Loki was still pumping his cock in and out of you. "I'm going to train your body. You're going to crave me, my cock, and my cum. And every time you see me, you're going to want me to fuck you. You'll need me."

"No!" You cried.

"Yes, yes, you will. Because I'm the only one who can satisfy you." He was thrusting harder, deeper, his pace increasing.

You were afraid he might never stop. And he never did.

It had felt like hours. You lost count on how many times you had orgasmed. It was too much. The room was spinning, the pain and pleasure becoming too much. You were so sensitive, every touch sending you over the edge.

“Loki, please stop. I’m begging you.” You were exhausted, spent, and sore. You couldn’t take it anymore. But you couldn’t stop him, he was too strong and too weak. He kept fucking you over and over again until you were almost at the point of passing out. But he made sure you never did by using his magic to keep you awake.

"Look at your beautiful, stretched pussy. My seed is already filling you."

You whimpered, you could feel it. You could feel the weight of his cum inside you. He never pull out. He kept coming, and his cock kept spurting more and more. You didn’t think it was possible for anyone to have so much cum. He was fucking you again and again.

"You'll learn to love me. You'll learn to beg for me. You'll learn to come on command. You'll learn to obey me. You'll learn to pleasure me. You'll learn to worship me. Because that is how we are, my sweet."

It seemed like an eternity, but finally, he was done. He collapsed onto you, panting heavily. His cock remained buried inside your pussy, and you felt him softening inside you. Your pussy ached from the rough pounding he had given you.

"You are mine, my sweet. Now and forever." He said, giving you a possessive look.

You felt his cum slowly trickle out of you. Your belly was still swollen from the amount he had pumped into you. You had never felt so full. It was like you were a water balloon, and he had been filling you with water.

Loki kissed you deeply. You could barely fight him back, you were too weak. He smiled and ran his hand through your hair. "Now get some sleep, I'll be back to check on you later." Loki got up from the bed and walked away.

The door shut. You laid there, stunned and exhausted. You were still trying to process what had happened, but there was one thing you knew for sure. You were trapped. You were his prisoner.

He was not going to let you go. Ever.

"I hate you, Loki." You whispered.

And you knew he heard it.

E/N : I intentionally made her emotion sway back and forth, torn between desiring him yet hating his actions. They're both twisted in their own ways, perhaps that's why they complement each other.

Honestly, I'm not entirely content with how the story is going; I might rewrite or delete it later, I'm not sure. Nevertheless, thank you for reading!

Let me know if you enjoy dark fics too! I adore them and plan to write more.

#loki laufesyon x reader #loki x reader #loki x reader smut #loki smut #loki season 2 #dark fic #dark loki x reader #marvel x reader #marvel fic

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fallingsatellive · 3 months ago

Text

“It’s obviously valid to be bugkin but you also can’t just expect people to get over it when they have a genuine fear!”

I’m afraid of dogs.

Dogs put me extremely on edge. I avoid them while outside and if one’s in a room with me I’ll try to leave or else start to panic. Especially medium-sized and larger breeds. Mere images of dogs may not give me a panic attack, I will admit that, it's not a phobia. But if you want to talk hypocrisy, if you're opening up that discussion:

Hey dog therians, dog otherhearted folks and clinical cynanthropes, what if everywhere you went, the unspoken attitude of the alterhuman community was—

Don’t post dog photos or talk about being a dog in the main alterhuman tags. Don’t talk about your shifts, your instincts, or your kind in the main tags. If you’re a CZ, don’t talk so openly about your biological reality. It’s extremely triggering for people with cynophobia. The idea of physically being or becoming a dog grosses them out to briefly think about, so try not to discuss your literal existence. If you must, at least trigger tag yourself with #tw dogs or #tw dog mention so people can stay safe by censoring things that will hurt their mental health. It’s okay if you’re dogkin but in my DNI I'm going to write something like, don’t follow me if your blog hosts too many graphic close-up images of dogs doing dog things, even if you censor them. Don’t add dog photos to open posts in the alterhuman tags, you have no idea who might be sent into a panic attack by images of yourself so you should play it safe and only put them on your own posts. And stop being so offended by people who comment on posts about pet dogs or dog facts saying they want to bleach their eyes or kill it with fire, they can’t help having a phobia.

Not great, is it? Fortunately, and I do genuinely mean that, this is a sentiment you will only see once, on this post, completely satirically. Except it’s just a real sentiment for bug therians/hearted and other invertebrate alterhumans. Of course what I said was satire. But if it pissed you off when you thought it might not be, please, contemplate on that reaction, really spend some time on it.

Also, if you're wondering what I mean by "other invertebrate alterhumans", (and I'm sorry for how heated I got when I was writing this part last night even after editing it down)

You know I’m a bug zoanthrope too, not just a bird? And see above if you're wondering why I never said shit about it, just said I was a centipede therian and even then said I was just questioning and didn't really talk much about it. Am I allowed to talk about it without tagging it #tw body horror, even though I obviously don’t fucking find my own body to be horror? Can I talk about it without tagging it #tw bugs like just the very thing that I am needs to be censored for people's well-being? I'm sorry if I come across judgmental. Offline I constantly interact with people saying they’re a nature lover but centipedes are the only thing on Earth that they still hate. And I have to come online knowing that any of those people could be bloggers in the alterhuman tags and it’s my responsibility to tiptoe around them. “Because centipedes are scary and disgusting.” Because I’m scary and disgusting. My brain is not capable of hearing a difference and I can’t change that. It is so much my reality that it's the same emotional mix of anger and anxiety and hurt that would be (has been, lol) triggered by someone ranting about how much they hate Jews or trans people to me.

#bad morning.#if this upsets you greatly you can unfollow me. it's ok. everyone who stays gets to see the cool stickbug i photoed last night if you want #alterhuman #therian #nonhuman #holothere #bug hate #i just discovered that this tag is mostly for the bug hater community and not for purposes of talking about bug hate by bug appreciators #hello bug hater community i'm an evil bug infiltrating your private property #hostile takeover #vent #bugkin

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thebowieconstricker · 9 months ago

Note

Hello! I saw you wanted requests for Lucifer, and I would love any sort of angst where Lucifer ends up comforting the reader, like maybe something happened to the reader, or the reader is just really stressed and just breaks down

Ease My Mind

(Lucifer Morningstar x reader)

masterlist link

AN: To this request: yes yes yes yes YES I just KNOW that he gives the best hugs and is so ready to comfort the people he loves. For this fic, I decided the angst is a little of everything, job struggles, moral dilemmas, and some self-doubt, so I hope I delivered. This isn’t proofread so please alert me to any errors! Thank you for your request! <333

Summary: You have a bad day at work and it triggers a breakdown. Luckily, your big bad boyfriend is here to help.

Tags: Gender neutral reader, could be read as platonic if you reeeeally squint but it’s implied romantic, heavy on the angst, a dash of fluff, Lucifer is trying his best, you guys are precious.

Warnings: Reader is afraid they’re being used by the people around them and they have lots of thoughts about being useless and others not liking them.

Also, the title is inspired by the song “Ease My Mind” by Ben Platt, go listen to it! Enjoy ya heathens!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’ve been used by others for your entire life.

And now you were stuck in that same cycle in death.

As a young, naive, alive-person, you were desperate for some one to love you. Growing up in an environment where compassion was scare, you decided that the only way to get people to notice you was by offering to help them in some way. A favor, a ride, somewhere to crash, and, for one specific person, a place to hide the bodies. In life, you had gotten so deep into your desire to please others that you had latched onto the first person to give you the time of day. Unfortunately for you, that individual happened to have a thing for serial killing.

Looking back on it now as you miserably walked back to the hotel, tears threatening to fall down your face, you couldn’t think about anything other than how stupid and useless you were. It was your fault that they were found out, your fault that the innocents were dead in the first place, your fault you were stuck in hell and that fucker was still out there.

How much time had passed on Earth? How many more had they killed?

On most days, you could compartmentalize, putting the bad thoughts in a little box and shoving it in the back of your brain, but work had broken you today. You worked for the Vees, specifically Velvette, and it was no secret how they overworked and abused their staff. You were stuck picking up Velvette’s leftover energy drinks for as long as she had control of your soul.

And yet. You thought maybe someday, someday you might make a connection. You might impress her, or surprise her, or something, and maybe she would give you a break.

But no. Today you had been an hour late for the first time and Velvette had screeched at you, calling out all of your flaws and insecurities and bringing all of the horrible memories that you had oh-so-carefully stowed away to light. But you held back tears and did your fucking job, the emotions boiling all day and the hectic office space doing nothing to calm it.

You had needed this cry for a long time, and now there was no stopping it.

Walking along the brimstone pathways, you finally made your way to the rickety Hazbin Hotel. Its incomprehensible height only worsened your now growing headache as you walked up to the doors, grabbing the handles and swinging the heavy iron frame and red-stained glass open.

You immediately started towards your room, but you were blocked by the obnoxiously cheery Princess of Hell herself, Charlie.

Charlie’s not obnoxious, you’re so vile for thinking that.

Shit, the thoughts were getting worse and you could not do this right now.

Charlie, oblivious to your mood, smiled brightly. “There you are! How was work? I’ve got someone here who’s been waiting-“

You shoved past her, bumping her harshly.

“Not in the mood.”

Charlie frowned in confusion behind you.

“But, wait, hey-“ You ignored her pleas and- ah shit, now Angel’s in front of you.

“Hey, babe, you might wanna hang around for a sec-“

You shut your eyes tightly and moved your hands towards his chest, your fight or flight kicking in as you pushed him.

“ANGEL, leave me alone.”

Why would you yell at Angel like that? He’s just being nice.

Shut up shut up SHUT UP

Everything was only getting worse. You bolted to the grand staircase and raced up the steps. As you sped down the seemingly infinite hallways, the tears you had been fighting back for the last millennia finally fell. With a choked sob, you finally spotted your bedroom and lurched for the doorknob, swinging the door open and slamming it behind you as you bursted into your room. You ran to your bed and grabbed a pillow, hugging it tightly as you loudly cried.

Charlie only keeps you here because she needs the guests, you know. She hates you. They all hate you. They wish you weren’t here. You’re just lying there, crying, why would they want you?

The hateful thoughts were all you could hear in your mind. As you pulled your knees to your arms holding your pillow, you wanted nothing more than to disappear. To just pop out of existence and finally be free of the burden of yourself.

Then, suddenly, three knocks at the door.

“GO AWAY.” You screamed, throat on fire from your sobbing.

A voice came from outside. A smooth, relaxed, kind male voice.

“It’s me, hon.”

You froze, terrified. Quickly you climbed to the floor on the left side of your bed, blocking your body from the view of the door. You took several deep breaths, trying to steady your nerves.

“Come in.” You said shakily.

You heard the door creek open, then footsteps.

“Where ya hiding these days?” He awkwardly chuckled, clearly trying to lighten up the mood you were in.

“Just- stay over there.” You were still holding your pillow, and you gave it an extra squeeze.

“I’m a mess right now.” You sniffled.

He paused, like he was thinking. “Well, if that’s what you want, but I hope you know by now that I’m always happy to see you. Even when you’re a mess.”

You felt the bed shift. He was sitting on the opposite side.

Like a child looking for a secret, you turned around to look at the back of his head. His hat was gone, probably left downstairs, and all you saw was his sweep of blond hair.

He made a ‘hm’ sound. “Bad day?”

You nodded. Then, realizing he couldn’t see you. “Y-yeah.”

You watched him nod. “I’m sorry about that.” He fiddled with his cane, his hands tightening and loosening around it. “Would you… like to talk about it?”

You paused.

Lucifer had been a confidant of yours since you first arrived in Hell. He was the one to tell you what was going on right after you died, calming you down and offering you a place to stay. Sure, you didn’t know that he was literally the Devil, but everything about him made you feel at peace. Like you could deal with the hand you were dealt.

Secretly, though, you were waiting.

Waiting for the moment when he would reveal that he only kept you around because he needed you to do something for him.

No one was that kind, or caring, or wonderful.

He wants something from you. Why else would he keep coming back?

You had yet to answer his question. Lucifer sighed.

“You don’t have to tell me anything. I just want you to know that I’m here for you, okay?”

The voices were still wringing in your head, you were still crying, and you felt pathetic.

“I- I don’t- fuck, would you please stop acting like you care?” You knew your words were harsh but they were begging to be said.

His posture straightened in surprise.

“I do care! What makes you think I don’t care?” He sounded hurt.

Nice going, you hurt his feelings.

You bent forward, hands covering your face in frustration. A fresh wave of tears rises through your body and you loudly cried out, too scared and angry and sad to hide it anymore.

“Woah, woah, hey, it’s okay, hon.” Lucifer’s voice was nearing your form on the ground, and he was quickly at your side. You could feel his presence beside you.

He sighed in exhaustion. “Listen, I’m not- I’m not the greatest at this, but I’m gonna ask so I don’t upset you. Do you want a hug? Or a hand on your shoulder-“

Your arms were wrapped around him before he could finish his question, clinging to his waist and biting your face in his neck.

“WOAH there- well hey, sweetheart, there you are.” You could hear him smiling as he gently brought his hand to rub your back.

“I’m sorry. I- I’ve just had a shitty day at work and I’m worried about a lot of things and- I don’t want to take it out on you.” You were shaking, but he held you steadily.

“What kinda things are worrying you?” He asked.

And so you told him. In the comfort of his embrace you were able to somewhat coherently explain all the things that had been freaking you out. Velvette’s torture at work, your own moral dilemmas about your life on Earth, and you were just getting into your feelings about others using you when you felt Lucifer’s breath hitch.

He leaned away from you to look you in the eyes and gently put a finger to your chin.

“Honey, I want you to know that I know for a fact that the people here really care about you. Not because you’re an extra pair of hands, but because you’re you. You’re wonderful to be around. People like you.”

He looked at you with a warm smile and leaned towards you, giving you a small kiss on the forehead.

“I like you. I care about you because you’re worth caring about.”

You stared at him in awe, your mind finally at ease after such a chaotic day. Smiling, you leaned back into him to rest your head on his chest.

“Thank you, Luci.” You reached out and took one of his hands, holding it tightly in an effort to show him how grateful you truly were for his words of assurance.

He tightened his fingers around yours and grinned down at you.

“Always, love. Now, let’s get you on the bed, okay?”

You nodded and he gracefully picked you up, gently placing you on the bed. With a snap, you were in comfortable clothing with a warm blanket around you and plenty of soft pillows.

“You want me to hang out for a bit?” He looked at you through half-lidded eyes, clearly sleepy.

“If you don’t have anything else going on…” You offered, already half dozing off.

“Even if I did, I would love nothing more.” With an affectionate grin he curled up beside you, and you immediately went to lay your head back on his chest. As you drifted away, listening to the King of Hell’s heartbeat, you took a deep breath.

He was right. Things were gonna be okay.

You had friends.

You were loved.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer magne #lucifer magne x reader #lucifer x reader #lucifer Morningstar my beloved

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fallstaticexit · 3 months ago

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The Art of Being Seen - a Nancy Landgraab story

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔒𝔫𝔢 - 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔱𝔥

Prev / Next

AN / Transcript under the cut

AN: Nancy's story will consist of 3 parts: Part One- Youth | Part Two - Uni | Part Three - Wife Three pivotal moments in Nancy’s life that shaped the Nancy we know today.

As mentioned in the prologue, this story may contain mature and possibly even uncomfy themes and all posts will have their corresponding trigger warners in the post as well as the tags. Trigger Warnings are: Homophobia / Religious Trauma / Death via Car Accident/ Drugs / Alcohol / Infidelity / Sex & Nudity

Also, I have experienced CAS burnout lately, so I aged down most of the townies to teens lol. I figured this version of Cassandra Goth can be the AU version since I’ve already wrote Bella and Morti Goth into my Briar legacy, which this story is apart of that universe.

Transcript:

Cassie: This is Blair Hall, the senior girls’ dorm, and if you ask me, it’s the best one. We have our own private library. Down there is the rec room; we’re not allowed to have the boys over unless it’s with a chaperone.

Cassie: We’re also the closest to the church, which is great for when we have group sessions before service. You won’t have to rush and scarf down breakfast, plus you can sleep in a little!

Nancy: [sarcastically] Gee, how’d I get so lucky?

Cassie: Sister Agnes always says, It’s not luck—it’s a blessing! Vacancies are hard to come by. My old roomie withdrew; she had a really hard time fitting in with the other girls. They can be... kind of intense.

Dina: Oh, look. Another pretty blonde rich girl. Like those aren’t a dime a dozen here.

Nina: [scoffs] Here we go...

Dina: I am not joking. I better not catch her ass around Don. The last hoochie he was tonguing down was also a skinny, flat-chested, blonde bimbo.

Vanessa: You need to put his weenie in a cage instead of fighting every girl that breathes the same air as him.

Dina: Well, he wouldn’t be tempted if these floozies would stay away from my man!

Vanessa: I guess dyeing your hair blonde isn’t working for you, huh?

Dina: Oh, shut it, VV. You’re just jealous he isn’t into redheads.

Nina: Hmm, I thought he was into redheads though.

Dina: Ugh, as if!

Cassie: You can pretty much decorate your space however you want. Just nothing that’s on the prohibited list. There’s a room check every night before curfew, and-

Nancy: What do you know about that redhead on the balcony?

Cassie: Dina?

Nancy: No, she said her name was Vanessa. I ran into her this morning but she didn’t mention her last name.

Cassie: Oh, yeah! VV. Vanessa Villareal. She’s- eh, one of the mean girls. I try to stay out their way. Probably best you do the same.

Nancy: [softly to herself] Villareal. So, she’s old money, too.

Cassie: Her family built the school. Guess that’s why she feels like she can do whatever she wants- eh, don’t tell anyone I said that!

Cassie: But, erm, you’re welcome to hang out with me and my friends during rec and lunch and stuff. I know how tough it can, being the new girl and all.

Nancy: Yeah? ...thanks- Cassie, was it?

Cassie: You’ll totally like my friends. They’re the coolest people on Earth.

Cassie: Definitely better than some people. You can tell who goes here because of their faith and who was forced here because of their lack of it.

Cassie: Hey guys! This is Nancy, she’s my new roomie.

Bob: No way, they filled Angela’s spot already? Money talks. I’m Bob, or Bobby, and this cool, tall drink of water is Geoffrey. Welcome to Paradise.

Bob: [whispers] Geoffrey! Say something to the pretty girl!

Geoffrey: [voice cracks] W-we’ve um, met already.

Geoffrey: Our dad’s are friends. I just haven’t seen her since we were 10 years old. She looks so... different.

Bob: Oh, I seeee. First love? Your ears are beet red, my man.

Bob: Take a seat, newbie! Are you into D&D, perchance?

Nancy: I have no idea what that is.

Bob: Oh, ho ho! You’re in for a treat, m’lady. I’ll catch you up from the beginning of our campaign.

Vanessa: You look so bored. Want to get out of here, new girl?

Vanessa: Don’t worry, I’ll return you back to your nerds in one piece.

Cassie: [grumbles] Um, hello, we’re sitting right here?

Nancy: Go where, exactly? This place is in the middle of nowhere.

Vanessa: Guess you’ll have to come and find out.

Nancy VO: [I learned then, that I would follow her anywhere]

Dina: There she goes, taking in another stray.

Nancy VO: [All she had to do was take my hand]

#Landgraab story #nancy landgraab #dark academia #catholic school #sims 4 stories #ts4 simblr #sims 4 simblr #sims 4 community #ts4 story #a special big thank you to my sister for the title #you’re the best ✨#cassandra goth #geoffrey landgraab #bob pancakes #dina caliente #nina caliente #don lothario #Vanessa Villarreal OC

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emilys-bangs · 4 months ago

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Hiii can I please request an Emily fic where Emily takes care of reader during a bad mental health day? Something that’s lots of comfort/ fluff and just Emily being a really sweet and understanding gf :) thank you, love your writing! 🫶🏻

Hi tysm🫶🏼🫶🏼 and thank you for requesting!

————

bad day | e.p

Tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, use of petnames, no use of yn, reader has a bad day

Word count: 1.6k

You wake to an empty bed. And the moment you do, you feel the familiar weight on your chest, like a thousand pounds had been dumped on your lungs, crushing them, compressing them. When you move to rub your eye, a heavy sluggishness resides in your limbs. It’s like cement runs through your veins instead of blood, making the simple act of lifting your arm unbearably heavy.

Giving up, you drop your hand and close your eyes, sinking back into darkness—as much darkness as could be found in the bright room; apparently Emily had taken the liberty of pushing open the curtains after she’d gotten up.

It’s rare that she gets up before you. Emily loves to sleep, loves soaking in lazy hours of the morning in bed with you, her nose buried in your hair, her leg thrown over yours. On the days you don’t have to work, tearing her out of bed is an insurmountable struggle. It’s where she feels most at home; between your arms, nestled in soft, warm sheets, laughs and kisses passed from her lips to yours.

Maybe that should’ve been your first sign—that you’d been asleep heavily enough that you hadn’t noticed her slip out of bed, your body subconsciously readying itself for the day ahead.

The day you never know how to deal with.

“Morning, babe.” Emily chirps, achingly beautiful with her hair tucked behind her ears, the sunlight painting her golden as she pads across the room and to your side of the bed, her tiny shorts barely visible beneath her baggy Yale tee. She holds a plate of French toast in one hand and a mug of perfectly prepared coffee in the other.

It almost hurts, how much you love her. In many ways she feels like your salvation, with her soft hands and lips, her gentle brown eyes, the warm comfort of her arms and the soothing cadence of her voice. But some days, like today, even her presence can’t ease the tightness in your chest, the weary heaviness in your bones.

“Morning,” you mumble back, decidedly less enthusiastic.

She doesn’t linger on your tone, probably chalking it up to the early hour. “I made your favorite,” she singsongs, her eyes shining bright as she sets down the plate and coffee on your nightstand.

Your stomach already roils with something heavy, uncomfortable. A strange weight settles in your gut like cement and there’s a lump in your throat, your tongue numb.

“I don’t want it.” Your voice is low, similar to that of a petulant child’s. It’s flat and distant, and your girlfriend tilts her head in question.

She frowns, a small scrunch between her perfect brows. “Why not, honey? You usually love my French toast.” Her lips tilt up into a smile, but her eyes are searching on yours, digging, cataloging—profiling.

That makes you turn away. “Not hungry,” you speak into her pillow, a strange throbbing behind your eyes making your vision blur. The smell of her French toast is the same as it always is—buttery and drenched in sweet syrup—but it makes your empty stomach lurch, for what reason you don’t know.

There’s usually no warning that precedes these days. No alarm bells going off, no trigger that sends you into a spiral of tears and racing thoughts. Vaguely, you know that these are classified as bad days, even when no life changing, earth shattering crisis occurs.

Sometimes it’s all just in your head.

The mattress dips as Emily places her knee next to your hip, hovering over you as her hand softly falls to your forehead.

“Hey,” she murmurs, swiping your hair away from your cheek, “you okay?”

Tears form hot in your eyes. You shake your head and they fall onto the pillow, staining it, soaking the fabric.

Emily inhales sharply when she sees them. Her touch is feather light but somehow still impossibly sturdy as she wipes away the warm tears and hooks her finger under your chin, forcing your gaze on hers. “Baby, what’s wrong?” She breathes.

It’s one pet name she almost never uses with you, except for the achingly soft—rare—vulnerable moments between you and her. In the pale, pale, morning light, your hand warm between her thighs, your touch sending her into a spiral, her lashes fluttering and her panting breaths skipping across your skin as she pulls you in for a kiss. In the midnight blue of the living room, when you’re drowsy and tripping over your feet, barely awake as she supports you with a gentle hand around your waist, guiding you to bed. When one of you is hurt, blood streaked on your skin, bruises marring your bodies and tears making your eyes go glassy, either from being injured or watching your love go through the pain.

So when she says that to you, the floodgates open in earnest.

You’re a sobbing mess as she takes you into her arms, the food and coffee forgotten, nothing existing in time except for you and her and your tears, your unexplainable grief, her warm hands, her soothing voice. She whispers nonsense into your ears and strokes your hair, her short nails hitching against your scalp every so often.

The pressure in your lungs mounts and you collapse into her, wanting to feel something familiar amongst all the wrongness in your body, your mind.

“I don’t feel…right.” You hiccup, tightly clenching her shirt in your fists. Her hand is warm on the back of your neck and you bury your face under her jaw, breathing in the faint hints of the lotion she lathers on before bed, intertwined with the scent of sugar and syrup.

“In what way, mon ange?” She asks, as breathless as you are, her voice overflowing with concern as she holds you tighter. A kiss is pressed to your hair and you tremble, a sob getting trapped in your throat.

“Every way. Bad day.” You choke out through the tears.

Emily doesn’t say anything else. She holds you, lets you cry your eyes out and soak her shirt with tears, soothing murmurs in French and Italian falling to your ears as she rocks you back and forth. You don’t know how long it takes before the tears slow and your breathing evens, your throat going dry as Emily continues kissing your forehead and rubbing your back.

When you quieten down completely she leans back to look at you. “I’m somewhat of an expert on bad days,” she whispers, giving you a tiny smile as she wipes the hair away from your wet cheeks. “Baths help,” she tells you softly, rubbing between your shoulder blades, “wanna try with me?”

It’s hard to think a bath could help ease the jumbled mess you feel like you are right now. But you trust her implicitly, so you nod.

Emily’s responding smile is gentle. She tenderly wipes away your tears and kisses your forehead before helping you up off the bed, into the bathroom. Her arm is warm around your waist as she makes you sit on the lid of the toilet and turns to draw the bath.

You watch her with heavy eyelids, sniffling quietly as she checks the temperature of the water, making sure it’s hot before it fills the tub. When it’s full she walks over to you, holding her hands out.

Taking them shakily, you let her help you out of your pajamas and into the warm water. She sinks to her knees on the edge of the tub and gives you a small smile, her concerned eyes locking with yours. You tug at her hand, your fingers tightly linked with hers.

“Em,” you rasp, pulling her toward you, and she nods.

“Okay, sweetheart.”

She’s shedding her clothes and settling in behind you without you having to say much else. Her hands gently bring you back into her chest and she kisses the back of your head. “Just close your eyes,” she murmurs, “it might help.”

You hear her scoop up water in her hands, then feel the warmth of it as it soaks your scalp. Slowly, methodically, she washes your hair and works the shampoo into your scalp until it lathers, the refreshing scent of eucalyptus permeating through the steam. Just as gently, she washes it off, then starts to work on your body.

In that moment, you feel so fit to burst with love that silent tears run down your cheeks, dripping into the bubbly bath water. Emily kisses the tears off—the ones she can catch before they outrace her—and murmurs I love you’s into your skin until the water grows cold.

After the bath she dresses you in her warm satin pajamas, her lips pressing kisses on your skin as she tucks you back into bed, despite the brightly shining sun outside.

“I’m not tired,” you protest despite the sluggishness in your bones. Emily slides the curtains closed and climbs back into bed with you.

“It won’t hurt to close your eyes, mon ange.” She kisses your forehead and gathers your wet hair in her hands, splitting it into three sections. She starts braiding without combing through the tangles, probably sensing your dishonesty. “Are you hungry?”

Closing your eyes, you shake your head. Emily hums and finishes off the braid, draping it over your pillow so it doesn’t dampen your clothes.

You turn to her, the lump in your throat lessened somewhat. “Thank you.” Your voice trembles.

Emily tsks lightly as she cups your cheek and kisses your temple. “There’s nothing to thank me for.” She whispers. Gently laying your head back down on the pillow, she lies down next to you, on top of the covers.

A small smile tugs at her lips, tinged with worry. Before you can return it, your eyes shutter closed, exhaustion from crying your heart dry making you too tired to keep them open any longer.

“Stay with me?” You slur as you fall fast into the dark comfort of sleep.

Her hand engulfs yours. “Always.”

Please let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments mean the world! If you have any Emily prompts, drop them in my inbox <3

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x y/n #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #emily prentiss fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #emily prentiss blurb #emily prentiss fic #emily prentiss imagine #divider creds: cafekitsune #fic

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kaylopolis · 5 months ago

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Alastor's Shadow (18+) - Chapter Eleven

Alastor x F!Reader, Alias: Thestral

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest and with the Extermination coming six months earlier than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. After all, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plan brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down but also challenge your grab for power…

Tag List: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

(Let me know if you want to be added to the Tag List!)

____________________________________________

Author note: Dear Hoteliers, This chapter might be extremely triggering to some readers. I struggle with panic attacks and designed this chapter to emulate what I go through when I experience one. It also implies a history of abuse. If you wish to skip that particular section but still want to read, there will be a warning before and a note of where to pick up after.

Another short one before things get good!

<3 Stay smutty

Chapter Eleven - Lucifer's Visit

Content Warning: Minors DNI! Mentions of Substance Abuse, Mentions of Physical Abuse, Panic Attack

“Here, drink this,” Angel handed you a cup as you sat up in bed. “It’ll help.”

You brought the smokey liquid to your lips, it burned on the way down. He had given you a glass of straight whiskey. You welcomed the pain, it helped ground you.

“What happened?” He wiped the hair sticking to your face.

You sniffed, looking down at the glass. You had spent the entire night crying and when it was over you didn’t feel like talking much. So, Angel grabbed his laptop and the two of you watched a movie in bed.

Now it was morning - time to face the elephant in the room.

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”

“Try me,” he sat back on the bed, leaning against one of the wooden pillars.

You told him everything, and when you were done, all he could do was stare at you.

“So, let me get this straight. You kissed Alastor?” His jaw dropped. “Yous was right. I don’t believe ya’."

“I just told you I was an Angel tasked with hunting down Eve on Earth for the past hundred years and that’s what you’re focusing on?”

“Well, yeah? I don’t give a shit about that. Frankly, it explains a lot. But you’re in Hell, kid. There ain’t a pure soul down here. Fuck, Alastor murdered people for a livin’ and then ate ‘em. I really don’t think he’d care that ya’ were some big and important Angel who ditched Heaven for a vacation in Hell. Lucifer literally did the same fuckin’ thang.”

“That’s not the part I’m worried about. The kind of power I have isn’t acquired by a soul deal. I don’t really have one like Human Sinners do.” You breathed. “The power I have you take through death.”

“Ooooooh, you’re worried he’s gonna try to kill ya’.” Angel finished for you.

You told him about Carmilla and how Velvette was able to do that much damage to you. “If he knew how easy it would be to take what I have...”

You didn’t tell Angel about the tattoo, about what you took from Eve when you found her, because you did find her. That would be too much even for Angel to handle. Rosie went an entire week thinking you were yanking her chain before she finally realized you were serious.

“Wait, why are you at the Hotel?”

“I don’t even know anymore…” you covered your face in your hands.

“Wow,” Angel gawked. “This is like a fucking Soap Opera.”

“What have I done, Angel?” You sniffed. “I shoulda just gone back to the Seraphim and told her what happened. Then maybe I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Or you’d be dead,” Angel pointed out. “From what it sounds like, Heaven isn’t all rainbows and sunshine. They’re fucked up too.”

“Yeah…” you wiped your eyes.

“You should tell him.”

“What!?”

“I know how this is going to go. You’re gonna go down there and torture yourself the entire time Lucifer is visitin’. Ya’ gonna do everything you can to avoid him - barely even look at 'em. And for what? Because he may or may not reject you after knowing the truth? Ya' don’t know what he’s gonna do, dollface. Unless you tell him. He tries to kill you afterward, then ya' have your answer, but at least you aren’t torturin' yourself in fuckin’ limbo with the whole ‘will he, won’t he’ bullshit!”

He’s right.

“I’m right, and you know it.”

Fucker.

“When is Lucifer do?”

Angel checked his phone. “Any minute.”

“Fuck,” you jumped up from your bed and ran for the door, completely ignoring the fact that you looked like a mess and wearing the same clothes as yesterday...

“Wait! You're doin’ this right now!?” Angel called after you.

“You’re right! Besides, if Lucifer recognizes me, it’s game over. Better Alastor hear it from me beforehand.” You fly to the foyer - static licking down your spine - making it halfway down the stairs before Lucifer’s voice finds you.

“Ahaha. Well, it's not very clever!

“Ha, ha! Fuck you.”

Oh, no! He was already here!

Charlie jumps in between the two of them. “Okay! Okay, anyway. Dad, look at this lovely parlor where people can get to know each other and share secrets and stories and intimate feelings! Without Alastor, we wouldn't have been able to pretty it up this much. See…”

Charlie spins him about until they see you descending from the stairs. You give an awkward wave, your feet finding the wood floor.

“Oh, oh! Dad!” Charlie shoves the King of Hell across the floor. He comes to a stop directly in front of you. “This is Thestral, one of our newest and most promising guests.”

Please, please work. You subconsciously rub the black ink on your left forearm, hidden beneath your red sweater.

“Hello, sir, nice to meet you,” You hold out your hand.

He gives you a confused look, his eyes scanning your form. “Do I know you?”

You laugh awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck. “No. No. I don’t think so. I’m sure I would have remembered meeting the King of Hell, after all.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Right,” he finally shakes your hand. Alastor comes to stand directly next to Charlie, shooting a glance over her shoulder at the King of Hell. He narrows his eyes at him.

Lucifer is exactly as you remembered him. God, what had it been? Ten thousand years? Who even keeps track of time anymore... Yet, Lucifer hadn't changed a bit. Falling from Heaven hadn't even left a mark...

Your heart panged in your chest.

“Ahem, Charlie! Dear, eheh, why don't you introduce me to your OTHER friends?” Lucifer awkwardly laughs.

Charlie pulls him away to Vaggie next.

He didn’t recognize you! Your heart sinks. He didn’t recognize you…

Alastor comes to stand next to you, his eyes following Lucifer around the room. The Radio Demon’s static prickles your skin. He’s irritated - at you or Lucifer or both.

“I didn’t realize how much Charlie looks like him…” You mumble. “I mean, I knew, but didn’t really know…”

Alastor side-eyes you, his demeanor that of the infamous Radio Demon. You tried hard not to picture him as his brown-haired, tan-skinned self. You tried not to picture the look on his face the moment the mask slammed back into place. You tried and failed...

“Looks like you could use some help…” Lucifer starts.

“Excuse me,” Alastor gives you a short bow before jumping into the fray.

You watched the chaos from the sidelines, Angel joining you moments later. A small giggle escaped you when Alastor dropped the piano on Lucifer.

His eyes found yours for a beat before he jumped into a piano duet with Lucifer’s violin. Your heart skipped a beat when your eyes met, his smile faltering but a moment, before his mask slipped back into place.

God, why did your heart hurt so bad?

“You okay?” Angel put a hand on your shoulder. You could feel Husk shooting questioning glances at you from across the room as he helped Sir Pentious up from the floor. How long had he been passed out?

Fuck, you were probably going to have to catch Husk up after all this.

“Yeah,” you mumbled.

You debated turning around and marching yourself right back to your room. Maybe hide until Lucifer finally leaves, and then you could talk to Alastor? It was probably best. Your presence here would just make things worse - especially considering how pissed off Alastor already was.

If you asked Angel to hide you away in his room for the rest of the day he’d do it in a heartbeat. You could build a cocoon on his bed and watch old movies together. Fat Nuggets could cuddle and fall asleep in your lap. Did you have any lemon tarts left, you think? Or had Angel snuck into your room and finished them off while you were gone? You hoped he had - or at least hoped Nifty threw them away (even if it meant her trespassing yet again). They were most likely bad by now.

You turned, debating asking Angel, but he looked so intrigued with the King of Hell you thought better of it. Not every day Royalty stays at the Hotel.

You were better off alone right now anyway.

“Mimzy!” Alastor cheered, he opened his arms for a hug.

Shit! You took a step behind Angel, praying the club owner hadn’t seen you.

She chatted with Alastor and Charlie. While she was distracted, you inched your way to the stairs…

“You! Don’t you move!” She used her angry voice. Angel took a big side step out of the way, clearly afraid of the small demon. Traitor…

She grabbed you by the ear and pulled you down to her level. You winced against the pain in your torso. “Where the fuck have you been!?”

“Mimzy,” Alastor warned, his eyes narrowing at the tiny demon. “We talked about this.”

His static prickled your skin, his green aura beginning to fill the room.

“No!” She waved her finger at him. “I wanna hear it from the dame, well?” She turned to you, her eyes shooting daggers.

“Mimzy, I…” you started, but words weren’t coming to you. Everyone was looking at you. It was too much.

“Well, hello there!” Lucifer took a step in front of Mimzy, cutting her off from Alastor.

“Oh, my stars! Are you Lucifer?” She dropped her hold on your ear. “Pleased to meetcha, Your Highness.” She curtsied and then turned to the Radio Demon. “Alastor, you gotta warn a girl when she’s in mixed company.”

“Charmed. I’m sure,” Lucifer gave a pained smile.

Alastor butts in, “As much as I'd love to catch up, Charlie and I have a tour to continue.”

Lucifer grabs onto his daughter, “I'm sure Charlie can handle showing me around.

“Nonsense!” The Radio Demon grabs Charlie and drags her forward. “We started the hotel together, and we'll show it off together. Right, Charlie?”

“Oh, right!”

This was so painful to watch.

Alastor turns to Mimzy, “Why don't you let the others help you settle in, and I'll be back before you know it!”

They disappeared down the hallway.

Finally, you could breathe.

The others gathered at the bar to hear Mimzy gab about Alastor, but you had had enough of the Radio Demon for one day. Everything was a mess, but it couldn’t be solved until after Lucifer left. Which would probably be a while. Instead, you turned and headed for the music room on the other side of the hotel.

You needed something to do. Hiding in your room would probably just make you stir crazy - plus, all you would do was panic. You debated going for a flight around the City, but you didn’t know how your muscles would hold up in your torso during the flight. You were healing, slowly but still healing. If you ripped something, you’d have to run all the way across town to Rosie, and you were not about to go asking for a chastisement, that’s for sure.

So you turned and headed for the piano room. You grabbed a random piece of music - something you’d played a hundred times - and began to play softly.

You played for what felt like hours, just letting your mind go numb, your thoughts only on the music. And then you felt eyes on you. Not the prickle of static, so it wasn’t Alastor or Rolf. You spun and met Lucifer’s gaze.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he waved anxiously. “I just… I snuck away and heard you playing and was curious.”

“You snuck away?” You scrunched your nose.

“Yeah, yeah…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “That Hotel Manager is…”

“A lot,” you finished for him.

“I was going to say insane, but you put it much nicer,” he gripped his cane.

He looked like he didn’t want to leave, but didn’t have a reason to stay. If anyone knew how much Alastor could be, it was you.

“You play, correct?” You asked, waiving him over.

“Yeah, how did you…”

“There’s this duet I’ve been wanting to try for so long,” you pulled a book of music out from the bench. “Do you mind?”

His smile was one of joy and relief. “Not at all.”

You lined the music sheets on the piano, quickly pointing out the trickier parts. You focused on some of the harder parts, playing out a few measures, before finally turning to the beginning.

“Ready?” You beamed.

He nodded and away you played. Franz Schubert’s Fantasia was a twenty minute song, but you only focused on the first movement, which was only four. It was an intense piece, with very strong emotion and parts which could get quite loud and others so quiet your fingers barely touched the keys at all.

Hell, it was fun. You found yourselves laughing partway through it, especially when you got so into it you bumped heads together.

When was the last time you and Lucifer did something like this? When was the last time you heard his laugh or saw him smile? Lucifer had been gone from Hell longer than you could remember him being a part of it.

The memories you two shared… You missed him.

You finished the movement and jumped when a crowd of clapping echoed behind you. The Hotel Natives were all standing in the doorway. Everyone was there - including Alastor, but he wasn’t clapping.

“That was amazing!” Charlie jumped, bringing the two of you into a hug.

Your face heated from the attention, but your eyes didn’t leave Alastor’s.

He was livid. Or wait... You followed his line of sight, which you had assumed was on you, but you were wrong. It was on Lucifer.

"...jealousy is not an emotion I am accustomed to..."

God, he doesn't know...

Mimzy stomped up and grabbed you by the ear again, stopping your train of thought. “I expect you back at the club this weekend!”

BOOM! The entirety of the Hotel shook.

“Que carajo!” Vaggie groans as the crew heads for the lobby.

You hesitated, knowing Alastor was never one to run headfirst into a fight. The demon made eye contact with you, but it wasn't anger you necessarily saw. It was suspicion. You swore, however, as he melted into shadow, you smelled a hint of vinegar wafting off the demon - hurt.

Alastor was hurting...

____________________________________________

You hadn’t seen Alastor in days and as everyone waited to hear back from Lucifer, the Hotel returned to its usual order of operations. The only solace in knowing he was alive were the screams playing continuously on the radio.

The demon was on a rampage.

You got up, made everyone coffee for breakfast, went through a new round of trust exercises put on by Charlie, played at the club in the late afternoon, and ended the day with a drink at the bar with the boys before finding the library with a good book.

You eventually had to fill in Husk. It wasn’t fair that Angel knew everything, but Husk only had half the story. For Husk, he had known you were in Hell a lot longer than 6 years, but he kept quiet. The bar cat knows how to keep his nose clean.

After you explained everything, he confessed to Angel that he knew you from long ago when he was an Overlord. You originally used Husk as an ally in the early stages before you "fell." He was a contact for you and Eve, someone to trust (to whatever degree that might have been) once your plans turned more south - to Hell. You were supposed to link up with him 6 years ago, but come to find out, he had fallen from power. You were pointed in Rosie's direction by someone you hesitate to call an ally - let's just say partner.

The Vees had gone quiet after the attack. You didn’t know if they were in mourning or if they were planning something big. Either way, the silence couldn’t be good. Perhaps Vox finally got the hint that you weren’t interested?

At about day five Rosie removed the stitches. You didn’t talk much at the visit even though she knew something was wrong. You just didn’t have the heart to hash it out all over again while she sat there and smiled and told you everything was going to be alright. You didn’t need the false hope.

The truth was you felt hollow, like a shell of yourself. The boys did their best to cheer you up, but it was no substitute for what your heart needed. Night after night you couldn’t sleep, the silence of the hotel deafening. You couldn’t find a record table. You didn’t dare turn on the radio. No way were you going to buy anything else electronic or another phone - Vox didn’t need easy access to your life. So, the bags under your eyes deepened, your anxiety festered more and more, and your drinking became more frequent.

Eventually, you gave up the wine and switched to whiskey - the burn giving you something to feel other than numb.

God, how had you let him work his way so far into your soul (if Angels had a soul)? When had he become someone you relied on to live your everyday life? Why did it feel like a part of you had died when Alastor left?

Day seven, Angel and Husk held an intervention.

“Alright, kid,” Husk slammed the whiskey bottle down on the table in front of you. “This has to stop. I can’t keep watching you kill yourself over someone who doesn’t deserve it.”

“Husk…” you started to protest when a portal opened up behind you.

Lucifer stepped through, a worried look across his face.

“Hey…. Guys…” Oh, so cringey. “Is Charlie here?”

The three of you pointed simultaneously. The King awkwardly shuffled into Charlie’s office.

A few moments later, you heard a scream of glee and a flurry of thank-yous. It sounds like Charlie got her meeting.

“He isn’t worth it, kid,” Husk continued.

Irritation prickled the back of your neck. You did not want to hear this right now. You didn’t want to hear this ever. You’ve been avoiding any conversation about it all week with either Husk or Angel. They had tried, naturally, but you’ve managed to blow them off every time. Not anymore. This had to stop.

“Husk, I am sick and tired of the two of you constantly lecturing me,” you pinched the bridge of your nose between forefinger and thumb, the flames beneath your skin threatening to break through. A spark of static danced its way down your spine.

“We are just trying to look out for you…”

“Well, don’t!” You snapped, the flames surfacing. “I don’t need to be babied all the time. I’m a fucking Overlord for fuck’s sake. I don’t need to be looked after, let alone babysat by a has-been at rock bottom, who was dumb enough to gamble away all his power in a game of cards!”

Husk blinked, not entirely listening to your rant, his eyes fixated on your arms. You followed his gaze downwards to the flames dancing across your skin.

Green, your flames were green.

“Is that…?” Angel started.

“Alastor’s Hellfire.”

You held your hand out and concentrated the flames in the palm of your hand, watching as the green danced amongst your fingers. It felt… warm. Not like the heat of fire, but warm like Alastor’s shadow. A small buzz of static creeped across your palm where the flames met your skin, the same way it dances down your spine whenever he enters a room, whenever you feel his presence nearing yours.

What was happening?

“How are you doing that?” Husk breathed.

Your mind flashed back to New Orleans, to the kiss you shared on the dance floor, to the flames that practically burned the establishment to the ground. Then to Alastor's apartment when you combined your power to destroy the cellphone. In that moment you felt a bond connect between you and Alastor stronger than any soul contract you had ever made. Did that have something to do with what was happening with your magic now?

“I don’t know.” You extinguish the flame, your mind flitting through a million explanations. “Husk…” You were too afraid to ask the question. “Have you ever heard of Sinners being able to share their magic with another?”

The cat demon thought a moment before shaking his head. “I’ve seen a lot of things, kid, but that isn’t one of them.”

You turned to Angel.

"Don't look at me, I ain't know shit about nothin'."

Out of curiosity, you held your hand out again, summoning flame - yet this time, it was blue. How strange… If you somehow had access to his power did that mean he had access to yours? Panic sparked within your core at the thought.

Did he have access to the well of magic you stole from Eve?

“Thanks, Dad!” Charlie’s voice echoed throughout the foyer. The Princess led her girlfriend and Lucifer to the bar, practically bouncing on her toes as she informed you of the good news. “We have a meeting with Heaven!”

You did your best to muster a smile, pushing down the wave of emotions washing over you. Trying not to make too much eye contact with Lucifer, you hugged the Princess, wishing her luck. Despite everything, your master plan was still moving forward. All that was left was for the Princess’ plans to be utterly rejected by the Holy Court, and then your direct manipulation could begin.

This was great! This was… great? If it was great, why did you still feel so low? Why did your heart still hurt?

Charlie bounced back, twirling amongst the group as she screamed in glee before listing off a million things she was going to pack for the trip. “And you’re coming with me!” She scooped Vaggie into a hug. The ex-Exorcist did not look pleased. Perhaps the Princess didn’t know of her girlfriend’s origins, for she definitely would not have asked her to come along if she had.

"Knock, knock!"

Holy fucking shit.

"Anybody home?" A familiar voice rang out.

The entire party turned to find Vox, striding through the doors, a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a cellphone in the other.

Holy shit this guy SERIOUSLY can’t take a hint.

Husk and Angel both moved in front of you, blocking Vox’s view.

“Vox, what are you doing here?” Vaggie pulled out her spear, closing the distance before Vox got too close. The ever protective girlfriend held the point to his throat, but the media demon was unphased.

“Ah, who are you again?” The media demon nonchalantly raised an eyebrow.

“Vaggie!” Charlie placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. He doesn’t mean any harm. He’s just here for an update on Thestral.”

“What!?” Angel and Husk both choked out at the same time.

“Yeah…” Charlie awkwardly smiled. “He’s been stopping by… Didn’t I tell you guys…?”

“I thinks I woulda remembered somethin’ like that, toots,” Angel spat.

“Oh…” Charlie cringed.

Yeah, “forgot.” Sure, Princess. Fuck, what has she been telling him? What does Vox know!?

“Oh!” Nifty appeared at the base of Vox’s boots. “A bad boy!”

The media demon took a step back, clearly uncomfortable with the small demon’s gaze. Vaggie picked her up and pulled her aside.

“Charlie, is this one of your friends?” Lucifer slides himself into the conversation.

Vox’s jaw drops. “Oh, my god! You’re him! You’re the Lucifer!”

“Well,” Lucifer brushed invisible dirt off his shoulder. “I don’t mean to brag but yes, it is I, you’re humble King.”

Vox sure knows how to captivate an audience and Lucifer was playing right into the palm of his hand.

“Vox of Voxtek Technologies, at your service sir,” the media demon shakes Lucifer’s hand. “I must say, you are even more handsome in person.”

“Ouch!” Electricity zaps the King’s arm, causing him to flinch away. “Ha, ha, you flatter me…”

“Not at all! I believe you’re in the running for one of Hell’s most eligible bachelors?” The media demon winked. “Check your phone.”

The King pulled out his cellphone - complete with a rubber duck charm - which Vox zapped, sending the screen straight to a news article. The King was so entranced with what was written that he forgot the situation completely.

Why did Vox and Lucifer have to get along!?

“What the fuck?” Angel pulled out his phone and started flipping through news sources to hunt down whatever the fuck Vox was talking about. “Oh, shit it’s all over Vitter!*”

Oh, Angel and gossip...

The spider demon tried to show you his phone but you shooed him away.

Priorities, Angel!

“Actually, Vox,” Charlie smiles, her hands behind her back. “You’ve come on a good day because Thestral is…”

“No way!” Husk closes the distance, leaving Angel still guarding your side. The cat demon crosses his arms over his chest, shooting Vox a death glare. “He needs to go, now.”

“Well hello there little pet, where’s your master?”

“Like Hell I would tell you anything!”

“So he’s still making chaos in the Doomsday District then?” Vox prods but Husk says nothing.

“Well then,” Vox readjusts his suit. “That answers that question. On to more pressing, business. Where is she?”

“You aren’t going anywhere near her,” he threatens. The bartender wasn’t backing down, if anything he sized the media demon up, as if weighing his options. Fuck, you didn’t know what Husk was still capable of but you didn’t want to find out.

“Oh, down kitty.” Little sparks of electricity shoot out of Vox’s antenna.

“Hey! Don’t call me a kitty, you fu-“

“Husk,” you interrupt him. Emerging from behind your protective wall of white and pink fluff, you coax the bartender away from Vox. “It’s okay. I can take it from here,” you squeeze the demon’s paw before turning to Vox.

Mustering your most sincere smile, you say to the demon, “Hey Vox.”

“Babe! You look great! These are for you!” He thrusts the flowers into your hands

Blue Forget-Me-Knots, how original.

“What are you doing here?” You tried not to sound annoyed, you really did, but acting was Angel’s strong suit not yours. Hell, you’ve become a fantastic liar but keeping your feelings contained was a whole other battle.

“To check-in. I haven’t been able to get ahold of you and you getting hurt was my fault so…”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“Your fault?”

“Yeah,” the demon’s gaze met the floor. “Charlie said you were on your way to V Tower to see me when the attack happened.”

You side glanced the Princess whose face was turning pink. What exactly had Husk and Angel told her happened?

“Anyway, I just…” The demon rubbed his neck and huffed. “Here!” Vox pulled out two things: a new phone and a watch.

Oh, here we go again.

“As an apology. Voxtek’s latest and greatest!” The demon posed with the electronics.

“Holy shit! Is that the new VWatch?” Angel asked. “That thang ain’t even out on the market yet!”

You shot him an exasperated look. Which team are you on, Angel?

Vox took your hand in his, fastening the watch around your wrist. “I’ve already connected it to your phone!” The demon turned both screens on. A notification flashed between the two of them to show you they had connected.

“Yay,” You feigned joy. Say whatever you have to say to get him out of here.

The second he leaves this is gone. No fucking way were you giving him the ability to track you so easily. The voice in the back of your head was screaming danger! danger! danger!

“Thank you.”

“Anything for you, babe,” The demon pinched your cheek, rather hard actually. “Oh, would you look at the time!” Vox checked his phone. “I’m afraid I have somewhere to be but,” He smiled at you, winking. “I’ll see you soon, babe.”

Hopefully not too soon… Actually, hopefully never.

“Okay.” Was all you could say. Go home. Go home. Go home!

“Text me!” He laughed as he headed for the doors. “Your majesty,” the demon bowed before disappearing.

That was weird. He wasn’t mad you went AWOL for two weeks? He didn’t even ask for an explanation!? Wait, did he think the two of you were dating!? No. No. No! Uh, no! You are not dating Vox! Hell - to the fuck - no!

What in the fuck did Charlie tell him!? Was ghosting this guy not enough to send a message? Did the Princess say something to get his hopes up? Did he assume everything was good between the two of you, that you wanted this!?

As soon as the door shut you turned to Charlie, who was now hiding behind Vaggie. Irritation bubbled beneath your skin as the Princess smiled sheepishly at you. The flowers catching fire made everyone jump back. You didn’t care anymore. Who the fuck cares anymore!?

“What did you do?”

____________________________________________

Vox dials his phone as he nonchalantly heads down the street.

“Is everything in place?” The media demon asks.

“Yes, boss. The bitch won’t know what hit her.” A male voice answers.

Vox chuckles, his one eye turning red, “Good. Good. Let the massacre begin.”

____________________________________________

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Cellphones across the room chimed out in chorus, including your’s and your watch.

The spider demon looked at his phone, pure panic forming on his face.

“Angel, what’s wrong?” Your heart sank.

“Oh, toots. You’re gonna wanna see this.” He turned the pink phone towards you to reveal an alert.

Velvette posted a video on her Sinstagram and Vox sent a notification out for everyone to see it.

Angel pressed play.

Velvette’s cackle was iconic, as she picked up the phone. The front facing camera was on, so you couldn’t see her face, just the floor of V Tower now newly constructed. Her skipping stopped before the camera turned back around to her.

“Hello, Pentagram City!” She sang. “It’s Velvette here coming to you from the top of the newly restored V Tower, and I have a little friend here who wants to say hello to everyone!” She turns the camera back around, and the sight nearly knocks you off your feet.

It was Alastor, bloodied and bruised, tied to a metal chair.

This was impossible. Alastor couldn’t be captured on any recording devices or cameras. Which meant Velvette and Vox had weakened him a great deal. Where the fuck was Rolf? Why hadn’t he come and found you!?

“Say hello, Radio Demon.” Velvette cackled, but Alastor didn’t move. Alastor didn’t move!

Alastor was significantly more powerful than this. How in the Hell did they capture him!?

The camera turned back around to Velvette. “Your boy toy is waiting for you, Shadow. Come and get 'em!”

The video ended.

And you screamed.

Tears streamed down your face as you began to shake. Angel grabbed you, ensuring you wouldn’t fall to the floor.

“Holy shit,” Husk breathed.

Rosie told you there were bystanders. She told you people saw. Alastor must have missed one or something or… or… Then that means…

“She… she… she…” you couldn’t form words. “She figured out Alastor was the one who saved me after I killed Valentino.” Your voice broke as you collapsed into the spider demon in a heap of sobs. “I have to go.”

“No way, Hair clip.” Angel protested. “It’s clearly a trap.”

“They’re going to kill him, Angel!” You practically screamed as your entire body shook, anxiety bubbled in your chest, your power surging as it fed off your anxious energy.

“I know, toots. I know.”

“She knows I’m an Angel.” You looked at the two of them, desperately scanning their faces for answers.

“It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.” You grabbed at your hair, the blue flames threatening to break through. “If I hadn’t killed Valentino, Alastor wouldn’t have needed to save me. But I had to because Valentino almost killed you because I killed Travis.” Green static ran across your arms.

Angel jumped back, some of the electricity zapping him.

“If I hadn’t become the Shadow, I wouldn’t have killed Travis, and the Vees wouldn’t have gone after Alastor.”

____________(Trigger warning)_______________

You fell to your knees the entire world spinning out of control. You felt it then, that well of power deep within you that you’ve been keeping contained for the past six years. It threatened to break through, begged to break through. You were hyperventilating now, desperately trying to push that well of power down as your panic only seemed to build.

This was your fault. Alastor was going to die because of you. If you hadn’t been so distracted, you could have seen this coming. You did nothing about the Crim situation after learning about it and did nothing to stop Velvette from buying weapons from Carmilla Carmine. You didn’t monitor the Vees after you killed Valentino to see if they were planning any attacks of revenge.

You did nothing! You are useless! You have always been useless! Why didn’t you try harder? Why didn’t you see these things coming? You’re worthless! A pathetic excuse for a soldier! You are a disappointment to your name! A disappointment to your father! All the years of effort, all the years of training for nothing!

Why are you still even here!? Why are you still even trying!? You’re a failure. A miserable failure in everything that you do! And now someone you care about was going to die because of you. Because you are weak!

“No, stop it!” You screamed, clamping your hands down over your eyes.

Stop? Stop!? You wouldn’t have to stop anything if you had just listened! Tried harder! Actually succeeded!

A tornado of blues and greens exploded from you, plunging your world into a sea of colors. The magic spun around you, whipping your hair about your face and blocking your view of the room.

Alastor’s dead because of you. You can’t take that back.

It’s your fault.

It’s Your fAulT.

It’S yOuR FaULt.

IT’S YOUR FAULT.

Somewhere, a high-pitched voice screamed. Or was it you screaming? It was hard to tell. The voices in your head had become too loud to hear anything else.

“I’m sorry!” You yelled back, tears streaming down your face. “I’m so sorry! Please make it stop!”

Stop? stoP? StOp? STop? STOP?

“Please, Dad, stop!” You screamed.

You could hear his laugh clear as day as the voices inside your head merged into one, “Stop?”

You curled into a ball, squeezing your eyes shut so you didn’t have to look at him.

“You’re such a disappointment, do you know that?” His voice echoed around you, swirling with the winds and colors engulfing your small form.

“Dad, I’m sorry,” you sob. “Please!” A throb in your chest. That well of power was still there, still trying to take advantage and breakthrough.

“You’re pathetic. Lying there, groveling like an insolent child. No one will ever love you, you know. No one will ever care.”

Throb, push, pull. The power was trying to undo the knots, trying to take advantage to slip out.

“It was a mistake to create you.”

“I was a mistake,” you repeated.

“No!” A voice screamed, cutting through the wind and the voices. “You are not a mistake!”

Charlie?

“You are not a mistake, Thestral!” You opened your eyes to find Charlie fighting against the hurricane of colors. The Princess was pushing against the wind; her hair had escaped her braid. One hand held in front of her, the other reaching out for you, she slowly trudged her way forward.

“You are wrong!” She screamed. “You are not a mistake, and you are loved! We love you, Thestral!”

What?

“Me, Husk, Angel, Nifty, Pentious, even Vaggie. We love you!” The Princess fell to her knees before you. “We are your family now, Thestral, and we love you.” Her hands found yours. “And we will always be here for you, no matter what!”

You sat up a bit to meet the Princess’ eyeline. She smiled softly at you despite the chaos around. “You are not a mistake. You are loved.” She leaned in, emphasizing every word. “It. Is. Not. Your. Fault.”

IT’S YOUR FAULT.

It’S yOuR FaULt.

It’s Your fAulT.

It’s your fault.

It’s not your fault.

“It’s not my fault,” you repeated.

The winds began to die down around you, the colors fading away, the voices silencing.

Until it was just you and Charlie lying on the Hotel floor.

“It’s not your fault,” she repeated before bringing you into a hug. You hugged her back, her warmth, her touch, her weight, a calming presence around you.

“Thank you,” you breathed into her hair.

____________________________________________

(Pick up here if you skipped the earlier section)

____________________________________________

“Uhhhh,” Angel peered his head up from behind the couch. “Can someone please explain to me how I’m not dead?”

You continued to breathe as Charlie held you on the floor. She did her best to fix your hair as you spoke. “Oh, my God, I’m so…”

“Don’t,” Charlie stopped you. With a hand on either cheek, she forced you to look at her. “Don’t apologize.” You had never seen her so serious. “You’re scared. We all are.”

You nod.

“Is everyone okay?” She asked the room.

Everyone checked in. Including Lucifer.

“Yup! All the magical colors just make me want to throw up a bit!” The King gagged.

Ew.

“Okay, team. What’s the plan?” Charlie stood, radiating determination.

“Uhm, pardon me?” Angel threw himself over the couch.

“The plan to get Alastor back.”

“What?” Vaggie grabbed Charlie by the jacket, making as if to shake some sense into her. “You are not going up against Vox and Velvette. No way!”

“Vaggie,” the Princess protested. “Alastor is in trouble. We have to get him back.”

We?

“Uhm, excuse me, ‘we’?” Lucifer blinked.

“Yes,” Charlie stood tall. “We. None of us would be here if it weren’t for him. We wouldn’t have this Hotel without him. He’s defended it more times than you can count.”

“I don’t owe the prick anything.” Lucifer stepped in.

“Dad,” Charlie approached him warily. “Well… How do I put this lightly… After Mom left, you kind of did too.”

“You completely abandoned her,” Vaggie muttered.

Lucifer looked away, his arms crossed.

“What Vaggie means to say is, Alastor was there for me when you weren’t. He’s helped take care of me - in a very demonic way - but he did what he did because he cares about me and this Hotel. If the situation was reversed and I asked him, he would help.” Charlie’s smile turned down to a fine line. “I’m asking, as your daughter. Please, help us.” She reached a hand out for him.

Lucifer eventually melted, taking her hand in his. He nodded, before Charlie whipped back around to face you. “Okay! What do you need from us?”

You dried your eyes. “Us?” You repeated, meeting the faces of everyone around you.

They all looked… determined. Well, except for Nifty, she looked bloodthirsty and downright demonic.

They were going to fight with you.

A feeling sparked in your chest, one which was new to you but second nature to Human Sinners: pride.

Mere months ago you came to this hotel with a plan to befriend the Princess and her crew. You needed to weasel your way into her world, earn their sympathy, gain their devotion. It was a ploy of manipulation. You weren’t here to make friends. You were here for power and chaos, nothing more.

That was the plan, right?

Yet, somewhere along the way, they found a way into your world, had earned your sympathy, gained your devotion. Rosie once told you that you never let anyone in and those that found a way past your wall terrified you. Here, now, surrounded by those you genuinely considered friends, you weren’t afraid…

You felt powerful.

You smiled softly, trying to corral the overwhelming swell of emotion within you. You summoned magic in your other hand, the green static jumping across your skin: Alastor’s magic. You could feel him, feel his breath, his heart beating at the other end of the connection as real and as strong as your own.

No more running.

You tried to push a little bit of your magic through the connection, as if to say “Hold on, Alastor. We’re coming.”

You turned to the group. “Before we get started, there are some things you need to know…”

Last short transition chapter before stuff get’s good!

*The competition for the most eligible bachelor in Hell actually happened on Twitter, but I'm pretty sure it was "hottest in Hell" or something like that. It involved legit bribery and scandals, but in the end, Vox won - because, of course, he did.

-> Chapter Twelve

Tag List (Let me know if you want to be added):

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pretzel-box · 2 months ago

Text

PART 4 | MASTERLIST HERE

Tags: Mentions of violence, Injuries, Cruel Behaviour in general. It's dark content. Painter included. Slow burn starting now!

Trigger warnings: Force Feeding, Isolation, different types of Abuse

Words: 5,4k

Authors Note: First, this will be one of the last extremly violent chapters of AASB, going to announce more in the next chapter. For all people who wanna stop the series: The first part will be skip able in future. The series officially starts it's main plot now.

Also everything here is pure fiction. I do not support behaviour shown in this fiction or similar things.

You lay on the cold, unforgiving ground, surrendering to the soft glow of Sebastian’s lure. The shadows that had clung to you like a second skin began to peel away, retreating in the face of that delicate light. You let yourself sink into its gentleness, a stark contrast to the harsh brutality you knew all too well. The light kissed your skin with a softness that mocked the cruelty of his nature, and you almost allowed yourself to forget, for just a moment, the monster standing before you. A faint ringing filled your ears, like distant bells swaying in the wind—haunting, persistent, pulling you deeper into the quiet of your own mind.

Sebastian had hurled you to the ground with newfound force, his face twisted into a mask of disgust and seething anger. The tenderness that once lived in his eyes was gone, replaced by the stark void of his hatred. It was in that moment you understood—Sebastian Solace’s hatred ran deeper than any ocean, plunging into unfathomable depths where light couldn’t reach.

Trusting him had been your mistake, one that now felt like a betrayal to yourself. You had dug your own grave the moment you allowed yourself to believe in him, each passing day another shovel of dirt thrown into the hole you were carving. You could feel it now, the weight of your naivety, pressing down on you like the earth you had prepared for your unmarked tomb. How you loathed yourself—each breath you took was heavy with self-hatred, each beat of your heart a reminder of your foolishness. You were a creature cursed, revolting even to yourself.

The world watched with cruel amusement as you wept silently in your mind, never daring to shed a tear in front of him. You knew better—Sebastian would feast on your weakness, your tears nothing more than a victory to him, a reminder of how thoroughly he had broken you.

“Let’s return,” he commanded, his voice cutting through the stillness like a jagged blade. Before you could even process his words, he was hauling you off the ground, two of his arms wrapping around your torso with a bruised force that could be fatal if he wished it to be. He slung you over his shoulder with brutal efficiency, the suddenness of it stealing the breath from your lungs. His shoulder dug into your stomach, the pressure sending waves of pain radiating through your abdomen, but you swallowed the whimper threatening to escape. You knew better than to complain.

Each of his steps sent jolts through your body, the world swaying violently with his movements. It reminded you of the ride in the submarine, the same sickening lurch of your stomach as the vessel dove deeper into the abyss. But this was worse—there was no escaping the pain, no reprieve from the way his shoulder pressed cruelly into your stomach, no chance to catch your breath. You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek, drawing blood as you forced yourself to remain silent, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of hearing you in pain.

The cold night air stung your skin like tiny needles, mingling with the heat of your bruises. You could feel Sebastian’s anger simmering just beneath the surface, a volatile force that could erupt at any moment. His grip on you was firm, almost punishing, as if he was holding back the urge to let his rage fully take over. His claws scraped against your skin, digging into the fabric of your diving suit as if he wanted to tear you apart right there and then. Each movement he did was heavy, deliberate, like he was slithering off the edge of the world—and taking you with him.

The silence between you was suffocating, the only sound his labored breathing, harsh and uneven like the growl of a beast barely restrained. The path ahead felt endless, shrouded in the same darkness that now consumed your mind, but you knew you had no choice but to endure. You had to let him carry you, helpless as you were, hoping that wherever his fury led, it wouldn't be darker than the void you were already in.

The air grew colder still as the familiar scent of rust and oil hit your senses, signaling your approach to his shop. When the heavy metallic door of the back room creaked open, the dim light inside cast long, warped shadows across the cluttered space. Tools and scraps of metal littered the floor, and the walls were lined with the remnants of failed projects. It was a dismal sanctuary, a reflection of the twisted mind that now held you captive. The memories of the strange camaraderie you once shared seemed distant now, almost transparent, like fleeting dreams dissolving in the harsh light of reality.

Your stomach churned as you took it all in, the fluttering hope you once felt now turned to heavy stones, weighing you down.

Sebastian didn't speak as he carried you inside, his grip still unyielding. He finally dropped you unceremoniously onto the cold concrete floor, and your legs wobbled, barely holding you as you stumbled forward. You struggled to catch your breath, the sharp, metallic taste of blood still on your tongue.

Moving with an eerie calm, Sebastian reached for a heavy iron chain hanging from the wall. The sound of it dragging across the floor echoed ominously through the small space, sending a shiver down your spine. He knelt in front of you, his fingers rough and uncaring as he clamped the shackle around your ankle, the rusted metal biting into your flesh with a finality that made your heart sink.

The weight of the chain was oppressive, a cruel reminder of your captivity. As he stood, his towering figure cast a long shadow over you, and for a brief moment, his gaze lingered on you—dark, unreadable, devoid of the person he had once been. The silence between you was thick, charged with the unspoken tension of a thousand unshed tears, a thousand shattered dreams.

Finally, Sebastian turned away, retreating into the shadows of the hallway, his heavy movements echoing ominously in the cold space. The quiet clink of the chain as you shifted was the only sound that followed his departure, but just as you thought he had left you to the silence, his voice cut through the darkness once more—quiet, yet filled with a chilling rage that twisted your stomach into knots.

"Touch something, and I'll tear off your fingers one by one, make you chew on them." His voice, disembodied in the distance, crawled across your skin, each word heavy with venom. "Stay there. Be quiet. He will watch you, in case you're stupid enough to believe your dumb little self ever had a chance of escape. Every step you take, every breath you breathe—it will all lead to your final moment."

His threat hung in the air, thick and suffocating, the darkness of the hallway swallowing his presence, but the weight of his words lingered. Any remaining resolve you had left crumbled in that moment, your body giving way to the exhaustion and fear that had been gnawing at you from the inside. The little bit of self-control you’d been clinging to dissolved into dust, and you collapsed, sinking to the floor once more.

Your cheek met the cold, slick surface of the ground, a puddle of stagnant water pooling beneath you. The chill seeped into your skin, numbing the bruises that painted your body in shades of angry red and purple. The sharp sting from the fresh marks softened slightly as the water cooled them, offering the smallest reprieve in a moment that had become nothing but pain. Your fingers, trembling with the remnants of adrenaline and fear, lifted weakly, tugging at the chain that bound you to the spot. It rattled slightly, but the metal didn’t give—it was unyielding, unbreakable. The realization settled in like lead in your stomach: you were going nowhere.

You stared at the chain, the rusted links heavy and rough against your skin, testing its strength with a futile pull. It was clear that the chain wouldn’t move, that there would be no escape. The metal was too strong, too securely fastened to the wall, and you knew that trying to free yourself would only leave you more broken than you already were. You’d sooner tear off your own limb than remove the shackle that held you prisoner.

A deep sense of helplessness crept over you, suffocating in its intensity. The cold floor pressed against you, and the oppressive weight of the chain seemed to mirror the crushing burden of your circumstances. You were trapped—not just physically, but mentally and emotionally, ensnared by Sebastian's cruelty, by the darkness that had taken root in him, and by the twisted, nightmarish reality that had consumed you both.

The sound of your shallow breaths filled the silence, the quiet clinking of the chain a constant reminder of your newfound situation. You could feel your heart beating heavily in your chest, each thud like a drumbeat of dread, echoing through the stillness of the shop. There was no one to hear your cries, no one to offer you comfort or solace. You were utterly alone.

In the distance, something shifted—a light flickering just barely out of sight, alarming you from the shadows and as Sebastian had promised you, you felt something or someone gaze at you. You didn’t need to see it to know it was there, his presence a dark, looming threat that kept you rooted in place. Every movement you made, every breath you took, was being monitored, controlled. There was no room for defiance, no space for hope. You were at the mercy of a person whose cruelty knew no bounds.

As the hours stretched on, the cold seeped deeper into your bones, and exhaustion began to take its toll. Your body felt heavy, weighed down by the chain, the bruises, the fear. But even as your eyelids fluttered, too tired to stay open, your mind remained restless, unable to escape the nightmare that had become your reality. You didn’t know what would come next, but the dread that gnawed at you made it clear—it wouldn’t be anything good.

“My, my. What a sight. You must be exhausted, hm? I’m sorry to see that. Actually, I’m not. But manners, am I right?”

The voice was smooth yet dripping with sarcasm, echoing around the room. Your eyes darted to the corners, searching for the source, but the space was empty, save for you and the suffocating darkness. At first, you thought it was just the weight of your own thoughts manifesting into cruel whispers. But this was different—clearer, sharper, too vivid to be a mere figment of your mind.

“Sebastian spoke about you. Well, I saw you two around, and I must admit,” the voice continued, a cruel edge slicing through its tone, “it made me digitally gag to see you being all lovey with him. What did you expect?”

Your body trembled, whether from the cold, the pain, or the creeping terror, you couldn’t tell. The voice was relentless, mocking you with each passing second. Was it your own mind finally breaking under the pressure? Had you gone completely mad, hallucinating voices that only added to your torment?

“Oh, Sebby~ Marry me! Kiss me! I love you, my wonderful strong man,” the voice sang mockingly, its tone twisted into a grotesque parody of your affection for Sebastian. It was like it was pulling memories from your deepest insecurities, twisting them into something vile, something repulsive.

The nausea rose in your throat as the voice continued, its words a dagger to your pride, to your self-worth. “You, yeah you, little maggot. You’re nothing more than a small, filthy animal. A distraction to him.”

Your heart sank deeper, your mind unable to grasp the weight of it all. The words were harsh, brutal, hitting like blows you couldn’t defend against. The worst part? A piece of you believed it. You always had, in the darkest corners of your mind.

“I.”

“Can’t.”

“Allow.”

“THAT.”

The final word was like a trigger. In an instant, the warm yellow lights flickered before plunging the room into darkness. Seconds later, an eerie red glow filled the space, the emergency lights kicking in. They cast twisted shadows on the walls, making the room feel even smaller, more oppressive. The faint hum of the machinery faded into silence, replaced by the steady drip of water and the pounding of your own heartbeat.

Your breath hitched, fear tightening its grip around your chest as the voice carried on, undeterred by the change in atmosphere. “You were a distraction from the very moment you set foot on this ground. What did you expect? A warm welcome?” It laughed, a sound so devoid of warmth it sent a shiver down your spine. “Oh, you. You are so dead that it warms my digital heart.”

There was a brief pause, almost as if the voice was savoring the tension, the fear it had created. The red light bathed the room in a hellish glow, and the wet floor beneath you felt even colder, seeping through your clothes and chilling you to the bone.

“Sebastian loathes you so much,” the voice purred, each word like venom slipping into your veins. “Keep being like that, and he will gut you with his claws, hang you outside his shop as a snack for our little wall-dwelling friends.”

The imagery hit you like a punch to the gut. Your mind conjured images of yourself hanging lifelessly from some rusted hook, your body torn apart, Sebastian’s eyes cold and indifferent as he offered you up like some worthless sacrifice. The thought left you gasping for air, your chest tight with panic.

The voice circled around you like a predator, never showing itself, only speaking in cruel, tormenting tones. Every word chipped away at your already fragile state, leaving you teetering on the edge of despair. You had been pushed so far, and this—whatever this was—felt like the final push over the precipice.

“Face it,” the voice hissed, dripping with malice. “You were never important. Not to him, not to anyone. And soon, you’ll be nothing more than a forgotten memory, rotting in the dark.”

The red light flickered again, casting the room into momentary darkness before returning to its ominous glow. You could hear your own shaky breaths, the sound of the chain clinking as you tried, once more, to pull yourself up. But you couldn’t. You were too weak, too broken.

The voice fell silent for a moment, as if satisfied with the damage it had done. But you knew it wasn’t finished. It was waiting, watching, savoring the fear coursing through your veins like a twisted game.

In the silence that followed, all you could do was lie there, helpless and trembling, waiting for whatever nightmare would come next.

The door slammed open a while later with a deafening crash, sending a tremor through the cold, darkened room. You jolted at the sound, instinctively curling in on yourself as best you could with the chain still clamped around your ankle. Sebastian had returned.

His silhouette filled the doorway, towering and menacing. His once familiar frame, the one that used to offer you comfort, was now nothing but a looming shadow of cruelty. He trudged into the room, his arms laden with rusted metal scraps, chains, and jagged pieces of equipment, the weight of it all clattering to the floor in a heap.

You stared at the pile, heart pounding. The heavy scent of oil and rust filled the air, almost suffocating, mixing with the stale dampness that lingered from the puddle beneath you. Sebastian’s face was devoid of any expression, but his eyes—they were cold, dead, like pits of endless darkness.

He turned toward you, his gaze settling on your trembling form. There was no affection left, no trace of the man you once trusted. Without a word, he bent down to rummage through the scraps he’d brought, pulling out a tangle of wires and a metal pipe, testing their strength in his hands.

You watched him, fear spreading like ice in your veins. You tried to speak, to plead with him, but the words lodged in your throat, blocked by the growing terror. He noticed your gaze, his lips curling into a humorless smirk.

“Still think I’m gonna play nice?” he muttered, his voice thick with disdain. He tossed the pipe aside, slithering toward you with measured, deliberate strides.

Your stomach churned as he bent down before you, his large frame casting a shadow over your already shivering body while the red emergency lights framed his body from behind. He grabbed a metal bowl from beside the pile, filled with a strange mush that looked more like something scraped off a filthy factory floor than actual food.

“Eat.” His voice was cold, commanding.

You shook your head instinctively, repulsed by the sight of the disgusting slop. But Sebastian wasn’t having it. In a swift, brutal motion, he grabbed your jaw, forcing it open with a strong and painful grip. His other hand shoved the bowl towards your mouth, spilling the foul-smelling substance down your throat.

You gagged violently, choking on the taste as you tried to turn your head away in a pitiful attempt. But his grip was iron, unyielding like the chain around your ankle. Another set of fresh tears blurred your vision as the sensation of the slimy food rejecting it with every swallow. Still, Sebastian forced more into your mouth, his hand relentless.

“You don't get to decide what to eat or when you eat.” He cursed, it was clear that his little attitude pissed him off dearly.

Sebastian’s eyes flicked upward, narrowing as the faintest sound echoed through the room—a soft, metallic scrape, like something sliding across the vents above. His expression darkened, and he moved swiftly, grabbing a rag from the nearest table. Without hesitation, he turned back to you, eyes blazing with irritation.

“You stay quiet. Understand?” he hissed, his voice low and threatening.

You barely had time to react before he roughly jammed the rag into your mouth, gagging you with a sudden, forceful shove. The musty fabric pressed against your tongue, cutting off any chance of speech, and you choked slightly, tears springing to your eyes as the gag tightened painfully around your jaw. Sebastian didn’t care. He secured it tightly, making sure there was no way for you to spit it out.

The scraping sound grew louder, the unmistakable noise of someone crawling through the ventilation system. Sebastian’s head snapped in the direction of the noise, his lips curling into a sneer.

“An expendable,” he muttered to himself, as if the very thought disgusted him.

Without another word, Sebastian grabbed you by the arm, dragging you across the room with ease. You stumbled, legs shaking beneath you, as he roughly shoved you behind a stack of debris and rusted crates. The hard metal edges scraped against your skin as you were wedged into a narrow space, hidden completely from view.

His hand lingered on your shoulder for a brief moment, his grip tight and bruising. He leaned down close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

“Not a sound,” he whispered, his voice cold and final. “If they find you, I’ll make sure they never leave this place alive—and you’ll wish you never left that damn floor.”

With that, he turned sharply, moving away from your hiding spot with a calm, deliberate stride. You could hear the soft clink of tools being moved as he pretended to busy himself with the clutter on his files and items, acting as though nothing unusual was happening at all.

Your heart raced in your chest, the gag muffling your shallow breaths as you crouched behind the debris, every muscle in your body tense with fear. The faint echo of movement in the vents grew louder, closer, and then—finally—a metal grate fell to the ground with a dull thud.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could just make out the figure dropping down from the vent. The expendable customer, covered in grime and sweat from their journey, straightened up, looking around the shop with wide eyes. They appeared nervous, their gaze darting around the room as though expecting something—or someone—to jump out at them.

Sebastian didn’t look up at first, continuing to tinker with some random tool on his table. The tension in the air was palpable, and you could feel the weight of it pressing down on you as you remained frozen in your hiding spot.

“Uh... h-hey,” the expendable stammered, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. “I was... I was sent for a quick purchase. Heard you’ve got some code breachers for me.”

Sebastian finally turned, his expression cool and detached. He wiped his hands on a rag, tossing it aside before speaking.

“You’re late,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “I don’t have any. Also you're late. I was about to close.”

The expendable gulped, looking even more anxious than before. “Sorry! It’s just... the vents, y’know? Not exactly the easiest way to get around. I didn’t mean to—”

“Spare me the excuses,” Sebastian cut in sharply, stepping closer to the newcomer. “You want code breachers? No. And next time you make me wait, I won’t be so generous and keep it at no but show you what it means to disturb me.”

You couldn’t see Sebastian’s face from where you were hidden, but you could feel the cold menace in his tone. The expendable, clearly intimidated, nodded quickly, fumbling with their pack as they prepared to make the exchange.

Your pulse quickened, every nerve in your body screaming for you to stay still, to remain silent. From your cramped hiding spot, you could hear the faint rustle of the transaction taking place, but your mind was too fogged with panic to process it. The metallic taste of the gag filled your mouth, making you feel sick as you struggled to keep your breathing steady.

A few minutes passed, though they felt like hours, and finally, the expendable mumbled a hurried thanks before turning to leave. You heard the clatter of boots as they climbed back into the vent, the grate rattling shut behind them.

Sebastian waited until the sound of their movements faded completely before he moved again. He approached your hiding spot, his tail scapes against the floor slow and deliberate as he crouched down in front of you, his eyes cold and unfeeling.

Without a word, he reached for the gag, yanking it roughly from your mouth. The sudden freedom made you gasp for air, your lips sore and bruised from the pressure of the cloth. But before you could say anything, his hand shot out, grabbing you by the chin and forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Remember,” he growled, his voice low and menacing. “You’re nothing here. And if you think for a second that anyone’s coming to save you, you’re dead wrong.”

With that, he released your chin.

You swallowed hard, the metallic taste of the gag still lingering on your tongue as your mind raced with desperation. Every bruise on your body throbbed, a constant reminder of your helplessness, your complete powerlessness. But something inside you, some flicker of survival, pushed you to speak. Maybe there was a way out. Maybe if you could make yourself useful and get him items, Sebastian wouldn’t see you as just another burden, another thing to be crushed beneath his heel.

You forced yourself to your feet, even though your legs trembled beneath you, and moved from your hiding spot. Sebastian hadn’t gone far. He stood a few feet away, tinkering with the pile of scrap he had gathered earlier, his back turned to you. The soft clinks of metal scraping together echoed in the dim shop, blending with the faint hum of the remaining lights overhead.

You could feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy, but you had to push past it. There was no other choice.

“Sebastian,” you rasped, your voice weak but determined. He didn’t respond immediately, his hands continuing to work on whatever twisted piece of metal lay in front of him. You swallowed again, throat dry, and forced yourself to take a step closer. “Let me help.”

At that, he froze, his hands hovering over the tools. Slowly, he straightened, turning his head just enough to glance at you from the corner of his eye. The silence stretched unbearably, and for a moment, you wondered if you had made a mistake. If he was about to lash out, to hurt you more than you could handle. But you pressed on, your desperation outweighing your fear.

“I... I know I’m nothing to you,” you continued, voice trembling. “But I can be useful. I can help you. Whatever you’re planning—whatever you need to do—I’ll do it. I’ll be your tool, your... your instrument. Just don’t throw me away.”

His head turned fully now, eyes narrowing as he studied you. His expression was unreadable, cold and calculating as he took in your words, your trembling form. You felt the weight of his gaze settle on you like a suffocating blanket, but you didn’t back down. You couldn’t. This was your only chance.

“I know I’m weak,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “But you can use that, can’t you? No one would expect me. No one would see me coming. I can do things for you that no one else can. I’ll be loyal. I’ll follow your orders without question. I swear.”

Sebastian’s lips curled slightly, but it wasn’t a smile. It was something darker, something twisted. He took a step closer, and instinctively, you flinched, but you stood your ground, heart pounding in your chest.

“And why,” he said slowly, voice low and dangerous, “would I trust someone like you? A tool is only as valuable as its reliability. And you?” He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your face. “You’ve proven to be nothing but a nuisance.”

You clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms as you forced yourself to meet his gaze, your eyes burning with unshed tears. “Because I have nothing left,” you whispered. “I’ve already lost everything. You... you’re the only thing I have now. If I can be of use to you, then that’s all that matters. I’ll be whatever you need me to be.” You played the submissive victim, trying to fool him once again.

For a moment, the room was silent. Sebastian’s eyes bored into yours, searching, testing. Then, slowly, he straightened, his expression darkening.

“So, you want to be useful, do you?” he said, his tone mocking. “You want to be my tool? My little puppet?”

You nodded, heart hammering in your chest. “Yes.”

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His hand shot out, grabbing you by the jaw with bruising force. His fingers dug into your skin, and you winced, but you didn’t pull away. You couldn’t.

“You’ll regret those words,” he murmured, his voice a cold whisper against your ear. “Because once you’re mine, there’s no going back. I will use you. I will break you. And when I’m done, there will be nothing left of who you were. Nothing.”

You shuddered, but you nodded again, the words catching in your throat. “I understand,” you croaked.

Sebastian released you, pushing you back slightly as he took a step away, his eyes gleaming with something dark, something dangerous.

“Fine,” he said, his voice laced with cruel amusement. “Let’s see how useful you can be.”

He turned back to the pile of scrap, gesturing to the tools scattered around. “Start by cleaning this mess up. And don’t think about running. Because if you do... I’ll make sure you regret ever thinking you could outsmart me.”

You dropped to your knees immediately, grabbing the tools with trembling hands.

You hesitated for a long moment, the memory of that mocking voice still fresh in your mind. It had been gnawing at you ever since the encounter, the cruel taunts echoing in your head like a relentless reminder of your growing desperation. Now, with Sebastian looming over you as you fumbled with the tools he had tossed your way, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. You had to tell him.

“Sebastian,” you started, your voice shaky as you glanced up at him from where you knelt on the ground. He didn’t respond right away, still focused on the piece of scrap he was fiddling with, his brows furrowed in concentration. But you pressed on, your voice growing steadier as you spoke. “There’s… there’s something I need to tell you. Earlier, when you left me alone in here… I heard something.”

His movements slowed slightly, though he didn’t turn to look at you. “What did you hear?” he muttered, his tone indifferent, as if he was expecting some trivial complaint. You swallowed nervously, fingers gripping the wrench in your hand a little tighter.

“It was a voice,” you said quietly. “A man’s voice. He… he was talking to me. Mocking me.”

That got his attention. Sebastian stopped entirely now, his eyes snapping up to meet yours, a scowl forming on his face. “What the hell are you talking about?” he growled. “You were alone.”

“I know I was,” you stammered, your heart racing as you tried to explain. “But I swear, I heard him. He said horrible things. Called me… called me a distraction. Said you’d gut me and hang me outside like some kind of… of warning.”

Sebastian’s scowl deepened, and for a second, you thought he was going to lash out, accuse you of lying or going mad. But instead, he let out an irritated sigh, rubbing a hand over his face as if this was the last thing he wanted to deal with.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head in frustration. “Of course, he would do that.”

“He?” you echoed, confused. “So… I’m not crazy? There really was someone talking to me?”

Sebastian shot you a withering glare, his annoyance clear. “It wasn’t just someone. It was someone I work with. A temporary helper.”

“A helper?” you repeated, still not quite following.

He tossed the scrap metal aside with a loud clatter and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring down at you as if this whole situation was your fault. “Yeah, a helper. Painter, to be specific. He’s a glorified AI that Urbanshape trapped and a while back I asked him to help me with surveillance and data tracking. His main purpose is keeping an eye on things and handling some of the tech around here. Also, keeping the crystal secure from those filthy human idiots.”

Your mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. “So… Painter’s an AI? But why would he talk to me like that? Why would he mock me?”

Sebastian scoffed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Because he’s an insufferable bastard if he wants to be,” he growled. “I gave him too much freedom for personality when I struck a deal with him. Thought it’d make him more efficient, but all it did was make him a smug little prick. He likes to mess with people. Especially weak ones.”

You flinched at the jab, but you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of relief. At least now you knew you weren’t losing your mind. The voice had been real, even if it was just some sadistic AI.

“He watches everything,” Sebastian continued, his voice gruff as he turned back to his work. “If he saw you stumbling around like an idiot, he probably decided to have a little fun at your expense. Don’t take it personally. He’s just doing what he wants to do.”

You nodded slowly, processing the information. “So… is he always watching? Even now?”

“Most likely,” Sebastian muttered, not looking at you. “He’s everywhere where I want him to be. The shop, the vents, the cameras. He sees everything, and he loves to play god when he can and when I allow him.”

You shuddered at the thought, the idea of being constantly watched by some twisted AI unsettling. But you swallowed down the discomfort, not wanting to show any more weakness in front of Sebastian. You’d already been humiliated enough.

“Just ignore him,” Sebastian added, his tone dismissive. “The more you react, the more he’ll push.”

“But, Painer will always be on my leash.”

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